Fallen Angel Chapter 11 Althea the School Girl
- 3 years ago
- 180
- 0
Don't Let The School See Me free porn video
"Don't Let The School See Me!" by Alana
My Mom is still punishing me for shoplifting by making me dress
like a girl. There's no end in sight.
We had a few days off from school for teacher conferences.
Unfortunately, no classes meant more dresses for me. I never
thought I'd be sorry to get time off from school.
I got up in the morning, and Mom made me put on my lingerie and
pantyhose, then she picked out my lustrous black and white satin
dress to wear. It looked like a skirt and a blouse, but it was
all one piece. The top looked like a long sleeved satin blouse
with a bow at the collar. It buttoned in front. Then there was a
black belt and a tight black satin skirt. It made me look very
grown-up.
But why couldn't I look like a grown-up guy instead of a grown-up
girl?
I wore my black high heels with the dress. I put on my make-up
and jewelry, and Mom fixed my hair. My hair was getting long
enough that I could put it into a feminine style, with Mom's
help. Mom had been taking me out for "mother-daughter" weekends
more and more, and I was getting to the point where I looked like
a girl, from far away. It wasn't until someone got close that
they could tell I was a boy.
Mom told me to get out to the car. I asked where we were going,
and she told me not to ask any questions and just do what I was
told like a good girl. I assumed we were going to the mall or
something. Imagine my shock when we pulled up in front of the
school!
I asked why we were here, and Mom told me I'd find out soon
enough. I had a horrible feeling about this.
She took me to the principal's office. I looked around anxiously
for any students, but there were none. We went in, and Mrs.
Halversson didn't seemed surprised at all to see me in a dress. I
sat down, tucking my skirt properly the way my Mom had taught me.
"I love your dress, Michael. You look very grown up," the
principal said.
"Thank you."
Suddenly I had a guess as to what this was about, but it was too
horrible to think about. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.
"Well, Mrs. Preston, I'm very impressed by what you've done with
Michael, or should I say Melissa? I've been going over our dress
code, and though it's very unusual to make such an exception,
given the progress you've made with Michael's punishment and the
positive effects, I've decided to give your request my approval.
Congratulations, Michael! You're going to be the first boy ever
to attend our school dressed like a girl, full-time!"
No. No.
I couldn't talk. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe, and for
once it wasn't that damn girdle. I seemed to hear a buzzing in my
ears, and it sounded like the taunts and insults of my
classmates. I barely heard Mrs. Halversson as she went on
talking, saying that I needn't worry about being mistaken for a
girl because I would still be using the boy's toilet and locker
room, although for P.E. I would now be wearing a girl's gym
uniform.
I finally found my voice.
"NO! Please, Mom, please don't do this to me! Please, not at
school, please! They'll beat me up!"
"Oh, I'm sure that won't happen," said my Mom. "Anyway, you
should've thought of that before you started shoplifting."
I got off the chair and fell to my knees in front of her. I saw
that my skirt rode up a little and my slip was showing, but I
didn't care.
"Please, Mom, not that! Anything but that! I'll do anything!
Please!"
I started to cry. Crying was as natural to me as breathing, these
days.
"Anything?" said Mom.
"Anything!"
"Well..."
"Please, Mom, don't make me wear dresses to school!"
Mom looked at the principal.
"Well, there are a few things I'd like you to help me with in the
next few days, Melissa. If you do a good job, well...we'll see."
I got up, and Mrs. Halversson reminded my Mom that she would need
a decision before the weekend.
We went back to the car. I was so scared, I was shaking. I didn't
know if I had won or not, but I was determined to do anything my
Mom wanted of me. Anything was better than having everyone in
school see me this way.
My little brother Danny was having his birthday party in the next
few days, and the first thing Mom wanted of me was help with the
party. She spent the better part of a day having me practice, in
preparation for the party.
On the day of the party I had to put on this stupid pink satin
French maid's uniform, with a scoop neck and lacy white cuffs and
apron. As I was getting dressed, Danny came into my room to mock
me, as usual.
"Hello, Melissa," he said in his stupid little sing-song voice.
"Getting ready for the party, I see."
I nodded meekly. I couldn't take a chance on getting into a fight
with him.
"Do you remember this scar, Melissa?" he asked, showing me his
elbow.
I shook my head, no.
"You did this to me, back when you used to be a boy and wore
pants. I was coming home from school, and you came up from behind
and shoved me over, for no reason. And that wasn't the first time
you shoved me or hurt me."
"I'm sorry," I said. I was just doing what older brothers did. I
didn't know he even remembered all that stuff.
"I used to stay up late at night and plan my revenge, thinking
what I was going to do to you. But now I just stay up late at
night and laugh my head off, thinking of you and your pretty
dresses, Melissa, and how pretty and feminine you look in them. I
love having an older sister!"
He laughed once more, and left.
I looked down at myself in my pink satin maid's dress. Did I
deserve all this? I really didn't think so. I was a bit of a
bully, true, but no one could possibly deserve all this
humiliation.
But it explained why Danny was intent on enjoying every single
minute of seeing me in dresses and pantyhose and lipstick. He was
never, ever going to feel sorry for me, no matter what.
I finished my make-up as Danny's friends started to arrive. They
were all seated at tables waiting for me to start serving them.
They had all been told about Danny's sissy brother who liked to
wear dresses. When I came out they all started laughing at me
like a bunch of maniacs. Not only that, but their mothers stayed
behind to have a good laugh at my expense, as I served the cake
and ice cream. I had to smile sweetly and curtsy every time I
served a guest.
"Told you!" said my brother to his friends. "He likes dressing
that way!"
Just grin and bear it, I thought to myself. It can't possibly be
worse than going to school this way.
I kept hearing comments from the mothers as I worked.
"Doesn't he look adorable in a dress?"
"Look at the way he moves. He's so feminine!"
"Look at his pretty legs!"
"He was born to wear dresses. He should've been a girl."
"He's practically a girl already!"
"Who needs a daughter with a pretty son like that?"
"You have to invite me to his wedding. He'll look incredible in a
gleaming white satin wedding gown."
"Any girl who marries him will have to keep an eye on her
dresses."
"Girl? You don't think a girl would actually marry HIM, do you?"
"No, but I know of some boys who'd be proud to marry a pretty
thing like him."
I just kept working, and tried not to listen to their comments.
All the boys seemed to think the opportunity lost if they didn't
flip up my skirt or try to trip me as I went by.
Still, it wasn't so bad, or at least it wasn't anything I wasn't
used to.
Then, one of the boys grabbed a handful of ice cream and threw it
right at me. It landed right in my cleavage.
They all laughed, not only the boys but the mothers as well! I
couldn't believe that these mothers wouldn't discipline their
ill-mannered brats! I stared at them all, scared to say anything
while my Mom was watching, as the ice cream dripped down into my
dress, making my lingerie all damp and sticky.
And then every boy in the room started throwing ice cream my way.
I tried to dodge, but I tripped on my pink high heels.
I was on my knees, trying to get up, as ice cream pelted me from
every direction. It landed on my legs, my arms, my face, all over
my dress.
"Cut it out!" I cried.
"Cut it out! Cut it out!" they all mocked.
I realized the reason I couldn't get up had to do with the fact
that the lacy hem of my dress was caught on my left heel. I freed
myself, just as a boy ran over and put ice cream down the back of
my dress. Another boy actually managed to put ice cream up my
skirt and all over my slip before I got to my feet and ran out of
there, their laughter ringing in my ears.
I sobbed in my bedroom as I took off my dress. My mother came in,
laughing.
"Wasn't that fun!" she said.
"Why didn't you stop them?" I sobbed.
"It's a party, dear. They were just having a little fun. Don't be
so sensitive. Here, why don't you change into this for your big
musical number?"
She took from my closet a white chiffon dress with lace accents
and a pink satin sash.
"Change your lingerie, dear. Wipe yourself off with this." She
held a damp washcloth.
It took awhile to change. Those little monsters had managed to
get ice cream all over everything I was wearing. I had to redo my
make-up as well. The only thing they had missed was my hair, so I
didn't have to redo that.
I couldn't believe this. I was nothing to them. Less than
nothing. Just a big joke for them all to make fun of, and it
wasn't over yet. I had to go out there and do my humiliating
musical number that my Mom made me rehearse all day yesterday. My
feet still ached from practicing all those dance steps in high
heels.
But it still wasn't as bad as dressing like a girl in school. I
had to keep telling myself that. And maybe those little brats
didn't have any more laughter in them.
But that turned out not to be the case. As soon as I came out in
my white chiffon dress and my Mom started the music, and as soon
as I started to sing and dance for them, playfully swishing my
skirt and twirling and skipping back and forth, smiling prettily
as I had been taught, mothers and sons started laughing all over
again, harder than ever.
"I float as the clouds on air do...I enjoy being a girl."
I don't know who enjoyed it more, the mothers or the boys. One of
the mothers had a video camera.
I made a gesture indicating the dress I was wearing when I got to
the lyric about "I drool over dresses of lace," just as Mom had
taught me to do.
Finally it was over. I curtsied and ran out of the room. Mom
said I could stay in my bedroom for the rest of the party.
I threw myself on my bed and cried.
When the party was over and I was sure every last kid had gone
(even Danny left to play with his friends) I came out of my
bedroom. Mom was cleaning up the ice cream from the floor. I
stooped to help her.
"Oh that's OK, Melissa, you don't have to help. Why don't you go
outside and play? Go on down to the park for while."
The park? Where there were probably boys my age playing softball?
"Mom, I'd rather stay here and help you."
"Don't give me any arguments, young lady. Down to the park with
you, right now!"
I made it to the park without anyone spotting me. I hid in the
woods near the softball diamond. I was pretty sure I was too far
away from the kids playing to be discovered, even though I could
see the game from where I was.
I watched the boys playing softball. You might not believe this,
but I was a pretty good player before all this punishment
started. I watched the boy who was up to bat.
I picked up a branch from the ground and held it in my hands like
a bat. I stood like a batter and took a few swings, but as my
circle skirt swirled about my legs and I felt the breeze tickle
my thighs, I knew I looked so incongruous pretending to play
softball in a dress that I threw the branch to the ground in
disgust.
I grabbed my skirt. I held it and looked at it.
"Stupid dress!" I said aloud. "Stupid pantyhose! Stupid panties!
Stupid high heels! Stupid bra! Stupid damn slip! Stupid, stupid,
stupid girdle! I hate it! I hate it!"
I pulled at my skirt like I wanted to rip off my dress. Sure,
that would've solved everything.
I picked up the branch and started whacking a tree.
"Stupid Mom! How DARE you do this do me! I'm a boy! You've got no
RIGHT to do this!"
I threw down the branch and wrapped my hands around the trunk of
a small tree and started strangling it.
"Stupid Danny! You shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Stop
calling me a girl! I'm not a girl! I'll show you I'm not a girl!
I'm more boy than you'll ever be! Here, YOU put on a dress! YOU
wear the stupid girdle! YOU put on the pantyhose! Not so funny
now, is it? Here, here's some lipstick for you! Oh, don't you
look pretty! Don't you look pretty!"
I sat down on a log, exhausted, and started to cry again.
I don't know how long it was before I heard a little voice say,
"Don't cry. Don't be sad."
I looked up in panic. It was a little girl, younger than Danny.
She was dressed in jeans and a blue sweatshirt. I wasn't sure if
she knew I was a boy or not.
"I'm OK," I said, trying to sound like a girl. I couldn't stand
to have one more person laugh at me today.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just upset, is all."
"That's a pretty dress," she said. "I wish my Daddy would let me
wear dresses like that. But he always wants me to wear pants. I
heard him tell Mommy once that he wishes he had a son."
We should've had each other's parents.
"Doesn't your Mommy let you wear dresses?" I asked.
"Mommy is with the angels."
"That's too bad." I wished my Mom was with her.
"My name's Angela."
"Melissa," I said.
"Hey, do you want to play a game? I don't know any girls I can
play with. I have a jumprope, but it's too big for me to use."
I stood up.
"Sure," I said. "Why not?"
We played jumprope, the two of us jumping together. I was
conscious of my skirt flipping up every time I jumped, probably
showing my slip, but if she didn't care, I didn't care.
Then we played ring-around-the-rosie. When we came to "ashes,
ashes" we fell down together, both of us giggling like
schoolgirls.
Schoolgirls. I shuddered at the word.
Then it was time for patty-cake-patty-cake, and after that we
played a-tisket-a-tasket, which required us to hold hands and
skip together as we sang.
Before I knew it it was getting dark, and I told Angela I needed
to get home.
"OK. Bye-bye Melissa."
I headed on home. I couldn't believe I had fooled her, and that
no one discovered us. I couldn't believe I had such a good time
playing little girl games.
Looking back on it, that was probably my last moment of
happiness. And, ironically, it happened while I was wearing a
dress.
The next night Mom had me in a tight pink lace dress for my last
assignment. Not just lace accents, but all-over lace. It itched
like crazy, and Mom made me wear it all day.
I wore matching pink lipstick, and a pink flower pinned to my
hair. "Just for fun," my mother said.
We were going to see a girl named Mary Peterson. She was about my
age, but she didn't go to my school, thank goodness. On the way
over, Mom explained what I had to do.
We got to her home, and Mrs. Peterson let us in. After the usual
gushing over how pretty and feminine I looked, we started
upstairs to Mary's room.
On the way up, I asked, "I don't understand, Mrs. Peterson. Why
don't you just MAKE your daughter wear dresses?"
"Oh, I would never make Mary do anything she doesn't want to do."
Why couldn't I have a mother like that?
We knocked on the door, and Mary said, "Come in."
She was sitting on the bed reading a magazine, dressed in T-shirt
and jeans.
She took at least five or ten seconds looking me over from head
to toe, taking me in, making sure I was what I appeared to be, a
boy in a dress. Then she laughed uproariously.
"What is THAT?" she asked.
I tried not to look down in shame. I was supposed to appear
happy. I attempted a smile.
"This is Michael Preston, dear. When he's dressed this way, he
likes to be called Melissa."
In between laughing fits, she said, "What kind of a freak are
you?"
I shrugged.
"I like wearing dresses," I said, as though it was the most
natural thing in the world for a boy.
Mom said, "Melissa, dear, look at all the lovely dresses Mary
has."
"Oh, look at all these pretty dresses," I said, as I
skipped...yes, skipped...over to the open closet. Mary's laughter
was almost uncontrollable now.
"Could I try on one of your dresses?" I asked.
She nodded.
"They're all so pretty!" I gushed. "Why would any girl want to
wear pants when you could wear a dress? I wish I was a girl!"
I reached in and pulled out a dress at random. It was a
long-sleeved powder-blue silk dress with a matching belt and a
back zipper.
I took off my dress, carefully laying it on the bed, as Mary came
closer to get a good look at my lingerie.
"Look at what the little sissy pansy faggot is wearing!" she
said. "Is that a girdle?"
I nodded, and quickly put on her dress. It was a lot tighter than
I expected. Rather than dislocate a shoulder trying to zip it up,
I strolled over to my Mom and said, "Mommy, will you zip me up,
please?"
I worried that Mom might object to the request, but she seemed
pleased by my whole performance.
The dress was so tight I could barely walk. Trying not to appear
awkward, I slowly minced over to the mirror and admired my
appearance.
"Oh, this dress is so sexy! You must love wearing it!"
"I get it!" said Mary. "You have got to be kidding me, Mom. He
likes wearing dresses, so I should like wearing dresses, is that
it? Oh, this is too much! So, he's going to convince me to wear
all these stupid dresses you keep buying me? Where did you even
find this queer?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I said hysterically. My
future was on the line, here. "I like dressing like a girl,
that's all there is to it! I like wearing dresses! You should,
too!"
She stood even closer to me.
"Oh, you like dressing like a girl, huh?"
"Yes!"
"Do you like it when the boys do this?"
She pinched my brastrap and gave it a good snap. My hand went to
my shoulder. It really stung.
"I don't mind," I lied.
"Well, how about when they do this?"
She grabbed the hem of the dress and hiked it up way above my
waist. I grabbed it from her and pulled down the dress. I looked
away form her, ashamed and embarrassed. I didn't know what to say
to her, and I was terrified I might start crying.
Mrs. Peterson looked embarrassed at being found out. She didn't
know what to say, either.
My Mom stepped in and said, "Why don't we go downstairs and leave
you two 'girls' to talk?"
The two mothers left. My Mom gave me a stern look on the way out.
As soon as I was sure they were out of earshot, I said, "Please,
you've got to help me. I swear I don't like dressing like this.
My Mom makes me wear dresses."
She laughed again.
"Your Mom MAKES you dress like a girl? That's even better!"
"Please, if I can't convince you to wear dresses, my Mom is going
to make me go to school dressed like a girl! And the principal is
going to let her do it!"
"You're going to wear a dress to school? What school do you go
to?"
I told her.
"You're going to look adorable!"
Again, I got on my knees and begged.
"Please, just tell your Mom that you'll wear dresses! Lie about
it, please, it might buy me some time! I can't go to school like
this! I can't stand the teasing! Please help me! I'll do
anything!"
"Anything?"
"Anything!"
"Well...we'll see. Let's see how you look in the red one."
After about forty minutes I had tried on all her dresses, and she
even took photos. She made me look cheerful and girlish in every
shot.
Finally I put on my own dress again, and we went downstairs.
She said, "Mom? Mrs. Preston? I've made my decision."
We waited, me most anxiously of all.
"I've decided I definitely want to transfer to Melissa's school.
And I want him to have all my stupid dresses, too. This is gonna
be so much fun!"
On Tuesday my mother marched me to the front door of my junior
high school, holding me by the elbow, as I wore a dress to school
for the first time. I felt like I wanted to vomit.
Monday, the day before, I wore my boy clothes, but they began the
day by announcing over the loudspeaker that I would be wearing
dresses to school from now on. As usual, they made it seem like
it was my idea. All day, no one said anything to me, and I was in
no mood to talk to anyone. No one made fun of me. They were
saving it up.
For my first school dress ever, my Mom had me dressed more like a
little girl than a fourteen-year-old. I wore a flowing silk
chiffon dress in a gleaming white/lilac print, covered all over
in ruffles and lace. It looked like a communion dress. It had
short puffy sleeves and a white satin sash, tied in a bow. But
there was nothing little-girlish about my make-up or my jewelry,
or my three-inch heels.
Before she forced me through the door, I gave her one last
pleading look. She just smiled at me.
And as soon as I went through the door, I heard laughter and
applause. They were all there, waiting for me. Maybe even Mary
was there, I don't know. I kept my eyes down and walked the
gauntlet to my first class. I heard them all mocking me, jeering
me, the girls as well as the boys. The boys made little kissing
sounds as I went by. It seemed like the whole school had turned
out for this.
And then one boy flipped up my skirt, and then they all started
in. Even some of the girls did it. I tried to hold my skirt down
with both hands, and then some boys started snapping my
brastraps.
I looked around for someone, anyone who might feel sorry for me.
I saw a friend of mine named Mark, but when I even glanced at him
he gave me a mean look, as though to say, "Stay away from me, you
faggot!"
Someone probably found out he used to be my friend. They were
most likely making fun of him already, just because he had been
seen with me.
I finally got to my class. I sat at my desk and looked down, and
tried to pay no attention to any of the jeering. Even when they
continued to snap my brastrap, I grabbed hold of the desk and
didn't react. Class would start soon, and things would be better.
Finally class started, and the teacher, Mrs. Johnson, said,
"Well, I guess you all know we have a new girl-boy in class
today. When he's dressed up so prettily he likes to be called
Melissa. Tell us all why you enjoy wearing pretty dresses,
Melissa."
I protested feebly, "My Mom makes me dress this way. I never
wanted to wear a dress."
"Really?" she said. "Then how do you explain this?"
For the first time I noticed there was a monitor and a video
player at the front of the classroom. Mrs. Johnson hit the play
button, and I soon heard all my classmates roaring with laughter
as my song and dance played for them.
"I float as the clouds on air do...I enjoy being a girl."
I put my head down on my desk and did what I swore I would never
do in school.
I cried.
Emely
- 04.08.2021
- 27
- 0
College Pennai Toiletil Vaithu Veritheera Seithen
- 4 years ago
- 134
- 0
Mrs Fletcher Chapter One Brother s Mother in law
- 1 year ago
- 78
- 0
