Nina Finds Love and Discipline
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A Subtle Form Of Discipline free porn video
PG-13 for bad language and child abuse
(This story may be posted to free websites provided proper
credit is given.)
A SUBTLE FORM OF DISCIPLINE
Copyright 2003 by Scott K. Jamison
"I don't care if you act like a queen," blared the radio.
I tuned it out and looked out the window. This was a new part
of the city to me and the chance to see something different
was about the only good thing about this trip.
"We're almost to the dress shop, Melissa," said Mother. "It's
not the best neighborhood, but Emily said the rent was
reasonable."
I had to admit the housing hereabouts looked pretty shabby.
And there were a lot of bars on the windows of the businesses.
But then I saw something that really took my interest, a
large, blocky building with the words "Central Hospital"
emblazoned on its side.
A plan began building itself at the back of my mind.
"Aren't you excited, Melissa? We'll be able to find you the
prettiest formal gown in the store for your debut at the
Halloween Ball."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Whatever you say,
Mother." You see, my name wasn't actually Melissa. It was
Paul. And I most certainly had no interest in going dress
shopping.
You may be wondering, if I didn't want to be wearing a
dress, or going shopping for a new one, or being called by a
girl's name, why I was letting it happen.
Originally, supposedly, it was just going to be for a
couple of days, as a punishment. After Dad's death, I'd
become a bit of a handful, doing stupid macho things to hide how
upset I was. I won't bore you with all the details, but it
culminated with a drunken car crash. I hadn't been the one
driving and hadn't really drunk all that much, but the
near-miss really sobered me up.
Mother struck while my defenses were down. I was so repentant,
and she seemed so disappointed in me, that I was willing to
agree to just about anything as a punishment.
My older cousin Jenny had summered with us the previous year,
and left behind a bunch of her clothes that had gotten too
small for her. I'd kind of wondered why Mother had hung on to
all that stuff. I found out when she told me I'd have to wear
Jenny's clothes for a couple of days.
I wasn't wanting to see my "buddies" at the time anyway, so
a few days grounded in a dress didn't sound all *that* horrible.
And it wasn't, not at first. Mom was speaking nicely to me
again and everything seemed okay. I'd already been helping
with household chores, so that was no big burden either.
Until she interrupted my favorite TV show and I got a bit
sassy with Mother. That earned me an extension of the
punishment and an intensification. Now she started calling
me "Melissa" and insisting that I act like a girl, as well as
dressing like one.
We were pretty well off, Dad had left Mother a pile of money,
and she had a good telecommuting job, so she was at home
almost all the time to make sure I "stayed in character". She
used her approval as the carrot and disapproval as the stick,
and because I really did love my mother, I tried to please
her.
About this time, Mother also starting giving me "vitamins"
to take every day. I started feeling a bit queasy from them,
so I learned to fake swallowing the things most of the time. I
couldn't always avoid it, though, as she was watching me
carefully.
Every few days, Mother would find some petty thing to extend my
punishment for and imposed more girlish behavior on me. After
a month or so, she replaced all the furniture and fittings in my
bedroom with frilly pink things and it became obvious to me
that it wasn't just a temporary thing like she'd said. Color me
slow, okay?
We'd only left the house for short grocery trips, during which I
was too worried about being recognized to do anything but follow
orders. Mother had ordered new clothing for me by mail to cover
what Jenny hadn't provided.
But one morning, Mother told me it was time for me to get a
checkup. I was nervous, because I didn't want a doctor to see
me in a dress. But we weren't going to see my regular doctor,
Doc Zabreski.
"Uh, Mother," I asked as we entered the waiting room of the
clinic, "Isn't this a gynecologist's office?"
"Yes, dear."
"But won't the doc kinda notice I'm not really a girl?"
Mother smiled knowingly. "Doctor Duvall is a very special
friend of mine, Melissa. She's treated young ladies like you
before."
"Mother! I am not going to be pretending to be a girl forever."
"Of course not, dear."
Doctor Duvall did all the usual checkup stuff, though she
insisted on calling me "Melissa". Then she made me pull down
my panties and took some rather personal measurements. She
asked me a bunch of questions about my physical health, but
nothing about how I felt.
Afterwards, the doctor called Mother in for a conference.
The receptionist was in the ladies' room, so I put an ear to
the door.
"Are you sure she's been taking her vitamins?" the doctor was
asking.
Mother replied, "Yes, every day at breakfast."
"I wonder. Melissa isn't looking as healthy as she should
at this point. If things don't... improve...you may need to--"
The receptionist was coming back, so I had to get away from
the door.
When they came out, Doctor Duvall gave me a lecture on how
important vitamins were to a girl's health and claimed it was
vital that I paid attention to my mother's instructions.
It wasn't hard for me to figure out that what those "vitamins"
actually were was some kind of drugs to make me more like a
girl.
After that, Mother started watching more carefully and it
was harder for me to avoid taking those pills. And I think
she started adding some to my food too. The femininity training
stepped up as well.
I met some more of Mother's "special friends" at the beauty
parlor, where I got a new, "prettier" hairstyle (including
some extensions) and a manicure. The gushing they did over how
feminine I looked nearly made me gag. But I knew that if I
complained, it would only get worse.
And by this time, I really was looking like a girl. I was
still kind of short and delicate-looking for my age and with
the makeup, a ribbon to hide my Adam's apple and all, most
strangers couldn't tell the difference.
I noticed that it was about time for school to start and
begged Mother to stop this punishment, because I couldn't go
to school looking like *this*. She laughed and told me that a
"special friend" of hers in the school system had arranged for
her to be able to home school me until I was ready to enroll
in an all-girls' school after Christmas.
"And it isn't 'punishment', Melissa, it's a redemption. Soon,
you'll be all girl, like you were always meant to be."
I knew then that Mother was crazy. But what could I do?
She'd rigged the phone with a passcode so that only she could
use it and the same with her computer. The neighbors had all
been told "Melissa" was given to telling tall tales for
attention and that's why "she'd" been living with Mother
while "I" was off at military school. (And my hellion period
hadn't exactly endeared me to the neighbors, so I was afraid
they wouldn't care.)
Plus, Mother had told me she had a "special friend" in the
police department, so I didn't know if I could get help there
either.
Home-schooling was hell. Mother's "special friend" had sent
her a bunch of books with really strange ideas about men and
women and that's what Mother was teaching me from. Any doubt
on my part got me extra "training."
Late in October, we got a visit from yet another of Mother's
"special friends," Emily. She brought along a tall
girl who was wearing an outfit even frillier than the one
Mother had stuffed me into. She looked kind of poleaxed.
"Ooh, she looks lovely!" cooed Mother.
"Doesn't she now?" said Emily, smirking. "It's hard to believe
that only two years ago, Flopsy was a willful, filthy boy."
Flopsy just kept staring into space, a frozen smile on her
lips, looking every inch like a feminine doll.
Emily sipped her tea, then added, "But now all those dirty boy
parts have been wiped clean, leaving only a perfect little
girl. Isn't that right, Flopsy?"
"Yes, Mistress," said Flopsy in a squeaky little-girl voice. "I
couldn't go back, not even if I w-wanted to." The
smile she wore while saying that froze my blood.
The women let us go up to my room together. It was the first
time I'd had a chance to talk alone with someone my age in
months and better yet, someone in my same situation!
Unfortunately, Flopsy wasn't exactly a great conversationalist.
She immediately started talking about which
outfits she liked and how pretty my hair was.
"Flopsy, you used to be a boy, right? What's your real name?"
"Flopsy is Flopsy! I enjoy being a girl! I like wearing
pretty things! I'm proud of my boobies!" She still had the
same fixed smile.
"My real name is Paul. I'm really a boy. Like you used to
be, right?"
"I'm a girl! I'm a good little girl! I don't want to remember
the bad boy!" The smile had finally gone away and Flopsy
looked ready to cry.
"Okay, okay, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want
to."
Flopsy brightened right up. "Yay! I like being a girl. I
like to play with dollies. Don't you?"
It went on like that for an hour. Every time I tried to talk to
Flopsy about something serious, she'd get upset. And I
wasn't much interested in talking like a seven-year-old girl.
After the visitors left, Mother said, "You love me, don't you,
Melissa?"
"Of course I do, Mother." That was true, despite what she'd
been doing, I still loved her.
"Then you won't force me to use the conditioning therapy like
Emily had to with her daughter, now will you?"
My blood ran cold. I nodded. No way did I want to end up
like Flopsy.
That night, I looked in the mirror, trying to see the real
me. But all I could look at was how my butt seemed to be
bigger and rounder and my chest felt sore and puffy around the
nipples. And was my penis smaller than before? I wasn't sure.
Something had to be done.
Which brought me to today, as Mother parked the car in a pay
lot. I carefully exited the car with my knees together and
smoothed out my skirt as I stood. I shivered a bit at the
cool autumn air.
Yes, not too far from the hospital. I reminded myself to
keep a slightly surly air; it wouldn't do for Mother to know
what was on my mind.
"Come along, Melissa. We haven't all day, you know!"
The dress shop was named, unsurprisingly, "Emily's." The
mannequins in the barred windows sported Halloween costumes,
Little Bo Peep and Cinderella. I wouldn't be wearing one of
those, as the Halloween Ball was when all of Mother's "special
friends" showed off their "daughters", "nieces" and "wards."
I'd be wearing something suitable for a debutante with a
stuffed bra. Or so Mother had told me.
It was actually a fairly large shop, with several rows of
ready-made outfits in addition to bolts of fabric to choose
from for women who wanted something unique. I was pleased to
see several women in medical uniforms browsing the racks;
obviously on break from the hospital.
"Well," said Mother, "finally a smile! I knew you'd get into
the spirit of this if you really tried."
Emily herself came over to greet us, though thankfully Flopsy
was nowhere to be seen. She and Mother went over to look
at fabric samples, allowing me a few moments to look around.
Miracle of miracles, someone had left a pair of fabric scissors
on the checkout counter.
I used the shoplifting skills I'd learned during my rebellious
period to move the scissors from the counter to my purse without
seeming to notice they were there. No one shouted
or complained, so I had theoretically gotten away with it.
Then I was called over to have an opinion on fabric; that
opinion was immediately ignored. After that, we wandered the
racks and Mother picked out several dresses for me to try.
None of them looked anything like something I would want to be
caught dead in, let alone alive. But there wasn't a single
outfit in the store I would have preferred, so it didn't really
matter.
Finally, I was alone in the dressing room. I tossed the dresses
carelessly to the side and pulled the scissors from
my purse.
I raised the scissors and then hesitated. I really didn't want
to do this. But I remembered Flopsy and steeled myself. I
jabbed the scissors blade into my right cheek and pulled down.
Fuck! That hurt! I bit my lip to keep from screaming and I
think I drew blood there too.
Well, now that I knew I could take the pain, I had better make
sure. So I did the same thing to my left cheek.
"Melissa, honey, stop dawdling! I want to see you in one of
those pretty gowns!" called Mother.
"Just a minute," I replied, trying to sound calm. Man, I was
bleeding like a stuck pig. But I'd better make absolutely
sure.
I pulled my skirt up with one hand and slashed the inside of my
thigh too, as close to my panties as I could manage. Then
I dropped the scissors and kicked them under the bench.
*Now* I screamed. I ran out, right past Mother, who looked
suitably stunned and over to a woman in medical casuals.
"Help me! It hurts!" I screamed, raising my bloody face to
hers.
"Oh. My. God." The woman, whose nametag said "Roscoe",
paled. "We've got to get you to the hospital, stat!"
"Wait," said Mother, "Melissa's my daughter, I don't think
our medical insurance will cover your hospital, I have my own
doctor--"
Another uniformed woman took Mother's arm. "Don't worry, Ma'am.
This is an emergency, we'll work out the insurance
later. It's fastest if we just carry your daughter, Melissa,
was it?"
Two other women were jury-rigging a bolt of cloth into a
makeshift stretcher, I'm told. I was getting light-headed
from blood loss at that point, so the next thing I remember was
being laid on a cot in the emergency room.
My luck held, as a male nurse bent over me, checking my pupils.
I whispered, "Please, get my mother away from here. She's the
one who--"
The nurse's eyes widened and he stood up.
At that moment, Mother barged in, screeching, "Where's Melissa?
You mustn't touch my daughter!" She made a beeline
for me, but the nurse blocked her.
"Don't worry, Ma'am. Your daughter is in good hands. Why
don't you go over to the receptionist, we'll need you to fill
out a few forms."
Mother seemed hysterical. "You don't understand! Only my
doctor is qualified to treat her!"
The nurse made a hand signal and a security guard came over to
gently remove Mother from the emergency room.
Then he got back to me and started mopping up the blood
so he could see what the actual damage was.
"I think you should check my thigh wound," I whispered, not
because I was afraid of being overheard, but because I was
too tired to talk louder.
"Right--what th--!?"
"I'm actually a boy, my mother's been forcing me to dress like a
girl, I did this to get awaaay..." I finally passed out.
When I woke up, there was an older doctor bending over me. The
male nurse was nearby and so was a woman in a business suit. I
didn't recognize her.
"Ah, you're awake," said the doctor. "Try not to move your
mouth too much, you needed quite a few stitches. Now... what's
your name?"
"Paul, sir."
"Doctor will do. Well, Paul, can you tell me how you got your
injuries?"
So I told him and the others my story. When I mentioned Dr.
Duvall, the woman asked, "Doctor Denise Duvall?"
"I don't remember her first name, but her office is on Eighth
Street."
The woman nodded and I went on.
When I finished, the woman said, "I'm Rona Ferrin, from Child
Protection Services. You're a very brave young man, Paul.
Several of the names you've mentioned are people we've
suspected for a long time. Until now, we couldn't get any
hard evidence and the victims were too scared to say anything
to us. But with this, I can get warrants from a judge. We
won't let your mother hurt you any more."
Of course, they couldn't actually stop Mother from coming in to
see me, but the security guard present let her know the jig was
up.
"Melissa, honey, you must believe me, this was all for your own
good. I did it because I love you."
"'We always hurt the ones we love the most, it's a subtle form
of discipline,'" I sang mockingly. "And my name is Paul. I
guess you forgot." Then I turned on my side, away from her.
The pain made me regret it, but I didn't turn back until she
left.
I spent three days in the hospital, the bandages and limp making
me a pretty good mummy for Halloween. After that, I
went to live with Jenny's family. Jenny was surprisingly cool
about the whole thing; apparently she'd noticed Mother was crazy
way back when she visited us.
There were over forty arrests in the case, including a
Juvenile Division police officer. Mother's trial was a
nightmare for me, with her lawyer trying to convince the jury
that I'd actually *wanted* to be turned into a girl. They
even had Doctor Duvall as a witness saying how I'd tested as
transsexual and begged for transition.
For some stupid legal reason, the prosecution couldn't tell
the jury that Dr. Duvall was under indictment too, but *did*
manage to prove that she wasn't a licensed psychiatrist like
she claimed, just a gynecologist.
It was too late for a lot of the victims, like Flopsy. They
don't think she'll ever completely recover. That's one of
the reasons I hope my mother never gets out of prison.
The other reason? I used to enjoy dressing up in girls'
clothes; I can't enjoy it anymore. She ruined crossdressing
for me and I don't think I will ever forgive that.
FIN
Just barely finished on Halloween.
Hope you've enjoyed this little tale of horror.
Questions, comments?
SKJAM!
Annalisa
- 21.06.2022
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