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DISCIPLINED - guided into a life style By Nicci Knox Chapter I: Correction Needed - exhausted patience. "I'm tired of giving you second chances," my aunt snapped, in far more steely tones than any she'd ever used before. "I'm fed up with telling you that your behaviour is unacceptable but seeing no improvement. Just because your mother did everything for you and for your father as well, I have to admit, it doesn't follow that the same applies here. Just because there are three women in this house it isn't the case that you've now got three willing or unwilling slaves to pander to your every unreasonable, chauvinistic whim. Marie and Sarah are both fed up with your attitude and your expectation that they'll wait on you hand, foot and finger. And with your tantrums every time you don't get your own way. So am I. We're sorry for you, goodness knows! But enough is enough! As you haven't been able to find it within yourself to heed my warnings I..., we are going to take measures into our own hands and teach you what is acceptable. It isn't even as though you can use your studies as an excuse. Not any more! I've got a letter here from your Headmaster that tells me that your school work and behaviour have deteriorated to such an extent that the school no longer has any faith in your ability to achieve even a minimal standard of pass at A-Levels. They decline to let you sit any. In fact, they don't want you back. They'd rather have your room than your company! You've been sacked!" The resentment that had arisen in my breast as my aunt continued her tirade moderated somewhat as I absorbed her final disclosure. 'Sacked from school, from the sixth form'! I hadn't really expected that. Although, to do him justice, 'Old Stuffy' too had given me plenty of warnings as my work and attitude took a nosedive. But, as at home, I'd traded on the sympathy vote - having lost both my parents in a foggy motorway accident about a year before - to 'get me though'. Well, it had come to an end. Abruptly! Sympathy, even in those circumstances, doesn't last forever. On grudging reflection I had to admit that my aunt had a point. Several points. My mother, true to her Cornish antecedents, was convinced that men are in this world to be pampered. Neither my father nor I ever had to do anything around the house. Everything was literally 'handed to us on a plate'. I can't even remember ever being expected to clean my own shoes or wash a teacup. Let alone take out a vacuum cleaner or do any laundry. And I didn't know one end of an iron from another. Aunt Connie didn't and doesn't see it the same way. Divorced several years before, she'd had to bring up her two daughters on her own and had worked in a pretty high powered job in a local Publishing House for years. Unlike her 'stay-at-home' sister, my mother, she is contemptuous of men in general, and their attitudes, and at that time, it seemed, of me in particular. My cousins are made in the same mould. Marie, almost exactly a year younger than me was then, at sixteen-and-three-quarters, also studying for A-levels but also holding down a part time job in a Solicitors office. Sarah, six-and-a-half years older than me, had recently completed a Ph.D. in the Business Applications of Mathematics, having previously achieved a 'First Class' B.Sc. and an M.Sc., and at twenty four had immediately secured the job of Deputy Treasurer of our County Council. They'd been only too happy to clinch the deal as soon as they saw her academic record and had heard and seen her at interview. She was the youngest appointed Senior Manager in Local Government, in the Country, at that time - and as far as I'm aware, has never been supplanted in that designation since. Me, I was content to use my situation and my studies as an excuse for everything and had never contemplated taking a part time job or doing anything else I didn't want to, for that matter. Both my cousins are taller than my meagre five-feet-six-inches, Sarah still now by more than three inches and Marie by nearly two inches, like my aunt. And all three women are far more robustly built - in a lithe, feminine and athletic manner - than my slender frame. And then I had still to attain my full adult frame, such as it is. Marie like her mother is a brown eyed, sallow skinned, brunette. Although relatively dark skinned both of them have flawless complexions. Sarah's skin and complexion are as fresh and fair faced as mine but her hair, unlike my own blond locks, is a glorious auburn cascade and her green eyes can spark and flame, particularly when she's angry or animated. I gathered my wandering mind back into some semblance of order and began to try to formulate some kind of apology and to prepare to reach some kind of compromise, on my position. My aunt cut me short. "Too late!" She expostulated, "I've already told you we've had enough! We, the three of us, have decided that as you are no longer going to attend school and as you haven't any other form of employment you can take over the housework, here at home. No arguments!" She snapped, as my protests reached audibility, "It'll do you good to understand just what's entailed in keeping the house clean, preparing meals and clearing up afterwards, doing all the necessary shopping and keeping all our clothes properly laundered." I gasped, gulped and blanched. And my stomach turned over. From what my aunt had just said it seemed as though I was to become responsible for the entire domestic needs of the house, and the family. Some kind of general servant come housekeeper. Was this what my self pity, self absorption and general malaise had brought me to? Yes, so it transpired, and quickly. But only in part. I had yet to learn the rest! My aunt studied my face and general demeanour. "I see it's sinking in," she said. Then, without pity, "we've also come to a further decision. Seeing as you obviously consider housework to be 'women's work' you'll obviously feel better equipped to undertake it if you are dressed accordingly. The girls are upstairs now packing all your clothes into bin liners. They're going to take them to the clothing bank, at least they will when they've collected the ones you're now wearing as well; although those of course will go straight to the rubbish bin. No one will want to wear clothes you've been wearing that haven't been washed. Your wardrobe has already been replaced by a selection of their 'cast-offs', to be supplemented tomorrow when we take you on a shopping trip to make sure that you're properly provided for." My previous outrage was as nothing. My aunt couldn't possible mean it! Me being required to dress as a girl! As well as do all the housework! "You can't mean it!" I screeched. "You can't make me dress as a girl! I won't do it! And I won't do all the beastly housework either! I admit," I continued only marginally more moderately, "that I've been pretty lazy, and I'll do my share from now on. But everyone else'll have to do some, too!" "I obviously haven't made myself clear," my aunt continued in a patient voice, backed by steel, taking no account of my tirade. "This isn't open to discussion or negotiation in any respect. The decisions have been made. You will do all the housework! You will dress as a girl from now on!" Then, as my two cousins came into the room bearing several black bin liners between them, "out of those clothes now, quickly!" Neither my verbal nor my physical resistance was of any avail. My two athletic cousins had me stripped naked in no time and the clothes I'd been wearing were thrown into a another black bag for separate disposal, leaving me trying to shield my only too obvious embarrassment and curiously sudden arousal - totally inadequately. With all three women scrutinising my nakedness my arousal increased, as did my embarrassment. My face burnt, my stomach churned and, suddenly, my bladder felt near to bursting. It was only with a massive effort that I managed to maintain my continence and avoid even greater humiliation. Sarah spoke in neutral tones, almost as if she was taking part in an academic discussion. "You were right," she addressed her mother, "it looks as though he'll make quite a pretty girl. He's got less body hair than me even, let alone you and Marie. Not that that's important, of course. After all, it's not going to matter much what or who other people think he is. Whether they realise its still Charles underneath or not, is no odds. We'll know anyway, and so will he. That's what it's about, isn't it? His understanding of what it's like to be a woman in a mans world." 'Mans world'! I mused to myself, still seething, still trying to control an increasingly urgent desire to urinate. But accepting that, for the moment at least, any further rebellion was useless. And accepting that I'd have to conform to my aunt's requirements until and unless I could find some way of breaking out. Fortunately, before I disgraced myself utterly, my aunt came to my rescue. "Upstairs with you," she instructed me, "shower, properly, and join us in your bedroom. We'll decide what you're going to wear for the rest of the day." With instant compliance, I fled to the bathroom where my first action was to relieve myself in a massive flow that seemed to last for an eternity. Then, mindful of my aunt's directive, and having already experienced being physically forced to comply with her demands, I carefully showered and dried myself and meekly trailed into my bedroom - the bath towel wrapped around my waist. My aunt quickly abused me of my continued attempt at maintaining my modesty. "For goodness sake take that ridiculous towel off!" She ordered me. "We've already seen what you've got, and it certainly didn't impress us! In any case, we can't possibly get you properly dressed unless we start from scratch!" I hesitated long enough for the towel to be snatched away by my younger cousin and, once again, I was left standing naked to the combined scrutiny of my three female tormentors. "We've decided," my aunt told me in a conversational tone, "in order for you to properly appreciate all the difficulties we women have to contend with that, in addition to wearing the clothes that you need to maintain an adequate degree of decorum, you should also have to wear those that are designed to appease the masculine demand that we pander to their sexual fantasies. Obviously, with your meagre masculine build you don't need a bra'. Also, we could easily dress you in tights. But we have decided that you will wear a bra', padded of course, so that you can understand the muscle power needed to maintain a proper posture whilst supporting a pair of breasts in front of you, and that you'll wear stockings and suspender-belt. Wearing both a bra' and a suspender- belt, at all times, will give you an insight into the intricacies of female garments - mostly designed by men, to fuel their fantasies. After this evening, you will be expected to dress yourself and make any necessary adjustments to any of your clothes to ensure that you are properly and tidily dressed and conforming reasonably to the outward appearances of your new gender." It seemed my aunt and cousins were going to carry their threats through, then. And, if I was to be a girl, they were determined that I'd be a proper one. Not if I could help it! My protests were even more intense, even to the extent of physical aggression, but were extremely short lived. My two cousins had no difficulty restraining me and, at my aunt's command, bending me forward over the end of my bed, my shoulders pressed into the duvet and my head screwed sideways to avoid suffocation. "I though you might have objections," my aunt's conversational tones continued. "You will have to learn, and I'd advise you to do so quickly, the penalties for recalcitrance on your part, or any resistance, deliberate disobedience or failure to achieve satisfactory standards in any aspects of the work you are now required to undertake, or the aspects of your adopted gender." So saying she moved slightly out of my limited line of vision, towards my dressing table, and further round to take a stance behind me on the opposite side to that to which my head was screwed. Then, without warning, she administered six swinging blows to my unprotected buttocks with the business side of a hard bristled hair-brush. The pain was agonizing! Tears filled my eyes and streamed onto the bedding, accompanied by my cries of distress. "As I said," my aunt continued, as though she'd not stopped in between to execute my punishment, "it will be in your interests to learn obedience - quickly! Remember that any one of the three of us is quite as capable of extracting it from you, as any other! And remember that, from now on, obedience also includes presenting yourself for correction when demanded, in the manner required. Oh! By the way," almost as an afterthought, "the 'manner required' is for you to remove your skirt or dress and your panties in preparation to receive the appropriate chastisement 'on the bare', bringing those clothes with you so that whichever of us is administering your punishment can assure herself that, subsequently, you are properly dressed. There were no further rebellions that evening. I stood as meekly as I could, with my face scarlet, tears of pain and humiliation filling my eyes and with my buttocks red-raw and stinging, whilst Marie and Sarah dressed me in the clothes that they had laid out on my bed during my shower and that had laid only a few inches from nose as I was chastised. Firstly a delicate, lacy, pale blue nylon brassiere was fastened around my chest, and two silica breast forms inserted in the cups. The two girls then set about adjusting the shoulder straps to achieve as realistic a bust line as possible. The veracity of my aunt's comments struck me almost at once. I'd never appreciated before that the, supposedly, negligible, weight of a pair of breasts suddenly attached to one's chest presented a different problem to the shoulder and neck muscles than those normally experienced by a man. Having made the adjustments to their own satisfaction, my cousins unfastened the back clip of the bra' and handed it to me, breast forms and all, and I was instructed to 'now do it yourself. We're not going to be around to do it for you again'. It took me several attempts to fasten the thing around me properly, as my aunt, Sarah and Marie watched with expressions of amusement and contempt on their faces. Even then, I found I could only cope by fastening it around me backwards, to clip it up, before dragging it around the right way and thrusting my arms through the shoulder straps to lift it into position over my non- existent masculine breasts to receive the breast forms. Only when they were satisfied with my repeated but gradually improving, fumbling accomplishments did they move onto the next stage - stockings and suspender-belt. As Marie fastened the light, lacy delicate suspender-belt around my flanks and buttocks, Sarah bent and, instructing me to 'lift your foot, you idiot', slid stockings over my foot and up my legs to meet the waiting suspender straps. As before they made adjustments to the straps and the clips until they were satisfied with the tension they achieved then, again they unclipped my stockings, slid them off my legs and feet and unfastened my belt. Another period of trial and error on my part ensued until they were satisfied that I could make some attempt at fastening my suspender-belt, pulling my stockings on and clipping them up myself. And once again I found it necessary to fasten the belt on backwards and slide it round, and my attempts at straightening my stockings, and clipping them securely in place, brought further grins and derision from all three of my relations. The sight that suddenly greeted me as, at last dressed to pass muster in my cousin's opinions, I straightened and caught my reflection in the mirror, caused me to stop quite still, open eyed and wondering. There, in place of my usual nondescript masculine image, stood a more than personable young woman caught in her dishabille, with a more than pleasing bust-line encased in a pretty, delicate bra' complimented by a matching swathe of lacy blue nylon around her flanks supporting a pair of light blue nylon stockings. The incongruity of the masculine appendage that dangled between her thighs only served to enhance the femininity of the fresh faced, fair skinned form that looked back at me. And my 'masculine appendage' didn't dangle for long. Under my aunt's ministrations, my cock had shrivelled to its smallest, trying to hide itself between my thighs. Now, to the delight of my cousins and the continued amusement of my aunt, and despite my very real mental resistance and physical repugnance at what was happening to me, my cock began to respond ... and throb ... and grow until it stood out like a small flag staff which, even in that condition, still only added to the femininity of the image in my mirror. "Oho!" My aunt murmured with a tight little smile, as she looked in a deprecatory manner at my erection, "perhaps this isn't quite so obnoxious to your tastes as you pretend." My humiliation was now completed as the two sisters stooped to demand I lift each foot in turn so that they could slide on a pair of delicate, lacy panties that matched my bra' and suspender-belt and slide them up my nylon encased legs, over my thighs and into position around my flanks, buttocks and straining erection. The fact that my masculinity was now, technically, covered was no comfort. For a start, the diaphanous material was incapable of either disguising or restraining the strength of my erection and my rigid member tented out the silky, lacy material in a massive hump. Additionally, my misery was compounded by my disgust. Disgust that I had submitted to being clad by my cousins in their own cast-off and highly feminine clothes, and at my own reaction to the feel of those clothes around me. Even as I continued to rage inwardly at the treatment I was receiving, even as I mentally continued to resist the concept of being forced to adopt an ostensible gender reassignment, I was suddenly and bewilderingly conscious of the highly erotic and thrilling effect in the pit of my stomach, at the sudden activation of my tiny masculine nipples and on the electrically charged nerve ends of my skin, and particularly my genitalia, of the delicate femininity in which I was now dressed. Further, I was suddenly aware that the enforced nature of my feminisation - the physical compulsion I'd suffered at the hands of my two cousins - had played its part in awakening these strange feelings within me. The transformation continued. My delicate underwear was supplemented by a matching short-hemmed, lacy slip - that fell over my buttocks and flanks and the exposed expanse of pink thigh to settle just around my stocking-tops - that I now know is called a chemise. Finally my cousins added a plain linen blouse, the same shade of blue as my lingerie and stockings, and a short, slim, 'Royal' blue skirt of reasonable weight as befitted the seasonable late October temperatures. There, reflected in my mirror for the first time, was the image that has accosted me ever since - that of a slender, fresh faced, blond headed and, even if I now say so myself, attractive young woman. That first time her face was suffused with an expression of mixed horror, resentment, embarrassment and wonder. These days, nearly seventeen years later, her face seems to wear a far more audacious expression of assurance and contentment, with a hint of secret satisfaction. Almost as though she has some secret hidden within herself, which warms her and gives her a feeling of slight superiority over those she meets and has dealings with. A secret hidden within herself... or hidden within her panties! But a lot of heartache and learning, including the pains of correction, had to be endured before that assurance and contentment was achieved. The learning started that very evening when, after a desultory evening meal haphazardly prepared and cleared away by me; who up till then had hardly ever even buttered a piece of bread, my aunt handed me a pile of books. "You'd better take these and begin reading them straight away," she told me. "You won't get away with an offering like that again! I knew you were pretty helpless, but I didn't realise quite how bad you were! You'd better improve at least two hundred percent by the morning or you'll spend all day tomorrow nursing a bottom even sorer than it is this evening!" 'These' proved to be a basic cookery book and a selection of manuals for the washing machine, the steam iron, the gas cooker and the vacuum cleaner. I received them glumly, but without spoken protest, and retreated to my room where I did my best to study them only too aware of the likely consequences of failing to grasp at least the basics of the tasks that it was only too obvious would now fall within my purview. But gradually, as I endeavoured to make some sense of what seemed nearly a foreign language to me, I became increasingly aware of the delicate shift of my fragile underwear against and across my skin. As before, when my cousins had first slid my panties up around me, my epidermis seemed supercharged with electrical reaction and my cock welled up in one of the most intensive and strongest erections I'd ever known. I couldn't resist the overwhelming desire that suffused me. The manual I was then studying fell to the floor as I tried to raise my skirt to gain access to the root of my arousal. It proved to be too tight - the skirt that is - and I had to unclip and unzip it, and allow it to slide to the floor as my hands at last grasped the raging rod of my cock and flailed it, up and down inside and against it's silky, lacy, gossamer prison until, with a rush that set my heart racing, my chest heaving and my breath rasping in my throat, I exploded in a massive series of spasms and spent and spent myself into my panties - comprehensively saturating them with the sticky, starchy outcome [pun not intentional, but acknowledged!]. "Well," my aunt's voice commented in rather more than ironic tones, "perhaps it's as well you're doing the washing from now on, if that's the effect wearing panties is going to have on you, as you'll be wearing them full time for quite a while! Obviously, the prospect can't be quite as daunting as you tried to pretend earlier." I'm not sure how long my aunt had been standing at my door. Certainly long enough to witness the culmination of my actions, if not the start of them. Deeply embarrassed I started to stutter and mumble some kind of excuses. She stilled me with an icy look. "For goodness sake shut up!" She ordered. Then, "we won't want that nasty looking mess spoiling our clothes when you do the washing tomorrow. Take those off!" And, after I'd meekly complied, "you'd better come with me while I make sure you rinse them out separately, properly in the bathroom." So saying, giving me no time to replace my skirt, leaving my now flaccid but still naked cock hanging down well below the lace hem of my chemise, she marched me past my two cousins who had also been standing, enthralled, on the landing outside my room, and into the bathroom where she could supervise me as I rinsed out my panties in the washbasin, using hand soap, and wrung them out as well as I could to leave them hanging over the heated towel rail to dry off. All, of course, witnessed by both Sarah and Marie, who had 'fallen in' behind us to watch the show. "Right," my aunt now continued, almost as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to be addressing me as I stood chastened before her with my genitalia dangling below my feminine underwear, "I came up to fetch you down to make us a drink before bed. Back to your room, put your skirt back on and get into the kitchen. Don't put on a clean pair of panties at this time of night, much as you might like to. One pair of knickers a day is enough for any girl, most of the time. For you, without the obvious burden we carry, it should almost always be the case. Anyway, girls who make a mess of their knickers don't always have a spare pair handy and quite often have to put up with doing without them for the rest of the day. That will certainly be your fate if you repeat that activity! So, if I was you, I'd make sure I didn't make them unwearable too early in the day, in future, or you could get into some very embarrassing situations whist you're cleaning the house or, particularly, if you have to go out to do the shopping whilst you're knickerless!" Feeling even more chastened at that final thought, downstairs without any knickers on I had to go, to produce hot milk drinks for my three female relatives, and to wash the mugs and saucepan up afterwards! Naturally I'd let the milk catch on the saucepan, making the task much harder than it might have been. And Aunt Connie made sure it was clean to her satisfaction before she gave me my instruction regarding the following morning's breakfast and let me 'call it a day'. For my nightwear my cousins had produced a selection of flimsy, short skirted, chiffon nightdresses for me, each with a matching pair of skimpy, ruched, chiffon panties all far too small to contain my masculinity. And they, and my aunt, made sure I wore one of the matching sets when we all finally retired. I was a long time going off that night, as I lay pondering my future. One thing I was sure of, 'I'd better not oversleep the next day', and I'd already received my instructions regarding what to wear and what to prepare for breakfast. But somehow, even with those fears pressing down on me, it didn't occur to me to set an alarm clock! Chapter II: Correction Applied - rebellion suppressed. "Get up, you lazy little slob! We want our breakfast!" I was awoken by Sarah stripping the duvet off me, and bellowing in my ear. Further, before I could recollect where I was, why I was dressed in such a ridiculously 'girly' nightie and tiny fancy panties, what I was supposed to be doing or even what time it was, my cousin hauled me out of bed, threw me face down across my bed, ripped the hem of my nightie up above my waist, dragged the flimsy non-existent protection that was my panties down around my ankles and belaboured my poor buttocks - still recovering from the previous evening's assault - with the same hair brush. When she finally let up, I scrambled off the bed, kicked my panties off my feet, shrugged my way into the flimsy, frilly negligee that hung behind the door and fled downstairs - scarlet faced, tears streaming, cock shrivelled and withdrawn, buttocks throbbing and stinging for the second time in about twelve hours and, no doubt, redder than my face - to prepare breakfast, desperately trying to remember Aunt Connie's instructions regarding 'who liked coffee, who preferred tea, what cereals they wanted, which fruit juice and how they liked their toast'. It wasn't a 'bad dream'! This was now my reality! And if I didn't want my backside to suffer more than it already was, I'd better learn how to concentrate - fast! One thing, I never omitted to set my alarm clock again! The three of them left me to clear away the breakfast dishes as they showered and dressed. Then, calling me into her room as she sat in her underwear before her dressing table mirror, my aunt instructed me to make the beds and tidy up the rooms, recovering any discarded clothes for washing later, before I too showered and dressed ready for our shopping trip. "You can wear the same clothes you had on last evening," she told me, in a 'matter of fact, manner. "The panties you washed out last night should be fine. They'll be nice and dry by now. If you look in your wardrobe you'll find a nice warm jacket that matches the skirt, and a pair of suitable shoes. It shouldn't rain today. According to the forecast it should be a nice day, even if a bit chilly. So a little scarf and a pair of gloves wouldn't come amiss. Try and do something suitable with your hair. No need to bother with make-up at this stage. After all, as Sarah said, whether people recognise you, or guess your true gender, isn't important, what's important is the lesson you're learning. But, in your own interests, you'd do as well to look, move and behave as much like a girl as you can possibly manage, whilst you're dressed like that, particularly whilst you're 'out and about' or when we have visitors. Oh! And before we go out, you'll be cooking Spaghetti Bolognaisse for our evening meal. You'd better make sure we've got the necessary ingredients and plan just how you're going to get it ready, in case you need to buy anything. After all, that's what it's all about - having to think ahead, instead of having it all handed to you!" I didn't have time to raise any objections or do anything other than instructed, As for open rebellion; with so much on my mind and so many things to keep check of, it just wasn't an option. I was too worried making sure the beds were ready, the rooms tidy and all the discarded clothes carefully in the line basket, before I showered and dressed - fiddling with my bra' and suspender-belt clasps, straightening my stockings, packing my resurgent cock tidily in my panties [nice and warm from the heated towel rail!] and trying to 'blank out' the arousal that immediately engendered, locating the 'matching stylised Norfolk jacket' and a pair of Royal blue court shoes, with two-and-a-half inch heels, and finding scarf and gloves that seemed to match - and I had to check up on what I needed for the evening meal, and list what further I required [mushrooms and chives, the rest was in the larder!]. "You'll certainly have to learn to speed up a bit." Was Marie's laconic comment, as I finally presented myself to my three waiting relatives, "if you want to keep your bottom comfortable, that is? We've been ready for ages." "Now, now," my aunt mildly reproved her, "give the poor girl a chance. Remember, she still has a lot to learn and a lot to think about. By the way, what shall we call her? Charlie? Charlotte? No! I know. 'Girls, meet your cousin Cherry'." And 'Cherry' I became - from that moment on. The shopping trip started out as a nightmare. Aunt Connie parked her car in her office car-park and led us into the city shopping area, already crowded with Saturday morning shoppers, and into the departmental store at the top end of the high street. There we entered the lingerie section and she immediately commandeered the assistance of one of the sales women, choosing an elegantly clothed, made-up and coiffered woman who looked to be in her mid thirties. "I've decided that my nephew here needs a lesson in sexual equality," my aunt explained in conversational tones that carried beyond our immediate vicinity and around the floor. "He will be spending some time dressing, working and acting as a young woman. As you can see, my daughters and I have dressed him in some of their clothes as a start, but we consider it only fair that he should accumulate a wardrobe of his own that fits his stature and colouring and in which he can be expected to perform his newly assigned domestic responsibilities. Could you please measure him and we'll choose... say, half-a-dozen sets of lingerie, as a starter." Other than a blink, the assistant showed no surprise at my aunt's request and ushered us through the dressing room area and through a door marked 'Corsetry Fitting Room''. "Best in here, I think," she murmured. Then, "would you mind taking your clothes off miss... er, sir." For one fleeting moment, I contemplated refusal. But the presence of my aunt and cousins and the still recent memory of that mornings chastisement, quickly subdued the thought and, meekly enough, I removed my jacket, skirt, blouse and after brief hesitation on my part and the swift interception of my aunt's steely glance, my chemise. I stood there in my bra', panties, stockings and suspender-belt, and shoes as the assistant regarded me, critically. "Hmm," was her immediate reaction. Then, turning to my aunt, "these breast forms. I assume that theses are the size you've selected and wish to continue with?" My aunt inclined her head but made no audible reply. "It would probably be as well to acquire a couple of additional sets, unless you already have them of course. But I can use these as a basis for his bust measurement." Quickly she ran a tape around my chest, both around and immediately underneath my bra' cups, made a small adjustment to the set of my bra' and repeated the exercise. Then she measured down from my collar bone to the tip of my false breast before, bidding me 'unclip your bra' please' and gaining my obedience, she measured my chest around my nipples. Next, she measured my waist and hips before 'slip your panties down' she commanded, so that she could take my inside leg. The assistant, my aunt and my cousins now retired into a huddle to consider the measurements, and then left me to myself as they went off to find me some lingerie. Marie gathered up my outer clothes as she left, and my chemise, leaving me in my stockings and suspenders, unclipped bra' and with my panties around one ankle. Somehow, I hesitated to refasten my bra' or to pull my panties up, knowing - or at least guessing - that they'd be back with a selection of garments that I'd be expected to 'try on'. Instead I removed the both, bra' and panties, completely. I'm still not sure why I did it, then at least. The cubicle I was in was like an enlarged version of the spaces provided for 'trying on' clothes in most departmental stores. The enlargement was presumably intended to cater for an assistant, or fitter, in the provision of custom made lingerie and, like most of its smaller kind, was fitted with mirrors all round - including on the rear of the door. Almost in abstraction I regarded my quadruple reflections. As on the previous evening, now even without the bra' and false bust line, I was struck by the femininity of the images that greeted me. Images enhanced rather than diminished by my masculinity. On an impulse I slipped my cock and testicular sac between my legs and closed my thighs against them. Then, slowly rotating, I began to look at my reflected images anew trying to gauge how I would look if I were really a girl. "Don't do that," a soft voice almost pleaded behind me, "it looks so proud and noble standing out like that framed in such pretty femininity; your suspender-belt, suspender straps and stocking tops. You needn't be ashamed of being a boy underneath your clothes. It's exciting and I'd never dream of telling anyone." I whipped round, my face once again flushing scarlet, to regard a much younger shop assistant standing in the now partially open doorway with a pair of lacy nylon panties and two matching bras' in her hands - and something in a sealed plastic bag. My face drained to an ashen hue. For a moment I thought I was about to pass out and, as once before, I felt an almost irresistible desire to pee. But as my colour gradually returned those feeling receded. And my change in stance released my masculinity to its accustomed position. "Ella sent me in with these," my new companion continued, "she asked me to help you try them on for size. My names Phyllis, by the way." Phyllis's dark straight hair, brown eyes and golden skin confirmed her Sub-continental origins as she handed me the bra' and panties and now proceeded to open the sealed plastic bag to withdraw a pair of tiny plain white cotton briefs that she helped me into before she'd allow me to try on the panties. Her giggles as, with soft supple fingers each tipped with beautifully manicured nails she tried unsuccessfully to confine the whole of my masculinity in the tiny cotton briefs, were infectious and in no time I too was giggling nearly uncontrollably at her efforts - that just about managed to enclose my knickers, but left almost the whole of my shaft spilling out over the waist band in the same manner as it had with the tiny chiffon briefs I had worn in bed. At last, admitting that 'that's about the best we can do' she helped me into the panties and fastened the bra' about me sliding in the breast forms that my aunt had already provided. "Trouble is," Phyllis told me, "you're really between sizes. With a thirty two-and-a-half inch chest, you could do with something like a thirty seven inch bra'. We only do thirty six or thirty eight, unless you have them custom made. So I've got a 'thirty six B' and a 'thirty eight A'. Ella asked me to try both and decide which. Oh! The panties seem fine by the way," she added, brushing the bulge of my cock with her fingers with a tiny infectious grin on her face. After some time, and after swapping them a few times, Phyllis finally declared 'thirty six B I think. But Ella'll have to confirm it', and left me on my own again, taking the panties and bras' with her but leaving me now clad in my inadequate cotton briefs. I'd never previously realised quite how complicated fitting a bra' was. I suppose I'd just assumed you tried on one or two until you fixed on a size that suited and then got on with it. But, suddenly, my mood changed. The fun I'd had with Phyllis trying to get my cock into my briefs, her general attitude to my situation and the delicacy with which she'd handled the confirmation of the 'fit', suggested a whole new dimension to my enforced gender reassignment. Recalling the thrill and the arousal I'd acknowledged the previous evening, and Phyllis's words 'you needn't be ashamed of being a boy under your clothes', I began to think that after all this needn't necessarily be 'all bad'. Ella confirmed Phyllis's opinion when she came back to the fitting room and, in no time I was provided with six sets of lacy, feminine underwear of my aunt and cousins choosing. It was whilst I was replacing my original bra' and panties that the inevitable happened and my cock decided to finally succumb to the arousal to which it had been subjected since I first awoke. "Typical!" My aunt murmured, "dress a man or a boy in panties and, whatever his outward protestations, in reality he's in his element." "We do have experience with this, madam." Ella responded, "my colleague Dora, in the Ear and Body Piercing Unit downstairs, can carry out 'intimate body piercing', where, in the uncircumcised male, the foreskin can be attached to the scrotum with two small rings and a small padlock. That, of course, prevents the subject's penis achieving erection, but continues to underline the experience by allowing the whole of the genital area to be caressed and stimulated by the femininity of the garments that it's confined in." The mere thought of it brought tears to my eyes and a sharp pain to my masculinity, and my cock shrivelled into insignificance in self defence. I assumed my aunt would comply with the suggestion immediately. I was wrong. "No." She finally said, after a long period of reflection. "No, this whole exercise is designed to teach him to appreciate the unacceptability of chauvinist behaviour. It's basically immaterial if other people suspect his outward appearance is not all it seems. He will have to learn to control himself. If he doesn't want people to notice an obvious masculine bulge in his feminine exterior he'll have to learn how to suppress his reactions." Now, considering the scenario that my aunt had painted that now suddenly confronted me - of me having uncontrollable erections that pushed out my panties and discernibly distorted the front of my skirts and dresses - my mind began to vacillate between relief and apprehension! Perhaps, after all, an artificial restraint wouldn't be such a bad thing. The torture of that morning continued. From the lingerie department my aunt led us to the ladies clothes section where she secured the help of another assistant, in precisely the same way as before ensuring that the new assistant and any one else within reasonable hearing range was aware of my predicament. I had to endure a further period of trying on different combination s of skirts and tops, dresses and coats. But at least this time I was allowed to retain my underwear and, as my cock was still suffering its shock reaction to the thought of the 'intimate body piercing' it had so narrowly escaped, my panties managed to contain and conceal the inappropriate masculinity beneath without too much effort. Nevertheless that first time was still traumatic enough to keep me in a more or less permanent panic until; at last, my aunt was satisfied, called a halt and led us to one of her favourite haunts for a sandwich and coffee lunch. A strange thing happened at lunch. As we entered the small rather select dining area I happened to glance at a couple of girls who were sat in intimate conversation at one of the tables. I did a sort of double take as the face of one of them registered as Ronny, a previous friend of mine from school who had left to join his father in Belgium to study, after their family had split up, nearly fifteen months before. Ronny had been about the closest thing I'd had to a real friend, till then. We even looked a deal alike in both build and colouring and the girl who sat there looked so like him it was uncanny. It was even more uncanny when her friend sought her attention from the abstraction into which she'd appeared to drift by using her name 'Ronnie' - obviously Veronica. Lunch turned out to be only a respite. Aunt Connie now decided 'we might as well get some shoes, while we're at it' and marched us off to a rather exclusive shop where I was fitted with four pairs of plain court shoes, of different colours to match my newly acquired wardrobe, and a pair of 'heeled' sandals. This time my aunt made no comment regarding my position but, in measuring my feet, it was obvious from the colour of her face, and her sudden hesitation and confusion, that the assistant had a sufficiently good view up my tight skirt to identify the bulge in my panties made by my now recovering masculinity. I'm not sure whose face was redder - hers or mine. It was only by a miracle that I remembered to complete the necessary purchases for the evening meal. As I gloomily did my best to follow the menu for Bolognaisse I reflected that my aunt must have parted with more than enough money, in providing me with my new wardrobe, to underline the fact that this was no passing fancy on her part. She obviously meant what she said. The meal I prepared was accepted if not with gratitude, at least without disparaging comment and, as I washed up and cleared away, I reflected that my bottom seemed secure from further punishment safe for the moment. Not for too long, however. As I prepared for bed - having first served my aunt and cousins hot drinks, of course - Aunt Connie reminded me that the discarded clothes I'd retrieved earlier in the day had still to be sorted and put in the washing machine. "Oh! Surely they can wait till morning!" I was ill advised enough to complain. Retribution was swift and, for the second time that day, and the third time now in all, my skirt was summarily stripped off me, my panties were roughly tumbled down around my knees, I was bent over and my buttocks were belaboured with the hair brush. Scarlet faced and tearful I made to readjust my clothes. "Don't bother with that," my aunt commanded me, "those panties might as well go in with the rest straight away. In fact," she added, as she reached up under her own skirt and slid down her own knickers, "you might as well take these as well. Girls," she added to my two cousins, who had participated in my punishment, "give Cherry yours, too." In no time Marie's plain black satin pants and Sarah's tiny white lace briefs joined my pale blue, lacy nylon panties and Aunt Connie's elegant, lace trimmed, silk French knickers with the rest of the laundry. Then, to my astonishment all three of them stripped off their clothes and deposited most of them on the rapidly growing pile. My aunt stood up proudly in front of me, her splendid full, tight breasts tipped with pert and expanding deep pink nipples, her smooth rounded, flawless body glowing slightly in the artificial light, her resplendent brown bush the colour of her hair. The expectation was obvious, and I hurriedly removed my own clothes to add the rest of my underwear, my stockings and my blouse to the heap, retaining only my skirt as had they. Naturally, the sight of those three naked, beautiful women - Marie a younger version of her mother, Sarah fresh freckled skin with an auburn cascade of hair matched by the flame of her pubic bush - and my own nudity brought about an immediate arousal. Unlike its reaction to the previous chastisements, my cock rapidly thickened and thrust out. The sight of the three of them, standing naked in front of me their beautiful breasts, perfect bodies and wonderful legs, their profuse pubic thatches, indelibly printed itself on my mind. And Sarah particularly, with her rapidly engorging pink nipples and flaming thatch, became an instant, and abiding, masturbatory fantasy as I imagined her long supple legs tightening around my flanks as I penetrated her. My aunt's voice brought me out of my brief reverie. "It would be good idea if, from now on, you asked us each evening if we've anything we'd like to add to the laundry before you put it in to wash," was all my aunt's comment before, ignoring my condition completely, she set off upstairs as naked as my two cousins, who followed her, and as myself, who stayed downstairs to load the washing machine and - after studying the manual again - set it to switch on automatically in the early hours of the morning so that the washing would be ready for retrieval when I came down to prepare breakfast the next morning. 'At least', I thought I'd get a slight advantage as, that night, British Summer Time ended and the clock were put back an hour, which would give me a little extra time to get things organised. But in the event the next morning my poor misused buttocks received another beating! The fourth in about thirty-six hours. Inadvertently, despite my best efforts at understanding the instructions I'd studied, I'd managed to mix in one of Marie's tee-shirts, that wasn't properly 'colour fast', and all the whites in the load came out vaguely pinkish - including Sarah's white lacy undies and one of Aunt Connie's white satin working blouses. However that morning I did receive somewhat was in some ways a measure of relief. Aunt Connie told us that we'd be eating out that lunch time as she'd booked a table at Brazz, in the middle of the city. 'Great!' I thought, 'that'll mean I won't have to prepare a cooked meal', even if that relief was tinged with more than a degree of unease at the thought of having to comport myself as a girl in that sophisticated atmosphere. But my modest relief turned to absolute panic when she added that it would be quite convenient as 'we can leave the car in the church car- park and walk across the road after we come out church'. Until then it hadn't even properly registered that it was Sunday. And now my aunt had decided that today was a good opportunity to make one of our occasional church appearances. Although our church attendance wasn't by any means regular she ensured we went often enough that she and all three of the rest of us were known by the minister the Rev. Pat Deacon, and at least recognised visually by a fair proportion of the congregation. My aunt added that she would come up with me to watch me change to 'ensure that I dressed in something suitable'. My buttocks still stinging sufficiently to maintain the flow of tears brought about by my latest chastisement, I followed Aunt Connie upstairs. 'Something suitable' proved to be a delicate set of pale mulberry, lacy nylon lingerie - bra', panties, suspender-belt and a slim but full length slip - a pair of matching lacy nylon stockings, a slim fitting, high necked, long sleeved dress in some kind of delicate jersey wool of a deeper shade of mulberry than my underwear, with a pair of court shoes to match, and the jacket, scarf and gloves I'd worn on the previous day. After watching me struggle into my clothes without audible comment, but with several sighs and shakes of her head, my aunt called my two cousins to 'come and tidy her up and do something about her hair and face, for goodness sake' as she left to make her own preparations. Obligingly, Sarah and Marie made some adjustments to my clothes, fixed my hair in a recognisably feminine manner and applied a suitably delicate layer of make-up. And off we went to church. I'd made sure that I'd emptied my bladder before I left but, even so, one of my first actions on arriving at church was to make for the toilet [remembering just in time to make it the 'ladies'] in order to avoid wetting myself. As I sat moodily in one of the two stalls I contemplated locking myself in for the duration. But as my panic subsided somewhat a little imp inside of me urged me to go out and brazen it out and see how many people I could fool. 'After all', I reasoned within myself, 'if I can act in a sufficiently feminine manner, what ever their suspicions no-one will be able to be absolutely sure'. Besides, I knew that any attempt to dodge the column on my part would result in quick and even more embarrassing action on the part of my aunt and cousins. As it was I received a lot of curious looks as I made my way into the worship area to join my already seated relations. Although I recognised him, the shy smile and murmured thanks I gave the sides man, as he welcomed me and placed a hymn book in my hand, seemed to allay his curiosity somewhat. It was as the service proceeded that I gradually became aware that most of the nerve endings of my skin where taking on an electric tingle. Worse, the whole of my being became centred on my cock, which began to throb and pulse and expand. Looking down in horror I could see the skirt of my dress beginning to deform as the strength of my erection pushed it up into a highly unfeminine lump. Whether I made some noise or whether my body shift betrayed my predicament, I'm not sure; but both my aunt and Sarah - seated one each side of me - glanced down and also noticed the bulge, with amused concern. My attempts at distracting my mind and body, by concentrating on the words of the service [by then on Pat's discourse] were to no avail and my arousal strengthened. Suddenly there was nothing I could do but command my body to remain as still as possible, and my groans of passion to remain silent in my throat, as the inevitable happened and my pulsing cock pumped my climax into its delicate, lacy encasement. It was the first time I'd experienced spontaneous orgasm, whilst conscious. I hadn't even realised it was possible. I'd had a few 'wet dreams' of course but, in my naivety, I'd always assumed they'd occurred as a result of unconscious masturbation on my part. No one but my aunt and cousin seemed to notice and a second surreptitious inspection, after I'd recovered somewhat, revealed that the fabric of my panties and slip appeared to have been sufficient to prevent my outpourings creating any stain or shadow on the skirt of my dress. My downward glance also confirmed that, as my cock had shrivelled once it had discharged its' load, the bulge in my skirt had disappeared. But the sticky mess that now encased my masculinity was most uncomfortable for the remainder of the service and I was glad to make another 'bee-line' for the toilet as soon as I decently could to lock myself away again, remove my panties, once more relieve my emotionally charged bladder and tidy myself up as best I could. As I stood in the stall my saturated and sticky panties in my hand I wondered quite what to do next. Then my aunt's words came back to me 'girls who make a mess of their knickers don't always have a spare pair handy and quite often have to put up with doing without them for the rest of the day'. I certainly couldn't contemplate wearing these panties again. I didn't have a spare pair with me. And I doubted my aunt's acquiescence to a request to a return home for a replacement pair before we ate - even assuming we had time. It looked as though I was destined to 'do without' at least for the next part of the day. I was still alone as I came out of the stall and I took a chance on rinsing my panties out there and then in one of the washbasins. I'd nearly finished when a reasonably attractive middle aged woman came in and caught me wringing them out. "'The curse of Eve' my dear," she said. "I think you're wise to wash them out as soon as possible. I always do. Have you got everything you need? Pad? Spare knickers?" The last was said with a surprisingly girlish giggle. Then, "ah! I see from your expression that you haven't. Got a spare pair of knickers with you, I mean. Bad luck! I can't offer to lend you a pair, I've only just come 'off' myself, and I didn't bring any with me. You'll be in for rather a chilly time I'm afraid - till you get home." And her giggles increased. Flushing scarlet as the purport of her remarks registered, I mumbled something and gave her a hesitant smile that gradually widened until I too joined in her giggles; two apparent 'daughters of Eve' sharing a specifically feminine joke. Our giggles moderated as she turned towards one of the stalls and as, in a moment of inspiration prompted no doubt by the connotation of my new friends remarks, I took one of the small plastic bags marked 'feminine hygiene', slipped my still damp panties into it and placed them in my pocket. Mission completed I opened the toilet door and stepped out to face the world knickerless, still smiling to myself. For first time since my enforced transformation, I almost felt as though I was a girl, compelled by nature to forgo my usual essential security - not a boy in a masquerade of someone else's devising. In the vestibule my aunt and cousins were talking to the minister. They looked up as I approached and Pat addressed me directly in her pleasant 'mezzo' voice in tones distinct enough for me to hear but not so loud that others could. "It's an interesting experiment that you're undertaking," she said. "I sometimes think it'd do a lot of men good to explore their femininity at some time in their lives; and vice versa, if it comes to that. Anyway, as far I'm concerned you're welcome here in whatever persona you desire. I've told your aunt that I'll add your new name to the community role. It'll be pretty clear which one is appropriate to each occasion." One or two other people spoke to us as we departed; their curiosity obvious in the faces. Aunt Connie introduced me as 'Sarah and Marie's cousin Cherry'. If they recognised me as Charles they didn't say so but it was noticeable that no one asked where 'he' was. My new friend 'the lady of the loo' spoke to us again before we left. It was obvious from both her words and demeanour that she had no idea of my true identity. "I felt it only fair to Pat to explain you're apparent change in identity", Aunt Connie told me, as we walked from the church car-park to the restaurant. "I didn't want to embarrass you by telling her boldly that it was a punishment we'd imposed on you. Instead, I explained that you were exploring your feminine side. As far as every one else is concerned you will have noticed that I made no attempt to explain. They can work it out for themselves." The previous feelings of vulnerability and exposure that I had experienced, walking around the town dressed as a girl, were suddenly as nothing to the feelings of being knickerless under my feminine exterior. It felt as though my jacket, dress and slip had been stripped off me and I was obediently following my aunt and cousins dressed only in bra' suspender-belt, stockings and shoes, my masculinity only too obvious. And the feeling barely diminished during the rest of the day. I anticipated that, after lunch, we'd go back home. Instead my aunt declared that 'as it's such a pleasant autumn day we'll go down to the quay and walk along the river'. And when we got back to the car-park preparations were underway for the evening service. My aunt decided that 'it won't do us any harm to attend two services in one day' and led the way back into the church. My friend 'the lady of the loo' was now the side person. "Hello dear," she greeted me, with a companionable grin, as again I was handed a book, "everything okay?" Despite my continued feelings of vulnerability the strange sensation of transmogrification into real femininity, that I'd experienced earlier, returned. The evening was well advanced by the time we got home. My cousins surprised me by volunteering to make supper but I didn't get a chance to relax or to find myself a clean pair of panties. Aunt Connie took me straight into her study and presented me with a switch card and a wallet containing fifty pounds and a note of the card pin number. "You'll need to get used to shopping for our household requirements," she told me. "This card is for the household account into which I will pay three hundred pounds a month. I will also add a further one hundred and fifty pounds for your own personal use. Your wages if you like, in addition to your 'bed and board'. Should you find that that's not enough you'll have to tell me so; but I'll need a lot of convincing. The fifty pounds is for you to be 'going on with'. I've made out a list of things for you to buy tomorrow as a starter, but from now on that'll be your responsibility. The secret is in planning. Now we'd better get along, the girls will have just about got supper ready by now and I, at least, am ready for it. Don't forget, we three will be up early tomorrow for work and we'll need our breakfast. That is still your responsibility. And don't forget you've still got to round up tomorrow mornings washing." Then, with a slight but companionable grin on her face, "what did you do with your messy knickers, by the way?" Blushing before I spoke I explained how I'd washed them, folded them into a plastic bag and put them in my jacket pocket. Then, remembering the circumstances, and recollecting my new friend and her sympathy I added, rather boldly, 'after all, the bag was marked 'feminine hygiene''. She looked at me startled for a moment then, as with 'the lady of the loo', we both dissolved into a fit of the giggles. "You'd better get used to carrying a spare pair around with you," Aunt Connie eventually managed to get out. "That is, unless you enjoyed walking around without any knickers. I know I do sometimes." And now the giggles developed into gales of laughter. We were still laughing as we left the study and made our way to the dining room. "You two seem happy about something," Marie commented, with a query in voice. "Care to share it?" "No," was my aunt's studied reply, through her mirth. "I was just sharing a private joke with my pretty little niece here." As the four of us ate in a suddenly far more comfortable and companionable atmosphere, again the sensation of transformation pervaded me. Somehow, it didn't seem worth fetching another pair of panties for the remainder of the evening and, surprisingly assisted by my aunt and both my cousins; I cleared away the supper dishes and made my preparations for the next morning in a continued knickerless condition. Chapter III: Correction Accepted - position conceded. I It's surprising what you get used to. Only slightly more than a year before the onset of my enforced femininity I'd been living at home, an 'only child', doted on by two loving parents. In the midst of the emotional turmoil of loosing both of them at once I'd had to move to the very different household of my aunt ant two cousins. There is no doubting both their love and their concern for my plight, but their attitudes were so startlingly dissimilar to my mothers in particular that, once our initial mutual grief had moderated, clashes were inevitable [as I've already indicated]. Before our bereavement and right up to the time of my aunt's final loss of patience I'd seldom given a thought to any ones comfort apart from my own and I'd continued to expect everything needed to just 'happen'. Now, I was suddenly responsible - for it all! Again, up to the time of my aunt's action I'd never thought to question my own masculinity; I'd never, like some ... many boys, 'experimented' by dressing in my sister's or mother's clothes. I hadn't got a sister for a start. Even after my remove to the home of my strikingly attractive aunt and two equally attractive female cousins, and to their highly feminine wardrobes - all three - I'd never been tempted. Now, I was required to dress in as feminine a manner as they - more so in fact! During the week my aunt and Sarah were inclined to wear trouser suits for work and Marie had to wear her school uniform, at least during the day, and was inclined to change into trousers when she got home. Weekends, they were all three more inclined towards skirts and dresses. I wore skirts and dresses daily. And my underwear, both that provided initially from my cousins wardrobes and that purchased specifically for me during that first 'shopping expedition', consisted of the most delicate and feminine fabrics and styles available commensurate with emphasising my gender reassignment. And the truth was I was beginning to enjoy both changes. Prior to the 'nose dive' in my scholastic achievements my favourite study topics had been in the applications of modern technology, and critical path analysis. My tutors [we didn't have 'teachers' at sixth form level!] were convinced I was destined to become some kind of 'critical path' adviser. I found the challenge of ensuring the smooth running of the household both intriguing and satisfying. Cleaning the house eventually proved to be relatively easy, given the standard of the modern household appliances my aunt had already purchased for her own [previous] convenience. It all seemed to hang on establishing a routine that predicted where and what should be done at any particular time, leaving some allowance for interruption and the unusual. As I became increasingly more familiar with the workings of the washing machine, tumble dryer, cooker, microwave, dishwasher, vacuum cleaner and steam iron, and as the routine began to be established, even the time I spent on individual tasks reduced giving me more time to plan and anticipate and to continue to develop my systems and strategies. I had my disasters, of course. Mostly meals spoiled in the cooking or late or, my longest standing continued nightmare, clothes spoiled by injudicious use of the steam iron. And each disaster brought its own promised retribution - to my poor buttocks. But those occasions diminished as time continued and I found that the severity of chastisement diminished in intensity in proportion to the reduction in regularity. By Christmas most of the time things were going pretty smoothly and much of the discipline I still received was more in the way of a couple of comparatively playful swipes at my still unprotected rear end [my skirts still being whisked up around my waist and my panties tumbled down around my knees on each occasion] by which ever of my relatives considered that I'd transgressed. I say much of it. My aunt and my younger cousin, at least, reduced the severity and frequency of the blows they administered. My older cousin, Sarah, continued to administer her punishments with the same vigour as before, and seemed to take particular pains to continuing to review my increasingly more adept performance in as critical a light as possible. The actuality of shopping was easy enough. The single benefit that accrued from the loss of my parents was my inheritance of their combined estate. Held in trust for me until I attained my majority [in the UK my eighteenth birthday] was a considerable sum. My aunt and my bank, the joint trustees, had early on decided that 'learning to drive and the purchase of a suitable small car would be a useful distraction' to my inevitable dis