The Liberation Of Father Mortimer
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"Oh my God... Oh my God!!" Instantly my heart is pounding and sweat is
dripping from my face. I heard her only seconds before she entered the
room. "Oh my God, what am I going to do?" My stomach aches; I can't
breathe.
"What are you doing?" she asks. I sit there on my knees with my feet tucked
under the bed. I can't force any words out of my mouth. I think I'm going
to throw up. She sees the anxiety on my face. "What are you hiding?" she
asks suddenly in a voice that conveys both anger and concern.
"N...Nothing," I stammer. Now she knows I'm hiding something. "Stand up,"
she commands, "What are you doing in here?" The questions come too fast for
me to handle; I just sit there. "Stand up!" she orders again. I feel tears
beginning to form in my eyes. "What's the matter with you?" she asks and
kneels down beside me. Now she notices that I'm hiding my feet. "What are
you hiding?" she asks again a little more forcefully. She tugs on my arm.
"STAND... UP!" she barks pulling on me. My tears are flowing freely and I
begin to openly cry. She's pulling harder now. I reach beneath the bed and
grab the bed frame with my other hand. "Damnit," she yells, "What are you
hiding under there?"
"No, mommy, no!" I cry, but she won't relent. My ten-year-old body is no
match for her strength. She drags me out from under the bed exposing my
feet, which are encased in her high heels. I'm wearing knee high stockings
with her black strappy sandals. I feel my face flush with embarrassment,
but that's not what's making me so uncomfortable. I feel an almost
unbearable tightening in my abdomen. It's like climbing the rope in gym
class. I grunt and scramble away from her, more embarrassed by my now
stiffening penis than I am about the shoes.
"What the hell are you doing?" she yells, not expecting an answer. I remain
silent wanting to die. She stands up and I feel even more powerless as she
towers above me. I cower trying to hide the high heels once again, this
time under the chest of drawers.
"Don't hide your shoes," she orders, but I don't listen. A quick smack
across my face gets my attention and I quickly pull my feet out from under
the drawers. I try to kick one of the shoes off with the other foot, but
the strap going around the ankle keeps it from coming off. She sees me
trying to get off the shoe and her face turns from pure anger to almost a
smile. But I don't like the looks of that smile. "Oh don't try to take them
off, dearie," she hisses through her smile. "You wanted to wear those high
heels? You're going to wear them for the rest of the day!"
I feel numb in my extremities as I stand in the corner awaiting the
imposition of my punishment. My mother is rooting through her closet to
find the "perfect" outfit. The ball of my feet is getting pushed further
and further into the front of the sandals forcing my nylon covered toes out
the front. With nothing else to do I examine the sandals in detail. They
have a black wooden sole that curves up to the top of a three inch spiked
heel. Four wide strips of leather encase the balls of my feet revealing
just a hint of flesh on the sides between the straps. The four straps come
together in a pretty little bow situated just above my toes. Why am I so
attracted to these shoes; what possessed me to put them on? I ask myself.
But now a more pressing question presents itself: what is that feeling?
My mother returns. If she noticed I was staring at the shoes, she doesn't
mention it; she's too happy to be dressing up "her little girl". With my
mother watching, I take off my t-shirt and shorts. My rock hard penis is
obvious under my briefs. My penis has been hard before, but never like
this. I sit down on the bed and my mother unbuckles the sandals and has me
remove them along with the knee highs. "You can only wear knee highs with
pants," she says, "and you definitely won't be wearing any pants for the
rest of the day." I know she's not bluffing. What will my father think when
he gets home? She pulls out a fresh pair of pantyhose. The name of the
color on the package burns its way into my brain. I'll never forget it...
"Barely Black". I shudder at the thought that I'm going to wear pantyhose.
"Now you have to stretch on pantyhose," my mother instructs me, "or else
they'll bag." Carefully she rolls one leg into a ball and has me point my
toes and put my leg it. The sensation of the material rolling up my legs is
unlike anything I've ever felt before. These are much softer than the
course, nylon knee highs I had been wearing. Is that silk? "Now you try!"
she commands once that leg is up to my knee.
With trembling fingers I roll the other leg into a ball like she had
demonstrated. I point my toe and begin to stretch the material up my other
legs. My mother just giggles. Once it's up to my knee I begin working the
pantyhose up my legs slowly, first one leg and then the other. When they
reach my waist, I'm almost overcome. There's no way those can be my legs.
They look so smooth and feminine. The feeling's getting stronger... I don't
like it, but I don't want it to stop.
Next my mother has me slip on one of her black slips. It buttons in the
back and although I'm smaller than her, it still feels tight. Maybe it's
because of the bulge in my crotch. How can she not notice? But she says
nothing about it. She orders me to stand up. The slip stops right at knee
level and I'm amazed that such a light and delicate item can feel so
restrictive.
"Raise your arms over your head," she commands and I obey. A blue dress is
pulled over my head and my arms slip into the long sleeves. I haven't seen
her wear this dress in some time. Maybe it has shrunk in the wash because
it feels rather tight, even on me. The shade of blue is somewhere between
royal blue and turquoise and it's accented by black buttons up the front
and a peplum over the straight skirt that ends just below my knees. I find
it hard to breathe as she fastens the buttons up to and including the top
one. She goes to her drawer and pulls out what appears to be a type of tie.
I hadn't noticed, but there are thin strips of black material around the
mandarin collar of the dress and the little tie fits perfectly through them
and goes around my neck. The tie fastens in the back with a few buttons
leaving a simulated knot right in front of my neck. I look at myself in the
mirror and the tie reminds me of a dog collar. Strangely enough, I find
this thought exciting. The last part of the ensemble is the wide, black
leather belt that's been lying on the bed. It fits through black loops at
the waist and like the ones around the collar, once the item is in place,
you cannot see the loops. My mother pulls the three inch wide belt tight
around my waist and buckles it making my tiny waist look even more
diminutive.
She stands me up, looks me up and down, smiles and then says, "Go put on
your high heels!" I stand there petrified. I swear I just felt some sort of
gurgling in my abdomen. Something about the shoes seems to make it worse. I
grab the shoes and begin to put them on like I had before. I slide my foot
into one of the shoes and then sit on the bed on my knees reaching behind
me to buckle the strap. My mother seems amused at my awkwardness. But
something's definitely wrong because I can't stop my hands from shaking...
I can't get the buckle closed. With a loud huff she walks over and buckles
my shoe. Then she takes the other shoe and has me step into it. Carefully
she wraps the long strap around the back of my ankle and then closes the
little buckle. "Walk for me!" she commands. I walk in a tiny circle around
the room trying not to trip. "You're definitely going to need some practice
walking in those heels," she laughs. But it doesn't seem so funny to me.
"Mommy, I don't feel so good," I say squeezing my knees together to try and
make the strange sensation go away. It only makes it worse.
"That's your punishment, dearie," she says coldly. "That's what happens to
little boys who wear dresses and high heels!" What happens? I get sick? My
breath is short and I feel like my insides are being tied in knots ? I want
to sit down, but she won't let me. "Walk for me... Walk for me in your high
heels." I walk, more like stumble, down the hallway. Walking forces my feet
down into the front of the shoe and I feel like I'm going to fall forward.
I compensate by leaning back, but I must look ridiculous. "No, No, No!" she
corrects me, "bend your knees slightly so you don't fall over." I do this
and she walks towards me. "See? Isn't that better? And don't your legs look
so feminine in those pantyhose and high heels?" Something about those
words... "feminine"... "high heels" makes me feel like I'm going to pop. I
try to say something, but I can't find the words. Nothing comes out but a
slight squeak. A squeak? What's happening? I run back to the bedroom.
Running in heels is a unique sensation and it doesn't seem to help matters.
What's happening to me?
I get back to the bedroom and sit down on the bed. She follows me and
laughs. Her laughter makes the feeling worse. "Oh no," she tells me with
mock sincerity, you have to cross your legs like a proper young woman. I
feel my face flushing. My breath becomes increasingly short. I feel like
I'm going to cry. Or am I going to laugh? I can't tell. Without knowing
why, I cross my legs like she tells me. I'm surprised at how easy it is to
do. My covered legs slide easily against each other and my right legs just
sort of hangs over my left leg. I find myself rotating my ankle like I've
seen woman do. It feels... natural. But more importantly, I feel better; my
breathing returns to normal. My mom wipes the sweat from my forehead. "Do
you feel better now?" she asks. Does she know what's going on? How could
she not be aware of the bulge under my skirt? I've heard kids at school
talk about when a penis gets hard. They call it a "boner". Does having a
boner mean that you like to wear dresses?
"Well if you're feeling better, I think you need to help me with some
woman's work in the kitchen." My mom has never been much for "woman's
work" or "men's work" for that matter, but she's trying to humiliate me. I
can only imagine that we'll spend the rest of the day cleaning, doing
laundry and probably cooking dinner. The thought of my father seeing me
like this makes me ill. Even so, I get up and, remembering to bend my knees
slightly, am able to walk better. The feeling in my mid section has
subsided, but my boner is as large as ever. I walk to the kitchen with my
mom following.
But something happens when I walk in the kitchen. Something causes the
sickening feeling to come back ten times more intense than it was before.
When I step into the kitchen onto the vinyl floor, the heels make a clip-
clop sound that they hadn't made on the carpeting. Involuntarily my knees
press together tightly. I take a few more steps. Clip-clop... clip-clop...
I can't stop it. I begin to cry. "Mommy?... Mommy?!" I scream, my voice
becoming frantic. The look on her face changes. Something is wrong!
"Oh Jesus!" she says as if she's just now figure out what's going on.
"Quick, back to the bedroom!" But I can't move. Tears are pouring from my
eyes. I try to speak but only high pitched squeals come out. What's wrong
with me? She pulls me, but it's difficult to walk, never mind in high
heels. Somehow we get to the bedroom.
"Mommy!" I'm crying, "I don't want to be a girl! I don't want to be girl!"
"I know," she says, not knowing what to do as I writhe on the bed. "Hold
still," she tells me, "I've got to get your dress off." My dress? That just
makes the feeling even more intense. I can only breathe in short bursts.
When I exhale I squeak. Am I going to die? I don't want to die in a dress
and high heels. I reach down to try and take off the shoes, but my hands
and feet are shaking uncontrollably. When I see my legs in the pantyhose
and feet in the high heeled sandals I lose what little control I had left.
My eyes bulge wide then roll back into my head. I think my heart's stopped.
My pelvis is pumping furiously into the air; I'm bucking like a wild pony.
Suddenly everything is calm. I'm still screaming, "I don't want to be a
girl," but now it seems foolish so I stop. I'm out of breathe and somewhat
nauseous, but the feeling is completely gone. And my boner is shrinking.
What happened? What was that? My mom has a blank look on her face. I think,
for the first time, she has absolutely no idea what to do.
"I guess you better get changed," she says with no certainty in her voice.
I have no trouble taking off the shoes or the dress now. When I'm
undressed, she tells me to get cleaned up. I'm sweaty, but no more than
when I play outside. Why do I need to clean up? I walk out of the room
leaving her sitting on the bed. As leave the room, I'm overcome with shame.
It's so intense; it almost makes me fall over. I promise myself I'll never
wear woman's clothing again.
(Yeah... right!)
Haven
- 18.03.2020
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