The Feminization Of Leslie, Part One free porn video

Author's Preface This story follows the classic "petticoat punishment" form that many readers will already find familiar, although it may be rather longer and more detailed than some. This means, of course, that it is not intended to be taken entirely seriously. It is, after all, fantasy. The story was largely inspired by the wonderful petticoat punishment artwork of "Christeen", which is itself rather fanciful (though beautifully rendered and quite sensual). In fact, as a kind of homage to her and her talents, I have called the private school herein the "Christeen Academy". I hope, should she hear about this, that she will take it in the spirit it is intended, as a compliment and a gesture of respect. However, should she object, I would be happy to replace the name with a different one. Some may find this story a little darker and "grittier" than many stories in this genre. The idea of a clandestine, but highly organized cadre of wealthy women dedicated to controlling and feminizing boys may seem a little sinister to some readers, but just remember: after all, it's only fiction... The main character, Leslie, does not appear at all in Part One, which can be thought of as a rather lengthy preamble to the story proper (although there are still several feminization situations!), and is rated G. Part Two is also G-rated (or, at least, "PG-13"), but Part Three will be rated R, and Part Four will be rated X (personally, I think it falls somewhere between R and X, but, it's probably best to go with the higher rating, to avoid any possible complaints!). A note on personal pronouns: The use of personal pronouns in a transgender story is always a little tricky. Is it correct to call a lovely, feminine boy wearing a beautiful dress and heels "he"? Throughout this narrative I have tried to use pronouns very deliberately, as a clue for the reader as to the "gender-status" of the character. A boy who has fully embraced femininity and delights in assuming feminine dress and behavior would be referred to as "she", while a boy who assumes the same clothing and mannerisms only because he is being forced to would still be called "he". Occasionally, the usage might change in mid-narrative to indicate a change in status. This is likewise deliberate, and hopefully not too confusing to the reader. And of course, in the dialog, the use of pronouns is situational, and entirely up to the speaker. I admit to a little self-plagiarism with this story. A few of the basic ideas and scenes were lifted from two of my earlier forced-fem stories, The Re-Education of Jesse and My Journey. So, if you have already read those stories, you may occasionally find passages in this one fleetingly familiar; but hey, if you can't steal from yourself, who can you steal from? I would have liked to call this story "Leslie in Petticoats"; unfortunately, that title is already taken by a wonderful story (posted here) written by Jenny Leeds. So instead I decided to call it... The Feminization of Leslie Part One Chapter One - Mrs. Marsden When she was just twenty-five, Mrs. Marsden's much older husband died suddenly. He was a zoology professor at the local university and had been leading a group of his students on a field trip in the early spring. They were walking along the frozen surface of a lake close to the shore -- Professor Marsden gesturing with his walking stick at the abandoned mud swallow nests clinging to the cliffs above their heads -- when he'd abruptly fallen through the ice. The water was shallow and he only went in up to his waist, but a minute or so later, as he sat on the ice, cursing and wringing the freezing water from his socks and trouser legs, he'd suddenly clutched his chest and keeled over, and while his students stared in stunned, disbelieving horror, he'd expired in under a minute. His wife was eight months pregnant at the time, and the shock of hearing of her husband's death had sent her into labor. While her husband's body lay on a steel table in the morgue three floors below her; she'd given birth to a tiny baby boy. Throughout her young life, Mrs. Catherine Marsden never made any bones about her dislike for the male sex. She'd been abandoned by her father at an early age; this much was certain. The abuse that she'd claimed to have suffered at the hands of her older brother and, later, her uncle, was less so. The therapist to whom she'd confided these memories had been unconvinced of their verisimilitude at the time. Nevertheless, these events she held up as justification for her abhorrence of all things masculine. This was not to say that she eschewed men. Quite the opposite, in fact, but her requirements in male companionship were very specific. They must be weaker than her and easily controlled. They must submit to her wishes. They must be subservient. When she came of age, she decided that she ought to have a husband, someone who was well situated, and thus could provide for her (in the manner to which she would LIKE to become accustomed), but it was essential that he still conform to her established criteria in all other ways. When she was barely twenty and still in university she met Dr. Isaac Marsden at a college social, and quickly decided that he met her prerequisites for a potential spouse. First of all, he was quite wealthy. He held several patents on innovative designs for some field instruments; he had written a number of successful books, and he had invested his money shrewdly, all of which brought him a generous income. His tenure as a professor at the local university was more for love of teaching than as a source of needed revenue. She set out to woo him, and, as she had grown into a strikingly beautiful young woman possessing feminine wiles in abundance, she met with easy success, and in a remarkably short time they married. He was also older than her and, by his demeanor, suitably mild-mannered and ineffectual, leading her to believe that as a husband he could be easily dominated. In this she was not entirely correct, and although he never raised his voice to her, and was typically quiet and deferential in her presence, he determinedly maintained his own independence and brooked few compromises to his established lifestyle. This infuriated his young wife, but she saw little recourse, and in any case the rest of her life, moving as she did into his large, private estate in a well-to-do section of town and otherwise partaking fully of his affluence, was in general more than satisfactory. Possessing no small measure of ambition -- not to mention intelligence -- she set about molding herself into the very model of the successful, glamorous wife of a successful, respected member of the community. She joined clubs, learned bridge; she was a demon on the tennis court. She gave of herself to various worthy causes, and made friends within the community of wives in their chic, upscale neighborhood. She became a paragon of moneyed fashion. She joined a spa, hired a personal trainer, and frequented the most exclusive aesthetics salons. By day she dressed only in expensive suits, dresses and shoes, her makeup, hair and nails perfect. By night, radiant amidst the glitterati at a posh opening-night or an exclusive party, she wore only designer gowns, real diamonds sparkling at her neck and ears. She looked good, and knew it. Eminent photographers offered to take her picture, artists begged her to sit for portraits. Film directors asked if she had ever considered acting as a career. These attentions flattered her, but she saw no reason to indulge them. She had, after all, nearly everything she wanted. Nearly. In fact, the only thing missing in her life, in those moments when she was honest with herself, might be a daughter, a daughter whom she could, love, spoil, indulge, and raise in her own image. It was therefore with towering dismay that she discovered, via amniocentesis in the second trimester of her pregnancy, that she was in fact carrying a male fetus. She blamed her husband, of course -- the male sperm determines the sex of the offspring, after all -- and she bore down on him unmercifully, becoming yet more demanding and imperious, availing herself in full measure of the privileges of her 'delicate condition'. This he endured this with humble good humor, which only fed her irritation, but when he had the colossal bad taste to die unexpectedly mere weeks before she was due, Catherine suddenly found herself alone in the world with a male baby. Alone, that is, but for a fully paid-for, six-bedroom mansion on nearly ten acres of impeccably sculpted grounds, a cook, a gardener, a live-in maid, a comfortable income from her husband's investments and patents, and a seven-figure life insurance policy. Following the revelation that her first child would be a boy, Catherine had begun to contemplate a plan, of sorts, that might serve to deal with this unfortunate turn of events. It was ill-formed and vague at first, and while her husband was alive she despaired of ever realizing it, but, now that he was gone, she saw no reason not to put it into practice, and see what happened. Her first order of business, on returning home with her newborn, was to wind up her husband's affairs. As she expected, his will was in order, and left everything to her. His insurance policies came to rather more than she expected, totaling nearly two million, and while she arranged his funeral --lavish, as befitted a loving, well-heeled, grieving widow - - she began to enact the first phase of her plan. Phase one of her plan went as follows: She first assured the existing staff that they would be kept on, at least for the time being, and also started interviewing nannies. She named her young son Leslie, that being the most androgynous name she could think of; she trimmed his room with lace and frills, and bought expensive baby furniture, a crib, changing table, stroller, bassinette, pram and so on, in shades of pink; she decorated the nursery in similar tones, arranging antique porcelain dolls on the shelves, hanging paintings of pinafored girls and Degas ballerinas on the walls. She also bought infant clothes in pink, or ambiguous colors like lemon yellow or ivory, all trimmed with lace and frills, in which she dressed her new baby. And, at the same time, she began making certain discreet inquiries, and dropping subtle hints to some of her more trusted friends. For his nanny, she settled on a Scottish woman, austere but elegant, at the onset of middle-age, and possessing impressive credentials. Although it was made clear in the pre-interview that the Marsden baby was a boy, the prospective employee didn't bat an eye when introduced to the child, lying in his crib amid pink flounces and lace. It was this, as much as the credentials, that convinced Mrs. Marsden to hire her. She would, she assured Catherine, look after the child as if it were her own. Fine. -- Although Catherine couldn't be aware of it at the time, as she began to make her first cautious inquiries, in fact there existed within the upper-class community of her neighborhood an elaborate, but clandestine network of like-minded women. So organized, they met regularly to plan, collaborate, share information, enact ever more sophisticated campaigns, and further entrench their control over their charges. So it was that, as news of her interest spread and she thus came to their attention, meetings were held, and discussions undertaken, to determine if Mrs. Marsden should be admitted to the inner sanctum of their confidence. It was encouraging, they concluded, that she dressed her baby in pink and hired a nanny, but was that enough? What was her long-term goal? It was decided that they should watch her carefully, scrutinize her child-rearing conduct, and at a later time, if she was deemed suitable material, they would approach her. -- "It appears she may intend to raise the boy as a girl," said one woman, as she sipped her frozen daiquiri. There were seven of them on this occasion, lounging under a patio awning beside a glittering blue swimming pool in the back yard of one of their number, a plate of sandwiches and a frosty pitcher before them on the table. It was high summer; the heat of the sun was intense, but a cool breeze, chilled by the central air conditioning, fanned outward from a concealed vent on the patio. They were all young and attractive, these mothers of the neighborhood, elegantly underdressed in white capris, halter tops and blouses, or tennis costumes, with wraparound Ray-Bans, stiletto-heeled sandals. "Perhaps we should contact her before she commits to something she'll regret later," said the young woman to her right as she reached for her glass, her perfect nails and enormous diamond ring gleaming in the flickering sunlight reflected from the water. "I mean, the child is nearly three, isn't he? The approach she takes now will be of the utmost importance later on." "How do you know she'll regret it?" asked a third, "Perhaps this is exactly what she wants." "I think not," replied the first, "I sense that she is... how shall I put it? 'Simpatico'. I think she may find that raising him as a girl will eventually prove to be most unsatisfactory. I mean, it would be for me, certainly. Where's the element of discipline, of dominance? As we all know, if he is unaware of his masculinity, then there's nothing to withhold, to strip away, is there? There would be no sense of disempowerment, of loss. There's no punitive element, and therefore, no means of control. Once she comes to that realization on her own, I think she'll find her current approach most inadequate, don't you? But by then, it may be too late to change. We could help her to avoid making a mistake." "I agree," put in Alison, the hostess, "Another daiquiri, anyone?" she added as she reached for the pitcher. "I do believe that Catherine is 'simpatico' as you put it, Cynthia, and it may be time to make her aware of our little club, and the resources that we can put at her disposal. I mean, we have perfected our methods over time, with one another's help. She could hardly be expected to come to as refined understanding as we have on her own, could she? "Yes," she concluded, leaning back in her lounge chair and sipping from her glass, "Yes, I think it's time we approached her..." Helen was elected 'first contact'. -- "It's good of you to come over, Helen," Catherine said as she offered the other a cool drink in her spacious sunroom, "It gets so lonely here sometimes." In this she was not being entirely truthful. While she may not have been as socially active as she was when her husband was alive, she nevertheless regularly left little Leslie with the nanny, while she attended various social functions, plays, parties. Helen was well aware of this, but decided that it would be less than productive to her mission to point this out. "Oh I know!" she agreed, "How is little Leslie? Is the nanny working out? Do you have enough help?" "Oh yes, more than enough. Although," she went on, "of course, it's a lot of work, even an only child. But Mrs. Tibbets, my nanny, is a wonder. And Leslie is just fine. Growing like a weed, naturally." "He must be almost three, isn't he?" Helen continued. Catherine hesitated at Helen's use of the word 'he'. Although she'd never exactly concealed her child's sex, she nevertheless tried, casually, to convey the impression that he was in fact a girl. "Yes," she replied after a short pause, avoiding the other's eye, "Yes, three next month." "And oh, he's just so adorable!" the other gushed suddenly, "So pretty in his little dresses! So much nicer than coarse overalls and jeans, don't you think?" Helen knew she was treading cautiously toward delicate territory. She wanted to indicate enthusiastic approval of Catherine's keeping Leslie in feminine attire, and at the same time demonstrate that she shared a certain commonality of interest. On the other hand, she didn't want to come on too strong, and risk spooking the other woman, who might see this comment as a preamble to some kind of criticism. "Well, yes," Mrs. Marsden responded, blushing slightly, "He's still a baby, of course, and well, to be honest I always did want a daughter. I saw no harm in indulging myself a little while he's still too young to notice..." "Certainly! Oh, but surely you don't want to relinquish his dresses later on, do you?" Helen said, making her eyes wide, "I mean, it would be such a... such a letdown, to have to begin rearing him as a boy after... well..." she left the rest unspoken. Catherine pursed her lips, thinking. After a few moments, she said cautiously, "Well, yes I see what you mean, but, well... he will have to go to school, and..." She paused again, shrewdly calculating how much of her motives and desires it was safe to reveal. "To be honest," she continued after a moment, "I suppose I did entertain the possibility of... well, raising him as a girl... but of course," she laughed ruefully, "Of course, that's impossible." There was a short silence. "Perhaps..." Helen said slowly, playing with the straw in her drink, "Perhaps it's not quite as impossible as you might think..." -- Catherine was sitting in Helen's living room, with Helen and Alison, who was the de facto leader of their little clan. Coffee and cake was being consumed. "Now, Catherine," Alison began, "as Helen has intimated, it may not be as difficult as you might think to keep little Leslie in skirts, but of course you will need to make some arrangements, and you'll need some guidance. Fortunately," she smiled, "We're here to help." "I see," Catherine said carefully, "So, am I to understand that you yourselves have done this?" "In a way, yes," Helen put in, "but, well, let's just speak frankly for a while, and then you can decide for yourself if you wish to avail yourself of our help. I daresay I think you will when you hear what we have to say. Now, Catherine, I'm going to ask you directly: do you think it's going to be the right thing to raise Leslie as a girl?" "Are you trying to talk me out of it?" Catherine responded, with a hint of irritation. "Is that what this is about?" "Certainly not! Quite the opposite, in fact," Alison said quickly, in a placating tone, "If that is truly what you want. However, if I may speak plainly, I think we may have some alternative ideas that you may find more to your liking." "Such as?" Catherine said, rather frostily. Despite the others' assurances, she still hadn't shaken the suspicion that she might have walked into an ambush. "Well," the other began carefully, "We have found over time that the approach of simply raising the child as a girl lacks certain desirable... attributes. For example, the element of discipline, or control, if you will. You see, after a while, usually around puberty, or shortly before, the boy's inner nature will invariably assert itself. In other words, he will, even while dressed and living as a girl, begin to act more and more like a boy. And, without the proper disciplinary grounding, we have found that it can be exceedingly difficult to temper this unruly behavior. "Now, we have found that the best approach is to apply something that we call 'petticoat discipline' or 'petticoat punishment'. What that means, quite simply, is this: The boy retains complete awareness of his masculine status, but, ostensibly as a disciplinary technique, he is made to dress and behave in a feminine manner. The ultimate goal is to have a well-behaved, feminine boy living, more or less constantly, as a girl. This provides a number of advantages. You see, by making the imposition of femininity a means of punishment, the twin elements of embarrassment and humiliation may be brought to bear on the child as a means of tempering any undesired behavior. Simultaneously, praise and... er, other incentives... may be employed as reward for the adoption and eventual acceptance of feminine clothing, manners and behavior." "And of course," Helen added, "the application of petticoat punishment allows us to impose extreme femininity, of a level that would be very unlikely to be realized when merely raising a girl. The most feminine garments can be employed, lacy crinolines, high heels, evening gowns... petticoats, naturally... the most gorgeously feminine jewelry: pearls, rhinestones, even diamonds on occasion! Necklaces, bracelets, rings, earrings... we pierce their ears, of course. Wedding dresses, bridesmaid's dresses, and pretty lingerie like corsets, garter belts and stockings, bustiers... and of course lots of makeup, false eyelashes, lipstick. We can also include elements that are semi-permanent. Long, polished nails, for example, feminine hairstyles, plucked eyebrows, shaved legs. We even employ permanent makeup, in some cases... You see, the more he is reminded of his subservient, feminized condition, and the more consistent that reminder, the more effective it is. A boy dressed in simply girls' jeans, sneakers and a blouse may on occasion nearly forget his status, given the right circumstances. A boy in a corset, crinolines and high heels, never." "But, you speak of this as if it goes on regularly," Catherine responded after a moment's thought, "Earlier, you said 'we'. Surely..." "Oh it does go on, rest assured," Alison continued, smiling. "In fact, many of the women in the area whom you've already met have boys that are undergoing petticoat discipline at this very moment." "Many?" Catherine echoed incredulously, "But what about school? What about the neighbors, other children? And how long does it go on for?" "School is not a problem," Alison replied smoothly, waving her hand as if to dismiss this trivial concern, "that's taken care of. As for the neighbors and the other children, well, let's say that our little group is well established around here. It's not an issue." "Really!" Catherine mused, her eyes gleaming, a thoughtful smile on her face, "Well. It seems I have lucked into the perfect neighborhood without even knowing it. I have a feeling that you and I, and the other ladies, may well become fast friends..." "Indeed!" Alison smiled, pleased with her day's work, "I think it's time you attended one of our meetings. I'll introduce you around..." -- "Oh yes!" one of the ladies was saying, "They quickly reach the point where feminization at home is simply not enough. They need to be seen. They need to be in public, downtown, in restaurants, at the theater, even, in some cases, at school..." They were gathered at Alison's house, a few evenings later. Catherine arrived around eight, by which time there were already at least a dozen women present, sitting around the living room, sipping sherry and chatting. A two or three more arrived in the next couple of minutes, after which Alison called the meeting to order and introduced Catherine. She was welcomed warmly, whereupon she was invited to ask questions of the other women. The subject of public exposure had come up; Catherine had wondered if the feminized boy would have to be kept permanently out of sight. The ladies quickly laid this misconception to rest. "Certainly not!" Helen had responded. "As I said, our little group is quite well-known, and quite well established, in our community. We have a certain influence, shall we say, and the sight of a petticoated boy being paraded along a downtown street is not entirely unprecedented around here." "Really?" Catherine responded, sitting forward. "And this goes on frequently? Even at school?" "Oh yes, certainly. For example, Sherri's boy Ellen. His original name was Allan, of course, but now it's Ellen," said Alison, "He'd been undergoing petticoat punishment for a about a year and a half. She regularly dressed him as a girl at home and had been taking him out of the house occasionally for some time, either dressed as a girl, or as a feminine boy. His day-to-day clothing was gradually becoming increasingly androgynous, with more and more feminine touches. Anyway, on one occasion, as punishment for taunting one of his female classmates, she sent him to school the next day wearing... what was it, Sherri?" "Let's see," the other replied, ticking the items off on her fingers, "Girls' capris, a navy blouse with a white Peter Pan collar, patent Mary Janes, pearl studs in his ears, and long polished nails." "Wasn't there some makeup involved?" "Oh, a little eyeliner and mascara," she said dismissively, "hardly noticeable." "I think it was the nails that garnered the most attention," said Alison, reminiscing, "I mean, the capris, and even the shoes and blouse could be considered androgynous, at a stretch, and boys do sometimes wear earrings these days (though hardly pearls, usually) but of course, glamour-length, frosted nails are irrevocably feminine. No explaining them away! I believe he tried to hide them at first, but that's impossible to do for very long. Once they were noticed, the girls at school all clustered around him, wanting to see his nails, asking him questions, making comments: Did you polish them yourself? Do you like having beautiful girls' nails? They're so pretty! They're so long! Do you wear girl's underwear too? Look at his pretty earrings! "He protested that he was being made to dress this way as punishment, but I don't think the girls really quite believed him. I mean, by that time he'd acquired some unmistakable feminine mannerisms, and as well, he'd already undergone some 'rewards training' for looking and acting feminine, so he'd begun to feel rather conflicted about it. On the one hand, it was still embarrassing, but he'd also begun to make some pleasurable associations with femininity, so his protestations weren't entirely believable. Naturally the girls would have picked up on that." "Of course," one of the other women supplied, "We regularly take our feminized boys shopping... downtown, say, or at the mall, so he'd already had some public exposure as a girl, including, I believe, to some of the other students from his class. And we also take them out to local beauty salons and so forth. There are many salons, as well as lingerie and dress shops in the area, that are most cooperative. In fact, some of them even specialize in providing services to us. We'll give you a list." "Oh my, yes," Helen gushed, "once feminization is well underway, taking them out in public can be very effective! And we also have makeover parties, especially for newly feminized boys. All the ladies are invited; we collaborate on dressing them up, choosing their clothes and jewelry, doing their hair, nails and makeup... it's almost like playing with dolls when I was a girl..." "We hold modeling parties," Alison continued, "where the boys must model their new outfits for us. Helen's house is perfect for that; she has a raised platform that can serve as a catwalk. And once they're well on their way, we encourage petticoated boys to play together, but only as girls, of course! Dolls for the younger ones, makeup, jewelry and clothes for the older boys." "Yes, we all collaborate, especially to help new mothers with the process," Betty added, "we teach the boys chores and maid duties, dressing them in French maid outfits and having them serve us all tea, for example." "And once they're fully feminized," Alison went on, "we do on occasion introduce them to other neighborhood children, other girls, of course, and sometimes to some of the local non-feminized boys..." "Oh, yes! And of course there's the annual ball!" Betty put in. "Ball?" queried Catherine. "We'll explain it all, don't worry..." Alison replied, patting Catherine's hand. "Once they have begun to accept their feminine status," Helen continued, "we will often begin allowing them to appear in public wearing more typical girl's clothes, so they're not as conspicuous, you see; more the sort of thing an average teenage girl would wear, but still of our choosing, of course. By that time, they're so accustomed to being seen in petticoats and lace, that being allowed to wear regular girl's clothes seems like a reward!" "Getting back to Ellen..." said Betty, returning to their previous topic, "Unfortunately, after he'd been seen at school with his sissy clothes and long nails, the school principal made things a little awkward... despite some of the teachers being part of our little club," she added with a chilly smile towards one of the other women who'd yet to speak, "so at the end of term, Sherri withdrew him from the public system and enrolled him in the Christeen Academy. He's been there ever since, as have most of our older children, the boys at any rate." "Helen mentioned it before," Catherine said, "I assume it's a private school?" "Oh, VERY private!" Betty responded, with a chuckle. "And they, the academy I mean, they sanction the feminization of their boy pupils?" "Oh they not only sanction it, they participate. In fact, they're the most potent feminization agency in this town. All of the upper-class feminized boys go there -- it IS rather expensive, but worth it -- They get intensive training; they are immersed in an extremely feminine environment, and given punishments and rewards as appropriate, to encourage ultra-femininity in both appearance and behavior." "Really!" "Oh yes. They have to wear full makeup at all times, including false eyelashes; they must wear glamour jewelry, keep their nails perfectly polished at all times, and wear ultra-feminine lingerie and dresses, often with petticoats or crinolines. Sometimes, especially during certain phases of training, they may even wear wedding or bridesmaid's dresses. And of course, always high heels. Usually, VERY high." "And there's more," one of the other ladies put in, "later on they also receive training in how to pleasure..." "There's plenty of time to discuss the intricate details of training at a later time," Helen interrupted, "for now, let's stick to the essentials. "Ultimately, Catherine," she continued, "When they graduate, you have a perfectly behaved, elegant young lady, instead of an unruly, rough-and- tumble boy. At the very least, you have an obedient, sissified, effeminate boy who would never think of going against your wishes, one who's more interested in painting his nails and sewing than playing football or getting into trouble." "I see!" Catherine was visibly impressed. "Well perhaps I'd better get Leslie enrolled right away." "It's a good idea to get him on the waiting list immediately," Helen replied, "It IS rather long. But you'll only want to enroll him for, typically, grade 4 or 5 onward. Perhaps as early as grade 3, or as late as grade 6. There're two reasons for that. First of all, it gives you an opportunity to participate in the feminization process yourself, and get to understand petticoat punishment first-hand, so to speak. It allows you the flexibility to design your own punishments and rewards, and make his first associations of feminization with you, as the primary object of authority. Also, the academy likes to see the parents of their prospective students make a commitment of their own to feminization. It makes for a more consistent environment, and also ensures that your desire to enroll him is not a passing fancy. And of course," she grinned, "It's also fun!" "I see. And in the mean-time?" "There's much to do," Helen declared brightly, "Fortunately, we can help! First thing, what about your staff? Your maid and your nanny. Is there anyone else?" "Yes, my chef... and the gardener. We used to have a driver as well, but frankly, I prefer driving myself around." "Alright, good. How is your nanny? What's her attitude towards your putting Leslie in dresses?" "Well, to be honest, I occasionally get some strange vibes from her. I'm not sure she exactly disapproves, but she doesn't really seem enthusiastic. My maid has been with me for ages. She's like one of the family. And she seems delighted by Leslie in dresses." "Good! Now, we can recommend several nannies who'll be closed lipped, helpful and skilled at feminization. I'd be happy to set up some meetings..." The conversation went on well into the evening. -- Catherine began to make preparations. She fired her Scottish nanny immediately, and started interviewing replacements from the list given to her by Helen. She settled on an attractive young woman named Sabrina who was a couple of years her junior. The successful candidate had several attributes that Catherine found appealing. Firstly, she dressed very fashionably. At the interview she wore a slim, low cut dress that molded her curves, her hair, nails and makeup impeccable. Second, she spoke candidly of her work for a couple of years as a dominatrix, from which she had acquired a good understanding of the dynamics of dominance and submission. She'd quit, she explained frankly, in order to work full-time as a nanny to boys undergoing petticoat discipline. She animatedly described her enthusiasm for the task of molding unruly young boys into demure, feminine young ladies. She was sure, she said, that Catherine would find her work more than satisfactory in this regard. She described how she had honed her skills at makeup, fashion and deportment by working at various beauty salons and charm schools, and how she looked forward to applying this knowledge to the task at hand. Catherine was well pleased, and hired her immediately. Some time later, she received a phone call from Alison. "I thought you might be interested, Catherine," she said, "We're having a little fashion show at Helen's place this coming weekend. I thought you might want to meet some of the local 'girls'." The quotation marks around the word 'girls' was audible. "I'd love to!" Catherine responded, eagerly. "What time? Should I bring anything?" -- They were gathered in Helen's spacious sunroom, chairs arranged in a horseshoe around a long, raised room divider from which various potted plants and sculptures had been removed, so that it might function as the fashion show catwalk. A set of steps had been pushed against the far end, to allow access, and the track lighting in the ceiling had been redirected to illuminate it from end to end. About a dozen women were standing around in groups, sipping cocktails and chatting, when Catherine arrived. She surveyed the room, then walked over to join the group containing Helen and Alison. "I'm so glad you could make it!" Alison smiled, "I think you'll find it quite exciting. We have a mixture of new models and veterans. You'll get to see a cross-section." "I'm happy I could make it, too," she responded, "I'm looking forward to it very much." She obtained a cocktail from the bar at the far end of the room, then looked around. More women were arriving in a steady stream. In an alcove to the left of the catwalk she could see what appeared to be about a dozen of the 'fashion models' as they prepared for the show. Several of the youngest boys looked frightened and close to tears as they stood awkwardly in their dresses and heels. Some of the older boys, on the other hand, were behaving more like seasoned models. One was bending over toward a mirror and smoothing on lip gloss, while a second twirled before a full-length mirror, examining himself from every angle, smoothing out a few errant creases in his dress and making minute adjustments to his hair, necklace and earrings. A third had hiked up his crinolines and was adjusting his garters with an ease that bespoke of long practice. They were all beautiful. She noticed that the youngest boys were flat-chested, or had the smallest of bumps, while the older ones displayed the full busts of older teenage girls, and she found herself wondering whether it was merely padding, or perhaps more... "Ladies!" Helen announced. "Take your seats, please. The show is about to begin." As they found seats before the catwalk, the lights in the room dimmed, while simultaneously the lighting aimed at the catwalk increased in brilliance. Music began issuing from concealed speakers. "Ladies," came Helen's amplified voice, as she spoke into a small microphone, "Welcome to our seventh fashion show of this year! We have some lovely clothes, and just as lovely models, to show you this evening. We have a few new girls who are modeling for the first time tonight, as well as several of our regulars. So sit back and enjoy the show! "Our first model," she continued as the music changed, "is Jessica..." As Helen proceeded to describe his outfit in detail, one of the youngest boys was prodded up the steps and onto the catwalk by a young woman, who was perhaps his mother. Moist-eyed, trembling and breathless -- due no doubt in part to a tight corset -- he moved to the center of the platform and began to walk hesitantly down towards the end, executing as best he could the 'model's walk', placing each step directly in front of the other, so his hips swung from side to side. At the front, he cocked one arm at the elbow, the other slightly out from his side, fingers splayed, and pirouetted, stumbling slightly in his heels, but recovering quickly. He then moved part way down the catwalk and paused, posing again. An approving murmur came from the ladies. As he completed his walk and stepped down into the shadows, he heaved a visible sigh of relief, and the audience burst into enthusiastic applause. The other models clustered around, patting him on the back or giving him a hug. Catherine was entranced. She would never have believed that a young, pre- adolescent boy could be so pretty and so feminine. Despite his obvious nervousness and his occasional stumble in his skyscraper stilettos, he looked and moved like a frothily feminine girl, his makeup flawless, his jewelry and long, polished nails gleaming, his hair, though short, dressed in a charmingly girlish style. But there was even better to come. The next model was about the same age, and similarly nervous, but he executed his walk without flaw, and, like the first was perfectly (and very femininely) dressed. And so it went. After the youngest boys there was a brief intermission, following which the older models strutted their stuff. It was obvious that these boys had done this several times before, and it was also evident that many of them had apparently accepted their feminine status, or at least so it seemed to Catherine. Indeed, it even looked as if some positively enjoyed it. They strutted down the catwalk like professional models, posing and twirling perfectly, their eyes, their movements, their very posture exuding a feminine sexuality. Their clothes, makeup, hair, nails, jewelry, shoes, were all feminine to a fault. Some wore the same styles of petticoated dresses as the younger boys, but others wore gorgeously elaborate evening gowns and glittered with spectacular jewels, while still others modeled sexy party dresses with short, flippy skirts, and tall, strappy spike heels. Yet others modeled seductive lingerie, or wore examples of haute couture that might even grace a catwalk in Paris or Milan. The women responded accordingly. The offered up enthusiastic applause, and murmured approving comments to one another as the show continued. At last, when the final boy had modeled, and the ladies rose and mingled, as the lights came up again. "So, what did you think?" asked Helen as Catherine joined her at the bar. "Most impressive!" she responded, "I would never have believed that boys could be so... so feminine!" "Well, our methods are pretty good," the other replied, "And of course, the academy does such good work! Would you like to meet my eldest 'daughter' Tina? She was one of the models." "I'd love to!" "Tina!" Helen called. "Come over here please! There's someone I want you to meet." One of the 'girls' clustered together in a group at the far end of the room turned and approached. She (it was impossible to think of her as anything but 'she') was wearing a gorgeous strapless wine-hued evening gown trimmed with sequins at the bust and slit high up the sides, tall stiletto heels, and spectacular rhinestone jewelry. Catherine remembered that she had modeled several outfits, including some beautiful lingerie. She joined them, smiling. "Hi Mum!" she said brightly. "How did you like it?" "You were wonderful, dear," Helen replied, "As always. Tina, I want you to meet Catherine Marsden. She's new to our group, and this is her first fashion show." "You were incredible, Tina," Catherine said, shaking her hand. "Thank you so much!" Tina blushed slightly, "I'm glad you enjoyed it! Mom..." she went on, speaking to Helen, "Do you think Melinda and Simone could sleep over tonight? We wouldn't stay up all night talking, I promise..." As Tina spoke with her mother, Catherine took the opportunity to examine her more carefully. She had a slim, model's build, long legs, beautiful long nails, long hair (her own, undoubtedly) done in a dramatic updo, and proud, firm breasts. Catherine thought she saw a trace of cleavage, but couldn't be sure. It was amazing. "So," Helen said after Tina left to rejoin the other models, "How is little Leslie coming along?" "Fine," Catherine said, "I've hired another nanny from that list you gave me, and I am starting to build a wardrobe. I've been shopping at some of the stores you've recommended, and they've been most helpful in selecting clothes, shoes, makeup, jewelry and so on. I hope to begin with him before too long." "Well, we're looking forward to it," Helen smiled, "Good luck! And of course, do remember: we're here to help!" "Thank you so much!" Catherine responded, smiling back, "I'm very excited, especially after tonight!" The group broke up gradually, the mothers of the models bundling their feminized charges into their expensive cars, backing out and driving away, well pleased with the evening's entertainment. End of Part One