Prince and Prentiss Part 2
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Prince And Prentiss, Part 1 free porn video
© Copyright 2012, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
[email protected]
Synopsis: On the day of his father's funeral, a young man is enslaved as a
sissy by his cruel stepmother and her daughter, until he meets a rock star
who changes his life. This story is dedicated to Sandy Brown, who has so
generously tried to help me grow as a writer, not that she can be blamed
for any of this story, which she has not yet seen and for which I am
solely responsible.
Princess and Prentiss, Part 1
By Leslie Lowe
My father was buried on my eighteenth birthday. When we returned from the
funeral, my stepmother, who made me call her Mommie, said my birthday
present would be an end to my privileged life. I asked her what she meant
and why.
Standing in the kitchen of our large home, Mommie explained, "Your father
was a cruel, controlling bastard. He abused and deprived my poor Gretchen
while giving you everything you wanted."
"How can you say those horrible things?" I asked, not really surprised,
because it had been obvious to me for years that Mommie was a psychopath.
My poor father had fallen for this horrible but beautiful woman who had
become his personal assistant not long before the suspicious death of my
mother in a one-car auto accident. I had watched him act with great
generosity toward Gretchen, my step sister.
"Now I am in control of the money, sweetheart," Mommie said. "Soon, you
will find out what it feels like to be the stepchild."
"Will I at least have a cake and presents?" I asked. "It is my birthday!"
I realized immediately that I was retreating into infantilism, probably as
a defense against the stress of the losing my beloved father and the shock
of this fearsome woman's abrupt change from stealth to attack mode.
"What a fucking sissy!" Gretchen said.
This was not a new accusation. I had been a sensitive child, and was
still a late bloomer, a sweet, indoors, craftsy kind of person, like my
mother had been, while Mommie and Gretchen were rough and ready outdoorsy
types, like my father, until his rapid decline and death from cancer,
which the doctors had attributed to toxin exposure at his giant chemical
plant, now controlled by Mommie until I reached the age of 21.
I looked at them, my impotent rage growing, inflamed with the enormity of
their evil. I said to them, "Don't you have any feelings at all? Can't
you have some sympathy for an only child who lost his mother just five
years ago? And now his father? And of all days, on the son's birthday,
the day of his daddy's funeral? Have you no shame? Are you the spawn of
the devil?"
She and Gretchen just laughed at me, not having time to reply, because the
first visitor offering condolences for my father's death knocked on our
front door and I ran upstairs to calm down.
The afternoon and evening went by very fast, with many of my father's
business associates and friends passing through, all of them expressing
their regret and trying to soothe my obvious pain. If only I had known
what was about to happen, I would have begged them for help. Soon the
strangers were gone and I was alone with Mommie and Gretchen.
Mommie made me clean up everything after the departure of the visitors.
She even encouraged Gretchen to bully me.
As I stood at the sink washing the dishes, wearing a frilly apron Gretchen
had put on me, she tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to see
Mommie watching us with a smirk on her face. Gretchen said, "Such a shame
that Princess has to do the dishes on her birthday! Here's a gift for
you, birthday girl." She held my chin in one hand and with the other she
taunted me with an open tube of bright red lipstick, ridiculing me for
being a sweet little sissy, as she had done before in private.
Once, by threatening to break my arm, she had even made me wear her hot
pink lipstick and dangley pearl earrings downstairs to dinner, where she
was excoriated by my father at the table and sent to her room for being a
mean bully, over Mommie's protests, claiming, "it's not Gretchen's fault
that Neal is such a sissy."
Now, with my back pressed against the sink, my nemesis had me in her grip,
with no kind father to protect me. Gretchen said, "Maybe Princess will
feel better if I can help her look pretty?" She covered my lips with the
fragrant lipstick. "Oh," she said, grinning at me, "Princess is crying
happy tears!"
Mommie came over with a compact mirror and showed me how I looked. She
said in a sweet, singsong, mocking voice, "What a pretty girl you are,
Princess!"
The next day, Mommie said things were going to change for Princess
beginning today. She forced me to move out of my room into the maid's
quarters in the attic. She took away all my clothes and left only hand-
me-downs discarded by Gretchen. I refused to put them on. Mommie said,
"That's fine, but you won't eat until you are properly dressed, young
lady."
She added as they left that if I didn't need clothes I didn't need to have
the heat on or any blankets for my bed.
I held out as long as I could, most of the day, hungry and freezing in my
tiny room. Finally, I put on the plainest of Gretchen's dresses, which
fit me loosely. She was an athlete and a very big girl, which was not
surprising, since Mommie was a tall woman, still physically powerful in
her forties.
When I finally came downstairs in the dress, begging for a scrap of food,
they laughed at me. Mommie said, "Come over here, Princess."
I walked over to her, shaking with fear.
She lifted up my dress and looked at me. "Come see how cute she looks,
Gretchen."
Gretchen came over, looked under my dress, and laughed loudly. "Oh my
God! She has no panties on, and look how tiny her little clitty is!"
Mommie told me a dress was not enough. If I was to be a proper young
lady, I would have to wear a bra and panties at least, even if I did want
to try out the plain servant-girl look. She added that I would also need
to wear makeup like other girls my age.
When I returned with underwear on under my dress and a sad attempt at
making up my face, they laughed even more.
"I'm sorry," I said, humiliated and crying, "but I don't know how to apply
makeup."
"Oh, you poor thing," Mommie said, hugging me as if she really cared. "I
know what! If you do your chores well, I'll let Gretchen give you a
makeup lesson! How does that sound, sweetie? Your dear father would be
so proud! God rest his soul."
I didn't bother to answer.
Gretchen cracked up. "Can she start by cleaning up my room?"
"Of course, dear. It's a shame you have had to go so long in that mess.
Every girl in her early twenties, especially one so busy embarking on her
professional career as a personal trainer, needs to have a maid. Now you
have one!"
I went upstairs to the knee-deep squalor of Gretchen's room, an ugly
contrast with my own neat room next to it, now dark and rather empty since
my forcible move to the attic. At noon, they did finally let me have a
few leftovers to eat, after I made them each a beautiful fresh salad. I
was forced to do laundry, housecleaning and cooking the rest of the day,
and fell asleep exhausted at midnight in my frigid little room, after
piling most of Gretchen's old clothes on top of the bed for warmth, while
wearing a threadbare flannel nightgown I had found among Gretchen's
discards. I was not going to ask them for a blanket, and pay the cost of
exposing myself to their cruelty again, just to be warm. This could not
last long. I would survive.
After several days of the same torture, I tried to escape, but they caught
me, tackled me, and shackled me, then tied me naked to my bed in my
searingly cold room, with a pink ribbon tied around my "clitty" in a bow,
promising me "a sound spanking in the morning for being a naughty girl."
The next morning, after my humiliating spanking and while I did my chores
under careful guard by Gretchen, men came to install an electronic pet
fence around the yard. I could hear them talking outside, one remarking
that there were no pets. After the men were done, Mommie said she was so
sorry she had forgotten my birthday and here was my gift. When I opened
my so-called gift, which was wrapped in pink tissue decorated with little-
girl princess stickers and a garish lavender bow, I found a tiny collar
made of glittery pink plastic. With Gretchen's help, Mommie pulled up my
skirt, pulled down my panties, and put it on me, encircling my private
parts. She pressed a button on the small remote that came with it and I
collapsed in pain, writhing on the floor. Hearing the sound of their
giggles, I passed out.
The next morning, Mommie threatened me with the pink remote and told me to
take the garbage out to the street. I was engulfed in agony about six
feet from the street. After explaining that the same thing would happen
all around the yard if I tried to leave, she showed me that the panel
controlling the electronic fence was locked with a combination lock only
she and Gretchen had memorized. She explained that my sissy discipline
collar would yield a stunning level of shock to me if I attempted to
remove it in any way. She suggested I might want to try removing it, just
to be sure, but I declined. So she said, "Here, sweetie, let me show you,
for your own good," pulling on it, the resulting pulses of burning
electricity rendering me a quivering, vomiting wretch on the floor once
again.
She then gave Gretchen a pink remote of her own, and let her practice
using the "tickler" as they called it by making me do shameful things,
starting with licking up my vomit. Gretchen enjoyed pushing the button to
shock me a bit when I failed to comply quickly. "Oh, I see, Mommie!" she
said, delighted with her new toy. "The longer I hold it down the more it
hurts her!"
After that ordeal, I made no attempt to escape and learned to respond
automatically to their commands, no matter how ridiculous or demeaning.
Nor did I risk their catching me trying other ways to send for help, after
Mommie warned that they had locked up the telephones and had protected the
cell phones with new passwords, as well as the computer.
A week or so later, I was fully trained to perform my daily housekeeping
chores, always wearing my makeup, heels and dresses, which were generously
supplied by Mommie and Gretchen, who took turns "babysitting" me and
shopping for me.
After dinner one night, Mommie told me to go upstairs and put on my
prettiest outfit and do my makeup, because Gretchen's boyfriend, Dirk
Bogart, was coming by and I would be serving them drinks and snacks as the
maid. Seeing the look of dismay on my face, she added brightly, "Don't
worry, dear, Gretchen will help you make yourself presentable. Now run
along, girls."
Within an hour, Gretchen had dressed me up so nicely for the occasion that
I did look rather pretty. Seeing myself in the mirror through Dirk's
eyes, I saw just a girl in a very short dress with shapely legs and
convincing breasts. Gretchen had achieved her dominance over me
completely. She had been making me shave my entire body, had supervised
me as I plucked my eyebrows daily, and had used her pink remote to train
me to be excessively girlish in my speech and movement. Tonight she would
be in full gloat, and Mommie would be so proud of her daughter, the
torturess-in-training, so proud of the progress made in shaping her
progeny in her mother's image.
The doorbell rang, and I dutifully opened it. A tall, very well-built man
in his mid-twenties stood there, smiling confidently at me.
"Please come in, sir," I said sweetly, in my lilting voice, always aware
that a brief reminder shock might come if I were not feminine enough.
"Thank you," Dirk said pleasantly, smiling back at me. "You must be
cousin Nancy? I've heard so much about you."
"Oh really?" I said, totally caught off guard, not only by the new name
but by the thought that Gretchen had told this man all about my servitude.
I realized at that moment I must look like any shocked girl, my mouth
open, rosy feminine nails covering my rosy lips, my eyes wide open,
almond-shaped, with lush ebony lashes under alluring eyeshadow perfectly
blended, my shoulder-length hair almost hiding my large hoop earrings. I
tossed my flowing hair seductively as Dirk obviously admired me. What had
these crazy women done to me? And what was happening in my panties as I
stood there and felt the lust oozing from this handsome man?
"Hi Dirk!" Gretchen said, stepping between us hurriedly, nuzzling up to
him and accepting a lingering hug and a kiss on the lips. "I told you she
was cute."
"She is that!" Dirk said. Turning to me, he asked, "Gretch said you want
to be a rich lady's maid and she and Mrs. P are training you?"
"Uh, yes," I said, flinching slightly, feeling a tickle in my pubic area
guiding me to be all girl and play along.
"I think that's cool," he said, ignoring Gretchen as she pulled urgently
on his hand, her sexy boyfriend smiling at me and adding, "It won't be
long before that rich lady's rich son snaps you up for his bride."
"Really?" I said, feeling a flush come up from my breasts and into my
face. "Th-thank you, Dirk! Won't you come in and sit down?"
They walked away as I shut the door, and the look Gretchen gave me over
her shoulder was enough to turn Lot's wife back into flesh.
I began my service, trying very hard to be the invisible serving girl, but
Dirk continued to flirt with me, to the obvious displeasure of my
tormentors, both of them hating me for enjoying some attention, detesting
this rare moment of not being in total control.
Finally, after everyone had been served, and I had been refreshing drinks,
picking up plates, and standing off to the side meekly awaiting further
instructions, Mommie said, "Princess, you've done such a good job as a
sweet maid! Hasn't she, Dirk?"
"Yes, ma'am!" he said. "Every man's dream."
"Oh, I'm sure she is, Dirk. So Nancy, why don't you get yourself a
daiquiri and join us?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said, chills of fear running up and down my spine as I saw
the hateful look from Gretchen to her mother turn into some sort of silent
message, after which they both acquired a cruel curl of the lip that so
often preceded things getting much worse for me. I asked Dirk if I could
fetch him another bourbon and water, and he declined, as did the imperious
women. I went into the kitchen and made myself an extra-stiff version of
the raspberry daiquiris I had been serving the other girls. I reapplied
my lipstick in the mirror by the pantry door and smiled at my reflection,
cleaning the trace of lipstick off my teeth with my tongue. Feeling
better somehow, I returned to the living room, intent on avoiding the
snares Mommie had surely set for me in my absence.
After leaving me standing in my place again while holding my daiquiri with
both hands, Mommie said, "Oh, there you are, Nancy! Why don't you sit on
that end of the couch, so you girls will have our manly guest surrounded
by feminine beauty?"
I wondered what this woman could possibly have in mind by arranging me in
opposition to Gretchen in this way.
"Princess," Mommie said, "I was just telling Dirk that you are available,
and that he might want to set you up with some of his boyfriends. Isn't
that right, Dirk?"
"Yes, ma'am," Dirk said, grinning and looking at me hungrily. "I can
think of lots of guys who would kill each other to go out with a girl like
Nancy!"
Under the intense gaze of this lusty Adonis, I caught myself nervously
licking my lips.
"Oh really, Dirk?" Mommie was smiling, obviously pleased that her plan
was working so well.
"No doubt about it, Mrs. P."
"Well," Mommie said, getting up and walking over to me, "why don't you
show our guest what kind of girl you are, Nancy?"
"Please?" I begged her, whining, all but crying out in pain.
Mommie and Gretchen must have known then that I had figured out what was
going to happen. I could see they were excited and ready for me to resist
and put up a fight. But I'm sorry, it just wasn't in me. I was defeated.
They could do whatever they wanted, but I would just be a robot girl,
responding as they ordered. I had given up. I considered taking my own
life at the next opportunity.
A tiny twinge of shock between my legs pulled me out of my trance.
All three of them were looking at me. Mommie had her hand in the pocket
of her pants. Gretchen stood over me, also wearing pants. I was the only
girl in a dress, and I would soon know why.
"Stand up, sweetie," Gretchen whispered into my ear, "and let's show Dirk
exactly what sort of freak he's been flirting with." She pulled me to my
feet.
Dirk looked mystified, but he was totally captured by the spectacle.
Gretchen maneuvered me in front of Dirk about six feet away. "Dirk baby,"
she said, "feast your eyes on this!" She pulled up my short dress, so my
lower body, from my panties on down, were completely exposed to him.
Dirk's eyes got wider, and he was riveted in place, gulping for air.
As life seemed to slow to a crawl, I had time to observe Dirk's bulging
crotch as he obeyed Gretchen and drunk in the view, seeing all of my
secret garden that was not covered by my lacy pink panties.
"Nice!" he said, "But Gretch, why are you--"
"Because you need to see this!" Mommie said bending over and pulling my
panties to my knees. "Spread you legs so we can see your little jewels,
Princess." She forced my legs apart, and my secrets popped out.
Dirk stared at me down there for what seemed like hours, his jaw slowly
dropping. "Aw fuck!" he finally said, staring at my erect little clitty,
encircled by my pink shock collar, all of my pubic area shaved naked, my
soft, creamed, perfumed skin as fresh and milky as a baby girl's tush.
"You're a she-male?" He shot to his feet and paced to the door and back
like a bull, shaking his head and laughing. He looked me in the face and
squinted his eyes, as if to see deeper into me. He stepped back and
looked at my lower parts, looked back up at my face, and then back and
forth again. "You're a fucking chick with a dick?" He looked at Mommie
and Gretchen and a big smile came over his face. "You got me, ladies. I
have to hand it to you. I thought this--this fag, this sexy little queer
or whatever he is, was a girl, a hot girl, a beautiful woman! You got me
good!"
"Well, Dirk," said Gretchen, "do you still want to double-date with
Princess?"
He thought about the question and then smiled broadly. "Why not?" He
said. "I got a guy I'd love to see his face when he pulls down her--I
mean his--panties. I got nothing against pansies, nothing at all. Some
of my best friends at the gym are, you know, AC-DC, or so I hear. But
none of those guys look like--like--" he said, and hesitated, looking at
me with an expression I was astonished to find was accepting, even kind,
and he asked me gently, "What should I say you are, Princess?"
"Yes," Mommie said, taking over again. "What are you, Princess? Are you
a she-male, a chick-with-a-dick, a fag, a queer, a pansy, or some other
kind of freak?"
"None of the above," I said. And that's when I knew. "I'm just a girl
who has issues with her body." And I walked out of the room with my head
held high, waiting for the consciousness-destroying prolonged shock that
could effortlessly be administered by a press of one of the two pink
buttons. Which mercifully did not come.
[All positive and negative feedback is greatly appreciated!]
© Copyright 2012, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
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