Summer Sissies At Sweetwell Park Part 2 Of 5 free porn video

Summer Sissies at Sweetwell Park - Part 2 of 5 a story by PRIM The story so far: Roger Pressington rebels against the sissy clothes his mother Thelma chooses for him. Fortunately the boy's grandmother Valerie is a match for his independence. However, Thelma asks her good friend Sonia Forbes-Withers for help, knowing that she and her mother Agatha have made a good job of bringing up her son Jodie as a pretty, nicely dressed boy. The Pressingtons are invited to Sweetwell Park to see if Roger can learn to improve through the influence of Jodie. *** Chapter 2 of 5 - Roger Has to be Feminised Roger would have gladly pulled his legs together to protect himself from his grandmother's attentions. Unfortunately he was in his silking chair in the back seat of his mother's car and his ankles were fastened wide apart to opposite pillars of the car doors. "I will not stand for this petulant attitude, my boy," his grandmother had cried as he was being put into the car. He was in the lovely short-sleeved blouse his mother had chosen for him, teamed with his crisp shorts in pink silk. "You will be strapped into your silking chair in a pair of my panties and one of my skirts. Maybe that will remind you who is in charge of what you wear." Accordingly his elbow length gloves disappeared, each one ribboned to a stockinged thigh and therefore out of sight beneath Grandma Valerie's smooth fawn skirt. His legs were covered too, almost to his ankles, as she sat beside him and made sure he was suitably subdued in her skirt and panties. Valerie Pressington herself was wearing her mint green blouse and one of her heavy, brown tweed, pleated skirts with her emerald swing jacket, and she was in no mood to allow her unpredictable grandson to discredit her or her daughter when they arrived at Sweetwell Park. "Your mother and I will not countenance the slightest show of disobedience, my boy," she said as her fingers softly slid one of the smooth buttons of her skirt up and down the length of her grandson's erection, its lining caressing the silk of his satin-lined shorts and his silk panties beneath. "We will expect only the most dainty and polite behaviour from you while you are in Mrs Forbes-Withers' home. Heaven knows, you are a very lucky boy indeed to be allowed to meet her and her darling son Jodie. You will look your sweetest and most precious at all times. Do you hear?" Roger's head was encased in her burgundy satin knickers. She parted the pleated white chiffon frill at one of the legs to look in on his tearful face. The boy was muted in a gag of white silk that held a bulb of Silkboy sweetening syrup inside his mouth for him to suckle on during the journey. Roger nodded his agreement as his grandma expected before each of his eyes released a tear from his lashes, then lidded themselves in exquisite pleasure as his grandma's skirt buttons slid again around his helpless, very stiff poppet. He felt so open, so unprotected in his grandma's hands, and he suckled hard on the teat in his mouth, swallowing the delightful sissifying syrup as he knew she wanted him to. He swelled again with blissful feelings of sweetness as the perfume of her panties filled his head and brought him such feelings of surrender and feminine bliss. "We're approaching the village of Sweetwell," announced his mother from the driving seat. She slipped her sunglasses out of her blond hair and dropped them onto the wide silk lap of her black and white dress. "Sonia told me to continue through the village, and the Park is two minutes into the country on the other side. Is Roger behaving correctly, mother?" she asked. "Has the Silkboy started to take effect?" Her mother's fingerstips felt a reaching effect in the long point in her skirt and spreading her hand round the skirt button, she held it against his erection and slowly smoothed it up and down. "Only time will tell, my dear," she said. "I can see the need to keep a firm hand on him. I regret to say that we may not be able to let him out of our sight." "If that's what it takes to ensure that he behaves in a suitably effeminate way, then that is precisely what we shall do," declared Thelma. "Sonia is my very best friend. I won't allow Roger to do anything that will upset her or her mother or her darling Jodie." Valerie was as determined as her daughter to keep the boy under tight control. As his head reached back in her panties, moaning for more skirt fondling, she eased off with her hand to leave him unsatisfied. She slipped her panties off his blond head and into her lap, so that she could arrange his waves to make an attractive impression. He may have many rough corners that will have to be smoothed, she thought, but his big, blue eyes, his pushed up little nose and his cherry lips were definitely thanks to her side of the family. As they drove into the gravel forecourt in front of the house, the nurse-maid, Hilda Browne, was standing at the top of the steps to announce the arrival of the visitors. *** The maid was tall and gaunt, with classic features and honeyed hair done in a short style that suited her 58 years. Her maiding uniform was in custard cream nylon, straight to below the knee, with starched white collar and cuffs and a starched nursing cap in her hair. Her apron was equally long and bibbed, with its neatly pinked edging embroidered all round with a narrow pink ruffle. She opened the back door of the car to allow Valerie to step down. By the time the family came out to meet their visitors, Roger's mother and grandmother had undressed him down to his blouse and shorts and held him between them by a hand each. He was almost as tall as his grandmother and the crown of his hair normally came up to his mother's shoulder, except that on this occasion he had a reason for holding his head down. He had a secret he preferred to keep from everyone present: his panties and shorts were sticky and slidy and beginning to feel cold. All the women wanted to kiss each other, with smiles and laughs and gossip and chatter. Roger found himself ignored for a few moments, and caught sight of the boy standing on the bottom step, looking at him, dressed in a white ruffled blouse and yellow shorts to his knees. This must have been Jodie, the same age as himself, with a girlish looking face and full, dark hair that almost covered his ears. But before he knew it, he was surrounded by the ladies, and his mother was drawing him to her side with an arm round his waist. "Thelma, I want you to meet my darling Roger. I know he is so glad to be here to meet you and especially to meet Jodie." With all the ladies looking at him, Roger lost control of his legs and they squeezed themselves together as if he wanted to go to the toilet. He clasped his hands tightly over his shorts, which felt as though they must be horribly stained with a patch of ignominious embarrassment. "Roger," said his mother, "this is Mrs Forbes-Withers, Jodie's mother... and this is Grandma Agatha. They have invited you to stay for a few days. Isn't that wonderful?" Roger's eyes just wouldn't lift to see the ladies' faces, and stayed nervously studying their jade green dress and the extremely wide beige skirt of Grandma Agatha in sharp sunray pleats almost to her high heeled shoes. Nor could he think of anything to say. "Roger," said his grandmother, "take Mrs Forbes-Withers' hand and say hello." Her voice had its 'Do it now' note in it and he reached his hand forward, his other hand trying to do the covering job of two. "Hello, Mrs Forbes-Withers," he said, his voice disappearing in a whisper. Her hand was warm and gentle, but firm and she held him for a second. His mother prompted his behaviour. "Roger, my darling, hold your shorts with your other hand and curtsey." He fought a battle inside himself, then did as he was told. His hand caught the edge of one leg of his pink shorts and held it wide, to step one Mary Jane shoe behind the other and dip a delicate, well practised curtsey. "There's a good boy," said Sonia, smiling almost with relief, and released his hand for him to greet her mother. "Hello, Grandma Agatha," he said, taking her hand. "Thank you so much for your invitation," and the cold fingers he held told him he had better behave correctly in front of this elderly lady. "You are welcome," she replied, waiting until he rose from his curtsey before lifting his chin with her fingertips. "I hope you are a good boy, Roger, hmm?" Her face was chubby and her double chin had beads the same beige as her skirt, but her blouse was a bright, salmon pink and seemed so large. "Y-Yes, Grandma Agatha." "Because I want you to come with me and I will introduce you to my grandson, Jodie, who is a very good boy. I am sure you will enjoy playing with him." Playing with him! Did she think of the two of them as little boys? She turned him towards the steps, and led him towards the boy in the ruffled blouse, all frills with lace edging. His face was extremely pretty and there was a glow of shyness colouring his cheeks. Grandma Agatha brought Roger very close, as Jodie's mother came round to stand behind her son to give him support. "Jodie sweetheart," said Grandma, "here is Roger. I am sure he will want to spend a lot of time playing with you. Say hello, boys." Jodie held his hand forward and dropped into a curtsey, saying: "Hello Roger..." but he got no further. "No, no, darlings," said Jodie's grandmother. "Sweet boys should give a full curtsey to each other, and instead of taking each other's hand, you will exchange darling kisses. Curtsey first." A cloud of misery ached in Roger's chest and down his body. Curtseying to each other, and kissing... for teenage boys? Everyone watched as Jodie stooped to take the edges of his yellow shorts at his knees, and Roger held the outside edges of his pink shorts, and the two of them put one Mary Jane behind the other and curtseyed nicely. But now they were expected to kiss. Neither boy wanted to step up to the other as their lips and chins puckered with sensitive feelings. Somehow they inched their shiny shoes forward, leaned towards each other, and the tips of their lips met. It was Roger who felt one touch was enough and he stood back. "There," said Grandma Agatha, taking his hand while his own grandma took the other. "Wasn't that nice, darling? Now, if we all go inside, there are fresh blouses, panties and shorts laid out for the boys in the morning room." As they mounted the steps, with Jodie's hands held by the two mothers and Roger's held by the grandmothers, Roger was wretchedly conscious again of how shamefully wet his shorts were. Fresh shorts and panties! His sticky panties would be discovered from when Grandma Valerie was fondling his stiff popsie with her dress in the car. The house was very large, much bigger than Roger's house. The ceilings were so high, with decorated lights hanging on long chains and heavy, ruffled curtains draping from every window. As their shoes click-clack, click-clacked across the polished wooden floors, interrupted by soft red and gold carpets, the two mothers laughed and renewed their friendship from former days, while Grandma Valerie was delighted with Grandma Agatha's compliments about her emerald swing jacket in duchesse satin. They discovered that they both shopped at House of Fraser in Bristol, and made immediate arrangements to go there tomorrow and shop for fashions together. The ladies shared a passion for bulky jewellery in white opal, or amber with silk dresses and blouses. There was so much they had to talk about. In the morning room, Jodie was seated on one settee between Thelma and Sonia, while Roger was positioned between the grandmothers. His legs were all but submerged since both the ladies wore skirts that were wide, flowing over copious petticoats. Maid Hilda passed out the panties, blouses and shorts for the boys to be changed. Grandma Valerie lifted Roger into her lap so that the two ladies could more easily undo his buttons and loosen his blouse and shorts. He wore a little silk bodice underneath, but when his grandmother undid the buttons at each side of his shorts, the dampness of his crotch became immediately evident. "Oh dear, oh dear," she said, sliding him to the points of her knees. I wonder if your nursemaid can help me, Agatha? It seems we have a sticky wet boy here." Maid Hilda was there at once, stooping to draw down Roger's pink shorts, and there, in full view of Grandma Agatha and the others, were Roger's dark pink panties, saturated with patches of jism. It was all the boy could do to prevent his tears as his hands tried to hide the burning blushes of his cheeks. "I do apologise for this mishap," murmured Valerie. "Perhaps I could take Roger to the bathroom and clean him up sufficiently for him to be dressed in his fresh blouse and shorts?" "Not at all," declared Agatha, sitting forward and helping her maid to draw the wet shorts off his feet. "Hilda, an apron for Valerie and one for myself. Then we'll need warm water and scented flannels and towels to make our little poppet sweet and ready for his clean panties." Jodie sat like a silenced angel as the mothers on either side of him watched. "He can be so tiresome," said Thelma. "I'll pop and get his panty bag from our things." "That won't be necessary," Sonia assured her as Hilda returned with two large aprons. "My mother and yours will be delighted, I am sure, to clean the little mite's beautiful bits and pieces and dress him nicely so that he can play with Jodie." She stooped to kiss her son's cheek as he watched with saucer-like eyes. "I'm sure you can't wait to begin playing with Roger, darling, can you?" Jodie had never seen anything resembling naughtiness in his life, and it was shaking him up a bit. "No, mama," he whispered. "Is Roger going to be all right?" "Oh he will be, precious. Let's just sit and watch as Grandma and Grandma Valerie make him feel lovely again." "I'm sure Roger is feeling very sorry for what has happened," added Thelma. "He can't wait to play with such a lovely boy friend." Opposite the spectators, the grandmothers had been helped into their aprons. They were in crisp and heavy cire nylon which slithered noisily as they were being dressed. A shoulder wide loop fitted round their necks as the aprons fitted loosely over the ladies' busts. A waist belt three inches deep passed round the waist to be buttoned several times across the back, while the ample width of the aprons comfortably covered the width of both the ladies' skirts. Valerie's apron was in two tones of light blue, in vertical stripes, with cire nylon frills three inches wide all round the neck loop, bib and apron, while two large, square pockets decorated the lap. Agatha's was identical but in two-tone pink. When Hilda had deprived Roger of his soggy panties, she turned him with his back to the ladies, then delivered him into their arms so that he lay naked in their aprons. A cry of surprise left his lips as he slid across the cushion of apron covered skirts, held by his arms until he was sitting up with his legs spread apart. His helplessness welled inside him and he burst into tears as the ladies 'Tut-tutted' and shushed him, with Grandma Agatha's tightly permed blond hair pressing against one of his ears and his own grandma's short, greying hair pressed against the other. "Nice boys are allowed to cry from time to time," said Grandmother Agatha, "but only while they are doing their best to be pretty." "And sensitive," added Grandmother Valerie. "And I am sure you are trying to be both." Maid Hilda helped both the grandmothers into their rubber gauntlets to protect the sleeves of their blouse and dress. The hands of the gloves were a close fit in pink latex, but beyond the wrist the gloves flared widely and reached the ladies' elbows. It was because of their gloved fingers, though, that Hilda had to undo all Roger's blouse buttons and undo his shoes so that the grandmothers could undress him completely. "Let's do a warm, wet wipe all round Roger's popsie," said Grandma Valerie as Agatha held his back into her apron with her gloves wrapped round his stomach. "How delightful," she commented as she watched. "We have always called little Jodie's penis his 'poppet', but 'popsie' seems so appropriate, especially since Roger has such a darling small one. Quite free of hair, rather babyish in its knoblet and stem, and I love to see a boy with a wrinkle-free purse like this one here. Hasn't he got a perfectly sweet set of little bits, Sonia?" "That is just what I was thinking myself," replied her daughter. "I declare, they are more effeminate than little Jodie's collection. Look, Thelma. Jodie's little package is really cute, I always feel." The two mothers were halfway through changing him as Roger was being washed, but Sonia's son twirled into her arms and clung to her neck with his bare bottom showing beneath the fresh blouse he was being dressed in. His mother understood his shyness and gave him a cuddle. "Not right now, though," she whispered, with a smile to her friend. "Maybe tomorrow darling." Thelma had a solution. "I know, my pet," she cooed from behind him, "I'll fasten the back of your blouse while you cuddle with Mama... then I'll slip your panties up your legs from behind... so that you can be private." This seemed to be acceptable, for Jodie stood perfectly still as Thelma fastened the buttons down the back of his primrose georgette blouse. It had a Peter Pan collar in primrose satin and cuffs of satin at the tops of his arms beneath sweetly puffed sleeves, each of which fastened with a blouse button on the outside of his arms. Sonia passed her the pants to match, and the white celanese panties to go under them. "Step in for Auntie Thelma, sweetheart," she cooed, and his bare feet slotted through the legs for her to slip the panties up his legs and shape them into place between his buttocks. His mother ensured that they contained his private little places. "What lovely shorts for Jodie," gushed Thelma, lifting the satin pants and seeing that they were fully lined in delicate white rayon. "What a little sweetheart you will feel, wearing these for Mama and Grand-Mama." The boy couldn't resist half turning to see for himself and the dainty twisting of his wrists and twining of his fingers showed the ladies his ecstasy. "Shall we pop Jodie into his lovely pants, darling? Shall Auntie Thelma slip them up Jodie's legs and fasten them for him?" Sonia beamed as her son slowly turned and allowed himself to face her friend and step into the legless pants in primrose satin. They were liquid soft and when they reached Jodie's crotch they simply moulded themselves into every slot and crevice. His mother helped him to hold his arms out to the sides as Thelma began to button his shorts to the primrose buttons around his blouse: four across the front, and when he turned round, four more across the back, so that the pants were pulled tightly up between his thighs and his private package. The result was that his clothing looked very short indeed, while his legs looked unbelievably long. "Three lovely glass buttons up this side, darling," she said, closing his pants at one hip, "and three more here. There. What a brave little soldier." He turned into his mother for a warm, long hug, showing Thelma the beginnings of his buttocks beneath his pants, then she sat him on her dress for Auntie Thelma to put him into his frilly socks, followed by a pretty pair of primrose sandals to match his costume. By the time he was ready, it was time to dress his boy friend. "I do like to see a boy in a back buttoning chemise," declared Grandma Valerie as Agatha did the honours. "What divine lacework round the lower half, and flaring so sweetly." Agatha held the boy steady to prevent him from sliding on her apron as Hilda slotted his panties over his feet and threaded them up his legs. They were in white silk, with little frills of white chiffon at each leg. His blouse was presented next, on its padded hanger, for everyone to see. Jodie sprang to his feet in a surge of emotion and stood in the middle, his glossy black hair perfectly shaped into a rounded style, his quiff drooping sweetly over his left eye. "I chose your blouse for you, Roger," he stated, his hands playing with his glass pant buttons as he stood in his primrose two-piece set and his anklets and yellow sandals. "And I chose your shorts for you too, Roger." "Oh how wonderful!" enthused Thelma. "Aren't you a lucky boy?" said his grandmother as she slipped the crisp white blouse off the hanger and held it against her breast to see how sweet it looked. "Why Jodie, sweetheart," she exclaimed, looking up at him, "what a simply delightful blouse. Isn't it exquisite, dear?" "I've fallen in love with it," replied her daughter. "Is it in cotton?" Valerie looked at the label. "Cotton polyester," she declared. "I love the large buttons, in a smooth, flat, pearled plastic." "I like the feminine styling of the Peter Pan collar," added Sonia, delighted that Jodie's choice was proving such a hit. "Shall we slip it on for you, darling?" cooed Grandma Valerie, and she presented the short sleeves, pressed and creased, behind him. Roger was shaken by all this fuss. To have his blouse chosen for him by Jodie, and a blouse which had a feminine collar! His pride suffered a severe challenge, having to sit there under everyone's gaze and have his blouse drawn together at the front for Grandma Agatha to look over his shoulder with her earrings and perfume, and fasten the large white blouse buttons down the front. It stuck out embarrassingly from him all round, as if it was starched or something! "Beautiful," commented his grandma. "Oh yes!" said his mother, and Jodie's mother hugged him from behind as he passed the pair of shorts he had chosen too, clipped onto their hanger, to maid Hilda. Roger's mouth dropped open. The shorts were in a pastel, mint green, in silky material, and very small but somehow puffed out. He was sure they would not reach from his waist down to the tops of his legs. A flood of shame swept through his body as Hilda knelt and slipped the little pair of pants onto his feet and drew them over his ankles. The silk was elasticated at the legs, so that the pants gripped his legs where the silk was ruched at the leg openings. A cry of dismay escaped him as the little pants passed his knees and Grandma Agatha and Grandma Valerie helped to pull them higher, working the gripped legs up his thighs. It was Roger's own little penis which broke first. It had stiffened so much as the shorts came up his legs that it alarmed him into a shocking outburst. "I'm not wearing them!" he cried, kicking out with both his feet. "They're too girly and too small, and I'm not being put into them. Take them off me, I don't want them!" It was a good job Agatha had a firm grip round him from behind, otherwise he could easily have slithered off her aproned lap and got away, maybe to run riot round the morning room at Sweetwell Park. After their initial shock the ladies reacted calmly. As Agatha held onto him, clutching his arms at his sides and pulling him back into her salmon pink blouse, Grandma Valerie drew his shorts down to his knees so that his legs were bound together. Hilda wrapped another pair of shorts over his feet and fastening them at his ankles to put a stop to the kicking. Roger's mother, in the meantime, reached up her skirt and slipped her panties down, stepped out of them, and stepped across to put them over her son's head to settle him down. It worked, and he was soon sedated as she held the doubled silk gusset over his face and he sobbed quietly inside the panty. The ladies looked at each other in a mixture of dismay and annoyance. "Hilda," said Agatha, "what this boy needs is feminising. Go upstairs to my dressing room and bring down some of my things: the bra I was wearing yesterday from the linen basket, and the pantyhose. No need for panties," she said, her lips pursed in thought; "you can bring me my narrow Dior skirt, the maroon one with taffeta lining... and bring me my autumn raincoat for him." Maid Hilda set off with a ripple of purpose in her uniform, while the two grandmothers kept a tight hold on the naughty boy, easily controlling the occasional attempted slither of his pantied bottom and bare legs. The two mothers, on the other hand, did their best to comfort a distressed Jodie. "Don't be upset, my darling sweetheart," said Sonia to her son, who was trying to bury himself in her shoulder. "Everything will be all right in a few moments, and we will all be dressed nicely again." "B-But I chose a really nice pair of shorts for Roger, mama, and he didn't want to wear them," he bleated. "I really did try. I thought they were so pretty." "I know, sweetie, you did your very, very best, and my heart bleeds for you. Would you like to wear Mama's panties for a little while, to help you feel stronger and much nicer?" "Yes please, Mama. Can you put me into them please?" he managed to say, his face a picture of wretchedness. Sonia drew her panties down her stockings and Jodie sat in the lap of Thelma's black and white dress for his mother to draw her panties up his legs and up over his primrose shorts. They were in strawberry pink rayon crepe in a draped style with fullness from waist to the legs, where rows of fine white lace made them very pretty. They helped to make Jodie's poppet feel girlish and much happier as it stiffened inside his shorts. "Sometimes," said Thelma, her face against his, "when a teenage boy is in a friend's house instead of being at home, he finds it hard to accept what the ladies say is best for him." She touched a soft kiss onto Jodie's glowing cheek. "But you can help to show Roger how to be dressed properly." She kissed him again. "If Roger sees you wearing some very pretty clothes, and if he sees you feeling lovely in them... I think he will want to feel as lovely as you." Her lips pressed again onto his cheek. "But all that will be after Roger has been punished," his mother whispered into his ear as maid Hilda returned with an armful of Grandma Agatha's things. "Excellent, my dear," said Agatha as the maid arranged things. "I thought after you had gone about how effective a blouse would be, and... my, my, that one will have a profound effect on him. Well, Valerie, my dear, shall we make a start on imposing some feminine feelings on your naughty grandson?" "Quite, Agatha dear," said the boy's grandmother. "I'm sure that between us we can make him feel considerably more feminine, especially through the sensory beauty of your admirable clothing. Are we going to remove his blouse and panties?" "No dear, just his mother's panties," explained Agatha. "I will dress him in my things over his clothing, except for my pantyhose, which I want to be in feminising contact with his private little places, so his panties can come off." Roger's grandmother drew his mother's maroon panties off his head and it was a very sorry looking teenager who blinked out at the ladies who surrounded him. The shorts and panties were removed from his feet, and Agatha sat him up in her arms so that Hilda could roll the pantyhose into two handfuls, and feed it over his feet and onto his legs. "I want you to take particular note of the lovely feelings of softness in your legs as you are dressed in Grandma Agatha's pantyhose, my boy," said his grandmother, taking the opportunity to lecture him. "You are a very lucky boy indeed to have such an understanding and generous lady who knows what your nature needs in these trying circumstances. You will sit and be dressed as becomes your state of mind this morning." The pantyhose had an immediate effect on Roger. He had never been dressed in ladies' pantyhose before, and the sweetness surrounding his legs made adjoining parts of his body feel simply lovely. He gushed from his throat in a fit of breathlessness as the nylon cinched his bottom and popsie with feminine attractiveness. His legs wanted to spread themselves with beautiful feelings in their shining grey coating. "How wonderful, Agatha my dear," said Valerie as Hilda approached her mistress with her white long-line bra. "I wondered if you wanted to un- blouse him first, but now I see: you will dress him in your brassiere on top of his little blouse." "Absolutely," declared Agatha, opening the garment of strong net and satin panels overlaid with lace. "Be so kind as to help me draw the garment up his arms and I'll fasten him into it." She paused when the brassiere was almost in place, as Hilda obliged by slotting the soft foam breast forms into the cups. "Thank you, dear," said the grandmother, and turned to Valerie. "It's a 40 E, and you can see why I wanted the darling boy to keep his blouse, just to add that extra tightness as the bra is fastened over it." "But Agatha, darling," said her new friend, "I have never seen a brassiere quite like this one. The panels are firm and the cups too... but forgive me for asking why there are suspender straps?" "My little secret for the time being, dear," smiled Agatha. "Help me to turn him onto his tummy so that I can fasten his hooks and eyes." Roger whimpered as he was turned face down across Grandma Agatha's apron and held in place by Hilda and Valerie to stop him from sliding. There were two rows to be fastened, with twelve hooks and eyes in each row, so it took Agatha a few minutes to fasten the boy together down the back of his bra. "There can be few better garments to choose if you ever need to feminise Roger again," she declared, "than a brassiere or a corselet. Not only do they give the boy breasts... so feminine!... but they also keep him tightly controlled, as he should be on occasions like the present." Roger was facing down, with his face sliding in his grandmother's apron, but his legs were feeling deliriously excited in his pantyhose and he opened them wide and reached and reached as if to find some feminine release. Above him, Grandma Agatha explained the suspenders to her friend. "Now this is the reason I had some of my long-line bras fitted with garter straps: there can be occasions when my pantyhose works its way down during the course of the day. The answer was obvious, to my mind: I needed to anchor them in place, and if we can do it with stockings, we can do it with pantyhose too." As she spoke, she was pulling the suspender straps, one at a time, and stretching the waist of her pantyhose to meet them round Roger's middle. He was turned over to be suspendered all round. With three suspenders to each leg, the pantyhose was pulled up far more tightly around his most sensitive parts, and his desperate whimpering increased. "Hilda," called the mistress, "put him into my shoes, please." The boy's hair was contained as if under a ceiling by Grandma Agatha's breasts and his legs widely spread in their pantyhose, straight out to either side. He watched with pangs of humiliation as the maid knelt in front of her mistress and fitted his feet into 'sensible' ladies shoes in chestnut crocodile skin, with laces done into bows on top and with heels three inches high. His feet felt terribly curved, but they made his legs feel even more feminine in his beautiful dark grey pantyhose. "I admire your sense of feminisation for the boy," said Grandma Valerie, running her hand along his nylon thigh and producing moans of pleasure from her big breasted grandson. "The combination of brassiere and pantyhose has him quite subdued. At this stage I would put him into a very feminine pair of panties to impress his feminisation on his popsie." "Quite so, my dear, and that would be most effective, but my intention is to make him suffer complete feminisation by means of the unexpected. Hilda has selected a particularly effective blouse of mine for the purpose, to be followed by one of my skirts, and then my autumn mackintosh. With full feminisation, I feel the boy will see the error of his ways?" Roger's grandmother was in full agreement, and was beginning to be most thankful that her daughter had got in touch with her friend Sonia so that Roger could fall under the influence of her and her mother. He was certain to turn out a sweeter and more effeminate boy as a result. He began to weep openly as the blouse was taken off its hanger and passed round his back for Grandma Agatha to thread his arms into the billowing sleeves. It was painfully clear to him that he was being dressed in a ladies' satin evening blouse, an item of glamour and alarming femininity. The white bridal satin swam deliciously round his shoulders and arms, wrapping together over his prominent brassiere breasts since it was to fasten with a double row of buttons. His hands were engulfed in large winged cuffs of doubled satin, while his neck was wrapped in the soft slither of an equally doubled, wide, rounded collar. "This is what you can expect, Roger," said his grandmother as she helped by buttoning the cuff-link style buttons through the turned back cuffs that covered his hands, "if you create a fuss over being dressed nicely in your pretty clothes. It's very simple: mother knows best, and you must always remember that." It was while Roger's tears ran down his face and fell onto his wide satin collar that his mother was holding his friend Jodie on her lap as Sonia did what she could to console her mortified son. "If I had picked a nicer pair of shorts for Roger," he was saying, "I know he would be much happier and we would be playing with my dolls instead of being punished." "Arms in, petal," said his mother, holding his grandmother's button down dress behind him, "and you are not being punished darling. Roger has to learn how lovely it is to be beautifully dressed, then everything will be all right." Jodie was being put into one of Grandma Agatha's short sleeved narrow dresses, which always made him feel lovely without fail. It had a nice pointed collar, puffed short sleeves and twelve dress buttons down to the hem, with a narrow self-matching belt. He liked the small floral pattern and the glossy silk and cotton mix because it made him feel so close to his grandma: it smelt of her and it felt like her. His mother had cleverly decided to put her son into one of Grandma's brassieres too, so that he was like Roger as he watched the dressing going on a few feet in front of them, so it was a boy with a rather feminine figure who sat nicely on Thelma's knee as his mother fastened his dress almost down to his feet. Inevitably, those feelings of Grandma sweetness flowed over him, and he melted lower into Thelma's summer dress as she stroked him in the middle of his lap until his poppet felt nicely hard and upright. On the other settee, Roger was sliding his pantyhosed legs, trying to separate them as widely as he could in an effort to calm the aching pleasure inside the tightness of the nylon panty. His anguish had doubled now that he was dressed in white satin which covered his precious parts, and he wilted into pitiful sobbing as his grandmother fastened the double buttoning front down to his popsie. "Isn't that lovely, precious?" she said, catching one of his hands and tucking at the long doubled cuff to make both hands match in being covered in lovely curves of satin up to the first knuckle of his fingers. His blouse collar drew her attention next in a deeply feminine circle of sweetness as wide as his shoulders and decorated with embroidery encrusted with pearls at the two front corners. The bodice of the blouse gleamed in soft satin whiteness, fastened together now with two rows of white pearled drop buttons. "Boys who must be feminised in ladies blouses must expect to have sleeves that billow beautifully and very pretty buttons over their breasts," she told him. Her words brought a wail from her grandson and he buried his face into the ruffled bosom of Grandma Agatha's blouse to escape his misery. For her part, she nodded to Hilda as the maid passed her the maroon skirt. "As soon as I've skirted him, I'll put him into my mackintosh," she said. Valerie reached for his separated legs and drew his shiny shoes together, filling Roger with alarm. He attempted to kick again, but his strength was drained by the influence of Grandma Agatha's clothes that now held him all over. "I don't want to wear a skirt!" he cried, which would have been a shout had it not been for his weakness. He did his best to wriggle, puckering his satin collar around his face and obliging Agatha to hold onto his blouse sleeves as Hilda threaded the heavy wool and terylene skirt over his shoes. "Please don't put me into a skirt!" he pleaded, his voice becoming softer by the minute. "Grandma, please... please don't." The silk lining slid coldly up his pantyhose, bringing a moan of despair from him as his face slid lower into Agatha's blouse front, his cheeks surrounded with his collar as his bottom was lifted for the skirt to encase him. It zipped at one hip, with two maroon buttons on the waistband. Agatha sat him up so that she could blouse out his blouse around his waist, while Valerie fussed his collar until it lay sweetly around his shoulders again. As he sat upright, the boy caught sight of Jodie, looking like a prairie maiden in his dress down to his feet, sitting on his mother's knee with Sonia caressing his hand, and all of them watching him in his humiliation. He could feel the burn of his blushes, but then he saw the mackintosh. It was in gold cire satin, hanging heavily from Hilda's hands, with a large pointed collar and wide sleeves to deeply turned back cuffs. It had large patch pockets on either side of the row of shiny, amber buttons, with further buttons on the cuffs and the pocket flaps. As Hilda opened it out, the beige silk lining came into view and it was all too much for him. His tears flooded down his cheeks and he shook with crying as Grandma Agatha's raincoat was slotted round the back of him and his arms were presented to the deep sleeves. Slurries of silk and satin sizzled round him, heavy with the scent of Agatha's wardrobe, as Grandma Valerie drew the two sides of the mackintosh together over the bust of his blouse and began buttoning him into it. the collar was deep and sharply pointed on his breast, and beneath it the satinised hood sat folded from shoulder to shoulder across his back. His wailing became more frantic as he realised his half bloused hands didn't reach out of the sleeves, which were folded back by six inches before the silk lining began. The women slid his skirted bottom forwards and lifted him so that the mackintosh could be pulled under him and down his legs. It was a fairly wide but straight raincoat, and he was soon mackintoshed down to his ankles, leaving his shoes peeping sweetly from the hem. "I want him fully contained inside my mackintosh, to gain the best results of feminisation," she said, sliding his bottom back towards her. "These buttons on the pocket flap can be fastened through the sleeve cuffs if we fold them out like this." Hilda helped Valerie to undo the cuffs, then slide the ends of his mackintosh sleeves into the deep pockets. Between them they fastened his hands inside the pockets, buttoned into their satin lined pockets. The weakened boy could barely slither in any way, but he tried... in protest or in utter helplessness, with slithers of rubber perfumed femininity surrounding him and buttoned up to the chin. On the other settee, Jodie watched with his hands covering his anguished cheeks and lips. His mother had removed her panties to give them to him to hold. It was comforting to him to have the pink rayon panty smoothing his face or pressed into his nose for him to breathe his mama's lovely scents. He was beginning to see why feminising Roger was such a good thing for him, because the slithering of silks and satins around his friend was giving Jodie himself such lovely feelings of heavenly pleasure. He wondered if he was beginning to feel how girls felt. Even Roger's distress was exciting him, and Thelma could feel the wetness between the buttons of his grandmother's summer dress as she fondled him softly up and down. He released a whimper of pleasure himself as he watched Roger being turned over in his mackintosh and slid into position on his tummy, so that his upturned blouse collar fell forward around his hair. Hilda straightened the doubled white satin, and his head had disappeared beneath his collar. "Perhaps most important of all," declared Grandma Agatha above him, "is encasing the boy's head in women's collars and hoods, so that he will know that he is fully feminised. That is why I chose this mackintosh," and she lifted the collar, turning it up all round and folding it forward to contain the collar of his blouse. "It only remains for his hood to be drawn up, and then we can fondle him until he surrenders those naughty masculine tendencies he has been showing." So saying, she unbuttoned the hood behind his shoulders and opened it upwards, giving Jodie a thrilling glimpse of the silk lining inside. His grandma spread it into its full, voluminous shape, widened its opening above the back of Roger's collars, and released it to slide with a rush of satin until he was fully contained inside it. A long moan of emotion escaped the front of the hood at the side of Grandma Agatha's skirt, and the boy's crocodile skin shoes did one little slither each as bleating moans were all the boy could produce. The two grandmothers and the maid began to slide him forward and back, face down in the mackintosh, with rhythmic moans of pleasure from deep inside his collars. On the settee opposite, an ecstatic Jodie was having his dress buttons fondled for him by both mothers. Little bleats of surrender whimpered in his throat as he watched the feminisation of Roger continue, and bubbles of white cream seeped through the floral dress material, moistening their fingers with his swells of pleasure. After five minutes on his tummy, the naughty boy was turned over in Grandma Agatha's clothes, and put into a sitting position with his back to her. His mackintosh hood was parted a little for Jodie to see the shame and repentance for himself as Roger had the front of his mackintosh massaged, with rhythmic rustles of satin, until the squirts and squidges of sissified cream could be heard adding to the wetness inside the silk lining of Grandma Agatha's skirt. *** In Chapter 3: the boys want to look pretty and are put into little dresses. This story is serialized in the Wendyhouse at www.primspetticoatwendyhouse.com