Mrs Denver s Parent Discipline Scheme
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The Scheme - Part 4 free porn video
Chapter Four - The New Household
"Don't you think your sister looks quite the grown up girl tonight
dear?" Grace asked Dale in that casual smiling way that forced you to
answer in the same conversational manner. As if your poor friend being
trussed up in God knows what humiliating feminine frippery was perfectly
normal.
Dale was constrained to at least look his friend over. "Yeah, yeah, she
looks real nice Mum," he responded, quickly lowering his eyes and
feeling a bit of a traitor.
Ashley lowered his heavily mascaraed eyes too. Trudy's little injection,
and his mantra, put him a little distanced from the reality of it all.
However deep down he sensed every indignity of his situation. Squeezed
into those tiny panties, sheathed in nylons, fastened into a bra, and
zipped into a horror of a midnight blue taffeta dress, which squeezed
his upper body in a unremitting feminine embrace, but at the same time
also poofed out beneath in an explosion of layers of utterly humiliating
petticoats.
He was glad to have his friend Dale closer, and he felt he'd rather
bravely squashed the most painful feelings of humiliation being seen so
terribly feminised in his friend's presence. However it still hurt
terribly, but what could he do for the time being but be strong, and
remember that under all this insanity he was still Ashley.
Fortunately he'd managed a quiet word with Dale earlier that day, about
their "promise" not to try to escape this awful nightmare. Dale seemed a
bit taken by surprise by his friend's concerns about his genuine
resolve. Ashley wasn't sure at first whether Dale truly had given up any
resolve to leave, but seeing Ashley's obvious anxiety, he quickly
laughed off his worries.
Recovering his previous determination Dale assured him that, "When the
moment was right of course we'll get out of this place. But, you know,
for now we've just got to play along a bit...yeah that's it..until the
moment is right man."
Ashley wasn't fully reassured, but he felt a bit better that his friend
had denied outright betrayal.
So immediately before the party he'd got into a state of mind of grim
resolution, buoyed by the prospect of eventual liberation. However this
resolution came under the utmost pressure with the extreme fuss of Trudy
getting him ready, the unexpected extra indignity of nylons, suspender
belt, and that odd waist gripping bra, and the constant referral to him
being a "big girl" now. He was so obviously being forced to just taking
the role of his former playmate's "sissy" now. Constantly, the two women
who currently ruled his life so meticulously, now also cruelly made so
very distinct the gulf between their pretty sissy pet and his distinctly
male brother to be.
He was actually even relieved when Trudy gave him that ignominious
"calming" injection into his poor pantied bottom. To be a little
distanced from the current reality was something of a respite. It hurt
his pride that he couldn't master the shame and humiliation with simple
resolution and his secret mantra, but was glad not to be an even sissier
crying wreck in front of his former playmate.
The day passed in a hazy blur of fighting to control the frothiest most
lively petticoats he'd ever worn so far, the strange tug of suspenders
on nylons, and the effort to smile at what hurtfully looked like genuine
pleasure on Dale's face when presented with his new bedroom.
The "party," such as it was, consisted of just Dale in a daze of changed
circumstances, poor Ashley, the exuberant Grace and Trudy, and the Boss
trying to look comfortable in this alien environment of feminine
entertainment.
Ashley vaguely recalled "Mum and Dad" having a short waltz on the
parlour carpet. Then Trudy "cut in." Then, and he'd rather submerge this
particular memory, he was made to dance a few moments with Dale. Both
were scarlet with embarrassment, Ashley almost faint with shame as
Dale's hand couldn't help but trace the outline of his bra straps under
his tight fitting dress.
That was about the worst of it from Ashley's point of view. He was
genuinely pleased his friend was being better treated, and he hoped,
their bizarre circumstances withstanding, that he could rekindle their
old friendship again. He sorely needed a real friend.
Ashley awoke next morning after a surprisingly sound sleep. Maybe he
slept so well because of a combination of the injection and the little
glass of white fizzy wine Grace had surprisingly allowed him and his
best friend to toast the new family. Whatever, he felt rested if still a
little fuzzy in the head.
The shocking pink metal alarm clock by his bed said it was five to
seven. With a manicured hand he clicked the switch to stop the alarm
ringing at seven.
He'd got maybe five or ten minutes to himself before Grace, or Trudy, or
both came to torment him again for the day. He lifted the silken
bedclothes and slid his smooth legs to the thick carpeted floor,
revealing the froth of the peach multi layered baby doll he'd slept so
soundly in.
Each morning he hoped he'd wake out of his nightmare, but the garish
surroundings and his outrageously feminine nightwear soon dispelled any
lingering doubt about the reality of his situation.
He rather unconsciously slid his feet into those pink pom pom low heeled
slippers and walked to the dressing table. He sort of berated himself
for voluntarily slipping on the silly girlish slippers. Nobody was
around to see, so he didn't have to wear them. He calmed himself, it
didn't matter, he'd have to be wearing them when Grace came in, so
what's five or ten minutes, he couldn't keep beating himself up about
such stuff if he wanted to stay sane. He just had to remember that he
was Ashley, a boy, and always would be.
He sat at the dresser, his reflection mocking him as usual. He looked
into the eyes of the sad girl in the frothy peach nightie. Even without
make up the face was distinctly feminine, arched brows, a thinness that
highlighted delicate cheek bones, blushed naturally by his own
embarrassment. His hair dyed a shade of dark blonde was loose and
caressed his bare pale shoulders.
He looked away and fiddled rather frustratingly with long painted nails
to retrieve a little notebook secreted behind a drawer labelled by his
own hand as "Missy's Lipsticks."
He opened up the little notebook, and scrabbled in the drawer labelled
"Missy's Eye Make-Up" for the finest most pencil-like eye liner pencil
he could find.
He wrote yesterday's date on the page. "Dale moved in! Agreed we are
going to escape soon! Tough day. Not much time, will write more
tomorrow."
With that, his heart beginning to beat, knowing how near to seven
o'clock it was, he tucked the notebook back, and replaced the eyeliner
into it's allotted drawer. He was just in time too, as he heard
footsteps approaching his room.
Since he was now "family" his door was no longer locked overnight, not
that he could ever just run away anyway. Boss's old spaniel Bob raised
the alarm as soon as anyone wandered about at night. He'd tested that,
allegedly to get a glass of milk in the night, and Bob's barking
succeeded in waking a not very happy Grace.
He'd learnt that the unlocked door only had downsides really as he had
even less notice of anyone entering, and he lived in dread that the
newly installed Dale might innocently wander into this appalling sanctum
of femininity at any time.
It was Trudy that breezed in. Trudy, was as usual immaculately dressed
and made up, even at seven in the morning. She wore an elegantly cut two
piece in stormy blue, the narrow skirt cut just at the knee, her
expensively hosed feet in pastel blue courts with a two inch heel. Her
hair was elaborately and fastidiously piled up with a series of
barrettes and clips. Her scent was crushed flowers.
"Good Morning sweetie," she called breezily. "We're up already are we
dear?"
Trudy often talked about what "we" are doing, as if poor Ashley was
really a part of the enforced rituals.
"Good morning Auntie Trudy," Ashley forced himself to say in sweet tones
that unfortunately had begun to get easier, if not humiliatingly
natural, to simulate.
"You take your pretty night things off dear, while I run the bath, then
we can bathe and get ourselves all ready for the day."
With that Trudy glided into the en suite bathroom and began running
water.
Ashley sighed inwardly and began to pull the froth of nightie over his
head. He walked to the large laundry basket with it's pink plumped lid
and deposited the wretched item on top of the pile of last night's black
lingerie and stockings.
He was stood rather hesitantly now in just those ridiculously frilly
high waisted peach "sleep panties," with their neat rows of frothy lace.
He hated being naked in front of the women who ruled his life but
somehow Trudy matter-of-factly pulling down the tight constricting
panties he'd so docilely slept in all night was even more humiliating.
As he tugged at the firm waistband of the odious panties he wondered for
the hundredth time why all his knickers had to be quite so damn tight,
surely they were just several sizes too small.
Once past his thighs the ridiculously frilly panties slid easily over
his smooth legs and he nimbly stepped out of them. He deposited them in
the basket, quite deliberately inelegantly, in a tiny show of defiance.
Trudy entered the room a few seconds later. Ashley blushed as with
little preamble she proceeded to examine his crutch with her fingers
still wet from running his bath.
"Oh Good Girl," she cooed, "You stayed tucked all night. Your Mummy will
be so pleased when I tell her."
Ashley actually hadn't brought himself to look down there that morning.
Each night the ladies ensured his hairless balls were manipulated into
his body, if they weren't actually already there from earlier in the
day. To began with this had been an awfully painful experience, which
left an ache all day. Admittedly, lately it had been easier, and since
to the ladies bizarre pleasure his bits tended to stay concealed with
the aid of his tight constricting panties sometimes for a day or so at a
time he often now felt little or no discomfort.
He barely understood this enthusiasm for "tucking." The women had said
something about "smooth lines" and "improved comportment." But this
seemed mostly nonsense to him, and he put "tucking" down as yet another
bizarre torture, another of which he'd never breathe a word to his
friend Dale, or anyone for that matter.
His scented bubble bath was ready. Trudy sponged him like he was a baby.
She cheerily restated her joy at him still remaining "tucked" after his
"lovely morning soak."
What followed was the morning routine he'd actually become accustomed to
over the last weeks and months. The clothes, the make-up, scent, or
whatever lotions might vary, but the rigorous attention to detail was
the same. Especially when supervised by the exacting Trudy.
Poor Ashley had long since learned that resistance only caused pain or
derision, so he adopted his best "zen" state, one that his late mother
might have been proud of. He docilely held his skinny pale arms up to be
put into his lacy bra for the day, he obediently didn't blink when
applying his eye liner under Trudy's watchful gaze, he meekly forced a
smile when presented with his "look" for the day in front of the huge
cheval mirror that had already previously reflected dozens of pitiful
versions of the pathetic sissy that was Missy.
Bathed, moisturised, powdered and perfumed, poor Ashley was soon sat at
the dressing table resplendent in canary yellow lacy padded bra and
uncompromisingly tight tiny matching panties. Such was the ingenuity of
the carefully adjusted and transformative bra that Trudy, not for the
first time recently, decided to dispense with the usual "chicken fillet"
odious bra fillers. The bra rather uncomfortably produced a shockingly
convincing cleavage with only poor Ashley's "puppy fat" breasts to work
with.
Lately the poor boy had noticed that routinely after a short while in
such a constricting bra his "breasts" such as they were seemed to
actually mould and settle into the twin cups of the awful creation.
Alarmingly he'd even sometimes feel a "jiggle" inside the soft cups if
he moved suddenly. Most disconcertingly too his poor moulded bosom would
retain a most definitely feminine shape for some considerable time after
being finally freed from it's daily prison.
It puzzled him a little how under the current strict dietary regime his
arms and legs lost fat and muscle, his waist was thin, yet his puppy fat
chest still lingered, if not actually grew, if that was possible.
Ashley was diverted from these concerns when Trudy gaily announced that
the Boss had given Dale the day off, and "brother and sister" were to
spend the day together at their leisure.
"If we are rough-housing with a boy we'd better wear something suitable
young lady," she cooed.
Any thoughts of possibly wearing jeans and a tee shirt were soon
dispelled however. The enfolding outfit could perhaps best be described
as "Cowgirl meets Cinderella."
The form fitting blouse vaguely resembled a work shirt in that in part
it employed a blue and red check material found in men's work shirts.
However the cut of the garment contoured the poor sissy's padded breasts
and was elaborated with a blue sheer lace panel at the neck, puffed out
short sleeves, and various ribbon and lace detail.
The below the knee skirt was heavy pale brown suede, sort of cowgirl
style but overly elaborated with leather tassels and colourfully
stitched prairie flower designs.
There was a sort of matching suede belt, which approximated a kind of
corset really. It was deep, from just below the bust to the waist, and
fastened meticulously and firmly from behind by the poor sissy's
uncompromising dresser. There was no way the boy could ever free himself
from the constricting device without help.
Sometimes the boy wondered where his tormentors ever acquired some of
the most bizarre outfits he was made to wear. He never saw a women or
girl ever wear anything like some of the elaborate outfits he suffered.
It never occurred to Ashley however that such elaborate attire was most
probably made to order, and made to measure, and as such was planned and
commissioned well in advance. Grace and Trudy had planned Missy's first
day out with her brother quite meticulously you can be sure.
Beneath the wide suede skirt the outfit was completed with one of the
poor sissy's frothy white starched petticoats. As a concession to his
"rough-housing" he wore thick cream patterned woollen tights instead of
the usual flimsy sheer pantihose.
On his feet, Trudy helped him into what she called "cowboy boots." In
truth they were at best bizarre travesties of a real cowboy boot. More
realistically they were calf brown high heeled ankle boots with embossed
and stained flowery detail on their thick leather upper. They fastened
tightly at the ankle with complicated fastenings that Trudy carefully
hooked up. Ashley seriously doubted his ability to unfasten the infernal
boots on his own with his awful long and shaped nails.
Eventually he was deemed fit for his day out with his new brother, and
he accompanied his two female tormentors downstairs to greet Dale.
"Hi...M..." smiled Dale not quite able to call his former playmate
Missy.
"Hi Dale," replied Ashley rather shyly lowering his heavily mascaraed
eyes a little.
Dale was dressed relatively smartly for their day together, but what
struck Ashley immediately was Dale's smart new work shirt in the exact
same check material which was included in the blouse he was wearing, the
poor sissy's absolute travesty of a cowboy shirt. He flushed with anger
at what couldn't just be a coincidence.
He wouldn't let Grace and Trudy's little game spoil his day, and he
summoned courage to restore his composure, determined to enjoy his time
with Dale.
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