Mrs Denver s Parent Discipline Scheme
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The Scheme - Part 5 free porn video
Chapter Five - Gone Fishing
His new brother seemed really cheerful that morning as he explained that
they were allowed to go fishing down at the stream today. Fishing seemed
a much more manly pursuit than Ashley thought he'd ever be permitted and
he gladly agreed with the plan, surprised at Grace and Trudy's apparent
enthusiasm for the idea.
Fishing wasn't exactly "on the menu" at the orphanage. He knew Dale had
occasionally gone down to the small stream with the Boss to fish, and his
own situation aside, he really liked the idea of sharing such a fun
pursuit.
Dale had already prepared two rods, and tackle, and other angling stuff
that Ashley hoped Dale would explain to him. "Mum," had actually prepared
a picnic. Although the stream was only on the far side of the woods and
still within the farm's limits they thought it might be nice if the two
of them spent the whole day out together. The two friends were perfectly
content with that arrangement.
So they departed, Dale manfully carrying all the angling paraphernalia,
his taller willowy "Sissy" elegantly clutching the old fashioned wicker
basket containing their picnic.
It didn't take long to get to the small shallow stream. Dale romped down
the bank with ease and deposited the angling stuff on the stony shore
basking a moment in the sunshine that made the slow moving stream
twinkle. He turned to find his friend hesitating at the top of the bank.
From Ashley's expression Dale guessed that the bank was quite an obstacle
in those heeled boots and those frothy skirts. His friend was obviously
too proud or embarrassed to ask for assistance.
"Put the basket down man," said Dale as casually as he could, daring the
"man" word now they were well away from their captors. Ashley gently
placed the basket on the grass, as Dale bounded up the bank. As
nonchalantly as he could he took his friend's hands to help him down the
obstacle.
Ashley felt how rough Dale's hands had become, and Dale became
uncomfortably aware at just how soft and delicate his friend's manicured
hands were.
Even with assistance the bank was still quite an impediment in heels and
skirts. At one point Ashley slipped a little, his skirts trailing on the
wet bank. But Dale soon guided him to safety. Both boys rather too
eagerly and embarrassingly broke their connecting hands at the first
opportunity.
Dale forced a smile, and Ashley returned the smile, disconcertingly
prettily through freshly lipsticked lips. Dale bounded back up the bank
and retrieved the picnic basket.
Whilst Dale eagerly explained all the angling gear Ashley proceeded to
unpack the hamper. There was a large chequered cloth which he laid out on
a flat piece of shore. There was one large plastic container labelled
"Dale," and a smaller one labelled "Missy," a bottle of lemonade,
glasses, plates, cutlery, napkins, and to Ashley's consternation one of
Missy's small make-up bags "thoughtfully" secreted at the bottom of the
basket.
Ashley had begun to regain his composure, and eagerly listened to his
friend's advice about the fishing tackle and the best way to fish the
stream. It was so good to hear some proper masculine conversation.
Tongue pursed in his lips in concentration, Dale demonstrated impaling a
wriggling maggot onto the little cruel hook. Ashley unconsciously pulled
a little pout of consternation.
"Yeah, I was a bit like that at first man," said Dale reassuringly. "It's
a bit gross to begin with but you get used to it."
"Here you try Ash," he said airily, handing Ashley a line, and holding
out the little jar of lively maggots.
Ashley took the line, and with a little difficulty grasped the hook
between long vivid pink fingernails. Grasping a maggot from the jar was
equally difficult with his other hand, but eventually he felt one
attempting to wriggle free between thumb and forefinger.
Applying maggot to hook was even more difficult. Firstly it was
frustratingly difficult to see hook or maggot for his damned long painted
nails, and when he could see what he was doing the nails still annoyingly
got in the way.
Dale was as patient as he could be, but eventually as lightly as he could
manage he said, "I'll do this one man, it takes some getting used to. You
can do the next one."
Ashley of course was never asked to hook another maggot, and neither boy
mentioned the subject. Dale unconsciously took over the role of bait
preparer for the day, and Ashley not wanting to repeat his failure let
that go.
With the Bosses old rod, Dale cast out his line almost to the other bank.
Ashley's rod was admittedly shorter, but his cast was rather stiff, his
corset of a belt preventing a proper swing, and the line fell rather
pathetically short of any real distance.
"That's not so bad for a first cast man," lied Dale. Ashley's casts that
followed were barely improvements, but Dale kept up a cheery level of
encouragement.
For an hour or so the two friends' hooks and bait were untroubled by any
innocent victims. Nevertheless Dale kept up a fairly constant commentary
on all he'd recently learnt about the art of angling, and the successes
and near misses both he and the Boss had had on this stream. Ashley knew
that this was idle bragging on Dale's part, though he would have done the
same if he'd beaten his friend to learning such a fun activity.
Eventually Dale's monologue was interrupted by a tug on his line and a
steady bend of his rod.
"I got one, a trout I think!" called Dale excitedly. Ashley looked on,
impressed by the boy's success. Dale gripped the rod as if Moby Dick was
tugging at the other end, his face a picture of grim determination as he
slowly reeled in the taught line.
"Get the landing net!" he called to his friend.
Ashley looked around the assembled angling gear trying to recall the
names of all the paraphernalia. He couldn't see anything that looked like
a net, though he knew names could be weird and didn't always look like
what they sounded like.
"The landing net!" called Dale more urgently.
Ashley finally spotted a net of sorts lying in the water. Kneeling down,
skirts brushing the muddy bank he pulled the net out of the water and ran
to his friend as best he could in his heeled boots.
Dale looked over. "That's the keep net!" he cried in unguarded
exasperation. "I need the landing net Missy! I think it's by the tackle
box!"
Ashley let fall the keep net, abruptly hurt at being called Missy in
Dale's anger. He found another net attached to a pole actually hidden
under the tackle box. Trying to ignore his wounded feelings he returned
to Dale with the net.
Ashley grabbed it and with some difficulty flicked the rod and scooped
the surprisingly small fish into the net.
"It was hidden under the tackle box," said Ashley rather lamely.
"Whatever," sighed Dale.
"Put the keep net back where it was," he ordered, urgency presumably
taking precedence over politeness. A little disconsolately Ashley bent
and plopped the net back in the water, his skirts brushing the mud again.
Dale proceeded to free the fish from it's hook. "I'll show you how to do
this another time," he said as an afterthought. Something again which he
never did. He slipped the poor fish into the keep net with the pride of a
great hunter.
"We got one," he declared, finally remembering to be a little more
inclusive in their pursuit.
"Yeah, yeah," affirmed Ashley still hurting from being inadvertently
called Missy. He wanted to call his friend out about that but it would be
himself that would be more embarrassed. Anyway Dale will have to call him
Missy when they get back.
Dale caught another small fish before noon, but Ashley was left pretty
much as a spectator, Dale handling the catch on his own.
"Shall we eat?" said Dale. "I need to water a tree," he laughed. "You
want to get the stuff out man?" he asked.
"Yes sure," replied Ashley as his friend wandered off to the nearest tree
to relieve himself.
Ashley felt a vague resentment at being left to do the feminine task of
putting the food out, but he didn't dwell on it, it wasn't too onerous.
Dale's box of goodies looked tempting, thick cheese and pickle
sandwiches, a bit of cake, and a snack bar. Ashley's box contained
Swedish crackers and some anaemic paste, and a solitary apple.
Dale sat down as Ashley poured a glass each of the lemonade. "Cheers!"
called Dale, and they clinked glasses like adults.
Dale looked on at his friend's meagre fare. "You can share my food Ash,"
he said generously. "I had a big breakfast."
"Can I?" said Ashley meekly.
"Sure, sure. Your stuff we can throw to the fish," he laughed. Ashley
loved the rebellion in that idea.
Whether it was the tight corset of a belt, or that his stomach had shrunk
over weeks of such a strict diet, but he couldn't eat as much of Dale's
food as he would have liked, but nevertheless it was a treat to eat
proper food.
Ashley surreptitiously wiped a trace of pink lipstick from his glass as
they finished the last of the lemonade. Unaccustomed to so much liquid
Ashley realised he needed to relive himself now.
Dale's attention averted whilst checking on the two catches in the keep
net Ashley grabbed the little make-up bag from the basket, and rising to
his heels called as nonchalantly as he could that he needed to "water a
tree" too.
"That's cool man," called his friend.
The boy hated himself a little for taking the make-up bag with him into
the wood. A month of slaps, threats, and painful jabs from that cruel
electric prod that Trudy employed during his "training" meant he had a
lingering fear about not "repairing his lipstick." Anyway it wasn't like
Dale would notice if he had or hadn't applied fresh lipstick. His face
was just a "clown mask" of make-up to any normal boy.
He had to wander deep enough into the little wood to be out of sight of
Dale at least. He quickly found a small clearing. Although for his
dignity he'd love to pee standing he knew from bitter experience this
just wasn't practical in such a heavy skirt and those petticoats.
Self-consciously he reached under his voluminous skirts for the waist
band of those patterned woollen tights. He tugged these down to his
ankles then reached under the rustling petticoats for the waistband of
those tight little panties. Long nails didn't help the operation, but
eventually he'd drawn them off his hips and from there they slid a little
easier down to his calves. The canary yellow lacy panties sat mockingly
around his legs as he crouched struggling to keep errant petticoats away.
His small peeny was limp as it usually was lately, so at least he didn't
have to direct it. The release of pee fell directly to the ground
thankfully without soiling his petticoat or panties.
He was suddenly startled by the sound of twigs breaking and somebody
approaching. He was frozen to the spot.
"Hey man come see!" called Dale excitedly. "I got a really big fi..."
He stopped mid sentence. Face to face with his friend, frothy petticoats
all hitched up, crouched with bright yellow girl's lacy panties pulled
around his ankles.
"Ha, sorry," he flushed. He turned quickly. "I'll show you when you've
finished," he mumbled, and made a quick exit out of the wood.
Poor Ashley could have just died there and then. His chest pounded, his
throat tightened, and his eyes filled with bitter tears of utter
humiliation.
With trembling hands he reached for the hateful make-up bag with it's
silly pattern of fluffy kittens adorning it. He unzipped and retrieved a
handful of pink scented tissues. Rather automatically he wiped his peeny
as he'd so ruthlessly been trained to do, and in a fit of rage screwed up
and launched the tissue into the bushes. He grabbed another tissue and
dabbed urgently at his eyes, forcing himself to stop crying, fearing the
"damage," to his make-up he'd have to repair.
Trembling with frustration he struggled to pull the stupidly tiny panties
back up. Eventually succeeding, he pulled the clingy tights back too, and
in a self-consciously feminine fashion he fluffed his skirt and petticoat
back into place.
He felt tears of humiliation welling up again as he searched the little
bag for his hand mirror. There it was, pink enamel with a large "M" for
Missy. He looked his face over. Other than the hugely sad feminine face
that looked back at him, waterproof eyeliner and mascara had saved him a
little.
How could he face Dale again he wondered? What a complete and utter Sissy
he must have looked.
"I'm a boy, I'm a boy and they can't change that," he chanted to himself.
Pulling himself together a little, he knew he'd at least have to refresh
his lipstick or face relentless disapproval when he got back.
He shuffled into the stupid make-up bag to find the lipstick.
The shade he'd been made to wear that morning was an insipid pink called
"Soft Dew." He'd soon learnt that all lipsticks had stupid names. There
was only one lipstick in the bag, the one he'd worn for the party, a much
redder and visible lipstick called "Brushed Velvet."
He cursed to himself, it's going to look so obvious he'd applied a new
lipstick. However the fear of not doing so was greater. Hating himself he
rather too expertly carefully applied the richer lipstick, taking care to
apply evenly to "corners and creases" as Trudy constantly reminded him.
His more richly made up lips now taunted him in the small hand mirror. He
calmed a little reminding himself that Dale was a boy and probably
wouldn't notice if he'd changed his lipstick to green even. He just
couldn't bring himself to think about what to say to Dale about being
found in the woods, petticoats up and sissy lacy panties around his
ankles. He wouldn't think about it or he'd never leave the wood at all.
Walking back to the bank he found Dale, his back to him, engrossed
looking into the keep net, presumably examining his new catch. Ashley
couldn't bring himself to ask his friend for help getting down the bank.
Silly make up bag in one hand, he half slid down the bank, brushing his
skirts and petticoats against the damp vegetation again, but somehow
managed to come to a stop heels dug into the grass but not tumbling over.
Dale turned at the sound, and looked over at his feminised friend.
"Sorry man, I err, didn't realise you were having a dump," he said
embarrassedly.
"I wasn't..." Ashley began, then realised he didn't have to actually
explain he peed sitting down. "I wasn't, I wasn't aware you were there,"
he corrected himself.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry," said Dale looking at him strangely. Had he noticed
the new lipstick flushed Ashley, or was it just embarrassment having just
seen his totally sissy underwear.
"Thought we might just chill and give the fishing a break," said Dale a
little stiffly.
"Yeah, sure," said Ashley, his appetite for fishing somewhat diminished
after the trauma of his friend seeing him like that.
Dale flopped down casually onto the picnic blanket. Ashley's tight belt,
heels, petticoats and skirt forced him to more elegantly settle himself
onto the blanket, with a last second quick tug at his skirt hem to hide
the froth of petticoat as best he could.
His friend seemed thoughtful, ruminating about how to say something.
Eventually he spoke.
"Sorry to ask, but, but, do they always make you wear girl's knickers?"
Dale forced out, the emphasis on "always."
Ashley blushed furiously, the question was unexpected. He swallowed.
Painful though it was maybe they should talk about this stuff he thought.
It was like what they called "the elephant in the room," between them.
"Yes, always," he replied lowering his heavy mascaraed eyes a little.
"Why don't you tell them to 'fuck off'?" Dale asked. Unusual for him to
swear like that.
"Well, well I used to, but you don't know man how it was, the shouting
the slaps, this electric thing that really hurt, the constant,
constant..." Ashley blurted out in a stream, drying up when he actually
felt the memory of the mental pain he'd suffered.
"So," said Dale slowly, "they slapped you this morning?" he asked looking
his friend in the face.
"No, no not exactly," replied Ashley now a little flustered.
Dale looked Ashley over a moment then continued his apparent
interrogation. "Is that a, an actual bra you're wearing under that shirt
thing?"
His friend had obviously seen the tell tale tale yellow straps under the
sheer material inserts of his silly cowgirl blouse. Ashley shuffled a
little uncomfortably in the confines of his silly panties.
"Yeah, yes," he sighed, unable to look his friend in the face.
One of Ashley's virtues, and one of his vices, was his predisposition to
always telling the truth.
"And they always make you wear a proper woman's bra?" Dale asked,
obviously freeing himself from questions he'd wanted to ask for ages.
"Yes, yes," replied Ashley now becoming a little tetchy at Dale's
insistent questions.
"How'd they make you put that on?" Asked Dale frankly.
"Well, they, it's difficult..." Ashley stumbled to explain how the
climate of fear ruled, when seemingly they applied no pressure to him at
all.
"Did they put it on you?" asked Dale.
"No, but you don't...they put the skirt and blouse and stuff on me,"
stuttered Ashley realising Dale wasn't understanding what truly went on.
"Geez man, you put a bra on yourself!" Dale spat out in ill disguised
disdain.
"For a month I was hit and slapped, and zapped with that thing, and they
shout, then they are all sweet and it's crazy!" blurted out the poor
feminised boy. As he raised his voice he felt the humiliation as he began
to squeak like a girl in a tantrum. Weeks of soft tones hadn't prepared
his vocal chords for shouting.
Ashley stared across the stream, and to the field beyond, his eyes
beginning to fill with tears. He sniffed as a sudden resolution came to
him.
"Is that field over the stream the last one on the farm?" he sniffed.
Dale was surprised at the change of subject. He was already beginning to
wonder if he was being a bit hard on his friend, but he had to say that
stuff, because yes those women were crazy but Ashley must be a bit if a
sissy not to fight them. He'd said what he wanted for now so he tried to
answer Ashley as if they'd just had a normal conversation.
"Yeah, the north field, the last one."
"So, if we waded through the stream and over the field we would leave the
farm?" asked his friend wiping his made up eyes with the back of his soft
hands.
"Well yeah, there's a bit of a fence, but yeah," replied Dale.
In a rustle of petticoats his friend suddenly stood up.
"Let's go then, let's get out of this crazy place," said Ashley in the
most manly determined voice he could muster.
Dale stood up now. His face showed his surprise at his friend's sudden
change of tone.
"What you mean, run away?" asked Dale in obvious astonishment.
"Yeah, run away from this hell now," Ashley replied grimly.
"Dressed like that?" said Dale spontaneously, looking the feminised boy
over, then regretting quite how he'd said it as he could see the comment
hurt his friend.
Ashley did feel wounded but his determination overcame that. "Well yeah,
I can get proper clothes when I get out."
"How?" Dale asked once again rather spontaneously, not being quite
prepared for this conversation.
"What do you mean how?" asked Ashley beginning to gather up his skirts in
a rather unavoidably feminine fashion and approaching the edge of the
shallow stream.
"Stop a second man," called Dale. "I mean how you gonna get clothes, you
got any money?"
Ashley stopped and let his skirt and petticoats fall loose. He turned to
reply.
"I dunno, we could steal stuff if we have to," he answered impulsively.
"And how we gonna live?" asked Dale now becoming more focused.
"We'll get jobs or something."
"They'll know we are under age man," spat back Dale.
"We'll steal stuff then."
"Yeah, and end up in juvenile prison, like that's better than here!" said
Dale bitterly.
"It might be for me," sniffed Ashley a little worn down by Dale's logic,
but unwilling to abandon his resolve to flee now.
"Without a plan we'll at best just be sent back here man," Dale said in
what he hoped was a tone of quiet cold common sense. "We're 'Scheme'
kids, nobody cares about us."
"Well I'm going," said Ashley, biting his lipsticked lips a little
petulantly, and hitching up those stupid skirts up again.
"We will get out of here man, I'll make a plan, I'll get us money, and
clothes for you first, but not today," said Dale in considered tones.
Ashley reflected a moment. He knew his friend was talking sense, but a
couple of things told him to go now. Firstly was he'd had enough of the
constant humiliation, made worse by Dale's recent questions. Secondly
he'd begun to suspect that his friend was beginning to like his new life
too much and he wasn't sure he could trust him ever to help him escape,
because maybe Dale didn't really want to escape himself.
"I'm going anyway," called Ashley bitterly, dramatically dipping the toes
of those stupid high heeled boots into the edge of the stream."
"Stop!" called Dale. "I'll call the Boss if you carry on."
"What?" cried Ashley, crushed by his friend's betrayal.
"You won't get far, and screw it up for us all!" Dale shouted.
Ashley turned again towards the stream.
"I mean it," said Dale coldly.
Ashley felt the same kind of horrible weakness when he gave into those
women and let them dress and treat him like a silly doll. But Dale was
right, how could he get far with no clothes and no money. Maybe Dale's
threat at least let him give up his hasty plan with some kind of dignity.
"Honest Indian," said Dale, "we'll make a plan." And at that moment Dale
honestly did think he'd make a plan.
Ashley turned and stepped back to the bank, letting his skirts drop once
more in a huge sob.
"You mean it Dale?" he asked imploringly
"I do," replied Dale. And at that time and that moment he did mean it.
"I hate all this," sobbed Ashley gesturing at his stupid cowgirl blouse
and skirt.
"I know," replied Dale compassionately, as his poor feminised friend
returned to the picnic blanket.
They fairly soon decided their fishing expedition was over and cleared up
in heavy silence ready to go "home."
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