Mrs Denver s Parent Discipline Scheme
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The Scheme - Part 6 free porn video
Chapter Six - A Stay with Auntie Trudy
The room assigned to Missy at Trudy's isolated cottage was an homage to
femininity. Apart from the garish frippery and adornments the most
striking feature was the abundance of mirrors large and small.
Built in wardrobes all along one side of the large room were a wall of
floor to ceiling reflection. Three large all encompassing mirrors
revealed almost every facet of whomever sat at the ample plush
Scandinavian birch veneered vanity console. A free standing, ingenious
and adjustable, designer built full length mirror was strategically
placed by the door to allow the occupant to thoroughly review their
appearance before exiting this oasis of femininity. Decorative sparkly
mirrors appeared on almost every surface, and the Italian themed en
suite bathroom was no escape from the constant reflection, one wall
consisting of a complete mirrored surface.
So it wasn't unusual for poor Missy to be left awaiting her "auntie"
with only the multiple reflections of herself to occupy her attention.
Missy examined the thin willowy young woman sat at her dressing table
awaiting her mistress.
She sometimes barely recognised "her" former self in this ruthlessly and
thoroughly transformed form.
The young woman sat up straight, her meagre frame as poised as
ruthlessly instructed, soft hands resting limply on her lap. She idly
fingered the sheer material of the seven denier smokey nylons she'd so
recently very carefully and attentively attached to her expensive metal
clasped vivid pink lace and satin suspender belt.
As Auntie Trudy never tired of reminding her, those nylons did "feel
delicious when properly worn." Missy hated herself for even thinking
like that. How could she even pretend to love the feel of her nylons
when she was really a b....
But that was just it, she had to think like a "she" if she was ever to
get away from this hell, at least until "she" got back to the farm. It
was like that awful woman could read her mind if she didn't try to think
like a girl.
She looked the reflection over critically, hopefully as critically as
her mentor.
Freshly shampooed and conditioned ash blonde hair was quite expertly
piled and tied in a pink velvet scrunchy in a high pony tail.
The painted face that examined itself was as close as she could manage
to the the Danielle Moody video tutorial for a so called "everyday make-
up" look. She'd so recently spent a tedious afternoon practising this
stupid tutorial until she could finish the "look" in ten minutes just
like the annoying Danielle. Thick mascara, cat like eye liner, blusher,
and full glossy lips looked back at Missy. Looking at that silly made up
face everyday would at least make it easier to submerge the real self
and be the submissive young woman they demanded.
Poor Missy hardly gave thought now to the obvious soft cleavage
enveloped in the unremitting confines of a pink lace uplift bra, so
expertly adjusted and configured to create the maximum from those
hormone induced budding breasts.
Missy so wanted to cry, and had cried so much over the past few weeks.
Today though, she had resolved to be "she." Only by genuinely submerging
her real self was the odious Trudy ever going to let her out of her
cruel clutches. She just had to think "girl" to be "girl" and to act
every part a "girl." Only by that supreme act of total self humiliation
would Trudy find no more reason to "readjust" her behaviour. Back at the
farm she could maybe find a bit of her old self again, but no such
luxury here.
She'd been such a fool. Returning from the fishing outing she'd been so
confused. She was deeply ashamed of revealing the extent of her fall
into femininity to her former friend. Dale had found his friend so
feeble and pathetic, unable to properly participate any more in boyish
pursuits. He'd seen her struggle with heels and long skirts and
petticoats. Finally he'd seen her revealed in screamingly feminine lace
panties that in that na?ve honesty Missy had openly admitted stepping
into that morning without any obvious element of coercion.
Coming back to the farm that day Missy was filled with seething
resentment. Even his thoughts of escape had been shot down by his friend
as ill judged and pathetically flimsy.
The moment Missy stepped through the door Grace was on the case of her
errant charge. She scolded Missy bitterly for the mud and grass on her
skirt, petticoats, and "pretty new boots." Trudy quickly joined in
"appalled" at how "the girl had so brazenly abused such generous
freedoms."
Dale was rather more mildly chastised for "letting his sister act like a
silly tomboy." Dale was promptly despatched to go to the fields and help
the Boss out until tea time, but not before hearing Missy ordered to,
"Run this minute to your room young lady and strip to your bra and
panties, and we'll see if we can't get you looking more ladylike before
your poor Daddy sees you."
In tears Missy tramped up the stairs in her heeled boots, the more
bitterly ashamed at Dale overhearing the shameful demand to strip to bra
and panties like a silly badly behaved girl.
In the overpoweringly feminine bedroom Ashley wrenched, then kicked off,
the stupid heeled boots. He was glad to be free of them. As unladylike
as he could manage he unbuttoned the stupid blouse and threw it
carelessly onto the satin covered bed. He struggled with the corset of a
belt, determined he wasn't going to pathetically call for help to get
out of it. He felt a little more male pride as ingeniously he managed to
revolve the wide belt around his waist, and at only the cost of chipping
his nail varnish a little, he managed to unhook all the pesky fastenings
that normally would have been behind him and out of his reach.
The belt unceremoniously joined the blouse on the bed. He stepped out of
the thick suede skirt and and that too joined the heap on the bed. The
silly petticoat he quickly unfastened, feeling far freer once it joined
the other silly elements of his "outfit."
He felt a bit stupid now in lemon yellow bra, panties, and thick tights.
He roughly pulled off the stupid patterned tights not caring if he
snagged or laddered them. As it was they weren't flimsy like the seven
denier nylons he often wore and they came to no more harm than being
screwed into an unladylike bundle and thrown onto the bed with the other
things.
Having behaved as "unladylike" as he dared in freeing himself of those
clothes he'd regained a little of his old self, but he still seethed at
being so obviously obedient now stripped to humiliating "bra and
panties" just as had been requested.
He considered freeing himself of the ridiculous lingerie but his nerve
failed him a little. Besides, if he did take off the underclothes then
when Grace or Trudy, or both came to supervise getting him dressed again
he'd have nothing to hide his sex, or the stupid budding breasts he was
increasingly self conscious about. Concealment in pathetic lace and
nylon was marginally preferable to voluntarily exposing himself to those
women.
Time past, and they were obviously intending to let him "stew" a bit.
For the lack of anywhere else to sit he rested his pantied bottom on the
dressing table stool. He idly looked at himself in the mirror. Although
supposedly waterproof his mascara had run a little. His hair revealed a
few stray wisps that really should be fixed. His lipstick needed
renewing too.
No, no, he wasn't going to fix his stupid make up and hair. He'd had
enough. Dale was sort of right, he wasn't fighting them any more. They
had him just where they wanted him. He dressed and made himself up like
a silly girl with the minimum of effort from them. He was fearful to
outright rebel, it scared him to the bone, but he didn't have to be
quite such a sissy, he'd show a little more backbone.
The irony was maybe lost on Ashley of the boy buoying himself up with
manly pride whilst sat at a vanity table in pretty little lemon yellow
panties and bra. Feeling rebellious for the simple act of not fixing his
pretty lipstick and mascara, or tending to his carefully coiffured and
pampered hair.
Whatever, Ashley did feel stronger. He did feel more Ashley than soppy
Missy, he did feel more "he" than girly "she."
Eventually he heard the click of heels approaching the bedroom door. He
feigned indifference as Grace entered and surveyed the scene.
"Missy, you know where all those clothes should go for laundry" she
rebuked him, disdainfully eyeing the untidy pile of discarded things on
the bed.
She elegantly fingered through the pile. "Tights in your smalls basket
dear." She explained as if to a forgetful child. "Blouse and petticoat
in your other basket"
"Yes the suede skirt is different," she added as if trying to understand
the child's confusion. "I'll take that and get it dry cleaned. How you
got so much mud on it..." she droned on, as yet unaware of Ashley's mute
silence.
She began casually placing the items in their relevant laundry baskets,
all the time sighing. The boots she put to one side murmuring that "Dale
could clean them, the boy is partly responsible at least"
Finally picking up the wide belt she headed for a cupboard close to
where Ashley was sat.
"This goes in your accessories closet of course," she said opening the
door to a tall cupboard revealing hanging belts of various styles, and
beneath that an array of shelves proudly displaying various handbags and
clutches.
Finally aware of the silence she questioned. "Are you listening to me
Missy?"
Ashley hesitated. Part of him wanted to continue his silent protest.
"Yes," he finally croaked, though not in his best "modest tones."
"Yes what?" Grace asked a little testily.
"Yes, Mum," he slowly replied, at least satisfied he'd only submitted to
the bare minimum of obedience.
"Really, a day out with your brother and you become a sullen silly
tomboy. I feel I made a proper mistake giving you such liberties. Trudy
warned me from the start, but I said you were a sensible young lady
now."
Ashley so wanted to scream but I'm not a young lady!
"So what can we find that's lovely and feminine and swishy to wear so we
can prove to Trudy, Daddy, and your dear brother that you're not a
horrid tomboy but Mommy's sweet girl?" She asked almost coaxingly and
apparent confident that Ashley really did want to prove he was "Mommy's
sweet girl"
Ashley remained sullenly mute.
"Sweetie, what nice things shall we wear dear?" she asked, as if her
charge simply hadn't realised she'd asked a question.
"I don't know," he answered in an unconsciously girly pout.
The unintended cuteness of the pout disarmed Grace a little. So still in
relatively mild tones she suggested "What about that simply gorgeous
vintage Easter outfit Trudy found. It's wildly out of season but both of
us can barely wait until next Easter to see you in it. Trudy says you've
almost gone up a bra size too so we could try that absolutely adorable
basque and panty set we bought a cup size higher in advance of your next
birthday party. You'll feel and look quite the Princess in that and I'm
sure the men of the house and Trudy and I will forgive the little tomboy
that muddied all her clothes when we see the real Missy in that. What do
you say?" She smiled looking at Ashley's adorable pouting reflection in
the vanity mirror.
"Whatever," he spat, almost shocked at his own audacity.
"Whatever!" Grace fumed grasping the boy firmly by the shoulder
impressing his bra strap into his soft flesh.
"That's no way for my daughter to talk!"
Ashley felt exhilarated at his rebellion and deeply fearful at the same
moment.
"I'm not your daughter, I'm not a girl!" he croaked trying to free his
voice of his enforced girlish tones. With all his diminished strength he
also managed to free Grace's hand from his shoulder.
Grace stood a moment in shocked silence, staring in disbelief at her
rebellious creation.
"I hate you!" Ashley added, realising as he said it it sounded rather
childishly pathetic, but he had to say it.
Grace's face darkened as she collected herself, perhaps even a little
surprised that her submissive sissy still had a little fight in him. She
walked calmly to the bedroom door. Opening the door she called loudly to
her friend, "Trudy dear I need you now, and bring my big hairbrush
dear!"
She turned now guarding the door. She didn't exactly smile at Ashley,
but her face expressed absolute confidence at the outcome of this little
tantrum.
A few hours later, his bottom stinging from a liberally applied
hairbrush, his self esteem at point zero, he submitted to the charade of
his apology for his bad behaviour and his "genuine" desire to stay with
his "patient auntie" until such time that he "rid myself of silly tomboy
tantrums."
As the pitiful sissy stood in the parlour giving that pathetic apology
to "all the family" it seemed that Dale looked at him now with barely
concealed contempt, and that hurt more than his freshly spanked bottom.
He so wanted to scream that he had really really tried to resist!
The "Easter dress" was an unremitting homage to the girliest of
femininity. Pale salmon taffeta base and sheer floating tiers of a silky
fabric, rosebuds and frou frous, and tiers of pink petticoat finishing
at the knee. Worst of all it was the first dress he'd ever worn that
deliberately exposed any cleavage. A definite modest cleavage was
exposed by the low cut gypsy neckline, an inch or two of soft puffy
flesh exposed for all to see. The odious black basque, more a
combination of corset and uplift bra than anything else, had been
expertly fitted and adjusted to create the most realistic and adult bust
that the poor boy had ever experienced. His manhood, such as it was, was
both physically and emotionally firmly encased, trapped, and subdued in
the tight matching black lace panties he squirmed and swished around in
beneath the massed layers of rolling petticoats.
Seven denier nylons tugged incessantly at the firmly fastened tabs
attached to the breath stealing basque. What could only be described a
travesty of pink Mary-Jane's with three inch heels completed the
"ensemble" as Trudy called it. Whilst in the heels he was just taller
than most of them, he felt so small, weak, pathetic and broken.
Early the very next day, freshly powdered, scented, and pampered he
departed with Trudy for his "re-education."
Upon arriving at Trudy's Ashley was swiftly stripped and reacquainted
with the electric prong. "Just a little reminder so we don't forget,"
she said grimly. As begging for mercy, he flinched and squirmed as the
dreadful appliance fizzed its painful electric charge through his soft
bare bottom.
He had very soon solemnly and genuinely declared his commitment to "be
the best girl for Auntie, and to do everything I can to rid myself of
silly tomboy ideas."
There followed days of repetitive dressing up, practising speaking
prettily, using those "adorable" proper words for a young lady, make up
practice, and perfecting poise and posture.
Trudy was even more inventive than Missy's previous visit in assigning
little tasks to her charge. Missy learnt every style and fashion of
brassiere and it's purpose all through his own research in the stack of
women's magazines Trudy had accumulated, and through the very restricted
content on Trudy's Ipad. He became very knowledgable about women's
hygiene, practising through the deeply uncomfortable and utterly
humiliating medium of regularly inserting a fresh tampon into his
thoroughly douched and lubricated bottom. He opened an instagram account
uploading photos of his make up successes, and his latest outfits. He
gathered quite a little following of those who loved his more vintage
styles, and his cutely vulnerable look, which in truth was just a
combination of fear and shame.
For many reasons this stay at Trudy's filled him with more fear and
dread than his first visit. Firstly, he had no idea when it would all
end. Had Grace given him over to her friend as her permanent plaything
and victim? The first time there he'd been broken from a boy to a silly
sissy. Now he was already a pathetic sissy but it seemed they wanted
more, they wanted an eager willing and unquestioning ultra feminine
sissy, and he feared losing himself. The "happy pills" helped him a
little with his mental anguish, but Trudy was clever enough to
administer just enough so her victim remained sufficiently conscious of
his descent into irreversible femininity.
He'd only had the brief re-introduction to the "persuader" as Trudy had
nicknamed the prong. His chastisements since had been mostly verbal,
with the occasional lightly slapped pantied bottom. But he remained
fearful, at the same time ashamed that he co-operated so willingly with
the bare minimum of enforcement. He knew what Trudy was truly capable
of, and he fought a mental battle for days justifying his feeble
submission until such time as the medication, the mental fatigue, and
the relentless repetition caused him to be easy on himself and just do
as he was told in the hope of some kind of release.
He'd lost track of the days, but it he was sure that it was measurable
in weeks when he resolved the "he" would without exception think "she."
If Missy showed complete and unconditional surrender then there was at
least every possibility of returning to the farm which although not
exactly heaven, was preferable to this torment of a hell. Trudy often
talked of "making Mommy proud," so it seemed Grace was still in the
picture, and in a rather sad irony Missy fervently hoped that Grace
truly missed her little Missy and wanted her back. Back at the farm
Missy could begin to find Ashley again, but those thoughts had to be
subdued for now, Missy was grimly determined to be the perfect young
lady.
From then on Missy eagerly picked out her favourite lingerie and dress
each day. She enthusiastically and meticulously applied her latest
favourite make up look. She swished around, and doted over the latest
"adorable" fashions in the women's magazines. She discretely reminded
her auntie she needed more tampax because her "period" was due soon. She
was bizarrely simultaneously proud and ashamed of her ability to
convincingly execute that particular conversation.
The days past. In some ways being an empty headed girl excited by every
shallow aspect of prettiness and femininity was easier than being a
reluctant and bitter sissy. But Missy's soul was suffering badly, and in
the brief unguarded moments when "she" thought as "he," poor Ashley
feared for his sanity or ever feeling like a boy again.
One day, out of the blue, Trudy mentioned that Grace wanted her daughter
back at the farm soon. "Dear Grace has so many changes and wonderful
news to share, and she misses you so awfully. I've told her too that
you've got all that silly tomboy nonsense out of your system. You have
haven't you dear?"
"Yes of course Auntie" Missy replied as sweetly and enthusiastically as
she could muster, her long carefully maintained lashes flickering as she
raised her pretty head from a long and crushingly dull article on bridal
lingerie in Marie Claire.
A week of fuss followed as Missy was prepared for the "prodigal
daughter's return." Hair was re-dyed and styled, eyebrows and nails were
ruthlessly reshaped. A dozen "travelling outfits" were assembled and
modelled. The girlish excitement at preparing for "going home" was
uncomfortably genuine for poor Missy. It was embarrassingly easy to be
thrilled at modelling yet another tiered petticoat when you knew it
represented the road to some kind of freedom.
Missy was finally going home, and hopefully Ashley was coming too.
Jeannie
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