from Prim

Thanks to the Sisterhood of Strong Stepmothers, Jasmine and I have been able to get together to determine the sex of our teenage stepsons. We each married to make our fortunes of course, but for both of us this means insipid and virtually sexless husbands who already have a son. We're united in seeing this as a definition of hell on earth. On the other hand, we're so close in what we want that we feel a natural urge to tell each other everything, pouring out our souls and finding that we are pure soul mates. And that has led inevitably to us falling into each other's arms in what has quickly become a passionate affair.

"What are you going to do about your husband?" I ask as we lie on my bed in each other's arms.

"Geoffrey?" she says. "I'm so envious when I read about girls who keep their husband as the house maid."

"Me too. Let's Google it and see," I say, and in no time we are poring over photos of other women's husbands in black satin maid uniforms.

"One thing I'm not going to have is boys around the house."

Jasmine groans and plants another kiss on my lips. "Me neither. There will be no boys in our lives. I just want you sweetheart."

"And I just want you. That means we would both be much happier having two daughters – and a couple of desexed sissy maid ex-husbands."

"This looks interesting," she says, showing me the screen of her phone. " ‘Keeping your husband or your son sissified by dressing them as a girl is only part of the process. You risk ending up with undecided semi-males unless you apply the three other components of sissification: one: bodily feminization, including head-to-toe depilation and growing his hair into a lovely long coiffure; two: training, including deportment and respect; and three: humiliation, so that they instinctively see themselves as worthless slaves to your will.' "

This excites us so much that we look into each other's eyes and swoon into each other's arms on the bed. Jasmine's beautiful fingertips bring my clit to the longest and deepest climax I have ever enjoyed in my whole life, and our future is decided in the space of thirty minutes in each other's arms.

"I'm going to call my idiot husband Michaela," I say as we lie back fondling each other's tits. "It follows naturally from Mike, and I can picture him now in his maid's dress with his panties full of a cock cage."

"And I'll call Geoffrey Jemima," says Jasmine. "He needs a really girly name, because I'll tell you what, darling – they're gonna be more girly than any real girl you can find. What will you call that effeminate brat of a stepson?"

"Bernard? He's gonna be Mandy. I love that name. It says little girl in sweet little frocks to me, and that's where he's gonna be for the rest of his life." Jasmine laughs. "Oh yes, perfect! I know what will suit George, now that he's eighteen: Jemima! I can see it stitched into his panties and onto the Peter Pan collars of his dresses."

I laugh too. "Mandy and Jemima. How cute for two girls who are destined to be girlfriends for a long, long time."

It doesn't take us long to pore over catalogues and browse sissy sites to hit upon a dress-code that suits us both for the wimps. So here we are, destined to live in my home, the six of us: Jasmine and me and our four ‘females', and it remains to train and train and train them until they are in no doubt who is in charge and what is expected of them. When Jasmine arrives with Felicity and husband Jemima, prior to the removal people bringing all her belongings, we install the two of them in their respective sleeping accommodation: Felicity in his pink plastic cot in the nursery, and Jemima in his cage in the maid's dungeon. They are full of protest of course, but to no avail. Her maid is locked into her gag of black leather and her stepdaughter into her gag of pink leather. More than they ever imagined, they will be speaking to us only when we tell them to.

I take Jasmine to the bedroom to show her Michaela. "I've got him spending one hour a day in here, once his maiding duties are completed," I explain, sliding open the drawer in the deep dresser. It is packed with my folded panties, with his pathetic face peering up at us from one end, fastened into the straps and gag of his face harness.

"Meet your second Mistress," I tell him. Jasmine and I share a good giggle as his forehead pinches into a frown of impotence. I kiss her in front of him, and again as she folds my neck in her arms. "You can't see because of the layers of my panties keeping the maid under my control, but she's handcuffed behind her and she's in chastity. She'll soon get used to these permanent arrangements." I close the drawer so that his wriggles disappear. The last thing he sees is the all-powerful grins of two determined women who will keep him under lock and key for the rest of his days.

We collect Mandy from his cot and lead him downstairs to meet Felicity. When the two of them catch sight of each other in their blouses and little skirts they fill up on the spot and in no time they're sobbing like toddlers as we strip them to the skin. They are old friends of course, from years at High School, but in the past couple of weeks they've got used to seeing each other dressed in their stepmother's lingerie and clothes while their own wardrobes are being assembled. Just because they're getting to take female dressing as the new norm doesn't seem to make it any less miserable for them. So when I wheel the clothes rack into the middle of the room the two of them burst into fresh wails of misery as they see how we are going to dress them up for each other.

"Stand in front of her," I tell the crimson faced youth of 18 who has gone from being my stepson to my stepdaughter. "Show Felicity how excited you are at being with your girlfriend again today – and MOVE YOUR HANDS!"

He hangs his head and slides his hands round the tops of his thighs so that he's holding the outside of his legs. No wonder they shake with sobs in front of each other. Their skin is as smooth as a baby's bottom, which seems to add an edge to their misery.

"Same goes for you, Felicity," cries Jasmine. "Show her your stiff clitoris. That's better. Step closer. CLOSER! There, now your girlfriend can see how thrilled you are to be looking so pretty and sexy in front of her.

"Hold hands," I tell them. "Good, that's nice. Now exchange a loving kiss."

They do, their lips approaching each other, barely daring to meet, until they touch. The soft sensation causes the lids to close over their eyes and they stay like that in the gentlest of girly kisses for a few moments until they part and hang their heads with shameful regret.

"I'm going to dress YOU," I tell Felicity, "and your stepmother is going to dress Mandy." The sissy quails with dread as I thread a cute white bra up her arms and clip her into it, then slide the matching lacy panty up her legs, hooking its silky gusset over the top of her stretching clitoris.

Jasmine dresses my stepson in a deep pink bra and panty set, along with suspenders and stockings. I give her a pair of my high heels for him in oyster pink patent. Instead of stockings, I put Felicity into a pair of girls' white cotton socks: lacy anklets with a sweet bow at the front of the lace in pink satin. I cover them in a pair of Jasmine's high heels with a single strap buckling round her ankles beneath the lace of her pretty socks.

Next we unhook their petticoats from the rail. I open the wide petti of white polyester which is to fill out the pinafore dress we've selected for Felicity. It drops over her ringlets and its ribbons rest on her shoulders, spreading from her brassiere to her ass in three layers of lacy white frills. The sweet caress of its smoothness clusters over her rampant panty point, forcing a squeal of girlyness from her throat. "That's right, Felicity," I tell her. "Hold your petticoat frills out wide to the sides. It will help you to feel like a girl, because I can assure you, anything other than completely girly behaviour from the two of you and you will be feeling the bite of the canes you've seen in every room of the house."

These words bring a bleating cry of horror from my own stupid clown as Jasmine dresses her in her flaring petticoat in coral pink satin. I've got her hair in a girlish fringe with short bangs over her ears and sweet button earrings. As her petticoat sways and bobs around her hips she looks so like a girl I clap my hands with pride at our success. The two of them are a pair of coy, helpless girls and the way their knees are sliding to and fro across each other I'd say they know it.

Jasmine drops Mandy's dress over her head and shoulders and lets it slither down her petticoat. A lump fills my throat at hearing her wail of misery and seeing her squirms of sexlessness. "Little girls LOVE mummy to stand behind them, Mandy, and do up their dress buttons for them," she says with a giggle in her voice. "It makes them feel so pretty and sexy – and you WANT to be pretty and sexy for your sweetheart, don't you darling?"

Her answer is a wail of sissy misery and buckets of tears as Jasmine draws her satin sash together and folds it into an enormous bow at the back of her bust. My heart opens to Jasmine: what a blessing it is for us that we met each other at SSS and found our soul mate in deciding what to do with these damned males we have on our hands.

It's my turn to dress Felicity. Jasmine has chosen a dress in cream taffeta for the sissy which I hold in front of the girl for her arms to slot through the puffed sleeves. I button her down the back with six dress buttons from her neck to her ass. "What a sweet little girl you will be, wearing a white silk pinafore over your lovely dress, Felicity,"

I say as I open the satin pinafore in front of her and feed the frilled shoulder ribbons between her dress collar and her puffed sleeves, then gather the sides of her pinafore round her and button them all together at the back of her waist. Everything finishes in a huge bow with the wide ribbons of glossy white satin trailing sweetly from the hems of her skirts. "Lift the flouncy front of your strawberry dress," she says to Mandy, "and let your sweetheart see if your panties are pointing upward in your matching silk panties." Her tears gush anew as her panties reveal exactly how girly she's feeling in such a dress and with her girlfriend wearing an adorable dress too.

"And you, Felicity," I order. "Show Mandy how sweet you're feeling under your dress and petticoat."

She hesitates but does as she is told, and as the hems of her pinafore, her dress and her petticoats lift higher, the gusset of her panty shows an extremely stiff and rigid clitoris, panting with desire for sissy girlishness.

"They want to be girls, don't they?" says Jasmine. "They want to be girls for each other in their delicate lingerie and their pretty dresses."

I chuckle at the appearance of the two of them because it was evidently true. "I agree, darling. It seems to me that they want to SHOW each other how they want to be sweet and girly for each other. I think they want to KISS each other."

I'm half expecting protests of denial at the idea, but no. Mandy takes half a step towards Felicity and Felicity straightens herself up towards her so that the material of their dresses brushes delicately together in sizzles of prettiness. The touching of dress against dress draws whimpers of feminine desire from their throats and before we know it, their fingers are intertwining and they are holding hands softly like two girls who are fond of each other. It quickens my own pulse to see them.

"Tell Felicity about your feelings, Mandy," I say to my stepdaughter. She hesitates, either thinking hard or startled by the blushes that darken her cheeks. But her hesitation is brief: she is drawn to Felicity's pretty face and her ruby lips. She so wants to kiss her girlfriend with her make-up, her earrings and her lovely hair-do. And when she feels the silkiness of her dress press against the softness of her sweetheart's dress, there is no reason to draw back, no pleasure more tempting and adorable than to reach her lips forward until they touch Felicity's lips and feel their warmth, their softness and their trembling femininity.

And once their lips meet in such fragrant, dreamy sweetness, they can't help but part – to enjoy that delicate, wet sliding of girly tongues that shows that Mandy loves Felicity and she loves her back and they are two girls together in their lovely dresses.


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