Madame Fullgirdle took in her sister’s orphaned son, but insists on extra petticoating to make sure he knows his place as her maid.
Madame Olga Fullgirdle picked up her chair-side bell and rang it like she meant to wake the neighbours on all sides. It fulfilled its purpose, because the maid stumbled into the room within five seconds on his towering heels and performed his deepest curtsey before the throne of his Mistress.
Madame tutted with disgust and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “God preserve me, what have I done to deserve such a pathetic excuse of a servant from my dear departed sister? What kind of a reverence do you call that, Maid Arabella? How can it be a curtsey if you don’t hold your dress out to the sides, to show me your apron, your skirt and your petticoat!”
Arnold Limpwick knew his place, which was to humour – no, to worship and obey – his Aunt. “With respect, Miss Olga,” he said, still deep in his curtsey but with his hands and wrists turned effetely out to the sides in a picture of sexlessness, “the skirt of my maid’s uniform is so nicely hugged to my thighs that I can’t clasp it and hold it any wider. I humbly beg your pardon for being such a disappointment to you.”
“You ARE a disappointment to me, Maid, but we are about to do something about it. As you can see I have purchased a new maiding dress in which you will perform your duties of service towards your Aunt.”
Arnold had seen the widely flared shape of the dress as he had entered her presence, but once in his curtsey he was not at liberty to look up. “How awesome, Madame Olga,” he replied. “I am honoured to be allowed to become a better maid for you. Please tell me if I should undress.”
“Well of COURSE you should undress, idiot girl. Otherwise how am I to put you into your new dress – which is so wide and frilly it will need full petticoats and the prettiest ruffle-butt panties, as befits a maid who is as SISSY as you are. Get up and take everything off at once.”
Her nephew had got used to wearing lingerie and a maid dress ever since he lost his mother and came to live with her sister three months before. He folded his bra, panties, stockings and suspender belt over a chair and returned to his Aunt for her instructions, his naked penis stiffening visibly under her gaze. The new lingerie that awaited him was far more feminine than he was used to. The brassiere, panties and suspenders formed part of a set, in the frilliest pale pink nylon, with satin ribbons on the suspender clips and on the legs of the bouffant panty.
Madame Olga did not feel like getting to her feet, so he stood beside her chair as she fitted him into his bra. “I’m fed up with seeing my maid doing her duties in a tired old nylon dress that is only just suitable for a woman. What I want is a truly feminine maid who shows taste and grace and delicacy as she dusts and hoovers and irons. That is why your dress will now have a very wide skirt for proper curtseys – bouncing on a deep bed of petticoat frills. Give me a foot.”
Arnold’s legs were soon consumed in the nylon clasp of a pair of white stockings, which were stretched to the limit to meet the ribbon bows of his suspenders. Over them she drew up his panty, which was actually a billowing diaper cover in pink nylon. His cock stiffened with alarm. These panties were unnecessarily frilly and full. He felt like he was indeed an infant girl on show at a baby girl pageant or was being prepared for Grandma’s visit, dressed in her Sunday best.
“Stand in front of me,” ordered Aunt Olga. “Hmm. Now for a petticoat wide enough to support your new maiding dress. You’ll find it hanging in the drawing room.”
When he saw the petticoat, and unthreaded it from its hanger so that its frills flurried round his stockings, the maid’s cock and testes ached with a new pain of feminine torture. It was in the softest of pretty white nylon: simple but such a cloud of frilled and ruffled layers. And it was so WIDE! He carried it with due reverence to his waiting Aunt.
“Give it to me,” she demanded and snatched it from his fingers as if he might show it a lack of respect. She held the two shoulder ribbons and parted the small, lace embroidered bodice, then collected the whole front of the petticoat in the lap on her skirt in bunches of frills which poured out from her knees on all sides. “Kneel at my feet – and give me your arms, through here,” she cried.
A flood of femininity swept through Arnold’s body as the petticoat frills passed over his head and the bodice in pure white nylon caressed his bra and ribs until the ribbons came to rest in the clefts of his collar bones. Then his Aunt released the petticoat and it fell in a cascade of frills around his panty. Ohhh what a blessing of sweetness he felt as it hung from his shoulders and bobbed around him with the slightest of movements.
“Lean forward,” she said, and as his face sank into the front of his petticoat, her fingers took each of the three small, white, pearled buttons and slotted them through their buttonholes between his shoulder-blades. “You may stand in your new maid’s petticoat, boy. Let me see how it moves.”
As he rose to his feet and stood back a little, he whimpered with despair at the femininity that surrounded him in bobbing and floating frills of girlish white nylon. His Aunt would undoubtedly see him blushing.
“Hold the very edges of your frills, Maid Arabella, and curtsey to your Aunt.”
Arnold was conscious of the frailty of his bare arms and the sweetness of his neck as his fingers reached for those distant edges and clasped them with his finger-tips. Then, with aching genitals and deepest reverence, he sank in a slow, deep waft of frills until his knees disappeared in layers of white nylon. He bowed his head as much to conceal the crimson of his cheeks as to offer his deepest respects to his Aunt.
“Not bad,” she observed, and this time she did vacate her armchair. Dressing her nephew in his new maid’s dress was a more important affair than could be entrusted to the maid himself. “Kneel in the middle, for me to put you into your dress.”
Arnold sank to the knees of his white stockings and every layer of his precious petticoat floated slowly down, to rest in circles of fluffy sweetness all round him.
She undid the back of the dress that waited on the mannequin and slid it upwards and off the figure. It was in satin, but remarkably light and delicate. Her arms held it open from the neck as she approached her nephew. It was in fuchsia pink, with fairy-wing, fly-away sleeves to leave his arms completely bare, and a neat white apron edged with scalloped lace to offset the pink of the wide skirts. It hovered above him for a second or two, then rustled round him as its white satin lining descended over his arms, his bodice and onto his bed of petticoats.
It brought him the scent of satin dress material, flooding his nostrils and lightening his head. All round him he was pink where up to now he had been white. Just his lovely apron sat in front of him, high above his panties: the symbol of his unhesitating obedience to his Aunt and Mistress as her maid. She stood behind him to reach across his petticoats and fasten the pink buttons down to his waist. The ends of his apron ties remained to be done into a bow, followed by his neatly starched maid’s hat in the form of a nurse’s cap, which Madame Fullgirdle pinned into his hair.
When that was in place, he was ready: the new maid, his Aunt’s domestic. A thrill swept through his heart and added to the ache that filled his panties. Arnold barely knew what to do with his effeminate hands, he felt so sweet and so girly. But that problem resolved itself: his fingers found their way unerringly to the outside edges of his dress and petticoats, and clasping as many frills as he could manage in each hand, he executed the deepest and most affectionate dip of a curtsey that any maid anywhere had ever performed.
“Thank you, dear Aunt,” he said in a mouse-like voice, “for dressing me as your frilly, lacy, petticoated maid. I feel so girly for you.”
“Hmm,” came her reply. “Now that you are dressed in layers and layers of feminine frills,” and she sat again to inspect the girlishness of her maid’s appearance, “make sure that your behaviour and manners are as effeminate as your apparel demands. You may kneel in your maid’s petticoats – and kiss the toes of my shoes with gratitude towards your Aunt.”
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Visitors to Prim’s website at www.primspetticoatwendyhouse.com/feminization.htm will have the chance to order Prim’s Petticoat Pansies #38 which is a public humiliation special.