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  Sent to a Girls' School
Posted by: Ali - 06-04-2016, 02:29 PM - Forum: Gender Role Reversal - Replies (26)

My mother had had to go away on business for half term week, so I’d been sent to stay with my Aunty Jane. I didn’t mind – I quite like my Aunty Jane, and got on well enough with her daughter Rachel, even though she was a year younger than me.

Towards the end of the week, however, Mummy phoned to say she was going to have to be away for another week, and asked Aunty Jane if I could stay longer. She said it was no problem, but asked about school – Rachel would be going back on Monday, as I was supposed to. Mummy said she didn’t want me missing school, but said it couldn’t be helped just this once.

I thought nothing more of it until the Monday morning when Aunty Jane came in to wake me up at seven o’clock. “Come on sleepyhead! Rise and shine!”

I was confused. Why was she getting me up so early when I had nothing to do that day? I asked her.

“Your mother said she didn’t really want you missing school, so I phone the headmistress of Rachel’s school and she’s agreed you can attend for a week. Isn’t that nice?”

“But I thought Rachel went to a private all-girls school?” I queried.

“Well yes she does, but the headmistress has kindly agreed to make an exception for you, just for this week. So up you get, and let’s get you ready.”

Now I was confused. And slightly terrified. Going to an all-girls school would be awful. I complained that I’d stick out like a sore thumb, being the only boy.

“And anyway,” I said triumphantly, “I didn’t bring my uniform with me, and I don’t suppose they’ll let me wear jeans and a t-shirt!”

“No, they won’t, Ali,” replied my aunt. “But you won’t be wearing jeans and a t-shirt. The only condition the headmistress insisted upon was that you would have to obey all the school rules.”

I listened, blankly.

“And that includes the uniform rules. So let’s get you up and washed, and then we can ask Rachel if you may borrow some of her spare uniform.”

I was horrified. Surely she wasn’t expecting me to wear Rachel’s uniform!

And then I relaxed. They must let the girls wear trousers to school, so as long as they fitted me I’d be okay. I went and had a wash and Aunty Jane then took me to Rachel’s room.

“Your headmistress has kindly agreed for Ali to come to school with you this week, Rachel, as he can’t go to his own school. But of course he doesn’t have any uniform. Can he borrow some of your spare uniform?”

Rachel looked up at me and giggled. “Well, I suppose so, but won’t he feel a bit silly in my uniform?”

“But, but, you wear trousers, right?” I stammered.

Rachel and Aunty Jane both laughed. “It’s one of the finest private schools in the country! Of course the girls don’t wear trousers! Now, let’ dig out Rachel’s spare skirt for you.”

I was mortified. Was Aunty Jane really going to make me go to school in a skirt? But then I thought Rachel had saved the day when she said “Oh I'm sorry Mum, my spare skirt is in the wash.”

Aunty Jane looked perplexed, but determined. “Very well. He’ll have to borrow your netball skirt. Would you fetch it for him please?”

Rachel, with a big grin on her face, duly obliged. Her netball skirt, though, was unbelievably short. Surely Aunty Jane couldn’t seriously expect me to wear that?!

 [Image: skirt.jpg]

“And he’ll need to borrow a pair of your school knickers, a vest, and a blouse. And he’d better have a pair of your tights as well – his skirt is a bit short and we don’t want him showing everyone his knickers, do we?”

Rachel laughed, but I decided that enough was enough.

“Aunty Jane, I'm NOT going to wear all those girls’ clothes. I absolutely refuse.”

“Oh you refuse, do you? After all the trouble I've gone to to get the school to allow you to attend? I don’t think so.”

And with that she grabbed me and pulled me across her lap. She pulled down the underpants I’d put on, lifted my pyjama top, and right there in front of Rachel proceeded to spank my bare bottom.

 [Image: spank.jpg]

“Now do you refuse?” I didn’t reply, and she continued my spanking until, through tearful sobs, I said “Okay, okay. I’ll wear the uniform. Please stop spanking me.”

The spanking finished and Aunty Jane stood me up. “Here, step into these.”

She held out the knickers Rachel had chosen for me. They were proper regulation school knickers. And they felt very strange and confining as Aunty Jane pulled them up for me.

 [Image: gym_knickers.jpg]

“There! Those knickers aren’t so bad, are they? Not really worth getting a spanking over. Let’s finish getting you dressed. You're not old enough for a bra, so, arms up! Let’s get this vest on you.”

The vest was white, and lacy. It had think shoulder straps that I was sure would show through the blouse. Nevertheless I meekly lifted my arms and she put the vest on me, tucking it in to my knickers.

[Image: cami.jpg]

I felt so ashamed stood there in my vest and knickers.

“Now you have a choice. You can wear these tights, or can choose some knee length socks.”
Aunty Jane held out the tights for me to see. They were bottle green, with a ribbed pattern in them. They looked so girly.

[Image: tights.jpg]

But Aunty Jane was right about the skirt being so short I might show everyone my knickers. Very reluctantly, I asked for the tights, and sat on the edge of Rachel’s bed for Aunty Jane to put them on for me.

“And make sure you pull your tights right up! That way you can keep them in place with the waistband of your skirt. Otherwise you'll find they sag during the day, and you don’t want to have to keep pulling them up, do you?”

I shook my head, and pulled my tights up as she’d suggested. She buttoned me into my blouse and then fitted the little skirt round my waist.

It was so short. It barely covered my bottom.

Finally I was given a pair of Rachel’s school shoes, and I was ready. I saw my reflection in the mirror, and found that I looked just like a little schoolgirl.

I was terrified on the walk to school. My little skirt swayed as I walked, and I kept trying to hold it down so as not to show my bottom. Rachel told me to stop fussing with it, as I was drawing attention to myself. I left it alone – being the only boy in the school was likely to draw enough attention as it was. I didn’t need to create more.

“One other piece of advice, Ali. Stay away from the prefects. They can be pretty mean to us junior girls. And what with, well, you being a boy and all that, you certainly don’t want them picking on you.”

This filled me with more dread. I had images of some terribly tall and terribly mean sixth formers picking on me all day. It was an image I couldn’t shake off.

[Image: schoolgirl.jpg]

As it turned out, however, it wasn’t the prefects I fell foul of.

The bell went and I followed Rachel into class. There were lots of whispers about who the ‘new girl’ was as I took a seat at the back.

And then the teacher turned to me. “You, at the back! I think you're new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes Miss.”

“And what’s your name, girl?”

It was the one time I was glad to have an androgynous name.

“Ali, Miss.”

“Ali what?”

“Ali Davies, Miss.”

I could feel my face going red being the centre of her, and therefore the whole class’s, attention.

“Well, Ali Davies. You’ve not made a very good start on your first day, have you? Did you not read the uniform regulations?”

I stared at her blankly. The whole reason Aunty Jane had insisted I wore all this schoolgirl stuff was to make sure I complied with the uniform regulations.

“Can someone help Ali Davies, girls? What are the regulations about skirt length?”

Several girls replied “Knee length, Miss.”

“That’s right, knee length. And is your skirt knee length, Ali Davies?”

Oh my god. I was in trouble already. If only Rachel’s spare skirt hadn’t been in the wash.

“No, Miss.” I replied.

“No. It’s not knee length, is it? In fact it’s quite a lot shorter than knee length, isn’t it?”

I stared into my lap, not sure what was coming next. “Yes, Miss.”

“We can’t have girls coming to school in tiny little skirts, can we? We have standards to meet. So, do you know what the punishment is for not meeting our school uniform regulations, Ali Davies?”

“No Miss.”

“Well, girls, who can tell her what the punishment for wearing such a short skirt is?”

There were some mumblings around the class, as if no-one wanted to say it out loud. Then one said “It’s a spanking, Miss.”

My heart missed a beat. A spanking? I‘d already had one spanking that morning, and now it looked like I was going to receive another. I thought about pleading for mercy. I thought about telling her I was a boy and had had to borrow Rachel’s netball skirt because her spare one was in the wash. I thought about saying anything that might save me from my fate.

But I couldn’t think of anything.

“So come to the front of the class, Miss Davies, and receive your spanking.”

I thought I was going to cry with the humiliation of it all. Here I was in vest and knickers, tights and a little skirt, on my first day at this school, and I was going to be spanked in front of the whole class.

The teacher reached up under my skirt and pulled my tights down to my knees. “Spankings are always given on your knickers, Miss Davies. It’s not so effective if you have the protection of your tights on your bottom. Now, bend over my lap.”

I meekly did as she bade, and had to really struggle to hold back the tears as she lifted my little skirt, revealing my knickers to the class.

“Well at least you have the correct knickers on, girl.” And with that she administered a stinging spanking. Aunty Jane’s spanking earlier that morning had hurt, but nothing like this. On and on she went, smacking my pantied bottom again and again. Eventually I could hold back no longer and I burst into tears.

It wasn’t just the pain of the spanking – it was the utter humiliation of being spanked in front of the whole class.

[Image: spank2.jpg]

When she was finally finished spanking me she stood me up. “Pull your tights up, girl, and let that be a lesson to you. The rules are there for a reason. Now make sure you wear a more appropriate skirt tomorrow.”

I pulled up my tights and shuffled back to my seat. I wasn’t sure I could take a whole week of this.

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  Nappy Change by Aunty Jane
Posted by: Ali - 06-04-2016, 11:49 AM - Forum: Age Regression and Dummy Discipline - Replies (38)

I was lying on my bed, my nappy wet, waiting for Mummy to come and change me. I was never allowed to change my own nappies, even though I was old enough to be able to. Mummy had removed my plastic pants and put them in the wash, but didn’t have time to change my nappy just yet. So I had to just lie there, feeling rather sorry for myself.

And then I heard my aunt arrive. Oh god no! I couldn’t let Aunty Jane see me like this. I’d die of shame.

I heard her talking to Mummy downstairs. In amongst the usual gossip I heard Aunty Jane ask where I was. And then to my horror I heard Mummy say “Oh he’s upstairs waiting for me to change his nappy. I didn’t have time earlier.”

Aunty Jane had never seen me in nappies before, not since I was a baby anyway. But she was going to see me now. The next thing I heard was her saying “Shall I change his nappy for him? I think I still remember how to do it!”

Mummy agreed and told her where everything was, and with dread I heard Aunty Jane coming up the stairs and into my bedroom.

“Ah there you are!” she smiled. “You're a bit old for nappies really, aren’t you? How old are you now, ten?”

“I'm twelve,” I replied, my face burning with the humiliation of her seeing me in my wet nappy.

She wasted no time in going to work, unpinning my wet nappy and pulling it from under me. “My, my,” she said, “you really did wet your nappy, didn’t you? It’s soaked!”

She dropped it into the nappy pail and fetched some wipes to dry me off. “Legs up! There’s a good boy!” I meekly complied and she wiped all round my most intimate places.

Then she called down to Mummy “Does he need his bottom smacked for wetting his nappy at his age?”

Mummy told her that she didn’t always smack me when I wet, but that she could give me a couple of smacks if she thought I needed them. It was like I was a real baby, unable to understand what the adults were saying. They were casually discussing whether or not to smack my bottom while having my nappy changed.

I started to cry out in protest, but Aunty Jane popped my big pink dummy in my mouth to shut me up.

[Image: dummy.jpg]

She then lifted my legs high above my head, exposing my bottom, and gave me six smacks. When she’d finished she sprinkled me with baby powder and fetched me a clean nappy.

“Does he need a terry nappy or a disposable?” she called down to Mummy. Again, Mummy said she could choose. I saw her select one of my thickest terry nappies and brought it over to me.

             [Image: bed.jpg]   [Image: nappy.jpg]

She folded it into shape and slid it under my bottom, lifting my legs again to slip it into place. Then she did it up tightly with two nappy pins.

[Image: pins.jpg]

At least I was covered up now, albeit with a babyish nappy. I thought the worst would be over – if Mummy put me into a nappy during the day she didn’t make me wear plastic pants as well; I almost never wet my nappy during the day. I assumed Aunty Jane would know that.

But she didn’t, of course.

“Right, now let’s get you some lovely baby pants, shall we? We don’t want any leaks if you wet your nappy again!”

I tried to tell her I didn’t need baby pants, but my dummy prevented my words coming out as anything but babyish noises.

She went over to the drawer where all my baby pants were kept and rifled through. She picked out the most babyish pair I had.

They were white, with masses of pink and white frills across the bottom. Mummy referred to them as my ‘punishment panties’, because she only put me into them when I’d been really naughty.

[Image: frilly_pants.jpg]

But Aunty Jane didn’t know that, either. She held them out to show me. “Aren’t these just adorable! They’re so pretty, aren’t they Ali? Just like a real baby’s knickers!”

I felt waves of shame wash over me as she threaded my feet through the leg holes and slid them up over my bulky nappy. When they were in place she gave me a couple of playful pats in between my legs. It was like she thought I was actually a baby. But I suppose from her point of view I’d wet my nappies and needed changing, so in fact I was pretty babyish.

“And what shall we put you in on top, Ali? I don’t think your shorts are going to fit over your nappy and baby knickers. Let’s see what else you have. It’s a shame you're not a little girl – a dress would be ideal for you, and we’d all be able to see your pretty knickers!”

I blushed in utter humiliation. Aunty Jane didn’t know that Mummy sometimes made me dress as a girl, so that in fact I did have some dresses hanging up in my wardrobe. I even had two baby dresses, which Mummy reserved, with these frilly knickers, for special punishment.

But Aunty Jane didn’t go to my wardrobe. Instead she looked in the drawer below my baby pants drawer and found my little pink romper suit.

[Image: pink_romper.jpg]

“Oh how sweet! I think this will just about stretch over your nappies. Stand up and let’s see.”

I did as she told me, and meekly stepped into my romper suit as she held it out for me. It was indeed a tight fit over my bulky nappy, and as she did it up for me it pulled my nappy tightly onto my bottom.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked just like an oversized baby girl.

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  Ice cube punishment
Posted by: Ali - 06-03-2016, 11:09 PM - Forum: Petticoating and Feminization - Replies (40)

I wonder if anyone else has suffered ice cube punishment.

It's when your Mistress or other Domme forces ice cubes up your bottom, and then leaves them to slowly melt.

It's exquisitely painful as the ice is, obviously, so cold. And then as it melts it's like you're involuntarily wetting your knickers.

The dampness can be mitigated by you having to wear a panty pad, or, if she's managed to get a lot of ice cubes up you, a nappy.

For added girly effect, frozen tomato juice cubes make the wearing of a panty liner essential.

If you've never done had this have a go. My shameful record is eigth cubes.

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  Forced to be a waitress, part 2
Posted by: Ali - 06-03-2016, 10:57 PM - Forum: Gender Role Reversal - Replies (1)

As the time for the party to start got nearer I got more and more nervous. I’d pretty much got the hang of walking in my heels, but I was still really self-conscious about how short my dress was. And I was dreading anyone seeing my frilly knickers, let alone if they worked out that I had a nappy on under them.

Sophie came downstairs about a quarter of an hour before anyone else. She looked absolutely stunning. Her dress was black with a short flared taffeta skirt. She paid no attention to me whatsoever.

Soon the doorbell rang and the first guests arrived. They were two girls I'm sure I’d seen before, but I couldn’t remember their names. They too looked stunning.

It wasn’t until half an hour after the time the party was supposed to start that the first boys arrived. It was my turn to answer the door, and I tottered over to it expecting more girls. I almost fainted when I saw three boys. I recognised them as members of the school rugby team. Even though they were two years younger than me they were easily a couple of inches taller than me, despite my high heels.

It had never occurred to me that there would be boys at the party. It was bad enough being dressed as a girl in front of other girls, but boys! Especially boys younger than me! I felt my face go bright red as I ushered them in. They sauntered in, and I caught them all glancing back at how short my dress was. It was the first time I’d ever felt myself being undressed by someone else’s eyes.

More girls arrived, each looking stunning well beyond their years.


I found it so frustrating that there were so many beautiful girls around and I never usually got to meet any of them. And now when I did I was dressed as a girl myself.

Almost the last to arrive was my little sister. She, too, looked stunning in her little pink dress. She was with her friend Rachel, who also looked amazing in a short white dress.

Lucy did a double take when she saw me, and I knew instantly that she recognised me, despite my make-up. But she was deep in gossip with Rachel, and moved on into the party. I knew, however, that my secret certainly wasn’t safe with her.

I tottered around for an hour or so, bringing drinks to the girls and boys. I couldn’t help but hear some of the comments the partygoers were making.

“Yeah, it’s Lucy’s brother! … I know! What a sissy!”

“It’s never a boy, is it?! He looks so girly!”

“Why did he want to wear such a short dress? I couldn’t help but see his knickers when he bent over just now.”

I blushed bright red as I heard them talking about me.

The doorbell went again and I went to answer it. It was Lisa, a girl I’d tried my luck with when she’d visited Lucy a few months ago. She’d very sweetly, but very firmly, rejected my advances. She looked me up and down, clearly recognising me.

“Nice dress!” she said. “It’s quite similar to mine, isn’t it? But I think mine looks better on me.”

And with that she brushed past me and joined the rest of the party.

After another hour or so I went to the kitchen to fetch more drinks, but found my way blocked by the three rugby boys.
I tried to get past, but they stopped me.

Before I could do anything else one of them grabbed my arm and twisted it painfully up behind my back. They marched me into the kitchen and shut the door behind us. One of them stood against the door to stop anyone else getting in.

Now I was worried. I’d felt thoroughly exposed in such a short dress and with such frilly knickers on all evening. Being on my own with these three boys made me feel even worse.

The biggest one, Mark, said “You’re Lucy’s brother, aren’t you?” I meekly nodded.

“So why are you dressed as such a f***ing sissy? Do you like wearing girls’ clothes?”

I couldn’t speak. I felt so ashamed, and so scared.

“Well if you're such a sissy,” said Mark, “perhaps you'd like to find out what a real man tastes like.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I didn’t have to wait long to find out. He unzipped his trousers and pulled himself out.

I staggered back, not believing what I was seeing. One of the other boys grabbed me and held my arms behind my back. Then the other one kicked me hard between my legs.

The pain was almost unbearable. I gasped and collapsed on the floor. The boys all laughed.

“While you’re down there, sissy…” said Mark.

I glanced up at him. Surely he didn’t mean … that. His stare told me that he did. I tried to plead with them, but all I got was another sharp kick between my legs.

I got my breath back and raised myself to my knees. Dressed as I was and with it being me against three I submitted to the inevitable. I shuffled over to him.

As I did I heard someone try to get in through the door. I thought I’d been saved, but no such luck. Sophie came in and, seeing what was going on, poured herself another glass of wine and prepared to watch.

“I do hope he’s not TOO good at it,” she said, “or you’ll not want us REAL girls anymore!”

The boys all laughed, but then they turned to me to make sure I continued.

Surrendering all my pride I took him into my mouth. As I did he leaned back and closed his eyes. I felt him get hard, and I started to suck him. I put my hand in through his jeans and cupped his balls. I gently squeezed as I sucked harder. Before long he came, powerfully, into my mouth. I carried on for a little while, his salty explosion filling my mouth.

When he was done I swallowed, licking the traces of his cum from my lips.

Sophie laughed and clapped her hands.

I thought that would be the end of my humiliation, but then one of the other boys, Harry, undid his zip and told me that he was next.

I hesitated, but Sophie said “Go on, sissy, it looked like you enjoyed that. Let’s see you pleasure Harry and Paul too.”

I looked up at her, but there was no sympathy in her eyes. I meekly shuffled over to Harry as he got himself out. I took him into my mouth and began to bring him off.

It was so humiliating – being dressed as a girl and being forced to pleasure boys two years my junior. But they were bigger than me, and I felt I had no choice.

Harry took a bit longer than Mark. I had to gently lick the end of his cock for a while before taking it into my mouth and taking it deep into my throat. When he eventually came it was violent. He grabbed the back of my head and forced me onto him. His cum was hot and salty. As he withdrew from my mouth he dribbled down my chin. I meekly wiped it off.

And then Paul undid his flies and pulled down the front of his underpants. I crawled over to him and took him into my mouth. This time I had more confidence. I undid his belt and slid his jeans down round his knees. Then I slid his underpants down too.

Sophie, Mark and Harry all laughed as I exposed his bottom. I forced his legs further apart and pushed my finger up his bottom.

He convulsed as I found his hot spot, and he came powerfully into my mouth. There was so much cum that it took me two swallows.

As he withdrew from me I made sure I licked him clean.

And then the boys left, taking Sophie, giggling, with them.

I felt so humiliated.

When I’d regained some of my composure I stood up and smoothed down my dress. I looked at my reflection in the glass of one of the kitchen cabinets. My hair was a mess where the boys had held my head, and my lipstick was smudged all over the place. I redid my hair as best I could, and wiped as much of my smudged lipstick off as I could. I still looked like, well, like I’d just given three boys blow jobs.

As I went back into the marquee everyone stopped and stared at me. The three boys were stood together and smiled. They must have told everyone. I felt my face go bright red again.

Sheila interrupted the silence with an announcement. “Sophie, you look gorgeous tonight. And to celebrate your coming of age we’ve got a special treat for you.”

Everyone applauded, and some of the boys wolf-whistled.

“But first you have to find it! I think we’ve all enjoyed our serving staff tonight…”

More applause.

“Especially Ali, who so kindly stepped in at the last minute and has been such a good sport. Although from what I hear he may have enjoyed himself more than he expected!”

More applause and quite a few giggles.

“So, Sophie, your surprise present is hidden on Ali! Ali – go over to Sophie!”

Everyone’s eyes turned to me, and I felt I had no choice but to comply. She was sat on one of the sofas, next to two of her friends. I tottered over to her.

“Now, Ali, lay yourself across Sophie’s lap, and let’s see what her present is!”

I felt I had no choice but to comply. I lay myself across Sophie’s lap. She squealed as I did so, not knowing quite how to cope with a boy prostrating himself quite like this. It all added to the general hilarity for everyone. Apart from me. It only added to my humiliation.

“Now lift his dress!” said her mother. Sophie squealed again, and protested that she didn’t want to see my knickers. But with the encouragement of her friends she lifted my dress high above my waist, fully exposing my frillies. Everyone laughed at the sight of such frilly knickers, especially as they all now knew for sure that I was a boy.

“And if you pull down his knickers…” Sheila encouraged. Sophie squealed again and kept repeating “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” as she gingerly hooked her fingers under the waistband of my knickers and tugged them down, revealing my babyish nappy.
Sophie was almost beside herself when she saw my nappy. She beat her hands up and down on my padded bottom as she shook her head from side to side.

“And what’s written on his nappy, Sophie?” enquired Sheila. Sophie composed herself and stared at my bottom. I had no idea there was a message on my nappy. That must have been what her grandmother meant when she’d said it would solve a problem when she handed Sheila my nappy.

Sophie read out the message. “Oh my god, oh my god!” she repeated. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Well what does it say on Ali’s nappy? I think everyone would like to know.” said her mother.

“I’m going to go on a personalised shopping trip to Selfridges!”

Sophie stood up and clapped her hands, tipping me onto the floor. She got hugs from her friends. They'd completely forgotten about me, as I lay in a crumpled heap at her feet. I slowly got up and pulled my knickers back up over my nappy, and went to fetch the champagne for them.

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  Dummy purchasing weekly
Posted by: June - 06-03-2016, 07:59 PM - Forum: Age Regression and Dummy Discipline - Replies (9)

When the sissy needs new dummies he should be made to buy them at a supermarket or chemist

Preferably weekly at the same store

He buys nothing else but a pack of new dummies

Same brand

Pink if available

Only give him enough pocket money to make this purchase

Don't allow him to use self service tills

He must wait and queue at normal checkout

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  Being a baby again
Posted by: Baby Phillip - 06-03-2016, 03:24 PM - Forum: Age Regression and Dummy Discipline - Replies (3)

Nothing would be better for me than to return to the nursery, to be kept and treated as a baby all the time by a loving mummy. It may be a bit too much to ask for, but if I exist as an adult baby there is no reason why there is not such a mummy out there who would want to keep me as her baby. I would be a very good baby for mummy as I want to make mummy so happy, I would love mummy to fuss over me and spoil me, to mentally regress me back to a helpless infant.

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  The garter/suspender waist.
Posted by: Sissyjj. - 06-03-2016, 11:53 AM - Forum: Petticoating and Feminization - Replies (3)

A most popular item of underclothing worn by both boys and girls dating from the early 1900s, and still occasionally in use as late as the 1950s. Still on catalogue for boys up to the age of fourteen years. Not liked by boys, as it meant the wearing of stockings this being rather effeminate. But very popular with the doting mother who wished to see her 'little darling' in tightly supported silk stockings without a wrinkle to be seen. Also with attached additional supporters for bloomers or trousers.
My Sunday best on visits to my very religious widowed Aunt and her teenage daughter was memorable for many reasons. Even at fourteen years of age I was not spared the wearing of the hated Sunday best. A very elaborate highland suit, better suited to an age a hundred years before and a boy's age of half my own.
My dressing on an early Sunday morning by my Aunt, filled my niece with a wicked delight. Being returned naked and fully shaved from the bathroom to my bedroom by Aunt with cane in hand, I knew very well not to show the least sullenness. And first of all the garter waist would be fitted, both Aunt and her daughter would set to work on dressing me. A broad heavy black satin bodice was laced tightly around my waist, this with eight wide elastic supporters, four for black silk stockings and four for the cream satin lace and frill trimmed ankle length bloomers. At first stepped into the shiny stockings, these being quickly drawn up high to just below my naked crotch and there firmly supported. The instant effects of my sudden arousal rewarded with several hard strokes of Aunt's cane over my bare buttocks. "Ungodly boy!" Being hissed by the woman. This certainly waking me up for what was to follow! Next, a tightly pinned cloth nappy and frilly red baby rubbers. And these rubbers with especially reinforced elastic in the waist and legs. So very tight that I gasp loudly at being reminded of this very real 'rubber discipline'. And this would increase relentlessly throughout the day. Being made to wet my nappy under my ridiculous costume a very necessary part of my sissy discipline, it would seem to the women. Then the cream satin bloomers held up and being quickly stepped into the cool shiny cream satin garment , and soon most tightly supported high up under my armpits. Pulled firmly into my crotch and tied with huge bows below each knee, layers of frills and lace reaching to just above my ankles. These bloomers held over me most securely, being now very aware of my rubbers separated only but for the thin towel material. A surge of embarrassed uncontrolled excitement not going unnoticed by both women. Rewarded instantly with several hard strokes of the cane across the rear of my upper thighs. "Oh! Ouch! Ouch!" I cry. And then the petticoats, four stiff and flouncy petticoats. All short enough to reveal plenty of bloomer. The cream satin blouse, yet another ridiculously elaborate garment. With huge lace and frill trim at the huge collar and cuffs, and down the front. The short kilt skirt buttoned onto me, and worn up high so that plenty of the under frills and lace would be on show at all times to all. With black patent button boots on my feet and a Scots cap upon my head, now certainly ready for two visits to church as well Sunday school. Proudly marched out of the room and downstairs, petticoated as few boys have ever been. Then breakfast with plenty of fluids consumed. After breakfast to Aunt's study to recite the days bible passage by heart. My usual stumbling in my recitation requiring Aunt's instant correction. Departing on the brisk walk to church, the usual delighted comments on my attire from the mature women we encounter. Then to have to sit perfectly still on the hard wooden church pew for over an hour between Aunt and my niece, a boy put very firmly in his place in the old fashioned manner. Feeling totally helpless and humiliated as I slowly start to wet my nappy, all too aware of the increasing tell tale odor of urine and rubbers. Further surges of early arousal at my crotch giving me confused thoughts of a deep wicked pleasure, that must surely warrant a very thorough bedtime naked thrashing from Aunt.



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  The rubber and restraint of infancy.
Posted by: Sissyjj. - 06-03-2016, 10:16 AM - Forum: Age Regression and Dummy Discipline - Replies (6)

'I lie shivering all over, strapped very securely with my leather baby harness on my back by Nanny, in my old fashioned pram. I am in a tight coarse towel nappy under thick and heavy, shiny red rubber baby pants of hospital red rubber. They have very tight elastic in the waist and legs. Over these I am in a similar rubber romper suit. Also with cutting elastic at the neck, cuffs and ankles. The pram is also lined with the same red rubber. Nanny pulls the rubber lined rain cover high and tightly up under my chin, chuckling as she secures it firmly in place. I have a large rubber feeding dummy strapped into my mouth through which Nanny doses me frequently with warm and sour tasting milk until I cough and dribble. It is time for me to be walked out. Nanny briskly marches me out into the street. I hear the creak of the old prams springs, the loud click of Nanny's high heeled boots on the pavement, the swish and smack of her long rubber cape and rubber apron as she marches me along. I begin to drift off into a rubber induced daze, then I suddenly shiver all over and moan as I feel my urine running freely. Nanny looks down at me, smiling broadly. Nanny knows best for her boy, and I know that this means being left wet for many hours. The strong odor of rubber and my urine fills the air and overpowers me.'



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  Why couldn’t I just have had a “normal Fetish ?
Posted by: humiliatedwithnappys - 06-03-2016, 03:32 AM - Forum: Age Regression and Dummy Discipline - Replies (5)

Why couldn’t I just have had a “normal Fetish ?

 

It’s my first time posting any writings on here. I so often wish I had a regular fetish, mainstream like at foot fetish another mainstream fetish.

 

Instead I was gifted or dammed with a Diaper fetish, I don’t want to behave like a baby or have anything to do with babies. I just love the feel of a Diaper between my legs it makes me feel safe secure and content. Throw crinkly pair of plastic paints into the mix then its nearly heaven for me.

 

It’s the touch smell (clean) and the texture on my skin of a diaper and plastic pants that drives me crazy. I can ignore my fetish for months or even years on end. But eventually it wants me to take notice and won't be ignored or suppressed any longer.

 

Then I’ll end up on eBay ordering Diapers and Paints to satisfy my craving like some kind of addiction.

 

There is a sexual element to my fetish, I yearn to be humiliated by women knowing my secret they would have some kind of power over me, with the possibility and threat of them exposing my secret, I would be very obedient and controlled.

 

I fancy women just like the next guy and find them so attractive and sexy  , I love sex with too Kinky or Vanilla 

 

Had I a “normal” fetish life would be so much easier, my secret wouldn’t have to be so well hidden and protected. I could probably talk openly with my girlfriend and she might find my “normal “ fetish sexy and exciting. With a diaper fetish it’s likely any girlfriend I confided in would run for the Hills screaming sicko or pervert.

 
My fetish is what it is and it’s part of me that I can’t change it, at best it can be suppressed. Oh how I wish I had a “normal “ Fetish 

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  Time spent in dresses
Posted by: Richardto - 06-02-2016, 06:29 PM - Forum: Petticoating and Feminization - Replies (15)

It's been quite a few years since I would dress as a girl. I wrote about my beginnings on the old Voy forum, and figured I would revisit them here.

My first memory of being in a dress was when I was four. I was still in diapers (much to my mother's chagrin) and my mother was frustrated with me not potty training easily like my sister. There are several things I didn't know or understand at the time, like the fact my mother wanted a second girl, and that my sister was the last girl born out of all my cousins, so my mother had no one to send her hand-me-downs to. My mother used disposable diapers with me, she was hooked on a lot of the new convenience products that were being introduced and certainly wasn't happy that I still needed regular diaper changes. She had hit upon the idea of using my sister's old dresses on me to make it easier to change my diapers when we were out and about. I finally toilet trained around my fifth birthday.

On top of this, there were a few occasions after my mother and father divorced before she started dating again where she had me in some of my sister's old clothes to save money (she helped justify this to me based on how much she had to spend on night diapers for me since I wet the bed nightly). Once she started dating again, she stopped with it since she wasn't sure how it might be viewed by the men she was bringing into her life.

Mom remarried when I was eight, and the stress of changing schools mid-year together with moving, new stepfather and stepsisters, and all of the upset that went along with it put me back to daytime toilet troubles and sent me back to daytime diapers for a couple months. Mom certainly wasn't happy about it, and neither was the school. The principal wanted to send me to a special ed class since I needed diapers, fortunately the teacher recognized I was one of the smarter kids in the class and just had the control issues and refused to let it happen.

I didn't start dressing again until I was 13 and I asked my mother one night what it was like to be a girl. Her response was that it was something you just do and couldn't really say anything more than that. Later she asked if I still wanted to know and then told me to follow her to her room, explaining as we went that since I wanted to know the best way was for me to experience it myself. She had me strip completely and gave me a pair of panties, a bra, and one of her dresses to wear. Back downstairs, she asked me my thoughts, and pointed out I would make a convincing girl with hair and makeup done. I asked about doing that, and she said there was no time that night, but if I wanted to dress again the next day she would help me with it. She also asked if the clothes were available if I would wear them regularly. I said I would, and not much more was said from there. When bedtime came around later, she brought me one of her nightgowns to wear to bed, telling me to keep the dress for wearing the next day.

I was surprised the next day when I got up and she wanted to go shopping, I didn't want to dress as a girl in public, but I should have done it. She took me out and bought me my own clothes so I could dress and wear them when I wanted and on the occasions that she and stepfather might like to have me look nice. I was bought a sundress for the summer, a skirt and blouse combination, plenty of panties, three bras, a couple nightgowns, and a girl's one piece bathing suit. The most embarrassing part of all of it was having to try things on in the store!

When we got home, mom had me bathe and showed me how to shave my legs. She got me panty liners to use to avoid 'skid marks' that I tended to have a problem with in my regular underwear. She then did my hair and makeup, showing me what to do myself as I would have to learn. She took me downstairs and gave me nail polish, then spent quite a while teaching me how to walk and sit properly as a girl. I spent the next several days dressing constantly (at her suggestion) to get used to the clothes and get good with acting feminine and doing my own hair, makeup, and nails.

My stepfather liked having me as a girl, so mom bought me more outfits, my sister and stepsisters didn't care, their only complaint was I didn't have to deal with a period which they didn't think was fair. My mom felt they had a point, so she gave me the full 'talk' and started me on a cycle to match the rest of the girls in the house. She gave me both thicker pads and tampons to try the first time, telling me to let her know which I preferred using. She personally liked tampons and recommended them for all of the girls in the house, and that included me. She commented that a thick pad often felt too bulky, almost like wearing a diaper. After trying it, I understood her point, and she seemed happy to know I preferred tampons.

I kept up a monthly cycle and dressed on a regular basis until I moved out at 18, and then it slowly dwindled away. If you want to hear more or want details, let me know.

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