sissy simon - remedial action

[frillibabi]

part one of my first story! I will write more if it appeals to other readers



Remedial action



Part 1

It was mid afternoon on a hot day in the first week in July and Carol Walters was justifiably proud of herself. Yes, her husband had left her two years ago to live with the secretary who was young enough to be his daughter, and yes her 16 year old son, Simon, was behaving in a way that the charitable would attribute to his parents divorce, but Carol had finally managed to get promotion to supervisor in the office she worked in and the extra money would come in handy. Particularly as Simon’s father had become somewhat tawdry in his maintenance payments. There was a double benefit in that this was the first summer that Carol hadn’t had to arrange paid care and supervision for Simon, so the additional income would come in especially handy.

Carol was therefore particularly agitated when, just before her lunch break, the receptionist told her that her neighbour Elsie Stamford was on the phone. Elsie Stamford, or Mrs Stamford, as Carol always called her, lived in the next house to the Walters. Whilst Carol Walters had always addressed her as “Mrs Stamford” she was never aware of there ever having been a Mr Stamford. Elsie Stamford was now retired – Carol would guess she was in her late sixties, but was aware that she had retired as a headmistress of an infants school a few years before the Walters had moved into the neighbourhood.

      “Mrs Walters, I ‘m sorry to disturb you at work but it was a choice of calling you or the police.”

“Whats wrong?” said Carol, the panic audible in her voice.

“I’m afraid its your son Simon. You know I look after the Wilson’s house opposite when the go away on holiday?” Carol Walters knew the Wilson family, nice people, 3 daughters aged 17, 15 and 12.

“Yes” said Carol.

“Well I was just popping over to check that everything was alright at the house and I caught your son climbing out of the window.” “Oh No!” Carol exclaimed. “Oh yes indeed” said Mrs Stamford. He had a bag with him. I’m afraid I decided I had better check to see what he might have taken. I’m afraid that its rather unpleasant”

“What?” exclaimed Carol, her mind running wild with the thought of what her son had been doing.

“The bag contained a large amount of the Wilson girls under wear – they seem to have a rather nice taste in teenage lingerie. There were some of the younger girl’s items too – frilly panties and lacy tights – that sort of thing. I have Simon at my house now. My first thought was to call the police, but I thought that perhaps you’d like an opportunity to deal with it first.”

It took all of Carol Walters’s restraint not to use expletives. Unfortunately simon’s interest in girl’s under wear and his willingness to steal it from the drawers of others was not news to her. She had found several items on previous occasions hidden under his bed or behind the bookcase in his room on routine cleaning forays. She had been troubled by the finds and questioned simon, but he had either been evasive or claimed that he’d just found them. It was only after a stay at her sister’s when her 17 year old neice had complained that a baby doll nightie set had disappeared – and turned up under simon’s bed – that she knew what was going on. What she didn’t know was what to do about it.

Now, however, something needed to be done, and seen to be done, if the Police were not to be involved.

 “Thank you Mrs Stamford, I don’t know what has come over Simon. I guess he’s missing his father. I’ll come right over. I’m sorry you’ve been troubled.”

“Its not his father he’s missing Mrs Walters, it’s the firm hand of discipline. If you want that boy to turn out all right you need to take some action now. If you ask me you’ve been too soft on him since his father left. He’s been allowed to get away with murder. He needs taking down a peg or two. But its not for me to tell you how to bring up your son – I don’t suffer the embarrassment of his behaviour. We both know what your son intended with that clothing. It’s a dirty filthy habit and he needs to be cured of it. Whatever it takes.”

“I very sorry”, muttered Carol Walters, embarrassed that she was being thought responsible for her errant son’s behaviour. “You’re quite right, I should do something, I’m just not sure what.”

“We’ll if you need a hand, I’m quite able to help you out” said Mrs Stamford “but perhaps we can discuss matters once you’ve sorted out the immediate situation”.

“Yes, of course” said Carol Walters, “I’ll be right over, I’m leaving now.”

Carol Walters immediately approached her line manager and said she had to leave work for an hour due to a domestic situation. She could tell her Manager was unimpressed. As an unmarried male he had little understanding, and even less sympathy, for the plight of a single mother. Carol brooded on this on the 10 minute drive home. Why had Simon let her down like this? Hadn’t she got enough on her plate? Why couldn’t Simon act his age with some responsibility? Maybe Mrs Stamford was right, maybe she had been too soft and Simon needed taking down a peg or two. By the time Carol Walters pulled into her drive 10 minutes later she was near incandescent with rage. She was not going to debate the matter. She was going to take action.

When she arrived at Mrs Stamford’s house simon was sitting sheepishly in the hall. Mrs Stamford welcomed Carol and explained what she’d seen and handed Carol the bag she’d found Simon with. One by one the items were removed and admired by the ladies.

“I shall take the under wear back to the Wilson’s” said Mrs Stamford. I presume you will deal with Simon at home?”

“That’s what I had intended” replied CAROL.

“Very well – you may find the contents of this back useful” offered Mrs Stamford and she produced a small opaque plastic back. Carol looked inside. There was a large wooden hairbrush and a pair of pink rumba pants. The Woman exchanged a knowing look that worried simon who had quietly been witnessing the conversation, confident that he would be able to sweet talk his way out of the situation.

Carol Walters reached down and took Simon’s arm. “Come with me” and with that she led him out of Mrs Stamford’s house. To the front door of their own home. When she unlocked the door she pointed to the satairs and said:

“Go to your room now and wait for me”

“Oh mum I’m not a little boy anymore” replied simon.

Carol walked to where her son stood and slapped him firmly across his left cheek. Simon’s head was ringing with the blow but he heard her mother next words clearly enough.

“That is exactly how you have behaved, little boy. You disobeyed me and embarrassed me. Enough is enough. Now quick march if you know what’s good for you.”

Simon sensed something in his mothers tone and realised this was not the time to argue.

What was she to do? She needed the job and the money it brought. But Simon clearly couldn’t be left unsupervised. That would have to wait. First she had to deal with Simon then she had to apologise to her neighbour, Mrs Stamford and thank her for alerting her to the problem.

[frillibabi]

Part 2

Simon was sitting on his bed reading a comic when his mother stormed in. Simon’s eyes were drawn to the hairbrush in her mother’s hand. He hadn’t seen it since he was 12 but the 4 years of its absence hadn’t dimmed the memories of its power. “Please Mum” Simon stammered – “I’m sorry about . .” His mother cut her off “Sorry? You’re going to be very sorry indeed my boy I’ve just about had it with you. You cannot seem to keep your hands out of your pants for more than a minute, you sneak into peoples private drawers and steal their clothing! You are a dirty little sissy w**nker, aren’t you? I’ve let things slide since your father left but I’m going to make up for that good and proper now – we’ll see how sorry you are then. Now get over my knees NOW! Stand up!” As you seem to like girls panties you can wear them whilst I punish you – maybe  that will make you think twice before you behave like that again sissy simon! His mother held out the pair of frilly rumba panties Mrs Stamford had provided. She held them at waist height so that simon had to “high step” to get into them into them.

Carol stood back and glared at her son. “Just look at yourself – don’t you look silly? And she pointed to a mirror so simon could see himself standing wearing nothing but the frilly panties. Tear began to form in his eyes.

“Whats the matter sissy? Don’t like your panties?” his mother laughed. Well you’d better get used to them!”

 “Come round here” Mrs Walters barked, indicating a place on her right. Simon stood crestfallen as his mother picked up the hairbrush by her side. “Please Mum” was all Simon could think of saying but he knew it was useless. His mother was furious, he could tell and nothing he could say would save imr from the spanking that was about to begin.

 Carol Walters grabbed her frightened teenage son by the wrist and pulled him towards her. In a second Simon was forced over his mother’s lap and the punishment began.

Mrs Walters raised the hairbrush high in the air and began to wear of the pent up anger and frustration she had felt since her husband had left WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK went the hairbrush and “Ouch”…”Please” …”I’m sorry” cried simon. WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK. . . WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK . .

WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK. . . WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK . . . “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry” wailed simon but he was already beginning to cry and Mrs Walters ignored her pleas. WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK. . . WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK . . WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK . . . WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK. . . WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK . . WHACK…. WHACK …WHACK . . .

By now tears were freely flowing down simon’s face. His bottom and the top of his thighs were dark red. he was wailing and kicking his feet and screaming something about being a good boy in future. Mrs Walters paused for a moment and listened to her son’s sobbing. Maybe that was enough she thought. “OK that’s enough for now – now I want you in the corner with your nose against the wall and your hands on your head. Simon stood up and pulled up the frilly panties. “Simon” she barked, “Did I say you could rub your bottom?” “No Mum” Simon whispered, the tears still running, “Hands on head immediately” ordered Mrs Walters and as soon as he complied Mrs Walters brought the hairbrush down on Simon’s thighs. WHACK…on the left thigh then WHACK on the right thigh then back to the left…WHACK. . right. WHACK…left. WHACK …right WHACK . left WHACK. . right…. WHACK .The pain was immense. Simon was finding it hard to breathe. The tears were in full flow. His mother stopped. Grabbed him by the ear and marched him, to the corner of the room.

“Now get your hands up on your head”. Simon obeyed. “You will stay there until I come back,  . . If you move . . . well I think you can guess what will happen.”

Mrs Walters walked back to the doorway of the bedroom. She turned and looked back at her son. The Red marks on her bottom were beginning to take on a bluish tinge. The marks contrasted deeply with the whiteness of his shaking lower thighs.

Right she thought I’d better go and apologise to Mrs Stamford and thank her for alerting me.

Part 3

Carol thought it would do no harm to tell Mrs Stamford how she had dealt with Simon. She knew Mrs Stamford held firm views on the discipline and didn’t want to be thought too liberal. Mrs Stamford however already knew the fate that had befallen Simon – the sound of the hairbrush on Simon’s bottom – and Simon’s reaction to it - had travelled to Mrs Stamford’s veranda where Mrs Stamford was sitting with a pot of tea.

As Carol Walters approached Mrs Stamford’s house, she was greeted by Mrs Stamford and the words “Your far too lenient with that child”. Carol Walters, unaware that Mrs Stamford had heard simon’s spanking replied, “Well I’ve just put a stop to that. I’ve just given simon the spanking of his life”. Mrs Stamford laughed, “Well, I heard you give the child a few licks, but it’s hardly the discipline the child needs. A boy like your simon needs a good radical approach to discipline . . root and branch. It’s far too late to just rely upon the hairbrush or paddle . . No that boy  needs re-educating in discipline so he knows exactly what he is, a sissy. . . your just too soft with her.”

Her? Carol Walters was staggered. There she was proud of herself for, at last, getting up the courage, and the anger, to discipline her son, and her neighbour was saying it was too little to late and calling the boy a sissy girl. “Well what do you suggest?” Asked Simon’s mother. “Well” said Mrs Stamford, you need to devote some time to disciplining him – lengthy sessions of re-education and training. It will take time.And he needs to be dressed appropriately to remind him exactly what he is. You cant have him breaking into neighbours houses and going through they’re intimate clothing can you? No that child needs to be kept under constant watch – and dressed in a way he’s not likely to want to go out much!”

“But I don’t have time” said Carol Walters “I should be at work now. I took this job because I thought Simon was old enough to leave on his own. . How wrong was I. What am I going to do? I need this job.”

Mrs Stamford looked at Carol Stamford and smiled. “Don’t worry, if you want I will look after Simon. I have quite a lot of experience in dealing with boys like your Simon and if your son thinks he can get away with his nasty habits he can think again. I think your son needs a baby sitter for the summer to make sure he doesn’t get up to any more trouble. And you can go out to work, or even with friends in the evening, knowing that Simon has done the chores around the house and hasn’t got up to any mischief.

Carol Walters thought for a moment “but Mrs Stamford, Simon hardly ever helps with the chores he . .”

Mrs Stamford cut her off “Oh I can be very persuasive. he’ll be happy to help with chores when I’ve finished with him. I ‘d like to start know, if you don’t mind. Perhaps you could bring Simon over and the you can get back to work we get better acquainted.”

“Why certainly, I’ll just go back and tell him to get dressed,” said Carol Walter’s, who was still bemused at the idea of her son doing chores.

“Oh no, there’s no need to get him dressed – just bring her over as he is. The humiliation will do him good and he won’t be needing any of his clothes, I’ve got a number of suitable outfits for him here”

Carol Walters had to admit that she was shocked at the thought of dragging her 16-year-old son out into the street dressed only in a pair of pink frilly panties and into her neighbour’s house, but she was still reeling from Mrs Stamford’s suggestion that she was too lenient with Simon and that Simon’s behaviour was partly her fault. The woman spoke with authority. Maybe it was time she handed Simons correction over to someone else. Maybe the humiliation would do Simon some good. Even so, she was a little surprised when she heard herself say “Very well. I’ll go and get him now!”

[frillibabi]

Part 4
Simon had been horrified as his mother had dragged him by the ear down the stairs and into the street. He’d pleaded with his mother not to humiliate him, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. He was screaming and sobbing and asking where they were going and his fears were not eased when his mother told him Mrs Stamford would be looking after him for a while. Simon had never liked Mrs Stamford. The woman was old fashioned and clearly didn’t approve of  him. The thought of Mrs Stamford seeing him in her present condition, tear stained face and crimson bottom and thighs made Simon feel physically sick. But there was nothing he could do, such was the vice like grip his mother had on her ear.
Mrs Stamford was strangely calm and told Simon that she was sure that he regretted his conduct and that it wouldn’t happen again. Mrs Stamford said that perhaps, just so that Simon knew how displeased she was, she ought to give him another spanking. Simon had protested again, but this time half heartedly. He knew it was useless. Whilst he’d had a chance of talking his mother out of punishing him he knew instinctively that Mrs Stamford was altogether another prospect.
Mrs Stamford had suggested that Carol Walters returned to work and left Mrs Stamford to get on with the spanking.
“Don’t worry dear, he’ll be a lot quieter if your not here. You go back to work and leave us two to get better acquainted. When you get home tonight we can have a chat about the rest of the summer holidays”
Carol Walters thought about it for a few seconds and agreed.
She turned to her son who was still blubbering “Good bye Simon, I’ll be back later, now don’t give Mrs Stamford any trouble”.
“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get along fine” beamed Mrs Stamford.
Simon didn’t like the look on Mrs Stamford’s face one bit.
Mrs Stamford walked to the window and watched Carol Walters drive away, leaving Simon stood naked but for his pink frilly panties in the middle of the room. Once she saw the tail lights of the car turn the corner of the street she turned and looked at Simon. “O K young lady, time to get that spanking out of the way” and with that she moved a high backed dining chair into the centre of the room, sat down and motioned to her lap. Simon hesitated for a second.”Young lady?” he croaked. “Why yes, Simone, who else but a young girl would be wearing pink frilly panties? I can only imagine that you were stealing the Wilson girl’s frillies as you like them so much and don’t have your own” Simon blushed and couldn’t think of an answer
“Now, Come here this instance” boomed Mrs Stamford “or I shall fetch my cane”.
Simon had never experienced the cane and didn’t want to; he was frightened and scared, cowered by Mrs Stamford’s authority. he scampered over to Mrs Stamford’s right side. Mrs Stamford roughly pulled him down over her lap and reached across with her left arm to pull his right arm back across her back. There would be no attempt to try and protect his bottom! Then the spanking began. SMACK . . Simon could not believe such pain could be imparted with just the bare hand. SMACK . . .SMACK . . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . . Simon began his wailing and sobbing again. . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . . “its no . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK” said Mrs Stamford, keeping up an even tempo with the spanks . . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . . “you should have thought of that” . . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK “before you stole” . . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . “this morning” . . . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . . “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” pleaded Simon . . “. SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK” . . . “I’ll be good” . . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . . “I promise” added Simon . . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . . . “Oh I don’t doubt that!” said Mrs Stamford, “just another six . . . for the moment, anyway.” . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK . . . SMACK . . .SMACK . . SMACK. Mrs Stamford released Simon’s right arm and unceremoniously pushed him off her lap onto the floor. Simon lay there in a flood of tears. His nose was running and he was gasping for breath. His bottom felt on fire.
“Hell” he thought, he would never have gone into the Wilson’s house if he’d known  that would happen. However if he’d known then what Mrs Stamford had in store for him  he’d have wished that he’d never been born! “Up little lady” commanded Mrs Stamford “Up now, or do you want some more?” Quickly Simon got to his feet and was led by the ear by Mrs Stamford to an empty corner of the room. “I want you up straight, no slouching, nose in tight to the corner, and hands on head. You will stay there and compose yourself until I have decided you can turn round. Do you understand ?”
Simon sniffed. “I asked you a question. Do you understand, child?”
“Yes” mumbled Simon
“Oh I think we can do better than that, can’t we child?” said Mrs Stamford, planting a hefty swipe across Simon’s right calf. The impact on Simon was immediate and he quickly replied “Yes Mrs Stamford”.
“That’s better, but I think as we’re going to get to know each other a lot better you had better call me Aunt Elsie. Now I am going upstairs to find you some suitable clothing to wear when we go out. Whilst I am out of the room you are NOT to move a muscle.”
Simon heard Mrs Stamford leave the room and climb the stairs. he was tempted to look over his shoulder but thought better of it. he could hear drawers being open and shut. he tried to catch his breath and stop crying but the pain in his bottom and thighs kept reminding him of his sorry state. he heard Mrs Stamford come back downstairs and go into the kitchen. Mrs Stamford was on the phone to someone. he couldn’t hear what was being said other than Mrs Stamford seemed to be arranging to meet someone. After what seemed an eternity, but was in fact only about half an hour Mrs Stamford entered the room and told Simon he could put his arms down and turn around.
“Well we cant go out with you naked, can we child, so lets get you dressed.” Said Mrs Stamford.
Mrs Stamford held up a pair of lacy white tights. “Mmm” she said thoughtfully, “I think we’ll have the panties over the tights – then everyone can see those lovely frills, eh? What do you think girly?”
Simon stammered “please Mrs . . Aunty, please no!”
“Oh yes indeed, its just what a silly little thief like you needs, a public outing, so everyone knows what happens to sissy who steal panties. Now into these double quick or its over my knee again”
Simon was in no state to put up a fight and gingerly put on the tights. The material scratched his swollen bottom. Mrs Stamford took hold of the hem and yanked the crotch up, ensuring the fit was snugger – and more uncomfortable.
“No lets get the frillies back on” Again Simon was required to high step into the panties as Mrs Stamford held them open for him.
“Now I know you know what this is” smirked Mrs Stamford as she held up a lacy white training bra that belonged to the youngest Wilson girl. “Arms out sissy” barked Mrs Stamford.
Next came the blouse. It was made of a silky white material, it had puffed long sleeves and large frills on the front and collar and buttoned up the back.

Mrs Stamford stood back and admired Simon, who was now looking and feeling uncomfortable. She stepped forward and placed a white hairband, with a single pink artificial rose attached over his head.
“Yes” she said, “all we need now is a pair of shoes”.
“What” wailed Simon “What about trousers,?”
“Girls don’t wear trousers simon! And your going to be a pretty girly aren’t you!” laughed Mrs Stamford.
In desperation Simon pleaded “well then a skirt, please . . I’ll wear a skirt”
“Oh no” laughed Mrs Stamford “girls undergoing tights punishment don’t get skirts. “My, my Sissy, you do have a lot to learn”.
“You can’t take me out like this!” cried Simon
“Can’t Simon, I’ll show you what I can and cant do” Mrs Stamford fixed Simon with a steely grin.
Simon felt a chill run down his back.
Simon realised that he was about to be publicly humiliated. His knees were beginning to shake and his stomach was turning.” Please Mrs . . Aunt Elsie . . I need the toilet,” he whispered.
“Wait here” said Mrs Stamford forcefully. She left the room and returned a few seconds later with a yellow plastic potty which she placed on the floor in the centre of the room.
“Very well, girl. Get on with it” said Mrs Stamford.
Simon found it all so hard to believe – he looked at the potty and then at Mrs Stamford.
“Please Mrs . . Aunt Elsie . . please let me use the toilet”
“It is either that or nothing. Now what is it to be young lady? We haven’t got all day. You have precisely one minute or I take the potty away and then we go out. If you wet your panties in public that will be your concern”
Simon hesitated and saw where he stood. Between crouching down and using the potty in front of Mrs Stamford or possibly wetting his pants in public he knew which he would choose. he stepped forward and lowered the tights and pants before squatting, rather inelegantly, on the potty. he tried to forget Mrs Stamford was there watching him as he relieved himself, conscious of the noise his pee was making as it hit the inside of the potty. Mrs Stamford was all to keen to make her presence known.
“Stay squatting when you’ve finished, dear” she said, “Just tell me your done but do not get up”.
What was she doing now, Simon thought. “I’ve finished” said Simon almost inaudibly.
“Good girl ” cooed Mrs Stamford as she stepped towards Simon, opening her handbag. She withdrew a tissue from her handbag, bent down and proceeded to wipe Simon dry. “Now you can stand up and pull up your panties and tights”. When Simon had complied she picked up the part filled potty containing the now used tissue and told Simon to empty it down the toilet in the hallway, wash his hands and return.
When Simon got back Mrs Stamford had a pair of black leather platform shoes with T Bar strap for Simon to wear.
“I know they’re not fashionable, but they are all I have that will fit you. Actually I think they go rather well with the outfit. They’re faintly ridiculous – and that’s the idea. Put them on and then we’re off shopping. Oh I nearly forgot!” and with that Mrs Stamford picked up a  piece of paper on which was written “I steal girls panties” and pinned it on to the back of Simon’s blouse.
“ Come on girl, don’t dawdle, unless you want to go out without your top on!”
Simon, by now, knew not to push it.

[frillibabi]

Part 5

Simon had felt that he would be unable to bear the public humiliation of having to go shopping in her tights punishment outfit. he hadn’t realised that Mrs Stamford had intended the outfit to be only the beginning of simon’s humiliation. As they went about the town Mrs Stamford held Simon by the wrist. Whenever they bumped into someone that Mrs Stamford knew Simon was introduced as a “sissy nephew who needed some attitude adjustment”. The interested acquaintance would then be told that Simon had already had his bottom spanked today and knew what to expect if he misbehaved again. On one occasion Simon had been made to lower his tights and panties to show the inquisitive acquaintance his inflamed and sore bottom, only to be told, “I’m sure you deserved it”.

Neither had Simon been prepared for the nature of the shopping. They had visited the pharmacist store where Mrs Stamford had purchased a number of jars and packets. Simon had been made to go to the counter on his own and request a packet of disposable diapers in his size. he had nearly refused but had caught the look in Mrs Stamford’s eyes when he had hesitated. The assistant, who was probable only a couple of years older than Simon hadn’t helped by asking if Simon wore them during the day, or just at night. Simon, who hadn’t worn them at all, and wasn’t sure of Mrs Stamford’s intentions, mumbled something about occasional nights. The assistant seemed to enjoy Simon’s discomfort and asked if he wanted a dummy as well, and pointed to a selection on the wall. Simon was lost for words and felt himself blushing furiously. But Mrs Stamford, who had just come to the counter with her full basket, and had overheard the conversation said “What an excellent idea . .My niece will take 3 – do you have them in an extra large size?”

The assistant said she did, put them in Mrs Stamford’s basket and began ringing the purchases through the till. All the purchases were put in a carrier bag except for the disposables, which wouldn’t fit. Whilst the assistant searched for a larger bag Mrs Stamford said “Don’t worry, my niece will carry them as they are”. Simon was all too aware that everyone would know, dressed as he was, who the diapers were for. Was there no end to his shame? If Mrs Stamford got her way, of course not.

As they walked through the town Simon began to realise the humiliations that Mrs Stamford had in store for him. Surely she wasn’t intending to put Simon in diapers. It wasn’t fair. Maybe Mrs Stamford would listen to reason. Perhaps if he spoke to her. “Mrs . . Aunt Elsie, please don’t put me in diapers” whined Simon “I don’t need them, honest”. Mrs Stamford stopped and looked at Simon. A smile appeared on her face. “Lets see if you don’t need them Sissy, but I think you will” laughed Mrs Stamford. She took Simon by the wrist again a led him into a large department store. Simon was conscious again of people staring at him. Some, girls and boys of his own age, or younger, openly pointed and laughed.

Mrs Stamford approached a young store assistant and enquired where the baby changing rooms were. The store assistant looked at Simon and smiled before explaining they were on the 3rd floor. Mrs Stamford led Simon up the escalators and located the room. “Come on Sissy, hurry up, we haven’t got all day” chided Mrs Stamford. Simon entered the changing room. It was small and designed to be used by parents changing their children’s diapers.

 A washbasin was in one corner and a long wide raised bench ran the length of the room which was covered with a plastic covered cushioning. In the other corner was a chair. Mrs Stamford put the shopping bags down and sat on the chair.”Ok sissy, come here now.”

Simon was frightened; he hoped this wasn’t going to be another spanking. Nevertheless he knew better than to disobey Mrs Stamford. When Simon was standing in front of her Mrs Stamford rose and inserted her hand down the front of Simon’s tights, feeling his crotch. “Well you feel dry enough now, I’ll admit” said Mrs Stamford. Then she grinned again, “Right Sissy, up on the bench on your tummy”. Gingerly Simon climbed onto the raised bench and lay down. Mrs Stamford reached into the shopping back and produced a pair of latex gloves, a jar and a packet. She walked over to Simon, reached round his hips and pulled the tights down to Simon’s knees. “OK girl, I want you up on all fours” she said. Simon didn’t know what was happening, but complied immediately. As he was doing so Mrs Stamford was donning the latex gloves and opening the jar. It was a lubricant and Mrs Stamford inserted her gloved right index finger first in the jar and then in Simon’s anus. Mrs Stamford’s finger made a slight “plopping” sound as she inserted and withdrew the finger ensuring that the anus was well lubricated. Simon was stunned by this latest assault on his dignity but could think of no protest that would not result in more pain. He could hear Mrs Stamford behind him tearing open the cardboard packet.

Had he seen the packet he would have learnt that it contained laxative suppository. He would have read that the suppository would take effect within 10 minutes. One of the contents of the packet was now being inserted by Mrs Stamford into Simon. With her task completed Mrs Stamford gave Simon’s bottom a playful swat, and she proceed to draw the panties and tights back up his thighs until they were back, snugly, in place.

“Now then Sissy, shall we see if you can control yourself, or whether you need diapers? I’m guessing on diapers, but its up to you” Mrs Stamford laughed. Simon didn’t realised his predicament. He didn’t know  what a suppository was, never mind  the effect on his bowels.All he knew was it was awful to be seen in town dressed as he was, but he didn’t want the embarrassment of being seen obviously having pooped in his pants. He could feel something happening in his bottom and began to realise that Mrs Stamford had done something to loosen his bowels. He turned to Mrs Stamford and heard himself say “Please Aunt Elsie will you put a diaper on me now”. Mrs Stamford smiled sweetly  and said “No Sissy, it will have to wait until we get home. I’ll tell you what though, I’ve got something just incase you have an accident.”

Then Mrs Stamford reached into the shopping bag and produced a pair of plastic lined white satin rumba pants. She held them up for Debby to see. There was row upon row of white lace sown onto the seat of the pants and little satin bows adorned the legs and waistband. “Aren’t these the cutest Sissy? You’d better pop them on in case you have an accident.” And with that Mrs Stamford began pulling down Simon’s pink frilly panties and replaced them with a similar but plastic lined pair that crinkled as Simon moved.

Anyone who was paying attention to Simon, and quite a few were, would have noticed that he was adopting a curious gait as he left the store with Mrs Stamford. The truth was he was already conscious of the suppository in her anal passage beginning to dissolve and do its work. he was walking trying to clench his buttocks together in the hope, much misguided, that he could somehow delay events until he was back at Mrs Stamford’s. That was a 20 minute drive away, and the car was parked some 10 minutes from the store. The laxative packet had suggested that results could be achieved in about 10 minutes, and they were right. As Mrs Stamford and Simon entered the car park, and Mrs Stamford opened her bag to retrieve her keys she was aware that Simon was breathing quite fast and taking shallow breaths. Simon had that look of concentration on his face that suggested he was channelling all his will into avoiding the force of nature. Mrs Stamford looked at him and smiled “I think my little friend is doing its business !” Mrs Stamford laughed at her own joke, but Simon couldn’t see anything funny. he stood next to the car as he felt himself expel something large and soft into the gusset of his panties. he was embarrassed and shocked. he didn’t know what to do but wanted to cry, so that’s what he did.

Mrs Stamford, aware that the Sissy was now broken, put her arms around the him and said “there, there. We’ll get you home and bath you and change you.” She got out some plastic sheeting, put it on the back seat and got Simon seated in the car. The last thing Simon really wanted was to have to sit in his soiled pants, but there was no other option. With Simon securely seated in the back seat Mrs Stamford drove home..

[frillibabi]

Part 6

As soon as they were through the door of Mrs Stamford’s house Simon was told to go upstairs to the large bathroom and wait there. Gingerly, conscious of the contents of his panties, which he’d been sitting in for the last 20 minutes, he climbed the stairs and entered the bathroom. he didn’t have to wait long for Mrs Stamford to arrive. Mrs Stamford was now wearing a long plastic apron and the latex gloves.

“Well, little miss “I don’t need a diaper”, it seems we’re in a right mess now!” she sneered and then chuckled at the joke.

“Do you want Aunt Elsie to change you?”

Simon said nothing; he thought the answer was obvious. How could he stay as she was?

“Well, cat got your tongue, answer me, or shall I leave you all night in them!” said Mrs Stamford.

Simon quickly realised this was no joking matter. “Please Aunt Elsie” Simon stammered “Please . . don’t leave me in my panties . . Please change me.”

Mrs Stamford smirked. She walked over to Simon and roughly pulled the White frilly plastic lined Rumba pants down to his knees.

“Step out of them” ordered Mrs Stamford. Simon obliged.

Mrs Stamford went to the large walk in cupboard in the corner of the bathroom and returned with a plastic covered changing mat which she placed on the floor.

“Lie down on this on your back” barked Mrs Stamford.

Mrs Stamford bent down and began drawing the lacy tights down over Simon’s bottom. When they were at mid thigh level he was instructed to draw his heels back so as to raise his knees, and to arch his back. This enabled Mrs Stamford to remove the tights.

Mrs Stamford looked down at Simon lying on the floor. It was clear now – both by sight and smell that Simon had messed his panties. “Not such a big girl as you thought are we miss panty pooper” Mrs Stamford taunted. “Well I have ways of dealing with girls like you, nasty dishonest girls . . who like to mess they’re panties!”

Mrs Stamford now pulled Simon to his feet by his hair. Simon yelped but didn’t resist - he couldn’t. Forcibly Mrs Stamford pushed Simon into the shower cubicle and quickly turned on the cold-water outlet. The water began to wash the waste loose, aided in part by a long handled bath brush being wielded by Mrs Stamford. Every few seconds Mrs Stamford would bark a command which would be punctuated by a blow with the back of the brush if Simon wasn’t complying fast enough.

“Turn” . . . CRACK …. “left” . . . CRACK . . “turn” . . . CRACK.

When the water was turned off Simon was clean but freezing and sore. Mrs Stamford held up a short white towelling robe and announced “You will put this on and follow me. With that Mrs Stamford bent down and picked up the plastic changing mat and walked out of the bathroom.

Simon followed Mrs Stamford into a small bedroom. The room was decorated like a small childs room. Mrs Stamford placed the mat on the single bed and told Simon to take off his robe and lie on his back. Simon obeyed, fearful of the return of the bath brush. Soon he felt the cold latex gloves of Mrs Stamford invading his bottom again. “This will help you relax dear”, she cooed “you appear a little nervous” Mrs Stamford laughed. Next Simon felt the bulk of the diaper as it encased his throbbing bottom as Mrs Stamford attached the self-adhesive fasteners at the waist. Mrs Stamford turned and opened a drawer in the dresser under the window. She held up a pair of pink, semi opaque tights. “Yes, I think these will do nicely” she said to herself.

Simon felt his feet being put in the tights and Mrs Stamford drawing them up and over the diaper. Mrs Stamford turned and fetched another pair of plastic lined rumba pants like those she’d been wearing earlier, but this time in a canary yellow colour, and drew them up and over Simon’s diaper. “And finally” said Mrs Stamford “your pretty nightie” and she held up a very short, very frilly, nylon baby doll nightie. “Hands up”. Simon raised his hands above his head to enable Mrs Stamford to put the ridiculous garment over his head and on to him.

“Now wait there” said Mrs Stamford “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes” and she left the room.

Simon didn’t know if it was the fear, or the embarrassment but he was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. he could feel, what ever Mrs Stamford had placed up his bottom was beginning to dissolve and causing a gentle tingling sensation.

Within a couple of minutes Mrs Stamford had returned and she was holding a rather outsized babies feeding bottle complete with teat. “I’ve brought you a little drink to help settle you, Sissy” said Mrs Stamford smiling again. “Now I want you to sit up and let me feed you. Open wide now, or do I have to fetch the bath brush . . . no I didn’t think I would.” And the teat was put in simon’s mouth. The drink was warm and milky, and slightly sweet. Mrs Stamford held the bottle inverted over Simon’s mouth and placed her arm around him, pulling her towards the bottle.

It took some 5 minutes and some encouragement, and threats, Simon to empty the bottle, but when she did so Mrs Stamford remarked “Well Done”.

Then Mrs Stamford dropped the bombshell. “Well you should be ready for a little nap now. The pessary I placed in your bottom is a combined sedative and laxative, and the drink contained a diuretic and muscle relaxant. They should be taking effect by now. Its bed time for you now even though its only 4 pm. I’d get a good rest because tomorrow I intend to start your re-education in earnest. I’ve spoken to the Wilson’s. They were very annoyed to hear tat you had violated the privacy of their home and the girls were shocked to hear that you had been through their underwear. They are returning tomorrow. I have told them of your punishment so far and Mrs Wilson says that she will ensure that the girls get their own opportunity to have some “pay back time”. Your mother knows and approves. I have told her that you are a silly sissy who will always be drawn to ladies panties and will only end up in serious trouble unless strictly controlled. I know your type and can assure you, you can look forward to a summer of strict sissy punishment which will control you though I doubt it will cure you!”

“Oh no!” Simon thought. Today had been so humiliating but at least he’d avoided meeting anyone he knew. The Wilson girls were neighbours and went to the same school as him. If they saw him as he was now they would be bound to talk – and they would too! They were so haughty and always sneered at him, even the youngest girl, that’s what had excited him, what had made him think of getting some of the lovely underwear he knew they would wear. The thought had excited him, made him stiff. He knew what he would have done with that underwear, but then again, so did Mrs Stamford!

“Now up you get and under the covers – tomorrows another day” ordered Mrs Stamford.

Simon rose on uncertain feet. he felt wobbly. Mrs Stamford drew back the sheets blankets and quilt and Simon climbed in. he felt overdressed in the diaper, tights, rumba pants and nightie and he realised she’d be hot with the bedding. Mrs Stamford fetched another quilt and tightly tucked it under the mattress on both sides of the bed making it difficult for Simon to move.

“Its just so you don’t fall out” Mrs Stamford announced. With that she walked to the windows and drew the heavy curtains together. The only light came from a dim bulb in the centre of the ceiling.

Mrs Stamford looked down at Simon snugly secured in the bed “Now let me tell you this my girl. I don’t enjoy changing diapers, but I will do so when it’s needed. However I always spank, firmly, whenever I change a diaper, so remember that. The more times you need changing, the more times you get spanked. That’s fair isn’t it” But Simon couldn’t answer as Mrs Stamford had just inserted the large pacifier into his mouth, and Simon knew better than to spit it out.

“Now you have a nap little one, and I’ll come back and see you in the morning. Your mother will be back soon and I need to discuss your bedtime schedule with her. I think a girl like you should be in bed by 3 everyday to stop you getting crabby. I’ll speak to her when she’s back.”

With that Mrs Stamford turned, switched off the light and closed the door behind her.

Simon was left in the dark bedroom, swaddled in the bedding and beginning to perspire.

[frillibabi]

Part 7



Mrs Stamford descended the stairs to her living room. She bore a rather contented look. She was pleased with her day. Pleased to have trapped another “fly” in her web. If Simon thought that he had been unlucky being seen by Mrs Stamford leaving the Wilson’s house that morning he was wrong, very wrong. Mrs Stamford had been watching Simon for several months now. She knew all about his dirty habits of stealing girls underwear and she could make a very educated guess of what he was doing with the various items he’d collected. Elsie Stamford knew the tale tell tale signs of an embryonic Sissy when she saw them, and Simon displayed quite a few. What was the “tell”? Was it the way he liked to grow his hair long? Or that he didn’t like his nails cut short? Perhaps it was the way he lack any real friends, and certainly not the boyish sporting ones. But the real give away was when simon had failed to pull the curtains closed in his bedroom the night his mother had gone to the School Parents meeting. There was only a gap of about a foot. But that was a big enough gap for Elsie Stamford. Equipped with her ziess binoculars that she kept to ensure she knew what was happening in the neighbourhood Elsie had had her thoughts confirmed when she caught glimpses of Simon dressed in stockings and garter belt and playing with his pen*s. That was over a month ago. Since then she’d diligently watched him. She knew he was fascinated by the Wilson girls. She’d seen him ogle the dainty underwear on the washing line at the Wilson’s house, pretending he was mending his bike. And was it Simon’s good fortune that the Wilson’s had left a small downstairs window open as they drove away that morning? Of course not. Mr and Mrs Wilson were extremely security conscious. They had checked all the windows and doors before they left. No, the window was open, because Elsie Stamford had opened it, knowing that silly Simon would not be able to help himself. Not only that, but Elsie Stamford had made sure that the Wilson girls frilliest, daintiest, most feminine under wear was placed at the top of their drawers so that they would be on immediate view once the drawers were open. She had set the trap and need only wait for Simon to act – it was like watching a moth drawn to the light she thought.

So there were no surprises for her when she encountered Simon exiting the window. Well there was a little surprise, perhaps. Simon had not only removed the frillies from the drawers, he’d also rooted about in the laundry basket and taken a couple of pairs of the older Wilson girls soil panties and pantyhose. Was she surprised by Simon’s choice of these items? Well perhaps a little, but she wasn’t shocked. She knew a thing or two about Sissies and she knew what dirty things they could get up to.So she was going to have fun with this one – yes indeed. She enjoyed humiliating vunerable young men and boys and reducing them to simpering sissies trained to serve their betters.

She entered her living room and reached for the photo album in the bookcase. “Yes” she thought “lets have a little trip down memory lane” and she began looking at the photos reaching back over 3 decades. On the pages could be seen the  apprehensive faces staring back, like  rabbits caught in the headlight. On the first page was the image of a rather leggy individual dressed in patent shoes, white ankle socks and very short canary yellow dress. Peeking from under the dress could be detected several layers of net petticoat forcing the skirt of the dress up and out. The hair was in bunches, tied with white lace edged ribbons and small white lace gloves adorned the hands. To the casual observer the image appeared to be that of a teenage girl, although the clothing and hair was too juvenile for her age – perhaps it was a halloween costume some might think. But Mrs Stamford knew the real truth. The photo was of Paula – or Paul, as he’d been known when she first met him – Mrs Stamford’s first success. He had come to lodge with her as a fresher at college. He too was light fingered when it came to lingerie. He too had learnt to regret it and had been taught the error of his ways. Where was Paula now? Mrs Stamford thought. Oh yes, she remembered. He was overseas, working as a personal maid for that rather successful business woman that she had met through the Club. Yes, that’s right. Karen Winters was her name. She ran a rather up market lingerie business – how ironic that Paula should have ended up there! She remembered receiving a grateful Christmas card from Miss Winters some years ago enclosing a photograph of Paula in his maids uniform complete with lacy cap. A warm glow filled Mrs Stamford at the thought. Yes she had notable success as a sissy trainer over the years. And upstairs, in bed, safe and secure, was the latest recruit. She’d have her fun with him for a couple of months and then she could contact the Club again to see what vacancies there were. Simon, given his age and looks, once trained would be very sought after indeed. Yes she would have to sort out Simon’s mother, Carol Walters. But that wouldn’t be too difficult. She knew from experience that once she found a Male for Carol who “tended to her needs” she’d not miss the troublesome son, particularly one that seemed to be an embarrassment.

Yes, she thought. Time to progress the plan.

Elsie Stamford picked up the phone and called Carol Walters. “Mrs Walters, Elsie Stamford here . . . yes, he’s fine, just a little washed out, what with the crying and the shock of his predicament. Listen, it might be better if he stayed here tonight, in fact I’ve put him to bed already . . . yes I know its early, but he’ll benefit from it. . . its no trouble at all. Why don’t you go out and have some fun – you deserve to”

At the other end of the phone Carol Walters paused and thought for a moment. She hadn’t had a proper night out since her husband left her. She hadn’t felt like it and besides Simon had always acted up if she tried to leave him alone for any length of time. And Bill Nicholson, the Head of Finance had been flirting with her recently and suggested meeting for a drink. Why not she thought!

“Yes Mrs Stamford, yes I will, thank you so much for taking care of Simon”

“Oh there is no need to thank me at all” replied Elsie Stamford.

Mrs Stamford had a few further phone calls to make. Tomorrow was to be a busy day and arrangements had to be made.

Upstairs, lay Simon. Had he known Mrs Stamford’s plans for him he would not have slept a wink. As it was, the sedatives and the laxatives gently went to work as Mrs Stamford had intended. Indeed everything would happen as Mrs Stamford intended.

[antonia]

First class story with all the excitment and skill of an accomplished author. Wonderful enjoyment - well done and thank you!