Part Two:
Shuffling on the dinning room chair, Max Turner couldn't make eye contact with the adults, whilst barely picking at the greenery on the plate in front of him.
"Has he got ants in his pants?" his Dad had roared with laughter at what was apparently a joke.
"Panties." Amy whispered, reaching under the table to pat the teenager's bare thigh as if he needed a reminder of what he was wearing beneath his adapted clothes.
His face flashed red, but he did become still, as his step-mum started to explain.
"Max wants a bit of tan on his legs and arms." Amy lied through her perfect teeth, "So he's going to wear little shorts all the time, aren't you?"
He flinched as the fingers inched higher, unable to follow his plan to blurt it all out to his Dad. How he'd dressed up as a way to control his temper, without mentioning the actual dressing up part, obviously. That he was going to blame on Amy. His Dad would have taken his side of his new wife? Wouldn't he? Probably! Maybe! Possibly!
Then there was Sarah herself, and all those photos Amy had taken of him as a sissy. Those she threatened to send to everyone on his contacts list, if he didn't do what he was told. It just wasn't worth the risk. He hadn't been at his school for long, after all.
"Yes." he squeaked suddenly as long, brightly painted fingers clasped his leg dangerously close to where his boy parts were being crushed in what an hour earlier, had been his favourite skinny jeans. Now, thanks to Amy's dressmaking scissors they were girlish hot pants, constantly rubbing the tender flesh, through the softness of the panties, he was, indeed, wearing.
A fresh set of pink panties covered in little flowers, replacing the previous pair he'd inadvertently soiled during his first time over his step-mum's knee.
The memory of bending himself over Amy's lap. The back of Sarah's old Junior school gingham dress flicked upwards, totally exposing a round bottom barely covered in sheer white panties. kept his face redder than the tomato he was attempting to chew, just not as red as his bottom had become from the hairbrush.
He'd cried, despite promising himself he wouldn't, initially struggling against the punishment. Amy seemingly easily managing to hold him still, despite his best efforts, while the back of a hard and heavy hairbrush, turned his lilly white, backside, into twin red hot, stinging, throbbing cheeks. Tears had poured down his cute face. Little pug nose running. An even a sheen of sweet covering his diminutive body, making his original panties stick to his body.
It was the only reason, Amy hadn't pulled the panties down. She hadn't needed too. Able to see the righteous damage she was inflicting as part of her plan to give the previously obstinate boy, a lesson he would not be forgetting in a hurry. If at all.
She needed a confession though, so the dinner table hadn't been the first occasion Max had been seated on a sore bottom.
Before that, he was back in the corner, only now the corner wasn't beside the window but in front of it. Hands back on his head, his own phone making sure he stayed there. Adding time, when a group of kids his own age went down the road and he ducked.
Just how much anyone could have seen, was open to question. The waist high window sill didn't give much away, certainly not the reason why the front of the gingham was poking forwards in a very un-girlish way, but they may have noticed the taller child in the juvenile uniform, and the obvious shaggy haired boy, despite the little bunches held in place with elastic bands.
Amy, of course, very much liked the view she had. The bright red bottom contrasting so nicely with the white of the panties she'd caught him in. His hands, kept on top of his head, not the cause of it's exposure, rather the pins keeping the gingham from obstructing what she hoped would become a familiar view, which is why she was doing what she was doing.
Having fetched bin-bags from the kitchen Amy removed nearly all of the boy's clothes, making what was left, as girlie as she could, yet still decent so he could wear them around his father.
The snip-snip of the ten inch long scissors removing the legs from all of his trousers, making him shimmy against the backlight of the window, as she provided him with something he hadn't worn in years. Shorts. Lots of shorts. And short shorts at that.
"Just two inches on the legs I think." she'd teased, using the old fashioned measurements, so he wouldn't realise the actual length until he was allowed to wriggle himself into the tight stonewashed denim, just as his Dad's key turned in the front door.
"You can always wear your naughty sissy school uniform?" she offered when he'd bulked at the now tiny trousers, "But you might want to change your panties first."
He had no boxers left, of course, they were all bagged up, sitting on the kerb waiting to be collected, in full view of all the neighbours, so Amy was fairly sure he wouldn't be fetching them, no matter how humiliated he was, by wearing panties in front of his Dad.
For the last time, Amy gave him some privacy to change. Not a lot, or else she'd have missed the amusing dance he performed, attempting to tug down the gingham over his bare bits, whilst untangling rolled and clearly used panties over his feet.
Glimpses of boy parts were on offer. Some soft, some not as much as they should have been. Less hair than Amy had expected for his age, but a bottom that was every bit as delightful in the flesh as it had been when covered. A bottom she always wanted to slap, now had, and would soon be sharing with others now the naughty little sissy had confessed to everything.
I, MAXWELL TURNER AM A NAUGHTY LITTLE SISSY
That was the line she'd made him write, two hundred times, in one of Sarah's old school books. Her work from six years previously in the front part, dotted with artful drawings of unicorns and rainbows. His at the back. All neatly numbered, with surprising neatness given he was uncomfortably seated at the desk he never used for his homework.
Perhaps it was all the jiggling about, which made him soil the panties. Maybe it was the panties themselves, pulled so tight across his little tube and grapes, which made the mess more likely? It didn't matter to Amy, she just needed the photographs, to "Prove" how much he liked being the sissy she'd made him into, and to provide her with a cast iron alibe for all the things she was planning on doing to him. After all, who could blame a loving step-mum from helping out a wayward little boy achieve his dreams? Not her husband, that was sure.
Harry Turner had barely batted an eyelid when Max had walked downstairs showing all sorts of leg. His eyes going straight to the bewitching woman walking behind the boy, even after his half dressed son was standing in front of him.
"I'm sorry I was a naughty!" the adolescent robot voice repeated from Amy's scriptt. "I promise I will be good from now on."
For a moment Harry had stared dumbfounded and yet, still missing the slightly rough hems, around the shoulders of the dinosaur t-shirt which didn't reach the waist of the tight jean cut-offs, down to tiny ankle socks, barely visible outside of carpet slippers never previously worn.
"Yes, you've promised to be a good little..." placing her hand on Max's shoulder Amy prolonged the pause as long as she could, her mouth making the sounds of a forthcoming letter G, before changing the subject completely, and announcing she'd ordered supper in.
Prompted with a pat to his sore bottom, Max was sent to lay the table without a mention of the television, quickly returning as he didn't know where most of the items he needed were kept.
"Don't worry, I'll teach you." Amy smiled, her words not being as reassuring as they could have been once he'd collected their incoming meal from the doorstep.
She'd expected a little bit of rebellion then, but although the boy's face was a picture of embarrassment, he dutifully went to the door, allowing her to even suggested how he would make a good maid, to his Dad, who roared with laughter, having little idea his wife wasn't joking.
When Max returned with the two paper bags he found the cushion gone from his chair, replaced with a book large enough to lift his feet from the floor, once he was sat down, increasing the pressure on his bottom.
Then it got worse for the thirteen year old boy. He was given salad!
Again, he didn't argue, eyes flicking to the woman's phone sitting on the table on the far side. Her finger hovering as she told Harry about her plans for the following day.
"Shopping!" was no surprise to anyone, however "Shopping for Max's new wardrobe." certainly was. Not least to Max himself.
Topic: The Naughty Sissy (Read 8442 times)
