9. A DRESS FOR DAVID
"Time to get you into some petticoats David" she said pulling one of the frothy confections from the rack and offering it to him to put on. "I bet you've been looking forward to this moment all morning haven’t you sweetie?" He so wanted to refuse but the back of his legs still stung from his second encounter with his wooden paddle he dare not refuse instead he bounce up and down in glee to demonstrate his readiness to embark on the next stage of his emasculating regression to a teenage toddler.
At first he tried stepping into the petticoat dress but the sleeveless top was too small to pull up over his nappies. "You'll have to pull it on over your head" instructed his mother. He struggled with it valiantly. He grabbed a handful of skirt which seemed to have a mind of its own, every time he made to grasp it, it seemed to grow larger and less manageable and was being more successful in its uncooperative stance at not being worn than he had managed in avoiding his nappies and romper. His mittened hands were not working in his favour. His mother came to his rescue, delighted by his display of helplessness. "Arms up" his mother demanded. He strained to look round at himself, but at that moment a petticoat fluttered down over his head and the sight of everything below his chest vanished from view including a circle of surrounding floor space as a cloud of tulle and chiffon with pink satin ribbon bound edges floated around him. He groaned into his pacifier in protest. It took her a matter of seconds to have him buttoned up and imprisoned. "And because you liked that one so much here's another one for you." Dutifully he raised his arms to receive it. His horizon lifted and a little more floor space disappeared from view. His shoulders slumped in defeat and his arms hung loose by his sides. He received a swat round the back of his head. "Don't crush them! Keep your elbows bent get those wrists up. Last one lift your arms!"
As the layers of his petticoats increased, the horizon rose ever higher, blotting out all that lay below in ever increasing diameters. The only good thing he had to say about them was he no longer had to look at those hideous socks that graced his feet. He would have to guess what lay before him to trip over, invisible to his gaze beneath his frothy petticoats, leaving David to struggle with a dozen layers of very full uncooperative skirts that just bounced back every time he tried pushing them down so he could see where he was walking. "Don’t do that David it's not very ladylike" admonished his mother.
He bent forward out of morbid curiosity to try and get a better view he hadn't realised just how huge they were as they swung forward and hung down in front of him in all their glory almost overbalancing him in the process. Each petticoat dress comprised of four tiered and gathered skirts and each must have had at least a full circle or more of material in them, three petticoats, twelve layers of skirts, no wonder they were so full and heavy and as he had just learned quite wilful and difficult to control as they flopped away from him again and noisy, so noisy, they rustled every time they made the slightest of movements or responded to his own. He could hear their sibilant tones conspiring against him with the rustle of his frilly romper and the clack clack clack of his rubber leak proof panties as he moved. He hated them with a passion! Almost as much as his romper.
~o0o~
They were relentless like the Borg. "Resistance is futile, you will be assimilated" there seemed to be no respite from their continuous assaults on his masculinity as they systematically tore great pieces out of him and replaced it with something very alien as he was systematically reduced in appearance, ability and status to that of a toddler.
David had hated the whole process of choosing his dress, just as he had hated everything else that lead him to this juncture. His masculinity was under constant assault and he was losing steadily.
"Isn't this the most beautiful dress I bet you can't wait to try it on?" David found himself jumping up and down yet again exercising enough due diligence to satisfy his mother of his desires to be ridiculed further just as he had earlier when he had shown how thrilled he was at being put into so many stupid petticoats. Anything to avoid the encouragement provided by her wooden paddle.
There was nothing remotely masculine about his petticoats, just as there was nothing masculine about his frilly pantied romper and his socks were less masculine that the other two put together. "You are very lucky being an older sissy you can get involved in choosing the best ways of feminising yourself and help in choosing your own accessories to achieve it."
David did not feel lucky at being complicit in his own emasculation and displaying his enthusiasm by jumping up and down and clapping his mittened hands together adding his seal of approval to his next round of humiliation he was to enjoy.
His mother had laid out 6 dresses that she thought would suit him. She was only offering David the section of dresses because she understood dresses better than him. But the final decision was his. She didn't want to choose one for him which was why she insisted he do it himself just as she had allowed him to choose the rest of his outfit.
She didn’t want him to feel forced into wearing anything he didn’t want or didn’t like. She just wanted him to be happy with the choice and the reason she had him curtsying and whirling was so he could get an idea how different fabric and styles moved with the wearer and he would feel more feminine in one dress as opposed to another. As if he cared. All he had to do was get to the car park. Who cared if he looked more feminine in one dress or another, so long as it got him home without being recognised?
All he had to do was try one on, parade himself in front of the large mirror, curtsy to himself, do a twirl, then swish one way then the other and his petticoats dutifully followed him and curtsy to himself again turn and curtsy to his mother then to each of the assistants helping them, and repeat the process for the next dress and so on. This was overkill and the sooner it ended the better but the only way of ending it was to go through all this damned swishing and swaying and curtseying and suffering the 'oohs' and 'aahs' of his mother and the assistants as he humiliated himself in yet another dress.
It all sounded very easy... except.
He was hampered by three wilful petticoats a fleece romper with grown on gloved hands and padded mittens and attached very lavishly frilled panty, worn over a pair of towelling short-alls, 2pair of rubber panties that were as noisy as hell and 3 sets of Thick & Thirsty nappies and soakers, not to mention thick tights, silly socks and stupid shoes and a very uncomfortable butt plug stuffed up his, well never you mind. He could barely manage a waddle, let alone a walk. The look of concentration on his face was intense. "Smile" his mother had admonished "you're supposed to be having fun."
As if! Not that anyone would see because of the mouth shield of his pacifier. His mother said people would know by the bounce in his step when he smiled, if he frowned he would trudge. What did he care he was in no mood to be trying on dresses he didn’t give a toss about anyway. So he bounced, and so did all his damned petticoats. AARRGGGHH! They were at least having fun even if he wasn't.
He would have told his mother to go forth and procreate had it not been for the huge pneumatic phallic shaft firmly inflated in his mouth that had taken all semblance of speech from him. So he settled for "gahunph" instead cramming it with as much venom as he could muster and mentally projecting it at her. But it was just his luck that his psycowatsit skills were letting him down today and she remained unharmed.
"You walk like a dock worker you could at least try to be more feminine and graceful, well if you can't get one foot neatly in front of the other then try do something with your arms. Tuck in your elbows for goodness sake lift your wrist, higher, higher that's better, now keep them above your waist line. Relax, flap your hands, you're a sissy you're supposed to be limp wristed." She was exasperated by his intransigence. "Do I really need to paddle them in place?" There was a vast and immediate improvement in his carriage. "Now commit that to memory I don’t want to see your arms doing anything different. Now repeat that walk through again will you please. Properly this time!" He let out a sigh; thank goodness he only had four more dresses to go. Until finally he settled on this one...
If he thought his socks were bad then his dress was worse. So much worse. He might well have chosen it but she had already decided which dress he was going to wear and had gently steered him towards it. It was actually his last choice and least favourite, most disliked might have been a better description, of the six. The fact was he loathed it so much he would have happily used it to kindle the fire to burn the other five.
From his unique vantage point trapped within its ridiculously cutesy folds he could categorically state it had no redeeming qualities at all. Had he realised what he was getting himself into at the outset he would have gone shopping in the complimentary disposable nappy they had offered him. He was a walking advert for 'Sissy of the Year' he couldn't have proclaimed his status better if he been neon illuminated.
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Topic: A Sissy is Born (Read 41437 times)
