I wrote this story based on an old Bytemine story titled,'Candie' (author unknown), and posted it here years ago. But when I last looked at it, I thought I could have done much better. There was way too much narrative and not enough dialogue. The exposition needed work, too. I've given the whole thing a major re-write and written a few more chapters, so I thought I should re-post it and see what you think. Let me know, willya? BJ.
Please note; this is a FANTASY involving forced babying, feminisation and humiliation, plus a little light bondage and discipline. All characters in this 'dominated, diapered and petticoated' tale are imaginary and exist only in my perverted little mind - and for your enjoyment.
Baby Candy by Baby Jennie
Chapter 1. Punished at Aunty June's
When I was seventeen years old, my mother decided that rather than spending my summer vacation lazing around the house, I should instead stay with my mother's divorced younger sister in the country. My eighteen-year-old sister had just finished her last year of highschool and she immediately took off for a long vacation interstate with a bunch of her girlfriends, so there would be no-one at home to look after me while Mum was at work. I protested, “I don’t need someone to look after me!”
Mum was having none of it. “My mind is already made up,” she firmly declared. “June’s girls will be able to babysit you when she’s busy.”
“I don’t need a babysitter!” I shrilly complained. My mother ignored my sulky protestations. Just because I was tiny for my age, she always treated me like a little kid. It was so unfair!
For some reason Mum didn’t trust me alone at home these days. It didn’t occur to me that she’d known for years I’d been secretly going through her and my big sister’s underwear and trying on some of their pretty silky panties. They looked and felt so lovely when I modelled them in front of the mirror, and it always made my little peenie stiff and excited. When I wanted to masturbate I made sure to only wear their used panties, which I usually borrowed from the dirty clothes hamper in the laundry. I always put them back when I was finished, normally straight away - or the next morning after I crawled out of bed. I was pretty sure Mum hadn’t noticed the cum stains I sometimes unavoidably left behind in some of their silkier knickers.
My Aunty June lived in a small country town called Willowtree, in the state’s north-west. Mum insisted I spend my whole vacation there, and at first I didn't like the idea one bit. I wanted to hang around our home alone and unsupervised, with plenty of time to myself to indulge in my exciting lingerie fetish. But then I imagined going through my teenage cousins’ underwear drawers and the thrill of trying on some of their pretty panties. I didn’t protest quite so hard after that, although I grumbled to Mum, “It’s not fair! I want to stay here and spend the summer with my friends in Sydney.”
My mother shook her head emphatically in denial. “I don’t like those boys you’ve been hanging around with lately. They’re nothing but trouble! No, you’re going to stay at Aunty June’s. I think a change will do you good.” A month prior to the holidays, I had been busted with some friends who broke into our school and spray-painted graffiti on the walls in the classrooms. The security guards caught two boys who gave up everyone else. Even though I was only keeping watch, I still ended up in a lot of trouble.
“Aw Mum,” I whined dispiritedly. She stood over me, intimidating me with her height. Mum is about five foot eight and I barely come up to her chin. Today she was wearing a pair of four-inch heels, so I had to bend my neck and tilt my head back to see her frowning face.
“Not another word, Peter,” she warned me, “or I won’t let you take your bike.” That shut me up. My bike represented freedom to me – the ability to escape the watchful eyes of my mother and big sister.
As a result I had no further say in the Willowtree matter. Shortly after the school year ended, my mother packed me into the car and drove me to stay with my Aunt June. I was quietly apprehensive during the long six-hour trip. I didn't really remember much about my Aunt or her daughters, my older cousins. I hadn’t seen my Aunty for a few years, and it was even longer since I’d seen her daughters. I knew Alison was nineteen and Brenda had recently turned eighteen, and I assumed I would be in for an endless boring summer - unless I managed to organise some private alone-time in their home while the girls were out. I kept myself amused during the long car trip by imagining going through their underwear drawers. There was a damp spot in the front of my underpants by the time we arrived.
My Aunty was there to greet us when we finally pulled up in her driveway. “Hello Jane,” Aunty June cried, smiling from ear to ear. As soon as Mum stepped out of the car, the towering brunette threw her arms around her older sister. After hugging her warmly, Aunty June turned to me. “Hello Peter,” she greeted me in a much cooler tone. “Look at you! I don’t think you’ve grown an inch since I last saw you, what… over four years ago!” Even though she is a few years younger than my mum, Aunty June is much taller and more imposing. She has shoulder-length dark-brown hair which she normally wears in a loose bun high on top of her head, making her look even taller. With her full sensuous lips painted luscious red and her dark smoky eye make-up, I thought she looked very sexy.
Aunty June favoured tight slacks and revealing short skirts, and today she was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a loose short-sleeved white top made from ‘Broderie Anglaise’ lace. The low yoke neck displayed her fabulous bust to great advantage when she bent down to give me a welcoming kiss on the cheek. I had to tear my fascinated gaze from her deep entrancing cleavage. When she walked into the house ahead of me carrying my suitcase I admired the way her skin-tight jeans nipped in her tiny waist, clinging like paint to the broad swell of her womanly hips and her curvaceous big bottom. In her four-inch navy heels she stood over six feet tall and she was built like an Amazon. I’d forgotten how attractive my bossy Aunty was.
While Aunty June made a pot of tea, my mother complained to her about my recent misbehaviour. She informed her of the spray-painting incident and Aunty June concluded, “Obviously he hasn’t been disciplined firmly enough.” I felt Mum was exaggerating and pouted like a sullen child. Except for the one recent incident, I’d never been involved in any kind of real trouble. Furthermore I was very small for my age, and usually meek, mild and timid, and I cried easily. I was quite afraid of most authority figures, and usually did as I was told. I behaved far better than most boys my age, and usually went along with my friends’ pranks merely to avoid a confrontation.
Nevertheless my mother asked my Aunt to discipline me as she saw fit! With a tight smile, Aunt June replied, “Don’t worry, Jane. I’ll be pleased to help you bring this little hellion under control.” I didn’t realise my Mum had already discussed with Aunty June on the phone my fascination with her and my big sister’s silky knickers and pretty petticoats.
My Aunty’s bright emerald eyes sternly gazed down at me, and she ran her fingers through my silky shoulder-length blonde hair. She frowned and demanded, “When did you last get your hair cut, Peter? It’s very long. Too long.”
“I had it cut just last year,” I cheekily replied, ignoring her when she reminded me to call her ‘Ma’am.’ She was so old-fashioned for such an attractive young mother.
With a disgusted shake of her head, Aunty snidely informed me, “Here in Willowtree, decent young men normally sport neat crew-cuts.” She turned to my mother. “He looks more like a girl than a boy.” Despite her intended insult, my cheeks flushed with pleasure when Aunty June told me I looked like a girl. She continued, “I think we should take him to the barber tomorrow.”
“No!” I squealed, my high-pitched voice rising another octave in fear. “I don’t want to get my hair cut. Mum! You can’t let her do that to me!”
I begged my mother and Aunt June not to make me cut my hair, protesting that long hair was the current style amongst my city peers and myself, all budding fans of hard-rock music. I didn’t mention why I really preferred my feminine hairstyle. I thought I looked more like a real girl when I posed in front of the mirror while wearing some of my sister’s pretty nylon panties and Mum’s satin half-slips. After much begging and pleading from me, my mother finally conceded. “Alright, alright!” She cut off my objections with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You can keep your hair long - on one condition - if you promise to behave and do everything Aunt June tells you.” Of course I instantly and insincerely promised I would. Aunty June gave me a reappraising stare, and she pursed her luscious red-painted lips and nodded thoughtfully.
Over the next few days I came to realize that despite her sexy figure and youthful good looks, Aunt June was rather old-fashioned and strict. She seemed obsessed with cleanliness, manners and dress. Her two daughters were similarly tall, buxom young women, and beautiful in an arrogant sort of way. Nineteen-year-old Alison had slender hips and a tiny waist, despite her generous bustline, with jet-black hair and dark, deep-set brown eyes. Although she was only eighteen, blonde Brenda had the more voluptuous figure, with a narrow waist and wide child-bearing hips, and a big round bum like her mother. Her bosom was enormous! Whereas Alison’s face was thin, Brenda had a plump round face with her mother’s sparkling green eyes. The girls obviously knew they were attractive, and I soon discovered they treated most boys like amusing playthings.
When they waltzed into the house for dinner that first evening they were casually dressed. Taller Alison click-clacked across the front veranda in a navy pair of court shoes with a modest three-inch stiletto heel. She wore a skin-tight pair of navy jeans, and a fluffy cream angora sweater with a scoop neck that showed off the plump swelling of her generous bosom. Younger Brenda was wearing a plain white button-front blouse that did nothing to conceal her heavy swaying breasts. Her top was so sheer, you could clearly see the white lace-cup bra she wore underneath and the bulging fleshy curves of her feminine mounds. Below she wore a tiny pink and grey tartan miniskirt which barely covered her plump womanly bottom, and a pair of pink strappy sandals with a skinny four-inch heel.
As soon as the gorgeous girls laid eyes on me they started teasing me. “Look!” Alison cried, “Aunt Jane brought her little girl to visit! I thought she was bringing our dopey cousin Peter to stay with us.”
“Aww! Doesn’t she look pretty,” retorted Brenda. She stepped over to me to muss my long blonde locks.
“Leave me alone!” I protested, ducking away from the overbearing teenager’s teasing hand.
“Only girls have long hair, you silly baby,” commented Alison, tossing her long raven locks back over her shoulders. Her hair was like a bolt of shimmering black silk.
“You look like a little girl,” agreed Brenda, finger-combing her long tawny-blonde hair over her generous bust for emphasis.
“Shut up! Go away,” I bleated. The teenage beauties laughed dismissively as they went to greet our mothers.
Despite their teasing, a tiny part of me had been thrilled to hear their words. Deep down inside I secretly thought I should have been born a girl. I wished I had a sexy curvaceous figure like my buxom cousins. I brushed those thoughts aside and watched the backs of the departing young women, admiring Alison’s pert bottom encased in her tight navy jeans and Brenda’s long shapely legs. I loved the way the teenagers dressed. They both looked fabulous and so feminine. I had always been interested in women's clothing, as far back as I could remember. By the time I was twelve or thirteen I had started dressing up in my mother and my big sister's panties, slips, and slinky nightgowns, whenever I found the chance to play alone at home. Their sexy undies were much too big on me of course, but I didn't care. They looked and felt so pretty! Mummy’s silky nylon panties and satin mini-slips always felt wonderful when I rubbed my throbbing little stiffie through the multiple layers of slinky feminine finery.
After I put my bike in the garage, the girls made me carry my suitcase upstairs to a spare bedroom at the end of the landing. The room was huge - twice as large as my bedroom at home, and well furnished. A three-door wardrobe stood open and empty against the end wall next to a chest of drawers. Apart from a steel-framed single bed, the other pieces of furniture were an old mirrored vanity unit with a hard-backed wooden chair standing beside it. The girls told me to shove my suitcase in the wardrobe, which I did without bothering to unpack. They watched me with amused expressions but didn’t comment before they left the room. We had a simple dinner with Aunty June and her girls consisting of cold meats and salads. I was yawning before we finished our meal and didn’t object when my Aunt suggested we have an early night.
The next morning after breakfast, my mother told me to go and shower and get dressed for the day. While I was busy in the bathroom she walked out to her car with Aunty June, opened the boot, and took out a small pink overnight bag. She handed it to her younger sister with a wry smile. “There’s a couple of outfits in here, plus some panties and a training bra.”
“A training bra?” June questioned her sister with a laugh.
Jane nodded. “Well my little one hasn’t got any boobies yet, you know?” They both laughed again, and Mum closed the boot and they strolled back into the house.
“I’ll hide this down in the basement until I think we need it,” June decided as she held up the pink bag. Jane nodded in appreciation.
“Thanks again for doing this for me - well, for him, really. I’m not sure I would’ve had the courage to-”
“Don’t worry about it,” June assured her, cutting off her younger sister’s thanks with a dismissive wave. “It’s my pleasure to help.”
When I tumbled downstairs dressed in my usual shorts and t-shirt, Mum kissed me goodbye. She hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, “Remember, honey. You’re to do everything Aunty June tells you to do. And I mean everything! She’s in charge of you until I return. Okay?” I nodded and squeezed her in a long embrace, surprised by the tears welling in my eyes. With a final wave Mum climbed in our car and left for home, abandoning me to the tiny town of Willowtree.
Shortly after her departure, I took a solo tour of the big old house. I discovered Aunt June stored her washer and dryer in the basement, along with the family’s dirty clothes hamper. On my first morning there I prowled around down there unseen, but unfortunately, the laundry hamper was empty of silken treasures. When I gazed out the high basement windows, I discovered that my Aunty dried her delicate lingerie and her buxom teen daughters’ lace-lavished nylon undies on a rotary clothesline in the middle of the yard behind their house.
I wandered outside into the spacious back yard, fascinated by the delicate assortment of sexy panties, bras, slips, and lacy suspender-belts I spied drying on the line that sunny morning. I couldn’t stop myself from staring intently at the beautiful lingerie displayed seemingly for my arousal, while fantasising about wearing some of the gorgeous silky items. After ensuring I was alone, I sauntered over to the line until my head was surrounded by the rows of feminine finery. By checking the tags in their bras, I discovered that Alison was a 36-D bust the same as her mother, while buxom Brenda wore a 38-F cup. I didn’t know cup sizes came that large!
Aunt June happened to walk out and catch me in the act of rubbing my crotch with one hand, while the other stroked the silky-soft gusset of one of Brenda’s thick satin panties hanging on the line. She dashed over, grabbed my wrist in a painful grip and archly demanded, “Peter! What are you doing? Why are you pawing my daughters’ panties?” When I blushed crimson and didn't respond, she shocked me by leaning down and grabbing my bulging crotch with her free hand. “Aha!” She cried. “I see! You dirty little boy!”
I tried to twist free and back away from her, but she had already captured the stiffie tenting out the front of my baggy blue shorts. She loomed over me and snorted in contempt when she gave my throbbing erection a vicious squeeze. I squealed in alarm and wrenched away from her painful grasp. I protectively covered my tenting crotch with both hands as I backed away from her, my eyes like saucers.
She put her clenched fists on her broad hips and warned me, “If I ever catch you touching my daughters’ frillies again, I’ll make you wear everything you see hanging on the line!” I was so embarrassed I could barely speak. I stood there defensively covering my swollen tumescence. Aunt June mocked my tell-tale arousal, and laughed cruelly as I cowered before her, excited yet humiliated. “Maybe you’d like that?” She teased me, pointing at the silky underwear on the line, but her blazing emerald eyes remained glued to my tenting crotch. “Maybe I should dress you up in some of my girls’ frilliest lingerie and one of Brenda’s prettiest dresses, and parade you round town in them. Is that what you really want, Peter?” My throat tightened in shame and I could barely utter a sound. With my cheeks burning and my hands still vainly trying to conceal my throbbing erection, I turned and ran around the side of the house away from her, her threats and mocking laughter filling the air behind me.
When she caught up with me later inside the house, Aunt June seemed to notice the t-shirt I was wearing for the first time. She pointed at my chest and made several disparaging comments. “That picture is disgusting!” She declared, pointing at the half-naked maiden posing at the feet of a Viking warrior. She ordered, “Take that off immediately! It’s not right for sweet little boys to wear such terrible things.”
I cheekily reminded her, “I’m seventeen years old, Aunty June. I’m not a sweet little boy.” Although I realised most people treated me as if I were far younger, because I was tiny for my age, had a baby-face, and an awful high-pitched little-girl voice that I could hardly wait to change. Even though I had just finished year ten, I was by far the smallest boy in my high school. My dad was a jockey who’d been killed in a race before I was born. His insurance policy left me, my sister and Mum reasonably well off, but I also inherited his height - or lack thereof. The other kids at school nicknamed me ‘Midget,’ and I was regularly teased for being so tiny. I tried to explain to Aunt June that all my teenage friends in Sydney wore similar t-shirts, but she shook her head in response.
She scolded me, “Well we’re not that crazy big city now, are we? And mind how you address me, child. Call me Aunty June, or ma’am. You certainly need to learn some manners, little one! Come here to me.”
Over my grumbled protests, she yanked the offending t-shirt from my body and spirited it away. When she returned, she grabbed me by one ear and hauled me squealing into the bathroom. She insisted, “If you want to wear your beautiful blonde hair long like a girl, it must be shining clean and brushed prettily at all times. Come with me, child!” I whimpered that I had washed it only last week but she retorted, “I make my girls wash their hair at least every second day! All my girls,” she spitefully added for emphasis. She forcefully bent me over the bathroom sink and proceeded to soak my head with warm water, then she roughly shampooed my hair with her floral-scented shampoo.
She rinsed, conditioned, and rinsed again, then partly blow-dried my hair, and then made me sit down on a low stool in the bathroom. She vigorously brushed it dry, making me wince and whimper with every cruel stroke. “Keep quiet! Stop your whining,” she snapped in irritation. “My goodness! You really are a sissy cry-baby, aren’t you?” Finally she combed it out and despite my whining protests, trimmed the ends and the front with her sharp good scissors. I soon discovered she was giving me ‘little-girl bangs,’ with an effeminate part in the middle.
When I saw my reflection, I was embarrassed and excited all at the same time. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t want my Aunty to know how thrilled I was by my altered appearance. I grimaced at my reflection and complained like the sulky child she accused me of being. “Boys don't wear their hair like this!” I could feel my bottom lip poking out like a sore thumb.
In an icy tone she retorted, “Such beautiful long hair is far too pretty for a boy. If you want to wear your hair long like a pretty girl, then from now on, that's how you’ll wear it - just like a pretty girl!” She spitefully insisted; “You will brush and comb it like this every morning, and I will check daily to see that my instructions have been followed to the letter.” With my fringe cut into bangs and my hair parted neatly in the middle, I knew I looked even more feminine than usual. Despite my whining protests I felt my little peenie thickening in arousal.
Aunt June sorted through the t-shirts in my suitcase and declared. “Oh no! These are all quite unsuitable!” She tossed them aside with a grunt of dismissal. “I’ll buy you some more appropriate tops to wear while you’re staying here in Willowtree. In the meantime…” She searched her youngest daughter’s wardrobe for something temporary for me to wear. She handed me an old white collared polo shirt of Brenda’s to try on which was so long, it hung down almost to my knees. It covered my shorts completely, so that it looked like I was wearing a dress. When Alison spotted my feminine hairstyle and realised I was wearing her sister’s old top, she giggled and commented scathingly; “Oh my God! Look at you! Now you really do look like a little girl!”
Over lunch that afternoon Aunty informed her daughters that she had caught me feeling up their undies on the clothesline. “Why, Peter? Why were you touching our panties?” Alison demanded, shaking her head and pursing her full red lips in disapproval. My throat tightened in shame and I couldn’t respond. The girls reproached me for being a little pervert, and then laughed their heads off when my cheeks burned red in embarrassment.
“Maybe he’d like to wear our underwear?” Brenda cruelly suggested. “Peter? Would you like to try on some panties and a bra?” I ducked my head in shame, mortified beyond belief. “Is that what you want? Do you want to dress up like a pretty girl?”
Even though I wanted to scream, “Yes! Yes! Dress me up in your prettiest panties and your sexiest bras and slips,” I couldn’t tell them the truth.
They loudly discussed what a disgusting little boy I was while I cringed in silence, my face burning. The teens agreed with their mother that I should be dressed in some of their old panties and a dress if they caught me fondling their frillies again. “I’m sure we can find something pretty that will fit him,” Alison announced with a sly smile for me. I felt so embarrassed, my whole body turned hot and cold! But for the rest of the meal, I couldn't drive the incident from my mind. I was finding their continued threats to force me to wear such sexy girls’ undies to be a very big turn-on! I finished my lunch in red-cheeked silence and left the table as soon as could. I scurried outside with my hands over my crotch to conceal my stiffie, trying to get away from the laughter and taunts of my mean cousins.
There were some boys who lived nearby playing street cricket outside my Aunt’s house in Condamine St. Despite the fact that I was a teenager and none of them looked older than twelve, after lunch I attempted to join in their games. They were all much bigger and brawnier than me, and they didn't like me right from the start. They sneered in contempt at my sissy outfit and feminine hairstyle, and said that I couldn't play with them because I looked like “a little girl” and “a sissy baby!” They asked why I was wearing shorts under my dress, and I tried to explain that it wasn’t a dress, but a borrowed shirt from my cousin - but they wouldn’t listen. A few of them actually thought that I was a little girl simply trying to act like a tough tomboy, and they wanted to bet me and their friends that I really was a girl! I kept insisting that I was a boy, but almost everyone seemed convinced otherwise.
When I refused their raucous demands to lift up my dress and pull down my shorts and prove I truly was a boy, they all started chanting; “She's a sissy gi-rl, she’s a sissy gi-rl!” over and over, until I stumbled away almost in tears. At dinner that night I grumbled to my aunt about what had happened, concluding, “Boys in this town are stupid!” I complained for the hundredth time, “I hate it here! I want to go back to Sydney.”
To my chagrin, my aunt acted as if the teasing was my fault! She scoffed, “Those nice local boys probably wouldn't let you play with them, because they realised you are obviously a juvenile delinquent; one with no manners, who hasn’t yet learned how play well with other boys.”
I became upset and shrilly protested, “That’s not true! It was completely the other boys’ fault!”
My aunt’s next comment really floored me. “Then maybe I should put you in a dress and make you play with the girls instead!" I was so surprised by this outrageous remark, I was struck speechless and started blushing furiously. I was thrilled in spite of my embarrassment, and I ducked my head down to hide my burning red cheeks. Aunt June and my cousins started chortling at my subdued, shame-faced reaction. She must have sensed how embarrassed and yet how titillated I was by her threats. She seemed delighted by my humiliated pink-cheeked silence, and unseen by me, gave her daughters a discrete wink. She added with a sly smile, “Maybe I should take you to the girls' department at the local Myers’ store, and buy you some panties and a pretty dress all of your very own! Would you like that, Peter?”
Dumbfounded, I started trembling and sweating while her girls laughed uproariously and pointed at my tenting crotch. I sank down in my seat and tried to conceal my tell-tale erection under the table. It was still hard when I skulked away from the table after dinner, and I ran upstairs to my bedroom to get away from them. I hid in my room for ages fondling my stiffie until I heard the girls leave the house. I looked out the window and saw them walking down the street., the setting sun a ball of red fire over the treetops. I decided this was a good time to check out the girls’ underwear collection. I crept out of my bedroom and stood on the landing listening intently. I could hear Aunty June messing about in the kitchen, and decided to risk it.
I tip-toed into Alison’s bedroom first, and headed straight for her chest of drawers. The top drawer was full of neatly-folded panties and brassieres, in a rainbow of colours. I was unaware the gorgeous underwear had been arranged in a particular order. Aunty June had already informed her girls of my panty-fetish, and suggested they lay out their underwear in a particular way, so they would know if I’d been rummaging through their frilly panties.
I fingered the silky-soft panties and admired the delicate lace accents, then stretched a pastel-pink pair of full-cut nylon knickers over my hips to check the size. Even though she was very slender, Alison’s panties were way too big for me. I knew it would be a waste of time trying on Brenda’s things. With her voluptuous figure, her tiniest panties would be way too large for me. I replaced the dainty pink knickers and pawed though the remaining pretty panties with trembling fingers. My erection was straining to burst through the fly of my shorts, and I clutched it against my tummy with my other hand. My heart leapt in my chest when I thought I heard footsteps near the bottom of the staircase. Terrified of being caught, I quickly threw the gorgeous feminine underwear back in the drawer. I silently closed the dresser and sneaked out of Alison’s bedroom, heading straight for the upstairs bathroom.
I locked the door behind me and urgently pulled down my shorts and underwear, and I plonked down on the toilet seat. I was so aroused, it took only a few strokes before my pounding peenie exploded in my fist. It was so hard, I had difficulty shoving the throbbing head down into the bowl so my creamy jism wouldn’t spray everywhere! I gasped in relief, my whole body shaking with reaction. When I finished panting and my throbber had gone down, I washed my hands and replaced my clothing, and stumbled out of the bathroom. I decided to have a little lie-down after my exertions, and I must admit, I fell asleep for a while. Aunty June woke me up when she called up the stairs for me to jump in the shower and then go to bed.
Later that night I couldn’t stop thinking about my Aunt's repeated threats to dress me like a girl, to the point that I could hardly fall asleep! I had to masturbate to another quick climax before I could relax. I tossed the damp sock to the floor and rolled over and dropped off. The next day however, my aunt made no further mention of making me wear a dress or taking me to Myer’s. Although she did ask Brenda to keep an eye on me when she went shopping that morning. Alison disappeared shortly after breakfast, and I didn’t see her for the rest of the day. I was both relieved - yet oddly disappointed - when Aunty June returned at lunchtime with four new t-shirts for me that actually fitted. They were completely plain, but the colours!
They were all pastels; pastel-lemon, powder-blue, lavender, and pale green. I complained about the sissy colours of course, but my Aunt snootily replied, “I could’ve bought a pretty pink one and an apricot one, instead. Maybe you’d prefer more feminine colours? Hmm?” That shut me up pretty quickly, and I put on the pastel-green t-shirt as it seemed the least offensive. It was kind of short, barely covering my belly button, but Aunty seemed pleased with my new look.
I rode my bike around the small town, all the way to a rubbish dump at one end, which looked pretty interesting. I was used to not having many friends, and would often just ride around alone on my bike exploring. The gate was locked and the dump appeared to be abandoned, although there was a hole in the cyclone mesh fence big enough for me to crawl through. There were piles of rubbish higher than a house and a wall of crushed cars over to one side. Everything looked pretty interesting. I decided to come back later and check it out. The rest of the day passed quietly enough until dinnertime, when I mentioned my visit to the dump to Aunty.
"You stay away from that filthy place!" She yelled, startling me and making me jump. “It’s dirty and dangerous.” I accidentally spilled some grape juice on my new t-shirt and down my pants. My Aunt was furious and made me immediately strip to my white cotton undies in front of my giggling cousins, while she frantically tried to scrub out the stains. She loudly scolded me all the while, informing me that if my new green top was ruined, she was going to spank my naughty bottom and then put me in a dress! I was mortified yet secretly thrilled by the warning! I didn't know what to say. In a weird way I wished that the stain wouldn't come out and she would make good her threat. I kept my hands cupped over the font of my underpants to conceal my swelling arousal.
Then Brenda snickered quietly and whispered in my ear. “A few months ago, one of our younger cousins ruined his good clothes by playing football in them down at the park. When he got home, our mum dressed him completely as a girl! She made him stand on our front porch for the rest of the afternoon, while everyone passing by made fun of him.” Brenda snidely wagered me, “I bet you’ll be next!” I found her threat both scary and exciting, and my stiffening peenie grew to full hardness. I kept my shaky hands cupped over my crotch to conceal my embarrassing tumescence. A short time later however, my Aunt June grimly announced that she had managed to scrub out the stains, and my clothes weren't ruined after all. I actually felt rather let-down when she let me dress in my damp clothes. I made sure I kept my back to them when I pulled my pants up over my semi-hard stiffie.
Lying awake in bed that second night, I somehow dreamt up the idea that perhaps I could trick my aunt into dressing me as a girl, by appealing to her hatred of ruined clothes and filth. I thought that if I snuck off the next day and really messed up my clothes in a major way, she might make good her repeated threats to dress me like a sissy girl. I shivered with a combination of terror and excitement at my bold plan, stroking my erection through my pyjama pants. When the excitement became too much, I tugged another of my worn socks over my pounding tool and let it capture the creamy mess that exploded out of me. I tossed the damp sock on the floor, panting with relief, and quickly fell asleep.
The next morning Aunty brushed and combed my hair for me after I finished in the shower, making me look like a young girl again. She nodded in approval when I chose to wear my white jeans with one of the pastel t-shirts she’d purchased for me. As soon as I finished my breakfast, I set out on my bike and rode to the outskirts of town, heading for the local dump I’d discovered the previous day. My aunt of course had forbidden me from returning there, telling me that it was both dangerous and filthy. I deliberately selected my crisp white jeans and the sissy lemon t-shirt to wear that day for maximum contrast. Before I left the house, my Aunty even cautioned me to be careful of my nice clean clothes.
I began ‘Operation Filth-Act’ as I dubbed it, by climbing over some old rusted machinery and playing inside a filthy abandoned car with no windows. I figured I might as well have fun while I was at it. Next I rubbed clods of earth and grease over my hands, and then ran my blackened paws over my face and through my femininely-styled, long blonde hair. Just to be certain I was messy enough, I even rolled around on the ground like a pig in the dirt.
I’d assumed the area to be completely deserted, but was startled to see an old man striding towards me. He called out in a raspy voice; "Hey! You there! What the heck are you doing there rolling on the ground, little girl?"
When I realised he had mistaken me for a girl, I was both pleased and embarrassed at the same time. With my cheeks glowing pink, I mumbled quietly, "Just playing." He reproached me soundly, telling me that good little girls didn’t behave that way.
“You’re filthy!” he unnecessarily pointed out. “You’d better run home right away and clean yourself up, little girl, or your Mummy will probably give you a well-deserved whipping!”
I stuck out my tongue at him like a naughty child before I scampered away. I slipped through the hole in the fence and jumped on my bike, and pedalled home like I was being pursued by demons. As I approached my Aunt’s house I spied some of the local boys playing cricket in the street. They teased me as I rode by, yelling things like; "Look at the dirty tomboy!" and “That little girl is putrid!” Several boys sounded delighted when they warned me that I would be in big trouble with my Aunty for messing my pretty clothes.
By the time I turned in my Aunt’s driveway, I was having second thoughts. I realised that I might have overdone it, and that my Aunt would be absolutely furious with my filthy appearance. I suddenly developed cold feet, and decided to call the whole thing off. As I stashed my bike, I figured I could climb through the open basement window, sneak quietly upstairs to my room, hide my dirty clothes and discretely take a shower. So I tentatively lowered myself through the small unlatched window at the side of the house, and listened carefully for my Aunt and cousins moving around upstairs. I heard nothing, and began tip-toeing quietly up the basement steps.
All of a sudden the door above crashed open! The basement light snapped on and Aunt June loomed large over me from the top of the stairs. I shrieked in alarm and froze in terror like a rabbit caught in a spotlight. Aunt June took one look at me and screamed bloody murder! Brenda and Alison came running to stand beside her, their mouths gaping. My aunt was livid as she clattered down the wooden steps. She scolded me severely and demanded, “Where have you been? How did you wind up in such a disgusting condition?”
I cowered away from her and whimpered, “I’ve just been playing outside.” She was furious, and grabbed me by the dirty scruff of my neck and shook me like a rat. I tried to wrench free, but she was too strong.
“I don’t believe you!” She yelled, “Stop lying to me, or your punishment will be even worse!” She demanded, “Where have you been? Tell me at once!” I reluctantly confessed that I had been playing at the local dump. She reminded me, “I told you that you were forbidden to play there! How dare you disobey me! You will be severely punished for this!” When she released her grip on my neck, I ducked my head and tried to slink past her up the stairs, but she yanked me back by my long matted hair, making me yelp in pain. She angrily demanded, "Just where do you think you're going, you wicked child?"
I tearfully replied, "I'm sorry, ma'am. May I go upstairs now and clean up?"
She snapped; “No! Do you want to track dirt all over my clean house and make a complete mess of everything?" She ordered, “Take off all your clothes right now! I’ll dump them in the washing machine right here.” I gazed up at her in disbelief, unwilling to undress in front of her grinning daughters. With a snort of disgust Aunt June began forcibly ripping away my filthy clothes, including my underwear. Brenda and Alison watched and giggled while she swiftly stripped me completely bare. Aunty threw my soiled clothing in the washer and started the machine. She then hurried me upstairs to the bathroom stark-naked, urging me on with several hard spanks to my bare bottom. She drew a hot bath for me, scolding me furiously all the while.
Brenda and Alison followed right behind her, snickering and whispering about me the whole time. Terribly embarrassed, I kept my hands cupped tightly over my tiny shrivelled penis and balls. Aunt June hauled me into the air and forcefully thrust me into the hot tub. She began washing me with a soapy washcloth, rubbing all over my body. She was so rough, it brought tears to my eyes! I complained bitterly that she was hurting me, but she ignored my whimpered protests and kept scrubbing me till I was pink and shining clean all over. She shampooed my hair twice and used a perfumed cream conditioner as well. She said that I deserved a sound spanking and a punishment that I wouldn't soon forget.
Edited by babyjennie, 21 December 2014 - 06:52 PM.