delightfully under her hands. 'And the tulle band here with the big sparkling buckle in front and the big bow behind?'
'It ties my ankles delightfully,' I stammered as she continued to stroke my body.
Oh, was it I was who speaking? 'The dress is like a soft caress upon my limbs.'
Helen applauded me with a radiant face. She ran her daintily gloved hands down the dress across my behind. She felt through its thin texture, squeezing my legs and calves as she teased me.
'They're charming,' she cried. 'Your legs are as soft as butter. And you love your stockings too, Denise, don't you-the exquisite stockings I deck you out in?'
The feel of her hands affectionately pinching my calves was intoxicating. Her dainty air of mastery wooed me, lulled me into believing that she actually owned me.
'The stockings are deliciously cool,' I said.
'And your white satin slippers with the high heels and the pretty bows and the sparkling buckles, you love them too? Lift up her dress to the knees, Phoebe. Don't you love your little girls' shoes, Denise?'
Phoebe raised my skirt to the knees. The white satin garters with the big bows and buckles and the dainty frills of my batiste pantalets were visible.
'Look in the mirror Denise and tell me gratefully that you love them!'
'If I must wear girls' shoes,' I replied blushing deeply, 'they may as well have high heels and diamond buckles.' Something much stronger than myself made me speak. In the midst of her delight, Helen exchanged a quick glance with Miss. Priscilla. It was a glance of triumph and it put me on my guard.
Phoebe let my dress fall and Helen took me round the waist. 'You are delightful Denise. You are quite a girl now with that pretty white bosom.'
'Yes, Ma'am,' said Phoebe, 'her breasts have come up wonderfully. I think Miss. Denise ought to be very grateful to Miss. Priscilla for the trouble she has taken in arranging the proper exercises and massage and medicines.'
'Oh, there was no difficulty,' said Miss. Priscilla. 'The moment I discovered that Denise had the milk vessels of a woman, I had no doubt that we could fit him with as pretty a pair of girl's white breasts. As perfect as any young lady could wish for.'
'The milk vessels,' cried Phoebe with a laugh. 'Then Miss. Denise is a freak?'
'Not at all,' said Miss. Priscilla calmly. 'The men of the primitive tribes used to have the milk vessels. Miss. Denise may be a chance return to the primitive type. Or originally it might have been that nature was going to give Evelyn a twin sister, and that their embryos got mixed. That happens not infrequently.'
Helen laughed and stroked my cheek lasciviously. I could tell she had further designs on me. But that was later.
'In any case, Denise has a girl's bosom-for life.' She touched them with her gloved fingers and daintily caressed them, ruthlessly titillating my nipples, sending waves of delicious sensation through my veins. 'They are a real punishment, dear, for all the trouble you have given us. You can't get rid of them as you could of your girl's shoes and stockings if we were to let you. They are a permanent proof to you of the wisdom of being a woman and the pleasure of being obedient to women.'
'But you are going to let me get rid of my girls' shoes and stockings tomorrow. You promised faithfully, Helen,' I said.
Helen held me firmly, caressed me, bruised my lips with burning kisses.
'You don't want to get rid of them Denise. You love them! You love your dainty frocks. You will be so much happier as a girl.'
She pleaded with me, her voice, the perfume of her breath, the feel of her limbs through my dress tempted me. I felt inclined to let myself go in her arms, to say, 'Helen I belong to you.' But I remembered my ambitions.
'No, no I have your word,' I cried. 'I must be a man. I am to marry and begin a great family.'
The three women burst out laughing, confusing me dreadfully.
Helen cried, 'Oh, Denise, I would love to see your wife's face when she first discovers your girl's bosom. No, no my dear, you shall love your pretty frocks, your smart corsets, your long gloves, and your lovely little high-heeled slippers.'
'No, no,' I insisted obstinately, and Helen, with an exclamation of annoyance, let me go. She had after all only pretended to be affectionate, though she had very nearly deceived me. Now her face became stern with anger. She looked at me with threatening eyes. 'Very well,' she said, 'but I warn you, Denise, you will come on your knees begging me to put you back into girl's clothes. Now go down to the drawing room, and take care how you walk. Point your toes, arch your feet. Take your fan!'
She gave me a lovely fan of ivory and gold. I had turned from her toward the door when Miss. Priscilla called me back.
'You forget that you have to be punished, Denise,' she said calmly, and she told Helen of my coquetry and of the punishment she meant to inflict.
Oh, how confused the situation had become! There I stood dressed as elegantly as any young woman of fashion, all the while being taunted, moulded by the women I had come to love and fear the most in my life. My ambivalence was not only directed toward Helen. I also felt disoriented about the dilemma that I had found myself in.
How right and accurate Helen had been to exclaim that I loved the corsets and dainty shoes, the silk stockings and the fabulous evening gowns. She knew me well, and between her mind and Miss. Priscilla's, they had knowingly awakened the real me that would not lay dormant again. I knew this deep within my unconscious mind, but I had been so stringently conditioned by my father to strive for a career, to build a family name… yet I did not protest as I was bullied by Helen and Priscilla to endure the wonders of their medicines, the massages, the girls' school. In fact, I lived for the hours when I wasn't with Nellie, during which the strong women masseuses would prod and tickle and slap my flesh, slowly forming my body into the feminine shape that it still has to this day. I adored the hours that I lay stretched on my back as a pair of lovely, strong hands kneaded and prodded my wonderfully sensitive breasts into a more full existence. On lovely, rare occasions, the masseuse would be a saucy woman, who would take pleasure in kissing my pink cock, or even lightly stroking the tight little rosebud orifice of my bottom, while she massaged my legs and bum. I never wanted those voluptuous hours to end.
Nor did I want to desire Helen the way that I did. But I knew-as she drew closer to me, letting the tips of her own perfect breasts nearly kiss the tips of my own-I knew that she desired me too. But as a woman. She only wanted to be near me, to stroke and kiss and fondle me if I were dressed as a woman. This was a sudden realization for me, and I nearly reeled upon discovering this secret fact. I wanted nothing more than to remain in this passive, lovely costume for the rest of my days. But how could I have conveyed that through my shame? The thought of remaining a girl forever was as confounding as it was exhilarating. I wanted to reach out and pull Helen toward me, but I refrained and stood still.
I hadn't really wanted to protest my 'humiliating' situation, but I did because I thought that I was supposed to. I was to be punished for my insolence and my ingratitude.
I realize now that it is very likely that I had secretly wished this punishment upon myself, that I had precipitated Helen's response to my insolent mood. I deeply wished the sensuous torments that she was to heap upon me.
Ah, one can never underestimate the power of the unconscious mind, the secret part of our mind that drives so much of our behaviour.
CHAPTER 3
'She must be punished,' said Helen, pushing me toward a gilt chair with a white satin seat.
'Lift your skirt carefully, Denise, and kneel on this chair,' she said sternly.
A little frightened, I immediately obeyed this humiliating order. Helen dipped a pen in the ink upon the writing table.
'It is the rule in this house, Denise,' she said, 'that one punishment always involves a second to be inflicted later on; and so that we may not forget it, we make a note of it upon the sole of one of the culprit's smart
