In place of Boot Camp - Incomplete

Stepmother, well Mummy she wants me to call her over the summer, said it might be a good idea to write down some of the things we'd talked about so there was no confusion. So this is what I've done.

“I am truly sorry for being so bad. I will really try hard to learn to be good at Aunties over the summer.

Thank you so much Mummy for giving me the choice of punishments. It is really more than I deserve. And I also know that they were cures more than punishments.

Of my own free will I have chosen not to go to Boot Camp with Uncle Roger but to spend my summer as a girl with Auntie June.

If I try very hard and do everything Auntie asks then perhaps I can truly learn what it is to be a good and obedient young lady. If I try my very best to be a gentle, dutiful, and considerate girl then perhaps I can rid myself of the foolish brutish urges I have, and so become a much nicer boy when my punishment is over.

And as I have agreed with Mummy and Auntie, this is the last time this summer I will refer to myself as a boy. You are both right that from now on I should try my hardest to think of myself as a girl. I should always be referred to as 'she' or 'her'. I will be a considerate daughter to you Mummy, an obedient niece to Auntie June, and a loving sister to my brother Timmy.

Of my own free will and for my own good I want to be called Felicity Melissa Cotton for the summer. I will try to forget my old name and always respond to the name Felicity.

Like any normal young lady I will also have nicknames and pet-names that I will respond to just as willingly as I will to Felicity. Mummy says she may sometimes want to call me Pumpkin or Angel. Auntie says she might sometimes call me Tinkerbelle. You both agree that it might be nice if Timmy called me Sissy because I will be his sister, or Missy after my second name Melissa. I promise to answer to these names without complaint or hesitation.

I freely understand three important things.

Firstly that I've voluntarily chosen to be a girl for the summer, and so I'm never to say Mummy or Auntie 'made' me do anything I did not want to. I will dress and behave like a young lady all summer because I want to, because I want to learn to behave so much better.

Secondly if my punishment is to be worthwhile I promise that I will be the best girl I can possibly be. As Mummy says some girls nowadays can be tomboys and wear jeans and trainers all the time and no make up. But I agree I must try to be what Auntie calls a 'girly-girl' if I'm truly to learn better behaviour. So for example I promise to always wear a dress or skirt unless I'm specifically given permission to wear pants.

Lastly, it will sometimes be embarrassing and I may feel silly. But as Mummy and Auntie says this is good for me because embarrassment is just excessive male pride, which got me into trouble in the first place. Being embarrassed is the best way to break that pride even if sometimes it is painful and humiliating.”

*

At the time I thought the best part of the 'punishment' was that somehow

Step-mum got me off school three weeks early. I was to spend those three weeks 'settling in' at Auntie's place in the country, which despite the stupid punishment still sounded better than school. Step-mum would join us after the three weeks, and since I wasn't doing that awful Boot Camp Tim was spending the first two weeks of the break on a walking holiday with creepy Uncle Roger. So by my calculations I'd only have four weeks at most of stupid Tim gloating at me while I made a fool of myself, that's if Auntie hadn't tired of the whole thing by then which I thought was quite likely.

So Saturday morning found me in that silly old orange summer dress of Step-mum's which I'd been made to wear for the day a few times before on those dumb 'petticoat punishment' days. Underneath I wore those humiliating blue plain cotton panties. I wore the old cream sandals of Step-mum's with the little block heel, and a smudge of her lipstick. I felt a fool as I did before.

But I told myself that it actually was better than running, marching, ice cold showers, and being shouted at or whatever else on that crazy Boot Camp scheme. And my previous 'petticoat punishment' days hadn't been so absolutely awful, and they didn't include petticoats! I just had to spend a rather boring day hidden indoors wearing a dumb dress. Other than helping a bit more around the house than normal, I could watch TV, play on my games console in my room, or read a book. Yes, Tim hanging about made me feel horrible, but that was about it. The day was soon over, the horrible clothes would be off and I'd scrub the last trace of lipstick off and everything would be normal again, and I'd be quits with Step-mum and life would be back to normal. It wasn't like Tim didn't 'cop it' sometimes too, not petticoat punishment, but he could be locked for hours in the cellar in the dark, and Step-mum had Uncle Roger spank him too sometimes. In some ways I got off lightly. Tim asked once in a rage why he got spanked and I just had to wear a silly dress, and she just replied with a creepy smile “Horses for courses, darling.” Whatever that meant.

I must admit I failed to notice when I got into Auntie's posh car that no luggage was being stashed in the boot for me. Although our house was far from overlooked, I was far more preoccupied with the fear somebody would see me for the first time outside in a dress. It was just a few short steps to the car and all went well. As Auntie set off I slumped down in the seat for the first ten minutes so I couldn't be observed. I think Auntie noticed this but she just gave an odd smile and ignored me.

*

The boy thought that this has been so easily the worst, most nightmare, three weeks of his life. Thank God, Mummy, Step-mum he corrected himself, is due to arrive today. Surely she'll save me. Either Auntie is crazy or she's so got everything so wrong. He was never meant to be treated like this.

He looked at the reflection in the mirror as he sat at that ridiculous vanity table for the hundredth time. Still it shocked him to see the blond girl with made up and mascaraed eyes blinking at him, and richly lipsticked lips almost trembling in self pity.

He fidgeted awkwardly on the over upholstered stool, feeling his much too small white nylon panties and nude pantyhose slivering over the silken under-slip of his ridiculous dress. He breathed in his own heavy floral perfume. His own hands betrayed him, with their tinkle of shiny bracelets, and flash of long painted nails, as he reached for the hair brush in a determined haste to get himself 'presentable' as quickly as he could, and so get away from his own dreadful reflection.

Auntie June and her crazy women friends had heaped a myriad of shameful indignities upon him. The hair he now dutifully brushed had been dyed and treated and long tresses had been glued firmly in place. He barely had any eyebrows anymore, other than those he'd been strictly and tediously trained to paint on. His fingernails had acrylic extensions glued fast and were always painted, even his toenails had been shaped and sculpted and were painted each and every day. His ears were still a little sore from his piercings and the stupid heart shaped earrings he was forbidden to take out until his ears were 'healed' mocked him every time he looked in the mirror. And Auntie June ensured he looked in the mirror dozens of times a day!

He was forced to practice 'make up' and 'fixing his hair' hour after tedious hour. He was made to 'fix his lipstick' if his lips so much as touched a cup or he ate so much as a biscuit. Not that he had many biscuits. His diet consisted mostly of salad and insipid shakes. His arms and legs were thinner, and he felt quite frail.

He let out a sigh of self pity, only for his breath to restricted by his humiliating bra which constricted his chest, and with the help of boosters, or 'chicken fillets' as Auntie June laughingly called them, created a definite and humiliating cleavage.

Some indignities he barely understood, or even had words for. Most confusing and shameful of all was daily 'intimate hygiene' routine. At first administered in rubber gloves by a thorough and determined Auntie, now even more shamefully it was self administered, and scrutinized very carefully by Auntie.

He stiffed back a tear at the extra uncomfortable feeling in his pantied bottom that morning. Because he seemed 'anxious' when he awoke Auntie insisted 'we' insert a tampon to 'increase 'our' confidence'. It was all crazy talk to him, but whatever he thought about it, for the past hour he had the hateful intruding thing stuffed firmly up his spotlessly clean, lubricated, and perfumed bottom, with just the strange blue strings dangling free in his little panties for when he was eventually allowed to uncomfortably extract the hateful thing.

He'd finished his hair, and rechecked his make up, and felt at last he could escape his detestable reflection for a while.

Despite more practice than he cared to recall he wobbled a little on his white leather heels as he stood. They were slightly higher than he'd worn so far, as Auntie wanted her niece to 'look her best' for Mummy's visit. As he walked to the door his confidence, borne of repetition, returned, and taking the required short elegant steps he proceeded out of his bedroom and to the stairs.

“Hurry along Felicity darling” called his hateful tormentor from below, in tones of obvious contented excitement, “Mummy will be here soon”

The boy carefully maneuvered down the stairs, aware of all the strange but depressingly more familiar sensations, of swishing pantyhose, tight panties, his constricting bra, swishing hair, and most disconcertingly of all the insistent and alien object in his poor abused bottom.

Part of him dreaded the deep humiliation of his Step-mum seeing him like this. But of course she'd put a stop to this now which gave him some strength to humour Aunt June for just a little longer.

When 'Mummy's' car scrunched to a halt on the gravel drive he was sat in the kitchen. His long limbs extended from the short hem of his dress, legs crossed 'just so', as Auntie required. He stood nervously. Auntie's voice called from the lounge.

“Felicity, go greet your Mummy dear. I'll put the kettle on sweetie.”

Knees a little jelly like he at first tentatively walked towards the door in his high heels, then broke into a rather humiliatingly girlish run, bare arms flailing and skirt and petticoat flying.

His damned ridiculous long nails, and his weakened state, forced him to use both hands to open the heavy door like some feeble girl.

His Stepmother's face was a strange mixture of confusion, realization, and perhaps, although the boy didn't notice a fleeting moment of delight. All semblance of pride extinguished he hugged himself to her bosom like an infant.

His Stepmother held him close and cooed notes of comfort as the boy released his pent up emotions in a flood of tears and garbled mumblings about his recent cruel treatment.

“It's been...horrible...hair dyed...nails...d.d.dressed like....can't say...horrible...Auntie”

“There, there, there” comforted his Stepmother, as the boy's previously pretty made-up face crumpled into a stream of running mascara and tears over her clean silk blouse. Her left hand stroked his back consolingly, tracing the outline of the humiliating bra he'd fastened himself into a few hours earlier.

From her purse she handed the boy a scented pink tissue which he received gratefully, dabbing his now running eyes and nose.

Now his Aunt, alerted to the commotion was in the hallway beside them.

“Dear, dear, dear, what is all the fuss Felicity?” she asked seemingly quite mystified by her charges emotional outburst, much to his astonishment, and a little hurt again at her using the 'Felicity' name when he was so obviously overwrought.

The boy fearing his Aunt might somehow manipulate the situation forced himself to hold back tears to better explain all the dreadful things she'd done to him.

“Mum, she's had my ears pierced”, he motioned touching his despised heart shaped earrings, “ and my hair, you see my hair “ he pleaded running his manicured hands over his lacquered and now slightly disarrayed blond coiffure.

“Oh sweetie” consoled his Stepmother.

“It's been absolutely awful, Mum” he cried, tears now flowing again.

“You better go to your room Missy I think” said his Aunt in a tone of having had enough of this tantrum.

He looked up to his Stepmother for support, through eyes still running with mascara.

“Sweetie, go to your room, get out of those clothes, clean off that make-up, and I'll have a word with your Auntie.” She said gently.

As his Step-mum freed the boy from her embrace he gladly kicked off the stupid heels and ran up the stairs in bare stockings.

His Aunt, in what he felt was a pathetic attempt to have the last word, called after him.

“Put on your new peignoir and wait for us”.

He didn't dignify that with a response.

Back in the dreadful sickly sweet room he felt his body tremble uncontrollably. He slumped a moment on the bed. He felt emotionally drained, and ridiculously weak still dressed in all of his pathetic feminine finery.

He quickly divested himself of dress, underskirt, bra, pantyhose, and panties, discarding them in a previously forbidden heap on the plush carpet.

Going to the adjoining bathroom he rather delicately and uncomfortably tugged on the awful blue strings to release the horrible intrusion in his bottom. Although previously forbidden he flushed it down the toilet with some satisfaction.

Heading for the vanity he vowed that the tampon was an indignity he wouldn't confide in anyone.

He would rather have just washed off his stupid make-up but previous experience had proved that soap and water wasn't very effective, so he was forced to follow the only routine he knew, using the stupid creams and lotions on his vanity table.

Eventually, his face, although now shiny and moisturized, was at least make up free.

Although naked, the imprint of a bra still on the skin of his chest, he felt the first sensation of freedom in three long weeks. It's over he thought, a tear returning to his eyes, he grabbed a tissue the realization of his still painted nails tormenting him.

Although he had soon cleaned off the varnish on both the nails on his hands and those of his feet, some aspects of his femininity he realized he'd need help to undo. The glued on acrylic nails were fast on, and painful when he tried to pull them off which he soon desisted from. The fiddly fastenings of his earrings were frustratingly beyond him too. He pulled out his hair extensions with little success other than the painful recognition that they were damned well glued to his real hair. Above mussing up his hair there was little more he could do without scissors. He stayed calm though, confident his Step-mum could sort out all these annoyances.

Some time had passed and he hoped his Step-mum would soon be finished telling Auntie 'what for'. He felt uncomfortably naked, and suddenly realized that's exactly how Mum would find him. There were no 'proper' clothes around he knew only too well, so rather ironically he was forced to follow his Auntie's last command and cover his indignity with the new pink silk peignoir hanging on the door.

*

The boy felt particularly frustrated by the quite insistent rather damp and sore feeling in his pantied bottom that morning. Although he hated his 'master' forcing his attentions on him, he was also concerned that he'd abstained for a few days prior to Step-mum's impending visit.

Sure enough that morning the feminized boy's worst fears were realised. He'd woken to an urgent tug at his pretty ruffled pink sleep panties. Barely awake the panties were slipped from his ankles and two sharp slaps rained down on his plump well lubricated bottom. He felt his legs roughly spread as he was forcibly maneuvered onto his front, bottom in the air, as his grunting bed fellow plunged his swollen member into his defenseless bottom.

There was none of the gentleness that had first reluctantly persuaded the sissy to accept this supposedly insignificant indignity in exchange for more freedoms and hopefully a swifter release from this nightmare. This morning 'Daddy' was brutal, insistent, and uncompromisingly forceful in his repeated deep thrusts. The pinned and defenseless boy received his sudden shuddering and sizable load in mute acceptance.

A humiliating slithering sensation as his abuser released himself, a quick slap to his bottom to acknowledge his obedience, and the poor boy grabbed his discarded panties and scuttled to the bathroom, to fix himself up just as was expected of him.

He felt a bit tearful as he voluntarily plunged a super plus tampon into his misused bottom, knowing only all too clearly that this was a particularly heavy load he'd received. He'd so happily even douche now and rid himself of all the awful sticky revolting ooze, but he knew his 'Man' preferred his lover to cherish his seed for a few hours.

It was just so typical for him to suffer yet another indignity on this of all day's, his Mum's first visit in three weeks.

Ridding himself of his babydoll nightie, and now in his nakedness acutely aware of his budding breasts and his tucked and diminutive manhood he set to performing his morning toilette. Much to his annoyance even before dressing he felt obliged to change his now soaked and swollen tampon again.