Chapter 2 describes Michael's being 'discovered' and the ensuing consequenses.

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Chapter 2 The Sissy Farm.

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Now I had received another call for assistance from Aunty Bev.
Since adopting me and training me how to lace up her corset, Aunty Bev oft-times called me across the landing if she had trouble tying off her corset. Usually I was up and dressed so it was no problem but this time, because I had been exploring the wonderful sensations of my newly acquired stash of frillies I had risen late. (Mummy and Daddy’s estate had been wound up and the last bits had been delivered to Aunty Beverly.) I had been at the house when the boxes arrived and I had put some of mummy’s boxes to one side to decide what I wanted to keep as mementos. Several of the boxes contained her lingerie and I was fascinated by the smell and textures that reminded me of her.

It was this reason I was late the fateful morning. I had been wearing some of mummy’s lingerie in bed. Consequently I had failed to get dressed in time when Aunty Beverly called me. After stripping my lingerie and wearing just my underpants, I stepped across the landing to attend to my aunt’s request.

By now I was used to Seeing Aunty Beverly naked so I simply knocked softly then paused momentarily on the landing before entering. Aunty Beverly was standing with her back to me and holding out the laces of her corset. Without hesitating, I took the laces and started to tighten them as she smiled at me in the large mirror on the wardrobe door. I smiled back and noticed her smile turn to a slightly puzzled stare. I paid it no heed and continued tugging at the laces until we were mutually satisfied with the fit. It was only then that Aunty Bev spoke as she turned around to face me.

“What are those marks on your shoulders darling?” She asked.

For a moment I had no idea what she was talking about until she reached forward and traced her fingers over my shoulders and under my adolescent pectorals.

“What marks aunty?” I replied innocently.

“These marks Michael. Look. They go over your shoulders then disappear only to reappear as two curves under your pectorals and a strap mark around your back. Have you been wearing a bra?”

Suddenly my world fell to pieces and I almost fainted as I realised there was no way of denying the existence of such distinctive marks. It had only been the second time I had done it and I had totally failed to realise that bra’s left pressure marks. As I turned to check my body out in her giant mirror there was no mistaking the obvious red marks. I glanced down at my shoulders and there was no denying the two angry red, distinct indentations where I had worn my bra’s shoulder straps as tight as I could get them. I had even tied knots in the straps to make them shorter because it had been one of my mother’s old bras. Both knot marks were quite obvious halfway down my back just above the chest band where the clasp had left another very distinct mark in the small of my slender back.

These strap marks, coupled with the distinctive curves of the under-wired cups, made it look as though somebody had painted a red bra outline on my upper body.

Having realised I was caught totally, I just slumped down tearfully on Aunty Beverly’s bed. Fortunately, if Aunty Beverly was shocked or angry, she did not show it. Instead she sighed softly then sat on the bed beside me and put her arms around my heaving shoulders. After waiting for my tears to abate she heaved a deep breath then smiled and spoke softly.

“I take it that you have then.”

I nodded my confession then buried my face in her soft breast again as though somehow begging absolution. Aunty Beverly gently prised my face from her ripe cleavage and took my jaw in her fingers. Gazing into my upturned eyes she smiled softly.

“Do you like wearing them?”

I was about to deny it but the evidence was totally to the contrary. The marks said it all. I had obviously been wearing a bra during the night and nobody had forced me. Aunty Beverly smiled into my eyes again and leant forward to kiss me full on the lips.

“Don’t be afraid darling. I’m not angry.”

“A, - aren’t you?” I sobbed as I savoured the touch of her full lips against mine.

‘Gosh her lips are just so soft,’ I thought abstractedly, not wanting her to release the kiss.

Aunty Beverly seemed to sense my need and let the kiss linger. This gave me reassurance and I eventually calmed down. Aunty Beverly then started to question me gently, but thoroughly.

“Whose underwear is it?”

“Mummy’s,” I gulped guiltily. “It came yesterday and I like to keep some to remember her by.”

“Well, that’s to be expected. We all loved your mummy. But don’t you have any proper mementos? Perhaps a ring or something.”

“N, - n, - no. Janice got all mummy’s stuff. I’ve got nothing. I’ve got dad’s stuff but there isn’t much and it’s sort of plain. Janice has got all sorts of lovely jewellery and stuff. It’s not fair.

“Do you like wearing your mummy’s lingerie or is it just to remind you of her?”

I hesitated nervously. The truth was, girl’s panties and stuff had always fascinated me. The arrival of mummy’s stuff had just been such a wonderful opportunity to expand my collection. Now I didn’t have to steal Janice’s panties. Nevertheless it was nice to still smell mummy’s scent on them. Reluctantly I confessed.

“I like it. I like the silky feeling. These boy’s pants are just so rough. Uugh”
As I spoke, I picked at the waistband of my boy’s underpants and pulled a discontented face. Aunty Beverly smiled.

“So you definitely prefer panties then.” She observed as her smile turned to a knowing, tight-lipped grin.”

“Yes,” I admitted quite openly, “why can’t boys have nice silky pants? Girls get all the nice stuff.”

“Well would you, - ahem, - prefer to be a girl then darling?” Whispered Aunty Beverly as she caught a husky, little croak in her throat.

“No, but I like to wear silky panties, - and frills and stuff,” I added as an afterthought.

“Would you like to live as a girl then, a sissy perhaps.”

“What’s a sissy?” I asked.

“A sissy is a boy who likes to appear as a girl but gets to be a boy and stay a boy. They usually live as maids helping their mistresses and seeing to their needs.”

“You mean like helping you with your corset?”

Aunty Beverly hesitated then smiled with a glitter of excitement in her eye.

“Why that’s exactly how they are. Yes, helping with my corset is exactly the sort of things sissies do for their mistresses.”

She gave me another hug and I savoured once more the delectable pleasure of burying my tearful face in her ripe soft breasts. Aunty Beverly giggled as she reached for a tissue and wiped my tears from her cleavage. I stared at her and reached out for the tissue from her hand.

“Here, let me do that, I made them wet.”

Aunty Beverly giggled slightly then released the tissue and allowed my fingers to gently dab the tear stains from her breasts. I noticed there were some damp bits around her firm pink nipples so I gently dabbed those as well. Aunty Beverly gasped then sagged.

“Oo-oh Michael! You’re such a caring little sissy. Would you like to help me with my bra?”

“Where is it?” I asked.

“In the top, right-hand draw of my dressing table. Get a blue one to match my corset, and while your there you’ll find some matching panties and a suspender belt in the second drawer.”

Showing a bit too much eagerness, I slipped off Aunty Bev’s bed and stepped over to the dressing table. In seconds I had selected the perfect set. Aunty Beverly smiled knowingly.

“That was quick Petal. Methinks you know a bit more about lingerie than you’re letting on, don’t you darling?”

I smiled bashfully but secretly felt proud that I had been so efficient. Boldly I offered more help.

“Shall I get your stockings?”

“Yes. But be careful. Don’t ladder them. Let me see your hands first.”

I held out my hands and Aunty Beverly studied them thoughtfully.

“They’re very soft and smooth Michael. You must look after them very well.”

“I use the hand cream in the bathroom. It’s Janice’s but Janice told me to use it if I want to keep my hands from getting cracked and rough. She likes my hands to be smooth when I help to bathe her.”

“What! You help your little sister!”

“Yes. She likes me to do her back. I thought you knew.”

“No. I didn’t. I’ve been a bit remiss in the bathroom area. Doesn’t she mind?”

“No. Mummy used to do it but mummy’s go, - gone, so I do it.” (Here a tear came to my eye as I remembered mummy washing us tenderly in the bath. The washing thing was Janice’s favourite memory and I had become a substitute to perpetuate Janice’s memories.) I continued explaining.

“At first, Janice said my hands were a bit rough so she showed me how to use her hand and face cream to make them soft. She says my hands feel like mummy’s now and she likes it.”

Aunty Janet’s jaw sagged with mild amazement as she fingered my hands again then she spoke softly.

“Well, you’re hands are certainly nice and soft. They’ll be perfectly safe to handle my nylons. Let’s look at your nails.”

I presented my nails for inspection stretching my fingers out with my palms down. Aunty Beverly smiled at the feminine gesture but said nothing. I later learned that boys usually studied their nails with their palms up and fingers curled around like a half-fist. I guess I was already destined to be a sissy. Truth to tell, my nails were a bit chipped and rough but Aunty Bev soon addressed that.

“We’ll put my bra and panties on then we’ll do your nails so that you won’t ladder my stockings.”

Eagerly I held out the bra and Aunty Bev slipped her arms through the shoulder loops before instructing me how to clip up the back. Then she explained.

“Normally. When I’m by myself, I clip the bra around my waist then slide it around like we slid the corset the first time. Now
that I have a sissy to help dress me I can simply hold out my arms while you clip it up at the back.”
She turned to face me again with the bra cups under her breasts and explained the next step.

“Now you have to load the cups.”

I crimsoned slightly and held out my palms uncertainly.

“How do I do that?”

Aunty Beverly smiled softly. Her breasts were a lovely firm, largish C or smallish D size but I would learn of such stuff much later in my life. She took my trembling hands and gently fed them under her right breast so that my hands served as shoe-horns. Gently she helped me spoon the delightful, ripe, firm globe into the cup then she showed my how to arrange the nipple so that it stood out pronouncedly without rubbing against the seam.

She let out a little squeak followed by a gasp as I followed her instructions and gently re-positioned the stiff little nubbin so that it was contained by the smooth silky material and not irritated by the seam.

“Oo-oh your such a splendid little helper Michael. Would you like to do the other one?”

Not realising that Aunty Beverly was getting turned on, I innocently cupped her other globe then spooned that one into it’s appropriate support before gently diddling the stiff little thimble sized nubbin so that it was clear of the seam. Aunty Beverly let out a groan of satisfaction then collapsed onto the bed as she raised her long slender legs.

“Put my panties on darling.”

For a moment I thought she meant for me to put her panties on me then I realised she meant put them on her. Aunty Bev smiled then waved her beautiful curved legs at the knees and smiled invitingly as she held out her panties. As she held them by the waistband my eyes fixed on the obvious womanly shape and cut decorated with beautiful ivory frills that matched the seaming on her blue corset and the delicate, lacy, ivory edging on her bra.

“Hurry up Petal. A lady doesn’t like to be kept hanging around without panties.”

“Oh! Sorry aunty,” I apologised as I took the panties then kneeled down as I slid them over her toes and up her smooth sensuous legs. As I reached above her knees, she stood up from the bed and my eyes fell directly onto the soft golden curls that seemed to hide a secret that I could not quite discern. I knew that girls were totally different because I had seen my little sister Janice hundreds of times but somehow; Aunty Bev’s seemed different. Instead of a simple single slit I could vaguely discern some extra fleshy bits that looked like dark wet lips. However I knew it was rude to stare and after a moment’s surprised hesitation I slid the panties up her thighs and over her bum.

“There, that’s better,” she sighed. “A lady doesn’t like to feel too exposed and vulnerable without her panties does she?”

“No Aunty Bev.” I gulped as I stepped nervously backwards.

“Now,” she continued. “Before you can slip my stockings on, I’d better attend to those nails of yours. I don’t want you laddering them do I?”

“No Aunty,” I replied as I nervously extended my hands.

She gently took my wrists and led me to her dressing table. There she sat me down on her lap and made me extend my nails as she selected a suitable emery strip from a packet by the nail varnishes.

“Now this is how we do them see,” she explained softly as she took each finger individually then buffed them gently as she worked out all the snags and hangnails.

“For a little boy, your nails aren’t bad darling,” she observed. “I was expecting this to be a long job but it’s not bad.
The aim is to get each nail into a nice regular oval shape and look; apart from you’re fore fingers and index fingers the others look pretty good. Now, we’d better get them nice and glossy to smooth out any surface roughness.”

I gasped as she reached out for a bottle of nail varnish and protested nervously.

“I, - can’t wear nail varnish! Aunty Bev! People will see.”

“No, no darling. This is clear varnish. It just strengthens and smoothes your nails. Your nails will be a bit glossier but nobody will notice I assure you.”

I agreed reluctantly and Aunty Bev gave me another soft kiss on my neck as she unscrewed the bottle and sat poised with the loaded brush. I extended my hands sissy style again and she gently layered the polish on with well-practised strokes. As she concentrated silently on my nails, Janice appeared unannounced. She gave both Aunty Bev and me a start as she appeared silently at our side.

“Oh!” I squeaked nervously as Aunty Bev finished the last nail.

“Watcha doing?” Asked Janice as she peered intently at my fingers.

Aunty Bev was nothing if not quick thinking.

“I’m treating Michael’s nails. They were badly cracked. This will stop them becoming rough and broken.”

Janice immediately studied her nails which were somewhat badly chewed and very rough. Aunty Bev immediately took Janice's fingers in her hand and frowned.

“Gosh Sweetypie, Those are an awful mess. You mustn’t chew them. Look at Michael’s, aren’t they rather smart now they’ve been treated?”

“I want mine like that.” Demanded Janice peremptorily.

“Well Sweetypie. All I can do for now is smooth the ends and paint them to make them glossy. Then next week, after they’ve grown a bit, we might be able to make them look pretty, but you mustn’t chew them darling.”

With these words, Aunty Bev eased me off her lap and invited Janice to climb up. As I slid down, Aunty Bev noticed my stiffy and she gave it a little squeeze as she whispered softly in my ear.

“After your nails have dried, you’d better get rid of this little friend. I’ll be some while with Janice. Her nails are a mess as well.”

Fortunately, I was able to slip out of the room with my back to Janice so she didn’t see my ‘condition’. As I stepped away Aunty Bev called out.

“Wait for your nails to dry first. It’ll take a good few minutes.”

I escaped to the bathroom with relief and sat on the loo waving my hands around to dry my nails. As I did so, I smiled as I heard Janice and Aunty Bev giggling and tittering. Had I known what they were giggling about, I might not have been so pleased.