Mistress Psyche's Feminization Fantasies


Sissy Girl Stories



Daddy’s Little Girl Grows Up
A Sequel

By Nina

In the previous story Andrew’s mother is killed. His misguided, grieving father gradually transforms Andrew into his wife’s image in dress and in bed. Thus, Andrea is born.

Shortly after my last writing, tragedy again struck my life. My dear father was stricken with influenza in the epidemic that followed the war and passed on. I was sent to live with a spinster aunt, Rose, who, fortunately for me, fully accepted my boy to girl transition. She had been a lifelong proponent of petticoat punishment. In retrospect I wonder if she may have had some influence with my father in effecting the transition. I did receive a considerable inheritance that would allow my lifestyle to continue. I was now an almost fully-grown young ‘lady’ of seventeen and would need an extensive wardrobe in keeping with my station in life. I did have misgivings as I left London for a life in the country and would probably never see my boy friends (platonic) again. But I was young and I would meet others.

My aunt’s coachman met me at the local train stop. A leisurely ride, the coachman felt sorry for the horses, through the quaint countryside led us to my Aunt Rose’ manor house. Aunt Rose was a very congenial lady, younger than I recalled her being. She marveled at my appearance. She had only seen me briefly several times early in my transition when I still looked like a ‘strange’ boy. “It looks like I won’t have any work to do with your appearance young lady, your father certainly did wonders with you. I couldn’t have done better myself and please call me Rose, I hate formalities.” She had me pose and turn as she carefully inspected me. “You must have a wonderful corsetiere. I am very strict when it comes to being corseted. You have a lovely shape although a few more inches off of your waist will be in order. I think we will visit her in London when you need new corsets.” I admitted to Rose that my waist had been smaller but after father died I let my corseting slip and was now up to twenty-two inches. “That’s no big problem,” she said, adding, “As soon as your settled we’ll work on it”. I suddenly had an overwhelming desire to return to my nineteen-inch waist and then go even smaller. Why I let it slip I would never comprehend.  

 She then introduced me to the staff. I was to have my personal maid, Anne. I was concerned about having a young girl attend to me, especially bathing and lacing my corset. Rose read my thoughts. When Anne had departed Rose noted my concern. “Don’t worry about Anne. I anticipated the problem. I just hired her. She is the result of several weeks of discrete inquiries. I was finally able to find what I wanted. Anne is actually a young man, or was. She has been dressing as a girl for the last ten years. I’m sure you two will get along just fine,” she said with a wink of her eye.

That evening as Anne assisted me in preparing me for my evening toilette I had an opportunity to look at her more closely. She had a fabulous figure. While my waist was laced to a fashionable twenty two inches hers was impressively smaller. I finally asked her about it. “I always lace down to nineteen inches but on special occasions I wear an eighteen inch corset, but I’ve been wearing corsets for over ten years. I got my first corset when I was just a boy of ten. I was transformed shortly after. You have been accustomed to wearing your corset to bed I presume?” I nodded my ascent. She removed my outer garments leaving me standing in my corset and stockings. I had worried originally that I would be embarrassed having a girl maid see me undressed. Strangely it was just embarrassing to have a boy see me, even though he looked and acted like a girl. My father and my corsetiere were the only people to see me undressed until now. In spite of my embarrassment I was developing a ‘condition’. Why did having a boy see me undressed have such a reaction? Anne spoke up saying, “Think nothing of it. You’re not the first boy to react that way, or the last. We all do it.” With that Anne lifted her skirt above her waist. She was right; we all do it.

The next morning She woke me up and prepared my bath. I was surprised when she removed her robe and stood there in just her corset and hose. “I would hate to get my dress wet and I didn’t think you would mind.” Her corset was gorgeous, much longer than mine. It was made of beautiful silk brocade. On an impulse I held her and ran my hands over her lovely figure. Her smile told me she had no objection. Her ‘condition’ verified it. I definitely liked what I saw. I was almost overwhelmed by a strange desire. I felt Anne was also but we managed to suppress it. I wasn’t sure what I would do or how long I could restrain my self. There is nothing as appealing to the senses as young woman in a corset except for a similarly dressed young man. The temptations as Anne laced my corset were almost too much for my young mind. We finally got me ready. As I entered the dining room for breakfast, Rose greeted me and then asked with a smile, “You took quite a while. Did you and Anne have a problem?” I said, “No, not really”, but I knew that she knew otherwise.

  Life continued for the next week. I finally got accustomed to having Anne bathe and dress me. She knew I enjoyed having her as my maid. I was sure that under her skirt she equally enjoyed it. After breakfast Rose announced that we would go to London to get some new corsets for me. In my enthusiasm I gave her a tight hug. As our bodies pressed together I felt something press against my thigh. I stepped back in shock. Rose smiled. As I regained my composure she spoke. “You found out my secret. I planned to tell you when I thought the time was right, now I won’t have to. Your father had a younger brother. Your grandparents had expected a daughter. As was frequently the case forty years ago they decided to raise me as a girl. Your Aunt Rose is a male, always has been and always will be”. I was dumbfounded. All these years Rose was a male. She had always looked to be a perfect lady. Her carriage, her deportment, her lovely figure, even her voice, she had all the marks of a perfect lady. As we sat in the train to London Rose confided in me. “As I grew up I too had a boy/girl maid. It had a profound and pleasurable influence on my life. Even today my personal maid is a male. That’s why I hired Anne for you. I thought it would make your life even more pleasant”. I thanked her and gave her a kiss. Kissing a male, even if it is one’s aunt gave me a strange feeling. I had a fleeting thought, what would it be like to kiss Anne? If father only knew what he started. If only it had been years earlier.

  We took cab from the station to my corset shop. The owner greeted us saying, “When I heard you were leaving London I was afraid I was losing a customer. Welcome back.” My clothes were quickly removed. Rose gave instructions that my new corsets were to be very long and rigidly boned. A fitting garment was placed around me and adjusted to a nineteen-inch waist. It was a full-length corset. The breast cups at the top seemed unusually large. Rose anticipated my question and said, “Men like to see a fully developed girl, and these should leave no doubt.” I could hardly move and bending was next to impossible but I loved the sensation. When all the measurements were taken Rose instructed that three corsets be made and sent to her manor house by post. I couldn’t wait to be laced into one of them, knowing well that it would be weeks before I was down to nineteen inches.

A week later the corsets arrived. I immediately had Anne lace one on me. She stopped lacing at twenty-one inches. Even a one-inch reduction felt enormous. She placed padding in the large cups. I looked fabulous; I was the personification of the American Gibson Girl. Anne was quite impressed. She gave me a hug. She was indeed impressed. I would have to learn how to bend in the corset. Anne helped me don my stockings. The new corset had five suspenders for each leg. Anne got a free show as she attached the suspenders. My dresses still fit, loosely, but I knew that by the time I was laced down another two inches a new wardrobe would be in order. Oh well, that’s what money is for. It seemed that I was now thinking just like a woman. If I was going to spend the rest of my life as one, and that was my intention, why not think like one? I wondered just how far my thinking might take me in regard to Anne.

The next few weeks went by slowly. Finally I was laced to nineteen-inches. I took a while to get used to the feeling but I did. Life at the manor was pleasant. Anne was an accomplished pianist. Rose and I would sit and listen to her play virtually every evening. One evening Rose invited me to sit next to her on the sofa. She put her arm around my waist. It was obvious that she enjoyed feeling my corset. Not to be outdone I did the same to her. She wore a corset just like mine so I soon knew what I felt like to her. As I had with Anne, I felt the sensation of fondling a corseted male to be, at the least, very sensual. It wasn’t long before Rose’s free hand was resting on my thigh. A shudder ran through my body as she gently rubbed my leg. She seemed to enjoy playing with my suspenders through my dress. It wasn’t long and her hand rested on ‘it’. It felt nice. She kissed me in a very sensual way. In a moment my hand was resting in her lap. Rose had responded. It was the first time I had felt or kissed a man since my earlier episodes with father. Anne’s playing faded into the background as we continued kissing. Finally Rose stopped and said, “We mustn’t let this go any farther, you are my nephew.” “It didn’t stop your brother”, I thought to myself. 

Apparently Anne had observed our amorous actions earlier because when she came to assist me later it was obvious that she was not herself. As she undressed me she couldn’t stop touching me at every opportunity. After my bath she spent a long time drying my now rigid private part. As she laced my night corset she couldn’t resist holding it and massaging it. I was rapidly getting beside myself. As soon as I was corseted I had her remove her dress. She was delightful to see; much larger than father. I took it in my hand. It felt wonderful, a virtual paradox, so hard and yet so soft. The only other I had ever touched was father’s. It was nice, but nothing like this. Our actions obviously were not new to Anne. She begged to go all the way but I was still not ready for a stranger, so to speak. Father was one thing. It had happened gradually over a long period of time. We finally separated and went to our respective beds, to do our thing, privately. I felt that one day either Anne or Rose would conquer me. I was young and virulent and sooner or later I would succumb to temptation. Based on recent events I was sure that Aunt Rose and her male maid were more than employer/employee.

It wasn’t long before the winter holidays were upon us. I was invited to a Christmas Ball. Rose insisted that I have a new corset. The idea of having an eighteen-inch waist was exciting. On the big night I was laced closed. I wore a white satin gown. Matching court shoes with five-inch heels adorned my feet. It was now the early 1920s and tightly corseted girls were no longer commonly seen. Knowing the way men love tight corsets I knew I would be the bell of the ball. The modern girls with their flabby waists didn’t have a chance. Rose had arranged for a neighboring young man to escort me. She also had arranged to have her best carriage pick him up and bring him to the manor to meet me. He was awestruck at the sight of me as I was with him. He was the most handsome lad I had ever seen. I wanted him to kiss me on the spot but being a proper young gentleman he kissed my hand. In the carriage he did put his arm around me. I knew he couldn’t wait to feel my corset. Men are that way. At the ball I was the envy of all the young ladies. My dance card was filled before the music started. Fortunately my beau had the foresight to reserve many dances ahead of time. It was heavenly to be whisked around the dance floor by dozens of young men vying for me. As the last dance faded into history my escort held me tightly and kissed me like I had never dreamed possible.  

I saw him many times after that. We spent many hours in each other’s arms. I knew that it could never be. If only I were a girl. He was very straight laced and would kill himself or me if he ever discovered my true identity. Months went by and our feelings became stronger for each other. One evening as we kissed, he paused and looked at me in a very serious way. “Darling Andrea, will you marry me?” I broke down and cried for minutes before saying I couldn’t. He kept asking and I kept saying no. Finally he took my face in his hands and kissed me, saying, “Supposing I knew why you feel as you do and I don’t care.” I almost fainted. Did I hear him correctly? He didn’t care? Then he continued, “My love, all my life I have been ‘different’. I seemed to know instinctively that you were not what you appeared to be. You are so lovely I chose to accept you for what you are. That was, in truth, an easy choice since I preferred your true gender.” Months later we were happily married. On our honeymoon we went to America where I flaunted my self as a long lost Gibson Girl with a nineteen- inch waist. I owe an eternal debt to my beloved Aunt Rose. To my dear departed father who started all of this by wanting a daughter/wife I say thank you from the bottom of my heart.

To Yourself Be True

The End


Sissy Girl Stories