MY SON'S PETTICOATING - PART TWO
from Deborah

Dear Helga,

The day passed with surprise after surprise. Martin behaved himself with no quibbling. We started together on the backlog of homework he had accumulated and at one point I left, confident to leave him to it. In a way it was quite amusing to enter our sitting room and see him laying on his stomach on the carpet with his feet pointing up in the air, crossing or gently waving in the air behind him, whilst sometimes rocking his hips from side to side and grunting quietly with concentration, just as I did as a girl. We stopped for tea and he was polite and ate nicely all the way through the meal. He did not murmur when I told him it was time for bed and wishing him good night I received a pleasant 'good night mum' back.

The next few weeks were a pleasant return to life as it had been. The effect of petticoating had been a really positive influence. That was, until, regrettably, his manner began to slide a little a few weeks later. First the curtness, the untidyness creeping back and then I received a call from his form master asking why he had not been attending school for the past week. Naturally I was upset and a little angry as to where he had been once he had left the house and returned home in the evening. I confronted him and he just shrugged and mumbled 'just around.'

Rather than go through the trouble of reasoning with him again before it got worse, I decided to take firm action. I traveled into town and purchased a set of girl's clothes; not school dresses as borrowed last time but his own. His own white socks and buckled sandals, a pretty pale blue dress decorated with flowers, a knee length skirt with petticoat, a couple of blouses and some mixed underwear, some high waisted knickers, some plain, some with a cartoon on the front, some new style bikini panties, very stretchy with a sort of kaleidoscope pattern and all with white lacing around the legs.

Once again, Saturday morning, I struck. I roused him out of bed with an annoyed expression on my face and told him to get dressed. He blinked but this time with a guilty look on his face. He looked down the bed and saw the clothes neatly stacked on the footboard. He resigned himself to the punishment and got out of bed. Embarrassed, he took off his pyjamas and pulled the pair of violet nylon high waist panties up. I think we were both a little taken aback as to how sheer and clingy they were. They certainly had an effect on him. He put on his long white socks and shoes and he even managed to don the pale blue dress without any problems. Sweeping a hand down the front he tried to pull the dress hem down further. He looked up and complained that it was too short. I explained that mid-thigh was the fashion, and now perhaps he can appreciated the difficulties that girls have with short dresses. The implications seem to make his blood run cold. Even more so when I told him that we were going to go out shopping. The colour drained from his face. Again, with tears, he begged me not to take him out but I brushed off his complaining. As long hair was very much in for boys for the time, he would probably not be noticed that much, SO LONG AS HE BEHAVED HIMSELF. I told him to wash before eating breakfast and I skipped down the stairs in triumph.

He walked in to the kitchen much subdued and I played my trump card. I gestured for him to come to me where I was sitting. He moved closer and I suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him over my lap. He landed, winding himself slightly by the surprise move. His legs left the ground and with all four limbs now flailing, I held his waist and pulled the hem of the dress up off his bottom. I gave him a good spanking across his knickers. We were both a little worked up and a little hot and bothered; he was writhing and yelping beneath me as I delivered each stroke with a firm hand and clenched teeth, pulling the stretchy violet material off his bottom for the last couple of spanks.

'That's for playing truant!' I barked. I have to admit, there was a good deal of pleasure in having him under such tight control. I tugged his knickers back up as his writhing began to slow and I pulled the hem of the dress back down and let him find his feet. He stood up with both hands on his sore backside with tears in his eyes.

'What do you say?'

'I'm sorry, mum'

We had a silent breakfast and after washing the dishes with him drying them, we made arrangements to go shopping. Again, he begged for him not to go but I managed to drag him outside before closing and locking the door. He looked decidedly nervous as we walked down the street towards the bus stop. Fortunately for him no-one was about. We caught the bus into town and nobody gave us a second glance as we found a seat.

Once in town we alighted from the bus and after a little shopping with a very nervous boy in a dress, I bumped into a good friend of mine. She seemed a little confused as to who the 'new girl' was; a cousin maybe? I explained to her, enjoying his obvious humiliation that he was in fact, still Martin, my son, and was being petticoated to calm him down. And it seems to be working. At first a little uncertain, she became more interested in how it transformed him from such a ne'er-do-well to a more docile male.

We parted company and resumed our shopping. To his embarrassment, he was very conscious of sudden gusts of wind blowing up the short hem of the dress and revealing his knickers to various unwanted admirers. To highlight his discomfort and to my amusement, I further mentioned with a smirk, that it was futile to hide them, for the darker knickers could be seen through the lighter dress material anyway. He became preoccupied about walking up escalators and stairs and sitting in a restaurant within a department store.

When he seemed to admit defeat at last and succumbed to the teasing, and since the shopping had been done, I decided we should return home. After a quiet journey on the bus with the exception of some nudging and sniggering between some boys of his age which he seemed to recognise, we reached home and with some considerable relief, he closed the door behind us.

The evening was a quiet affair. We finished off more of the backlog of homework, had supper and I allowed him to watch some TV before retiring to bed. A little later, I went up to his room to retrieve the clothes. I opened the door to find him in bed, his head facing down into the pillow. Startled, he looked up and rolled over onto his back. I picked up the dress and socks, but there was no underwear. His eyes widened in horror and his face coloured red as beetroot as I pulled the bed covers back to find he was not wearing his pyjamas, but just the violet knickers which seemed to be under some distress. I audibly drew breath at the sight and gently pulled them off, then spent some time tucking him in before wishing him goodnight with a smile. I left to hang up the dress and to pop the remainder in the washing machine. Then I slipped back downstairs for a stiff drink to help relieve my tension of the day.

Kind regards,
Deborah


Thank you for your letter Deborah. I am so happy for you to have discovered how well petticoating actually works though I am sorry that spanking was required, sadly this happens sometimes when stricter measures are needed, fortunately it seems to be a single occasion. All in all you seem to be having great success and I hope that your positive experience with petticoating will help provide an alternative behavioral modifier for other mothers with troublesome sons.

Helga

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Letter 2