As per your insistence in the November issue, following my letter about how my Mum continued my 'petticoat' discipline, I am now sending you further information about how I was petticoated..

After a few years of petticoat discipline at the hands of my mother I slowly grew to accept it, and later, dare I say, even enjoy some of it.  I was lucky enough that Sarah, my wife, understood my enjoyment in wearing little girls' clothes, and ever since I first broached the subject with her, has been happy enough to play along.

Since I first wrote to you she has become much more interested in what Mum used to do with me, and has taken a more active role in recreating some of the situations in which I found myself.  Now she is keen to take things further and is increasingly taking on more of the role of a mother or nanny.  She no longer waits for me to intimate that I would like to dress up, but has started to insist upon it more and more frequently.  She’s even started to make me do the housework in a dress and apron, but more of that some other time.

She has also insisted that I relate more of my childhood experiences to you, so I hope you see fit to publish another reminiscence.  As she often does now, she has put me into a little dress and frilly panties to type this letter.

The incident she has asked me to relate, and which you insisted I should tell, is the first time I was put into a dress by my mother.
I have recounted in previous letters that Mum had been putting me into my little sister Vanessa’s underwear for some time.  It was, of course, intensely humiliating, especially when I had to wear her gym knickers to school under my uniform.  As you pointed out last month, having to spend the evening in her lacy vest and bottle green schoolgirl knickers was thoroughly humiliating.  I regret to say I suffered such a fate on more than one occasion.

As time went on I found myself increasingly made to wear Vanessa's knickers instead of my own boys' underpants. It even got to the hotly embarrassing point where Mum used to leave a pair of lacy girls' knickers in my underwear drawer.  She said that this was as a reminder to me of what would happen if I were naughty.  Many was the time she told me to wear those knickers instead of my own.

Vanessa still thoroughly enjoyed my fate.  Although I had sort of got used to being made to wear girls' knickers, I never got used to the teasing from my little sister.  Mum would often make me put on the pair of knickers from my drawer when I got home from school, even if Vanessa had some of her friends around.  I don't know what these little girls thought of their friend's big brother being told to change into panties by his mother, but there was always a lot of giggling. I wasn't made to actually show the girls my knickers, but the fact that they had heard what Mum said, seen her take me upstairs, and that when I came downstairs I had been changed, always left them believing that I had been put into panties.  I knew that it was true, but they never knew for sure.

Mum usually made me wear shorts over my knickers, and sometimes it would be a special pair of white towelling shorts with an elasticated waist.  They were really girls' shorts, and the outline of my knickers was just visible through the flimsy material.  Sometimes, if I wasn’t careful when I sat down, the frills round the legs of the knickers would be visible where the shorts split at the side.  I don’t think any of Vanessa's friends ever caught sight of the frills, but they may have done. In some ways it was worse being dressed in girl’s shorts than it would have been to be put into a skirt.  If I had been put into a skirt at least it would have been obvious I was being disciplined.  In shorts it looked like it was what I’d chosen to wear.

Of course, being made to change when Vanessa's friends were around ensured that what I had hoped would be a private embarrassment was soon widely known at my school.  I always put the rumours down to just little girls' mischief-making, but there was still that doubt.  Many of my classmates started to call me 'sissy' or 'panty boy', and I started to shrink away from my friends.
Strangely, some of the girls in my class were much more sympathetic, and were intrigued by the thought of me wearing girls' knickers.  I always denied it, and would never show them my knickers, but I increasingly found myself seeking their company,
rather than that of the boys in my class.

After some time in knickers, Mum told me she thought I would benefit from understanding more about what it was really like to be a girl.  I was horrified, as I'd thought the girl's underwear was to be the extent of it. As I’ve previously recounted, Mum had previously tried to put me into one of Vanessa’s dresses, but it was much too small.  So one day she went out and bought me not just my own dress, but also two pairs of tights.  The dress was like a little party frock, not unlike one that Vanessa had worn when she was a bit younger. Mum hung the dress up in my wardrobe, and put the tights in my sock drawer.  I hated having to push aside the dress to get to my school shirts every morning, and also having to move the tights to find my socks.  They were constant reminders of a fate I felt sure would befall me sooner or later.

I did avoid being made to wear the dress for a few weeks, although I was still being regularly put into panties.  Then, one weekend, I got up as usual on Saturday morning and took a bath.  When I got back to my room Mum was waiting for me.  She looked quite annoyed.  She told me that Vanessa had told her I had been nasty to her, and that I had teased her.  While it was true I had made a couple of unkind comments, and had lifted her skirt up to try to impress some friends, I hardly thought it was the end of the world.  Mum, however, didn’t share my view, and said that as I had been mean to my little sister, she would be mean to me.  She decided I should experience what it was like being a girl.

I protested, but that just made Mum more annoyed at me.  It had been years since I had been spanked, but I swiftly found myself across my mother’s lap with her hand repeatedly slapping my bare bottom.  I’m ashamed to admit it, but I started to cry ('Just like a little girl', Mum said).  It wasn’t just with the pain from the spanking, but also with the humiliation of knowing my little sister was watching, and that this was surely the precursor to even greater petticoat discipline than I had already endured.

When she finished spanking me she stood me up and told me that I would be spending the whole weekend in girl’s clothes.  She added that if I was good she would consider letting me stay indoors, but that if I was at all naughty I would be taken to the park.
I had no choice but to comply.  Being put into the dress would be awful, but not as bad as being put into it and taken to the park.  What would my friends and classmates say if they saw me in a dress?

Mum held out a pair of Vanessa's knickers and pulled them up for me.  Next she took out a pair of tights from my sock drawer and put them on me too.  The knickers were white with small lacy frills round the legs and waistband, and the tights matched.  I had never worn tights before, and they felt really strange as she pulled them up for me.  They were white with lacy patterns on them.  If the school knickers had been constricting, they were nothing compared to these tights. The tights were the most humiliating part of the whole experience. They felt so snug against my legs and bottom, and it also felt like my last shreds of masculinity were being stripped away.  The tights were just so girlish.

Vanessa brought in one of her vests and I meekly lifted my arms as Mum slipped it over my head and tucked it into my knickers.  I felt thoroughly wretched standing there in knickers and tights, being put into one of my little sister’s lacy vests while she watched.  Every now and then Mum would gently slap my bottom if I wasn’t standing still enough.  I felt just like a little child, and was on the verge of tears again. Next came the dress.  It, too, was white, with a scalloped neck and puffed sleeves.  The skirt of the dress was quite full, and had net petticoats underneath.  The skirt of the dress only came half way down my thighs, because the petticoats made it stick out so much.

I saw my reflection in the mirror and cried again at the sight before me.  I really looked like a little girl.  Mum finished off my outfit with a pair of white shoes which I didn't even know she'd bought me.  She then took me to her room and brushed my hair. When she'd finished I really did look just like a little girl.  Mum suggested I should be called 'Rebecca' when I was dressed as a girl.  It
was then that I realised that this would not be the only time I was to be dressed completely as a girl.

All day I had to endure the humiliation of wearing the dress and tights.  Vanessa teased me remorselessly, telling me to be careful when I bent over, otherwise everyone would see my knickers.  Even Mum was mean to me, saying that at least if I needed to be spanked again it would be easy to lift up my dress and petticoats and attend to my bottom.  Just her saying that made me squirm.
She said this would help me understand how Vanessa had felt when I’d lifted her skirt to reveal her knickers.  I was so ashamed of my predicament that I just sat around the house, and did nothing which might deserve another spanking.

Mum made me do some chores around the house, and once I had to go out into the garden to fetch in the washing.  This was really terrifying, in case the neighbours saw me, and it felt so odd having the wind blow up around my skirt and petticoats, which lifted lightly in the breeze, making me blush with embrrassment.  I don’t think washing has ever been collected so quickly. All day I could feel the tights pressing against me, and the petticoats swirling about my thighs.  I couldn’t wait to get back into my own clothes on Monday.

At bedtime Mum took off my dress and put me into a little nightie.  The nightie was Vanessa's.  It was a bit tight on me, and only just came below my waist.  She made me keep my knickers on. Ordinarily it would have been terrible having to wear knickers and a nightie to bed, but after the dress, tights, and petticoats, it was almost a relief.

After that weekend I resigned myself to being put into girl's clothes more and more often.  Over the next few months Mum bought me more and more girlish things, and I was made to wear them all. I assumed that no one else would ever find out, and that nothing worse could happen to me. There is more to tell if you like, or I rather suspect that Sarah is going to make me tell you anyway.
Yours truly,

'Becky'

What Becky experienced is one of the best accounts of loving domestic petticoating that I have ever read. This could stand as a textbook of petticoat discipline for any mothers who read this magazine. It's a pity that word got around at the local school, I generally believe that petticoat punishment is best kept within the four walls of the home, but little girls will be little girls, and, as Becky points out, they are great mischief-makers.

Becky was fortunate that little Vanessa did not order that he pull up his girlish shorts so that all her friends could see the lace frills of those panties. She must have taken pity on her brother, because it would have been justice indeed, after he had lifted her skirt to amuse his friends.
Susan