I am writing to tell you about the latest humiliations my girlfriend has devised for me. Last week when I arrived at my girlfriend's flat I was told to strip naked, and then allow myself to be dressed up by her in some extremely sissy clothes that she had purchased for me.

First there came dainty, lacy and beribboned panties, followed by stiffly starched petticoats barely reaching to within inches of my knees and flaring out from the waist, and over these a pink ruffled taffeta slip. My dress, of white organdy, the bodice embroidered with flowers and ribbon bows, fitted snugly over my chest and flared out prettily from the waist. A wide pink taffeta sash was ribbon was added for a 'little girl' effect.

My girlfriend applied a little make-up, and tied a large pink hair bow in my hair, remarking on what a lovely little sissy I was. She led me over to the full length mirror and I found myself staring through tear-filled eyes at myself, reduced to an effeminate little pansy, a pretty young girl-boy dressed in a little girl party frock.

'You're really quite cute', my girlfriend teased, sniggering at my petticoated plight, 'just like a little girl'. The remainder of the evening was spent in my learning how to curtsey properly.

As I have previously stated, all this has happened within the space of one week, and already I have become a pathetic nancy-boy who must behave like a little child for the benefit of my girlfriend whilst I mince daintily around the room, the lace frills of my petticoats tickling my thighs, rustling and frou-frouing with every step I take, a constant reminder of my girlish predicament.

Usually I am taken into the bedroom, where, seated with my new mistress, I become the passive partner in our love making. The first time this happened I was quite scared. Her hand slipped down to toy with my skirts, the unnerving rustling she created with my pansy petticoats was dimmed by the little chills which ran up and down my spine.

She started to gather my skirts in her fingers. I tried to push her hands away, but this just made her giggle, saying I was a petticoated doll to be fussed and petted with. 'Don't worry my little baby girl', she sniggered, 'I only wish to see your pretty petticoats'. Taking them in her fingers and tossing them to create an exciting frou-frou effect, she whispered, 'Little girlies adore the pretty swish of their petticoats, don't they?'

I sat there trembling as her fingers began roaming further under my skirts, tickling the insides of my thighs, and toying with the ribbon bows of my pretty frilly knickers, knowing that I was now merely a pretty little petticoated doll, a toy for my girlfriend's amusement, forever to suffer the twirling humiliations of petticoat discipline.
Yours,

Sissy Boy

I don't know if Sissy Boy reads 'Petticoat Discipline Monthly', but he should. Do you know what I think, Sissy Boy? From the way you talk with such relish about being a petticoated little doll, and from your obvious knowledge of feminine clothing materials (after only a week?) I think that you have always been a sissy, and have always dreamed of imprisonment in well-starched, rustly petticoats. Moreover, I believe that your girlfriend could see this, and is just giving you what you yearn for, with the added advantages of petticoat discipline, that you will now be her docile and worshipping housemaid.
Susan