Message-ID: <4456eli$9709291237@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: chlafemme@aol.com (ChLaFemme) Subject: TG repost: "Prairie girl" -- 3/6 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <19970929144400.KAA27954@ladder02.news.aol.com> Prairie girl -- 3/6 by Chrissie LaFemme ++++++++++++++++ Queenie knew her next task was to put as much distance between Blondie and the other two boys as she could. Keeping him tied up and locked in the spare bedroom at night while they slept in the out-house heightened his sense of isolation from things masculine. She forbade him to talk to the boys at meal times threatening dire consequences if he did. One morning Boss did not come down for breakfast and it was Queenie who let Homer and Dutchie out of their sleeping quarters. Blondie served them their breakfast while Queenie busied herself in the kitchen. Dutchie touched Blondie on the arm and pointed questioningly to Boss's empty place. Blondie, nervously looked back to the kitchen and seeing that Queenie had her back to them, signalled to them that Boss had been drinking. 'Last night or this morning?' Dutchie tried to signal back. Blondie stared at him blankly. Dutchie repeated the signal. But still Blondie did not understand what he was saying. Exasperated, Dutchie whispered: "Was he drinking last night or this morning?" Blondie looked around again and saw that Queenie still had her back to them. "Last night," he whispered. "He nearly drank a whole bot --" "YOU WENCH! I CAUGHT YOU, YOU WENCH," Queenie shouted. "I CAUGHT YOU TALKING!" She strode into the room, grabbed Blondie by the arm and dragged him, skirts flying, back into the kitchen. She slammed the door shut behind her and slapped repeatedly him across the face. "I told you you're not allowed to talk except when I tell you," she hollered. The boy tried to ward off the blows but this incensed Queenie even further. "I know how to sort you out!" she snarled through clenched teeth. She took a length of cotton and gagged the boy as tightly as she could. She pushed the muzzled boy back into where the two boys were sitting and told him to finish serving the meal. "What's ... what's ... going on here?" Boss said groggily he as came into the room. "Blondie here was disobedient and I had to punish the wench," Queenie said calmly. The muzzled boy looked at Boss with beseeching eyes. Boss made his way unsteadily to his place, clutching on to the table to balance himself and sat down. He rubbed his blood-shot eyes with the back of his hand; he avoided looking at Blondie. "What's going on here?" he repeated in a hollow voice. Queenie leant against the kitchen door with her arms folded; a scornful look appeared on her face. "I forbade Blondie to talk to the boys at the table and the wench disobeyed me. Now Blondie's paying the penalty," she said smoothly. "But --" Boss started to reply. "I'm in charge of Blondie, remember, and I'll decide what the wench can or cannot do!" she snapped. "But --" Boss tried again. "But nothing! I won't have you undermining my authority with the wench. Hear me, Boss? Just don't _get_ in my _way_ again -- or else!" Queenie snarled through clenched teeth, picking up a carving knife and ramming it into the wooden carving block. Boss, suddenly remembering the story of Wally Segard, blanched and his hands moved to cover his crotch. "But he needsstht to talhk!" he stuttered incoherently. Homer and Dutchie looked on with bewilderment: was Boss going to let her talk back to him in front of them like this? Surely he was not going to allow her to punish Blondie like this? 'Come on, man,' they silently urged, 'get up and show her whose boss around here!' The boy too continued to silently implore Boss with his eyes. It was Queenie who broke the eerie silence. "Blondie, come here to me! NOW!" she ordered. The boy gave a last, despairing glance at Boss who averted his eyes. He lifted his skirts and slowly walked over to where Queenie was standing. "Turn around: your gag is loose," she commanded in an imperious voice. The boy slowly turned around to face the men at the table while Queenie made a great show of taking off his gag and retying it with as much force as she could muster. She spun him around to face her. "There, that'll still you. You listen to me, Blondie: you answer to me and to me alone. Is that clear?" The boy nodded his head. In a louder voice Queenie continued: "Let everybody be a witness to this: in this house you have the status of a maid and since I'm the mistress of this household I -- and I alone -- will punish you as I see fit," she pronounced. "Now, get Boss his breakfast." >From that day on Homer and Dutchie knew that Blondie's fate was sealed; it was clear that Boss would never even try to intervene on Blondie's behalf again in the future. It was their first sign that Boss's absolute authority was on the wane. ++++++++++++++++ Queenie made her hapless assistant change clothes twice a day. He started the day wearing stiffened petticoats and a dress. Then when Boss and the boys had gone out to the herd she put him into hoops. She liked the idea of the widest possible crinoline on Blondie -- the wider the spread of his dress the more difficult it was for him to maneouvre (and to escape). When he thought he was out of her eye sight he would try to undo the buttons of his dress to take the hoops off. She would smile to herself when realizing the futility of what he was doing Blondie would give up in despair. Queenie deliberately created a claustrophobic atmosphere of enforced feminine helplessness into which she sucked Blondie and from which there was no escape: * she never let him out of her sight; * she kept him permanently dressed in constrictive feminine clothing; * she kept him tethered to his bed at night; * she isolated him from the three other males in the household; and, * by her actions and commands, constantly reminded him of his feminized state. An important key to emphasizing his newly imposed femininity she discovered was his hair. Queenie kept his blonde hair long and only trimmed it to keep the locks even. At night she would braid his hair before pinning on a lace sleeping cap. In the morning she would fix his hair into plaits or some other equally feminine arrangement. During the day he was not allowed to wear his hair bare -- it had to be covered by a cap, snood, veil, or bonnet. At random intervals -- during the day or night -- she would strap him to a chair and would spend ten, fifteen or twenty minutes combing and brushing his hair. Queenie let a fringe grow at the front and was pleased when every five minutes Blondie would have to sweep the hair out of his eyes and tuck it behind his ear. Though he was not yet conscious of it Queenie quite liked this feminine mannerism she had developed in Blondie. ++++++++++++++++ There was no let up in the stifling, suffocating feminine 'prison' regime for Blondie. On Sunday afternoon when Boss was asleep inside the house and the boys were messing down by the river, upstairs in her bedroom Queenie was dressing Blondie for their Sunday stroll. She fastened her widest crinoline around the boy's waist and followed it with a succession of petticoats. Then after a few minutes deliberation she fitted him in one of her heaviest and most elaborate dresses. "Purple is such a lovely color on you, Blondie," she told him, tying the sash at back. Then, she turned him to face the mirror and added with a leer: "You look so pretty -- and I haven't finished with you yet!" She grinned as the boy's face burned red with embarrassment and humiliation. She lightly brushed the ringlets she had set in his hair that morning and dabbed eau-de-cologne on his neck. Queenie muzzled the boy securing the gag with a tight knot at the back of his head. Then she took a wide brimmed bonnet from the bed and carefully placed it on his head. Releasing a pin she allowed a heavy, cream-colored lace veil draped on the brim of the hat to fall down and to touch his shoulders. The veil was one of her favorite touches: it allowed the boy to see where he was going but nobody looking at him could see through it that he was gagged. When she was satisfied that he was ready she got dressed herself. Right from the very beginning she had decided to dress in front of him. Though initially she found it disconcerting to have a male watch her dress she persevered. She reasoned that it would further undermine his sense of male identity because he'd realize that no woman would ever willingly permit a male (unless he was her husband) see her undress in the privacy of her own bedroom. Her policy of letting him see her in her underwear would sent him the very clear but subtle message that she did not consider him a male. When she was finished dressing Queenie untied the cords securing Blondie's wrists to the bed-post. She forced his hands into a pair of white gloves and with a length of white ribbon tied his wrists together in front. She unlocked the bedroom door and propelled the feminized boy down to the kitchen. "Hold this in your left hand, girlie," she ordered, giving him a lace parasol. Knowing what was coming, the boy cautiously reached out for the parasol. Taking another length of white ribbon Queenie strapped the parasol to his hand so he could not let go of it even if he wanted to. "Hold your skirts up with your free hand," Queenie said, stressing the word 'free' with sarcastic irony. The boy gathered his voluminous skirts with difficulty with his right hand while still keeping his parasol upright in his other hand. Queen watched with detached amusement. "I think you'll be too preoccupied to run away from me this afternoon, girlie!" she joked. "Better still, if Homer and Dutchie see you, they'll think how daintily you're holding your pretty parasol!" Linking arms with her hapless companion she led Blondie along her favorite walk, to the small hill overlooking the ranch and the river. Years ago she had gotten Boss to make her a wooden seat under the shade of a tree, and this was usually where she brought Blondie. Boss had labeled it Lady's View and the name had stuck. "Here we are!" she announced. The boy looked at her hesitantly. "Relax, Blondie! You can sit down on the bench today!" Queenie laughed (she liked to keep him guessing what she intended to do with him: sometimes she would keep him standing in the blazing sun until he would scream through his gag from pain and exhaustion, at other times she would sit him on a rug but bind his ankles and wrists together). She settled the boy on the bench, spreading his skirts about him. She released the parasol, untied his wrists and removed his gloves. Next, she carefully lifted the veil up off his face and pinned it back up on the brim of the bonnet. Then, much to his relief, she took off his gag. Finally, she gave him his embroidery frame, needle and threads. "What color are you going to make the dress?" she asked chattily. The boy glanced at her and then looked at the outline of a woman printed on the fabric stretched taut over the frame in his hands. He looked back up at her with a defiant look in his eyes. Queenie picked up a cord and waved it warningly in his face. "Purple!" the boy replied hastily. Queenie laughed. "Off you go, girlie!" she said, sitting down beside him. For the next hour she watched as he embroidered, his slim fingers working the needle and colored threads through the fabric as she had taught him. She stopped him occasionally to correct a mistake or to teach him a new technique. He had come to like embroidery -- Queenie had rightly figured that he'd find it preferable to spending the afternoon bound and gagged. "Are you hungry, girlie? Would you like an apple?" she inquired later. The boy looked at her in surprise and nodded his head. Before he could put down his embroidery frame, Queenie abruptly dropped the apple in his lap which he trapped in his skirts and hungrily ate. A few minutes later, Queenie was about to pick up her own frame when she heard shouts. Then she saw Homer and Dutchie brawling playfully in the river below. Even from where she was sitting it was plain that they were naked. Blondie looked up from his embroidery. Queenie rummaged through her basket and pulled out a cotton scarf. "You're not going to gag me, are you? Why?" the boy gasped in dismay, the blood draining from his face. "No, girlie, I'm not going to gag you," Queenie replied, getting up and standing in front of him. "I'm going to blindfold you." "Why? Why are you blindfolding me? What have I done? Please, tell me why?" the boy pleaded. "Because impressionable young girls should not be exposed to the sight of male nudity until they're married!" she replied sternly, tying the blindfold tightly at the back of his head. Once more she released the heavy lace veil, allowing it to fall down over the brim of the bonnet and obscure his face. She sat down and waited for his response. 'I know what you'd like to say,' she said to herself, 'you'd like to say: "But I'm not a girl -- I'm a boy just like they are!" But you know that's not the answer I want to hear!' There was a silence before the boy replied. "I won't be able to embroider now," he said in a small, subdued voice. Queenie smiled broadly. "That's men for you, girlie! They always spoil things on us," she said. Blondie said nothing. "You can finish this later, girlie," she said, taking the embroidery frame from him, "because, right now, I want your undivided attention. It's high time we talk again, woman-to- woman, on what it means to be female." She moved closer to the boy until their skirts pressed against each other and she could feel the outline of his crinoline. She knew Blondie hated these "womanly chats" which always lauded his feminine characteristics and denigrated his masculine traits. "What would you say, girlie, is the main difference between men and us?" she asked. Her blind-folded and cross-dressed companion shrugged his shoulders in reply. "Our femininity. We're endowed with the qualities of gentleness, softness, sensitivity and kindness. The qualities that tell us apart from men," she replied. "And the qualities other women recognize in us." Then pulling a letter from her pocket, she said: "Let me read what someone who knows you well has said about you: 'when I first met him he was the most gentle child I have ever encountered ... so small and perfectly formed ... and with such soft skin [the envy of every woman who comes in contact with him] ... he preferred female company ... hated the rough behavior of boys'. You know who wrote this letter, girlie?" The boy shook his head. "Mrs. Mellon," Queenie replied. The boy gasped in astonishment. "Yes, girlie, you're surprized! I never told you this before but Mrs. Mellon picked you! Mrs. Mellon, the matron of your orphanage! She originally offered us two boys but, after a private conversation with me, she later decided to add you as a bonus! That was why Boss and I were so surprized when the driver from the orphanage brought the three of you -- we had only expected two!" Queenie said. Blondie continued to gape at her. Queenie continued: "Let me explain, girlie: I had wanted to adopt a boy and a girl from the orphanage but Boss wouldn't let me -- he wanted boys only. I was in tears when we visited the orphanage and Mrs. Mellon took me aside to find out why. When I explained this to her she said she couldn't let me adopt a girl without Boss's permission. She said she sympathized with me and assured me she would do her very best to help me achieve my goal! She had a knowing smile on her face when she said it!" She took Blondie's hands in her own. "And do you know why, girlie?" she asked softly. The boy shook his head for a second time. "Because she immediately thought of you, girlie. She wrote in her letter that because of your feminine characteristics ... of gentleness, softness, sensitivity ... you could be the nearest substitute to the girl I had been hoping for!" Queenie replied. "She added that all you lacked was a dress but this has not always been the case in the past! I always thought this was a strange remark but I never made anything of it. But lately, girlie, I've observed some things in you that has made me think of her remark. Of course, most of the time you pretend to hate your present predicament but deep down I'm not so sure ..." "I do hate it!" the boy interrupted. "Then explain this: a few minutes ago, I dropped an apple in your lap while you were holding your embroidery frame in your hands. Remember how you caught it? By spreading your knees wide and catching it with your skirt: that's the way a girl catches something dropped in her lap. A boy does the opposite: he catches by bringing his legs together," Queenie said. "So?" the boy muttered scornfully. "So where did you learn to catch that way?" Queenie asked. "You were tutored at a very early age, I imagine ..." "Hogwash!" Blondie replied, reddening. "What does it prove?" he added in a husky voice. "Prior tutoring, girlie, prior tutoring!" Queenie asserted. "And, I suspect, tutoring which began at a very early age ..." The boy looked down at the ground and didn't reply. "There are other little clues, girlie," Queenie continued softly. "You thread your embroidery needle the way a woman does! A few days ago as an experiment, I asked Dutchie and Homer to thread a needle. They both did it the opposite why you and I do it ...!" Blondie said nothing and continued to look at the ground. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, girlie?" Queenie prompted gently. "How is it that you do all of these things the way a girl does ... ?" The boy did not reply. "Don't want to talk, girlie?" Queenie responded briskly. "Don't you worry, girlie, I'll make a few enquiries ..." -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /