Message-ID: <4458eli$9709291239@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: chlafemme@aol.com (ChLaFemme) Subject: TG repost: "Prairie girl" -- 5/6 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: <19970929144600.KAA28040@ladder02.news.aol.com> Prairie girl -- 5/6 by Chrissie LaFemme ++++++++++++++++ "I overheard Homer and Dutchie talking about you yesterday." While Queenie waited for Blondie to react she started to lace him into the new whale-bone corset she had bought. Starting at the top lace and working her way down, she pulled firmly on the two ends of each lace and knotted them together. For the past week she had kept Blondie isolated from Boss and the two boys -- she had forbade him to be even in the same room with them. She had confined him to the kitchen at meal- times and locked him in his bedroom at other times they were around. When they were alone together she had told him stories -- some real, some fictitious -- though all with the same theme: the vulnerability of women living in isolated farmsteads to being terrorized by gangs of marauding men. Right now, Queenie could see the boy was in two minds -- she had reckoned he would be interested in hearing what Homer and Dutchie had been saying about him but at the same time he wouldn't want to engage her in conversation. She reckoned too that he would want to know where Boss and the boys had gone. "Yes?" "Yes," she echoed. 'Come on, girlie, you've shown you're interested -- you can't go back now!' she said gleefully to herself. As she worked her way down to his waist she pushed her knee into the small of his back to gain greater leverage. She could see the corset beginning to compress his waist into the desired shape. "What did they say about me?" Queenie didn't reply immediately. Inwardly, she was gloating: 'My, Blondie! Six whole words -- that's more than you said all of yesterday!' Then she chuckled aloud. "Men can be so ignorant about women at times!" she exclaimed with a rueful laugh. Blondie went pale and in a hurt tone asked: "What do you mean? What were they saying about me? Please tell me!" Queenie took hold of another lace and started to draw the ends together. "You remember yesterday when you dropped those spoons in the kitchen at breakfast?" she asked. "Take another deep breath, Blondie." "Yes, I do: why?" Blondie replied, puzzled. He inhaled and then grimaced with discomfort as the corset squeezed his waist further. "You remember Dutchie wanted to go in and help you pick them up but I wouldn't let him?" Queenie continued. "Yes, what about it?" Blondie answered. A warm glow briefly surfaced on the boy's face and disappeared just as quickly -- but not before Queenie noticed it. "Dutchie's such a gentleman, isn't he, girlie," she observed smoothly. "What were they saying about me?" the boy cried impatiently. "They were talking about the way you picked up the spoons," Queenie replied enigmatically. She chuckled to herself inwardly: 'I'm teasing you, Blondie! You'll have to talk to me eventually -- and in the way I taught you!' "The way I picked up the spoons ... ? I don't understand!" Blondie cried in frustration. "Tell me!" Queenie didn't reply; she continued lacing the corset. The boy glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'm sorry, Queenie, it wasn't very lady-like of me to talk to you like that," he said meekly. "Please tell me: what did they say about me?" "They were trying to figure out why you picked up the spoons like you did," Queenie responded. "I still don't understand," the boy replied, shaking his head. "They were wondering why you had to bend from the knees and why you had to keep your back straight," Queenie said. "Oh." Queenie finished lacing the corset. It was longer than any he had worn previously, reaching down to the middle of his thighs. "Like I said: men can be so ignorant about women!" she said breezily. She let him digest this in silence as she handed him a pair of stockings from the bed. As she watched him pull one stocking at a time up his smooth, hairless legs and fasten them to the suspenders, she reminded herself -- not for the first time either -- how most women would kill to have shapely legs like his. When he was finished she passed him the first of his petticoats from the bed. 'This is your least favorite underskirt, girlie!' she said to herself as she watched him step in to the lace-trimmed garment and pull it up to his waist. 'You detest the way it squeezes your legs together! You despise, too, the way it makes you take little dainty steps! Most of all, you hate the way it makes you feel vulnerable -- vulnerable in a way only a woman can understand: like us, if you're threatened by a man, you know you won't be able to run!' Four more petticoats followed; then, instead of giving him the dress she had laid out on the bed she went over to the closet and picked out a Sunday outfit. She knew he'd realise the significance of her choosing a frilly dress rather than the week-day dress on the bed: it meant the men weren't around, it meant not having to tidy up after them, not having to cook, it meant having a day to themselves, a day of tranquillity, a day embroidering up at Lady's View with only the babbling sounds of the river below to disturb them. "Where did they go last night?" It was the question Queenie had been expecting all morning. "Did the men not tell you?" she asked insouciantly, taking the dress off its hanger. "Maybe they didn't want to frighten you!" "Tell me what?" the boy asked, mystified and alarmed. "Frighten me about what?" Queenie gathered the dress up in her arms and lifted it over the boy's head. "Newsome's homestead -- a half a day's ride from here -- gang of five men looted the place -- killed Pa Newsome," she said in between guiding one arm into the sleeve and then the next and lowering the dress down over his slender frame. "They killed someone?!" Blondie asked, horrified. "Sure did," Queenie answered, pulling at the hem of the dress to make it sit better on the layers of petticoats. Then, she added ominously: "And they raped Ma Newsome and her two daughters ... " "They what ... ?" the boy breathed in horror. Queenie closed her eyes momentarily as if in silent prayer and nodded her head. "Where are they now?" "Who?" "The gang -- the men who raped ... " "Don't know, girlie. Boss and the boys have gone to join a posse to find them." "But they could be coming this way!" Blondie yelped. "Who's going to protect us ... what will we do if they come, Queenie? We're defenceless ... !" Queenie finished buttoning his dress at back. "Don't fret, girlie," she commented comfortingly. "If anybody comes just stay close to my side. I'll see that nothing happens to you." Inwardly, Queenie was exhilarated: Blondie was reacting in a way that exceeded her wildest dreams. 'I can't wait for the new potion that Anita is sending to arrive!' she thought ecstatically to herself as she tied the sash of his dress at back. "What'll happen if they realize I'm a ... " the panic- stricken boy started to say. Queenie put her finger to his lips. "You mean what will happen when they realize you're a virgin? That's what you meant to say, girlie, isn't it?" she replied soothingly but with a menacing undertone. Blondie nodded his head nervously. "I won't let any man near you and even if they did they wouldn't be able to take off that corset!" she said jokingly to show him she wasn't worried. She ran her fingers through the lace frills of his bodice and looked into his terror-filled eyes. "I guess that's why the men didn't tell you anything, girlie," she said softly, leading him over to the mirror to do his hair. "They didn't want you to get all jittery or anything, girlie ... there's nothing worse than a man hates in these situations than a panicky female ... " ++++++++++++++++ The sun was just past its zenith by the time they reached Lady's View. Below them the river snaked lazily to the east. "I join you in a minute, girlie," Queenie said. "I'm just going to pick some flowers over there." Blondie nodded and spreading out his skirts sat down on the bench. Queenie walked on for a few yards stooping to pick flowers here and there. When she returned she saw that Blondie had started on his embroidery frame. "You look so pretty!" she exclaimed admiringly. "You know I wore that dress for my eighteenth birthday!" The boy blushed and nodded. "Yes, you told me," he confirmed in a low, whispered voice. "Everyone admired it on me; I felt so pretty and ... so special!" Queenie replied dreamily. "So special ... I wanted to wear it forever!" She sat down on the bench beside him. "I never dreamed anyone else would wear it!" she exclaimed. "But it looks gorgeous on you, girlie, and you know how to look after it!" Blondie blushed again. There was silence before Queenie spoke again. "Who taught you, girlie? Who taught you how to look after a dress like that?" she asked. "You did!" he replied hesitantly. Queenie shook her head. "No, girlie ... leastways, I wasn't the first! I was observing you out of the corner of my eye when you sat down on the bench. I saw you smooth your skirts behind you when you sat down. It was an instinctive thing; you didn't have to do it -- you knew I wasn't watching!" she pointed out. "It was a revelation to watch you, girlie: you did it so naturally, so unconsciously! I bet my bottom dollar that's what a pretty dress does to you!" Blondie shook his head. "Is no the true answer, girlie?" Queenie asked softly. "You recall I told you about Mrs. Mellon's throw away remark that all you lacked was a dress to be taken for a girl but that hadn't always been the case in the past?" Blondie said nothing and pointedly continued with his embroidery. "I thought you might be interested to hear that I wrote to her last month for clarification. She told me the story ... or maybe you'd like to tell me yourself, girlie?" Queenie let her question hang in the air. She saw her companion's lip tremble but he said nothing. "This is hard on you, isn't it, girlie? Your past catching up on you," she murmured sympathetically. "It was your big sister who started it, wasn't it?" Blondie didn't reply. "Mrs. Mellon said she was a real beauty who loved pretty clothes, but she was frustrated being the eldest of four boys and not having any sister to enjoy!" Queenie said. "So when you came along -- as a baby, you were weak and undersized for your sex -- she resolved to make a sister out of you. Of course, she couldn't do that without your mother's knowledge and approval with whom she had a very close relationship. Having provided your father with four male heirs, your mother concluded that she had made her contribution and turned a blind eye. Being both the youngest and physically small for your age, you were picked on unmercifully by your four elder brothers. Your sister offered to protect you from your heartless brothers. Her protection, though, came with a price: you had to become her little sister! Once she had you in a dress and looking pretty, she made you feel safe! But, best of all, she made you feel cherished and appreciated -- and beautiful!" Queenie paused to see if Blondie would say anything but he remained silent. "She transformed you into such a sweet and winsome little sister that it wasn't long before your mother put her inhibitions behind her and she too became involved!" Queenie continued. "And with your father being away in the navy they had a free hand! Catching the fever at the age of three gave your sister the pretext to move you into her room so she could nurse you. The only thing, girlie, was this wasn't a temporary move, this was for good -- you never moved back in with your brothers again!" "The two most powerful women in your life, girlie, dressing you up as a girl! They made you feel special and wanted! And you loved every minute of it! You were the center of their attention and you loved it! You adored feeling pretty! You were captivated by the beautiful clothes they dressed you in! They taught you everything about being a girl -- and you lapped it up like a sponge!" Queenie went on. "And being the 'new' girl in your family, your brothers dared not touch you for fear of bringing the wrath of your mother and sister on top of them! You were safe! But you were only secure as long as your mother and sister treated you as a girl. You had to constantly reassure them that not only did you like dressing as a girl but you wanted to be like one as well! And that, girlie, was how you lived the first seven years of your existence!" Queenie reached over and squeezed Blondie's arm. "Then, one by one, your family was struck down by the plague," she went on. "You were heart-broken and going to the orphanage nearly destroyed you. Suddenly, you had to put all your past behind you and to survive the orphanage you had to be Mr. Tough Guy! But deep inside you, buried deep in your innermost core, were those feminine qualities, waiting for a moment -- any moment -- to reveal themselves!" "That's ... that's not true!" Blondie whispered hoarsely. Queenie saw tear drops falling on his embroidery frame. "Yes, girlie, it is true!" Queenie asserted quietly and firmly. "Only some last vestige of misplaced masculine pride is preventing you from revealing your true feelings! You're not in the orphanage now! Leave your tough little guy act behind, girlie! It's artificial, a sham -- I've seen through it! You're here with me, girlie! I want you to be the real you! I want the little girl --" "Nooooooo!" Blondie wept, his face in his hands. "Listen to me, girlie! You were raised as a girl -- and you loved every moment of it! I want the little girl in you to return! To feel pretty and dainty! Embrace your feminine nature, girlie, stop running from it! Accept it and enjoy it!" Queenie said gently. "It's your destiny, girlie: you can't change your fate any more than the river below can change its path. You're fated for femininity!" Blondie shook his head. Queenie sighed. "If I can't convince you now, then maybe you'll listen to your body," she said cryptically. -- +--------------' 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> /