Missy Learns to Model ( PG )
The winds of change doth blow
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My name is, or rather was George. My only living relative is my older sister Helen. Helen had two thirteen-year old twins, a boy Andrew and a girl Andrea. Her husband had passed shortly after they were born leaving her a significant fortune. The last time I saw them was three years ago, back in 1903. That was one visit I hoped I would never repeat. They were hellions. They fought most of the time and were insolent and rude the rest of the time. I was therefore reluctant to accept my sister’s invitation to join them at their summer home. However, a fortnight at the seashore did sound enticing. Before I responded I gave it much thought. Since I did want to go I convinced my self that I was sure that their deportment had improved over the last three years. With that thought outweighing my better judgment I accepted the invitation.

The train arrived on schedule. I stepped down from the carriage and was promptly met by Helen. After our greetings I inquired as to how the children were. She assured me that things had changed for the better and I would hardly recognize them. Her driver loaded my valises onto her carriage and we were off at a fast pace, the horses’ hooves clattering noisily on the cobblestone street. On arriving we entered her home. I thought, “The children must be outside, it’s so quiet.” I’ll admit I wasn’t too eager to see them. My sister was anxious that I should however, so she called them.

When they entered the room I was dumbfounded. I was greeted by two lovely young ladies. They must be Andrew and Andrea but what had transpired? They looked identical. I had no idea which one was which. They greeted me with big smiles. Was my memory failing? Did Helen actually have twin girls? My head was spinning. Helen spoke, “The one with the blue kerchief is Andrea. Andrew has the pink one. As I continued to stare at them I noticed that they had extremely small waists. Corsets were the norm for a thirteen-year old girl but the boy was tightly corseted also. But then, of course he would have to be. He was dressed as a girl. Corseting was necessary to complete the illusion. They approached me and spoke. Even their voices were similar. As I finally hugged them I let my hands lightly touch their corseted bodies. They were as rigid as one of those new fangled telephone poles. I noted that their corsets seemed to be extremely long, much longer than the normal girl might wear. They both had small breasts as one might expect young ladies of their age to have, particularly when wearing tight corsets. Their skirts were fashionably long, reaching to just above the ankles allowing a glimpse of silk hosiery adorning the legs. Black patent court shoes with four-inch heels made them appear as tall as their mother Helen. They obviously had been dressing this way for a while to be able to navigate in such high heels and display such diminutive waists. Tiny waists don’t happen over night.

When they sat it became more obvious that their corsets were extremely long. They were reclining in special chairs designed to support a severely corseted person. Finally Helen broke the silence. “Well George, what do you think of your nieces?” I paused before answering, and then muttered, “They’re absolutely gorgeous, but, but how? Why?” “It’s a long story, I’ll fill you in one of these days,” Helen replied. “ You might say it’s almost like a fairy tale.” As they walked ahead of me I still had trouble believing one of them was my nephew. I couldn’t imagine a boy accepting the wearing of feminine clothes and particularly tight lacing. Yet from what I had seen so far, the smiles and all, he did. He was a perfect girl.

At nine Helen sent them off to bed. We chatted for a few minutes. Suddenly she said, “You seemed fascinated by their waists. Would you like to see the extent of their corseting? I shyly accepted the offer. As we walked to their room Helen commented that they wear their corsets constantly, even to bed, except for bathing and nature calls. I wondered how they could possibly sleep laced so tightly. When we entered their room that thought was reinforced. They stood before me; apparently I was expected, clad only in their corsets, hosiery and shoes. The corsets were identical. They extended from above their breasts to part way down their thighs. Padded cups provided the breast illusion, at least in Andrew. Four suspenders on each leg held their stockings up delightfully tight. Then it dawned on me, I still didn’t know who was who. One finally spoke up in a now slightly masculine voice, “Our waists are only twenty inches.” That obviously was Andrew although the voice was the only clue. Helen immediately corrected him saying, “You know you are not supposed to speak that way. You jeopardize months of training when you do.”

At Helen’s bidding I ran my hands over their corseted figures and examined the construction. The stays were very close together and extremely heavy and rigid. How could anyone, male or female wear such confining garments I wondered? Yet they seemed to revel in them. I had a fleeting memory of a time when my mother laced me into one of her corsets as a punishment. The corset was nothing like these standing before me. I further recalled that a day or so into my punishment session I had begun to enjoy wearing the corset. Perhaps Andrew had a similar experience, one that led to his acceptance of tight lacing. My experience had been brief and was forgotten until now. They each kissed Helen and I goodnight and retired. I was again thrilled when my hands touched their lovely forms. As we left the room I asked Helen if she thought it proper to have them sleep together. She told me that Andrew wore a chastity device but because of the length of the corset it was invisible to the eye. Then she added, “It’s good for two sisters to be able to snuggle together on a cold night.” Sister or not, I knew what would be running through my mind in a similar situation, particularly enhanced by the erotic sensation of being breathlessly corseted. My memory flashback was complete.

Time passed swiftly. I was the happiest I had been in a very long time. It was wonderful having a family. The twins were a delight to be with. Helen, the twins and I went to restaurants and to the theater. Whenever we entered an establishment it seemed everyone turned to look at them. It wasn’t often that one saw figures like theirs. I was sure that many a girl had a long talk with her mother followed by a visit to the family corsetiere. I was proud of my niece and nephew, or rather nieces since Andrew was obviously a girl to the observer’s eye. I marveled at their beauty and in particular at Andrew’s acceptance of his situation. It was as though he was born to be a girl. His appearance and every action were totally feminine. Helen had indeed worked wonders. She now had two lovely twin daughters instead of unruly girl and boy twins.

Mt stay was so pleasant that when Helen suggested that I extend it I eagerly accepted the offer. At her instigation I sent a post to my employer resigning my position. Helen said that with her finances there was no need for me to work. I could stay indefinitely. I was not aware that she had a motive in her invitation. Even had I known I doubt that I would have considered declining her offer. Little by little we, all four of us, became closely knit. I was frequently asked to lace their corsets in the morning. I became increasingly fascinated with corsets and tight lacing. If Andrea and particularly Andrew loved it, it couldn’t really be so bad. On every occasion I wondered how it would feel to be tight laced. I kept thinking back to my childhood punishment.

One night after the twins were in bed Helen and I stayed up having a brandy or two and talking. I was a bit embarrassed when she asked me it I had noticed that she was wearing a new corset. I had earlier noticed that she seemed smaller than usual but thought little of it. She went on to tell me that she had procured one like the twins wore and invited me to examine it. With some reluctance I did. She was indeed wearing a very long, rigid corset. She then left the room briefly, returning wearing only a peignoir over her corset. It was indeed like the twins corsets. At that point I had a very unbrotherly feeling toward her. Unabashed she sat next to me and began reminiscing about our childhood. She asked if I recalled the time mother punished me in a corset. I had no idea she even knew about it. She then asked if I liked wearing it. I blushed, as I answered, “It wasn’t all that bad.” Out of the blue she asked, “Did you ever want to wear a corset again?” I turned beet red as I stammered, “I never thought about it.” She smiled knowingly and replied, “I think you have thought about it and wanted to lace up.” I vigorously denied it. The more I did the more she teased. After another brandy or two I reluctantly admitted that, years ago, the thought had crossed my mind. She went on, “I don’t think it was that long ago. I’ve seen a longing look in your eyes whenever you lace the twins. Have another brandy, I’ll be back shortly.”

I was feeling no pain (the brandy’s effect) when she returned. She was holding a somewhat large corset, identical in construction to hers and the twins. What followed may have been due to the brandy or was it a suppressed desire surfacing, I’ll never know for certain and I don’t really care. “I thought you might like to try wearing a corset. If you don’t like it we can forget it. If you like it well??” I was instructed to go to my room and put on the chemise that she handed me. When I was ready she entered the room and proceeded to wrap the corset around me. Again was it the brandy? I felt like I always wanted to do this. A moment later the busk was fastened and the lacing began. As it slowly closed around my waiting body I knew I wanted it, no, had to have it. I barely felt the pain or discomfort as she continued to tighten it. Soon she stopped and tied the laces saying, “that’s enough for know. I don’t want to spoil it for you by hurting you. We can close the laces when you get used to it.” I was in heaven. It was a wonder I didn’t swoon from the pleasure of feeling it hugging my body; it’s tight embrace pressing on sensitive areas. Only the length of the corset prevented me from being embarrassed although at that point I really didn’t care.

She had me sit down, no easy task, as she fastened silk stockings to the four suspenders on each side. The feel of the soft, smooth silk on my legs and the tug of the suspenders was indescribably wonderful. If only mother had kept me in corsets. Helen then had me put on black patent court shoes with three-inch heels. “As soon as you can walk in these we’ll get some like the twins wear, maybe higher.” At that point I would have agreed to anything. We practiced walking but between the brandy and the late hour I gave up and went to bed in my corset and stockings. “We’ll get you walking in the morning,” Helen said as she went to her room. By noon I was walking like a lady. I jumped at the chance to wear a dress. The euphoric mood didn’t wear off as I “submitted” to being made up and donning a lovely chestnut coloured wig. The twins made no comments. It was as if they knew it was going to happen. Overnight I went from being George to Georgina.

That was five years ago. The four of us, ladies young and not so young, now go for long walks and revel in the admiring glances of passing males. We four ladies take great delight in lacing one another. The twins are down to nineteen inches. One day I may try going smaller but for now I am blissfully happy with my twenty-two inch waist that I consider amazing for a (former) man. I haven’t worn a stitch of male clothing since that first day. On cold nights I frequently don my chastity device and snuggle in bed, tightly laced, with my Helen. My thoughts are frequently naughty but the chastity belt saves the day. I never dreamt when I went on vacation five years ago that I would end up as a tightly laced lady. The twins are as delighted to have a new aunt as I am to have my lovely nieces. Thank you mother for the memories and thank you dear sister Helen for the present/future.
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Princess Rose
Adorable. Is there any more to the story?
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whrjar
will she ever tell why the boy was dressed as a girl. i love story
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