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Daddy’s Little Girl

By Nina

At the tender age of twelve my dear mother was run down by a lorrie and killed. I’ll never forget the day nor will my father. It was the day WW1 ended, November 11, 1918. I had turned eleven the day before. Every one always thought that even though I was a boy I looked like my mother. I was to learn that my father thought so also. Father and I mourned for months. My grief lessened but dad’s seemed to increase. I felt intensely sorry for him and would have done almost anything to help him. Looking back I did in fact do just that although it was not completely voluntary at first.

Father became terrified that something might happen to me so he decided that I would be tutored at home thereby lessening my exposure to the outside world. The tutor was an attractive woman named Alice, somewhat older than my mother. She was a typical woman of the day. She had a very small waist as all had. I didn’t really know why but I was to soon learn. She always dressed in a form fitting black dress that clung to her figure. Her heels were much higher than ladies I saw on the street, but to each his (her) own.

It all started out quite innocently. One evening as we sat mindlessly staring at the fireplace after dinner he put down his cigar and made an unusual request. “Andrew, would you do me a big favor?” I jumped at the chance. “Yes father, what is it?” He reached behind his chair and pulled out one of mother’s silk robes. “Would you wear this tonight for me?” he asked. I realized I had agreed too soon. I had no desire to wear a woman’s garment but I had said yes and I was stuck with it. A tear in his eye made me give in. It was only a robe and only for an evening. It was also my undoing. I took it from him and slipped it on. I wore short pants, common at the time, and the robe was long. As I walked back to my chair I could feel it rub against my bare legs. As it did, an involuntary shudder ran through me. It felt soft and smooth. Seeing me in it brought a smile to dad’s face for the first time in months. I wore it until bedtime.

As I prepared for bed that evening a strange idea came to me. If it felt nice on my legs what would it feel like on my bare body? That was it. I would wear it instead of my flannel nightgown, normally worn by males back then. I wrapped it around me and fastened the buttons. It felt well, heavenly. I was unprepared for what happened next. For the first time in my life my boy thing stiffened. In those days no one ever talked about sex, at least not to a prepubescent lad of eleven years. I was so terrified that something was wrong with me that it instantly returned to its quiescent condition. With ‘things’ back to normal I retired wearing it. I remember having strange dreams but by morning the specifics were beyond recall. All I could remember was that I was dressed as a girl in most of them. It turned out that they were prophetic.

Wearing the robe in the evening became the norm. After a week or so I was asked to wear a pair of mom’s slippers. I couldn’t disappoint dad. These had small heels and required practice before I could walk in them comfortably. A week later he handed me a pair of her silk stockings and garters. The sensation as I rolled them up my leg was overwhelming. Getting hard was now a common occurrence when I donned the garments. Every week it was something new. It never dawned on me that I was slowly being brainwashed. Gradually lady’s boots replaced the slippers and the heels became progressively higher with each week. One night the robe was replaced by a long dark blue dress. It was a bit large and obviously was not one of mom’s. I started to protest but the look on dad’s face made me give in. I was subconsciously beginning to accept my odd situation. Every evening dad would just sit and look at me with a far away look on his face. One evening he commented on the state of my stockings. “Your stockings are always baggy. Those garters just don’t do the job. I know how to fix that.”

I was instructed to follow him up stairs. He went to mom’s closet and returned with an odd looking garment. It was about a foot and a half long, made in two pieces and held together at the back with a series of lacings. “A corset will hold up the stockings. Your mother never had baggy stockings”. He handed me what I was to learn was a chemise. “Go to your room and take the robe and your clothes off and put this on”. I didn’t want to, but once again the sad look on his face pushed me to do it. I returned shortly wearing the chemise and baggy stockings. I found the feel of the silk chemise more exciting than the robe. He stepped in back of me and wrapped the corset around my body. “You’re just about your mother’s size so this should be a tight fit”. He fastened the front clasps and began pulling the laces. He was right; it was a tight fit and then some. As he pulled the laces the tightness took my breath away. Just as it was about to become painful he noted my condition exclaiming, “That’s enough for now. When you get used to it we’ll take it in the rest of the way.”

In spite of the discomfort It was beginning to feel unexplainably “nice’. He noticed my ‘condition’ that suddenly sprang up. “Some day we’ll see what we can do with that,” he said as he continued to stare at ‘it’ as he drew up my stockings and fastened them to what he called suspenders hanging down from the corset. He pulled them very tight. For some reason the feeling of the stockings tugging against the suspenders delighted me. He then handed me some drawers to hide my hardness. I slipped the robe back on and retuned to the fireside. I was slowly becoming a woman. It never occurred to me that it was his long-range plan. To please him I started to dress after dinner with out being asked. Before long it was before dinner. The look of pleasure on his face was all the thanks I needed.

In a week or so I found one of mom’s best dresses lying on my bed. I knew what to do but wondered how I would manage the corset. Suddenly my tutor, Alice, walked in. “Your father instructed me to assist you, take off your clothes”. I was now eagerly dressing voluntarily to please dad. Within minutes I was laced into the corset. When the dress was slipped over my head it was obvious that it was too small in the waist. It was quickly removed. “Your mother must have worn the dress with the corset closed”. With that she proceeded to pull the laces until it was closed. In spite of the new discomfort I still liked the feeling the corset gave me. I once again hardened. Your father told me to expect that and to take care of it.” She got a towel from the closet. I shuddered violently as she took me in her hand and began stroking it. The feeling was pure ecstasy. Suddenly I tingled all over and my ‘thing’ throbbed and pulsated. I had my first orgasm. It was dry so the towel wasn’t necessary. Over the next few weeks that would change. I had been having a few misgivings lately about dressing as a girl but this new experience dispelled it them. If I had to dress as a girl to enjoy this new sensation there was no question about.

Things happened fast. At her urging I was encouraged to sleep in a corset. For nighttime wear I was fitted with a training corset that extended from my armpits to my knees. The feeling of being rigid over my whole body was indescribable. I was dressed in my regular corset and feminine things upon arising in the morning. A wig was procured and I was introduced to makeup. I now looked completely like a teenage girl. Alice’s hand ministrations became a dressing ritual. My male clothes were thrown out. I never wanted to see them again. I was a girl 24/7 and loved every minute of it. New longer, tighter corsets were procured for me. By the time I was fourteen my waist measured twenty inches and I regularly wore shoes with four-inch heels. My hair had grown to to a length that the wigs were unnecessary. All of mother’s dresses were altered to fit my tightly corseted waist. If one saw the portrait of mom in the parlour one would think I was she as a young girl.

Father was ecstatic. He perceived me to be the reincarnation of mom. When we sat together in the evening he would frequently satisfy me. It was wonderful, my tutor/governess in the morning and dad in the evening. After a brief time I reciprocated with dad. By my fifteenth birthday, well let me put it this way, one evening ‘I took it in my head to please him’. I now thought of myself as a total girl. To even think about giving up my corsets and fancy clothes was repulsive. My name is now Andrea. Over time my relatives came to accept their strange girl cousin or niece. What was my life’s goal? Perhaps I would meet a girl who could accept me. Maybe my future is with a boy to whom I could be a loving wife. I am well versed in pleasing a man. I think we of the upper class accept things like this better than the lower levels of society.

Someday I may write of my experiences as an older girl and young woman. I have no regrets. Well I have to run. A courier has just delivered my nineteen-inch corset. I just have to feel it tighten around my body.

The End

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