We sneaked around to the back of the house, where we were fortunate to find an unlocked window and letting ourselves in, found we were in the kitchen. "This way," Jim whispered, pointing to a flight of stairs. "They lead up to the bedrooms," he added, giving us a sly wink. We followed after him, the thought of what would happen if we were caught never entering our heads. Boy what would those gals say when they found that they had been robbed of their dainty, intimate garments. Jim hesitated for a moment, poking his head through the door at the head of the stairs, listening. Not a sound. We entered onto a long corridor with doors leading from it. "Pete, you take this one," Jim instructed, "And you Bob this one!" It appeared that we were going to work our way down the hall searching each room for loot.

I crept into the room assigned to me. Fortunately its occupant had left a bed lamp burning. It gave just enough light for me to see my way around. It was a single room-bed, chairs, dressing table and bureau. I hurried over to the latter full of expectancy and pulled out the top drawer. The fragrant scent of sachet floated up to my nostrils, as I bent over to peek inside. Before me in neat array was a galaxy of dainty handkerchiefs, bras and sheer nylons. Not what I was searching for, I told myself pushing the drawer back into place. The next one - AH ! this was more like it. There they were - dainty, lace trimmed silken panties, slips and even petticoats. They seemed to be pleading to be picked up and fondled. I heard a noise behind me, and whirled about in alarm -it was only Jim. Whew! What a scare! What if it had been one of the gals. "Find any?" he asked, holding up a pair of sheer panties for me to see. "Yeah! I'll say I did!" I whispered back, and he slid quietly out of the room.

My fingers trembled with ecstasy as I ran them gently over those dainty little bits of femininity. One pair, black chiffon deeply edged with lace appealedto me, and lifting them from their resting place, I quickly stuffed them into a pocket of my jacket and closed the drawer. From what I had already seen, this gal must be very fastidious. Wonder what her closet would reveal? No harm in looking. I tip-toed over to it, opened the door and peaked inside. Arranged on hangers was a rather breath-taking array of frocks and gowns - for street, tea or formal wear. I just couldn't resist the temptation to run my fingers over the lovely garments - shimmering satins, crisp, whispering taffetas, wispy chiffons. I experienced an exotic thought. Of course it was absurd; but still, it could be rather intriguing to wear such lovely garments.

My reverie was brought to an abrupt conclusion by Jim's voice in a state of agitation. "Bob! Pete claims he saw some of the gals coming up the front walk! Let's get out of here!" I dashed out into the corridor to join them, and together we hurried to the stairway. A chill ran up and down my spine as the shrill chatter of girls' voices floated up to us. We had hardly started down the stairs, when a light went on in the kitchen, and a girl's voice exclaimed, "I'm going to have a snack, Dorothy. III use the back stairs and be with you in a minute or two!" Now for certain, we were in for it with our avenue of escape completely blocked off. There was alarm in Pete's voice as he whispered, "What'll we do now?" I too shared his consternation, little cold waves running up and down my spine. "Have to take a chance and drop from a bedroom window," Jim whispered over his shoulder as he retreated up the stairs. We sped into the nearest bedroom, where Pete threw open the window and peered out. There was a blank expression on his face as he drew back. "We could break a leg! Look, it must be twenty feet to the ground with a cement sidewalk running along the house." We exchanged glances. Neither of us wishing to chance it.

Our indecision was our undoing. A scream rent the air behind us, and we whirled about to see a girl framed in the doorway, her eyes wide with terror. Hurrying feet sounded in the hallway outside.

She was joined by two other frightened females. "Wh...a...t... a ...r...e you doing here?" one managed to stammer. "What's the matter girls?" a more mature voice asked, as an older woman joined the little group. She must be the house mother, I thought. Quickly sizing up the situation, she strode into the room, followed by the trembling gals. "Well, what does this mean?" She demanded. "What are you doing in this room! 

Answer me this minute! Do you understand?" The firmness of her tone, the grimness of her expression, quelled us into silence. Not one of us could offer any reason for our intrusion into the girls' quarters. One of the girls apparently suspected the real purpose of our nocturnal adventure, for she hurried over to the bureau and quickly opened a drawer.. "My panties!" she screamed. "Oh those horrid boys! Look! They've been rummaging thru my drawer." She burst into a flood of angry tears. The house mother cast a shrivelling glance in our direction, exclaiming "So that's it! A panty raid!" One of the girls started to giggle, only to be crushed into silence by a glance from the house mother.

"Come here!" she demanded, and together we sheepishly shuffled over to where she was standing. "I`ll  take them if you please." Her meaning was obvious, for she held out her hand. We reached into our pockets and drew out the purloined panties. Our faces went crimson with embarrassment as we handed over our loot. The girls set up a noisy clamour as they retrieved their intimate garments from her outstretched hand. Three new arrivals joined the group, one of whom I recognized as a member of the varsity basketball team. "What's the commotion?" they asked, then spying us, one exclaimed, "Oh, a panty raid!" The girls all started chattering at once and the house mother raised her hands, asking them to hush. When the clamour had died down a little she asked, "Well girls, what should we do with them? Report them to the Dean ... or . . . "a suggestive tone entered her voice. "Perhaps we should handle the matter ourselves."

"Let's do as Mrs. Jones suggests," one of the new arrivals exclaimed. The others quickly fell in with her idea. "Of, course it's a bit risky," Mrs. Jones cautioned, "But I feel certain they would rather submit themselves to us for punishment than be reported to the Dean and face dismissal." The trio leaned over to whisper to her, their eyes casting glances in our direction.

As she listened a knowing smile played about her lips. What dire humiliations were these girls suggesting? Then she spoke, "Yes, girls, I am in complete agreement. I feel we should first render these panty fanciers incapable of escaping; then all of us go down to the living room and discuss the matter." This brought a burst of laughter from the girls. She glanced around the room and they all nodded in agreement. "June, you and Martha bring some clothes line from the basement, will you?" The two girls hurried off on their mission. While waiting for them to return, Mrs. Jones explained to us that undoubtedly the girls would think up some suitable punishment for us. From their expressions, I knew that it would be most humiliating, to say the least.

Minutes later the girls returned, carrying lengths of rope. "Oh Mrs. Jones, may we tie them up?" they asked. "I know several good knots. Learned them last summer during my sailing." Mrs. Jones agreed, suggesting that the third member of the trio, Mary, and the other two, each take one of us. They immediately set about their task, drawing our arms behind our backs, then fastening our wrists securely. Our ankles followed; and we were rudely dumped on the floor-much to the delight of the group. "They should be hog-tied!" someone suggested; and to add to our discomfort, our wrists and ankles were drawn up together. We were completely helpless. Pete started to protest that his bonds were too tight. If only he hadn't, for his complaint brought forth the suggestion that we should be gagged as well.

Handkershiefs were stuffed into our mouths; then bound in place with lengths of ribbon. It was humiliation enough to be rendered completely helpless before these giggling females; now we were even speechless. "Come girls" Mrs. Jones ordered, "well go down and decide on what to do with them. I am certain they will be right here when we return." She uttered a gay laugh as she said this, then turned and left the room- the girls trooping along behind her. I started to struggle to free myself. It was useless-those girls certainly knew how to tie the knots, for the cords only bit deeper into my flesh. Soon I gave up, and glancing at Jim and Pete found that they too had ceased struggling. I tried fruitlessly to work my gag in my mouth with my tongue for I was afraid it would choke me. I even gave this up. As I lay there, I thought of what else they might do to us for revenge.

Downstairs the girls were tossing suggestions about. "How about giving them a good paddling?" one suggested. "Yes, but couldn't we use their belts instead of paddles?" another offered, while a third commenced to titter as she suggested that our trousers should be lowered first. Mrs. Jones raised her hand for quiet and when their chatter had stilled, she turned to the trio -  Martha, June and Mary-asking "What do you think would be appropriate, girls?" They became the focus of attention, as Martha answered for them. "We agree that they should receive a good spanking, which would be beneficial to them, but not severe enough that their punishment should be extended until the end of the semester." She hesitated momentarily, glancing around the group to see if they approved. They all nodded. "Then perhaps you have a suggestion?" Mrs. Jones inquired. A smile played about Martha's pretty lips as she replied. "Oh yes, Mrs. Jones, we feel that as they seem so interested in our panties, we should make them wear them." "And their panties will be their only protective covering when they are spanked!" More laughter. Many ideas were bandied back and forth; until June offered one which met with instant approval. "I think it would be a cute idea to have them act as our maids afternoons following classes." Martha added, "And dress them appropri­ately too!" This brought on a new burst of gaiety as the idea unfolded.

A doubtful expression crossed Mrs. Jones' features as she asked, "But dear, where could we find suitable clothes for them?" Martha had a reply ready, explaining that in one of the scenes of a muscial comedy produced a while back the chorus had been costumed as French Maids in knee-length, flaring skirts and high-heeled slippers. Mrs. Jones again dampened their enthusiasm by asking, "But dear, would they fit?" a wave of disappointment passed over the group, but June brought sunlight by saying, "Oh I know! There's several pairs of funny old-fashioned stays in the wardrobe, you know the ones that lace up the back. We could use those." Once again there was a burst of gay laughter. "Why I. never thought of that," Mrs. Jones admitted, "Of course! They would be ideal, and I for one would enjoy lacing them" A knowing smile crossed her face.

Obviously Mrs. Jones relished the thought of lacing the three culprits into stays, similar to those which she had worn as a girl. "Wouldn't they look cute as maids!" someone tittered. "But what if they refuse?" another inquired. "Never fear my dears, they have already proven that anything would be better than being reported to the Dean. No, I don't believe they will offer any resistance." A murmur of delighted expectancy pervaded the room as plans were laid to borrow the necessary garments from the wardrobe.

"Then we are all agreed that our `captives' will perform maid service for the remainder of the semester?" Mrs. Jones asked, glancing from one to another of the groups, and meeting approving nods from all. One of the girls asked, "Mrs. Jones, when will their punishment commence?" She turned to Martha saying, "Martha perhaps you can answer that question." Martha thought she could arrange to borrow the garments from the theatre wardrobe that evening, "But of course you girls will have to furnish the other pretties. You know, stockings, undies and even slippers, if we can find sizes to fit their feet." The girls vied with each other in offering their intimate garments, giggling and tittering over the thought of their captives parading about in them. "And when we have them properly trained, couldn't we have a tea for some of our friends. It would be so definitely amusing to see their faces, when our darlings come mincing into the room." Mrs. Jones looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied, "Of course June, but first we will have to reduce their waists and teach them to balance themselves on high heels." One girl jumped to her feet, exclaiming, "Oh, I can just see them now." She minced about the room in an exaggerated fashion, swaying her hips. The others simply quivered with laughter.

Finally they quieted down a little, and Martha asked, "Shouldn't we give them feminine names to go with their uniforms?" Her idea was greeted with more laughter. It was finally decided that Jim should be named Marie; Pete, Gisele; and Bob, Robette. "Girls, I think it's time we informed our maids of their sentence, and too, there's the matter of a good spanking which we promised them" Mrs. Jones rose gracefully to her feet and started out of the room with the girls trooping after her.

The click click of high heels accompanying shrill chatter announced to us that they were returning. Soon we would learn our fate. Minutes later they stood about our limp figures, smiling down at us. "Aren't they cute all trussed up so helplessly," someone giggled. "It serves them right," Martha retorted. With that, Mrs. Jones took command of the situation, ordering our captors to remove the bonds from our wrists and ankles. "But is it safe? Won't they try to escape?" someone asked nervously. Mrs. Jones assured them they had no cause to worry. How right she was, for our muscles were almost useless after being restrained in that awkward position for so long. What a relief to be able to stretch our limbs. Now, if only they would remove those gags. Alas, they had no intention of doing this, they only tied the ribbons on more securely.

"Now girls it's time our pretty maids received their first lesson in obedience; but of course they must be prdperly attired." Laughter flowed over the group. What could she mean by `properly attired? "Well need panty girdles and silk panties," she continued, glancing around the group. There was a rush to procure these garments, and in no time they were handed to Mrs. Jones. She presented them to us saying, "Now girls, follow me and I'll show you where you may change." We meekly trailed after her with faltering steps. She hesitated a moment at the doorway to remark, "Girls it must be understood that at no time are you to be present while our maids are changing. I can't afford to jeopardize my reputation, nor to have your morals impaired. Is that clearly understood?" The tittering girls nodded and there was a trace of disappointment in the expressions of our Mistresses. We were left in an adjoining room with instructions to don those dainty feminine garments. "And don't forget your belts when you return," we were warned as Mrs. Jones glided out of the room.

We avoided meeting each other's glances as we removed our trousers and stepped into the panty girdles. I pulled, jerked and struggled to fit mine over my hips. Finally I had to call on Jim and Pete to assist me. They too had their troubles. It was sheer misery to slip on the lace panties, but we dared not refuse. We returned to the group shamefaced and with our spirit crushed. They shrieked with delight as we entered, making cutting remarks about our dainty lingerie. It was deeply humiliating. "Pants to panties!" someone cried out, and they simply shook with laughter. We were ordered to our knees before our Mistresses to present them with our belts and beg them to spank us.

Eager hands grabbed us and pushed us down across the seats of the chairs, securing our wrists and ankles to the legs. Then our gags were replaced. Our position exposed our silk covered buttocks to their gleaming eyes. I caught a glimpse of Martha flailing the air experimentally with my belt. I could almost feel it slithering across my buttocks, the mere thought making me squirm. A swishing sound and down it came- SMACK. It was like a hot iron. Again and again it rose and fell, tenderizing my poor buttocks with each blow, until I felt I was on fire. I could have kissed Mrs. Jones when I heard her tell Martha it was enough for this time.

"Mrs. Jones continued, "We have decided that a suitable punishment for your behavior will be for you to report here every afternoon after you have finished your classes. Martha, June and Mary will take you m hand. From then until 8 o'clock you will be required to be our maids." She hesitated a moment to allow the full purport of what she had said to filter thru our minds. "Furthermore, you will be severely spanked for any impertinence or failure to promptly carry out orders given you by any of the girls. Do you understand?" We slumped down on our chairs, crushed by the severity of what they had in store for us. We were to become mere playthings for the amusement of these females. "And furthermore, as you seem to find panties rather thrilling, you will wear them at all times." There was deep humiliation at every turn. "And in addition, you will be referred to as Robette, Marie and Gisele, and always address the girls as `Miss', when you wish to speak to them. Only our gags prevented us from protesting.

We were not released from our position for some time, subjecting us to the indignity of remaining in our uncomfortably restrained position for their amusement. Eventually our bonds and gags were removed and we were helped to our feet. "Aren't our pantied panty raiders cute?!" someone tittered as we were ordered to parade up and down before them. 

We just couldn't resist rubbing our flaming buttocks, which added to their delight. I crimsoned with shame as waves of laughter swept the room.. To add to the ignominy of our situation, Mrs. Jones announced, "Girls, you are to wear your pretty panties and girdles every afternoon when you report for your duties. Is that clear?" We had no choice but to nod sheepish agreement. Finally tiring of teasing us, we were returned to the next room and allowed to don our trousers, still wearing the hateful lingerie. We hurriedly departed from the house, their gay laughter following us until we were out of earshot.

"No more panty raids for me!" Pete declared in a tone of finality. We all agreed with him. "Suppose we weren't to show up tomorrow afternoon?" Jim suggested. "I don't know for certain," I replied, "But I think that Jones woman would do just what she threatened - report us to the Dean. Personally I don't know which is worse, being expelled or submitting mvself to the whims of those girls." Pete spoke up, "As for me, I'd rather take a chance on the girls any time than what my Dad would do to me if I was bounced!" Before we parted for our rooms, we agreed on a place to meet the following afternoon, all deciding we had better not ignore their commands.

room, the first thing I did, and I imagined Jim and Pete were doing the same, was to slip off my trousers and rid myself of those humiliating On reaching my room, the first thing I did, and I imagined Jim and Peter were doing the same, was to slip off my trousers and rid myself of those humilitating gar­ments. I felt like tearing them to shreds, with only the Jones woman's warning to wear them when I reported the next afternoon acting to deter me, and save them from destruction. I slipped them down to my ankles, stepping out of them and tossing them onto a chair. Now for that girdle­that was a different matter. I tugged, shoved, pulled and pushed until I was nearly frantic with irritation before I finally managed to rid myself of it.

As I hid the garments in my bureau, I wondered how I would ever be able to get into the garment by myself. Oh well, I'd worry about that later. I peered over my shoulder at the mirror to examine my buttocks. It was streaked with crimson welts. I had learned at first hand how efficiently Martha could apply a strap. I found some burn ointment and gently rubbed it on. It gave me some relief. I determined that moment that I would not give Martha any excuse for another application. A wave of dejection passed over me - imagine, a mere girl giving me a sound thrashing. It was so utterly disconcerting.

The following afternoon we met at the pre­arranged spot, and reluctantly set out for the Alpha Beta Gamma house. The subject of our lingerie was carefully avoided in our conversation. Jim told of an unpleasant experience he had that morning. "Any of you fellows have Alpha Beta Gamma members in your classes?" We shook our heads. "Well I do, and did she give me a bad time this morning. She stopped me in the hall after class and whispered, "Wearing your cute little panties this morning?" I swear it scared me out of' a year's growth. "Did someone hear her? Pete asked. "No! I was just lucky they didn't," Jim retorted. We both thanked our lucky stars that we had been spared his experience. Apparently the girls planned to keep our situation a secret; but what if one did say something to a friend? We could only hope for the best. Pete brought up the touchy subject. "You fellows have any trouble getting on your ... your . he glanced about to see that no one was near ... "girdle?" His cheeks flamed crimson at the mention of the garment. We all agreed we had and promptly dropped the subject. It was bad enough to even have to think about it.

We presented ourselves at the Alpha Beta Gamma house, and were admitted by our Mis­tresses. "Hi Robette! Hi Gisele! Hi Marie!" they greeted us, bursting into laughter. I cast a quick glance about. What if someone had heard them. "Come girls," they ordered, leading the way to the second floor. As we passed the living room we heard subdued titters and giggling. I here was deep humiliation at every turn. Mrs. Jones swished out into the hall to join us. "Well girls, I see that our pretty maids decided to be sensible and do as they were ordered," she exclaimed. "You will ge glad to learn that we have your uniforms ready for you."

Martha and the girls halted us at the top of the stairs. "Of course you are wearing your girdles and panties?" she asked. We sheepishly admitted this to be the case, only to have Mary exclaim, "Girls, they already have forgotten how to properly address us! Well they were warned of the consequences if they became impudent!" The threat in her tone was obvious. We realized that we had neglected to prefix our answer with `Miss'. "Oh Miss Mary, please forgive us this time," Pete pleaded, his hands reaching around back to caress his buttocks. June called the others aside and whispered to them. Their faces lit up with smiles. "Perhaps you could make amends at that," Mary exclaimed, instructing us to get down on our knees before them and beg their forgiveness. Humiliating as it would be, we had no choice and dropped to our knees before them to beg their forgiveness. "Please forgive us for being disrespectful," Pete pleaded meekly. We were kept in that position for several minutes.

During the time of our submission, a couple of girls passed by, bursting into laughter and pointing at us. Mary explained we were being punished. Finally June said, "Come girls, you may rise now. We will excuse you this time, but . . . " The threat was obvious. I squirmed at being referred to in the feminine gender. We continued down the corridor. June turned her head slightly and chirped, "Just wait until you see the smart uniforms we have for you to wear. You'll be simply thrilled with them!" They burst into peals of laughter as our expressions fell. I cast a glance at Pete and Jim; their faces were as red as mine. The word `uniform' could mean but one thing- not only were we to be subjected to the indignity of having to take the part of maids to these girls. Worse, they had concocted some sort of uniform to make us look ridiculous, without doubt.

Mrs. Jones joined us. "Well girls, have your Mistresses explained that you are to wear `pretties' while attending to your duties about the house?" Martha spoke up before we had an opportunity to reply. "Oh no Mrs. Jones, we thought that you 

should be the one to tell them about their pretties!" They burst into laughter at the mention of `pretties'. That could mean but one thing . . . more feminine garments to crush our spirits. "How very thoughtful of you, Martha dear!" She turned to us. "You will be simply thrilled when you see them. Won't they girls?" Our crestfallen expressions brought on a new burst of laughter.

"Now girls if you will get three chairs and place them in a row here!" Mrs. Jones motioned with her hand to the center of the room, "We can proceed." The chairs in place, we were unceremoniously picked up and dropped onto them. Our wrists and ankles were ties to the legs and backs. "And now, Panty Lovers" the girls shrieked with delight at this expression, "You will hear what we have in store for you." A hush fell over the group, except for a giggle here and a snicker there.

"You will find your uniforms laid out for you, girls!" Mrs. Jones tossed after us. With faltering steps we approached the chairs for even when some distance from them, we could see an array of frilly feminine garments. In the ensemble were long, sheer, black nylons; boned, black satin stays with pink laces; lacy, berriboned white muslin drawers, such as one saw in pictures of Can Can dancers; layers of stiffly starched white petticoats, the hems deeply frilled with lace ruffles, and with little pink bows sewn on for additional adornment; crisp, black taffeta maid's uniforms, these with long sleeves and high necks, both edged in white lace; dainty lace cap and apron sets, and on the floor, three pairs of high-heeled black patent slippers. Everything to transform us into pert French Maids. We stood there cringing, speechless with consternation.

Jim recovered sufficiently to blurt out, "You . . . you . . . mean, you expect us to wear those things!" He pointed a trembling finger at the array. "Of course Gisele!" Mrs. Jones retorted. "You would hardly expect to see a smart maid mincing about in trousers, would you?" The girls shrieked with laughter as Jim stood there crestfallen and crushed, his head bowed. "I presume you are wearing your girdles and panties, girls. " She emphasized the word. We nodded. Then to add to our misery, she asked, "And did you have trouble in getting them on?" There was more laughter. "We girls always find this a problem, don't we?" she teased. "Very well then, you may disrobe and change into your pretticoats and drawers!" The intonation of her voice, and the manner in which she mentioned those hateful garments made me realize there was no turning back now. They were determined to shame us. We started to remove our jackets, only to have Mrs. Jones halt us. She said, "On second thought, perhaps it would be more amusing to your mistresses to escort you to separate rooms and assist you with your pretties." The girls clapped their hands in delight, obviously relishing the thought of petticoating us separately. There was a ray of consolation in this as we would not have to watch each other being put into these humiliating garments.

Martha started over to the chairs to select an ensemble for me when Mrs. Jones remarked "Martha, don't you think it would be better to have one of our little darlings carry his own pretties?" The girls agreed, and instructed us to hold out our arms. They draped the garments over them, making cutting remarks all the while. "Oh Gisele, you'll look sweet in these pretty drawers," June teased, holding them up for all to see, then  laying them across Pete's arms. "And Robette, how prettily your petticoats will sway as you mince about on your high heels," Martha teased. They took every opportunity to remind us of our subjection, yes, feminine slavery. Yet we dared not rebel lest we receive a sound thrashing on our tenderized buttocks, or worse, be expelled. "And I wish to lace them myself," Mrs. Jones exclaimed. The sound of commotion emanated from the adjoining room. Then Jim's loudly protesting voice. "1 won't wear those! I won't! I won't! I don't care what you do, you'll never make me submit to them! I won't be laced into a corset! "A moment of silence, then the resounding smack of a belt against flesh followed by a cry of pain. Martha smiled. "You see what disobedience will get you!" The smacks and cries continued. I shuddered at the thought of poor Jim's bottom, for mine still smarted from the night before. "Too bad you chose to be so submissive," Martha exclaimed, and there was a trace of regret in her voice. I knew she would like better than for me to give her the slightest excuse to apply a belt to my bottom. "Oh Mrs. Jones!" Martha called, "Robette is ready for you now!"

Moments later Mrs. Jones whisked into the room. "June is having a little difficulty with Marie; but she is quite capable of handling the situation."

She fitted the hateful garment about my waist and hooked it together. I chanced a glance at the oval mirror on the wall. To see myself standing there in frilly drawers and black stays was almost unbearable. Oh, why had I ever agreed to a panty raid? Martha ran her fingers over the sides of the stays. "You'll have a really cute figure when Mrs. Jones finishes with you. Aren't you thrilled at the thought?" she teased.

"It will be amusing to see how many inches I can remove." There was more gay laughter. Jim and Pete were led from the room, carrying their ensembles. Mrs. Jones, too, departed, reminding Martha to call her when I was ready to be laced.

"You may undress now," Martha instructed, turning away. I endured exquisite shame as I slowly lowered my trousers, to reveal those hateful panties. It left me crushed in spirit. "Tell me as soon as you get into your drawers," Martha instructed. My fingers trembled as I lifted the dainty bit of lingeries from the chair, then held it out and slipped into it. The lace frills tickled my legs as I drew it up about my waist. "I'm ready Miss Martha!" She turned and smiled. "How sweet!" she exclaimed. She took up the stays and made them ready to clasp about my waist. "Oh Miss Martha, must I wear those?" I pleaded. The thought of being encompassed in that utterly feminine garment dealt my waning spirits a crushing blow. "Of course, Robette," she exclaimed brightly, "However do you expect me to fasten the bodice of your uniform. Mrs. Jones will simply have to take off inches."

Both women started to laugh. She turned her attention to me. She took up a position directly behind me and gathered the laces in her hands. A moment later I was jerked back on my heels, almost losing my balance. "Oh dear, this will never do," Mrs. Jones exclaimed. "We must think of some way to hold her steady during her lacing." A moment of silence, then she declared, "Of course! We can suspend him from the door, couldn't we?" Martha waited for her to continue. Mrs. Jones went on. "We'll need a length of clothes line. Get it for me, will you dear!" Martha found one, and M rs. J ones inntructed her to tie my wrists together in front of me.

"Now take Robette over to the door and have him stand facing it." When I was in position, she said, "Now throw the line over the top of the door and pull him up as far as possible. Here let me help you." Between them they drew me up until only my toes touched the floor. The end of the rope was secured to the door knob and Mrs. Jones resumed my lacing. The constriction on my waist increased as she tugged on the laces, placing her knee in the small of my back for leverage.

Slowly and inexorably the pressure increased, becoming more uncomfortable as each moment passed. My stomach felt as though it were encased in an iron band, and breathing became more difficult. Finally I could endure it no longer and gasped out, "Please, please, no more, please. I can scarcely brathe now." I received a smart slap on my bottom.

"I think that will do for today," Mrs. Jones panted, "But of course tomorrow we will take off another inch or two." It just wasn't possible, that I knew; but that was tomorrow. Mrs. Jones knotted the laces, and I was lowered to my feet. As my weight came down, I experienced the sensation of being cut in two and started to squirm and wriggle to find some relief from the terrible pressure. They looked on, obviously amused and delighted. "Robette will soon become used to being tightly laced," Mrs. Jones observed. I knew that I never would. She glided out of the room, her taffeta petticoat swishing excitingly, to lace Jim and Pete.

Martha freed my wrists and ordered me to sit on the edge of the sofa so she could put my stockings on. She laughed gaily as I rubbed my hands over my aching sides. At least it would bring some relief from the pressure, I thought as I lowered myself onto the sofa. Alas, I found to my dismay that it only increased, instead of diminishing, and mybreath was almost completely cut off. As she drew on the stockings she teased, "Why Robette, I declare you have the prettiest legs." I stifled the retort which rose to my lips. Yet she was right. 

Encased in sheer nylons my legs did take on a definitely feminine appearance. It was very disconcerting. Fitting the slippers to my feet gave her quite a job; but somehow she managed to force them on and helped me to rise.

If she had not held tightly to my arm I would have fallen in a heap. As it was, I rocked back and forth on the stilt heels, trying to maintain my balance, with my crushed toes screaming protest over the narrow confinement in the pointed ends. 

Yet, despite this, I found that it somewhat relieved the pressure on my sides. At least that was something to be thankful for. "You'll soon learn to manage your heels," she told me, bending down tofasten the ribbon covered elastic garters dangling  from the stays. They held my stockings up creaselessly. Her fingers ran down the back of my legs t make certain that the seams were straight. I knew what she was up to, for I had often seen girls doing the same thing. "There!" she exclaimed, rising to  her feet, "Now Robette, we must pretty your face.' I allowed myself to be propelled over to the dressing table where I sank down with a sigh of relief on the satin cushioned stool placedbefore it.

Her soft, capable little fingers went to work deftly applying a scented cream over my entire face and part of my neck. She rubbed it it thoroughly, then wiped off the residue with tissue. Powder was applied with a large puff, androse tint appeared on each cheek with a little touch of rouge. Other applications followed; lipstick eyebrow pencil, even a pair of false lashes, until no longer recognized the pretty face which stared back at me wide-eyed from the depths of the  the  mirror. "You really make a cute girl!" she declared, giving me a little pat on the cheek. She stepped to one side to view her handiwork. My cheeks reddened under the rouge at the thought of being described as cute. It was positively un­nerving.

She assisted me to my feet, and helped me back to the sofa. There, gathering up one of the ridiculously short petticoats, she waved it before me teasing, "Doesn't it have a pretty rustle though?" I winced in shame at the thought of wearing the garment. My head was enveloped in its folds, and she pulled it down into place. A glance at the mirror revealed that it barely reached to my knees, like a little girl's petticoat. Two more were added, each flaring out a little more than the other. "Now walk across the room Robette, l must be certain your petticoats have the proper sway." My efforts to do her bidding afforded her no end of amusement. To me it was sheer misery to feel the lace frills caressing my knees. She gathered up the uniform, ordering me to bend over. Under her directions I slipped my arms into the sleeves and the garment was pulled down into place and zipped up the back. The bodice fitted like a glove. "I told you we would need to reduce your waist," she teased, giving the flaring skirt a little flip. Itwhispered excitingly. The wispy little apron was arranged about my waist and the lace cap tied in place on my head. I had been transformed into Robette, a pert French Maid.

I heard the sibilent rustle of silk behind me, and glanced over my shoulder to glimpse Pete and Jim mincing into the room on the arms of their Mistresses. They too were dressed as French Maids, their brief little flaring skirts swaying prettily with each dainty step. Except for their crew cuts I would have taken them for pretty girls with their dainty waspish waists, shapely legs and slim ankles encased in sheer silk.

Their eyes were glued to the floor before them and their cheeks were flaming under the rouge tint. We three did look like French Maids, except perhaps for bulges missing in the proper places. The girls marched them over to stand beside me, then stood off to survey us from head to foot. "They really look cute, don't they?"June piped up, and all three burst into gay laughter. Again the thought passed thru my mind, if only I had said `no' when Jim had suggested the panty raid. It sounded so much like fun at the time. But now ... We were ordered to parade up and downthe room before them while they made cutting remarks about our appearance. "Gisele! Swing your hips more!"-"Marie! Straighten up!"­

"Robette! Make pretty frou frou for us!" The crowning indignity came when they ordered us to tell them that we much preferred to wear our panties than our trousers. As we stammered out this sentence, they simply shrieked with laughter. 

As a final humiliation we were ordered to lift our skirts to display our drawers. To what depths would they go?