"Let's have a fashion show!" someone suggested brightly, then they could model their cute undies for us." The idea caught on like wildfire. "Oh may we?" they asked our Mistresses, hopeful expressions on their faces. If only they refused. They whispered together a moment, then announced they thought it would be in keeping with our initiation, and ordered us back into the kitchen. The girls went into ecstasies of delight over the prospect of seeing us parading in undies.

Our Mistresses joined us, remarking, "You girls should be thrilled to model your pretty undies." They burst into laughter at our crestfallen expressions, and started to untie our apron string. What lay in store for us? June started to unzip Jim's uniform, and he gave a startled cry, clutching at it, as she went to remove it. "Oh Miss June, please, what are you going to do?" Martha and Mary gave us the same treatment. "Gisele! Take your hands away this minute, or would you rather be spanked?" June threatened. It was useless to protest, and soon our uniforms had been removed and our petticoats lay in a little heap of frills at our ankles. "Come Robette, step out of your petticoats!" Martha instructed, taking my arm to assist me. They found our hurt expressions over being reduced to our stays and frilly drawers, most amusing. "Now mince out there and parade up and down until I give you other instructions," Martha ordered, pointing to the door. "Oh Miss Martha, please don't make us go out there like this!" "Not another word! Mince!"

Our entrance was greeted with shrieks of delight, and I would have given anything to have had the courage to flee back into the kitchen, rather than be publicly humiliated in this shameful fashion. "Why, they're wearing stays!" an excited voice declared. Later we were returned to the kitchen and arrayed in our petticoats, which we had to model for the amusement and delight of the girls. "Come here Gisele!" one girl ordered, and I watched as Jim minced meekly over to her. Her fingers toyed with one of the little bows on the hem of his petticoat, as she exclaimed, "Darling, do look at these sweet little bows! Aren't they cute?" Poor Jim crimsoned under his rouge. They finally tired of teasing us and our uniforms, caps and aprons were replaced. "You may remove the tea things!" June announced.

As I passed into the kitchen, I heard one girl ask Martha, "Oh Martha, aren't we going to see them spanked? You promised you know." The door swung shut behind me, so I did not overhear her reply. I whispered to Jim and Pete what I did hear, and we all knew what we could expect. Was there to be no end to our humiliations? Hadn't we already suffered enough at their hands? How much more did they think we could endure? These were the questions whispered back and forth between us. June came into the kitchen and summoned Jim to follow her. So he was to be the victim, my expression told Pete as our eyes met. We hurried over to the door, pushing it open a crack to see what was happening to Jim.

He was standing beside June, who was waving her finger in his face and scolding "Gisele, you should have known better." A blank expression crossed his face, as if to say "What did I do wrong?" "Very well," she continued, "You were warned what would happen." She seated herself and motioned for him to arrange himself across her knees. A stiffness came over him and his hands clenched. For a moment I considered the thought that he might rebel. It was frightening, as it would be exposure for all of us. Then his shoulders slumped and I sighed with relief. At least we would be spared this time. He meekly lay down across her lap and she quickly flipped up his petticoats. Her hand rose-she hesitated momentarily and a playful smile appeared on her lips - "Girls, how would you like to apply a hairbrush to my naughty Gisele?" 

From the clamour, there was little doubt as to their desire, and one girl left hurriedly to fetch the item. "Me first!" she cried, waving the hairbrush over her head. "One spank for each of you," June declared. Down came the hairbrush - SMACK! My buttocks started to smart as though I were on the receiving end instead of poor Jim. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! One after the other, the girls applied the hairbrush with a will. When it was over, Jim was marched back to the kitchen with tears in his eyes. "They're monsters!" he declared, massaging his flaming buttocks. We tried our best to console him, each thankful that we had not been on the receiving end.

Finally our Mistresses declared it was time for us to return to the Alpha Beta Gamma house; but before they helped us on with our coats and bonnets, they reached under our petticoats.

We were helped into our coats, our bonnets tied on and our gloves kneaded over our hands. As it had already turned dark, mincing along with our coats opened offered no embarrassment. We were mincing along properly, when sudddenly Jim cried out in distress. I turned around just in time to see his frilled drawers slipping down about his ankles. He clutched at them and missed, catching hold of his coat instead. Two girls coming down the street witnessed the accident, and hurried over to stand there shrieking with laughter. A moment later, I grabbed at my own drawers, and being luckier than Jim, managed to halt their downward course. Pete, too, found himself in the same predicament. To add to our shame, our Mistresses started to scold us for our immodest display of our lingerie, much to the delight of the little group which crowded about us. Jim was ordered to retrieve his drawers, and how they howled as he rearranged them, exposing a wealth of petticoat hems. We suffered the same indignity ourselves. Jeers and gay laughter followed us down the street and, of course, our Mistresses had to tell the girls about our immodest behavior. Never had I been so utterly mortified.

On our way home, Jim told us of a discovery he had made, which to me explained Mrs. Jones' obvious pleasure in tight lacing us, and why her eyes would light up with a peculiar gleam any time she chanced to witness us being disciplined with the strap.

"I was cleaning the Jones' rooms this afternoon, and when I finished, decided to take a look around." We listened attentively. "You know that closet with the Yale lock on it?" We agreed we did. "Well I found it unlocked, so I opened the door and peeked inside." "What did you find?" Pete exclaimed. Jim continued, ignoring the interruption. "There were no clothes in it, but hanging on hooks in the wall were all sorts of thick straps, cane switches, birch rods, riding crops, bull whips - what an assort­ment!" Jim hesitated a moment to let the import of his meaning sink in. "And on the floor a row of high, patent-leather boots, the lacing kind, with heels," he held up his fingers to show us, "And toes -mere pinpoints." Again he hesitated a moment. "Black leather stays and long black leather kid gloves. One was funny -extra long and large enough to accommodate both arms and hands, and with white lacings. Boy, did I get out of there in a hurry."

"And now, my pretty `maid', you are going to dance for me." She went to the closet and brought out a willow switch. "Dance!" she ordered, laying it across my legs. Boy, how it stung, and I jumped around as I never had before. All the while she kept it snapping against my legs, Then she pushed me down over a bench and laid it on my buttocks with the strap. "Scream all you like, my pretty one!" Down came the strap - swish! - SMACK! - Swish!-SMACK! Then the switch followed, up and down the backs of my smarting legs, ripping my stockings to shreds, until I was screaming for mercy. When she finally gave it up, she had to dress me. I was too pooped to do it myself. "And remember," she cautioned; "You are to tell no one about this!"

"Girls, we were discussing your coming dance and Martha has a suggestion for you," Mrs. Jones explained, nodding to Martha to begin. She briefly outlined her idea of having their maids appear at the dance in formals. "And we could make them look so cute!" she concluded. June and Mary started to titter, and June exclaimed, "Oh Mrs. Jones, can't you just picture their excitement over dancing with the guests?" They all laughed gaily over this. "But how will we introduce them?" Mary asked. "They could be your cousins on a visit," Mrs. Jones replied. "It would be much safer that way, for if someone did discover their identities, they still would be unaware that they have been serving as our maids for these past few weeks."

"What about having them wear falsies that evening!" June exclaimed gleefully. "And order them to purchase them by themselves," Martha suggested. "Oh Mrs. Jones can't you just imagine them at the lingerie counter, asking for falsies?" The women burst into peals of, laughter over June's suggestion.

"As for their formals girls, I think I can be of assistance there. I have a fund for `special occasions', and I think this is one. Suppose you let me take them to a Modiste who is a friend of mine, to be fitted out?" Martha interjected a somber note, asking, "But suppose the clerks should discover their identities?" Mrs. Jones bestowed a knowing smile on them as she replied, "You need have no worries on that score, you see Madame fits many young persons out with petticoats." The girls' eyes lit up with excitement. "Really Mrs. Jones?" She went on to explain that on her last visit to Madame's Shoppe, the latter had invited her to peek into one of the fitting rooms, where two clerks were arranging a pretty frock to a blushing young man. Madame explained that his mother found it both amusing and delightful to her guests to parade him about before them in petticoats. The girls tittered at her revelation.

Mrs. Jones continued, "As I was leaving, the cutest little girl came in with her mother. She was perfectly sweet in a beribboned bonnet, blond curls, and a baby-blue taffeta party frock, the pink sash about her waist revealing her to be obviously tightly laced. Madame whispered that this was really a boy whose adoring mother was rearing as a girl." "Shall we summon our maids and explain about the falsies?"

We were summoned, and took our places before Mrs. Jones and our Mistresses, curtsying to each in turn. Mrs. Jones addressed us. "Girls, we think your figures can be improved. You see, as far as your waists are concerned, they are properly feminine; but you need a little more fullness in the proper places," she motioned with her hands. Her meaning was quite clear, crimsoning our faces. "Yes girls, we have decided that it is quite in keeping with your punishment to have you purchase a set of falsies." The girls shrieked with glee at our horrified expressions. "You see girls, you are to attend the dance this month, not as smart little maids, but as charming young ladies, cousins of your Mistresses. "You ... you ... mean?" I protested, "that we`ll have to dance with ... with ... anyone who asks us?" Mrs. Jones nodded. "And further girls, you are to accompany me as young ladies to a Modiste I know, where you will be properly fitted."

As we entered the Shoppe, a rather stately woman of uncertain age glided forward to meet us. She was rather severely gowned in black taffeta with a touch of white lace at the neck and cuffs. "My dear Mrs. Jones! How delightful to have you visit me again!" She turned to survey us, a smile on her lips. "Are these the young ladies we were discussing?" she inquired. Mrs. Jones nodded. "It will be a pleasure to select gowns for such charming persons," Madame stated, leading us to the center of her Salon where we seated ourselves on a satin cushioned divan. Mrs. Jones reminded us to smooth our skirts under us to avoid wrinkles. Our starched petticoats made a little heap of frills about our knees and Madame observed that our petti­coats were quite pretty. Titters from the clerks followed her statement. Did they know our secret? Madame instructed the clerks to model her creations for us, and I had to admit to myself that they were exquisite. There were stiff silk taffetas, shimmering satins and wispy chiffons, any one of which would have made a feminine heart flutter.

"But I can't take a girl's part in dancing!" Jim protested. "You will soon learn Gisele, June will give you instruction every afternoon." "I`ll  adore teaching you Robette," Martha teased.

Preparations for our visit to the Modiste included the severest lacing, our frilliest little drawers, flaring silk petticoats and of course very careful makeup. "If only you had your falsies," Martha teased, then added, "I am going to let you wear my pretty blue taffeta frock," with a teasing lilt in her voice. She remembered the afternoon I had helped her dress. It made my cheeks turn crimson. When she had fastened it to me, she placed a smart little hat on my wig, remarking that as it was quite warm, I would have no need for a coat. Spotless white glace gloves were kneaded over my hands. With that I was taken before Mrs. Jones for an inspection. Jim and Pete were already there, looking charmingly feminine in their finery. Mrs. Jones declared herself satisfied with our appearance and we set out for the Modiste's Shoppe. Goodness how our skirts swished as we minced along beside Mrs. Jones.

"Madame has made a selection?" the Modiste inquired. Mrs. Jones nodded. "Now girls if you will step this way, we can make certain that your gowns are properly fitted." We followed her swishing skirts to the rear of the Shop, and were assigned to different rooms. I entered to find two pretty clerks awaiting my appearance. They smiled prettily and their practiced hands started to remove my frock. As they slipped off my petticoats, one remarked, "You have a very pretty figure." They commenced to titter. Did they really know my secret? I wasn't certain. The other caused me deep humiliation as she pointed to my padded bra and asked, "True or false!" 

That amused them no end, especially as I went crimson. Madame choose that moment to enter. "What is the meaning of this gaiety?" she demanded as the blushing girls quickly lowered their eyes to avoid her angry glance. "So," she announced grimly, "You have disobeyed my instructions! Very well, bend over!" Tears came to the girls' eyes as they assumed this position, and without as much as a glance at me, she flipped up their petticoats and gave them each a resounding SMACK on their lace panties. As soon as Madame left, I started to giggle. "Oh you're mean and horrid," they told me. At least I had had the satisfaction of seeing another girl humiliated before me.

Mrs. Jones came in, followed by two clerks. One held an exquisite blue taffeta gown with a revealinglow-cut, strapless bodice and a floor length sweeping skirt. The other carried an array of evening length petticoats. The gown and petticoats were placed on chairs and the clerks made their exit.

The girls started to array me in the petticoats - the under one of crispy rustly taffeta, followed by another in stiff organdy, and a third, also of organdy and very flared. The hem was daintily edged with lace and cute pink ribbon bows. They lowered the gown into place and hooked it up. The bodice needed alteration, it was quite loose, so Madame was summoned. She brought a seamstress with her who made the necessary adjustments.

The fitting completed, we minced out into the Salon and paraded up and down before Madame and Mrs. Jones. "Now girls, when we have found pretty slippers to match your gowns, you will be ready for the party." She exchanged smiles with Madame. We minced back to the dressing rooms to be arrayed in our street clothes.

We were preparing to leave, when a smartly gowned quite pretty young woman entered, propelling a very distressed youth of about thirteen before her. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, ashe cried, "I don't want to go in here! It's a girls' store! Please mama, please!" Madame nodded to two of the clerks who quickly stepped forward and took the struggling lad by the arms. "Let me go! Let me go!" he screamed at them, kicking and fighting to free himself. They only took a firmer grip on him, and started dragging him toward the rear with his companion following close after. They disappeared into one of the dressing rooms. "Perhaps these `young ladies"' Madame nodded towards us, "would care to remain?" Mrs. Jones declared that she knew we would like nothing better, and once again we found ourselves seated on the satin cushions of the divan. I noticed that Pete's eyes were lit up with a strange gleam. Shrill protests rent the air. "1 won't wear girl's clothes, I won't! I won't! I won't!" the lad was screaming at the top of his voice. The cries grew fainter, until they were reduced to heart rending sobs. Another member of our sex was being subjected to the discipline of the petticoat.

A clerk disappeared into the fitting room, carrying an armful of dainty girl's attire. A short time later the lad was marched into the Salon, a pitiful figure, shoulders shaking with his sobs, his face crimson, his eyes fastened to the floor before him. He had been daintily attired in a pretty pink taffeta party frock with a wide baby blue sash ribbon arranged about the waist.

Our final stop was a fashionable shoe store, where we were fitted out with dainty, high-heeled slippers which matched the color of our gowns. I felt very embarrassed with my petticoats bunched up at my knees, and I caught the clerk casting quick glances at them. A frown wrinkled his forehead, as he tried pair after pair to find one which fit. No doubt he wondered why these pretty girls had such unusually large feet.

When we returned to the Alpha Beta Gamma house, we were taken in hand by our Mistresses who changed us into our usual attire, and insisted on our telling them all about our visit to the Modiste, the color of our gowns, everything interesting to a feminine mind.

Martha came in and petticoated me and hooked up my uniform. "Now Robette, we will have a dancing lesson," she declared, placing a record on her portable phonograph. As the music swelled, she put her arm about me and started propelling me across the room. I had a terrible time, as my feet seemed bound to become tangled one with the other. This delighted Martha no end. Afternoon, afternoon, afternoon, I was obliged to practice, and in the end Icould manage myself quite well, proper posture and such. By the evening the party was to be held, I was even graceful, so Martha told me.

The night of the party the entire membership was aflutter with excitement, girls dashing here and there from room to room. That afternoon of course we had been required to serve as maids, helping with the decoration, making sandwiches, all the little things necessary for a formal Sorority Dance. When it came time for us to get dressed, Martha summoned me to her room and unzipping my uniform left me to undress by myself. Before she left, she handed me a pair of ankle-length, blue taffeta pantalettes, the legs deeply frilled with lace ruffles, and pink ribbon insertions at the ankles.

We departed that evening with the admonition ringing in our ears, "Bring those falsies with you tomorrow, or else!"

It was a frightening experience to march over to the lingerie counter of the store, with all the dainty feminine garments on display, and ask the pretty clerk who waited on me for a pair of falsies. Her expression remained the same; but her eyes said, "What would you want with a pair of falsies? You must be a sissy and like to dress up." Her voice said, "Do you know the size she wants?" I crimsoned to the roots of my hair when I told her the large size. She smiled knowingly as she handed me the package, and I could hear the other clerks tittering as I rushed out of the store.

Martha met me at the door of the Alpha Beta Gamma house, asking, "Did you bring your falsies, Robette?" I lowered my eyes to hide my confusion and told her I had, showing her the package. Inside she announced to all the girls that Robette would have a pretty feminine figure, now he could wear falsies." The girls shrieked with laughter, and I simply ran up the stairs to Martha's room. There, after I had donned my hateful frilled drawers,

As I stood there asking myself why ... why had I ever listened to Jim and gone on that `panty raid', June entered the room, explaining that Mrs. Jones wished the three of us brought to her rooms for inspection, before we were sent about our duties. "Aren't they cute?" she giggled, leaving the room. "Turn around!" Martha ordered, standing a little to one side and running her eyes over my person. "I simply must be certain that you will be the prettiest," she teased. Then, moving about behind me, she fussed with the bow she had fasioned with the ends of the apron strings. "Yes, I think you are ready now," she declared with asatisfied intonation of her voice. She instructed me to parade up and down before her. "We must be certain that your skirts have the proper swing and swishiness, Robette." She found my expression very amusing and added to my discomforture by saying " `Swish' is so definitely feminine, Robette." Why did she have to continually remind me of my slavish position? With that, she led me to Mrs. Jones' rooms.

Pete and Jim were already there, both looking every bit like pretty French Maids. Their expressions reflected their dejection. I minced over to their side and we awaited Mrs. Jones' inspection. It was very thorough, her eyes taking in every item of our clothing, patting an apron bow here, giving a little tug on a petticoat there - the frilly hems must be exposed, she pointed out - and even pushing up our skirts to examine ourour cheeks. Seemingly satisfied, the exclaimed, drawers. This always brought a crimson flush to our three Mistresses chose their favorite, and it became Mrs. Jones' pleasure to make the final "They really are cute, aren't they?" The four of them laughed derisively. "Girls, which one would you say was the prettiest?" she asked. Of course decision. Once again we were submitted to a searching inspection. She finally admitted that shewas unable to pick the `prettiest'. Turning her attention to us, she cautioned us to remember to be on our very best feminine behavior.

It was Jim who expressed our mutual thought. "But Mrs. Jones, won't the Delta Delta girls spread the word around the campus about our being your ... your ... maids?" Mrs. Jones and the girls burst into laughter. "It is no more than you deserve you know! As long as you are sointerested in girl's panties, you should be priviledged to wear them."

"Pants to panties!" she teased, handing them to me. Her gay laughter echoed back from the hallway. I unfastened my petticoats and allowed them to slip to the floor, then lowered my drawers. I even somehow managed to untie the laces of my stays and with considerable effort managed to rid myself ofthem. After I had changed to gossamer thin stockings that Martha had laid out for me, I donned a narrow pink satin garter belt and fastened up my stockings, taking care to make certain that the seams were straight, to avoid a scolding from Martha.

Goodness how those pantalettes swished as I drew them up about my waist. Now the lace tickled my ankles instead of my knees. I almost giggled at the thought. Martha came in carrying my stays­well boned, pink satin with cups to hold my falsies. She fitted them to me and laughed gaily at my expression when I fitted the falsies into the cups. She spent a considerable time with my makeup, then ordered me to sit on a chair while she fitted my feet with the slippers. "Oh Martha, I simply can never dance in those!" I cried, only to have her start teasing me about wanting to dance. "Martha, please," I protested flushing crimson. I was marched into Mrs. Jones' room to be laced, and she did a very efficient job of it. I could scarcely breathe when she finally tied the laces. They were so much tighter than usual that the thought flashed thru my mind that perhaps the bodice of my gown would be loose. I went crimson to find myself thinking in this fashion.

Back to Martha's room I minced, to be enveloped in those pretty petticoats which almost touched the floor about me, and then be gowned in that exquisite taffeta creation. Even my wig had been redressed for the occasion, and I experienced feminine delight as Martha fitted it to my head. She even pinned a corsage on my bodice.

"Oh, I can never get into those!" I cried, as she brought out a pair of shoulder length glistening white glace gloves, yet somehow she managed to knead my hands and arms into them. I dared not bend a finger for fear of ripping them, yet they made my hands and arms appear very small and feminine. "I declare Robette, you look adorable!" Martha cried, throwing her arms about me and kissing me on the mouth. I found it delightful. "So my little Robette likes to be kissed as a girl!" she teased, patting my cheek. "Martha, please!" I protested,reddening under my rouge.

"Now run along to Mrs. Jones," Martha ordered, giving my skirts a pat. She closed the door behind me, and I minced swishingly down the corridor. Two prettily gowned members passed, giving me a second glance before they exclaimed excitedly, "Why if it isn't Robette! Darling how adorable you look!" Strangely, it tickled me to have them make this remark. They hurried off whispering and giggling.

I found Pete and Jim already undergoing an inspection by Mrs. Jones. She was saying, "Gisele, don't you adore your pantalettes?" Jim flushed crimson under his rouge. She seemed to be satisfied with our appearance, for she said, "Now run alongmy darlings and have fun!" As we were leaving she cautioned, "Watch your petticoats on the stairs, girls!" Her laughter followed us into the hall.

As we minced swishingly down the hallway, Jim said, "As long as we're supposed to be girls," he made a wry face, "And be dolled up like this," he ran his fingers over his skirts, "Let's have some fun!" We asked him what he had in mind. "Well, like I said, we're supposed to be girls, then let's mimic them. Try to steal their fellows, you get the idea." Pete declared sheepishly, "I ... I ... think it's fun to wear pretty clothes like these." We stared at him in amazement-had petticoat discipline made him effeminate? "Well I don't care what you think," he said with a toss of his head, mincing off, leaving us staring after him. We managed our unaccustomedlong skirts quite well on the stairs, only the tightness of my gloves giving me any trouble in gathering them up. "Made it!" Jim whispered as our slippers touched the floor. "Watch your voice Jim," I cautioned, "It could give you away." One of the members came forward and placing herself between us, exclaimed, "Come girls, you must meet our guests. She propelled us toward the living room. It was filled with a gay crowd, the girls in pretty formals, the boys in faultless white ties and tails. A buzz of animated conversation swept the entire room.

Two chaps, whom we recognized as classmates, started towards us to be introduced. We were presented as Robette and Gisele, cousins of Martha and June. With a gay little laugh, she moved on to join another group. We were on our own.

The music started and I found myself gliding about the dance floor in the arms of a handsome partner. "Wish you went to school here" he whispered, tightening his arms about my waist. I gently freed myself and replied in a modulated falsetto, "Oh-you say that to all the girls!" He gave me an odd look, and a chill ran up and down my spine. Had my voice given me away? Apparently not, for he continued along the line he had started. A moment later I was in another pair of arms. I thanked my lucky stars that Martha had been so particular in teaching me to dance. It would have been terrible to have faltered at this time. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pete swirling about, an ecstatic expression on his face, and giggling like a school girl. I couldn't locate Jim.

The dance ended, and my partner escorted me to a seat. I lowered myself onto it, making as much frou-frou as I could. "That's a very pretty gown you're wearing" he declared. I smiled up at him and was about to reply when Martha joined us. "Jerry, you will have to excuse Robette for a moment. I have something important to tell her," Martha remarked. I rose to my feet and minced after her, tossing a smile at my partner. "Now listen Robette," she began, "You can be as feminine as you like; but don't overdo it!" "Why Miss Martha, whatever do you mean?" I tittered, enjoying her discomforture no end. "I saw you making up to that lad you were just dancing with." I told her I was doing nothing of the kind. "That chap happens to be our Chapter president; so leave that boy friend alone, do you understand?" "Yes, Miss Martha," I replied, trying to act like my usual meek self, but saying to myself -"So what."