Dear Readers,

Yes, my son is a pantywaist-at least, he is quickly becoming one. For years, he prided himself in being a so-called superior little male. He acted like he thought all women were here to be slaves to men and openly scoffed at anything feminine, from women's clothing to what some people call traditional 'women's work,' like housework. Since he so despised anything feminine, his current punishment in girls' clothes is especially effective.

He is not being subjected to petticoat punishment for some minor offense as happens to many males. At a fair trial by a jury of women and myself, his mother, he was found guilty and sentenced to be a "pantywaist sissy" until further notice. This all happened ten months ago, and if he doesn't do a lot more improving, he's liable to find himself permanently in petticoats! Here's how this all came about:

Ever since my boy's good-for-nothing father took off on us over a year ago, Charles (or "Bessie" as we now call him) had been totally unresponsive to my efforts to make him a well-mannered boy. In addition to his lack of respect toward all females, he wasn't even a decent example of a boy. He couldn't face up to things like a boy should. He'd never come to the defense of a woman or girl in distress, and he'd run home to me as fast as he could whenever another boy challenged him to a fight.

Most distressing, he seemed to be especially abusive toward little girls. He had a paper route for a time and did odd jobs for some of the neighbors, but these jobs never lasted because people got fed up with his disrespectful attitude toward adults, especially women. Also, whenever he did something wrong, he never missed an opportunity to shift the blame to some unsuspecting woman or girl.

I work at home doing typing and tracking of subscriptions for a local magazine publisher. I work hard and have to watch my money. Well, the final straw came when Charles stole $60 from my wallet just after I had gotten paid and cashed my check. When I questioned him about it, he suggested that my friend Mabel must have taken it since Mabel had stopped in for a visit just before I noticed the money missing. Since Charles had never stolen anything from me before (that I know of), I took his word for it and became very angry toward Mabel. She insisted that she didn't do it.

Later that afternoon I caught Charles trying to sneak into the house with a bag stuffed under his jacket. When I made him show me what he was hiding, I discovered a fancy new radio inside and a receipt for $56.00. Charles didn't have access to that kind of money so I put two and two together and quickly realized that it was he who had stolen my $60. I immediately called Mabel and apologized to her. Then I called a meeting with her, my mother, cousin Sally, and two of my women friends. I wanted their advice on how best to punish Charles.

We live in a rather large Victorian house in a very small town. My husband and I had planned on having a large family, but it never worked out that way. At  the get-together with my women friends, it was decided that my mother and Sally would come to live with Charles and me because I had plenty of room and they could help me with the expenses as well as help me tame my little monster.

Next, our little group of women conducted a trial. Under stiff questioning, Charles broke down and admitted his crime.

Even though I am his mother, I threatened to take him to the police and report the crime and have him locked up on an official police charge. (And I was so angry that I wasn't joking!) Well, he's such a wimpy weasel; he couldn't face the possibility of going to jail. On his knees, he pleaded for forgiveness and promised to do anything. After we had him sign a statement in which he incriminated himself, we locked him in the bathroom and went into a conference to decide his  sentence.

Mother told us about one of her neighbors who had totally reformed her son by making him wear girls' clothes whenever he misbehaved. We all laughed at that, but loved the idea! I questioned how we could possibly accomplish such a thing. Mother got right on the phone and called the woman so we could all ask her questions about the effectiveness of the punishment and how she was able to carry out the sentence. The woman, Mrs. Dahling was her name, was glad to help us. She surprised us all when she offered to bring over her son right then and show us the results!

With a cheer, we accepted her invitation. She explained that her boy, Butch, was not currently being punished but she had been keeping a list of minor infractions, and she was on the verge of returning him to dresses, anyway. She said it wouldn't be any trouble, claiming that she had his punishment down to a science and could get him into one of his punishment outfits and over to our house in less than an hour. Besides, she said that a little bit of public humiliation always did him a lot of good.

When she arrived, Charles was still locked in the guest bathroom, which is quite close to the living room, so he must have wondered what all the noise and enthusiastic cheers were about when Butch first walked into the house. The boy was dressed in a flouncy dark pink blouse with large puffed cap sleeves and a lacy collar. His skirt was full and pleated, made of a thin rose-red colored fabric. Flashes of lacy petticoats could be seen peeking out from under his skirts every time he moved. He had probably been coached to keep a smile on his face because he seemed to be forcing himself to do so. We marveled at not only his costume but also how obedient he was to his mother, quickly doing everything from helping her off with her coat to moving the instant she told him to do anything. And when she whispered something in his ear, Butch walked out to the center of the room. Very apprehensively, he was forced to say, "I'm a sissyboy. I've been bad. My mother says I can go back to my boys' clothes when we get home if I'm real good for you tonight."

"Tell me" Mabel interrupted, "do you wear the whole lot? I see you've got little titties. Are you wearing a bra and panties too?"

All the women laughed. Butch looked immediately toward his mother with a pained expression on his face.

"Go ahead and answer her," his mother urged. "In fact, why don't you show her?"

Butch swallowed, blushed as he fleetingly looked over the crowd of women, and then inched his hands down to the edge of his short flippy skirt. With his head down, he raised both the skirt and his full slips to show off an adorable pair of yellow, little girl, nylon panties with nursery rhyme characters printed on them and a little pink bow on the front of each leg elastic.

Cheers, laughter and even a few whistles went up from the women, followed by excited compliments and cutesy comments.

"O-o-o-o! Adorable!"

"Aren't you a little too old to be wearing such baby-like panties?"

"Your panties are so-o-o-o pret-ty, pret-ty. Oh my, my, what pret-ty pan-ties!"

"Where can I get my daughter some panties just like that?"

"Harold would have a fit if I got our son some girls' panties like that. Well, what the hell, maybe I will!"

Finally, Mrs. Dahling let her boy drop his skirts. Then she had him unbutton his top and pull up his camisole to expose his little pale yellow training bra, which she explained had an extra pair of panties stuffed into each cup. She explained, "These are his emergency backup panty supply in case he gets too excited!"

Most of us were just about rolling on the floor with laughter when she said that!

Then, she made him take turns sitting on each woman's lap as we continued our discussion. We quickly came to the conclusion that handling Charles in a similar fashion would be a wonderful idea. After all, he was a miserable example of what a boy or a man is supposed to be and since he so hated women, girls' clothes for him would be perfect.

As he sat on the women's laps, some of them took the opportunity to examine his lingerie close-up. Several of the women slipped their hands up under his skirts and touch him intimately, and when he looked to his mother for help, she just smiled at him and told him to let the women have their fun!

My own mother was fascinated with his breasts. She kept playing with his flat titties through his silky blouse, pinching and pulling on his nipples through his training bra. She told him he could grow some nice little breasts if he pulled on his nipples everyday. He seemed to get very agitated about that and started to cry.

Mrs. Dahling realized that her boy was getting very discombobulated and asked if she could use one of my bedrooms for a moment. I showed her into my own bedroom. She took Butch inside and closed the door.

None of us knew what was going on, but mother explained to me that when the girlie punishment got to be too much for him, his mother had a way of asserting her control. Within about two minutes, we could hear Butch let out a quick series of loud, agonizing moans. Moments later, Mrs. Dahling came walking out of the bedroom with Butch's baby-style panties in her hands. She simply asked, "Do you have a place I can wash out his panties? I had to quiet him down."

After a stunned silence, we all started to  laugh. It was obvious what she had done.

I showed her into the bathroom of our master bathroom. Minutes later, she returned to the group and Butch reentered when she called to him. His face was bright red with embarrassment, and he walked in a very hesitant and sheepish way. Mrs. Dahling motioned for him to come to her. She simply yanked his skirt and slips upward and out of the way, totally exposing to all of us his limp naked little penis and shriveled-up balls.

"Keep your slips up. All the way around," she demanded.

He struggled to obey with his arms full of satin and lace frills.

"Good I always keep spare pairs of his panties in his bra. Ya' never know when you'll need 'em," she said with a laugh as she reached into his blouse and bra and extracted a pair of white satin panties. She held them open for him to step into and then pulled them up high around his thin little body, adjusting the waistband with a snap.

With his skirts all the way up, we could see the panties he was now wearing. They were a very bright white, a rich glossy white, a heavy satin-like fabric. They were quite plain except for a wide satin frill that went around each leg opening. The edge of that ruffled frill was hemmed with a delicate edging of fine pink lace. The boy's penis lay depleted, in a shrunken little ball in the stretchy crotch of his clean girlie panties. The women mostly sat in silence, just staring at a very competent mother as she put her sissy son through his paces.

Within a few minutes of that demonstration, I told all of them that I was definitely going to turn my Charles into a "pantywaist sissy" too. To myself, I didn't think I could do anything like jerk him off in his panties, but I was ready to try most anything, and I knew I'd even do that if I had to.

Mrs. Dahling offered to donate a pair of Butch's panties to our effort. I gratefully accepted.

Poor Butch looked like a freak since she had taken one pair of panties out of his bra and he was left with just one padded breast. So when she reached into his bra and took out the other pair that she was donating to Charles, Butch at least looked a little better. He looked like the flat-chested sissyboy that he was instead of a one-breasted girlie-boy.

The panties she handed to me were a thoroughly feminine pair of pink panties decorated with wide bands of lace and ribbons running around each leg opening. I thanked her as everyone voiced their approval with loud cheers and catcalls. I decided to put Charles on the road to sissyhood immediately.

Mabel, mother and I went to the guest bathroom. I unlocked the door. Charles was at the door and ready to run out the moment I opened it, but we were ready and grabbed him before he got away. Since Mabel was the one who had been most wronged by his theft, I let her announce to him his sentence. She relished telling him about his future in skirts.

Charles spat at us and yelled back that we couldn't do anything like that to him, but we were ready. I took out my sorority paddle, and as soon as the women pulled down his trousers and held him down, I paddled him thoroughly.

He bawled like a baby, and when the tears finally subsided, Mabel told him about Butch. Then the crowd of women parted and we let him see Butch in his sweet little blouse and full skirt. Charles screamed and told us we were all crazy. He took one look at Butch and said that it was just a girl with a short haircut; he wasn't really a boy.

I produced the paddle again, and I didn't stop using it on him until he promised to let us dress him as a girl. Charles did not protest, only gave a shocked expression and continued to cry as his grandmother and I gave him his first pair of panties, the pretty pink panties that Mrs. Dahling had donated to our cause. With a feminine sneer, Mother kept referring to them as "his panties" and kept calling Charles, "our little Miss Pantywaist." I thought it was only fitting that mother be the one to help him into his first pair of panties because he had been such a big disappointment to her. He was her only grandchild, and he had always been so nasty to her.

Since it was obvious that I was going to need some immediate help, Sally moved in with us that night. She's a big strong woman (a punch press operator at our local corrugated box company) who can pick up my little pantywaist with one arm and paddle him silly with the other. With her around, I knew I'd have a minimum of problems getting him to cooperate. Mother had been living alone since Dad died two years earlier so I asked her if she too would like to move in with us and help out. The next day, she put her house up for sale and started moving in.

We decided to call Charles, "Bessie." Mother, Sally and I developed a program to totally reform him into a sweet little priss, which included never being allowed to be out of the sight of one of us. We made him quit school. That was no big loss because he was failing anyway. We started having him privately tutored at home. Almost immediately, his schoolwork improved a thousand percent. Mother organized a big party to burn all of his boys' clothes and toys. We carefully screened a list of every woman and girl we knew to join us in this celebration. (Butch was the only 'boy' invited!)

By the time the party date arrived, Bessie had already been assigned to doing all the laundry, ironing, floor scrubbing, dusting and cleaning. Mother took special delight in supervising him doing all these household chores in preparation for the party. She walked around with one of her old dress belts, ready to deliver a few stings to his skinny little, silk-pantied buttocks whenever he didn't perform to her satisfaction.

At the party, everyone brought gifts, mostly frilly clothes they had outgrown in a response to our request to help us assemble a complete wardrobe of pretty clothes for my new little girl. Since the party, he has become our personal maid and seamstress. Mother hired a lady to come in three times a week to teach him how to mend, sew by hand, and use the sewing machine. Mom is determined to have him bringing in some money to earn his keep.

Good old Mom, she's already soliciting the neighbors because he is skilled enough to sew lace and frills on panties and other pieces of lingerie. The initial reaction has been great. They all say that they can't wait to have him, a mere boy, sew lace trim on their lingerie.

Of course, Mabel was the first one whose panties he trimmed with pretty ribbon and eyelet lace. She delighted in telling Bessie and all the rest of us how she wore those pretty panties around the house in front of her husband. She admitted that she usually wore fairly plain underwear so when she wore those specially decorated panties, her husband asked about them. She told us how she took great pleasure in explaining that my little pantywaist boy had decorated them for her. She says her husband didn't say a thing, just shook his head and walked out of the room.

Women callers who see my little twerp are encouraged to tease and humiliate him. Every Sunday we have Bessie dressed up real pretty for any guests who happen by. Word has gotten out amongst our friends, and Sundays around here feature an endless line of curious visitors, mostly women, but a few men and boys have stopped in too. Most of them are brought by dominating mothers, wives, sisters or other relatives, who threaten those sorry males with similar  punishment if they don't start minding them! At these gatherings, Bessie has to behave like a prim, proper miss, a regular Pollyanna. If he doesn't, he knows he won't be able to sit down for a week.

Of course, he's pressed into maid service on these occasions and forced to mince and dance around like the miserable little sissy he is. The slightest bit of disobedience earns him a whipping with Mother's dress belt, Dad's old leather strap, or my paddle, plus time in the corner with his skirts and petticoats raised to display his warmed butt encased in a pretty pair of the panties he has decorated himself.

Since he is constantly under the watchful eye of one of us (even when he bathes and goes to the toilet), he never gets an opportunity to play with himself to release his pent-up juices. I tried to forget about how Mrs. Dahling dealt with Butch's sexual needs whenever he got over stimulated. I just couldn't think of my little sissy like that. But Bessie obviously was thinking about it. His lack of privacy must have been too much because the little masturbator became so desperate to release his backed-up seed that one day he asked Sally to stroke his penis for him.

She went along with him for the moment. As she touched him she made him confess everything he had ever done sexually. Well, once he was finished with his confession, Sally stopped pulling on him and just laughed at his request for sex. Instead, she called mother and me into a meeting to discuss what to do with him. Mother convinced me that we had to take immediate control of him sexually. She said we needed to drain him of his masculine juices to keep him docile. We decided to give him some sex all right, but his cumming was going to be more punishment than pleasure. Each of us masturbated him into his panties in rapid succession. We had him screaming in pain because we weren't very gentle, and he quickly became very sore.

Now, as a matter of course, we do this once a week, whether he wants it or not. The rest of the week we have him tightly bound up in a kind of chastity belt made from an old panty girdle that is very tight on him and can be locked around his waist. I'm going to keep him as a sissyboy slave for a long, long time. Several of my women friends are now in the process of sissy training their boys. And ever since they have started feminizing them, they now agree with me that they have never been so happy having a little boy, as sissyboys are an absolute delight! Please let us hear from others who have taken control of their nasty boys.

Miss Dora Vanderporter