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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Prairie Girl - 3 (Fm, cd, v)
by Chrissie LaFemme
***
Queenie knew her next task was to put as much distance
between Blondie and the other two boys as she could. Keeping
him tied up and locked in the spare bedroom at night while
they slept in the out-house heightened his sense of isolation
from things masculine.
She forbade him to talk to the boys at meal times threatening
dire consequences if he did.
One morning Boss did not come down for breakfast and it was
Queenie who let Homer and Dutchie out of their sleeping
quarters.
Blondie served them their breakfast while Queenie busied
herself in the kitchen.
Dutchie touched Blondie on the arm and pointed questioningly
to Boss's empty place. Blondie, nervously looked back to the
kitchen and seeing that Queenie had her back to them,
signalled to them that Boss had been drinking.
'Last night or this morning?' Dutchie tried to signal back.
Blondie stared at him blankly.
Dutchie repeated the signal.
But still Blondie did not understand what he was saying.
Exasperated, Dutchie whispered:
"Was he drinking last night or this morning?"
Blondie looked around again and saw that Queenie still had
her back to them.
"Last night," he whispered. "He nearly drank a whole bot --"
"YOU WENCH! I CAUGHT YOU, YOU WENCH," Queenie shouted. "I
CAUGHT YOU TALKING!"
She strode into the room, grabbed Blondie by the arm and
dragged him, skirts flying, back into the kitchen. She
slammed the door shut behind her and slapped repeatedly him
across the face.
"I told you <slap> you're not <slap> allowed to talk <slap>
except when I tell you," she hollered.
The boy tried to ward off the blows but this incensed Queenie
even further.
"I know how to sort you out!" she snarled through clenched
teeth. She took a length of cotton and gagged the boy as
tightly as she could.
She pushed the muzzled boy back into where the two boys were
sitting and told him to finish serving the meal.
"What's ... what's ... going on here?" Boss said groggily he
as came into the room.
"Blondie here was disobedient and I had to punish the wench,"
Queenie said calmly.
The muzzled boy looked at Boss with beseeching eyes.
Boss made his way unsteadily to his place, clutching on to
the table to balance himself and sat down. He rubbed his
blood-shot eyes with the back of his hand; he avoided looking
at Blondie.
"What's going on here?" he repeated in a hollow voice.
Queenie leant against the kitchen door with her arms folded;
a scornful look appeared on her face.
"I forbade Blondie to talk to the boys at the table and the
wench disobeyed me. Now Blondie's paying the penalty," she
said smoothly.
"But --" Boss started to reply.
"I'm in charge of Blondie, remember, and I'll decide what the
wench can or cannot do!" she snapped.
"But --" Boss tried again.
"But nothing! I won't have you undermining my authority with
the wench. Hear me, Boss? Just don't _get_ in my _way_ again
-- or else!" Queenie snarled through clenched teeth, picking
up a carving knife and ramming it into the wooden carving
block.
Boss, suddenly remembering the story of Wally Segard,
blanched and his hands moved to cover his crotch.
"But he needsstht to talhk!" he stuttered incoherently.
Homer and Dutchie looked on with bewilderment: was Boss going
to let her talk back to him in front of them like this?
Surely he was not going to allow her to punish Blondie like
this? 'Come on, man,' they silently urged, 'get up and show
her whose boss around here!'
The boy too continued to silently implore Boss with his eyes.
It was Queenie who broke the eerie silence.
"Blondie, come here to me! NOW!" she ordered.
The boy gave a last, despairing glance at Boss who averted
his eyes. He lifted his skirts and slowly walked over to
where Queenie was standing.
"Turn around: your gag is loose," she commanded in an
imperious voice.
The boy slowly turned around to face the men at the table
while Queenie made a great show of taking off his gag and
retying it with as much force as she could muster.
She spun him around to face her.
"There, that'll still you. You listen to me, Blondie: you
answer to me and to me alone. Is that clear?"
The boy nodded his head.
In a louder voice Queenie continued:
"Let everybody be a witness to this: in this house you have
the status of a maid and since I'm the mistress of this
household I -- and I alone -- will punish you as I see fit,"
she pronounced. "Now, get Boss his breakfast."
>From that day on Homer and Dutchie knew that Blondie's fate
was sealed; it was clear that Boss would never even try to
intervene on Blondie's behalf again in the future. It was
their first sign that Boss's absolute authority was on the
wane.
++++++++++++++++
Queenie made her hapless assistant change clothes twice a
day. He started the day wearing stiffened petticoats and a
dress. Then when Boss and the boys had gone out to the herd
she put him into hoops. She liked the idea of the widest
possible crinoline on Blondie -- the wider the spread of his
dress the more difficult it was for him to maneouvre (and to
escape).
When he thought he was out of her eye sight he would try to
undo the buttons of his dress to take the hoops off. She
would smile to herself when realizing the futility of what he
was doing Blondie would give up in despair.
Queenie deliberately created a claustrophobic atmosphere of
enforced feminine helplessness into which she sucked Blondie
and from which there was no escape:
* she never let him out of her sight;
* she kept him permanently dressed in constrictive feminine
clothing;
* she kept him tethered to his bed at night;
* she isolated him from the three other males in the
household; and,
* by her actions and commands, constantly reminded him of his
feminized state.
An important key to emphasizing his newly imposed femininity
she discovered was his hair. Queenie kept his blonde hair
long and only trimmed it to keep the locks even. At night she
would braid his hair before pinning on a lace sleeping cap.
In the morning she would fix his hair into plaits or some
other equally feminine arrangement. During the day he was not
allowed to wear his hair bare -- it had to be covered by a
cap, snood, veil, or bonnet. At random intervals -- during
the day or night -- she would strap him to a chair and would
spend ten, fifteen or twenty minutes combing and brushing his
hair.
Queenie let a fringe grow at the front and was pleased when
every five minutes Blondie would have to sweep the hair out
of his eyes and tuck it behind his ear. Though he was not yet
conscious of it Queenie quite liked this feminine mannerism
she had developed in Blondie.
++++++++++++++++
There was no let up in the stifling, suffocating feminine
'prison' regime for Blondie. On Sunday afternoon when Boss
was asleep inside the house and the boys were messing down by
the river, upstairs in her bedroom Queenie was dressing
Blondie for their Sunday stroll.
She fastened her widest crinoline around the boy's waist and
followed it with a succession of petticoats. Then after a few
minutes deliberation she fitted him in one of her heaviest
and most elaborate dresses.
"Purple is such a lovely color on you, Blondie," she told
him, tying the sash at back. Then, she turned him to face the
mirror and added with a leer: "You look so pretty -- and I
haven't finished with you yet!"
She grinned as the boy's face burned red with embarrassment
and humiliation.
She lightly brushed the ringlets she had set in his hair that
morning and dabbed eau-de-cologne on his neck.
Queenie muzzled the boy securing the gag with a tight knot at
the back of his head.
Then she took a wide brimmed bonnet from the bed and
carefully placed it on his head. Releasing a pin she allowed
a heavy, cream-colored lace veil draped on the brim of the
hat to fall down and to touch his shoulders. The veil was one
of her favorite touches: it allowed the boy to see where he
was going but nobody looking at him could see through it that
he was gagged.
When she was satisfied that he was ready she got dressed
herself. Right from the very beginning she had decided to
dress in front of him. Though initially she found it
disconcerting to have a male watch her dress she persevered.
She reasoned that it would further undermine his sense of
male identity because he'd realize that no woman would ever
willingly permit a male (unless he was her husband) see her
undress in the privacy of her own bedroom. Her policy of
letting him see her in her underwear would sent him the very
clear but subtle message that she did not consider him a
male.
When she was finished dressing Queenie untied the cords
securing Blondie's wrists to the bed-post. She forced his
hands into a pair of white gloves and with a length of white
ribbon tied his wrists together in front. She unlocked the
bedroom door and propelled the feminized boy down to the
kitchen.
"Hold this in your left hand, girlie," she ordered, giving
him a lace parasol.
Knowing what was coming, the boy cautiously reached out for
the parasol. Taking another length of white ribbon Queenie
strapped the parasol to his hand so he could not let go of it
even if he wanted to.
"Hold your skirts up with your free hand," Queenie said,
stressing the word 'free' with sarcastic irony. The boy
gathered his voluminous skirts with difficulty with his right
hand while still keeping his parasol upright in his other
hand. Queen watched with detached amusement.
"I think you'll be too preoccupied to run away from me this
afternoon, girlie!" she joked. "Better still, if Homer and
Dutchie see you, they'll think how daintily you're holding
your pretty parasol!"
Linking arms with her hapless companion she led Blondie along
her favorite walk, to the small hill overlooking the ranch
and the river. Years ago she had gotten Boss to make her a
wooden seat under the shade of a tree, and this was usually
where she brought Blondie. Boss had labeled it Lady's View
and the name had stuck.
"Here we are!" she announced.
The boy looked at her hesitantly.
"Relax, Blondie! You can sit down on the bench today!"
Queenie laughed (she liked to keep him guessing what she
intended to do with him: sometimes she would keep him
standing in the blazing sun until he would scream through his
gag from pain and exhaustion, at other times she would sit
him on a rug but bind his ankles and wrists together).
She settled the boy on the bench, spreading his skirts about
him. She released the parasol, untied his wrists and removed
his gloves. Next, she carefully lifted the veil up off his
face and pinned it back up on the brim of the bonnet. Then,
much to his relief, she took off his gag. Finally, she gave
him his embroidery frame, needle and threads.
"What color are you going to make the dress?" she asked
chattily.
The boy glanced at her and then looked at the outline of a
woman printed on the fabric stretched taut over the frame in
his hands. He looked back up at her with a defiant look in
his eyes.
Queenie picked up a cord and waved it warningly in his face.
"Purple!" the boy replied hastily.
Queenie laughed.
"Off you go, girlie!" she said, sitting down beside him.
For the next hour she watched as he embroidered, his slim
fingers working the needle and colored threads through the
fabric as she had taught him. She stopped him occasionally to
correct a mistake or to teach him a new technique. He had
come to like embroidery -- Queenie had rightly figured that
he'd find it preferable to spending the afternoon bound and
gagged.
"Are you hungry, girlie? Would you like an apple?" she
inquired later.
The boy looked at her in surprise and nodded his head. Before
he could put down his embroidery frame, Queenie abruptly
dropped the apple in his lap which he trapped in his skirts
and hungrily ate.
A few minutes later, Queenie was about to pick up her own
frame when she heard shouts. Then she saw Homer and Dutchie
brawling playfully in the river below. Even from where she
was sitting it was plain that they were naked. Blondie looked
up from his embroidery.
Queenie rummaged through her basket and pulled out a cotton
scarf.
"You're not going to gag me, are you? Why?" the boy gasped in
dismay, the blood draining from his face.
"No, girlie, I'm not going to gag you," Queenie replied,
getting up and standing in front of him. "I'm going to
blindfold you."
"Why? Why are you blindfolding me? What have I done? Please,
tell me why?" the boy pleaded.
"Because impressionable young girls should not be exposed to
the sight of male nudity until they're married!" she replied
sternly, tying the blindfold tightly at the back of his head.
Once more she released the heavy lace veil, allowing it to
fall down over the brim of the bonnet and obscure his face.
She sat down and waited for his response. 'I know what you'd
like to say,' she said to herself, 'you'd like to say: "But
I'm not a girl -- I'm a boy just like they are!" But you know
that's not the answer I want to hear!'
There was a silence before the boy replied.
"I won't be able to embroider now," he said in a small,
subdued voice.
Queenie smiled broadly.
"That's men for you, girlie! They always spoil things on us,"
she said.
Blondie said nothing.
"You can finish this later, girlie," she said, taking the
embroidery frame from him, "because, right now, I want your
undivided attention. It's high time we talk again, woman-to-
woman, on what it means to be female."
She moved closer to the boy until their skirts pressed
against each other and she could feel the outline of his
crinoline. She knew Blondie hated these "womanly chats" which
always lauded his feminine characteristics and denigrated his
masculine traits.
"What would you say, girlie, is the main difference between
men and us?" she asked.
Her blind-folded and cross-dressed companion shrugged his
shoulders in reply.
"Our femininity. We're endowed with the qualities of
gentleness, softness, sensitivity and kindness. The qualities
that tell us apart from men," she replied. "And the qualities
other women recognize in us."
Then pulling a letter from her pocket, she said: "Let me read
what someone who knows you well has said about you: 'when I
first met him he was the most gentle child I have ever
encountered ... so small and perfectly formed ... and with
such soft skin [the envy of every woman who comes in contact
with him] ... he preferred female company ... hated the rough
behavior of boys'. You know who wrote this letter, girlie?"
The boy shook his head.
"Mrs. Mellon," Queenie replied.
The boy gasped in astonishment.
"Yes, girlie, you're surprized! I never told you this before
but Mrs. Mellon picked you! Mrs. Mellon, the matron of your
orphanage! She originally offered us two boys but, after a
private conversation with me, she later decided to add you as
a bonus! That was why Boss and I were so surprized when the
driver from the orphanage brought the three of you -- we had
only expected two!" Queenie said.
Blondie continued to gape at her.
Queenie continued: "Let me explain, girlie: I had wanted to
adopt a boy and a girl from the orphanage but Boss wouldn't
let me -- he wanted boys only. I was in tears when we visited
the orphanage and Mrs. Mellon took me aside to find out why.
When I explained this to her she said she couldn't let me
adopt a girl without Boss's permission. She said she
sympathized with me and assured me she would do her very best
to help me achieve my goal! She had a knowing smile on her
face when she said it!"
She took Blondie's hands in her own.
"And do you know why, girlie?" she asked softly.
The boy shook his head for a second time.
"Because she immediately thought of you, girlie. She wrote in
her letter that because of your feminine characteristics ...
of gentleness, softness, sensitivity ... you could be the
nearest substitute to the girl I had been hoping for!"
Queenie replied. "She added that all you lacked was a dress
but this has not always been the case in the past! I always
thought this was a strange remark but I never made anything
of it. But lately, girlie, I've observed some things in you
that has made me think of her remark. Of course, most of the
time you pretend to hate your present predicament but deep
down I'm not so sure ..."
"I do hate it!" the boy interrupted.
"Then explain this: a few minutes ago, I dropped an apple in
your lap while you were holding your embroidery frame in your
hands. Remember how you caught it? By spreading your knees
wide and catching it with your skirt: that's the way a girl
catches something dropped in her lap. A boy does the
opposite: he catches by bringing his legs together," Queenie
said.
"So?" the boy muttered scornfully.
"So where did you learn to catch that way?" Queenie asked.
"You were tutored at a very early age, I imagine ..."
"Hogwash!" Blondie replied, reddening. "What does it prove?"
he added in a husky voice.
"Prior tutoring, girlie, prior tutoring!" Queenie asserted.
"And, I suspect, tutoring which began at a very early age
..."
The boy looked down at the ground and didn't reply.
"There are other little clues, girlie," Queenie continued
softly. "You thread your embroidery needle the way a woman
does! A few days ago as an experiment, I asked Dutchie and
Homer to thread a needle. They both did it the opposite why
you and I do it ...!"
Blondie said nothing and continued to look at the ground.
"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, girlie?" Queenie
prompted gently. "How is it that you do all of these things
the way a girl does ... ?"
The boy did not reply.
"Don't want to talk, girlie?" Queenie responded briskly.
"Don't you worry, girlie, I'll make a few enquiries ..."