#petticoated

[chloetv7-blog]

[extremeheels]

[forced-womanhood]

[eyra]

I’m looking through some old book pages for work and losing my mind at this one.

“she who makes her husband and her children happy, who reclaims the one from vice and trains up the other to virtue, is a much greater character than ladies described in romances, whose whole occupation is to murder mankind with shafts from their quiver, or their eyes.”

Isabella Beeton, I couldn’t disagree more ♥️

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[chloetv7-blog]

[herprincessface-blog]

“Petticoated boys could be denied their inheritances and kept on as domestic workers long into adulthood. Most became maids. Often the justifications for the petticoating became blurred, as what initially started as an attempt to correct behaviour became something done purely for convenience or for financial reasons. After all, a woman could retain the value of an inheritance, retain ownership of a property, all the while keeping the services of an unpaid domestic servant, so long as she insisted on the continuation of her son’s petticoated status. Indeed the law at the time protected this decision, most believing the well-being and continued financial security of Mothers took priority over petticoated maids considered unable to make much of themselves as young men. This kind of arrangement most commonly occurred in the houses of widowed women, whose sons, without the pressure or help of their fathers, had little push or opportunity to enter into a masculine profession or seek higher education. It hardly needs to be said that their mothers’ insistence on women’s clothing, petticoats, and uniforms made any re-entry into male society all but impossible for these young men. She could thus retain her son’s services as a ladies maid for however long she pleased, confident that there were few opportunities elsewhere for a petticoated maid, and able always to dangle the promise of eventual inheritance, something continually deferred, if not outright denied, even after a lifetime of service in a women’s role.”

Excerpt from ‘Petticoating: Feminisation, Domestic Service, and Power in Late Victorian England’ by Alice Cousins

[kimmipettie]

10/10/24 - A recent Christeen Classic

1/21/24- 621 - Chris looks so cute with short hair in a sweet feminine 'do. Yet, long hair provides additional options for waves and curls as Chris goes further into her feminized life as a girl. Debuted in October 2011 on Petticoat Punishment Art. Thanks Christeen and Carole Jean.

There is no much for a petticoated boy to master in transition to being a Miss. Bras and gowns can be challenges but nothing like managing long hair as a girl.

(0)

[this-is-a-stickup]

Preston, which dare was more embarrassing? Hitchhiking in your tighty-whities or being petticoated?

[wakewithgiggli]

Have worn a hat pin. Would gladly stab an asshole with my tiny, beautiful sword

While I empathise with the sentiment, @themoonmothwrites, Victorian hatpins where much bigger than you were probably imagining, and some self-defence classes gave fencing lessons with them. Here's a quote:

Leoti had enough. In a move that would thrill victim of modern-day subway harassment, she reached for her hatpin—nearly a foot long—and plunged it into the meat of the man’s arm. He let out a terrible scream and left the coach at the next stop.

That's from:

[sissytrapjamie]

Jamie you're such an icon! I'm a sissy gayboi faggot just like you and i check your blog line every day! it's so refreshing to see another fakegirl who understands we're at our best when we're embarrassing parodies of femininity! this petticoated femboi is proud to follow your example as a boy-crazy twink and a laughingstock for real women!

I'm glad to hear that! If I'm honest with myself, I could try to detrans back into a real man, but I'd inevitably fail miserably at that too. Petticoated is such a fun way to think about it! The best is being all sissied up but with clear, visible signs of failed maleness underneath. a tiny skirt my manhood will tent in, a top exposing my sorry excuse for a "cleavage" even after all these years, a stringy little thong for my balls to hang out of, not forgetting make up that looks like a child did it.

Real men are so intoxicating when they know how superior they are and take advantage. And I can't help myself simping for real women. They just innately have something I'll never be able to imitate.

[oddcyclist]

Your grandmother, who raised your father by petticoating him to be a good boy as a punishment, is coming to visit for at least a week, and you lied just now that you didn't take a cupcake without permission, so your mom put you in a dress as punishment so that your grandmother can see that her upbringing is followed effectively also in this new generation. On the other hand, your father has already lied so much that your mom has started forcing your father to grow tits and he has to walk around in a petticoat and a sissy dress all the time.

[constance-emmeline]

She loves to wear a petticoat ... a full slip ... X

A petticoat like this ... beneath her dress ... X

Each day ... for her own enjoyment and pleasure!

She knows other ladies know she's petticoated:

By the way her dress falls and moves so prettily

So elegantly, so gently and so femininely ... X

Around her person ... and just sometimes! ... X

'It shows!' ... 'Peeps' ... A little lace below her hem!

She loves it when that happens ... and is told ... X

"Excuse me Miss, but your petticoat is showing?"

She usually says: "Oh, I'm so sorry, I had no idea!"

And of course ... does nothing to 'correct' it! ... X

Indeed, she may choose to exacerbate the look!

But just one time ... another lady fancied her so

... and they became lovers ... and shall marry ... X

[kimmipettie]

8/31/24 - 2477 - After years of being petticoated and life fully in dresses, not to mention enrollment at Mademoiselle, it's so very natural for Chris to think of herself as a girl. How lucky can a once boy be being fully immersed in femininity?

Debuted 8/30/24 on Andy Latex. Thanks Andy and Christeen. Visit Andy at SMOOTHSLICKNSHINY.BLOGSPOT.COM

[omnomnomdomcaps]

Aristocrats (An ABDL Story) - Remastered

Screw it, I'm putting my stories back up. - ONND Nestled comfortably in the bosom of old-money suburbia, Fairvale was an upstanding town with an upstanding populace that had only the finest in taste and style. Grayson Dawes was no exception, standing in the old town square in a subtly striped blue suit, with a dapper red bowtie fastened below his neck. As he stretched his arms, his reddish beard swaying ever so slightly in the autumn breeze, one might have easily assumed that he was loitering, when it fact he was but waiting for his contestants to gather. 

The square was typically quiet for a Saturday afternoon. The shops and markets enjoyed their usual clientele, and the library saw its share of bookworms shuffling in and out. The townsfolk lived near and traveled lightly, leaving so few cars on the road that the whole place looked as if it were of a bygone era. And from the edge of the central green, Grayson Dawes could see it all, but the shade of his favorite oak meant that few could see him in return - and that was just the way he liked it. 

Lily was the first to join him there, strolling to their meeting point with a ruffling coming from her petticoat, and a crinkling coming from underneath. She stood tall, slender but shapely, with long auburn hair and a freckled face that seemed to befit her dollish white dress. Now in her mid twenties, she would be the most experienced of the day’s players, and she announced her presence with a most proper curtsy, blushing slightly as the wind kicked up the back of her outfit. 

“Well, well, well, right on time, my dear!” Grayson praised, though he had in fact expected nothing less. 

“Mmmmhmmm,” she smiled, before putting a finger to her cheek and asking coyly, “Does that mean I get bonus points?”

The man chuckled in turn. “We’ll see about that,” he shrugged. 

“But that wouldn’t be fair!” another voice interjected.

The second contestant had come on perfect cue, holding down the ruffles of her short dress as she walked up to join the group. With the same white, petticoated frock, she was perfectly matched with Lily - but of course, those were the rules. 

Rose may have lacked the height of her two compatriots, but not the presence. Full-chested, with a bob of blond hair that went down to her chin, she was bold, vivacious, and at times rather loud. The others enjoyed her passionate spirit, and appreciated that her competitive fire never veered into jealousy and pettiness. 

“Now now, darling,” Grayson Dawes held up a finger, “I will remind you that judgment is wholly subjective, and I can’t promise that Lily’s perfect attendance isn’t going to sway my opinion ever so slightly. Also, what is that I smell?”

“Oh, nothing,” she shifted her eyes away and blushed, taking a half step back before she noticed, luckily, the approach of a small figure to whom she would be able to lend her spotlight. 

"Ah, sweetheart," Grayson smiled, "wwe've been expecting you."

With barely five feet between the ground and her black pixie cut, Violet was the most diminutive of the day’s contestants, with wide, expressive eyes that spoke more loudly than she ever did. Having just recently turned twenty, she was also the youngest and ostensibly the least experienced of the three, though her sharp mind and playful dynamism had already signaled to the others to not take her lightly. Just as Lily and Rose, she wore a short, ruffly white dress on the day, and she curtsied without a word as she walked onto the green. 

The three ladies smiled at one another. In a dynamic as intricate as theirs, they knew that most women would fight to be the center of attention, and they felt lucky to be able to dole the honor out fairly. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Mr. Dawes began, taking a large step into the circle, “it’s time for us to review the rules. 

“First, as always, and most importantly, we are not to expose ourselves to any of the fine citizens around us. Doing so will result in immediate forfeiture, and unfortunately it would leave the future of this contest in some jeopardy.

“You will each receive one turn, and one turn only, to display your chosen talent. You will be judged on your creativity, boldness, and grace. And the winner, as always, shall be tonight’s centerpiece. 

“Do we have any questions?”

None of the three spoke up, each smiling slyly with their hands held behind the backs of their dresses. And so, the man continued, turning his hand to the tall, brown-haired beauty. “With that, Lily, would you care to start?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she declared proudly, taking a step forward into their circle, “For my performance today, I will be playing the part of Miss Marilyn Monroe.”

The other girls tilted their heads inquisitively as their eyes followed Lily strolling away. Grayson Dawes, meanwhile, stroked his bearded chin with one hand as he observed, using the opposite arm to support it. 

“She’s going towards the back of Henway Market,” noted Rose, as she carefully watched the girl’s route. 

“A natural wind tunnel,” added Grayson, “I can see what she means by a ‘Marilyn Monroe’ performance.”

“And there we go,” Rose updated, as the three saw a large gust strike Lily, threatening to lift the frills of her dress as she strained to hold it down with both arms.

“Oooh,” Violet suddenly chimed in, “I think I know what’s happening.”

“Oh?” Grayson raised an eyebrow, though neither he nor Rose dared take their eyes off of the active contestant.

“Uh huh,” the petite brunette continued, “see the way her face is straining? Anyone passing by is going to assume she’s just struggling to keep her dress from riding up. But if you look very closely…”

“Oh, she’s filling her diaper!” Rose pointed, “Oh, that’s sneaky!”

“My goodness,” Grayson chuckled, “Using the embarrassment of another act as an alibi - her experience is really showing!

“And look at that timing!” he added, as the three observed the blast of wind subside, allowing Lily to release her tight grip with a distinct look of relief - and a clear blush - on her face. 

The girl made her way back to the group to the welcome of gentle applause, adjusting her dress as she walked. Slowly, her blush subsided, leaving her with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. 

“Well done!” the man praised, giving Lily a soft kiss on the forehead before playfully patting her bottom, “Although it looks like we’ll have to do a bit of cleaning up when we get home.”

The girl giggled, the blush returning to her cheeks as she hid her expression behind her hand. 

“Now then, who’s next?”

“Oooh, me! I’ll go!” Rose volunteered enthusiastically.

“Oh?” he stroked his chin again, “and what talents will you be showcasing for us?”

“Well,” the blonde playfully bit her lip, “I’m going to go down from the library entrance… without stepping down the stairs!” 

“Without stepping down the stairs?” he repeated, “Hmm, well that does sound quite interesting. Alright, off you go.” 

The busty blonde began on her way. “Oh, and one more thing,” she noted, pausing after a few steps, “Daddy? I’ll also be needing a change when we get back.” 

With that, she flipped the back of her dress to show the others her thick, plastic diaper. And though they would only glance at it for a brief moment, it was instantly clear how right the girl was. The front and bottom were discolored, with padding ballooned to more than twice its normal size, and likely on the verge of leaking. The back, meanwhile, was characterized by an unmistakable bulge that seemed to darken that portion of the garment. In layman’s terms, it was a very, very full diaper. 

The other girls weren’t exactly shocked by this - all of them were well accustomed to wearing and using their diapers, as their daddy reminded them that proper little girls do - but they were impressed, and they tracked with keen eyes as Rose made her way to the library building, one of the oldest and largest structures in the town square, and began her way up the steps. 

“Wait a minute,” Lily raised her brow, “didn’t she say she wouldn’t take the stairs?” 

“She said she wouldn’t take them down,” her daddy corrected, “not really much else she can do to get up.” 

“That’s true,” Lily admitted, as she tried to count the building’s steps. They were old marble prisms, individually longer than they were tall, and divided into three sections of roughly a dozen steps each, with marble plateaus connecting. “So what is she planning to do?”

“Well,” Grayson thought aloud, as they all watched Rose approach the end of the staircase, “she certainly isn’t planning to jump, and I don’t think hopping down would quite satisfy her promise, so that just leaves one option…”

“The railing?” Violet asked softly. 

“Exactly,” her daddy nodded. 

No sooner had these words escaped him than Rose reached the doorway of the Fairvale Public Library, took a slight bow for her adoring onlookers, and shifted over to the edge of the massive staircase, positioning a leg of either side of the top portion of the ornate steel railing. 

“Oh wow,” Lily blushed from afar, as she watched the blonde begin to slide down, “that’s got to be quite the feeling.”

“I can imagine,” Mr. Dawes agreed, “It’s only natural that she rotates slightly as she slides, which means that that railing is going to be pressing against every part of her diaper as she goes down.”

“Smushing the mess in the back,” Lily continued the thought, her mouth almost watering from the excitement, “then pressing down at the bottom and front…”

“And all the while she has to keep herself covered up,” Grayson chuckled, “What a ride!” 

Indeed, it was. The three could see Rose panting as she disembarked from the top portion of the slide, walking slowly along the marble plateau to the middle segment. After taking a moment to catch her breath, the blushing, flustered blonde set off on the second railing, contorting her face to hide her intense stimulation while desperately covering up her thick, well used underwear with her the front of her dress and her right hand, using the left for balance all the while. 

Soon, she would reach the bottom of this slide as well. While her partners were oohing and aahing, Rose caught her breath once more before setting off on the final leg of her journey. This time, she wouldn’t be able to hide everything. 

She still covered up her underwear - those were the rules, of course - but, somewhere along the final railing, her expression slipped. As cold steel pressed hard into the front of her soaked padding, the intense, stimulating pressure became too much for what was inside. Rose’s eyes opened and crossed, and her mouth followed suit, a slobber forming on the edges of her lips as she simply could not contain what was building up any longer. 

Luckily, it seemed that no one else had noticed, and Rose staggered off the bottom of the slide, covering her face as she tried to regain her composure. Then, she slowly made her way back towards the group, panting desperately all the while. 

The others applauded. 

“That was really good!” Violet chirped. 

“Great job,” Lily congratulated her. 

“A bit of a close call there,” Daddy observed, “but you did very well. Excellent job.

“I suppose… that only leaves one more.” 

All eyes turned to Violet, and she nodded, smiling confidently. “For my turn,” she said, softly but surely, “I’m going to get Daddy a cup of coffee.” 

The other girls responded immediately with raised eyebrows, but she went on. “I’m just going to need you guys to hold on to my remote,” she said, handing her daddy her phone with a familiar application open, “and to help toss this.”

With that, the diminutive girl took out the other item she had hidden in her dress - an enema bulb, freshly emptied. And in an instant, the others’ quizzical looks turned to wide-eyed intrigue.

“When do you think -” Rose began her thought as the three watched Violet scurry about on her her way, “When did she-”

“Probably as you were coming back,” Grayson shrugged, as he began to work with his remote control, “She can be remarkably discreet about these things.”

“I suppose she’s heading to the farmers market,” Lily posited, and the others nodded. It offered the best coffee in the square, after all, and settling for anything else - especially for her daddy - was a line Violet wasn’t going to cross. 

“Look at her run,” Daddy remarked, “She’s built up quite a head of steam.”

“She has to,” Rose chimed in, “She’s trying to contain herself from both ends.”

“Trying to keep the enema inside her,” Lily followed, “and trying to keep her reactions to the vibrations hidden at the same time. Can’t be easy.”

“Most certainly not. And even the market seems to be within bluetooth range, so there’ll be no reprieve there,” Grayson added in, before interrupting himself suddenly, “ Oh, how rude of me! I haven’t been sharing the control with you two - so terribly sorry!”

“Oh, oh!” Rose turned her attention to the device, as she and Lily slid over to either side of the man’s shoulders, “I think I know the way to do it.”

With that, the blonde made a motion on the phone similar to a cursive stroke, and the two standing by her oohed and aahed at her form. In the distance, they could see petite Violet squirming with her legs criss-crossed in front of the coffee vendor, her mouth clenched shut by clearly desperate force. 

“Looks like she’s having some fun over there,” Grayson Dawes smiled, pulling a trinket from underneath his blazer, “Lily, would you be a dear and help us observe more properly?”

“Yes, Daddy,” the girl nodded obediently, taking the device - a quaint pair of opera glasses - into her own hands before bringing it up to eye level. 

“Quite a bit of squirming going on,” she reported, “I can see her jumping up and down, face turning red, but she seems to be holding it together whenever she faces anyone. Oooh, and it looks like she just collected the coffee!” 

“Is she putting it into a bag?” Rose squinted, raising a hand to block the afternoon sun. The errand-runner was turned away from the other three as she collected the beverage, so scarcely a fragment of her plastic carrier was immediately visible.

“Good eye!” Lily confirmed, “Oh, that’s really smart.”

“And what’s so smart about it?” Grayson Dawes asked, in that paternal, patronizing tone that all of his ladies so adored. 

“Well, you see,” Lily chirped, with the enthusiasm of a child boasting of a pop quiz answer, “if she was holding a cup in her hand, then it would probably burst if she suddenly squeezed it - if she got a cramp, or had to hold back from moaning. That reminds me - Rose, could you do that thing again?”

“Oh, sure!” the buxom blonde immediately obliged, turning her attention back to Violet’s phone, where she made several smooth, careful strokes.

In the distance, all three could see Violet’s cheeks start to burn crimson as the sensations hit her. Grasping the handle of the plastic bag in her fingers, the small brunette hopped on alternating feet and spun around with eyes closed as she waited desperately for the waves to subside. And then, finally, she regained her momentary composure and lunged for the town green, her aim squarely at the bearded gentleman standing under the tall oak. 

“DoublemochalatteextrasugarjusthowyoulikeitDaddy,” she desperately stammered, managing to hand the bag over an instant before she loudly released the content of her bulb into her diaper, letting out a long, pent-up moan as she did. 

“Well, well,” the man smiled, “it seems we have our winner.

****

That night, as per the rules of their contest, Violet was given the privilege of lying on her back squarely in the middle of the massive king bed in Grayson Dawes’ bedroom chamber. Her chest was bare, her perky breasts pointing directly up at the ceiling as they glistened with a gathering sweat. She was bound, with red ropes about her wrists and ankles that confined her to the burgundy sheets. And her diaper - a fresh change since the afternoon, of course, but one she had already taken the liberty of thoroughly soaking - was being untaped, a signal that the festivities were about to begin. 

On either side of her, her two “sisters,” positioned on all fours and naked except for their drooping diapers, lowered themselves towards the petite brunette. With smooth, thirsty lips, Lily began to suckle on Violet’s left teat, Rose on Violet’s right. All the while, Grayson Dawes was positioned at the foot of the bed, working his tongue in twisting motions between the prostrate girl’s legs. 

Violet bit her lip and squirmed about as much as her restraints allowed, her hands reaching to the sogging bottoms of her playmates’ diapers, where she started to playfully squeeze. Her eyes were closed, consumed by tears of passion and lust. And her panting, whimpering mouth was open, inviting the next phase of the fun to commence. 

As Rose outstretched along Violet’s chest, Lily lifted herself up towards the brunette’s face, locking lips and tongues for a moment before raising herself up further. Soon, her own breasts hung over the champion’s mouth, and Violet suckled softly, teasing the excited nipples as she tasted them. 

Grayson, meanwhile, was also working his body upwards by the foot of the bed. Content with his foreplay, he brought himself onto his knees on the mattress, holding his black-haired lover by the hips as he eased his throbbing member into her, making sure to keep his torso upright so as not to interfere with the other celebrants. 

As the bed began to shake harder and harder from the repeated motions of Violet being thrust towards the headboard, her partners wordlessly exchanged places in perfect synchronicity. Lily worked her way back down towards Violet’s chest, while Rose brought her large bosom upwards, enjoying a luscious kiss with the whimpering girl along the way. Violet, all the while, continued to fiddle with the other girls’ diapers, carefully working her fingers inside to tease their wettening parts. 

As each of the lovers approached crescendo, Lily and Rose would get their chance to embrace their beloved daddy. In turn, he would lean forward to caress each of them, showering kisses upon their lips and necks and whispering patronizing teases into their ears, continuing to thrust into Violet all the while. 

When they were all finished, Lily, Rose and Violet would be changed into fresh diapers and tucked in in a row in the luxurious master bedroom, with their daddy joining at the end. Each one slept soundly and comfortably. 

The next week, they would repeat their game, competing to see which of the girls could most gloriously humiliate herself, and rewarding her accordingly. And the week after that, they would do it again. 

For most outside of Fairvale, their lust and depravity would be far too much to handle. For these four, however, too much never seemed to be enough.

[chloetv7-blog]