Dresses, skirts andblouses, hose, beautiful shiny leather shoes and heeled sandals withstraps across there feet with painted toe and finger nails. It seemed theycould pick any fantastic color of the rainbow. It all looked so pretty tome, yet was forbidden. Being a boy these items were not for me. Dad was inthe military, all I ever saw was drab green on him and, of course, on meas well, being Daddy's little soldier. Oh how I wished so bad I could be agirl.Then one day I noticed something my sister was wearing under her blouse,something I never really noticed on the other girls before, it was abeautiful looking chest protector! I could see that It wrapped around herchest and looked to have straps that went over the shoulders. Something abaseball catcher might wear, I thought, but it was different. I couldn'thelp myself, being the inquisitive child I was, I pointed at her chest andasked her what it was that she had on? "it's called a brassiere" she saidwith a certain smugness in her. My breath came in sharp little gasps of delight when I felt you near. Already my nipples were darkened berries cresting my chest, the fine nest of curls between my thighs dampened. I cultivated it as expressly ordered by you when we started.We had been at this game for some months now, having reached a point when you saw in me the need and necessity of taking control. Some nights you had me strut beside you on our way to a restaurant in a skirt too short for my voluptuous thighs, exposing the rounded mocha tan bottom of my cheeks. I would blush the entire time knowing that had I not done it as you asked the next time would be equally if not more embarrassing. Often we sat late at night with my hair splayed across your lap as we watched a movie, your voice coming across almost teasingly "Why do you worry about what people think? I love you as you are and so should you." I always brushed the question off with light humor.This was one of those nights when my disobedience earlier earned.
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