The Dangers of Petticoat Punishment

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Synopsis:

This one is dark, very dark. Do not read this expecting lightness, it describes how petticoat punishment can go very, very WRONG. I wrote it to let out a lot of dark feelings, and am posting it here because it is a work of mine, not because I expect feedback. You have been warned.

Story:

It came to a head when I kicked my brother in the stomach. We were always fighting, and I was the smaller one, so I had to be meaner too to survive. Ever since dad left, I guess John and I both got into a lot of trouble. But I always had to prove I was more macho than my brother, because fear was the only thing that kept him from really hurting me. I would hurt him, nothing too serious, but painful and bruising, and it would remind him not to attack me for a while.

John's over six feet tall and pretty muscular too. I'm only five-eight, and kind of wiry. I still remember when he broke my leg a month after Dad left. We had just begun the fighting then, and Mom didn't see it as a serious problem yet, just boys rough-housing. It took two months to heal, and I learned quick that I had to be tough or it would happen again.

Anyway, one day I kicked my brother in the stomach, and he actually threw up. I knew I'd be safe from him for a week or two after that, but Mom didn't understand at all.

"Eric, that's the last straw. I can't take the way you fight with your brother, so I'm going to stop it here and now. You go upstairs right now and change into the clothes I have laid out on your bed, or I'm sending you to military school.

The local military school is even worse than my brother, I've seen the way it changes kids into neo-nazis. One kid actually died there a year back, they said it was from an asthma attack, and the adults believed it because they wanted to, but I knew the truth. The guy who did it bragged about it around the high school and the story spread fast. If you're not macho enough, you get beat with soap wrapped in towels by every boy in your class, or worse. The poor kid that died had a pillow stuffed in his face and sat on. They knew he had asthma.

When I went upstairs, there was a dress on my bed. Pink dress, pink panties, pink bra, and pantyhose. They were kind of pretty, and who knows, in another world maybe I'd have enjoyed wearing them. But this was reality, and I knew they were a sentence to beatings, torture and maybe worse from my brother. And that's if it stayed in the house.

Still, I could take a beating pretty well, and John knows I'm meaner than him, so maybe I could manage until Mom was finished with her punishment. Maybe she'd even realize it would be dangerous for me, and protect me.

They were only clothes, really, so I put them on. It felt kind of nice, and I smiled. Maybe I could get through this.

I went back downstairs and Mom immediately snapped a picture. I knew at that moment I was screwed.

"MOM!!!"

"There, now if you don't want the world to know how you're being punished, you'll go along with it like a good girl. I've done some research, and this petticoat punishment is a widely used and recognized way to transform rough bad-boys into obedient disciplined men. And maybe with you as an example, your brother won't have to go through it too."

Yeah right, like she could ever find these things sized for him, or get them on him. She's about my size, but John would break her in half.

"Mom, you can't do this, they'll kill me!"

"You're exaggerating. Besides, if you be a good girl, no one will ever know but you, me and your brother. It will stay in this house."

"John will kill me then! He's mean, and this will really give him an excuse!"

"Eric, maybe you should have thought of that before you hurt him again. You two are going to stop fighting, or you will both end up in dresses at school."

There would be no convincing her, and she had blackmail material. I was so far in it I'd need a snorkel.

On the way back up the stairs I caught John staring at me. It was unnerving, I had no idea what he was thinking but I knew it couldn't be good for me.

For three days, I came home after school and dressed up pretty like Mom told me to. She had me completely under her control, if those pictures got out I'd never be safe at school. And if she sent me to the military academy after that... I'd be lucky to suffocate under a pillow.

For those first three days, things seemed to go pretty smoothly though. John left me alone mostly, I think he didn't know what to make of it. I kind of got used to the dresses, they were comfortable and soft. I even started helping with housework and being nice to people. It seemed like maybe it was a good idea, and maybe I'd even want to be a girl, it seemed so much calmer than having to be macho and tough all the time.

Then the fourth night, it happened. John came into my room while I was asleep. I woke up to him holding one of my knives to my neck and his big dirty hand on my mouth.

"You like being a girl, don'tcha, Eric? You wanna be all soft and pretty and gay. You're pretty convincing you know. Maybe I should try you out, you know? I bet you'll love being fucked like a sissy girl, won't you? Don't scream for Mom, I don't wanna kill something so pretty."

I stayed perfectly still, I knew he'd do it. It was only a matter of time the way things were going, before one of us killed the other anyway.

John turned me over and used the knife to cut off the nighty Mom got me. He didn't have to, but I think he did it to remind me he had the knife. I lay on my stomach hoping it was a nightmare and I would wake up and could go cry to Mom about it, but I knew it wasn't. The cold metal of my knife and the rough grip my brother had on my arm told me this was the worst kind of nightmare, the kind that's real and happening right now.

"You be quiet little bitch, you're gonna like this anyway."

It hurt. Like fire ripping through me it hurt. I think it hurt him too a little, until I started bleeding and everything got slick. I didn't dare scream in pain, he still had the knife pressed against my back.

It took forever. It hurt and hurt, and the pain kept going for hours, days, weeks, months... And then he was gone. It still hurt.

My knife was stuck in the headboard of my bed, a reminder that he would kill me. I barely noticed it, curled up in a ball, crying silently, hurting. Everything was bloody, blood was all I could see, smell, taste...

I don't think I slept, I don't think I even moved until morning.

Morning came, and Mom called me down for school. I told her I was sick and pulled the blankets up over my head to hide my shame. I didn't want her to see how bloody and dirty I was.

"Erica, you come down for school right now young lady, or you can wear your nighty when you go."

She was standing at my door when I peeked my head out of the blankets. When she saw my face, her expression changed.

"You really are sick, aren't you? Okay, you can stay home, I'll take you to the doctor after work. John already left for school, so you'll have the house to yourself until three."

Good, I didn't want to see anybody. Ever. After Mom left I ran a hot shower and cleaned myself up. I scrubbed me skin raw, but couldn't bring myself to touch my behind, it hurt too much. Hot water burned like fire again, but it helped after a minute, and the dried blood washed away. it kept bleeding, but I sneaked one of Mom's pads to deal with that. I didn't want anyone to know, ever.

I changed my sheets and scrubbed my mattress, it was stained, but clean sheets would hide it. I wore my pink dress, the one from the first day, while I cleaned. I hurt inside and out, and I did feel sick. Every time I thought of what happened I went to the bathroom to throw up, or dry heave after the first few times.

I thought about it almost constantly, too. Every movement aggravated my wound, I couldn't not think about it. I lay down and watched TV for a while, hoping to distract myself, but it didn't help. Every time a girl in a dress showed up on the screen, I was reminded.

The day went slow, but three did eventually come. John came home. I knew he would, and I knew what I had to do. He wasn't going to stop. He knew I was weak, and he would want to remind me. A lot.

I waited by the door with my biggest knife in my hand. It was a big bowie, sharp as a razor, cost me almost a hundred dollars.

When John walked in, all I could see was blood. My blood. He was raping me again, and I was never gonna stop bleeding. When the blood cleared, John had the knife, and was waving it at me.

"You thought you were gonna kill me? You don't have the guts. You really are a girl."

I ran; he grabbed at me but I was faster. I was out the back door and running for my life, I could feel his breath on my neck, his hands holding my arms roughly, the blood...

I ran until I fell; I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, my whole world was pain again. I could feel blood on my legs, grass in my face, but John didn't have me. I was in a field outside town, and John was nowhere near. It was just me, my dress, and the blood.

I was bleeding a lot. I didn't know I could bleed so much. Maybe I would bleed to death, die in that field, and not hurt anymore. I drifted in and out of consciousness, until I couldn't lay there any more. He was coming, I was sure of it, and he would find me.

I climbed to my feet, and limped to the highway just outside town. As I neared the street, I saw a black and white car approaching. Something in my mind said that was safety, but I couldn't figure out why. I limped in front of the car and fell asleep again.

I woke up some time later in a soft, warm bed in a room that bsmelled like antiseptic. Something was beeping slowly nearby, and my arm hurt.

'Great, I'm in a hospital. They have to know now, they know I was a boy in a dress, they know I'd been raped, they probably even know who I am. Maybe Mom and John are coming to get me now!'

I tried to jump out of the bed, but the IV pulled and I couldn't seem to overcome gravity. I did manage to lean to the side and heave for a bit, but the iron grip on my stomach told me I had nothing to throw up.

I looked around the sterile room and tried not to cry. They would come and get me, take me home, and it would never stop. John would rape me again, kill me, and I'd go to hell because dirty people like me don't get in to heaven. And he'd be there in hell too, it would never end.

A policeman walked into the room, and looked at me like he cared. It was weird, why would a cop care about a dirty crossdressing boy? He should hate me.

"Miss, are you okay? Do you remember your name?"

Miss? He thought I was really a girl? At least they wouldn't be coming for me, if they didn't know who I was.

"Miss, I know you have been through a lot, but I'm here to help, really. I won't let anyone hurt you again. The doctor already did the necessary checkup, you slept through the worst part, and you're going to live, though you lost a lot of blood. You are safe now."

"I'm... I'm not a girl you know. My real name is Eric." I don't know why, but I told him. Maybe he would hate me once he knew the truth, I knew I deserved to be hated.

"It's okay. I don't mind, and if you want me to call you Miss, or Mister, or Eric, that's fine. I just want to help you."

I started crying. Why wouldn't he hate me? How could he care for a dirty freak like me? I wanted to be hated, I hated myself.

"Shhh, now, it's okay, cry if it helps. You're safe now. Do you want to tell me what happened? Should I call your parents? You'll have to tell me the rest of your name if you want me to call them."

*sniffle* "No... No, don't call, he'll come and get me again... He'll kill me, he'll..."

I could barely see him through the tears, but the big dark blob got bigger, and a warm hand rested on my shoulder. I think I jumped, because it went away.

"Shhh, don't worry, I won't let him hurt you again. Did your father do this to you?"

"No..." *sniffle* "My... b... brother..." I was shaking so hard the bed was rattling, and a big white blob came in and reached near me, then I went to sleep again. At least I wasn't dreaming, I knew I would have nightmares if I did.

I woke up again and the policeman was sitting in a chair next to me. I think he was sleeping, but when I moved a little to get more comfortable, he got up.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry I upset you, you don't have to talk about it."

"Eric Walters. My mom is Cassandra, my brother is John. Our dad left 2 years ago. This dress was my punishment for fighting with my brother. I... I started to like it before John..."

"It's okay, you don't have to talk about it. But if you want to, I'm here."

"I... I can't stop being scared. He's going to come here and kill me, or... or worse. He has my knife. I can't run far enough, never, and when he kills me I'll go to hell cuz I'm so dirty and bad..."

"He won't get you, Eric... I'll keep you safe. I was so scared when you fell in front of my car, you know. I will protect you, because you don't deserve what happened. No one does. It's not your fault, and I care about you. I have kids of my own you know, and you remind me a lot of Sarah. I will protect you just like I would her, okay?"

I believed him. He made me feel safe, though I still couldn't stop being scared. And I was so bad, I didn't think I deserved his caring.

"Call me Erica, I don't wanna be Eric anymore. Eric was bad. I'm bad, officer. I tried to kill John, I was going to stab him and never stop. Then I was gonna kill myself, once he was dead. I don't deserve to be protected. If he hadn't taken away my knife, I'd be a killer, and dead."

"Erica, it doesn't matter. You're safe now, and you didn't kill anyone. It was wrong to try, but I don't blame you. You've been through a lot. But don't worry, you're safe." He patted me on the head, maybe he does that with his daughter too. I wished he was my dad, instead of the man who left so long ago. I wished I was his daughter, but I wasn't. I was just some trash he picked up on the side of the road, even though he thought I was better than that.

"I wanna sleep. Sleep forever and never dream, cuz the nightmares won't stop if I dream."

He sat by the bed while I drifted some more.

When I woke up again, mom was there, and the policeman too. I saw his badge, it said Lt. Chalkers. John wasn't there.

"Honey, I'm so sorry... I didn't know... I just wanted to stop you from fighting before you killed each other, I never thought... Can you ever forgive me?"

"Mom, it's not your fault. It was working, I was getting better... But I can't get better Mom, even when I was getting better, I wasn't, because I still let him... I didn't fight, Mama, I didn't! I just let him rape me, and that's bad too, worse than fighting. I'm so sorry, Mama..." I was crying again, I wondered if I'd ever stop crying, and Mama was hugging me and crying too.

"I'm so sorry, baby, John's gone, they took him to juvenile detention, he'll never hurt you again. I won't ever make you wear girl clothes again, I'm so sorry..."

"No, Mama, don't make me be Eric, Eric was bad, I don't wanna be bad anymore. I wanna be good, even if I am dirty. I tried to clean up, Mama, but I'm still dirty. I'm so scared..."

I knew I wasn't making sense, but Mama understood. After a few days she took me home, and I never had to be Eric again. Officer Chalkers kept in contact with me, he must really have cared. He was divorced just like Mom, and he came over a lot. Eventually he married Mom, and he became my Daddy just like I hoped. Sarah is a really nice sister, she knows about me, and she told me she went through a lot too. Apparently that's why Daddy became a policeman in the first place.

It's been five years now, John never came back. I don't know what happened to him and I don't wanna know. I still lock the doors all the time, but that's common sense. John doesn't have a key, and he doesn't know where we live now anyway. I think Mom still calls him wherever he is, but she doesn't invite him home.

I've had a lot of therapy, I still feel dirty, but I've been really good. I help out at home, I don't get in fights, and Mama is slowly starting to give in to my requests for hormones. Funny, but if things hadn't gone as bad as they did, maybe I would have transitioned right after Mama started making me dress up. Instead it took me four years of therapy to even realize who I am. It's still hard sometimes, I think it always will be, but I am healing, and taking my transition slowly.

One thing I know, if I make a family of my own, and if I ever have kids, I will NEVER force them to wear clothes they don't want to, or that humiliate them.

Notes:

Leave a comment if you wish. This one hurt coming out, and prolly is not a pleasant read. But don't let that stop you from criticizing, if you have thoughts on the subject.



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well written needed to be told

Some times there needs to be someone that will tell a story like this one..
As hurtful as it seems the truth is there and happens more that gets noticed ...
thank you for telling like it is ... well written ... xoxoxo rone welles

There is nothing that dark

There is nothing that dark about that story. It mostly is predictable. She disarmed the wrong one and the inevitable happened. The real scary outcome possible is murder/suicide. This type of ongoing punishment can twist and contort someone emotional stability. It is cruel and inhumane unless the punishment does not include ridicule, harrasment or inflicted embarrasment. Add to that the fact that womens clothing are NOT magical objects that inevitably turn boys into girls. I don`t know where this mentality comes from but I hope it isn't contageous.

Dangers of petticoating

I didn't actually come back to it. I'm new to these story boards. I gravitated to them through a natural progression from the aif games (particularly the rags games which are mainly geared toward transformations. I realise the stories are old: I still don't see any harm in commenting.

A very realistic depiction of the dangers of petticoating is the story 'surprise'. It is so scary to me because it is so plausible and so tragic. I'm not really trying to run down this story. It is realistic and tragic and very avoidable if the lady just disciplined the right kid.

When I was growing up my dad caught me and my little brother smoking. His discipline was to put me and him in the fireplace (not lit) for an afternoon. That was a punishment that fit the crime; it was creative; it was humiliating but it wasn't overboard. The shortness of the punishment was the relief valve that is necessary to classify it as a punishment rather than an abuse.

Ole Ulfson's picture

Intense! A different perspective than we usually see here...

The majority of petticoat punishment stories feature some mild resistance followed by a lifetime of sunshine and flowers of living as a girl in complete bliss. Yes, I know that's a simplification, and many stories are more realistic, but I think you'll see my point.

As much as I would have been thrilled to wear dresses at that age, I don't know how I'd have reacted had I been forced. And for someone who didn't have the desire, it would have been pure hell. Mom seems pretty stupid and I'm surprised she got custody of Eric after what she caused. She reads as a truly stupid woman! Eric/a will suffer from PTSD all his/her life.

Thanks for 'Random Solos' and thank you, Angie, for a fresh approach,

Ole

We are each exactly as God made us. God does not make mistakes!

Gender rights are the new civil rights!

Interesting.

I always find it interesting that people come back to this story, and that their reactions can be so varied and visceral. It is all fantasy of course, I have not, and know of no one personally who has, been in any situation like this, but it seems like such a recurring theme to so many of these stories I had a wild urge to play with it so long ago. But as I am often wont to do, I took the devil's advocate approach, coming at it from the opposite direction of most writers, and I guess that's why people keep coming back to it.

As I may have mentioned previously, I have no particular hate for the idea, but to me it is all fantasy and probably kink. Ridicule and humiliation have their place in kink, and there is nothing wrong with that. But in this my story in particular, the situation was presented as actual punishment of a child, rather than safe, sane, consensual kink. And you're right, ridicule and humiliation have no place in the raising of a child, and the results can sometimes be very tragic in a number of ways.

It's amazing how much can come of a story like this, written in an hour or two of pure pique and no small amount of angst, and I really appreciate how it has drawn recurring interest over the years. Thank you, all of my readers.

--Angie

Nice reminder

It's nice to have a reminder like this every once in a while. It's very nasty this concept of Petticoat Punishment. Even though it's extreme in this story there is real danger involved both physical and emotional.
About the story though it seems a bit like mom plays favorites, after all John got away with breaking Eric's leg. Later Eric kicks him and Eric gets a severe punishment. A punishment of a type that is almost assured to cause more problems between the overly aggressive brothers. But then hind sight is often 20/20.

----------
Jenna

I probably didn't clarify eno

I probably didn't clarify enough in the story, but the reason the leg breaking didn't get as much attention as the kick, is that the broken leg happened before the foighting became a serious problem, the mother saw it as boys roughousing. But it was the beginning of the fighting, most of which happened under the parental radar. She saw things getting worse, and the kick was the last straw, where something had to be done.

This one really tore me up coming out, I recently started ADD medications and can think a little more clearly, unfortunately there's a lot of stuff I don't WANT to think clearely about, and it comes out in this kind of stuff. Hopefully this isn't the start of a new trend in my writing.

um

no rape counseling? and the psych says hormones are ok, not because of TG, but because of mental trauma? a bit weak.

it would have improved the story, IMHO, if you had worked more on the end - the new dad/sister, the mom/cop romance, the victim dealing with the trauma - these could have been stories of chapter length by themselves, and would have deluted the rape story.

Darkness

It is a dark story, but I think it effectively makes the point you were trying to get across.

Does the ending mean that if Erica has any daughters they'll have to dress like boys?

The ending

I admit, I rushed the ending here, and did not make it particularly believable. I was mostly emotionally spent by the time I wrote that, and my soudse wanted the computer. *lol* Maybe I'll clean it up and repost it later.

And as for having daughters, she specified she wouldn't FORCE them to wear girls' clothes. I don't imangine she would force a girl to wear boys' clothes either.

Edit: A few minutes after posting this, I did a little minor cleanup.

Angel's picture

This misses the mark...

Petticoat Punishment by itself is not the problem. No, the problem is how it is done and in what means it is accomplished.

The authority figure almost 99% of the time is the mom or a female relative, like a grandmother, mother's sister, teacher or principle (headmaster/mistress)

You cannot generalize and condemn something like this; especially if you really don't understand the subject you are condemning!

The importance of any part of any type of punishment or discipline is: the reason for the punishment. What did the person do to be punished in this way? Sorry, but this story misses that mark as well.

You should have used a sister and the boy humiliating her in some way. That was the justification my Aunt used on my cousin.

Would you beat a child with a belt 100 times for being 1 minute late getting home? No! That is overkill in the extreme as was your story.

Is the punishment done out of love and concern for the boy being punished? Or is done out of hate and/or a non-caring attitude of the consequences? The punishment should fit the transgressions.

This mother is a wacko! The whole story is unbalanced! One gets punished when it takes two to fight! She never asked what the fighting was about; who started it or any of the concerns a mother usually shows toward her children.

No, I am sorry, but this story should have been talked about and debated with a friend or another author before being posted.

It fails to conclude the author’s original intent other than showing that the author does not understand the topic she/he chose to condemn.

With some work and a rewrite; one done without the interference of hidden emotions and reasoning’s. If you want to make your point, use a much better example.

Petticoat Discipline or Punishment is not the real problem! It is how it is done and why. As with any form of punishment, unjust and hateful use of any punishment toward anyone is WRONG.

Huggles
Angel

You want a nightmare? Read "Where No Boy Has Gone Before!"

Be yourself, so easy to say, so hard to live.

"Be Your-Self, So Easy to Say, So Hard to Live!"

5 years later

I guess no one likes to see an idea they used to be used in an unfriendly way.

To address your concerns, thi

To address your concerns, this story was NOT written as an attack on the concept of Petticoat Punishment. In fact, I happen to think it should be used more often IRL on unruly boys. ^.^

I wrote this because I needed and avenue in which to work some other things out, and also, I read a story about petticoat punishment, where the mother used it in an irresponsible way, not paying enough attention to the mental well-being of her child, and this just sort of bubbled out of me.

I used a brother intstead of a sister, because in the other story, the brother was derisive and abusive, and allowed to get away with it, in fact the child being punished had to apologize for getting angrily defensive! Also, the brother character was necessary to work out my own stuff.

As for the reason for the punishment, it was not based on the single incident of kicking his brother, but on a growing trend of potentially dangerous sibling abuse, that the mother intended to curtail before another bone got broken, after the physical violence became an established pattern of abuse between the brothers.

I am not condemning petticoat punishment in any way, just making it clear that when used, the adult needs to take care for the emotional and physical well being of the person being punished. As a note, I am working on cleaning this up a bit, but the story plot will remain mostly as is. Thanks for reading, and I hope this helps you understand a bit better where this story is coming from!

Angie kitn

real danger

I hate to disagree with you Erica, but Petticoat Punishment is dangerous. It's used specifically to degrade the self-esteem of a person, and that is the definition of emotional abuse. And I'd just like to say that as a teacher, if I ever had a student come into my classroom in petticoats not only would I clearly defy the parents and send the kid to the office to be changed, but I would call Child Protective Services and have the parents or whomever was responsible locked up. She used this to humiliate you, and that was completely and utterly wrong. Infact I think it would've made a better story if your police buddy had just cuffed her ass at the hospital, and dragged her out kicking and screaming. I'm sorry for all you had to endure, no child should have to. Neither the rape or the "punishment" was acceptable, and I'm glad that you've realized how much damage was done, and that your dedicated to never humiliate your kids. I hope this cycle of abuse has stopped before it had time to snowball, your a good man Eric, and your not dirty, the people who hurt you were, and there's a special place in hell for them.
~David

Yes, a dark story,

but I wouldn't change it too much. Maybe spelling and tenses, but that would be it. when something from the soul makes it this far, it should have a chance to grow; like a seed, it should be allowed to burst forth and grow to its full potential and this story has done that. The ideas and emotions that stories produce are put there by the seed of that story. I know others (if not all) will disagree with me, but when a piece of work comes from the very soul, it was meant to be. This was a very good story and had a lesson to teach. There are lessons to be learned all through life, and one of those is that nothing fits everybody. As I have learned, the smart ones think they know everything, while the wise ones know they know nothing.
Diana

I agree partly,

because the story isn't bad in itself. It's a bit short to convey the whole emotional issue over it and the ending is rather rushed too. I'm confident that a good rewrite could be done in a longer way and a clearer way (emotionally) conveying the subject and story in a better more understandable view. Otherwise I find it quite good.

Sara~

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