Francis to Frances
Introduction:
Aunt May thinks I’m a girl so I had to humour her
Dad always referred to them as Aunt Matilda and Aunt May but actually Matilda is my dad’s aunt and May is just her special friend, and they are at least fifty years old and dedicated to each other and dedicated to their local church and it’s pastor Pastor Taylour.
Dad made all the arrangements and the first time I really met them as a grown up was when I rolled up on their doorstep off the Greyhound bus one late summer afternoon with all my worldly goods in a couple of suitcases. I knocked the door.
The door opened they both stood there like a a pair of left overs from the nineteen thirties, matching short bobbed dark hair and matching green knee length skirts and knitted cardigans. They looked me over, looked at each other and said “Go away!” and slammed the door.
“But Aunt Matilda, Aunt May, you said I could stay.” I protested.
“Frances, are you Frances?” Aunt Matilda asked as they opened the door a crack.
“Sure, can I come in?” I asked.
“No, I’m sorry but, well,” Matilda said apologetically, “Frances, we thought you were a girl.”
“We cannot possibly have a young man to stay,” May explained, “We are two unmarried ladies, the neighbours would surely talk!” she added.
“Hell you promised,” I reminded them, “And I’m Francis with an i, I saw you at cousin Ivor’s funeral, you must must have known?”
“We did promise,” May reminded Matilda.
“Yes sister we did promise, but I thought you were a girl.” Matilda reminded her,”Frances is a girls name.”
“Look, I won’t be no trouble,” I said.
“I wont be any trouble,” Martha corrected me, “Are you sure, do you promise?” she asked.
“Sure, anything you want done just say the word,” I said, “I’m kinda desperate.”
“Anything?” Martha asked.
“Anything,” I agreed.
“Anything,” May agreed, “Just a moment,” she said and closed the door.
They spoke for few moments and then Martha opened the door again, “We’ll let you stay tonight and then we’ll see,” she said, “You will obey the house rules wont you?”
“Sure,” I agreed.
“And do as we say, no arguing, or you’re straight out on the street.” Martha insisted.
“Sure, look I’ll be real grateful,” I explained.
“You’ll have to sleep in the parlour,” May said.
“Why? don’t you have a spare bedroom?” I asked.
“Yes but boys are not allowed upstairs,” Martha said, “House rule.”
“Look, its no sweat,” I agreed.
“Pastor Taylour is very insistent, very insistent,”May explained, “No boys upstairs before marriage.”
“And Mrs Baxter doesn’t miss a thing, she is his eyes and ears you know, and she lives just across the way,” Martha added.
“It’s cool.” I agreed.
“Good, I’ll get some tea!” May agreed, “You do like tea?”
“I guess,” I agreed.
“We will get the bed down,” Martha suggested.
“But Mrs Baxter will see you Martha,” May cautioned.
“Oh dear,” Martha exclaimed, “How shall we manage?”
“Draw the drapes?” I suggested.
“Oh,” Martha exclaimed, “I don’t think so, I wouldn’t feel safe upstairs with a man.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I suggested.
“Are you sure?” Martha asked.
“Sure!” I agreed, “I can sleep anywhere!”
“He could sleep on the couch,” May said, “He’s not very tall.”
“Ok, I’m a late developer,” I said, I mean I’m only five seven and one thirty five pounds and I’m kind of sensitive about it.
“Quite delicate,” Martha agreed, “Do you shave?”
“Sure, most weeks,” I agreed, again my light hair colour meant even if I tried to grow a beard you couldn’t hardly see it.
“You have the look of cousin Esmee about you,” May agreed, “Willowy and flat chested, poor girl, I see we are going to have to feed you up.”
“I guess,” I said.
“May, he’s a boy,” Martha hissed.
“I meant Esmee poor girl,” May said, “Not Frances.”
“Oh, I thought,” Martha said in a whisper, “With some lipstick.”
“And rouge,” May agreed.
“With that long straggly girly hair,” Martha agreed, “Styled nicely.”
“If he wore shorts maybe?” May suggested.
“Woah!” I protested.
“It would be much easier,” Martha suggested.
“It’s a lovely soft bed,” May agreed.
“You want me to dress like a girl?” I asked.
“Um, yes, would you mind terribly?” Martha asked.
“Only shorts when you’re not wearing jeans,” May said, “Just a touch of lipstick.”
“It would be so much easier,” Martha agreed.
“No way!” I protested.
“But you said you would do anything!” Martha reminded me.
“I meant chores!” I explained.
“Well think of this as a chore,” May chuckled, “I’ll get my powder compact.”
I looked at Martha, “You’re not serious surely?” I asked.
“My sister is very religious,” Martha said, “She idolises Pastor Taylour, it’s best to humour her.”
“Ok,” I agreed, “I wouldn’t want to make it awkward for her,” I sighed, “But you can’t expect me to be a girl.”
“Oh don’t be silly,” Martha said, “What ever must you think of us, no it’s just for Pastor Taylour and Mrs Baxter from across the street.”
“Ok,” I agreed.
May brought her make up box and set it on the table, “Just a touch of the medium red,” she suggested, “Sit down.”
The lipstick felt most off on my lips, and then she started to comb my hair finally she slid a couple of hair grips in and Martha picked up the mirror, “See,” she said.
I gulped, a girl looked back at me.
“We’ll have your ears pierced on Monday but until then you can wear these clip on ear rings.” May suggested and she slipped a pearl ear ring on my left ear lobe and tightened the tiny screws.
“Hey!” I protested as she handed me the other ear ring,
“Lots of boys have their ears pierced,” Martha explained, “But we haven’t had our tea yet!”
“Come Martha, let Frances get settled in, upstairs on the left Frances,” May said and they bustled away.
I took my cases up the stairs, the room on the left was neat, a simple bed with dressing table with mirrors and everything and a wardrobe and drawer unit.
There was a knock on the door downstairs, “Why Mrs Baxter!” May exclaimed sarcastically.
“You got a man in there?” Mrs Baxter demanded gruffly.
“Why no!” May replied, “No, it’s my nephew’s girl Frances, a bit of a tomboy I’m afraid.”
“Well looked mightily like a boy to me,” Mrs Baxter replied, “You going to introduce me?”
“No, I’m afraid she is resting after the long journey,” May apologised, “Tomorrow maybe?”
“Sure, Church tomorrow,” Mrs Baxter agreed, “Good day!”
“That old witch doesn’t miss a thing!” May stormed to Martha.
“Not a thing,” Martha agreed.
“She’ll tell Pastor Taylour,” May insisted.
“Tell him what, that we have our niece staying?” Martha insisted.
“Oh yes!” May chuckled, “With the right shoes.”
“Smart trouser suit?” Martha suggested.
“Or a nice skirt?” May countered, “If she shaves her legs and.”
“They might be ugly manly legs,” Martha suggested.
“Or not,” May agreed, “Frances,” she shouted, “Can you put your shorts on please?”
I didn’t answer, I had white shorts for my sports kit so I changed from my jeans to shorts and set about putting my clothes away.
“Tea!” Martha announced so I went downstairs, they had laid out a high tea of sandwiches and a pot of tea with buttered scones with raspberry jam, my heart sank.
“Oh she has very pretty knees Martha!” May insisted.
“And so smooth!” Martha added.
“Ok, so I can pass for a girl,” I said, “Big deal!”
“It is a big deal to us,” May insisted, “We have a standing in this community, in our church and don’t you belittle us!”
“Look, I’m sorry, I’m very grateful ok?” I agreed, “I’ll work something out,” I said as I sat down to eat.
“Good, eat up!” May insisted.
The tiny sandwiches and scones wouldn’t have kept a fly alive, I was hungrier after I ate than I was before.
I went upstairs after for a lie down, May came up a while later, “You ought to come to church tomorrow,” she said.
“Sure, ok, I always go church,” I agreed.
She paused a moment and added, “Pastor Taylour doesn’t approve of shorts or jeans, he thinks girls should wear skirts.”
“Oh no, no way!” I protested, “That is a step too far!”
“But it’s no different to wearing shorts,” May insisted, “Don’t you see?”
“No!” I replied.
“Look, I’ve an old Tennis skirt, see,” May explained as she produced a starched white skirt, “Just slip it over your shorts and see,” she said as she handed the skirt to me.
“Hell,” I said and I stood up and pulled the skirt around me, “Happy!” I asked, it was just like wearing shorts, no big deal.
“Yes,” she said, “So if we pad your bra a bit?”
“No!” I protested, “I am not, repeat not wearing a brassiere!”
“What’s all this ‘No’ business? Martha asked as she came upstairs.
“She wants me to wear a padded brassiere!” I explained.
“Oh, well,” Martha exclaimed, “That does sound like a good idea! you are rather flat chested.”
“No!” I said, “No way.”
“But it will give the game away,” May explained, “And you know Pastor Taylour says it is a sin to for a woman and a boy to stay in the same house when they aren’t married or brother and sister.”
“Exactly!” Martha agreed and she walked to the drawer unit and pulled out black brassiere and some tissue paper, “Just try it, ok?” she asked.
“Read my lips,” I replied.
“Don’t be churlish,” May admonished, “Just try it, please.”
“It would be a shame,” she said, “If Pastor Taylour found out you are a boy and we had to send you home.”
I swallowed, my whole future was at stake here, “Ok,” I agreed, “I’ll try it!”
I peeled my tee shirt off and let Martha put the brassiere round my non existent breasts and adjust the straps, and then she filled the cups with tissue paper and let me put my tee shirt back on, “See,” she said, “No one will know!”
It felt as odd as hell wearing a brassiere, all scratchy and unnatural but I had to admit when i looked in the mirror that even I wouldn’t have realised I wasn’t a girl.
“That’s perfect!” Martha agreed, “Pastor Taylour will never know!”
I had the chance to test the theory next morning as I went to the ten o’clock service at the church, no one took any notice of me right till the end when Martha and May made sure we were almost last in line to shake his hand as we left.
“And who’s this delectable lass?” Pastor Taylour asked as Mrs Baxter hovered nearby.
“Frances, Pastor,” Martha explained, “Our nephew’s child.”
“And a very special child if I’m not mistaken,” the Pastor declared, “Though a wayward one and I’ll be asking you to wear something more womanly if you wouldn’t mind child, a Tee shirt, you’ll be wearing jeans next.”
“Frances is a special girl,” Martha explained, “Special.”
“A special girl is she,” he agreed, “And has she been baptised.”
“No Pastor!” Martha admitted.
“Then let us not waste time on idle chit chat,” he ordered and added “To the crypt ladies.”
A heavy door in an ornately carved stone arch led to a spiral staircase leading downwards and I followed the Pastor down into the windowless room nearly the whole length of the church.
Pale white neon lights flickered and struggled to illuminate the scene but I saw altar erected at the midway point beyond which appeared to be junk stored.
“So you’re a special girl, well well, I’d never of thought it,” the Pastor chuckled.
“Not really special,” I said, “Ordinary.”
“Ah don’t be modest,” he said.
“She wears mans pants,” Martha said.
“And Tee shirts,” May added, “Like a boy!”
“Do you Frances, really, do you?” the Pastor asked, I couldn’t answer, “I’ll see for myself,” he said and he lifted my skirt.
“Ah silly girl,” he said and he tugged my shorts and underpants down, “Isn’t that better,” he asked as my cock sprung free..
My cock twitched, stirred, “Ok,” I admitted, “I’m a guy in drag, ok?”
“You’re among friends,” the Pastor said, “It’s not everyone that is so understanding you see Frances, but we understand.”
“No you don’t,” I challenged.
“Don’t fret Frances, your secret is safe here,” Mrs Baxter explained, “You’re a special girl, with something extra.”
“For gods sake!” I protested,
“Step out of those ridiculous boxer shorts,” the Pastor ordered, “And bend over.”
“Look no!” I said firmly.
“But Frances, you can’t stay with us if you dress like a man can you?” May said, “It wouldn’t be right!”
“Mrs Baxter, please,” the Pastor said authoritatively and he pointed to a large pair of scissors or shears on the Altar.
“No, oh god no!” I wailed and I fainted.
I came round moments later, my shorts were off me and my underpants, and ruined with the crotch cut through.
“Are you all right Frances?” The Pastor asked.
“I thought,” I said, “Cut, you know?”
“Silly girl now just bend over,” he said an he helped me up and pushed me against the altar, lifting my skirt to show my buttocks, I thought he might whip me but instead there was a rustle and he had lifted his robe high and hooked it to the chain around his neck revealing his rampant penis as he wore nothing beneath it.
“No!” I said but May had my left arm and Martha the right and Mrs Baxter covered a finger with slippery lube and forced it up my ass hole, “Noooo!” I wailed but she stood aside and a red hot poker of a penis worked it’s way agonisingly up my ass.
“Please!” I wailed as Mrs Baxter cupped my balls, and as the sensations whirled around my brain she began to move my ball sac in time to the Pastors thrusts until sooner rather than later I started to cum, to cum into her hand and then as she grasped it, into a silver communion cup.
“You poor poor girl, you needed that relief worse than badly did you not?” Mrs Baxter asked and then the Pastor shot a load of slime up my ass hole.
He pulled out, the relief was intense, intoxicating, like when you go after being constipated for a week, I flopped onto the Altar.
“I baptise thee in the name of our sovereign lady the lady Mary of Arimithea,” the Pastor said, and he dipped a finger in my own cum and made the sign of the cross.
“You’ll do just grand as a special girl Frances,” he said, “We have just the thing here, Clara, ah Mrs Baxter,” he ordered.
She took a candle, a tapered spiral ribbed candle, a red candle around eight inches long and a couple inches round and shoved it hard up my ass hole, I screamed.
“Good girl,” Mrs Baxter said, “Now here you are, special girl panties.”
She found them behind the Altar, latex rubber with a hole for my cock but five little straps to hold him erect and tight against my belly.
“Pull them on Frances, practical do you see,” the pastor said, “Wash and dry in no time at all,”
“Look,!” I protested, “I’m not gay!”
“To be sure you aren’t,” he replied, “You’re a normal healthy girl.”
“She’s very flat chested,” May observed.
“Ah,” the Pastor agreed, “I’ll give Dr Letterman a call.”
“Auntie, I don’t like it!” I protested, but the Pastor had phoned his friend and we were to go across town to his clinic.
I was relieved, at least I could explain my situation, or so I thought.
Mrs Baxter drove us in her Ford wagon, the journey was torture with eight inches of candle up my ass driving me wild and my cock rock hard as every jolt made me gasp.
Dr Letterman greeted me, “You’re Frances, you’re the special girl?” he asked.
“No, I’m a regular guy,” I explained.
“Luther, what did I tell you?” Letterman asked, “Do you still get erections?” he asked.
“I have one now, I’ve eight inches of candle up my ass,” I explained, “I’m a guy, they just tricked me,” I insisted.
“I think you may have a split personality from what the Pastor told me,” Letterman said, “come through to the back office a moment.”
Stupidly I followed, “Sit down,” he said pointing to a chair, “Have you had a HiV test recently?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “I mean yes!”
“I’ll do a blood test just in case,” he said and he fetched his bag with syringes and needles, “Roll up your sleeve,” he said, “Just a slight prick, look away.” he said and there was a slight nprick and everything went dark.
“What do you think?” Dr Letterman asked several hours later.
My chest felt tight, the falsies heavy, “Ugh?” I said.
“It will feel funny,” he said, “They are only a B cup, we can change them later but they do suit you,”
“Wha?” I asked groggily, “Different falsies?”
I groggily felt my chest, taut skin swelled up as I moved my hands upwards from the waist, swelled into mounds as I lifted higher and I snapped wide awake, “Oh my god, you’ve given me breasts!”
“Of course dear,” he agreed, “Do you like.”
“Sure he does doctor,” Pastor Taylour insisted, “Now come away girl stop bothering the doctor.”
“No!” I wailed, but it was no good, small squidgy implants were firmly embedded beneath the taut skin of my chest forming petite girlish breasts.
“We can always change them for something bigger later,” the doctor suggested, “But your skin will need a few weeks to adapt so be careful, and make sure you wear a sports bra, something to give some real support, not something skimpy or sexy.”
“You can damned well take them out again!” I said.
“Don’t be so ungrateful Frances,” Martha chided, “Dr Letterman understands special girls and their needs.”
“I’ll see you every Sunday after Church, Frances, for a check up.” he suggested, but for now lets get rid of that candle shall we?” he asked, “Bend over.”
The relief at losing the eight inches of wax up my ass was intoxicating but before I could enjoy the emptiness the Doctor rammed the full length of his bare cock up my bruised ass, I protested, but he must have lubed himself thoroughly or else he was leaking pre cum as he pistoned easily in and out of my ass for several minutes before he pulled out and shot his load all down my left leg.
“Here you go,” He said as he recovered and he shoved a six inch butt plug up my sore backside, “And your latex pants to hold it in, the ladies will give you an enema when required.” he said and he tightened the five little straps around my cock which strained against them, “Until next week.” he said.
Mrs Baxter drove us home, “Now ladies, you do know how to treat a special girl do you not?” she asked.
“Uh, no not really,” Martha said awkwardly, “Do you May?”
May shook her head, “In that case,” Mrs Baxter said, “I’ll show you.”
She was as good as her word, I walked uneasily into Aunt’s Martha and May’s home and Mrs Baxter followed.
“Keep her well milked,” Mrs Baxter said, “Do you need milking Frances?”
I didn’t answer for my cock was obviously straining at my skirt,”Don’t be shy, we’re all girls together,” she said, “Now you can use your fingers but I think a body rub is best,” she said as she unstrapped my penis, “Do you want to Frances?” she asked.
“What?” I asked.
“Body rub, rub against me as you young girls love to do,” Miss Baxter, “Otherwise you will be like a bitch on heat and disgracing yourself with the boys.”
“Mildred?” May asked, “What do you mean?”
“The poor child is obviously starved of affection,” Mrs Baxter insisted, “So we need to show her that she can have affection without some great brute pushing his manhood up inside her.”
“What girl on girl love,” Martha asked.
“Why yes, I’ll show you,” Mrs Baxter said, “You see a special girl needs special love,” Mrs Baxter said, her tired old eyes filled with lust, “So every now ad again you must milk her,” she said and she pulled down her voluminous knickers, “Properly, and she sat down on the living room floor and with a firm grip on my penis pulled me towards her.
Her hairy snatch repelled me but she pulled me and the butt plug was keeping me hard and when the tip of my cock touched her velvet cunt lips my instincts kicked in and I started to hump her.
“Mildred!” Martha gasped
She was old enough to be my gran, I didn’t fancy her at all and yet with her cunt wrapped around my cock and milking me I was nearly in heaven, “Just let her cuddle you,” Mrs Baxter said and then she was lost in me fucking her and nothing else mattered.
It seemed an age before I shot a stream of silver spunk deep into her aged cunt and she gasped as she too climaxed, “That’s how to treat a special girl,” she said triumphantly, as she stood shakily and went to sit on he couch, “Keep her drained and she’ll be no trouble at all.”
My mind reeled, I sat on the couch and the butt plug threatened to rip me in half.
“You do look pretty Frances, doesn’t she Martha,” May said admiringly.
“I would offer you a small sherry but it really is bed time,” Martha suggested, and almost threw Mrs Baxter out of the house, before she returned to see me and said, “I think we should sort your clothes out Frances, obviously you can’t wear boy clothes any longer.”
“No,” I agreed, sadly.
“We have some things you can borrow,” May suggested, “In our bedroom.”
I followed them upstairs, the butt plug was still in my ass and I went in their bedroom and sat on the bed my cock reared..
“Look, it needs draining,” Martha said pointing to my cock.
“Yes,” May agreed, “Shall I get a chamber pot.”
“No that’s unhygieneic, “Martha said, “I think Mildred’s way was cleaner.”
“Yes!” May agreed, “You relieve Frances and I’ll make a nice pot of tea!”
To be continued
