It was a calm sunny day so we spent much of it in the back garden where I’d get some sun on my legs. No one overlooked her walled garden so I didn’t feel too self conscious out there. I’d spent many a summer day as a child playing in her garden whilst wearing my girlie clothes, so it was a bit of a blast from the past being out there again clad in feminine clothing. My aunt kept reminding me to pull my skirt high up my lap to maximise my exposure to the late spring sun. The occasional gentle breeze felt nice as it caressed my hairless legs on an otherwise windless day. After a few hours, my aunt made her way indoors as she needed to get on with making our Sunday dinner. As usual I offered to help but she graciously declined. “You make the most of this sunshine dear.” she smiled, glancing up to the clear blue sky, then down on to my milky white legs. I watched my aunt head indoors and once she’d gone, I smoothed my skirt over my lap. It looked better and I felt a lot more comfortable with it how it should be. I looked at my blouse and its lace panels which revealed the straps on my bra and camisole. Unlike my work blouses, this has its buttons down the back and a high lace collar instead of a normal winged collar. It felt very special and very feminine, but it’s not something I’d want anyone to see me wearing. “If I do wear this for work…” I said to myself as I hitched my skirt up just a little, “…it’ll be with one of my own blouses.” I looked at my legs long and hard, trying to work out if the sun had made any difference to their milky whiteness. I couldn’t see any notable difference, but maybe I’m being impatient… I am after all a newcomer to this sun tan malarkey. “At least she’s not got me wearing those frilly blue undies as a bikini.” I said to no one in particular as I sipped my lemonade. Later that evening as my nappy was being fitted, my aunt said that the sun had ‘taken the edge’ off my pale legs, but added that they’re still a long way from being tanned.
On Monday and as predicted, the news of my second hand skirt suit and my frilly flat-bra & matching knickers was all over the office, as was the fact I’d had ‘years of petticoat training’. There was no sign of Sarah who’d no doubt spread the news to my colleagues. Maybe she was keeping her head down or maybe she wasn’t in… I didn’t enquire. As usual, I was given a long tedious task and a short completion time, and as usual, I took my work home on my USB stick. The house was empty when I arrived, which was unusual. I kicked off my shoes and massaged my stockinged feet after the forty minute walk, then made a snack and a cup of tea and got on with my work. Aunt Katinka returned about an hour later. She apologised for being late and told me that Mrs Baxter had called. “I’ve been over there all afternoon sorting George out.” she said. “He’d refused wear his knickers so we’ve put him in a nappy until he learns some obedience.” she proudly added.
“Poor bloke.” I thought as I recalled enduring the very same punishment when I was younger. It’s not so much the nappy but the fact that it doesn’t get changed until you comply. I recall it taking days for the soreness to ebb once I had begged for my knickers, and convinced my aunt that I ‘really’ wanted them.
