Nelle

by Sarah Deschand

 

Things really did get better after the procedure. It was as if I’d been given a new opportunity to live, and I took to it with gusto. Even though I still had to wear the little shorts outfits, as promised, they fit and felt just a little better without all that in the way. Even though Nelle required me to keep wearing the underwear, I wore the bodyshaper because I was fat, and wanted to slim down, and I wore the pantyhose because I wanted my legs to look good.

And I was now really Linda.

It turned out that my decision was quite timely indeed. Nelle was just finishing up a deal which would give her enough money and flexibility to pursue her dream of starting her own company, not in real-estate, but in interior design. Madison and the glass ceiling be damned! Nelle was going out on her own. Of course, she’d need an assistant who could be had for cheap. Someone with smarts and energy, but who’d do exactly as she wished. I would be that ideal assistant.

We worked incredibly hard to get the business going, and as the business grew, Nelle and I grew closer together, too. Where before I’d felt fascination for her, I now felt love. Admiration turned to compassion and support, and lust and envy turned to empathy. Nelle’s desire to control began to yield as she became more reliant on my support, and sarcasm turned to sincerity.

It was during this interval that I really began to think of myself as a woman, and adopted the traits that I’d once associated with females – more socially cooperative, less domineering, more willing to listen, supportive, helpful. And it really was to Nelle’s advantage, since that was what Nelle needed to make the business work.

But once we were established, Nelle’s hard charging personality took over, and I found myself more and more in the background, as she hired other people and expanded the business. I was passed over again and again, and remained merely an assistant. Stubbornly, Nelle refused to end the punishment of the shorts outfits, and I began to feel as much a misfit as ever.

I was wearing my pink and white check suit, which had a rounded, peter-pan like collar, and feeling particularly foolish one day, when I noticed that a new photograph appeared on Nelle’s desk, next to her computer. It was a photograph of us, when I was still male. That’s when it hit me hardest – to see the confidence and vigor of that young man, flush with the excitement of a magnetic sexual attraction, and Nelle, too, looking sly and practical as usual, but with a broad, uncomplicated smile. Would we ever feel that way again?

Unfortunately, in my completely neutered state, feminized and controlled, I knew the answer too well.

But even though the office was awful, our home life was better. It was as if we were sisters. For all the distance Nelle put between herself and me at work, she was all warmth at home. I was no longer the only one who took care of the house and did the chores. Besides, I had taken up sewing as a hobby, and spent my evenings sewing new suits, under Nelle’s careful eye. But in general, we helped one another, and through the help, our love grew. Our relationship was odd and unconventional to outside observers, but perfect and right in so many ways when observed inwardly.

Right in many ways, but not all right. I felt that even though Nelle enjoyed reserving all action for herself, I had to try something. After all, hadn’t my name come about due to a simple act of self-assertion?

I had been sewing for several months, and had begun to acquire a degree of skill with it. Nelle had an early evening appointment, which could go late, and sent me home early, with the understanding that I would complete sewing a new suit for myself. The design was a variation on a nautical theme, with a large, sailor collar and a satin bow. I was using a teal and blue paisley fabric. Anyway, I decided that instead of a shorts outfit, I would modify the pattern to make a dress. This would be an assertive step into femininity, and one which would surely make Nelle take notice.

Nelle returned at 9:00. After a warm, sisterly hug, she released me from my suit, and I gratefully went to relieve myself. I knew that as I took care of my business, Nelle would be checking my handiwork.

"Well, Linda, this is certainly very interesting, but it is not what I asked you to make," she said, with a brief hesitation.

"I thought I’d try something a little different." I smiled generously and openly as I said this, hoping to catch Nelle’s favor, but I think I only succeeded in reminding her that this dress had been my initiative, not hers.

"Well, you can hang it in your closet, if you like, dear, but you’ll continue to wear only your shorts outfits." It was the businesslike Nelle speaking, and I knew that I had not convinced her. The rest of the evening was strangely chilly, but I felt a glimmer of hope, since I had evidently had some affect on her.

But the next several weeks passed without incident, although I hunted in vain for a clue. I returned to sewing my outfits to Nelle’s specifications, and wore the shorts outfits daily.

Then one day, it happened without warning.

 

I awoke one morning to the sound of Nelle’s voice, not the usual alarm clock. "Come on, lace collar girl! Up and at ‘em! Are you ready for a new day? I hope you are, because I sure am. I can’t wait to see you in your new dress!"

My new dress! Finally, after all this time, I was to be allowed to wear dresses. And after those humiliating matchy one piece shorts outfits, this was a promise of normalcy! I eagerly got up out of bed, and cheerfully went through the morning routine. When I stepped out of the shower and into the bedroom, Nelle was waiting there for me. On the bed, in addition to the usual panties, tights, and bodyshaper was a full white slip. I felt like crying for joy – "no shorts today!" I put on the underwear, saying to Nelle - "I just can’t wait to put on the dress." Nelle smiled. "You’ll have plenty of time to get used to wearing it," she said, which made it even better. "Plenty of time." Nelle pointed to a garment bag, hanging on the back of the door. "Open it," she said.

I unzipped the bag, which gave a whiff of perfume, and saw a teal colored fabric with a vivid, large floral print – this was going to be good. I peeled the bag off of the dress and beheld the whole garment. It was a long and full skirted dress, gathered at the waist, and with two long ties, which could be pulled into a bow in the back, much like some of my vested shorts outfits. It had puffed sleeves with pearl buttons and some lace trim on the cuffs. The dress zipped up the back, and all around the neck was a huge, round, battenburg lace bib collar. It was a very feminine and somewhat juvenile dress, but I was glad to wear it. I put it on over my head, and Nelle zipped me up into it, and tied the big bow in the back. Like usual, she threaded the small gold loop from my necklace through the zipper, and locked it shut. She walked me over to the mirror and said "Like what you see?" I could only stare, mesmerized.

Where my usual shorts outfits displayed my every curve and bulge, my breasts, my round tummy and wide bottom, the dress was quite modest. The top bloused out hiding my breasts, and everything down below was hidden by the wide skirt. But the collar, the puffed sleeves, the bow at the back, all of these feminine touches bespoke something else – that I was being dressed up, not necessarily for work, definitely not for sex, but for display. Nelle was putting me on display in a completely different way than before, and I knew that there would be some exquisite moments of humiliation and embarrassment in my new outfit, just as there had been in the old ones.

**

Nelle drove us home after work. It had been a dificult day, since most of our clients were accustomed to clean, modern looking women, and I was dressed like a Sunday school teacher, in my new teal floral print dress with a fancy, white lace collar, white tights and sensible pumps. I managed to stay in the background, doing the books, taking calls, making appointments, and keeping track of Nelle’s samples, but there were moments when I had to face someone – a messenger, the postman, a couple of clients who had meetings. When these people came to the office, I wanted to scream: "No! This is not me! I’m talented and intelligent! I’m not really such a sissy!" But of course, I couldn’t. I could only nod and smile, and take coffee orders, retrieve samples, and be generally pleasant. Still, I’m sure that those people left shaking their heads.

Nelle could sense the burden I felt, and we mercifully returned home, without stopping to do some shopping, or go out for dinner. I went to the kitchen, put on my apron, and made a quick dinner – baked chicken with rice and salad. Who wants to suffer through a gourmet meal after a nearly traumatic work day? Nelle seemed sympathetic, and hung out with me in the kitchen, sipping wine while I worked.

"I thought Parker’s eyes were going to pop out of his head when he caught a look at you, lace collar girl," Nelle began, "Every time you brought in samples, he looked up at you – did you see him?"

"Yeah, I saw him." The fact that Parker would find a woman in her fussiest Sunday dress attractive spoke more to his freakiness than to my attractiveness, I thought. And a rather large, bony, woman with big hands and feet, a heavy brow, and a questionable complexion.

"You don’t seem too thrilled at the attention, do you?"

I didn’t answer. My feelings were complicated. On the one hand, I loved the way the dress felt, and the way that I felt wearing it – kind of a mix of embarassment and self-consciousness – but not the bad kind. It just put me into a kind of submissive head space. But on the other hand, I wasn’t too thrilled at the attention it drew. The dress was really not something I felt comfortable about wearing in public, especially with the tights.

"What’s the matter? Don’t you like your new dress? I thought you’d be excited to get out of shorts. If you can’t talk about it, I think we might actually be having a problem." Nelle said. She really had a way of getting straight to the heart of the matter.

I put the chicken in the oven, straightened up, and came clean. "Nelle, I really love you, and appreciate how you let me indulge in this fantasy and then took it over. Even more because you’ve taken it further than I could have dreamed. Here I am, in a strange town, totally dependent on you for a job, for friendship, for companionship. And I’m totally in love with you. Yet I’m so far away from friends and family that I can barely imagine what they are like now. I mean, look at me. Who among them could imagine me as I am now? I’m plump, with breasts, wearing a dress, and an especially girly one, for all that! Not the guy they used to know. So when you talk about attention from others, maybe it’s that I’m a little scared. I don’t want to be with someone else. All I want is to be with you."

Nelle came over and gave me a big hug. "Don’t worry sweetie. I love you too, and never want you to leave." She said, breaking away, smiling. She went to the cupboard and filled a wine glass for me, an unusually sweet gesture. Bringing the wine, she said: "After dinner, I want to take you to the bedroom. There’s something there you should see, and when you see it, you’ll know that I want to keep you right here with me."

After I cleaned up the dinner dishes, we walked arm in arm to the bedroom, and Nelle guided me to the closet. I opened the door to find, on about 40 padded hangers, dresses, similar to the one I was wearing, long and full, with wide lace collars. Without looking, I knew that they all buttoned or zipped up the back. And there at one side, hung a dozen white petticoats. Nelle had made good her threat, that I might not like moving out of the shorts outfits, and I knew that for at least the next couple of years, if not the rest of my life, I could expect to wear these virtually every day.

Nelle savored the look on my face, and I didn’t know whether to laugh, or to cry, or to scream. Then looking directly into my eyes, as if to consume my reaction to her words, she calmly said, "You are "lace-collar girl" now. You’ll always wear dresses that have a white, bib-like, lace collar. You’ll wear these nice, modest, full-skirted dresses which come below the knee every day. No more casual Fridays for you, dear. It’ll be "lace collar" Fridays from now on - weekends too! Oh, and you know what else "lace collar girl" wears, don’t you. That’s right. Nice thick opaque white tights, to match your white lace collars. You’ll wear them every day, winter and summer alike, sometimes with a petticoat or two, or three, or six, if I really want to put you in your place. Just tell me when you get tired of it, lace collar girl. I’ll only laugh, or maybe I’ll make you wear even longer, fuller dresses with more petticoats. Then you’d really stand out. A real old-fashioned girl, in a huge dress. You wanted out of your little shorts outfits, didn’t you? Well, now you got your wish."

"I guess I did." I had to admit that I did want it in my dreams, but the reality was much different. How could I hope to make it through life in a lace collar? While the shorts outfits were maybe a little too dressy, too cute, or too matchy for most people, these dresses would be really conspicuous. And the shorts outfits were at least shorts - somewhat easier to wear than these. And petticoats. I had never worn a petticoat before, but I knew that soon I would experience the full, billowy-skirted inconvenience of these as well.

It was about 9 o’clock, and we still had a few hours before bed. Normally during this relaxed time, we would read, sew, hang out, listen to music, or catch up on our internet correspondence. But tonight, Nelle had other plans. She excused herself for a moment, leaving me to contemplate my new closetfull of lace collar girl dresses. When she returned, she carried an armfull of the promised white opaque tights.

"I have an assignment for you, lace collar girl, a boring one that I think you won’t enjoy very much, but one that will have lasting good effects! I want you to go to your sewing box, and take out your white thread, and a needle. You’ll take these tights and these," she said, shaking a large box of what proved to be little white hooks and eyes, "and attach 12 hooks to the outside of the waistband of each pair of tights, evenly spaced, facing out. I’ll let you use my scissors tonight to sew," she said, handing me the scissors, "but don’t you even think of cutting anything but thread. You know there will be hell to pay if you’re foolish enough to try anything." And with that, Nelle left the room

I pondered the impending wardrobe change as I carefully sewed the hooks onto the tights. The dresses in the closet were all similar to the Sunday school special I was wearing –mostly floral prints, a few solid colors, plaids, and checks, and all with lace bib collars. I would certainly cut an unusual figure.

The tights themselves were quite thick, and seemed larger than the usual pantyhose. I didn’t exactly understand what Nelle had in store for me, but it did seem that it would involve a change of underwear. The hooks would have to hook onto something - a bra or camisole, perhaps? And facing out. Why? It would likely mean no more body briefer, but Nelle had promised me that I’d always be kept under tight girdle control. Something was happening, I just didn’t know what.

Later that night, I could hardly sleep from worry, fear, and excitement. I would get to be "lace collar girl" from now on. She’s a kind of super-hero, right? Like wonder woman or batgirl – gently leading the world to a more civilized and polite mode of existence, with her magic purse and hankie of lace…No, actually. She’s just a poor, beaten down, submissive little thing.

**

The next morning saw Nelle in good spirits as I cleaned her breakfast dishes. She wore her black pantsuit with a red shirt, open at the collar – a power outfit, if ever there was one. Probably another big meeting today. I, on the other hand, was not so happy, and a little bit tense about what I could expect from my second day as "lace collar girl." I was particularly nervous about the new underwear situation. What would the future hold?

"What’s the matter, lace collar girl? Cat got your tongue?"

"I was just wondering what the wardrobe change would bring."

"Well, I’m sure you’ve been thinking about it lots. It looks like you didn’t get your beauty sleep, lace collar girl."

"Yeah," I admitted, "I barely slept a wink. I can hardly understand what’s happening to me. I used to be so different, so in control of myself, and my life. But now I depend on you for everything. I work for you, I clean our house, so I feel valuable, but I don’t have what could be called a life. It seems I’m just a part of yours."

Nelle laughed. "It’s a little early in the morning for an existential crisis, lace collar girl! But I think I understand how you feel. We’ll try and find some fun activities for you in a bit. Get you out into the world a little more. But for today, we’d better get going."

I hurried up the stairs into the shower. When I emerged, dried and powdered, Nelle was waiting in my bedroom. She held several white garments over her left arm, my new underwear. "The long wait is over, lace collar girl!" she said cheerfully, handing me a pair of white panties, just like the ones I had been wearing for the past couple years. I put them on, and then took a pair of the thick white tights that I had worked on the night before. "Nice work, lace collar girl." said Nelle, "I checked the stitching while you were in the shower. Very clean." I admit to feeling some pride at the compliment.

I rolled on the tights and pulled them up to my waist. They were pretty roomy for tights, as I had thought the night before. Not really "tight" at all in the middle. Then Nelle handed me a soft cup bra. It appeared that it had little eyes sewn onto it around the bottom, and the plan became clear. I was to attach the tights to the bra with the hooks and eyes. That’s why the tights were a little large. I would need to pull them up to the middle of my chest. It took me nearly 5 minutes to attach the tights to the bra. Then, instead of the usual bodyshaper, I was given a long leg girdle to put on over the tights. There would indeed be no escape from the girdle restraint. Finally, a full white nylon slip completed the new underwear.

"What do you think, lace collar girl?" asked Nelle.

"I think it will take me a long time to go to the bathroom." I replied.

"Well, some things never change. I can always help, if you need. Now, go put on your dress and your face, and meet me downstairs in 5 minutes. We’ve got to get going – big meeting today with Archer – lots of samples!" That meant that I’d spend a good part of the day bringing in Samples and refiling them. It might even mean a trip or two out to a dealer. Normally, I would look forward to these days and their activity, but now I wasn’t sure. It would be different in a big dress than in a little shorts outfit.

I went to the closet and picked a somewhat shiny taupe dress in lightweight polyester, with an enormous white collar trimmed in lace. While the fabric was patterned, it was at least all the same hue, a kind of taupe-on-taupe, so that I would not look like a crazy garden, or some wallpaper. It was soft and blousy on top, with a layer of netting below the fabric, and nipped in at the waist. It was flat across the hips, and ended in box pleats which hung straight down to just below the knee. I picked out some matching pumps, quickly put on my make up, knowing I’d have time to touch it up in the car, and went downstairs to meet Nelle. When she saw me, she smiled, and gestured to come over. She gave me a deep, soft kiss on the ear, and looped the chain through my necklace and the top buttonhole of the dress. Some things would still not give. She would keep me locked in the dresses as well as she had kept me in the shorts outfits.

I picked up my purse, and we went out to the car together. She opened the door for me, and I sat down, then swung my legs into the car, just the way she liked me to. When I was in the shorts outfits, it didn’t make sense, but this feminine deportment worked great with the dress. On the way to work, she complimented me on the dress. "Taupe is nice on you, lace collar girl. And that dress is so soft and swishy, I’ll hardly be able to keep my hands off you at work!"

"Uh, thanks." I said, "but try to keep yourself sane."

"Oh, I will. Did you know that that dress you’re wearing today has the biggest lace collar of all of your new dresses?"

"No. Does it really?"

"Yes it does. I picked out each one of your new dresses. They may all look the same now, but each has its own individual character. They’re all a little different. You’ll see. You’ll get to appreciate them all!"

The white collar came down just over each shoulder on the side, dipped down in a round shape over my breasts, and went halfway down my back, splitting for the buttons. It was definitely a huge lace collar, and distressingly, it seemed to have a life of its own. As I leaned over to pick up my purse, the collar flopped in my face. A little later, as we drove down the highway, Nelle opened my window and I got another faceful of lace collar. "Hey, roll up the window!" I cried, pulling the lacy white collar down. "I’ll get makeup all over my collar."

"Oh we wouldn’t want that, now would we, lace collar girl?" said Nelle, rolling up the window.

"Why do you keep calling me ‘lace collar girl? Nelle. I have a name, you know." I loved my name.

"Oh… So testy, lace collar girl. Take it easy. Isn’t it true that you’re wearing a lace collar today." - I had to admit it. - "And your new clothes. Aren’t they all dresses with lace collars?" – Yes. It was probably true, although I presumed that Nelle still had all of my shorts outfits. "And you’re just like my little girl, right honey?"

It was all true. I was her "little girl," who always wore a lace collar.

"Yes." I said reluctantly.

"So you are lace collar girl after all, isn’t that so, lace collar girl?"

"Yes."

I knew that I’d be hearing lots of "lace collar girl" in the future. It was probably a mistake to let her know that it bothered me, but still. I guess I still had a little pride left to be crushed. I sat quietly for the rest of the ride into the office, while Nelle hummed a little tune. She started to sing as well. It seems that the last few words of each stanza were "lace collar girl." Her voice echoed through my head as we disappeared down the highway in a whirlwind of laughter.

The walk from the garage to the office was OK, since I had Nelle to support me. But the morning dragged by slowly, and I began to fill with dread as lunchtime approached. Nelle was taking out a client, and I would be totally on my own, out in the world. Although I was used to being confined in my little outfits, I was still extremely self-conscious, not used to wearing the dress. Every so often, as I bent over a file drawer, I felt the lace bib around my neck flop forward and brush my chin, and every time I walked across the office, I got the sensation of a swirl of skirt around my legs. When I sat, I looked down and saw the rows of pleats loosely spread across my lap. When I felt the eyes of our clients or delivery people on me, I flushed with embarrassment. I knew that they saw me as "lace collar girl." It would be far worse in public, getting looked at up and down by so many people.

I braced myself and faced the door. I opened it, and walked down the hall with as much confidence as I could muster. The elevator was almost full with the lunch rush. Of the 10 people on it, I was the only one wearing a dress. The other women were dressed comfortably in slacks and blouses, or sweaters. It was the same on the street. It seemed that I was the only spot of formality in an otherwise casual world. In days past, I could pretend to be a part of it, in my little shorts outfits, but these dresses would clearly set me apart. Suddenly I felt so alone and out of place, that I was overcome with tears. But it was a cold world, and I could do little but walk unconsoled, arms folded across my chest and head bowed, to the nearest park bench. I sat there with my chin resting on my lace collar, dabbing at the tears streaming from my eyes, wishing that the world would just end then.

But of course it didn’t, and I pulled myself together, and rushed to get back to the office before my lunch break was up. I had no plan, and could only continue to bide my time, and hope that Nelle’s love for me wouldn’t fade. We had begun our life together as a loving, mutually supporting couple, but the balance had tilted inexorably towards Nelle, the stronger one. Along the way, my nerve, skill, and initiative were stripped away, and I was now little more than her subject, her humiliated plaything. Just Linda, her beloved, and loving, little lace collar girl.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Sarah Deschand. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.