"PETTICOAT REVOLT"

PETTICOAT REVOLT 

(Author unknown -- please claim credit)


What exotic amusement and delight I find in tantalizing and provoking my maid,  “Jeanne”—my demure, sweet little “Jeanne,” until the male husband beneath those frills looses his self-control, forgets his agreement, and begs to be released from his petticoat prison.

It is morning.  I have been awakened by my pretty “Jeanne” at 10 AM.  How pretty and dainty “she” looks in “her” smart uniform of black taffeta -- the high, boned neck with a frill of white lace, the long sleeves, these with frills matching the collar, the tight bodice with maidenly charms pressing against the silk. The tiny corseted waist, the pretty skirt, flared out with layers of frothy hemmed petticoats, as “she” places the breakfast tray before me and waist dutifully for my instructions.  “Yes, Madame! No Madame!" -- always the pretty servile maid – my adorable petticoated husband.

After my letters and the paper, “Jeanne” helps me with my bath, making certain the water is just the right temperature, scented to my taste.  “She” rubs me down with a coarse towel until my skin shines, then dusts me off with fragrant talc.  “Her” little hands move so capably, so efficiently.  As a reward, I take “her” pretty face in my hands and kiss “her” quivering lips.  Back in my room “she” helps me dress, arranges my hair, every bit the efficient maid, for “she” has been well trained for “her” role.

I give orders for the rest of the day, before I depart for lunch.  “I shall be dining with the Wilsons tonight, “Jeanne.”  Perhaps I shall wear my Patou black velvet, or maybe the Meinbocher blue velvet.  You will see that they are pressed and steamed, and you may sew on new hooks and eyes.”

“Yes Madame!” ‘Jeanne’ replies, curtsying.

All afternoon, “Jeanne” is busy handling the dresses "she adores.  It is evening.  “Jeanne” helps me to dress, “her” fingers trembling with excitement as “she” lowers stiff, rustling taffeta petticoats over my head, caressing them affectionately with “her” hands.  I swish over to my dressing table where she arranges my hair, lacquers my nails, all the while I make pretty frou-frou with my petticoats.  “She” looks at me with adoring, glistening eyes.  I find some excuse to have “her” kneel near my feet.  “She” finds some excuse to touch the hems.  I pretend not to notice.

“Darling George,” I murmur reflectively, “he adores velvet.  He will be able to visit me tonight, and “Jeanne”, he really makes love so divinely.  Ah!  This will be a fascinating evening.” 

There is a little sob from the figure at my feet.  “Oh darling, must you?  How I hate the way George paws you!  I can’t stand this any longer!  I can’t stand seeing you in his arms!”

“Jeanne!” I exclaim icily.  “You forget yourself!  You shall be punished severely!  You will regret this outburst, I promise you!" 

Tears come to "her" eyes, and "she" pleads, “Oh Madame, please forgive me!”  I ignore "her" pleas and order “her” to bring me my switch.  “She” minces over to the bureau and returns, holding it our before “her.”

“You may lay it down for now and help me into my gown!”  Jeanne’s eyes light up.  Perhaps I will forgive “her”.  “She” hastens to envelope me in my velvet gown, hooking it about me.  A sudden changes comes over “her.”  I feel “her" body stiffen.  “She” has the audacity to close “her” hands over my breasts.  I whirl about to face her.  What I see frightens me.  This is not me pretty “Jeanne” --  the gleaming eyes, the leering mouth. 

“Jeanne, down on your knees this minute and ask my forgiveness!”  My fear increases as “her” arms reach out to envelope me, “her” lips crush mine with their caress, and I feel myself being forced backward towards the bed.  'Jeanne,' 'Jeanne,'” I cry, now thoroughly frightened.  “Darling, I’ll let you out of your petticoats tomorrow.’ I scream, as I feel my lovely gown being ripped from my body, my petticoats following.  Soon I am naked, except for my stays and slippers.  She takes the whip in her hand and starts lashing me, little caring where it lands.  I scram and run about the room, the whip following as my body becomes covered with red welts.

“Make me wear petticoats!” --  CRACK – “Make me be your maid!" -- CRACK – “Let other men make love to you!” – CRACK-CRACK-SWISH—CRACK!  I slip to the floor in a faint.

I awaken to find myself laying on the bed with my “Jeanne” taking her lust out on my aching body.

THE END


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