Filthy Filles: Chapter Seven

"At l'Académie des Filles, you will be under my tutelage from the instant you awaken to the moment I decide I'm finished with you. You will be instructed in all the details of conduct and manners befitting eligible young ladies, large and small. We will teach you how to walk and sit and dress and dance and act. As your mind is shaped, so too will we shape your body, doing all that is necessary until you are wholly indistinguishable from a fine young woman. Then, and only then, will you graduate l'Académie as one of my prize 'fillies' - and your contest of feminization will be won. Do you accept?"

After weeks of tutelage by the fiercely dominant Madame X, James manages a moment of respite from a letter written by his dear Cordelia. But it's hard to find comfort in her words when he is subjected to daily indignities - everything from waist training to bondage to the lash of Madame's tongue, not to mention her far worse physical punishments. Can James maintain his dignity against the onslaught? And more importantly, can he stay true to Cordelia's wishes when he's distracted by Ambrose, Madame's enigmatic and alluring assistant?

Chapter Seven of the Filthy Filles series, a serial novel published fortnightly. Read on for the next chapter in a thrilling tale of Victorian-era erotica, featuring feminization, bisexuality, and femdom! For mature readers only.

Excerpt:

Looking into the mirror held before him then, James beheld a woman of striking attractiveness, the picture of beauty in its prime: her high cheekbones added a note of danger to her otherwise soft, feminine features. Her plush lips had been made bigger with carefully applied lip-paint and her dark, doe-like eyes seemed to glow, rimmed with black lashes, in her pale, lovely face. Most unnerving of all was the notion that this image was of a woman James would no doubt be attracted to himself, were it not for the fact that he knew the face in the mirror was his own.

“What shall we do with your hair today, lovey?” said an attendant, sitting behind him. As he’d grown more feminized, Madame’s ladies grew more familiar around him: this one was named Matilda, and tended to be very chatty during his morning toilet.

“I don’t care,” James muttered, provoking a titter from Matilda.

“Don’t be like that, Juliet!” she said. “How about a nice up-do? You have enough hair now to pull off a mop of curls, I’ll reckon.”

She was right: forbidden the services of a pair of shears, James’ hair had grown out past his shoulders, and it was still an uncomfortable weight that he longed to toss out of his face whenever possible. At least having it bound up in ribbons would get it off his neck.

“As you will,” he acquiesced, and Matilda giggled as she began to go about her work. The attendant who had held up a mirror for him had taken it away, but James knew without having to look that his face was turned down in a most shameful pout.