Filthy Filles: Chapter Six

"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?"

The first day of James' stay at l'Académie draws to a close with a most humiliating final lesson in ballroom dancing. If James is to pass the stringent requirements of Madame X, he must successfully masquerade as a woman at the finishing school's graduation ball - and the first test is learning to waltz with Madame's infuriatingly handsome assistant, Ambrose.

The air grows warmer and James' burden grows heavier as he is forced to mince in his ladylike attire through the movements of the dance, all while Madame watches and criticizes. Her sharp tongue will soon give way to a sharper punishment if James steps awry - and it's nigh impossible to concentrate in such conditions! Can James relearn his old ways to take up the waltz as a brand-new, feminized "Juliet"? Or will he meet his match at the hands of Ambrose, and the stern penalties he doles out to James' sensitive skin?

Chapter Six 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:

A sharp swishing sound, like silk tearing, was his only warning. Then Ambrose's weapon made contact with the skin of his back bared by the low cut of his dress, and James cried out - he couldn't help it. He bit his lip to strangle the yelp he knew was rising there, but it took all his resolve not to let those ever-ready tears - had he really been so quick to cry, before he came here? - flow down his face again.

"One," Ambrose said. His voice was flat, without affect. James had time to recall that this was Madame's preferred technique for punishment - counting blows seemed to be of particular favor with her. Then the switch came down again, this time slightly to the left of the first blow.

He straightened, jerkily, flinching away from the hated pain that even now was seeping into his tender shoulder-blades. By the end of today, he thought, he'd be reckoning with a flogging, a spanking, a stint in leather bondage, and now this. Was it Madame's intent to batter him into femininity, with every open blow a strike against the foundation of his manhood?