The Files of the Dressmore Society


1.  Greetings from Millicent Blousing


As an Inspectress of the Dressmore Society, I am often invited into the homes of Society members in an advisory capacity, to give help and guidance to ladies who are reducing their dummies to obedience through dress control. (People sometimes say: Why not call these males ‘mannequins’ – these pathetic men and boys ?  But a moment’s reflection shows that the term ‘dummies’ is more suitable.)


There are few methods of controlling the male short of medical treatment which are more effective than using regular and well planned dressing in feminine silks and frills.  In fact it is a combination of treatment and dressing that is the most effective of all.  It is my job to help the members of the Society to reduce their dummies to the condition they want them in as effectively as possible.  A recent visit I made to a comfortable home in Hampshire will serve as an illustration of my function and methods.




“Hello. Is it Mrs Verity Pressman ?” I enquired as the door opened.


“No, I’m Harriet Pressman, Verity’s mother,” came the reply.  “Is it Miss blousing ? Do come in, we’re having terrible trouble with him.”


In the parlour I witnessed one of those demonstrations of niggly male awkwardness that I meet so often in my home visits.  Waverley Pressman (who had had to adopt his new bride’s name) was dressed in a wide frilly petticoat in peach nylon, with matching bloomered panties, and had positioned himself in the corner of the room where his resistance was making it impossible for his wife to slip his dress over his head.


“Come ON Waverley,” she insisted, “you KNOW you have to have your dress on if we are going to the Dress Circle this morning. Put your hands through the sleeves now or Mistress Verity is going to get very cross.”


She was meeting with no success, and after a few short introductions, I took her place.


“Come along now, Waverley,” I declared, “Miss Blousing is going to make you feel ever so nice.”


“No you’re not,” he retorted, flapping at my hands.


It was the sort of situation I am very adequately trained for.  I simply caught his wrists and whisked him out of the corner, gripping him round the waist from behind and holding his arms together in one hand.


“Let’s just pop this nice ladies’ girdle on for you, Pet,” I cried, slipping the narrow elasteine and satin garment I carry for this purpose over his head.  With a swift tug it slid down his shoulders, gripping both his arms to his side.


“Wha… what are you doing. Gedoff !” he cried, bobbing about like a plastic duck in the bathtub.  “You can’t do this to me !”


“Yes I can dear,” I smiled, reaching under my skirts and hauling down my panties.  “I’m going to make little Waverley ASK his Mommy and Mistress to put him into his pretty dresses.  Now, just breathe in, dear.”


I held the folded panties over his face – they were in coffee silk as I remember – and over them I wrapped a white silk face muff, drawing it together behind his neck and buttoning it up the back of his head.  The silk ties were soon fastened into a bow on top of his hair.  Verity and her mother were delighted with the immediate transformation in his behaviour.  He could do no more than peer wide-eyed through the lace frills of my panties.


“I always feell,” I explained as I freed his erected penis into the open, “that when dummies fight against the frillies and silkies we want to dress them in, the answer lies not in force but in changing their minds, so that they are on your side, as it were.”  Over the knob of his organ I slotted the lubricated penis tube I had taken from my bag, and slid it smoothly down to the root.  The flex soon attached it to the pleasuring unit and the power was turned on.  I slipped my arms round the idiot and held him almost affectionately.


“What Miss Blousing wants,” I cooed to the defenceless dummy as I drew him submissively down onto my skirt, “is to put little Waverley into a really lovely girls’ blouse… like this one, Pet.”


I spread the blouse I had brought on the settee beside me where he could see the white silk garment to full advantage, and held my control unit in the palm of my hand.


“Just look at all these precious blouse buttons down the back, darling…” and I gave him a sudden surge of pleasure through his encased member, bringing a long, muffled moan into the silk-harnessed panties at his face.


“And look, Sweetheart,” I murmured, planting a tender kiss on his forehead as he laid his head on my shoulder, “there are three adorable girls’ buttons on each cuff of the blouse for you…”


He squirmed afresh with new pangs of pleasure as I activated the unit, the fingers at his sides spreading in a helpless thrill at the bottom of his girdle, and his eyes devouring the buttoned cuffs of the blouse as I held them closer to his sheathed penis and sent the thrills of pleasure flooding through his whole body.


“But Waverley, darling,” I whispered in his willing ear, “if Miss Blousing fastens you into her lovely white blouse, with all its buttons… she will be able to button up your collar too… right up your neck and hair… You will be buttoned right up in her blouse !”


His legs stretched eagerly outwards from my skirt in agonies of pleasure as I turned up the wide collar with its edging of prettily scalloped lace, and sent waves of deep arousal pulsing through him as his buttocks slid uncontrollably in my lap.


“And Waverley my darling,” I cooed, initiating the next surge, “your lovely blouse collar has more pretty buttons at the front.  Look, Precious.”


Whimpers of disbelieving adoration bleated into his face panties as I turned the blouse and showed him the sweet design of little blouse buttons at the front.  He was helpless. He was so completely enraptured.


“Shall we put Waverley into his lovely, lovely blouse then ?” I smiled at him.


His nodding was pathetically vigorous, and moments later his girdle was removed and Waverley sat in a docile stupour af pleasure as Verity and her mother fastened his blouse cuffs between them and buttoned him up his back beautifully, right to the crown of his head in a very precious girls’ blouse.  I sat him on my knee before leaving, his penis still sheathed in pleasure and his eyes peeping placidly from the curved silk brim of the round, girlish collar that encased his face, and cuddled him closely.


“Now darling, is my little blousey Waverley going to sit still for his Mommy and Mistress to dress him sweetly for his Dress Club this morning ?”


The heart shape of blouse buttons in front of his pantie-muff bleated softly and unintelligibly, and rustled up and down in evident consent.


“And if Miss Blousing comes to see you again tomorrow, she will bring little Waverley some lovely petticoats that will button sweetly down his back.  Shall we do that ?”


There were more whimpers, more nodding, and more spasms of bare legged pleasure as his blouse cuffs rose to his face and fingered his pretty collar buttons in floods of sexual desire.