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The Little C.E.O - Part 2
🕑 Added 2023-01-14 07:49:54 +0000 UTCWe completed our work on August 27, and only just in time, for the first snows of the winter started the next day. We were well north of the tree line and with nothing to break the wind; the blizzard increased and we were not able to get out for three days. Finally, we made our way south to Ottawa where we found that it was still summer. Now came the task of writing up our report on the work we had done and of filing it with the government agency, or to be precise of writing up eleven separate reports, one for each block of property. The students left to return to university, and there were just the three of us with the office manager who had been holding the fort for us while we were in the northern country.
The pace was punishing, especially since we had so many maps to draw, and Joe suggested that Christine move into the house with us. It seemed a good idea, but I had forgotten that when we converted the house and built an extra wing for an office we had sacrificed the spare bedroom. But we had been sharing tents for so long that it did not really matter that we had only two bedrooms. Christine and Joe got on with the map-making while I did the writing. I am actually quite good at that and had written many reports for my parents in the past.
It was no real surprise that Christine came to share my bed that first night, but a little unexpected when Joe came too. There was plenty of room for all three in that king-size bed. Joe and I were wearing cotton pajamas, and Christine had a low-cut cotton batiste nightie. I nursed at her breasts while Joe jacked me off and this released a great deal of my tension.
"I love nursing you like this, Cyril, but I wish you were a real little baby, dressed in baby clothes." I already knew that Christine was unable to have a baby of her own.
For some reason, the idea excited me, and I think she knew it. Afterward, Joe and Christine got it off together. I think that was the first time for them, for I had no indication that they had felt anything for each other while we were up north.
It was three days later that Joe received a parcel in the mail. He and Christine opened it together, keeping it away from me. That night Christine produced a baby dress big enough to fit me, all white lace and ruffles.
"Put this on, Cyril. I will enjoy nursing you so much more if you are dressed as a baby. I am sure you will enjoy it too."
I was already in bed in my pajamas, but I sat up, slipped off the top and wriggled out of the pants, and, in some excitement, held out my arms to her. "You put it on for me, Mommy. A little baby can't dress himself."
She slipped it on, tied the ribbons, and then put a baby bonnet on my head. Once more she nursed me while Joe jacked me off. As soon as I had calmed down once more, Christine said, "A baby always sleeps in a diaper. Lie on your back, sweetheart, and let me diaper you."
She raised the skirt of my gown, spread baby lotion on my bum and crotch, and then pinned an old-fashioned cloth diaper around me. Joe then handed her a pair of plastic pants decorated with frills of lace. The final step was placing a pacifier in my mouth. As I drifted off to sleep Joe and Christine were making out again, and I remember thinking,:: What a way to treat the President of the company.:: But I loved it.
I loved it so much that I asked Joe to order me more baby gowns, bonnets, plastic panties, and diapers and to charge them to my account. That became the routine for the three of us every night: Christine would nurse me, clad in my gown and bonnet, Joe would Jack me off, and then Christine would diaper me, and place a pacifier in my mouth while the two of them had it off.
We finished the reports towards the end of September. I asked Joe and Christine to make the presentation to our clients while I went north to the Mining Office of the Northwest Territories in Yellowknife to file the reports with the Mining Recorder. "Kid" I may be, but I could do this, but we all three thought it best if they were the ones to see the client, even though I had signed the reports as president of the company.
It was a two-day round trip to Yellowknife and back, and I was glad to get home from the bitter cold of that northern capital. Joe met me at the airport and drove me home where I was greeted by Christine. "I think we should celebrate tonight with a good dinner and a bottle of champagne," I said.
"What a good idea! And we have a surprise for you, Cyril. I think you will enjoy it. But that can wait till tomorrow."
"Why don't you book a table at the Chantilly Restaurant, Joe, for this evening while I have a shower."
Christine whistled. "That's said to be the best restaurant in town. I have never been able to afford it, myself."
The Chantilly lived up to its reputation. Joe and I had roast muskox, an Arctic dish that we had never eaten while we were in the Arctic, and in any case, no one up there could have prepared it as well as the chef of that restaurant did. Christine opted for grilled bison steak. The champagne was Dom Perignon and for dessert we had Creme brulee washed down with a superb Armagnac.
It felt good that night to get into my baby clothes again after my trip up north as an adult. I wondered what was happening to me.
The next day was a day of relaxation. I was hoping that Christine would not take it into her head to return to her parent's home now that the rush of work was over, but I need not have feared. We have remained as a menage a trois ever since.
"Now what was that surprise you said you had for me?" I asked as we sat around a wood fire in the living room.
"We were going to give it to you as soon as you arrived home, but changed our minds when you mentioned a bottle of champagne. It would have interfered with your enjoyment of champagne."
"Well, what is it?"
Christine left the room and came back after a moment with a garment bag. I was on tenterhooks.
"We both love it when you wear your baby clothes in bed, at night, Cyril, and we know you do too," said the genial giant. "But you can't wear those during the day," Christine finished off.
Joe continued, "I checked your size and weight against the published tables I found on the web. And I found that you are about the same size as an eleven-year-old girl." He waved a printout in the air.
"Here, let me look at those tables." I snatched them from him.
"You're full of crap, Joe. Look! An 11-year-old is 4'9" tall, that's two inches less than me, and she weighs six stone."
"That's the average size, but look at the ninetieth percentile. The top ten percent of 11-year-old girls are over five feet tall - 5' 0.4" to be more precise, and weigh almost 8 stone. That's an inch
taller and about 10 pounds heavier than you."
I looked again at the tables and saw that by 11½ years the average height and weight for girls were just about my size. Girls grow fast at that age. I was dumbfounded.
"So we thought you might like to dress that way, Cyril." Christine unzipped the garment bag and took out the clothes hanging inside. "This is a school uniform for an eleven-year-old."
"Do you seriously intend me to wear those things, Christine?"
It was Joe who answered, "It's not a matter of our intentions, Cyril. We thought you might like to wear them, once you got used to the idea. I know it seems bizarre now, but we are rapidly becoming a family, and I would like you as my little daughter."
"Me too, Cyril. You called me 'Mommy' the other day. I liked it."
I was warming to the idea, though I was not going to say so. "You'd better show me what you want me to wear." I still do not know quite why I accepted this so readily, but at least part of it was that I felt it might be possible to dominate these people in a way I could not do before.
"The skirt is a pleated plaid skirt in the Royal Stewart tartan, mostly bright red." Chris held it up. "It's warm enough for this weather. The blouse is white cotton, high-necked with a Peter Pan collar. It's worn with this pussycat bow. That's the uniform of the Saint Andrew's Parochial Girls' School."
I looked at it and found myself charmed.
Christine continued, "The school shoes are sturdy Mary Janes, with a single strap across the front and they are worn with white knee-socks with lace on the turnovers."
"But what about the underwear?" I asked. She could see I was becoming interested.
"An eleven-year-old wear a training bra, and over that a cotton undervest or camisole and white cotton panties. A full slip is optional."
Joe added, "I thought that your private parts might intrude so I bought you a gaff to keep everything under control. Now be a good girl and go and try everything on." A good *girl*?
We all three went up to the master bedroom - our bedroom as it was now - and I stripped off. "How does this gaff thing work?" I asked.
Joe showed me how to put it on, with my balls pressed back into my body and my prick folded under. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw no sign of my genitalia. Christine held out the training bra, I put my arms through and she fastened it behind me. Then I slipped on the rest of the clothes as Christine handed them to me one by one.
"How did you know my sizes?" I asked as I contemplated myself with some satisfaction in the mirror.
"We picked them out from the labels in your existing wardrobe, of course, Cyril."
"Something has to be done about my hair." They could see now that I was happy with this outfit. "And how about makeup?"
Schoolgirls of eleven years old don't wear makeup - we can't go on calling you Cyril, now can we? How about Cybill?"
"Sounds good to me. Now how about this hair?"
Christine opened a box with a look of satisfaction on her face. "We bought you a wig, Cybill dear."
It was a blonde wig with banana curls, a Shirley Temple effect. Christine put it on my head and secured it with bobby pins. I thought it looked good and said so.
"I think a touch of pale pink lipstick might make you look prettier since you are not going to school today." This was not a color she used herself, so she must have planned this. She handed me a small leather purse with a shoulder strap. "That completes the outfit, I think, Cybill."
I looked at myself in the mirror once more, turning from side to side. Then impulsively reached up and threw my hands around Christine's neck and planted a kiss firmly on her mouth. "Oh, thank you so much, Mommy darling. I love what you are doing for me." The childish expressions were deliberate.
She looked at me fondly. I turned to Joe and reached up. Christine is a head taller than me, and Joe is a head taller than her, so I had to pull his head down to my level. To his obvious surprise, I planted a kiss firmly on his lips too. "And, Daddy dearest, I cannot thank you enough for all the pretty clothes you have bought me."
They were not to know, but I had no intention of calling them 'Mum' and 'Dad'. Those names had a special meaning to me, but 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' had an element of affection that seemed appropriate, especially when qualified by endearments. It was going to be 'Mommy darling' and Daddy dearest' from now on.
"And what would our little girl like to do now?"
"Why! Go shopping for more pretty clothes, of course. I can't wear my school uniform every day now, can I, Daddy dearest?"
I started to transfer my wallet from my jacket to my purse but stopped as I realized that I could not use my credit cards dressed like this. I put my pink lipstick in instead, then withdrew my billfold and both my bank cards from my wallet and added those. "Did you buy me a coat and gloves?" I asked, "Or should I wear my parka? It's a bit cold outside now to go dressed just like this."
"We never thought you would go outside dressed like this, Cybill, so we never bought you a coat and gloves." Christine looked sheepish.
"You expect a schoolgirl like me to stay home?" I grabbed a parka, one of Mum's tuques, and a pair of her gloves, thankful that I had not thrown out all my parents' clothes. "Come on, Mommy dearest, what are you waiting for?"
Christine and Joe were obviously flabbergasted at my ready acceptance of this role and were slow in responding. They were not to know that I had already decided that dressing like this would make it easier to manipulate them and others. Joe drove my big Cadillac, and I insisted on sitting in the middle in front, between the two of them. We were able to park quite close to the entrance of the mall, so I chose to leave my outer clothing in the car. I grabbed the hands of the other two and we walked along like this, with me skipping between them like a child enjoying herself. This seemed to embarrass them, which pleased me.
The first port of call was a bank machine, where I drew out $800, the maximum allowed. If I were to spend anything more one of the 'adults' would have to use a credit card and I would later repay. Next, I insisted on buying perfume - Miss Dior for me and Air du Temps for Christine, who never used perfume. We left the store with both of us reeking. Next, I wanted a party dress. "We can't go out to a restaurant if I am wearing a day dress," I said.
Joe was beginning to fidget at this shopping expedition, but I was in charge despite my childish appearance and behavior, and I was not going to let him out of my sight. I chose a pretty pink organdie party dress with a close-fitting bodice and a flaring skirt, with a crinoline and petticoat to go under it. This necessitated a pair of pink patent Mary Janes and lace knee socks to go with it, and a pink ribbon for my hair. I was really piling it on. While I was in the shoe department I also bought black patent and white patent Mary Janes, and then on an impulse a pair of pumps with two-inch heels. I take only size 2 in shoes and it was difficult for the shop assistant to find ones that fitted, but then that is nothing to the trouble I find when I try to buy men's shoes in that size. Then I had to buy pantihose to go with the pumps. At first, I was all for buying a garter belt and stockings, but Christine insisted that I was 'too young' for that.
Next came the lingerie. Silky lace training bras, panties, teddies, camisoles, full slips, and half slips, everything dripping in lace. No nightdresses, for I intended to continue in my baby-wear at night, diapers, pacifier and all. "Now for outerwear," I said. I realize that I had already spent almost the whole $800 I had started with, so first, we had to go back to the ATM and draw out another $800 from my other account.
I was more cautious this time - after all, we could come back another time, and I really did not want to impose on Joe or Christine and use their credit: unlike me, they did not have several million in savings. But I had to have an outer coat as well as another skirt and some blouses. Christine chose the blouses for me but I selected my own skirts, one a tight leather skirt that came down a little below mid-thigh. I remembered seeing young girls in such short skirts, though they looked very different from teenagers. The other skirt was more sober and girlish, but it too was quite short, a pleated powder blue confection in wool.
I next looked for a coat. I should probably have added a jacket, but that would have to wait. I found a lemon overcoat with a fitted bodice and flared skirt, single-breasted and buttoning up to the neck. It would do for now, but I would certainly have to have something warmer for winter. "Oh, look, Mommy darling, there's a matching hat and muff." Even with the muff I still wanted gloves, for I was determined to skip along holding the hands of both my 'Mommy' and my 'Daddy'. I ended up with a white kid pair. I was going to buy more, but I was starting to run out of cash again, and I still had one more purchase I wanted to make.
I dragged them into a jewelry store. Joe was loaded down with packages now, but I still held his hand, leaving him to struggle with them single-handed. Christine too was carrying several. Here I demanded to have my ears pierced. Joe looked at me open-mouthed, but if I was going to go around as an eleven-year-old girl, he and Christine were going to have to act as my parents. I selected a pair of simple quarter-carat diamond studs and had them placed in my ears after they were pierced. These cost more than I had in cash and I had to borrow $100 from Joe. Or to be precise, I handed him all the cash I had and let him pay - Daddy spoiling his little girl. I paid him back his money the next day.
I still needed several outfits, but we were all tired and I had run out of cash, so off we went back home. I was too excited to think about cooking a meal so decided to take them out to a restaurant once more. I wanted to shower, but could not get out of my bra, and had to ask Christine to help me. She showed me how to unfasten it and made me practice several times. I showered, and dressed in some of my new underwear, managing to fasten my training bra by myself, which was a matter of some pride. Then I called to Christine to help me with my new party dress, which was buttoned down the back. She had to help me with my wig too, but I managed my own lipstick, after several failed attempts. It was harder to do than I realized.
When we were all ready to go I looked at my companions and decided that on the next shopping expedition, I must buy Christine a dress for the evening. Like my Mum, she was downright dowdy. I must remedy that. I put on my new lemon yellow coat and hat with the muff hanging from the sleeve. I had discovered that it had a purse built in and that was what I used for my lipstick and tissues, but I was not going to wear it yet, because I wanted to hold hands with my 'Mommy' and 'Daddy'. I handed Joe my Visa card so that he could seem to pay the bill for dinner, though I would actually sign the bill when the waiter was not looking. So off we went to the restaurant with 'darling Daddy' driving, 'Mommy dearest' on the right, and their darling spoilt daughter 'Cybill' in the middle.
I don't know what the waiters thought of our conversation, for we talked shop all evening, all about magnetometer surveys, geological faults, diamond drilling, and such esoterica. Some of it must have sounded strange coming from the lips of an eleven-year-old girl, especially while I was retouching my lipstick at the table. "You really should go to the ladies' room to do that, Cybill dear."
She was right, of course, but I had not thought about using the ladies' room and I could hardly use the men's. She held out her hand to me and escorted me there. We both sat down in front of the mirror. "Ladies usually come here together, Cybill."
Back home Christine helped me off with my dress, but I managed everything else myself and hung up all my clothes neatly, all except my underwear which went into the hamper. She showed me how to remove my lipstick with cold cream. Then into my baby gear for our usual bedtime ritual.
Somehow, while my friends and employees treated me externally as a little girl, I had established my dominance over them, something I had never been able to do before. I had always been the boss on paper, and I controlled the purse strings and paid their salaries, but they both knew more than me about exploration geology and their very size had given them an advantage. Now I had turned my vulnerability into a dominating influence over them. I should always remain an eleven-year-old girl, for I had reached my full development and full size. I would not grow anymore and I should never be a teenage girl. Clearly, I had a great deal to learn about behaving like a girl, walking like a girl, sitting like a girl, and speaking like a girl, but I had made a beginning and I was going to exploit it to the hilt in our unusual family. I thought about the future as I lay in my diapers, sucking on the pacifier. I knew what I was going to do.
The next day I sent Joe off to make a presentation to a new client to obtain a contract. I had written the presentation, and I knew he would be more convincing than me, even if I had been dressed as a man. But I was never going to dress as a man again. I would always dress as a little girl. And as a baby in bed. And I was going to manipulate Joe and Christine into marriage and have them continue to be my 'Mommy' and 'Daddy'.
While Joe was away that day Christine and I went to the mall once more. This time I drew $800 from each of my bank accounts and the first purchase was a silk dress for Christine. She jibbed at first, not wanting me to spend my money, she said. But I could see that she had fallen in love with the dress and I insisted. I also bought her some new more feminine lingerie. We had seen each other often enough in various stages of undress for me to know what she had and what she lacked. We then bought several outfits for me, a jacket and skirt in crimson, a dress, and a jacket in pink wool, and then I insisted that we both go to the cosmetics counter and take lessons in makeup.
I have never worn men's clothing since, though I had never even considered cross-dressing before. I am still a virgin, but who cares? I receive all the sexual stimulation I need in bed with the other two. Our three-way sexual activity has grown far more elaborate over time, and the only thing I have not done is penetrate Christine's vagina: which is reserved for Joe. But short of that we go through all kinds of combinations, usually, all three are involved at any one time.
As soon as my hair grew long enough I stopped wearing a wig, and now I go to the beauty salon weekly to get it tinted and set. I wear it as a strawberry blonde and have it permed about every six weeks. I sleep with it in rollers, and I persuaded Christine to do the same. She does my hair for me each night and covers it with a baby's bonnet, one of a larger size to fit over the rollers, and I do her hair. I wear mine as a cap of curls, while Chris now had a moderately sophisticated hairdo, quite unlike her former straight ponytail.
I have slowly trained Christine to dress in a more feminine manner and even to wear makeup, and in return, she has helped me to find appropriate female attire for wear in the bush when we are on a contract, such as jeans of old-rose denim. I offered both of them partnerships in Tallman Consultants Inc., provided Joe would change his name to Tallman. I knew that Christine would be called Tallman too once they were married. Neither of them yet knew that I intended that they should marry. It took Joe a couple of weeks to make up his mind to change his name, and I had to tell him, "If I can dress like this to please you and Christine it's the least you can do in return."
We have expanded the business enormously and now have a branch office in Vancouver and two overseas offices. I do not often go into the bush on contracts any longer, but I do visit our branch offices frequently, always in company with either Joe or Christine. I have changed my name legally to Cybill and that is the name on my passport, so I can travel in my normal clothing. No, that is not quite true, since my passport gives my true date of birth, so I have to dress in a somewhat more adult fashion, as a woman rather than as a girl.
Changing my name was surprisingly simple. All that was required was that I appear before a citizenship judge and present a petition in writing. For the occasion, I chose a business suit with pantihose and two-inch heels. I sat across the desk from the judge who read my petition, stamped it, and started to make out a new certificate of citizenship.
She looked up at me, "I suppose you want your sex entered as female?"
That shook me for a moment; it was something I had not considered, but with almost no hesitation I answered, "Of course!"
The judge entered the change of sex in the computer and finally printed out a new citizenship certificate and a laminated purse card with the same information.
"All you have to do now is to present notarized copies of this certificate to your bank, to the Motor Vehicle Office, and to anyone else who may need it to make the necessary changes."
"Would it be possible, Judge, for you to prepare notarized copies for me? I shall pay of course."
The judge looked at me, summoned a secretary, and asked her to make the copies. While we were waiting she said to me, "It's no concern of mine really, but I am a little curious. Would you mind telling me why you decided to become a woman? You don't look like a transsexual to me."
"I'm not a transsexual," I answered, "Just a transvestite. I have a full set of male parts under my skirt. But why do you say I don't look like a transsexual?"
"I see a fair number of transsexuals in my business, and most of them wear too much makeup and dress provocatively. You are dressed as a demure businesswoman, with a minimum of makeup, and to be honest, I would not have known you were not a woman if I had not studied your file in the database."
"The reason I decided on the change," I said, "Has nothing to do with sexual satisfaction, but more, I fear, with filthy lucre. I guess you could call me a gold digger - literally."
The judge raised an eyebrow.
"I am in the gold mining and exploration trade, so I dig for gold. But you see how small I am, Judge? Small even as a woman. I take a size 2 dress but I usually must have every dress or suit altered. This suit for instance, that I am wearing at the moment: I had to have the skirt shortened and the back of the jacket made narrower." She nodded her head.
"My size is that of an eleven-year-old, so you can imagine what my life was like as a man. It's no real social disadvantage to a woman to be petite, but for a man, size seems to be paramount. As a man, nobody would take any notice of me, and I was unable to make a go of my business. I was staring bankruptcy in the face. But I am now a successful businesswoman. My company made several million dollars in billings last year and my personal income was almost half a million. I expect to double that this year the way things are going."
"You look very young for that kind of income."
"I am older than I appear. That is another thing that made it difficult to succeed in business as a man. Everybody took me for a kid." I paused for a moment. "Shall I tell you what I wear for leisure clothing when I am not in a business suit?"
"Since you seem to be a compulsive transvestite, I suppose it is some kind of women's outfit."
"Not quite. In fact, I cannot even wear teen clothes; they are too big for me. I dress for leisure in the clothes of an eleven-year-old girl."
She handed me my certificate and the copies and wished me luck.
I have started to take hormones, not so much to feminize myself more, but more to reduce my beard growth and make my skin smoother. They have had little effect on my male organs: I am perhaps a little slower in getting a full erection, and I am less liable to get one while out and about, but that is all. An eleven-year-old has no figure, so I do not need to wear a waist cincher, except when I am traveling overseas as an adult, but I have started to develop breasts. I now take a 28A bra, which is about normal for an 11 and half-year-old. I am thinking of having my beard removed by laser electrolysis. My 'baby face' is now an asset instead of the liability it always was before.
I finally managed to manipulate Joe and Christine into getting married. Christine at first did not want a white wedding, since she was no virgin, but she was afraid of her mother knowing that. Just fancy! At her age! I was the flower girl at the wedding; Christine's mother thought that her daughter was marrying a divorced man with a daughter of his own - me! They both insisted that I accompany them on their short honeymoon, saying that they would not feel comfortable making love without me in the bed as their baby.
I gave them ten percent of the shares of Tallman Consultants as a wedding present, and the titles of Vice President (Geophysics) and Vice President (Exploration). Tallman Consultants Inc. now has three directors - but no outsider would ever guess that the eleven-year-old girl is the boss. Christine is the Chair of the Board but always defers to me, the president and CEO.
During the school term I regularly wear my school uniform, so that if I go outside during the day no one will ask me why I am not at school, but during school vacations, I dress in a more casual, and even younger-looking style. Except for my night clothes I wear nothing that must come from a specialty store, but simply wear what any eleven-year-old would wear. I dress in a rather old-fashioned manner, always in dresses or skirts; no jeans or sweatshirts for me (except when I am in the bush), always the daintiest and most girlish wear. I am not actually a compulsive transvestite, though I do take considerable pleasure in dressing, but the main reason is that it enables me to control other people in a way I could not do before.
I have taken some trouble learning how girls of 'my age' walk, talk, and behave, their gestures, their enthusiasm, and their ways of sitting. Not, of course, the commonalty of young girls, but rather the upper-class children, those who might attend the sort of private school whose uniform I wear, the girls who sit with their knees and ankles pressed together, with their skirts smoothed under them, not those who sprawl in jeans like a boy. I try to be as feminine as possible in a 'well-brought-up' manner. My behavior now would put to shame that sort of girl!
I always call Christine and Joe 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' and try to use the vocabulary of a young girl - everything is sweet, cute, darling, or precious. Or 'gross' or 'yucky'. I also use the exaggerated gestures of an exuberant pre-teen girl and even bought myself a skipping rope (fluorescent pink nylon) since I had to find some way to keep fit without working out at a gym.
We share a single large office with three desks, but that is private territory for the three of us. No one else is ever allowed in there except our secretary. We conduct all interviews in the boardroom. Depending on the nature of the interview I often allow either Mommy or Daddy to conduct it alone or together, but quite often I sit in on an interview myself. On such occasions, Christine (or Joe) will say, "I hope you don't mind if my daughter sits with us. Now go over there, Cybill dear, and play quietly with your dolly."
I sit quietly on an upright chair swinging my legs, which do not quite reach the floor, holding a doll in my lap, and listening intently to the interview. And hoping the doll does not slip off because I am paying no attention to it - that has happened.
I know what I have accomplished by this masquerade. I love my life as a perpetual young girl, one who will never grow up, with a delightful Mommy and Daddy (whom I can twist around my little finger), but full of interesting work. I can understand what Christine gets out of it: she cannot have a child of her own, and I fulfill her fantasies of motherhood both in my nighttime persona as her baby and in the daytime as her little girl. But I have no idea what Joe receives from our relationship, and yet it seems to have been his idea in the first place. Still, like all of us, he enjoys our unconventional life.
I don't think I could ever sleep now without a pacifier.
