The aftermath.

I was reading yet another petticoat punishment story when my muse wanted to know what happens afterwards. This is my attempt to answer that.

For 3 long years I was known as Jessica Baton.

My name is actually Chester Baton. When I was young, well younger, and very uhm stupid I did some bad things.

Alright that is putting it very mildly. I would steal from people's houses. Not the sneaking the china out or one piece of jewelry kind. But the take a chainsaw to the door and remove the safe from wall kind. Yeah it's easier to take a safe off the wall that try to crack it open right there. Quicker too. In and out in less than 10 minutes. Take safe back to the crack spot, which was whatever place I had cased earlier that gave me time to cut the stupid thing open from the much less harder back of safe.

I would then take what loot I knew I could fence, sell it, take that cash to buy a shipment of drugs. Sell that on the street and pocket what I could. I would also steal other stuff. Drive into a lumber yard and load up with wood and drive away. Looking all the while like I was supposed to be there but wasn't. You would be surprised what you can get for good quality lumber.

Stealing cars with a tow truck was another one. Go up to car and tow it away, get to safe spot disable the car's gps system, if it had one, by cutting the wires to battery. Most needed the battery working for the computers to work. Some of the better ones had internal systems. I skipped those cars. Take them to the shops and have the cars literally stripped clean of useful easy to move parts. The rest would get crushed or cut up into pieces and go to the general scrap yards.

For a 14 year old I was probably one of the richest around. I just didn't let anyone know it. I wasn't cocky, didn't get into trouble at the shit school I went too. Didn't do drugs or even cigarettes. All in all probably the least suspicious person. Unfortunately that didn't stop the more advanced crime fighters aka the police, from having a very large dossier on me.

One night at 1 am I was caught. Not robbing a bank or anything stupid. Nope I got caught with a small bag of heroin in my possession. It was a bag that had slipped under my gym clothes. When I say small I mean small. Like the size of a teabag. Normally this would be a minor charge. As a 'first offense' it would have been an overnight stay and see judge in the morning promising to clean up act type of thing.

However they knew who I was as soon as I was brought in. The rather thick folder, they actually brought one in I was impressed, plopped down on the table like thunder. My fictional parents, I had hired actors for when I needed them, were not called as the police knew they were fake. My original parents had been killed years before in a car accident. Well if you want to call it that. My dad had a few too many but less than mom and the car got stuck on ice at a railway crossing. Why they didn't get out of the car is beyond me but the train came by and poof I was an orphan.

My only relatives, being an aunt and uncle, were in far off England somewhere in the boondocks. They had problems with online gaming. More specifically they were addicted to it. So much so that for 2 years they failed probation 4 times. I think they wanted me, not sure, but couldn't overcome the addiction. That left me with foster homes. I'm sure there is good foster homes with caring people. I was put in two. The first was with a drug addict. The second I was one of 10 foster children that they didn't really care for except it got them tax breaks.

I ran away and started to live off the street. I learned quickly watching others make mistakes and didn't do them myself. I got better and better though. Stealing a wallet is useless these days as most people carry plastic and not cash. Stealing newspapers from people's doorsteps and then selling them at the other end of the city however does work. I did that for awhile and it kept me fed. Homeless but fed. I needed more so I looked and watched and learned.

I set myself up in a quaint 2 bedroom house via my actor parents. Went to a school that didn't care too much for homework. I had busy nights so I slept most evenings. Learning to drive and err acquire vehicles was a little hairy at first but I soon got the hang of it. I guess my biggest mistake was routine. I got into a routine of sorts. Go to school sleep in class get home sleep some more then run on adrenaline all night.

Since I had never used a fake name, another trip many crooks make, they knew who I was and where I lived. What they didn't know was how much money I had secreted away. Not with oversea accounts or hidden accounts. Naw that's more for movies and fiction. Mutual funds and banks are far more protective of the assets they get to play with. Police or government agencies don't let the average broker play with funds. Hence they like to keep a good lid on "customer privacy" and all that.

The folder they had was a record of almost everything I had done. All they had me on was a minor drug charge. I should explain something. There is a few terms. First is definitive proof. This is actual caught in the act type of proof that says for sure you did something. Then there is circumstantial evidence. Which is they are pretty sure you did something but it could be argued you didn't. The final I call empirical evidence is they know you did something but have no actual proof to back up the claim at all.

In an open court this would be laughed out of court as I was still very much a minor and it was my 'first offense'. This would entail me actually having an attorney to go with it. There is also what they call a closed court. This is three, yes three, judges with the judicial system that look over your case file. You are judged for your crimes in private and totally away from any media at all. Since I was between a minor criminal and a major criminal they tried me in a closed court.

Basically one old man and two old bags brought me up short in a blank walled square room. Their chairs were no more comfortable than my own. In their eyes I was a possible serious criminal in the making. I say possible because they gave me an offer. An offer I'm fairly sure they didn't want me to have but were pressured from an outside source for someone like me to fall into their lap.

I will never know what door number two would have been as I was totally scared at that point and took their ambiguous offer. When I accepted the offer signed through three sheets and many fingerprints I was led to another room where a man and woman sat in much more comfortable chairs. The man and woman who never introduced themselves gave me the rest of the offer. Basically my unique skills, aka being able to spot and take advantage of weaknesses, were of use to them. They believed that a certain school was sneaking out information of importance to foreign parties.

Like most kids I was a James Bond fan and the idea of being the secret agent thrilled me. Now in hindsight I see that in a new light thought. If James Bond were a real agent of an agency they would have a specific purpose for him. Since everyone knew of him, or so it seemed, he would be used as a smoke screen of sorts. His missions, all done with attention grabbing flare, would be used to cover a REAL agent. The real agent whose purpose is to basically not be seen or noticed at all would do the real work of catching the criminals while James Bond had their attention locked elsewhere.

His missions would be very real and done with exceptional skill however in reality would end up the criminal never really facing justice much unless they died. I'm not a murderer at all. Steal yes, kill? Not a hope in he..heck. And they did not want to give me a license to kill either it wasn't what they wanted. They did want my skills for the other purpose though. I didn't find that out till much later. Basically I was used to cover up the real agent who did all the real checking.

The school in this case was a reform school of sorts for... Mmm let me try that again. A couple of decades in the last century ago some person came up the the bright idea of reforming bad boys into good girls via a punishment called, laughingly, petticoat punishment.

The school, as you may have guessed, was built for that purpose. My file alone would have gotten me in to the school but they also wanted me to look the part. They found that young neat boys like myself did not look the part of what the headperson would take in. For this purpose they busted my nose via a very good punch to the face along with some other bruises. In the file I was made to have resisted arrests. Yes plural. In actuality I never felt a thing as I was out cold.

I was brought to the school with two swollen black eyes my nose in a plastic cast of sorts and swollen lips. I was in ratty jeans and a black rocker t shirt slightly ripped. I also sported newly pierced and healed ears. Along with some noisy jewelery aka ankle and hand cuffs to meet this rather unimposing grandmotherly type of lady. The politically correct term is headperson rather than headmistress.

Ms. Jane, I never did find out if that was a first or last name, was an imposing lady of quality. Anyone who met her would be easily overcome with that impression. I know I was impressed. Her first view of me or more so my nose brought a smile to her face. She instructed the sheriff to undo my chains and cuffs. I was left barely able to breath on her doorstep.

I looked far worse off than I really was. Many of the bruises I carried were artfully aged the old fashioned way. The agency did not just send me blindly into the field. Nope after piercing my ears I was given over to Master Tanaka. Master Tanaka is either a short lightly built man or a flat chested woman. The heavy accent that was possibly Australian in origin but, and I say this lightly, was more Japanese in nature. leaving no clue as to which. For two weeks I spent hours getting my head handed to me on a bamboo platter. After two weeks of intense training I got two things out of it. One I hated Master Tanaka so much I respected him/her and two I could hold my own with a black belt and possibly walk away. I wouldn't be able to inflict much in the way of harm to my opponent aside from disabling them. But at least I would be able to defend myself.

Once the Sheriff, who had not been informed of my origins aside from the criminal part, had left me alone with the woman she brought me into the house and gave me the speech about what was expected of me in the house. Most of it was that I was to behave and follow everything she expected of me. She was a smooth one though she didn't come out the petticoat punishment until later. The next day I was seen by a doctor of sorts who had me put through some steps or tests. I'm still not sure they were entirely necessary.

This did give them the excuse, with much caring for my well being of course, to well give me a nose job. I didn't want one but I got one. After the bruising went away two weeks later, where I did everything wrong by the way, I woke one morning to a view that was not my own.

Before my high cheekbones were nicely hidden under a layer of fat and offset by a nose that had been crooked from previous street scuffles that my face was unquestionably that of a boy. This new face was more proper on a girl than my own. I uh well I screamed. This brought Ms. Jane running and we had words. I admit I dug my own hole at that point. She said that since I believed I was a girl, which she said I was no such thing, that she would make a deal of sorts. If people saw me as a girl then maybe I should be dressed like one. That began almost immediately. My transformation did not take very long.

Thus began my term in training to be a young lady of quality. My diet along with the exercises to ' loosen up the stiff muscles' along with a very frustrating corset. Had me developing curves in places a guy shouldn't have them. She had cart blanc in regards to what could and could not done with me. For example I was fitted with breasts. Nothing huge, even if I thought so at the time, a small B cup maybe. I was also fitted with a fake vagina of sorts. Both were glued on for a week at a time with a day in between where the air was left to heal me. After a while it felt weird to not have either on myself and I was actually glad to have my breasts and vagina back.

Before long Chester Baton disappeared into Jessica Baton. There is no female equivalent of Chester at least not one that sounds nice anyways. I wont say that I thought of myself as a girl or wanted surgery to change that. I just got lost in the silks and satins of a young lady of quality. This was not without fights on my part. I did not going all that willingly into the role. But go I did.

As part of the program I was enrolled into a local public school. If you want to call it public since all the children were of ah snooty tastes. There was a dress code and a number of 'poor' students. Poor being relative as even the poor kids parents made over a 100k a year. I had not realized it but my nose had changed my face. The nose job along with impeccable makeup skills soon had me at the top of the pile at the school. The top, that is of the girl's pile. All the boys tried to get me to go on dates. My ladylike training allowed me to deflect many of these advances. For appearances at social events I did take a few of the offered dates. I hate to admit it but I did enjoy a few of them.

I did do some searching on the sly. The documents I found didn't seem any out of the ordinary. I found out later they headmistress planted them specifically for me to find. I did send off my reports as such. I felt guilty doing so for the first time in my life though which shocked me. I knew without a doubt at that point my former criminal life was dead and gone.

At school my gender was never in question. I never went anywhere in a bikini, not for lack of people trying, but because it felt wrong for me to wear one even if I did have a good figure. The school did have a pool and a school issue one piece. The one piece left little to the imagination. The vagina nicely hide my boy bits and my fake breasts, which over time were increased bit by bit, left no one guessing at my true nature.

I found that I was able to throw myself into my studies quite easily and was surprised, at first, and felt good about getting some of the best grades in the class. Not top grades but in the top ten for sure. Many thought this was the reason why I did not go out boys, that and a strict guardian, prevented me.

The day before my graduation there was a big cafaful at the school. Ms. Jane was arrested, all very public, on charges of treason and fraud. I did attend my graduation and the following prom in very expensive satin and silk gown. The red cocktail style dress set off my now medium auburn hair quite well locking all the boys attention on my assets. The debacle at the school had also released the information that I was really a boy but I didn't care. I was dressed as a girl but accepted my diploma made out to Chester Baton and not Jessica Baton. Most of the time I got many 'your so not a boy' comments.

I wont say I was the belle of the ball or princess or anything but I did get a number of dances. My original prom date had of course left me before the prom. I think it was to save face, not sure. I didn't care as far as I was concerned I was going out with a bang and determined to have the time of my life doing so.

During the trials after the prom I was called a few times as witness for some things. Being Chester again and appearing as a male was really difficult. Far more than I thought it would be. Many times I would fall into my Jessica habits before my legal counsel would nudge me. The very last day of the court proceedings where she was found guilty and sentence to prison I was torn to the point I had to get changed, including baths, six times. Five of those times I had made myself up as Jessica almost having a breakdown in the process.

I was left to pick up the pieces of my life after it finished. The agency had used me so my former glamor of being a spy was dead. My life as the criminal Chester Baton was also dead and buried. I was not short for money, actually I was even better off than before as my broker had taken my sizeable short term mutual fund assets and put them into stocks and bonds. I was flabbergasted to find out he had managed to not only triple them but well... I'm not even sure if there is a word for it. Plainly put my former 300k got turned into 30 million. I was set for life easily.

I left the broker with a few million to play with and put the rest into secure investments to live off the interest. From the interest alone I was receiving some 50 grand a year. That plus the earnings from the broker I had no troubles foreseable in my future if I lived a good life. Not the over spending super star type life you see actors and actresses having but a good personal quiet life.

I sold my original hovel and moved to a more, upscale type of location. The taxes were not all that fun but not killer either. I paid cash for the house I now inhabit. The small fact I did so as Jessica in a killer summer flower patterned paisley dress was just icing. My nearest neighbors were some 60 feet away to either side. I was welcomed into the neighborhood with a small party. They welcomed me as Chester Baton. Though it did not take long before they wondered why I was trying to transition to a guy. I didn't ask or even hint at that but it was how it got back to me.

I have been trying for some time to reclaim my former masculinity however my neighbors, all polite and calling me Chester of course, treat me like some dainty woman. It is not Mister Chester Baton but Ms! This caused me stress.

The best way to deal with stress is, of course, a spa day. It didn't feel right to go to a spa as a boy so my previously hidden girl parts were unpacked. I can't describe it very well but it was like coming home to once again see the girl naked staring at me in the mirror. I put on a pair of panties and a bra to support my assets, all very well hidden behind some semi permanent liquid latex and makeup, and I went off to my spa day.

I didn't really have any hair left over after my ordeal at the school. The few dark hairs I had had were zapped by the in school cosmetician. This left me with a fine pale peach fuzz even after not shaving or waxing for months. The spa waxed me as a matter of course. My plain white lingerie was hidden under a white short silk dressing gown during my time at the spa. I had registered as Chester Baton. I guess they get a few cross dressers or trans people coming through the spa as nobody really made a big deal out of calling me Chester. The wax was followed by the masseuse who turned me into putty. I was oiled with perfumed oil and lead dreamily to a chair for my hairdresser to have her way with me. I got a facial and mani pedi. When she asked me if I had a preference for my hair, which she kinda chewed me out on being far past the time I needed to come in I dreamily said not really without thinking about it. In the past the in house cosmetician had done everything for me so I really had no idea what to expect.

I really should have paid attention as she did ask me what my real name was. I responded without pause Jessica and still have no idea why I did that. I may have entered the salon as a androgynous male Chester but it was Jessica who left the salon. My eyebrows, which had just begun to look male had been waxed into fine shapely arches once again. My toenails and fingernails had been shaped and polished with a light red with white tips.

It did not feel at all strange to once again be wearing makeup. When I arrived home the neighbors saw me. Within minutes of arriving home I was plagued by visits of the local ladies group. They pushed and pulled me around till I relented and led them up to my rooms. I showed them my nice male wardrobe when they asked to see my clothes. The looks I got would have melted butter. When asked where my real clothes were I sheepishly showed them the packed boxes and bags in the spare room.

They made me strip down to my bra and panties, I admit I didn't really resist all that hard, and put on more ' suitable clothing' which was a simple plain summer dress, all the accessories which I picked out, including the small low strapped heels, purse, and a hat. They didn't ask me why I was trying to present as a man they just smiled before pushing me out the door. I spent the afternoon being reintroduced around the block as one Ms. Jessica Baton.

The common comments I got was that they were glad to meet the real me. It bothered me as this wasn't the real me just, well a costume, is how I looked at it. The ladies regularly made it a point to tut tut me when I still tried to present as Chester. The 'oh Jessica' comment was getting old.

I wasn't trying to be Jessica anymore but it was how people saw me. I wanted to run so much but didn't. There was times where I spent the nights crying into my satin pillows. Things settled into a normal of sorts. Nobody believed I was Chester anymore. I never tried to say I was Jessica either.

What I didn't count on was that the name Jessica Baton would spark an interest in my former school mates. It was a bit of a shock to one day open my door to find some of my old school mates, not the private petticoat school, the public highschool one. They had snubbed me at the end of the dance and I thought that was the end of it. Apparently not.

It seems that after I had left the area and moved back home they had all gotten together and decided that I was a woman born. This silliness, their words, of being really a boy was just that. My social calender that had been empty as Chester began to fill up as Jessica. Nobody was forcing me, well not really, to be Jessica but they expected me as Jessica to show up at these events.

I went to opera's and ballets. Invited to more than a few weddings as bridesmaid, most of which dissolved inside of 4 months. High school romances hardly ever work out as married couples. At the end of 2 years the amount of times I was able to go about as my real self were far and few while dressed up as Jessica I was barely able to weed my own flower beds.

One of the old ladies on the block has taken it upon herself to act as my surrogate mother. If a suitor wishes to call upon me they must first talk to her. She feels it is her duty to find me the perfect husband. I hate to say it but old Mrs. Windom is a great woman. She may be a widow but her heart is huge. I find myself calling her mother far too often.

This still leaves me with a dilemma I feel I need to solve. To all outward sources Chester Baton is not a real person. To my social circle, which has grown quite huge by the way, I am Young Jessica Baton a young woman of quality. It doesn't say that on my license or identification but they see me as that. I never once lied to anyone and to this day keep trying to tell people I'm not a woman.

The big question is who am I really?

Somehow it doesn't feel important that I find out when I know it should.

The end.



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