The Ugly Duckling

The Ugly Duckling

by Dave Potter


Exclusively for the ‘Tales of the Veils’ website


Aalborg Sygehus

“Mr. and Mrs. Nielsen, it’s good to see you. Yes, if you’d just like to come inside here and I’ll explain…”

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter with Anne Christine, doctor?”

“Well Mrs. Nielsen, I’m sorry but it’s serious this time. I’m afraid that she tried to take her own life, with tablets. Thankfully you found her in time and took her here. An hour later and I fear it would all have been too late.”

“Oh my God! That’s terrible! But why? Why would she do such a thing Doctor Pedersen?”

“Well, I’ve talked with Anne during her recovery and also with her school nurse. It seems that for some time she’s been having a problem with her self-esteem and confidence and…”

“But we know all about that!”

“Yes, but you perhaps don’t appreciate how serious it is.”

“But why? She’s intelligent; does well at school…”

“The problem seems to be one common with many girls of her age. She is worried about her appearance. None of the boys are attracted to her and she fears that she is ugly…”

“But she’s beautiful!”

“To you, her mother, yes she is. But in her mind she is as ugly as can be and she’s finding that hard to live with.”

“Well I suppose she is a little plain but it’s nothing major.”

“Mr. Nielsen, the problem is psychological, not physical, but she sees it as physical and that is the sticking point.”

“Well, fair enough, but what do you suggest? Counselling?”

“From what you and the school nurse has said, she’s tried that before and it’s had no noticeable effect. We need a new strategy I’m afraid.”


“Possibly, although I for one only prescribe such drugs as a last resort and for Anne I think there may be a different solution that you might want to consider…?”

“Please tell it to us, doctor!”

“Mrs. Nielsen, forgive me for asking, but you are not Danish are you not?”

“No, I’m English, but I’ve lived here for twenty years, ever since I met Jacob here.”

“It is as I thought. Mrs. Nielsen, have you ever considered returning home?”

“To England? But why?”

“Well, Anne Christine’s problem seems to be all focussed on her physical appearance, so why not take her to an environment where physical appearance is of no importance whatsoever? In Britain the veiling laws…”

“Doctor, I left England in the first place because of those stupid laws! I’m no fundamentalist and…”

“And I appreciate that Mrs. Nielsen but all I’m saying is that they might help Anne. She is, as your husband says, somewhat plain and the acne is a problem, bigger in her own mind than reality, but nonetheless. In England her face or indeed any of her skin would ever be seen, only, amongst friends and family, the outline of her body, and to be fair, that is quite attractive. Put her in such an environment and she may actually find herself to become the object of male attraction which would of course, help with her self-esteem and confidence issues. Think about it.”

“No way, doctor, I am sorry but there is no way that we are moving to England…”


Two months later

Anne Christine Nielsen breathed a deep breath, smelling the now familiar strangely exciting smell of latex in her nostrils. Before her, behind the door, lay the thing in life that she was most afraid of. It was three months since she’d set foot inside one and her stomach churned in anticipation. Behind the door lay a classroom full of girls her own age. As always she just wanted to shrivel up and die…

So much had changed in those two months, so much indeed. Anne Christine cast her mind back and shuddered. Life had been so miserable, so empty that she’d just wanted to end it all. It had taken her a while to actually summon up the bottle to do it but even when she had, like everything else she’d failed at killing herself too. She’d built up the courage to swallow all those pills but then she’d been found, rushed to hospital, had her stomach pumped and then the low painful recovery. She was a failure, an absolute failure and now, after her ordeal, she looked even worse than she had before. If that was possible, ugly bitch that she was! Why had God made her that way? Why couldn’t the boys fancy her like they did her friends? But who would fancy such a dog like her?

After several weeks in hospital she’d returned home, convalesced in bed. Well, at least it wasn’t school with all the teasing bullying girls and indifferent boys. Then though, things had got weird. Mum had said they were moving to Britain where dad had got a job in a computer firm. She couldn’t understand it; mum had always hated visiting her family in the UK because of the stupid veiling laws there. But move they had done and she had had to put on a baggy cloak called an abayah and then, in the airport, a faceveil that left only her eyes free. It was hot under that veil but it wasn’t so bad. Walking through the terminal nobody looked at her and noticed her ugliness. They’d just assumed she was like any other girl. If only they’d known!

They’d settled down in their new house in the town of Loughborough, a nondescript place in the middle of the country. Life in Britain was really weird compared with Denmark. First and foremost there were the veils. They were mandatory whenever she left the house and even though they weren’t serious ones at first, it had been strange wearing them, walking through the streets covered and hidden, like a faceless ghost, identical to all the other women. One part of her hated wearing it because it represented (according to her mum who absolutely hated having to veil) the oppression and subjugation of women, but at the same time she liked no one being able to see her. Dressed like that she was treated like any other girl, not singled out or looked at in a condescending way. She loved that feeling of anonymity and slowly realised that she was feeling better in herself because of it. Of course, whenever she opened her mouth people realised that she was foreign which made them give her the funny looks, but even then, people weren’t really critical, just interested in someone who was a bit different to them.

Then her mum announced that she was to attend the prestigious St. Stephen’s Grammar School next term and as such she needed to get stricter with her clothing since that was a school that demanded what was termed ‘modest attire’. They went shopping at a boutique in town and the assistant explained all about how veiling worked in the UK when she saw that Anne Christine was foreign. “Basically, in Britain, all that the Veiling Laws say is that we should keep our hair, faces and bodies covered when men are about. We call that Category I and we have to obey that. However, many girls go much further, either because they wish to or their husbands or fathers wish it. Many wear gloves and stockings as well and do not speak in the presence of strange men. We call that Category II. You however, shall be attending St. Stephen’s which has a Category III uniform. That means that all clothes must be loose and only one colour, that no traces whatsoever are to be seen of your face and that you are gagged at all times. Your mother has requested that you start wearing Category II or III clothes now so as to get ready for St. Stephens.

Although the prospect of being so covered and restricted would have scared so many girls, it pleased Anne Christine as it hid her ugliness from the world. She agreed passively whilst the assistant selected several catsuits as undergarments in various colours. They were mostly lycra but she also suggested a latex one with a wink, saying that once tried, Anne would never want to be out of it. Then there came high-heeled boots and for the head, full hoods with just a hole for her long hair to peep out of in a pony tail. The hood had grilles over the eyes, holes to breathe through and a hole at the mouth but this was soon filled by a large red ball gag that was buckled behind her head. Then thick leather gloves to match her boots were pulled over her hands. “Wow girl!” exclaimed the assistant. “You look good!” Anne Christine looked at herself in the mirror. Whilst ‘good’ was perhaps a little too much, she had to admit that it was an improvement.

About a week after the visit, she decided to try on the latex catsuit. It was really hard to get on and she found that she had to powder her body first but when it was on she felt great. The material hugged her all over and picked out the contours of her breasts and flower quite lewdly. It also made an exquisite crinkling sound whenever she moved. She felt feminine, like a doll, the material restricting her movements and exciting her. She realised that the assistant had been right and the following weekend went into town again and ordered three more latex catsuits.

Life in her new clothes was strange for Anne Christine. Whilst she did not have to gag inside the house, it was weird being covered all the time and the high heels made her movements far more feminine and graceful. A couple of times she caught herself in the mirror as she walked past and thought ‘Who’s that graceful lady’, only to realise it was just ugly old Anne. Picking up things wearing the gloves was harder too and she found herself using her hands less and less. Outside when she had to put on a burqa she found that her sight was much affected with another layer over it and her vision reduced to a blurred space directly in front of her. But she was hidden and that was great because no one looked at her as they used to, thinking what an ugly girl she was.

Wearing veils really changed how people looked at one another. Since no one could see the real person, they instead scrutinised the outside clothing. Women were considered beautiful and turned the heads of the males if they were wearing a particularly beautiful burqa or casually let a stocking-covered ankle show. For her birthday, Anne Christine went to the shopping centre in Nottingham and bought the most beautiful and expensive burqa she could find. She left the shop wearing in and all through Nottingham and on the train home men stared at her as if she were a beauty. She loved it almost as much as she loved the feel of the quality fabric sweeping all around her. After that day she spent all of her pocket money on the best clothes she could find.

So it was that in a perverse way, her life was getting better. Hidden she felt more confident and in such clothing, more feminine. Then however, came the time to start at St. Stephen’s. She put her favourite latex catsuit on underneath, but then came the extreme school uniform. First came a purple shalwar kameez, then thick black woollen gloves and stockings. After that a ball gag that was buckled behind her head, then a purple abayah and a hood, also in purple, with a grille for her eyes. Over that came a purple headscarf and then finally the heavy deep purple school burqa with the crest emblazoned on the front of the facial panel just below the two tiny tear drop panels that she was allowed to see through. Wearing all the clothing, enclosed, hot and confined, her sight now extremely limited and her voice silenced, she thought about her predicament. She was going back to school. At that thought, all her fears returned. Even though there were no boys at the school, she knew that the girls would see through her garments to the ugliness below and she would be bullied, hassled and her life become the same misery that it was in Denmark.

Slowly, her mother’s hand on her shoulder, she shuffled out of the room and out to the car. Walking in her new attire was a whole different affair to previously. She didn’t even signal to her mother that she had noticed that she had unusually put on both a long coat, gloves and a veil only showing her eyes beneath the mandatory lace for taking her to the strict school. She felt so separated from the world, as if that were unreal and the only thing that truly existed was her in her heated cocoon. They drove the short distance to the school where she got out and followed all the other burqa-clad girls to the door.

At the entrance a teacher was stood waiting in a burqa like her own, only her placing and the tag on her chest identifying her as employee. Anne Christine went up to her and handed a note that she’d written earlier explaining who she was. The teacher nodded and motioned for her to follow her. They walked down a long corridor, up a flight of stairs and then up to the door that she was now stood before. Beyond that door, her new class lay; a group of girls who she knew in her heart would see through her veils to the ugly worthless girl beneath. She shook and tears seeped out from her eyes but no one could tell under all those layers. The teacher nodded at her and left. She was alone; she could delay it no longer.

With a heavy heart, Anne Christine opened the heavy door to her new class and the waiting group of girls beyond…



School Life

Straight away she knew that this was different from any other schoolroom that she’d been in her life. Although it was full of excited girls, eager to catch up with their friends after the long summer holidays, it was deathly silent. All were gagged and so they just wrote notes to one another on pads. As she entered the teacher noticed her and pointed to a seat. When Anne Christine had removed her burqa and put it on the shelf under her desk the teacher took a ruler and tapped it loudly on the desk. All the girls stopped writing on their pads and turned to her. The teacher then wrote in chalk on the board. This is Anne Christine the new girl. She has come here from Denmark. Please make her welcome. All the girls nodded and came up to Anne rubbing their veiled faces against hers which she understood to be a form of greeting. Then she was bombarded by notes. I am Lucy, let’s be friends! My name is Sam, let’s chat at break. Hi! I’m Emma! Nice to meet you!

The silence was weird at first. To hear no human voices was unnatural but it was surprising how quickly she got used to it. The lessons were all written on the board, and questions and answers as well. By a room full of almost identically looking figures only to be differentiated by their tags and the teacher’s face covered by a black hood instead of a purple. But most of the time seated at the same desk positions identified each student and Anne Catherine in her mind had labelled every desk with a name and a characteristic of the writing of that girl to see them all as individual classmates. Aside from that it was normal. They had male teachers speaking their lessons and showing looks that made them desirable or rediculed among the girls. They did experiments in Biology and painted pictures in Art. School was how school had always been except that there was no bullying or comments about her spots or ugliness. Anne Christine had never been happier.


At break all the girls talked to her in notes. They asked her about life in Denmark and what she thought about Britain and the Veiling Laws. Some really hated the veils and restriction and it was clear that they only wore them because of societal and family pressures whilst other girls loved them.

One of her new classmates was Lucy and straight away Anne Christine found they had a lot in common. On the second day Lucy invited her back to her house for tea. At first Anne Christine was reticent fearing that if Lucy realised what an ugly loser her new friend was she would hate her and tell all the other girls to do so but Lucy was insistent and so Anne Christine decided to risk it.

Lucy’s house was a large one in the Thorpe Acre area of town. Once inside Anne Christine wrote Lucy a note asking if they unveiled. Only the burqa replied Lucy. We are a strict family and I never show any flesh or even ungag because my brothers are about. I hope this doesn’t upset you. Anne Christine was thankful. She could remain hidden and Lucy would not realise her true nature.
No, not at all I like it that way she replied.

They took off their burqas and Anne Christine was introduced to a featureless figure of royal blue silk except a black silk face who was Lucy’s mother. She didn’t reply and only rubbed her veiled face against the vistitor’s. Mum observes voice modesty at all times explained Lucy in a note.

Then they went upstairs and to Anne Christine’s surprise, Lucy started to take off the rest of her uniform and motioned for Anne Christine to do the same. She nodded and within seconds the outer uniforms had gone to reveal two catsuited young ladies with beautiful bodies . You look great! wrote Lucy. I love your latex catsuit.
I love wearing latex
Me too, it’s the best. But tell me, have you ever considered wearing a corset. You’ve got a great body and it would really set it off.
A what?
A corset. I’ve got one you can try on.

The corset was in black leather and was tightened around her waist. It was strange to wear because when Lucy started to lace it tight Anne Christine found it hard to breathe which was a little scary but exciting too. However, when she saw her new silhouette in the mirror she had to admit it was stunning.

This is great Lucy! A pain to wear but great!
A pain? You know nothing! This is barely laced but if you tightlace then you can hardly breathe at all, or bend or do anything.
What do you mean, tightlace?
Basically you lace it until your head spins and you can lace no more. My mother tightlaces because dad likes it and I will be expected to when I marry. My fiancé has said that he likes a tightly-laced woman.
Your fiancé?! But you’re only seventeen!
That is true but my marriage has been arranged for two years already. We will marry straight after I finish at St. Stephen’s. His name is David.
Do you love him?
He’s ok, quite hot but it’s not about love. Dad chose and as a submissive girl I accepted. David is strict like dad, Category III all the time but I don’t mind really.
If he is so strict, then why aren’t you corseted at school?
He wants me to be but it’s hard…
Tell you what, if you corset, I will and we can support each other.
Deal but only with one extra stipulation!
What’s that?
You do it properly. David insists that my waist is no larger than twenty inches and so you should be the same.
Twenty inches? What’s that in centimetres?
About fifty I think…
Oh my God! That’s tiny!
Is it a deal?
Yes, it’s a deal.


And so she began lacing. At first Lucy lent her a corset but that weekend they went into town and ordered one properly made that could reduce all the way to eighteen inches. It was really tough wearing it, she could do very little including games which they were both excused from as St. Stephen’s considered corseting too noble an ideal to give up for physical exercise. She had to walk erect all the time and was always out of breath, but she felt great, so feminine. Furthermore, all the other girls soon heard about their endeavours and at breaks they would go into the toilets and take off their burqas and uniforms to show them. Such acts were strictly against school rules, which emphasised modesty at all times, but as female staff always wore burqas outside staff- and classrooms they never walked detours or inspection rounds. The amount of compliments that Anne Christine was now getting about her body were unbelievable and she wondered if perhaps the ugly duckling was becoming a swan?! Their endeavours also pushed several other girls to become tightlacers and the pariah was now a fashion leader.

To keep it up, the two girls kept spurring each other on. After a few months twenty inches was no longer too taxing and so they reduced to nineteen and then eighteen. They also introduced boots with higher heels to their wardrobes and tiny matching corsets for their necks which meant that they could not longer nod or shake their heads but instead only stare straight ahead.

Anne Christine’s mother was a first worried by all this restriction as she had always hated veiling and covering herself, but seeing the change in her daughter’s self-esteem and demeanour, she assented, realising that it was far better than her attempting suicide. Both the Nielsen parents daily thanked Dr. Pedersen for his advice.


Mark Chapman

One day Anne-Christine was chilling at Lucy’s house when she was caught short and found that she had to use the toilet quickly. Normally she would throw a burqa over herself just in case there were any unconcerned males present, (as there often were for Lucy had an elder brother and he often had friends round, not to mention Lucy’s dad), but she was really desperate, (probably because her insides were squeezed so much by her corset), so she threw caution to the wind, ran out of Lucy´s room, across the landing and rushed into the bathroom. To her surprise and horror though, as she barged through the door she bumped into another person coming out. She looked up and saw that it was Mark, Lucy’s brother. Mortified, she bowed an apology and moved so he could get past. He however, just stood there staring at her before muttering a ‘sorry’ and then moving out of her way.

That evening in the Nielsen household the phone rang and Jacob answered. He answered with the words “Oh, hello Mr. Chapman!” and Anne Christine’s heart sank. She knew that she would probably be banned from the Chapman house from now on for committing such a lewd and improper act and in all likelihood would be forced to cease her friendship with Lucy. Once again she had screwed it all up, stupid brainless ugly bitch that she was! Certainly, there was no sign of hope when her father put the phone down and announced in a stern voice that he was going to see Mr. Chapman immediately for some very serious business.

About an hour later the phone rang again and this time her mother answered. “Yes, yes,” she said, “we’ll come right away!” Then she put it down and ordered Anne Christine to get dressed topped by one of her best burqas.

At the Chapman’s house they were shown into the main sitting room. When she walked in she found Mr. Chapman sat on the sofa with Mark beside him. Mrs. Chapman and Lucy were stood dressed in rich burqas behind them. Her own father was sat in an armchair across from them.

“Anne Christine, Mr. Chapman here has invited us over today to discuss a very serious matter. It transpires that this afternoon in this very house, you allowed Mark here to view you dressed in nothing but your undergarments which, for a family of the beliefs of the Chapmans, is the same as nakedness. Is this true Anne Christine?”

She nodded and bowed deeply to the floor to symbolise her sincerest apologies.

Then Mr. Chapman continued. “Normally Anne Christine, we would view such an infraction very seriously, perhaps even making you terminate your friendship with Lucy here, but you have been visiting us for some time now and we know you to be a good and moral girl and we appreciate that you have only lived in Britain for a few months and so are not as aware of such infractions as we are. Therefore, we forgive the act. However, that is not the end of the matter. Mark here, when he saw your uncovered form, was so deeply impressed that he came to me immediately and told me that he has never seen such a perfect female figure even though he has viewed the beautiful outlines of his mother and sister which are most desirable indeed. This, coupled with what we have learnt from Lucy of your character and nature, mean that he has become greatly infatuated with you. In short, he proposes marriage. I have assented to it and thus I invited your father over.”

“Anne Christine, I was most honoured when Mr. Chapman here told me of his son’s desires. To be associated with such a family is indeed a great honour for people such as us, but I could not give my consent readily. The thing is, if you married Mark you would be expected to live in a very strict manner and you are not used to it or prepared yet. Also, I am firm in the belief that a woman must make her own mind up about marriage and so I told him that you must decide. This surprised Mr. Chapman I know, for it is not normal here, but our ways are Danish and not British. As for me, I will respect your decision whatever you decide. On the one hand, like I said, this is a good family and Mark a fine young man and it would be a great honour for me to have him as my son-in-law, but on the other hand both your mother and I are very unsure about you living a strict lifestyle for an extended period. In truth, we had always intended to return to Denmark where you would naturally be unveiled and unfettered but such a move would be impossible if you were married to Mark. Do you understand Anne Christine?”

She nodded and then took out her pad. I have a question. What sort of strictness will I have to abide by if I married Mark?

Mr. Chapman took the note and read it. “Well Anne Christine that is a good question. Certainly Category III clothing at all times outside of the house, and inside, full covering at all times. The choice is Mark’s but I anticipate that he may wish to see you uncovered or speak with you perhaps only once or twice a week. Certainly, I rarely see or speak with Mrs. Chapman and that I believe is a most healthy way to live. Also, I would expect some sort of corsetry at all times and perhaps on occasions arm modesty. I appreciate that such limitations on your freedom would be difficult for you but I am afraid we must insist on it. Do not be rushed in your decision for it is the most important of your life.”

Anne Christine nodded and then wrote again: Yes, I need to think this through carefully. Your demands do not sound unreasonable but I have some ideas and expectations of my own. I will write them all down tonight and present them to you tomorrow. If you agree to them then I will accept. If not, then the answer is no.

Mr. Chapman read and laughed. “Well, this is novel,” he exclaimed, “a lady making demands on a man! Most un-British indeed! Still, we will wait until tomorrow.”


Anne Christine’s demands

Mr. Chapman took the paper in his hands and read it carefully. It was certainly not what he or his son had been expecting but then at the same time he couldn’t say that he disapproved entirely. Still, he would have to discuss this with Mark first.

Returning home from her meeting with the Chapmans’, Anne Christine had rushed to her room to compose her list of demands. Mr. Chapman’s words about wearing Category III clothing, limited contact, corsetry and perhaps even arm modesty would have been chilling to most girls, particularly if they had grown up in a very liberal country such as Denmark, but for Anne Christine, the reaction was somewhat different. The truth was, although her life had been extremely restricted and at times very difficult since moving to Britain, she had also learnt to love her new station. Slowly but surely, all the problems that had plagued her in Aalborg – the fears about her looks, bullying from her peers, lack of any male suitors – had drifted away and instead she was now a popular girl accepted by all the other girls in her class and incredibly, the object of desire for a rather attractive young man, who on top of his looks and good character references, was also her best friend’s brother and very wealthy. More than that though, she suspected that here was a chance to be able to live truly as she wanted; just so long as he realised what it was that she wanted. So it was, that without even bothering to remove her gag, she took up a pen in her gloved hands and started writing.

Mr, Chapman,

The lifestyle that you outlined to me if I were to become Mrs. Mark Chapman is indeed one that does not scare me or cause me to lose interest in the proposal of marriage to your son. I have lived in Britain for several months now as a pious and modest young lady and I have no concerns in continuing to do so after my marriage. However, I do not think that either you or your son appreciate quite how fully I have embraced the modest British lifestyle and so it is that I list here several prerequisites as to how I expect to be kept if I were Mrs. Mark Chapman. These are non-negotiable for me:

  1. That I be allowed to wear Category III clothing at all times when possible, even within the house amongst concerned males other than my husband and father. That I be allowed to wear blinding veils when in public spaces.
  2. I be provided with a maid to assist me in my daily duties.
  3. That I never need to speak to my husband or anyone else and that all communication is through notes until my dying day.
  4. That I do not have to work and instead be allowed to concentrate on becoming a desirable object for my new spouse. This will include:
    • a generous clothing allowance
    • tightlacing with a wedding measurement of no more than seventeen inches extending after marriage to fifteen inches or under.
    • high heels
    • neck corsets
    • restricting skirts
    • latex catsuits
  5. That arm modesty be embraced at least two days a week.
  6. That my husband may never seen me or have any skin-to-skin contact save that of intercourse. This must include:
    • Latex sealing for my head
    • Permanent hair removal on all my body
  7. That intercourse must be enjoyed at least three times a week, in a manner of his choosing.
  8. That I be allowed to undergo any body modifications that would make me more desirable to my husband.

Sir, I specify all of these because I wish to truly, no partially embrace a modest and covered lifestyle and yet at the same time because a goddess for him to desire and own.

Please contact my father when you have reached a decision.

Your humble servant,

Miss Anne Christine Nielsen

Anne Christine sat back and breathed deeply through the latex hood of her catsuit. The mere thought of it excited her beyond belief. To live so restricted, so hidden and yet so beautiful. Could it be true that the ugly duckling could become the graceful swan (particularly with regards to the neck). She imagined living her life with the sole purpose of being an object of attraction, of elegance, a source of endless desire to her spouse. She would become the living embodiment of feminine perfection! And an unattainable model to females as well. Her fingers strayed downstairs instinctively…

“Blimey dad,” said Mark Chapman after he had read the letter that his father had handed to him, “I can’t believe it!”

“It’s not what I’d expected either. There we were worrying if she would accept our strenuous demands and here she is replying with even more strict ones. The question is though, can you cope with having a wife who you can never see or speak to?”

“Dad, how can you even ask the question? Is that not the dream of a man, not his nightmare?! To have a wife who can never nag you or complain, who just wants to become more and more desirable for you?”

“Yes, but you may never see her face, and that will be hard!”

“Dad, you forget, you have raised me well. All my life I have dreamt of marrying a woman totally covered. It is her silhouette that excites me, not her skin, and as you know, Anne Christine’s silhouette is almost perfect! She possesses a tidy waist but from what this letter says, wishes to make it truly tiny and how I would love to help her in that, lace her to fifteen inches or even further, that is heaven! And then she talks about modifications! To think of giving her beautiful large breasts for her birthday, watching her latex-covered silhouette totter around on ballet heels, her struggling for breathe due to the over-tightened corset, her neck stretched like that of a swan and her arms pinioned behind her in a tightly-laced monoglove. That to me is too much even to dream for yet it appears to be offered to me as a reality!”

“But son, what about the latex sealing! Do you know what that means? What that entails?”

“Of course I do, and by God I can’t wait to unveil her on our wedding night and caress that latex-covered head!”

“So I take it that the answer is yes, that you accept her demands?”

“Of course dad, Anne Christine Nielsen shall soon become Mrs. Mark Chapman if you approve!”


Loughborough General Hospital

Anne Christine woke up in the bed and opened her eyes. The ceiling above her had a light pink hue to it, as did the walls. Everything had a pink hue to it. So, the operation had been successful! From now on the whole world, like her, would become a little bit more feminine!


She could hardly believe it when Mark Chapman sent his acceptances and immediately she had began lacing further so as to prepare for the big day. When her parents learnt of her extreme demands, they were not happy and remonstrated with her strongly, such ideals being against their liberal principles, but she assured them that it was what she wanted and in the end they acceded. Then, yesterday, at Mr. Chapman’s expense, she had been booked into the private ward at the Loughborough General Hospital.

They had kept her awake as her body was shaved all over and then the stinging ointment rubbed all over. At first the burning was almost unbearable but it slowly subsided and what little remained of her hair fell out. She was smooth and bald all over and it excited her. The nurse asked if she wanted to see her new self in the mirror but she refused. She had no desire to be reminded of that ugly face that had greeted her ever morning in the mirror in Denmark. That was the old Anne Chrstine; the new one was still being created.

Then she drank the anaesthetic and passed away. Now she was awake and aware that her life would never be the same again. Her head was now permanently sealed in pink latex, all the way to a tight plastic collar at the neck. The latex coating when up into her nostrils and her mouth which was kept open by an embedded ring gag. That way she could still accommodate food and her husband if he so desired but she could never talk again. That pleased her. Her voice had been as unattractive as her face and she was glad to leave it behind. In the centre of the ring a large pink plug had been fitted which could be inflated if she so desired. Around the eyes were lenses, tinted in pink as she had asked but also with a mirror coating so no one would ever be able to see what lay beneath. Her head was now perfectly hidden, the ugly Anne Christine now gone forever, replaced by a beautiful feminine doll.

‘And soon,’ she thought, ‘there will be more! This hood is only the first layer! I will wear a full catsuit over it and then burqas or other veils! And my body too! These humble breasts my husband may choose to enlarge: I will have no say in the matter of course, I just exist to be perfect! And ballet boots and monogloves and tight latex all over….’

She closed her eyes and lost herself in the happy dream, and when she opened them again, her whole world still had that exquisite pink hue to it.


Five years later

Mr. and Mrs. Nielsen were shown into the sitting room at the Chapmans’ house by the maid and then waited for their only daughter to arrive. Several minutes later she arrived, guided in by the same maid, wearing a beautiful embroidered blue burqa. She was sat on the sofa and the maid removed the burqa to reveal a latex-clad goddess with her arms positioned behind her in a monoglove and her waist and neck clinched to impossible sizes in matching corsets. The maid removed the monoglove carefully and when she had done so, said “Remember Madame, one hour only. I’ll replace it at 3:20.” After flexing her latex-clad arms, the figure took the notepad offered to her and began to write:

Mum, dad, it’s great to see you! How are things?

They don’t approve of her new mode of life, particularly her mother, who fled from Britain when the veiling laws came in all those years ago. However, they do accept it now, knowing that it is entirely her choice and that she loves living that way. Her mother is now wearing full Category II when visiting here or at Marks’s parents and in here she has only removed her coat and face covering still wearing and open face lycra hood and gloves. Even so, conversing through notes is still strange to them.

“We are fine, your father’s health is better now after he went to see the doctor. His blood pressure is better because of those new tablets…”

Anne Christine nodded as much as her neck corset would allow but in reality she wasn’t listening. Instead her mind was on other matters. Here were her mum and dad, the same as ever, still talking about everyday mundane things, yet for her how much had changed over the past two years since she’d married Mark Chapman!

First there had been the wedding, clad in layers of white silk, the latex beneath, blinded and struggling to breathe. Her new spouse had led her to their new house – an impressive pile paid for by her father-in-law – and up to the bedroom. Then he’d undressed her, all the silken layers came off to reveal the latex-clad, tightly-laced body beneath. “By God you’re beautiful!” he’d exclaimed, caressing her covered form, before unzipping her crotch and giving her exquisite pleasure for the first time in her life.

The first time of many.

The following morning he’d talked to her about her life to come. He wanted her covered just as much as she wanted to be covered. To him she was perfect as she was, a vision of femininity, curvaceous and beautiful. He loved to run his hands over her latex-shrouded head and slap her buttocks playfully. He was glad that he never had and never would see or hear her. It would spoil his image of perfection. His only criticism had been her lack of imagination. “You made stipulations of how you wish me to keep you. In principle they were all good, but they did not take into account the many possibilities. I can make you more beautiful and restrict you so much in so many different ways you know.” She merely got out her pen and pad and wrote. You’re the boss. Whatever you want, I will acquiesce to.

He’d told her that he wanted children. Only two but he did want them. If she provided him with them, he would promise to dedicate his time and money afterwards to making her even more perfect than she was already. She nodded eagerly. She wanted to be a mother as well as a goddess. A year later Stephen was born and a year after that, Katie. Then, having done her duty, he rewarded her by making her the very epitome of feminine perfection.

She was booked into the hospital again and her breasts enlarged. Mark liked the very rounded shape of fake breasts so she’d agreed to it, and had hers enhanced to a 36E bra size. Then her body, to match her head, was permanently sealed in latex, ensuring that no part of her would have any access to the outside save her vagina, anus and nipples, (which Mark insisted upon due to breast-feeding Katie). As she thought about her new breasts, her hands strayed down to them whilst her mum droned on about her recent trip to a garden centre.

After she’d returned from hospital, Mark had shown her to the sitting room, told her to kneel and then started to speak. “My dearest Anne Christine, today is the start of your new life. You have fulfilled your duty to me and so I shall fulfil mine to you. You shall be transformed into the very imagine of feminine perfection. You shall become a living doll of astonishing beauty. Your life shall be restricted but elegant.

Firstly, your clothing. Outside of the house I insist on Category III of course, and in addition blinding veils and arm modesty are mandatory at all times. If your mum and dad or anyone else wishes to communicate with you in person they shall have to come here. You may give the maid pre-prepared statements, but no longer will you see or communicate outside of this house. In reply, I have assigned a hefty budget for your clothing. You shall never wear the same outfit twice. You shall have the finest burqas and chadors, jilbabs and niqaabs. You shall be known throughout Loughborough and beyond as an icon of fashion. Inside the house, you will be covered whilst in the presence of even females and concerned males except me, your father, your mother, my mother, the maids and a few other women to be approved by me.

You shall obey arm modesty, not on particular days, but everyday. When I am here, your arms shall be released, but when I am not, only an hour will be permitted. When you have guests, only for an hour may you communicate with them. After that they may stay and talk to you, but you may not reciprocate.

I shall continue your tightlacing regime. I have read articles and it seems that 13 inches is not impossible. You shall also cultivate a stem waist and I desire your neck to be lengthened by an inch or so as well. You shall be constantly aware of the pressure at both your neck and your waist and you shall be unable to contemplate any bending at both. They will serve to remind you of the price a lady must pay to be beautiful.

We shall work on your feet too. So far you have worn high heels but from now on I desire ballet boots so that you shall be permanently perched on your toes. When clothed, tight skirts shall limit your steps. Any movement will be difficult and precarious for you and you shall rely on your maid for most things.

Finally, sleeping attire. Every other night I shall introduce inflatable hoods that will leave you blinded and act as a pillow as well. When I am absent on business, the hood will be worn during the day as well. Your head will become a smooth featureless ball and you will see and hear nothing. This will focus your thoughts on my return.


Also to remind you constantly of me, your holes will be filled with dildos that vibrate when I choose. Thus, when I am away I shall also be near.

These are to be the new conditions of your life. Do they please you, Anne Christine?”

Without thinking she nodded furiously. Did they please her? They sounded like pure heaven!

“Yes, and then we went to the garden centre in Rothley. They have lovely fuscias there and we bought some to fill that bed under the front window…”

She looked at her mother through her pink-tinted lenses and smiled internally. She was growing old; it was plain to see, as every year passed Sandra Nielsen aged. When tea had been served she had removed her gloves and that was not to her advantage. Once she had been an attractive woman but now she was slowly becoming ugly and unattractive. She though, her daughter, was travelling on the same journey yet in the opposite direction. That was the secret of veiling, of all her covering, that was why she’d accepted the many restrictions. Unlike her mother, she had not been blessed with any natural beauty. For years this had depressed her, caused her to even try and kill herself. But England, St. Stephen’s, Lucy and her other friends, they had all taught her an important lesson: It needn’t be that way. When one covers up, seals oneself in latex, then the ravages of age have no effect whatsoever. All that matters then is the silhouette, and the technique and both of those can be artificially created. Whilst her father lost interest in her mother sexually as every year passed, her husband only desired her more and more, for every centimetre of her waist, every cup size to her breasts, every millimetre added to her neck length, all served to make her more attractive. At 22 she was far more attractive than she had been at 17 and at 27 she would be more attractive still, and at 37 even more. Whereas most women fade, her covering only helped her to bloom. Even her voice would not sound old because it would never be heard at all. Instead she would continue onwards and onwards on her beautiful journey, from that ugly duckling to the most gracious swan in the entire world. She looked at her mother in pity, glad that she herself had found her freedom by way of restriction. Her mind drifted to the coming horseplay with her husband when he returned that evening whilst her mother droned on about sick relatives and bargains in the supermarket. It was good to be alive indeed, it…

“Mrs. Chapman!” It was her maid. She returned to reality and nodded. “An hour has passed Madame; it is time for your arms to be made modest once more.”


Eagerly, she put them behind her back and let the maid thread the monoglove over them. With each tug of the laces, she felt a stab of pain and they became less and less mobile. But Anne Charistine smiled behind her mask. Her upper body was again turned into an almost motionless form with an expressionless doll head allowing the woman within to almost totally ignore her well-meaning but uncomprehending guests. Her mother and father looked on with their customary silent distaste, but Anne Christine couldn’t care less. She was now freed from having to give polite answers except for a small tilt when registering her parents had decided to leave. To herself and in the eyes of Mark she was now The Beautiful Swan, elegant and helpless once again.

She could not have been happier.


Copyright © 2010, Dave Potter

One thought on “The Ugly Duckling

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s