Stephanie's Adventures in Amsterdam
Copyright© 2025 by Stephanie Legrand
Chapter 5: Monday: A New Reflection
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 5: Monday: A New Reflection - Stéphane leaves behind his structured Parisian life to spend a week in Amsterdam as Stéphanie—the soft, feminine self he’s longed to become. What begins as freedom slowly deepens into erotic surrender and tender regression. Drawn into rituals of obedience and control, she must decide: lose herself in another’s desires, or reclaim her voice and find a love that sees her truly—and lets her be.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Romantic Gay Lesbian CrossDressing TransGender Fiction MaleDom Humiliation Anal Sex Masturbation Small Breasts Infantilization
BECOMING LITTLE
Stéphanie woke early. The pale light of Amsterdam poured in through the gauzy curtains of her hotel window, brushing everything in a hush of silver.
She lay still for a moment, cocooned in the soft bedding, the muffled quiet of morning wrapped around her like a blanket. Her thoughts drifted lazily back to the day before—the salt of the sea air, the swing creaking under her as she soared, the warm soup, Jan’s hand in hers. The memory of his kiss still tingled faintly on her lips.
It had been beautiful. Soft. Easy.
And the way he had looked at her...
Her heart beat with anticipation.
Today, Jan was coming back.
She slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom, the tiled floor cool beneath her bare feet. She showered slowly, letting the warm water rinse away the sleep and the faint anxiety. She shaved, exfoliated, and washed her face with lavender soap.
Back in the bedroom, she laid out her things with quiet care: a fresh pink diaper, wipes, cream, and powder. She moved slowly, smoothing the diaper under her, taping it closed around her waist.
Then came her pale pink bra, the silicone inserts tucked neatly inside. She adjusted the straps with care. A soft camisole followed, then her opaque white tights, pulled up gently and snug.
She brushed her wig carefully, then pinned it in place.
She hadn’t yet picked a skirt when the knock came.
A soft knock.
Stéphanie’s heart leapt. She glanced at the little clock beside the bed—9:43.
Jan.
She didn’t even think. She padded to the door on her toes, her outfit halfway done: just her pale pink bra with the inserts, her soft camisole over it, the diaper snug and taped beneath the smooth stretch of her white tights.
No skirt. No shoes. No second layer.
Just the soft, vulnerable base of her morning ritual.
She opened the door.
And there he was.
Jan stood smiling in the doorway—clean-shaven, warm-eyed, holding a simple paper bag with a box inside.
“Good morning, baby girl,” he said softly.
Stéphanie didn’t speak. She just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him—tight, eager, trusting.
The hall light poured in ahead of her, illuminating the softness of her form: the pink straps at her shoulders, the faint bulge beneath her tights, the way the fabric stretched snug over her hips. She didn’t realize how exposed she was.
But Jan did.
And he smiled.
He kissed the top of her head, then bent to whisper, “You’re perfect like this.”
She pulled him gently inside.
Still smiling.
Jan handed her the bag, his fingers brushing hers. Her face lit up with warmth and a hint of embarrassment.
“A gift?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded.
She opened the paper bag carefully, then lifted out the small box inside. It was wrapped in soft tissue and tied with a satin ribbon.
Unfolding it slowly, she revealed a dress—unmistakably childish.
Pale pink cotton, with intricate hand-smocking across the chest embroidered with tiny white and red roses, each accented by a pair of delicate green leaves. The sleeves were puffed and elasticated, ending in soft ruffles.
A Peter Pan collar framed the neckline, trimmed in white lace with a scalloped edge. Down the back ran a row of little heart-shaped buttons, pearly and pink.
At the waist, a sash tied into a generous bow behind. It was the kind of dress made for twirling—and for being looked after.
The skirt was short and full, lined with soft tulle to give it a doll-like flare.
Stéphanie blinked. “It’s ... very sweet. Thank you.”
Jan smiled.
“You already look adorable. But I thought you’d look even more so in this.”
He glanced at the dress in her hands. “Try it on for me?”
She raised her arms and let him guide the dress over her head. The cotton whispered down her skin, settling lightly across her shoulders.
Then, stepping behind her, he began to fasten the buttons running down her back. Each little heart-shaped button slipped easily through its hole, his fingers working with quiet precision down her spine. She felt each fastening secure her softly, deliberately, into the delicate cotton. By the time he reached the last button at the base of her back, her breath was trembling.
He paused for a moment, then gathered the sash at her waist and tied it into a neat bow at the small of her back. The gentle pull of the fabric cinched the dress closer around her, accentuating her shape with quiet finality.
She realised, with a small shiver, that it would be difficult to remove this dress on her own. The buttons were out of reach. She would need him to undress her—just like a little girl needing help from an adult.
When he finished tying the bow, he let his hands linger at her waist for a moment before reaching for another item from the bag.
“Step forward, sweetheart.”
She did so, and he unfolded a small pink cotton bloomer, trimmed with delicate white lace at the legs and waistband. The soft rose colour matched the dress’s floral print perfectly, its sweetness almost cloying.
“Lift your feet for me.”
She balanced carefully as he slipped the bloomer up over her tights and diaper. The pink cotton settled snugly around her hips, the white lace hems brushing mid-thigh. It felt babyish, almost silly – but also protective. As if her softness needed covering, keeping, hiding.
She glanced down quickly, relieved to see the hem of her dress fell just low enough to hide the lace. At least no one would see them—this secret layer of childishness kept safely out of sight.
“Good girl,” he murmured, smoothing the fabric gently with both hands, ensuring it sat just right and framed the hem of her dress.
Then he reached for the last item—a cropped white cardigan with long sleeves ending in delicate frilly cuffs, its pearl buttons left undone.
“Here,” he said, draping it over her shoulders. “So you don’t get too cold.”
The knit felt light but comforting, cool at first against her bare arms before it began to warm with her skin. She slipped her arms properly into the sleeves, feeling the soft fabric frame the dress’s lace collar perfectly. The frilled cuffs hugged her wrists with gentle softness, completing the look. The hem brushed the tops of her tights as he smoothed it down.
Then, stepping behind her again, he began to fasten the cardigan’s buttons. Each one slipped quietly into place, his fingers moving slowly, deliberately. When he finished, he paused to adjust the bow at her waist, then stepped back to admire her.
“Beautiful,” he said softly.
His hands brushed over the front of her skirt, smoothing it down like tidying up a child. The pressure of his touch pressed the soft fabric closer, revealing the hidden outline beneath her tights.
She looked like a porcelain doll—dressed, padded, placed.
Dependent. The dress’s buttons held her firmly, requiring another’s hands to free her. And yet ... she felt more real than ever.
Her cheeks were flushed, but her face was still bare.
She turned to Jan, her voice quiet.
“Can you wait just a minute? I need to do my makeup.”
Jan smiled.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
She stepped over to the vanity and opened her small cosmetic pouch. Jan sat quietly behind her as she applied a light layer of BB cream, a hint of blush to her cheeks, and a touch of pink gloss. She added a sweep of mascara, then paused to assess herself.
The doll-like little girl he had dressed was still there—soft, dependent, his. But now, with her lashes darkened and lips glossed, she felt something else too. Grown up. Pretty. A woman again, not just his little girl.
She caught his gaze in the reflection and smiled, slightly bashful.
“You’re watching.”
“I like watching you become you,” he said.
The effect was subtle, but it made everything feel complete. Like she could be both: his soft, obedient girl, and her own beautiful self.
She turned slightly toward him, cheeks pink for a different reason now.
“Better?” she asked.
“Perfect,” he said.
She smiled. Then she turned back to the mirror one last time, touching the hem of her dress gently.
“I have a surprise appointment for you,” he said, voice playful.
Her heart fluttered.
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
She slipped on her cream-colored puffer coat and grabbed her small pink handbag, her new hair still fluttering softly around her shoulders.
Then, carefully, she stepped into her Mary Janes, adjusting the straps one by one.
The polished leather caught the morning light, and the slight click as she walked reminded her of who she was becoming.
They walked hand in hand along the canal, the breeze rippling gently across the water. Her dress swayed around her thighs, and the cool morning air whispered under her coat.
After five minutes, Jan turned down a small side street. They stopped in front of a stylish hair salon with pastel-painted doors and golden lettering on the window.
Inside, the salon smelled softly of roses and mousse. The stylist, a flamboyantly dressed man with immaculate eyeliner and a bright scarf, looked up from his station.
“Oh my god,” Willem said with a grin as he sauntered over. “Jan, she’s adorable. Another one of your precious dolls?”
Jan chuckled softly. “Be kind, Willem. She’s nervous.”
Willem winked at Stéphanie. “Oh honey, welcome. I’m going to make you even more beautiful. Let me take your coat off and—oh, what’s this?”
He gently slipped the coat from her shoulders, revealing the little white cardigan layered over her pale pink dress. The puffed sleeves of the dress peeked out sweetly from beneath the cardigan’s cropped knit, and the lace-trimmed Peter Pan collar framed her neckline with delicate precision.
Willem’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh my god. That dress—and the cardigan, it’s perfect. Those puff sleeves peeking out, the collar, the little bow at the back ... you look like you stepped right out of a fairy tale.”
He grinned cheekily. “Once I’m done with your hair, I’m going to make you look like a cupcake—no, a princess—in that outfit.”
A warm blush spread across Stéphanie’s cheeks at his words, his smile playful and full of affection.
Jan leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek. “I have a few calls to make for work. I’ll come back later to pick you up, alright?”
Stéphanie nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, okay.”
He gave her hand one last reassuring squeeze before stepping out, leaving her in the gentle hum of the salon, a flutter of excitement and nerves swirling inside her.
Willem raised an eyebrow as the door closed behind him. “Well, he does like his girls a certain way,” he said with a smirk.
He turned to Stéphanie and softened. “You look nervous, sweetheart. Come on, let’s get you comfortable first. Would you like some tea? I have chamomile...”
Stéphanie nodded softly. “Yes, please.”
Willem smiled warmly. “Good choice. Do you know stroopwafels?”
She shook her head gently.
“Then you’re in for a treat,” Willem said, bustling toward a back kitchenette. “They’re these delicious Dutch caramel waffles. You let them sit on top of your tea for a bit – it softens the caramel inside.”
A few minutes later, Stéphanie was seated with a steaming cup in her hands, the stroopwafel resting gently on top to warm and soften. The scent of caramel and spice filled the air. She felt herself begin to relax.
Willem sat across from her briefly, sipping his own tea. He gave her a knowing smile.
“Let’s get started,” he said gently. “But first, this.”
He stepped behind her and carefully lifted off her wig.
Stéphanie froze.
Willem gave her a look of calm assurance.
“I’m going to make your hair look really beautiful and natural. You’ll see.”
He smiled gently.
“Trust me. Just leave it up to me.”
She blinked slowly, something deep inside her shifting.
He stood, tied his apron, and smiled. “Ready when you are.”
He began by carefully parting Stéphanie’s hair. Then, with expert hands, he applied color to both her natural strands and the human hair extensions, blending the shades perfectly for a seamless look.
Once the color was set, he moved on to gluing and stitching the extensions into place. The hours slipped by in a soothing rhythm of snips, sprays, and gentle humming.
Stéphanie sat perfectly still, watching the world fade around her. The dress was gently bunched in her lap, and the faint crinkle beneath her tights was a quiet reminder of what she wore.
She had time to think.
Her nails were still flawless from Friday. And now her hair, too—dyed and styled by Willem’s expert hands. The transformation was becoming harder to undo.
How am I going to return to Paris like this? she wondered. How do I go back to being Stéphane?
She pictured the mirror in her apartment, the familiar quiet of her routine, the old clothes in her closet. None of them matched what she was now.
The more beautiful she became, the more distant home began to feel.
Finally, Willem spun the chair around.
She gasped.
Her reflection showed a girl with luminous blond hair cascading to her shoulders in soft waves. Feminine. Delicate. Real. And for the first time, she didn’t flinch.
She reached up and ran her fingers through the hair slowly, reverently. The strands felt warm, soft, and surprisingly real. They moved with her, framed her face just right. She turned her head slightly and watched them sway.
“They feel...” she whispered, “ ... like they’re mine.”
Willem beamed behind her. “They are yours, sweetheart. Real human hair. Properly bonded, discreet, and well-layered. Treat them like your own, and they’ll last you about a year.”
Stéphanie blinked at her reflection.
A whole year.
It felt like forever—and like nothing at all.
“They’re a gift from Jan, you know,” Willem added softly. “Not everyone gets a set like this. You must be a very special girl.”
Her breath caught.
She looked like a girl from a dream.
She looked like herself.
She turned in the chair, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
Willem smiled, then opened his arms.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, wrapping her in a warm, scented hug. “You’re going to turn heads today.”
He pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes in the mirror with a playful twinkle.
“Jan asked for your hair to be styled in a special way today,” he said softly, brushing a lock back from her face.
Her cheeks flushed faintly. “How...?”
Willem’s smile widened gently. “Trust me, princess. Let me show you something.”
She hesitated only a moment, then nodded softly.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
He reached for his brush and two small pink satin bows. With calm, practiced movements, he parted her hair down the middle, weaving each side into neat, silky braids. He secured them with the bows, then added a matching pink clip to each side.
As he worked, Stéphanie closed her eyes. For a moment, the gentle tug of the braids, the quiet rustle of ribbons, and the warm praise in Willem’s voice carried her somewhere deep inside herself – back to a time when she was little, when someone else dressed her, brushed her hair, told her she was pretty and safe.
A warmth spread through her chest. Her breath softened, her whole body relaxing into the chair. Without thinking, her bladder released, a quiet warmth blooming in her diaper. Her cheeks flushed hot, but her eyes stayed closed, her mind drifting in that tender, regressed haze.
When he finished, Willem stepped back, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.
“There,” he said softly. “Perfect. Just like Jan’s little princess.”
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the bright blur of tears. The braids framed her softly flushed face with innocent sweetness. The Peter Pan collar, the cardigan’s frilled cuffs, the puffed sleeves peeking out beneath – everything came together in the mirror to create an image that left her quiet and trembling.
She looked...
Little.
Perfect.
Placed.
Part of her ached for the woman she had glimpsed in the loose waves, but another part – soft, hidden, unspoken – felt safe in the quiet surrender of her dampened state.
I look like his princess, she thought.
And as she reached up to touch one of the pink bows, feeling the braid tug softly against her scalp, a small, quiet warmth curled inside her.
Part of me wants it too.
Her chest felt warm and heavy with quiet surrender as Willem helped her gently into her coat, smoothing the collar and brushing a few stray strands from her shoulders.
“There. Just the way Jan likes his girls—soft, pretty, and radiant.”
Stéphanie blushed, her heart fluttering.
Willem paused, looking at her with a thoughtful smile. “Wait here a moment, sweetheart.”
He reached into his pocket for his phone. “Jan will want to see how beautiful you look.”
Her breath caught softly. She shifted her weight, feeling the slight damp warmth between her legs, the gentle crinkle hidden beneath her tights and dress. Her cheeks burned with quiet embarrassment, but she didn’t protest.
“Look at me, princess,” Willem murmured.
She lifted her eyes to the mirror, then turned slightly to face him. He angled the phone carefully, capturing her braided pigtails, pink bows, Peter Pan collar, and the sweet flush on her cheeks.
“There we go,” he said softly, tapping the screen a few times. “Perfect.”
He showed her the picture briefly. She barely recognized herself – the little girl in the pink dress and braids, looking soft, delicate, and placed.
Willem smiled, slipping the phone away. “He’s going to love this.”
Then he handed her a small satin pouch containing her wig. “Here—keep this safe, just in case you want it later.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, tucking it carefully into her bag.
“Go on now. Enjoy yourself. And enjoy your time with Jan—he clearly adores you.”
Stéphanie blushed and nodded, her heart full. She gathered her bag and stepped outside.
The afternoon air met her gently.
There were two messages from Jan.
The first:
Jan: Running a bit late. Something came up. I’ll text you later to meet. Miss you already.
She read it twice. Then once more. She felt an unexpected lightness.
She had time.
Then she noticed the second message, sent just after.
She opened it.
It was a photo—the one Willem had taken earlier. The image showed her standing there in her pink smocked dress and little cream cardigan, her braids tied with pink bows, smiling shyly at the camera. Seeing it again sent a small tremor through her chest.
Below it, he had written:
Jan: This is how I want my little girl to be. Always.
Her breath caught. For a moment, the street faded away. All she could feel was his gaze reaching her through the screen—warm, possessive, tender, immovable.
A quiet shiver ran down her spine.
She slipped her phone back into her bag, the echo of his words lingering against her chest like a secret collar.
She had time.
Her own time.
The breeze lifted her new hair, the strands unfamiliar but soft and free. She couldn’t stop touching them—tucking them behind her ears, letting them fall forward again. She smiled.
For the first time all day, she wasn’t waiting.
She was simply being.
REGAINING ADULTHOOD
She walked slowly, each step echoing softly along the brick-paved street. Her reflection glanced back at her from shop windows – fleeting glimpses of pink bows and braided hair, the pale pink dress peeking out beneath her cream puffer coat. It felt strange and dreamlike, as if she were catching sight of someone else – someone smaller, softer, impossibly delicate.
But a few steps later, she passed a wide boutique window. This time she stopped.
She stood still, staring at the girl in the glass: childish braids tied with satin bows, a Peter Pan collar framing her flushed face, the pink smocked dress falling sweetly over white tights. Her chest tightened.
She raised her hand, fingers trembling slightly, and touched her reflection – first her cheek, then smoothing the front of her dress softly, feeling the warm cotton beneath her palm, the slight curve of her chest with its silicone inserts, the subtle padding of her diaper hidden below. Beneath that, she felt the faint bulk of the pink bloomer, its lace hems brushing gently against her thighs with every step she took. It felt babyish ... humiliating ... but also strangely comforting. Like an extra layer keeping her soft and hidden.
It was her.
She felt a flutter of embarrassment and quiet wonder. She looked unreal – not like a girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes, but like a six-year-old girl from her own childhood memories. The kind she used to watch with quiet, aching longing – their little dresses and hair bows, their smallness, their soft certainty of belonging.
Except now, this wasn’t someone else. It was her. Chosen to be this. Made to be this.
A group of young women walked by, chatting and laughing. One of them turned briefly, eyes flicking over Stéphanie with a small, surprised smile before whispering something to her friend. Heat bloomed across her cheeks.
She dropped her hand quickly and kept walking, the faint crinkle beneath her tights and the soft rustle of her pink bloomer reminding her with each step of what she wore underneath.
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