Finished

by Gingerfred Man

 

Chapter One -- Curiosity

It was curiosity that brought me to Gingerfredonia. Not need. But need kept me there.

I certainly didn’t need money. I was a world-famous novelist with eight bestsellers in ten years, all of which had been made or would be made into box-office-smash movies. Even you’ve heard of Nick Watson, right?

I laughed out loud when I saw the letter from Fred Gingerman, my former, "author colleague," offering me a teaching position at some "finishing school" in that Mediterranean island country he had bought a few years earlier. Gingerman was the absolute ruler of that place and had ludicrously styled himself as King Fred.

[See "Pantied" for more about King Fred and Gingerfredonia.]

Gingerman was, I thought, a hack writer who wrote in a very narrow genre – transgendered fiction. Even more narrowly, it was all stuff about males who became feminine and had sex with males. And it was all XXX-rated stuff. Boys dressing as girls and having other boys or men fuck their bottoms. Some of the stories were about men who were dissatisfied with their lives and found happiness being women. And taking big cocks into their asses and mouths. The stories were drenched with cum, but sometimes clever and even occasionally funny.

Gingerman did have a following. Enough of one that he earned billions of dollars and bought an effing country. A place where he could do ANYTHING he wanted.

The guy was obviously gay. Who writes crap like he did and isn’t? And there were lots of other rumors about him too. And jokes. "Why did King Fred go to the department store? Because he saw their ad that said boy’s pants were half off."

Still, he wasn’t the only gay character in the entertainment business, nor was he the only one to have other appetites. But as an absolute ruler, he was the only one who could actually fulfill those desires legally.

Gingerman was wildly popular in his country, the former Vinoblanco, because of the incredible prosperity he had brought the people through some sweetheart deals with the EU. There were rumors again about improper "incentives" he may have offered European decision-makers to get those deals, but the Gingerfredonians didn’t care. They loved their king. Even if, as it was rumored, some of Gingerfredonia’s prettiest young boys were being feminized to be "used" by the king and offered to foreign dignitaries.

I doubted such things were happening, because not one complaint was ever made by a Gingerfredonian or a parent of such a boy. Gingerfredonians traveled freely throughout the world and had full access to all modern communications. So I was certain that the rumors were all a lot of swill.

Gingerman had balls, though. I’ll give him that. I was a world-famous, multi-multi-millionaire who always set his own hours and he was offering me a job teaching high-school brats in his country? For 50,000 Euros a year? Hah!

It was so ludicrous; I had to see it for myself.

 

Chapter Two – The Offer

Gingerman arranged for his supersonic Gulfstream to pick me up at my home in Fromage, Wisconsin and take me to Gingerfredonia. It was first-class treatment, even for me.

He greeted me personally and alone at the Gingerfredonia airport and I was surprised and delighted to see how unpretentious and normal the guy was for an absolute monarch. We had met a few times before and I had to admit that I always kind of liked the guy.

And I liked his stories a little too. I’m not gay, but the thought of those pretty boys in stockings and heels taking men’s big cocks in their bottoms and squealing helplessly as they spurted their sissy cream often….ahem…held my interest. Just little, innocent diversions, I reasoned. Thinking about something isn’t the same as doing it, after all.

Gingerman drove me to his palace, which was big and old and impressive. We sat in his big office and he chatted amiably about my life and his. He liked being king a lot. And he was very caught up in his latest projects, which he described as a fantasy spa for well-to-do tgirls [read all about it in an upcoming story called "Fulfillment"] and "a finishing school for the offspring of the rich and famous." He told me that the finishing school was in its third year, had 60 students and was already turning a huge profit.

When he told me that tuition was 250,000 Euros a year and I remembered what he had offered me as a salary, I wasn’t surprised that it was profitable. Then he knocked my socks off by telling me who was already on the faculty. Nobel Prize winners teaching science. Pulitzer Prize winners teaching journalism. An ex-French-president teaching French. All male faculty and all incredibly overqualified and underpaid.

Hearing all that scared me a bit. Had Gingerman hypnotized those guys or something?

Gingerman saw my puzzlement and said, "No coercion, Nick. The faculty all choose to work here because it’s a very satisfying job."

What?

He continued. "We run what old money used to call a finishing school. Rich people are eager to get their teenagers far away and give them the skills they’ll need to get through life as a rich person, but without the hassle of doing all that themselves. There are a few major differences though. We cater to new money, not old. And European finishing schools were for girls. We only educate boys."

Not a surprise, I thought, considering Gingerman’s bent.

"We have a first-rate student body," Gingerman continued. "I know that’s why the faculty works here. They love the students."

OK. But I was no stinking Mr. Chips. I didn’t care how brilliant the little brats were. I started to wonder when that Gulfstream would be taking me home, when Gingerman said, "Let me introduce you to one of our students."

To be polite, I agreed.

Gingerman got up and walked to his office door. He stuck his head out and said, "Paul, could you join us please?"

He turned and said to me, "Paul has been with us for three years and is an honor student." Then he told me who Paul’s parents were. I was impressed.

Then a vision of feminine sexual thunder entered the room.

Huh? Who was that? Did Gingerman have an incredibly sexy, mega-babe secretary? Whoever she was was five-foot six and walking confidently on five-inch strappy heels. Her tan stockings hugged her delicious legs and showed perfectly formed, painted toes. Under her tiny skirt, her bottom invited love. But her face! Heaven had better take roll, I thought, because an angel was missing. Long, blonde hair in perfect curls. Big, red lips that pouted for a kiss as she said, "Hello, Mr. Watson. I’m Paul. I love your books. I’ve read them all! I’m a big fan."

<Choke> That was Paul?

Why was I surprised? It was pure Gingerman.

Gingerman was smiling neutrally, but I knew he loved surprising me like that. And I knew he was delighted at my reaction, including the lump in my pants.

The business at hand though was Paul. Looking at him or her I felt as if I were in one of Gingerman’s trashy stories. Gingerman knew what boys like Paul did to men. Even to me. Gingerman could see what being in the room with Paul was doing to me.

Did Paul know that I wanted to put him on his back and kiss him. Then reach into his panties and……Oh. Enough of that baloney. I wasn’t falling into Gingerman’s not-too-subtle trap. I was getting on a plane, a commercial plane if I had to and going….

"Could I give you a tour of our school, Mr. Watson?" Paul said,

I looked at Gingerman. It was clearly up to me. I considered things. What harm could a little tour do?

"Yes, thank you, Paul," I said.

And the die was cast.

 

Chapter Three – The Tour

Paul was bubbly and girlishly excited to take me around the Gingerfredonia Finishing School. I thought Gingerman had probably picked the prettiest boy in the school and dressed him in drag to get me to sign some long-term contract in blood or something. I was sure that Paul was unique or close to it. I didn’t expect to see any other…. Whoa!!!!

Classes were letting out for lunch and doors were flung open.

Emerging into the open air was the greatest collection of teenage beauty I had seen. Forget those Miss Teenie Queenie beauty pageants. They were woofies compared to the crew of skyscraper-heeled, micro-miniskirted, giggling, teasing sexpots wiggling by Paul and me.

My mouth was open and my tongue was hanging to my waist.

I looked at Paul after the last one passed me. "Are they all….?"

"Boys? Yes, sir. But we prefer to call ourselves sissies. Right this way, Mr. Watson. I’ll show you the dorms."

A school full of Pauls? My cock was moist and meaty thinking of being around all those incredible sissies. Then I got a grip. I was a jillionaire. And I wasn’t gay. I would just keep on making love to women.

But when was the last time I had done that? And how much had I enjoyed it?

Hmmmm.

I was drawn from my reverie by a happily chattering Paul who was showing me the features of the nice, but not luxurious dorms. What a doll that sissy was! Then he said, "And this is my room. Let me show you."

Politely, I entered behind Paul and looked around. The room was a feminine lair. Frills and lace. Stuffed animals and closets stuffed with clothes and shoes. And every book I ever wrote.

I was looking at some pictures of Paul’s famous mother and father and a young boy, who, I presumed, was once him. I turned around to ask him and saw him lying on his bed, with his panties down. Stroking a very girlish cock and tickling a pink bag of pretty balls.

Paul groaned and said, "I’m sorry, Mr. Watson. It’s just that being with you had made me very excited. You’re very handsome and sissies are very highly sexed. We need relief frequently. I hope I’m not embarrassing you, but I’m so…..Oh. Could you help me?"

What would you have done?

I mean the little angel was in distress.

I wasn’t made of stone.

I sat next to Paul on his left side. His cock was uncut and leaking sticky goo. I felt like such a klutz. "What should I do?" I asked.

 

Paul smiled and my libido ignited. "Just pull my foreskin up and down. It’s so much better when a handsome man does it."

He thought I was handsome! Or was I being fished?

No matter, because the next thing the feminine masterpiece did was blush and say, "And could you kiss me too?"

I was living one of Gingerman’s trashy stories. Or so it seemed. And I was fainting with lust.

I had never touched a male, "that way." Except for Eddie Van der Walter in the seventh grade. But Eddie touched me first. Then he moved away.

And there was Paul. His cock looked pink, drooling and tasty. His balls hung low and seemed to be filled with cum. His eyes were so beautiful. The lashes were long. His make-up so girlie.

What was the harm? I took his cock in my hand and felt it throb. He groaned and shuddered with pleasure. He smiled at me in loving gratitude and I began to skin the little beauty’s peeny up and down. He gave a soft squeal.

Then I kissed him. His lips were warm, glossed and delicious. I felt his cherubic breath and tasted his seraphic tongue.

It was my turn to shudder with pleasure.

Was I crazy?

Apparently. My ears burned as I licked his tongue and wanked him to his obvious, intense pleasure. He gasped and squealed with sissy delight. Then he began to spurt glob after glob of his exquisite cream.

I had never been so excited in my life.

I was lying in bed with a boy who was dressed in girlish lingerie, stockings and heels. His cock was long and limp after his intense cum, the residue of which was stickily spread on his flat tummy and drooling on my fingers. He was smiling at me in a loving way.

"You look as if you need help too. Can I help you, Mr. Watson?"

Oh my.

In for a penny in for a pound. I hooked my thumbs in the waist of my trousers and pulled them down, freeing my stiff cock and full balls.

I prayed that this wasn’t some blackmail trap of Gingerman’s. Even if it were, my cock was committed.

The little darling clapped his hands when he saw my cock. No woman ever did that. Nor did a woman ever immediately and skillfully take my big boy into her warm, wet mouth.

I had had quite a few blowjobs in my life, but that one set a new standard. The little doll sucked the life out of me. He licked my balls and even <gasp> gave my asshole a tonguing to die for. By the time he returned to my cockhead, I was on a hair trigger to ecstasy.

Ohhhhh. My balls exploded and I poured what I thought was everything I had down Paul’s licking, sucking, voracious, beautiful mouth.

The thought, "This is gay," did not even cross my prurient mind. All I could think of was, "Are all 60 students here like him?"

After some more glorious kissing, I did a rather naughty thing. I had Paul lie on his back and I licked up all the cum from his earlier emission. He adored it and told me so. It was clear to me, he wasn’t lying. His big thingie was stiff, red and throbbing once again.

Praying that Gingerman wasn’t filming all this for submission to A&E for my episode on "Biography," I took the sweet angel’s cock into my mouth and sucked and swirled, licked and twirled, kissed and adored until he made four more sweet globs of sissy cream for my hungry throat.

I had crossed the Gay Rubicon with that one, all right. Alia iacta est. I was gay then. Gay cocksucker. Sucked a femmy boy’s cock I had. And was ready to do it again. It tasted wonderful and, even at my advanced age of 45, I had another Woodrow.

Paul was kissing me as if I had just invented sex and had just shown it to him.

Then he upped the ante.

Wordlessly, he got on all fours and waved his pretty bottom at me.

I looked at him. Did he want me to….. He nodded enthusiastically. He did.

But didn’t he need lubrication? Gathering more courage than I thought I would have at that moment, I entered his divine bottom with the middle finger of my right hand. He squealed in appreciation. It was wonderful. Women never did that for me. I added another finger to help open him for our mutual pleasure. The angel had either lubed himself or been fucked recently. Or both. Because he was plenty wet and slippery back there.

Paul was gasping and panting and mewing for my cock. Oh golly.

I had never had anal sex before. The women I knew all thought it was icky. That feminine little doll Paul was begging me to pork his pooper.

I complied with his wishes.

I centered my peehole on his pink rosette, breathed deeply, and pushed.

It went in perfectly. Tight as blazes, but made for my cock. Like inserting a sword into a hot sheath. Except the sheath doesn’t scream in passionate pleasure, then begin to ejaculate helplessly through a carnal cacophony of sobs, whimpers and moans.

Paul was the hottest piece of ass I had ever had. And I was fucking his perfect bottom off.

How much was Gingerman offering me again?

It didn’t seem as little as it had two hours earlier.

 

Chapter Four – Imposing My Will?

I wanted to talk to Paul about how he had become a sissy angel of love, but all he wanted to do was drive me insane with orgasms.

Maybe later we would talk.

I stayed with Paul all night, fucking him with erection and cum reserves I had no idea I had. When I woke up, exhausted, at 9 a.m., Paul was gone.

There was only a note. "I love you, Mr. Watson, but I have classes. I’ll see you soon. When you awake, please call King Fred."

And he signed it "Paul (Tina)" with a big heart drawn next to it.

He loved me! Wow. Or maybe it was "she" loved me. I guessed Paul called herself Tina too.

I would have to ask Gingerman about that.

I was a big, naked, cummy mess when I heard a knock at the door of Paul’s room. It was a lovely girl of about 14 dressed in a maid’s uniform. Her legs were long and black-stockinged and she walked confidently on very high heels.

"Good morning, sir," she said. "My name is Vanessa and I’m here to help you get yourself ready for the day. I have a robe for you and if you’ll follow me, I’ll help you get bathed and clothed and fed. Then I must take you to our King."

I looked at her curiously. Was she a real girl? She was very feminine and beautiful. Then, stupidly, I realized that I was naked in Paul’s bed, smelling of an ocean of dried cum, and was sporting something I hadn’t had in years. Morning wood.

Vanessa didn’t blush. She must have seen quite a few naked men, I began to surmise. Twenty-four hours ago, I would have been horribly embarrassed to be seen naked by this delicious darling. That morning, I was considering asking her (or him) for a fuck.

We men are low characters, I thought.

Then I proved it.

"Did King Fred ask you to take care of ALL of my morning needs, Vanessa?"

Vanessa blushed and said, "Of course, sir. This is Gingerfredonia."

Then she turned around and lifted the rear of her skirts and slip. I could see a lovely, soft, pink bottom and, not surprisingly, a pair of white, filmy panties through which, one could see a full package – cock and balls. She eased her pretty panties down, reached for my cock, and guided her prelubed anus onto my rammer.

I loved Gingerfredonia.

The maid’s uniform was a turn-on. That and a four-star bottom with anal muscles massaging my cock made me lose my load surprisingly quickly.

I was breathing very heavily when Vanessa, who clearly had an agenda, got me on my feet, in my robe, and moving.

When we got to the bathroom, she stripped and joined me in the tub. Forget Paul/Tina. Vanessa was what I wanted for Christmas. She had boobs for goodness sakes! Nice ones. And a narrow waist, big hips and a nice cock and balls.

I had to ask. "Are you a student at the Finishing School?"

Vanessa was soaping my cock and balls so nicely when she answered. "Oh no, sir. I’m a Gingerfredonian. King Fred selected me almost three years ago to serve him and my country as a pretty girl."

The rumors were true! "He enslaved you?"

Vanessa giggled. "Of course not. Can’t you see how happy I am? I love serving king and country. I’m only sad that my three years are almost up."

"He only keeps you until you’re 14?" I shuddered at Gingerman’s audacity. "Then what? He discards you? Throws you out on the streets, where you sell your body for crack? Or worse, you go back to being a boy?"

Vanessa was laughing out loud. She kissed me sweetly, then said, "You’re a nice man, but very silly. I would never be a boy again. And as a "veteran, I receive a very large, lifetime pension. The state will pay my tuition and expenses at any schools in the world that will admit me, all the way through doctoral degrees. King Fred is very generous. And a wonderful lover."

Suddenly I was very jealous of Gingerman. Although he did share. Vanessa and I got down to some serious lovemaking and I’m afraid I didn’t show for my meeting with Gingerman until around two.

He was in his office watching a rerun of "The A-Team" and acting as if he were not surprised to see me show up late. He arose to meet me and inquired about my health.

"You didn’t strain any muscles since I saw you last, did you, Old Sport?"

Now he’s trying to be Gatsby, I thought. What’s his next move?

"I’ve had a wonderful time in Gingerfredonia," I said. "Suddenly, your offer is quite tempting."

Gingerman considered me. "But you’re not going to take it, are you?"

Actually, I wasn’t sure, but Gingerman continued. "Of course not. You’re not a man who wants things handed to him. You want to TAKE what’s yours."

Huh? What did he mean?

"Those girls were too easy for you. You want a challenge."

Actually, I was enjoying not having a challenge for once, but he was right. Sort of. I did want a small challenge. But what?

"Jordan Michaels is the son of Bert Michaels, the music production king. Jordan hasn’t adjusted to sissiness as well as the other boys. In fact, he’s been with us six months and has had no sex. Perhaps the right man could…help him. Here’s his picture."

Trembling, I took the picture from Gingerman. Ohhhh. A doll. A virginal doll. For me? I could have my way with him or her and no one would care. That was wrong! But so right too. The Dark Side beckoned to me.

Gingerman read me completely. I gulped and asked, "Do all the students have sex with men?"

Gingerman smiled slightly and said, "Eventually. And boys too. And other sissies. And even girls. Some need encouragement. Some, like Paul, are sucking cock from the day they put on their first panties and stockings. He was a prodigy."

I sighed. Paul was adorable. And so was Vanessa. What about this Jordan?

"How do you get the boys to become girls?" I asked Gingerman.

He smiled. "It’s a lot easier than you would think, Nick. Give me a randy teenage boy, take his awful boy clothes away and slip a pair of soft, silky panties on him and he will erect. Add stockings, a garter belt and a bra, and a quarter of the boys will cream their panties. Get him into heels, make his face up and put him in front of a full-length mirror and another quarter of them will spurt their sticky goo into their panties. Have a good-looking boy his age tell him how pretty he is as the boy kisses him and rubs his cock through his panties and you’ll get another quarter to orgasm. Then it’s easy. Except for that last quarter. The three quarters who accept their delicious feminine feelings that first day will grow in their femininity every day until they revel in their girlishness. They will ache for lingerie, beautiful clothes, jewelry, perfume, makeup and, most of all, the comfort of men and boys’ bodies and the intense orgasms they will give and receive from males. It’s that darned other quarter."

Was Gingerman crazy? What he had said didn’t seem possible. Nevertheless, my erection had returned at full strength. Thinking about all those beautiful, randy sissies. My students, perhaps. And that "darned other quarter."

I asked, "What happens to that ‘darned other quarter?’"

Gingerman smiled again. He knew I was intrigued. "They all accept their femininity and the comfort of males eventually. We are very…persistent."

Those boys were being forced into feminization! I didn’t recall much of that in Gingerman’s trashy stories, but it appeared he was doing it in real life. That was illegal! Although not, apparently, in Gingerfredonia.

It was immoral at least. Of course, that was a judgment coming from a man who had just fucked two young sissies several times in the past 24 hours. And was eager for more.

Jordan looked so sweet in his picture. Gingerman said he was going to accept his femininity eventually. I would just be helping him. By making him do what was best for him. That was it. I would be doing a good deed.

I was almost being a boy scout. There. That was better.

I knew that if I ended up "helping" Jordan, I would take Gingerman's offer. And stay in Gingerfredonia and "teach" and fuck sissies until I was 85 or the Viagra ran out.

Sounded like a good plan to me.

 

Chapter Five – Jordan

Gingerman suggested that I rest in one of his guest rooms and he would bring Jordan to me at four.

<Gulp>

I couldn’t do it, could I?

I mean, "force" a boy. Fuck him. Make him suck my cock. As if I were his master.

Could I?

I lay on the king-size bed in my huge, elegant palace guest room. I wanted to nap, but I had images of Jordan crying as I fucked him. Begging me to stop.

It sickened me that I could even consider that. And that it made my cock throb like a bass drum.

Good to his word, Gingerman knocked on my door at precisely four p.m.

I opened it, but didn’t see Gingerman. All I saw was a sweet, pretty young girl, with her head down in shame. Her long, white-blonde hair was beautifully styled and her make-up would have been perfect, except for the ravages of her tears. She was wearing the standard Finishing School uniform of pleated, plaid skirt, white blouse and big, black, four-inch stiletto sandals. She was also wearing white, thigh-high stockings that revealed her luscious thighs. Her lips were pouting and she looked so sad and helpless that I wanted to protect her or fuck her. Or both. Definitely both.

Then I remembered that "she" was a boy. Gingerfredonia was a wonderful, but confusing place.

I did hear Gingerman say, "Jordan, this is Nick Watson."

Now Jordan was smart enough to know that his ass was being offered to me for recreational purposes, but the tiniest light appeared behind his eyes.

"The author?" he asked.

I smiled. Fame was occasionally valuable. "Guilty," I said, with as much charm as I could muster.

The sobbing stopped and he considered me. "’Human Condition’ is my favorite book," he said.

Well, well. A fan.

Gingerman withdrew. "See you later," he said, then closed the door.

"Would you like a soda or something?" I asked, moving to the room’s small kitchen.

"Yes, please," he said. "A lemonade. With ice."

A good sign. I moved to get us each a lemonade.

"I’m not gay, Mr. Watson."

"I know, Jordan. I’m not either."

Jordan looked at me as if I had just told a very big whopper. "Then what are you doing here?" he asked.

Good question. "King Fred offered me a job teaching at your school."

He looked at me incredulously. "I thought you were a multimillionaire." The kid obviously hadn’t just fallen off the turnip truck.

"I have enough money. Teaching has other rewards."

"I know what you mean, Mr. Watson. You teachers are always in my dormitory at night. All night. In the rooms on my floor. Making my gay, sissy classmates squeal and scream and cum again and again."

Bad attitude on the little tyke. Time for a shift in approach.

"I’m not a teacher yet. I’m just looking. The King said you were having some problems here. I know it’s hard to adjust sometimes. If you recall, adjusting to adversity was what I wrote about in ‘Human Condition.’"

He considered me. Then he began to cry again. "I know. I read that book whenever I’m depressed. It helps me remember that I can get through this mess -- dressed like a little teenage tramp, with boys and men and my classmates all wanting to do sex things with me."

The boy was desperate for an ally. So desperate, he was willing to trust me. I felt evil. But I wanted that feminine treasure’s most precious goodies. I sat and held out my arms. Jordan wrestled with his nature, then wiggled his perfect bottom across the room and sat on my lap.

I encircled him with my arms and held him as he sobbed.

He told me all about how awful the last six months had been. How he felt completely abandoned and betrayed by his parents. How his classmates and teachers disgusted him. For almost two hours, he sobbed and vented!!! I held and rocked him and told him everything would be all right. I didn’t judge him or offer him solutions. I just listened. And smelled his perfume. And felt his warm, girlish body against mine.

His feminine side recognized my nonjudgmental listening as what it has always been to women and girls – the greatest known aphrodisiac.

After as much of that as I could stand, I had to ask: "Do you ever feel a physical hunger or a need you can’t explain?"

He looked at me hard and said, "Yes. I don’t know what it is, but something is missing."

"When your classmates are having sex, does that excite you?"

I hoped I hadn’t gone too far. I hadn’t. He said, "A little."

Hmmmm. I asked my third and last question. "Do you ever just want to accept femininity?"

He looked at me with those huge, liquid, lovely eyes for a long time. Then he said, "I’ve thought about it a lot. It scares me."

All the trust I had shamefully built up could have disappeared, but I had to do it. I kissed his beautiful, soft, warm forehead. He didn’t scream. I cuddled him and rubbed his arms. He seemed to like it. Gathering my courage, I gave him a little peck on the cheek. He pulled back from me an inch, then something seemed to change. He relaxed. I kissed his cheek again. That time he let me and he even let my lips linger on the warm, rouged flesh.

My cock had never been so stiff in my whole life, as I felt a virgin’s soft surrender, the most exciting thing any man ever feels. More exciting than penetration is that moment of submission.

With complete confidence, I reached under his skirt and touched his cock through his panties. I gently outlined his cock and balls with my hand, thrilled beyond measure that he moaned softly.

Then I kissed his lips.

Oh, Glory.

I knew at that moment that I would never leave Gingerfredonia. Everything I wanted was there.

Hail Gingerfredonia!

The little angel waved his white, lacy flag and capitulated to me.

He began to kiss me back. Slowly at first, then enthusiastically.

It was fantastic.

Very softly, I entered his mouth with the tip of my tongue. He groaned sweetly.

Boldly, I reached into his panties and felt his bare, hot, throbbing, hard, penile flesh. Jordan gasped. He kissed me harder and then shuddered in ecstasy as cum gushed from his Venus-penis for the first time.

The sweet cherub was startled at the feminine feelings that washed through her. She arched her back and whimpered as I milked her girlish balls of every drop of their sissy cream. Her beautiful eyes were wide as she thanked me wordlessly for freeing her from her boyish shackles.

As her ecstatic spasms subsided, I knew what I needed to do next.

Masterfully, I carried Jordan to the end of my bed and laid her on her tummy, with her high-heeled feet on the floor. I locked eyes with her and saw raw need in them as I stripped naked and got on my knees behind her.

I was wondering if Gingerman was standing outside the door to hear her screams of erotic joy as I parted her bottom cheeks with my thumbs and plunged my hot tongue into her anus.

She was shaking as if she were being exorcised, and in a way she was. Exorcised of the mean-spirited demons who had prevented Jordan from reveling in her femininity. From enjoying a situation many males dream of, but are terrified to voice.

I licked her nasty place and she wiggled and whimpered, pushing back to reach all of my taste buds. I was in complete command of her pleasure and I was delighted when she once again, in complete helplessness, began to gush her delicious goo, that time drenching sheets and mattress.

She was afraid and excited about what was to happen to her next. To prepare her a bit more, I eased first one, then two, then three fingers into her impossibly tight, virginal hole. She screamed and came once again. Even she had no idea what a hot little piece of ass she was. I had shown her.

I was taking what was mine. Just as Gingerman said. I didn’t force her. I sympathized with her and loved her. And then she was willingly mine. Gingerman said they all come around eventually.

So it was with a relatively clear conscience that I lay on my back and asked her to take off her dress and slip. She quickly complied, which told me that her little pootie was ready for my big boy.

She removed her bra and, Mamma mia! She had little A-cup titties!

Noting my surprise, she said, "They give us ‘hard cases’ hormones to try and ‘cure’ us of our boyishness."

Goodness! What could I do? I kissed those lovely titty bumps as I finger fucked my sweet girl to yet another orgasm, this time all over my hairy chest. That girl loved having her titties worshipped! And fingers in her pooper.

The sweet darling knew her time had come, so, on her knees, she straddled my hips, held my stiff weapon in her hand, aimed it at her tight hole, and began to sit on it.

Ohhhhhh. It was incredible. Her eyes widened. Tears formed, but she pushed her bottom down, impaling herself completely on my hot spear.

She cried out and erected yet again.

I grabbed her hips and took control of the carnal rhythm.

I gasped out a request that she bend over so we could kiss as we made love. She liked that a lot. So did I. I tongued her mouth as I caressed her pink balls and rubbed my cock on her tender prostate. She acted as if she had been shot with a .357 Magnum love dart.

Every last cum drop in her body evacuated and she cried as the flames of lust incinerated her.

I joined her in heaven, pumping her bottom full of my manly cream.

She felt better about the Gingerfredonia Finishing School and her life after that.

So did I.

 

Chapter Six – My Own Surrender

Two hours later, after an exhausted Jordan and I stopped making love and kissed farewell for what I hoped would be a brief time, I found Gingerman and told him I would be delighted to accept his kind offer of a faculty position.

"Welcome aboard, Old Sport," he said.

He wasn’t the least bit surprised.

I had to ask. "Has anyone ever turned you down?"

He smiled enigmatically. "What do you think?"

I thought not. "Do I need to sign a contract?"

"Of course not. If you want to leave, leave. I think I could find a replacement very easily, don’t you?’

Good point. I was feeling very fortunate at that point.

"Why don’t you rest up for ten hours or so, recharge your reserves, and we’ll have a little welcoming celebration," Gingerman suggested. "You’ve already met Vanessa. I’ll introduce you to some of my other local beauties who have patriotically offered their perfect bottoms to the movers and shakers of the world. And to me, of course."

More than one? I guessed I could wait for more Jordan time. Or Paul/Tina time. More than one? I figured I had better get some sleep. And lots of fluids.

I slept the sleep of the innocent for nine hours, then awakened, shaved, showered, and wore the outfit Gingerman had suggested – A gray tshirt and matching gym shorts. Comfortable and easy to remove.

A quick breakfast with more juice and water and I was escorted to Gingerman by one of my future students – a lovely little brunette confection named Robert, whose father broke that record with the Whatchamacallits when they won all those championships. Poor Robert would have to wait, as I would be sampling the King’s private stock that day.

Gingerman was truly generous in that way.

He was dressed as I was and watching an old "ChiPs" episode when I joined him.

"Ah, Nick. Did you rest well?"

"Yes, thank you, uh."

I didn’t know what to call him.

He smiled at that. "We don’t stand on ceremony here. Call me Gingerman as you always did. Or Fred or King or whatever. Just do a good job of teaching, I’m very serious about education. Remember that and we’ll get along fine. Ready for some fun?"

I loved Gingerman’s idea of fun. "Yes, please, Old Sport."

"Good. Me too."

He picked up a phone. "Are the girls ready, Barney? OK, thanks. <Hangup> Follow me, Nick.’

We walked about 50 yards to the residence part of the palace and entered a large room with four very large beds, one in each corner. And there they were. Six beauties from Gingerman’s private stock. Six. And I didn’t see any other men. That meant, if I did my math correctly, that I would be dead or at least seriously incapacitated by the end of the day.

That sounded just fine with me.

The girls’ beauty was blinding. And their squealing was deafening.

They were simply the most beautiful, most feminine human beings I had ever seen assembled in one place.

They acted as if Gingerman were a rock star. They hugged him and kissed him and jumped up and down, calling him, "Daddy."

Daddy?

Gingerman looked at me and said, "My first Gingerfredonian girl, Lori, called me ‘Daddy’ and the rest picked it up. It’s a little strange, I know, but this is Gingerfredonia. Ladies, this is Nick Watson, the author. He’s a new faculty member and my honored guest. Missy, Leila and Madison, why don’t you introduce yourselves to Mister Nick over on the northeast bed and I’ll reacquaint myself with Diane, Mary Ellen and Carla on the southwest bed?"

"Yes, Daddy," the little creampuffs chimed.

Did I mention that they were all wearing babydoll nighties that barely covered their navels, exposing their erect, girlish cocks and pretty balls bags, huge heels, stockings and garter belts? And Missy, Leila and Madison were on a mission to make me happy.

"Oh, Mr. Nick, you’re so handsome," Madison said as she sat me on the end of the bed. Then she sat on my right thigh and began to kiss me.

What a kisser! She was……. Oh. Leila had removed my shorts and was on her knees, conducting a very thorough examination of my very stiff cock.

Then Missy sat on my other thigh and hugged me, removing my tshirt and rubbing her hands all over my naked chest. She teased my nipples in a way no one ever had. Then she began to lick them. Ohhhh. Madison kissed me as Missy worshipped each nipple and Leila sucked my balls.

Had I seriously considered turning this all down at one point?

After about five minutes of that, I thought I had slipped the surly bonds of earth and was on the planet Lovetron. The orgasm when Leila tongued my peehole, knocked me flat on my back. A position that the trio exploited.

Leila straddled my shoulders and fed me her delicious cock and balls. Madison tongued my pooper as Missy reawakened my limp love muscle with the most talented tongue I had yet encountered,

Leila’s cock was a warm, meaty feast. After some fine efforts on my part, she gave me a huge reward of girlish cum for my enthusiastic attentions to her pretty penis.

As my mouth filled with goo, I squirmed in ecstasy from being eaten out deeply for the first time in my life, something no GG on this planet would do. Miraculously, I produced another woodie, which Madison greedily claimed as the oldest of the trio. The girls maneuvered me onto my left side, then Madison spooned in front of me. I entered her and loved it when she gasped at the insertion.

Madison had lovely, B-cup titties with very erect nipples. I reached under her wispy nightie and fondled her nipples and fucked her bottom until she screamed with lust.

Then I got my biggest surprise since arrival on that magnificent island. Twelve-year-old Missy eased up behind me and slid her four-inch cock into my bottom as I was gleefully fucking Madison.

It wasn’t right. I was the man! And I wasn’t going to take girlish peenies in my pooper very often. But Good Golly, simultaneously fucking and being fucked did feel wonderful!

I hardly noticed when Leila spooned behind Missy and gave her a big dose of the joy I was experiencing. A chain of four of us, moving as one in carnal conjunction. I reached around Madison’s hip and skinned her lovely peeny as we grunted and strained to four intense climaxes.

The next eight hours were an orgasmic blur. I remember licking Missy’s nubby little nipples for an hour while she screamed and came and came, while Leila was eating Missy’s cum from my bottom and Madison was sucking my balls.

I think that at one point, Diane, Mary Ellen and Carla switched with my trio and Missy, Leila and Madison sissied over to engulf their fearless leader for quite some time.

Ten hours after that, I awoke alone, in a nice bedroom, wearing pajamas and clutching a teddy bear.

I felt as if I had run consecutive marathons wearing 20-pound boots. But I was very optimistic about my future.

 

Chapter Seven – Life in Academia

The day after my orgy of all orgies, I cleaned up and met with Gingerman and Bernard Fife, the former, major-university president who was the finishing school’s headmaster. After a few minutes of curriculum discussions, Gingerman excused himself to go watch the Mod Squad marathon he was beaming in on satellite that day. Fife ran the school for Gingerman, who really only dealt with faculty recruiting and appropriation of profits for his own uses.

Fife was a good man. He helped me understand what I needed to teach and how I would go about it.

He was also there for the same reason I was. The sissy pussy. So were we all.

"I want our faculty to be happy, Nick," Fife said. "And that never seems to be a problem. There are 60 students and only 15 of us. About forty-five of them will do any darned sexual thing we want. As often as we want. And squeal with glee. The other fifteen, fourteen now, thanks to you I hear, are a bit more challenging. But that’s OK too.

"Having sex with their teachers is something that most students around the world want to do, but are denied. We break that evil circle of deprivation, Nick. We fuck our students’ sissy bottoms off and make them spurt gallons of their sticky cream. We make them happy and fulfilled sissies. We satisfy their needs to ingest men’s cum and make men happy. We’re do-gooders, Nick. The first band of true, caring academicians. It’s a noble calling you’ve chosen, my friend."

A good lie when you want to hear it is the most comforting thing one person can do for another.

"Now we’ve been working for three hours," Fife said, "Let’s take a break and get a couple of those little sissies in here and pork their pretty bottoms."

A capital idea!

My noble headmaster pulled out his cell phone and three minutes later, two giggling sissies entered our workspace. One was the glorious, brunette Robert, who had escorted me from A to B once before, earning my admiration and hope for a later meeting. The other was an exquisite little creampuff named Thomas, whose blonde curls and long legs drove men insane with lust.

Fife offered me first choice. Ohhhhhh. I wanted them both! But I didn’t want to be piggy. Fife saw my dilemma and said, "Oh, please, Nick. Both dolls are yours. I’ll go find another for myself and meet you in two hours."

Robert had my cock out and Thomas was removing her panties as Fife closed the door.

Thank goodness it was only two hours. My cock was going to have to toughen up and get calluses or something. All that fucking was making it sore.

That’s what we call a good problem.

The next day I began teaching creative writing. My schedule was light – one 90-minute class in the morning and one in the afternoon – and the class size was small – ten in each.

But consider who those ten were. Ten glorious, delicious dolls, all hot for my cock. At least that was what I told myself.

I must say that the students were serious about learning about creative writing. I was the one who was getting distracted. Especially by Jordan. Who was sitting in the front row of my morning class.

I hadn’t seen Jordan since our "date," and despite my many other distractions, I missed her. She smiled shyly at me. Did she know how cute she was when she did that? I think she did.

I gave a good class, but I found myself transfixed now and then by Jordan’s toes. They were quite visible through her strappy, big-heeled sandals and tan stockings. She had painted the nails a hot pink – my favorite – and her lipstick matched. Those toes. Mmmm.

When class was over, the girls were all flirting with me, but Fife advised me that if I wanted to cut one out of the herd, I could just say, "I’d like Jordan to stay after class, please." And all the others would leave. Every classroom had an adjoining bedroom suite where instructors could counsel their students.

I wasn’t sure about Jordan’s feelings for me at that point until we entered the instructor’s bedroom and she kissed me passionately.

"I was so afraid you would never choose me again," Jordan said. Her tears were joyful.

I was choked up too. "Jordan, you’re very special to me, Baby. <Kiss> <Hug> Are you happier now?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Nick. I’ve been having s-e-x with some of the other girls and they’re teaching me so much. One even shared her boyfriend with me – a Gingerfredonian boy named Franco who works at the palace. It was dreamy!"

A pang of jealousy stung me until I remembered my activities of the past few days.

See. I did do the little doll a good turn.

She could even be coquettish. "I saw you looking at my toes in class, Mr. Nick. Do you like them?"

I never thought of myself as a toe guy, but I admitted, "Yes, Sweetie. Very much. They’re adorable."

Jordan blushed. "Would you like to kiss them and suck them? I’ve never had that done, but my cock is very hard thinking about you doing that."

Never deny a lady, I always say. I sat her on the couch and kissed her for a long time. We both managed to get down to lingerie for her and birthday suit for me. Then she leaned back on the couch and caught my stiff cock between her stockinged feet. I saw those beautiful toes teasing and tormenting my cockhead as she giggled with girlish joy. It was too much. I came like a gusher all over those pretty digits as she rubbed cum on my balls with her dainty footsie.

Ohhhhhhh.

"Now look at the mess you made, Mr. Nick. How will I ever go to classes with your gooies all over my pretty toes?"

Jordan had come a great distance in a short time. She undoubtedly had had many examples among her classmates, but she was already a great prickteaser. And prickpleaser.

I crossed another big hurdle. Looking into her heartbreakingly beautiful eyes, I licked my own cum off Jordan’s warm, stockinged feet. In case you’re wondering, it was sexy, not disgusting. And it fired my little doll up.

When I had licked her clean, she unhooked each stocking from its garter and rolled it slowly down, teasing me so much that I produced yet another stiff tribute to her femininity.

Then she lay on her back and, with her feet on my naked lap, wiggled her delicious toes at me. Her cock had escaped her panties and was standing skinned and proud. Her little ballsack promised delights I was planning to ingest. But first, the toes.

I held her right foot in my hand and it was my turn to tease. I sucked her big toe as if it were a cock and watched her eyes pop. Then I said, "Do you like that?"

"Yes!!!" she gasped. "Please don’t stop!!!"

I smiled, and took my time about things. I kissed the sole of her angelic foot, then began to lick between each toe.

"Uhhhhhh," my angel of the year moaned. She was close to making a big cummy mess.

I stopped and allowed her to cool down. Then I worshipped her left foot, sucking each toe, tounging the crevices between and making her squeal. Each time she appeared to be nearing an orgasm, I would stop and discuss her studies with her.

I was being bad, I know. But the result was worth it.

When I knew she could stand no more, I got off the couch and onto my knees. I kissed my sweet angel as she lay on her back, then I devoured her girlish cock and balls with incessant kisses, licks and sucks.

She was whimpering and squealing until a huge grand crisis seized her and buffeted her about. She screamed, "I love you, Mr. Nick," as she drowned me with the sweetest liquid on earth. A sissy’s hot, sticky cum, delivered directly from its source.

I drained her balls, then kissed her sweetly and cummily, reassuring her that I loved her too. She noticed my stiffy, remarked on it, then took it into her warm, secret place to care for it properly.

And that was just the morning of my first day of teaching.

I think I’m going to like being an educator in Gingerfredonia.

It’s good to give something back to the world as you get some small recompense for yourself. I feel good about myself now. Wouldn’t you?

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Gingerfred Man. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.