Fairyfield Grange

by Jason Argo

 

part 3

 

As she perched at one end of the sofa in the common-room Miriam Hancock took leisurely stock of the members of staff around her. They were a motley lot, for the most part other peoples rejects, but by some fluke of human chemistry they made her sissy-school work.

On her right sat matron, a tall, scrawny woman with a thin face always displaying a sour expression and looking as if she were perpetually sucking an acid-drop. She'd been Chief Nurse at a fashionable London clinic until accusations of some kind of medical malpractice caused her to seek isolation in the Yorkshire dales. There was no place for a full-time matron at Fairyfield, and she'd been taken on as a secretary, but old habits die hard and she still relished every opportunity to slip on a white coat and play a medical role.

Sitting directly opposite to her Margaret Pardoe drummed the fingers of one hand impatiently against the knuckles of another. She was beyond the flush of youth and appeared plain and faded, but her features were so finely drawn her face seemed attenuated at times. Always dressed in neutral English good taste she was a handsome enough woman, though her head drawn up on a long neck like that of a duck gave her a disconcerting quality of indulgence. She appeared to endure life with laudable little fuss, but was a discouraging person to meet for the first time, seeming always to be smothering resentment at something or other. Maybe that was because she was a lesbian who had acquired a taste for putting her hand inside little girls knickers, and dealing with young boys was ultimately distasteful to her. Thankfully, the constant need to punish them alleviated some of the tension and consoled the hard feminist streak in her nature.

Mrs Pardoe was employed as a tutor despite having never qualified in anything other than some obscure exam in needlework. To her credit she had served faithfully when Miriam had managed an orphanage in Harrogate, and having suffered some upset with the present administrators there she'd been happy enough to serve her again when invited.

Cups and cafetieria rattling on a brass tray announced the presence of Gloria. Fat and shapeless, unrefined and unassuming, but always well organised. She had been nanny to Miriam's own children and had stayed on as housekeeper when that role ended. She had always been a broad-hipped woman and had grown larger with the years. She had a big bust and double chin and was immensely overweight, but gave an impression of physical warmth and richness of body. Now she managed the auxiliary staff on the ground floor with amazing efficiency - brutally some would say, since she was known to have thrown a woman who displeased her down a flight of steps.

If youth and beauty were needed to offset the lack of them in her other staff, Emma Twist had them to spare. She was young and pretty, and the only one in the room with academic training, but beneath her outwardly pleasant exterior brooded a dark kind of heartlessness. She enjoyed the role she'd been given probably more than anyone else there. Her perversity had already lost her a place in mainstream education, but her sadistic tendencies were compensated for in Miriam's eyes by other qualities. In a life without men she had the potential to be an endearing companion from time to time.

Her eyes shifted to the far end of the coffee-table around which everyone had gathered. There Mr Hardwick sprawled nonchalantly in a chair. When not wearing clothes suitable for the gymnasium he preferred to loaf about in an old jacket and trousers graced by slightly scuffed shoes. At forty-four Hardwick still carried the air of a juvenile lead, an impression emphasised by elegant mannerisms that bordered on the effeminate. He was the odd man out in more ways than one. Miriam would have preferred an all-female staff for her school, but Hardwick had fitted her requirements too perfectly when she'd recruited. Despite the premature peppering of greying hair on his temples (a feature that caused everyone to refer to him as 'old Hardwick') he was a superb gym-instructor, and having spent many years with the Royal Ballet before being 'retired' was ideal to teach deportment and figure-training, subjects in her curriculum that were dear to her heart.

A special bonus with Hardwick was his lack of interest in anything outside the school, and he obliged by serving as a handyman-caretaker in his spare time. Unfortunately he was also a pederast who delighted at being around boys in panties, but that only became a problem when it clashed with Margaret Pardoe's ultra-feminist views, and unsavoury as his appetite may have been to some people she could always be sure he treated the pupils as girls.

She waited for everyone to settle, then began. "The purpose of this meeting is primarily to do with Open Day. You'll recall the last time we met I outlined a proposal to promote our school at the end of this term in a way that would both thank our present sponsors and establish some rapport with new ones. Most of the visitors will be well appointed and affluent, and in my experience wealthy people demand to be humoured and flattered, so we must pull out all the stops to impress." She grinned, "At least until they're all too sozzled or stoned to know any difference. I'd appreciate your thoughts now you've had some time to think about it."

There was a pause. No one felt like being the first to start. Miriam looked towards the housekeeper. "Food, Gloria. Will we be able to feed people?"

"Aye, there's no problem wi' that Miss Hancock. A buffet can be delivered on whatever day you choose. The caterers just need confirmation a week in advance."

"Good! As for wine, one glass of Premier Cru will be sufficient for everyone on arrival, after which they must put up with more mundane things."

"The rooms needed for the displays you intend will need to be redecorated," said Emma Twist, "For the sake of economy I was thinking of extending the children's day and having much of the work done by them."

Mrs Pardoe sneaked a sideways glance at her, and then appealed to the headmistress. "A great deal of time will have to be spent on the costumes you want. I'll need to have my own pupils in compulsory detention until they're finished."

Miriam nodded. "If extra effort is required I see no reason why the girls should not be encouraged to make it. It can only enhance their character." She looked towards the end of the table. "And the aerobic display, Mr Hardwick. Is that in hand?"

The middle-aged man stopped lounging and leaned slightly forward. "In hand of course, headmistress, but with most pupils having to attend unremitting detention I fear for my rehearsal time."

Mrs Pardoe immediately took umbrage, interpreting his remark at a personal swipe at herself.

"What kind of time do you need to teach them how to jump about and wriggle around? All you'll really suffer is less time to maul their bodies."

The man's eyes glared at her and just for a moment Miriam feared they would leap at each other in a spitting, tearing rage.

"Enough, Mrs Pardoe, I won't have my meeting turned into a cat-fight." She stared hard, and the other woman stared back with equal ferocity; in the past they'd conspired together in criminal debauchery of the most unacceptable kind, and they knew enough to have each other thrown into jail several times over. The exchange of glances became a duel of wills, and it was Mrs Pardoe who gave way. Instinctively she knew she was no match for Miriam. She had neither the wit or determination to use her knowledge properly, and she lacked the uncanny ability of the headmistress for wriggling out from tight situations.

"Mr Hardwick shall have his dancers," Miriam told her unequivocally, then to the gym-instructor she said, "Make your selection from wherever you wish, but those pupils not included from your own class will report to Mrs Pardoe or Miss Twist to make up their shortfall."

The man squirmed with dissatisfaction. "That will make things damned complicated on occasions, headmistress."

"If there's a problem you must work it out, Mr Hardwick." she told him without compromise.

"There's something else that must be worked out," put in Emma, "I calculate we've not enough pupils to perform the number of activities you propose on Open Day. Some of them will need to be used two or three times."

Miriam gave a wan smile. "Then I shall rely on you Miss Twist to formulate an action-plan to accommodate that." She glanced from face to face. "Is there anything else?"

"Breasts, headmistress. We should have breasts."

A smile returned to Hardwick's face and everyone gazed at matron who had uttered her first words at the meeting. "Open day would surely be incomplete without one or two boys with proper breasts," she said, "But the oestrogen I dose into their food won't produce anything substantial by the end of term. I doubt any of them will have enough puppy flesh to fill a starter bra."

Matron was keen on breasts, and it was she who administered the hormone cocktails that would eventually make the boys into hot little teenage she-males with a talent for waving their soft, round sissy bottoms at men.

"What are you advocating, matron?" asked Miss Hancock.

The other woman gave a rare smile. "In London I had a great deal of experience with breast enhancing surgery, and on several occasions I performed it myself without supervision while the physicians sat in their office-suites totting up fat fees. I know where to obtain the silicon implants, and there's plenty of room in the east wing where ..."

"No, no matron, you're going too far." Miriam interrupted, "Even if such a thing could be made safe my budget for this year couldn't sustain what is certain to be an expensive business." She glanced towards Mr Hardwick, "Surely there must be exercises that will encourage breast development."

"I'll - er - look into the matter." he replied noncommittally.

Matron retreated back into disgruntled silence, and Miriam took another look around. "Anything else before we close the meeting?"

Being the newcomer Emma Twist sought to establish herself by saying something at this stage. "The pupils are hard to settle at night. The rule about asking permission to play with themselves is constantly flouted, they're forever flitting between each others beds, and the prefects not only tolerate it but often join in."

"And what would be your remedy for all this misbehaviour?" Miriam asked.

Emma felt all eyes turn in her direction, and she sat forward in her seat. "Pubescent hormones are the villain here, so the occupants of each dormitory should be paraded after showers each evening and compelled to masturbate to a conclusion under the supervision of a stern overseer."

Mrs Pardoe groaned. "Heaven's sake Emma, don't go suggesting another fucking late night duty for us."

"It would be a straightforward task that Gloria could do." Emma answered defiantly.

"Why yes," Gloria puffed eagerly. During her time as a nanny she'd developed an enthusiasm for certain unsavoury games. "I's got no objection to settlin' the little dears of an evenin'. I already inspects 'em sometimes after showers anyway, makin' sure their bum-holes is clean and their winkies as been washed proper." She returned the expressions of slight amazement on the faces gazing at her with an unbending stare. "It's better than standin' around like a churn a'dryin'."

"Gloria can't possibly do it every night," Mrs Pardoe said crossly, "And anyway, such a thing would destroy matron's little sideline in supplying them with oils and lotions."

Matron looked up frostily. "If the little dears are determined to do certain things it's as well for them to do them without risking injury. Anyway, the rule about masturbation is impractical. The urge to touch themselves is overpowering in boys of a certain age, and they'll always find some way of doing it without asking permission."

Miriam smiled patiently. Emma Twist was comparatively new at Fairyfield, and in her eagerness to have an impact she'd ignored an important premise. The purpose of the school wasn't simply to turn boys into girls, it was also aimed at turning them into shameless sexpots. After all, none of the clients she was cultivating for future placements would wish to take on a GOOD girl, and turning a blind-eye to lewd dormitory antics and allowing leeway for experiment was vital. Leaving them to their own devises was preferable to bringing in men to teach them. Hardwick was the limit she could tolerate of such people. Of course she would never publicly admit such a thing. That wouldn't be genteel.

"The rule will remain," she said firmly, "An establishment such as ours stands or falls on discipline, and the more rules we have the more chance we have to apply it."

"An intriguing concept, headmistress." murmured Hardwick.

Matron looked puzzled. "It as a certain logic, and I think I understand what you mean."

Miriam, to which nothing sifted through to oblivion, took stock and smiled at Emma. "You've clearly given this matter great thought, and are to be commended for it, but you see what controversy it arouses. When we're able to open the east-wing we'll have additional staff, and perhaps then we'll review the matter, until then I'm going to leave it in abeyance." She took a breath, then looked across at Gloria. "Would you bring the coffee over now?"

 

When Emma left the meeting she went along the landing to spend some time alone. At intervals along the second floor corridor recessed mullioned windows looked out onto the gardens, and in one of these she paused. It was a favoured place. It allowed her a view of the gatehouse where Hardwick was accommodated, and sometimes through the window of his room on a fine summer evening she was able to witness the disreputable gym-teacher porking a sissy-bimbo. Having the only adult dick in an establishment with so many soft, scantily clad bottoms the old rogue must have thought heaven had come to earth.

Smoking cigarettes had once been anathema to her, but in her year out before university she'd spent some time in Central America and had become accustomed to the recreational use of reefers and cheroots. 'Grass' she only used in her room, but occasionally she enjoyed a small cigar by an open window when there was little chance of being disturbed. She had just touched the cheroot to her lips when her solace was interrupted by the clatter of a pupil descending the stairs behind her, and she recognised the soft, gentle features of a boy called Susan.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a mean voice. Sissies were confined to their dormitories after lunch until the lesson bell sounded, and she was peeked at being disturbed.

Susan merely looked aghast at having encountered her and fumbled a curtsy, but before he could form a reply she'd grasped his arm and swung the slender waif-of-a-thing face up against the windowsill. Up went the back of his little skirt and Susan buried his face in his hands as she tucked her fingers into the waistband of his cotton pants and whisked the garment down his legs.

WHACK, WHACK! A sharp smack high up on each of his tender bare thighs, and mews of discomfort from Susan. "Push out your bottom." she ordered abruptly.

"SMACK, SMACK! "Oooh, aaah!" Her hand bounced against small, defenceless buttocks, to leave red marks on what until then had been flawless, creamy-white skin.

Susan recoiled automatically, but Emma Twist was not to be denied. Hers was a spanking administered by an expert, a professional. Her face was kind and she was smiling, clearly enjoying her work. There was a certain indefinable something about punishing young boys - pansy-boys - that affected her between the legs. Unlike most submissive men she'd encountered in the past they were beautiful and vulnerable, and physically quite unable to resist her demands. She could humble them, insult them, smack them until tears flowed, and there was nothing they could do about it. Having such power over the sweet creatures invariably aroused her. It made her pussy pulsate and exude a warm secretion into her pants.

"Again. Push it out again." she insisted. And as the bare bottom once more thrust towards her the flat of her hand was there to meet it.

Ah yes, so pretty. So compliant! SMACK, WALLOP! "Aaaaah!"

Splat, splat, splat! Alternate cheeks. She spanked with deliberate spaced apart smacks, giving him the kind of tanning he clearly hadn't received often enough whilst growing up. Distraught, Susan wriggled and gasped as his bare little bottom quivered under the impact of her palm. The small mounds wobbled, a fleshy shock wave generated by the weight of her hand each time it made blistering contact. He fluttered with his legs as best he could and tried not to cry out, but under her relentless barrage of smacks he finally gave in.

"Wwwwaaahhhhhh, yeouwww - oh - oh!" he wailed tearfully, feet stamping on the floor, his delinquent bottom wiggling in a fiery dance of pain.

"That will do for now," she snarled, "Go back to your room and wait for the lesson bell."

With tears wetting the rims of his eyes Susan reached down to recover his pants.

"Go now unless you want some more." Emma snapped, and the poor sissy staggered away and back up the stairs with his knickers still at half mast. With a sense of elation Emma lit her cheroot and turned back towards the window.

The monstrosity of Fairyfield Grange had horrified her when she'd first seen it. It seemed to her the architect had given it a forbidding facade with grotesque, imitation boroque excesses and gothic-like turrets that had no real purpose. She'd disliked the extravagance of its great maw of an entrance, and the oeil-de-boeuf which ornamented the roof-line and gave the whole house a menacing many-eyed appearance - as if it were sentient and hungry thing watching for someone to gobble up.

Once she'd become a member of staff she'd settled in rather comfortably. There were close on thirty 'girls' in residence, most of whom would remain until their early teen years, by which time they would all be ready for placement as cock-sucking transvestites, utterly subservient to women and willing to drop their pants for men. They were divided into three groups, each of which revolved between herself, the rather grumpy Mrs Pardoe, and Hardwick in the gym. Lessons ended at 4 p.m., but that was never the end of responsibility. Miss Hancock refused to allow outsiders above the ground floor, so each afternoon the pupils fastened pinafore smocks over their gymslips and spent the two hours prior to supper cleaning the facilities in the upper storeys. Officially it was known as Domestic Practise, but everyone dubbed it 'shine-time'. It was a function the headmistress maintained was invaluable experience for prospective servants.

Supervision duties seemed endless, though in the evenings the staff were assisted by Miss Hancock's daughter Jennifer, a physically strong girl with a waspish disposition that was Gestapo-like. And of course in the dormitories the head-girl, Abigail, could be relied on to maintain some kind of order when assisted by one or two prefects.

A social life for herself was out of the question, but that hardly seemed to matter. The school operated a plethora of regulations designed to extinguish all independent thought in the pupils, and corporal punishment, thinly disguised by the term 'correction', was the unwanted reward for any poor soul who unwittingly transgressed a rule. Habitually now she herself prowled like a big cat everywhere, eyes bright with expectation, waiting for her prey to commit an error.

Ah yes! It was the prospect of practising 'correction' that had attracted her and now held her fast there. The sissyboys Miss Hancock accepted for her school really did look like girls externally when put into frocks, and they were invariably small and lightly made, their bodies hairless and their faces smooth. She loved the awe she inspired in so many young creatures. In class she was pitiless in smacking their hands and legs and spanking their bottoms, and she'd become a terror to avoid in the corridors. But after supper was her prime time. Then there was no other distraction and she could concentrate on the individuals she'd selected to report to her room, and with their knickers down and skirts up she could string things out, make them assume the most humbling positions and accept the most lusty whacks while she experimented in humiliating them. She owned their souls, she could make them do anything. The power she had over so many little sissies was an aphrodisiac in every sense of the word, their very helplessness causing her arousal and exciting her imagination. In most places one would be hounded for merely smacking a child - people in general were so politically-correct about such things - but here at Fairyfield there was never any such problem.

She'd never really pinned down when such behaviour had started with her, although all her girlfriends in college would testify that she was the dominant one; never the spankee - always the spanker. The first streak of true sadism had manifested itself when she'd been hired to baby-sit for a wealthy stockbroker in London. The man's son - no older than some of the specimens at Fairyfield - had needed chastising rather a lot, and since he wore short pants that showed-off a pair of smooth, winsome legs she'd taken to smacking the back of his thighs. She'd embellished things of course on subsequent visits, in the end making him stand in the corner facing the wall for an hour after every punishment, hands on head and with his cute little willy hanging out from the front of his pants.

All that had encouraged her to take a year out visiting central America, but at Fairyfield she didn't even have the expense of a can of Coca-Cola that the peasant children in Mexico demanded before allowing themselves to be spanked beyond tears.

She was suddenly startled from her reverie by an unexpected noise. From a cupboard on the landing that had barely enough room to hold a few buckets and brooms emanated first a scratching and then a sharp clatter. She didn't discount that vermin may still have a run of the old house, but that idea soon faded. Rats didn't open doors!

Emma stood very still and watched as the cupboard door inched open and an eye peered out from the tar black interior. Some kind of lark by another child? If it was he'd soon regret such tomfoolery.

She strode over and wrenched the door wide open forcefully to reveal not a sniggering child, but the figure of a small, dishevelled, middle-aged woman wearing a grubby overall and an expression of shock. Emma instantly thought her ugly. Not just without beauty as some women are, but actively ugly, with a florid face devoid of make-up or any attempt to use feminine wiles to address the problem. She stared at her, eyes hard and curious, her own expression at first puzzled then angry. "Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, um, I's Mrs Amos, miss. I's one o' the cleaners."

"The cleaning staff finished ages ago."

"Yes, I know. But I got lost."

"Lost! How can you be lost, even in a house this size? The stairs are only ten paces away." Her eyes narrowed. "Anyway, cleaning staff are forbidden to come above the ground floor, just what are you up to?"

"I cleans the back stairs miss. I come up for just a minute an' I got lost."

"Rubbish! You're either a spy for someone, or a pervert wishing to peep at young girls in their dormitories - and I don't think you've got brains enough to be a spy."

A sly look flickered in the woman's squinting eyes and she sniggered as if she enjoyed being privy to a dark secret. "Them kiddies here - none of 'em's lasses at all, them's all lads wearin' frocks."

Emma Twist's expression hardened. "I think the best thing I can do with you is give you over to Gloria and ask her to sack you and expel you from the grounds."

The threat at once had a sobering effect and knocked away the strange woman's inane smugness. She may not have had much in the way of intelligence, but she could recognise danger looming. "No, dunna do that miss. She's a right brute is Gloria. She chucks folk down the stairs."

Emma nodded. "I've heard some women in the past have lost their footing on the steps whilst in her company."

The two women stood eye to eye, but Emma said nothing more. Instead she reached slowly, with cold deliberation, for the swell of the other woman's cheek. Mrs Amos couldn't see her own cheek, of course, and thought for one crazed moment that she was going to pat her, but she didn't. She didn't slap her either - but then, horribly, she felt fingers dig in and twist her flesh. Although she wasn't insensitive to pain being inflicted, she didn't try to bat a hand or fight back, she merely mewed like a cat would when seeking sympathy.

Emma's voice, syrup and lead, said, "You're a captive of your own curiosity, Mrs Amos. It's either Gloria or myself you must suffer, and I just wonder if you've picked wisely."

Here was an opportunity to dominate in a different realm. Why should her pleasure be reserved for just children. The horrible little woman was coarse, dull and witless, and her lack of struggle hinted at abject submission and a facility to put up with abuse. Releasing her grip she spoke sharply. "Put your hands on your head."

The woman reacted to the abrupt command instantly, raising her arms and clasping her fingers in the unkempt thatch of her hair, and encouraged by such dumb obedience Emma became fascinated by just how much humiliation she could inflict before the woman put up some resistance.

She glanced along the landing, and satisfied no one else was about, she swung Mrs Amos about and gave her a push. "We'll go to my room. Come with me."

Mrs Amos heard the no-nonsense in her voice and at once found it more shocking than even the odd, fierce face-pinching she'd just suffered. It was so shocking that she waddled off in the direction indicated like a forlorn and docile prisoner-of-war without a bleep of protest.

The contents of Emma Twists apartment were as brash as she was herself - the furnishings of the living area consisted of an old steamer chair, a round brass table supported by four wooden llamas, an ethnic woven rug in browns and reds, several Guatemalan wall-hangings, and in the centre of the room a very suburban G-plan sofa in screaming mauve. In one corner stood an item she called her 'hurdle', a strange contraption that looked vaguely like a workman's support trestle, but was made of varnished mahogany and had thick padding wrapped around its central span. She had acquired it from a convent on the outskirts of Monterey where the nuns never thought to spare the rod when dealing with children.

She stood Mrs Amos in the middle of the carpet. "Take off your coat." she told her.

Uncertainty flickered in the woman's face as she removed her scruffy overall to reveal a baggy old T-shirt and equally scruffy skirt underneath. Her lack of a bra was evident by the outline of breasts that drooped almost down to her waistline.

"What time are you expected home?"

"Oh, I ... er ... I dunno. Me ole man goes straight down the pub when he finishes work. I hardly ever sees him."

"Let me see your breasts, Mrs Amos."

There was such an expression of chill in the command that the woman made a low, moaning anxious sound as she hesitantly reached for the bottom of her T-shirt. "No, don't lift the shirt, you slag. Pull the neck down and hang what you have over the top."

The neckline of the shirt was already distorted and enlarged from overuse and Mrs Amos was able to stretch it even wider, plunging a hand down inside to lift out one lump of flesh and then a second, draping them onto the front of the garment in the fashion of a pair of flabby pendulums. Two grotesque breasts swung down, brown nipples studded onto anaemic lifeless sacks devoid of shape or allure. "Is yer gunna smack me tits, miss?" asked the cleaner, wide eyed.

Emma clicked her tongue in irritation. "Don't try second-guessing what I intend. Take off your skirt."

The woman dithered momentarily, then the skirt dropped down - no stockings, and no pants either.

"Don't you have underwear?" Emma asked as she gazed at the woman's closely cropped bush.

"Y-yes miss, but I don't bother with it much. Not usually miss. Not unless I's goin' to a funeral or a weddin'. I finds knickers a nuisance." She offered a moronic grin. "I trims me minge reg'lar tho'. Blokes like to see where they're going, don't they?"

The attempt at ripe sisterly humour only brought a sour expression to Emma's face.

"I wouldn't know. I don't have much time for pleasing men's selfish eccentricities. You on the other hand obviously indulge them quite often, don't you Mrs Amos?"

"I's allus enjoyed a bit o' rumpy-pumpy. I went wi' lots o' lads a'fore I married." the woman volunteered.

"I don't doubt that. How many men have fucked you since your wedding?"

"A few - I don't keep count anymore - forty or fifty maybe. I's a lot choosier these days."

"You appear to lack much in the way of morals," Emma commented drily, "Are you intimate with women too?"

"Women! Well, I's not shy wi' other lasses, an' I does like some slap'n'tickle wi' em now and then. I 'specially likes doin' things wi' pretty ladies." She risked broadening her grin, but Emma sneered and stabbed the air with a minatory finger.

"You'll keep your grotty tongue well inside your mouth when you're anywhere near me, you creaky old slapper."

Swinging about, she left Mrs Amos standing three parts naked and went through into her bedroom to take up the travel-bag she kept there, a bag that contained a number of items she found useful. Alone for a moment, the unsavoury nature of what she was becoming enmeshed in clarified. But so what! she snapped at herself truculently, only dull, small minded people need a nice clean life. In Leeds her existence had been blighted by so many self-righteous types who'd tutted over her rejection of a nice life. NICE LIFE! What a vapid phrase; meaningless! In ignorance she'd tried to live it for a year, resigned to fit with a dreary routine whilst trying to curb the sadistic streak in her nature. She had a passion far too big for small minds to understand. Her greatest need was to dominate, and she needed freedom to do it.

On her return the cleaning woman was still in place, motionless and docile, and Emma smiled her satisfaction. In one hand she now clutched what appeared to be a small pink rubber ball threaded through with a black elastic strap, while in the other she carried a coil of rope. Mrs Amos could only offer a vacuous expression and gape, which suited Emma well enough since it enabled her to stuff the rubber ball into her mouth. The woman glugged like an emptying sink as it was fastened in place, and when she looked at Emma sideways, mouth stretched wide and held open by the stopper of rubber, she looked pathetic, like a skittish rabbit cornered by a stoat.

Eyes sparkling, the tutor grasped her left ear and dragged her wincing towards the hurdle.

"Press your thighs against the crossbar and lean down, Mrs Amos. Get over it, you old bag - get right down."

Clearly alarmed Mrs Amos prevaricated for a moment, but helped by a brisk shove from behind she slumped over the cross-spar of the trestle, her pallid, flabby bottom rising up as her head went down, the tips of her slack elongated breasts swinging freely and almost trailing on the floor.

Emma took hold of a heavy leather belt that had once been the property of a coal-miner and slapped the seasoned tip of it in the palm of her hand. She never used a belt like that on the children, and the only outings it had seen so far were on girls at university when they were drunk following a night on the town. Now however seemed a good time to give it a further trial.

She considered the plump tapered thighs and awesome swell of the rotund bottom pushing towards her and ran a hand over the pale curves to test their pliability, then stepping back she raised her arm. An energetic downward swing brought the belt into abrupt contact with the woman's exposed posterior with a satisfying THWACK! Soft flesh rippled and Mrs Amos uttered a tiny smothered noise as her muscles twitched and a red stripe blossomed across her half-moons.

It was the first of several. SMACK! The second struck her just above the mark of the first - thwack! - the third descending accurately beneath it. WALLOP! The one following caught her square under both buttocks and lifted her onto her toes.

The cleaning-woman writhed and kicked her heels, while her bottom cheeks opened and closed spasmodically, but the gag in her mouth would only allow ineffective muffled groans of protest to vocalise.

The crack of leather striking soft flesh resounded with a noise not unlike that of wet fish striking a marble slab, and very soon the patchwork of smarting red blotches on her bared expanses melded together to form a single fiery glow.

Smack, smack, smack! A trio of well aimed blows cracked and popped as they bounced off the slack but resilient rump, making no additional marks, but giving deeper, more intense colour. Now Mrs Amos started to judder, twisting at each burning impact, her hips churning vigorously as she vainly tried to avoid contact.

All the time her backside was being pounded Mrs Amos had blooped and whined behind the rubber-ball in her mouth, but had made no attempt to rise up, and Emma observed a dazed somewhat ridiculous expression on her face when she was finally pulled back onto her feet. She was not tied or restrained in any way. The stupid woman could have made some signal of protest; she could have fought with her or run for the door, but instead she stood still and submissive in the manner of a drooping sack, both hands occupied with cuddling her painful buttocks. With her mouth salivating slightly around the edge of the ball-gag she sniffed sorrowfully, her doleful eyes purposely avoiding a confrontation with Emma's own hard stare.

So, thought Emma, the hideous hag soaks up abuse and is partial to a bit of rough treatment. Let's see just how much she can stand. She stood in front of her and displayed the length of hemp rope. "Since you're not expected anywhere immediately I shall keep you here for a while, Mrs Amos. But if I do that, you must agree to being bound. You don't object to being tied-up, do you?"

The woman seemed too stunned to reply, even if she was able.

"Take off that rag of a shirt and let's have you naked."

Mrs Amos wasn't handsome with her clothes on, and she was even less palatable without them Emma decided. She was small, plump around the belly and wide at the hips, but with scrawny limbs. Laid face down on the ethnic rug she looked a bit like a chicken carcass.

She made no effort to resist when her hands were pulled up behind her back, and Emma quickly tied her wrists together before hauling her feet back until her heels touched her buttocks. With her ankles securely bound to her wrists and completely immobilised she became a mere lump of meat, Gagged and laid on her belly with her limbs folded up behind her she had the appearance of a Sunday roast; indeed a chicken, trussed and ready for the oven. So compliant, so docile, thought Emma. Yes, a definite candidate for something not usually practised at Fairyfield. Mrs Amos would probably submit to being caned.

When Emma picked up the woman's overall from the floor she discovered a banister brush in the wide pocket, and a flash of inspiration flared in her mind. Returning to the helplessly bound figure on the rug she passed a hand under the assortment of straining limbs and spread open two sore buttocks before coolly placing the tip of the brush handle against the crinkle of the woman's anus. A slight push to establish it beyond her sphincter roused a muffled grunt, a noise that became extended to a wail as Emma slowly sheathed the entire length of the handle into her backside, plunging it down until hard bristles touched quivering flesh.

The schoolteacher stood up and looked at her watch. "I have to teach class until 4 o'clock, so you'll have to remain as you are for two or three hours. If the brush is still in place when I return I'll consider using you in future for a few menial tasks, but you'll never, ever, be allowed to touch the children. Understand?"

Wild-eyed, red-faced, Mrs Amos made a noise that was unintelligible, but from the determined way her anus clutched the embedded wooden shaft Emma felt nothing more needed to be said.

 

The six naked sissies entered Abigail's room in a mechanical way, moving in single file, not looking to right or left, and halting only when the leading she-boy could go no further. Viewed as a group they had a certain uniformity even without their schoolgirl clothes, since their bodies were all firm, smooth and slender. Their young cocks were smooth too, some slightly longer than others, but all unadorned by hair, while their cute little pink pouches showed varying degrees of maturity. Each sissy's hair was styled in a fashion approved by the school; a small neat fringe at the front and grown long enough at the back to be drawn into two plaits which were either pinned behind the head or left to hang loose. Plaits hanging loose were tied off at the ends with small bows of ribbon in the school colour - pink. Abigail greeted them silently. He alone was endowed like a man and had the same impulses of men when confronted by sissies. Men loved sissies.

He was undressed too, but had retained his knickers as a mark of his authority, although they clung so tight to his thighs there was little left to the imagination. The hang of his large balls was well defined, and his infamous cock lolled in the front of the garment like a fat python in a hammock. In his hand he gripped the three-pronged leather tawse that pupils of Fairyfield Grange were all too familiar with.

As head-girl he was privileged to have a room of his own, but it was so small that six visitors standing was its capacity and he had to adjust their line to allow him to pass between them and the bed which took up most of the space.

Parading naked sissies for punishment in the evening was a practise he often used when he wished to select an individual to share his bed, and minor infringements of school rules were all that were required for them to attend - his eyes flickered at the new, cute cuddlesome thing standing in the middle of the file - Amanda. Sometimes he would merely invent a reason if he felt keen enough about someone.

Each smooth face in the line carried shiny eyes wide in pathetic apprehension, but none there dared turn them directly towards him. There would be no objections, protests were pointless. The head-girl was judge and jury in the dormitories.

For Abigail all this was a diversion from a previous plan. It had been intended that he should take the examination for entry to Public School, but when his mother had given him the choice of becoming head-girl at Fairyfield he'd chosen to stay. The prospect of having thirty younger boys under his sway was far more attractive than the chance of higher education. The only unfortunate part of it had been the need to sideline Wendy at the beginning of term. It was a shame, but lovely as his cousin was, there was no time for him with so many other sissy delights to consider.

He smacked one or two heads as he bullied the assembled sissies into a straight line, then he made a practise swing with the tawse. "Put out your hands. You know how to do it. Arms straight and level, palms turned up."

It was his routine to work along the line, strapping the hands as he went. The pale, naked little charmers obeyed without decent. Tender, pink hands dutifully offered up. Fingers stretched and level.

Holly! WHACK! "Erk!" The sissy's pretty face contorted as he snatched his hand down to nurse the sudden searing pain of the blow to his hand.

Samantha! SMACK! "Ump!"

Nicola! "Keep your arm straight Nicola. You know it only comes harder in the end if you mess me about." SNIT! "Ooh!"

Amanda! Ah yes, Amanda. A doll-like face. Innocent eyes full of dread, his small hand outstretched for its first experience of the strap. Amanda was the only one there whose body he had not yet experienced, and he intended to put that right. SPLATT! "Aah, ooh!"

Fifi! SWATT! "Gaar!"

Susan! SPLATT! "Ouff!"

Jemima! BLATT! "Umph!"

The whole of the nude line-up was then done with. A tear glistened in one or two eyes as each of the woeful sissies rubbing their punished hands, but Amanda was being staunch and brave.

"Amanda will stay here. The rest of you can go." he said.

Uncertain of why he had been made to stay Amanda's teddy-bear eyes narrowed into a worried frown. Abigail allowed him to remain fretting as he circled around behind him and studied his stance. He had a thin, small figure with shoulder-blades flaring beneath satiny-smooth skin, and a spine that curved down in dimpled symmetry to the attractive, gentle thrust of little-boy buttocks. The head-girl moved up behind him and leaned down to savour the lemony scent of his skin, his hands reaching under Amanda's arms to stroke his tummy. He breathed a hot breath into the youngsters ear before gliding them up to graze the peaking little nubs of his nipples. "Do you have a girlfriend at Fairyfield, Amanda?"

"NO, I promised mummy I'd be good."

"There's a difference between being a good girl and a good sissy, darling.

Have you ever been to bed with a man?"

Sandra shuffled uncomfortably. "I'm not gay. Before coming here I only ever put on frocks to please mummy and her lady friends They just used to touch me a bit. You know, rub me."

Abigail smiled to himself. A virgin to deal with! Frequently tossed-off, but never penetrated. How nice! "Ladies milked you? Did you like them doing that?"

Amanda give a little pant. He didn't reply, and Abigail sensed he was blushing. His tongue licked into the ear and made the little sissy writhe, but then holding him lightly by the waist he planted a delicate kiss in the nape of his neck. "You're quite new here. Sit down with me for a while and let me explain a few things."

Shepherding Amanda over to the bed he sat down at his side, putting an affectionate arm about his shoulders while placing his other hand on his knee. "You're a very pretty sissy without your clothes on, but you look sweet in a schoolgirl outfit too," he said. "Your legs make a lovely show beneath a short skirt, and men go crazy for sissies. Boys like them too, and sissies can't leave other sissies alone."

Slowly his hand slipped up to stroke the top of the cutie pie's bare legs, delicate fingers moving up from his knee to caress his soft inner thigh. "The most important thing here is to please people. You must be obedient to the tutors - and - you must be obliging to the head-girl occasionally. That's important. The others here are all cream-puff panty-boys as queer as old nine-penny coins, and they're at each other all the time. They've left you untouched until now because they know I have the first taste of new candy, but they'll be chasing you like horny hounds when you leave here tonight."

Amanda was an exquisite lovebunny in his nakedness. His smooth skin, his soft curves, the gentle rise and fall of his small chest made Abigail fill up with lust, and his own member began to expand as he petted the beautiful body. "If you don't like their pestering, I can protect you, but I'll only do that if you make me happy."

Amanda's eyelashes fluttered. "I'll try to please you. What do I have to do?"

Abigail drew the huddle of girlish and boyish delights closer to him. "Just relax, sweetheart. I'll do the work."

Such intimate touching aroused Amanda's young penis, and as it began to extend Abigail gripped it between thumb and finger and started to pull and push, sliding the skin of the small uncircumcised cock down to its base and making it bounce in his hand, then pulling it up until the skin nearly obscured the tiny bulbous tip. Abigail believed that watching the sissy's glands was like seeing a flower bloom. The shape of the bud within its tip was easily defined. It appeared at first like a marble-sized pearl of pink peeking through a small wrinkly snout, then as fingers moved the shiny bulb was exposed completely.

Amanda gave a little moan and his head tilted onto Abigail's shoulder. He wasn't worried about having his diddley strummed, people had done that plenty of times in the past. But they had been ladies, not boys. Letting boys do it was gay, wasn't it? He'd seen the others do it to each other in the dormitories, seen them kissing too, not just little granny pecks on the cheek, but long, squirmy kisses on the mouth. They put their arms around each other and did it again and again. And he'd heard their sighs and soft moans when they got into bed with each other after lights-out, and he knew they were doing the kind of things that gay-boys did. Were they all gay? They were being taught to be girls, so perhaps they were only a little bit gay. Anyway, what the head-girl was doing didn't feel horrible, it felt rather nice.

With the crook of a finger Abigail lifted his chin. Amanda's chest heaved, his lips were hot and fevered they were slightly parted. He was in complete surrender to Abigail's every wicked desire, and Abigail had a truck load of them. "Open your mouth a little for me."

Abigail's thick tongue slithered like an eel into Amanda's little mouth and strove to reach the younger boys tonsils. The pretty boy gargled desperately. He was in heaven, and so was Abigail.

Amanda sighed. The yanking of Abigail's fingers felt nice, and the unremitting up and down sliding of his foreskin made his willy extend and become solid. Then he felt the tick, the exquisite little throbbing in his shaft that always pre-empted ...

"Do you like what I'm doing?" Abigail asked.

"It makes me tingle. You're going to make me do something. Aah, ooh, Abigail!"

His body jerked and he tried to roll away, but Abigail held onto him and rubbed faster.

Small gushes of creamy ooze ejected suddenly from the tip of his swollen cock and slopped over the head-girl's fingers, fingers that kept rubbing until the young boys noodle began to wilt, and then transferred to his little bag of nuts to give them a brief massage. "Oh, Abigail. Ooh, oh, Abigail... Mmmm, aaaah!"

Abigail wiped his fingers with a tissue and smiled. Doing things for the kid had made his pants bulge tremendously. Time to get rid of the clothing. "That was juicy!" he said as he hitched his knickers down. "I was wondering if you could do wetties yet, because it's always better fun if a boy can do something that makes a show."

Still trembling in the aftermath of his hot little orgasm Amanda blushed at the praise, then gasped when he saw the big, manly thing Abigail was extracting from his pants. Abigail may have been all sissy, but he had big balls and a huge cock. The other boys had told him about Abigail's cock. How magnificent it was. Were all men's things big and leaking goo like that one? And his balls! Each one was twice the size of his own pink bag! The sight was miasmic. Enticing. He wasn't gay, and he wasn't a girl, but after the pleasure he'd experienced on the sissy bed with another sissy, he couldn't resist looking at the handsome, dreamy boy-cock and wanting - just for a short while - to be a girl. He covered his pretty face in shame with his left hand as he reached out and touched the magnificent shaft with his right.

Abigail sighed with pleasure. Was his cock the first this small effeminate masterpiece had ever stroked? Amanda's featherlight fingers explored the vast territory of the head-girl's monster rammer and ran a girlish fingertip along the thick vein that followed its length. Then he trailed the pretty finger all around the slick perimeter of the older boys plum-sized cockhead, watching shyly as the whole measure of stiff flesh throbbed.

"Take it in your mouth and suck it." urged Abigail.

Suck it! Gosh! Amanda's heart thumped. He'd never sucked cock before. That really WAS gay. But Abigail's prick was such a beautiful, horny thing, and it looked like it needed to be kissed and sucked, so perhaps just for this one time he'd allow himself to be gay. He felt its strength when he told hold of it. It was thick and strong, and so full of stuff it was leaking out from the pee-hole at the top. Taking a deep breath he slumped down and lapped the big mushroom tip with his wet tongue, instinctively rolling it all around under the oh-so-sensetive collar. A dribble of icky secretion oozed into his mouth, salty, sexy, and very gay, and it encouraged him to hold the shaft with both hands just to see how much of the gorgeous salami he could swallow. The bulbous top felt like an hard boiled egg in his mouth, a fat, savoury confection that pressed both down on his tongue and up against the roof of his mouth while constantly leaking juicy protein. Naughtily, he moved his lips back and forth on the pulsing meat.

"That's nice. Don't stop." Abigail gasped. "Keep moving your mouth. Wank my cock with your right hand and stroke my balls with your left."

Amanda lifted his head, swallowed a couple of times to get his mouth working again, then went back to work. Gracious, what was he doing? He didn't want that great big thing to do stuff in his mouth.

Abigail groaned. "Oh hell! I've got a whole load of hot gooey's I'd love to pump into your little mouth, but that will have to wait for another time. Tonight I'm saving it all up to go somewhere else."

He eased the younger boy away, then swinging round he turned him onto his belly and mounted the back of his legs so that he could stroke his cock against the separation of his bottom cheeks. Amanda wasn't sure about that. Another boy rubbing his dripping cock over his tender bottom was spooky. It was 'gay' and wrong. He twisted about, but Abigail was too heavy and too strong. He wouldn't stop, and soon the stroking was awakening feelings he had never even dreamed about. After only a short while the rubbing aroused a sweet pang in his tiny ball bag. He groaned, seized by equal parts of wonder and humiliation. It was awful for Abigail to do what he was doing, but all the same he stopped resisting, and began to surrender to feelings that were beyond his imagination.

The head-girl carefully parted the cheeks of Amanda's bottom with the fingers and thumb of one hand. The young sissy flinched nervously, but Abigail had planned matters well. He'd previously poured baby-oil into a plastic squeezy bottle with a fine nossle so he could inject a good dose into the lad's pallid, untried rosette, then he followed that with a finger. It took a moment but it eventually went in. Deeper and slowly deeper, the virgin tunnel was hot and tight. He kissed his neck and noticed his chest rising rapidly up and down. Two fingers then to gently stretch him, and as they went in he kissed his pouty mouth and his never shaved cheeks. The beautiful boy kissed him back, opening his mouth to let some tongue go in.

After treating everywhere to minimise chaffing, he grabbed each of the little sissy's bottom cheeks and eased them apart before settling his cock between them. It nestled warmly against the slight gape of the velvety-soft anus, and he was confident that the tender muscles of the juniors sphincter would prove no match of his solid ramrod.

"I'm going to break you in - you know, pop your cherry. I'm going to push my cock into your unsullied little bottom and fuck your bum." he told Amanda bluntly. "It needs to be done. As a sissy you'd have a miserable time at Fairyfield if you stayed a virgin, and you'll have a rather lovely one if you join in with the others. It'll hurt a bit at first, and it'll feel like its burning inside. But if you relax you'll get to enjoy it. I'll put it in a little at a time. Tell me if it hurts and I'll stop for a while."

Screwing with the tip of his erection he gave a firm shove. "Two inches - okay?"

Amanda's stomach clutched as he uttered a strangled, panicky gasp. His

bum-hole opened up. "Unnnhhhh!" And he felt very - "Ohhhhh!" - alarmed. Very

"Ahhhhhhh, vulnerable. "Ooh Mummy!" It was too big. He was sure a his little bum-hole wasn't made to take such a thing, and his youthful muscles strained to eject it. But the commitment had been made. "Okay." he squeaked. He closed his eyes tightly. His legs twitched. His anus tightened, closing up to protect what could no longer be protected.

"Good. Two more inches then - how's that?"

Amanda's eyes watered as every whit of control departed from him. It was impossible, but it was happening. His narrow little-boy bum was being stuffed full of big-boy cock. He could feel his muscles anxiously clamping around it, trying to push it out as it breached the sanctity of his virgin bowels. Why was his pulse beating so fast? "Okay." he said, "But it's big. Let me get used to it."

Abigail paused as promised, then after a few moments Amanda said, "Okay, you can move now."

The youngsters bottom was narrow and tight and was now beginning to pull him inwards, curiously inviting, almost wanting it. Without being aware of it he was doing little side-wiggles that proved more than just pleasing to Abigail. He'll manage everything nicely, Abigail thought in satisfaction. When he pushed the rest of the way the little sissy princess would manage it all.

Both cock and anus were well oiled, and Abigail moved easily back and forth to establish a further commendable four inches into the darling little bum-hole that was at his command. Amanda's young cock suddenly started to erect again, so the Head-Girl took a grip of it and frigged his foreskin.

The little lady-lad was ripe for a good deep fucking, the senior sissy

decided, but he'd do him slowly and gently at first, and only increase in

passion as he became used to it. Then he'd get the whole of the massive load

of hot jism that had been saved up for him,

Oh yes! Within a short while young Amanda would be a squeaky, girly-freak lovebungle just like all the others, ready to drop his pants and push out his arse at the mere sight of a hard-on.

 

Nan had large dark eyes, and a neatly cut fringe of hair touching on finely defined eyebrows that arched in a rather feminine way. He also had high cheekbones and a gorgeous broad mouth that was also quite feminine in its way, and which gave him a sort of winsome tomboy appearance. He was rather more mature than most of the other sissies at Fairyfield and thought himself too grown-up to be thought of as a child. He was emphatic about his origins, insisting he was half Belorussian, one quarter British, one eighth American and one eighth Greek. And Nan was short for Nanette he told everyone - not Nancy. About that he was very pedantic.

More mature than most he may have been, but that didn't diminish his pleasure of being a panty peeper. Even the sweetest, most junior sissy didn't wear belly-warmers at Fairyfield, and within days of becoming used to the sensuous swirl of a skirt against their bare thighs they were writing home to their mummy's and pleading to be sent skimpy panties they wouldn't be ashamed to show to their new little sweethearts.

Nan found that observing such fleeting glimpses of underwear was good way of dispelling the mood of lethargy that descended on him in the garden on Sunday's. Seated on a step of the sundial in the middle of the lawn he could get a good view of the smaller sissies as they played ball. On fine days there was always lots of pretty things playing games, all with spectacular fine, bare legs going up under teasingly short skirts, and despite Miss Hancock's rule that girly's should avoid showing their underwear, their little skirts would fly up and flash a wonderful view whenever one of them jumped for the ball. Tight white knickers, so many in the attention seeking style of bikini-briefs, drawn up over delectable creamy bottoms. It didn't seem to bother them even when they knew they were being watched, in fact some of them became quite the little show-offs when they knew someone was interested. The effeminate treasures were only too happy to display their panties.

Poppy had taken a shine to Nan, who was a new-starter he'd yet to share some experience with. Everyone else reckoned Nan to be officious and bossy, but Poppy didn't have a problem with that. He enjoyed the company of people who could make decisions, because that relieved him of having to puzzle things out for himself. Being ordered about and told what to do often made him quite whoosey too, and if he was handled a bit rough on occasions he didn't mind, as long as it wasn't too brutal.

Lively and alert, Poppy approached him when he was in his customary seat by the sundial. It was an idyllic setting in which to take the morning air, the early sun streamed over the rock garden nearby. Tufts of aubrieta hung over the stones, while the frank tawny faces of pansies surrounding them and a dewy fresh exhalation came up from the matted roots of the plants. "What are you doing after church?"

Nan shrugged as he observed a junior leap up to catch ball and display a fine front view of his pants. "Nothing very exciting."

Undaunted by his stark lack of enthusiasm Poppy smiled brightly. Scrubbed and neat, and intensely aware of his own beauty he then blinked and shook his shoulders in a purposely camp fashion. "You look so awfully smart I thought you must be going somewhere special. If you're not, we could have a game of croquet on the lawn - or we could go for a walk."

Nan's attitude softened slightly. "Better not. I made a ghastly mistake in sewing class yesterday, and Mrs Pardoe will murder me if it's not right by tomorrow. It'll take ages to unpick and do again."

"Phooey to her." muttered Poppy in clear disappointment. Free time on a Sunday was a good time for friendship and Poppy enjoyed kissing, but he'd not yet been kissed by Nan's lovely broad mouth and had been hoping for a hot little session behind the beech hedge in the orchard. He sat down on the steps of the sundial, brought his knees up to his chin and looped his arms around them. The imprudent pose caused his skirt to slide up his legs and expose the entire under surface of his thighs and make an enticing sight where his panties were pulled in between the cheeks of his bottom. Poppy knew he looked sexy, and hoped that if he looked inviting enough Nan would be unable to resist him. He was confident that he was the prettiest sissy anywhere, and his body, especially his legs, could drive men insane with lust.

Nan looked deliberately at him - a boy called Popperwell whose first name had sunk into oblivion and who was now universally known as Poppy. Sweet and precious, and just about as girly as it was possible to be. "Something smells nice. Is it tyme or rosemary?"

"Catmint," said Poppy, who had an interest in such things, "It's in the wrong place really. It should be in the herbaceous border."

Suddenly ignoring the activities of the younger she-boys nearby Nan smiled and inched closer. "No, I think it's poppies. Poppies smell nice."

Poppy glowed at the oblique flattery, and glanced at his shoes. "It's unfair to have to do school work on Sunday. Sunday's are the only time we get a chance to do other things."

"Mrs Pardoe will smack my balls if I don't get my sewing right." Nan replied sulkily.

"She doesn't do that in class. She just uses a slipper on the bottom. It stings a lot, but only for a while."

"Uph! That's easy said. It's not you who'd have to suffer."

"I know, and I know its not nice to be smacked, but it doesn't do much real harm. A good whacking sometimes livens me up no end."

Nan's eyes narrowed slyly. "I'd love to be a prefect so I could smack all the young 'un's here." Slowly the slyness turned in Poppy's direction. "If we go for a walk later, would you let me smack you?"

Poppy glanced around anxiously, the sudden movement causing his blue-black gymslip to strain across his chest. While quite used to having his hair pulled or allowing an amorous acquaintance to bend his fingers back until he squealed, the idea of breaking rules made him nervous.

"You mustn't say things like that, you know we're not allowed to smack each other. Only tutors and prefects can give punishment. But you don't have to spank me, I'll let you torture me a little bit if you want to hurt me and make me cry."

"I can hurt you anytime I like, but I want to give you proper correction," Nan said flippantly, "No, we'll go somewhere where we won't be seen. The gym-store won't be in use today, and old Hardwick goes off to do odd jobs on Sundays. I'll do my sewing this afternoon so I can be free after supper."

Poppy looked doubtful, but Nan stood up and enticed him to take hold of his hand, then took him in among the rhododendrons. Nan was tall for his age, taller than Poppy, and once safe away from prying eyes he put a hand into the small of the younger boys back and hauled him close. Poppy flushed all over and mewled softly as the other boy first turned up his precious face and stroking a finger across his cheeks before holding his lower jaw and planting a wet, sloppy kiss tenderly on his mouth. Then as Nan's hot tongue slued a wet path around his ears and his teeth gently bit at his neck Poppy felt his nipples tighten and his penis stir. All at once he was in love.

"Is that okay? Do you like what I'm doing?" asked Nan eventually

Poppy could feel the breath from Nan's mouth on his ear. "You do like it, don't you?" crowed the older boy softly, almost sweetly, taking the time to tease the shell of his ear with his hot, wet tongue. "You being here, in your place. You like me putting you in your place. You're a tasty little missy, and I enjoy doing it. But if you want me to do some more you're going to have to do whatever I say."

Flustered, blushing like a schoolgirl, Poppy's lips became moist and gently parted, as if in shock. "Yes Nan, I know I have to do as I'm told."

Nan smirked and moved closer, slowly, watching the total submission in Poppy's eyes as he snaked forward with his mouth, his oh-so dangerous, pretty mouth. Encircling him with his 13-year-old arms he kissed his forehead, cheeks and eyes, then his neck and nose, before slipping a hand up the back of his skirt to stroke his panties, and feel his lovely bottom. Poppy responded by grinding forward with his cock, but Nan wasn't about to be diverted.

One hand caught Poppy's jaw in a vicelike grip and turned his face up again, and when Nan spoke again his tone was faintly fond, like a master talking to a pet.

"You want me to control you, don't you? I press all the right buttons for you. You want me to take charge. Okay, let's see if you 're ready for me. I know you've done lots of kissing in the past, and none of it with girls, but doing kissing with me is sometimes different to everyone else. When we kiss this time I want you to piss in your pants."

Poppy pouted. "Oh Nan. That's a horrible thing to ask me to do."

His protest became redundant as Nan licked gently at his lips as if asking for access, secretly smiling when Poppy yet again let him slide inside, tongues jostling for position. The kiss was more ardent this time, more extended, hotter, stickier. The bigger boys broad mouth clamped over Poppy's smaller one, gulping, consuming him with its ferocity, his fat writhing tongue pumping energetically while wayward hands stroked down Poppy's back and over his slender waist to caress the gently rounded outline of his bottom once more. That didn't matter, thought Poppy. People who kissed him so wonderfully were allowed to touch him anywhere. They were both breathless when they drew apart.

"Have you done it?" Nan asked.

Poppy gave a shy, shameful nod of his head and he gazed down to bring attention to the stream of urine flowing down his bare legs. Despite his reservations, in the midst of excitement he'd done just as Nan had demanded, trying to restrict things to a token wetting, but losing concentration and flooding his panties until a warm deluge was gushing down his thighs. It was affirmation of his willingness to please and confirmation of the others boys total control of him.

"We're going to have a wild time later." said Nan.

 

Margaret Pardoe never resented being duty-tutor on a Sunday. It was the only day of the week without any kind of formal lessons and she was only responsible for overseeing the children when they strolled outside in the grounds. That said, much of the time she could idle away in the headmistress's study in pretence of monitoring the telephone, and she knew where Miriam Hancock stowed her sherry. On Sundays there were rarely any other staff about, and nothing to spoil the serenity. Not unless it was Church Sunday. Unfortunately it was Church Sunday that day.

On the fourth Sunday in each month, Parson Roper the incumbent of Peasmarsh, came to preside over morning worship, and the first part of the day was irritable bustle as she was compelled to direct parties of children in preparing the entrance hall for the service. When the school assembled later the children were paraded for a check-up by the headmistress: clean socks neatly folded down to equal lengths, clean hands and fingernails, shoes polished, gymslips pressed. It was also an ideal opportunity for a knicker inspection and they were required to raise their skirts to prove they were wearing an approved pattern of underwear. Being smartly turned-out on Sundays was important to Miriam Hancock and everything had to be just right. It was a ritual from her own childhood she never regretted inflicting on others, and she maintained it imperative to make a good impression on Parson Roper's visits.

Afterwards, acting a role of regal elegance, Miss Hancock entertained the parson to tea before his departure, and Margaret's greatest distaste came with having to accompany her on such occasions. It shouldn't have needed two of them. In most social situations Miriam could command a roomful of people without dominating it, her conversation was clever and broad, light and serious. She could impress anyone usually, but Roper was a creepy character with whom she refused to sit with alone.

"Since we've no means of getting the whole school down to your parish as a group we're always grateful when you can find the time to come out to Fairyfield for our benefit, parson." Miriam said as she led the way into her study. "And we forever admire your skill in conducting morning worship in the confines of the entrance hall."

Her remarks were purely polite conversation. She detested the clergyman, but having lately become out of favour with the formidable Mrs Boroclough when malicious rumours about the nature of her school began to circulate, she was in need of a substantial ally in the local community. She had to have one even if that meant having to indulge a bloated ecclesiastic ego.

Patting both hands over the endomorphic mound of his stomach the parson made a satisfied noise and sank into the corner of a well padded sofa. Small, plump and sleek, he had the pursy mouth and complacent air of one who knows himself to be at home to a pin on any subject.

"Make no mistake Miss Hancock, it's a treat for me to attend. Religious matters are so often neglected with young people these days and it's refreshing to find such an attentive number of them as you have here." He gazed up and around whimsically. "You've done a marvellous job in restoring the old Grange, and that's a fact. There was much talk when Albert Fairyfield was still alive that he intended to leave the place to the National Trust, and one can only surmise at the ruin it would still be if he'd done that." He swept his arm around in an extravagant gesture. "You've raised it up like a Lazarus. It's becoming quite lovely."

"Uncle Albert had no family of his own, and I'm fortunate he thought so highly of me." Miriam replied, "I've done the best I can with limited resources and tried to restore the original character of the place. Some people insist the mixture of architecture is a misalliance, but I can't agree, I feel the blend of styles hold a certain charm."

"It does have some rather quaint aspects," the parson smiled dourly, "The depiction of the satyr over the gatehouse for example is - er - quite racy, don't y'think? And you'll have seen the corbels round the roof - extremely rude some of 'em. The Fairyfield's who built this place would seem to have been a questionable bunch." He laughed, then looked as though he shouldn't have done. "Not like today, oh dear no! Good thing most people don't usually look upward these days or they'd get quite a shock."

Miriam shuffled uncomfortably. Mr Hardwick was accommodated in the gatehouse and a satyr carved into the wall there seemed oddly apt. Hurriedly she tried to draw the parson to consider other aspects of the building.

"Many of the interior rooms were still in surprising good repair when they were examined, and only the hall and the kitchen needed any real attention. I also found a great deal of rather old but serviceable furniture scattered about."

"All the same it must have cost a tidy sum to make everything right, Miss

Hancock"

"I'm fortunate in having a number of generous benefactors to help me with the expense, and I've galvanised an obscure quango called 'The Historic Buildings Commission' in hopes they'll provide me with a grant to maintain things."

"How very astute you are. I believe you could well reverse the misfortune suffered by the Fairyfields since they lost the Claudia ring."

"A ring! That's the first mention I've heard of any ring."

"It's an old story, but one substantiated by my predecessors who compiled the parish archives. It tells of how one of the most prominent of the Fairyfields had a ring fashioned by a gypsy witch and had it inscribed with some kind of Romany or runic symbols that would ward off bad luck. A pagan artefact, but the decline of the Fairyfields appears to have begun when the ring was lost."

Miriam screwed her mouth slightly. "I know nothing of rings. Everything I've accomplished here so far as been done by sheer hard work."

The parsons eyes rolled to the front of the lids as his thoughts drifted to other things.

"You're success is marked by you being able to accommodate some lovely girls here, Miss Hancock. Lovely, lovely girls!"

Miriam turned to Mrs Pardoe, barely able to repress the scowl on her face. She knew exactly the indulgence he was obliquely seeking. "Do go and find a suitable cute thing to join us Margaret. The parson likes to have one sit with him whilst he as tea."

Disgruntled, Mrs Pardoe rose up and went to the door. She too was aware of the parsons questionable tastes, and they offended her feminist nature.

Having collected their hats from the dormitories the children were by then filing out the main door in dribs and drabs to enjoy the freedom of the garden, and she grabbed the arm of the nearest. "Come with me. You're invited to tea with the headmistress." she snapped at the startled sissy-boy with some asperity.

Daisy curtsied apprehensively when he entered the room, first to Miss Hancock and then to the parson. Boys were really only obliged to curtsy to ladies, but the parson was an important person and he didn't want to chance doing anything wrong.

The clergyman's piggy eyes slowly widened as they appraised him from head to toe. He looked exquisite; his hair brushed straight and neat down to the tops of his ears and forming a cute fringe across his brow, while his face presented a dazzling smile and one that emitted such radiance it almost shimmered. Hs eyes, wide open and tilted up were beguiling. "Well I never! Lovely, lovely! What's your name, lovely child?"

"Daisy, sir." he piped, utterly awe struck by the people around him.

"Daisy," repeated the parson, "That's a lovely name for a delicate summer blossom." He chuckled, tapping his knees with short thick fingers. Was the child a he or a she? It was hard to tell, but there had been some gossip in the village. "By! You're a smart thing. Quite the little lady. Lovely indeed! Here, come and sit on my lap."

The two women watched dourly as he hauled Daisy onto his knees, noting the sly way he arranged the child's skirt high up on the tops of his legs, and how he flipped the back of it out to ensure the front of his trousers could thrust up at the seat of his pants.

"I believe you're planning to hold something of an Open Day at the end of the school term." the parson suddenly said to Miriam.

"Yes - I, er - an informal gathering of my clients and sponsors. I fear it will be rather a dull affair." she replied offhand, wishing he hadn't raised the matter, since she didn't want him in any way involved.

Mr Roper drummed his fingers on Daisy's bare knees. "Oh but I'd love to attend. Partaking in such events are what keep clergy such as I in touch with people. Of course, my dear lady wife may not be able to come with me. She suffers so abominably with hay-fever throughout the summer, and it would be rather a trial for her." He took a sideways glance at Daisy and hugged him. "Lovely!"

Daisy was an angel fallen to earth, and he didn't mind if the dear thing was a boy. His pink girlish body filled a schoolgirl uniform to perfection, and if let loose in the village men would likely fight for a peek at his little panty-covered bottom. The parson's stubby fingers casually moved up from bare knees to thighs, skimming the bottom rim of the ruckled skirt, and Daisy's head jerked as he felt something rise up beneath him.

Gloria burst into the room carrying a tray. "Tea, parson." she announced briskly, "I knows y'partial to Earl Grey, but we ain't got any. We's got Darjeelin' or PG Tips, an' I's made a pot o' each so's you've got a choice."

"Er, thank you, Gloria. "The Darjeeling will be quite acceptable."

Gloria took one look at him bouncing Daisy on his knee, then swiftly assessed the scowls of the two stoney-faced women seated opposite him. Nobodies fool, she left them all to it without saying another word.

"It's a hot day." said the parson to no one in particular. "Even the most precious flowers in the garden get hot on such days as this." His eyes roved over Daisy boldly, speculatively. "Depending of course on the amount of shade they have. This child looks positively glowing. Are you hot, little girl? Too many clothes on a day such as this will make you feel ill." His words, innocent superficially, brimmed with innuendo, and the desire to help remove some of Daisy's clothes flickered in his eyes. The sissy was too young to grasp the meaning of sophisticated double-talk, but luckily an innocent reply was sufficient on this occasion.

"Er, um, not very, thank you sir."

Miss Hancock tried a diversion. "Your sermon today was most eloquent, parson."

"Indeed," agreed Mrs Pardoe, bristling tartly and not attempting to disguise her irritation. "A twenty minute lesson describing the debauchery prevalent in Sodom and Gomorra was most apt for small children."

The parson seemed oblivious of her acrimony, paying more attention to the child on his lap than to inflections of speech. "Sin and retribution! Such stories have to be told," he declared grandly, "Weakness of the flesh is all too easily accepted as normal these days, and there is a duty to warn young people of the consequences of immorality." His brows knitted and he gazed steadfastly at Daisy. "Who can find a virtuous little girl? For her price is far above rubies." Shifting his eyes towards Miriam he smiled. "Proverbs, chapter 31, verse 10."

The headmistress gazed back unimpressed. "I'm familiar with the quote, parson, and I believe it refers to women, not to little girls."

Roper smirked guiltily. "You've caught me out, lovely lady. I thought to be poetic to fit the circumstances, so allow me a little license."

Bloody hypocrite! thought Mrs Pardoe as she surreptitiously observed the man's podgy hands fluttering up and down Daisy's thighs in a way that was more flirtatious than avuncular. The children had dubbed him 'Groper Roper', and not without good reason. If priests needed a license she'd have made damn sure he never got his renewed.

With the tea poured Miriam leaned back just in time to see the creepy cleric push his fat lips against the little sissy's ear and whisper something that made Daisy's breath catch in his throat. The boy glanced furtively across at her as if seeking her approval, but he was too much in awe of everyone to speak, and eventually he began to wriggle, moving with an almost impercievable rocking of hips and pelvis that was obviously designed to drag the seat of his pants back and forth over the growing lump in the parsons trousers.

"The duties of a clergyman can often be a great burden," Roper mumbled, his grey eyes rolling in his head as his chest began to heave.

Miriam raised a plate of Garibaldi's from the tea tray and leaned forward.

"Biscuit, parson."

"Ahr, yes. Lovely, lovely!" the man replied languidly.

Mrs Pardoe derived no pleasure from sitting in the company of such a repugnant man, and stirred her tea so hard it splashed over the rim of her cup. "The children will be in the garden. I really should show myself outside." she muttered sideways at Miriam.

The headmistress shook her head. "They'll be fine for a while without supervision."

Daisy's shunting was unremitting as he applied himself to squirming down and working the crease of his bottom back and forth over the firm uprisen shape in the man's slacks. He'd never done anything like that before, but he was sure he couldn't be doing anything wrong if the parson had asked him to do it.

For a while Roper sat still, stiff, upright and unblinking, his eyebrows making large comical arches, then part way through nibbling a biscuit his mouth became limp and crumbs fell down his chin. He went red in the face and grunted, then took a sharp intake of breath which was followed by a vague slushy noise. He gave a gulp, his eyes seeing nothing even though they protruded like gimlets. "BABYLON!" he eventually exclaimed.

Daisy stopped moving abruptly, his mouth fell open and he gazed at Miss Hancock in astonishment, but still without saying anything.

"Parson Roper, are you ill?" Miriam inquired.

"No, no." The man gasped, shaking his head as if trying to clear it of cobwebs. "Just a touch of indigestion, I fear."

"Dear me! I do hope it wasn't caused by the biscuit." murmured Mrs Pardoe sarcastically.

The clergyman sat spluttering, fumbling for his handkerchief and allowing Daisy to escape from his lap. As he wiped his face he didn't appear to notice the prominence of the dark moist stain on the front of his trousers.

Mrs Pardoe rose silently and took Daisy out through the door, and once in the safety of the hall the boy wriggled his hips to demonstrate some discomfort. "I think the parson did a wetty on my bum, miss." he confided in a grave voice.

"Um, ah! The woman grumpily sought for words, transferring her outrage at the clergyman to irritation with the child.. "Go and change your underwear before you go into the garden."

When the parson had gone Miss Hancock disappeared to take her customary Sunday afternoon nap, and serenity returned. Mrs Pardoe went back into the study, going directly to the French vitrine in the corner, inside of which she knew would be a dark red venetian glass decanter. Ignoring the crystal Waterford glasses encircling it she removed the stopper and lifted it to her pale cold lips to swig from the bottle.

Things felt a good deal better then. A sense of well being, of euphoria, washed over her as the alcohol permeated her system. Sunlight poured in between the window drapes and there were summer flowers in vases all around. Lovely!

Tucked inside the cabinet she found a notebook, and a glance told her it was really an account book for the management of the monthly allowances the children received from their parents. Margaret Pardoe was no genius, but it didn't take an intelligent person to realise there was something odd about the entries inside it. Page after page was littered with deductions for additional clothing that were never purchased, treats that were not provided, and with fees for extracurricular activities that didn't exist.

When it came to acquiring money Miriam Hancock didn't miss a trick. She was robbing all the little sods in her care of most of their pocket-money.

She raised the decanter again, but this time only a trickle of liquid touched her tongue. She glared at it in disbelief. It was empty. Despite all the money Miriam Hancock raked in she still couldn't keep the sherry topped up.

 

Upstairs on the third floor the last of the pupils were streaming out from the dormitories after collecting their hats, intent on going down to enjoy the freedom of Sunday in the garden. Daisy ran in, quickly changed his knickers and dashed out again, then as Trudy Jones prepared to depart himself he looked Poppy up and down critically.

"Better not wear your hat on the back of your head like that. Mrs Pardoe will think you sloven and give you a smack."

Poppy rolled his lips in exasperation, pulled his straw boater forward and fixed it in the approved prim position on top of his head. "I get fed up with rules sometimes." he grumbled as he made for the door.

"Me too," Trudy told him, following at his elbow. "Say, would you like to come for a walk with me after supper?"

"Can't," replied Poppy with a self-satisfied smile. "I've got a date with Nanette."

"Phooey! she's a dog," Trudy remarked derisively, "He only wants you for your arse, and he'll be into your knickers faster than you can say 'scissors'."

Poppy gave him a cynical sideways glance whilst instinctively making a half turn and bending slightly forward to accentuate his pertly rounded bottom. He then reached behind to flatten his palms on the outline of the gently thrusting cheeks and stroke them lightly. "If that's true it won't be any different than going for a walk with you Trudy Jones, will it?"

Two slightly young she-boys found themselves the last to leave. As they took the final steps to the landing below one of them darted behind the other and steered him into the recess of a bowed window, then without explanation he pulled up his companions shirt sleeve and proceeded to give him a Chinese-burn. The victim squawked with pain whilst trying to wrench himself free. "Yeow! Stop it - stop it!"

The other boy released him and grinned. "I wasn't really trying to hurt you. I just wanted you to notice me so we can be friends." He offered a reassuring smile. "My name's Sammy, and you're Amanda, aren't you?"

Amanda's face contorted with displeasure. "Giving Chinese-burns is a horrid way of being someone's friend. I'm not sure I ever want to be your friend now."

"Cross-my-heart I won't do it again," Sammy said quickly, "Only, ever since you moved into my dorm' I wanted to be your first friend."

Amanda took a long look at the imploring face in front of him and liked the look of it right away. Sparkly nutmeg eyes danced with a happy-go-lucky shine under a fringe of auburn hair. He could tell that Sammy was full of fun, and although he was a sissy he'd be a fine friend. But he wasn't prepared to acquiesce too easily after such a harsh introduction..

"Do you like it here?" Sammy asked.

"Um, well, it's a bit of an odd place, y'know, with boys having to dress up as girls all the time, but it's better than any other school I know. Boys in other schools are frightfully rough." He gave a rueful rub of his arm. "You're the only one who's been beastly to me here so far."

Sammy employed an engaging smile, then raised Amanda's wrist on his fingertips and planted a delicate kiss on the reddened skin of the forearm. "There! I've kissed it better, so now we can be boyfriends."

The other sissy looked startled. Only gay-boys had boyfriends, and despite what Abigail had made him do, he wasn't gay. "Don't say that, you twerp. We'll both get whacks if any of the ladies hear you mention 'boyfriends'.

"Well, sweethearts then. Will you be my sweetheart?"

Amanda pondered the change of phrase briefly. "I don't know about that. What do sweethearts have to do?"

Sammy shrugged, causing his narrow shoulders move up and down in a way that was erotic for some reason. "Nothing if you don't want to, it just means you wont go off and chose another best friend without telling me first."

"Well okay, in that case I might be your sweetheart."

Sammy beamed. "Brilliant!" Then an impish gleam formed in his eyes. "You're a super cutie. Do you want to seal the deal with a kiss?"

Amanda wrinkled his nose. He wasn't gay, No way. Uh uh. "You said ..."

"You don't have to, not if you don't want." his companion said hurriedly, unable to conceal a trace of disappointment.

Amanda hung his head and smiled coyly. His new friend had an honest open face that was clean and smooth, and it was extremely pretty with lovely dimples. It wouldn't be a trial to kiss such sweet looks. "Okay then!" he suddenly agreed. Placing a hand on each of Sammy's shoulders he drew his lips together and darted them at a flawless cheek. They made a fleeting impact that was light and chaste, but stayed long enough for him to feel the warmth of Sammy's skin of his mouth.. "There!" he said, letting him go.

Sammy sighed heavily at such a kiss so sagely administered, his eyes fluttered as though someone was stroking him under the chin with a buttercup. "No, no. Not like that. On the lips. You know, like in the movies."

Amanda gaped, horrified. "Look here, I'm not really a girl you know."

Sammy took hold of his hands and drew him forward to encourage some intimacy. "You're a sissy. Miss Hancock's teaching you to be a girl, and you're dressed like one. Can't you pretend for a moment?"

There was a strange thrill attached to the naughtiness being proposed and slowly the new sissy relaxed and his arms slid around Sammy's neck. His eyelids drooped in an alluring way and his tender moist lips hovered against the other boys mouth, inclining first to the right, then to the left. "I love you, darling" he husked.

Sammy immediately began to giggle, which Amanda at once found annoying.

"Stop laughing. How can I get in the mood for this if you laugh?"

"Sorry, but it tickled when you called me DARLING."

"That's what sweethearts call each other in the movies, isn't it?"

"Yes, I see what you mean. In that case I won't laugh again. I promise, DARLING."

Amanda froze as Sammy leaned forward so close he could feel the warmth of his breath on his lips. "Close your eyes." he told him, and he did, not knowing what else to do. His breath jump-started as his new friend tilted is head to the side and pressed his soft, pink mouth against his own. Their lips touched lightly at first, a soft, sweet oral connection that melded them together before quickly intensifying into a frenzied mash of boy passion that marked their first real kiss. For a moment the gyrations of their mouths made them appear as if sucking a single toffee, with each of them determined to have the largest portion for himself.

"Wow! I've waited ages for that. It was great. You even taste new." exclaimed Sammy as they drew apart.

Amanda felt excitement buzzing in his head and he smiled self-consciously.

"It was sort-of nice, but I didn't know I tasted of anything."

"Oh you do." Sammy assured him, inching close and slipping an arm around his waist. "All sissy-boys have a flavour, and you're the prettiest, sweetest sissy ever."

Curiosity aroused, Amanda smirked. "What do I taste like?"

His new friend rolled his eyes thoughtfully before deciding. "Peaches, I think. Yes, I think you taste new and peachy." His eyes sparkled and he held Sandra against his belly. "Let's do it again, and see if you can taste my flavour this time."

"Well, okay, as long as you aren't beastly and don't hurt me again."

Sammy brushed his lips against the sulky little mouth of his sissy princess. "Mmmphhhh! I've been wanting to do that all morning." he said, taking him in his arms and holding him like men hold ladies in the movies.

The sweethearts kissed once more, and Amanda even gave his new friend a little tongue, just as they did in those naughty stories they weren't supposed to read, but did anyway. Mouths open, lips hardly touching at first, the tips of tongues met and slid together juicily. Then they slipped the tongues into each others mouths, locked lips and swallowed. Amanda decided that Sammy was an incredible kisser and he made the most of it by moving in a circle, tasting the upper and lower lips as his mouth passed from side to side. Then Sammy pressed his hands into Amanda's back he brought his hips up tight against his own.

The hair on the back of Amanda's neck stood on end, goosebumps rose up all over his body and his young pecker began to stir in his pants. Suddenly he couldn't concentrate enough to taste anything. "You're making me feel sexy." he managed to say at last in a voice that was precious and treacly. He was still clinging to Sammy and making no objection to the hands that were toying with the back of his skirt and assessing the small mounds beneath it.

Sammy rolled his pelvis forcefully against him. "I've been keen on you ever since I first saw you in the showers. You look lovely without your clothes on."

Suddenly coquettish Amanda looked into the twinkling eyes and returned the starry glance that shot out from them. "Do I?"

"Yes, you've got a gorgeous body, and a lovely prickie with pretty balls.

"Naughty, naughty! You shouldn't look"

"I like to look at other boys pricks. Would you like to see mine?"

"Crikey! Mrs Pardoe would go bonkers if she caught you showing yourself."

"She's downstairs, and everyone else is in the garden. Look here, if I show you mine you'll have to show me yours, that's only fair."

"I can't do that. I hardly know you."

"You've known me long enough to kiss me, and anyway, I know you'd like to look at my prick. Come on, don't be a scaredy-cat."

Utterly devoid of guilt Sammy lifted the front of his gymslip with one hand and thumbed down the front of his pants with the other to reveal a lovely, proud pink prick and a cute hairless ball sack. As he pushed his loins forward his penis sprang up, slender, sleek and meaty.

Less experienced and more naive, Amanda blushed slightly. Shocked, but far too shy to look surprised, he stared at the boys hairless thighs, then timorously followed his example, hooking his thumbs into the sides of his panties and sliding them down to mid-thigh, finding it strangely exciting to play such a naughty game.

Standing slightly apart the two sissy angels gazed down at each others exposed anatomy, Sammy displaying a handsome four inches of pale flesh, Amanda a little less than that, then with a giggle Sammy lifted his penis between two fingers and a thumb and began to rub it.

"Hey! You didn't say you'd do that. You never said you were going to wank." gasped Amanda fitfully.

"I'm feeling horny. You do it too. Pull your skin back and show me your knob-end. Let's both get stiff."

"That's disgusting!"

"Cripes! Haven't you been in a circle-wank yet?"

"No, I just watch things like that."

"Take hold of mine and do it for me. I'll rub you if you rub me."

Amanda's mind exploded. The thought 'Stop! This is gay!' flashed before him, but was pushed aside by more powerful feelings. Impelled by a wave of illicit excitement he edged forward and took a tentative grip of the other boys firm flesh. Sammy, far less inhibited, ringed his new friends penis with slim fingers, feeling it thrusting stiff in his hand and feeling his young balls swing lightly, warm and cute against his knuckles, as he jinked the foreskin.

"Oh - oh Sammy, are you gay?"

"Dunno if I am or not. All boys like to milk each other, don't they?" Holding each others cocks just below the penis-head, the two of them rubbed back and forth. "There! I knew you'd like doing this. You're becoming lovely and hard." Sammy said.

"I know, and you're getting a bit sticky. Oh dear, we shouldn't ..."

"Let's stroke them together."

Enmeshed in a web of erotic thrills Amanda inched forward without more urging. Both foreskins were skimmed back and two smooth, pink epithelial tips momentarily nubbed together then skidded apart, the fleeting contact of glands imparting a jolt to each of them that was exquisite in its intensity. In an indecent reflex their stiff young erections then fenced, tapped and scrapped one to the other like a pair of epees in a sporting event.

 

"Wow, hot stuff!" exclaimed Sammy jubilantly as he smeared the fluid leaking from his pee-hole over his new friends firm pink tip. "Do you fancy trying this kind of thing in bed tonight?"

"You said I wouldn't have to ..."

"Of course you don't HAVE to do anything if you don't want, that's only right. But sweethearts should enjoy pleasing each other."

Two pretty schoolgirls with stiff, moist pricks, thighs arching forward, shared another kiss, this time with their hips pressing together so their young rammers could pump vigorously against an opposing warm belly. "Wow! Mrs Pardoe would go wild if she could see what we're doing." husked Amanda dreamily.

"She certainly would!" responded a cold, cutting voice from the top of the stairs. It was Mrs Pardoe in person. So engrossed were they in their wicked fun they'd not noticed the sound of her coming up the steps.

Simultaneously two young faces blanched with horror, and Sammy and Amanda frantically shoved their exposed anatomy back into their pants and smoothed the front of their skirts.

Such haste was pointless, and even their hurried curtsies had no impact on the lady tutor's stone-like expression. She asked no questions, nor did she bother with a reprimand, she just dipped her hands under the back of their skirts in a manner so faultless it must have been endlessly practised, and grabbed the seat of a pair of knickers in each hand. Scissoring with her fingers and thumbs she pulled the garments tight into the crevasse between the two young bottoms and yanked fiercely upwards to inflict what the children termed a 'wedgy', the application of which guaranteed extreme discomfort and almost lifted them from the floor. Gripping one in each hand she held them up on tiptoe and maintained a tenacious hold as she marched both distraught boys ignominiously off to her room.

The sitting-room of Mrs Pardoe's apartment was a small place with only enough room for a chest of draws, an armchair and a small table, and where the walls were bare except for a dozen small framed portraits of little girls. Although it was feminine and light with bowls of roses and lace pillows and chiffon curtains, Amanda and Sammy both felt distinctly ill at ease.

"Disgusting! Kissing and playing with each others sissy-pricklets. How dare you entertain such a sordid arrangement? How dare you practise such vileness whilst I am responsible for your conduct?"

She stood them in the centre of that cramped place, side by side and docile, while loud and raucous she stalked back and forth with a face like a winter's morning, wagging an accusing finger at each of them in turn and giving vent to her foul mood.

"I've lost count of the times you girl-things have been warned about pursuing such unacceptable behaviour, but warnings seem to have no effect with some of you. There may be people here who would treat you with leniency, but my name is Pardoe, and Mrs Pardoe never turns a blind eye to acts that go beyond the Pale.

"If sissies fool around in a disgusting way they must be punished - as swiftly as possible. I do not hold with namby-pamby treatments, especially when the urge to sin as probably not yet subsided. Such wanton individuals must have a change of heart, and in my view genuine contrition is only ever attained by a proper process of atonement. Corporal punishment is undoubtedly the best remedy."

Her fierce gaze settle on the youngest of the two. "Amanda, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mrs Pardoe."

"You've not been here long, but you're old enough to know right from wrong, and the disgusting display you were a party to in the corridor just now was undoubtedly wrong, wasn't it?"

"Yes Miss."

"I'm not a Miss. Address me as Mrs Pardoe." The woman paced one way and then the other whilst gathering her thoughts. "Are you homosexual, Amanda?" Mrs Pardoe rumbled in a cutting accusatory tone.

The boy looked appalled. "Oh no, I'm not gay."

"Then why pray, did I find you in a girly embrace with this notorious dyke standing next to you, and why did you have your knickers down around your knees?"

"It was a sort of lark. Just a bit of fun."

"Fun!" The woman's exclamation was contemptuous. "Fun is associated with being amusing, but I'm not laughing. This is an orderly institution committed to the production of well-behaved girls, and we have rules and regulations." She moved up close to him and lifted his chin on the tip of a finger. "Rules and regulations that all good girls are expected to obey. As far as I'm concerned there's no room for being a boy here, queer or not. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, yes Miss - Mrs Pardoe." Amanda answered timidly.

"There you are then, that wasn't difficult. But there are always those who step out of line from time to time and they need to be dealt with firmly."

Amanda was fully in expectation of some form of punishment. Some of the other boys said Mrs Pardoe sometimes smacked their balls with a measuring-rule when they were naughty, but that was probably just a scare story. Ladies could be cruel and maybe smack naughty children with a strap or slipper, but they never really did things like that. Nevertheless the threat in her tone was enough to make him jittery.

He stood silent, knees pressed together, hands joined and eyes caste down. He'd been at Fairyfield long enough to realise that being humble was always a wise course, so he remained contrite whist listening to her droning voice. His heart then turned a somersault as he tried to decide whether to look at the woman or remain staring at his shoes. Bravely he chose to raise his head. At his side Sammy looked on the point of tears. If Amanda was too innocent to realise the tutor's true intentions he was under no illusions himself.

The woman suddenly fell silent as she considered them both with a show of tortuous resignation, although for her any sign of regret was a charade. Eventually, like every other effeminate boy-creature at Fairyfield, these two would be sold to a kinky matron or perverted old man who'd relish the chance to lord it over them. They'd be employed as houseboys, or housemaids more likely, since they'd be fully accustomed to being transvestites by then. They would be punished routinely, and would learn that household duties were not the only things required of them. Serves them right, she thought. Despite all their training and trappings they were still boys, and boys deserved none of her sympathy.

She thrust her hands on her hips. "Knickers down!"

Her eyes half closed with menace as she watched them, the insufficiency of Miriam Hancock's sherry only adding venom to the mean streak in her nature, then suddenly she glared in disbelief at the blue flannel pants Amanda was sliding down his thighs.

"What on earth are you wearing as an undergarment, child?"

"Erm! Mummy bought extra blue knicks' and said I should wear them when I could."

"Blue are not worn in the summer." the woman barked as if she'd received a personal insult. "Remove them at once. Get them right off."

Amanda clambered out of his pants flustering, then with a sinking heart he stared in horror at the object featured in all the horror stories he'd been told as Mrs Pardoe as the woman picked it up from the dresser. A plastic measuring-rule, a 18 inches long and a inch and a half wide, and so flexible she could bend it into an arc between her hands.

The woman noticed his face pale as she confronted him, but her attention was quickly settled elsewhere. He had a delightful pink package. A three inch, girlish cock drooping dejectedly, but prettily, over a tiny pink, wrinkled bag that gave the appearance of a pair of hazelnuts wrapped in an handkerchief. The cock had a long, tight foreskin which would be rather kissable to some people she thought, although not to her of course. She gazed at his face. He was a perfect doll, already a world-class cock stiffener, and without doubt he'd soon be laying on his back ten times a day, taking cock into his angelic body whilst screaming and creaming in sinful ecstasy.

Humph! His junior-sized balls were hardly worthy of her special treatment, but still they must suffer it. They must form the centrepiece of the ritual she habitually followed, since only humiliation and penitential suffering compelled a sinner to acknowledge wrongdoing. She slipped the ruler between his legs and tapped his inner thighs. "Wider - spread your legs."

When the nervous boy obeyed she lifted his limp caudate penis on the tip of the ruler. "Hold this thing out of the way and push forward with your thighs."

"Ooooh - " he hesitated, but her steely eyes glowered and he read the message they conveyed - no reprieve, no mercy - and reluctantly he obeyed.

The ruler tapped again between his legs as the woman brought it up beneath his scrotum to gauge things. "Such unfortunate anatomy," she murmured as she drew back, "So often it generates pleasure to the male, yet it makes such an obvious choice for chastisement."

Precisely, expertly judged, faultlessly applied, the ruler cut a swift upward arc that struck the underside of the young boys testicles with a meaty slap.

"Yeoow!" Amanda clutched between his legs.

"Again," Mrs Pardoe demanded, "If you can take one you can manage two. Get your hands out of the way."

Helpless, eyes watering, Sandra positioned himself obediently.

Whoosh! SMACK! And this time he burst into tears.

Unconcerned with his misery the woman grasped him by an ear and twisted. "I've been lenient with you this time in hopes you'll learn a lesson. Make sure you learn it well. You may go down into the garden now, but I'm confiscating your knickers. You'll not wear any pants at all for the rest of the day. I shall check you from time to time, and if I discover you've disobeyed me you'll receive some more attention from my measuring-stick. Is that clear?"

Amanda nodded, and sniffing dismally pushed down his skirt and scurried tearfully from the room, too upset to remember to say "Thank you, miss," as he passed through the door.

Now the woman turned her attention to the quivering figure of Sammy who stood, skirt raised and pants lowered, with his genitalia on show. There was a quiet moment as ashen faced and subdued he rolled from one foot to the other and looked at the floor.

"I'm in no doubt that you were the instigator of what happened in the corridor, so you'll not get away as lightly as your little friend." she told him coldly. "Hold your penis out of the way. Press it up against your tummy."

Sammy swallowed hard as he looked at the plastic ruler in the tutor's hand, and his mind raced through a thousand jumbled thoughts. "I'm sorry Mrs Pardoe - I really am. I don't know why I did it, I don't really, it just sort of happened. I won't do it again, honestly I won't."

The woman scoffed. "Rubbish! You're as bent as a banana. This isn't the first time I've needed to discipline you for such things, and I doubt it will be the last."

Sammy was less of a problem than Amanda since he was better hung and had testicles big enough to grab hold of, with plump nuts sitting low and pronounced in a fleshy bag. Raising his penis brought them forward enabling her to pass her hand behind his scrotum and close her thumb in a stranglehold about the root of his balls. Such a grip invariably brought a male under control, and if firmly applied ensured they wouldn't dodge about or skip away. It also made a ball-sac bulge and present a nice fat target. At that moment Sammy probably wished he was a real girl and not equipped to accept her cruelty, but he wasn't, he was a lower form of life than a girl and he had to endure it.

Coolly she raised the testicles up on her fingers and measured the rule against them before lifting it up a few inches. Pausing a moment to configure her stroke she wagged the ruler a couple of times to confirm its pliability, then raised it a little more before sending it down with mean deliberation. There was an audible SPLATT! as plastic impacted on tender flesh. The blow was not heavy, a mere tap calculated to sting like a wasp, but Sammy yelped all the same and did a little dance on the spot. When he tried to jerk away Mrs Pardoe yanked him back by his scrotum.

"Keep still!" she demanded frostily.

"Please! No more, please." he pleaded.

"No more? Why, I wouldn't be doing proper justice to stop with just one." Whap! You're incorrigible, Samantha" - crack! - "you're behaviour is shameless - Smack! - "and repetitive." - Smack! - "Keep still, I said. You've a couple more to come yet."

She turned him round and pushed his head between his knees. His bare backside rounded out and spread open to display his anus, but more importantly to Mrs Pardoe the pose made a good show of his testicles, making them thrust back between his thighs as his knees sagged. "Yes! Thought Mrs Pardoe, such an impudent boyish show was certainly worthy of additional attention. Her ruler swung forward again at a slight angle to deliver another sharp stinging swat to the back of his balls. - smack! And again - smack!

Sammy was weeping fitfully, and having established his tears were not of the crocodile variety the woman at last drew away and dismissed him from her sight.

Turning into the room she gazed at things more to her taste - the row of portraits on the wall, and the sweet glowing faces of the girls she'd especially favoured at the orphanage in Harrogate; Helen, Suzy, Trixibelle and all her other dear little loves, looked back at her with imagined fondness. Miriam Hancock so often called her pupils, 'girls' but they weren't girls. They were pretty and feminine, but they weren't, and teaching boys to be girl substitutes brought her no lasting joy, she longed for the real thing.

She recalled the memory of her REAL girls wistfully, conveniently forgetting that her interest was entirely salacious when in their company. She would have resented any comparison between herself and the obnoxious Mr Hardwick, but couldn't have denied certain similarities. Their prurience may have differed in the gender they admired, but that was all. She liked girls, and liked them young - 12, 11 or 10 year olds. There was something about their innocent, immature bodies that really excited her. Oh, how she missed them! They were pure, soft-bodied angels, each of them with a skin that tasted sweet and had a texture that slicked against her mouth like warm cream.

Mrs Pardoe had dumped the male gender following a disastrous marriage which she recognised was a mistake and an mere effort to conform. All that clumsy bedtime groping and pushing and shoving! It was soulless and grotesque. Males just irritated her and she was much happier in the company of brightly smiling little girls.

She'd known a good many in Harrogate, and she'd tried her best to keep them uncontaminated by males. She'd warned them never to take off their knickers to please boys, but some of them did anyway - spreading their legs and letting wicked boys examine their unsullied, hairless cracks and allowing them to finger their tender furrows. And of course there were the unspeakable things Miriam Hancock insisted they did with visiting guests. The less said about that the better.

She'd tried so hard to keep her little darlings untainted, but so often she'd had to punish them. "Naughty, naughty girls!" she would say, "What ever was you thinking of?" Making them stand close while she lectured them sternly, all the time with a hand up the back of their frocks, making their little bottoms wobble with sharp pats and feeling the plumpness of their bald pussy-mounds snuggled into the gusset of their pants. She'd often make them strip down to vest and knickers, and she'd stuff a golf-ball in their mouths and make them run on the spot until exhausted, before making them assume the recipient position for a bare-bottomed spanking over her lap with their panties wrapped around their knees.

She never wore underwear herself on those occasions. She believed her little girls far too naive to notice her nipples spiking out the front of her blouse, while they were certainly ignorant of the vast amount of wetness generated elsewhere. On occasions when she felt especially evil she would turn them onto one side and raise one of their legs, then give them a sharp crack with her plastic ruler square onto their naughty little bare twats. That made them howl, but it was no more than they deserved. Naughty girls who made a ladies nipples go stiff - who made a lady hot and wet - made her shudder - made her pull up her skirt and open her legs. They had to suffer the consequences of bad behaviour, and that included having their faces pulled hard against her femininity and being ordered to lick and lap and push out their tongues.

How unfair it was of Miriam to leave the orphanage and come to this dismal place. To her mind, everything was everyone else's fault, and unfair. She would have stayed at Harrogate if it were possible, but those that took Miss Hancock's place utterly disapproved of any intimacy with the children, and suspecting her capacity for it they'd made her life a misery. She'd been glad to leave when Miriam offered her employment at Fairyfield, but it wasn't ideal for a lady such as herself.

She went over to the window to gaze down at the children outside. Around the lawns and topiaries the delicate figures of a dozen little sissies clad in straw hats and schoolgirl gymslips had gathered in groups to enjoy idle conversation while sunning their slender bare legs. Sunday association was popular in the summer and was one of the few times in the week when the children were free to chatter and expand friendships whilst playing gentle games, but Mrs Pardoe wasn't fooled by the pastoral nature of the scene. Apart from those visible she knew there were an equal number among the rhododendrons, paired-off and in a degree of privacy, holding hands while smiling sweetly as they exchanged admiring glances. Eventually amorous secrets would be whispered, hot little kisses traded, and mischievous hands would slip beneath short skirts to fondle and caress.

Queers! she thought dispassionately. Not true girls, but pathetic, ultra-sissy she-males.

She glowered dourly. And yes, more than a few of those reprehensible little bitch-boys would need to put on clean knickers before teatime, but it was a hopeless and thankless task to attempt preventing such behaviour. Such habits were too rife for her alone to control.

Below the window Amanda was leaning against the wall of the terrace, subdued and quietly trying not to let the breeze play too much mischief with his skirt. Samantha was with him, but lacking his usual boisterousness, and they would probably go somewhere soon and have a little cry together. But their tenderised parts would be sore for a while, and they at least were one pair of nancies who were unlikely to indulge in any hanky-panky for the rest of the day.

 

Nan and Poppy waited until after supper, then slipped surreptitiously out from the house and followed the route along the old brick path at the side of the kitchen.

Once past the rose beds and through the shrubbery they encountered the peppery smell of neatly rimmed box-hedge beyond which they intruded on Nicola Carrington and Trudy Jones in the shade of a beech tree, both looking as smart as Sunday except for their knickers drooping around their knees. They had their hands beneath each others skirts and were clearly kneading each others buttocks. Boys in skirts doing lezzy stuff, breathless with excitement. Kissing - soft eager mouths, snaking tongues - stiff cocks.

For a moment Poppy felt slightly wistful as he recalled Trudy's invite to himself earlier, but then Nan took hold of his hand and everything seemed bright again. Nan had a much more mature attitude than silly Trudy, and even if he knew he was about to be spanked a little bit he was undaunted. It wasn't as if he was about to be punished by one of the ladies, and being spanked by someone you liked could be rather thrilly - as long as it wasn't done too hard. And afterwards there would be loads of kisses with Nan, and lots of other spunky fun too.

There was something makeshift about the gym-store, which was little more than a large shed tacked onto the side of the gymnasium and smelt of creosote. Its single window was dusty, covered in spiders webs and boarded up on the outside. Inside several large wicker hampers were stacked against one wall, while around the others leaned and lounged a variety of gymnasium artefacts.

Nan looked around and saw two coat-hooks fastened to the wall by the door.

"Tuck up your frock and grip the hooks." he told Poppy.

Without any demur Poppy pulled up the back of his gymslip and stuffed it beneath his waistband, then reached up and grasped the two coat-hooks.

"You've got a gorgeous bottom." Nan remarked as he viewed the exposed seat of his white cotton knickers.

Pleased by the observation Poppy grinned proudly over his shoulder and plumped out his little rump. "Do you really think so?" he asked, giving it an enticing little shake.

Nan didn't reply. On top of one of the wicker baskets he found a pair of Hardwick's well-worn gym shoes. Taking one in his hand he bent it double to test its flexibility before smacking it smartly against the wall.

Poppy suddenly began to feel alarmed. "You're not going to use that, are you?"

"Oh, I think so. It seems ideal for the job."

The colour in Poppy's face drained slightly. "You didn't say you were going to slipper me. I thought you were just going to give me a little spank with your hand."

The other boy gave him a cool look. "Don't start whinging, I never said what I was going to do. I say, you look a bit pale. You're not going to back out of this, are you?"

Poppy felt lost for words. If anyone else other than Nan had wanted to smack him with a slipper he'd have given up the idea, but he did admire Nan and was certain there would be lots of nice snuggles and kisses afterwards to compensate if he could bare things.

"Look, we'd better make a start before you lose your nerve." Nanette said, "Shove your bum out a bit more."

Pensively Poppy thrust his bottom back, then Nan raised the shoe, swinging it well behind to be certain of developing adequate velocity before sending it sweeping forward with a whoosh of air to strike the back of the younger boys thighs.

The first blow impacted the top of Poppy's left legs and knocked the breath out of him with its ferocity, but he only winced and didn't make a sound. Such tranquility didn't last. A second cruel blow struck his right buttock, catching him on the under curve where the flesh plumped out before entering under the elastic of his pants, and he yelped with pain and hopped from one foot to the other. "Nan!" he cried out, biting his lip and writhing - swoosh! "Oh Nan, oh!"

The other boy observed him studiously, almost accusingly. "Look here Poppy, we can't afford for you to make a racket that may have people coming to investigate. If you keep squawking like a baby I'll have to gag you."

"I didn't expect you to use a shoe." pouted Poppy, feeling very sorry for himself.

Nan ignored him and concentrated on the red marks blossoming on white skin. The sore looking indications of punishment seemed to fascinate him far more than Poppy's sensitivities. Swinging the shoe back he laid on another stroke.

Shwoosh! This time the impact fell across the back of Poppy's knickers, hitting him square on the seat to sizzle the chubbiest parts of his bottom. "Oooowwwaaah!, Nan, please!" He howled and his knees sagged.

Nanette tutted, put down the shoe and picked up a thick piece of hemp rope, then he turned his young companion around, reaching out and touching his face and drew a fingertip across one cheek. Poppy's lips parted and he lifted his face slightly, a gesture that made him seem appealingly vulnerable; his beautiful eyes, tender and trusting and swimming with discomfort.

"Are you going to be kind to me now?" he murmured softly, longing for Nan to take him in his arms so he could cuddle up and be kittenish.

With a thin smile Nan passed the rope around the back of his head and threaded the ends together in front of his face. "Open," he husked seductively, "We haven't quite finished the first part yet."

Slavishly Poppy obeyed, and as his mouth opened Nan drew the rope tight, tying a large knot between the boys teeth and telling him to bite onto it. Poppy bucked with the unpleasantness and resisted just a little bit, which only gave the heartless older boy a chance to put an arm around him and experience the supple body beneath the serge gymslip as he guided him back to the wall.

"Come on Poppy. Dig for some pluck and let's finish this business." he told him briskly, turning him about and making him grasp the hooks once more. "Push out that sweet little tush again."

This time Nan stroked across the seat of Poppy's pants with his hand,

dallying at the crease between his buttocks and tickling the insides of his

thighs, and little by little the elastic of his young victim's knickers were

dragged from his hips and slithered down over his legs, first descended to

his knees and then falling into a puddle around his ankles

"We can do without them." Nan explained as he contemplated the younger boys defenceless bare bottom. The pale skin was already fiery red blotched by deeper hues in places, but the obvious signs of discomfort introduced no element of mercy to his intentions. Having his pants taken down always caused Poppy to experience a funny feeling float about inside his tummy that was almost erotic, but any pleasure he had on that occasion was short lived.

SWATT! The rubber soled shoe began to smack once more, descending in unhurried leisurely strokes and making him squirm and bite helplessly at the hemp rope in his mouth. His desperate grip on the coat hooks caused his knuckles to protrude prominently as he raised himself up and swivelled his hips in a futile effort to avoid the worse of each fierce blow, but whatever he did had little effect other than to make his little backside churn and dance in an unwanted provocative manner.

"This -" smack, smack, said Nan, "- is where the girl's get sorted from the boys." smack, "Boy's - " smack! "- won't cry -" smack, " - but girlies will blubber -" smack, "- like babies." Smack!

Sobs gurgled from behind the knotted rope, and Poppy's naked bottom nipped together as the spanks became stingier. That earned him a sharp slap on the legs. "Don't fidget!"

Each time the shoe struck him he whimpered and his whole body trembled, but when ever Poppy looked like he'd taken as much punishment as he could endure Nan would pause, calm him by stroking his quivering bottom, then tell him to push it out again. Incredibly the younger boy did as he was asked every time.

Nanette made a half dozen more blistering, scalding deliveries, then turned Poppy around and released him from the rope gag. "Are you crying?"

Poppy wiped his streaming eyes with the backs of his hands. "Y-yes Nan." he managed to mumble. His young face was damp, his cheeks glowed hot, and his mouth hung part open as he gasped out his sobs.

"Does it make you feel like being good - are you going to be a good girl for me?"

"Yes Nan."

It was the nearest Poppy came to being comforted or cosseted that evening. At once Nan lifted the front of his own gymslip and pushed down the sissy pants beneath. That made a show of his penis; erect, distended and straining for relief. "Brilliant! Get rid of the blubs, and let's see just how good you really can be."

Within seconds Poppy was on his knees in front of him, mouth opening as his lips stretched to take in as much stiff cock as they could.

"Oh, that IS good Poppy," sighed Nan.

  

  

  

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