Fairyfield Grange

by Jason Argo

 

part 7

 

When Emma Twist returned from supper the following evening Zoe, Nicola and Holly were waiting outside her door and she bid them file into her room with a terse wave of her hand. Silently, somewhat guiltily, they lined up against the wall just inside and awaited her next instruction. Youthful, nubile and gorgeous, as specimens of pulchritude they were clean and perfect and at the peak of their beauty.

"It's hot and humid this evening, so you may remove both gymslip and blouse."

She had introduced an authoritative pitch to her voice. It wasn't advice, it was a command.

The schoolteacher strolled across to the window and opened it to the air, taking in the perfume from the garden whilst allowing her hand to rest ominously upon the frame of her Mexican hurdle.

That day had seemed longer than most because she was impatient to see the photographs she'd given Hardwick to process. The old fairy had winged and whined so much about the time required that she'd even asked Miriam if Jennifer could take his afternoon gym lessons, but suppertime had come and gone and there was still no sign of a finished product. She stroked her Mexican hurdle affectionately. Just as well she'd found something to occupy her mind, and three of them would take quite a while to deal with.

She breathed deeply as she felt her breasts begin to swell inside her bra. There was a certain sexual pleasure in inflicting pain, but she didn't consider herself the usual kind of sadist. Not at all. On her only visit to an S&M Club she'd been appalled by the brutality employed by some people. Not for her the savage canings and whippings, or the leather paddle driving down onto a bare rump as if hammering in nails. Hers was a more considered approach. Domination was the name of the game, power over others, power by strength of mind and superior will. Submission to her punishment was confirmation of her superiority and needed to be savoured, so she preferred to take her time and enjoy each facet.

Lately her methods of chastisement had fallen into a pattern quite without intention. The strap she usually used only for punishing a child's hands, while those subjects bending, whether over a stool, her hurdle or anything else, received the slipper. Slippering was reckoned to be suitable for girls, and seemed quite appropriate for sissies too. The hairbrush she reserved to use in conjunction with, or instead of her hand, on those more intimate occasions when a sweet thing was hauled down across her lap. Children - boys - were ideal for her needs. Their innocence, their naivety - their helplessness, were beguiling. Their respect for her was pure and genuine. Physically they were easily managed, and she enjoyed hearing their gasps and squeals and their futile begging and pleading. She loved their wriggling and churning and found delight in their tearful promises to be good. One could miss so much of all that by being brutal, and there could be plenty of squealing and crying without it.

She'd not spoken a word for a full minute, but her imperturbable silence had emitted enormous presence to the others in the room, and with their top clothes removed they cowered back slightly as she turned suddenly and gave them a severe look. Three half-undressed little boys standing in a row, gorgeous boys, naughty girly-boys, each one due for correction.

There had been no need to invent a reason for them to attend special tuition, she'd caught them dead-to-rights on the stairs at suppertime, Holly and Zoe taking it in turns to kiss Nicola on the mouth and bite his neck whilst feeling up under his skirt, and Nicola, panting and sighing and loving every second of it. Three horny little boys in skirts doing what came naturally to them. But not so horny now. No, not so happy knowing what such antics had earned them, now just repentant and full of regret - regret at being caught. But they did look lovely in their underwear, in their little white knicks' and the tiny halter-tops that only just covered their chests. Their cute, anxious expressions only added to their charm.

Walking back across the room she stood in front of Zoe, stooped down and hooked her thumbs into the waist elastic of his panties in order to push them down over the tops of his legs, watching with delight as his young cock bounced up in freedom. A nice smooth cock and pretty pink bag that appeared to contain a pair of round marbles.

Her hands slid up his sides, appreciating the perfect skin, the shape of small hips and the softness of bare flesh. As she stood she tucked the halter-top under his arms to expose his breasts and a pair of nipples no bigger than buttons.

"Your conduct on the stairs was disgusting"

Zoe fidgeted with his fingers and his mouth quivered slightly. "Yes miss."

"Mrs Pardoe would play hockey with your balls if she'd discovered you."

"Yes miss."

She moved on to Holly and dispersed his underwear in the same way as with Zoe, but this time she paused to stroke Holly's nipples with the ball of her thumbs, moving them side to side like a metronome until his tiny nubs began to spike. "You all deserve to be bound and gagged and put in the dungeon for the night."

"Yes miss."

"But I'm feeling magnanimous this evening, and I'll let you off more lightly if you behave."

"Thank you miss."

Then there was Nicola. "Ah, Nicola!" She sighed in mock despair as she lowered his pants and raised his top, "Letting these two do as they wished with you, and making no attempt to avoid it. Quite indefensible."

Nicola blinked and struggled to make a reply, but Miss Twist cut him short. "No excuses. I heard you giggling and telling them you were wearing no knickers, and that's tantamount to inviting their unsavoury attention." So cool, so final. Her finely sculptured features never ceased to overawe, and the doe-eyed sissy winced as the woman took each of his nipples between a finger and thumb and hauled him a pace forward.

"I'll have you first, little princess. Let's have you draped over."

Grasping him by an ear she marched him off towards the hurdle. The other two looked on saucer-eyed like rabbits fascinated by a snake as she bundled him firmly face-down across the trestle, an act that revealed to her a pale, round little bottom in all its naked glory. Miss Twist noticed how shapely the bottom was too and was delighted by its creamy whiteness. It wouldn't stay white very long.

Not daring to speak, not daring to even glance up Nicola's head dipped low and his legs pressed together and pushed straight out.

Emma Twist's voiced murmured coolly. "There are two things wrong with your posture, Nicola. Knees together if you please, and your bottom should be raised up. Up, young lady, UP!"

"WOW-OH!" The sissy jerked, not in pain but because he felt the touch of the rubber shoe stroke against the bare flesh it was soon to scald, urging his uncertain feet to part.

"A sixer, Nicola. You've had sixers in the past, so it won't be new to you."

Standing slightly to the side she tapped a gym-shoe lightly in her palm as she gauged her first swing, and unconscious of the movement, her inrolling cheeks tightened visibly. The first stroke should be laid on slightly below the centre of the bottom and judged to strike both cheeks simultaneously in order to lift him onto his toes if he wasn't already there. The shoe probed, petting Nicola's upthrust peaches and making his hips squirm as she tapped the upsweep where bottom met thigh. There was no excess meat on any of Miss Hancock's pupils which sometimes made them look rather fragile - almost prone to shatter if a blow was administered too hard, but there was always an enticing judder of flesh on their little bottoms which were without exception always round and smooth and well able to cope.

WHACK!

"Ooop!" The first blow descended smoothly and stuck square across both of Nicola's pert buttocks, making them shake ever so slightly, and making his knees sag.

"Quietly, Nicola, quietly. You must surrender every morsel of boyishness to me. I shall take it from you. I'm going to beat the boyishness out of you and make you into a true girl. Let's see if you can manage without making too much noise. And I want you up on your toes, dear. Up, UP!"

WHOP! The shoe sliced the air a second time, and struck square and sharp.

"Gggnnnn!!" And this time Nicola's unguarded cry was shrill and his hips jerked, forcing his soft tummy to squeeze down onto the padded spar of the trestle. A few gentle taps followed, not hard, just enough to guide the child back to an optimum position, then -

WALLOP!

"Aaaah, ooh!" His right leg cow-kicked upward as if it were connected to a spring, while his pretty bottom wobbled and writhed with discomfort like a sexy strawberry jelly.

The sense of her own autocracy throbbed in Emma's veins like a drug, and as she dwelt on the fact that all three of the wide-eyed cherubs in her room were utterly at her mercy she became hotter than ever. Nonchalantly she unbuttoned her blouse and threw it to the floor, then she unclipped her skirt and allowed it to drop to reveal herself wearing just knickers and bra. Both items were black with a delicate lace trim, the panties fitting snugly, like a second skin and outlining her sex. The bra could hardly contain the swell of her creamy breasts, and her nipples felt like buttons pushing against the cups.

She paused and glanced at Zoe and Holly who were quaking in horror and wonder. They'd never seen their schoolteacher in her underwear previously and now they observed her with trepidation, still standing at attention with their arms at their sides, with their clothing as she had arranged it and their bodies on show.

Taking a deep breath Emma turned back to Nicola and a bottom already smarting, and continued who the shoe. "You're turning a nice shade of pink, young lady." She loved the warm glow of his bottom, adored the stunning impact of each blow, revelled in his bleating.

"Oh, oh please - not so hard." Nicola pleaded, becoming increasingly intense.

Emma hardly considered the matter as she monitored the colour change of his bottom, the milky skin progressing quickly to a gentle blush and then a deep shade of roses. She knew the punishment was well within his tolerance, although it was always a matter of judgement as to how long that would last. Tears usually came well before the limit was reached. SWASH! She applied another lick to his jiggling seat, determined to make her punishment work, both for her pretty pupil and herself.

"Ouch - - oh!" Nicola's bottom rotated in an attempt to dissipate the sting, and his face constricted with pain. But it didn't help, in fact it only made him more enticing.

"Keep still, and don't make silly faces. You're only getting what you deserve."

She was delivering each one firmly but not brutally. Each blow was given flat across his bottom with more wrist than arm.

The humidity of the evening made her feel decidedly flushed, but she couldn't stop at three strikes. The children would reckon her a soft-touch at anything less than six, and since she'd already promised them she couldn't go back on her word. Again the slipper descended and Nicola snatched his bottom to the side, buttocks bouncing as he desperately swung his hips. The shoe was not deceived, and it inevitably paused then came swinging down from another direction.

So she continued until the sissy squeals became desperate and Nicola was sobbing and wriggling helplessly with a face drenched with tears. Only then was the thoroughly spanked young pansy finally allowed up, and then only to be frog-marched across the room and made to stand facing the wall in a corner. His bottom was marked and glowing like a furnace, but she gave out no sympathy. "Hands on head, and no rubbing."

Emma called the other two over together. "Stretch down over the hurdle Zoe." The boy stretched forward to display himself in a familiar timidity, as they all did, legs together until they were nudged apart. As he tipped forward Miss Twist gave Holly a little push.

"You, get down beside him." It was a flight of fancy she'd been toying with all day - to have two delicate little bottoms, pink and round and perfect, ranged over her Mexican hurdle at the same time.

Holly gazed at the narrow margin of space available. "I-I can't miss, there's not enough room."

"Of course you can, there's nothing to you, you can easily squeeze in." Try as she might to slot him down, the narrow width of the hurdle frustrated her. He overlapped Zoe by half a body in a very untidy way.

She tutted with irritation. "This won't do. Both of you go and kneel on the sofa, side by side, heads right down and bums pushed up."

Hastily they scooted across to the mauve sofa anxious to bury their faces in its covers. Kneeling together with heads down they showed nothing but the backs of their legs and their tightly clenched bare behinds.

Emma stood slightly to the right behind the two quaking sissies, and raised the gym-shoe to the height of her shoulder. There was a brief, agonising silence before there came the sound of the shoe slicing down - a sound that inspired groans of apprehension that concluded with a contralto yell as the inanimate rubber struck Zoe's delicately poised bottom with a resounding THWACK!!

"Ah - ah - yah!" spluttered the sissy. She adjusted her stance and repeated the movement with Holly, her arm descending in a graceful downward curve and providing a rapid follow-through.

HOO-WITTT! Whop! The flat sole of the shoe slapped squarely on his cheeky bottom, testing its resilience.

"Yeee-eeeek!" His pretty bottom wobbled and bounced.

The dual spanking settled into a syncopated rhythm as she alternated between them, twelve strokes in total, following her usual routine, swinging with a sharp snap of the wrist, just a flip and 'whup!' and observing closely the deepening pink hue her blows created on each springy cheek. It was almost like playing tennis except for the curious high-pitched pleas and the two pairs of pert sissy buttocks swivelling dismally and beginning to glow cherry-red.

WHACK! "Aaah! Oh, please."

Each time the whippy slap of rubber danced on their girlish behinds they gyrated, twisted and wallowed shamelessly.

SWOO-ISSHH! SWAT! "Yeouch - oh - oh - ow!"

Naked and compliant the two 'girls' throbbed hot and cold with each blow, and as their buttocks reddened their faces flushed too. Hips jerking tremulously, and as their bottoms pushed back to meet the next strike their coyness evaporated, their rounded cheeks parted and the bum-cheeks that had previously been so tightly clenched now began to spread open to reveal glimpses of anus; spotlessly clean of course, that was a school rule, and all the more enticing because of that.

Oh, those bottoms! Naughty little-boy-pussies ready to surrender to cock, any cock. When spanked to the point of tears a pantyboy would give himself to the first stiff dick that went near him, and she didn't doubt there wasn't a single one in the school that didn't get a regular length. The sweet little sissies shagged each other all the time, and never fussed about being used by grotty old Hardwick either. If she, a woman could be stirred by such a sight she could imagine the reaction of lustful men.

Her passion soared with sexual memories. The sight reminded her of Poppy and the way she'd buggered him recently - dildo-fucked his pretty arse off. It had been rather lovely. Quite exhilarating at the time. But she'd been drunk then and it had been a distraction only. Her real talent, her true forte lay in correction. She had a fascination with the practise of punishment, with the ritual and the form of it. Exhibiting her own power was the only reason for being there, so it was vital to remain aloof , inscrutable, unbending and display the absolute minimum of human weakness.

Spankings and strappings did sissies no lasting harm. They felt a complex mixture of emotions of course. Pain, shame, arousal and a demeaning, yet comforting sense of being owned. But they knew they were being cared for, and they paid that back with unquestioning, mindless obedience. Given the chance women everywhere would want to spank the sweet things, make them squirm and writhe, so learning how to cope with such treatment was a vital part of their training.

CRACK! CRACK! Went the slipper across their bare bums. Shake, sting, tingle went the two little bottoms.

She stood in a position where it would be impossible for any of them to observe her if they risked a glance up, placed the gym-shoe between her legs and humped the gusset of her pants against it. Correction sessions always made her horny, but there were plenty of ways to ease the aching tension in her dripping crotch.

Mustn't make a noise though, mustn't let the limp-brained girlies know about her pleasure. Had to clench her teeth as the agony of pleasure welled up, and buck and shudder in silence as her mind whirled and her pants flooded.

Before her thoughts could spiral back into full sanity there came a knock on the door that made her flinch. She recognised the rhythm. It was Gloria's knock.

She answered it whilst still in a slight daze and the open door exposed the scene in the room to the housekeeper who assessed everything in a moment. The three sissies in positions of supplication, their rosy-red bottoms and the rubber-soled plimsoll Miss Twist still held in her hand. No explanation was necessary.

"Sorry to interrupt when you're busy, Emma, but Hardwick asked me to bring you this envelope o' stuff. He said you were waitin' for it."

 

Emma took the envelope and glanced quickly at the contents. "I must have a shower and take these photographs along to Miss Hancock right away." Almost absent-mindedly she glanced over her shoulder at the three naked sissy-boys. "Oh, um - could you get rid of those horrors for me, Gloria?"

The massive housekeeper beamed with delight. "O' aye, Miss Emma, that'll be no trouble. 'Spect they'll all need a shower too, an' I'll stay with 'em and make sure they do it right."

Gloria was still a nanny at heart and known to be meticulous in her shower-room inspections, paying particular attention to the cleanliness of foreskins and invariably ensuring they functioned properly.

 

"Amazing!" exclaimed Miriam Hancock as she examined the photographs Emma Twist handed to her. "Marvellous! Exactly the kind of thing I need." She went through them as if shuffling cards, and having glimpsed each one she then viewed them a second time, this time more slowly and with greater concentration. It was typical. She never yielded to any unseemly display of emotion. That would have been undignified, and dignity was an unchanging part of her.

"They are disgusting though. Who on earth is that grotesque old bag wearing the plastic penis?"

Emma didn't need to look. "Just a local woman, a slattern with no scruples.

Don't worry about her saying anything, I've complete control of her."

"Are you sure Lady Diana didn't know what was happening? She seems thoroughly awake in some of these pictures."

"She does seem lively and alert, doesn't she? But she was full of barbiturate and totally unconscious the whole time."

"Then how ...?"

"You know what a poseur she is, always getting her photographs in the Sunday supplements and Conde Nast style magazines. Hardwick as a certain skill with photography, so I asked him to superimpose some magazine images onto a few of the close-ups to jolly the scenes up. That may be a bit cheeky, but the family crest on the bed-head is real enough and you know how people love to think the worse. Everyone but herself will take it that she's revelling in a the worse kind of gutter-slut orgy with a ghastly hag and a child."

Miriam frowned. "The photographs are vile enough to deter her from legal action. Such things too often get into the hands of the press, and she'll be terrified they'd stain her reputation even though she's innocent. They'll go into a bank vault for the time being. The only copies I'll send out for the moment will be to the lady herself, under confidential cover and with a short note telling her to call off her lawyers and keep her nose out of other peoples business. She'll be intelligent enough to realise who the message is from, and what it means."

A sudden look of concern crossed her face as she scanned the pictures a third time. "That dreadful crone is stretching her wide enough to park a car. It looks extremely gynaecological and rather vulgar, I trust she wasn't injured in any way."

"Of course not, unless you consider a little boys willy being snuffed her nostril to be assault, or his string of semen across her mouth to be bodily harm."

Miriam slipped the photographs into a large manilla envelope and handed it to matron who was standing at her side. They represented something more than simple triumph over an adversary, they stood for security of status and the sanctity of her beloved house. To Emma a house was a house. It had four walls, a roof and a door, but for Miriam Hancock Fairyfield Grange symbolised something ethereal that was far removed from the mundane. "Right now there are things to do of more direct importance," the headmistress rumbled, "The Historic Buildings Commission are refusing to list the Grange as Grade I, the bastards, so no money in grants from them, and the Inland Revenue are questioning my accounts. Unfortunately both are departments I have no influence with."

A skill for spending money came to Miriam Hancock as easily as swimming to a fish, but acquiring enough of it always seemed to be a problem.

"Compose a letter to all parents, matron," she suddenly said in a flurry of passion, "Explain that the cost of pony-trekking and boating have risen sharply, and if they wish their children to continue benefiting from such weekend activities their monthly allowance must be increased by - erm, ś20.00." She sighed heavily, ignoring the elements of fiction she'd just composed. "Money, money! Everything is expense."

 

The financial burden of operating her school always preyed on Miriam Hancock's mind, but along with the major headaches she had to deal also with a constant rash of smaller ones.

"I hope you haven't called me out on a wild goose chase Miss Hancock," Doctor Breeze huffed grumpily when Miriam greeted him at the door, "I'm a busy man and I've enough sick people to see in the village without trailing about making house-calls to a place ten miles out."

Miriam led him up the stairs looking suitably stressed. "I employ a wonderful matron who excels in dealing with skinned knuckles and twisted ankles, but she confesses to being out of her depth with potentially serious infections. She's convinced young Fifi may have contracted chickenpox, and since that's a contagious condition I rejected the idea of taking her into Peasmarsh and isolated her from everyone else in my guest room. That is sensible, isn't it? After all I do have a duty of care to the young girls under my hand."

She took the doctor into a room on the second floor landing, and the man peered around the door at a the child sitting up in the bed nearby. She wore only a lace-frilled bed jacket closed at the front by a single tie of ribbon. Beneath it her slender bare chest was delicately rising and falling as she breathed. "Do you have a rash anywhere?" he asked briskly.

Fifi shook his head. The doctor thumbed each of the child's eyes wide open and glared into them, then pulled his mouth open and peered down into his throat. Not trying to hide the fact he was irritated and his that his examination was cursory, he turned and took a couple of items from the bag he carried with him, then pushed a thermometer under Fifi's tongue.

Annoyed at having to conduct a house-call he may have been, but he considered himself a connoisseur of girl's and Fifi's collarbone and neck were extremely elegant. Indeed he thought her an utterly delightful little girl and she had the kind of face that could keep a man awake at night. Such appreciation held no value when he came to considering the woman standing behind him.

Withdrawing the thermometer he checked its reading, and a twinge of frustration coloured his voice. "This is preposterous Miss Hancock, just what kind of a matron do you employ? There's absolutely no indication at all of chickenpox or any other affliction here. I've rarely examined a more robust, healthy child as this one."

Miriam feigned slight amazement together with a tad of helplessness. She knew men liked to see that in a woman. "But Fifi was complaining of aching bones, doctor. Isn't that a symptom of fever - of some illness?"

Breeze snorted and pulled the girl's bed- jacket open to reveal a tummy that was delectably flat with a cute belly button. The narrow chest was completely flat except for the tiny dots of two nipples which seemed impishly prominent. Her skin was creamy, flawless, sleek and completely hairless and her body well proportioned, her hips flaring ever so slightly to create a little curve. A perfect creature, the doctor thought, and it didn't help that his senses were also assailed by a delicious aroma rising up from the small body. Not a specific perfume, but a clean fragrance with the faint scent of freesias.

His fingers brushed up under her armpits to check the lymph-glands, then trailed down the shape of her sides towards her hips, probing the soft flesh as he went like a blind man reading Braille. "Is that uncomfortable?"

Fifi shook his head.

"Does this hurt?"

"No!"

His fingers flitted across the soft belly before moving up to visit the ribs and cover the chest. It was a body without equal, a juvenile harmony of muscle, bone and tendon without an ounce of unnecessary fat, and although not skinny either it was slight enough for him to visibly define the ribcage. Realisation then began to dawn on him. Beneath the coiled tension of the girl's sleek body there was something amiss. There was something about her, something different. The set of the ribs and the hips - something.

His pulse raced. Breathless, stunned, he turned the bedcover down and stepped back to appraise the child from head to toe. Such long thin legs. A narrow waist, but certainly the pelvis of a boy. The pants - thong pants of the type usually worn by girls - were pointed at the front as if the nylon material were dragging across the tip of something inside. It startled him, but excited him too.

"This - girl - This girl isn't a girl." he slowly blurted out.

The man's uncharacteristic hesitation snagged Miriam's full attention and looking helpless no longer she squared onto him with a sudden show of strength.

"You're right of course, Dr Breeze, and that leads me into seeking your assistance in a related matter. Matron is treating the entire school with certain medications - you know - hormones - but she's finding it increasingly difficult to obtain them in the amounts she requires. The pharascutic industry is so touchy these days about supplying things without the authority of a registered medical practitioner."

It was the doctor's turn to look amazed. He looked horrified. "You don't know what you're saying, madam. Do you expect me to collude with you in some sort of diabolic scheme of your own devising? I'm a professional and a man of principal. The very idea is ridiculous, even grotesque."

Miriam did know what she was saying. The chickenpox was just a story to get him into a situation where she herself could feel at ease and where there was no chance of interruption. There were other doctors she could call on in the event of real sickness, but she was taking a calculated risk with Breeze. He was the only one with a reputation for professional misconduct and sexual perversity. Nothing had ever been proved against him, but since the allegations persisted some of them were probably true. If so it was a weakness, and in Miriam's mind such weakness should be expounded for the benefit of Fairyfield Grange.

She walked past him towards the door. It irked her to sacrifice one of her girl's to the perversity of an outsider, but the needs of her school took precedence over individuals. "Please think about it Doctor Breeze. There are special rewards for people who's co-operation I value. Perhaps you'd like to examine Fifi again. She's quite often a naughty little girl, and today she's primed to allow a modicum of - um - indiscretion. I'll go down stairs and leave you alone to get on with it, but please pop in and say goodbye when you're finished."

Breeze tried to remain cool and detached as the door closed. Staying cool was a prerequisite for a doctor, but still ... Another flicker of irritation ran through his mind. Who did that obnoxious woman think she was, inviting him to make a second examination? Her deception had been discovered, yet the little boy she dressed as a girl she still referred to by a girls name. What was going on? And 'indiscretion!' Just what did she mean by that exactly?

He licked his lips and breathed through his mouth as he studied the perfect body stretched out on the bed. His heart lurched, or was that just his glands reacting?

Of course he knew exactly what she meant.. She meant the little beauty had been forewarned to expect some lascivious sexual attention. Presumptive, but impressive forward planning.

Most of his doctor's misconduct of the past had been with female patients, and like a lot of men he made a big show of lusting after a big-titted wife, but sometimes something happened to men like himself. Sometimes women faded from their menu of carnal desires completely and their dicks thickened at the sight of slim-hipped young lads. Married men, fathers, and yes even doctors could on occasions yearn to unzip and ram their dicks into a boys cute, fuckable backside.

He turned towards Fifi, seeking the source of the delicate floral scent that drifted from him and found the tiny body had taken up an inviting pose, bed-jacket thrown open to reveal dainty, bare young curves. Young as he was Fifi had a promiscuous talent. When he breathed he inhaled deeply to make his bare chest rise, and then his tongue slid across the front of his teeth and stopped at the corner of his mouth, a lingering, delicate, enticing pink protruding slightly.

Temptation had the best of Doctor Breeze. Fifi was a beautiful thing! Irresistible! And he was a mug for a beautiful boy dressed as a girl. The opportunity he now had with her - him - was too good a chance to pass up! He slid his hands up and down Fifi's body as he began a second tour, caressing and stroking the pantywaist's wondrous little face before moving down to his exposed chest to toy with his nipples.

The sissy-boy's eyes became fixing on the doctor, blatantly teasing, piercing blue eyes that should have been innocent, but weren't, and they caused the man to groan.

He'd barely started and yet he had to suddenly turn away and in desperation extract his penis from the front of his trousers. It was as stiff as a broom handle and twice as wide, and already drooling at the tip.

Blast! He was going to boil-over in a second, he knew he was, he could sense it. And that without even having a peep at the pretty jewels in young Fifi's knickers. It was unfair. What chance was there to enjoy so much lushiousness properly in a single fleeting visit.

The solution suddenly became clear. Of course. The headmistress wanted a favour of him, so he would comply and take a favour in return. All he had to do was tell her that his initial diagnosis had been hurried and was faulty. Fifi's condition was rather more severe than he'd at first thought and he'd need to make a couple of more visits, maybe even stay overnight to ensure the child had the best attention a doctor could provide. She'd know precisely what he was really saying, she excelled in such double-talk herself. Yes, yes. There was no need to rush, there'd be plenty of time for everything.

With a smile he turned again. "Open your mouth, sweetheart. This won't take long." he said, holding the base of his swollen penis with one hand and guiding Fifi's head with the other.

The sissy 's eyelashes fluttered cutely. "Doctor, you're using such a big thermometer this time."

"It's a special treatment," Breeze told him, "You require some medicine, and since I'm likely to dispense it in a rather large dose on this occasion it's best if you take it orally," He gazed at the sissy's shining face. "Do you understand?"

Fifi did understand. Miss Hancock had told him what to expect and he was ready to be a good girl and suck out all the sticky goo from the doctor's stout meat.

 

Hardwick's requirements were pretty much catered for at Fairyfield Grange, so he rarely felt the need to go into the village. Only Larkin's secretive, "I's got some new magazines in stock," whispered aside to him on a delivery day spurred him into volunteering to take in the weekly grocery order. There were no televisions in the school, and a gentleman such as himself needed something to ponder over in the evenings when he lacked for company.

He needed to get out the front gate now and again, he told Miss Hancock, even if it was just into the sleepy old Yorkshire dales. Despite his plausibility the headmistress solemnly warned him not to get involved with children from outside the school. Indiscretions with local boys would not only cause trouble for himself but would also taint the reputation of Fairyfield Grange, she told him.

Really! It was as if she couldn't trust him.

He borrowed Gloria's old Austin, and as was customary on such trips he took a sissy along to be a beast of burden. Alice was girlish enough in looks not to look conspicuous in a gymslip.

It was only a short drive into the village, but he didn't enjoy it. He had little regard for the beauty of the grassy fells, they only served to make him sniff ostentatiously and complain of the pollen. Peasmarsh itself was a backwater of a place where the sun of high summer warmed the grey tiles and black chimneys along a fretted line of low roofs. A few dozen houses built of stone, a handful of shops, a tired looking church and a pub where the men of the village gathered in the evenings were all strung along a quiet little road that led to nowhere in particular. Without street lights at night and little activity during daylight plenty of people would have thought it quaint and rather idyllic, but such chocolate-box charm was entirely lost on Hardwick who was a city man born and bred.

He turned the car along the old cobbled High Street and drew up opposite the three stories of mellow brick and climbing ivy that was Larkin's store, a spacious emporium fronted by double doors that was the biggest retail outlet for miles around and the nearest thing to a supermarket in the region.

A gang of boisterous children were running up and down the alley at the side of the building when he arrived, little girls frolicking and blithely showing the underwear, and young boys sprawling around in T-shirts and revealing tight short pants. Strangers obviously stirred curiosity, and a sweet looking young fellow riding a shiny red bike came out from the alley and circled Alice and himself as they crossed the street.

"Boys!" he murmured absently, "One can't help but love 'em."

He had no such affection for the people who used the store. His manner and 'posh' southern diction always gave rise to a certain amount of ribald comment among them, while he in return felt no appreciation for unsophisticated country folk and their rural ways. The way they doggedly hung on to traditions irritated him, they seemed to relish living fifty years in the past, and the residents of Peasmarsh believed their village to be ancient and pretty, when it was really just decrepit and dull. They all lived in a mail-order catalogue and mirrored each other; the same clothes, same friends, same voices and same opinions, and as for sex - that was a dirty word that didn't even feature in the local graffiti.

That day he was particularly unlucky because the shop was full of women, all shapes and sizes and all very ordinary. They stood in groups, gesticulating and gossiping and quite oblivious of his need to reach the service area.

Placing Alice tidily in a corner he tried to move forward, but then found himself confronted by Mrs Tichborne, a red-haired woman with a large bosom.

"'Ere, you's that bloke what works up at the Grange, int yer?" He admitted he was and Mrs Tichborne gave him an unambiguous wink. "The only fella among a whole load o' women, eh! I bet you's have a right bit o' fun in the evenin's."

Usually he found women easy to talk with, but at once felt threatened if they made a sexual reference, and he tried to squeeze quickly past. "Excuse me, I have to place a grocery order."

Mrs Tichborne's manner immediately became acid and she glanced at a smaller woman with a squint who stood at her side. "Huh! Lord Muck 'ere ain't got time for the likes o' us, Miss Moffat. We can't cut it for him like them hoity-toity's up at the school."

"School! Did you say school?" Miss Moffat asked, looking slightly bewildered.

"Yes, there's one o' the little miss's standin' over there in a gymslip an' straw hat."

"I didn't notice. Oh yes, I see her now. A pretty schoolgirl."

"I wish you'd put on yer spec's Miss Moffat, you knows your as blind as a bat wi'out um. Mrs Boroclough told me the Grange should never have been a school. She said Albert Fairyfield told her he was leaving it to The National Trust so they'd do it up an' attract a bit o' tourism here."

"I don't see any harm in schools." replied the smaller woman faintly.

Mrs Tichborne glowered at her. "I takes in lodgers, an' you's got a tea-shop. Seems to me a few tourists around here would make a nice change to the usual fertiliser salesmen, an' it wouldn't do either of our pockets any harm. A school don't benefit anybody here but a grocer like Larkin."

Hardwick fought a path beyond them and handed the grocery list to a dour shop assistant, carefully emphasising certain items on it. "Miss Hancock would like to have crumpets for tea on a Sunday, can crumpets be included on every Saturday delivery?"

"'Cause they can," boomed Larkin behind him, "Miss 'andcock's one of me best customers, there'll be no trouble arrangin' crumpets for her." The shop-owner tilted his head and winked. "Leave the order at the counter 'ardwick an' come and have a wee peruse in me book cupboard, there's bound to be something there to suit your taste."

Hardwick followed rather breathlessly and was given admittance to a small locked side-room that really was little bigger than a cupboard, but there was a chair amid the shelves around that were stacked with piles of pornography. Larkin hovered and tried to be unobtrusive while his guest sat down and leafed through a few items.

There were books and magazines to cater for every shade and variation of sexual deviation, and Hardwick quickly dispensed with the more mundane fetish interest items and those dealing with lesbians and group sex. He paid no attention to the homosexual ones featuring muscled, hairy men either, such things were not his forte. He gave the magazines in the female pile of the junior section a cursory glance. The cover art depicted the usual proliferation of pretty little girls showing off their lack of underwear or portrayed them with their mouths stretched wide around a thick erect penis. Predictably they bore titles such as TIGHT SLITS and DADDIES DARLINGS. He gained a nice thrill from being disgusted by them but soon moved onto the subject that interested him most.

A slim glossy entitled MAN AND BOY caught his eye, a publication dedicated

to displays of adults and boys in bedroom frolics, and beneath that were

others with no less graphic content. Titles such as SCHOOLBOY THREESOME,

HORNY LITTLE WANKERS and BOYSCOUT SEX CAMP shouted at him to take them home.Hardwick felt his mouth becoming dry. "You cater for every taste, Mr Larkin."

The shop-owner nodded. "Pleasure as to be imported to this place at some expense, but the category you favour sell like hot-pies. I can get thirty quid apiece for 'em around here."

Hardwick thought of the amount of cash he'd brought with him and was horrified. "Thirty pounds - each! That's outrageous."

Larkin gazed at him quizzically and said nothing for a moment. There was always something in the shopkeeper's mind when he looked at people like that, and it was usually derogatory or illicite. "I 'spect you an' me can come up with a deal," he said, "Take a few. Help yourself to a half dozen."

"Take them! You mean as a gift?"

Larkin cast an eye at the door. "The kid you brought with you is a cute one, a little charmer with a pretty mouth. I could use twenty minutes upstairs with a knobgobbler like that."

Hardwick prevaricated for a moment. "I'm no sure Miss Hancock would approve of such an arrangement - in fact I know she wouldn't approve - and the child may not be everything you expect, Larkin."

The shopkeeper smiled sardonically. "You's need to take a risk now an' again to get the things you want in this life, 'ardwick. An' I ain't a fool. I knows Miss Hancock as boys masquerading as girls at her place. It's all a bit kinky if you ask me, but I'm not one to complain. I've a broad mind and a wide appetite."

Hardwick tapped the magazine in his hand. He hadn't made the journey to Peasmarsh to return without something with which to while away an evening. He took a deep breath.

"Oh very well. You can tell Alice I said its all right for him to go with you."

 

With Larkin out of the way the schoolteacher finally felt able to examine the material on the shelves more freely. The title BOYS WITH TITS drew his attention, the cover picture being that of a twelve-year-old boy masturbating while proudly displaying a pair of prominent hanging bosoms. Just the kind of thing that would stir matron he thought with a grin. The inside pages were equally outrageous - two boys admiring and fondling each others oversized mammaries and gorging on each others nipples - and further on a naked, sweet little fellow struggling to manage breasts that were like massive torpedo-shaped marrow's as they swung about his waist. The pictures were probably faked somehow, but they were so well done it was impossible to be sure.

His attention strayed when he saw a copy of BALLERINA BOYS. He'd once owned a copy of it but had lost it in his travels. It wasn't the most lurid of the offerings there, but it had a special place in his affections because it used a number of the photograph's he'd taken himself when employed by The Royal Ballet. Invariably all his submissions were of preadolescent boys exercising at the barre - minus their pants.

It was uncanny, creepy, seeing it materialise after, what was it? One, two years? He glanced over his shoulder as if fearing someone would burst into the room and accuse him of something, then he relaxed to study the pictures and let the pleasure sink in. He was proud of the series he'd done of boys wearing tutu's. They'd posed for him without tights and with the gusset of their costumes cut away, so he'd been able to get plenty of shots of their genitals swinging beneath the sharp flare of their little skirts. Quite admirable, he thought, especially when he remembered how he'd held each one of those gorgeous pricks in his hand, and how he'd spread open all their perfect little bottoms at one time or another.

The magazine people had done a good job compiling his pictures. The introduction began with a fully clothed boy smiling sweetly, and only by degrees was his absence of underwear revealed. The following pages displayed a picture of a flaccid uncircumcised penis on a boy practising a pas-de-bra, and the next depicted him with an erection, foreskin pulled back, beautiful balls hanging below a fluffed out ballet skirt, warm boy-flesh ready to fondle. Other boys were then shown engaged in fouette and the disciplines of plier and etendre, dancing with each other, the rigid little skirts of the tutu's doing nothing to hide the lengths of rigid flesh beneath.

Then the end piece, a sweet looking youngster examining an enormous dildo whilst allowing a fresh-faced friend to stroke it in admiration. A master-class in eroticism, even if he did say so himself. Sexy without being too crude or gratuitous.

Suddenly he found it difficult to control himself. Even though he'd been with those children in the flesh many times in the past, he couldn't resist dipping into the front of his trousers.

 

Alice didn't enjoy being left alone in the shop. Knees pressed together, feet turning slightly inwards he unconsciously tugged at the hem of his dress in the vain hope he could encourage it to cover a little more of his bare legs. While he didn't object to wearing a gymslip in school where everyone else wore them too, unlike some other sissies he was extremely uneasy about wearing girls clothes in the village where outsiders could see him. Whenever he was taken into Peasmarsh all the familiar feelings of shame and embarrassment associated with being identified as a boy in a skirt crowded in on him, and consequently he remained very quiet, huddled against the wall and tried not to be noticed. Unfortunately he was very cute in looks and his schoolgirl outfit made it certain he was noticed. Every now and then some motherly old dear would smile at him, and he was terrified that eventually one of them would realise he wasn't quite what he appeared to be. That would mean something nasty was sure to happen.

He didn't object to men. He rather liked all the drooling grandfatherly types that crossed his path. He was a schoolgirl masterpiece and they couldn't resist winking at him, and he knew their cocks would rise up hot, stiff and throbbing in their trousers if they knew he was a boy. But there were no men there that day. And women! Women just seemed to want to smack his legs or spank his bum.

With an idea to get away from them all for a while during Hardwick's absence he started edging towards an exterior door that led into a yard at the rear of the building. Doing such a thing - moving from where he'd been placed - would not have been tolerated by any of the women from the school, but the gym-instructor was a soft-touch. He never punished anyone himself, and he was a sponge that soaked up the thinnest of reasons for straying off. Headache, tummy sickness, a fainting fit; there were plenty of fragile and improbable excuses that would be accepted by the rather vague minded ballet-dancer.

He didn't intend going into the alley where all the village kids were playing, that would have been pushing luck too much, but he regarded the yard at the back of the store as a sanctuary. He didn't mind occasional isolation, in fact he preferred it to the rowdy behaviour beyond the stone wall because the whole point was to get away from flapping tongues and curiosity.

Larkin collected anything he thought he could sell at a profit, so the yard was really just a bit of waste ground cluttered with crumbling artefacts. There was an ancient water-pump with a broken handle that he probably believed he could pass-off as an antique, a rusting aga with a door missing and a stack of wooden beer kegs with broken iron bands. Nothing was in good order or complete, yet the shopkeeper held onto it all as if it were treasure.

Once outside in the sunshine Alice took time to dawdle among the various accruements, coming to an abrupt halt when he ventured behind the beer barrels and came face to face with two children, a boy and a girl, who seemed intent on spiriting away the saddle from an old wreck of a bicycle. They were as surprised as he was at the sudden meeting and they all regarded each other silently for a moment. Alice thought them an handsome pair; same height, same complexion, oval faces with round cheeks, and both had a sensuous sweep to their brows and a slight tilt to their upturned mouths. It didn't need a genius to workout they were probably related.

It was the girl who spoke first. "Hi! I'm Doris, and this is my brother Edward. We're twins. Who are you?"

"I'm Alice." the young sissy replied cautiously. Girls being an unknown quantity in his life he was habitually cautious of them.

Doris's mouth twisted thoughtfully. "You're from that posh school at the Grange, aren't you?"

"I'm at Fairyfield, but it's not a posh school."

Seemingly his answer didn't completely convince her. "All the girl's from there look too neat all the time. They look like they've been scrubbed and polished, and you all wear those dark blue smocks and straw hats. Only posh schools have uniforms like that these days."

Quite suddenly her doleful face brightened, "But we don't mind if you're posh as long as you're not snooty, and as long as you don't snitch to old Larkin that we're pinching stuff from his junk-heap."

"I'm not snooty, and I'm not a snitch either." replied Alice, showing a level of indignation.

Doris nodded. "You don't look like a snob, in fact you look rather nice.

Would you like to be our friend? Would you like to kiss Edward?"

Alice was startled, and he pushed his straw boater to the back of his head.

"Kiss him! What for?"

The girl shrugged. "It'll be fun, and it'll prove you're not a toffee-nose."

Quickly soothed, Alice gave a sweep with his eyelashes as he calmly gazed at the boy. He may have not been a real girl, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy kissing good looking boys.

"Okay, as long as Edward doesn't mind."

Edward offered a lovely smile, then took a pace forward and spoke for the first time.

"I don't mind at all."

As her brother and the schoolgirl from Fairyfield drew together the girl stepped aside and continued her encouragement. "Go on both of you, make a start."

Shyly at first, then with increasing enthusiasm the faces of Edward and Alice drifted towards each other, and they pressed their lips together briefly in a bland, innocuous meeting of mouths. That should have been it - task complete, duty done - but once having had the taste of the other boy Alice couldn't resist going back for seconds. Slumping forward, mouth open and eyes closed, he wrapped his arms about Edward's neck and went at him passionately, so passionately that Doris began to look annoyed.

"Hey! Break it up you two."

Her eyes narrowed as her brother peeled the schoolgirl away. "Is Alice a good kisser?"

Edward grinned broadly. "Mm, yes."

"As good as me?"

"Well, just about."

Doris summoned up a grin of her own. "Perhaps I should try her myself."

It was a remark that stirred an expression of horror in her brother. "You're a girl, Doris. You can't kiss another girl. Not on the mouth anyway."

Doris rounded on him. "I'll kiss just who I like if they're pretty enough.

And Alice looks sweet."

Alice didn't debate with either of them. It would have been unbearably embarrassing to admit he was really a boy wearing a gymslip. And anyway, the girl seemed determined, which was awful because he always gave in to bossy girls.

He was utterly unused to kissing girls in a sexual way, but when Doris pushed her mouth onto his own he detected little difference between her and her brother. Both sets of lips were warm, soft and sweet tasting, but were Edward had been a docile partner his sister was aggressive, and within moments she had the tip of her tongue in his mouth. When she eventually drew back she was grinning with the joy of mischief.

"This is great fun, let's do a tongue-lick. You too Edward, let's all do it together."

With their hands clasped about each others waist they shuffled into a tight huddle, then three young faces bunched close and three pink tongues, juicy with saliva, poked out to lap and lick together in a kind of oral orgy which increasingly began to centre on Alice. The brother and sister started licking each side of his face, then licking his neck and gently biting it. Oh, his willy was rising up and pushing at the front of his panties, just like the time he'd put on his first lipstick. He hoped they didn't see.

The excitement incited an almost predictable response from Alice, who having shared threesomes with companions in the dormitory at school allowed an hand to drift down to caress the front of Edward's denim slacks. Having just successfully convinced the twins that he was a girl he was now emboldened enough to unzip the boys fly. Edward's eyes rolled, and intuitively Doris appeared to realise what was happening, but instead of showing disgust she displayed unexpected delight.

"Alice wants to hold your dicky," she husked between delivering slavering strokes with her tongue, "Let her do it Edward. It'll be sexy."

With no objections being raised Alice was able to slip a hand into the front of the other boys trousers and slide his fingers around the shape of the lolling penis inside.

When he drew the penis out into the daylight Edward still made no protest. Already aroused by the wet tongues slicking against his own he was quite prepared to be masturbated by the pretty schoolgirl from Fairyfield Grange and his penis quickly became stiff.

Alice stood directly facing him, switching his tongue between brother and sister while his hand jigged unseen in the folds of clothing below. He guessed Edward had only recently been visited by puberty, but although his cock was smooth and slender it was well formed and stuck out straight.

Without even having a view of her brothers penis Doris was gurgling with wicked glee.

"Is Alice playing with your dicky, Edward? What a naughty girl she is. Oh yes, do let her rub it."

Alice succumbed to an impulse to take things even further, and as the activity between everyone became more heated he slumped downwards into a crouch, leaving the twins to tongue-kiss with each other, which they didn't seem to mind doing at all. Edward's young doodle was as stiff as a pole, and the reddish-pink tip was exposed and moist, which made it look extra sexy somehow. Taking some drool on the tips of his fingers Alice smeared it down the rigid flesh, then leaned forward and swirled his tongue around the end of it and slithered his pointy tongue up and down the shaft. When this created no protest he pumped the shaft with one hand and cradled the boys balls in the other before closing his mouth into a circle around the smooth, white torpedo. Gripping it firmly with his lips his face bobbed frantically back and forth as he slicked his mouth up and down its length.

Perhaps it was inevitable that such torrid action should infect the others. As his mouth busied itself with Edward's cock he became aware that the other boys hand was reaching beneath his sisters skirt, then close against his cheek he had an intimate view of Edward's fingers vigorously scrapping the gusset of her knickers. Both boy and girl were by then so overcome with sensations they were moaning into each others mouths.

Suddenly the girl's hand intruded into his own play by descending to grasp her brothers cock and masturbate it, clearly planning to wank-off Edward into his mouth.

The other boy began to burble and gasp and wiggle his thighs, but Alice held steady and kept his lips working. While concentrating on the shape of the flesh in his mouth he wondered vaguely what age Edward was, and if he was old enough yet to do a proper cum.

The question was answered when a sudden gush of warm liquid leapt onto his tongue.

"Uuum, glup, uuummm!"

"There we are! Edward does a jolly good dollop, doesn't he?" enthused Doris with a grin.

Despite the stimulation of a schoolgirl's mouth and his sisters furiously jerking hand Edward didn't produce a great amount and Alice felt no need to spit anything out. Composed and dutiful, he held his lips in place until the boys orgasm tapered off.

He'd barely time to wipe his lips with the back of his hand before the booming noise of Larkin's voice called out from the direction of the store.

"Alice! Alice, where is yer?"

Seized by sudden panic the three children hunkered down behind the beer barrels.

Doris gave Alice a firm shove. "He's looking for you, so go and meet him. If he comes into the yard he'll catch Edward and me."

Putting his hat on straight Alice stepped bravely stepped out from hiding and made his way over to the man standing at the portal of an open door. "Ah, there you are Alice. I's been lookin' for you everywhere," Larkin told him, "Mr Hardwick says you've to come wi' me."

"I was just admiring the old water-pump in the yard." Alice explained by way of an excuse.

 

The man smiled and placed a beefy arm around his shoulders. "Aye, I's got some good stuff out there, but let's you an' me go upstairs fer a while. I's got another kind o' pump I'd like to show yer, an' its a lot more interesting than that ol' thing."

 

Later Larkin returned to Hardwick's company, smiling with satisfaction.

"Wow! That little pantywaist beauty you brought with you is quite a tart."

Hardwick glanced at him anxiously. "You didn't mistreat him, did you?"

The shop owner chuckled. "Cause I didn't. He was looking a bit underfed, so I just give 'im half a pint o' protein. I didn't think he'd manage everything at first, but he's got real talent. But you must know that. I reckon you've seen to 'im plenty of times yourself."

"I'm fortunate enough to work at an establishment provides for me rather well." Hardwick replied rather airily.

"Cept for yer books, eh! 'Cept fer the books that fill in the blank moments." Larkin's eyes narrowed. "Do all the little queens at that school have sex with men?"

Hardwick smiled slightly. "They're pretty much restricted at the moment, but eventually they will. Some need encouragement, but others are ready to start from the moment they put on a frock."

The shopkeeper nodded, then turned onto another tack. "I hears you was once with a ballet company, teachin' kids how to dance. You must be pretty good at creating dance routines."

"Dance is - it was, my profession. It was my vocation."

"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind doing a little favour for me. I could pay you in mucky books - as many as you can carry."

Hardwick gazed at the shopkeeper dourly. He was probably about ten years older than himself and far less well preserved, but a generous larding of flesh disguised the telltale signs of ageing. "You don't look the type who'd wish to take up ballet lessons Mr Larkin."

"Not me, and not ballet exactly. My clients is all philly-stines and wouldn't appreciate anything that smacks o' bein' arty-farty."

"Well, what then?"

"I's been thinkin' for a while about puttin' on some entertainment for a few blokes of an evenin' at the weekends - a wee bit o' erotic cabaret if you like - something people don't reckon to see around here. I've space in the back room of the shop, and I was thinking along the lines of some underage strippers puttin' on a show."

"Children?"

"There's plenty o' young lasses who'd do it. Little gals like showin' off an' teasin' fellah's, it comes natural to 'em. But I needs someone to teach 'em how to do it in a clever way. They can take off their clothes easy, but I want a bit o' class an' some real teasin' when they flash their little cracks. Kids learn quick, and it wouldn't take you long to show 'em a few good moves, would it?"

Hardwick stippled his fingers, gazed at the shop-owner and then took a long, contemplative breath. What was being proposed was just the kind of lunatic scheme involving outsiders Miss Hancock had warned him to avoid, but the promise of a mountain of pornography was too good a deal to forgo. Anyway, he was hardly likely to be a danger to little girls.

Back in the shop the gaggle of noisy women had dispersed and he found Alice standing in the place where he'd originally put him. He looked sulky after his unexpected session with Larkin. The shopkeeper had not indulged in any cajoling or whispered endearments to sweet-talk him out of his pants, but he had eased the ache in his titanic cock by emptying the seed from his balls into Alice's pretty mouth, so Hardwick felt compelled to buy the little sissy a bag of liquorice-allsorts before they went out the door.

Outside the boy on the red bike whizzed around himself and Alice again. He had lovely bare legs and tight little short pants with no more leeway than a pair of knickers. Hardwick thought for a moment he must be attracted to the pseudo-girl appearance of the sissy at his side, but on pulling to a stop a short distance away the lad directed a toothy grin and a wanton 'come and get me' expression at himself.

The man's eyes widened in dismay, and he began shaking as he pushed Alice urgently towards the car. He no longer felt safe beyond the bounds of Fairyfield Grange. The outside world was far too rife with temptation.

 

Disconsolate, Wendy seated himself on a lumpy horsehair sofa in the staff common-room. It had been ages since he'd been punished like this, being a prefect had secured him from such things, but now punishment had returned, and it was his passion for Judd that had been his undoing. He'd always dreaded his clandestine meeting with him in the east wing would come to his aunts notice, because she had an uncanny knack of learning about everything that happened at Fairyfield Grange. He had dark suspicions about Abigail. He was sure Abigail hadn't been asleep when he'd left the dormitory that night, and he'd paused to put on some lipstick. Perhaps the lipstick, or perhaps the look of eagerness on his face had alerted Abigail to what he was doing, and he couldn't get the idea out of his head that his previous great love had betrayed him.

That morning his status as a prefect had been revoked and he'd been soundly strapped. His aunt had spared him the ignominy of being stripped and bound and thrust into the dungeon only if he agreed to entertain a visiting guest in the common-room - a guest who would want to play a 'game' with him. A sex game. A bottle of baby-oil standing on a side table explained just about everything.

 

He glanced towards the door as the sound of shuffling shoes approached beyond it, and he felt nervous. It was hard to say want kind of nervous, but it was mostly to do with meeting a strange man for the first time and being required to have sex with him immediately. It would have been prostitution if he'd been paid to do it, but he was expected to perform free and gratis. He felt suddenly lonely. He'd read a lot of books and he remembered that in 'WHAT KATIE DID NEXT Katie had been strong and brave in her suffering, but she had always had people around her. She'd been nasty at first, but he'd never been nasty, and he wondered if it would have helped if he had.

The figure that entered the room was no gorgeous Prince Charming, it was that of a scrawny man with prominent cheekbones that made his face look hollow and cadaverous. His jaw was pointy too, and his eyes were narrow squints behind wire-framed glasses. He was a rat in spectacles, thought Wendy.

Face twitching, the visitor closed the door and stood directly in front of it, legs astride, hands clasped behind his back whilst studying the pseudo-schoolgirl with a morose expression.

"So, you're Wendy."

The boy felt a flush on his cheeks as he rose to greet him. "Yes sir."

The rat-faced man's eyes continued to look at him a while longer. There was a kind of reined-in excitement about him, and even though he noted Wendy's indecently short schoolgirl skirt he didn't mention it, he just ran the tip of his tongue across his lips and stood there for what seemed ages. The common-room was a kind of ancient parlour, all Victorian folderol's and a preponderance of overstuffed furniture, and perhaps he was checking that no one else was hiding in the corners.

Wendy hoped he wasn't blushing even though he knew he was. Then he suddenly got the idea that the visitor was blushing too. The man looked awkward and embarrassed, and he was probably hesitating because he'd never had sex with a boy before, much less one dressed as a schoolgirl.

Eventually the stranger took a large red spotted kerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

"You're a pretty - er - girl." he murmured at last.

Wendy did as was appropriate and squirmed sweetly at the flattery. "Thank you, sir."

"Yes, very pretty, but also very naughty." the man said.

Blue eyes stared back at him in all innocence. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

The visitor moved closer. "I've received disconcerting reports about you," he declared, trying to inject some solemnity into his voice - trying to invoke the tone of a stern schoolmaster but not quite succeeding. "I've been told you're a naughty boy Wendy, one that dresses up as a pouting schoolgirl to tease men. That's clearly true isn't it? And wicked girly-boys who do that kind of disgusting thing have to be punished. Oh, yes, they have to have their naughty bottoms smacked, and it as to be done on their bare. They have to take their knickers off."

 

Wendy wiggled his bottom imagining his knickers felt somewhat tighter as he anticipated what was about to happen. Spankings hurt, but like many sissies he found them curiously erotic. Still, the way the man looked at him made him feel a twinge of unease. It occurred to him the visitor was even more nervous than he was himself and was likely to give him a real good tanning to fortify his excitement. He didn't like nervous men, they were unpredictable and sort of creepy, but nevertheless he put on the best show he could and huddled his bum-cheeks in his hands.

"Oh sir, I-I don't think - I mean - oh please sir ..."

"Please! Please what?"

"Please don't make me take my pants off, sir."

"And why not pray? Dirty little madams like you deserve whatever they get.

Now get them down, d'you hear?"

"But sir ..."

"This instant Wendy - I shan't tell you again."

Wendy knew he'd pushed his luck as far as was wise. Rat-face was warming up and any more arguments could get him more than a spanking from the man's hand - he could get the strap, or even the cane, he just knew it.

Fumbling beneath his skirt he nudged his pants from his hips and pushed them down his thighs. The stranger held his gymslip up at the back and flicked his hand up under the plumpness of his bum as his smooth round cheeks spilled out over the elastic, then as he hopped on one foot to step out from his underwear the garment became snagged in the buckle of his shoe - "Oh, ouch!" - and he teetered unsteadily on his toes as the man took the opportunity to fondle him again.

Now the man had his hands on his bare backside he seemed reluctant to relinquish it.

"I reckon I'll sit down and have you over my knee - that's the best way to smack a naughty girl, ain't it? Knickers off and over the knee."

He settled on the sofa, his strong fingers grabbing at the she-boys tightened bottom as he pulled him down across his lap. His belly was rubbing against the man's thigh, rubbing against something! But if Wendy lay docile his mind was racing, and he was unable to stop thinking about what was to come. His skirt had been scooped up his back and offered no protection, and his penis, which dangled between the man's knees, had started to thicken as a large exploratory hand caressed the smooth contours of his backside.

"Now then my naughty panty-boy, just let me have your hand -" His right hand was hauled behind his back - "and now let me rearrange you -" Instead of holding in place with a firm hand on his back like most people, the man reached underneath and took a full handed grip on his penis, blatantly wrinkling back the foreskin as he did so.

(Rub, rub) "Sir!"

"Yes, I know my dear, I know," replied the rat-faced man's sympathetic voice, "It's not quite what you expected and must be rather a shock ..." A broad hand patted his bum-cheeks "...but never mind, you'll soon get used to the idea."

(Rub, rub) The hand jinked his flesh again, while the other became raised in the air before being swung down with relish. Splatt! On a helpless bottom.

"Ooow, sir!" The first solid spank took Wendy unawares. His bottom quivered with its impact and a hot smarting sensation spread fiercely over his punished flesh. He reared up and tried to kick his legs, but found himself firmly anchored in place by the hand gripping his penis.

Smack! On the left buttock, making the flesh judder anew. "Ugh!"

(Rub, rub) "Keep still, naughty girl!" the man scolded, stroking the smarting buttocks, feeling the heat, feeling the lovely crease that separated them.

Whack, splatt! "Oooh, Christ! Oww, sir -"

Rat-face spanked him soundly, alternating the strikes between each of the boys lovely reddened cheeks and making them shake, making his whole body bounce frantically on his lap. As he got into his stride the sound of the hand impacting on bare skin rolled around the room like the slow applause of invisible admirers congratulating him on his efforts.

Wendy could do no more than squeal softly, pain and shock mixing with heady excitement as each blow now came accompanied by a jerk on his penis Each time the contact clapped an octave higher, and so did the resulting cry of confusion. He felt like he almost wants the next slap because it would bring another squeeze on his cock.

Whack! On his right bottom-cheek to intensify its smarting. "Aaaah!" His small buttocks clenched and bobbed from side to side as he tried to make them even smaller and less of a target, but their wholesome rosy glow appeared to be a magnet to the man's hand.

(Rub, rub) His swollen penis was beginning to throb and the man's soft, sweaty hand was rubbing up and down the shaft. Up and down, slow strokes alternating with rapid jiggling.

"Does my smacking hurt? It's no more than you deserve if it does."

He tried to wriggle sideways, but whenever he did that the man's hand paused in the shunting of his foreskin and tightened around his penis to haul him back into place. Incredibly, despite the discomfort of such rough handling was aroused.

Splatt! "Disgraceful girl!" Crack! "Teasing little panty-boy - got a hard-on now eh!"

"Ooooow, eeeeh!"

Wallop! "...I'll make you sorry -" Smack, smack! - "Disgusting fairy princess!" - smackerty-smack!

Then, suddenly he's no hitting anymore, but his hand is still rubbing his penis. Rat-face as made it so stiff and sensitive it's all that he can do to keep from pushing down into his hand. His bum-cheeks were clenching and unclenching all by themselves, and he was pushing his hips up and down - he just couldn't help it - there was such erotic pressure down there, in his cock and behind his balls.

Suddenly the unseen hand was jerking him furiously, milking him like a cow.

(Rub, rub) "Wicked child!"

"Aah, ooh!" In spite of everything Wendy's breathing became laboured and erratic, but not wishing to confess the excitement boiling up inside him he shivered for a few more moments on the brink of embarrassing himself with squeals of delight, then suddenly he gave in.

"Ooooh, mmmm, ooow!" Beneath him there was a soft, rapid 'splatter, pat, splat' on the carpet as his penis twitched and powerful, previously pent-up jets of semen shot downwards between the man's legs. For a moment he lay slumped and disorientated over the trousered lap as the relief of cumming left him stranded on a peak of ecstasy.

Smack, smack, smack! Rat-fat was smacking again. "Filthy child!" Crack, smack, whack! "Now, don't do it again!"

At last the punishment ended. Tears streamed down Wendy's trembling cheeks as the man turned him onto his feet and pulled him forward by the hand. Caught up in emotion he automatically threw his arms around the man's neck and laid his head on his shoulder.

"Oh, please sir, don't be cruel to me anymore. I promise to be good if you don't hurt me again."

Rat-face licked his lips and leaned forward to kiss his neck and suck his earlobe, then the man's open mouth slobbered against his face, captured his upper lip while his tongue prised a way into his mouth.

A taste of stale tobacco assaulted his taste buds as the man licked down to his tonsils.

Even as Wendy choked rat-face couldn't resist touching that beautiful bottom once more. Easing Wendy's skirt up to his waist he caressed the tender cheeks, his strong palms flexing as he edged the she-boy's neat young body close enough to press the hardened lump in his trousers into the softness of his belly. "Do you like being a girl, Wendy?"

"Yes sir."

"Do you know that means you're a sissy?"

"Yes sir."

"Sissies aren't real boys, are they?"

"No sir."

"No, and because they're not real boys they should act as girls when men are around, shouldn't they?"

"Yes."

Taking a deep breath the man turned him and pushed him over the padded arm of the sofa. He slumped forward, whimpering, sobbing, belly down, burning bottom pushed up, skirt bunched around his waist.

Then came the sound - the sound he remembered from his time at the prep-school in Middlesex. ZIIIPPPP!

It was to be expected. A man can't spank a sissy without fucking him afterwards. The natural conclusion to disciplining sissies was to pump their pretty bottoms full of fresh cum.

In spite of his humiliation and the discomfort he'd suffered Wendy felt a flush of hot excitement. He wanted to be desired and lusted after, and miserable as the day had been for him so far there was the possibility of a brief interlude of pleasure if he were fucked by a decent length of randy man-meat

He undertook the position of a sissy in submission; head down, bottom pushed up, knees well apart so that the man could play with his balls whilst contemplating his sissy anus in surrender. Surely a view no man worth the name could ignore.

The man pressed against him, broad thighs screwing on his buttocks, cock probing against his backside but not having much success. That he was a novice at anal sex became apparent when he tried to mount Wendy without lubrication. "Keep still yer little tart!" he rumbled in exasperation.

Wendy squealed at the dry jarring force pushing at his anal bud, and he waved frantically at the bottle of baby-oil on the side table. He was a faggot who wore a short skirt and he loved the idea of pleasing a strong male and being subservient to a big cock, but this man was falling short on expertise.

"Use that sir, you need to use some of that."

Oil splashed between his buttocks and he felt the unmistakable prod of man-dick.

"That's it sir. Do it!" Wendy panted as he felt the bulbous glands slip against his anticipating pucker. He was prepared to be a good fuck, but the man seemed to be in a hurry, or in a panic more like. It was all becoming a fiasco. Rat-face couldn't push in more than an inch of his penis. He was probably feeling guilty about what he was doing, longing to find out what it felt like to shag a boy in the arse, but too nervous to take his time and do it properly A few rapid movements and a sudden gasp confirmed his suspicions. The visitor's rodent-like face grimaced and he ejaculated almost at once in the crack of his bottom without making any substantial penetration.

"There! S-see if that don't teach yer to behave, yer - yer little whore." the man stuttered with uneasy bluster as he fastened up his trousers.

He departed shamefaced and hurriedly, and without any apology for his disappointing performance. Then Gloria came in.

"Crikey Gloria, what an awful character that man was. He didn't have a clue about what to do."

The housekeeper nodded in sympathy. "That one weren't nuthin' special. He wus just an inspector from the Inland Revenue who'd come to check on Miss Hancock's tax returns. 'Spect you were part of a deal they agreed on."

Wendy slipped forlornly back into his knickers. "Can I go now?"

"No, m'dear, you've to wait here a bit longer. There's another visitor just arrived, an' this one's a lordship."

"A lordship?"

"Aye, a Peer o' the Realm, an' one o' Miss Hancock's oldest clients. He wants a pair, so Jennifer's had to go off an' find someone to join you."

Wendy's shoulders slumped, making him a picture of despondency. "I don't want anymore first-timers, and I don't feel like being spanked anymore."

Gloria shook her head and wagged a good deal of flesh. "Bless yu heart dear, it ain't the end o' the world, is it? I knows you've had an awful time of it lately, but it's best you do as your told an' don't go lookin' for trouble. Anyway, this lordship's experienced an' he don't do much by way o' spankin'."

A few minutes after Gloria waved a hand and departed Sammy came through the door. Wendy regarded him with contempt. There was little difference in their ages, but like older boys everywhere he reckoned those younger than himself were inferior.

"Who's visiting?" asked Sammy.

Wendy observed him gloomily. "Gloria says we've to entertain a high stickler, a peer."

The other boy shrugged his shoulders. "The only pier I know is the one at Blackpool."

"Not that kind of pier, you soppy tart. This one's a lord who lives in a castle with a deer park, and he as a villa on the coast at Morecambe Bay."

"I like the seaside," Sammy murmured wistfully, completely failing to grasp what had been said. "I 'specially like Blackpool. There's a smashing funfair on the beach there, so I like Blackpool most of all."

Inured with a sense of mischief that seemed impervious to the sternest discipline the younger boy strode across the room and grinned at the statue of the Adonis. "He ain't got much of a trouser-snake, as he?"

>From the bottom of the handkerchief pocket in the front of his skirt he extracted a crumb of blackboard chalk and quickly made a sketch on the statues belly. "That's more like it." he said, standing back to admire his work.

Wendy was aghast at the crude illustration of a penis and testicles Sammy had scrawled onto the figure. "Cut that out you chump." he snapped.

The loss of Wendy's prefect status hadn't escaped Sammy's notice, the news had raced around the school at midmorning, so he just smirked. "Oh, pooh! What do I do? Shake in my shoes and have babies?"

The insolence stirred up enough anger in the older boy to make him want to lash out, but before he had a chance the door opened and Miss Hancock's second guest entered.

What was revealed was a man of medium height with pleasant if somewhat ruddy worn features, partially bald, but with beetled-brow and hanks of white hair sticking out from above his ears. He wore a Savile Row suit that was beautifully styled and unerringly cut, the only thing compromising his image of quintessential elegance being the ominous bulge in the front of his trousers.

The boys flushed, looked at each other, and then looked sheepishly at the man.

The visitor smiled thinly, staring first at Wendy who lowered his eyes, then at Sammy. His voice, like his appearance, was sophisticated and confident. "Name?"

"Sam - Samantha, sir."

"And your friends name?"

"M-my name's Wendy, sir."

The man's smile became a grin, the thin lips separating to display eburnean teeth so perfect they were probably dentures. First he studied Sammy, then shifted his gaze back to Wendy.

"Hmm!" he murmured, nodding his head. Two of them, and a pretty duo indeed! A pair so temptingly fuckable that it was impossible to hide the rising shape in the leg of his trousers. Miss Hancock had done him proud as usual.

It was Nigel, Lord Chance-Barton's first visit to Miriam Hancock's new premises and he found the way she dressed the boys intriguing; a novel idea to have them play at schoolgirls, quite titillating - quite stimulating. He scrutinised them carefully; she'd given him two good-lookers and he wondered if he'd used them before at the orphanage in Harrogate. He decided he hadn't, he'd used all the best one's there and these two were fresh items. He'd called in at Fairyfield on pure impulse whilst passing, just to pay his respects to Miss Hancock and to let her know that his wife was all right about the money he'd donated to her school. She'd been determined to kick up a stink about it at one time but something seemed to have happened and she'd suddenly enjoyed a change of heart.

He'd hesitated when Miriam offered him a brief dalliance with one of her boarders in a display of gratitude - he'd really only meant to have a look around - but then he thought, why not? He was packing a good deal of unrequited pork in his pants that day, so he said he'd rather like to try two together he'd said. Just as he'd done sometimes in Harrogate.

His vision suddenly focused on the terracotta statue and the crude illustration chalked on it. Wendy cringed as he heard him draw a noisy breath, while Sammy couldn't prevent himself from smirking.

His Lordship's smile at once became stony as his gaze turned on the younger boy. "Can you tell me what you find so amusing? Who's responsible for that abomination?" he demanded.

The words were softly spoken, but charged with enough energy to make Sammy's face drain.

Sammy instantly panicked. "Not me sir. Wendy must have done it."

Wendy's face expressed absolute horror at the lie, but before he could utter a word of denial the man laughed.

"Um, no more than I'd expect from a pansy-boy who wears such a disgracefully short skirt."

Glancing at the Adonis again he caressed the front of his trousers thoughtfully.

"So, it's anatomy lessons you want today, is it girl's? And you have an interest in male genitalia."

With no more ado he unbuttoned his trouser-fly and levered out his penis; a thick, turgescent length of stiff flesh with a broad, well defined helmet. Both sissies paled. It was a measure larger than Mr Hardwick's and neither could remember a man with such a big hairy thing leaking goo like that one.

"Do you know what this is?"

Sammy nodded. "It's a prick, sir."

"Yes," he agreed, sliding his fingers up and down, "And what is it used for?"

"For fucking girls." Wendy replied bravely.

"Sometimes for fucking boys." added Sammy.

For a moment they both looked at the huge cock and contemplated the places it would visit, but Nigel Chance-Barton didn't need to think about that, he already knew where it was going.

He reached down and drew Sammy forward, putting an arm around him and pressing him close as if cuddling a favourite relation. Despite being years older than his wife he still fancied himself as a youngish rou‚ with appeal to both genders. He was a cultured man, an art connoisseur, a collector of rare first editions and a devotee of drama and music. He could ride and shoot like a gentleman of his status was expected to do, and he was Master of the Hunt in the area where his ancestral home was located. He liked to present the persona of the Lord of the Manor and a country gentleman, but many saw him merely as an ageing Lothario who had married one of the most admired women on the social scene only to find he couldn't keep pace with her hectic style of life.

His Lordship was fatalistic about that. He knew his pretty wife had amorous affairs, but he never made a fuss about her unfaithfulness as long as he was allowed to pursue his own sexual peccadilloes. He still enjoyed sowing wild oats of his own, and had a particular penchant for preadolescent young lads like Sammy and Wendy.

"Lift the balls from my trousers," he told Sammy, "then play with my prick."

Sammy set-to without any hesitation, lifting out the man's fat testicles and cupping them in his hand, and then grasping hold of the rearing penis in order to slick the foreskin back and forth. He'd done such things plenty of times in the past and was beyond being shy about it. The ageing aristocrat peered at Wendy. "Show me what a clever girl you are.

I like little girls to suck my cock, can you do that?"

Without a word Wendy climbed down onto his knees and examined the swaying member jerking in Sammy's hand. It seemed colossal, with swollen veins showing everywhere and a thick cord of sinew running the length of it undersurface.

Strangely, even though this man was far more gross in his requirements that the first one he'd been with, Wendy felt much more relaxed with him. This one knew exactly what he wanted, and wasn't the least bit nervous, so he was quite at ease as he examined the man's shaft and ran a featherlight finger along a thick blue vein. Finally he leaned forward and swirled his tongue ostentatiously beneath the fat, bulbous tip, watching intently as the whole vast projection throbbed..

"Ahh! That's it, little girly-thing, that's the way. Now take it in your mouth and suck."

A novice would have paused, but Wendy merely drew back slightly before running his delicate little mouth over the sticky tip of the man's thick member, steadying the swollen head with his fingertips to prevent its wild twitching as he ran the point of his tongue around the rim prior to engulfing it with his mouth.

He felt the solid texture of hot flesh slide between his teeth, pushing down his tongue and squeezing against the roof of his mouth, and fearful of gagging if he allowed it to press too far his lips thinned and sealed around the weighty shaft. At last in control he salivated to create lubrication, then began to slide his face back and forth.

The cock had looked enormous when wagged in front of his face, but it seemed even more massive lodged in his mouth, and he could only imagine what it would feel like being forced up his bum-hole. Somehow just sucking it seemed the most comfortable option at that moment, so he sucked industriously, cheeks hollowing, jaw rolling, his eyes stealing upward glances at the man's flushed face.

"That's it. Work up and down - mmmm - you're a natural cocksucker." The decadent old Peer met his gaze with a smile, pleased at the sight of the sissy's young lips giving such rapt attention to his thick, veiny cock, and all the time Wendy sucked Sammy continued caressing between the man's legs, rolling his testes in his ball-bag and jigging his shaft. Then Sammy stood on tiptoe to kiss him and give him a delicious sissy tongue.

How pleasant, thought his Lordship. It had been an age since anyone had served him quite so well. What wonderful sensations a well-practised hand and mouth provided! The kids were artists, and if he'd been granted the means to invent paradise he would have decreed it to consist of small fingers jerking his foreskin while soft pink lips slurped on his knob. Very quickly his parameters of bliss began to change.

"Get down beside your friend," he told Sammy, "I want you to taste my dick too."

Wendy became aware of Sammy settling beside him, and then felt his smooth cheek nuzzling against his own. Giving the end of his Lordship's penis a parting lick he offered it to the other boys mouth and for a moment worked the cock with his hand. Sammy took a moment to assess things, passing a wet tongue around the domed spongy tip before stuffing it into his stretched open, golopious mouth.

Being sucked-off by two hot little mouths working in unison almost caused Lord Chance-Barton to ejaculate on the spot, but he managed to remind himself he was only sampling the appetiser of a feast. "Take off your clothes children." he told them.

He removed his own trousers whilst they were undressing, looking them over with appreciative eyes as he did so. Two pubescent boy-cocks were revealed at an attractive level of half-hardness, bouncing sexily as the youngsters moved around. Both had a slightly fatter appendage than he had expected for their age, and with the merest of caresses their foreskins retracted and they soon became fully erect.

Their young bodies enticed him beyond words. Small and slender, their skin white and soft, their bellies indented by the prettiest of navels, their tiny nipples rose-petal pink, exactly like little girls. They were obviously able to provide the same pleasure as girls, children of whatever gender were always tight and squirmy, and always a good fuck.

Hands by their sides, heads tilted up, blushing deliciously, they watched his eyes rove over their sumptuous bodies. He told them they could keep their shoes and socks on. Having little girls naked but for just shoes and socks pleased him in a fetish kind of way, and Wendy and Samantha were sort of girls, just as pretty anyway.

Removing his own shoes and briefs he displayed his manliness, his body still vigorous, nowhere showing the emaciation or meagreness of age. Certainly no weakness in the capable structure of his swollen cock. He was prodigiously equipped and still at full erection. He was immensely proud of his sexual prowess, oblivious of his age and advancing alopecia and deliciously mindful of his corpulent, vertical member, his every nerve was at a tense pitch. Two to enjoy, both simpering little sissies created for the pleasure of men. A pair of pretty angels with mouths and bottoms eager for cock, each delicately scented in a way that seemed customary at Fairyfield Grange.

A flush of excitement stained his face all the way up to his receding hairline. "Get up on the couch." he told them.

Moving forward, breathing in and swelling his chest, he placed his hands on Sammy's hips and turned him around to enjoy a view of his rear, a slender image with a dear little bum worthy of everything he was going to give it. He stroked the smooth contours and made the girl-boy giggle prettily, then crouching down slightly as he probed with the tip of his penis. "Hold him open for me." he murmured to Wendy, and Wendy obediently spread Sammy's tender nates, gazed at the small pink rosette of the other boys anus and wondered how such a dainty morsel could possibly cope with the lustful, muscular male appendage that was impatiently waiting to use it.

A deluge of clear oil flooded the delicate eye, then the man took his erection in his hand and began to worm its bloated tip forward. He'd never been randier than at that moment and was able to bully the anal ring and force it to expand and give accommodation. Sammy squawked as his little anus was made to stretch, and stretch some more, and he clutched the back of the sofa as his rectal pucker flattened against the huge bulbous tip of the man's insistent cock, his belly undulating in spasms, his lips drawn back in voluptuous agony as his backside was prised open.

"Oh, ooooh sir! It's - it's - oooh, sir!" The rosette blossomed and its rim slowly indented inwards, becoming oddly concave as his Lordship inserted six inches of his thick wand into the helpless girly-bottom in a single motion.

"Owm ga-ga-ga!" Sammy spluttered, quivering as he flexed back in response to the vehement force heaving into him. "Ooooh, uuughhh!" A look of profound astonishment crossed his face, his brown eyes flying wide open while his jaw sagged.

He gave Sammy three more hot, stiff inches and the little doll squealed as his anal his muscles contracted around it. The man paused for a moment to allow the sissy to relax, then pushed the rest all the way in. It was an ordeal that required all Sammy's sissy experience, but he managed it all.

Wendy watched closely, enthralled as the thick, forceful cock slid in and out.

The man slewed back slightly, then heaved forward with an energetic push to embed himself once more. Only then did he seem satisfied and pause to restore some composure before starting to work his stalk in and out of the helplessly speared anus.

Being in close proximity allowed Wendy to see every bulging vein in the mighty aristocratic cock as it flashed back and forth, Sammy was being extremely well fucked and he became strangely enthralled by viewing such a fine glistening member in such rampant action - and the balls - those huge balls - bouncing as they swung back and forth. He was hardly surprised when without warning his Lordship's young lover suddenly groaned and ejaculated a dollop of sissygoo up the back of the sofa.

Sammy uttered a gasp of immense relief as the man extracted his member, then Nigel Chance-Barton turned and pointed his huge red helmet in Wendy's direction.

"Your turn now, my dear," he said, "Kneel up and push out your arse."

Wendy's heart leapt. He felt so hot and vulnerable when the man climbed up behind him and spread his buttocks with his big hands, but his fears of the man's size were partially allayed as a finger unexpectedly pressed against his clenched bum-hole. The sensation it generated was like an exploding firework, making him gasp and instantly wilt.

The finger withdrew and was instantly replaced by a broad knob-end stroking his anus, and he knew them man's thick member was about to make a visit. His lordship moved forward, pulling on the pantyboys bottom until he found the right angle, then he pushed his big mushroom in. Wendy's sphincter was oiled and loose, but even so the mammoth thing then impaled him with such vigour he wondered about the good sense of yearning for the attention of a big, strong cock.

Lord Chance-Barton squared up and gripped the boys sissy hips as his cock plunged forward, sank into him and slowly plunged deep. For a moment Wendy's rectal muscles made a futile attempt to reject the invader, but then his body opened up and allowed it to surge up to sear his insides and completely occupy his anal tract.

Sliding deep into the heat and tightness of his anal tract his lordship only paused briefly to allow him to become accustomed to his thickness, then closing his eyes to savour the sensations of fucking a boy, his hands clasped Wendy's hips and he began shafting him hard and strong. Wendy felt totally emasculated. Completely at the mercy of a strong man who was rutting with him and using him for pleasure - just how true pantyboys long to be used. He loved it. Not just the physical thing, but also the sense of submission and enforced girlishness it promoted.

Lord Chance-Barton eased back, extracting most of his length, but when he was almost out he shoved back in, his craggy face grimacing as he began a slow in and out movement that made the boy's stomach tighten. His cock was in its tightest happiest home. Every nerve ending was experiencing wonderful friction and he knew he was in charge.

Despite the discomfort he was experiencing Wendy loved being his toy and began whimpering with pleasure. The man sagged against his back, perspiring freely, but with his anal pounding relentlessly sustained. Helplessly coupled to a rampant bull intent on discharging its burden he clenched his teeth at each lunge. The man knew how to fuck, how to make him want to slide up and down on his titanic cock, knew just how to make a boy squeal in wonder. Bracing himself against the sofa to meet each frantic inward thrust his cries became a wail and a red mist swam before his eyes. The man's cock was jerking and screwing about inside, making him shudder and writhe out of control.

They couldn't have looked hotter. As the two of them moved closer together, big thighs slapping against small bare bottom, eyes closed and breathing hard. "Is that okay?"

Wendy began stroking his own dick hard and fast. "Huh, huh!" It was no lie. It really felt good to have that cock ramming him so deep, and he was anticipating the loud gasps and faster, more vigorous strokes that would come when the man ejaculated. He knew that soon the in and out sliding of thick meat would increase in speed, and he wanted to feel the hot throbbing that would indicate the man was shooting-off into his bowels.

There was always something profound about that joyous few seconds of mindless jigging and straining before a prick sent a deluge of manly seed into the deepest recesses of his rectum. It was the ultimate salute to any boy who's body had given pleasure to cock.

His Lordship had ideas other than a standard finish. He shoved away, causing Wendy to whimper and complain as his still-hard cock slithered out with a 'plop'.

He lay Sammy and Wendy side by side along the seat of the sofa and crouched down to masturbate over their faces. Two young boys who's faces were flushed and still slightly bewildered from being freshly fucked, gazed up at his monstrous cock and flashing hand, each knowing very well the result that would soon transpire.

"Oh Lor!" His Lordship moaned. His throat constricted and his body stiffened while his face distorted in a mix of agony and joy. The rapid jigging of his hand caused him to unload thick cords of cream which hardly appeared like semen at all. Something more akin to a stream of thick white batter splashed like a wave across each sissy's expectant, upturned face.

Sammy gasped as it struck him, and a good portion of the second delivery, which had a more liquid quality, ended up in his mouth. Wendy and Sammy both whimpered as a swirling rope of cream dropped over the tips of their upturned noses. The Chance-Barton capacity was copious, and spurt three and four hosed out in a low arc to complete the job of coating both of their young faces. With the tip of his cock he smeared the mess over their smooth faces, painting them with glutinous protein.

When the man departed both Sammy and Wendy were left to wipe the strands of translucent discharge from their faces with their handkerchiefs. "Phew!" gasped Sammy breathlessly, "That lordship-fella' had a prick like a rhino's horn, and it jerked-off like a garden hose."

"When you've cleaned your face, clean off the back of the sofa, you tart, " Wendy told him irritably, "And get that stupid drawing off the statue too."

Sammy rose up and gave him a sullen look of resentment as he licked his fingers and gave the chalk marks on the Adonis a half-hearted rub. "You're not a bossy-boots prefect anymore Wendy. You've got no right to order me around and tell me to do things."

Wendy's temper boiled. "No right, eh! No right maybe, but I'm bigger than you , so I've got might." He lunged out and grabbed Sammy by an arm and the younger boy winced in expectation of an imminent rain of blows. "Don't hit me - please don't."

"You deserve a thump for all the cheek I've had to suffer from you today."

Sammy pouted and took a sly peep at the other boys cock. "No, don't bash me.

I'll suck you off if you promise not to hurt me."

Wendy paused and glanced down at his genitals. None of the frantic sexual activity he'd been employed in so far that day had ended with a particularly pleasant conclusion, and he decided he deserved a reward.

"I'll swallow." Sammy enticed.

"Okay, but you'd better make it good."

"Oh I will, I will," Sammy promised, at once sliding down onto his knees, "I'm always good at doing this."

  

  

  

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