Fairyfield Grange

by Jason Argo

 

part 9

 

As he pumped back and forth the tingle in Wendy's penis became intense and his body refused to deny it satiation. Renewing his grip on a young sissy called Susan, he redoubled his efforts and humped his stiff cock into the tight confines of his obliging anus with all the energy of desperation, answering the other boys soft, girlish squeals with breathless sighs of his own. His penis skimmed over Susan's prostate each time he pushed up the sissy's narrow tunnel and unintentionally picked up the pace, while his thighs slapped against delicate buttocks as his excitement soared. It felt too wonderful to hold back for long.

"Aaa! I'm cumming sweetheart."

The pinnacle was reached, the dam broke, and a thousand tons of pent-up juice - or so it seemed - hurtled along his pounding stem to disgorge into the pantyboy's churning rear end, while Susan squealed "Yes, oh yes!" and his anal muscles gripped his cock to milk out his cum. Susan sagged onto the bedcovers, body glowing, starry-eyed, thoroughly fucked, only to be instantly turned over and set upon by Nicola Carrington who'd been awaiting his turn to use his well lubricated hole.

Wendy drew away. The sex had been wonderful but in his abstracted and melancholy state he barely registered any joy. For several days he'd been smouldering inside about the way he'd been treated lately, and brief affairs with other boys had done nothing to douse his discontent. After his involvement with Judd he'd attempted to be circumspect about his feelings, but he hated the way he'd allowed himself to be seduced. The village youth had not acknowledged him with more than a distant hello since their night together in the east-wing, and he'd gone back to giving his exclusive attention to Abigail.

He hated everyone he decided. He hated Judd for being so callous, he himself for loving the sensation of Judd's big cock in his backside, and he hated Abigail for betraying him to Aunt Miriam. But what could he do about any of that?

For days the conundrum bounced around in his head like a rubber ball until the notion of revenge eventually formulated. Abigail was having an affair with an Outsider, and if he himself could be punished for doing that, then so should he.

No one had ever actually seen Abigail and Judd doing anything other than giggling and sparring together, so his plan was to view them in a forbidden embrace, then go straight away to report it to a tutor. Miss Twist would be the best. She was more independent minded than either Mrs Pardoe or old Hardwick, and she would press the need for discipline even in an issue involving Miss Hancock's own son.

He felt limp with inadequacy when he realised what a flabby plan it was, and even if it succeeded he knew his own reputation would be the main victim. For the rest of his time at Fairyfield he would be regarded as a sneaky tattletale by everyone.

Nevertheless, he felt compelled to do it. If there was justice in the world Judd would be barred from the school grounds forever, and the traitor Abigail would be knocked down from crowing at the top of the pecking order of all the other pantywaists.

On the next delivery day he decided to hide himself away in the disused pantry within the scullery and watch what transpired, but careful as he was he almost blundered in on them. Abigail and Judd were already there. Opening the dividing door a crack he noticed just in time they were ensconced in a corner and petting heavily. Judd was kissing Abigail, pawing him all over and stroking beneath his skirt.

"I don't know why I keep coming here with you." he heard Abigail husk softly.

Judd grinned. "You need a man, darlin'. All you sissies need a man to shag you mornin' an' evenin' and give you plenty of milkin' in between." His hand slid down into Abigail's pants and his fingers measured the swollen length of distended cock inside. As his hand began to push and shove his lips went down onto those of his younger partner and he began to kiss him as if he were determined to suck off his face.

Wendy bit his lip as he watched the teenager playing with Abigail's beautiful monster. Then Judd stroked under Abigail's balls, and when Abigail sighed Wendy sighed softly too. He could remember what a cum factory those hefty treasures were.

It was stomach churning to see the one he so much admired in the arms of the detestable village clod and looking so excited. Abigail had always been the one in command in the past, and it was awful to see him behaving like a blushing junior so obviously willing to drop his pants and be shafted.

It soon became clear something else was happening too. Judd's other hand was doing something with Abigail's bottom and it was making Abigail flutter his eyes and gasp with wonder. When Judd drew back Abigail gave him a naughty smile and swirled around to raise his skirt, and there trailing down from between the soft orbs of his perfect bare rear end hung a length of purple twine.

Wendy gasped against his hand. Oh no!

Everything about his body seemed to tremble, hands knees stomach heart. It was almost funny the way his hands jittered, the way his bare knees shook. All of a sudden he was flushing all over.

He recognised it at once. That purple string was part of his own experience. Strung along the twine would be ten large plastic beads, unseen at the moment because they were now snuggled inside Abigail's rectum. All the time they'd been snogging Judd had been stuffing beads up into his bottom. The realisation was especially devastating for Wendy because the devise was the same one Abigail had used on himself in the past during periods of extreme intimacy. He could remember the scintillating, erotic shock as they were extracted.

So intense. So wicked!

Now Abigail was offering himself to Judd. Shamelessly inviting the Outsider to give him a bead-pull.

Judd grinned, clearly familiar with such things. Slowly he wrapped the length of twine about his fingers and began to tug. Abigail leaned forward against the table and braced himself, then he squirmed and moaned as two of the beads - plop, plop - were drawn out through the clutch of his anus.

Plop, plop! Two more, and the head-girl jived his bottom in a circle.

"Ooooh, Judd!"

The village boys smile broadened. "Like that, huh? Enjoy 'em popping out slow do you? Well let's do the last half-dozen at high speed an' see how you get on with that."

His hand gave a mighty jerk and the remaining six marble-shaped beads rattled out in a single fluid motion, making Abigail shriek with wonder. Wendy could imagine the toe-curling sensation it created because he'd known it himself. The rapid passage of those hard, smooth spheres would make a young cherry throb as they defied all attempts to hold them in. They would make a boy squeal, make a sissy scream and leave a bum rotating and tingling and eager to be crammed with dick.

Before they could actually make a start with anything like that there was a rude interruption when the bulbous frame of old man Larkin entered the scullery. Red-faced and moustachioed he began scolding them both with a voice that was coarse, keen and outraged.

"Sneakin' off agin, er! You two sluts must think I'm soft-soap not to know what yer doin' behind mi back."

Judd, for all his admirable physique, practically scuttled away and cowered against a wall, leaving Abigail to stand alone and ashen faced in the centre of the room. The man may have been middle-aged and with a paunch, but other aspects of him were awesome. His biceps were huge and totally pumped out beneath the short sleeves of his shirt, and there was not a hint of flab on his tanned hairy arms. He looked dangerous and his fury was so vicious it even made Wendy cringe in his dark little pantry.

Accusations, threats and plain bad temper rumbled out from Larkin's snapping mouth, and there was an answering babble of desperate voices as both Judd and Abigail uttered frantic denials. Then came sobs and unhappy squeals that trailed away into ominous silence.

Eventually, curiosity overwhelmed timidity and Wendy peered out again to find he was in no immediate danger himself. Everyone faced away from him, including Larkin who was pacing back and forth and swishing a slender length of wood through the air in a way that left no doubt as to his intentions.

Abigail's voice pleaded in futility. "Mr Larkin, please, I ..."

"Get yer pants off girly-freak," the man seethed, "get yer knickers out of the way and bend across the table - right now!"

Abigail knew he was going to suffer and his hands shook as they fumbled under his skirt. He knew he was about to get a real walloping with a stick and it was going to hurt, but because he'd been caught with an outsider he'd get no sympathy from anyone.

His panties had hardly reached his knees when the old man pushed him face down over the tabletop and hauled up the back of his gymslip, exposing his bottom, all bare and round and vulnerable. Wendy couldn't help thinking how sexy he looked like that, and how there couldn't be a hard dick in the world that could resist using him.

"Don't - please don't do it!" Abigail begged as a large leathery hand brushed over his helpless bare bum cheeks.

THWAT! The slat of wood impacted keenly on his bare skin. Making him wince and making his buttocks churn.

"Keep yer place, yer little poof. Yer may be 'ead-gal 'ere, but that don't mean knowt t'me." Larkin rumbled coldly. "I's a'ready brought down one o' yer pretty prefects fer messin' about wi' Judd. Nobody touches him wi'out my say-so, an' that includes you, yer little tart."

Everything clarified in an instant and a light of understanding blazed in Wendy's mind.

So, Abigail hadn't betrayed him after all. Larkin had done it. Judd was Larkin's property - he was his bottom - his bitch-boy - and the old man was picky about who he shared him with. He must have suspected Judd had gone out to see someone on the night of the east-eing and made him tell everything when he returned.

In a fit of spite he'd passed all the facts onto Aunt Miriam. That's how she knew every detail of what happened.

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

"Oooooouch! Don't, oh please don't!" Abigail yelled in a squeaky high-pitched voice as the horrible stick went up and down. Smack! "Yahhh!" He cried as the man went from side to side, left to right, then back again, coolly donating vivid red stripes to his creamy young nates.

While Abigail suffered Judd watched silently, not moving but for a nervous quiver on his mouth. There was a dismal certainty in his expression that made it all too clear that he was anticipating receiving some of the same.

"Your turn now, arsehole," Larkin suddenly flared, "Get yer trousers down and get over the table."

Judd immediately unbuttoned and allowed his denims to fall to the floor, quite careless to the fact he wasn't wearing any underwear. Timidly he waddled forward and slumped across the tabletop. "P-please dunna do it 'ard, Mr Larkin."

Larkin spat on the floor. "Not 'ard! Not 'ard? I'll teach yer t'go cuckoldin' me, yer fuckin' whore."

THWOK! The youth's pleading had no effect. The slat of wood swung down and walloped his naked rear with calculated keenness, and pathetic whines and snivels gurgled out from between the hands he'd clutched over his mouth as he wriggled. The stick hit squarely across both cheeks several times. Smack, thwack, swhitt! And Judd burst into tears.

So much for the teenage hunk everyone admired so much, thought Wendy contemptuously. He was no more than a faggot himself, dominated by an old man, pleading and quailing, and now crying like a baby.

Having cruelly thrashed both youth and sissy-boy Larkin threw down his stick, stepped back and undid his fly. The penis that then protruded from the front of his trousers was a thick turgescent length of gnarled flesh, corrugated and uneven in shape like the branch of an ancient tree.

He swung in behind Judd who was bending over like a girl and preparing to take the old man's cock in his tight bottom. He gripped his hips and screwed with his thighs, making the youth groan as his misshapen prong forced its way into his backside to issue a fierce, uncompromising fuck without lubrication. He then pulled out abruptly and turned to Abigail with a leer. "Them that crosses me allus as to pay a price, an' if they're tranny-faggots wearin' a frock I expects 'em to make it specially good." He spat on his hand and wiped the spittle onto his gargantuan erection, then holding Abigail down with a hand in the middle of his back he wormed the colossal, ugly weapon against his anus.

"Remember to push out," the old man snarled, "If it hurts bite down on something, 'cos I ain't gunna stop."

Awful! Thought Wendy, secluded in the pantry. He didn't care a fig for Judd who deserved everything he got, but poor, beautiful Abigail didn't rate such ghastly treatment. He longed to rush out and save him from the disgusting shop owner and give him hugs of reassurance, but he knew the interference of a twelve-year-old she-boy would have no impact on what was happening. He, like the others, just had to hold on until events played themselves out.

 

Stanley Carrington felt slightly ill at ease as he strutted back and forth in the staff common-room. Fairyfield Grange may have been just a big old house turned into an institution to promote rampant sissiness, but it had all the outward trappings of an establishment of highbrow learning as far as he was concerned. He'd never been keen on formal education and had skipped school himself as soon as he'd learnt how to cheat with money, so he was feeling slightly out of place.

There came a knock on the door and he opened it at once.

"Nicholas, darlin'!"

"Hi, daddy," replied the solitary pupil standing outside, "I'm ever-so surprised to see you here today."

"Well, I've some business to do up north tomorrow, an' since I was drivin' by so close I took the opportunity to pop in and see how you're gettin' on. It was good of the headmistress to let you out of class at such short notice. Come on in and shut the door, she says we can have this room for as long as we like."

For a moment he silently observed his son. It had been several months since he'd last seen him and he was surprised by his appearance. The boy was just as small and cute as he remembered, but there was something else. He was beautiful. That was an awful way for a man to describe his own son, but he definitely was. His lashes were long and fluttering, and his face was gorgeous enough to be on a magazine cover. The short gymslip was a shock too. He knew Nicholas had been sent away to a cross-dress school for sissies, and he knew in such a place boys would be taught to enjoy dressing as girls and to act like them, but he hadn't expected the people here would be so open in showing off boys in skirts.

But he wasn't going to complain. Nicky did look beautiful in a pleasing, girlish kind of way. He was a delicate little thing and as pretty as anything.

He made a good looking girl. Slender and lithe, with flushed, warm cheeks and a soft mouth, and his bare legs were superb. Better than his sister's, and he could easily envisage them encased in silky, black stockings. Taken as seen he was more than enough to make a blokes prick stir in his trousers. "You really should call me Nicola not Nicholas when you're here you know." the boy said softly.

"Sod all the changin' o' names, I reckon I'll call you Nicky like I's allus done.

"Mummy says shortening names is a tasteless, common thing to do."

The mention of his snob of a wife rankled Stanley Carrington, and his contempt for her pompous, la-de-dah attitudes were not hidden in his response.

"Aye, I know, but she'll put up with my common ways while I keep givin' her plenty o' cash to spend."

He was a man of common origins himself, but he was financially astute as well as devious and he made a good living from selling dubious get-rich-quick schemes to greedy, gullible people. He was the past owner of a score of business's, the assets of which he always cleverly salted away before declaring them bankrupt. Names were of little concern to him since he was in the habit of inventing different names for himself each time he promoted a fresh scam.

A certain affluence was noticeable about him from the expensive three-piece suit he wore, but he didn't wear affluence or suits well, having a broad body with something of a large belly, and jowls that folded down over his collar.

He sat on one of the horsehair sofas and beckoned the boy to sit beside him. Nicky noticed at once how lumpy Stanley's trousers seemed in the front, and he realised that his daddy already had a 'big one' in his pants. His fathers expression mellowed as he perched beside him. "Whilst I was in Leeds I bought yu a little gift. A music player an' a couple o' cassettes."

Nicky beamed with delight as the items were laid on the coffee table in front of him. "Wow, disco music! That'll liven things up around here. You're very kind. Thank you daddy."

The man's thoughts at that moment were far removed from being selfless, they were wild and sordid, and he was becoming excited just contemplating them. When he'd found out his son was a shameless little hornball who lifted his shirt for just about everybody there was no way he was going to miss out on the fun, and it had been damned infuriating when his wife sent the kid off to boarding school while he was away on business. Heck! He'd sampled the creampuffs charms half a dozen times.

"What's this place like? Was it difficult to get used to?"

Nichola smiled martyr-like. "Everyone's quite strict. The prefects are allowed to strap our hands, and the ladies smack our bottoms if we complain."

"Ah yes, I see! Quick to knock you into shape are they? Best to do as you're told eh! Well that's school life for you." He gave his son a sideways glance. "You know it wasn't my idea to send you here. I'd much prefer you to be at home, but there wasn't much chance o' that happening when your mother found out you'd been wearin' yer sister's knickers - and when you slipped into a nightie that time your school friends came to sleep-over - it was the last straw."

Nicola pouted. "I'm a sissy daddy, I've always been a sissy. I wanted to be like everyone else, but I also wanted to wear panties and nighties and pretty dresses, and then I had this urge to make love with boys, and with men."

Stanley loved the way Nicky batted his eyes when he added the 'and men' bit. Until recently he'd only had women for sex and hadn't realised that sissies were like women, only better.

He did the only thing he could think to do at that moment. He lifted the back of Nicky's little skirt and pushed a paternal hand down the back of his panties.

Nicola moved only to wriggle his bottom against the intruding palm. His father nuzzled his girly-son's hair. The boy smelt fresh with a slight hint of scented shampoo - or was it perfume? Tranny-boys at this school probably wore perfume, and they all probably gushed and went drippy in a man's arms. He hoped they did.

His daddy kissed Nicky, putting his tongue in his mouth and practically making him swoon, then he put a hand up the front of his skirt and rubbed his panties, stroking the outline of his sissy-cock with his fingers. "Kind daddy's need to be thanked properly. Do you remember how to do that?" he slurred as he planted a series of kisses down the side of his sissy-son's luscious, smooth face, licked his ear, then kissed him right on the lips and slipped him some more tongue. Nicky returned it with a squirmy lick.

Nicky had suspected the reason for his fathers visit the moment he'd been told he was waiting in the common-room, and sure enough daddy was now giving tongue-kisses. The boy lay back and accepted everything without complaint, and the way his small light body squirmed around put the finishing touches to the erection that had been rising up in Stanley Carrington's trousers all the way to Fairyfield Grange. One of his hands ran down the child's body searching for his legs, then plunged up his skirt to pull off his knickers, drooling at the sight of his little pink treasure.

Nicky blushed. So did his daddy, but it was his own dick that showed stiff and drippy.

"Shall I get undressed?" he asked softly as his underwear was tugged over his feet.

Stanley shivered with pleasure. "No, no. The girl's clothes add a bit of extra sauce t'your appeal, darlin'. Let's just lift the skirt up onto your tummy."

Nicky leaned back and draped up the front of his gymslip, and his father smiled at the sight of his genitals. Their foregoing bit of intimacy had made the boy's penis rigid to the extent that when Stanley used two fingers to bend it down like a lever, the length of anatomy twanged right up and nearly smacked against Nicky's belly when released. His son was one of those kids who's hard-on pointed straight up at his chin, and Stanley loved that, believing that the angle of elevation was an indicator of horniness.

"Your sissy wank-stick comes up luvely, it's bigger than I remember. Is it loaded?"

Nicky gazed into his fathers face, and offered as an answer the tiniest of grins at the corners of his mouth.

"Here, spread yer legs an' let me have a proper look at you," urged the man as he pushed the boy's knees apart. "Yer allus did have a cute pair o' balls, and' since yer a ravin'-faggot you shouldn't mind me holdin' 'em when I plays with yer dick."

He spat on his hand, then slathered the spittle onto his son's pretty jewels and dragged the soft sheath of skin down from its streamlined tip. "Nice knob! I bets it get plenty o' attention from all the other randy sods here, so you won't mind if your daddy takes a turn, will yer?"

Without waiting for a reply he began jacking Nicky with the deft hand movements of a milkmaid, becoming flushed with delight when he detected the young cock distending further.

The pure eroticism of what was happening thrust Nicky into a kind of euphoria, "Oh, daddy that feels good. Keep rubbing me. I like it." Very quickly his breathing became more audible and his hips began to move with the rhythm of the paternal hand.

Stanley smiled, pleased to see how quick to arouse his little fuck-monkey of a son was. Briskly he leaned down and began to lick his balls with slow, wet laps, and Nicky squealed with sissy delight. pulled his own cock out from his trousers and wrapped one of Nicky's hands around the thick shaft, and at once the boy started to pump it.

"Uh!" The sissyboy gasped in startled surprise when Stanley deliberately dribbled more spittle onto his index finger and wedged its tip between his clenched buttocks. He'd expected it and should have been ready, but it still surprised him as it sought out and found the portals of his sweet girlyboy anus. Stanley didn't probe into the small sissy backside however, he merely stroked across the delicate pucker with his wet finger and concentrated on watching the dewy tip of Nicky's young popsy bobbing up and down in the ring of his fist. Fitfully he awaited the first leap of cream from its flaring eye.

"Uh, uh, uh, uh!"

The instant it splashed out Stanley's mouth went down to meet it and gather it on his tongue, at the same time he took the opportunity to sucking up all the other subsequent little bursts as they happened. He still had the youngsters cum in his mouth when Nicky stopped his jerking, and he took time to enjoy its flavour as he moved it around his taste zones. It was slick, slightly slimy, and if it had been anything else it would probably have been nauseous, but just knowing where it came from made all the difference. There was rather a lot of it, and as he looked at Nicky's flushed radiant face he just could resist leaning forward.

Nicky realised his father was going to kiss him again and allowed himself to be pulled into position. Mouths pressed together and the man adjusted his lips and swilled the cum-load on his tongue into his son's mouth, then held the kiss as he used Nicky's mouth as a mixing bowl in which his tongue swirled semen around with saliva.

On drawing away Stanley stroked Nicky's throat until he saw him swallow, then he swivelled round to display the enormous perpendicular cock he'd drawn out from his fly.

"Come here to y'daddy, y'gorgeous sissy-fag."

The little teaser batted his eyes, slid from the couch and shuffled between his father's knees.

"Make a pretty 'o' with yer mouth an' show me your smeary tongue." Stanley demanded, "Lick around your lips as you stare at my cock an' pull down my pants."

Nicky blushed and moved right up to him, his hands grasping the already gaping front of his daddy's trousers, then he pressed his mouth on the man's hairy belly as he hauled the garment down over his hips. Without being told he licked down his belly, then lower, holding the man's big dick as he kissed his balls.

Stanley quivered with lust. "Ah, yes. That's good. You're makin' me hot for you honey. Yer makin' me hot just like a bitch-boy faggot should. I'm ready now. I'm ready for my favourite bit Nicky. Give it to me. Climb up and straggle my thighs. I want to feel that sweet boy pussy of yours slidin' down over my randy dick."

The boy pushed himself up with some uncertainty. "Are you sure it's okay to do sex-stuff here?"

"Of course," Stanley cooed, "That headmistress woman promised nobody would disturb us, an' just to make certain, I've locked the door. Come and sit on my lap."

He sat on the rim of the couch and patted his knees, then reached for the hot little sissy-lad and hoisted him forward. "Ups-a-daisy, there we go."

The little doll sat on his daddy' lap and started to kiss him. He liked that. They both liked it.

Nicky swung a leg across his fathers broad thighs and after a little fidgeting his bottom hole came to rest on the fat tip of his cock. "Just relax, darlin' and open up for daddy. You know how to do it. Let daddy in."

The boy reached behind and grasped the horny meat that was pestering him, then he slipped the smooth end of it between his bottom cheeks, relaxed his anus, and settled down. The girth of the thing made his body tense, and just feeling it slid up and push against his sphincter made him buckle at the waist slightly, but being experienced in such matters he didn't shrink from taking it all. As well as being rather big his father's cock had a curve to it, and he could feel its progress as it bullied a route all the way up his anal tract and into his rectum.

They embraced while the man gently raised and lowered him on his daddy-meat, holding onto his son's slim hips and pulling out slightly, before thrusting back, while Nicky twisted his hips juicily, making his father grimace with delight at each exquisite little traverse.

Once Stanley almost extracted his entire length, and asked if the boy was okay. When Nicky said he was fine, he slid it right back in and buried it up to its root.

"Oooh! You're big." Nicky groaned.

"No bigger than what you've managed before, m'muv. 'Ere, lift up a bit an' do a little jiggle-about on me knob-end. Aah! Now down gain, right down. Ooop! Yes, you's a right little hot-pot an' no mistake, Nicky darlin'. That little sissy arse o' yours is a devil at gettin' me juices movin'.

His daddy pumped again, pausing to adjust his position, then doing it again.

No longer slow or gentle, he ploughed into the boy. "Uuuuuh, da-dad - oh fuck -owwhhh!" Nicky jerked about and gasped, but his daddy kept on slamming into him, pushing up whist dragging him down to meet him, balls slapping against him, cock filling him up.

Stanley had almost forgotten how exquisite it was to have a little bum-hole squirming around on his prick, but unbeknown to him his son had developed a quality of rare expertise. Nicky's muscles were young and strong and he was able to twist his hips and find the best position to milk the straining daddyish flesh inside. He began to ride it hard, sliding up and down the length of stiff meat until the man who owned it was groaning helplessly.

"Ooorrr! That's it - that's the way!" Stanley enthused. "Work yer arse up and down on yer daddies stiff dick. Yer so tight. You're a better shag than yer mother."

He loved it. His son was so warm, so moist. His cloying flesh gripped a lustful paternal-cock so tightly, urging him on, making him yearn to fill a darling little bum full of paternal cum.

Soon he was ready to finish, his balls were drawn up tight, and the attention of all his senses centred on his throbbing cock and the delightful pinching and squeezing it was receiving from the constricts of Nicky's anus. He would have enjoyed staying around to screw the sissy-fag again, because he always lasted longer the second time, but he had too many other things to do that day.

Nicky grimaced, and his eyes widened. "I - I - I ..." He felt a sudden pulsing and jerking inside that made his anus twitch. "Oh, yes. Do it daddy," he urged amid pleasure and pain, "Enjoy yourself. Do it all into me."

"Ooorrrh, yeh, ooorrrh!" A deluge of cream gushed along Stanley's length as the boys buttocks bounced on his testicles. His cock strained and swelled in its tight confines, while his body shook and arched as he rid himself of the delicious ache that had possessed his genitals all that morning. "Christ! I may not last long, but I don't 'alf give a lad's innards a good lathering." he finally murmured with euphoric satisfaction.

 

The abrupt, unexpected jangle of the telephone startled Parson Roper, the hollow acoustics of the church vestry making its alarm particularly unpleasant. Although it was unseemly for a man of the clothe he couldn't restrain himself from uttering a profanity under his breath as he reached over from his seat to lift the receiver.

"Roper - Parson Roper."

The high-octane voice of Mrs Boroclough blazed away at him from somewhere in the distance.

"Parson, I'm sitting at home brooding about that awful Hancock woman. It really is intolerable that after so long she's still allowed to operate that frightful so-called school of hers within the parish of Peasmarsh."

Roper smiled wanly. "Dear Mrs Boroclough, I'm certain we've had this conversation before, and you must get out of the habit of taking the troubles of the world upon your shoulders. Is it the form of dress worn by her pupils that trouble you?"

"Certainly the school uniforms are a great concern. It's improper, not to say grossly indecent to have boys dressed in a style more appropriate for girls. What on earth is that woman thinking of? Does she think we're so dim as to believe they really are girls?"

"I think she's more concerned with keeping a low profile and avoiding confrontation, Mrs Boroclough. If she's infringed the law-of-the-land I'm sure she'd not be allowed to continue. Clearly she and the people who send their children into her care have taken a radical step away from tradition, but we can't pillory them for just wishing to pursue a different way of life to our own."

"Parson you're infuriating. You should be condemning her from the pulpit and lambasting her at every turn. You should be leading our fight against her insidious mockery of standards, instead of which you practically condone it. Why, I believe you still visit the Grange once a month to take morning service. Sometimes it seems that I and the ladies of the Guild are the only sane people around.

"I'm utterly frustrated - even Lady Diana refuses to get involved. I really fail to understand the apathy that grips everyone about this business."

"Do try to be charitable, Mrs Boroclough. Times are changing and I'd be considered a fuddy-duddy priest if I didn't make some effort to change with them. People have freedom these days to experiment with unorthodox ways of life, and if I'm to retain any credibility with them I must be prepared to understand that. My interest is solely in maintaining Christian values, and it's impossible to see any immorality in the way people dress. If your concern is that Fairyfield Grange is not fulfilling its purported role as a school it would be better to draw the matter to the attention of the Board of Education."

There was a pause, then a caustic conclusion from the woman. "I can't thank you for anything you've said, parson. You're a hypocrite and you've not been in the least bit helpful or reassuring, but I won't let the matter rest with you. I'll speak to Alec Grimshaw tomorrow. He chairs the Education Committee at County Hall, and I'm sure I'll get more sense out of him."

Roper replaced the handset and drummed his fingers on top of it in annoyance for a moment, then a smile erupted on his face and he turned to the apprehensive slim-hipped boy standing next to his chair. "Now, where were we before the interruption?" He looked at the front of the lads trousers, at the handsome young balls hanging from the open fly, and at the stiff uprisen penis.

"Aye yes, lovely! he beamed.

Ashen faced, the boy gulped. "Was that my gran' on the phone?"

"Yes, yes it was. But she wasn't asking about you Alister, so there's no need to fret."

How odd, pondered the parson. How uncanny of the woman to phone just at the moment he was engrossed in 'interviewing' her grandson.

With no more hesitation he reached out to undo the boys pants and haul them down to his knees, then the podgy fingers of his left hand stroked between his slender, hairless thighs and touched his testicles, while those of his right wrapped around the glorious boy-penis. Gently he eased the child forward until his knees butted against the arm of the chair. He sensed the lads nervousness, his heart pounding in anticipation of what was to happen next.

"Your grandmother will be very pleased to know you've been elected lead-singer in the choir, won't she, Alister?" he murmured as he began to jerk the aroused juvenile flesh.

Alister had a nice one, he thought. Probably four inches long when on heat, which made him well endowed for his age. Enthusiastically he continued with the action he'd been pursuing before the telephone had interrupted, peeling back the choirboys pretty foreskin and pumping it. Up and down. Back and forth. The gossamer-like skin on the tip of the young cock pulled back to reveal the meatiness within - opening like lips around the precious glands. The scrotum was small and pale and wrinkled underneath.

"Such a pure voice, so angelic - like crystal-clear water tumbling over pebbles in a mountain stream. Your rendition of the Mendelssohn anthem tonight was quite wonderful. You'll make everyone so proud, won't you?"

"Y-yes, parson."

"It'll be a couple of years before your voice breaks, so we can do wonderful things with you. It will mean you having to stay-on after choir-practise every week for some one-to-one tuition, but the end will justify the means, eh!"

For a moment Alister gazed down with relative calm at the hand joggling his flesh, then the incessant stimulation began to take effect. "Ooh, Mr Roper - oooh Parson!" His loins trembled and his whole body began to feel hot.

"A delectable young boner, quite lovely!" praised the clergyman, "So sturdy and upright, so solid and attractive." His eyes glimmered as his hand skimmed up and down. "You like this, don't you? You enjoy it when someone does it for you. The other boys tell me you expel commendably when handled right, so you'd better tell me when your going to squirt."

"Ooh - oh, s-sir!"

"It's a shame we have to hurry tonight. I know from experience that young boys need a lot of milking to keep them placid and content, so you must mention to your mother that you'll be home later following practise in the future."

Roper watched as the mushroom shape on the tip of the boys appendage became quite red and its flaring eye exuded a translucent juice to baste its smooth contours.

"You're getting wet. Lovely! Are you going to do it now Alister? Are you ready?"

Feeling naughty, the parson used a fingertip to enter the lads bottom. Although only probing to the depth of a fingernail it was enough to do the loveable boy in.

"Oouff, ooh!" Alister began to whimper, then his little balls overloaded and erupted as his perfect bottom contracted on the mans fingertip. His hips suddenly jerked up to oppose the downward push of the man's fingers and a small streak of dense white cream leapt from his cock-head to splash on the knuckles of the ministering hand.

"That's it, that's it! Empty it out." urged Roper, wiggling his finger around in its tight enclosure while squeezing and caressing the youthful twitching length of spurting boy-meat. "Mmm, yes. A good show. Lovely!" Alister sagged slightly and looked guilty, but unconcerned the parson drew back and wiped his smeared hand with a bright red-spotted handkerchief before also wiping the boys penis.

"Tuck everything away and do yourself up Alister. And remember, no word of this to anyone. What happens between us during extra tuition is confidential. It would be embarrassing for both of us if your mummy or granny got to know of it."

There was no chance of betrayal. Alister's young face had lost its earlier expression of uncertainty and now glowed with the bliss experienced by all freshly wanked boys. Roper gave the seat of his trousers an affectionate pat.

"Now, off you go, and do thank your dear mother for the arum lilies she provided to brighten up the chancel, they really are an inspiration."

His sixteen stone sagged in the chair as he watched Alister go out from the room, and he reflected on the way the child's mother had unknowingly provided him with the choicest blossom of all with her son. When the door closed his thoughts veered away to what Mrs Boroclough had said earlier. What was she getting all hot under the collar for? Getting all hysterical over a few boys cavorting about in gymslips! A lot of people enjoyed observing boys dressed as girls. They liked to watch pretty sissy-things in a skirt pout and preen. It worked well if the boys were as attractive as girls, and Miss Hancock's clutch of effeminate's had even had him guessing for a while.

Young Alister was pretty, he mused. He owned a sweet face and a petite body, his bottom was the tiniest boy-bum he'd seen in ages and it was easily the cutest little rear he'd ever wanted to fuck. He'd check out Marks and Spencer's when next in Leeds and see what they had in stock for a trendy junior miss. He was sure he could persuade the dear boy to wear nylons and a pair of revealing thong-pants eventually, and they would be the perfect accessories to some of the salacious activities he planned. He fondled the bulge in his trousers that had persisted over the previous hour. It was a shame Mrs Boroclough became so upset over trivial things. Just how many people really knew what was happening at the Grange? Who else apart from her and her acolytes actually cared?

The vestry door was suddenly flung open and Mrs Amos appeared, waving a feather duster in one hand and dragging a vacuum-cleaner by the other. "I seen the lad leavin'. Is it all right t'do in 'ere now?"

"Well ..." began Roper.

"I allus let's you finish what you've got to do before I comes in 'ere. That's only right an' proper o' course, but you stays so late wi' some of the boys on choir-practise nights I sometimes don't get done meself."

The parson didn't respond, instead he scooped up a book laying on the table in front of him and flicked it open. THE DISSOLUTION OF THE ENGLISH MONASTERIES was a tome of 700 pages, big enough to hide in and give some distraction from the ache that still lingered in his trousers. He'd hardly focused before an element of modern-day curiosity caused his head to rise.

"You're employed at Fairyfield, aren't you, Mrs Amos?"

The woman's hand released the vacuum-cleaner and it dropped to the floor with a clatter.

"I does cleanin' like I does 'ere. Mornin's there, and evenings 'ere for you."

"Have you ever been disturbed by anything there? Does anything upset you when you visit?"

"Only that 'orrible woman Gloria what says I's skivvin' if I stops to catch me breath."

"Nothing odd about the children? Nothing unusual?"

Her eyes narrowed slyly. "I's not allowed anything to do wi' 'em, parson. Us cleaners is allus kept away from the little luv's."

She gave a nearby shelf a timid flick with the feather duster. "Where's Mrs Roper then? Gone to visit her mum again as she?"

Roper nodded. "The health of my wife's mother is a tragically fragile thing."

"Shame! It'll be a worry fer Mrs Roper, an' it must be a burden to you too, parson. I knows how a gennelman needs t'be fussed by a woman, an' you'll be missin' that."

The parson observed her with some apprehension. He'd known Mrs Amos long enough to recognise the meaning at the heart of her words, and he couldn't help but quake as she walked around the side of his desk. As he turned towards her he inadvertently made a display of the excitement that persisted in his trousers and Mrs Amos noticed it at once.

"I's already locked the door, parson." she breathed as she clambered down before him and became installed on her knees between his legs. "That lad jus' now - he didn't stay long, so you'll probably need something done I 'spect."

"Mrs Amos, I don't think ..."

"Oh, dunna worry parson, it's a real treat for me too."

Her hands went straight to his trousers and an agonising moment was endured as her fingers wrestled with some obstinate buttons. But finally his fly was undone and she fumbled it open to release his rigid penis. The swollen purple head of his thick peg sprang forth, its eye already leaking in anticipation.

Mrs Amos didn't wait for direction in any way. She reached for the lolling erection and swung it up to lap its juicy tip, then slid her tongue under the corona of the bloated knob before sheathing the clergyman's entire length in her mouth.

Puffing heavily Parson Roper rolled back while the woman made noises in a throat like those of a thirsty labourer guzzling a bottle of beer. Mrs Amos wasn't at all good looking, he thought, she was rather ugly really, but he'd allowed her to do little things like this in the past because along with her enthusiasm her lips had a surprising deft touch that was extremely enjoyable. If he closed his eyes he could imagine Alister or one of the other choirboys making a meal of him, and that wasn't at all bad. No, it wasn't bad at all. She was good with her mouth, and however strongly he ejaculated she never pulled away or even flinched, and since much of her own satisfaction seemed to come from the pleasure she provided she was disappointed if the quantity if his emission was anything but large.

 

Sunlight blazed through the tall window in Jennifer's room to glorify it's drabness and disorder. The carpet and curtains were chestnut brown, the walls and paintwork grey. On one side of the room stood shelves stuffed with books and magazines piled in disarray, while on the other, garnished with coffee stains, stood a radio cassette player and a heap of music cassettes. The bed was still rumpled and unmade from her previous nights sleep even though it was 8-0-clock in the evening, and discarded clothing and undergarments lay in piles on the floor. Clothing also draped the chair in the corner and gave an impression of utter unconcern with the mundane aspects of life such as tidiness. The only decorations favoured appeared to be several posters on the walls that depicted beautiful young women with cruel eyes and contemptuous smiles.

Like many teenagers Jennifer showed no concern about living amid disorganisation and mess, and only when her clean clothes became entirely mixed with soiled laundry did she feel a need to sort out the shambles. It was an annoyance, but it caused her no real effort, for she saw no point in exerting herself doing chores whilst there were so many precious sissies in the building who could do things for her, and a short walk along the dormitory landing always produced what she needed.

She hadn't even got that far when she came across four of them bunched together in a window recess outside Miss Twist's room. They had all been crying, and the flutter of skirts and brief glimpse of knickers hastily pulled up didn't altogether hide the red smarting of freshly smacked bottoms. Spank marks that attested of their recent visit to the tutor. "YOU, come here." she barked at one of them.

They all gawked at her, then gazed at each other, not sure of who she was addressing.

Impatiently she stormed over, grabbed one of the weepy angels by an ear, and dragged him away.

"I mean you, you stupid pansy - come with me!"

Her choice wasn't as ad-hoc as it seemed. She'd chosen Zoe, an individual who was habitually neat and tidy about everything, and who would require only minimal direction to make order out of chaos. Ignoring his look of horror when faced with the state of her room, and disregarding the fact that he was still red-eyed and clutching his bottom, she put him to work, then reclined on the unmade bed where she could read a magazine and still be available for advice on where to put things.

She rarely spanked a sissy for any other reason than self- indulgence anymore, or because they were morons who couldn't follow instructions properly. Once they'd experienced her capricious nature they never argued or questioned too much, and although they sometimes whimpered or sulked they certainly never defied her. Doing as she said was always the most comfortable way of dealing with Jennifer. Sometimes their abject submission made her feel sexy. She became intoxicated by it. Their squirming hesitation and indecision made her feel powerful, and it reaffirmed her belief that they could never be her equal.

Despite being sexually aware for a number of years she was still a virgin in the sense she'd never copulated with a boy or a man. At age ten, while at boarding school, she had sat in a circle of friends and together they had all destroyed their own virginity with the handle of a hairbrush. Since then she had satisfied her sexual needs with a combination of masturbation and fleeting affairs with other girls, and right from the start she'd been determined that no male who couldn't beat her in a fight would be allowed to fuck her. She didn't doubt that somewhere there was one, but by her sixteenth year she was still waiting for him to appear. She had always been physically strong, and she maintained her fitness with habitual gym-work. Being seen to be so capable frightened boys away, but she had no emotional need of them, and her biggest thrill came from dominating their plurile minds whenever she had the chance.

Nowhere had that been better demonstrated than at St Paul's, an old redbrick, all-boys school on the verge of becoming co-educational. She had been among the first girls to board there in what was termed a 'pilot-scheme'. Shortage of dormitory accommodation had meant having a room of her own, a privilege shrugged off by older boys, but resented by those her own age, and one evening four young rapscallions had burst in on her intent on frightening her into relinquishing it.

When she laid into the ringleader with a couple of hefty punches the others shrank back and were easily herded into a corner, and as they cowered, trapped and fearful in front of her fists she had experienced the first trill of the kind of power she would later come to relish. She'd recognised the full extent of her own strength, and so before agreeing to set them free she'd demanded a forfeit, giving them the option of pissing in their pants, or of removing their pants and submitting to a girl-spank. They had all chosen the less messy alternative, and it was a sad and respectful quartet of sobbing little boys who had departed her room that night.

Those same four boys became her slaves and 'fagged' for her all the time she remained at St Paul's. She had them devise a roster whereby one of them cleaned her room and ran her errands every day, and to maintain her dominance she made the duty-fag perform his cleaning tasks with his prickie dangling out from the front of his pants. Each Sunday evening she would bring the four together, order them to undress, and then make them stand in line to be spanked over her lap.

That was fine until the headmaster caught her 'red-handed'. He'd entered the room to find three naked little boys with cherry-red bottoms draped over the furniture, and a forth becoming increasingly rosy across her knees. It couldn't have been worse, since the boy being smacked was the headmaster's own son.

She'd been given the sack, of course. The reputation of his school wouldn't allow the headmaster to make too much of her disgraceful antics, but she had to go. Then at the end of the interview at which he'd given her his solemn decision, the perverse, over-rightious old duffer had offered her money if she'd give him a wank.

Ha! She'd told him she didn't care about money, but she'd do it if he gave her a photo-set of his son, naked and tossing himself off.

How he managed it she didn't ask, but on the morning of her departure she was called to the headmasters office, and just such a set was handed to her. A dozen photographs of a naked young boy laying on a bed, diligently pulling on his stiff dickie.

She'd kept her part of the deal, but not without inserting a small revenge. After squeezing and pushing on the old man's cock for a while she'd stuffed it back into his trousers at the precise moment he was about to ejaculate, and she'd stood back smiling, while with an expression of helpless horror etched on his face the guy pumped a great load of sticky gook into his pants.

Zoe was extremely efficient. Half an hour to tidy up. Fifteen minutes with a vacuum-cleaner and another fifteen with duster and polish and her room took on an ambience of wholesomeness. Everything was in perfect order, the clothing sorted; clean in the closet, dirty in a bag for the wash, shoes reassembled in pairs and laid tidily in the bottom of a cupboard.

Jennifer found herself glancing up at him, watching him longer and longer each time. There was something enchanting about the precise, fussy way he did things, quickly tucking, folding and smoothing. There was definitely something erotic about him too. His slender bare legs were a focal point that introduced a trim young figure that wore a skirt well. And he was a tease when he leaned forward, the little skirt repeatedly sliding up the back of his thighs, promising a glimpse of underwear and a show of smooth bum cheeks, but never quite doing so.

She was most comfortable when wearing few clothes, and at that moment she wore her blouse open at the neck and no bra. She could feel the points of her nipples moving against fine cotton, and she couldn't resist squeezing her thighs together, covertly bringing tension to her muscles and applying pressure to the moist slit and small throbbing nodule between her legs. There was something incredibly sexy about being so utterly in command of a pretty boy in a gymslip. Watching him gave her pleasure, but he wasn't allowed to know it.

Sitting up she looked around the room and noted how the previous shambles had been converted into meticulous neatness. "Your skill is impressive, Zoe." she told him in a low, velvety voice.

"I like to see things tidy." he answered.

Jennifer beckoned him towards her, then ran her fingers along the bottom hem of his brief skirt to enjoy having her hand in close proximity with his thighs. "Why did Miss Twist need to punish you earlier?"

"We were just dancing. Susan, Alice, Nicola and I. Just dancing, and she caught us."

"I don't recall dancing being against the rules. Mr Hardwick teaches dance.

Were you doing country-dancing or jive?"

"Nicola Carrington had a disco-cassette."

"Disco!" Jennifer frowned, "All jumping about and twisting around to noises without rhythm! Yes, Miss Twist is a bit stodgy about things like that, and she'd probably think that sort of music quite unsuitable for nice young girls."

"She said it was inelegant. She said it was unladylike and she confiscated Nicola's cassette. Then she slippered everyone's bottom."

"On the bare?"

"Yes, knickers down and over that horrid hurdle in her room."

Jennifer contemplated that for a moment, four darling little girlie-boys going over Emma Twist's hurdle one after the other, heads right down, and little bare bums pushed high. No wonder they were all blubbing so wonderfully when she'd found them.

She tapped her fingers against her teeth, thoughtfully admiring Zoe's shining eyes, his peach coloured skin, his neatly combed hair and slender waist. His figure was finely honed, graceful and girly and his features blemishless, and she found it impossible to resist the chance to amuse herself with the sweet little queen.

"Show me how you danced."

Zoe looked rather startled. "Oh, but I'm not really very good."

"Nonsense. I think you're being modest. Look here. I've some disco-music on my player, and Miss Twist won't confiscate that." She slotted a cassette onto the player and watched as Zoe hesitated and then began to sway his head with the music. Knowing that Jennifer's temper was fragile and her smiles mere subterfuge, he dared not refuse her urging, and slowly he started to bop.

Awkward at first, he was far from being a disappointment, but he lacked the vitality and spontaneity Jennifer wanted. Among his peers, with the sissies he hugged and kissed constantly she reckoned he probably sparkled, but in front of her, a girl, he was inhibited and mechanical. His expression said it all. His face was strained with embarrassment instead of naughty pouts and suggestive smiles.

Then slowly he began to relax and make the most of the confines of the room, weaving with the drumbeat, swaying his hips and rotating his pelvis, gesticulating with hands and arms whilst skipping about. Despite his earlier reservations he was suddenly moving exquisitely, and although hiis unconscious undulations had no specific form each had clearly been perfectly choreographed by practised repetition in the past. His movements became ever more fluid and synchronised, and his short skirt swirled around the tops of his thighs with seeming abandon, but ingeniously, infuriatingly, still excluded the slightest peep at his knickers.

Languidly, Jennifer shifted her position on the sofa and crossed her legs. The sissy-poppet looked so sweet and vulnerable, so suitable for some other little game.

She switched the music off while her eyes lingered on him. His poised stance was a sinuous curve, a flowing line. With an easy stretch she swapped the track on the player to music of a slow beat that matched the fall of pitch in her voice.

"You disco-dance wonderfully Zoe. You're a natural mover. Tell you what, why not do a little striptease for me."

Zoe immediately blushed. "S-striptease!"

"Yes, let me see you get your kit off. I bet you put on a show for the other squeaky-creatures in your dormitory sometimes, so you shouldn't find it hard to do the same for me."

The sissy's blush deepened. He felt uncomfortable performing in front of her, but his talent for such things was unquestionable. With a tentative initial twirl he started to move his hips in a subdued bump-and-grind as he unfastened the loosely knotted waist band on his gymslip, then pushed the smock from one shoulder, and then the other before gathering the garment in his fists and sliding it down over his hips.

Jennifer hugged herself. He had a straight up and down figure without a hint of girlish hips, but his supple gyrations were suggestive enough without such attributes. Oh, yes. He'd command a good audience of little queers in the dormitories. Whole roomfuls of sissy cocks would throb and stand to attention.

"Take your time. Be unhurried and graceful. Peel things off with a dainty flow, and try not to look so anxious. You're supposed to be teasing so you should have a naughty sparkle in your eyes."

Zoe couldn't sparkle, he was far too embarrassed for that. The removal of his blouse left him half naked; shoes and socks, a skimpy halter-top high on his chest, and knickers - white knickers that clung snug to his hips and made a show of the gibbous shapes inside them.

Despite his shyness the shameless act of disrobing had begun to excite him, and the front of his tiny pants bowed forward.

He took the halter-top off over his head with crossed arms, tugging the tight material past his ears before gazing at his mentor with concern. "Must I take off my panties too?"

Jennifer stared at his little bellybutton and the soft creamy skin of his slender abdomen. He looked so delightfully uncertain as his nervous hands stroked slowly up and down his belly and hips.

"Yes, of course your panties too. Surely you're not shy about showing me your willy, are you? I've seen it plenty of times before."

"Yes, yes I know. But - but stripteasing is different, it makes me feel sort of odd."

Zoe's eyes dipped to the floor and he fumbled gingerly with his pants, sliding the palms of his hands down his hips and beneath the elastic, easing the clinging garment down to allow just a brief glimpse of his stiff boner, before whirling about to uncover a superb little bare bottom.

At last, thought Jennifer. The elusive bum finally revealed.

Stepping out from his pants the pink blush on the sissy-boys cheeks blossomed anew as his penis, which until that moment had been about the size of his thumb in dimension, hardened quickly. His heart was pumping strongly and it was only natural under the circumstances that a lot of blood would flow there. It swelled and lengthened, thickened and became erect, and at last free of restriction, it bounced up solid and full of tension. It was at least five inches long with a nice broad tip, and being entirely hairless seemed to emphasis its size and shape, a shape that assumed a slight upward curve that for Jennifer was aesthetically pleasing. His testes were quite large too and hung low with the fullness of a boy established in puberty. Zoe's hands fluttered in an impulse to hide it all, but in the end he left everything exposed. He knew Jennifer would only demand it anyway.

Other girls - and plenty of women - would have found the temptation to make use of his exquisite little fuck-toy overwhelming, but Jennifer scorned the very idea. She sought her thrills in obscure and deviant ways. She stood, and then walked over to stand behind him. His body was as smooth as a billiard ball, his penis and testicles showing slightly pink when observed against the uniform creamy hue of his nakedness. His upraised cock was circumcised and displayed a handsome broad tip, and she could almost feel the tension in the straining sinews of the thrusting shaft.

"You ARE a bad boy. Both a bad boy and a naughty girl. Fancy showing your randy sissy-wee to a lady!"

Zoe's head drooped as he felt her scrutiny. Bless him! thought Jennifer cynically and rather gleefully. He probably didn't turn a hair when being ogled by boys, he probably loved it, but being inspected by a girl was something completely different. He, like most of the little fruitcakes at Fairyfield Grange had been denied contact with girls for years, and such creatures were inevitably shy and modest little lambs when facing an aggressive one in an intimate situation.

She gave in to a mood of the moment, put out her tongue and licked his pink ears ... "Oh!" ... clamping her hands firmly onto his breasts, she then laid a gentle bite into the surface of his smooth, alabaster neck - no vampire sucking, just sharp teeth making his delicate soft skin dimple. It was a kind of statement. It was a grip mother animals used to manipulate their young, and it reaffirmed to the creature that she was the boss. "Oh, oh!"

Aroused now, Jennifer ran her hands up and down his narrow back and smoothed them down over his thin waist, making the sissy-creampuff redden again as her fingers explored his buttocks and the insides of his slender thighs. Few situations could be more intimate than the one they were engaged in, and Jennifer emphasised that by gazing blatantly at his erection. "My! But you're a saucy little honey with your pants off, aren't you? Do you know about birds and bees yet, or do you only know about boys and being a limp-wristed tranny-queer?"

"I-I'm not sure I am queer, Jennifer. I don't know much about girls, but only because I've never been allowed to meet them often. I'm sure I'll be a normal boy one day."

"You'll always be a boy who dresses like a girl and plays girl's games. You like dancing and lipstick, and you like being admired by other boys. That all sounds queer to me?"

Zoe lowered his eyes and tears of despair began to well up. At that moment he was a picture of submissiveness, a state of mind that only encouraged Jennifer to smirk before she continued.

"A boy? No, you're a pillow-biting cock-lover. Real girls wouldn't want anything to do with a mincing she-thing like you. If dressing you like a doll didn't amuse them, they'd be likely to scratch out your eyes for being so pretty. It's probably best if you stay as you are. Just settle for being a pantywaist, man-loving faggot."

Zoe then realised there was no way back to his former life. The boy in him had been replaced by a simpering ultra-sissy whose sole purpose was to serve without question. Yet even as he considered his dreadful fate his penis throbbed.

It didn't go unobserved. "You can't put your panties back on with your girly-prick sticking out like that." Jennifer told him. "You're going to have to play with yourself and empty it."

"Do you really think I should? Do I have to?"

He was embarrassed all afresh. With other boys he'd be at ease, but when told to masturbate before a girl he was out of his depth, nervous and ashamed. How lovely!

His coy glances and fevered blushes were enough to stir her interest at once, but instead of laying on threats and forcing him to do it she amused herself with gentle admonitions and subtle, persuasive badgering, pretending empathy, hinting at sympathy, while all the time making him bend to her will.

"Oh dear! Are you shy, Zoe? Am I being awful?" She purred the questions in a soft cadence, barely managing to hide the underlying mockery in her voice. "I understand. Never mind. You need to get over such silliness. Sissy-boys like you will always have to do naughty things to please girls. You have to learn to do as they tell you, and without arguing, or they'll hurt you. They'll pinch you and tease you. They'll spank your little bottom and smack your balls, and they'll make you cry."

She drew back slightly, then added in a tone that for the first time veiled a threat. "I want to see you give your willy a good rub, but of course you must ask my permission before you start."

Zoe trembled. "Oh, lor! I don't really want to do anything like that. Can't I just get dressed?"

"No you can't. You'll do as I wish," Jennifer replied sharply, "Now, ask me."

The boys pretty mouth twisted and he prevaricated for a moment, then he lowered his eyes and squeezed out the request demanded. "May - may I play with myself, Jennifer?"

The girl's eyes shone with mischief. "Play with yourself! What a cute phrase. I bet you're not half so coy with language when you're with you're playmates. Speak plain and say what you mean."

Intimidated beyond delicacy, Zoe took a deep breath. "Oh, erm. Please Jennifer. Please may I have a wank?"

"That's better. Much better. And of course you may. I'll sit with you. You must learn what it's like to have your wanks supervised by girls."

She guided him across to the bed, then sitting him down on the edge she seated herself at his side, sliding an arm around his shoulders and using her other hand to stroke and knead his chest.

"Now then Zoe darling, make a start. Get working on your stiff, wicked wand."

The she-boy began at once, slowly pumping with his hand, then stealing a brief pause before continuing with more sustained movements.

Jennifer loved forcing boys to perform in front of her like that. It embarrassed them terribly, and it never failed to strip away their pride and destroy their dignity. She observed Zoe closer than ever at that moment and saw his eyes shimmer in a familiar glaze of rapture as his hand gripped into a fist around his stem and began strumming wildly up and down. Ah yes! Its head was reddish pink with an open pee-hole that was already drooling sticky stuff, and next would come the expression of dazed uncertainty and the breathless little gasps as it filled out and became fully extended. Then she'd hear the cacophony of his shameful sissy ecstasy as he became reduced to moaning and rubbing himself like billy-oh.

"That's it. That's nice. But do it faster." The girl urged him with the urgency of her own voice. Fully in command she pushed his knees apart in order to watch the bounce of his scrotum as it responded to the fervent yanking of his cock.

"Faster, faster! Give it a good workout, Yes, that's it. Rub-a-dub. It looks so swollen and stiff. Does it feel nice when your hand jerks it like that? Umm! Do you let the other sissies play with it sometimes? Do you ask them to suck it? I think they'd be beastly not to treat it nice."

The sissy-boy's lips, partially open, became contracted by a voluptuous agony, and with eyes now half closed, he seemed near to swooning. Despite his previous reluctance he had excited himself to a high pitch. Jennifer smiled and rubbed his belly. "I bet you're thinking about a boy kissing you and rubbing your stiff cock, aren't you Zoe dear? But that only confirms that you're a pantywaist sissy faggot."

"Oh - oh - oh - Jennifer, I-I ..."

"I know what you're trying to say. It's such a big, stiff thing now, isn't it? And you can't stop rubbing it, can you? It feels too nice, doesn't it? You couldn't stop rubbing it even if you wanted to, so go ahead and cum like sissies do."

She watched his face contorting, saw his hand pounding, listened to his bleating moans of distress. It became obvious his climax was upon him. The pleasure was so intense even she being there couldn't ruin it. "Ah, oh, oooh!" He slumped against her, pushing his cheek against her bosom whilst his mouth disgorged irrepressible noises of bliss. "Oh Jennifer! Ooooh, ooow!"

His shimmering eyes fluttered and he gasped with endured pain as milky semen exuded onto his tummy in fierce, unstoppable splutters.

Jennifer cradled him and quietly observed each squirt of his viscose seed. It made up a rather reasonable amount, rather impressive, but typically she sought to increase his embarrassment by exaggeration. "Mmm, my oh my! You are a spunky little madam, aren't you? Such a lot! Such a big load to get rid of, you naughty girly-wanker. Don't dare stop until you've got it all out."

Zoe couldn't stop. Even when his cream puddled in his navel his fingers didn't stop moving immediately. They wouldn't cease their squeezing and pulling until the delicious ache in his youthful stem had been worked out too.

"You are a disgusting sissy," Jennifer chastised playfully. "Fancy allowing a girl to watch while you make your willy pump out all that stuff."

She thrust a paper tissue in his hand. "Wipe up the mess. You're probably feeling ashamed, and quite right too. But I'll help you to get rid of your guilt by giving you a nanny-spank over my lap." The teasing light of humour that had danced in her eyes had now disappeared. She stood up and swung about to push him down across the bed.

"First though, I'll start by giving your legs a few slaps - inside the tops of your thighs where the flesh is tender. It'll sting I expect, and it'll make you weepy again, but I won't be cross with you if you cry. It's normal for boys being girlies to shed a few tears at times like these."

 

"Urgent?" Old man Larkin pressed the telephone receiver against his ear.

"Nothing in Peasmarsh is ever urgent. It's not that kind o' place." His face screwed up in discontent as the female voice on the other end of the line sniped at his senses, and while he listened he tried to distract himself from the snapping words by gazing across the room at the small girl stretched out on his bed.

On top of the bedside table stood a bottle of inexpensive perfume. A small gift given in exchange for a young girl's favour.

She was naked, legs splayed wide, and her face was flushed from recent effort, as was the region of her vulva between her thighs. Only moments before he'd had eight inches of thick cock pushed up her tight little chute, and he'd been giving it to her for all he was worth. Then the bloody phone rang, and wouldn't stop ringing.

He was naked too and sporting a tremendous truncheon of an erection, and even while on the phone he gripped the uprisen flesh in his hand and skimmed the foreskin back and forth over its juicy, purple tip. "Yes, I understand what you want," he conceded into the phone, "I's got to get a message to Ronny and tell him to be at the Grange by 6 p.m." He looked at his wristwatch. "He'll have to get a move on if he's going to be there by then."

His dissatisfaction broadened as the voice nagged at him. "Yes, o' course. I know that's why it's so urgent. I's got Pauline with me here. I'll send her round t'see him straight away."

"Bugger!" he murmured dismally under his breath as he put the phone down. He admired Napoleon and Al Capone but had scant respect for living people. And women! He hated jumping around at the biding of women. Unfortunately most of his customers were female, and as a shopkeeper he had to smile and at least give lip-service to their requests, while the rich ones, the women who governed large influential households and spent the most money sometimes had to be actually indulged.

"Now, where was I?" he muttered as he gathered his thoughts.

"You wus giving me a seein'-to, uncle. You wus teachin' me how to shag." the girl replied.

Larkin nodded. "Aye, I knows that, an' I wus stuffin' your little slot like a ramrod too. Never mind, we've time to put off finishin' while you go and do an errand. Get some clothes on."

He sniffed. "Bloody nuisance. Why don't Ronny's folks have a telephone like normal people, 'stead of expecting others to carry their messages?"

Pauline pouted as she swung up onto the side of the bed. "Can we do some more shagging when I get back?"

Larkin became consumed by a sudden urge. Striding over he gripped the back of the girls head and levelled his penis at her.

"A'fore you go, let me give you a face-full. I'll be filled up ready again fur doin' the other stuff by the time you get back."

Passively the girl tilted up her face and closed her eyes, while the shopkeeper rapidly pounded his length. His bulbous tip watered copiously, then almost at once it began squirting.

"AWW, Phwooor!" he groaned as a thick line of semen jetted out. The furious pumping of his hand made it swirl in an expanding loop before it broke free to splatter in a wide arc up the side of the girl's face. A second blast slopped over the tip of her pert nose and two more followed, but lacking much velocity merely dropped vertically onto her chin. Grinning with diabolic satisfaction Larkin finished by smearing the whole mess around on her face with the broad tip of his penis, spreading the glutinous white discharge over her cheeks, her nostrils and her lips. "Mmmm, aaah! Luvely! You allus look a sexy wee wench when yer face's been plastered. But now you'd best clean up an' go and see Ronny."

 

Miss Hancock set her face grimly as she observed the wretched figure of Mr Hardwick slumped in the chair facing her. "Just what happened last night. Don't miss anything out. I need to know everything if you want me to help you."

Hardwick, usually so jaunty and dapper sat frozen to stillness and was intensely pale. A nervous tic jerked the angle of his jawbone, as limp and forlorn he sat with hands clasped and entangled fingers moving ceaselessly.

He was distraught and almost sobbing. "Ooh, I'll be sent to prison, I'm too old for that and I'm not used to it. There are big men in prisons who have hard fists, and they beat people like me every day. I won't be able to take it."

"Don't get hysterical Mr Hardwick. At the moment all I know is Constable Perkins is likely to arrest you soon for behaving indecently with a minor. I don't understand you. For the past year you've never ventured much further than the bounds of the school during term-time, then the first time you go out the front gate you end up assaulting a child from the village. Tell me what happened, EXACTLY."

"Last evening, after lessons were done I went to fix the front gate. It's started to sag you see, so I ..."

"Yes, yes. Do get to the part I need to know about."

"There was this young boy outside on the road, circling around and round on a shiny red bike." His eyes widened, "I didn't say anything to him. I didn't know him and I remembered the warnings you've given me in the past about becoming familiar with 'outsider' kids. But he talked to me. He said, 'Hi! Do you like my new bike?"

"Then what happened?"

"He was beautiful. Slender with bare legs and very tight little pants, just like so many I've noticed before, hanging onto their mothers arms, inaccessible and safe, while flashing cute smiles and 'come-fuck-me' looks. He kept riding in circles and smiling like that, and he kept talking. Such a chatterbox, he was unbelievable. Then he lay his bike down on the far side of the road and told me he was going behind the hedge to play a game. And he grinned right at me."

"And that's when it happened?"

"I just crossed the gravel road. He was sitting on the stump of a tree, leaning back on his hands, and his pretty cock was hanging out from the front of his pants. It wasn't huge, perhaps three inches from its hairless base to its uncircumcised tip, but it looked capable, and it carried a nice ball-bag."

Miriam uttered a sigh of resignation.

"He didn't seem to mind me touching him," Hardwick continued morosely, "he seemed to enjoy being handled by a man, and he did a lovely little dollop on my fingers."

"Gracious!" Miriam exclaimed in anger, "There's up to thirty sissy-boys here whom you may enjoy with impunity. Why on earth did you have to go practising your sordid games with an Outsider?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Hancock. I know I've let you down." He snivelled, a forty-year old man with the emotions of a ten-year-old child. "But he was so endearing, and seemed so eager and willing. He was impossible to resist. Oh. Miss Hancock, what am I to do?"

"Did you bugger him?"

"No, but I did persuade him to suck me off. That didn't take very long. I was quite excited. I don't think he was very used to doing it, because he tried to spit out and most of it dribbled down his chin."

Miriam turned to look out of the window, but her mind was in turmoil and she saw nothing.

"You've done me a great disservice, Mr Hardwick. Image is everything, and this will be all over the local newspapers in no time, probably the national press too. Once people learn I employ a child-molester they'll avoid Fairyfield Grange like it had plague. No one of any importance will wish to be associated with it. There'll be questions asked - investigations - social workers, police, bumptious officials of all kinds - all poking and prying into what we do here. They'll murder us! Open Day will be ruined and all my sponsors will crawl back into the woodwork where they came from. It will kill Fairyfield Grange."

She was upset. She had allowed things to upset her. She could feel the blood coursing into her cheeks and her heart begin an uneven dance. She stood still, thinking slowly, taking her time, breathing deeply, telling herself not to be a fool. She'd been in tight spots before and they'd never daunted her. Every problem had its solution, it just needed to be found. Self reliance, that was the key, and the one thing that could pull her through any crisis fate chose to throw at her. To be one's self. Independent. Not witless. To be able to make decisions and plot the course of events, and change them if needs be. She'd always been good at that.

"You must help me Miss Hancock," Hardwick whined, "I must get away. Help me get abroad. I've friends on the continent. I'll go to France."

"No you won't," snapped Miriam, "you're no Bonny Prince Charley and I'm no Flora MacDonald. You'll remain here with me and we'll sort out this - problem."

The man's shoulders sagged. "I'm so ashamed."

He was on the point of tears, but Miriam didn't notice, nor did his plaintiff whimpering register in her mind. Her thoughts suddenly cleared as they often did when she concentrated hard. She felt calmer, and smiled to herself.

Everything's was so obvious, a child could have worked it out.

"I tend to smell a rat about this business, Hardwick."

"A rat, headmistress?"

"Yes. Are you sure you didn't know the boy?"

"On my honour, I'd never seen him before in my life - 'cept, 'cept, I recall a boy on a red bike buzzing round me in the village a couple of days ago. It could have been the same one, I suppose."

Miriam clapped her hands. "Ha! I'd forgotten you have indeed visited the village. Things begin to make sense. Now, who did you tell you were going to fix the gate?"

"No one - well, I may have mentioned it to some of the cleaning women that morning."

"That would be enough to alert everyone in Yorkshire to your movements. Anyone with a motive to do you ill would know exactly where to find you last night."

The woman's mouth tightened. "I think you've been set-up. You've been entrapped, vindictively and intentionally, and your downfall was meant as a means to destroy my school."

The mystery seemed solved and for the first time in several hours Miriam felt kindly. "Some evil person as frightened you half to death, Mr Hardwick, but I have the measure of things now. You've had a shock. Would you like a brandy?"

The man shook his head. "Something soft would be okay. A juice. A glass of water will do."

Miriam shrugged. "Don't you drink at all?"

"Not alcohol."

Extraordinary, thought the headmistress. He was a middle-aged teetotal gentleman, probably well bred and without any of the more common vices, and who was so soft-centred he never struck the children himself but always sent them to a prefect for punishment. Shame he was an incurable pervert.

Later, when she discussed Mr Hardwick's predicament with Jennifer, her daughter had given her a concerned look.

"We should get out while we still have a chance, mummy. There's too many pitfalls in running a place like this. We should sell-up and move somewhere else and settle for selling groceries."

Miriam observed her grimly. "In France this house would be termed a chateau and I would be a chatelaine," she spoke wistfully. "French names spoken in English so often sound romantic and important, don't they?" For a moment her eyes smouldered, then she added gutturally, "I'm greedy. I want importance. I want more of everything, and the best way of getting it is to hang on here."

 

She telephoned early the following morning. "Lady Chance-Barton? Miriam Hancock here."

"Yes, what is it Miss Hancock?"

"I'm so pleased I caught you in. You've probably heard of the trouble one of my tutor's as got himself into."

"Trouble -I've heard nothing, and it seems indelicate to inquire."

"It's a tiresome affair. Mr Hardwick's got himself in trouble with young Ronny Ramsbottom from the village. I think you know the boy."

"I've a gardener called Ramsbottom, it's probably his son. What's all this got to do with me?"

"Mr Hardwick desperately needs someone to intercede on his behalf."

"Intercede! Help him!" The reply dripped contempt. "He's beyond that I think. I understand the fellow to be a notorious paedophile who was discreetly kicked out of his last job for pursuing indecencies with young boys, and frankly I'm horrified you even thought to employ him in the first place. He should have been locked up years ago."

"I feel you're not being fair Lady Diana, his past I'm not qualified to comment about, but these recent allegations are too bizarre to be given credence. And even if they prove true, he alone would not be to blame. It seems certain someone procured the boy for him, and it's only proper, don't you think, that such a despicable person should be punished too."

There was a pause, and then a reply echoed hollow through the wire. "Just what is it you're inferring Miss Hancock?"

Miriam clutched the phone tighter and her heart pounded as she rounded on the woman.

"What I'm TELLING your ladyship is that I know you bribed young Ronny with a new bicycle to seek out and seduce Harwick, and then to report the encounter as an indecent assault. You did it to destroy him and to ruin my school, but in the process you've become guilty of abetting a sexual deviant."

Another pause, and then a shaky reply. "I - er, that's simply imagination on stilts, and if you dare to repeat it anywhere you'd better find yourself a good lawyer."

"I sent Jennifer to see Ronny. Few children can withstand an integration by her, and he let everything spill out. He 's withdrawn the accusation he made yesterday and Hardwick is already in the clear. But I was interested in hearing your response. Now I don't feel so guilty about circulating certain photographs I have in my possession."

"Wait - don't- " The voice on the other end of the phone took on a desperate nuance. "You know very well those filthy photographs were obtained by unscrupulous underhand means and my role in them was an engineered fabrication."

"I guess you're going to have to rely on your friends believing you, and trust that your family, your business associates and the tabloid press believe you too."

"Look, Miss Hancock - Miriam, I'd like to talk to you about this matter.

Would you come and see me?"

"No, m'lady, but YOU may come and see ME. I'll put you in my schedule for eight o'clock tonight. I can't abide unpuncuality, so be prompt. And wear something to fit the occasion. I'm an headmistress, so put on something schoolgirlish."

Replacing the receiver abruptly, Miriam Hancock stood still for a moment, trying to comprehend the enormity of the triumph she'd just achieved. She could feel the smile on her face as though someone had set it there. The hoity-toity Diana Chance-Barton was at her beckoning!

The elation passed eventually, but the contentment remained with her for the rest of the day.

  

  

  

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