Fairyfield Grange

by Jason Argo

 

part 14

 

Larkin sat in the small room at the back of his shop. His roll-top desk was crammed with papers, bills, and invoices, and a bottle of brandy, part consumed, sat on the corner of the tooled leather beside an empty used glass.

Neglecting the paperwork he'd set out to do he pulled his chair nearer to the desk, leaned his elbows on top and gazed through a small grimy window.

Some children were playing in the alley outside, including Molly and Mandy, the Cartright twins. He'd have to have a word with those two about the way they jumped around and showed their knickers so much. A nice display. Lovely smooth thighs. They were 10-year-olds and would make a fine addition to the strip-shows he arranged on occasional weekends for the local men. He was always on the lookout for fresh talent and it would be a bit special if he could persuade twin sisters to undress and show-off their bodies together.

His indecent musing was abruptly interrupted by a rap on the door, and a moment later the bulbous body of Parson Roper entered. Larkin gave him only a cursory glance. "Are you wanting to browse in my book cupboard parson? I've got something nice-n-churchy at the moment, just the thing for you. A photo-mag called COCK PLEASING CHOIRBOY that shows a little lad suckin' off a row of priests who end up fuckin' him over the altar."

Roper looked slightly indignant. "No, I haven't called to look at you're - um - books. I was just passing by and it occurred to me that you could help me dispose of a gold ring that's come into my possession. I've an idea it could be quite valuable."

The shopkeeper raised a curly eyebrow and took hold of the item of jewellery the clergyman offered towards him, weighing it first in his hand before scrutinising it closely.

"Gold y'say. Nice an' fancy, but lookin' a bit worse fer wear. No hallmark so it must be foreign gold. Y'know, not pure gold. I could give you a couple o' quid for scrap.

The parsons expression drooped. "Scrap! No, no, you don't understand. It's antique. It's more than a hundred years old and an item of great local interest."

"It's only an old ring." Larkin insisted, "Get it burnished up and wear it parson. That's the way forward I reckon."

The other man looked horrified. "Keep it! Wear it! No I couldn't. I don't even like it. It - it's the Claudia ring you see. It's said it was fashioned by gypsies and ..."

 

Larkin's face suddenly gurned in horror. "Hold on! I've heard stories about that ring. Them gypsies that made it put a spell on it, didn't they?"

"Surely you're not superstitious." the parson scoffed.

"Too right I am." The ring was briskly pushed back into the parson's hand.

"It was made for the Fairyfield's, so give it to someone up at the Grange. Give it to Miss Hancock, she's a bit of the Fairyfield family that's still around."

Roper sighed dismally. "I can't bear having it in the house so perhaps you're right. It's indecent of a man-of-the-cloth to seek profit from such a discovery in any event, and I'm a decent man really."

Larkin gave him a quizzical glance as he turned away. "Aye, parson. Me too."

The parson half-turned himself, then his eyes narrowed and he glanced back.

"You - er - said something about a magazine."

"Aye. Go find Judd and tell him to get it out the book cupboard."

The shopkeeper was hardly aware of his visitor leaving, his attention was once again concentrated on the two little girls in the alley outside. He'd invite them into the shop and give them a treat from the jars of sweets on the front counter he decided, then he'd coax them round into the office and mention the idea of a little Sunday job. Nothing much, he'd say. Just dancing to music, taking off clothes and showing their pretty bald cracks to a few men.

Oh! And maybe they wouldn't mind stroking each other a bit. Fella's liked watching little girls do lezzy stuff, especially if they were sisters.

All the little lasses were a bit shy at first, but they soon got used to stripping. They even liked. it. They enjoyed exciting men and eventually they didn't bat an eye even when some of the blokes pulled out their dicks and wanked in front of 'em.

He didn't allow sex-stuff in the shop, but there was no knowing what happened afterwards outside. Maybe some of the lasses made a bit of extra money by tossin' off men, or sucking their knobs. Perhaps some went even further. That was no business of his.

He sucked on a peppermint to kill the stench of brandy on his breath. Kids were sensitive to smells.

If they enjoyed his treats, and if his talk was clever enough, Molly and Mandy may even let him slip a hand up their skirts - let him touch 'em up. Maybe he could even get a feel of their virgin pussies, one with each hand, each as tight as the lid on a jar o' pickles.

 

Jennifer stood naked before the mirror and studied her reflection, admiring the strong lines of her face and the tilt of her chin. She looked, dare she think it, quite stunning. Outwardly the image she viewed was that of a typical teenage girl, slender, well hipped, and although small chested she had the indefinable glow of beauty that only youthfulness can emit. Like a goddess, she was a beautiful symbol of feminine authority.

She tumbled her hair and brushed back a stray hair, then stretched out and leisurely eyed her limber body. She also had great legs which carried her swiftly with enviable grace, and she was generally quick in everything she did, full of energy, brimming with vitality and effervescence. When she went into the village all the old grannies would tell her it was about time she found a steady boyfriend. But why should she? She had no tolerance for the weak or ineffectual, especially if they were males. Boys would only want her for sex, and she'd already experienced more sex than a libertine twice her age, and done it all without them. At boarding school she'd coupled with a succession of girls, dozens of them, and she'd even romped with some of the better looking female tutors. Girls knew how to pleasure girls much better than boys did.

Apart from screwing around with Monica Braithwaite and Polly Clagett - and Polly's mother, North Yorkshire was a bit of a letdown, but she'd recently had a hot session with Emma Twist that promised great things for the future. Anyway, she could always get her jollies from dominating her mother's sissies. Being cruel to pretty girly-things always made her drippy and often made her jerk off in her pants without even touching herself.

She rubbed her hands over her body feeling the bare flesh and firm, sexy muscles, absent mindedly licking her fingers and played with her pert nipples, squeezing and twisting them.

Only 16, but an Amazon experienced beyond her years, her indomitable will being sustained by fitness and physical strength that displayed its potential as she flexed and posed. Early every morning she worked-out in the gym and she was as strong as any youth her own age.

She didn't need a boyfriend. She was as proficient with a cock as any of them. Not just with girls, and not just with Poppy who was anybody's. She'd dicked Greg Touter the previous evening when, heedless of that fairy's wailing and whining, she'd had him clawing at the mattress and biting the pillow as she pumped him in the arse like a man would pump him, hard, deep and unmercifully.

She rather liked the idea of having a cock. Maybe Freud was right. Maybe women wanted a penis. Well, maybe not a penis, but certainly a decent cock. Lately she'd taken to the habit of posing before the mirror with a strap-on fastened to her pubis - sometimes a solid rammer that stuck out like a ships yardarm, and sometimes a huge, thick dangly thing that swung down between her legs. Sexiest of all were those with a good pair of balls. It was unfair that she didn't have a dick and balls of her own. Instinctively she knew she could make better use of them than any of the overrated Neanderthal-males of the species. She was something to be reckoned with, and she got a kick out of shagging men in the arse. It put them where they belonged. Beneath her.

She scolded herself. Penis envy! Surely not.

To dispel such an idea she sought out the most feminine items in her wardrobe, a crimson silk blouse with Magyar embroidery on the sleeves and neck, which with a tight black knit skirt and a gleaming black belt cinched about her waist accentuated all her bodily curves in the best feminine way. After dousing herself with perfume she went down the stairs to her mother's parlour-office.

"Roads!" exclaimed Miriam.

Glee bubbled from her as she put down the telephone. She wanted to giggle and laugh and hold her sides, and although the laughter seeped out of her abruptly the glow of delight continued in her cheeks. "I've just finished speaking with old Mr Sugar, my solicitor, and he tells me the National Trust have withdrawn their claim to Fairyfield Grange - and all because of roads."

When she noticed her daughters puzzled expression she explained that The Trust had petitioned the County Council to upgrade some roads vital to support the passage of juggernaut motor-coaches into the area of Peasmarsh, and when Lady Diana had heard the main highway would pass within a quarter-mile of Chance Hall and her home was on Pamela Upduff's list of 'Sites of Tourist Interest' her objections had gone into overdrive. She'd pulled every string to which she had access in the Council's Highways Department - and probably every dick she could get hold of too - and had managed to kill the idea.

Without decent roads tourism couldn't develop in the way the Trust wished, so they'd dropped the whole notion of acquiring Fairyfield Grange.

"Dear Diana came up trumps in the end, and since I'll also benefit from Uncle Albert's endowment eventually I feel I should do the right thing and give her those silly photographs at the end of term."

Jennifer nodded, but then said, "You may find that she'll still want to come here afterwards. I've an idea she's acquired a secret passion for being smacked and pushed around."

Miriam straightened the few items that lay on her desk. "If that's the case you must tell her to write me a polite letter in her best handwriting requesting a continuance. And in future she will have to pay a fee for each attendance. After all we're not a charity and we may have to task other staff with her discipline."

She smiled broadly. "Now I'm off to tell the others my good news. It'll help ginger them up for Open Day."

That day was something of an anticlimax for Jennifer following on from the hot session she'd shared with Emma Twist and Greg, and she didn't know quite know what to do with herself.

Seeking inspiration she went up into the school where afternoon shine-time was under way. A dozen girls were ranged along the classroom corridor engaged in sweeping and polishing under the supervision of Margaret Pardoe who maintained the sombre expression of a Russian gulag-guard. Through an open door she observed Emma smacking the legs of Holly Brown, while in the washroom she came upon Abigail who was laying his leather strap across the outstretched hands of a pair of sorrowful looking younger pantyboys.

Everything was routine, but determined to find some distraction for herself she paused in front of Zoe, who was busy with a broom and who was affecting a pleasing feminine swing to his hips that was noticeable even beneath the unflattering lines of his dust-smock.

His arms were slender and girlish, and no wiles of paint or powder were needed with him. His cheeks held the natural blush of a blossoming rose and his lips were deep red on their own account.

Her fingers perched on her hips in what was an overtly dominant stance, and one which caused him to turn his face to the side to avoid her eyes. Naturally modest, he constantly underrated his own attraction, but Jennifer considered him one of the cutest, sexiest little prick teasers at Fairyfield Grange.

Her eyes narrowed and she regarded him as she might a Sunday roast before carving. "You're looking quite the Queen of the Fairies today, Zoe."

Slender, lithe and only shoulder height to herself he was compelled to look up. He chewed his bottom lip, blinking rapidly while his hands hung clenched as impotent fist at his side.

Giving a wave to Mrs Pardoe Jennifer dragged him away. He didn't want to go, but he followed her, hanging his head as he trailed down the corridor to her room.

The girl's face beamed as she closed the door behind him and busied herself removing his dust-smock. "Don't worry. It's all right. You're being a very co-operative girl and I appreciate that."

She pulled him close, sliding one hand round to feel the shape of his pert little bum and then leaning down to peck a little kiss onto his flushed cheek.

"Oh!"

"You're a stunning beauty. You could become a fashion model."

Zoe's long black lashes fluttered down onto his rosy cheeks and he relaxed and squirmed with pleasure.

"Yes," Jennifer continued, "And because you've been a very good girl lately and you're so pretty I've been giving some thought as to what will become of you when you leave Fairyfield. Sissies need lots of sex, that goes without saying, but they need to practise with more than just each other. There's so many people in the world who love them, especially men, and there are so few good sissies available."

Abruptly she leaned down and kissed the side of his neck, her teeth biting and pulling gently at the tender skin.

"Oooohhh! Jennifer, what ...?"

Undeterred by his mild exclamation her fingers stoked his hips and began to fiddle with the clasp on the waistband of his little skirt. "Men will want you, they'll adore you. They'll give you lovely presents and maybe won't wish for you to remain a servant. They may want to take you as a boy-bride and marry you."

Zoe flapped his hands and his 'too-pretty-for-a boy' eyes took on a vague unfocused look. He was uncertain, but then he grinned. Marry a man! He was unable to believe such a thing was likely.

Jennifer grasped his hair and rocked his head playfully from side to side.

"It's true, you could end up married to a rich hunky man who'll adore you. And since you're such a cute thing even a lady may wish to have you as a wife."

"Be a wife to a lady! Oh Jennifer that's silly. Boys can't be wives to women."

"That's just not true. Mummy knows of several busy career ladies who'd love to have a sissy-boy wife."

"I couldn't do that. I could never marry a woman." Zoe said, entirely unaware of the oddity of such a statement.

Jennifer cooed at him. "You'll probably never have a choice in the matter, darling. Sissies rarely have a choice in anything. They're not required to think or make decisions, they're just required to be obedient when they're TOLD what to do."

Still disconcerted Zoe shook his head. "I wouldn't know what to do with a woman. I don't even know what to do with girls."

"That's what I thought," she said, "Living at Fairyfield is all very well, but it makes sissies naive about the world outside. That's why I've put aside a little time this afternoon to give you some coaching. You deserve it.. You're an effeminate lovely and one of the prettiest girls we have here."

If she was flattering him it didn't really matter, it was the kind of thing every pantyboy loved to hear, and it made Zoe melt in blushes. It also made him susceptible to other things.

At that moment the button and zip on his skirt became unfastened and the garment dropped down his legs to become a puddle of blue serge around his ankle-socks.

Now he quivered with increased uncertainty, but Jennifer didn't even acknowledge she'd partially undressed him.

The dear, sweet thing was in complete surrender to her so she leaned forward and kissed his mouth - and Jennifer knew about kissing, of that there was no doubt. Her lips were full and hot, and she used her whole head, not just her lips. But it was a bona fide kiss, simple and sweet - tentative, chaste and almost virginal - that seemed so right at that moment. Zoe's body was soft, sweet and fragile and his lips warm, pliant and comfortable. As she drew back she nibbled lightly on his lips. Delicious! Some men would walk barefoot over broken glass to try some of that.

She placed a friendly arm about his shoulders and ushered him towards the bed, sitting him down at her side as she unbuttoned the cuffs on his blouse and then the front of it all the way down. Reaching inside she began tracing her fingers along the bare skin of his sides and across his back until acting on instinct she cradled him in her arms, feeling the slight musculature of his body through the material of his blouse as she urged him to throw his arms about her neck and press his cheek against her face.

"There! You love cuddles don't you? You do it with boys all the time of course and women can be much more demanding than boys, but they're more thoughtful than men. There'll be candlelight and roses when they want to love you."

Their lips touched again - tenderly at first, then more robustly, fiery, and then the whole of Jennifer's tongue was thrusting into his mouth. As the heat of passion began to build she smeared her hot lips across his flushed face in order to lick his ear before trailing the tip of her tongue down to run along the line of his jawbone. The moist tickle under his chin made him raise his head, which enabled her to stroke her tongue up and down the blemishless white skin of his throat.

Finally she removed his blouse, and skimming it from his shoulders left him wearing only his underwear; white panties and a little white cotton training bra clamped to his boyish chest.

His breasts were flushed and his perky young nipples could be seen pushing at the material.

Her hands moved over his bare back, stroking him down from his neck to the thrust of his little bottom, then she began to kiss the top of his breasts as she reached behind to undo the clasp on his bra. Ah, yes, bare titties! Boy titties. Maybe only little bumps and not full breasts yet, but good enough to thrill.

Her mouth went down on his right nipple which was erect and tender, and her warm, slick mouth feasted on its tip, a treat too delicate to resist - kissing it and sucking it and giving it a little love-bite, just a hint of teeth to make him whimper, before switching to the other side. It wasn't too long before the sweet scented sissy was writhing and moaning exactly like the hot-bodied young girls she'd seduced so often in her schooldays.

Indeed, Zoe was experiencing the kind of high-octane sexuality he'd never known with a girl before; he adored the titty love, it suggested smouldering, hidden passion and apparent desire. Enraptured by Jennifer's magnificence he went limp in her arms, allowing the teenage girl to lay him down and roll on top of him and trap his body beneath her own, permitting her questing hands to squeeze and pull his tiny breasts while she feasted on his scrumptious flesh.

"So pretty. Such a sexy girl." she husked as she kissed his cheeks and eyelids.

She could tell he liked what she was doing and what she was saying. It made him sigh and puff out his chest, and his big, brown Bambi-eyes squinted into slits of pleasure.

The most sensual desires began to roll over Jennifer. It felt so wonderfully decadent, the inversion of roles so forbidden - to be doing what she was doing to a boy. Toying with his body as a man would toy with the body of a girl. She was as horny as hell herself, but knew the sissyboy would never dare touch her intimately even if the thought occurred to him. Quite right too. She could enjoy herself well enough without uninvited fumbling.

She placed her mouth close to his ear. "Are you a good shag, Zoe?"

He giggled coyly. "Some people say I'm too noisy."

"You squeal a lot when they're ramming you hard?"

"Yes, I can't help it."

She levered down the front of his pants to expose his rigid penis.

"Jennifer, are you going to wank me off?"

The girl gave him a scathing look. "Wank you? Certainly not. You effeminates are all so selfish, always thinking of your own pleasure. But I know what a mess you make when you get overexcited, and I don't want your girly gook squirting all over me."

Zoe looked on breathlessly as she opened a condom and rolled the rubber sheath down the entire length of his penis.

"That's much neater." she told him.

An unpredicted hot flush rose up on Jennifer's cheeks as a sudden surge of penis envy assailed her once more. The sweet pansy was breathless and eager to receive what a mere girl could never provide. Not without help anyway.

She found the challenge irresistible, and thrilled by indecent thoughts she climbed from the bed to make her way towards a dresser in the corner. There she purposely allowed the closet door to remain ajar, and hid behind it to peel off her own skirt. She wore nothing beneath it and was quite wet between her legs.

Then she took up the handsomely moulded strap-on cock she'd borrowed from her mothers room, wishing to try that one because it had balls that could be filled with liquid, and which when gently squeezed would eject it along a tube installed down the centre of the shaft.

Buckling the instrument on, she shrugged it into a comfortable position on her mound, feeling a thrill as the pliant rubber penis wagged purposefully beneath her stomach and the weighty balls settled against her thighs. In anticipation she'd taken time to fill the ball-bags with grey-white replica semen that had the appearance of wallpaper-paste, and now, fully armed and loaded she felt equal to anything a man could do. When it was intimately placed to her satisfaction she made lavish use of some KY jelly, then with a couple of elegant strides she came out from behind the door to display herself with a flourish. "I want you Zoe." she said. And there was no mistaking her meaning.

"Want me?" It came out in a croak as the sissy continued to lay there. His

expression was one of amazement, disbelief - horror. "J-Jennifer, you – you -"

 

"Take your panties off for me, darling. At once, dear. I'll get angry if you make me wait."

"Are you going to fuck me?"

"Yes, of course. You're such a pretty piece of boycunt and you need to get used to girls using you. I'm going to love you as a good husband should - in the way any good wife would expect. Turn over and show me your bottom. Spread it - hold it open for me."

"But - but - oh dear. Must I?"

"You've done it plenty of times before. You do it all the time."

"Yes, but not for girls, Jennifer. Girl's don't shag boys bottoms."

Leaning down she whispered in his ear. "Stop being silly. I know you love getting dicked and you don't really mind who does it. Keep still for a moment and I'll take your panties off for you."

Their previous amorous clinch had aroused Zoe and his hairless cock was erect inside his rubber condom when the underwear was dragged down his legs. "You need to get used to this sort of thing. If you have a lady-husband she'll probably do it every night." Jennifer told him. She gave him another cuddle. "Anyway, I think you 'd like me to do it. You want me to fuck you, don't you? Ask me, darling. You can whisper it if you're shy. Let me hear you say it."

"Jennifer, I -"

"Say it."

He gulped helplessly and husked very softly in the girl's ear. "I - I want you to fuck me, Jennifer."

"Of course you do. You're a lovely girl, and a sexy one. You should get married so you can be fucked regularly. Fucked by your partner every night, and by girls like me on a couple of afternoons during the week."

Zoe reached behind to pull open his buttocks, and there lay the tiny eye of her desire set amid a delectable rosy pucker.

"It will be no different to this if you wed a lady-husband." Jennifer whispered, "You'll do your chores in the morning so you can spend all afternoon making yourself pretty for her. You'll have real titties by then so you'll be able to wear low cut dresses that show her how adorable they are. And when she gets home from a hard day at the office you'll hover about and flirt when you serve her dinner - hoping she'll take you upstairs afterwards to dildo you into sissy paradise."

 

Determined that her pansy passion of the moment was going to experience the ultimate extent of her girl-power she carefully climbed up behind him and rolled onto her side.

"I'm going to mount you, put my cock against your pussy and push into you. It'll hurt at first but your used to that, but then you can start squealing with pleasure."

She placed the tip of her prong against the boys pucker then gave a little push to establish it beyond the his ring of muscle. "Uph!" Zoe tilted his head back as he moaned. It felt too big for his bum-hole, but Jennifer didn't seem to care. A little jigging in and out to open things up, then another little shove to get in a few more inches. "Oooh!"

"There, my little lover. Your manage everything so nicely."

"It - it feels so big."

"It's no bigger than some you've allowed to plough you in the past. It probably feels strange because its a girl doing it this time. Settle onto it and enjoy things. Be a good shag for me."

Then Jennifer experienced a sex rush and gripped his slender hips tight. Pressing against him, she gave a heave with her strong thighs that caused her cock to burrow forward until his boy-pussy took the full extent of her pseudo-man-meat.

Oh Goodness, it was all in.!

"Is that okay for you?" she asked, "Does it feel like a boy?"

"Aaaaah! Oh Jennifer, aaa! It's bigger than a boy. It feels like you're a man fucking me."

Zoe had felt every centimetre as it entered, and now his tiny thoroughly buttered bottomhole slithered around on it, letting it go deep, slowly smoothly, forcefully, until her heavy ball-sac bulged against the tender rounds of his bottom.

The more she pumped him the more he seemed to love it. His anus began squeezing and milking her dick. It was a perfect mating.

But then quite suddenly the girl withdrew and slid Zoe onto his back. "I'm going to fuck you properly now. I'm going to take you on your back beneath me as if you were a girl." she told him.

She liked that idea better. It was the way men fucked girls

Feeling a surge of satisfaction and utterly devoid of guilt she gripped him and listened to his moans as she lined up her attachment, rotated her hips and made him take it again.

"There! Now I own you." she murmured gleefully. Her voice was like warm treacle as she angled her head down to suck the pulse point on his neck. "And now I'm going to dominate you. I'm going to fuck you until you don't know where you end and I begin."

Then she began pushing and shoving like a man, sometimes long and deep, sometimes short and fast, but never pulling out completely. She ploughed the core of him, pounding Zoe's sissy arse as if he really was a girl. Their joining became frantic and fierce and it was clear they were both going to ejaculate soon. He in his snug condom and herself deep inside his soft, squirming effeminate anus.

 

At the end of August each year heather blooms in riotous colour across the dun-tinted hills of the West Riding. Waves of purple and magenta swathe the Pennines in such stunning magnificence that even the most jaundiced of eyes fill with admiration. Such a vista was a fitting backdrop to the one day in the year Miriam Hancock felt more important than any other. It was Open Day at Fairyfield Grange.

The lovely rejuvenated gardens were in prime condition in flagrant defiance of the restrictions on the use of water during the summer draught. They were defined on all sides by old stone walls covered with climbers which at the far end scrambled up into two ancient trees, their blossom shining among the dark foliage of the branches like spun silk.

Below, in the wide borders under the walls, floribunda roses clustered together in dense blocks, and in the centre, surrounded by gravel paths was the lawn upon which Mr Hardwick now conducted the opening display.

Stepping out in perfect formation the aerobic dance team bounced, skipped and cavorted through their routine in a delightful gazelle-like way to the energetic rhythm of carefully selected taped music, and since the elfin little boys wore only the skimpiest of semitransparent thong pants and the merest whisper of a chest harness they grabbed the attention of everyone right away.

Jennifer had been keen to dress them in nothing more than a pink ribbon tied around their testicles, but her mother had vetoed that idea. A little decorum was required for the first part of the day.

It was such pleasant weather that the guests spilled outside to watch without being urged. Gathered in small groups, lounging in teal chairs or simply loitering on the York-stone steps, they stared, bright-eyed and earnest, smiling and gesticulating as the children swivelled their hips, caressed their bodies, wiggled their bottoms and humped the air. There were no hoots and hollers and no stamping of feet, but the tumultuous applause at the end declared it a great success, even if no one had foreseen that some of the guests would afterwards invite the whole troupe in through the front doors for a glass of lemonade.

Inside the house bright sunshine poured in through the tall windows to wash the entrance hall with rafts of pristine light, making the dark stained pine panelled walls take on a lighter hue as if shot through with mahogany, while a set of crystal lamps with cream silk shades added their own glow. The ambience was cheerful.

Miriam Hancock stood back against a wall, smiling inwardly as she surveyed her guests and the glittering scene spread out in the voluminous room. She was in a good mood, her high spirits attributable to a number of factors of which a fine start to Open Day was only one. The atmosphere was friendly, almost jovial, and everyone appeared to be at ease. It had been a long time since the walls of Fairyfield Grange had resounded to so much genial chatter, and it filled her with a sense of gratification. Undoubtedly her status was rising up in the estimation of the great and famous.

The beginning of the day had found her feeling uneasy since a mistake would cost her money. In one location she had chanced to bring together all her best sponsors and most influential well-wishes, as well as a number of good quality people who had expressed an interest in owning a transvestite servant, so it was vital for things to go well. The bulk were a motley lot of middle-class types she had known from her time in Harrogate; bank managers, solicitors and corporate officials. Many were accompanied by their pushy wives; pillars of their local communities, who invariably supported some Town Guild or Women's Institute, but who had become bored and jaded by their unchallenged way of life.

On arrival, and while still sober, they were like many others gathering at soir‚es in country houses during the summer. Clever men and women immersed in debates about theatre, literature, politics and travel, but there was no doubt in Miriam's mind as to the real reason they had come. All too easily their eyes strayed and lingered on the young children who fussed about them baring trays of white wine and soft drinks. Those upright guardians of public morality had come to view the products she had on offer.

Because dissatisfaction at the start of events would have rumbled throughout the day and could have an effected on her entire enterprise, she'd elected to set the tone early with the aerobics; a light-hearted, raunchy little romp that would stir the imaginings, and the pants, of the august get-together. The carefree gaiety that now surrounded Miriam lifted a burden from her mind, and her voice bubbled with theatrical vivaciousness each time she spoke.

Jennifer flitted by looking smart and ladylike in a blouse of crepe de Chine with a bow at the neck. "How's it all going, mummy?"

"Like a dream. Everybody's hard at work."

"Not you I hope."

"Me? I've done everything except cook the bouchees." She gazed at the crowd of people gathered around the aerobics' team bunched inside the main door with some irritation. Men and women alike were studying the clutter of hot, near naked sissy bodies and becoming increasingly invasive with caressing the exposures of bare bottoms and cute young nipples.

"Do try to get the dancers out of here darling. Since they've allowed themselves to be enticed inside they're in danger of having their posing-pouches plundered in broad daylight."

Jennifer scowled and nodded. "They've no reason to be here. They'll be needed for other things soon."

As her daughter made off Miriam turned to fuss with a vase of flowers and give a withering smile to Parson Roper, who'd told his wife he was off to a Diocesan meeting.

"Do admire my freesia's parson. Aren't they precious?"

"Er um, er what?"

"The flowers parson. The purple pelargonium and the freesia's look divine, don't they?

The clergyman returned her smile languidly. "You've a good many blossoms here today, Miss Hancock, and they're all quite lovely."

"Preferable to a roomful of moonfaced bishops, I dare say."

"Eminently so. If the church fete could be as appealing I'd be a happy man indeed."

Miriam raised her hand to stroke the large ring installed on her middle finger.

"I can't thank you enough for returning the Claudia ring to me, it gives me a odd feeling of strength and assurance. Since I first put it on all my problems seem to have evaporated in an uncanny sort of way, and everything seems to have gone right."

The parson wiped his ruddy face with an handkerchief. "Frankly Miss Hancock, although it's my practise to scorn superstitious nonsense, I was glad to be rid of it. Just holding it promoted an eerie sensation in me, as if it was demanding to be on the finger of its rightful owner. You know, on the hand of a Fairyfield."

"I'm determined you shall not go unrewarded Mr Roper. Later in the day I'm providing some exclusive entertainment for those people who's help I especially value, and I invite you to stay on and enjoy it."

The parson smiled his gratitude, then his disingenuous eyes darted over the assembly, observing every scantily clad girly-boy within range while checking who among the visitors was eminent enough to enjoin in conversation.

"Well, must trek forth. Ever onward and upward as they say." he chortled.

Miriam caught the attention of Mrs Moffet, owner of the village tea-room and a member of Peasmarsh parish council. The woman gushed at her immediately. "Everyone in the village thinks your girls is right luvely young things, Miss 'ancock, an' I reckons they're right. They'll all be breakin' lads hearts before too long."

Miriam smiled patiently until she drifted away, and then found herself approached by Mrs Boroclough, who gave a bright laugh. "I do believe Mrs Moffet still thinks the children here to be girls, Miss Hancock. I told the silly woman to wear her spectacles, but she's too full of vanity to heed advice."

Moving a step closer to provide some intimacy she added, "She's right about them being lovely though. They're quite delightful."

Walking on Miriam moved across the bottom of the broad stairway towards an apse holding a statue of the young Bacchus, and she shared a few words with Mrs Pumphrey who had agreed to bring her sissy-son along to experience a girly event before being shipped off to live with two elderly spinsters in Cheltenham.

She then nodded to Larkin. At the time Fairyfield Grange had been built a lowly tradesman such as he would never have been invited to a social event at the house, but times had changed, everyone knew that. The rich man was still in his castle with the poor man at his gate, but somewhere in between there was a confusion that had never been there before. It was important in modern times to accommodate everyone who could be of use, and old Larkin did have his uses. Even in the darkest hours of establishing her school he'd never withdrawn his goodwill, and he had a rather shady but useful web of contacts throughout the country. Moreover, in return for an invitation that day he'd been agreeable to his bitch-boy Judd participating in some of the entertainment.

Interested in everyone and everything, Sammy stood on the far side of the room clutching a flat silver serving tray while gazing up at the old oil paintings that had recently been hung on the walls. They all portrayed stern looking ladies and gentlemen wearing old-fashioned clothes, and it had been explained to him they were some of the Fairyfield's; representatives of the family that had built the Grange, and of which the Hancock's were the only surviving line.

He'd been moving around constantly for an hour offering drinks and snacks, but since he wore a short black underslip with shoulder straps no wider than spaghetti, and dark stockings and high heeled shoes, he was feeling glamorous and was enjoying the promenading.

Mrs Pardoe had fumed when Miriam had rejected the idea of the serving girls wearing their parlour-maid outfits, but the headmistress had been adamant that something rather more risqu‚ was appropriate for the occasion, and Jennifer had jumped at the chance to dress as many boys as possible in costumes that was mainly comprised of girls lingerie, paying particular attention to ensuring the drop of the skirts weren't too long and didn't entirely obscure the dark welts of their stocking tops.

Sammy sniffed. An odour hung in the air. What was it? Cannabis? Coke? LSD? He'd never done drugs, and didn't know the difference. Perhaps it was a mixture of them all. He was only allowed to sip barley water, and that had to be done behind a tall screen where Gloria filled flutes of champagne for the guests.

Turning away from the wall he fluttered his eyelashes in a suitably coy fashion at a gentleman nearby who was scrutinising him closely. The man was elderly with a deep tan and wings of white hair, but looked slim and athletic. He wore a grey suit with a white shirt set off by a grey silk tie, but it was his eyes that Sammy noticed most. They were staring with enough desire in them to make a sissyboy slide off the edge of the planet, while the front of his smart grey trousers were distorted in a way that he was very familiar with.

Before anything could develop between them the pantyboy's attention was diverted by a woman tottering towards him, in one hand a glass of sherry, in the other a semi-opaque yellow drink containing a skewered cherry. She was youngish, mid-twenties, rather good looking with immaculately coiffered hair, and she looked exotic and friendly - if also rather tipsy. Sammy recognised her as a sort of celebrity newsreader from national television.

Joanna Trollop had been discreetly observing Sammy since she'd arrived. The moment she'd entered the room her eyes had been drawn to the strikingly attractive little poppet in female attire, and she thought him incredible. He carried himself so elegantly in his little black dress, just like a real girl, and the delicate threadlike straps on his bare shoulders tantalised for being all that supported the concealment of his adorable little chest and nipples. Something had stirred in her immediately, and had eventually compelled her to appraise him from a nearer view. "You're lovely," she murmured, inclining her head and offering him a merry smile. "I'm told that the girls here are really boys, but you all look so sweet it's hard to believe it's true. What's your name?"

Sammy suddenly felt tense. "Sam - Samantha, miss."

Chuckling at her own daring lasciviousness the woman sluiced down the sherry and handed the empty glass to Gloria who was standing nearby. "Is there somewhere this child and I could have a moment of privacy?"

Intimidated, the housekeeper became uneasy. She too had recognised the woman as Joanna somebody-or-other who was quite famous on television, and famous people tended to overawe her.

She flustered awkwardly. "There ain't nowhere 'cept Miss Hancock's study, but I don't think she'd want anyone in there."

Used to having her own way and with an ego the size of the West Riding, Joanna poured the yellow drink down her throat and pulled a rye face. "Come, come woman. The headmistress is a charming person and I can't believe she'd refuse me a small favour. It would only be for a short time' and we'd just stand inside the door."

Her voice was slurred, but buoyant and insistent enough to make the housekeeper's resistance crumble, and Gloria hesitantly took a key from her pocket and led the way to the study door.

"Just for a minute then, and I'll have to come with you."

Unconcerned by the ultimatum the guest swept blithely past her, dragging a bewildered Sammy by his arm.

Once inside the room Gloria shut the door and stood with her back against it while Joanna leaned down to be at eye level with her chosen sissy. "Show me, darling," she said, "Slip down your panties and prove to me you're really a boy."

Sammy inched up his little skirt coyly, but then found himself paralysed by her avid attention. "You're making me blush, miss."

"Ha!" The woman tweaked his pretty nose, "Silly creature. There's no need to be shy with me. I do lots of television shows with children and I frequently visit their dressing rooms when they're taking their pants off. There! I shouldn't have said that, but you've such an open face I feel I can trust you."

Immediately she took control of things herself, pushing Sammy's hands aside and groping beneath his flimsy dress.

"My, what pretty legs you have." she muttered as she hauled his pants down over his nylons.

With a brisk flick of an immaculately manicured hand she raised the front of his skirt and gazed in delight at the boy-genitals revealed. Smooth, well-formed and dangling with deceptive innocence.

"What a naughty surprise to find in a little girls knickers, and such delicious pair of balls too, they look so cute in their little pink bag. Gosh, you are a honey. How old are you Samantha?"

"Twelve next week, miss."

"Twelve! In that case I expect your willy will get stiff if you play with it. Will you play with it for me?"

The developing situation increased Gloria's interest and she left her place by the door to peer over the guests shoulder.

"Go on. Do it fer the lady, Sammy luv. You've done it plenty of times before with people watchin'."

Usurped from her accustomed role of dealing directly with boys herself, the housekeepers thoughts wandered to other things as Sammy started to jink his foreskin to and fro.

The visitors derriere was thrusting back at her invitingly, in a nice, round, impudent kind of way, and it was undeniably attractive. Gloria was quite disposed to girl-on-girl stuff from time to time, but hadn't done anything with a woman for months. Miss Hancock always had something else to do lately, and none of the other females at the school would allow her to touch them intimately.

As the pert, poised rear-end of the guest seemed to be inviting some attention she chanced brushing her hand across its expanse, and on receiving no objection from the preoccupied Joanna-woman she became bold enough to slip the hand beneath her skirt and fondle the chubby bottom. Still no protest! Fortified by alcohol Joanna seemed to have put aside any pretence of scruples.

'Drunk as a skunk an' ripe for some jiggery-pokery', decided Gloria gleefully.

She pushed two fingers forward to find the gusset of the woman's pants pulled tight between her thighs and drawn up so taut they accentuated the plumpness of her vulva delightfully.

New found confidence quickly blossomed into impertinence as the housekeeper raked her fingers back and forth, stroking more firmly and digging deeper with each successive pass.

The television-person was entirely occupied observing Sammy's penis as he pumped with his hand, and appeared oblivious to Gloria's touch. Outwardly she remained impassive to the fondling between her legs, but strangely her very immobility gave the housekeeper encouragement to continue. Gloria knew all about anatomy, so even though the woman was secured in her pants she had no trouble in worming a fingertip around the site of her clitoris before drawing it back to test the accessible nature of the hidden vagina and probe lewdly at the indentation of her anus. Eventually moisture began to filter through the gusset of Joanna's knickers, just a slight oily dampness at first, but soon becoming a copious ooze.

The woman started to gasp, and the more Gloria rubbed, the more she panted. Sammy didn't understand what all her noise was about, but her excitement infected him and his cock rose up like a stick.

"Oh, it is stiff!" Joanna exclaimed, trembling with enthusiasm. "It's come up wonderfully, and it as such an adorable well-formed knob-end. It looks firm, wet and gooey. It's ready to unload, I just know it is. Don't stop rubbing it Samantha. Keep wanking, you naughty girl."

"I-I don't know if I'm allowed to do a squirt, miss." Sammy answered faintly.

"Of course you are," Joanna gasped desperately, "No one will object to you pleasing me, and I want to see you shoot."

With a reddening face hot with flushes she snaked her head around to glare at Gloria.

"Tell this creature it as permission. I want to see the little tranny-tart toss-off."

"'Course you do," soothed Gloria as she strummed the woman's slushy pants, "Listen Sammy, you jus' carry on an' make a proper job of it. We's all here to please people today."

As her fingers slithered around the puffy shapes inside the woman's pants it would have been difficult to dissuade herself from such duty at that moment.

"That's it." enthused Joanna as Sammy's fingers began to accelerate their movement. "Young things like you need milking constantly. Not by me of course. You should have a pretty girl with soft hands doing it, or a man. Yes, you'd probably prefer a man, and given the chance they'd probably queue down the street to play with your doodle. They'd want to cum in you and on you and empty your pretty pink bag over and over again."

Sammy jiggled his cock furiously for several more moments, then he uttered a small choking moan as a streak of semen jerked from its tip and plummeted to the floor while another slavered over his fingers. "Yes," the woman exclaimed, "I knew a little queenie like you would squirt beautifully. Keep wanking you tart, get it all out."

Almost as if to pacify the woman's inane urging Sammy's cock jacked out another big creamy dollop and Joanna's eyes bulged as she watched it roll over his fingers. At first she whimpered softly and sucked her lips at the sight, then quite abruptly her mouth became slack. "Oww, bloody 'ell! Ooooow, aaarh!"

She tore herself away from Gloria, clutching her groin, thighs scissoring one against the other, knees flexing, head bobbing up and down. "Aaaarh, mmmm!" Lips drawn back and teeth fully bared, her expression was one of pain and anguish, but even Sammy knew it was rapture. Joanna Trollop was experiencing a huge cum herself.

Eventually the gyrations ceased, and as shame soaked through the guest's alcohol addled brain she became irrational enough to jab an accusing finger at Gloria.

"I've been embarrassed! You've humiliated me you big fat cow. I wouldn't have come into this room if you hadn't let me. How dare you tempt me with children and rub me with your grubby paws, you fucking old witch?"

Gloria looked at her quizzically for a moment.

"Now then, there's no need to be rude." she said. Then her jaw clamped, her fist bunched into a solid lump and she biffed the famous newsreader in the eye with force enough to send her reeling back.

"Yaaaarrrhhh!" howled Joanna as she bounced against the wall.

"Manners maketh the Miss, y'know," the housekeeper told her solemnly, "Bein' rude's a sign you didn't have a good nanny an' weren't brought up right."

Joanna hugged her face and sniffed. "What did yu wanna thump me for? I didn't know you were a nanny. I should have known only a nanny would know how to stroke my pants so nicely."

"Well, I ain't been a nanny for a while, but I ain't forgot how to be one."

The woman tried to compose herself and brushed a strand of straying hair from her face.

"I feel sick and dizzy. I need a cigarette."

"Best go out into the front hall then madam," Gloria advised, "Miss Hancock don't like people smokin' in her office."

As the woman departed Gloria followed, pausing only to give the startled sissy-boy a stern glance.

"'Ere Sammy, you make sure this place is left clean an' tidy afore you leave else I'll give you a smack if no one else does."

Left to himself Sammy looked about for his pants, then realised that the television-lady had absent-mindedly gone out of the room clutching them in her hand.

Outside in the hall the behaviour of the guests was becoming increasingly ribald, and deprived of the skimpily clad aerobics dancers and with their libido's lowered by alcohol their attention had turned to the waitress's. Susan Yates was standing at the end of the room held in conversation by a lady and gentleman seated on a couch who were both blatantly stroking up and down his nyloned thighs and reaching under his skirt, whilst Jemima was giggling coyly as a softly spoken man tried to induce him up the stairs to the second floor.

Surrounded by a group at the other end of the room Zoe was being encouraged to dance to the staccato beat of a dozen pairs of clapping hands, and it was only Jennifer's intervention that prevented him from being cajoled into performing a striptease.

In fact she made a point of disrupting all such instances, and smiling sweetly at the guests she made some excuse to drag each of the sissies away. Her mother had a program for the day and she was guarding it scrupulously in her name.

Sammy wiggled his way back into the room and stood demurely before the elderly man who'd been drooling over him previously. Stirred into mischief by the decadence he'd recently been party to he battered his pretty eyes until he was sure he had the gentleman's attention, then began to flip the hem of his little skirt up and down. If the old gent wanted a thrill he had no qualms about giving him one, and he knew it wouldn't be long before it was obvious he wasn't wearing any pants.

Jennifer pounced like a cat, grasped Sammy by an ear and dragging him off to another part of the room, leaving behind the grey-haired man looking annoyed and disappointed.

A moment passed, then the man rose up from his seat and slouched off to seek a breath of fresh air.

Wendy had been sent out onto the porch to gather abandoned glasses, a mundane chore that didn't fit with his own sense of status. With a touch of pique he decided to string the job out as long as possible rather than chance being detailed for a second just as distasteful, but he'd being working for no more than a minute when he was joined by an athletic looking, smartly suited man in his fifties wiping his florid face with a handkerchief.

"Too hot for indoors." the man remarked absently.

Wendy lowered his eyelids and smiled back at him sweetly. "Yes, but the weather's lovely outside."

There was moment of appraisal as they studied each other. For his part the man found immediate pleasure in the young, well groomed person before him. The smile and the engaging musical lilt of a voice yet to break fascinated him. He'd just spent forty-five minutes ogling a striking little girly-thing inside the hall whilst drumming up the courage to make an approach, only to see him snatched away, first by that ghastly television newsperson Joanna Whats-her-name, and then by the headmistress's officious daughter. It seemed apt compensation that the lovely sissy-thing near him now was as equally as pleasing as the last. He was younger than he'd first thought, deliciously young, and even more available. His face was sensitive, yet there was a flame in his eyes, and he liked the set of the head on his trim shoulders.

"I - er - I still find it difficult to believe that you and the other youngsters here aren't really girls." he stuttered awkwardly. "You all look so - erm - adorable in your pretty frocks, and you act your parts to perfection."

He took a brave step forward and his eyes tracked over the young queens sunny face.

"What I mean is, I'm - er - not used to it, you see. I'm a Banker. I'm a financier who deals with vast amounts of money and I'm usually very sensible. But I've never - erm - never indulged - you know - with a boy, much less one acting the part of a girl."

Wendy feigned surprise and raised two melting eyes. "Not even kissed one?"

"No. I've never even kissed one. Not on the mouth, as it were. I mean that's not acceptable is it?"

Wendy's eyelashes swept up and down. He was always mindful of the clumsiness of men new to using boys, but at least this one looked kind and thoughtful and admitted his failings. Perhaps all he needed was a little guidance.

"Depends who you want to please, sir. Some boys are made for kissing. They love it, and I think you'd love it too if you tried it." He moved forward to reveal his utter loveliness, and the gentleman felt bewilderment he'd never known before.

Hesitantly, timidly, the strangers arm closed around Wendy's shoulders, and on finding the youngster made no attempt to slip away he drew him close. "Gorgeous!" he breathed, reeling from the rise of delicate perfume. "Acting like girls all the time! You she-boys - you young people probably - er - Do you - er - boys kiss each other and stick your tongues into each others mouths?"

With his lips slightly parted and his eyes as big as he could make them Wendy gazed up at his face. This was more fun than collecting dirty glasses. "There's not much we haven't tried. I like boys a lot, but I love men." he answered.

Everything seemed so natural. Without asking permission the banker gathered Wendy against his chest, pulling him close until the sissy felt the rasp of his jacket on his cheeks, the soft silk tie on his nose, and smelt the scent and soap of man.

The man's lips stirred the crown of his hair. He couldn't control his feelings, couldn't hold them in.

"What's your name?"

"Wendy, sir." Wendy said.

"Wendy!" He repeated the name, making it come out of a strangled whisper of near panic.

Wendy sank back and tipped up his face, and drawn to the flutter of movement the man caught his chin in his palm.

The next moment he had the young thing in his arms and his lips trembled as he covered the she-boys mouth with his own, firmly clamping onto the soft, pink lips, crushing them and munching hungrily. It was the kind of fierce melding of hot lips and flickering wet tongues in which Wendy excelled and he gave the amorous gentleman the benefit of his experience, raising up on tiptoe, throwing his arms about his neck and rolling his mouth around quite shamelessly, even opening it wide to invite the man to lick down into his throat.

The stranger was too coy to do such a thing, but he gloried in the warmth of their illicit embrace, in the stir of Wendy's arms and the sensation of his young body palpitating against him like a captured bird. When they drew apart he was breathless and he suffered a moment of panic on discovering his hand was intruding down over Wendy's belly.

"Oh - I - er -"

"It's okay sir. I like what you're doing." Wendy husked. Ever the manipulator he slipped his own hands inside the man's jacket, pressing himself close enough to detect something big and hard sticking up inside his trousers. Something that was sure to be seven or eight inches of solid meat.

"You're excited, sir. And you're so handsome and manly you've made me excited too."

He gazed up at the man's face, his expression one of deceptive innocent. "But if you want to get my pants off we'll need to find somewhere a bit more private."

Praise is an aphrodisiac, and the scent and the feel of the slender, feminine beauty in his arms was all the man needed to sharpen his eagerness. But it was not to be. At that moment Jennifer arrived snapping irritably about uncollected glassware, and the anonymous gentleman blushed madly and swung away in pretence of inspecting an urn of flowers.

By mid-afternoon Open Day for many was adjudged over, but while prospective clients and the purely curious were encouraged to depart the most valued of Miriam Hancock's supporters were skilfully spirited away elsewhere for tea and cakes. While the men went to the gymnasium, the ladies were assembled in one of the classrooms on the second floor where the desks and hard seats had been replaced with plush-padded easy chairs.

The room resounded to a cacophony of genial chatter and the tinkle of china cups as a dozen women took tea. Most of them were heavy jowled, broad in the beam, middle-aged and middle-class matrons whose conversations were loaded with words like 'marvellous', 'wonderful' and 'darling', adjectives easy to use in a world given to insincere exaggeration. They were all paragons of virtue and doyennes of respectability when in the public eye, but in the seclusion of Fairyfield Grange that day there was an air of preoccupied expectancy about them. It seemed they were determined to relax and let their hair down.

All except Joanna Trollop perhaps, who was nursing an inexplicable black-eye and was slumped silent in a chair amid a rising pall of something that wasn't real tobacco smoke.

On the fringe of things Miss Moffet quietly complained about her varicose veins whilst helping herself to a third slice of Dundee cake, while by her side Mrs Boroclough concentrated on the coconut macaroons and sympathised. "You don't have to tell me, my dear. I'm a martyr to 'em myself. A martyr I tell you."

At length Miss Hancock installed herself on a narrow carpet that started at the door and ostentatiously spanned the room "If I could have your attention ladies, it's showtime and we're ready to begin."

The women put down their teacups and turned towards her, keen interest etched on each heavily made-up face.

"You are all aware that my intention here is to adjust the nature of boys and develop them into becoming the finest of housemaids," began Miriam, "And since you are the core of support for my work and you all aspire to own a pantyboy-servant of your own eventually, you're deserving of a little instructional entertainment.

"Here at Fairyfield we specialise in the sissy training of effeminate panty boys. Sissies who wear skirts and act like simpering girls are primarily used by men of course, but they can be an endless source of amusement to women too.

As you will discover in due course if you don't know already, my sissies all look delicious when decked out as French-maids, but when a days chores are done there are a myriad of other recreational outfits in which they can be dressed to charm, stimulate and titillate the imagination of ladies. Today I intend to show you some of them."

The seated women stirred and dragged their chairs into a row along the edge of the carpet, and a titter of delight fluttered along their ranks.

"Just a word of thanks to Margaret Pardoe who provided the sartorial savoir-faire for the gorgeous costumes to be displayed," continued Miriam, "And to Nanny Jennifer and Gloria who's support as been magnificent." There was a ripple of applause for the absent ladies who were occupied in last minute details outside the room.

Miss Hancock made a hand signal towards the door and took a pace back as Jemima made an appearance, a small figure, barefoot, barelegged and clutching a teddy-bear, a pale petal of a child with enormous eyes. He was closely supervised by Nanny Jennifer who was wearing a blue nursery-maids' overall with a double-pronged tawse swinging from the waist belt.

All the ladies concentrated on Jemima who was draped in a little, sleeveless, pink night-smock not quite long enough to completely hide the ruffled panties he wore beneath it. His head was wrapped in a scallop-trimmed baby-bonnet with tapes that tied beneath his chin, and he also wore a little feeding bib with a Mickey-Mouse logo. The eyes fluttered in his small puckered face. He was sucking on a pacifier, a pink dummy-teat with a large round guard with a ring attached to a ribbon about his neck, and it was several moments before everyone grasped that the diminutive creature wasn't an infant girl, but a beautiful little boy dressed as one.

"You will agree that this is an ideal outfit for those among you who relish supervising a babykins." said Miriam. "Dressed like this young boys are such helpless little things, and for those who enjoy such a fantasy fetish, sissy babies will obediently lay on their backs in a cot doing gurgles and goo's all afternoon while kicking their legs and constantly wetting themselves."

Jemima sucked noisily on his pacifier while gazing up from under the rim of his bonnet. He felt very stupid and hated being dressed as a baby, but the tears of shame brimming around his eyes only served to make his angelic face seem more appealing.

Unconcerned with his feelings Jennifer raised his arm and twirled him around so that everyone could have a clear view of his panties, which bulged with the plumpness of a nappy liner - what Americans termed a diaper.

"Dressing sissyboys as infants can be very useful," Miriam went on. "It reinforces their lowly status and reminds them they are the subject of a ladies whim."

She smiled at her daughter. "Thank you Nanny Jennifer. Lead the little darling away and bring on the next exhibit."

A moment passed in which the women smiled rather self-consciously at each other, then a gasp went round the room as a sibilant rustle announced the arrival of an adorable boy in dainty little-girl mode holding Jennifer's hand.

This time the model was Susan wearing a little girls party-dress of yellow chiffon with puffy short sleeves and masses of petticoats. The dress was all white lace accentuated by delicate pink bows across the bodice, and around his waist was a four inch wide satin sash tied behind by a huge bow. Little white lace gloves graced his hands, and Susan's feet, clad in white Mary-Janes were complimented by white ankle socks trimmed with a lacy turned down cuff. But if anything was the point of focus it was his skirt, a high, wide bouncing concoction of petticoats that showed off more than his lovely legs.

"You will have noticed that all the pantywaists here no longer cry and stamp their feet when told to put on a dress." Miss Hancock purred, "Their little male brains have been made to surrender to delicious girly feelings and they adore being soft and feminine. Susan is dressed as a eight-year-old girl, helpless, trusting and virgin-sweet. He'd be any mother's Pride and Joy and every daddies darling."

"And every dirty old man's wet dream." added a wry vice from the audience. A wave of consternation swept over Susan when everyone chortled with amusement, but he was given no time to dwell on things.

The headmistress gave him a little push in the middle of his back. "Do a little promenade." she told him. "Mince back and forth a few times and don't forget to move your hips as you've been taught. Be the precocious little madam I know you are. The ladies want to see your petticoats deliver a good sway and swish."

Crimson faced Susan sashayed forward with practised, lissom grace. He was nervous and aroused at the same time, and as he sissied to and fro his adrenaline rushed as a dozen pairs of eyes scanned his panties and the slim honey-coloured legs that descended below the bouffant cloud of his frothy petticoats.

He bounced in a nimble little dance and curtsied sweetly, before thankfully Jennifer took his hand again and led him away towards the door.

There was spontaneous applause. Genuine appreciation. The sissy fashion-parade seemed to be going well, but then without warning the lecherous tension in the room was suddenly cracked.

"This is boring," moaned Joanna Trollop who had remained truculent and remote in an alcohol induced torpor until then.

"We want to see pricks. Why won't you show us their pricks? Make the little tramps take his pants down and jerk on their meat."

A kind of shocked paralysis settled on everyone except Miriam, who appeared to be unflappable.

Quick to respond to her mothers signal, Jennifer, who was standing at the door, went off to find Gloria, and the beefy, heavyweight housekeeper came in at once to glare at Joanna.

"You's being loose wi' yer language again, miss. Best if you leave the room I think. Best if I gags yer mouth an' locks you in a broom cupboard for a while."

The colour drained from the woman's face and her mouth drooped like warm trifle.

Knowing already how persuasive Gloria could be she mumbled faintly and mysteriously, "Yes, nanny. Sorry nanny," then rose up and sullenly followed the housekeeper out through the door.

Miss Hancock continued in a silky tone as before, quite unabashed. "Now then ladies, while some sissy's like to wiggle in pretty 'little girl' frocks with frothy petticoats and Mary-Jane shoes, others can be encouraged to try new roles.

A sigh of satisfaction rose up from the assembly as Alice appeared in the room. He was portrayed as a slave-girl - or possibly a slave-boy since his appearance would have suited either. His neck, arms and ankles were strewn about with strings of baubles, bangles and coloured beads, but he had no real costume, not even a pair of pants. His only clothing consisted of a silk headscarf that had been folded into a triangle and tied about his hips, and since the scarf had been craftily draped over to one side there was very little to guard his modesty at either front or back. He stopped and stood before Miriam, feet together, his gaze offset to the side and hands clasped behind his back as if he were expecting a reprimand. That gave many of the women a chance to strain forward to gain a better view of his half-obscured penis and little pink bag.

Miriam's hand stroked his delicately formed face. "Every lady would appreciate one of these." she said,. "Obedient, long-suffering, hard working, but constantly pretty. A joy to the beholder I think you'll agree. The age of a schoolboy, but with the skills of both a skivvy and a harem maiden. I dare say the Amazons of Greek myth would have had whole seraglio's full of such sissy beauty."

Her hand moved up to stroke the top of his head. "Many of the pupils of Fairyfield have featured in magazines, and some of you here may recognise Alice as the most recent centrefold model in BOYS IN PANTIES."

Out in the audience Mrs Tichborne smirked sideways at Mrs Gannet who was an intimate associate. The named magazine, commonly referred to as 'Pricks in Knicks' regularly circulated among a number of the women.

"But oddly enough," continued Miss Hancock, "you'll all have noticed, Alice wears no panties at all today."

She smiled jovially down at him. "Oh dear Alice, that's not very modest. We'll have to ask one of the nice ladies to put you in some knickers, won't we?"

This was a cue for several of the women to make a search of their handbags, and it was Mrs Tichborne seated front-centre of the group who was first to pull out something frilly and wave it furiously at the blushing sissy. "Here darling. These are soft and skimpy." she cooed.

Other women waved items too, and confused and intimidated, eyes, large and sparkling, mouth soft and luscious, Alice glanced from one to the other.

There was a hoot of glee from the excited assembly as the dazed sissy boy then looked anxiously up at Miss Hancock.

"Ah, look ladies, he can't decide which pants to wear. He does so desperately want to be knickered, but having to make a choice is far too difficult for a featherbrained girly."

She smiled down at him. "Shall I choose your knickers for you, precious?"

Alice put his thumb in his mouth and nodded, and the women sighed with pleasure at the weak, submissive creature who could no longer make the smallest decision for himself.

"Mrs Tichborne was the first to show a pair." Jennifer declared helpfully.

The woman, a bright and brassy female packed into a green dress that was far too short immediately leapt up with a squeak and came forward with a pair of minuscule pink panties in her hand. She wrapped young Alice in her arms and pressed her crimson mouth all over his face before holding the panties at his feet with the elastic stretched out.

The boy stepped daintily into them and gave a little gasp as Mrs Tichborne drew them slowly upward, pulling out the waistband to ease it over his excited little prong and smoothing them snug over his girlish bottom. "There now Alice. Does that make you feel properly girly?" asked Miriam.

"Yes, thank you miss." he replied softly.

"Good girl. Now go and sit on Mrs Tichborne's lap for a while and watch the other pretty girls parade in their lovely outfits."

He was quickly installed on the woman's fat knees and Mrs Tichborne immediately had a hand on his thighs as she petted him.

The next in the parade of femininity to be led on by Jennifer was Wendy wearing a short aquamarine beach jacket over a matching two-piece bikini of minimal proportions.

His legs were slender, smooth and sun browned, dimpled at the knees and with delicate ankles. Emasculated, immaculate, superb, he glided along the catwalk wearing shoes with thin, high heels, walking slowly, allowing a mincing gait to develop in his step.

Two dozen curious eyes gazed at him and kept pace as he moved. When he stopped he pushed a knee forward and stood with hand on hip before turning about to strike the same pose in the other direction. The stance was designed to accentuate his shapeliness, his girliness, and it created an alluring quality in every limb. He looked straight at the audience, turned his head, then turned his shoulders in a movement that was well practised. Easy, exquisitely engineered, his young body flowing with seductive elegance.

Hooking his thumbs into the front of his skimpy pants he sauntered forward; one foot dead in front of the other.

"Without doubt an indispensable accessory for the beach." Miriam announced. "Wendy is a young Miss capable of tantalising men and women alike, and boys, even straight boys would love to play in the surf with this young thing. "Such a slender reed," she murmured, "but he wiggles so saucily when he walks and as a bottom that's quite irresistible. Without doubt crowds would assemble and queue along the beach just for a chance to rub up against him."

Wendy's hair was pinned back over small ears, his lips, soft and pink were slightly agape, and his eyes were inexpressibly beautiful, dark and long lashed with lids slightly hooded to offer a sultry appearance. In a graceful unconcerned movement he removed his beach jacket and all the eyes panned down to search beneath the contours of his flawless shoulders to appreciate the rise and fall of his young bosom. Obligingly it juddered slightly to intrigue.

No attempt had been made to disguise what his tiny pants contained, and everyone then strived to define the exact outline of his 13 year-old cock and his plump testicles.

Someone in the audience generated a low wolf-whistle. Everyone else was too entranced to look and see who it was, but a mixture of stifled giggles and barking laughter rolled around the room.

"You'll have seen a number of my sissies at the reception earlier," said Miriam, "And you'll have observed how each of them can strut with an air of girlish charm. An attractive feature you'll agree."

"That dear thing there can kick sand in my sandwiches anyday." chortled a blowsy red-haired woman.

"By next term I'll have a selection for you to chose from Mrs Muckworthy."

Miriam answered.

Accompanied by a chorus of regretful sighs Wendy was finally escorted 'off-stage', and Miss Hancock resumed her commentary. "And now, something for those darker moments." she said mysteriously. "Some will find no appeal in costuming a servant entirely in latex or rubber, but I know that many of you here think it extremely erotic."

Jennifer then led out her most favoured concoction, her 'rubber-doll', which was really Holly Brown dressed in a short dress, stockings and cocktail gloves that went up beyond the elbows, all of which were made of shiny black rubber and clung to him like a second skin.

The design of his outfit held him sheathed like a lily in its slim corsage and lost no point of emphasis in displaying his superbly moulded throat, poised white shoulders and the taut virginal curves of his young bosom.

The teenage 'nanny' hauled him along the catwalk by a dog-leash clipped to a studded slave-collar around his neck before swinging him round to face the enraptured throng.

The straps and buckles of a leather harness enclosed his head while Holly's beautiful eyes blinked in bewilderment over a mouth stretched around a fat, round ball-gag. Carmine lipstick coated his mouth, mascara had been deftly applied to his long, luxurious lashes and metallic blue eye shadow to the lids, but the only features of his face that could be clearly seen were his eyes, open wide as if he'd just been caught in the glare of a spotlight.

When Jennifer brought him to a halt it could be seen that his legs were encased in smooth rubber stockings notionally held in place by rubber suspender-straps, and he stood teetering on pointed-toed shoes with ridiculously high heels that shaped his legs and pushed out his bottom in lewd invitation.

"Of course great patience is required for this kind of costuming," remarked Miss Hancock casually, "It requires time and a great deal of talc to slide even a slender morsel such as Holly into such body gripping attire." Pausing, she simpered and smiled, "However, there's probably no finer kind of punishment suit to wrap a sissy in when discipline needs to be applied.."

"Is it really a boy? It's so hard to tell." muttered Mrs Frobisher, who at 29 was the youngest woman there.

"Of course it's a boy. It's a sissyboy." insisted Mrs Muckworthy beside her. She unconsciously licked her lips. She herself was a Bridge-playing ambulant woman who's usual pastime was quarrelling with hotel managers, but at that moment she was being taxed in trying to control the indecent pounding of her pulse.

Jennifer moved close to Holly and unclipped what seemed to be a rubber bra strapped to his chest, and with the item removed two tiny white breasts were revealed, squeezing forward through a pair of holes fashioned into the bodice of his dress.

While the girl's hands deftly plumped up the newly bared flesh her mother dragged a tall stool onto the carpet.

"Showtime would not be complete without a demonstration of Fairyfield correction." she declared.

Holly was pushed towards the stool and made to lean forward and place his cheek on the seat. He then gripped its legs, knees bending to facilitate offering out his bottom.

Jennifer was again attentive. The back of Holly's rubber skirt was rolled up to reveal the sheer beauty that lay beneath. His black stockings stopped high on his thighs where the back of his legs and the bare satin skin of young buttocks gleamed like ivory in contrast. Bending as he was, his body formed a perfect curve from the knees upward, and beneath the arch of his abdomen the outline of his penis stood out in pure perfection. He had not been provided with panties, instead his penis, which was fully at attention, was shrouded for its entire length by a black rubber condom, while his testicles, which had been tethered at the top to make them bulge, were tucked into a separate, snug little sling.

"Such a pretty bottom. Perfect." commented Mrs Frobisher as she absently adjusted her bra, which had suddenly begun to feel very tight. She couldn't take her eyes off the girl-figure in rubber. Her face, her nipples. Those legs. Her cock.

"Jennifer isn't going to strap it, surely."

As the daughter of the headmistress unclipped the leather tawse from her belt Holly resolved to accept his ordeal in the best way possible, which was sensible, because resistance was of no use.

SPATT!

"Mmmuufff!" His high heels kicked slightly and then settled back.

SMACK!

"Aaaaahhh!"

The audience leaned forward each time the lash came down with a sharp slap on Holly's creamy little billows, and as the sissy emitted anguished squawks around the confines of his gag they all seemed to wince and draw breath in sympathy.

Mrs Frobisher's eyes sparkled as she squeezed her thighs together. "Oh dear - but he is a naughty girl, dressing up like that and showing his bum, so I suppose its all right to smack him as long as he doesn't get more than six."

BLATT!

"Gggrrrrhh!"

WAP!

"Uuugg!"

Jennifer gave him only four. She'd promised to give him no more than two, but had come to realise such a small number was far too derisory.

Miss Hancock then stepped forward and signified that Holly should be removed from the room.

"After that rather torrid display there will be a short interlude whilst we assemble the finale," she explained, " But don't wander off too far ladies. I can assure you it will be worth waiting for."

At the back of the room Alice sat quivering on Mrs Tichborne's lap, his cheeks blazed with shame. The panties the woman had previously put on him had quickly been dragged down onto his knees once she'd extracted him away from the other women's pawing, and now, regarding him like a prize won in some raffle she was greedily doing all the pawing herself. Her fingers were holding his engorged penis and gently gliding up and down.

"Don't be embarrassed," she whispered, "Little pantyboys should enjoy a ladies attention. Keep your arms down at your sides or I'll get cross. Have you ever had your hands tied for misbehaviour?"

"Only when I'm put in the closet."

"A closet!" cooed Mrs Tichborne, "That would be a tiny, dark room where naughty children are taught to mend their ways. A lovely idea."

Pausing momentarily she drew her hand away to take up a small scented handkerchief, which she draped delicately around the tip of his boyhood. "It's ages since I've done this with such a stiff young willy as yours - it's a year at least since a woman from Birmingham lodged at my house. I looked after her little boy in the evenings when she went out, and I sat him on my knee after bathing him and putting him in his clean jimmy-jams." Giving his solid young penis a slow jig with her hand she went on. "I used to give him a little rub just like this, because I know little boys can't resist rubbing their willie-winkie's in bed. They'd rub them for half the night if they had the chance and miss a lot of sleep, so I told him it was best if I did it for him."

Miss Hancock took the centre of the floor once more, and at her signal the door opened and in minced a procession of four sissy confections. Trudy, Zoe, Nicola and Lucinda, hair neatly combed, lips masked with gloss and cheeks highlighted with rouge.

All they're pale bodies were naked except for powder blue pyjama jackets that were unbuttoned and laid well back on their shoulders to be utilised as mere decoration.

The ladies sat entranced in their seats, fingers bearing cigarettes pausing in mid-air, their owners immobile.

Miss Hancock's pantyboys all had such slight, deliciously girlish bodies, alabaster skin, flawless hips and legs, pretty ankles and small erect nipples that like their cheeks had been boldly defined by rouge, but in contradiction to their effeminacy each of their pricks was at full erection, rising above the horizontal and swaying slightly as they walked..

Weaving a pattern of sensuous beauty they reached the centre of the catwalk, stopped and turned to face the audience of female notorati. Fresh, clean-looking bodies, sweet and pink all over. Perfectly glossed mouths, rouge on their nipples and without panties their cocks were bare and throbbing and very excited.

There was a hush in the room, an air of expectancy that hammered in the ears as the women avidly surveyed the display, assessing the dimensions of each upward thrust and downward dangle. Sissy's they may have been. They were naughty, naughty boys who sometimes wore frocks and pretended to be girls, but they still had cocks that could probably do lovely little-boy squirts. Like animated dolls the pantyboys blushed beneath their rouge. All were very aware of the predatory eyes gazing at them. Their preferred world was one of men and boys, and the gaggle of strange, watching women embarrassed them terribly.

But they were Miss Hancock's coup de theatre, and for her showpiece of the afternoon her guests would be entertained by a clutch of pretty pantywaists masturbating themselves to orgasm.

The ladies goggled slack-mouthed whilst making a brief attempt to maintain some dignity, but several let out a yelp of glee that betrayed their enthusiasm and impatience.

Jennifer made a final pass along the front of the pantyboys, taking hold of each nipple in turn between her forefinger and thumb, twisting and plucking until the tender young teats mimicked their lower anatomy and thrust up in optimal arousal.

"Make a beginning." Miriam then demanded.

At once the row of girlies made a start, some stretching a hand over their hairless thighs to raise their testicles, while others stroked up their bellies to caress their creamy boy-breasts, but within moments each of them had taken his penis in his hand and was tugging it.

The audience watched intently as young fingers and thumbs shunted soft, pliant foreskins back and forth. Four lovely gasping sissy's standing in a row, squealing softly as they wanked. Their chests seemed to expand, to swell, rising and falling while their thighs closed on one another, knees dipping and then straightening.

Although engrossed in their exercise the prettyboys were all keenly aware of the expressions their action provoked among the women. The softly spoken chorus of 'uuugg's' and 'ooohh's' that accompanied their self-inflicted pleasure made the women's faces glow with interest, perhaps even naked excitement, and their large bosoms lifted and sank rapidly as the tip of each erection became moist and pink.

Wracked by spasms as their hands moved in a frenzy it wasn't too long before each of the little angel's began shuddering, skimming higher and higher to seek the peak of pure sensation. Agony, ecstasy, shame and joy were etched in all of their porcelain-like features.

"Disgusting!" exclaimed Mrs Gannet, slack mouthed and working her thighs like bellows.

"My daughter will be green with envy when I tell her about this," commented Mrs Muckworthy, "She loves watching boys beat their meat. She's forever pestering her brothers to let her watch."

The other woman wasn't listening. Her attention was entirely captured by the performance just a few feet in front of her.

"Unbelievable! They're all so young. Such smooth, cute little things, and they blush so prettily.

Look at that one - What an angel! He's as stiff as a pole. One could hang a flag on it."

Although still occupied in lovingly stroking Alice's stiff willy Mrs Tichborne peered between them for a moment.

"Dirty little wankers. Their fairy-queen arses will deserve a good smack when they've finished tossin'-off."

"That won't be long now." Mrs Frobisher said.

Some of the other spectators moaned as they gazed at the line of lovely erect organs with eager eyes, and one or two abandoned the pretence of decency and openly put a hand up their skirts.

Suddenly the elderly Miss Moffet made a sudden, frantic search of her handbag.

"Oh dear! I suppose I'd better wear my spectacles."

Trudy ejaculated first. He'd been showing a copious amount of precum almost from the start and now he was squirming his thighs and moaning with each urgent move of his hand as his foreskin slipped over and back, over and back across his glistening cock-head.

Stroke, stroke, stroke. His legs opened to show the dangle of his testicles as he changed his grip to a full-handed wraparound and increased the speed of his personal caress to a furious pounding.

The frantic rubbing lasted for half a minute, then his mouth squeezed out a guttural protest between clenched teeth.

"Gggnnn - oh - ooow!"

The little sweetie came, eyes wide and moist as he squealed in sissy rapture.

His body convulsed and his hips pushed his spasming cock forward as a glop of white cum exuded from the flaring slit at the tip of his gland. Several more followed rapidly, the last and smallest dangling tenaciously by a strand of its own making, stubbornly remaining to swirl like a lariat as his hand worked to rid the invidious ache from his cock.

The sight released the physiological brakes on the other sissy's. Moaning in unmelodious chorus, legs shaking, their slim young bodies quaked. All frantically tugged and jerked, pushed and pulled, and one by one they also shot out their sissy-cream.

Nicola imitated Trudy, his hand working in a blur until a shuddering thrill coarsed through his body.

"Ahhhhh ... aaaahhh!" He emitted a tiny shriek of amazement as his penis kicked in his fingers and a glorious blob of translucent ejaculate heaved forward in a modest arc.

A moment later Zoe succumbed. Whimpering with joy his hips pushed forward and his sissy-cock throbbed out its juice, an impressive amount that first leapt up and then slavered down heavily over his tightly clenched, pumping fist.

It was all too much for poor Lucy who gurgled in alarm when the firm plum of his penis began to ooze juice from the vent at its apex. Eyes staring, mouth agape, he looked almost surprised when a gout of semen finally burst forth, spitting rather than oozing, and making the woman avidly watching directly to his front panic and reel back in her seat.

"Unnnnhhh!" His eyes rolled as he squeezed and the last slaver of creamy cum boiled out to lubricate his small fingers.

At the back of the crowd of women Alice was still in the captivity of Mrs Tichborne's intoxicating caress while perched upon her lap, but when the boys in front jerked off he too surrendered to an inevitable rush of pleasure.

With the lady's hands sliding up and down his body and with his swollen cock being so boldly milked he shuddered, moaned and writhed, and his face became a mask of anguish as he released his pent up excitement. "Oh miss. Oooow, ooooow!" he crooned.

Instantly the tiny handkerchief wrapped around the tip of his youthful stalk became sodden with warm wetness, while an excess of creamy ejaculate oozed through the flimsy fabric to baste the woman's fingers. Mrs Tichborne blinked hard. "Goodness me! I never thought a slip-of-a-thing your age could be so - erm - full of it."

"My, my! Just look at all that goo coming out of them all!" exclaimed Mrs Frobisher, "Such small boys, yet such large amounts. I've not seen so much spunk squirting at one time for years. Not since the girls played games with the boys at my last school dance."

  

  

  

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