Fairyfield Grange

by Jason Argo

 

part 16

 

The early morning sun made the windows of the great house sparkle, and the ancient, dappled walls of Fairyfield Grange looked like they'd been daubed with gold.

Abigail swept across the back patio and admired the recent changes. The large windows facing onto the terrace had been taken out and replaced with French doors.

It represented a facet of his mother's ultimate ambition - punch or chilled Pimm's on the terrace with some pretty maid bringing it out through French doors.

It represented the thing she'd always chased. Status.

For a moment he stood poised on the steps that led down into the garden, his heart beating a little faster as his gaze roved among the dozen sissy pupils in little frocks meandering over the pastoral vista. The sky was soaring, azure, clear and without cloud, and the sun was a perfect orb, its blinding radiance casting a lustrous sheen on the rolling lawns.

He saw who he was looking for at once. Wendy was heading for a sheltered corner where a sundial fought to function amid the shade of rearing rhododendrons and the shadows of an old stone wall matted with ivy. He waited until he'd seated himself on a weathered wooden bench, then went over to join him, sitting next to him and drawing his nylon-clad knees together.

"Hi, I was hoping to see you this morning."

Startled from idle contemplation Wendy leaned back and regarded him dismissively.

"Haven't you noticed? I've been around all term and finding me hasn't worried you much before."

He made a move to raise up and leave, but Abigail pressed on his arm. "Please ... Don't go." His eyes were like fathomless pools. "I'm lonely," he said softly, "though I don't suppose you'll believe me."

The space between them seemed to suddenly charge with electricity. There was a sense of something more than just physical between them at that moment, there was an embrace of minds, of shared spirits, just like they'd known in the past.

Wendy sat down again and suffered an urge to close the gap and touch his friend. His stomach, the tips of his breasts, his fingertips, all tingled with energy. He needed - wanted ...

A single blink broke the spell and he quickly looked away, unable to come up with an excuse for staying and unwilling to admit he'd never stopped thinking about his beautiful cousin.

Yes, Abigail was still awfully good looking, and in spite of everything he'd be a liar if he said he wasn't flattered by his attention.

"Life can be cruel, don't you think?" Abigail asked, sidling up to him.

"What do you mean?" Wendy asked.

Abigail smiled, his eyes all enveloping. "Fate if you like. You and me."

"There hasn't been any 'you and me' for ages." Wendy snorted. He intended the remark to sound indignant and cutting, and it was, but Abigail didn't rise to it.

Instead he sat smartly and rubbed his hands together. "School breaks for recess tomorrow and I won't be here next term, so I wanted to say goodbye without being rushed."

Surprised, Wendy turned his head. "That sounds awfully final. Are you leaving forever?"

"Mother's found me a place with some old fella' that lives in Surrey, not far from London. On the river. A magnificent house. The man - his name doesn't matter - lives alone, and he's quite old and very wealthy. He's going to take me down there at the end of term, and I don't think I'll be coming back here soon."

He gave a gentle smile. "Nanette will likely be the next head-girl. It should have been you, but you're never strict enough."

Wendy dismissed the idea with a throwaway flip of his hand. "Nan's the right choice for that kind of thing, he's as cold as ice." His brow creased nonetheless. "This place won't be the same without you."

Abigail gazed out at the garden. "I'll miss all this, but I won't have any use for the kind of things I've learnt here. The man just wants a well-hung sissy as a sort of companion. He's going to keep me as a sort of pet, with nipple rings and a Prince Albert in the end of my cock."

"What's a Prince Albert?"

"It's a metal ring that goes up your pee-hole and out through the top of your knob. Matron did it all last week. That's why mummy wouldn't let me take part in Open Day."

"Ouch! That must be horrid. Why does an old wrinkly want you like that?"

"It's his kink I suppose. With a tether on a Prince Albert he can attach me to the furniture or take me for walks like a dog. Some people enjoy doing that sort of thing."

"Being towed around by your cock won't be nice. I wouldn't wish that kind of thing on anyone."

Abigail smiled. "It won't be so bad. Fresh fields and pastures new and all that. Mother reckons the guy's so old he'll croak soon, and if I play my cards right he'll make me a bequest in his will. He may even leave me everything."

At that moment Jemima dawdled along the path in front of them making a serious business of kicking the heads off stray peonies when he thought no one was looking. He was looking very pretty himself, his short skirt highlighting what extremely good legs he had.

"I want you and I to part as good friends," Abigail told Wendy, "Let me give you a treat."

He beckoned Jemima over. "Come here you little lesbian. You'll let Wendy shag you, won't you?"

Jemima shrugged. "Sure, but what's it worth?"

"Mercenary little bitch! Are you selling your charms these days?"

"A boy as to think about the future and how he's going to make a living eventually. I'm an excellent shag, and that must be worth something."

"A bag of toffees then."

Jemima seemed impressed, but Wendy wasn't.

"Piss off and come back on a rainy day."

At that the junior shrugged his shoulders again, deadheaded another flower with his foot and ambled away.

"I don't want that kind of treat today." Wendy snapped.

Abigail looked at him closely and frowned. "I've neglected you, I know that. When mother made me head-girl I got some pretty awful ideas about how important I was and I was rotten to you. Will you always be angry with me?"

A sheepish expression swept over Wendy's face. His attraction to his cousin had never wavered in spite of everything. He wanted to tell Abigail how lovely he still was, but daren't.

"Not angry, just annoyed that's all. We were so close once, then things changed so quickly."

He glanced down. "This is the very bench Jennifer first spanked me on when I arrived here. That day when we - when you and I first ..." He left the sentence unfinished and looked away.

"We did have some fine times together, didn't we?" mused Abigail, " We seemed to do little else but screw last year. And you look just as you did then. Dashing and dishy; pretty and bright-eyed as ever, no fatter, no thinner."

Wendy fidgeted and patches of red appeared on his cheeks as he solemnly reached for his cousin's hand. God, could it really be? After a whole school-term of disinterest could Abigail still have a soft-spot for his erstwhile lover?

"I've missed you, you beast. I've missed you terribly."

"I know, and I want us to be friends again before I go away," replied Abigail. "Let's do something together. Let's find a couple of cute juniors and fuck the arse off them."

"Stop it!" demanded Wendy. The yearning he'd hidden for so long erupted on his face as he thought of the wealthy banker who'd recently bought himself. Since he'd first ridden the man's thick bone during Open Day he'd visited again, brought him flowers, held doors open for him and treated him like a little lady.

He thought of being possessed, anally possessed by a hairy-cocked man, and all the cum jumping out.

"Next term I'm going to live with someone too," he said, "I'm going to live with a nice man who'll give me as much cock as I can handle, but some things won't change. Can't you see that right now I want you?"

Abigail squeezed his friends hand and gazed at him quite matter-of-factly.

There was no need to pretend. They knew each other too well to play games.

"Is your - are you, y'know - HEALED?" his cousin asked.

Abigail nodded. "Everything's fine now. I'm ready for anything."

Wendy suddenly breathed deeply and pressed against him. "I'm glad. I'm glad because I want to find out what it's like getting poked with a Prince Albert. I want to feel it sliding up an down inside. Take me somewhere and spank me until I cry, then shag me silly."

 

That day was free-time for Emma Twist, and on Jennifer's suggestion she'd decided to climb into her little second-hand Fiat and make a visit to a certain Lavender Cottage on the periphery of Peasmarsh. The windows were open and the breeze played on her face as she drove along, while Classic FM played an aria from Rigoletto on the radio.

LA DONNA E MOBILE! Very apt for a lady on the move. That day the sun was in its heaven and she was in hers. Miriam had told everyone that the National Trust's attempt to acquire Fairyfield Grange had collapsed and the future was assured.

Little had she realised that Jennifer would provide such a fine opportunity for gratification when she'd seen her that morning. It was so unexpected, and so appreciated.

She'd popped in to see Miss Hancock's daughter for little more reason than to pass the time of day and had found her spreading the bottoms and oiling the rectums of four naked young sissies she'd draped in a row over the raised back of a sofa.

A plastic strap-on deposited on a nearby chair made clear her intention and came as no great surprise. Jennifer had lately become extremely fond of porking sissies.

"Looks like I've got myself double-booked today," Jennifer had said. "I'm stuck here when I should be setting out for Lavender Cottage. It'll be quite some time before I'm finished, so would you like to keep the other date for me?"

Such a thoughtful girl! So unselfish!

Emma crunched the little Fiat into top gear and put her foot down. She could just about afford a slightly newer car if she sacrificed a few other things, but it hardly seemed worth the expense when leading a life that didn't allow time for travelling.

Anyway, recess was in the offing and she'd already put all her spare cash into arranging a vacation in Mexico.

Mexico was where her fantasies had first begun to take on realism. In the scattered peasant villages around Monterey the food could be surprisingly good if one enjoyed the ethnic, and the lodgings were cheap if five-star service wasn't important. More important, in such places she could always muster a queue of apprehensive children offering themselves to be spanked in return for a little gift or inexpensive treat.

Some of the young mothers too were willing; willing to take their children's pants down and lay them across her lap while she smacked them, willing to have their own tits slapped, and willing to be spanked, fingered and shafted by a generous lady who paid them more attention than their arrogant, macho-obsessed husbands ever did.

In a mood of elation she motored down the village street. The buildings were all built of rough quarry stone, but they looked mellow and neat in the sunshine and it was easy to spot the shambolic figure of Mrs Amos standing on the corner by Larkin's store.

Not being a frequent visitor to Peasmarsh she felt in need of assistance in finding Lavender Cottage, and she'd summoned the tatty woman to act as a guide, and despite the hammering she'd received at the hands of Gloria the previous evening Mrs Amos had been willing to oblige. Drawing up at the pavement Emma peered out through the car's open window.

"Which way do we go?"

"Up top o' the lane behind the shop," Mrs Amos replied, "It's narrow, so it's best if we walk I reckon."

Climbing out from her car Emma locked the door and gave her travel bag over to be carried.

"If you're wishing to get back in my good books you're going to have to try hard today, Mrs Amos. You'll need to pay attention to what I say and be faultless in obeying instructions."

The woman dipped her head several times rapidly in her usual weaselling, sycophantic fashion.

"Yes, yes. Dunna worry Miss Emma, I's learned me lesson."

The assurance was greeted with some cynicism. Emma knew too well that the only way to be certain of anything with this particular woman was to keep a firm grip on the scruff of her neck and give her a regular beating.

There had been a brief thunderstorm earlier, the first rain to fall for months, and the heat and humidity had relented for a while. Earthworms wriggled their ecstasy in the grass as the soil sucked in deliverance and everything was cool and washed. Leaves shone and the sides of the lane formed narrow foaming torrents.

Emma gazed at her companion's face as they walked and recoiled at the sight. She didn't think anyone could be uglier than Mrs Amos usually appeared, but having received a pair of black eyes from Gloria so recently her face looked sunken and had taken on an additional ghoulish pallor. "You're not looking well Mrs Amos. Gloria gave you quite a hard time I think."

The woman nodded. "Horrible it was Miss. She didn't smack me bum like you do, she just thumped me around all over the place, all brutal like."

"I thought you may have been wily enough to seduce her away from some of the rougher treatment."

"It weren't no good tryin' last night. There was that posh lookin' television-woman laying unconscious on her bed wi' a cucumber stuffed up her cunt. Erm! Beggin' y'parden Miss - that is, it were stickin' out from her lady-parts, Miss."

"What did your husband say about the state of your face?"

"I tol' him I fell in a ditch. He believes everything I say."

They were forced to move into a slushy rivulet at the side of the road as a car squeezed by, and Emma paused to glance around. "This lane is quite well made. I could have driven this far and saved myself wet feet and a half-mile walk."

Mrs Amos grinned like an idiot ape. "Um, yes. I's not much good at judgin' things."

Emma sighed. "No you're not. You've just enough active brain cells to be rated as living."

At the top of the lane stood Lavender Cottage, a handsome, classical-looking structure with leaded windows and a tiled roof buckling with age that soared up to display great patches of coloured lichen.

Pretty enough to be pictured on the lid of a chocolate-box, thought Emma as she went up to the front door and knocked.

She was at once confronted by the buxom Mrs Clagget.

Emma folded her arms across her chest as their eyes met, and she didn't smile.

"I'm Miss Twist. Jennifer Hancock telephoned you earlier to let you know to expect me."

Martha Clagget fidgeted but didn't challenge what she said. Instead she pointed a finger at Mrs Amos.

"What's she doing here?"

"She's my bag-carrier." explained Emma without looking round. "She can remain in the hall while we do business, or you can put her out in the backyard."

"I don't want her in my garden," puffed Martha pugnaciously, "She looks like a piece of baggage herself, and if the neighbours saw her on my patio they'd think I'd opened a refuge for tramps. You'd both better come in."

Emma gave Mrs Amos a stern look as they entered. "You'll stand inside the front door and not move from there unless I call for you."

Inside the house Emma took everything in at a glance. Mrs Clagget's sitting-room was small, but scrupulously tidy, without any of the bobbins or tat one could expect of a haberdasher's home. In fact it was rather tastefully decorated, with an Aubusson rug on the floor and a six-foot long traditionally loomed tapestry depicting nymphs in a garden hanging from the dominant wall. Standing on a companion table by the door was a butterfly lamp in the style of Comfort Tiffany, while the space beneath the velvet drapes of the window was taken by a chaise longue covered in chinz.

Polly Clagget was seated on the couch. Big brown eyes and petite body, with blond hair pinned up on the back of her head. A beautiful girl, prim and proper but oozing sexuality.

Mrs Clagget stood in the centre of the room and pushed out her considerable bosom.

"I'm not sure I agree with what Jennifer as arranged for today, Miss Twist. She never mentioned when we began things with her that she'd send other people if she couldn't come herself. It's very disconcerting. The relationship Polly and I have with her is - er, intimate and personal, not something to share with strangers. And Jennifer never visits Polly and I at the same time. Not usually anyway. On the whole we're not used to that. I only agreed for you to come here because nothing much else happens around here on Sundays."

Emma felt certain that the woman's display of modesty was a charade she felt obliged to put on. She'd have never let her into the house if she'd not been interested with what was on offer, and nor would she be standing there swinging her chest about in such a showy way. It would require some careful linguistic engineering and a few deft moves to get the haberdasher moving from a cold start, but success with Martha Clagget was pretty much guaranteed. Her daughter however was not so easy to read.

"I understand, and of course I'll leave immediately if you insist." Emma said, "I could liven your Sunday up for you, but if I stay I must be sure of some measure of co-operation."

She smiled sweetly at the girl. "What do you think Polly?"

The girl quivered. "God! I couldn't possibly do the kinds of things I do with Jennifer with anyone else. That would be too degrading. It would be awful."

"I've no idea what Jennifer does, and I've not asked." Emma told her. That was a black lie. She'd gleaned in graphic detail everything that happened at Lavender Cottage and knew that here was a mother and daughter who were both amenable to lesbian seduction and susceptible to domination.

"Look, I think we should get to know each other a little better before a decision is made. What about kissing? As Jennifer ever kissed you?"

Mrs Clagget shuffled uneasily and glanced at her daughter who looked suitably shocked.. "Well, no. Jennifer doesn't kiss. She doesn't show any kind of affection." she replied.

"Considering the fact we've not met before perhaps a little kissing would be a pleasant way to introduce ourselves to each other. What do you say?"

The older woman put her hand to her mouth to stifle a tiny smirk of illicit excitement, then she glanced again at her daughter. "Well, I don't like Polly kissing boys in case they get bad ideas, but I don't mind her kissing girls so much."

Emma sidled elegantly across the carpet and seated herself close up to Polly.

Bashfully the girl dipped her gaze, but Emma tucked a finger beneath her chin and raised her face, making her look into her eyes. She reckoned her eyes were her best feature. Men fell in love with eyes, and so did women. It was as if they saw their dreams as well as themselves reflected in them. Unfortunately such people soon discovered that when with her they were gazing into dark pools of Narcissus in which they were doomed to drown.

The schoolteacher offered a twisted smile and put on an air of authority.

"I like to be dominant. Would you like me to be dominant with you?"

Polly gaped. Light-headed with excitement a wild blush bloomed in her cheeks.

"Oh god ... I - I ... What would you make me do?"

"Nothing too sadistic. I know what you can tolerate and the sort of things you enjoy."

She put her hands on the girl's waist and pulled her closer. The teenage body shuddered but didn't resist.

"That's it, relax Polly. I know what's good for you, you're in safe hands. I adore girls like you. I love making them surrender their sweet bodies."

Polly's gaze swung down to disengage from the eyes that mesmerised her. "Yes, I know. I can tell. I-I just thought it would be different to this." she murmured softly.

"Different! How?"

"I thought - I thought I'd be taken to another room."

"You mean somewhere were your mother can't watch? Well, that's appropriate sometimes, but on this occasion I want the two of you together. It'll be fun. Wait and see."

Spreading her fingers through the girl's hair Emma pulled her head back sharply.

"Ow, oooow!" Polly's hands flapped helplessly as the visitors lips pressed firmly against her soft mouth to relish her fresh, sweet taste. It felt awkward for a moment, staid, almost innocent, but Emma was a good kisser and she found herself quaking with pleasure and wanting to continue. Consumed by excitement she began to kiss back.

As the girls body sagged forward Emma took the opportunity to fondle her breasts; no bra beneath the thin nylon blouse, just soft flesh and tight little nipples that felt like erasers on a pencil.

Polly tried to draw away when she felt the hand, but with a measured amount of insistence Emma held her in place and made her moan and writhe with the kiss while her hand rolled her young bubbies around.

At last Emma herself broke the clinch and looked at the girl's mother who had been watching intently. Patting the seat on the alternate side to her daughter, she smiled.

"Let's you and I try it now Martha. Are you as keen as Polly?"

"Oh well ... I never!" Mrs Clagget twittered, and she visibly panted as she hurried to settle beside her. "I don't know as I should, but you're very overbearing Miss Twist. Just like Jennifer. There's just no arguing with you ladies from that school."

Emma swivelled round slightly and husked in her ear. "Calm down and take it easy my dear. There's no need to fluster. I'm going to make all the decisions for you this afternoon."

Bolder now, Emma placed a hand on either side of the woman's face and drew it forward, then she swooped right in with her mouth, finding Martha ready to reciprocate at once, sliding her tongue forward before she had a chance to do it herself.

Her arms were instantly embracing the older woman, which made the buttons of her blouse extremely accessible. The garment was soon laid open and Emma's hands went straight up her back to unclasp her bra and allow her voluptuous breasts to shake loose. Mrs Clagget had a pair of breasts that appreciated being handled, and Emma's hands were experienced enough to deliver the most bliss evoking caresses.

"Enjoy the sensation of my touch, dear. Close your eyes and dwell on the blood rushing through you. Enjoy how it makes your nipples throb and your slit hot and moist."

The woman wheezed, and when Emma felt a meaty hand stroking her knee she judged it time to draw away. Too much familiarity and things would become an urbane lesbian frolic, and she wanted more than that. She stood up and placed Polly's hands on her mother's neck.

"Have a little go with each other whilst I watch." she suggested.

Martha didn't seem too shocked by the idea, but Polly blushed beguilingly.

"Mummy and me - oh - but -"

"It's all right," Martha assured her, "I know it's naughty darling, but Miss Twist is making us do it."

She then put a hand behind her daughters head and leaned across to kiss her with an open mouth, and despite her initial hesitation the girl responded in a way that was wholly uncharacteristic for such a superficially prim creature.

Mouths began moving like those of starving waifs invited to supper, and Emma was sure she saw tongues moving. Martha's hands began to skim around Polly's breasts which were small and pert the way many seventeen year old girl's are, but she didn't touch them. Even so, their kissing became intense and it seemed they were beginning to make love to each other.

"Mrs Clagget, do you want to squeeze Polly's breasts? She's such an eager beaver, I'm sure she'll let you. Go ahead, open her blouse and get them out. Find out how soft they feel and how she loves having them pulled about."

Polly's head drooped and she sat biting her lip as her mother exposed her young bosom.

Emma offered encouragement. "Yes, you've got the right idea. Tug her nipples, she loves that."

"Now Polly, your turn. Stop kissing for a moment and take off your mum's blouse.

There! Now you can play with her lovely big jugs properly. I think you've been wanting to do that for a while, haven't you?"

Satisfaction glowed in Emma as she watched Polly and her mother kissing and playing with each others breasts. All their inhibitions had quickly evaporated and they were wallowing in the delicious thrill of relinquishing control and being commanded by a formidable woman, responding obediently to her every direction no matter how questionable it was. They were so docile that she felt she could easily own them.

"Undress each other girls. Take each others clothes off. I want you both in the altogether now."

At once Mrs Clagget and her daughter began to tug at each others clothes, and while they were doing it Emma slipped off her own dress and stood before them in a white bra and panties.

"It's time to do something else, I'm feeling rather left out." she told them.

She posed with her hands on her hips. While she never reckoned herself as material for a magazine centrefold Emma knew she had a good face. She also had all the right shapes in pleasing quantity in all the proper places, and the moment they'd met she'd sensed Mrs Clagget looking her up and down and liking what she saw. Her daughter liked it too.

"Do you think I'm good looking?"

Polly gawked in unrestrained admiration. "Yes Miss Twist. I wish I were as pretty as you."

Emma preened at the compliment, and instantly returned it. "You're already very pretty Polly my dear. You have the kind of young, shapely figure all men and women lust to make use of. Now, both of you come here."

Hot, salacious expressions blurred their eyes as mother and daughter slid from the couch and moved gingerly towards her. Without clothes it was apparent that their bodies were shaved smooth everywhere, a custom likely pressed on them by Jennifer who had become used to being surrounded by smooth bodies at Fairyfield.

It was a thing she entirely approved of. Lack of body hair gave young girl's a childlike quality, and even older people took on an element of nubile, immature charm that was appropriate for those in her sway - for inferiors.

"Put your hands behind your back and await instructions." she told them, just as if she were talking to a pair of sissy-boys from the school. Unclipping her bra she exposed her breasts, cupping her hands beneath and holding them up.

Mrs Clagget and Polly gazed at them avidly, which encouraged her to indicate her right breast.

"Martha, I'd like you to kiss this one."

The woman moved quickly, her mouth half engulfing the breasts before settling back to suck the nipple.

Emma gave her a light smack on the side of the head. "I said kiss it Mrs Clagget. I'll tell you when to suck."

"And now Polly darling, keep your hands behind you and come and kiss the other.

But no, on second thoughts you may suck."

The girl moved hesitantly, skimming her mouth against the proffered nipple before taking the bulging flesh into her mouth.

"Ooooh! That feels nice, Polly."

As the two women feasted on her tits Emma felt herself becoming wetter and wetter between the legs, but she was then distracted. "What are you two sluts doing?

Touching yourselves, I see! I told you to keep your hands behind your back, and there you both are with sticky fingers. Most reprehensible! You're very naughty girls and I shall have to punish you."

Now she felt confident. At last she felt they were truly in her grasp. She pushed them away and found her handbag in which she'd earlier stuffed a leather tawse.

"Stick out your hand," she demanded of Mrs Clagget as she grasped her wrist, "Hold it out flat."

"W-what -?" The woman looked at her aghast, but obeyed anyway and choked a sob as the leather strap lashed across her fingers. Three smacks on one hand, then Emma grabbed her other hand and applied three more.

Mrs Clagget's face contorted and she slumped back and hugged her hands between her knees.

Too shaken to do anything but look horrified Polly trembled under the gaze of the woman with flashing eyes, but she was to find no mercy. Each of her slender hands were subjected to the same harsh treatment and she began to cry.

"I haven't finished yet." Emma said coldly.

The teenager pleaded with her, eyes wet with tears. "I - I ... No ... I don't need ... Please don't punish me anymore ..."

"I'll punish you all right! I'll having you begging for mercy. On your knees in front of me! You too Mrs Clagget. Hands on top of your head where I can see them, and look me in the eye! Tell me how naughty you have been."

The two women dropped down and crawled forward to gaze up at her.

"I - I've been a naughty girl." Martha Clagget said haltingly.

"You'll address me as MISS whilst you're under my tutelage. Don't forget."

"Sorry , miss ... I've been a naughty girl ... very naughty."

"What did you do?"

"I - I was touching myself, miss."

Emma turned to the girl. "And you were touching yourself too Polly, weren't you? Where were you touching?"

(Sniff!) "Between ... my legs, miss."

"Rubbing your clitty! Masturbating without my permission! Surely a sin worthy of a spanking!"

(Sniff, sniff) "Erm, oow ...I - I suppose so, miss."

The girl and her mother were ordered to kneel side by side with their bellies on the couch and their bare backsides thrust out.

SLAP ... SLAP ... SLAP!

She started to smack them with her strap, slowly and not too severely but with enough sharpness to make each of them whinny and squirm. The result was an electrifying sensation that throbbed in their exposed sex and provided a heady warmth that ensured each clitoris extended fully.

More slaps, and with ever increasing intensity Miss Twist let her two captives know their true place in the order of things. Chattels subordinate to her will. Slave-toys for her amusement.

"There! What a lovely sight. You're both becoming rather pink down there, and very moist too ...

"Let me check with a finger ..Yes, yes. Very wet. I knew you'd appreciate it. I knew lezzy sluts like you would enjoy the attention of a stern lady."

Mrs Clagget and her daughter realised the truth of what she said. Whenever she called them 'naughty' or 'randy' or 'a slut', they felt a thrill, and the more degrading the situation became the more it actually excited them.

SLAP ... SLAP ... SLAP!

"Ooooer, oooow! P-please ..."

"Aaaaaah!"

 

Blows continued to bounce from both bottoms, and it was not half so gentle anymore. The flesh was red, hot and sore. Alive, throbbing with pain. Yes it hurt, but the feel of leather swinging down in the play of such masterful hands made it strangely rewarding for the recipients, and it seemed no more than a naughty bottom should be made to endure.

Emma paused and decided it was time to utilise some of the equipment she'd brought in her sports-bag. For a moment she considered tying up the two women whilst she arranged matters, but as a rule she never bound anyone unless she wished to introduce a sense of utter helplessness, and in this case she wanted them to have use of their limbs.

"Hands on heads and stand up. Stand in the corner and face the wall.

Separate corners. I don't want you exchanging gossip whilst I'm busy." When she was satisfied they were panicking to follow her instructions she turned and went to the door, and as she opened it she found Mrs Amos crouching outside, blatantly trying to interpret noises to follow what was happening in the sitting room.

On being discovered the woman gave one of her oafish grins and scuttled back to her assigned place at the end of the hall.

Emma followed with a scowl. "Give me my bag, you wretched slattern."

Mrs Amos handed the bag over without thought, her entire attention concentrating on Emma's near naked figure, and especially on her juddering bare breasts and extended teats.

Such ogling infuriated Emma, and taking the bag she half-turned, then turned back to deliver a solid swipe with her hand to the side of the woman's head. The blow landed with a resounding clack! And Mrs Amos winced. "That's for trying to peep though keyholes - and for gawking at me like a lovelorn schoolgirl on heat."

Back in the sitting room she checked that Mrs Clagget and Polly hadn't moved, then peered into her bag to review her equipment - and impressive selection of cuffs, gags and restraints together with a number of long spiky vibrators and fat strap-on cocks.

Calling Mrs Clagget over to knee in front of her she fitted a restraint onto the woman's head. It was a kind of horse bridle with a black leather brow band to encircle her head and a strap that looped over the dome of the skull that could be pulled down to form cheek-pieces each side of her face. When these were pulled beneath the chin, stainless-steel buckles fastened the whole thing securely in place.

An important component was the steel snaffle that could be pulled to the back of the mouth like a horses bit and held in place by yet another strap that went around the back of her head. It wasn't a complete gag, but it held down the tongue nicely and reduced attempted talk to unintelligible garble.

Some people may have thought such elaborate paraphernalia was unnecessary when dealing with already cowed subjects, but Emma had a liking for ritual and to her it represented the high form of capitulation she relished. More than an halter for a slave, it was the livery of a domesticated beast, and those who suffered the ignominy of wearing it knew, without being told, they had forfeited the right to free will.

"Mmmmmf, mmmmmmthf!" Mrs Clagget moaned hopelessly as the snaffle was fastened on, and when Polly too was led out from her corner she gasped at the sight of the head harness already fastened onto her mother.

"Oh no. I can't. Please don't put one of those things on me." Emma's hand cupped the girl's lower jaw. "But you're willing to submit, aren't you?"

"Y-yes, but ..."

Down she went on her knees anyway, to remain obligingly still while Emma fastened the horse furniture about her head. When the metal snaffle scrapped back across her teeth and stretched the corners of her mouth she gazed up with imploring eyes.

"Lub, glub, mmmph!"

Emma stroked her fingers through the girl's hair and pulled her head round. "Lovely! I love the way your pouty mouth moulds to the metal. Now turn around dear. I want you on your hands and knees with your legs well spread." >From her bag she extracted a double-ended plastic phallus that was sheer perversity, being eighteen inches long, jet black and thickly veined, with a wide, bulbous tip on each extremity.

"Have you ever seen one like this Mrs Clagget? I expect you've seen lots that are smaller, but this one is colossal, isn't it?"

She squatted on the carpet directly behind Polly's vulnerable, bare rump and clutched the dildo in both hands.

"I understand that Polly is still a virgin Mrs Clagget, so I'll leave her intact. I can make do with other things. Spread her bum open for me. Let me see what I'm doing.

Mrs Clagget blinked hard several times and appeared to prevaricate and Emma had to emphasis her instruction with a slap to the back of the woman's head. "Do it!" she demanded.

The haberdasher gave in. Leaning forward she grasped her daughters buttocks and pulled them apart to reveal the rosette of the teenagers anus. "Very pretty." approved the schoolteacher.

Polly's face reddened but she made no effort to avoid anything. Instead she sagged onto her elbows and allowed Emma to make a few short stabs with her instrument. Hardly able to believe it was happening the bizarre touch to her backside made her wiggle, and she shivered as the intruder pushed lightly and then withdrew, only to return with the blunt, bulbous tip pressing with even greater force.

"Aah! Lovely girl. I just adore having you like this. Don't fight it darling, just let it go in.

"Hold her bum open nice and wide Mrs Clagget. I want to see how her little hole manages."

Polly took a deep breath, and on the next push of the dildo the pliant rim of her dainty anus yielded and stretched around its girth. "Oooowph!" She whimpered as she struggled to accommodate the dramatic size of the thing sliding into her anal tract. She was on her hands and knees in her mother's parlour with her sopping pussy churning out juice, and mummy was helping a total stranger to sodomise her with a grotesque length of plastic.

The thing was big. Big enough to make her eyes water with the effort required to take it, and mummy was holding her bum wide open and watching it go in.

As the rounded tip burrowed forward and disappeared Emma rotated it slightly, and the previous short shunts began to escalate into a forceful pumping action. She pulled it back out then pushed it straight back in, and kept doing it. In and out, harder and faster, while Polly gurgled and moaned mindlessly.

Eventually she paused. "Six inches should be enough for her tight little arse to hold onto."

Without warning she then grasped Mrs Clagget by the neck and dragged her forward.

"Now you Martha. Kneel behind Polly and turn about. Get on all fours and go bum-to-bum with her. I'm going to introduce you to a rather erotic experience. I know how partial you are to a lusty rogering up your back passage, so I'm going to allow you and Polly to share opposite ends of the same cock."

"Omwph, ganngh!" Martha quaked and groaned as Miss Twist raised the unengaged end of the phallus and shoved several obscenely thick inches into her backside.

It was amazing. Utterly disgusting. Yet incredibly gratifying sensations possessed her as the oily, massive dong slid deep and skewered her like a pig on a spit. She couldn't help but snivel softly as her poor anus repeatedly tried to close and clench about its girth, and repeatedly failed. The thing was so gross. It was uncompromising, solid and thick, and she had no control.

Emma pulled back on the woman's hips until she was sure her instrument was well established, then she eased away, her senses sizzling at the depravity she'd created. A mother and daughter linked together by an enormous cock impaling their rectums!

Martha and Polly squirmed and wriggled. Both aware of the shameful predicament they shared, but unable any longer to curb their primary sexual instincts, each of them reached back beneath their bellies to caress their genitals, and as they pleasured themselves with their hands their buttocks slowly wormed back and forth on the giant prong. In the heat of excitement it dawned on them that they were inadvertently fucking each other, but it felt so debauched and lovely neither wanted to stop. Emma removed her sodden panties and settled down on the carpet to observe. Resting back on her elbows she spread her legs and called out. "Mrs Amos, come here."

Of course the crone was listening outside the door again, and she almost fell through it in her eagerness to enter. Her face screwed up in delight when she was at last allowed to see everything "Wow! You knows 'ow to get folk to oblige yer an' no mistake, Miss Twist."

"Never mind all that," Emma snapped irritably, "Get down here and stroke my clit'. I don't want you to touch me anywhere else, so don't try to kiss me or stick your fingers in. Just stroke with a fingertip. Understand?"

Mrs Amos nodded enthusiastically as she gazed at the younger woman's thighs, bare and spread open for her attention.

"Yes miss. Thank you miss. Thank you for lettin' me wank yer miss. It's a honour, so don't worry. I'll give yer wet little noodle a right good workout."

While the schoolteacher continued to watch the erotic tableau in the centre of the room Mrs Amos ejected a gob of saliva onto a fingertip and immediately went to work rubbing around the small hooded, swollen pip between Emma's legs.

By that time Mrs Clagget and Polly had established a steady fuck-rhythm-harmony together and were glancing back at each others faces, gurgling protests of distress but still churning their buttocks onto the object embedded in their backsides.

Mrs Amos glanced over her shoulder at them. "'Ere you idle cows, move them arses faster and put on a proper show fer Miss Twist."

"Shut-up with your noise Mrs Amos." groaned Emma who was in the throes of something like pain. The woman was buzzing her fingertip energetically around her most sensitive point of anatomy with great expertise and she could feel an orgasm blossoming. A deep, unstoppable welling-up of release was causing her to tremble as wave after delicious wave of ecstasy shuddered through her body.

Momentarily oblivious to everything else while her thighs twitched and her mind boiled with rapture, she gyrated her thighs against the hag's fingers. Her body twisted and she let out a subdued wail as she bucked hard against the hand that was serving her.

It took an heady moment or two to recover her senses and by that time Martha Clagget had disengaged from the dildo and was writhing on the floor submerged in her own climax. And although Emma's attention had been diverted for less that half a minute, thirty seconds was long enough for the disreputable Mrs Amos to seek out mischief.

By the time Emma had focused again her dishevelled assistant had turned Polly Clagget on her back, extracted the phallus from her rear and was forcing it between her legs - pushing it into the girls vagina.

"Stop, Mrs Amos - Stop! ..." demanded Emma. "The girl is ..."

Too late! Polly squealed despite the steel ring in her mouth as Mrs Amos pounded the cock in and out of her previously unused sex.

Such attention was not altogether unappreciated. The teenagers eyes stared unseeing and her teeth chaffed on her bit. Near hysterical with unexpected bliss she began undulating her crotch rapidly around the length of plastic that was deflowering her. Loving being fucked, and spiralling into the kind of exquisite orgasm she'd never known before.

 

The following day the school broke for the recess. It was a dazzling jewel-blue day and from midmorning onward a number of smart cars began to draw up at the main entrance, and one by one pupils joined their parents or guardians to be taken off for the holidays.

Because of his mother's incarceration Poppy was one of a small number who would board-on for a while, or in his case until Mrs Boroclough returned from her own vacation to claim him. He took no interest in the coming and goings at the front of the house, and since the day was free-time for him, he decided to spend it in the gardens at the back. Because it was recess he'd been given leave to wear other clothes than those of a schoolgirl and he gloried in decking himself out as for the beach; slippers with block heels, tiny black bikini pants and a sleeveless yellow top which he'd tucked up high on his chest in an effeminate way to show off his sylph-like shape and smooth tummy.

Left to his own devises he was soon daydreaming as he meandered down the flagged path that cut through the rose garden with its sundial centrepiece, his thoughts dwelling on an imagined tropical island where he was a princess being courted by a gorgeous lover.

He'd never entirely discarded pretty dreams of fairies and pixies and enchanted castles but long ago he'd introduced into them erotic themes, and he reckoned this was one of his best fantasies.

His lover would be hunky and able to scoop a squealing sissy under one arm and carry her off into the long grass. He'd probably be a sultan who bossed everyone else around, and who already had a harem of sexy little boys. But he'd be the sultan's favourite.

For a while he would try to resist the naughty man having his wicked way with him, just like a good girl should, but in the end he would give in, and the sultan would hold him down and fuck him for hours and hours.

A broken delphinium halted him and he paused to tie it back to its stake

It would be two weeks before Mrs Boroclough returned from visiting her sister and take him back to serve as her permanent slave-maid. That was all okay as far as he was concerned. Mrs Boroclough spanked him a lot, but the longer he stayed with her the more interesting things became.

On his last evening at her house she'd introduced him to her grandson Alister, and for the first time in ages Poppy had felt sort of shy and embarrassed. But that hadn't stopped his nipples from throbbing and his greatly under used knoblet from tenting his pants, and from the shine in Alister's eyes there was never any doubt that they'd get on well together.

Mrs Boroclough said she didn't mind if the two of them played together on the bed. In fact she'd said she wanted to watch them play.

Mrs Boroclough was definitely a weirdo-pervert. She'd seated herself in a chair by the bed and exposed large areas of her lardy body whilst encouraging her twelve-year-old grandson and her effeminate sissy-maid to take off their pants and have a horny snog.

Her ageing, plump body was hardly a pretty sight (although Poppy never thought of women as particularly pretty anyway), but that didn't detract her from stoking her breasts and touching herself between the legs. She'd loved watching the two boys kissing and becoming hot and hard, and she cooed with delight when they rubbed their balls together.

Alister and he had given each other a really good hand-jobbing and had jacked-off onto each others bellies, but she then insisted they did a sixty-nine, and made them keep going until they shot a second load into each others mouths.

"Hi, Poppy."

The thin piping voice of Lizzie Braithwaite suddenly shocked him out from his warm thoughts.

"What are you doing here? Outsiders aren't allowed into this school."

"It's end of term, and I asked Mrs Pardoe if I could visit. She said Miss Hancock wouldn't mind as long as I keep out of the way."

As a rule Poppy never retained animosity towards anyone for long, but what Lizzie had done to him in the past still rankled in his mind. Still, he mused, Jennifer wasn't around to guard her this time, and if she became cheeky he could bash her.

"That's a nice outfit you're wearing, Poppy. You are a pretty girl and you look ever so sweet. Are you going to sun-bathe?"

"Might do. I might do something else. I'm allowed to do what I want today."

"I'm allowed to do what I want too, and I want to have some fun. Are you still angry with me?

"It wasn't very nice what you did to me before. Girl's shouldn't be allowed to treat boys like that. 'Specially little girl's like you."

"I know I've been horrid to you, but I want to be your friend now. Would you play a game with me? Come into the gym-store and play a game."

Knowing she was a sly and conniving girl made Poppy a little uneasy, but he hadn't really got any firm plans for the day and her invitation intrigued him in an odd kind of way.

Lizzie took a firm hold of his hand and made up his mind for him, and it was only when they entered the store that his suspicions became justified. She shut the door behind him and he found himself confronted by three other small girls.

Even more disconcerting, he found two of Fairyfield sissy's already there and in attitudes that hardly appropriate for innocent games.

In one corner facing the wall stood Lucy, motionless and naked except for his knickers which were looped around his knees. His bottom glowed pink so he'd obviously been spanked recently.

Near to the door a sulky-mouth Zoe was strapped to the wall, hands raised above his head and wrists tied to the coat hooks above his head. He too was naked - except for a bow of pink ribbon tied around his balls. It was a clear example of how defenceless and suggestible sissy's were without ladies to guard them. Deprived of every visage of male aggression they were prey for coaxing, cajoling females. Susceptible even to the outright bullying of a small band of little girls.

"Wow! Lizzie is clever. She's got another one." grinned one of the girls. "He's a pretty one with a nice shape in his pants too. Make him take off his knickers Lizzie."

"Don't be so impatient Doris," Lizzie told her, "Pauline's the oldest, so she decides what we do with him."

Poppy began to feel alarmed as the tallest girl of the group drew up in front of him. Pauline was nearly as big as himself. "Jennifer said some of you weren't being collected by their mummy's or daddy's to day."

Pauline said, "She said we could have games with you if we could catch you."

"Strap this one on the hands." demanded Doris spitefully.

Poppy stepped back. "I don't want to play your games, and I'm not staying here to be tortured."

Pauline grabbed hold of him firmly.

"Oh, but don't go. We're only having fun and we'll even let you do what you want to do. Watch this!"

She clicked her fingers and immediately Lucy turned from his place in the corner.

Pauline beckoned him forward. "Here! Come here and kneel in front of me."

Silently the well-smacked Lucy stumbled across the room with as much speed as his drooping panties would allow. As he sank to the floor Pauline seemed oblivious to his swollen penis which was prominently on show. "Tell me what you want to do most of all Lucy."

The sissy hesitated, then gazed up. "Please Pauline. Please may I suck your knickers?"

The girl shook her head. "No, I've no time for that at the moment, but you can suck Janey's knickers. She'd really like to try it."

The opportunity for Lucy to practise the fetish he'd developed at home with his sisters and female cousins had never been great at Fairyfield, but he'd not forgotten about it. The sight of Janey, the fourth girl and the youngest there, sitting on a hamper and raising the front of her skirt drew him in her direction as if by magic.

Little Janey opened her legs wide and his mouth immediately homed in on the nap of the knickers stretched taut and pristine over her soft hairless crotch. He knew precisely where to clamp his lips. His open mouth fastened onto the girls underwear and he sucked diligently.

"You see," Pauline said with a grin, "Lucy is allowed to practise his favourite game, and you can too if you wish. What's your best game? Would you like to kiss Zoe?"

A mischievous Doris pushed between them. "You can suck him off if you want.

We'd like to see you do that."

"Yes, you're good at sucking cock." seconded Lizzie.

Poppy shook his head angrily. Normally he wouldn't have turned a hair at doing something with Zoe, but he drew the line at doing it to amuse a load of little girls.

"If that doesn't suit you we can start with something else. " decided Pauline. "You've got super legs, so show us how nice you look in stockings and high-heels."

"I'm out of here," Poppy replied with a scowl, "I'm not staying to be used as a dress-up doll."

As he turned to walk away Pauline gripped his arm, then took hold of his hand and levered back his middle finger.

"Yeow!"

He could have yanked his hand away, but he didn't, he could have bashed her, but he didn't, and when Doris pitched in and pulled his hair he could have punched her, but he didn't.

Too much of a sissy to strike out and too thoroughly conditioned to respect females he could only stand there yowling and allow them to hurt him.

"Stop being cruel." was all he could say, which only caused Pauline to chuckle cynically.

"Ha! You're just a wimpy, useless prick like the others. You enjoy being made to do naughty things."

>From the far end of the store Janey was holding the back of Lucy's head and pulling his face between her legs.

"This boy-creature is sexy. He's trying to push his tongue through my

pants." she murmuring dreamily

The other girl's paused in their subduing of Poppy to observe Lucy munching avidly at the gusset of the smaller girl's underwear. "Make him play with his willy while he's doing it." Pauline advised.

"He's doing that already." Janey bleated, " He's strumming his pricky-thing like a banjo, and - oh, oow - my cunny feels strange and my panties are soaking, and now naughty Lucy is poking his tongue at my bum-hole."

Showing no concern Pauline turned back to Poppy. "Now then, be a sweet girl and do as you're told."

 

Just before midday Mrs Blankette arrived to collect her son Simon, now called Amanda. Looking beyond the garden out onto the dale so balmy in the sunshine and with the grassy hillsides garlanded with cowslips and buttercups, it was difficult to believe that it was the same place she'd brought him to as a boy just a few months earlier. The sky was a cerulean, almost Mediterranean blue of high summer, and the fells were rich gold tipped with lilac hues.

They met in the entrance hall and embraced. She smelled of Chanell and made mother-hen noises, giving out hugs and kisses in an ostentatious show of maternal affection.

"What a long time it's been," she said, "And, oh, how I've missed my little baby. So rosy-cheeked and healthy now. Hardly the same snippet I brought here."

"That's not all, I'm growing tits too," her little sissy declared rather proudly, "They're only small at the moment, but matron says they'll get bigger if I keep taking the medicine, and I'll probably need a larger bra next term."

The mother smiled and held her son at arms length for inspection and her first impressions were confirmed. He was every man's wet-dream. A world-class pussyboy. The kind of sissy people mortgaged their houses to own.

Hovering nearby Miss Hancock was quick to enjoin with some courteous conversation.

"Amanda as settled in extremely well and as made lots of new friends."

"That's such a relief," Mrs Blankette replied, "You'll know just how much we mothers fret about our children's welfare, and this was the first time my little treasure as left my side."

A young pretty blond thing wearing immaculately applied make-up and the full regalia of a housemaid bobbed a curtsy and offered up a tray bearing a glass of lemonade.

"Charming! Er - one of your girls, Miss Hancock?"

The headmistress nodded. "This is Wendy. Quite fully trained and ready to be placed as a live-in consort to a wealthy City Banker within the next few days. The dear man is quite head-over-heels in love with her."

"I'm impressed. Impressed with everything. Your establishment is clearly meeting with success."

"I try not to be complacent, but yes, I've met with a good deal of satisfaction lately. I've already delivered my first trained girl to a gentleman in Surrey - a retired High-Court judge would you believe! And one of my younger prospects as completed a trial with a local lady of good standing and will be joining her the moment she returns from vacation. I've also placed a charming creature with two elderly matrons in Cheltenham."

"Cheltenham?"

"Yes, it's a very pleasant little town full of retired professional people. They play golf and bridge most of the time, but they're constantly seeking other diversions, which all bodes well for the future."

"Greg and Judd too." added Mrs Pardoe, moving up to her elbow. "Yes, we've also taken on a commission to arrange for two village lads to go to America. But I'd have to count that as something separate to our normal business."

Amanda wriggled. "We'll have to wait a few minutes mummy, my bags haven' come down yet."

"Have you packed your housemaid outfit?"

"Erm, no. I didn't think I'd need it at home."

"Go and pack it and bring it with you, darling. I'll want you to practise your domestic skills during the holidays. I'll wait for you in the garden."

Mrs Blankette calculated that the gardens behind the house would offer a chance for tranquil contemplation, and indeed the only noises to pierce sublimity there were those of birds squabbling high on the roof of the house.

The sun was in her eyes when she glanced up, but even so she could easily make out the flutter of feathers amid the twisted shapes and grimacing stone creatures half-suspended from the overhanging eaves. Gargoyles, she thought, but then saw what they really were and was shocked, amused and surprised in equal measure.

Perhaps mythical beings - fairies - had always been associated with Fairyfield Grange, but that didn't explain why intimate portions of their anatomy should serve as decoration for the roof. Was one expected to appreciate yawning vaginas, thrusting breasts and delicate carved creatures being impaled on rampant stone erections? Only Indian gods went in for such antics, but the roof line of the Grange made even the Kama Sutra seem demure.

Having become stirred by the architecture she found herself looking at the arch over the gatehouse and she stopped dead, for there she noted, considerably battered by weathering but nonetheless discernible, the carvings of two figures.

Perhaps it was a quirk of the imagination, but the scene portrayed appeared to be that of a youth struggling with a mythical beast - a sexually aroused satyr.

Or was it? Inexplicably the satyr seemed to have breasts.

Bemused and baffled she settled onto a garden seat. It was a glorious day and the sun was hot. Bumblebees were navigating between clumps of purple marjoram in a nearby rockery, and a little grey-brown dunnock was splashing in a birdbath on the edge of the terrace.

Two women came into sight, tracing their way along the narrow gravel path in front of her. The one leading the way with confident strides she recognised as Miss Hancock's daughter, the second, heavily burdened with a bundle of brooms and a vacuum-cleaner she'd never seen before.

It would have been a scene of unmemorable domestic routine were it not for certain things she was quick to notice, for while the girl was dressed in an unremarkable but smart blouse and skirt and flat shoes her belt was adorned by what appeared to be a Scottish tawse.

The other woman, trailing behind and struggling with the household paraphernalia was more strikingly attired. Her shoes had high stiletto heels which appeared incongruous with her skimpy two-piece bikini.

The teenager gave her a polite 'Good afternoon' as she passed by, then turned to chastise the one following.

"Do get a move on Diana or it'll be midnight before you've done cleaning the classrooms."

The other woman tottered and stumbled and the hose of the vacuum tumbled to the ground, whereupon she whimpered pathetically. "There's such a lot to carry Jennifer. I - I can't manage it all."

With a loud tut of irritation the girl backtracked, picked up the vacuum-hose and looped it around the woman's neck. "There! If you had any brains you could have done that yourself before you started out, couldn't you?"

The woman's head drooped. "Yes Jennifer. Sorry Jennifer."

"Right! Now get a move on like I told you, or you'll find yourself getting a smack before you even start work."

She smiled again at Mrs Blankette. "Decent staff are so hard to find these days, aren't they?"

The visitor laughed. She was worldly-wise and not unused to witnessing such scenes of unashamed dominance as the one being played out before her. "That one's got too much to say for herself my dear. I'd gag her if I were you."

"Good idea," said the girl, "I may do that, but it's the silly woman's lack of urgency that infuriates me the most. She's so slow and awkward when it comes to cleaning chores she's likely to be late for her lessons at the stables."

"Are you teaching her to ride?"

"Oh no. Diana's a first-class horsewoman already, but my friend Monica is tutoring her in a different kind of horse management."

Hardly had the two women disappeared from view when a spry looking young individual, naked except for a black garter-belt, nylons and spike-heeled shoes shot out from the door of a low roofed building nearby, and raced across the lawn. Or would have raced had the high heeled sling-backs been more suitable for running on grass. As it was an intended turn of speed quickly became a precarious hobble. Then the figure became obscured by a neatly trimmed hedge of topiary.

Immediately, out from the same door burst a small group of little girls in summer frocks, running swiftly in pursuit and yelling and laughing. When they too disappeared behind the hedges there was silence for a while, then a jubilant girlish cheer.

Mrs Blankette sat back, puzzled. What a strange place this was!

After another minute the children appeared again; four small girls with a rather taller, practically naked form walking in the midst of them. Straining with curiosity Mrs Blankette beckoned them over to where she sat.

It wasn't until then she realised that the central figure was a boy wearing female hosiery, but no pants, and the leading girl was holding a length of skipping rope, one end of which had been fastened in a noose about the top of the boys scrotum.

"What on earth are you children doing?"

The girl with the rope replied without showing the least qualm of guilt. "We're having fun dressing up Poppy, but as soon as we'd got stockings on him he started to get a stiffy and ran off."

With an equal amount of candidness the smallest of the girls grinned broadly.

"We caught him though, and we worked the stiffy-stuff out of his willy behind the bushes."

Mrs Blankette scrutinised the boy. A precious looking child of about twelve years of age, very sweet and appealing and a perfect model for the girls clothes he was wearing.

Apart from the rope looped about his testicles he was otherwise unrestrained, and since he seemed older and bigger than his captors she wondered why he endured their undignifing torments.

"What do you think of all this, Poppy?" she asked him. He simply shrugged and gazed morosely at the ground. For whatever reason he was utterly in the thrall of the little gang around him. "He doesn't mind what we do to him, he knows we're only playing a game." said another of the girls.

"He's a sissy, so he does as he's told." added the one with the rope. With a spiteful tug she made Poppy grimace as she hauled on him. "Come along Poppy. Let's leave the nice lady to enjoy the garden."

A strange place indeed, but one she wouldn't mind being associated with in the future, mused Mrs Blankette when they'd gone. Perhaps she could gain some sort of kudos with the headmistress if she made a donation to the school funds.

A few minutes later Amanda arrived to tell her his luggage was loaded. He'd taken the opportunity to change his clothes and he looked dazzling in a little black dress that highlighted the perfection of his black stockinged legs. His shoes had four inch stiletto heels and seemed rather too grown up for such a young sissy Mrs Blankette thought, yet he walked in them with perfect feminine elegance.

The shoes also caused him to push his tasty bottom back and his chest forward, and yes, he did have the makings of a small bosom. He was a beautiful, sexy, feminine boy.

She glanced at her sissy son as he settled beside her in the car. "Your school seems to be a unique one. Do you enjoy being here?"

Amanda nodded. "I want to be a prefect one day mummy. Then I'll be allowed to smack all the younger girlies and make them cry."

She started the car then slammed it clumsily into gear, and the tyres screeched as she swung away from the main building and headed down the drive.

Amanda gazed up at her with a thoughtful expression. "I say Mummy, I'm a girl now so shall I be allowed to have boyfriends when I'm at home?"

His mother pursed her lips. "Well, you'll be occupied most of the time being a servant-girl, but I'll let you go to the park on Sunday afternoons. There's always lots of boys there who'd like to kiss you and squeeze your little titties, but I expect when you see your new bedroom you'll want to spend the time at home. I've had it redecorated in apricot, and now it as a huge double bed and great big mirrors on the walls and ceiling. It'll be ideal if mummy's friends want to give you a cuddle. Mr Hornbill your old tutor as already booked an evening with you, and you've always liked him, haven't you?"

Young Amanda blushed slightly. He remembered how his tutor at home had a habit of patting his bottom and nossling his ear with his mouth. He was sure he'd always wanted to take him to bed.

"He'll probably be very naughty with me, mummy."

The woman smiled graciously. "As long as you're an industrious housemaid you'll be allowed a little naughty behaviour quite regularly. It will be your reward for being a good girl."

"When we get along the road a little way we'll find a nice quiet spot and pull up for a while. I want to take off your bra and examine your new titties, maybe have a little play with them."

"Mummy, that will probably make me feel all whoozey and sexy."

"Yes, I expect it will, and I'll likely have to give you some relief. That's all part of a caring mother's duty."

As they passed through the front gates of the school dark thunder clouds began forming up on the horizon in promise of a final end to the long, dry season.

They also marked the end of the summer term at Fairyfield Grange.

  

  

  

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