Date: Fri, 16 Jul 2004 22:17:59 +0100
From: JA
Subject: Fairyfield Grange  part 5

"Run to the wall - and back! Run to the wall - and back!" Each screech of Mr
Hardwick's voice sent a dozen boys racing to the side of the gymnasium to
touch the wall and then hurtle back to their starting place in the centre of
the floor.

It was part of his routine. Groups of them came to him daily, either for
dance, deportment or gymnastics, disciplines both he and the headmistress
considered imperative for developing grace and elegance in young people.
Hardwick's entire adult life had revolved around ballet, and he insisted
that when pupils came to him  they dressed as near as possible to emulate
the students of the School of Ballet he had long served. Tight, shape
hugging navy blue knickers and sleeveless white singlets were the order of
the day, and invariably each of his lessons began with a lengthy session of
ecarte and echappe at the barre, which he counterbalanced with a vigorous
circuit workout before everyone departed.

"Stand still!" he bellowed. "And now adjust your dress."

Without a word each of the boys pushed up his singlets beneath his armpits
and rolled his knickers down onto his hips until they resembled skimpy
bikini briefs - tight little pants holding precariously onto the contours of
small, cute bottoms.

"We'll conclude with an exercise in deportment. Right hand on right hip and
mince forward."

As his students moved across the room in small dainty steps he watched them
closely. It was a shame that the headmistress refused to provide the small
expense of equipping them all with high heeled shoes and nylons for
deportment practise, but even so most of them managed a deliciously alluring
sashay. "Swing your pelvis, Fifi. Roll your bottoms all of you."

Apart from his work boys were Hardwick's only interest in life, and one of
the indulgences he allowed himself was the freedom to observe their bodies.
Despite matron regularly dosing them with hormones they were not yet
curvaceous in a feminine way, but their slight stature lent them lissom
delicacy, while the absence of adipose tissue allowed smooth flesh
structured around small bones and immature muscle to present an enticing
effect. He often congratulated himself on how fortunate he was to have
employment that combined work and personal interests so closely.

"Running on the spot - begin! Up, up, up!"

They were the last batch for that day, and at such times when the mood was
with him he enjoyed viewing plenty of bare skin as he meandered between
their open ranks.

"Knees up higher, Nicola! Keep your arms by your side, Zoe!" Adjusting their
clothes he explained to his students, gave their hot bodies needed
ventilation, but none of them fell for that line. They knew he was a perv',
and yet in the vanity that resulted from constant sissification some of them
quite enjoyed his lascivious inspection and delighted in teasing him by
pushing out their chests and wickedly showing off their tiny pale nipples
whenever he passed near.

"Up, up, up - annnnd stop! Trudy stay here, the rest of the class is
dismissed."

With a veritable whoosh and scampering of feet the bulk of his pupils dashed
off like so many wood-nymphs. Usually Hardwick would have followed them to
the showers to watch as the water washed over their slender forms and around
their hairless young cocks, but that day he turned to the pensive youngster
left behind.

Trudy slouched with his weight on one foot, the pose accentuating the swell
of the opposing hip. The dark fringe of his hair was long, but it didn't
hide the despondent expression in his downcast eyes as he stared blankly at
the pattern of the tutors shoes.

What a stunner! thought Hardwick. Slim with nice legs and a narrow waist,
and with his pants still slung low and his vest draped across the top of his
chest, he was quite as attractive as any lad at the School of Ballet. Rather
willowy, but a handsome child all the same. Nice dense hair, black, cut neat
and brushed smart. He had a nice face too, with twinkling eyes and a
sensuous little mouth. His cheeks were flushed, the rosy tinge not solely a
product of vigorous exercise. Wow! He was a beauty! As good as a girl.
Better than a girl! Just licking his face would make some men jack-off in
their trousers.

His shoe tapped ominously against the floor and he put on a suitably severe
expression.
"I've not been impressed with you today, Trudy. You were lackadaisical in
our figure training session and full of contempt for any attempt at
inspiration. I'm quite in a mood to send you off to a prefect for a
strapping."

"Oh!" the boy murmured guardedly. He'd not been aware of doing anything
other than he'd been told, and his enthusiasm had been equal to that of
everyone else.

Surreptitiously the man took every opportunity to steal a glance at the
tantalising shape in the front of Trudie's skimpy pants. Perhaps the lad was
too innocent to know his penis could attract such attention, but knowing
Trudy as well as he did, he doubted it. "Do you want to be punished?"

"No sir."

"Well, it would be wrong to let you off scot-free. What other solution is
there?"

Trudy then understood. Despite his tender age he was no stranger to the wily
antics of the gym-teacher. He knew that Hardwick was playing out a charade,
and a lack of approbation was one of the ploys he used when he felt in the
mood to amuse himself and incite a boy into a commitment. He wondered why
the cranky old twit couldn't just say he was feeling horny. After all, a boy
such as himself may look angelic, but it wasn't as if he was virginal and
unused to being stuffed with randy cock. Aware that he had been chosen as
Hardwick's 'sissy of the day' and knowing his body mesmerised the man, he
put on an act of his own, one of thoughtfulness, and his small hands turned
out as if in supplication. "Kisses, sir."

Mr Hardwick smiled at once. "Ah, yes. Well, if you're in a mind to oblige we
can make do with that."

He slipped an arm about the sissy-boys waist and allowed his hand to drop
onto the rounds of his small bottom to savour the warmth that permeated the
flannel knickers, then in a casual fashion stood up and guided him into the
gym-store, then through an adjoining door into his room in the gatehouse.

Hardwick's accommodation was Spartan, consisting of just a small table a
couple of chairs and a bed, but unlike most bachelor pads it was
conspicuously tidy. Without waiting to be told, Trudy dropped down onto the
bed and picked up a magazine that lay there. It was entitled 'Hung'n'Hard',
and the front cover depicted a naked young man in an obvious state of sexual
arousal,  an item of stimulation Hardwick had conveniently 'forgotten' to
tidy away.

The man settled behind him and viewed the magazine over his shoulder. "I see
you've found my catalogue of male art poses. Some of the young fellows in it
are really good looking, aren't they?" He beamed as he assisted Trudy
turning the pages. "Most of them seem to be excited about something, don't
they? Look at that one! A battering-ram - he could knock down a door with
what he's got, couldn't he?"

Under no elusion as to why he'd been brought to the store, the boy giggled
as the gym-teacher's arms encircled his chest, his little utterances of
modesty serving to heighten the excitement being stirred. "They're probably
thinking about having sex with a nice looking boy, Mr Hardwick. I expect
they're thinking about pussyboys."

The young pantywaist eased back against Hardwick's chest and glanced up,
then immediately dipped his eyes, which created an illusion of him being
slightly shy. An illusion he knew intoxicated men. Hardwick brought his chin
up with the tip of a finger and observed that while the eyes remained
languid the boys mouth was poised half-open and ready. The magazine was
unnecessary now. No more titillation was required with Trudy. The seduced
had become a seducer.

How nice, he thought as the boys slender arms looped around his neck. His
eyes were beautiful, the lashes so long, his face so girly. There were no
pretensions with Trudy, he was a saucy little pillow-biter ready for sex at
the drop of a hat. He'd had him in his bed several times in the past and
knew him to be a first-class shag - a sissy conversant with all the delights
of fucking. What joy to have him alone and fondle him until he opened his
mouth and clung on with that delirious urgency that meant surrender. Soon he
would make himself available, shaking with desire and yearning for the
fucking to begin. There were so many boys just like him at Fairyfield
Grange. They all needed cock, and so few of them got as much as they needed.
No doubt they practised various things with each other and that was better
than nothing of course, but to find real release for their urges they needed
to be fucked by a man, and he was the only one available. And right at that
moment he was just in the mood to pork the pooper of the effeminate little
doll in his arm.

People were so worried about perverts abusing their sons they missed what
was under their noses. In his experience most young lads were gay-curious
anyway and wanted to experience being dicked as much as the men who admired
them wanted to make the provision.

Trudy didn't think quite along those lines, but he didn't mind giving the
man some lurid thrills. Hardwick may have been a tired old geezer and his
prick less than the Lavanthian snout his conceit thought it to be, but
spending a couple of hours with him was better that doing the two hours of
'shine' before supper that everyone else would have to do.

Hardwick's hands stroked up and down the boys lean body a few times before
lifting the singlet off over his head. He didn't know too much about women,
but he knew that just like women sissy-boys enjoyed a bit of foreplay. They
needed to be warmed up, excited and aroused. He liked them to be impatient
and hot for cock when the time came. He liked them to want it. His face
descended and man and boy mouths rolled together squeezing and sucking. When
the gym-teacher thrust out his tongue he found Trudy's own pink, wet tongue
already flicking forth to slide juicily around it and make him quiver.

Kissing boys was always a pleasure for Hardwick, especially when like Trudy,
they were completely without inhibitions and experienced enough not to hold
back and kiss with an open mouth and wriggling tongue. Gently he lay the
sissy down and pushed his arms above his head before spreading his tongue
into the concavity of his armpits to get the flavour of him. When young lads
were physically fit they rarely perspired much, instead when they became hot
their skin exuded a subtle aromatic scent that was a joy to his senses,
sweet and pleasant, like blossom after rain. While his mouth sampled the
young body his fingers scurried over it like creatures of the night,
stroking the naked torso, exploring the tummy and chest, causing Trudy to
arch his body and making the teats of his tiny nipples rise up.

The hot young body felt so fragile in his embrace. What would those
sanctimonious doyennes of respectably at the School of Ballet think if they
could see him at that moment, laying on a bed, kissing a boy and lapping his
bare flesh with far more abandon than they were ever likely to show with
their own spouses?

Pressing down he nuzzled the boys chest with his mouth, marvelling at the
satin-like sheen of the youthful breasts with their prominent, sensitive
nipples. Relishing everything, he anointed the bare flesh with adoration,
kissing neck and chest and then slithering his tongue over the nipples
before sucking on each of the delicate morsels. Trudy started and twitched
and quaked with pleasure. In the midst of his debauchery the man stroked the
length of the boys body, running his hands over the soft, flat tummy and
reaching for his groin - feeling for the shape of his cock.

"Oh sir, ooh!"

A fleeting strum of fingers found the lads pants to be at full stretch. He
was fully aroused, and Hardwick smiled as he peeled the garment down, noting
with delight how Trudy raised his bottom to let it pass under him.

He felt excited by Trudy's hairless body. There was something so sweet and
innocent about it, something that made him fall in love with its soft skin,
skinny legs and abdomen, and the swollen rubbery penis that poked up atop
smooth hairless testicles. The boy was beautiful, Hardwick couldn't help but
feel that way. The cock that stuck up like a flagstaff betrayed that the boy
was excited too, as did other aspects of him. The parted lips, the slightly
flaring nostrils, the glassy gaze in half closed eyes, and the quickness of
breath. They all proclaimed heightened sexual tension.

He took a good grip on the newly exposed rearing prick and slid his fingers
up and down the shaft to pump the sheath of skin that shrouded the plump
pink jewel at its tip. It always surprised him how some boys not yet old
enough to show any hair below their ears could so often produce an erection
that was so amazingly substantial in proportions, and they always looked so
beguiling when their sturdy members became juicily slick with excitement and
stood up proud.

Slowly he made each movement more urgent, tugging the membrane of silky soft
foreskin back as far as it would go to reveal the emergence of pre-cum from
the flaring exocrine gland at the cocks swollen pinnacle, before sliding it
back over the sensitive tip. There was no doubt that Trudie could muster the
juice that made babies, but at that moment he was far from combining with
anything a woman could offer.

"Oh, oh - Sssugar!" Trudy gasped.

"Am I distressing you? Should I stop playing with you?"

"No!" The boy was certain about that. "It's okay, I like what you're doing.
Go on sir, toss me off. I feel bonky now and I want to jerk."

Hardwick had his own ideas for bringing Trudy to a conclusion. Trailing his
kisses down over the lads stomach, he pushed the boys legs open and dipped
his face down until he was able to lick under his testicles, taking his time
and relishing the texture of the soft, warm flesh of his scrotum on his
tongue and jousting with his balls in their delicate sack. His tongue was
wet and flexible and he knew how to pleasure a sissy-ballbag.
Eventually he cuddled that item of anatomy in the cup of his hand while his
tongue slithered around the succulent tip of the cock, a preliminary to
sheathing the entire straining stem of stiff, smooth boy-flesh with his
mouth. It was luscious! Hot, wet and alive.

"Ooh sir, oooh!"

Yes, thought Hardwick, he'd not yet met a boy who didn't enjoy a lusty
gobble, and Trudy owned a fine mouthful.

He made a meal of it, briskly moving his lips up and down the tense shaft
and paused only to spit on his hand so that he could triple the little
creampuffs pleasure by inserting two fingers into his tight bottomhole. Then
he was free to roll his tongue around the cute mushroom of the immature
cockhead and savour the engorged meat.

The sweet pantyboy gurgled with the thrill of being assaulted from two
directions and his hand clasped the man's head. To control him? To urge him
on? There was no way of knowing, but Hardwick shoved down the front of his
own pants anyway and the expression of his virility leapt forth, huge,
aroused and aching for satiation, tempting the sissies hand to ring its
girth and pump it.

The gym-teacher's lips moved up and down the lad's firm prong with ever more
intense strokes until he heard Trudy moan, then he blinked as the penis
twitched in his mouth and a blast of hot syrupy semen heaved onto his
tongue.

"Mumff, gluck!" Quite a respectable discharge for a boy so young, thought
Hardwick as he savoured the texture and flavour. He was sure Trudy's volume
increased each time they shared such intimacy.

Without showing any sense of urgency he then held the throbbing anatomy in
his mouth until it began to wane, suckling the pretty knob to prolong the
pansies pleasure as long as possible. He then eased up and smacked his lips.

"There! You enjoyed that, didn't you? And  it wouldn't be fair to complain
now if I pleased myself with your pretty bum."

Trudy's face contorted at once. "Oh, but Mr Hardwick, your cock's so big.
It's a monster."
That was pure flattery and not particularly true, but the boy knew from
experience such comments always put the old duffer in  a good humour, which
didn't do anyone any harm.

Smiling with delight Hardwick immediately rolled him over. All was ready for
the best session of the day, he thought, and dear young Trudy would soon
know the pleasure of his formidable length. He was going to get every inch
of it.

Over at the house the women would notice an absence from Domestic Practise
and would enquire, "Where's Trudy?" On being told, "He's with Mr Hardwick."
They would scowl a little, but nothing more would be said.

***

The gardens at Fairyfield Grange were by stages becoming extensive, and the
topiaries and tree-shaded walkways were put to good use by the boarders at
the school during Sunday free-time and the brief interludes between supper
and bedtime. Picturesque as they were, they were not to the taste of
everyone however, and the more adventurous would often stroll off into the
coppice that skirted the boundary of the grounds. These wilder reaches were
favoured by Alice when he was intent on an intimate liaison with a chum, and
they were where he led Jemima one sunny evening.

Alice was an attractive blond who was slightly taller than Jemima as well as
being slightly older, the convulsions of the calendar making him twelve
years old, while Jemima trailed behind to be bracketed as a junior.

Alice was a fairly new boarder who had arrived two weeks into the term quite
oblivious of matters of a carnal nature, but he was quick to learn from
those around him. Sex was his new toy, and he was just beginning to realise
the possibilities that were open to him at a school for sissies. Jemima's
tight little bottom were just one of the openings available and deserving of
some investigation, and he wasn't beyond instigating something when in the
mood.

Jemima knew he was in the mood that evening. As the older boy led him away
from the path he began to fret. "If we go too far into the woods we'll get
lost."

Alice smirked. "Don't be soppy. It's not a real forest y'know, it's only a
few beech trees. And anyway, we can't go much further. I can already see the
boundary fence."

Through the wildwood tangle could be seen the tall iron railings that barred
any further progress, and beyond them the unmade road that ran level with it
for half a mile before turning south towards Peasmarsh.

Alice halted and looked around, and Jemima shuffled at his side. Right
there, alone amid the jungle of beeches and within shouting distance of the
fence, stood a solitary yew tree of great age. Its peeling, reddish truck as
thick as a church column. Alice paused. "This will do for what we want."

Jemima immediately broke away from him and ran off around the tree,
squeaking with delight as Alice chased him and giggling fitfully when he
allowed himself to be caught. Alice clasped him in a bear-hug from behind
and softly bit his slender neck.

"Do what you want with me, but don't get me down on the ground," entreated
Jemima as he writhed in the toothsome embrace, " Miss Twist will wallop me
if I get my clothes grubby."

Alice turned him around and backed him up against the tree, and at last he
could take in the younger boys delicate beauty - stunning was the word!
Jemima may have been small, and slim too, but his looks were fabulous. His
skin was smooth, his face round and soft and pierced by enormous
almond-shaped eyes, while his lips had a slight natural pout to them that
seemed to perpetually invite kisses.

They did kiss. Alice merely touched the other boys lips with his wet tongue
at first, then pushed it into his mouth and made Jemima's prickie create a
little tent in his pants. Then Jemima kissed him back passionately and Alice
snuggled close, tummy to tummy, pelvis to pelvis, his own penis as stiff as
a plank, both of them rubbed their young hands up and down each others
bodies in anticipation of a plan neither had spoken about but each
understood. No one needed seducing because their thoughts were unified.
Their mouth mashed tentatively - adjusting, pressing - a lip sucked in,
released, then sucked again - a slight clash of teeth and dewy delicate
movements off moist mouths. Locked together they bathed in each others fresh
sissy-smell, a perfumed aroma not unlike sea-water suffused with crushed
grass and roses, then Alice pushed his face forward like a dog looking for
dinner, clamping his open mouth onto Jemima's, jaw chomping and sucking
mightily.

Reclining against the tree Jemima accepted everything stoically, eyes almost
closed, eyelids fluttering as their two fevered faces munched one against
the other. "Tongue kissing gives me a hard-on." he panted at last.

Alice's hands stroked up and down his young companions slender body again,
feeling the outline of the preadolescent body beneath the serge gymslip.
"That's why I want to do it. I want to make you sexy."

"When you said you thought I was the prettiest thing in school, did you mean
it?"

"Of course I meant it, you chump. Didn't you believe me?"

"Some of the others say those kind of things just so I'll let them snog me."

"Silly thing! If they want to snog you it must be because you're pretty."

Alice smeared his mouth sideways and licked the younger boys cheek, then
filled his ears with his tongue - wet flesh as slippery as a fish. At once
Jemima's little cock stirred again in his pants and he panted faster, then
the young scamp returned the favour by trying to push his own tongue into
Alice's mouth. Alice let him and they made an exchange of warm saliva.

"I'd like to kiss your nipples, but your gymslip makes it awkward to get at
them." breathed Alice as he pulled in his slopping tongue.

"I can pull it down for you if you want to get at my titties, but bedtime is
the best for kissing nipples." Jemima told him.

"Yes, I know. But I'm not in the same dorm' as you, am I? Gloria's always
lurking about in the corridors and you know what she does if she catches
someone roaming about after lights-out." He thought for a moment. "Of course
you could take some clothes off now. You could get undressed for me, here."

"Right now? Get starkers in the woods? Oh no, I'm not doing that."

"Well, just your pants then. If you take your knickers off I'll take mine
off too."

Jemima didn't think that idea too outrageous, but he wanted Alice to remove
his pants for him, which Alice was quite happy to do. He wiggled as Alice
peeled them down and gently lifted them over his hot little stiffy. It stood
up - or rather stuck out, almost at right-angles to his smooth belly, and
Alice was impressed. Although it wasn't enormous it was larger than most
other boys of Jemima's age, and it looked rather big on Jemima's small body.

Quickly Alice pushed his own pants down over his legs and displayed his own
erection, larger than his friends and just as eager for fun. Forcing
Jemima's knees apart he settled between them, bare cock-on-cock, testicles
together, each plump pouch flattened against the other. Slipping an arm
around Jemima's back he cupped a peachy bumcheek in each hand and pulled him
close as his pelvis gyrated.


Jemima felt the other boys scrotum squashing on his own. Bad boy. Naughty
sissy! Alice's slavering erection was rubbing against his own stiff shaft.
Hormones were raging in their bodies and both knew they'd gone too far to
quit without experiencing the best kind of thrills. Eventually they were
grasping each others bare bottoms and humping frantically in an erotic
pseudo-fuck.

"I'm not a slut, Alice." Jemima explained shakily, "I don't usually let boys
knob my bum until the second time I go with them. But I wouldn't mind if
..."

A sudden noise shattered the quiet of the small glade, and a voice edged
with indignation cut through the trees like a scythe, instantly chilling
their passion and making them tremble. It was a moment before they realised
that although the voice was formidable it wasn't close enough to be directed
at themselves. Nonetheless, Alice couldn't relax until he'd discovered its
source.

Scrambling away from Jemima he crept stealthily across to the nearby
railings and peered through the fence. "There's a car parked on the road
just a little way along." he said, pulling his head back.

"Who is it?" Jemima asked, coming up behind him.

Alice peeped again. "Two women. Old women. One of them's talking loud and
making all the noise."

"What's so interesting about two old women?"

"They look like they're talking about the school. The noisy one keeps
pointing."

"So what!"

"The other one's just nodding and looking goofy. Just like you when you're
talking to a boy you fancy."

Jemima gave Alice a shove. "I DO NOT look goofy."

"Wait!" Alice interrupted, "They've seen us. I think they're coming this
way."

"No way!" Jemima cried.

"Yes, they are." He shrugged. "Don't panic. It's okay. We're not doing
anything wrong."

"We haven't got any pants on."

"They won't know that if you don't lift your skirt."

The motor car chugged slowly along the gravel road until it came level with
them, then the awful voice let itself known again. "Stop the car Mrs
Tichborne. There's two of them there."


The car jerked to a halt and two elderly women clambered out and walked
directly towards them. One of them was glowering, the other, with red hair
and a red face that hinted at a lifetimes association with cooking sherry,
just seemed mystified. Both were round and well made, fortyish, dressed in
long printed dresses that covered everything but their shins, making them
look prissy and starched, like they were going to church. Jemima took a
fearful pace back as they approached, but Alice felt safe with the fence in
front of him and stood his ground.

"They look fairly normal to me, Mrs Boroclough." said the puzzled lady.
"Quite healthy, well presented and not at all malnourished."

The angry one sneered. "Except for the fact they're not what they seem.
Except for the fact they're boys dressed as girls. Heavens sake! That woman
even gives them girls names."
She glowered at Alice. "That's right isn't it? Admit it."

"Miss Hancock says we're not to talk to strangers." replied Alice, bravely.

The woman snorted. "It doesn't matter. It's quite obvious what you are."

"They look rather adorable in their neat uniforms." put in the other woman
mildly.

"They're Innocents' languishing in a squalid den of inequity, Mrs
Tichborne," snapped the first one, "We must shrive with all our might to
ease the plight of the pitiful mites. It's not natural for boys to be
cross-dressed like this. It's bound to cause gender confusion in their poor
minds."

"Maybe you're right Mrs Boroclough, but even if what you say is true we
can't go around kidnapping 'em. Their own people - parents, guardians or
whatever - they've paid for 'em to be here."

The Boroclough woman's eyes narrowed. "Parents! Guardians! Huh! Such
decadent degenerates that put them in this place should be burned at the
stake." She glared at Alice again. "Come here child. Come closer."

The boy didn't move. "Miss Hancock says we mustn't let Outsiders touch us."

At that the woman tutted in frustration. "Do you see? They're utterly under
the sway of that Hancock woman and being told to avoid contact with decent
people. 'Outsiders' if you please! The gall of the witch! She's been here no
longer than a blink and already it's we who are the outsiders." She shook
her head in despair. "If only Albert Fairfield had done as he first intended
and bequeathed the Grange to The National trust, we'd be spared all this
vileness and distress."

Disgruntled and unable to progress with the children the two women climbed
back in their car and chugged away out of sight. No sooner had they
disappeared when another figure appeared walking along the narrow road.

"Crikey! This is like a town high street today." observed Alice.

It was immediately apparent that the figure was that of a young girl no
older than themselves. She had long raven hair and wore a T-shirt and a
short black skirt that offered a good show of attractive bare legs. "Ha! You
two look like a pair of monkey's in a zoo behind those bars." she chuckled
as she approached.

The boys watched her warily, unused to the company of girls their own age
they were unsure of how to greet her. Jemima's face darkened and his bottom
lip pushed out, but he said nothing, while Alice folded his arms across his
chest. "Well, we're not monkey's, so there!"

The girl paused in front of them and peeped through the railings. "I was
only joking. My names Pauline, who are you?"

"I'm Alice, and this is Jemima."

"Girl's names! And girl's clothes too." Pauline considered things for a
moment. "I was walking down to the cross-roads to catch a bus when Mrs
Boroclough came along. She's horrid, so I hid in the bushes. But I heard
what she said about all the girl's at Fairyfield really being boys who wear
skirts. Is that true?"

Alice at once became defensive. "It's got nothing to do with you. We don't
talk to outsiders."

"You're talking to me." Pauline replied cutely.

"Yes, well - you're only a kid, so I don't think it counts so much. But we
can't tell you anything about this place. We'll get punished if we do."

"No one ever gets to talk to any of you in the village 'cos you're always
being watched by one of those snappy women from the school when you go
there." Pauline said. Her eyes scanned up and down their bodies, studying
their short skirts and slender legs. "Look, you don't have to tell me
anything. Just lift up your frocks and let me see your panties. I can tell
what you are just by looking at your underwear. And I'm good at keeping
secrets. I won't even tell my friends."

Alice puffed indignantly. "We aren't a side-show at a funfair y'know."

Jemima tugged at his sleeve. "Come on,. Let's go before she gets us into
trouble."

The girl hurriedly pushed herself up against the fence. "Wait! Don't go. I
Don't mind showing myself to you. I'm growing tits. Do you want to see
them?" She drew up her T-shirt and revealed two small bumps of flesh on her
chest, each surmounted by a  rather puffy, pink little nipple. Without
waiting to be invited she pressed her diminutive breasts through the
railings.

The blatant display of bare female flesh jolted the two boys to a stop.
Having been deprived of youthful female companionship for most of their
lives they were appalled at her shameless candour, but despite having been
reduced to sissified ways deep inside them still lingered elements of
testosterone that instantly had their young cocks responding.

"They're not very big." said Jemima, suddenly becoming very critical. "In
fact they're tiny."

The girl screwed her face. "I said they're growing. They will be big one
day. Most girl's my age haven't got anything to show at all." She glanced to
left and right  to ensure no one else was about. "Have you ever kissed a
girl's tits."

Astounded, Alice shook his head while Jemima remained silent, not thinking
it proper to mention how his mother sometimes liked him to suck her nipples
while she fingered herself, or sometimes asked him to do it whilst she was
being fucked by her boyfriends.

"Come on then, this is your chance," invited Pauline. "Come and have a suck
on mine."

To boys who'd never done anything more intimate with a girl than try to peep
up their skirts such an offer became irresistible. Suddenly hot with
excitement they both plunged forward to draw a soft  young teat into their
mouths, gripping the iron railings and closing their eyes to suckle like
babies demanding milk.

Oddly they hung back from touching her with their hands. Pauline wouldn't
have objected to them reaching up her skirt and fingering her bald pussy,
but it was apparent they were both too inexperienced to even think of doing
that. She didn't encourage them, she was happy to let them suck her nipples
for a few seconds before pulling away.

"There! You liked that, didn't you? You enjoyed sucking my titties even if
they are tiny. You could have had a good feed if I'd been pregnant," she
gave a shrewd smirk, "But I don't think there's anyone here who could make a
girl pregnant."

Alice prevaricated again, but Jemima had finally become enthralled with the
naughty game, and in one quick movement he raised the front of his skirt to
reveal his lack of underwear.
"Bet this could give you babies - well, soon it'll be able to."

Pauline's eyes glimmered. His young pricklet was stiff, and to her it made a
pretty sight, being long and slim and with a delightful pale foreskin that
opened slightly at the tip to show a hint of reddish flesh. Of course he was
young and his balls were only tiny, but they gave him a lovely air of
cuteness.

Determined not to be perceived as a prissy miss, Alice used both hands to
raise his own skirt.
"Mine's bigger." he declared. His penis was larger than Jemima's, and
equally as stiff. Uncircumcised, the soft, pale skin was drawn back to
reveal a small knob with a slit already gaping open. His testicles , though
colourless and hairless, were certainly bigger than his friends, and had a
noticeable hang to them.

Pauline smiled faintly. "So Mrs Boroclough was right, you're not girls at
all, you really are boys. Have you always had girl's names?"

"Of course not," Alice chaffed, "but we have to do as we're told here, and
boys names aren't allowed."

"I suppose that's only right. If you're dressed as schoolgirl's you'd need
to be given schoolgirl names." The girl studied them both for a moment and
her smile broadened.
"You're both very naughty schoolgirl's, but your pricks look nice when
they're stiff. They look like they've got a bone in 'em. Do you play with
them a lot? Do you like wanking?"

The boys looked at each other and their faces became pink, which only seemed
to encourage Pauline to continue. "You're shy, but I think you play with
yourselves all the time, and I can tell you both  need a nice wank now.
Would you like me to toss you off? If you shove your pricks through the
railings I'll do it for you, both at the same time."

Jemima glanced up at Alice. for some guidance. "We're not allowed to let her
wank us, are we?"

The other boy considered things for a moment, then shrugged. "If we don't
tell anyone, no one will know."

Temptation had its way. Gingerly, they both pushed forward and slotted their
extended young members through the gaps between the iron uprights. Almost as
cute as their erections were the adorable expressions on their innocent
faces as Pauline, consumed with the opportunity to have a hot boy-cock in
each hand, grasped hold of their hot, stiff, rather small but very sexy
lovesticks immediately. If they were utterly naive and innocent of girls she
was by no means ignorant of boys, nor of how to handle them.

Side by side they held their skirts up to give her access. Groaning,
gasping, each of the two she-boys squirmed helplessly in her surprisingly
knowledgeable hands. Their mouth hung open and their eyes rounded in
fascination as they watched her nimble fingers run slowly along their
straining lengths, then suddenly tighten and begin to rub up and down.
Delighted to feel the swing of balls between their legs as she masturbated
them, Pauline slicked back their foreskins to enable the reddish tips to pop
into view.

"That's nice," she said. "Does it feel sexy for you  Jemima? She glanced at
Alice. "Which of you is going to cum first?"

Neither Jemima or Alice had control of anything by then, but as pleasure
pulsed along the entire length of their pubescent cocks the girl's question
was answered in less than a minute. Jemima winced almost as if in pain and
his penis suddenly twitched and jerked in her fingers. There was no
discharge of sperm, but his dry orgasm shook him with wonder, as such things
always did. With a shrill squeak the ten-year-old  swayed helplessly.

"There we are! That's a good sexy girl-thing." Pauline grinned as if
praising an infant in a crŠche, noticing how Jemima's face held the slightly
dizzy expression of a thoroughly wanked little boy.

"Do me now. Finish me off." urged Alice frantically.


Pauline dutifully turned to give him her complete attention, anticipating
that at least his hairless ball sack held a good amount of girly goo that
needed  milking out. Gripping his penis between thumb and forefinger she
tugged on the slack sheath of his foreskin, wrinkling it rapidly back and
forth over his gland.

Alice clenched his teeth, his breath hissing softly as he fought to contain
the sheer pleasure she was providing. He wasn't having an orgasm yet, but
the tip of his cock had started to leak sticky fluid, so the girl knew he
wasn't far off.

"I bet you're a good spunker, Alice." she said, suddenly inspired by a
gloriously sexy idea. "Let me watch Jemima finish you off with his mouth."
She glanced at the younger boy. "You've sucked cock before, haven't you?"

Stupefied by events Jemima nodded dumbly, and struck just as speechless
Alice allowed her to manoeuvre him round. "Go down in front of him," Pauline
told the younger boy, glowing with the power of her persuasion when he
obeyed her without any protest.

Alice's mind was spinning with illicite pleasure, and she found it a simple
matter to guide his penis between Jemima's obliging lips. Immediately the
youngster engulfed the thrusting length with his mouth and began to nod his
face back and forth.

Excited beyond measure by the wickedness she'd instigated the girl crouched
down to reach between the railings, and holding the back of Jemima's head in
one hand while palming Alice's bare bottom with the other she played them
both in and out like a concertina.

Alice's judgement had disintegrated and his knees felt weak as he jousted
with the warm slimness of Jemima's lips sliding up and down his sensitive,
stiff flesh, but inevitably there came a soft gasp of delight, his body
convulsed and his hips pushed his suddenly spasming cock hard into Jemima's
mouth, and Pauline knew he was pumping wads of hot, sticky ball-juice onto
the other boys tongue.

Thrilled to see the younger boy wasn't pulling away, she squeaked gleefully.
"Wow, Jemima swallows! Oh, he's such a lovely little girly girl, and so good
at it."

***

Friday evening found Poppy playing a game of hopscotch with the pattern of
the linoleum on the second floor corridor. He could have gone up to the
dormitory with the others, had a shower and put on some lipstick, then just
waited until someone put an arm around him. But that evening he didn't want
to be shut away in an attic while there was still light in the sky, he
wanted to make the most of the extended daylight. There would still be
plenty of time for the other stuff later.

After a while his game palled, so he practised a couple of curtsies then
edged across to a window embrasure that looked down at the garden. Above the
rising ground of the moors the evening sun shone with optimism at the end of
a familiar day, and the garden looked lovely.
One of the old gardeners was pottering about among the flower-beds. That
year the summer was particularly fierce, so the gardeners took it in turns
to come back in the evenings to water things when the heat of the day was
receding.

Poppy liked pretty things, and he liked flowers that were ostentatious and
showy, and there were lots of them in the garden. Perhaps when he was older
he'd be allowed to work in a flower shop he pondered wistfully. He knew that
when he grew up he'd still be a bum-fucked sissy, he was made for sex and
was never happier than when a hard dick was being rooted deep in his
backside, but he'd like something to do in his spare time.

Leaning forward with his elbows on the sill he began to hum snatches of a
little tune whilst wagging his bottom from side to side, the rim of his
white knickers showing just a fraction beneath the hem of his gymslip with
each rhythmic bounce. "Mary, Mary, quite contrary. How does your garden grow
...?" he crooned softly.

He was so preoccupied he didn't hear Jennifer coming along the landing in
her rubber soled
'catch-em-with-their-pants-down' shoes, but she noticed at once how the
satin sheen of his bare thighs slipped into the soft and slightly plumped
out swell concealed in the peep of white knickers. Little wonder he was such
a well-used little fuck-puppet if he draped himself around like that all the
time, she thought.

"... With silver bells and cockle shells, and ..."

"Here you are!" Jennifer suddenly hissed in his unsuspecting ear.

He turned, saw the daggers in her eyes and pressed a hand to his mouth in
horror. "Oh lordy, no! I was supposed to report to you tonight after supper,
wasn't I? And I forgot."

The girl snarled. "It's because you're such a stupid featherhead I've had to
come and find you." Her face contorted  with reigned-in anger, then her open
hand swept up and struck the sissy smartly on the back of the head.

"Ouch!" Poppy winced, then suddenly paled as she waved a balled fist in
front of his face. "Please don't hit me Jennifer." he pleaded.

She didn't hit him much, she just turned him around and raised his skirt and
landed a couple of sharp smacks on the backs of his smooth, bare thighs,
inflicting just enough discomfort to make him hop about a little.

"If mummy wasn't so keen to have you in prime condition I'd give you lumps,
you brainless worm. Come with me now. You're due for a weekend of assessment
with the headmistress."

"But Jennifer, I haven't got anything ready. My toothbrush, and other things
..."

The girl ground her teeth and in exasperation, and gripping his arm ripped
him away from the window. "If you need anything I'll have it brought to you,
but I'm in no mood to stand around whilst a nancy-boy like you dithers about
packing an handbag."

Holding onto him with buzz-saw determination she whisked him quickly along
the corridor to a door marked 'private' that lead off to the left. As she
shepherded him down a passageway carpeted in much grander style than any of
the others he was in no doubt he was being taken to Miss Hancock's own
apartment. The prospect unnerved him No one else had been there to the
west-wing - except Abigail and Wendy of course, because of family ties, but
even they never went there during term-time.

He was taken to a bedroom that was such a chaotic muddle it would have
caused an uproar if it had been a pupil's dormitory. The floor was strewn
with an agglomerate mass of clothing; dresses and blouses, trousers, skirts
and snaking hose, and the whole place looked so untidy he was about to make
a caustic remark until he realised it was Jennifer's own room, and of course
criticising anything of hers was extremely unwise.

For a moment Jennifer stood clasping and unclasping her hands, staring
unseeing at the detritus around her. "Bathe." she rasped at him, then
leaving him to run a bath she went to the big free-standing cupboard on the
landing to collect a towel, a bar of soap and some gardenia bath oil. When
she returned she found Poppy already naked and stepping into the bath.

She sucked in a breath and paused in the doorway to watch for a moment. She
enjoyed viewing his nakedness. He was cruelly beautiful; an angel fallen to
earth, his pink, slender figure on a par with the prettiest of girls and
capable of filling a slimline dress to perfection. Such a gorgeous tease.
His little girlish bottom would be a popular toy for boys and men for years
to come. There was no sign of breasts, but his skin had a smooth creamy
texture and his legs still displayed the attractive contours of
preadolescence. The sight made her suddenly enthusiastic for what she'd
previously seen as a chore on behalf of her mother.

Mystified by events Poppy bathed himself thoroughly, then climbed out and
allowed himself to be towelled and powdered all over. He was a little
embarrassed by Jennifer's close attention, but what could he do?

Jennifer gave him nylon stockings and a garter-belt and sat him on the bed
to put them on. While he was busy she sat behind him and breathed in his
fragrance. Sissy's all smell so sweet, she thought idly, and they all get
stiff and drippy in the arms of a man or those of a strong girl.

She passed her hands under his arms so she could fondle his chest, scrapping
the tip of her fingernails over his stiffening nipples and cooing when he
gave a little pant and rolled his head backwards.

"You like that, do you? You enjoy having your titties pulled about, do you?"
She smirked as she gently squeezed his breasts and massaged his nipples
until they stood out proud. "Matron said she'd recently increased the
oestrogen she doses you all with, and it seems to have had some success with
you. I bet you'll soon have real breasts -  a little soft muffin pushing out
on either side of your chest for the other boys to play with. You'll like
that, won't you? I think you're ripe for an additional little piece of
femininity."

He balked at the little-girl training bra she offered to him, a delicate
lacy thing with a pretty pink bow affixed between the shallow cups.

"I don't really have a reason to wear this kind of thing." he protested
meekly as she threaded his arms through the straps. But he didn't struggle.
He knew the slightest sign of resistance would only cause in him to be
stretched across her lap, and Jennifer could be quite pitiless when she
spanked a boys bum.

The girl scowled. "Don't bother straining your peanut-sized brain thinking
about it, dearie. Weakling dyed-in-the-wool girly-freaks like you need to
have decisions made for them, and I've decided you're to wear a bra. It'll
create a nice effect." She clamped it onto the front of him and fastened it
at the back. "There! You look like you have breasts, and that will make you
feel like you have them."

The sissy-boy wriggled and squirmed as he snuggled his chest into the
diminutive cups, and then his cock began to rise up full and solid, just as
he had when he'd first arrived at Fairyfield Grange and been compelled to
constantly wear a skirt. His erection then had been so persistent he'd been
made to endure an elastic band around the base of his penis to restrict the
flow of engorging blood until he became accustomed to his gymslip.

Jennifer's remedy this time was less sophisticated. She deflated the
offending anatomy with just a couple of sharp taps with a pencil, then
covered the drooping item with a pair of G-string panties.

Pulling Poppy to his feet she threw on his shoulders a red nightie, hated
it, pulled it off and kicked it across the room, then settled for putting
him in a sumptuous chiffon peignoir of baby-doll proportions the bottom of
which fluttered about high on his thighs. Slipping his hands through the
armholes she eased the filmy jacket around his shoulders. It was periwinkle
blue with an enticing silk tie beneath the bosom, and was clearly designed
to splay open at the front and reveal the wearers panties.

She tied the silk bow at the front and watched as the delicate, diaphanous
material settled against his skin, knowing how thrilling it was for boys to
feel dainty and girly and be forced by women to wear short skirts and skimpy
dresses. Almost immediately Poppy's tiny panties bulged, and she knew the
little sissy faggot had developed another erection.

Jennifer cursed under her breath, but this time she chose to try and ignore
it and sat him in front of a dresser covered with Limerick lace and a swathe
of cosmetics. When she began to apply varnish to his fingernails Poppy
offered to do it himself, but she just scoffed.
"You're too much of a fusspot. You take an entire weekend to pack a purse."

Whilst the nails were drying some use was made of a Coty box and swansdown
power-puff, then lipstick, a lively cherry-red, was creamed onto his mouth,
and his eyelashes were masked with mascara. "Keep still!" she snapped,
dragging a comb painfully across his scalp. "I'm trying to transform you,
you sod, and I can't do it properly if you keep jigging about. Turn your
head."

She examined him carefully. "I wanted to make you tres 1930s debutante, all
sultry and debonair, but your face is too soft and round, so I'll have to
settle for just making you neat."

"What are you doing all this for, Jennifer?" Poppy asked, ensuring his voice
was sufficiently subdued and respectful.

"It's time for an important sissy training session, and you need to be
dressed correctly." Jennifer explained abruptly.

The boy used his natural coquetry and acted big-eyed and little-girl-lost.
"I still don't understand." he said in a voice that was purposely cute and
sweet.

His mentor gave him a vexed look to let him know he was being tiresome. "It
doesn't matter if you understand or not, because I understand. Don't try
pretending you don't you don't enjoy being dressed-up. Just look at your
panties with a hard cock in them. You're a creampuff and you love wearing
pretty things, so empty your plurile little brain of silly male thoughts and
just do as you're told."

"But, why? Where am I going?"
Jennifer lifted her eyes as if appealing to heaven. "Why do all the little
fairies in this place ask so many fucking questions?"

Crestfallen, Poppy put a finger to his mouth and thoughtlessly contemplated
sucking it, at which Jennifer grabbed his hand and delivered a sharp smack
to his wrist. "I've just lacquered your nails, you effeminate cretin. Sit
still. You're going to see my mother in her bedroom, that's why I'm taking
so much trouble with you."

She gave the risen shape in his pants a cruel scrape with her pink-tipped
fingernails and made him squirm. "Mmm, yes! Little Poppy loves being a girl,
don't you? Mummy's taken a fancy to you since you made yourself so prominent
chasing after that ghastly creep Judd."

A misty look entered Poppy's eyes. "I loved Judd." he murmured in a beatific
voice.

"Tosh! You don't 'love' anyone. You flirt with everyone, and fall for every
creature you meet with a hard-on. Judd as the brains of a hamster, he
couldn't even pull the clothes off you without getting caught."

Poppy pouted. "I'm not a prick-teaser, Jennifer."

"No," the girl agreed, "You're more of a prick-pleaser I'd say. You like
men, but you're not strong enough to be a man yourself, so you have to take
cock up your little sissy arse."
She knew he wasn't alone in his homosexual interests. The entire school was
composed of effeminate little panty-boys only slightly less shameless than
he was. They were all full of girlish mannerisms; wafting hands, cheeky
smiles and light skipping steps, and no harsh words were needed to compel
them to hold hands when taken out on nature walks. The use of cosmetics was
banned during school time, but they usually risked a hint of perfume, and
early in the day each of them would exude a delicate floral fragrance. They
were always clean and neatly dressed too, which was in itself uncommon among
young boys, and while such a thing was demanded of them by her mother she
fancied there were other reasons why they  spent so much time bathing and
tidying their hair. They did it for each other, because they wished to seem
alluring and desirable to their classmates and dormitory friends.

They always looked so endearing and blameless - angelic almost - but she
knew there was unlikely to be a virgin arse among them. Quite apart form the
depravity of old Hardwick she knew from questioning Abigail and the prefects
that when lights-out was imposed in the dormitories at the end of day the
effeminate little bitches were at each other like cats. Cock-sucking and
mutual masturbation was rife, and anal sex commonplace. They were absolutely
without morals when the mood gripped them, she'd been told, some of them
entertaining two or three different partners one after the other.

She had no use for their hairless little pricks herself, but she was
perversely turned-on by watching queers perform, and just the thought of
them doing things together made the lips of her proud young pussy pout
against the stretched tightness of her panties. It didn't matter if they
were full-blown homosexuals or had merely been conditioned to it by being
deprived of the companionship of suitable girls, such bad boys needed
constant correction.

She pulled up his hands to examine Poppy's lacquered nails. "Nice fingers,
do you ever wear rings?"

"I do when I'm allowed."

"I think I've got some things that will fit you. Only dress stuff, not real
silver, but good enough for a girl's first date."

She had plenty of rings; enough to provide one or more to each of his
slender fingers, and Poppy beamed at being decked-out with so many baubles.
Because she was preparing him for her mother Jennifer took inordinate
trouble garnishing him further. She screwed onto his ears the prettiest
earrings she possessed; two teardrops of opaque jade that seemed imbued with
an animation of their own and shimmered when Poppy made the slightest turn
of his head. And finally shoes, silver sling-backs with heels so high the
boy was on tiptoe and felt in danger of toppling forward when she made him
stand up.

Being swathed in perfume and effeminate attire excited Poppy. The gentle tug
of the flimsy baby-doll on his shoulders, the soft fabric caressing his
belly and the snugness of his panties saturated him in femininity, and as he
posed for Jennifer's inspection he gripped the hem of his diaphanous
negligee at either side and slowly rotated, a pantyboy in girly-land,
seeming oblivious to the tenting of his pants.  "Does it look okay?" he
asked, "It feels nice."

***
Jennifer accompanied him hand in hand along a passageway, if not quite like
a girlfriend then at least like a big girl caring for a smaller sister who
was simpering and squirming about. Earrings swung against Poppy's neck and
bangles slid along his forearms, and he was in exactly the right frame of
mind for being cared for and adored.

"Will I have to see your mum - Miss Hancock, alone?" he asked.

The girl gave the prodigious sigh of a person relieving themselves of a
burden as they approached a door at the end of the corridor. "You're not a
six-year-old, even if you enjoy acting like one sometimes. Be a bit grown-up
about this for goodness sake. I'm leaving you here. Just knock at the door
and await permission to enter."

Left alone, Poppy tapped lightly on the door before him with some
trepidation, and listened for a response. The voice that bid him enter was
matter-of-fact and not reassuring in its tone.

Miriam Hancock's bedroom had a high flung ceiling and mullioned windows
looped with heavy crimson curtains. Modern cupboards lined one wall while a
chaise longue upholstered in red satin together with an old fashioned chair
stood by a walnut spinet that had been converted into a dressing table. With
its western aspect and pine panelled walls the room made a gracious setting
for the antique four-poster bed with spiralled mahogany pillars that had
dominance. The main house had been built in the 1830s, but the bed predated
everything around it by a hundred years, and Miss Hancock maintained that it
came from the original manor. Everything in the room declared opulence and
its occupants appreciation of fine things.

Poppy entered tentatively, pausing just inside the door, eyes aflutter. The
headmistress stood as a dark silhouette against the far window and didn't
move for a moment, even when the soft click of the door told her it had
closed. Then she swung about, hands thrust deep into the big pockets of a
white robe, her eyes glittering.

She was a woman so tempered in her movements that at times she appeared to
do everything in slow motion, and that was the effect she gave as she glided
towards him at that moment. The image she presented was one he'd never seen
before. Her rich brown hair was pinned up in swirls as usual, but her fine
arched eyebrows had been darkened to emphasis the fairness of her skin and
her lips seemed unusually sensual. It was also the first time he's seen her
so close to being undressed. Her robe was pulled open at the top and he
could see the cleft between her breasts, and he suspected there were few
clothes beneath the coat.

Blinking rapidly, he stood transfixed, fingers clutching nervously at the
chiffon peignoir and only relaxing to flourish the hem in the expected
curtsy before pulling the fragile fabric close to his body.

As she moved towards him Miss Hancock observed the doe-eyed sissy shrewdly.
Stockings and suspenders looked wildly incongruous with a short nightie, but
Jennifer always did have a taste for the dramatic and loved dressing up boys
as French tarts. That night Poppy's young figure was displayed to perfection
by the way her daughter had adorned it. Still only twelve-years-old his face
was delicate and dimpling and extraordinarily pretty, and with eyelashes
fluttering and hair shining he was the image of a sweet girl on the verge of
adolescence. Then she caught a glimpse of the tumid thrust in the front of
his panties as his erection strained a bit harder, and a slight smile turned
the corners of her mouth. Sweet, but not so innocent, she thought. Poppy had
a reputation for being easily stimulated by frilly things.

"Jennifer's dressed you in a stunning fashion, Poppy.  So beautiful, so
sweet. You wouldn't be out of place in a sultan's seraglio, and it's just
unfortunate I've yet to cultivate any contacts that serve the orient. Did
Jennifer explain why she'd dressed you like this and brought you here?"

"She did tell me," the she-boy admitted, "but I didn't understand most of
it, and she made me wear a bra, and I don't understand why she did that
either."

Miriam paused to consider the not quite unconscious turn-away of the boys
head. He had charming dark eyes, at once sparkling and shadowy, a pert nose
and an impetuous mouth that lent a touch of naivety to his manner. It
contrasted amusingly with what she knew of him, but of course she knew he
had a talent for laying-on expressions.

Slipping an arm about his narrow shoulders she steered him towards the
four-poster. "The thing is Poppy, you can't remain at Fairyfield for ever
and I'm bound to sell you soon. You will be employed by a person of good
standing as a houseboy or upstairs-maid, or perhaps as a personal dresser or
companion. Some man may wish to marry you. Whatever role your given you're
certain to be used in a recreational way too. That being the case, there's a
need to assess you."

Poppy blinked hard. If what Jennifer had said was a mystery to him, her
mothers explanation was almost as unfathomable. "Recre-what, miss?"

A smile touched Miriam's face. The so-called assessment was a frivolous
excuse of her own devising. She had become keenly aware of his sexuality
earlier in the week when he'd been brought before her in little more than
stockings and a garter-belt trimmed with lace. She'd felt aroused by his
near nakedness, and when aroused Miriam could be consumed by passion that
raged like an inferno. For months such things could lay dormant until some
small inexplicable thing awakened them; the glimpse of a bare thigh, a
pretty smile not meant for herself, an inadvertent glance or a satisfactory
conclusion to an aspect of business. Reasons were varied and unpredictable,
but whatever they were when the passion came there was no peace until it was
sated. In sexual matters she much preferred the company of other women, but
now and again she had the urge to spin off at a tangent and try something
new, and Poppy seemed an ideal subject for some innovation.

She seated herself on the edge of the bed and smiled affectionately as she
brought one hand up to touch his cheek, the gesture tender. "Recreation,
Poppy. Recreation as many facets," she explained pulling him down to sit at
her side. "Kissing for instance is pleasurable play. You know about kissing,
don't you?"

He smiled weakly in return and gazed down at his hands. "A little bit,
miss."

"More than a little bit I think. The other boys are forever wanting to kiss
you, are they not?"

"They're wicked, miss."

"Yes, wicked indeed, but you're very tempting, and I don't doubt you taste
as delicious as you look." Her hand dropped to the bow on his negligee and
dissolved it with a deft tug of her fingers. What she was contemplating was
outrageous. She knew Poppy was promiscuous, she knew he was a manipulator,
and she knew what she intended was illegal, immoral and unnatural. But she
didn't care.

Poppy stifled a gasp. Looking up he became conscious of desire in the face
of the headmistress, saw the sensuality in her partially open lips and heard
her quickening breath. He'd seen such expressions on men in the past when
they looked at him, but this was different, she was a woman.

Her eyes studied him, then she kissed his eyelids, his cheeks and his chin
before moving to his mouth where two blends of scented rouge mashed
together. Slowly, almost lazily, she rolled her mouth against his lips.

"Ooooww!" Miss Hancock! he twittered. Alarmed, he meekly tried to resist,
but only succeeded in falling backwards on the bedcovers where his petite
torso undulated like a snake. His heart beat so much he thought it may
explode as she lay down beside him and stroked the negligee away from his
shoulders.

"You have a young boys body, yet you constantly manage to flaunt it in the
manner of a girl." the headmistress soothed, wonderingly. Unimpeded by any
need for modesty she reached low to brush the skin of his belly, then
blatantly caressed the hard-on tenting in his panties to make his cock
thicken under the pass of her pearly fingernails.
"You like that, don't you? Does it feel good? Is this what you like the boys
to do when they entice you into a cosy corner? There's so many people who
love sissies and you and the other flirty things at Fairyfield will fill a
gap in the market very nicely, and very profitably."

Her eyes burned into his, her voice had become honey-coated sex, and before
he could respond she kissed him again, her mouth crushing his own in the
ferocity of passion while her tongue filled his gasping mouth. Then her
mouth glided down over his throat and around his neck and he became aware of
her fingers moving up his back. The woman's excitement had become strangely
contagious. A pulse beat in his slender white neck and his chest rose and
fell rapidly. He was breathless, almost panting, and his throat felt tight
as the hook-and-eye fastening of his bra was released. "N-no please. Oh
miss, you mus - mus ..."

How delightful, Miriam mused. The boy who had expressed such distaste at
being made to wear a bra was now like a virgin little girl on her first
date, pleading for her not to remove it.
Off it came anyway. The skimpy garment went limp and she scooped it away
from his chest to reveal two lovely boyish nipples. Pink and puffy and
begging for kisses.

Dominated by the larger physique and greater strength of the headmistress
and unable to control what was happening young Poppy groaned in capitulation
and pushed his chest up to meet her avid mouth as it attacked his body, his
hands clamping onto the back of her head as she feasted on him.

Intent on tonguing and suckling his boy-nipples, Miriam pulled the flesh
forward and made the pale pink teats pointy before taking each into her
mouth in their turn, drawing in her cheeks to make the swollen glands
balloon and tugging at the tender buds with her teeth. In the midst of
sucking on his breasts Miriam tucked a thumb beneath the elasticised string
of his tiny pants and eased them down over his thighs. His penis sprang up
like a puppy-dogs tail, but she shoved it aside to concentrate on stripping
off his knickers.

Finally, having enjoyed some gratuitous foreplay she took hold of Poppy's
hand and pulled it down to press at her robe where it concealed her groin,
and the contours of what lay beneath caused his arm to jolt as if he'd
received an electric shock.

"Keep your hand still for a moment," she told him, "Feel the shape down
there. Do you know what it is?"

He did know. Confused, he could only gasp, embarrassment mixed with wonder.
Miriam shook his hand away and slowly stood up, and the elegance that she'd
taken care to nurture so carefully over the years lost none of its
attraction as she removed her robe. Her body was statuesque and firm, clad
only in a black basque that made a show of two exquisite breasts with
peek-a-boo nipples. Beneath her pinched-in waist fine hips curved round to
accentuate the additional  accessory she'd installed at the vee of her
thighs. There, looking ominously businesslike jutted a well proportioned
replica penis sculptured in realistically veined pink latex. It was affixed
to her closely cropped Mons Venus in such a way it almost seemed part of her
anatomy, the illusion only betrayed by the buckles and black leather straps
of the supporting harness. Rearing up potent and full of promise it showed
itself to be enhanced by a heavily laden scrotum, only a polythene sack, but
a thing that swung perversely against the soft white flesh of her thighs
like a party balloon half full of water.

Poppy had seen countless erections before and the cock sprouting out from
the loins of Miss Hancock was impressive. It made her seem even more
authoritative then normal, and awesome too - powerful and utterly in
command.

Miriam usually held her emotions under tight restraint, but exposing herself
in such a shameless way excited some wanton behaviour, and she shook her
hips to made the prosthetic shudder. In no more than a few seconds the
demure headmistress of Fairyfield Grange had taken on the attributes of a
randy stallion, and a certain expectation shone in her eyes as she
contemplated the petite, lissom boy spread before her. Eyes misted over,
lips slightly agape, he looked tantalisingly like a real girl waiting to be
ravaged. Certainly he had a fine erection and handsome balls, but she chose
to ignore them completely.

"Spread your legs nice and wide." she told the awe-struck she-boy. "I know
sissies need lots and lots of sex, and since I'm sensitive as to how females
mystify you I intend to make love to you like a man."

Poppy shivered and gazed at her in dumb disbelief. Her - the headmistress! A
woman. She was going to  make love to him ... fuck him?

Miss Hancock bypassed his amazed expression. Twin vices caught his ankles.
Big hands. Her hands. Long, strong fingers and supple palms, lifting his
slender, smooth  legs up and pushing them back around his ears to a level
that caused the dimple between his buttocks to give a show. Being hairless
and smooth such a position allowed an unrestricted view of his anal ring
clenched in apprehension, and after first drenching her extension with
baby-oil she then dosed a good deal onto Poppy's tense little bum-hole.

"Right! All ready!." Miriam muttered, "Stay on your back and spread your
knees - let me get in between them."

Breathing hard, stomach taut, Poppy gazed between his splayed thighs like an
anxious girl, then he flinched as the headmistress loomed over him and
something cool and hard furrowed indecently between his buttocks, screwing
about and searching for a way in. "Unh!" He groaned and his eyes opened
their widest as he felt the thing find its target and press forward.
"Miss - Miss Hancock, ladies shouldn't do this to boys." he wheezed
helplessly.

Her reply was hot and treacly. "But you're not a boy, you're a girl, Poppy."
She pushed with her thighs and felt a slight give in his ring, and when she
maintained the pressure his tight little buttonhole gave way and she was
able to force the head of her cock beyond his sphincter.

"Wooow!"

"There we are! You see, you are a girl aren't you Poppy. Admit it."

Poppy's whole body quivered and contracted, and then ... jerk ... jerk ...,
a panting 'oooh! oooh! aaah! and a sob. "Yes, miss. Yes, I'm am a girl."

The spearing tip of the woman's apparatus bullied further forward, making
Poppy moan as the bulbous head and thick shaft stretched him and a familiar
sting assailed his insides. The gate once breached offered no more
impediment, hands clawing the bedcovers, he accepted everything given,
gripping the hefty lance with his anal muscles and squirming against it.
Jubilantly the headmistress dug her fingers into his soft flesh and humped
the clinging anus to make it slid down the length of  her cock, leaning
slightly back to watch the tight ring squeeze along the shaft.. Then she
went down on him, ramming him energetically and enjoying his little moans.

"Oh, miss - ooh, Miss Hancock, ooh. It's big - it's too big."

"Don't be so melodramatic. I suspect its size is rather modest when compared
with some of the men who've used you in the past.." Skewering him another
inch she licked her lips. "That's it, let me do it. Let me fuck you like men
fuck you."

"Ooorrrommmh!" Poppy's voice  rattled rather than gurgled in his throat as
he twisted, rolling his head back on the pillow and pointing his chin
upwards.  Miriam knew him to be a play-actor, and  whilst steeped in
confusion and yielding in her embrace she suspected his little utterances of
protest were no more than the inane ramblings of a girl surrendering to a
new lover.

She held him steady, lowered her hips further and squeezed more of her
plastic cock into his pliant backside, contorting her whole body with
delight as the strap-on glided forward and sank in up to its balls. When she
was certain his junior-sized rectum was packed full she pushed herself up
slightly and began to fuck him gently, gyrated her hips slowly to make the
thick dildo stretch his helpless boy-pussy in every direction. The sissy
gave a little buck with each in and out, intensely aware of Miss Hancock's
strong thighs pressing between his legs, and even more aware of the pitiless
dimensions of the thing she was causing the burning feeling inside his
greased bum-hole his initial show of distress became increasingly vocal.

"Oh - h - h!! Miss Hancock! Oh - h - hh! You're killing me - you - are -
killing me! Ah - hh - Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Poised directly over him Miriam used the expertise she'd gained from
encounters with innumerable young women, supporting her upper body on her
elbows and undulating her thighs in a supple easy motion to ensure her cock
moved smoothly back and forth in his anal tract. Her ample breasts all but
spilt out from her basque as she pressed them against his chest, but having
established a rhythm she had become negligent of such things. Her face
became a mask of rapture as her hips arched back and forth to skewer him
forcefully, harder and faster with each stab, going right up until her
facsimile scrotum was slapping against his conquered bottom like the
ball-bags of a randy stud.

Lost beneath her and trapped by her all-encompassing physique Poppy clutched
desperately at her hips, and without actually planning to found himself
worming his bottom in response to her movements. His mind seemed to melt.
The plastic thing had started to touch a mysterious erogenous place inside
him that he'd once been told about, but had forgotten the name of, and was
beginning to provide a lovely feeling that made him want to please. - made
him want to do whatever the headmistress wanted to do. Oozing and shimmering
with her he found himself groaning as he lifted his body to bounce in tempo
with the relentless beat of the phallus moving piston-like in his fully
oiled and pliant rosette.

"That's it, darling," encouraged Miriam, "Wrap your legs around my waist,
move your cute little bum and hump with teacher." She settled down on him,
moulding herself against his smaller frame. Because she was taller her chin
nested on the top of his head and all she was aware of was the sensation of
Poppy's face and cheeks pressing into her neck and the roll of his bottom
pinned in place by the short, intense strokes of the object in his anus.

"Oomph!" Poppy whimpered as his bottom repeatedly rocked in clasping waves,
slavishly pursuing the woman's wild thrusting. "Oh, miss ... You want ... I
want ... I want to be your girl ..."

Miriam sucked in her breath. "I know you do, and tonight you are my girl.
Get ready for when teacher shoots." With each forceful push of her thighs
the base of the apparatus pressed against her to send tentacles of lustful
sensation  to wrap about the tiny bud between her legs. She was fucking a
beautiful boy-arse and could feel what she was doing. She could feel it
through the inanimate object that connected them, and combined with the
psychological thrill generated by the unacceptable act she was engaged in it
was beginning to make her quake.
As she fucked him harder and harder she became breathless. The tingle and
throb in her clitoris was no longer under her control and her pussy-flesh
began to palpitate.

"Aiieeee!" She squealed softly, her body jerking and trembling against his.
"Here you go, sweet thing. Take it ... ooooh ... lovely ... take it ... All
up in you. Let me fill you with cock-cream ..."

As she orgasmed one hand reached down to squeeze her facsimile testicles and
send a streams of facsimile cum along the shaft of her appliance, hosing
into him far more copiously than any man could, pumping spurt after spurt of
replica semen into his jerking body ... using him ... making him her whore
... filling him up ... filling his sissy-arse with spunk ...

Her fingers squeezed ceaselessly for a short while, massaging her improvised
ball-bag until its entire contents had poured into the clutching tissue that
still clung diligently to her sliding penis, squeezing quickly until the bag
was empty. Movement didn't cease until Miriam was exhausted, and Poppy was
fully fucked.

Afterwards, when they had thrown off the lassitude that follows heady
fornication, Miriam eased out her cock and rolled away. She then slumped
content, looking at Poppy with her dark shadowy eyes. "Your willy is still
erect, dear thing, so you may milk it whilst I cuddle you. But make sure you
don't get any of your sticky spermies on me."

***

Hardwick awoke as he always did, early. Six thirty in the morning. The
curtains were drawn, but not completely, and through the gap between them
the morning air flowed in, fresh and invigorating. It was light, and the sky
was clear in promise of another fine summer day, so for a moment he lay
drowsy and relaxed, steeped in the pleasure he had known the evening before.

Turning his head he gazed in deep satisfaction at the slumbering sissy-boy
who occupied the other side of his broad bed. His ribcage thrust up from a
slender unclad body and seemed to strain against the restriction of delicate
smooth skin, while the fringe of fair hair that adorned his brow appeared to
frame a face that was angelic in sleep. One arm was tucked beneath his head,
the other lay across the white sheet in a pose of tranquility that gave no
hint of the heady passion he'd so recently been a party to.

Hardwick ran his fingers through his own greying locks which he always
parted on the wrong side, then reached out and touched, just as he would
have touched a piece of porcelain or sculpture. Just for the pleasure of
feeling the shape and texture beneath his fingers. His light caress didn't
disturb the sissy, and when he withdrew his hand he still slept.

The gym-teacher was generally a contented man, which surprised many people.
He'd once held a critical post at the Royal School of Ballet until a fall
from grace left him with no option but to settle for work as a
fitneess-instructor-sometimes-handy-man at an obscure school in the
Yorkshire dales. But lower status hadn't made him bitter. He was a man of
simple tastes and defined interests, and he found everything he desired at
Fairyfield Grange. He appreciated the beauty of young boys, and his new
place of work was full of them. It was a cosy environment and one that was
familiar, because during his fifteen years as deputy dance-master no boy had
passed through the ballet-school without passing through his bedroom, and
there was no impediment to him duplicating that achievement at this desolate
place in Yorkshire.

He loved having sex with young boys. Their sleek limbs, delicate bodies and
winsome features dominated his every thought, and he delighted in their
sparkling smiles and little giggles whenever he coaxed them out of their
clothes. All boys were much the same. They liked to excite men. They loved
to slip down their pants and show off their pricks and balls, and they loved
to wiggle their bottoms. Men can't resist invitations like that.

He himself loved their gasps of surprise each time he ran his hands up and
down their silky-smooth bodies. With his help their dormant little cocklets
could be encouraged to swell and rise up to a size that often amazed their
owners, and in gratitude they would give themselves wholeheartedly to his
affection. Under his tutelage even the most innocent little newcomer who was
unconscious of his sexuality would soon delight in seeing the pricks around
him rise up in lust, and in no time at all he'd learn how to accept cock and
hump like a whore. On occasions Hardwick was a glutton and had two or three
of them at the same time, and in interludes between gratifying himself he
would instruct them on how to do things together. Sometimes the thrill of
watching them getting cummy and ejaculating over each other was almost as
keen as an actual orgasm.

Hardwick had long ago developed a fatherly demeanour and fancied all his
pupils adored him. He believed he had the kind of looks young lads found
irresistible - dark seductive eyes, a strong sensuous face and lean body -
and he flattered himself they shared with him the kind of relationship that
imitated the erastes and eromenos of ancient Greece, one that was
affectionate, trusting and pure. In London he'd always made a point of
tucking them into bed and kissing their foreheads in the evenings. They were
always so placid and content after a good milking, and  once they'd had a
dick up their backsides they couldn't get enough.

Overconfidence had been his downfall. The administration at the School of
Ballet usually turned a blind eye to a bit of discreet man-boy frolicking,
but when he was discovered taking photographs of a class of boys he'd
dressed in tutu's, bad tempers had flared and he'd been told to go.

The ousting had been tough and had ended a way of life. Denied the use of
his old haunts he'd had to roam far and wide in a quest for boys, and it had
often proved a frustrating business. The beaches of the south coast were
thick with luscious half-naked little fellows in the summer; hundreds of
them worldly enough to know how a sly little wiggle of a scantily clad
bottom could elicit favours from a man. Unfortunately, those with the most
encouraging smiles and inviting wiggles were invariably supervised by stern
mothers or po-faced aunts, and sometimes he'd spent an entire afternoon
talking sweet, smiling and buying treats to receive no more in return than a
brief play with a lads nipples. In desperation he'd had to seek out certain
avaricious women who hired out their schoolboy sons for bedroom activity,
but who charged extortionate fees.

He found the regime at Fairyfield to be the answer to a prayer, and a
blessing to his pocket. Miss Hancock laid great store in retaining a child's
beauty by regular exercise. She wanted them trained in girlish bodily
expression and to appeal to the eye in every possible way, and she wished
for them to be physically fit without appearing too muscular. Smooth slender
limbs and a narrow torso was the ideal to strive for, she'd said, since
apparent helplessness was part of a sissy's charm.

Everyone must think he had the best job in the world, but it wasn't always
easy. Being a trainer for sissies sounded glamorous and there were some
perks - endless numbers of poop-shutes needing a regular visit from a cock -
but it could be hard for a man alone.
He'd convinced her that an ex-dancemaster such as himself was exactly what
was required. He was adept at all kinds of gym work, and nothing could equal
ballet routines for maintaining suppleness of limbs and developing elegance
and poise. And the dear things would have dancing lessons - not ballet, but
country dance, some ballroom and a little jive - all most suitable
recreations for little ladies.

There was also the delicate matter of their sexuality of course. Some of
them were certain to be homosexual already, but if there was no other means
available he'd take on the chore of turning  the remainder into queers
himself. It was a radical step, but necessary, since obviously sissies
weren't convincing  if they didn't like men.
Oh, he'd really poured on the sauce. He'd taught the sissies how to strut
about and mince provocatively in their skimpy bits and pieces whilst
practising over-the-shoulder 'come-and-get-me' glances, and even if their
bodies were rather straight up and down the effect of watching them preen
and pout like showgirls was astoundingly erotic. As a private indulgence he
sometimes got them to parade without their little pants. There was lots of
giggling and a few blushes on such occasions, but the boys obliged him
happily enough, since unlike all the women at Fairyfield he treated any
accidental erection with good humour and a sensitive hand.

Sometimes he thought that he alone did anything useful at that school.
Teaching the young babydolls how to please men was his responsibility. The
women faddled around instructing in fashion, cosmetics and elocution, but it
took more than that to produce a first-rate pussyboy. It took plenty of
evening commitment, lots of cock, and galleons of cum. Yes, and it was vital
to keep emptying them of all the spermy juices that made them boyish.

He couldn't understand Miss Hancock's attitude. Despite being clearly
determined to make a profit from the pretty things in her trust she had so
little imagination. Sissies needed men to fuck them regularly, and there
were too many for him to manage alone. She could so easily combine that
vital requirement with earning a sound additional income. In the past he had
visited a number of 'meatracks' that discreetly provided underaged boys on
their menu, and he knew some men would pay exorbitant fees to make use of
smooth pre-teener's. He knew the headmistress gave certain selected people
access to the children at Fairyfield Grange, but unaccountably when he'd
suggested opening the school to a wider clientele she'd told him she 'left
running brothels to others'.

It was a shame, because the boys knew just how delectable they were. They
loved to show-off their assesses, but for the most part the only people they
could show them to were each other. It was  a waste, but there it was. At
least he himself had the good fortune to enjoy their nubile nature.

He moved closer to his young companion and eased him onto his side before
drawing back the covers to study the pale bare buttocks. Reaching out he
spread them with his hands to reveal the slightly pink whorl between.
Clenched in sleep it displayed no trace of the pleasure it had given the
previous evening. At last the mans drowsiness departed and became replaced
by restless energy. He wet his fingers with spittle and gently rubbed the
exposed anus in a circular caress. The she-boy stirred and moaned sleepily,
and Hardwick felt a twinge of pleasure as his penis thickened. Almost
casually he reached for the container of oil on his bedside table and
drizzled a copious amount of the clear lubricant onto it. He preferred oil
to patent jellies or creams, since it never cluttered him with residue.

As he massaged himself with his finely manicured fingers he admired himself.
He was nicely endowed, and although he prided himself he'd never stooped to
the vanity of measuring his erection he was confident it was nearer to eight
inches than it was to seven. Just how a young sissy's tender rosebud could
manage to accept such a monster amazed him, but just a few hours previously
the one in his bed had taken it's length and girth admirably. He'd buggered
him almost constantly for several hours and ejaculated into him copiously
three times.

Caressing the tense anal bud once more, he transferred to it the surplus oil
from his fingers, and at last the boy stirred and sleepily opened his eyes.
"Just one last time, then we'll have to get ready for breakfast." Hardwick
told him.

He moved forward to press the head of his tool between the slender buttocks
and heard a sharp intake of breath as he pushed against the resistance of
the lads sphincter. Pushing harder he felt a slight give in the ring, then
slowly the tip of his cock breached the anal portal. and the boy stifled a
cry as the widest part of his cock-head entered.

"Here we go then!" Hardwick murmured. He always maintained young lads
sparked better during the day if they started out freshly fucked and with a
bum full of warm cum.

***
Mornings were a rush in the dormitories, which was a distaste to Wendy who
wasn't a natural early riser, and unlike the others he had to sit on the
edge of his bed and take care putting on his stockings.

It had been a hot night and promised to be a hot day, and it would have been
so much easier to just pull on a pair of socks. Hurrying too quickly could
create a tear in the fine denier mesh and his aunt detested any hint of
sloven appearance in her pupils. She certainly wouldn't tolerate untidiness
of any kind in one of her prefects.

Stretching each item of hose over his hand in turn he rolled them into
weightless rings of nylon before reaching down to slide in his toes and
smoothing each stocking up high on his thighs. Attaching the clips of his
suspender-straps to the top of them at the front he then he stood up and
reached behind to stretch each remaining suspender down across his buttocks
until he could affix them to the dark welts at the back. Tights would have
been easier to put on, but his aunt abhorred them, thinking them grotesquely
unglamorous things for a girl to wear under her skirt, and she ridiculed
self-supporting stockings as useless since they never self-supported
efficiently.

With a rush of vanity he rubbed his knees together to hear the stockings rib
together. Nylons may have been a nuisance early in the morning, but they did
sheath a boys legs tight and give them a nice shape, and they were ideal for
emphasising pretty ankles. Even on hot days they were preferable to the bare
legs and little ankle socks endured by the younger girly-boys.

Standing up he took a gymslip from its hanger and lifted it over his head,
sliding it down until the shoulder straps settled comfortably over the
blouse he'd put on earlier. Making a slight adjustment to the drape of his
skirt he then tied the accompanying sash about his waist. The small
curvature of his hips was immediately accentuated as the hem of the
box-pleated skirt rode high on his thighs.

He stared at his reflection in a wall mirror, turning this way and that.
With a little skirt swirling about his thighs he was pleased with what he
saw - yes, he did have good legs, and the nylons gave them graceful,
attractive lines. He smiled. He thought the blue-black smock and white
blouse presented a bright fresh picture, and for a thirteen-year-old boy
with a  nice, round, inviting bottom he looked rather fetching in a
schoolgirl uniform.

Picking up a two-pronged leather tawse he clipped it onto his waist sash.
There were times he felt fed-up with life at Fairyfield Grange, but when he
thought about it there had been little radical change in his routine since
William became Wendy. He'd been boarded-out at schools from an early age, so
when his parents agreed for him to remain at Fairyfield instead of returning
him to the prep-school in Middlesex he wasn't particularly upset. Being
dressed and treated as a girl had been a shock at first, but since he wasn't
academically minded the unchallenging curriculum suited him well.

Being compelled to be a girl was a new experience, but he'd always been
precocious in the way he moved, and at his previous school he'd carried
himself so lightly the older boys would often wolf-whistle as he walked by.
Not being robust he had learned to seek their association to avoid bullies;
providing favours in exchange for their protection.
He'd realised he was gay when he found himself admiring other boys in the
showers. From that time on he'd joined in with a number of others who passed
time in the dreariest lessons by stroking each others pants beneath the
desks. Then he thought of Mr Swancombe, the nicest, huskiest teacher in the
world, kissing him whilst skinning his foreskin up and down over the tender,
pink tip of his little-boy wee.

Hot summer nights reminded him of that school in Middlesex. On sweltering
nights when they'd not been chosen as a bed-mate for an older boy  or one of
the tutor's, when it had been too hot to get into bed, too hot to sleep, too
hot to wear pyjamas, a dozen boys would lay naked on top of the covers, each
playing with himself in the solitude of darkness and longing for a friend to
join him. Some would pair-off eventually, and then hot boy bodies and hot
mouths would squirm together as they treated each other to a glorious mutual
milking.

He'd grown since those times of course, and he'd taken to spending his
holidays with his granny in Brighton, which  had not been a wholesome
influence, because granny played her own perverted games with him whenever
he visited. Each evening she would undress him and make him her slave-boy,
which entailed him doing endless cleaning chores and being constantly
spanked when things weren't completed satisfactorily. Consolation only came
at the end of each evening when she would sit hi m on her lap and he would
hold on tight and gasp as she 'made things better' with her hand.

Then there were granny's parties. His grandmother's 'at-home' weekend
soirees were notorious for being informal and fun., and her guests varied in
age from early twenties to creeping old age. Strictly women, they were an
intermingling of writers, artists, musicians and playwrights, and whether
talented or not, all were welcome if they brought with them their own little
slave-boy.

On Saturday evenings the large room at the back of granny's house would
become an harem, heavy with the sweet smell of marijuana and smouldering
joss-sticks, where naked little boys were made to parade their scented
unclothed bodies back and forth in front of a lust-filled audience of
elderly matrons. Bargains were made and swaps agreed, and the ladies would
then produce their strap-ons, and no boy ever knew until the last moment
which of those degenerate females would grab hold of him and take him
upstairs to be spanked and wanked and fucked in the bum.

He glanced at his wristwatch and suddenly Brighton faded into unreality;
forgotten dreams that had never been real. Fairyfield Grange was reality
now.

He hurried out onto the landing and walked along to the casement overlooking
the kitchen yard to chase away the clutter of eleven-year-olds who always
congregated there when Larkin's van delivered groceries. At exactly
seven-forty-five on such days Ned Larkin's van arrived in the yard below,
with Judd sitting in the passenger seat. Judd was a teenage hunk and
everyone's flavour of the month, and the van was already there.

"No sign of Abigail yet." observed one of those watching breathlessly. The
junior's all had their knickers lowered and skirts raised and were
shamelessly playing with their popsies as they contemplated their hero.

"Stop that at once. Adjust you clothes and go to your rooms." Wendy ordered.
He'd been appointed a prefect in recognition of being a founder pupil, and
probably because his aunt was the headmistress, but he'd never got on with
being a figure of authority and left the punishment of juniors to others
whenever he could. It was a flaw the younger she-boys sometimes took
advantage of, and they'd often test him to the limit.

The voyeurs avidly watching Judd sluggishly obeyed his dress instruction,
but hardly stirred away from the window. Isolated from the outside world and
living in circumstances that conditioned them to be girls they had acquired
a girlish enthusiasm for idolising anything that wore trousers. In
particular they shared an infatuation for the muscular youth old Larkin
brought with him to offload the groceries. They could predict his routine to
perfection.. While the old man went into the kitchen for a cup of tea Judd
always remained in the van until Abigail came along to provide a brew more
to his liking. When the head-girl arrived, all flirting and fluttering, they
would go off together to the old scullery at the end of the yard - just to
have tea, Abigail said.

Wendy felt a good deal of bitterness toward Abigail. His cousin had quickly
become aloof when his mother had nominated him as head-girl at the start of
term. Praise and admiration had gone to his head and his appointment had
given him arrogance that was quite unpleasant. He was rude with almost
everyone and he'd left his oldest, most trusted friends behind.
Wendy had been left behind, ignored and forgotten, the relationship they'd
once shared was now in tatters.

In charitable moment Wendy sought comfort in halcyon memories. There had
been pleasant times in the past, times of thrills during a summer when
Abigail and he had sauntered around the gardens in a wonderfully
mannequin-like way, carrying parasols and wearing sun-hats with enormous
brims while swinging their hips beneath tiny summer frocks. At Christmas
there had been kisses under the mistletoe and promises to stay true forever,
and while he never expected himself to be Abigail's only lover he had hoped
he would remain his most permanent one. He wasn't a boy any more, he was a
sissy and he needed to be fucked. Oh, yes, he loved it. And sex with Abigail
had been sublime and as thrilling as he could wish; fierce and tender,
outrageous at times, but always adventurous.

That was all dust now. Abigail now never sought his company for anything.

He looked at the other boys around him at that moment with searching
curiosity. They were all screeching pantywaists like himself and he'd shared
sexual intimacy with all of them at some time, but they never fully
compensated for the loss of his truelove. The younger ones were fine for
many things, but he loved to have his arse tickled and pushed and crowded by
an enormous cock - loved to be made to squirm and give pleasure - and they
weren't much good for providing for that. Big pricks were rare at
Fairyfield, but there were visitors sometimes -

"Judd's such a scrumptious hunk," murmured Jemima, "I'd drop my pants for
him any time."
Having recently been inside Jemima's pants himself Wendy knew he wasn't
being altogether frivolous. He was an eager little queer who'd shamelessly
impale his backside on any cock that came near him.

"Bet he's got a dick like a hockey-stick when it's up." said Holly wriggling
girlishly nearby.
Jemima grinned. "Wow, a hockey-stick! That'd make anyone's eyes water." And
he contemplated the idea with spread hands caressing the rounds of his
bottom.

The other sissies giggled, and Wendy didn't doubt their little cocks were
quivering inside their panties. He stared down at the van. He guarded an
admiration for Judd himself that he'd not expressed to anyone else, and he
wasn't about to share it with a bunch of tittering junior trouser-watchers.

"Get back to your rooms and wait for the lesson bell. Move now or I'll line
the lot of you up and strap your hands right here." This time he added
thunder to his voice and the younger boys reluctantly began to back away.

At that moment Daisy came bounding along the corridor in a lather of
urgency.
"Abigail's fallen down the stairs." he wailed.

"His he badly hurt?" asked Wendy.

Daisy flapped his hands and gazed at him with wide anxious eyes. "I dunno, I
didn't find out. Look! I'm just a kid, I need someone to tell me what to
do."

Wendy gave him a furious glance. "Go and find matron or tell one of the
other grown-ups, you twerp. I'll go and have a look at Abigail."

He went along the corridor with a group of curious juniors dogging his heels
and found Abigail sitting halfway down the back steps nursing an ankle.

"You've got everyone worried. Are you okay?" Wendy asked  in genuine
concern.

"No, I'm bloody not okay," fumed the head-girl, "I slipped and twisted
something, and it fuckin'-well hurts."

A single astute observation told Wendy the reason. Instead of wearing
sensible court shoes with block heels with his nylons he'd found from
somewhere a pair of chic black things with tall, narrow spindles at the
back. No doubt he'd been intent on impressing Judd with them and had hurried
too quickly on the steps.

"Can you get up? Can you stand on one foot?" he asked.

"No, I bloody can't. I told you I'm hurting."

A bittersweet smile played around Wendy's mouth and there was a gleam of
malicious satisfaction in his eyes. Judd would be sitting outside in the van
wondering why Abigail hadn't shown up. Maybe he'd go to the old scullery in
search of him. That being a possibility he could think of better things to
do than be nursemaid to Abigail when he was in such a crabby mood.

He gazed at the group of juniors who had followed in hopes of seeing blood
and broken bones. "There's nothing I can do. You lot stay here with Abigail
until one of the ladies arrive." He told them as he pushed a way down the
stairs.

Generally pupils weren't allowed below the second floor until midmorning,
but he used his privilege as a prefect to scurry down to the door that led
out into the cobbled yard. The old stables were now garages or workshops and
the scullery was beyond them behind an ancient wooden door set in lichened
walls of York stone. Larkin's van  with Judd still seated inside stood in
the yard, and rather than let Judd or anyone else see where he was bound he
didn't go outside. Instead he took a route by way of a warren of flagstoned
storerooms and entered the scullery through the back of a disused pantry.

The place was empty, only used as a kind of tea room by some of the cleaning
staff and they were already busy with their chores. It was dingy inside,
only the morning sunlight lit the room to cast shadows across the white
plaster walls and the ancient girandles that in earlier times had supported
candles and rushlights.

He found a clean mug and a a kettle plugged into a solitary wall socket and
stood shaking. He was being wicked, but would Judd come and make it all
worthwhile?

He'd just made the tea when he turned and saw the figure of the youth
standing in the doorway - tall and slim with dark hair, long and thick in
texture. Coming forward Judd ran his fingers through the tumbling locks and
flicked them away from his eyes.

"Ahr, well now! I was expectin' to find Abigail here, but here's a nice
enough soul who'd not deprive a workin' lad a brew." He wiped his face with
his sleeve and pushed the door shut behind him.

"Abigail's had a small accident, so - so I've come instead." Wendy
explained, feeling his legs tremble as he placed the steaming mug down on a
dust encrusted table. He regarded Judd keenly from where he stood, and as
the youth reached out for the tea he felt himself blushing unexpectedly. He
saw in the grocer's assistant everything he admired, his shirt stretched
tautly across his broad shoulders and forearms, muscles rippling beneath the
fabric. When he leaned forward to pick up the mug his shirt flapped open to
reveal a glimpse of a bare chest.

Wendy accentuated a feminine manner and put on a sweet girlish voice. "It's
a grand morning outside."

"Aye, it is a grand mornin'." replied Judd, "It's going to be a hot one.
It's hot already."

"There's a breeze getting up; it may be windy later, but it'll still be
hot."

"Aye - Sorry to hear about Abby - you's Wendy, ain't you?" The mention of
his name startled Wendy and he felt suddenly tongue-tied. Judd gave a canny
wink and a nod of his head. "Abigail's a fine kid, but I keep my eyes'n'ears
open. I likes to know who's about."

Wendy's own eyes followed the village lad as he moved out into the centre of
the room and his excitement throbbed as his muted gaze detected the
unmistakable bulge in the front of his trousers. He didn't seem to be
wearing underwear, and a long thick shape was well defined.
"Penny for your thoughts." said Judd, watching him.

Wendy's heart missed a beat and he guiltily dragged his eyes away from the
tantalising shape and stared at the floor. He knew exactly the kind of act
he needed to put on to please a youth like him: submissive, shy, cute and
girlish. "Oh - nothing." he murmured faintly.

A smile played about Judd's lips as he took a pace nearer to lift his chin
with a fingertip and looked down into his face, his light brown eyes
reflecting unmistakable interest. The younger boy felt strangely
uncomfortable, but he shook with the pleasure of having such a brawny youth
standing so close and paying so much attention to him.

"Tis a foin drop-o-tea you've made, Wendy." he remarked, then he added with
an earthy rasp. "You's a winsome little lass and' no mistake. I's been
watchin' you on 'un off for a while lately. You's got a nice cute shape to
you, an' a sweet little waggle on yer backside when you move. I reckons
you's a girl who as all kinds o' talents."

Wendy glanced up and blushed coyly, eyes wide, lashes fluttering, mouth
slightly open in a sensuous expression of mock surprise. "You're teasing.
Don't be silly." It was a gentle rebuke accompanied by a beam of pleasure.

Judd stood closer. A bit too close. Close enough for Wendy to smell the
scent of work on him. "I'd like to meet you some evenin'. Somewhere where we
can be alone." Judd rumbled.
Wendy saw the desire in his face, recognised the lust in his partially open
mouth and quickening breath. Standing there in front of all that was almost
electric. He'd like to have reached out and touched him, but electricity
could be dangerous.

"I can't get away from here. The ladies are very strict, I could never ..."

The youth took a step back as if weighing his thoughts, and the considerate
move surprised the sissy who thought there was possibly a hero beneath  his
thick, flirtatious veneer. It was only a moments aberration. Judd then came
on again, loomed over him and pressed even closer. His body was firm and
warm and his arms were about Wendy's slim girlish waist and squeezing him
before he realised what was happening. He was overcome by the erotic force
of the village boys embrace and simply clung to him while trying to quieten
his racing pulse.
But the warmth from Judd's hands mocked any attempt to ignore them, his body
tingled and he feared doing an unplanned cum in his pretty panties. He
wanted Judd to take him. He wanted him to command him and possess him.

Judd's lips brushed his cheek like a feather, then kissed him gently on the
mouth. Wendy was frightened and fearful, but as his own penis begin to stir
in his knickers as his face flushed with excitement. When the youth drew the
sissy-boys arms up around his neck his sissy-breathing  quickened as he felt
the heavy beat of his heart against the older boys chest.
Judd's mouth went down on his own, one arm snaking around him and hold him
tight while the hand of the other rose up to cup the back of his head. He
kissed with more passion this time. His lips were firm - on his mouth, on
his neck, on the curve of his throat, and Wendy couldn't help but revel in
such adoration. In a place of shared delights between sissies Wendy had
found herself a man and he was in love again.

With complete confidence Judd took one of the she-boys hands and placed it
on the front of his trousers, and Wendy jolted as he felt the hard dagger
leaping inside.
Judd smirked. "I noticed how you were lookin' at me trouser-snake. What do
yer reckon to it then?"

There was no going back. The village lad pulled his young lover onto tiptoe
and rocked him from side to side as he pressed the arousal in his trousers
against his tummy. Wendy panted, quite happy to be the weak little girl.
"Crikey Judd, we're being naughty. I'll be in awful trouble if someone sees
us."

"I'll come back later tonight on me bike an' get into the east-wing. Nobody
lives there, so no one will know if you join me."

Wendy sighed, aware of the hands fluttering over him, smoothing and
exploring and feeling everywhere. He was more in love at that moment than he
had been for months.

"I'll expect you then," Judd half-stated, half asked.

"Okay, yes I'll meet you later." Wendy agreed breathlessly, and he shivered
as Judd's rough hands lingered around the hem of his skirt before slipping
under to palm his smooth, pliable buttocks.

"That's what I wanted to hear, an' if you're gonna be my girl tonight you
won't deprive me of something to be going on with, will yer?" His strong
hands rose up and began to heave down on Wendy's shoulders, making the
younger boy's knees buckle, and he kept pushing until he was kneeling on the
floor and looking hot and bothered.

Wendy watched with bated breath as the boy eagerly unbuttoned the front of
his trousers and dug one hand deep into his fly. Judd was a beast. What was
he going to do? Goodness it was exciting!

The teenager had to dig and tug, but in no more than a few seconds he'd
pulled his throbbing penis out. "We's got a few minutes afore ol' Larkin
needs me, so try gettin' yer tonsils around this. A sprog like you should be
able to manage that easy enough."

It came as no surprise to Wendy that such a teenage hunk had such a good
tool between his legs. The thing looked as big as he remembered Abigail's to
be, a long column of stiff flesh with a thick prominent vein traversing a
tremendous truncheon of firm flesh, the foreskin already drawn back to
reveal the flared ridge and a smooth-looking helmet shaped tip. It was so
solid looking, so huge, so demanding. "Big enough for you?" Judd asked, his
grin wide and hot.

Wendy didn't know what else to do, so he nodded his head, batted his eyes
and giggled like a real schoolgirl while staring in girlish fascination at
how the gland curved up to display the slit in the flaring cock-head. Judd
took a step closer with his erection sticking out in front of him and
wagging obscenely.

"Go on, honey-bun - have a taste - take it!" he urged, his voice edged with
raw with need as he guided Wendy's face towards his crotch.

Wendy hung back no longer. He stroked the cock with his mouth, kissed it and
flicked his tongue against the purple head before closing his mouth about
its hot dimensions. As he rolled his mouth around to savour the size of it
Judd gasped an exclamation of delight.

"Hah! You's got a good mouth on yer me little flower, I can tell straight
away you's not new to this kind o' thing." He grabbed hold of the head
bobbing in front of his thighs and steadied it, then made Wendy's lips glide
right down to his balls. "We ain't got too long, so keep still a minute
while I fucks yer face."

He pumped furiously back and forth for a short while pushing his cock to the
fullest limits of the obliging she-boys mouth and using the clinging lips as
an aid to masturbation. He shook when his orgasm finally erupted, unloading
fiercely, almost making Wendy choke with the vast flood of hot, syrup-like
semen that suddenly leapt into his throat, but he held his cock in the
sissies churning mouth and made him take it all - made him gulp it down just
as a good little girl should.