Date: Wed, 14 Jul 2004 16:19:47 +0100
From: JA
Subject: Fairyfield Grange  part 4

The following morning Sammy was in Mrs Pardoe's class sewing a plain white
collar onto a small black dress. Sewing was one thing he hated with a
vengeance, he was all thumbs with a needle, and half the time he spent with
Mrs Pardoe involved needlework of some kind, so he didn't get on well with
her. And he was particularly wary of her since the ball-bashing she'd given
him the previous day.

Also he had a rather delicate problem. He'd felt an erection developing
earlier and had thought it just a spell of 'morning wood' that would quickly
fade, but it hadn't faded, and by the time he'd joined Mrs Pardoe's class it
was tenting out the front of the panties beneath his skirt. The school
teacher was mean at the best of times and there was no knowing the direction
her temper would take if she discovered such a display of maleness. Mrs
Pardoe hated boys being boys so certainly it would make her angry. It may
even make her angry enough to use the plastic ruler again.

He knew just a few moments alone in the toilet and a brisk rub with his hand
would solve the problem, but the moody tutor had made that impossible. When
he'd asked permission to go for a pee she'd refused to allow him to leave
the room, and she'd made him push his knickers down to his knees and flick
his skirt out at the back in case he felt compelled to wet himself before
midmorning break. She warned him that if he did have an accident he'd get
six with her slipper and an hour of cleaning detention after supper, and
just to prove how nasty she was she'd made every other sissy in her class
adjust their clothing in the same way, which hadn't endeared Sammy to any of
them.

The classroom was large, but contained only ten tables for the pupils and
the tutor's high desk perched on a dais in front of a blackboard. The whole
place smelt of chalk dust and polished wood, while the high ceiling and
small windows gave it a nineteenth century ambience.

The sissies were part-way through making their own parlour-maid outfits, and
Mrs Pardoe explained things a stage at a time because she didn't trust boys
to remember much. The work tables were spaced well apart and she had her own
measures for imposing silence during periods of instruction. Her students
each suckled a pink baby pacifier and sat with their arms folded or with
their hands on their head whilst she talked.

That morning Sammy wished he could cross his legs to hide the stiff stalk
thrusting from his loins, but the underwear wrapped around his knees didn't
allow him to do that, and as time passed he became increasingly concerned.
>From the high stool behind her desk the schoolmistress could observe
everything, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she deduced he
was guilty of more than bad toilet timing.

Then something unforeseen appeared to give him a chance. The silence of the
room was shattered by a bobbin of cotton rolling from a tabletop and
striking the floor. The noise was minute, a mere plop, but it was enough to
warrant the attention of Mrs Pardoe, who watched the reel skid across the
linoleum with vindictive eyes. Because she was feeling bored she'd been
waiting for a reason to assert her authority, and it seemed that some
unfortunate child's carelessness had provided her with one. Her voice, so
quiet and yet so sudden, made everyone jump.

"Yours I think, Jemima." she murmured thinly, her overly calm manner
projecting the kind of threat all the boys knew well.

The culprits face paled. "M-me, miss?"

"Who else would I be talking to, idiot?" The woman responded testily. "Come
and collect it, and you can also collect a smack for your inattention."

"Oh -" reluctantly the child called Jemima rose up and reached down to hoist
his knickers, but Mrs Pardoe, peering out from beneath her eyebrows, told
him to leave them draped around his legs and hobble forward. 'After all,'
she reasoned while extracting an old plimsoll from a recess in her desk,
'I'm only going to have to pull them down again.'

Jemima was a pretty thing, but Sammy thought him a snooty bitch because he'd
recently rejected one of his bedtime invites. He wouldn't have minded
watching him get a wallop, but his own predicament was his main concern at
that moment, and in a desperate attempt at salvation he thrust his arm in
the air, hoping that the distraction with the cotton reel would be his ally.

The woman scowled in irritation at him, aware he'd pestered her previously,
but this time relenting. "Go now, and be quick, an be prepared for some
smacks when you return. I'll not tolerate my lessons being ruined by silly
little sissies who lack personal organisation."

He pulled his pants up surreptitiously while she was concentrating on
Jemima, then hurried outside. Smacks with a strap or plimsoll would be
painful, but they were preferable to risking the ghastly measuring-rule
whacking his balls.

Once away from the classroom Sammy was confident his problem was solved, but
at the end of the landing he then saw Jennifer hovering by the door of the
loo, and he remembered that on Mondays she always did a 'shine' inspection
for her mother and paid particular attention to the cleanliness of the
toilets. He dared not go near her in his present condition, so he risked
plunging down the steps the floor below.

The ground floor was out-of-bounds at that time in the morning, but with the
toilets within range he made a sudden dash, before coming to an abrupt halt.
Marching towards him, dark nylons flashing beneath a short skirt, was
Abigail.

The head-girl observed him keenly, noting the babies dummy-teat dangling
from a loop around his neck. "You should be with Mrs Pardoe. What are you
doing out of class?"

Sammy flinched. No one could ever ignore the menace of the double-tongued
leather strap that always swung from Abigail's waist band. "I'm not doing
anything wrong, I promise I'm not." he replied softly.

Abigail pursed his lips. "There we differ in opinion, I think otherwise."

"M-Mrs Pardoe allowed me to go to the toilet. She's going to smack me when I
go back."  Sammy muttered in a desperate small voice. He hoped the mention
of smacks would deter Abigail from punishing him too, but it didn't work.

"I expect she is, but she won't be aware of you going out-of-bounds, so put
out your hand."
Sammy's shoulders sagged. It was unfair, he'd done nothing really bad, but
Abigail was going to strap his hand anyway, just because he had the
authority to do it. Frantically he tried to think of something, a mitigating
reason, anything that would help him avoid whatever Abigail planned.
Explaining about the stiffness inside his pants was pointless. Abigail would
just strap his hands all the same, and then go off to have a laugh about it
with the prefects.

Whilst he dithered the head-girl grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm up
level with his shoulder. "Hold it out - keep your hand flat."

Sammy's face drained of colour, but he knew he had no choice. Disobeying the
head-girl would only lead to a spell in the dungeon with prefects coming to
smack his bum every hour, so he gave in and watched passively as, slowly, as
if savouring the delay, Abigail unclipped the evil looking tawse from his
waist and measured the tip against the palm of his outstretched hand.

The first blow when it came was delivered with great precision and stung
like a flame. Abigail never missed and never dulled the effect by
overshooting the mark, and he knew exactly the right moment to flick his
wrist and make the twin-thongs strike with the optimum sting. The tip of the
straps lashed down and hit the centre of Sammy's hand with a vicious,
sizzling swipe that made him whinny like a horse. His knees buckled and he
bobbed up and down as he shoved the seared hand beneath his opposite arm to
give it comfort. Then he noticed Abigail smiling icily.

"Other hand." said the head-girl.

Sammy's mouth contorted in horror. A two-hander! Now that really was unfair.

When it was all done Sammy was allowed to go on his way, but not to the
toilet on the ground floor. He was turned about and sent packing back up the
stairs.

He had a little cry on the steps. Well the strap hurt, and he was a sissy,
so he was a allowed to have a weep and have a comforting suck on his
dummy-teat whilst nursing his hot, throbbing hands. He resented Abigail's
bullying. He was hateful, and he was only head-girl because he was the
oldest pupil and his mother was the headmistress - and because he was better
at lessons than anyone else - and because he knew how to boss people about -
and because he was always smart and shiny - and because he'd got a big cock.

He gave the second floor a miss and took to climbing the steep and narrow
steps that led to the dormitories on the attic floor at the top of the
house.

Amanda was already there. It was the first time he'd been left in charge of
a dormitory during one of Jennifer's Monday 'shine' inspections and he was
pacing the landing nervously. Behind him the room he was responsible for was
Spartan in its austerity. The pale yellow walls were unadorned, and apart
from the heavy plum coloured drapes on the windows, which were too short and
didn't meet in the centre, the place was cheerless; a mere space to
accommodate half a dozen single beds and the tall cupboards that held
clothing and a few personal items. The floor was bare linoleum, and the
ceiling, punctuated by dark wooden
beams, started low then swept steeply up to accentuate its proximity to the
roof of the house.

The previous evening had been a 'shine-time' in preparation for the
inspection. The floor had been swept and polished, then buffed until it
gleamed, every horizontal surface had been scoured clean of dust and every
scuff mark on the paint work had been sponged away.
That morning everyone had risen early. The blankets and sheet on each bed
were folded and piled at one end to make counting easy, while on the bare
mattress a a mass of prescribed items had been laid out in a precise
arrangement. A brimmed straw hat lay at the head of the bed, while a pile of
blue gym-knickers and a pile of white summer ones occupied the foot. Other
things lay in between. Toiletries, including a clean comb and spotless
toothbrush, a pen-set laid open to show it was complete, little socks
displayed neatly in pairs, and gym shoes, their soles scrubbed to remove any
trace of dirt. There was also a small white training bra with diminutive
cups that no one knew a use for.

Everything had to be impeccable and in its right place, and the cupboard
doors had to be left open wide to prove the neatness of everything inside.
To prevent pupils from making good any deficiencies by pilfering from other
rooms a 'dormitory-girl' remained behind to accompany Jennifer, and to
secure things after her visit. Miss Hancock was obsessed by 'cleanliness and
order' and if her daughter spotted as much as a fleck of dust or ball of
lint anywhere she adjudged it an affront to her mother and would return that
evening to punish the pupil responsible.

More importantly for Amanda, she would punish the dormatory-girl on the spot
for the laxity she perceived in not detecting the fault, so he'd just spent
the past half-hour sweeping and polishing everything a second time.

When Sammy suddenly appeared he greeted him with something akin to horror.
"What are you doing here?"

The other boy raised his skirt and made a show of the shape bowing out the
front of his knickers. "Got to get rid of this. Jennifer's inspecting the
loo's, so the dorm' seems the only safe place to do it at the moment."

"You can't do anything like that here, I've just spent ages tidying up."
fumed Amanda, "You're bound to make a mess, and you know how eagle-eyed
Jennifer is on an inspection."

Sammy pushed forcefully past him. "Don't be a glunk! I won't make that much
of a mess, and just a couple of minutes with my handkerchief is all I need."
he said crossly.

Amanda paced frantically back and forth outside the door whilst Sammy stood
inside and got busy with his hand. A few moments went by, and then Amanda 's
face paled in alarm as he detected the sound of footfalls coming up the
stairs. "Oh, Lordy!" he cried, putting both hands to his face and dashing
inside, "She's coming up the stairs and she'll be here any second. Have you
finished yet?"

Sammy leaned back against the wall and groaned hopelessly as his hand
flashed up and down on his exposed erection. "No I haven't. I'm ready to do
it, but I just can't jerk."

Amanda stared horrified at the watering bulb of Sammy's cock, then in a
panic to solve the problem that threatened him he knocked the other boys
hand away and grasped hold of it himself.

"Yes, that's what I need - I need a fresh hand." Sammy gasped as Amanda's
fingers jigged wildly. "Oooh, yes, stroke my balls too. I'm gunna do it now
- I'm gunna do it ..."

Where's your handkerchief? demanded his friend.

"Oh, I don't know - I've dropped it somewhere - ooh, oh, OOOH!"

Jennifer entered the dormitory in her accustomed authoritative manner, with
a short black strap hanging prominently on her belt. For a moment she stood
by the door, staring at the two boy-girls and half smiling as they each
bobbed a curtsy. Then she moved forward, striding across the floor with
leisurely decisive steps, her head up and her hard eyes searching the room
for errors - anything that seemed neglected or out of place. Adept at minute
scrutiny and able to detect the tiniest imperfection and the smallest hint
of sloppy application, her reputation for faultfinding was fearsome.

Sammy and Amanda stood side by side feigning innocence, but fidgeting
nervously as she halted and regarded them with suspicion. She was always
suspicious when she found a pair of sissy-urchins secluded away together.
They couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other, which was forbidden
unless they were being directed and controlled by a female. Her petulant
tone and thunderous frown told of her dissatisfaction. "Samantha! Amanda!
Which of you is the dormatory-girl?"

Flustered, Amanda bobbed a second quite unnecessary curtsy. "I am,
Jennifer."

Her eyes narrowed and moved to Sammy. "And why are you here?"

He swallowed hard. "Prep, Jennifer. I forgot to take my prep-book to class
this morning."

"Forgetfulness! No doubt Mrs Pardoe will have something to say about that."

He nodded vigorously. "She's going to spank me."

Jennifer's thin smile returned. Young boys in gymslips looked so endearing,
she thought, and having to wear girls clothes made them so respectful - so
polite - so wonderfully humble. Their helplessness thrilled her, their dumb
acquiescence was meat in her gravy and she relished every chance she had to
make them squirm.

Glaring, she lifted the strap from her belt and coiled it like a sinuous
black snake. It was a longer version of a prefects tawse, designed more for
lashing at buttocks than for smacking hands. "Knickers down. Show me!" she
demanded bluntly.

To many such an instruction would have been mystifying, but intuitively the
boys at once knew what she meant and didn't pause to question her. With the
room passed as okay she was now intent on inspecting those found in it.

Together Sammy and Amanda reached beneath their skirts and dragged their
knickers down to mid-thigh, then they raised their gymslips to reveal two
sets of young-male genitals dangling in innocence between smooth hairless
thighs. If they had been up to something reprehensible they'd been clever
about disguising the fact.

Jennifer paused a moment to enjoy the little show anyway. Not because either
of them stirred any lust in her, but because she knew just how ghastly it
made them feel to be made to pose like that - in a skirt - with knickers
lowered - on the orders of a girl.

In fact Sammy and Amanda were beyond thinking of the daughter of the
headmistress as a girl. She was a figure of authority with a strap, that was
all.

She circled behind them, grabbing Sammy by the wrist and twisting his arm up
his back.
"What have you been up to?"

"N-nothing, Jennifer." the boy spluttered desperately. After a moment she
released his arm and confronted them again. Taking hold of the dummy-teat
looped about Sammy's neck she studied it momentarily before stuffing it in
his mouth.

"Both of you, down on the floor. Kow-tow!" she snapped.

They both fell to their knees then dipped forward to place their foreheads
on the floor.
Jennifer stepped nearer and placed a foot lightly on the back of Sammy's
neck. "Are you sure you've done nothing wrong?"

"Honest Jennifer, honest." the boy mumbled after quickly ejecting his
dummy-teat. She transferred her foot across to Amanda's slender neck. "And
you, you're not feeling guilty and have nothing to confess?"

"N-no, Jennifer."

Her foot pressed down a little harder. "Are you sure?"

"I've just been looking after the room, Jennifer." came the squeaky reply.

Drawing away she circled around their huddled forms and flicked up the back
of their skirts to inspect their bare behinds. Nothing untoward, but
remarkably pretty. It was little wonder so many men found such things
irresistible. Convinced that some mischief had passed between them, she
considered putting the strap across their little backsides anyway, even if
it meant concocting a reason, but she then reconsidered. Best to reserve the
strap for proven offences, she thought.

***

"Phew! We were jolly lucky to get away with just smacked legs," Sammy
remarked to Amanda afterwards as they made their way down the stairs. "And
thanks for what you did back there. I'd have been a dead duck if you hadn't
been so quick to stick my knob in your mouth."

His companion gave him a frosty look as he paused to stroke some comfort
into the sore red marks on the back of his thighs. "I didn't enjoy doing it.
I only did it to keep myself out of trouble, you beast. I've never swallowed
before, and you kept squirting and squirting."

"It didn't taste bad, did it?"

"You've probably poisoned me. Miss Twist says it's acid."

Sammy sighed and put on a lofty expression. "Silly dope! She said its made
of sugar and chloride and citric acid - citric acid is what's in oranges,
and that's not poisonous."
He tugged on the other boys sleeve. "I overheard matron telling Miss Hancock
that food with a strong taste can affect the flavour of cum. That's why we
have such awful dinners I think. She's experimenting. Miss Hancock wants
sissy spunk to taste nice."

Slipping an arm around Amanda's waist he drew him close. "I say, don't be
angry with me, darling. I'll make it up to you later."

His friend snorted his contempt. "Just how do you expect to do that?"

Sammy nuzzled his face with his nose. "Come over to my bed after lights-out
and I'll let you use me like a girl. I'm a good fuck. Everyone says so." He
kissed him, slipping his she-boy tongue into his little friends hungry
mouth. It was no surprise when the sissyboys little lovestick got all hard
and drippy.

Amanda pushed himself away. "Here you clot, you'd better stay away from me
for a while. I don't want the same problem you've just had."

Partly angered, partly fearful, he dashed off ahead, leaving Sammy to make
his way alone.
Sammy thought about returning to the classroom, but then he remembered
Abigail and curiosity stirred. Abigail wouldn't have been away from class
himself if he wasn't visiting someone in the dungeon. Who could it be? It
was all routine stuff at Fairyfield, but mysteries like that intrigued him.
He glanced at his watch. He'd been away long enough already, but Mrs Pardoe
was going to spank him anyway, so a few more minutes wouldn't make much
difference.

This time he made his way down the steps even more warily, wanting to avoid
meeting anyone at all on this journey. When the closet came within range he
raced towards it and peeped cautiously through the door into the darkness.
"Hello! Is anyone in the calaboose today?"

Finding the wall switch he added light, and yes, there was someone in the
dungeon. It was Poppy, naked except for stockings and a lacy black
garter-belt.

Sammy stared, unable to take the scene in quickly. Poppy had been
immobilised whilst standing, his arms raised above his head and tied at the
wrists with a rope coming down from the ceiling. Pulled up onto his toes he
looked like a marionette hung up in a toy cupboard, and to add to his
indignity his mouth had been forced open and a hard rubber ball had been
strapped between his teeth.

"Wow! What have you been up to?" Sammy murmured. He observed Poppy's face,
noticing his wide brown eyes and how his lips formed a full circle around
the grotesque ball-gag, then his gaze wandered. Poppy had a pleasing body
that courted admiration, and to top it all he had a tremendous erection
sticking straight up almost vertical against his belly.

"Crumbs, Poppy. You won't half get a walloping if someone comes to check you
and finds you like that

Unable to reply only Poppy's desperate eyes said everything about the
turmoil he was feeling. He rolled his hips and shifted his weight from one
foot to the other, making his penis shudder slightly, but not altering his
awful predicament in any way.

Sammy was not unused to seeing attractive boys decked out in stockings and
suspenders, the prefects wore them all the time, it was Poppy's helpless
erection that fascinated him. He approached him appreciatively and curled
his fingers around the uprisen penis to appraise the tension in the swollen
flesh, making the boy moan as his hand caressed and drew down the foreskin
to expose the smooth domed helmet at its tip.

Smiling crookedly he took his hand away and circled behind the dangling
figure to view the shapely curves of his bottom. "Mmm!" Poppy had a slender
waist, slightly flared hips and a lovely girlish bum, and Sammy couldn't
hold in a sigh of approval has he palmed the tender buttocks. Everyone knew
Poppy was a femme-boy who was always the bride and never the groom. He was
fucked everyday by somebody or other, and was  capable of taking on a queue
of three or four without suffering any distress. Even though Sammy was
slightly younger than he was, he didn't lack for confidence, and a smile
touched his lips as he brushed the hem of his tunic thoughtfully.

"I've heard you're a super shag, and I'd try you out myself if I hadn't just
been emptied." he tittered before circling round to view Poppy's erection
once more. "I suppose I shouldn't leave you like that. No one should get
extra whacks just for having a boner." he muttered aloud.

Again he took hold of the sissy-boys cock and dragged down the foreskin,
this time making Poppy's pee-hole open and close and ooze forth a dribble of
pre-cum. "Lordy!" he added excitedly, "I don't think it would take me long
to make you go pop, Poppy. You're already leaking loads of girly goo."

The other boy moaned hopelessly behind his rubber ball-gag, returning
Sammy's observation with a look of wild need and absolute acceptance. He had
a handsome cock when it was up, and Sammy reckoned it deserved something
more than just a quick hand-job, so without being too concerned about what
he was doing he dipped his face down and kissed the wet tip of the prick
right on the peelips, dabbing up the leaking secretion with his tongue
before taking the entire smooth head into his mouth.

Clamping his lips around the firm stem of flesh just beneath the lower rim
of the knob-end, he locked-on and began to suck, his mouth moving up and
down while his head twisted a little with each motion to move the foreskin
about in a corkscrew fashion. Simultaneously the palm of his hand curled
under Poppy's balls to joggle them up and down. After a moment or two he
raised his head and gazed up at the other boys face.

"DO get a move on, Poppy," he urged whilst masturbating him energetically.
"I'm only doing this as a favour, and I can't stay all day."

"Mmmo- oph!" Poppy shook and grunted. His lips thinned as they moulded
obscenely around the black rubber and he couldn't speak, but his soft brown
eyes widened as he desperately arched his thighs forward to urge a finish.

Resolutely Sammy again took the cock into his mouth and bobbed his face up
and down, and for a few moments more the penis shunted back and forth along
the length of his tongue. Then Poppy shuddered and moaned behind his gag in
such a noisy fashion he stimulated Sammy to close his lips tightly around
the base of the head. He felt the plum of the prick becoming firmer in his
mouth as a continuous stream of plaintiff muffled groans squeezed out from
the other boys immobilised mouth, and heart pounding Sammy hollowed his
cheeks and sucked, eyes rolling under their lids. Mmmm! Better than a
dummy-teat, any day.

Even though he knew what was about to happen it took him by surprise, as it
always did. The prick in his mouth began to twitch, then Poppy's whole body
went rigid for a timeless beat before his spasming began.

"Ummmm!" It was Sammy's turn to moan then as a flood of syrupy goo leapt
forward to fill his mouth. His head jolted, but he hung on with his lips,
breathing noisily through his nose while Poppy's erection pulsed and jerked.

When Poppy's body sagged and stopped moving he drew back. He'd done such
things enough times in the past to be beyond being revolted and spitting
everything out, and at least with Poppy matron had been right about the
flavour. The femme-boy's cum tasted fresh and creamy with perhaps just a
hint of spice - cinnamon maybe - not at all unpleasant, and really quite
nice enough to swallow.

***

Miss Hancock was seated at her desk and didn't look up when her daughter
brought Poppy into the study. Instead she pretended to be writing in a thick
ledger.

Jennifer closed the door and frog-marched the limp-wristed sissy across the
carpet, pulling him to a halt immediately in front of the desk. He was still
attired as he had been in the closet room upstairs, just stockings and
shoes, but since an element of decorum had seemed appropriate when being
interviewed by the headmistress he'd been allowed to put on a pair of little
panties. He stood before her desk meekly, his hands unbound but clasped
behind his back, his head bowed. The ball-gag had been left in place to make
it clear he wasn't required to speak.

Miss Hancock looked up at last, and seeing the young elfin boy so scantily
clad seemed to surprise her at first, but she quickly recovered. "How long
as he been in the closet, Jennifer?"

Her daughter placed her hands on her hips and glared at the miscreant with
hostile appraisal. "Four hours," she said acidly, "But he deserves
twenty-four."

The headmistress thrust back in her chair, spreading her fingers each side
of the book in front of her. "I'm not pleased, Poppy. You've proved yourself
a deceitful and sly girl, and Gloria informs me you're guilty of gross
misconduct."

She turned a page of the book on the desk with the point of a delicate
finger while her eyes continued to study the smooth contours of his body.
The sight of him aroused her in a strange indefinable way, which was
remarkable for anything of a male gender, but of course she couldn't
possibly admit to it. A stern glare and an air of detachment masked her
interest as she considered his near nakedness carefully - his trim shape,
his dainty stance, his elegant smoothly plaited hair and his tiny pale
nipples standing slightly proud of the peerless skin of his chest - all
enhanced by an expression of helplessness in his doe-like eyes. Goodness, he
could turn on the charm! Even after spending an afternoon in the closet he
could still present himself as a juicy, girlish  morsel. Ah yes! That was
the attraction. He oozed femininity.

She cleared her throat. "Gloria tells me that she took you  along with her
this morning to Larkin's store to carry for her Poppy, and while there you
slipped away into the back yard in the company of some spotty-faced store
assistant. She tells me that when she found you, you were enjoined in a most
immodest embrace, your chest was bare and the youth was - erm - 'plumping'
your breasts with his hand."

It was a constant problem and one that would always be with her. As her
little dears developed their feminine traits they became increasingly
interested in men - especially well-hung men. And men were always keen to
stick their despicable randy prongs into pretty sissies. She had no ethical
reason for depriving her sissies of manly company, even of letting men fuck
them, but if she were to achieve her aim of attaining some standing in the
local community she couldn't be seen to be operating a whorehouse. Her
girlies had each other - and Hardwick, and that would have to do until they
were placed with someone in the outside world.

Her eyes scanned the pages of the book as she paused, seeking some
appropriate words to bring the one-sided interview to a close. Finally she
said. "Your behaviour today was irrational and inexcusable, there is no
other way of describing it. However, you've been making rather good progress
over the past two terms, so I hesitate to be excessive in your punishment."
The book snapped shut. "Since for some time I've had you marked down for a
weekend of assessment in my own apartments I'm reluctant to change my mind,
and that will go ahead."

She glanced at her daughter. "Return Poppy to the closet, Jennifer. He's to
remain there until supper time."

The moment Jennifer and Poppy had gone a stir of noise erupted from behind a
vanity screen of arras tapestry at the side of the room, and Miriam turned
her head.

"I must apologise for hiding you away Lady Diana, but you descended on me
unexpectedly, and I'd already sent for the boy prior to your arrival. Dear
Jennifer is an impetuous and wilful girl, and she would have likely burst in
on us." She indicated her guest graciously towards a chair. "Please sit
down."

"Don't concern yourself about offending me, my dear," the other woman
responded, "Being tucked away enabled me to gain an interesting insight
into the way your school functions."

Diana, Lady Chance-Barton was twenty-nine and carried herself lightly.
Svelte, cultivated, utterly self-assured, she was a paradyn of the social
set who always dressed to maintain her celebrity image. Magnificent emerald
earrings were visible below her stylish coiffeur and a matching brooch
glittered on the lapel of a fashionable silver-grey wool-crepe suit trimmed
with sable that was an unquestionable product of Yves St Laurent. Her fine
outfit was setoff by equally fine strings of faultless pearls that cascaded
about her slender neck.

"You're be wise to be cautious, however," Lady Diana continued, "Not
everyone is as broad-minded as myself, and there are people who claim a
scandalous situation as been created at Fairyfield."

The expression of the headmistress took on a slight pique. "You mean Mrs
Boroclough and her gossipmonger cronies?"

The elegant visitor smiled vaguely and peeped out from beneath her dark
bobbed hair like a well tended marmoset. "Try not to think too harshly of
them Miss Hancock. People who never venture far from their rural roots are
bound to be alarmed by the cross-dressing of children, and despite the care
you take in limiting access to your students it's quite obvious to the more
astute that you put boys into dresses."

"Surely, Lady Diana, if that is the arrangement here it's a matter between
parents and the school. It may be unorthodox for schoolboys to wear
gymslips, but I'm not aware of any legislation that decrees exactly how
young people should be dressed."

"You clearly take great care in thinking things through Miss Hancock, but I
knew that anyway. As a member of the first family in the immediate area I
consider it my duty to be concerned with everyone's business, and I know
just about everything you do here. Don't let that alarm you, I've been an
admirer of yours ever since you began your - erm - enterprise. What you do
doesn't interest me greatly, but I've been impressed by the vigour you've
shown in putting things into practise."

She reached into her handbag and took out a gold cigarette case and opened
it slowly. "Unfortunately, rumour as it that you're providing some sort of
charm-school for effeminate boys, and if that were true your agenda would
certainly be questionable."

Miriam permitted herself a smirk. "My pupils are destined to be companions
and servants for genteel people, and I believe they should be groomed to be
as decorous and genteel as those who will employ them. I see nothing
questionable in that. Nil nisi optimum 'Nothing but the best' is the motto
of Fairyfield."

Diana's face became expressionless and her voice matter-of-fact. "Nothing's
worth doing if nobody wants it, and by the number of coded advertisements I
see in the Tatler magazine each month seeking transvestite maids you'll have
an eager clientele awaiting your first prot‚g‚ - erm - or should that be
prodegee? Young girls are all well and good, but in households with randy
husbands and grown rakes for sons they rarely last a few months before
falling pregnant."

She blew out a cloud of blue smoke and leaned forward. "Look, it's pointless
denying anything with me, I have spies everywhere and I know exactly what
you're up to. You're creating sissies - turning boys into girlish things
that you'll eventually sell to degenerate men and women. That creature that
was just in here was a good specimen - a sweet young body - dressed right
he'll easily pass as a girl, but in whatever way he's used he'll never make
babies." She leaned back again. "Have any of your - um - 'maids' graduated
yet?"

Taken aback by the sudden vehemence in her visitor's manner Miriam shook her
head. Diana was a member of an old, prestigious county family and her
support would undoubtedly be beneficial, but there was something rather
clipped and antagonistic about her tone of voice at that moment that was
disquieting. It was sharp, almost threatening, and she certainly seemed
aware of the real purpose of her school. She felt a slight sinking
sensation in her stomach that was repugnant to such a proud woman as
herself.

"Things are slow to start in this kind of enterprise. Young people have many
rough edges to be shorn away and they need to be trained. They'll remain
here until their early teens, but everything is on schedule. I'll be ready
to place my first pupil at the end of this term, and the momentum will
increase from then on. I'll likely be seeking placements for a dozen and a
half every year in the future."

"A bit like a sausage factory, eh?" The visitor offered a curious smile that
held no humour. Self-satisfied in her status, high-minded in her opinions,
she was patronising and clearly thought the school ma'am gauche and
inferior. "Since their guardians won't have the slightest idea of their real
value I dare say you'll take a good commission when you eventually sell them
on. What will it be? Fifty percent of sale price?"

Miriam drew back slightly and her voice became mildly indignant. "Why, your
ladyship makes me sound quite rapacious, and I'm certainly not that."

Diana ignored her inflection. "That limp-wristed flibbertigibbet that was in
here, he's not yet in his teens but he's obviously as queer as a red lemon.
Are all your pupils the same?"

"Some have a tendency for homosexuality before they come here and that can't
be changed, while the others sometimes participate in a way that's common in
all cloistered communities of boys. "

"It's no doubt desirable. Being accustomed to bedroom frolicking must make
them easier to train as girls." Lady Diana commented airily. Noting with
satisfaction how she had taken the wind from the sails of the self-appointed
headmistress she decided to come to the point of her visit. It was time to
peg the woman in her place and let her know who ruled the roost around here.
Placing another cigarette between her glossy painted lips she clicked a
lighter. "You're blackmailing my husband Miss Hancock, and I want it to
stop."

Miriam smiled benignly. "Blackmail! Goodness gracious, Lord Chance-Barton as
made some generous donations to help re-establish this old house as a place
fit to use, but every penny was given voluntarily. I'm certain his Lordship
would never accuse me of blackmail."

The other woman exhaled a jet of smoke and looked unimpressed. "Don't play
me for an half-wit. Lord Chance-Barton as given you several large sums of
money under duress. My husband as the misfortune of  being too dull to
manage his affairs properly, but I'm a different matter. I'll not put up
with a person like you having dominion over any part of what belongs to me.
I'm aware of the discreet visits his Lordship made to the orphanage in
Harrogate when you were supervisor of that place. I won't dwell on the seedy
business that was conducted there, but I know you had no small part in
arranging matters, and lately you've sought to remind him of his previous
lack of good judgement and turn it to your advantage." Her eyes suddenly
glared out from her head as hard as marbles. "I won't have it! I won't put
up with it, do you hear?"

In an added show of vexation she stubbed her cigarette into the saucer of a
nearby coffee cup with great ardour. "Don't get too fond of putting on fine
airs Miss Hancock. The people around here quite rightly expect their
neighbours to conform to the decencies of society. What you're doing here
superficially may be no more than controversial, even if it is unethical and
unacceptable to many, but the hidden premise you work to is clearly beyond
the law. If you refuse to do as I wish I'll use the influence I have with
the authorities to close you down."

For an uneasy moment Miriam Hancock made no reply. She refused to let the
other woman see beneath her tranquil veneer, and a curious silence hung
between them until she regained some composure. Calmly she tried to hold her
ground, her voice betraying nothing of her rising anger. "Be assured, Lady
Diana, that now Fairyfield is on its feet no further donations will be
required."

Lady Diana stood up abruptly, a slight suggestion of triumph on her lips.
"That's settled then. I've no personal objection to the odd - um - formula
you have for children's education, although it's unlikely you'll ever turn
it into a lucrative business. However, by the fluke of the capital LOANED to
you by my husband we appear to be in a partnership of some kind, so I'll
discuss the matter of shared profits with my lawyers. If things go bottom-up
for you in the future I'll have my money back from the sale of your
property."

Miriam closed the door firmly as the woman departed, then crossed to the
cabinet where she always secluded a carafe of dry sherry. Pouring herself a
large measure she returned to her chair and sat down, leaning back to
reflect upon what had just passed. Her face was grim now there were no
witness's, and anger boiled inside her. Of all the men she'd provided for at
the orphanage Lord Chance-Barton had been among the most degenerate, yet
none of the others had protested half as much as he had when asked for a
contribution to set-up Fairyfield Grange. Now his bitch of a wife was
kicking up on his behalf.

She refused to allow the woman's threats to weigh on her mind too much.
She'd always been aware that her ambitions would tempt people to rile
against her and there'd be a need to contend with snidely arrogant, pompous,
destroyers of reputations. First Mrs Boroclough and her self-righteous
associates at the Women's Guild, and now Lady Diana. She was surrounded by
assassins of a duplicitous kind, all ready to launch merciless attacks
whenever it suited their own purpose.

Just a hint that she was weak enough to submit to Lady Diana's demands would
encourage her sponsors to seek ways of wriggling out from their own
commitment, and that would ruin everything, so she was pleased she'd had the
foresight to maintain a precise record of things organised for people in the
past. She had a book full of names, dates and sordid details of everything
that had happened in Harrogate, and if things took a turn for the worse she
had plenty of influential old clients to call on who'd be given no choice
but to lend their support, or go down with her.

***

Poppy was returned to the closet, and with his wrists bound and hoisted over
his head once more he'd been left standing in the dark to think over the
incident that had caused him to be put there. His legs ached, his arms ached
and his bottom felt numb, so thinking about other things was a way of
escape.

The week previous Gloria had taken him to Peasmarsh when she went to place
an order with Larkin at the general store, it being her custom to take along
someone to carry parcels she may collect. The shop-girls had become used to
gymslip-clad schoolgirls accompanying staff from the Grange and no longer
stared at them over the tills, but it wasn't unusual for men to stare at
Poppy when he was in the store.

The sissies of Fairyfield Grange eventually settled down to wearing skirts
when they discovered all the boys around them wore them too, but some still
became sensitive and embarrassed when taken to the village. Poppy never
suffered from embarrassment. After all, he was gorgeous whether dressed as a
boy or a girl, and he looked good in a frock. Even in a dowdy gymslip he
could look provocative. He could smile and put on a wiggle - not blatant or
exaggerated, but just girlishly delightful to watch - as the large number of
gawking men around him always proved.

Last week had been the first time he'd seen old man Larkin's new store
assistant, Judd. The youth had been standing at the rear of the shop with
his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his jeans, a garment so tight
fitting it seemed moulded to his body and needed no help from the thrust of
his hips to emphasis his most interesting aspects. He was a slim, tanned,
outdoorsy kind of youth in his mid-teens with a body like the Adonis he's
seen in the common room. He had strong facial features topped with a mop of
unruly hair, and a great big manly bulge in the front of his pants.

Poppy had been spellbound, and when he noticed Judd observing his entire
body up and down with lazy sweeps of his eyes his heart had beat fierce
enough to burst. Judd clearly thought he looked sexy and wanted him. And
Poppy wanted him to want him.

Students from Fairyfield were never allowed out without a chaperone, never
taken into crowds if crowds could be avoided, and absolutely forbidden to
mix with 'outsiders', so an affair seemed utterly out of the question. But
in his daydreams Poppy sometimes entertained the idea of amorous
relationships with people not connected with school life, and he'd become
obsessed with making the same trip again the following week in hopes of
seeing Judd again.

That morning somehow he'd managed it. He'd even persuaded Gloria to allow
him to wear stockings, which was important, because he was sure nylons made
him look more glamorous and slightly older than he was. Once in the vicinity
of Judd he'd flirted outrageously with him until the youth was circling like
a wolf on the prowl. Then later whilst Gloria was discussing the competing
merits of porridge oats and cornflakes with the shop owner, Judd had sidled
up and slipped an arm around his waist. "Not very old, are yer? What's yer
name?"

The young sissy had suffered a confusion which was heady. Judd was much
taller than he was and he loved the way his strong hand had scooped him
close. "I'm Poppy. And I'm nearly thirteen." his small voice had gushed in
reply. He was really just turned twelve, but admitting such a thing may have
made him seem far too young, he thought.

The shop-assistant had taken a cautionary look around and then leaned down
to whisper in his ear, using the same moment to nuzzle a hot mouth against
his cheek and send shudders of delight down his neck and spine. "That still
ain't very old. You's such a dear little thing you probably needs someone
strong t' look after you."

Poppy's face had tilted up and he'd responded with a swivel of his hips and
one of his practised expressions; wide innocent eyes and a soft, slightly
pouting mouth. "Yes, I expect I do need someone strong to take care of me."

Judd had given him a little squeeze. "I's been watchin' you a lot Poppy, and
I likes what I sees. But maybe you are too young."

"Why would I need to be older?" he'd asked, presenting an alluring smile
that showed his perfect teeth.

"Well, I's got a few things I's got a mind to try wi' a pretty lass."

"You have? I can't imagine what. But you're so big and manly, and I'm only a
helpless little girl. You could do anything with me and I couldn't stop
you."

Judd had then grinned. "Well, if you's come into the backyard with me, we'll
see."

That was it! Gloria had found them just the way she'd said. Judd had taken
him outside and started whispering lovey-dovey things, and had kissed him on
the mouth until his knees felt weak. He'd been such a yummy kisser it had
been impossible to remain calm, especially when he'd trailed his tongue down
his neck and nipped lightly with his teeth. Nor was it possible to control
the hands that stroked the seat of his knickers under his skirt and then
moved up to expose his chest and squeeze - pulling on his breasts like he
probably pulled on the tits of young girls.

He'd felt the huge size of virile thing straining in the youth's pants. It
had been heavenly and had made his nipples swell had feel hot and tender,
but Judd hadn't had a chance to do anything more. Gloria's interruption had
spoiled any chance of that.

Judd was so manly, and he wasn't. Judd could have held him down and made him
do all kinds of naughty things, because he was quite grown-up and not the
sort to put up with nonsense from a silly girly such as himself. Judd had
called him a girl and he wondered if the youth realised the adorable little
schoolgirl he was fumbling with was really a boy in a skirt! If he'd had no
objection to that and been happy to shag a backside Poppy would have
provided his own without a quibble. Poppy loved being used as a girl and if
Judd had undressed him he'd have gone down on his back and spread his legs
like a girl, and he'd have whimpered and moaned like a girl all the time the
youth was stuffing him.

It had been spiteful of Gloria to split on him to the headmistress. When
they'd been alone later she'd slipped down his panties, got hold of his
willy and drawn it forward between his suspenders and stocking tops, but
he'd not made a fuss about her wanking him off. That was mainly because
years of experience as a nanny made her so good at milking spunk from cock.
The housekeeper, fat, massive and deadpan, had yanked on him with a full
handed grip whilst massaging his bum-hole with the fingers of her other
hand, and she'd made him sag against her and moan and sigh, and made him cum
and cum and cum.