Date: Sun, 18 Jul 2004 18:07:50 +0100
From: JA
Subject: Fairyfield Grange  part 6

Showing little concern for the violation he'd suffered the previous evening
Poppy presented himself in the sitting room at four minutes to eight the
following morning. His encounter with Miss Hancock had been slightly
traumatic at the time because it had been unexpected, but he was
irrepressible and rather well experienced and always bounced back bright and
shiny.
There was no one else there, and since he lacked any instructions he turned
his attention to arranging carnations in a vase, his nimble fingers snapping
off the excess stems and pulling away unnecessary leaves.

When Jennifer joined him she was fascinated to see just how unruffled he was
by his recent experience. He was dressed in a pale blue pinafore dress with
short puffy sleeves that had been left out for him, and it made him look
like the Alice in a Lewis Carroll story. He'd scrubbed his teeth until they
sparkled, and his hair shone like an autumn halo around his quiet face.
There was something else too. There was the same rosy glow about him she'd
sometimes noticed in girls after they'd been well and truly shagged.

Unspeaking for a moment she observed the talent the sissy showed in dealing
with things of the earth, how daintily and how exquisitely he handled
flowers until he'd created an arrangement of splendour. He'd placed the
carnations in a vase of the best white china, bulbous at the bottom and
slender at the top, and they formed a perfect bouquet.

"That's impressive. It appears you have an aptitude for something after
all." she murmured tartly.

Poppy smiled. "You have to think about colours and textures with flowers.
It's what's called 'harmony'."

When Miriam joined them she smiled at her daughter. "Be a love and find
Poppy a few suitable chores, darling. We're supposed to be assessing  his
domestic skills as well as his - er - other talents."

She appeared slightly preoccupied, and Jennifer regarded her with suspicion.
"It's out of character for you to delegate that kind of thing. Do you have
something else to do?"

Her mother smiled. "I intend to have an evening out with Emma, and I'll need
most of the day to make arrangements."

Jennifer suddenly looked agitated. As a younger girl she would have stamped
her foot, but now she  only frowned and paced the floor while glaring at the
sissy. "Really mummy! You know very well I've already made plans to visit
Monica Braithwaite in the village tonight. We can't both go out and leave
this silly cock-in-a-frock alone in the house. He's not got the sense of a
prawn."

Miriam remained unconcerned. "Poppy will be fine for a few hours by himself
if he's given something to do, and he'll need to make preparations. I want
him to practise some formal housemaid duties when Emma and I return."

Annoyed by the unforeseen break in routine her daughter took her spite out
on the unfortunate she-boy. "Stop your stupid 'harmonising' and do something
useful, you effeminate little prick. Go and scrub the kitchen floor. Do it
on your hands and knees. Servants must learn to do things themselves before
being allowed any aids to idleness. After that you can do some dusting and
polishing, and then park yourself against the wall until I'm ready to make
an inspection."

Miriam returned to her bedroom with a vague smile still lingering about her
mouth. She felt no guilt about awarding herself a night out. The past year
had been busy and such treats were rare.

"You don't look bad for it though." she told herself in the mirror. The
smile wreathed her face, but all the same there was a faint shadow beneath
her eyes. "All right," she admitted, pulling a wry face, "I won't deny it.
Good food and wine and some time alone with Emma Twist will be a tonic that
will do me wonders," she winked at herself, "And there's no knowing where
such an evening can lead."

Sighing, she plucked the pins from her hair and allowed it to spill down
over her shoulders. Thick and rich, its warm russet colour seemed to infuse
with her pale features. Bending her head forward, she dug her fingers into
the tangled mass, running her hands its entire length, then flicking it
upwards so that it settled against her head. It felt good.

Suddenly her smile faded, and she frowned. On the dressing table lay the fat
envelop she'd recently received from the lawyers employed by Lady Diana. It
enclosed a letter that was dreadfully succinct.

'... Our client as brought to our attention that her husband provided you
with a substantial loan of money some time ago. Since no written agreement
was made you mistakenly believed this loan to be a gift, however, we are
instructed that this was never meant to be the case. Lady Diana regrets the
misinterpretation and makes clear that it was not entirely your fault. She
trusts you implicitly and without reservation, but to forestall any future
misunderstanding she feels the loan should be now made formal, with the
usual rates of interest applying. We therefore request that you sign and
return to us the enclosed documentation ratifying this arrangement. Your
co-operation in expediting this matter swiftly would be ... blah, blah,
blah, tum-ti-tum-ti-tum ...'

It was a message of doom as far as she was concerned. The last thing in the
world she needed at that stage in developing Fairyfield Grange was to be
shackled by a large debt, and the amount quoted was very large. She'd looked
the letter over repeatedly, weighing every word, searching for some clause
that may have been fudged  enough to allow her some hope of wriggling out
from its consequences. Of course it was hopeless. Every condition was
meticulously constructed and absolutely watertight.

She'd not signed anything  yet. To sanction the debt would strip away her
independence and make her a vassal to the aristocratic bitch-woman, but not
to sign was certain to enrage Lady Diana and put the future of her school in
jeopardy. It would also destroy any hope for the  life of gentility she
nursed. Who could she call-on for assistance if the matter were taken to
law?

Initially she'd thought to seek some support from her sponsors, but she'd
revised that idea and now hated it. They were a gutless load of
mealy-mouthed wimps when reminded of events in Harrogate, and if she herself
could scare them so easily then their jittery nerves would undoubtedly crack
under the kind of pressure Lady Diana could lay-on. She couldn't rely on any
of them, and as for appealing directly to Lord Chance-Barton himself to take
her side, of that she despaired. He had as much backbone as a blancmange
when confronted by his wife, and while raising no objections to his
despicable pass-times Diana overruled him in everything that encroached on
her own interests.

There was something about Lady Diana that was deeply unlikeable, and she
kept trying to think who she reminded her of. Various memories stirred and
the image of Miss Cromwell, the headmistress of her first prep-school
loomed. 'Ah, Miriam,' the woman had announced one morning, having called her
into her office one morning after assembly. 'I imagine they do things rather
differently where you - er - come from, but here a cross draped about the
neck is intended to draw attention to ones faith, not to ones bosom. There
is an excellent underwear department at British Home Stores; kindly avail
yourself of it.'
Miss Cromwell herself clearly did; her own bra could have withstood a siege.

Then there was the lady chairperson of the Roundtree Hill Conservative
Party. It was just after Miriam had married and when her husband declared an
interest in becoming a Member of Parliament. That meant herself having to
undergo scrutiny. The chairperson had expressed a wish to meet the young
wife of their proposed parliamentary candidate, so she'd duly worn
powder-blue and invited her to tea.

'It was refreshing ...' the woman had said (she meant unusual), to have a
wife with the common touch to accompany 'their' candidate on the hustings,
especially one who dressed so elegantly ( she meant her skirt was
disgustingly short, but no more than could be expected from a girl with a
working-class background). And no doubt the Hancock family would soon be
blessed with offspring - 'their' party was of course the party of family
values ( in other words, start breeding Tories), and children are such
invaluable anchors to a busy political life (they keep all the trollops at
home changing nappies).

Lady Diana was one of those creatures - a hybrid of women whose knives were
sheathed in a smile.

Men were equally as disappointing, her failed marriage having confirmed her
poor opinion of them long ago. The only positive thing to come out of the
brief union with her husband had been her daughter - of course her son, too
- but mostly Jennifer, every bit a mothers girl, who appeared to have
inherited her own dominant streak and probably applied it even more
stridently than she did herself. She never tolerated nonsense from anyone.
Yes, in addition to everything else there was a certain amount of family
pride teed up in being able to say no to Lady Diana - but, how could she do
it without risking ruin? How? How to do it?

That morning began like many others for Emma Twist. Saturday routine was
much like the rest of the week at Fairyfield Grange and consisted of
classroom lessons of a basic nature, just as Miriam Hancock had indicated,
but since the sissies were destined for service with wealthy families she
herself had to do some rapid research in higher etiquette in order to
instruct it. Heedless of the fact they were being groomed to be sexual toys
the headmistress insisted they needed to understand that all real pleasure
was enshewed in favour of the 'right' thing and the 'wrong' thing. They
would doubtless be employed by quality people, so - 'When drinking tea the
little finger HAD to be BENT. Straight out was a sign of an atrocious
upbringing. So was pronouncing 'garage' to rhyme with marriage. It had to
rhyme with MENAGE. The head must never be touched in public, nor the nose,
no matter how great the itch. Elbows must NEVER rest on the dining table
...' It went on and on ... how to shake hands with a loose wrist, curtseying
to superior women, batting eyelashes and tossing the head coyly, even moving
about and sitting down. All had to be seen done in an elegant girlish way.

The girly-things were not allowed to smoke, but nevertheless they were
taught how to do it correctly. 'A cigarette should be held between the first
and second finger of the right hand, never cupped. That was for
street-corner boys and sluts.' The burden of remembering such
crinkum-crankum was daunting, but was integral with remaining at Fairyfield.

That morning she had been conducting lessons in 'personal maid service'; how
to dress a lady, how to attach stockings to a garter-belt, how to care for
latex skirts and gloves and how to assist a mistress with her bra. She had
also tutored in how to polish a lady's nails and polish her boots and shoes
and touched on many other things so essential to an aspiring
page-boy/sissy-maid.

Of course she was free to enliven matters as she wished, and that she did.
Now and again she would stalk the room and select a pupil for punishment.
Minor indiscretions were dealt with by dragging some unfortunate out from
his chair, flipping up the back of his little skirt and smacking the backs
of his bare legs, but more serious misdemeanours (and she herself could
decide just what they were) she treated in the way of solemn ritual.
Correction was delivered at the front of the classroom where all the others
could watch in awe and trepidation. The subject was forced to bend over the
high stool she usually sat on behind her desk and clutch at the wooden legs
whilst she raised his gymslip and lowered his knickers. A rubber soled
slipper then came into play, delivering sharp broad strokes to the small
helpless bare bottom hunched over in compliance.

Smacking little boys was pure delight for her, and she sometimes wondered
why she preferred them to girls. Perhaps it was to do with the way she had
perceived  boys in her childhood; they were always the ones to get the most
praise for the least effort, always the ones to get away with unwanted
chores whilst she'd been expected to clean and sew and fetch and carry
without demur. In any event the little sissies she now had under her
domination certainly knew all about girl-power. At the end of the day  her
cruelty would sometimes have her oozing into her pants with pleasure, and
that would often encourage her to keep one of the pupils back after lessons
for extra-correction. Was it her imagination or did some of them enjoy that
- enjoy being punished by a beautiful woman in private? Alternatively she
would warn-off one or two girly-things to report to her room after supper
for special tuition.

She'd made arrangements to accompany Miriam out for a meal later that
evening, so special tuition was out, but has her class filed out from the
room that afternoon she had the presence of mind to snatch young Holly out
from their ranks and shove him behind the door until all the others had
gone. "You've been naughty, Holly." she told the apprehensive child.

The boy gave her a helpless look. "I don't know how, miss."

She took his hand and led him across to a chair in which she sat whilst
observing him sternly. "I noticed the looks you were giving Zoe all
afternoon. Wicked looks - looks that promised him snogs and indecencies
before suppertime."

"P-please miss. Please miss, I wasn't ... I didn't ..."

Gripping his slim waist she pulled him closer. "Put Zoe out from your mind,
you depraved creature. Do you like me? Do you think your teacher is pretty?"

"Yes miss, yes you are pretty."

"In that case you may kiss me. Kiss me on the mouth the way you intended to
kiss Zoe."

Holly battered his eyelids before shyly leaning down to press his lips
solemnly against the woman's soft mouth. "Mmmm!".

Emma stroked up and down his gymslip. "Why Holly, you little tease, a little
lesbian like you can do better than that. Where was your tongue? Don't you
kiss with your tongue?"

"I-I didn't think that would be right, miss. Not with a grown-up lady,
miss."

Emma smiled and took the boys face in her perfectly manicured hands. "Ladies
enjoy tongue-play just as much as lezzy-boys. Look, I'll stick out my
tongue, and I want you to suck it, okay?"

Dutifully the boy obliged, taking the fat length of rasping slippery flesh
into his mouth and working his lips up and down on it, timidly at first,
then choking, hands fluttering helplessly in the air, as Emma grasped behind
his head and made it impossible for him to pull away when she started
pushing her tongue down into his throat.

When Emma let him go her hands were already ensconced beneath his skirt and
playing with his scantily clad bottom. "Shall I pull down your pants?" Her
voice was low and modulated, like that of a newsreader, "You like pretty
ladies to take off your knickers, don't you? There we go - all the way down
- and step out of them. Good girl!"

Her hand slipped back up between his legs. Nice balls, not long dropped and
not very big, but with a pleasing hang to them - and yes! His prick - his
little wicket - stiff and swollen - dirty little sod!

There was a catch to the boys breathing as she ran a finger along the length
of his erection to estimate its size. Not bad. Quite a reasonable pecker for
one so young, she decided. Although Emma's preferences were mainly for women
she did permit herself male company on occasions. No chance of that here
with her time always so fully filled and being so far away from
civilisation, and even if she sometimes she felt quite in the mood to slot
herself onto a junior hard-on she knew that would be seen as a cardinal sin
at Fairyfield. Miriam Hancock was adamant that ladies should never fornicate
with pupils, and since to suck their pricks or even  admire them openly
risked re-establishing a sissy-boys male ego, those things were absolutely
prohibited too. No such restrictions on old Hardwick, Emma thought grimly -
men again, they got all the breaks!

With her thoughts becoming petulant she scooped Holly up and lay him on his
back across one of the pupils desks, then raised up his legs so that she
could view his bare backside. A pretty thing, impeccable, and very deserving
of a few smacks of her hand.

Wallop, smack! "Wooow, miss! Aaaah!"
She gazed down at the penis lolling on his belly, still stiff and erect, and
she fancied it was pulsating. It mystified her why so many of the wanton
creatures became aroused when being spanked, but there was no question about
what the end result would be on this occasion. Tucking one arm under his
thighs to keep his legs high she scooped his skirt and blouse further up his
body. No need to soil the clothing. When his ejaculation erupted it would
find a nice wide landing spot on his smooth flat tummy.

She'd miss out supper, she decided. She'd have a shower and save her
appetite for the evening. Smack, smack, smack!

"Wooooo - oo - oow!" And a few pretty tears began to flood from Holly's
pretty eyes.

***

Poppy managed to view most things that happened to him as romantic
adventure. He was after all barely twelve years old and somehow fantasies
and real life didn't seem at odds with each other. Even punishment he
regarded fatalistically ( though he wouldn't have known the meaning of the
word), and providing it wasn't too brutal if could lend a certain rosy glow
to the amorous feelings that constantly stirred inside him.

That day hadn't been too bad. Jennifer had scolded him and pulled his hair
and smacked his ears several times for what she called inadequate effort,
but she'd only made him cry once. In the afternoon she'd set him on with the
task of tidying her own room; bleak and challenging work for an organised
mind, and a monumental one for someone like Poppy who's thoughts tended to
drift into daydreaming so easily, but he'd persevered and managed it in the
end.
Jennifer had then gone to the village and hadn't yet returned, and it had
been Miss Hancock herself who had taken him upstairs and shown him the
outfit she wanted him to wear later that evening.

When she departed he found himself to be the sole occupant of the west-wing,
and seeking a change from perpetual cleaning  he went back up to the guest
room and viewed the dress laying across the bed. It was the same one he'd
recently finished in needlework class, a black parlour-maid outfit with
short sleeves and a flouncy little skirt. Mrs Pardoe rated him a slapdash,
mediocre seamstress and it was a good result achieved after a great deal of
verbal abuse and smacked legs, so he regarded it with a certain amount of
pride. There were nylons too, sheer, dark and seamless, and a pair of skimpy
black panties, and shoes; a pair of patent leather sling-backs with gorgeous
spindly high-heels.

He scrubbed his face with cold water and a flannel until it shone with rosy
freshness and was ready for make up, then he brushed his hair back and
refastened the plaits behind his head before putting on his new uniform.
First the stockings; hmm, heavenly. He pointed his pretty toes skywards as
he smoothed them down his legs, then fastened on the narrow black garter
belt, oblivious of how the straps of the belt dangled to frame his penis and
testicles.

Next came the pretty, pretty panties, and finally the dress. The waist
fitted perfectly and the skirt clung to his hips before falling to an
immodestly short hemline in swirling ruches around the tops of his lovely
thighs. The colour of the dress was as dowdy as his gymslip, but a white
linen collar and cuffs relieved the black as did the tiny frilled organdie
apron that he tied about his slender waist.

He examined himself in the mirror, turning and wiggling this way and that to
admire his sylph-like reflection and looking as pleased as punch. The
clothes enhanced his natural arresting good looks, bringing his young
features into focus. The combination of black and white was crisp and clean,
and the stockings and shoes made him feel more mature than he actually was.
A smile made his eyes sparkle, while two bewitching dimples formed on his
cheeks which gave his face an appearance of immense sweetness.

"You'll do," he said, hands on hips and twirling about.

It occurred to him that he did look pretty. No wonder men were always
falling in love with him, and some women too; women like Miss Hancock. His
admirers, and there were many, thought him placid. They marvelled at his
mild temperament and basked in his good nature whilst coaxing him into their
beds, but what they took as serenity and lack of intolerance was in fact a
managed preference. He loathed scenes of emotional turmoil and believed it
far more worthwhile to spend time enjoying 'nice' things.

He had always been fair of face and attractive, but he'd never been bullied
because of it - well, not in the usual way. At his previous schools even the
boys who didn't wish to grope him protected him as if he were their little
sister, and the most obnoxious teachers had enjoyed cuddling him from time
to time. He'd grown up amid people with glittering eyes telling him how
gorgeous he was, and had come to distinguish between innocent fawning and
wolfish observation at an early age. Men he understood, they praised him
constantly and always got a hard-on if he pranced around and waggled his bum
a little bit. What a beauty! What a body! What a gorgeous little bottom!
they marvelled. He'd taken his pants off to please quite a lot of them
before he'd been brought to Fairfield Grange, so he knew had a certain kind
of power over most men in the world, but women were an odd lot, he thought.
He could never tell what women were thinking
He shuddered, thinking then of girls, and remembering Aunt Beryl's daughter
Harriet. Harriet horrified him.

"Oh conkers!" he sighed as he felt his willy rising up and the front of his
pants pressing outwards. Just like when he'd put on his first ever lipstick
nice new frocks so often made him horny, and Miss Hancock would go wild if
she saw him like that. She'd be livid too if she found his brand new panties
all wet and cummy.

He patted the tenting gently. "Naughty cock!" Never mind, there was plenty
of time to make things right, and he knew the best remedy for making things
lay down for a while. Doing it whilst wearing stockings and suspenders would
be especially nice, but he decided it best to remove the dress. He didn't
want to get it creased with all the squirming he was going to do, and he
certainly didn't want to risk it being splashed with any of the gooey stuff
queuing up for release in his precious pink girlish ball-bags.

***

There! With a polishing cloth in one hand and a tin of beeswax in the other
Poppy surveyed the end to his work. He wanted to make a good impression so
he'd polished everything in sight, the curtains were neatly drawn and the
whole room looked sparkling and bright. He straightened a few dented
cushions and looked around. Everything was in order. The lighting was
subdued and drinks were waiting, so after checking the clock he paused to
look at himself in a mirror; touching his hair and rearranging the collar of
his parlour-maid outfit. He looked fine and dandy, and he wore the dress
with the kind of confidence that made him seem soft and girlish and someone
accustomed to being looked at and admired. There were pearls in his
earlobes, and the discerning touch of make-up on his cheeks was pearly too.

After a while he heard the car, then footsteps, and finally the door opened.
He curtsied elegantly, first for Miss Hancock and then for Miss Twist, and
noticed Emma beam as she observed him. "What a sexy looking cutie!"

She was sexy herself, thought Poppy, she looked lithe and chic in her tight
fitting Katherine Hammet jeans and turtleneck cashmere sweater. Miss Hancock
was decidedly suave as always, dressed in slim-line black trousers and a
lovely aubergine jacket adorned with a white pearl necklace. Everything
looked perfect on her, but Miss Twist's youthfulness gave her the edge in
attraction.

Confident that he had chilled the wine to the correct degree he took hold of
the bottle and eased out the cork with a gentle screwing motion so as not to
excite the contents into excessive effervescence. A faint plop! And he was
able to pour.

Emma Twist sank down into the corner of the sofa and curled her feet up
beside her as she considered the perpendicular lines of bubbles rising up in
the glass flute that was offered to her. "Gosh, real champagne!"

Miriam perched herself in the armchair across the hearth and raised her own
glass.
"We've enjoyed a glorious evening and I don't intend to ruin it by offering
you carbonated glop - Cheers!"

They drank, and feeling at ease and relaxed, began to talk. "It must be
quite a change in lifestyle for you Emma, Leeds to darkest Yorkshire."

"Yes," the other woman admitted, turning her glass in her hand, "Cities are
impossible. You can't park in them or drive in them, in fact you can't get
anywhere without sweated effort. Anyway, I'm not cut out for teaching a
dreary syllabus in an urban school, and since I've a natural inclination to
be firm with children this is probably the best place for me."

Their eyes met and held, and interpreting some subtle signal Miriam moved
across to settle on the sofa next to her, sliding an arm around the younger
woman's shoulder and drawing her forward until her head lay on the warm bulk
of her chest. The word sensual sprang to mind when she was with her. Where
other women were concerned Miriam had a connoisseurs palate and an artists
demeanour, and she savoured every texture and taste, both rich and mild.

The day had been wonderful. Earlier Emma and herself had made love for an
hour, kissing each others bodies, lapping at each others sex, using fingers
and tongues and finally enjoying a volcanic orgasm during a pussy on pussy
joust. In the evening they'd taken a table by a crackling open fire in the
new bistro on the Orton Road, and as one of the owners was American they'd
enjoyed a delicious supper of New England fare; creamy fish chowder and hot
corn bread and lashings of butter, chicken pot pie with green peas and
candied sweet potatoes, then apple pie and home-made ice-cream. Now heady
from wine and still aglow from Emma's previous attention Miriam was as
content as she could be. Or she would have been had it not been for
recurring thoughts of Diana Chance-Barton and her lawyer's letter.

Outside rain patted on the windows as an overture to what would be a long,
dry summer. Poppy tactfully hovered against the wall, hands clasped in
front, knees pressed together in the stance of a well behaved girl, ready to
produce more drink if required but not daring to intrude otherwise.

Emma smoothed hair from Miriam's cheek, then placing a finger beneath her
chin she turned her face upwards and kissed her on the mouth. She was such
a busy-head all the time - a cold fish - it was hard to believe she could be
such a wonderful lover. She ran her fingers along her bare arm. "Why, your
skin is so white, pure, pure white. I've never really noticed before."

Miriam didn't flinch, even though her arm tingled under her touch, she just
gave a little laugh. "My mother used to scold me for taking too much colour
in the sunshine. She said her own mother used a parasol in the moonlight
even when she lived alone."

Emma laughed too as her fingers stroked, her voice soft and caressing.
"Beautiful!" she breathed as she lurched against her.

Miriam allowed her gentle lips to press against her neck, and instead of
being repelled she felt her skin tighten and her body tremble with
excitement.
"Loneliness is a terrible thing," Emma whispered, "But, we needn't ever be
lonely."

At the side of the room Poppy  was a silent witness to everything. Two women
canoodling so intimately made an odd sight, but it didn't stir him at all.
Women were odd creatures.

At that moment Emma Twist seemed to be more beautiful than any woman had the
right to be to Miriam. Her heart started to beat furiously and her head
began to spin. Suddenly she wanted to take the younger woman in her arms and
mutter soft, endearing things in her ear.
She looked askance at her, aware of the sudden tension building between
them.

Emma reached out to stroke her face with the back of her fingers. "God,
you're pretty. Those cheekbones - gorgeous! And you've such incredible skin
- so smooth, like a child's. You're beautiful, Miriam. Anyone could easily
love you. I could love you." Her hand slid up Miriam's throat, touching her
ear, then tracing her lips. "I could love you, oh, so easily."

Her voice was low and velvety and wonderfully sexy, thought Miriam as a
ruttish ripple of excitement rippled through her loins. Her mouth parted
hungrily in a small, nervous smile.
"Emma - Really! You're drunk."

The other woman's eyes were darker suddenly, prickling with impatience,
almost crackling with sensuous, horny thoughts. "Maybe I am drunk, but that
doesn't change the way I feel, it just loosens my tongue. You were planning
to seduce me again tonight, weren't you?"

Miriam stiffened. "Yes, but - but you're seducing me."

The other woman ignored her faint protest and leaned forward to press her
mouth into her hair, marvelling at the wonderful abundance of perfumed
tresses swirling about her face. Her mouth brushed Miriam's cheek like a
snowflake, and then she took one of her hands and gently squeezed it, while
her other hand roamed down her throat to the point of her breasts.

As things heated up Poppy still didn't move. He'd been told frequently that
the role of a servant was to remain discreetly in the background and observe
without making judgements or displays of emotion, whilst being ever ready to
attend to an employers needs.
Employers ignored servants much of the time, and certainly neither Miss
Hancock or Miss Twist seemed to see him at that moment. He wasn't there. He
was wallpaper.

Miriam responded to her friends caress, melding to her body, eyes closing as
the soft fullness of  two pairs of barely covered  breasts rubbed fiercely
together. Her mouth locked onto Emma's, lips churning, demanding, wanting,
raising desire. The impulsive kiss seemed like a raunchy dream. A sexual
encounter always seemed to feed a glow to her skin that was more usual to
women ten years younger than she was, and at that moment Miriam felt radiant
and young, with a glow that burned in her body like a kind of fire.

"What do your other lovers do to you, darling?" she murmured as her fingers
picked at buttons and pulled Emma's blouse open.. "Do they touch you here?"
she asked as two breasts were bared and spread out, seeming enormous against
the delicacy of her naked frame. Cupping the weight of them in her hands
she lifted them, kneading and rotating the peachy orbs for a while before
lifting out her own swollen breasts and rolling them against her own naked
bosom.

Heart pounding, Miriam became submerged in the closeness of skin and
smoothness of contact. Nipple to nipple, belly to belly mouth to mouth,
women's bodies together, pleasing, enjoying, the dreamlike pleasure sweeping
away all the niggling worries of the day.
The sexual frustration that had been building up inside Miriam all day now
had a focal point. Her hand travelled down Emma's tummy, fingers slipping
between inner thighs, searching and probing. "Do they touch you - Mmmm!
There! I've been wanting to do that all evening."

Feeling slightly squiffy with drink Emma giggled. "It's about time, I've
been waiting for you to do it."

Poppy remained motionless, listening to the rain and not knowing it was the
prelude to a hot, dry summer.

"I was afraid that once you were away from here and in the outside world
you'd saunter off with some good looking man." Miriam whispered, "You have
beauty and intelligence - you could seduce a man with no more effort than a
smile, a glance -"

Emma spluttered. "To hell with blokes. I don't have enough time for them,
and I can do without any romantic drivel. Anyway, they're invariably selfish
bastards without any imagination."

"Do you like Jennifer?"

"She's a fine girl."

"A fine girl, eh!" Suddenly Miriam's mood was serious. "Tell me - do you
find her pleasant company? What I mean is, do you find her attractive?"

Emma pulled herself up and rested her head on an Indian pink cushion, legs
curled beneath her.
"I don't know what you mean. She's extremely good looking, and certainly
she's respected by everyone I've met."

"But - you know her preference is for other girls - do you find her
attractive?"
Emma offered an enigmatic smile. Now she understood. The headmistress was
jealous of her own daughter.

"Of course I do, but she's not the kind of girl to share my bed." Her
expression became more amiable. "I wouldn't have held back if I thought such
a thing would work, but she and I have temperaments too much alike - we both
wish to be the boss in everything. Fortunately experience of life as given
yourself the flair to relax and enjoy whatever transpires."

Miriam cheered up immediately. "Oh, I do like you. Only you could make a
frailty sound so positive. Let's celebrate with a brandy."

Immediately Poppy moved forward to place down two balloon glasses, then he
took the brandy decanter from the sideboard.
As he leaned over to pour double-finger measures Emma Twists hand strayed up
the back of his skirt to enjoy the satin skin of bare flesh spilling out
from his tiny panties. A wicked finger stroked the crevasse between his
buttocks, and shocked by the unexpected Poppy's hand shook. The decanter
jarred against a glass to send a slop of golden liquid splashing onto the
table.

Miss Hancock admonished him sharply. "Stupid girl! Go and get a cloth."

"I rather think it was my fault," offered Emma, "I did goose the
girlie-thing without warning."

The headmistress glared at Poppy frostily. "He shouldn't have been taken by
surprise. Serving girls must be prepared for such things in a busy
household, and the scatterbrain leaned forward instead of stooping, which
only increases the chance of it happening."
When Poppy returned with a cloth Miriam snatched it from his hand. "Go and
stand against the wall, nincompoop!" she told him in plain bad temper as she
mopped the puddle herself.

Emma noticed the pinched look in the face of the headmistress. The
snappiness was a symptom of an underlying problem and had appeared
intermittently throughout the evening, and was unusual for a woman who never
volunteered a sign of being ruffled. Everything had been a treat so far, but
Miriam was less than her buoyant self and appeared to have something
pressing on her mind. Now and then she would fall into a deep silence with
her hands clasped tight together, one palm working into the other as though
she were desperately trying to grind something between them. She had never
been like that before, one minute laughing and the next looking crushed with
worry.

Emma stared at her, not wishing to be nosy, but riddled with curiosity she
waited patiently, but finally felt compelled to ask. "Is there something
troubling you?"

Miriam thrust out her chin. "I'm fine." she replied stoically.

"Well, if there is something, you know what they say. A trouble shared is a
trouble halved."

Miriam Hancock's eyes flashed. "The key to success in business is
discipline, dedication, concentration and patience. There's no place for
soft  hearts. One must never allow emotions to get in the way. Never show
weakness, never lose face." She appeared to be lecturing herself, and on
finishing her diatribe she sagged. "Oh damn the woman! That infuriating
bitch Diana Chance-Barton believes she as her boot on my neck."

Miriam was no weakling, Emma knew that well enough. Generally she was able
to make all her problems sound maddeningly pragmatic. She was a formidable
character, resilient and indomitable, but there, just for a moment, perhaps
encouraged by overindulgence in alcohol, she had allowed her armour to slip
and given a glimpse of the mortal behind it.

"Lady Diana!"

"Yes. If Fairyfield Grange proves a failure as a school she'll take the
premises from under my feet as payment for debt, and if it succeeds she's
likely to impose herself as a silent, unproductive partner who'll skim the
cream from any profit I make. I can't have that, I can't have her strutting
about like Catherine the Great, robbing me and setting herself up as a
dictator. I need to curb her impudent mouth and clip her aristocratic wings
before things go any further."

Emma leaned back. Miriam's notion of a brandy would have snapped the neck of
a St Bernard, so she sipped it gingerly.

"Local tittle-tattle says she maintains a lodge on the edge of the family
estate where she entertains her boyfriends. A local girl tidies up for her
there on occasions - I believe Jennifer will know who I mean."

Miriam nodded. "That will be Monica Briathwaite - and the gossip is true, a
procession of different men patronise the lodge at weekends."

"That could be the key to solving everything, and you only need find a way
to turn it. Perhaps a little blackmail would do the trick."

Miss Hancock gave an emphatic shake of her head. "It's not enough. Everyone,
including her husband, already knows of her extramarital affairs, and
infidelity is so prevalent these days it's almost fashionable, it hardly
makes people turn their heads. I must pin something more repugnant than that
on her."

"Perhaps she enjoys some other deviation you can exploit."

"She'd be more susceptible to pressure if she were a some kind of pervert,
but she seems as straight as a beam. She likes men and lots of them, but
always one at a time."

Emma sipped her drink thoughtfully, then stretched along the sofa, devoid of
complexity or neurosis, happy to be just what she was - an epitome of
efficiency. "Well, if needs be we can manufacture something to discredit
her. Give me a day to think and I'll come up with something to make her wave
a white flag."

Miriam's mouth at once spread in a wide grin. "Exactly the sort of response
I expected from you Emma, and precisely the kind of offer I need. Actually
I've already a scheme in mind, but there would be advantages in having an
ally to assist me."

"I see that. And anyway, it would be better if you avoided a direct link
with anything underhand, you're a lady now, and ladies don't have to know
how things are done. They supervise, but they don't participate."

"You'll find there are rewards for taking my side." Turning her head Miriam
beckoned Poppy forward from the side of the room. "Go upstairs and remove
your dress and your pants, then stand outside the guest room until Miss
Twist joins you."

As the sissy shimmied away Emma chewed on her bottom lip. "Wow, Miriam! Are
you going to let me have him?"

Miriam smiled benignly. "You like him I think, and I don't blame you. Thin,
but sugar sweet. Nice bum. WILD eyes - and he shags just like a girl. You've
proved yourself faithful enough to be allowed beyond the mundane, and as
long as you use him as a man would, why not? If you're prepared to assist me
in the matter of Lady Diana you deserve a treat."

"Have you had a length up is arse-pussy? Have you fucked him yourself?"

Miriam's smile became a slanting grin. "I must admit I ploughed him nicely
last night. I'm surprised you've been so shy about doing it yourself."

"That kind of thing isn't usually my cup of tea, although with Poppy I will
admit to have given it some thought. I wasn't sure what your attitude would
be to such a thing."

"When placed in the outside world attractive young boys in short skirts will
constantly be used by men, and since they're shameless about frolicking with
each other and Hardwick abuses them all the time anyway, one can't be blame
oneself for wishing to dally with an arse like Poppy's now and then. Indeed,
why should dirty old men have all the best fun? As long as the little dears
stay on the receiving end of things there'll be no harm done to their
girliness."

Suddenly heady with excitement the younger woman stirred in her seat. She
knew she should be disgusted with herself for getting hot about what they
were discussing. It was a kind of a perversion she'd never practised before
on one so young, but ever since she'd first met Poppy in the common-room
she'd been beset by curiosity. She'd observed him many times as he made his
way along the corridors, noting how his beguiling little bottom rolled
provocatively beneath his flouncing short gymslip, making itself known and
simply begging for some extra-special attention.

"Poppy is shameless. Utterly without a sense of morals."

"And he can be pressed into being discreet."

"He's a darling." Emma murmured almost shyly. "I - er, need to get something
from my room."

Miriam Hancock was years past being shy about anything and she gave Emma's
hand a slight squeeze. "Use one of mine. I've a lovely squirty thing with
balls that can be loaded with replica semen."

Poppy checked his watch while he waited outside the door of the guest
bedroom. Time was irrelevant, but for a moment it gave him something to do.
Not that he was unhappy with an unoccupied mind, he'd learnt to be content
just doing as he was told and act out the role of an empty-headed bimbo.
Appearances were more important to him than intellect, and everyone
acknowledged he was a golden child, beautiful to look at, with honey
coloured skin and long dark lashes over bright eyes. He was fond of asking
questions, but lazy about forming answers into something logical, being
eternally preoccupied with enjoying life.

The wristwatch was one of the few items he was wearing. He was stripped down
to his stockings and a meagre black lace garter-belt - and shoes of course,
he still wore the high-heeled shoes - and the earrings and the gold ring in
his bellybutton, but that was all.
He wasn't unduly uncomfortable. Being the son of a high-class prostitute he
was quite familiar with depravity, and when his leaning towards
homosexuality became obvious his mother had started renting him out to those
of her clients who expressed an interest. She hadn't even drawn back when
some of them asked her to dress him in girls clothes. He didn't mind that.
He didn't mind dressing like a girl and going with men. Men appreciated him,
they said he was gorgeous, and they said he was as tight as a duck and no
matter how often he was used the muscles in his bum always snapped back like
elastic.

He'd been sent to Fairyfield Grange while his mother served a term of
imprisonment for something or other. Ordinarily his Aunt Beryl would have
taken him in, but he'd made such a commotion about it he'd been sent to
board away instead. Not that he hated Aunt Beryl, she plied the same trade
as his mother and they got on well together, but Aunt Beryl had a daughter
called Harriet and he couldn't possibly live under the same roof as her. Men
were amusing and women a mystery, but Harriet was something else entirely.

After some time Miss Twist appeared on the landing looking slightly tipsy
and aglow with excitement.  She paused at the top of the stairs in the
manner of a panther surveying a helpless fawn in a field; hungry and
predatory, eyes bright and alert, red mouth slightly agape. Poppy looked
lovely, she thought. A pretty face as smooth as an apple and with a darling
little mouth that had lips sweetly defined and just a tiny bit pouty -
irresistible and tailor-made for kissing. And those eyes - he had eyes that
could be wide and disarmingly innocent one minute, and yet narrow and
scintillating at the mere turn of his head. In the absence of men his little
tricks and pretences were usually reserved for other boys, but he'd
sometimes try them on women if he though he could gain some indulgence.

His expression on seeing her was one of alarm. He returned her stare,
becoming aghast as vague suspicions in the back of his mind became confirmed
in reality. Emma had retained her cashmere sweater, but she'd removed her
jeans to reveal bare legs and an enormous thrusting prosthetic strapped in
place at the apex of her thighs. Just like the one Miss Hancock had used on
him the previous night it was moulded to resemble a male member in the
highest state of arousal, displaying veins as thick as ropes and a domed tip
worthy of a battering ram. At its base, swinging heavily between her legs
quivered a representation of bloated testicles.

Poppy's ability for spontaneity deserted him and he stood as if paralysed.
He was aware of the school teachers eyes running over him, scrutinising his
shape and faultless complexion, but all he could do was swallow hard and it
was a moment before he realised he was being spoken to. "P-pardon!"

Miss Twist gazed down at him, making a show of being patient. "I said, you
look ravishing Poppy."

"Oh, I see! Thank you miss," he replied in his best little girl voice,
suddenly feeling special, "Thank you very much."

She studied his hairless body and his smooth young penis at rest on the
cushion of his testicles, then forsaking any further preliminaries she
leaned down and kissed his forehead and his face, taking his sexy, pouty
lips in her mouth and biting them softly while her hands caressed his bare
chest, tracing the shape of his breasts and strumming his small nipples. So
warm and smooth, just like a girl. "You're a very pretty girl Poppy."

He blushed. A beautiful woman was flattering him! His cock twitched and he
felt his body glow from nipples to kneecaps and he immediately felt fragile,
sensitive and tingly hot. As she jerked his proud little teats between her
fingers he began to twist and turn. Eyes closed, lips parting and swelling,
his previously inactive penis suddenly becoming full blown and pointing up
in the air.

Miss Twist ignored the obvious sign of male arousal and gave his breasts one
last friendly squeeze before clamping her hands around his neck and
shoulders, calming him and easing the tension from his body before allowing
her palms to slid down his back. The boy was lithe and lightweight and she
needed little effort to scoop him up and fasten her mouth onto his thrusting
chest.

"Ooh, miss!" He sighed as she sucked on his nipples, savouring them for a
moment before leaving them glistening with saliva.. Poppy's head rolled
back, but she held him firmly while cupping his balls in her hand and
bobbing them up and down. When she spoke her voice trickled out like warm
syrup.

"You're going to be my little sissy girl tonight. I'm going to fuck you.
You'll like that, won't you?"

"Oh, I, um! I dunno miss."

"I know you will. You're a sexy little witch who enjoys teasing everyone
with a pretty bum, so I know you'll like it. But I want you to ask for it. I
want to hear you say, FUCK ME."

Her demand was depraved enough to make even Poppy blush, but there was no
way he could avoid a reply. Pupils at Fairyfield were never allowed choices.
Shamefaced he turned his eyes down to the floor. "Oh - er - f-fuck me,
miss."

"What's that? I could hardly hear what you said. Say it again, louder this
time, and say, PLEASE."

He risked an apprehensive glance at the facsimile penis jutting arrogantly
from between her strong thighs, noting how the overfilled polythene ball-bag
was making a slaver of opaque fluid exude from its tip. "Please miss. PLEASE
fuck my arse miss."

The corners of Emma Twist's mouth turned up in an expression of immense
satisfaction and her hot breath fanned against his ear. "Yes, of course, and
you'll want my girl cock-cream too, won't you? You'll want me to fill your
bum with it."

"Yes miss, that too. Stuff me with spunk miss, I'll be your panty-toy
cum-queen tonight."

Without another word the woman wrapped her hand around the she-boys smooth,
stiff cock and towed him through the bedroom door.

***

Wendy was familiar enough with the layout of the house to be able to get
into the east-wing without any trouble. There was just a short corridor and
a door with a notice pinned to it prohibiting anyone going beyond, but the
door was never locked. The whereabouts of the key had never been discovered
and his aunt had repeatedly put off the idea of securing the door
permanently, but if going 'out of bounds' didn't make him nervous the
purpose of his little trip made him decidedly so. Associations with
Outsiders were utterly banned, and goodness only knew what Auntie Miriam
would do with him if she discovered he was seeking to meet Judd, a boy from
the village, so he kept even his breathing soft and tried not to make a
noise.
Somewhere in the house a clock chimed midnight. Everything was still, but he
kept a wary eye out  for Gloria who was known to roam the dormitory
corridors late at night and could pop up in the most unexpected places.
Meeting her would ruin everything since she invariably masturbated any boy
she found out of bed.

Unadventurous with make-up when he was allowed to use it, he'd applied a
mere touch of mascara and a hint of pinkish lip gloss to bolster his allure.
His skin was pale, but his body had the soft, smooth appeal of a
twelve-year-old and  he was confident enough about his looks.

Wearing just a bathrobe and slippers he stepped through the door into the
dingy corridor beyond, sissying along quickly at first with the aid of a
small pocket torch, but slowing down as he progressed. He was excited about
his date with an older boy. He was gaga over that naughty bad boy. That
gigolo. Judd was almost a man, and the thought of taking a bottomful of cock
from such a beautiful, strong-thighed lover made his testicles stir.

The east-wing was bigger than he remembered from his excursions of the past,
the walls reached up to a high ceiling open to the rafters, and a labyrinth
of forbidding  passageways snaked about between dark rooms matted in cobwebs
which were eerily illuminated by cold moonlight coming through undraped
windows. He wasn't frightened, he just felt a certain anxiety about the
place, especially when it was so dark and there was no one to hold his hand.

He wrinkled his nose against the damp musty smell that pervaded everything.
Outside the summer night was still and serene except for the faint whirring
of insects, but the black shadows inside the building created an atmosphere
of brooding expectancy.
His heart began to flutter as he realised he didn't know exactly where Judd
may be among all those rooms, but at the top of a set of stairs he paused to
glance over the balustrade and then heard a slight noise below. That's it!
he thought. Judd would have entered through a window on the ground floor, so
he had to go downstairs to find him.

With his back pressed hard against the wooden panelling of the walls he
gingerly he descended, then came another noise, a sharp bang this time loud
enough to make him leap, and then Judd's voice, ill tempered and impatient.

"Get down 'ere Wendy. This place is so full o' junk I'll do meself an injury
in a minute."
When he reached the bottom of the stairs Judd greeted him with a wry face
and took a firm grip on his hand. "You're a sight for sore eyes an' that's a
fact. I's been blunderin' around this place for ages."

Wendy flushed. "I should have told you, there's a couple of small rooms
upstairs where the electric lights still work."

Judd shook his head. "No, that'll not do. I's not going any further than I
have to. Come this way, I's already found a nice cosy spot fer us."

The youth led him into a room where the moonlight streamed in so bright
there was no need for a lamp. It had once been a washroom. In one corner
stood a pot sink cracked with age, and against the far wall a bathtub which
had once been very handsome but was now discoloured and faded. Judd guided
him across the floor to where he'd thoughtfully draped a blanket.

Tingling in anticipation Wendy settled down, then as the youth's curious
eyes surveyed him he felt a twinge of anxiety. "You do know I'm not a real
girl, don't you Judd?"

The village lad offered a crooked smile and lightly ran a finger down his
arm. "I's been wi' Abigail often enough to know there's summat odd about
this place, an' Abby's dick's too big to stay hidden long. It's not a worry.
Findin' a cock an' balls under a skirt's a right good turn-on f'me."

"Do you fuck Abigail, Judd?"

"Course I does. Abby's a sexy little girl who loves to please men and who
likes a length up him as much as any of you. But he's got an important
position here an' don't like the idea o' any of them at the school gettin'
atop of him. He likes sturdy fella's from outside, like me,  to do that."

Wendy nodded. "I can understand that. I don't let the younger kids do me
either, not unless they've got something really worthwhile to offer. Have
you got anything worthwhile Judd?"
Judd was already half undressed and he quickly removed the rest of his
clothes, and Wendy suddenly felt hot as he saw the fearsome size of the
arousal rising up from the pad of hair between his loins.

The older boy kissed him immediately, and their lips met and parted only to
meet again more lustfully. Wendy's hands worked on the bulging muscles in
Judd's back for a moment while the teenager massaged and kneaded the younger
boys soft bottom. Then Wendy felt Judd's breath on his neck and the youth's
fingers, softly drawing lazy circles, seemed to become a permanent fixture
on his skin.

"Everyone thinks you're Abigail's boyfriend." Wendy told him with a touch of
envy catching in his voice.

"Maybe I am in a way, but I's a wicked sort an' I likes to sow me oats all
over the place. " he gave Wendy a squeeze. "That's why I's wi' you now, in't
it? I can't leave beautiful things alone."

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

Judd's hand stopped stroking for a second, then started again. "A course I
does. You's a luscious little pretty-pants."

He took the younger boys hand and placed it on his inner thigh, an
invitation to rub his leg and become increasingly intimate with each stroke.
"You an' Abigail once 'ad a thing about each other, din't yer?"

"Yes, but he doesn't like me anymore, so I don't like him." Wendy replied
sulkily, "That's why I'm such an easy lay for you."

Judd groaned as the youngsters hand travelled higher and higher in a way
that was well practised. It was soon grasping his penis and stroking his
hardness from flaring cock-head to bushy root.

Drawing the boy forward he pulled open his bathrobe to view his nipples
before pressing them against his manly chest, and at last they French
kissed, the force of Judd's passion bending Wendy's head back while his fat
tongue slid straight into his young sissy-lovers mouth to lick the insides
of his cheeks. They sucked each others tongues and swallowed each others
saliva, both of them feeling slightly dizzy and breathless when they relaxed
their embrace.

"Oowph!" Wendy gasped as the youth touched his bare breasts, running his
fingers over each one lightly, gently pinching and pulling each of the
pouting little nipples between forefinger and thumb and rolling them about.
Wendy became ecstatic, wave after wave of pleasure running through his body
and down to the cock that lay stiff and aching between his legs.

Aware of what his caresses had conjured up, Judd's hands slid over his chest
and went beneath the bathrobe, peeling it away to enable a lustful
examination of the young boy-body beneath. "Mmm! You's a sweet wee
plaything, an' no mistake." Judd murmured, kissing him heatedly, thrusting
his tongue into his mouth again and pulling his naked body closer.

Impressed by the exquisitely proportioned and petite shape his observation
lasted no more than a moment before his mouth descended to tease the
youngsters swelling nipples once more, moving his mouth from side to side
with the delicacy of a butterfly, seducing the teats to protuberance before
kissing them properly, and then suckling on one and then the other. He moved
down to the lads midriff, his smooth flat stomach, his tongue flicking
hither and thither, before moving down further.

The she-boy tensed and relaxed with each shock impact, and as the tongue
fluttered around his thighs he gave a soft moan as his foreskin was slicked
back and its irreverent tip slipped eel-like against the eye of his penis.

"Oooh, oow - I'm not as big as Abigail." Wendy admitted apprehensively.

The village lad turned his head and grinned up at him. "I's not worried
about that. I brought you here to screw you." He sat up and offered a
penetrating stare. "I expects all the little lady-lads here like a good
length o' todger up their arse reg'lar. Is you a good fuck?"

The younger boy pressed urgently against his chest. "I'll try to be a good
fuck for you, Judd."

The youth looked down at the penis he was teasing. "Yer stiff little wicket
will 'ave to wait fer it's pleasure 'til I's had some of me own." he said,
rising up to swing his own cock in front of Wendy's face. The she-boy at
once swirled the tip of his tongue around its bulbous tip, then settled his
mouth around the thick stem, sucking strongly as he nodded his head back and
forth.

Judd was more excited than he'd anticipated and only a few moments passed
before he groaned. "Ooow! Now 'old on yer young scallywag. I's got things
t'do afore I jerks me load. Turn over an' let's have a look at yer arse."

Wendy swung sideways and Judd grinned as he observed his bare backside. Both
knew the time for conversation was over and they each understood the reason
they'd agreed to meet in such a gloomy isolated place. They rose to their
knees, Wendy's head falling forward as he rested on all fours, while Judd
positioned himself in a crouch behind him with hands gripping his hips.
"Perfec'! Spread them pretty buns so I can see where I'm going."

The youth was fully prepared. He produced a tube of KY and scooped a large
portion of jelly onto his finger before applying it directly into the boys
anal orifice. It felt cool and pleasant, and Wendy enjoyed it for its own
sake as much as for the finger spreading it inside him as far as it could
go. Then he felt the head of the youth's engorged, eager penis slip between
the cheeks of his backside and start to butt impatiently against his anus.

Arching his back Judd thrust hard forward, jack-knifing at the waist and
grunting as his prick forced a route beyond meagre resistance and became
sheathed in the body heat of the compliant thirteen-year-old. "Wwwooo! Oh,
aah, yesss!" Wendy mewled and groaned as he became impaled, finding initial
discomfort rapidly displaced by pleasure as the warm shaft pressed into him,
forcing itself deep and filling the innermost recesses of his effeminate
young body with masculine stiffness.

"I was scared you might not want to shag a boy." he mumbled as he tightened
his muscles around the thick piece of meat inside him.

Judd gave a raunchy laugh. "Me prick's got no conscience when it stands up,
an' I'll shag anything I can get it into. I don't care about sex or age or
if it's just a hole in a wall."

With his shaft all the way in and his balls resting against Wendy's crease
he paused for a moment and slowly drew back before beginning a piston-like
motion with his pelvis.
Wendy's passage was well lubricated now, and as the head of his lovers cock
burrowed smoothly inside he rolled his hips from side to side to establish a
good sheath for it.
The sissy squealed with joy. He was being fucked by a wonderful hetero boy
who had taken complete control of him and was using him as a girl. The mere
act of dominance was an aphrodisiac, and he began thrusting back to invite
deeper penetration, his moans increasing as Judd's penis moved in his
bowels, firm and hard, going so deep that it seemed to scald the inside of
his belly. It stabbed like a knife, but it brought pain without anguish - a
glorious sensation for a boy like himself.

Judd didn't get on well with hard work but he was no slouch at any kind of
business that gave him pleasure, and he delivered stroke after stroke in a
frantic, urgent rhythm. He was making the younger boy stretch, holding him
down and making him squirm in coils of pleasure.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Past caring about making noise Wendy wailed softly as he felt
the youths shaft sliding in and out of his body, forceful and merciless,
providing stab after mighty stab and only changing the motions into
circling, screwing oscillations from time to time.
Then the village youth paused with his length buried up to his pubes in
Wendy's narrow tunnel, groaning himself as the lads anal muscles
relentlessly squeezed the entire length of his cock.  "Hey! You's a tight
little ferret an' no mistake. I'm gunna have to keep a good hold on you." he
husked.

Moonlight filtered through the undraped windows to fall across their bodies,
two youthful white forms clinging together, static in unison, enraptured by
the intimacy of their coupling.
Humped against Judd's commanding thighs Wendy felt utterly without strength.
With his hole stretched wide with cock he simply allowed himself to be used.
It seemed slightly disgusting, but at the same time he liked it. Judd was
treating him like a girl, and he liked that too. Raising his bottom a little
he felt a familiar boiling heat inside that signified he was completely
occupied and totally impaled. Things were as they should be when he had a
big cock all the way up his backside. "Now then, darlin'..." whispered Judd,
"Open yer hole for yer man... yer feel so good, so hot and tight..."

His words made Wendy feel good too and he started to moan again when Judd
resumed his humping, then reach beneath Wendy's belly with one hand to do
nice things to the very hard cock he found there. "Oh Judd - oh Judd ..."

"Ah yes! Give yerself like a girly - take it all the way! Good girl... Take
yer man's cock... make him cum deep inside."

The teenager's cock was long as well as thick, and again Wendy felt pain
along with the pleasure, but such discomfort seemed to enhance the
experience. "I want to be tight for you Judd," he gagged, "I want you to
enjoy yourself... Ooooh... and I want you to squirt in my arse."

"I knows yer do sweetheart. That's what girls are for... to take cum from
men. Get ready for a big load in yer pussy."

With the triumphant roar of a rutting animal the older boy gave a vigorous
thrust and released his pent-up burden of hot semen, pumping his young lover
over and over and coating the inside of Wendy's love tunnel with spurt after
spurt from his throbbing hose... Filling him with juice... making his hole
wet and sticky... pumping three... four ... five big shots into him ...his
sissy,  his girl.

***

Monica Briathwaite lived in the village of Peasmarsh with her mother and
sister. Their cottage was small, comprising two rooms downstairs, with the
kitchen and bathroom built into a lean-to at the back. The narrow staircase
was hidden behind a door in the wall and wound its way up to two small
bedrooms above. Of the downstairs rooms, one had a small table and some
chairs while the diminutive sitting-room seemed crowded with an
armchair-and-sofa set and a polished veneer sideboard. There was also the
lustre of china in a glass-fronted cabinet and a porcelain Staffordshire dog
sitting each side of the fireplace.
"Does yer want a cigarette?" asked Rita, perching on the arm of her mothers
sofa and oblivious of her shoes kicking against the upholstery.

"You know I don't smoke." replied Jennifer.

"Course you don't. I keep forgetting. Bloody 'ell, I couldn't go without a
fag now an' then meself." She picked a crumpled packet from her skirt pocket
and drew out a cigarette. "How's things up at the Grange?"

Jennifer bent her head. "Just routine. That's what schools are about; you
know, meals, lessons and bedtime. Not much else happens."
Monica Braithwaite was a little on the plump side, not spare and lean like
Jennifer, and despite being two years older than her visitor she was far
less astute and quick witted. Nevertheless she was popular with the village
lads who enjoyed her easy nature and the easy route they found between her
legs, and popular with Jennifer too, who appreciated the way she unashamedly
accepted an occasional girly romp. Jennifer thought her rather overblown,
but then anyone not stick-insect thin was overblown to her

Monica lit-up, reclined dramatically on the sofa and languidly turned her
head. With a slightly peeved expression spoiling her mouth she sighed and
blew a plume of smoke towards the ceiling. "I don't know anything about what
'appens at schools anymore - not since your mam stopped me from 'elping out
at weekends."

There was acrimony in her tone, and almost at once a stumbling block had
been raised. Monica had been barred from part-time assisting at Fairyfield
Grange months ago, how would she react when she learned Jennifer's mother
wished a favour?

"You were a little over enthusiastic Monica. You were only supposed to
supervise the juniors in the garden, you weren't supposed to gather them all
together for a wanking competition. That encroached on the school rules and
you knew that."

Dissatisfaction reverted to a crooked smile as Monica recalled events.
"There was always a lovely bloom on their faces when I got 'em to play with
'emselves. Some of 'em didn't know how to do it at first an' I had to show
'em, but once they started they didn't want to stop 'til they made their
little dickies' tick. Some of 'em could pump up real whoppers too, tho' they
were all too young to make baby-gravy, o' course."

She drew on her cigarette again as he eyes sought out Lucinda, the ashen
faced she-boy Jennifer had brought with her who had been parked in a corner
of the room and told to keep quite. He'd be quite good looking when he
filled out, she thought, but he still had a lad's extreme thinness at the
moment, with bony wrists protruding from the cuffs of his blouse.

Jennifer thought it could be helpful to lay on a bit of blatant flattery.
"You're an exceptional sort of girl Monica. Mummy was very impressed by the
way you kept quiet about things you'd seen at the Grange. Most other girls
would have been spiteful and blabbed all kinds of stories."

Monica flicked her cigarette at an ashtray, pleased with the words of
appreciation, just as the adroit visitor intended her to be. "I keeps me
mouth stitched. That's why I gets work with people like Lady Chance-Barton.
What I did at the Grange wurn't like a real job that I get paid for, I only
did it because I liked it. Shame I couldn't have done it longer though, I
never got a chance to smack the bums o' any of them cross-dressed cuties
while I was there."

Suddenly the eyes of both girls searched out Lucinda again. He was twelve,
but like all the 'girls' at Fairyfield constant badgering made him feel
younger than he was. Discouraged from thinking for himself, he like the rest
relied on females to tell him what to do. Ostensibly he had accompanied
Jennifer merely to carry parcels, but that day he was also there to serve an
ulterior purpose.

"You've never smacked any of them? Well you can spank Lucinda if you like."
Jennifer offered.

Alarmed, the small she-boy spoke for the first time since entering the
house. It was just a meek, "Oh, Jennifer!", not designed to be challenging,
but the daughter of the headmistress bristled anyway.

"Shut-up pervert, no one told you to speak. Put your thumb in your mouth."

"As he - she - Lucy, been naughty?" inquired Monica, smiling thoughtfully.

"Gracious, he doesn't need to be naughty. Even before he came to the Grange
he'd allow little girls to pull him into the bushes and smack his bum for no
reason whatever. Sometimes they'd even sit on his face and force him to suck
the gusset of their knickers."

"Please Jennifer, that's not true." Lucy suddenly blurted out indignantly.
Jennifer at once turned and swung the flat of her hand at the side of his
head.
"That's your second warning, you little wanker. Anymore talking out of turn
will earn you the strap when we return to the Grange."

Returning to Monica she laid on a beguiling smile. "I promised to get some
chrome buttons for Margaret Pardoe whilst I'm in the village, so I'll need
to be sharp to catch the haberdashers before they close."

Monica smirked. "If you're thinkin' o' going on the chase after that snooty
Polly Clagget what works there, don't waste yer time. Her mam watches her
like a hawk, and the stuck-up floozy don't give anything to lads, never mind
lasses."

"Why Monica, even when my intentions are pure you always reckon me to be on
the prowl. Look I need to be quick, so can I leave Lucinda here for a
while?"

Monica rolled her tongue in her mouth while casting an unwholesome glance at
the boy - his sweet face - his short skirt and bare legs. "Leave 'im here?
Why o' course, but I thought you brought 'im to carry for you."

"Creatures like him are a nuisance when a girl's in a hurry, they get
distracted and wander off all the time to sissy about in front of men.
Personally I think they should have a collar and leash when taken out on
excursions, but mummy won't allow it."
Monica wasn't observant enough to notice the glint in Jennifer's eyes, but
Jennifer was astute enough to know the village girl would need some
buttering-up before she'd agree to do a favour, and allowing her access to a
cute sissy angel such as Lucy was an ideal for that.

Lucy felt some relief that Jennifer had left him behind. She wasn't at all
pleasant to be with, and he'd had enough of having his ears cuffed, but as
soon as she'd gone through the door Monica wheeled about and latched her
eyes onto him, making him feel uncertain of her own motives for allowing him
to stay. He gazed at her, an ingenue of half open lips and a soulful
expression.

"You didn't belief what Jennifer said about me, did you Monica? I mean,
those girls that used to spank me in the bushes - they MADE me suck their
knickers."

"Dearie me! Such naughty girls! Fancy 'em taking advantage of a sweet little
prettypants like you. It's just too bad of 'em."

Taking hold of him she sat him down beside herself on the sofa, and pressed
her lips hard against his unsuspecting mouth, making him shudder as she
kissed him deeply and used her tongue. When she drew back her mouth flashed
a smile that was not reflected in her eyes, instead there was a glint of
something seen in the gaze of a predator regarding its prey as she observed
the smooth thighs protruding from beneath his all too short skirt. Ignoring
the she-boys alarm she laid him down on his back and quickly had his
knickers down.

"Wow! You's gettin' quite growed-up. Yer balls have dropped since I last saw
'em, an' I can see the outline of a nice knob-end under the skin of yer
willy. She squeezed close up against his legs and reached out, making the
boy utter a mild squawk as her fingers took hold of his little prick and
began to jiggle it.

"Oh no, aah! You mustn't ..."

"Dunna make a fuss sweety, else I'll have to smack yer little bummy like
Jennifer says I'm allowed to do. Let's have a proper look at you, let me
slide the skin back while I cuddle yer balls. "Mm yes! You's got a sturdy
thing now, nearly like a big boys dick - an' you've got a nice knob - nice
an' red and smooth. Shall I rub yer pretty cock for you? You like to 'ave it
rubbed, don't you? Will it grow? Will yer willy squirt anything if I do
that?"

Things do change quickly, she mused. It had been only a few months since
she'd been sacked from the Grange and yet some of the little faggots she'd
cared for were already showing signs of maturity.

Earlier in the year she'd been taken on to oversee the juniors on a Sunday;
to shepherd them about and stop them getting into mischief whist roaming the
grounds of the school. For her it had been a pleasant occupation, if an
unpaid one, but then she'd developed a liking for gathering half a dozen of
the little lambs together behind the beech hedge to give them lessons in
tongue-kissing. After demonstrating how it should be done with each of them
she'd then encouraged them to practise among themselves, and she'd told them
just how much nicer it would feel if they wanked each other whilst they did
it. Unfortunately, stuffy old Miss Hancock hadn't appreciated what she'd
done.

Lucy's cock had swollen the moment she'd wrapped her hand around it and
started to roll his silky foreskin up and down over his dewy knob-end. He
was soon twisting his head from side to side and groaning frantically.

"You mustn't rub me like that," he protested, but Monica merely smiled
whilst increasing the speed of her caressing, stroking beneath his plump
young balls as she pumped his cock.

"It's too pretty to leave alone," she replied heatedly, "It gets stiff quick
too, don't it? It's as stiff as a broom 'andle, an' all meaty, jus' like a
big lad's dick."

Lucy's eyes grew large and round. "Monica - Monica - you're going to make me
- going to make me ..."

"Yer knob's gettin' slick an' shiny. Does that mean yer gunna blow? Is ya
gunna do a wet-one for Monica? Can you manage a little spurt yet? Try yer
best, 'cos Monica likes to see goo fly when she yanks on a cock."

He manipulations were expertly applied, and the young she-boy unsuccessfully
tried to stifle his moans as his stiff flesh twitched. "Oooh-oh - OOOH! -
and abruptly a splash of grey-white watery sperm leapt from his firm red tip
to smear the girls fingers.

"That's it, that's it!" encouraged Monica, "Not much in the way o' jism yet,
but it's a promising start."

When she moved away to wipe her hand Lucy might have believed that an end
had come to his indecent ordeal, but Monica had other ideas. Hitching up her
skirt she swung a leg over to straggle him, and the boy looked up to see the
gusset of her panties suspended above his face. They were stretched wide and
displayed a prominent wet patch were the juice of her excitement were
seeping through, and he knew immediately without being told, what he had to
do.

Sticking out his tongue he swirled its snaking tip around the centre of the
warm damp stain, causing Monica to hover for a moment to enjoy the
flickering effect before she settled down. Her panties descended to squash
against his mouth, and  Lucy drew a deep breath, passively opened his lips
and started to suck.

***

"Jennifer don't! Jennifer please, you mustn't!" Polly Clagget's voice of
protest was small and faint as she struggled without effect to break
Jennifer's embrace. With rhythmic continuity her little utterings
corresponded precisely with each wriggle and squirm of her body as she first
pulled away, then backed up against the girl behind her.

Such an easy catch, thought Jennifer happily as she squeezed the pert young
breasts that only moments before she'd pulled out from the front of Polly's
blouse. Polly Clagget had the reputation of being a prissy juvenile, but
despite the noise she was making at that moment her protestations were
half-hearted and she wasn't trying too hard to escape. Jennifer had pulled
the tits out from her blouse the first time they'd met, and was now well
acquainted with her meek demonstrations of unwillingness. They served for
nothing but to salve the girls own feelings of guilt. Polly loved being
mauled, it just horrified her to admit it.

The haberdasher's shop owned by Polly's mother was small and crammed to the
rafters with bolts of fabric, shanks of wool and racks of coloured cotton.
All the walls, including the one behind the counter were shelved out, while
the floor space too was being used for storage and barely allowed enough
room for customers to pass from the front to the rear. There were no
customers but Jennifer at that moment, she having put the 'closed' notice on
the door and locked it.

At seventeen Polly Clagget was modest and pretty and the epitome of every
mothers wish. Always sensibly dressed, kind to children, industrious in the
home and tireless in the workplace. Everyone agreed that when the right man
came along she would prove herself to be a credit to the community as a
dutiful wife and outstanding mother. But during a single brief meeting the
previous week the girl from Fairyfield had recognised certain elements in
Polly that had been common with girl's she had known at boarding school.
They were insignificant things mostly, just a particular nuance in a shy
smile and a little quiver when their hands touched, but put together they
were enough to tell Jennifer everything about Polly that all the others
missed.

"Nice huh?" Jennifer grinned, rolling soft malleable breast flesh in her
hands, before lifting it up and gently pulling it.

Polly whined a breathless reply. "Jennifer, you know you shouldn't do this,
you're making me a bad girl."

"Oh, but you are a bad girl Polly. I know you have passions bubbling inside
you that you don't let other people see, but I see them, and you know what I
do with bad girls, don't you?"
Polly blushed frantically as Jennifer heaved her forward against the shop
counter and pushed her across it.. Biting her lip she felt the back of her
skirt raised to reveal her attractive young bottom and the panties that
seemed rather inadequate to uphold the reputation of a modest girl.

Thwack! "OUCH!" She yelped as Jennifer's hand slapped her rear.

"Hold still," Jennifer demanded, pressing a hand into the middle of her back
and making her bared breasts squash down onto the countertop. "Bad girls
need smacks. Girls who have naughty thoughts have to be punished, and I know
you have lots of naughty thoughts."

Thwack! "OUCH! S-sorry." Her victims voice wobbled. "Sorry Jennifer."

"Quite right. Bad girls have to learn how to behave. That's important."

Thwack! "Oow! Yes Jennifer."

Jennifer practised considerable thought whilst issuing a spanking. If her
smacks were too light it made the likes of Monica Braithwaite roll about in
fits of giggles, while given too hard just about everyone became hysterical
with pain. With boys she applied something in between whilst assuming the
role of a stern matron; a series of stinging slaps that were keen enough to
induce shame, indignation and perhaps a few sorrowful tears, but which also
delivered a delicious, indefinable sense of naughtiness. Since Polly
appeared to respond well to being bullied and bossed about she thought that
to be the most appropriate treatment for her too.

Slipping a finger beneath the elastic of the girls pants she slid it around
the curve of one cheek. "Lift up Polly dear. Lift up for Jennifer and let
her take your pants down."

Panting slightly the girl eased the weight off her legs and allowed her
tormentors fingers to slid under her tummy and pull the knickers down over
her thighs. She may have thought her treatment insufferable, but she made no
attempt to stop it. There was nothing wishy-washy about Jennifer. She
demanded respect.

Thwack, thwack! "Ow!"

More spanks impacted onto a rump that was now utterly naked and Polly
couldn't hold back her yelps. She cried out not because of the pain, but
because of the wicked pleasure of it all. The pain was a fleeting thing that
only shocked for a moment, but it brought with it an insidious burning
sensation that lingered to arouse desires she'd always tried to keep in
check.

Jennifer took the opportunity presented by the girls helpless wriggling to
peep under the back of her thighs and observe the charms snuggled between
her legs. Audaciously she reached out to caress things, and to worm a
fingertip around the site of a blossoming clitoris.
"Gah, oh, oooh!" Polly responded only with moans, and when Jennifer's finger
became buried in the mouth of her soft vagina  the hot fluid of the girls
excitement welled up around them.

"Humph! Despite your goody-two-shoes image I bet you're a hot little raver
whenever you get a length of prick up there." said Jennifer.

"I - I don't let boys do that. I've promised mummy I'll be good."

Jennifer pulled a face. "Still the sweet prim virgin eh! But you could get
around that. There's more than one way to enjoy cock, some girls even prefer
it." She stroked a finger between the cheeks of Polly's bottom and probed
meaningfully at her anus. "I've got the equipment at home to give you a
sample if you fancy it. A small vibrator at first, then ..."

Polly shivered in horror, pressed her knees together and clenched her
bottom. "Oh god! No I couldn't. Not up my bum. Oh god, no!"

Jennifer's tummy rippled with pleasure at the girls desperate expression.
Such coyness was a delight and she was enjoying teasing her. "But Polly
dear, girls who wish to keep an unsullied pussy should offer something,
that's only polite. I can get hold of a plastic cock that that'll squirt cum
into you ..."

"No, no. Please Jennifer. Please don't talk dirty like that."

Jennifer's eyes became hooded with fierce desire as she hauled the
distraught Polly away from the counter. "It's not important. I can make do
with something else for the time being. Kneel down in front of me."

Polly flustered uncertainly. "Kneel down! I-I don't understand."

Jennifer gripped her shoulders and pushed her down, then raised her own
skirt to give her some hint of what was expected. Dragging the gusset of her
pants to one side she grabbed Polly by the hair and pulled her head between
her legs, inching forward until her glistening pussy was poised directly
over her upturned face.

"Eat me Polly. Make me cum with your mouth and tongue or I'll spank you
until you cry."

The girl swallowed hard. She had no idea what to do even with her eyes open,
but she let her instincts guide her, and when she found Jennifer's clitoris
she latched onto it and lapped avidly, letting the tender pleasure bean
throb against her tongue whilst scooping up the warm juice that flooded out
from the slit of her vagina. It was the first time she'd tasted intimate
girl flesh and feminine secretions, but the spanking and mistreatment had
aroused her to a high pitch. That she had never been with a girl before was
unimportant, what she was now doing was so erotic - so naughty.

Almost unaware of her hands, she reached down between her own thighs and her
fingers began to whirl madly around the sensitive nub of tissue that had
stiffened and now protruded from its tiny refuge at the entrance of her own
vagina. "Hmmmmph, glummmm!"

"You learn quickly," Jennifer remarked shakily as she crammed down on her
mouth, "But remember to let me cum first, A good girl should always see to
me properly before jerking herself off."

***

At the precise time that had been arranged Emma Twist brought her car to a
halt a short distance away from the small dwelling where lady Diana
Chance-Barton customarily entertained her boyfriends. Switching off the
headlights she turned to look at the two passengers in the back seat; Lucy
wearing a bathrobe and Mrs Amos wrapped in an old raincoat. Beauty and the
beast sat side by side she thought, and Mrs Amos wasn't the beauty.

Swinging her eyes towards the building she watched for movement, and seeing
none she glanced at her wristwatch. The day had been scorching hot and the
evening was humid, so she wasn't in the frame of mind to sit about waiting.

"We're on time, where the devil is that girl?" she seethed irritably. A few
moments passed and her patience ran out completely. "Come on you two, we'll
go in as we originally planned."

The house was half hidden behind a willow tree, built in the style of a
cottage with red-tiled gables, and having leaded windows and a door with a
decorative lantern above. The door was slightly ajar. Entering cautiously
and crossing the inside lobby Emma risked peeking into some of the rooms,
and it was while pushing at an internal door that she encountered the
flustering figure of Monica Braithwaite.

"Is everything okay Monica?"

The girl looked agitated and alarmed. "I did what Jennifer said an' put that
stuff in her ladyship's tea, Miss Twist. Bloody knocked her out it as.
Crikey! I hopes I's not killed her."

Emma brushed her aside. "Stop fussing girl. It was only a sedative, a little
chloral hydrate, nothing to worry about. Matron is quite used to dealing out
such things. Is anyone else about?"

"No, her ladyship's latest gennelman fella' left ages ago." replied Monica,
quaking with nervousness. "I's done what Jennifer said, an' now I don't want
no more to do wi' it."

"Wait outside then, but don't wander off. I'll need you to tidy up and
secure things when we're finished."

Mrs Amos nodded at the girl, and Monica responded with, "'Lo, Auntie Flo'."
Typically rural, thought Emma. Everybody related to everybody else.

Peering through the door she viewed a neat little room holding a broad pine
dresser and a large bed with a coat-of-arms on the headboard. Lady Diana was
laying naked and spread-eagled on top of the bedcovers, motionless apart
from the steady rise and fall of her chest.

The corners of Emma's mouth turned up in approval as she observed the
hairless thighs and puffed-out lips of the aristocratic vagina. "She
depilates - that makes for good clear pictures." she murmured to herself.

She strode boldly forward with Mrs Amos and Lucy following gingerly behind,
then swinging a travel-bag from her shoulder she unzipped it and delved
inside. A moment later her hand drew out a large strap-on plastic penis.
"Take off your coat Mrs Amos and buckle this thing on."

The woman grasped the stout shaft in her hand and ran her fingers up and
down its length, her lips thrusting out in appreciation as she did so. "Is I
gunna have to shag her ladyship, miss?"

The remark brought a look of disgust to Emma's face. "Certainly not, you
depraved old crone. We're here to discredit her, not rape her. Just a few
pictures of you wearing that thing and stroking it against her in a few
intimate places will be sufficient for our purpose."
Ignoring the unconcealed disappointment in the other woman she turned to
Lucy. "You get your clothes off too."

>From the travel-bag she then took the camera she'd borrowed from Mr
Hardwick. A self-loading thing with an integral flash and automatic focus
and light meter. The top of its range and only needing someone to point it
and press a button to produce a quality photograph. She smiled sardonically
at the unconscious figure on the bed.
"Now milady, be sure to put on a good show for me."

***

"Are you awake? Are you awake Amanda?"

Amanda rolled over and squinted at the luminous dial of his watch.
"I am now you've woken me up Sammy. It's 2 am, and you should be asleep.
Everybody should be asleep at 2 am."

"I'm not sleepy at all, and I want some company. Can I get into bed with
you?"

"No you can't. I know what you want."

"Oh yes, and just what would that be?"

"You'll want to kiss me - and - and then shag me."

"Stop being such a know-it-all clever clogs and let me in. Just for a few
minutes."

"No, I saw you out on the catch earlier. You were chasing after Jemima just
because he says his breasts are getting bigger."

"Oh, I'm off Jemima, it's you I really want to be with."

"Is it really? Is that the truth?"

"Of course it is, cross my heart. Look, move over and let me get in with
you. It's horrible standing here in the dark"

Amanda rubbed his eyes and peered up at the figure shrouded in the gloom of
the dormitory.
"It's your own fault if your cold. You're practically naked, you're only
wearing knickers."

Groping at the bedcovers Sammy pulled them back impatiently. "Never mind
about that, just move over and give me some room. "Hey! You're not wearing
pyjamas either, you're starkers. That must means you were hoping I'd come
and visit you tonight."

"You could have come earlier than 2 am. In a few hours time Mrs Pardoe will
be shouting for everyone to get up, and I'll have to shake you and shake you
to get you out of bed."

"COME ALONG GIRLS, GET UP OR YOU'LL MISS YOUR BREAKFAST. GET UP, GET UP!"

Amanda giggled and his belly wobbled like a jelly on a plate as Sammy
mimicked the tutor to perfection, making a stern face and stretching his
chin in the peculiar manner of Mrs Pardoe when she was exerting her
authority. "Tee, hee! You sound just like her when you talk in that
hoity-toity way."

"It's lovely and warm laying here with you and I'm feeling better now. Have
you got enough pillow?"

"Yes, I've got lots thanks. I say, do you really like me better than
Jemima?"

"Course I do, you're my real sweetheart, and Jemima lied about his tits
anyway. They haven't got any bigger at all."

"Guess what! While you were away chasing him I had kisses with Nicola."

"Huh! Nicola's a cow. He's anybody's. And you're a gay-girly for going with
him."

"He likes me and I like him a ton. He kept stroking my bum and he wanted to
take me to bed - but I didn't go 'cos I like you a ton more."

Sammy reached over and gathered Amanda up with an arm about his waist. Soft,
smooth and slender, the boy melted against his skin. "Let's have some
kissy-cuddles whilst we play with each other." he suggested.

"Mmm, yes! That's a super idea."

"Help me get my pants off."

Amanda placed his hands on his friends silky hips. The skin was warm and he
could feel a soft pulsing, and something else. Before the pants were off
Sammy's pretty cock was standing to attention. "Hey! You've got a hard-on
already. I knew you would have."

Their mouths merged and in seconds they were rolling their tongues together.
Sammy then started to lick Amanda's neck, and then nibble it.

"Don't you dare give me love bites," the other boy scolded anxiously, "I
don't know why I'm so nice to you after you've been off with Jemima" He
pushed up his chest, "Do you think my breasts are getting bigger?"

"Why yes, I really think they are, and your little nips look awfully sexy
when they stand up."

"Jemima as nice nips too, and he's quite pretty."

"He's not as pretty as you."

"Is that the truth? Is it really the truth?"

"Of course it is."

"I want to be pretty for you Sammy. I want to be pretty so I can make you
sexy."

"Mmm! Don't stop playing with me Amanda. You wank me better than anyone else
in the whole dorm'."

"Honestly?"

"Oh yes, honest. You always make me cum beautifully."

"You do lots of cum-stuff. Lot's more than me."

"That must be because you're better at hand-jobbing than I am. Certainly
better than Gloria. I passed the shower-room earlier and she had all the
boys from the end room standing naked and in line. She had a cock in each
hand and she was doing them two at a time."

"Yuk! She's gross," Amanda wrinkled his nose, remembering his own encounter
with Gloria on his arrival at Fairyfield.

Sammy agreed. "Doing it for each other is much nicer."

Amanda wasn't a girl. But there on that bed he shared with another pretty
sissy, playing with a dreamy boys cock, he didn't mind being a girl, a girl
called Amanda. "Yes it is. Your prick gets awfully big when I play with it,
Sammy.

"Yours comes up a nice size too."

"Not as big as yours. I bet yours is nearly as big as old Hard-dick's."

"Oh Amanda, you are a darling. You're making me terribly randy and I want to
screw your pooper."

"I knew that's what you wanted."

"Well, can I? I'll suck you off afterwards. I know how you like to squirt in
my mouth even if you don't like me doing it in your own."

"Well okay. As long as you're not too rough."

"Where's your KY?" Being familiar with Amanda's bed Sammy didn't await a
reply but just slipped his hand beneath the pillow and dragged out a
part-used tube. "You'll need to get some more before too long."

"You use-up most of it. Haven't you got any of your own?"

"Stingy matron won't give me tick, and I haven't any pocket money until the
end of the month. Nanette reckons she's on the fiddle. She charges twice the
price one would pay in a shop. Here! Turn onto your side and let me get
behind you."

Amanda rolled over without any more complaints. Abigail had introduced him
to anal sex of course. He had never known a boy could be so strong, so big,
so hard as when Abigail first plunged into him, drilling him, taking his
time. It had been wonderful. The head-girl had pushed the head of his cock
against his tight little hole and kept pushing until it went in, and he was
surprised how it made him feel stuffed and sexy. Ooh, it had been an
incredible funny feeling that made him almost drown in pleasure. The
head-girl had told him to move his bum about slowly, which he did, and it
had not hurt at all as he rocked back and forth on it, then Abigail had
started pushing, and finally fucking to his hearts content.

Abigail had buggered him on two consecutive nights, and Hardwick had
sodomised him on the third, but it was his relationship with Sammy that had
the most lasting impression. He'd had a crush on Sammy since the moment
they'd met and it was Sammy that had introduced him to sweet sensuality. The
first time they'd had a chance to be lone Sammy had undressed in front of
him, and he hadn't been coy about revealing his dimpled body, or his cock.
Amanda had watched, enthralled like a gormless twit, and when his friend had
invited him to lay with him and stroke his nakedness he'd jumped at the
chance. Then Sammy had undressed him too, and he'd felt utterly weak and
helpless as his flesh melted onto a pair of alien toying hands that caressed
him everywhere. He knew that sort of thing was gay, but he'd been told lots
of boys in boarding schools did homo-stuff with each other, and it didn't
mean they were really gay. Anyway, it was much nicer and more daring than
just parading for his mother's women friends while wearing a little girl's
frock, and Sammy's hands were heaps more exciting than theirs had been when
they stroked him.

At first some of the things they did to each other had shocked him, but sexy
sensations soon took hold and he could then only moan and wish for more.
They'd moaned as they masturbated together, sighed when they did it for each
other and gagged with bliss as they each ejaculated. Then finally he had let
Sammy fuck him.

"Do you want me to lube your bum-hole, or do you want to do it for
yourself?" Sammy asked.

"You do it." Amanda replied softly in reply.

In the near pitch darkness Sammy squeezed a generous blob of sweet smelling
lubricating  jelly onto the tip of a finger and smiled as he waggled it
around. "Okay! Take a breath and hold on tight. Here comes Mr Wiggleworm."

"Aah! Hey, steady on with your finger, you brute."

"Don't be so grumpy. You're narrow tonight, and I've got to open you up a
little bit or I'll have frightful job getting started."

"Ooeuw!" Amanda winced as Sammy slotted in his penis into a well oiled
rectum, thrust halfway, then paused, waiting for Amanda to finish shuddering
before starting again. Then he moved effortlessly up inside him, driving
deep to savour the tightness and the cloying heat that enveloped it.

"You're a perfect fit." Amanda murmured as he felt the movement of stiff
flesh sheathed to the hilt inside him, firm and insistent and still pushing.
He hovered in a spread of golden light with eyes tight shut and his breath
coming in short, sharp gasps, the lance that impaled him banishing all
modesty.

"Am I really? Is it really okay?" asked Sammy.

"Yes, you're just right. Keep moving, jerk around inside me a little bit."

"You said not to be rough."

"I don't mind if you're a little bit rough, and you can't do me properly if
you just lay still."

"Well lean over slightly so I can get on top a bit more." Sammy then clammed
his slim hips firmly in place and started bucking his thighs while Amanda
threw back his head and groped behind to encourage the trust of his friends
buttocks.
"Is this what you want?" panted Sammy.

"Yes," answered Amanda, spitting the words between clenched teeth, "You're
not as big as Hard-dick, but it feels much better than when he does it."

"Maybe we should invite Nicola to join us one evening, then you could find
out how much you really like him."

"Nicola! You mean him and we two - the three of us together?"

"It'll be nice. Nicola's a champ at threesomes, we could have a  lot of
fun."

Sammy pushed hard into his young boyfriend, straining into him, and a surge
of feeling made Amanda speechless as their two bodies both seemed to burn
with excitement. He could feel the excitement inside, making him open an
close on the other boys flesh.

"Ooh, darling! I can feel you stabbing up inside my belly, you randy dog."
he moaned at last.
"Owww! You're tight - and if I'm a dog then you're a bitch, and I'm going to
give you puppies. I'm going to fill you full of doggy-cum - aah - aaah!"

Sammy gripped Amanda around the waist and became paralysed as his body
contracted with sudden waves of pleasure. His breathing became coarser and
more ragged, and he moaned.
"Ooh - ooh! Amanda, " he panted, his thighs suddenly jerking violently, "I'm
spunking in your bum. It's lovely. Oh Amanda - unnggghhh!"