Fairyfield Grange

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh sir, ooh!"

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

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

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

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

"Oh, oh - Sssugar!" Trudy gasped.

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

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

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

"Ooh sir, oooh!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So what!"

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

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

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

"No way!" Jemima cried.

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

"We haven't got any pants on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do when I'm allowed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They're wicked, miss."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wooow!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"His he badly hurt?" asked Wendy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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