Fairyfield Grange

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes miss, yes you are pretty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you like Jennifer?"

"She's a fine girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lady Diana!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And he can be pressed into being discreet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you fuck Abigail, Judd?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thwack! "Oow! Yes Jennifer."

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

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

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

Thwack, thwack! "Ow!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is everything okay Monica?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you awake? Are you awake Amanda?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is it really? Is that the truth?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Help me get my pants off."

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

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

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

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

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

"He's not as pretty as you."

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

"Of course it is."

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

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

"Honestly?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yours comes up a nice size too."

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

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

"I knew that's what you wanted."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You said not to be rough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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