Showtime

The people gathered in the anteroom at Dovecott that night were of a different composition to those encountered the first time the Frilly Follies had made a visit. No more than a dozen or so people had been invited, a small, select number of Bertie Bestable's close friends. There was Marmeluke Dobbs of course, and there was also a Darcy and a Dennis, and a jovial red-faced American captain of industry called Harry together with an Italian diplomat called Mr Frascatti, and there was a James, and a Robert and an Adrian. All were eminent, top-ranking men in their own way, barristers, business executives, bureaucrats and key men in renowned financial institutions. While high-society gravure magazines still depicted how the nobility and country gentry spent their time, a new class of rich people had emerged and a few of them belonged to Bertie's set. There was also Horace Pratt, invited not because of his status but because he was being rewarded for doing some questionable favours recently.

A blue fug of cigar smoke curled up towards the ceiling amid a murmur of earnest conversation, soft laughter and the clink of glasses. The voices that night were different too; there were quick-witted responses and relaxed movements in that large and comfortable room. Affluence was made obvious, Bertie was sybaritic and maintained a magnificent house which he loved to show off. It was crowded with objects so closely packed they looked like prizes at a funfair. Rich gold lighting picked out the superb mouldings high on the walls, then there was the marble mantelpieces and Adam furniture, and the glittering facets of cut-glass chandeliers that shone through the bubbles of copious amounts of champagne.

The ambience was colourful and friendly, but women were thin on the ground. The female element of the company that night was composed only of the indomitable Mrs Van Damme and her young niece, Clementine, together with that habitual hanger-on, Annalisa Gordeno. Annalisa never seemed to miss out on anything.

Jennifer Hancock kept her own company, purposely avoiding Bertie, who she considered to be a ponderous, mincing fop who affected a lisp, dressed like a peacock and pompously held himself to be a man of great intellect. Her mother had once said that time was the only reliable lens with which to view someone's character, but when Madame had introduce him to her on her previous visit she had detected something instantly. He had the soft, uncalloused hands of a sedentary man without manual skills, but a part of her brain thought he shook hands like a thief - even though she couldn't remember shaking hands with a real thief.

When she had a moment free she contented herself by wandering into the small enclave next to the anteroom. There, two girls of about her own age - one blond and sleek, the other dark haired and slightly shorter - stood by a table near the door serving drinks. Both were attired in crisp white blouses and black skirts. "Drink? Wine, Champagne?" the blond one asked.

"Just Perrier water will do." she replied, helping herself from a tray.

"You with the show biz people that's here tonight?" enquired the dark haired one.

She nodded.

"You a stripper?"

Jennifer chuckled. "No, I've just been press-ganged into helping out. Carrying things about and generally being handy."

The girl grinned back. "Tracy and me used to do striptease for the boys when we were at school, but you need time and practise to do it proper."

"You shouldn't tell that to everyone you meet, Sharon." her friend cautioned.

The one called Sharon trailed a fingertip over the tip of her right breast. "They have some right sexy floor shows here some nights. The doors are closed when they start an' we're not supposed to look, but we have a peep sometimes. They're enough to get a girl going they are."

"Enough to get a girl coming too, I expect." remarked Jennifer.

The girls behind the table giggled at the obvious double entendre. "Shame your not in the show, you look good enough to be a stripper. I bet you've got talent too."

Jennifer half turned and looked over her shoulder at the two of them. "I'll see about showing you some of my talent later if you're still around."

"Can't wait." Tracy sniggered.

Jennifer moved on. She was careful to ensure Toby Parkin only had water too. With Samson on the point of collapse Madame had sought to enlist Horace to drive for her, but had discovered he'd been invited as a guest that night and hell would freeze over before he'd agree to arrive at Dovecott at the wheel of a hired transit van. However, with the Follies being so important to his host and mindful that the event was integral to the amount of money she could give him the following week he'd assisted by bullying his shop manager to do the work.

She was tired and didn't want to be there. After helping to unload the vans she was feeling grubby and sweaty and more than anything wanted to have a good bath, but out of curiosity she peeped into the room where the guests were gathered, expecting to be impressed by the long dresses of fine silks and hand embroidery worn by the women and the carefully tailored evening suits of the men. It was a scene in which she herself would not be accepted. Being attached to the hired entertainment gave her status that was below the house staff and only someone like Madame Dupont would be permitted to mingle with the people there. The skirt and blouse she was wearing was hardly dressy enough for joining them, and anyway, cigar smoke made her eyes water.

She felt prickly. Years of living in the north of England had set her apart from southerners whose preoccupation's seemed parochial. Sometimes such people would ask her where she came from, but they'd never been near the places she mentioned and soon got bored. She'd become used to that and was prepared for it now.

What she was not prepared for was the sight of the small, somewhat stooped, bespectacled septenagerian who was being wheeled through the opposite door in an invalid chair. The mass of people in the room crowded around him and greeted him with solicitous curtesy, and the old man shook hands with all and sundry. "It's the Earl." someone murmured to emphasis his importance, and there seemed to be an abstract sound of thunder.

Despite being told that the evening would be informal Hugh, Earl of Dewy wore a dinner suit tailored in a style that was conservative, not to say old fashioned, and he wore a wing-collar rather than the turned-down style he said was only favoured by men who led dance bands. The right foot below the bottom of his trousers was in a plaster-cast which betrayed some kind of injury to his leg, and he was being manoeuvred and tended by a private nurse, young and attractive, who had donned an evening dress for the occasion.

"I hope Bertie has got something worth half the trouble of bringing me here." rumbled the old man, "I hate imperfection. Freaks and deformity, clowns and midgets, animals dressed as humans and vice versa. They're all abominations to me, and I have no sympathy."

Eager for the chance to ingratiate himself with nobility Horace Pratt pushed himself forward. "Quite right, y'onour. In the dictionary sympathy comes between sod 'em an' syphilis, don't it? If you're ever in need o' three crosses an' nine long nails just call on Horace Pratt, supplier-of-requirments extrodinaire."

The belligerent octogenarian paused to give him a hostile glare, which a moment later he transferred to his nephew. "Bertie, I said I don't like clowns. Just what have you got lined up for tonight?"

The face of the man's nephew creased in a rakish grin. "Oh - um - boys actually, uncle. Boys wearing girls clothes."

The crotchety old man seemed suddenly mollified. He had old eyes, decadent eyes, dimmed by age and hardened by excessive depravity. "Hm, well yes. That I can tolerate. Boys dressed as girls. Interesting!"

"Would you like a drink, uncle? Some champagne?"

"Claret," the old man replied almost savagely, "Champagne is a drink for girls and chinless virgin boys. Real men prefer red wine."

When the old man had moved on Horace knocked the ash from his cigar into a conveniently situated Royal Doulton saucer and nudged Bertie in the ribs. "Y'know, I think his earlship an' me hit it off okay. I reckon him and I will do business one day."

Bertie groaned. "Get yourself another drink, Horace." He recalled that Einstein had once said only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and he wasn't sure about the former. Now he knew what the man meant.

"It promises to be a fine evening." Horace remarked as he looked around for the whisky decanter, "Madame Dupont allus puts on a good raunchy show."

"It will be a superb show tonight. Since Uncle Hugh is here I've arranged for her Tottenham tap-dancers to lay on something extra-special. Cost me a pretty-penny I can tell you, but I intend to have my money back." He beckoned with his hand and leaned forward conspiratorially. "When do you exchange contracts for 19 Nob Street?"

"Next week."

"Right. Now then, tomorrow I want you to up the asking price of the house by ten percent. You're selling it off far too cheap at the moment."

"An increase! A hike at this stage o' the game?"

"The place is in on Tottenham Court Road for goodness sake. It's practically the West-End, Central London. We'd be foolish to let it go for less."

Horace Pratt looked dubious. "I don't reckon Elise Dupont's got any more cash I can squeeze out of her."

"If she hasn't got the means to pay there are other people who will have. I'm in business, Horace. I'm not the woman's fairy-godmother nor do I run a charity."

Some of Bertie's friends viewed him as an enigma - a man who simply enjoyed spending money in bizarre ways. His particular passion recently involved Slavic iconic paintings, but there were other works there too that could have been the product of van Eych or even Verrochio, and there was an Old Testament prophet and a papal portrait possibly in the school of Titian.

Marmaluke Dobbs looked somewhat gloomy has he studied a small fifteenth-century Flemish diptych that Bertie had recently purchased in Geneva, wondering if it was an original or just a clever copy.

"So! Howyadoin' Dobbo?" asked American Harry, slicing into his thoughts. "Bertie mentioned to me last week you were on the track of some old treasure of immense interest."

The lecturer in antiquities gazed balefully across the room to where Horace Pratt had a decanter of whisky under siege.

"Um. False trail, m'boy. What looked like Ubaid pottery in a photograph turned out to be something else entirely when I examined it. The right shape of course, the right appearance, not an ordinary amphorae, stone rather than clay, more like an incense-burner. But when I had it in my hands I found it was composed of sand and cement, and far from being an ancient relic, it was marked on the bottom as SANKEY & SONS, 1973."

If Jennifer Hancock could have heard him she could have denied none of it. Whilst buying a plastic plant-pot for Marianne at a garden-centre she had come across a vessel that was almost the exact size and shape of the stone urn at Number 19. Knowing Horace had never studied it closely before, without a pang of conscience she'd risked a substitution, and the original item was now safely ensconced with her mother in Yorkshire, together with all the earthenware containers.

"Tough luck." drawled Harry, shaking his head.

"Yes, confounded tough luck." Marmaluke agreed. "Strangely enough though, just this afternoon I received a phone-call from some woman up north who claims she's come into possession of a large number of Ubaid artefacts she wishes to have verified as authentic. "It's poppycock of course. Utter piffle. You know what women are like. She's probably bought a job-lot of pathetic amateur-craft stuff from a jumble sale and convinced herself its treasure. The size of the collection makes it laughable. Such a vast number of antediluvian pieces in one place would make it akin to finding Noah's Ark itself."

Since there was no port wine around he sipped delicately at a martini. "I've told my researcher Patterson-Jones he can go and have a look if he wants to waste his time, but I'm not about to go on another wild goose chase."

A moment later Bertie tapped a teaspoon against his wine glass and the room fell silent. "Let's all go through into the music-room, everyone. The entertainment is about to begin."

That evening the music room was entered from the reception area through two folding doors with sixteenth-century flower paintings on the panels, and there were spotlights mounted above a specially constructed platform paved in red velvet. The curtains were drawn and the air was thick with concentration. Faces were flushed, expectant and excited, well into the grip of lustful fever, sitting forward, eyes aglitter as the music started, the deep, pulsing beat of Bolero. Every seat was taken and soon enough the babble of voices receded.

Bambi appeared, a small unclothed body with a sweet, pixie-like face garnished with the mouth of a decadent angel. A slight gasp rose up in the room when he came on, bright eyes peeping coyly over the top of a paper fan. The enormous heavily feathered fans he'd employed previously had been replaced by smaller paper affairs, and although he used them in the prescribed fashion during his gyrations they never succeeded in covering the same territory as their predecessors and effectively afforded tantalising half-glimpses of parts that had previously been masked. He'd been instructed not to worry about that, since the main point was to allow everyone to have gratuitous glimpses of the little boner bouncing on his testicles.

Wide-eyed and winsome, he jigged and skipped. Moving daintily and with grace, small and still muscularly undeveloped in a masculine way, he was perfectly proportioned and danced divinely, his face a picture of sexual invitation, his smile wicked and beckoning. The eyes of the entire audience caressed his flesh. "Dinky!" approved someone aloud, "Absolutely grand!"

A whole line of boys then took the floor, all fully girlied up yet each displaying a glorious dangle of sissy jewels as they danced. Music thumped, it drummed as rhythmically as a heartbeat, vibrating through all the skulls and pulsing, jointed bodies in the room. The audience nodded in time, gawping at the glossy curls and diaphanous floaty dresses as they swirled before them. The delicacy of their features, the fine unblemished skin and the soft, warm tone of their cheeks. Their slender necks and smooth throats that still rejected the development of a visible larynx - and their darling little mouths, each one a temptation, each one a tender testament of youth that invited kisses.

Blending the exuberance of boys with the elegance of girls they moved with delicacy and beguiling grace, unashamedly using wanton feminine wiles to arouse and stimulate. Every movement of their lithe forms was performed with canny awareness. Each swing of the hips, every tilt of their heads may have been endlessly posed and practised, but in the dance all such moves seemed amazingly spontaneous. Winsome young genitals swung daintily beneath little skirts spread like swallows wings. There was no hesitancy about their girlishness, no guilt, no self-doubt or remorse, they were all utterly comfortable with the way they presented themselves

In the semicircle of avid spectators men's trousers became taut about their groins. They gasped and stared as they caught the pearly gleam of flawless skin, bright as mother-of-pearl in the bright lights. "They look divine," Harry muttered quietly to Marmaluke as he watched the dancers hands deftly brush their soft bags of tender jewels, "Takes me back to my high-school days."

"In America?"

"Yeah, Wisconsin. I was in the football team, my boyfriend was a cheerleader."

When the chorus line made their exit Felicity swept into the room looking ethereal in a waspwaisted satin basque, purple, sewn with delicate lace and tiny silk bows, which pushed his chest upwards to create a half-convincing little bosom. He also wore long dark stockings and a bandeau adored with soft white feathers, and his shoes had heels that looked like they could puncture concrete. His secondment for the evening had been suggested by Jennifer, and his mother, still in some awe of the teenage girl, had obligingly conceded to her demand.

He was not a dancer and had been given only minimal coaching, but like so many youngsters the same age as himself he could move with imagination when playing pop music in his bedroom, and a nice lithe shape, prettily decorated and moving with imagination was all that was needed that night to fill in ten minutes while the others changed costume. And he did have the natural sense of rhythm Madame considered so vital in a performer.

He also displayed other aspects to appreciate. The satiny fabric of his outfit was overtly sexual, and his small pubescent bosom, bared and lifted by the tight bodice, had pert nipples that were pink and erect. He also swung a fine cock and a lovely pair of balls. His penis appeared to be semi-erect, and bobbed up and down for the entire performance and Jennifer had tied a ribbon around his testicles to make them bulge like plums in a bag. It was the first time he'd shown himself in drag and the first time he'd flaunted his uncovered genitals and the enticing thrust of his bare bottom in public, but his sweet hot blushes and overt shyness gave an additional immense thrill to those who observed him.

In the wings Marianne straightened the lace of his electric-blue outfit, chosen because it matched his eyes and brought out the honeyed highlights in his hair. As was usual he was astonishingly beautiful. His golden tresses sparkled in the lamplight. Madame had assured him that he'd never looked lovelier, and he felt it was true.

In a swirl of silks and lace he suddenly appeared before a mesmerised audience, silhouetted in the bright lights with the riveting self-consciousness that only experience brings, the soft folds of his outfit draping themselves bewitchingly over his slim figure. His eyes were brilliant, his cheeks as soft as a rose petals, but it wasn't until Jennifer heard the high notes of an angel chorus and the plunges notes of a piano that she remembered Marianne's routine had been changed to blend with a recent popular music hit entitled Dancing Queen.

"Friday night and the lights are low Looking out for a place to go ..."

His slender toned body moved to the beat, the coloured spotlights flashed across him, illuminating the scanty garments that hid so much and so little. The material pressed against his cock - an enlarged boner now - as his hips rotated to the tempo of the music.

"You're a teaser, you turn 'em on Leave 'em burning and then you're gone Looking out for another. Anyone will do You're in the mood for a dance..."

He turned, slim and alluringly moulded, more perfect and flowing than a man could imagine and it fitted perfectly with his small breasts and softly rounded hips and with his shapely young thighs devoid of hair.

"Dancing Queen - feel the beat of the tambourine, oh yeah!"

His movements became synchronised with the music. Bumping his hips to the rhythm he turned slowly to display all aspects of his body, then he pressed his fingers to the thin material stretched across his remarkable penis, a patch of cloth that barely covered his ball-sack.

"You can dance, you can jive. Having the time of your life See that girl. Watch that scene. Diggin' the Dancing Queen."

His hands snaked up his body, caressing it, stroking it as they moved, then went behind his back to unfasten his bra. Completing his divestment he stands before them, exposing the small satin globes of his breasts, his body slim and milky. Marianne was always pretty, but during a performance when he knew a multitude of eyes were riveted him, he became radiant. In a symphony of concerted movement he swept a hand across his body, lightly, all over. His stomach was flat but his waist dipped and his hips curved. His head became untilted in a trance of joyous achievement as the music faded, nipples erect, his lips parting as if imploring a kiss.

In the cramped area next door that had been allocated as a dressing-room everything was dash and bustle between acts. Madame hovered, calming ruffled nerves and soothing uncertainties while generally trying to control events. On the whole her nymphs had been rehearsed so well and had performed so often there was little trouble with stage-fright. Real problems came from the unpredictable - the audio-system throwing a tantrum, a broken zip during a rushed costume change, someone wandering off to the toilet seconds before he was due to go on. But if all went well in due course the music would begin, chins would lift, deep breathes would be taken and off they would go, bouncing into the auditorium with a smile, delighted to be there and loving it.

That night the repeated applause signified the Frilly Follies was meeting with approval, and the cast, ever responsive to an audience's mood were buoyant as a result, sharp on cue and flirting with witty repostes among themselves.

Candy swung round while still adding lipstick to an already vivid mouth. "Did anyone see that frayed looking man on the sofa who looked like a travelling salesman? His was flashing something from the front of his trousers, and it wasn't a wallet."

Everyone began tittering, and then Amber called across the room. "That skinny fella with the little 'tash was watching you all the time, Prudence. I think he fancies your arse."

Prudence paused in fastening the tops of his nylons to the straps of a suspender belt and gave his neat rump an affectionate pat. "You never know. This could be his lucky night." he grinned.

Moments later there was an audible gasp as the line-dancers went on. They were wearing a surfeit of vinyl, nylon, leather and felt that seemed improbable but suitably cowboyish in a fetish sort of way; black corsets, black stockings and red cowboy boots, with a black cowboy hat on their heads fasted by a drawstring under the chin. There was nothing at all to conceal the natural attributes of flesh bouncing between their legs. They began backing and advancing as a manful baritone gave voice from the speakers.

'Bless your beautiful hide wherever you may be. We ain't met yet but I'm a-willin' to bet, you're the gal for me...'

"Well, yippee-kye-ay." heckled Harry, slapping his thigh.

'...Pretty an trim but not too slim, Heavenly eyes, and just the right size, Simple and sweet - an' sassy as can be ...'

Bertie Bestable beamed. "Some cabaret, eh? Not exactly amateur burlesque, is it? These days everyone wants to see them."

When the music petered away and the performers finally disappeared from the floor, the audience remained stunned for a moment. It was as if the eye-opening antics of so much sissiness had traumatised them. Taking to the floor himself Bertie Bestable addressed his guests. "I do believe we've all been royally entertained this evening."

"Oh my, what a feast!" said a tubby little merchant banker, eyes bugging out like stoppers. "I was told to expect quite a spread, but I didn't expect a banquet."

"The dancers were - em - ravishing." approved the man called Dennis.

"Madame Dupont certainly knows the way to a man's vital organs." concurred Adrian.

"The performance was stunning." Harry agreed. "A glorious riot of colour and all wickedly done. The costumes were so dazzling, the music so foot-tapping."

"Heart-lifting." said Marmeluke.

"Cock-raisin'." added Horace Pratt.

"I'd love to meet them." Put in Adrian, his eyes as big as saucers and his trousers tight against his swollen hard-on.

"Well, so you shall, so don't wander away. Everyone remain here. The dancers will be returning shortly."

"An encore?"

Bertie grinned cryptically, the picture of an effusive and perfect genial host. "Something more elaborate than that. So far you've only had an aperitiff." He glanced at the nurse, at Annalisa and at Mrs Van Damme and her niece. "Perhaps the ladies would prefer to withdraw to another room."

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Mrs Van Damme, "None of us here are vestal virgins."

Annalisa patted her coiffure. "I - I think I will go for a wander around," she said somewhat dripily, "there's so much of interest to see in this old house."

The double oak doors at the side of the room swung open and the dancers appeared as a gaggle of sparkling eyed, almost naked eroticism. Some had retained stockings and high heels, but generally they were wearing nothing more than a few items of dress jewellery.

Carelessly Bambi gave the heavy oak door an extra shove as he strolled through, not realising that Horace Pratt was standing behind it in exactly the wrong place. BONK! "Doh!" The door swung back with such force that it slammed against Horace and hit him solidly in the face, and as if detonated by dynamite his nose exploded in a crimson starburst. He spluttered, cursed and staggered back as blood began to stream down the front of his white shirt, but no one else seemed to notice. All eyes were turned to the figures entering the room.

"Come in my dears, come in." coaxed Bertie throwing back his hand with the kind of flourish that game-show hosts usually keep for introducing the Star Prize. Then to his guests. "Don't be shy. You'll find our young - um - showgirls not disinclined to be friendly to gentlemen, and I guarantee they will accommodate you with more than just conversation."

It was Bertie's special treat. He'd offered Madame an amount of money she couldn't afford to refuse in her present circumstances. Payment in exchange for entertainment of the most questionable and lascivious kind.

Giggling mischievously the gorgeous nymphs shook their little backsides as they shimmied into the room,. Their eyes were made up to a dazzling bedroom shine while their mouths were an invitation to serial kissing. They were sissy perfection in impeccable make-up and wearing little else. They peeled left and right as they entered, naked and wriggling seductively, moving their pretty bottoms in a teasing way. Girls but not girls, eventually pausing and slowly turning to allow an appreciative inspection of their charms. One with neat little plaits of hair coiled on the sides of his head decorated with feverfew, giggled and held hands to his cheeks with apparent delight as he posed to display assets more desirable than anything in Threadneedle Street.

Parading before men always made madame Dupont's darlings breathless and gushy with expectation, and everyone revelled at the sight of their overall physical structure from which unceasing vigorous activity had burned away all trace of baby-fat. It was clear to everyone there that this after-the-show get-together with the caste wasn't intended for idle chit-chat or serious discussion. The flood of naked bodies solicited close encounters of the most depraved kind, and the boys - girls - whatever they were, were fully prepared to participate.

Even so, Bertie Bestable's guests didn't move at first. There was an air of expectancy, as if everyone was holding their breath and watching each other. They sat agog, astounded by the wonders on offer but waiting for someone else to make the first move.

There was a brief whispered conversation between Earl Hugh and his nurse, and then the young woman strode boldly forward, took Bambi by the hand and led him across to the man in the invalid chair.

Hugh, the wizened Earl of Dewy slumped back, his thin wrists and long gnarled hands masked with paper-like skin protruding from white shirt cuffs adorned with gold and enamelled lapis lazuli cufflinks. The earl's etched face grimaced slightly, becoming red and glistening with lustful anticipation right up to his half bald head blotched with liver spots. "My, but aren't you a pretty thing?" he said as he scooped an arm around the slim waist of the young sissy brought to his side.

Wearing nothing but a little blush and some lipstick Bambi's doe-eyes sparkled with shy, girlish amusement and he smiled at him, showing teeth that were perfect and white. Whilst the earl avidly contemplated the youthful beauty in his embrace the pretty nurse crouched down to unfasten her patients fly and lever out the fleshy knoblet of his cock. When she was happy with the way the earls trouser front was splayed open and the flaccid penis was exposed she pulled Bambi down by her side and encouraged him to encircle the slack flesh with a small, soft hand and begin to jerk it. Bambi was reluctant to touch the skeletal man's body and even more reluctant to fondle his withered organ, but the nurse insisted. "Toss him off, sweetheart." she whispered.

Bambi did as she urged. The old man felt the resonance of the young hand vibrate, and sighed. Relaxing, he slowly entwined his fingers across his belly.

That broke the ice. Mrs Van Damme's niece-cum-transvestite companion, Clementine, strode over to pounce on Marianne before anyone else could get to him. The sissy's surprised giggle pealed around the room like a glass bell as she brushed her hips gently against him. "Marianne! Come with me. Over here. Mrs Van Damme insists."

Marianne looked at her, wide-eyed. "Oh, I don't think I ..."

"Come!" Clementine repeated sternly. She took hold of his arm and he felt claimed; claimed and confused. Confused and flattered and a little bit nervy, he allowed himself to be led over to the light-green brocade settee that Mrs Van Damme had commandeered for herself and Clementine. The woman was waiting, sitting regally, eccentrically dressed in an extraordinary silk pyjama ensemble, her neck weighed down by a rope of silver encrusted amethysts. "Come and sit here." she said in her high fluted tone, patting the seat beside her.

The men, until that moment just onlookers, then rose up from their chairs and crowded around the other sissies in a tight jostling circle to claim one for themselves. Like vultures they fed on the eroticism, and in little more than the blink of an eye all of Madame Dupont's semi-naked little darlings had an eager patron.

Amber sat on the end of a sofa beside the American called Harry, face flushed with excitement, knees drawn primly together. He could have been an advertisement for the Ovalteenie's except his air of innocence was wrecked by the stiff penis standing out from his thighs and pointing at the ceiling.

Harry placed a friendly arm about his shoulders and hugged him. The androgynous girly-thing wanted it as much as he did. Their wandering eyes had met his own early in the performance and it was clear he was ready to offer the warmth and softness of his mouth. Harry was ready to take it, and ready to enjoy the stir of a young naked body in his arms, palpitating like a captured bird.

He found it impossible to ignore the youngsters delicate chest, the soft curve of his belly, the white unblemished flesh of his thighs. They would have made a monk give up the habit. Harry's stomach did a little flip and he brought his right hand down underneath the pantyboys arm, and slowly, gently, rubbed down the side of his ribs, feeling the softness, feeling the warmth from the skin that transformed him from a mere boy into a stunning girl.

"Hey, you're darn cute. As a man ever kissed you?" he asked with a leery grin.

His voice was soft, the American accent unmistakable, mellifluous, beguiling, so much so Amber felt the blusher on his cheeks becoming pinker, and as his glow became more radiant he looped one of his own arm about Harry's neck.

"Do you want to kiss me, sir?"

He opened his mouth and so did Harry, the man dipped his head and he and the sissy sucked at each other, rolling their faces and working their jaws up and down. Pressing forward aggressively the man slipped his tongue between his chosen lovers fevered lips and their tongues touched and slithered, seeming to melt and flow together. Amber's talented mouth sucked tongue like it was a cock, while between his legs a length of excited hardness was jerking and throbbing in anticipation of an unspoken promise.

Slowly he dew his head back and presented his lovely pink cock and cuddly balls for some attention. "Are you going to milk me, sir? Boys milk me all the time, but I want a man to do it."

Quite a girl, thought Harry, all heated up and ready for anything. He didn't need to be invited twice. Within moments he teased his fingers up and down the she-boys throbbing erect glory, making Amber moan with pleasure as he skimmed back the delicate foreskin to expose all the juicy pink parts. "Do you do wet one's?" he enquired intimately.

"Yeah, big, wet snotty ones." the young treasure whispered back.

Similar episodes began to blossom all around the room. The men there already had the fame and fortune everyone else pursued, now they just chased 'Entertainment Tonight' Just about everyone had their ties off and their trousers undone, and the room became a hot, sexy mass of giggles, groans and stiff cocks. The sissies were ready for them. They were ready for anything, and the men couldn't keep their hands off such shapely flesh, seeking any excuse to slip and arm around a slender waist, peck a kiss onto a flushed cheek, tweak a little nose or stroke their hair.

On the other end of the sofa Dolly was sitting on another man's knee nudging his bare thigh against the lump in his trousers. The man was short and round with a puffy face and small eyes, and his hair was receding. His three-buttoned suit was a 10-ounce pinstripe, bespoke, probably Savile Row, but he'd taken off his tie and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. The man said his name was Darcy, and he'd told him he was a merchant banker, which Dolly thought was a silly name for a man who had a strange job. He'd heard of coal-merchants, but he'd never heard of bank-merchants.

In such lecherous and jaded company the freshness and innocence of pantyboy looks stood out. Within minutes every sissy princess in the room had his vertical treasure being stroked by a big manly hand, while the pantyboys themselves, so grateful for the attention, were tonguing the men's mouths.

Darcy quickly unfastened his trousers and pushed them down over the bulge in his briefs, and Dolly's urchin face split into a cheeky grin, as he levered the man's swollen appendage out. His aqua eyes sparkled and he tip of his tongue moistened his lips as he went down between his legs and serviced him with hand and mouth to turn his cock into a slippery pole.

The upstairs en-suite guest room Annalisa found herself standing in what was a showpiece of gracious upper-class living. Thick white velvet curtains hung at the only window and a small, green-shaded Victorian table lamp bathed the cream-coloured walls in a soft glow that reflected onto tasteful and expensive furniture that looked vaguely reminiscent of the 1930s. And of course there was the bed. A sumptuous, ornate king-sized thing with a rococo gilt canopy and a white damask headboard embroided with spring flowers under the flamboyant heraldic design of the Earls of Dewy. Its dark brown bedspread and flocking contrasted dramatically with the rest of the decor. She didn't feel out of place there. She was wearing a Norman Hartnell dress, cream satin with framed and embroided pink floral motifs, and felt quite the part.

Bertie Bestable was standing with her. "Jimmy Hampton will be joining us in a moment." he said, "Jimmy wants me to help back him in putting on a new production of 'Stars Above' in the West-End."

Annalisa's eyes lit-up like gaslights. "A new production?" She was aware of Jimmy Hampton's reputation as an entrepreneur and impresario of theatre. His shows were sometimes criticised for always being the old and tried, but they were invariably smash-hits.

"We were discussing the lead role and I thought of you. It's meant for a slightly younger person really I suppose but..."

Annalisa put her hand up. A fog of desperate greed enfolded her and she didn't want him to say anything else. A lead role in the West-End would re-launch her flagging career. She would be a celebrity again, she'd appear in all the Conde Naste magazines, she'd be interviewed on the radio and on television, she'd be besieged by idolising fans, courted by the rich and famous, and she could once more take her rightful place as a revered star of musical revue.

"I could easily loose a few inches from my middle, and I've done the role in the past. I know it off-by-heart."

Bertie nodded wisely. He was in an expansive mood and leaned against the fireplace, an original feature of the old house, one hand in a pocket of his trousers, the other draped aesthetically over the mantel. Sophisticated and debonair, but more than just that. She observed his mid-brown hair flopping carelessly here and there and made his eyes all the more elusive.

He leaned forward to speak in a hissing whisper even though they were alone in the room. "I could swing it for you with Jimmy, but of course there would be some cast obligations. You've been in the business a long time so you'll know what I mean. Jimmy's a shrewd man and he's laid out some conditions. There'll be some favours to be done. Co-operation would have to be... how should I put it... it would have to be intimate."

She knew exactly what he meant and it wasn't a problem. She knew Jimmy Hampton was a bit of a stallion and had no scruples. If it moves, jump it, was his motto, he'd shag anything with a pulse - although he'd probably straggle a dead cat if there was nothing else available. But she'd been on the casting-couch plenty of times in her younger days, and she was ready to drop her knickers now, on the spot if necessary. What was a quick fuck when held up against the prospect of revitalised fame?

As if awaiting a stage cue there was a noise outside the door, then the door swung open. Although not handsome in a classical sense, forty-five-year-old Jimmy Hampton had what could be called erudite appeal - wisps of grey in his thick brown hair, probing brown eyes, an arresting deep voice and strong carefree smile.

He gave a jerk with his arm as he pulled someone behind him, and Annalisa gasped as Freddie suddenly stood by the door, cute and petite and very pretty, his cheeks pink as if he'd been running. He was wearing minimal stuff, his undraped boy thighs framed by a suspender-belt and stocking-tops quivered slightly, making the downward hang of his penis tremble. His only other clothes were stiletto heels and a three-tiered pearl choker around his neck.

"Look what I found downstairs," Jimmy said, "This fairy-princess was hanging around at a loose-end, so I invited him to join us."

"That's Freddie. He's my son." Annalisa told him.

Jimmy grinned sardonically. He knew exactly who it was. "Well, waddayu know! Show business must run in the family, Annalisa. He's a doll."

Freddie gave a brave smile. He looked as luscious as a peach sundae. So sweet and desirable even when he was uncertain.

"I've been explaining to Annalisa about your proposition." Bertie put in.

Jimmy smiled at her, demonstrating the warmth and charm of a Mafia assassin. "Oh yeah, the new show. Bertie recommend you for the lead and I'm in a mood to be persuaded." He gazed wolfishly at the boy. "I'm supposing Freddie's had some experience with guys already."

"Well yes, a few. He's spend much of his life at boarding-school. But he's also been involved with a girl."

Jimmy gasped in horror. "A girl! Heaven forbid. Look at his complexion, his eyes, his delicate mouth. He's the eighth wonder of the world. The young scamp needs a man."

Annalisa's mouth dropped slightly. "You want to use Freddie? Look Jimmy, I'm personally willing to give you as good a time as any woman can, but I didn't expect to include my boy in the deal."

Completely unfazed the man stared at her with cold fish eyes. "Don't misunderstand what we're doing here, luvvie. Any agreement we make includes making use of both of you tonight."

Annalisa hung back. Good Lord! No mother in her right mind could agreed to such a foul arrangement. To sacrifice her own son to the evil vice of depraved men! It was unthinkable. But were most selfish women turn out to have a soft-centre of some kind, some weakness for a pet dog or a budgerigar, she had none. Within seconds Old Man Avarice climbed back into the driving seat and her selfishness once more came to the fore. The stakes were too high to throw down a straight refusal.

She glanced at Freddie standing self-consciously between them, then grabbed him by the upper arms and leaned down to stare him in the face. "These two gentlemen are going to give mummy the chance of a star part in a new show, darling, so I want you to be nice to them. You don't mind doing that, do you?"

The boys mouth twisted. "I - I think that would be okay. If that's what you want."

She squeezed his arms and confidently turned him towards Jimmy. "He won't be a problem. He'll do whatever you want."

Freddie felt the man's hand on his shoulder. "You're beautiful."

He didn't reply, but he felt his nipples tighten and stand up sharp.

The man wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer. "The sweet thing is getting cold. He needs a little exercise to warm him up." Jimmy insisted, allowing his hand to slide down Freddie's back.

The boy caught his breath as fingers strayed shamelessly, absorbing the soft shape of his torso and the narrowness of his hips before straying onto the shallow curves of his bottom.

"He looks exceedingly beautiful in drag I have to admit," Bertie mused, turning Freddie by pushing a hip. "It's a beauty that should be shared. Look here." He pinched the nearest nipple between his thumb and forefinger and shook it slightly. "And here." he pushed his hand between Freddie's legs and cupped his testicles.

"We'll work something out," promised Jimmy, taking off his jacket and throwing it on a chair, "I reckon this little honeybee won't mind being swapped between hives tonight."

Jimmy's hand slid right up the boys body and rested on his left breasts, making the nipple stick up much more than the other one. He began rubbing in circles, like he was cleaning a window, and Freddie began making funny noises, little gasps and wheezes.

"You like that, huh?"

Freddie's tummy churned. "Yes, I do." Jimmy was using both hands and Freddie was arching his back and pushing up his chest to make it easier for him. His cheeks became pinker and he felt slightly ashamed, but at the same time wonderfully excited.

Jimmy grinned as he put an arm around him and engulfed him with aftershave that was recognisant of a testosterone fuelled dog.

"What an angel." he said, gazing into his pretty face as he ushered him towards the bed. "You'd put an extra inch on the length of any man's cock, but tonight you're my very own sweet little fucker. My property. I'm going to fuck you so well you'll want to give yourself like a girl."

Freddie knelt on the mattress and tucking his knees beneath him he dipped his head and lifted his bottom, making it available to whatever his mothers man friend had in mind. Of course he knew what he had in mind and he waited in breathless anticipation. His legs moved restlessly, pressing together then stiffening while his bottom was thrust up in irresistible invitation.

"Slowly, I think" Jimmy said, "Some comfort for my girly and more pleasure for me." Freddie's buttocks were soft and pliable and his breath quickened as Jimmy parted the sexy mounds to view the tiny eye of his desire set amid a rosy pucker.

Jimmy smacked his lips, hands braced on his hips to hold him still. "Oh you little devil, you've been hiding your light under a bushel. What a girl! Good enough to stop traffic. Such class!"

With his buttocks spread wide Freddie's anus formed a delicate, pouting roundel and Jimmy drizzled oil onto it, making sure with his fingers that plenty pooled on the tight looking buttonhole, then having dowsed his own rod he placed the bulbous tip against the bulls eye - the sweet girly-boy anal ring - and pushed, screwing slightly to make the tense entrance open up and expand.

Little by little the fat, slick thing wormed forward and Freddie let out a soft "Oooohhh!" has he felt the head penetrate the clenched muscle. "Mister, I ... Ooooh!" He bit his lower lip and his eyebrows creased as the manmeat continued to burrow in.

Unremittingly the broad head of his pole prodded, pushed and pressed into the tight whorl of his anus and slowly pushed beyond the tense barrier of his sphincter. Freddie's feeble caution degenerated into a helpless whimper as the sturdy length expanded its route, but unbelievably his anal muscles clamped around it and he pushed back in reflex. Jimmy paused to appreciate the constriction and heat that enveloped his entire solid, thick meat, then began fucking. Out, then back in again. Sliding joyously around in that tunnel of pleasure that felt so tight. A passion swept through him as he thrust harder and faster until he felt the youthsome body tightening around him. Going deeper he made took full possession of him and set a rhythm he could follow.

Freddie stopped thinking and began reacting, rocking back and squawking softly as his anxious boy-pussy surrendered to that naughty prod of hot, stiff flesh that was using him so passionately.

Just a few feet away Bertie removed his trousers, buttons almost being ripped from their moorings, stripping off his pants at the same time. "Will I do?" he gushed at the lady in the room.

Annalisa gazed at his flexing cock then flopped on her back across the bed. Naked apart from her red silk mules and her nylons she lay across the rumples covers of the four-poster, her breasts swinging heavily from side to side as she twisted about in eager anticipation.

She gave Bertie a sleepy smile as he came towards her with an erection that was massive and as slippery as a fish. It was even bigger than the thing Jimmy Hampton carried between his legs, but she was confident she could manage it.

Of course she was aware of her son being sodomised beside her, but she was enwrapped in selfish preoccupation and was ignoring his involvement completely. The white flesh of her breasts spilled over her hands as she gripped them and rhythmically pushed them up and down. Then she spread her legs to welcome Bertie, opening herself wide so that he could see how wet and ready she was. Her knees were up and her legs were spread wide as if she were about to give birth, wanting Bertie to have a good look at what she was offering and leaving nothing to the imagination, encouraging him to peep right up to her tonsils.

"Come and get it, big boy. I'm ready for you." she urged him heatedly, moaning softly and gyrating her pelvis with impatience has he ran the tip of his erection over her waiting labia. .

"Oh yeah. Slide down on this, you tramp." Bertie whispered as he suddenly filled her eager hole.

Annalisa squealed with joy and wrapped her legs round his back as the man powered in with his cock, going mercilessly in and out, swerving left and right to vary the angle and depth of each thrust. The following few moments became a conglomeration of unrelenting lust, kissing, sucking tongues, Bertie humping back and forth with great vigour whilst cupping the woman's bottom with both hands. Next to them, stretched out across the bed Jimmy was doing exactly the same things with Freddie. Their movements were practically identical and almost syncopated - eyelids closing, buttocks and hips grinding, rocking together, cock thrusting in and out.

Annalisa was detached from everything around her at that moment. She was moaning but wasn't objecting as Bertie Bestable used her pussy deep and hard. It was the first time in months that a real cock of decent dimensions had paid her any attention, and Bertie was being quite dynamic in the way he served her with it.

"Do it slower." she squealed, alternately moaning and clenching her teeth in tempo with the vigorous in-and-out push and pull. Bertie didn't seem to hear, and she could only manage simple sounds as the man rammed faster and faster and more forcefully, tireless, incessant, his balls smacking against her on the in stroke, while his cock made a wet sort of squelching noise with each movement.

Occasionally, more by accident than design, her vision fell upon Freddie laying beside her, panting softly and clutching at the bedcovers as he felt Jimmy's harpoon of flesh flexing in his backside. It was a shocking experience to watch him being fucked by a man, to see Jimmy Hampton working his considerable assets in and out of Freddie's unresisting backside, roundly porking him in fine style with a penis that was greasy and wet with sweated effort. It was illegal and immoral, but she didn't care. Freddie's moans and groans only served to spur her on to greater debauchery herself. Just knowing he was being so soundly done beside herself made her shake with a strange kind of excitement.

Jimmy was sweating as he pulled back. "Say Bertie old chum, do you want to try this tasty bit of joyboy?"

"Bertie hasn't finished with me yet." protested Annalisa.

The main man of the evening gave her a slightly pained look. "Aw, come on, luvvie. Don't be a misery. You're going to be the star of my new production, and pretty soon guys'll be queuing up to dick your pussy. Let's live a little tonight. Come over here and lets make up a foursome."

Bertie disengaged and moved sideways while Annalisa shifted her body, rolled onto her front and slithered across the bed until she was able to join with everyone else.

It was a completely new experience. Jimmy was laying on his back between herself and Freddie with his penis standing aggressively proud. Briskly he told them to follow his instructions. He told mother and son to lick his penis in unison, from the hairy, broad base at his stomach, all the way up to the column to the glistening round tip, and he placed a hand on each of their heads to guide their movements and synchronise their timing

When he felt it happening Jimmy gazed along the length of his torso in wonder. Mother and son, tongues touching on occasions, were both working on his rampant appendage, each taking turns to take the engorged head in their mouths and suck gently, alternately stroking the flat of their tongues over the curves of the moist, plum-shaped knob and then darting the wet wriggling tips under the swollen tip.

Freddie reared up for a moment as he felt Bertie Bestable shoving stiff meat into his backside, but it was only a short break and almost at once he went back to work.

Presently, when Annalisa sensed Jimmy's excitement was nearing its peak she stuffed the fat tip into Freddie's mouth and concentrated on working the shaft with the full grip of her hand. Somehow she knew the debauched impresario wanted to ejaculate into her son's mouth, and it was invigorating to see Freddie suck cock while Bertie was remorselessly stuffing his sweet little arse from behind at the same time, although she couldn't repress a certain feeling of envy as Bertie spooned him with gymnastic heaves of his hips and thighs.

Jimmy's cock tightened as he was about to cum, and she increased the movements of her hand at the same time pressing on the back of Freddie's head to stop him pulling away. Within seconds the man started to gyrate and jerk his pelvis, groaning helplessly as he lost control. Then Freddie gave out a small muffled "oomph!" which told her the man was jacking out the bounty of his manliness, but even though she knew his mouth was glutted with semen she held her sissy son in place and her hand still continued to wank the cock.

"Swallow," she told Freddie, "Swallow it all down for the nice gentleman."

Jimmy Hampton's depravity apparently had no bounds. As soon has he'd recovered from his juicing he blithely turned his head. "Your turn now, Annalisa. Let's see you do it with the little beauty."

She was aghast. "What! Me suck Freddie?"

"C'mon, don't be a killjoy. The kid'll go along with it. He's as horny as hell."

Annalisa gazed down at Freddie's cock. She didn't make a habit of staring at her son's penis, not when it was erect anyway. But now she studied it, admiring its shape and the tension in its length and the admirable helmet-like contours of its tip. He was growing up, it looked quite like a man's appendage.

"Get closer." Jimmy suggested. And so she rested her cheek on Freddie's thigh, feeling its heat and stroking it with a hand. Her eyes were just inches away from where Bertie Bestable's cock had taken possession and she could see his thick prong sliding in and out and she could hear Freddie moan each time it rammed him.

Any trace of scruples she may have hung onto in the beginning finally dissolved. She hesitated for a moment, but then a little thrill of apprehension mixed with anticipation ran through her and she pressed herself forward and opened her mouth, gently swallowing his scrotum, one half at a time, sucking his balls and running her unseen tongue around the delicacy of his sack. All the time she was aware of Bertie's cock using Freddie's anus, the thick shaft disappearing into the hole and making the outer rim curve inward, before dragging back to re-emerge muscular and glistening.

She moistened the penis in front of her with her tongue, licking around the head and then up and down the shaft. When she considered it slick enough she put her mouth over the tip and moved her lips down its length, licking and sucking simultaneously, slowly at first and then quickening the pace. She wondered how long it would take.

With increasing speed she moved her lips tightly up and down the youthful quivering organ, with one hand she was cuddling Freddie's balls while with the other she was stroking a line from his anus to his scrotum.

Freddie tensed, then he gave out a strangled groan as he ejaculated. Annalisa felt the warm teenage boy-juice spurting into her mouth, and she hung on to receive it all and taste its tangy flavour before she gulped.

Easing back, she continued to lick the swollen head until it shrank back into its foreskin. Mouth closed, judging things, savouring them, she smiled up at her potential benefactor. "Oh, Jimmy," she said softly, "that was..." She searched for some words.

"It was okay, huh?" Jimmy said, smiling back.

The room downstairs had become akin to a mythical scene of Bacchanalian abandonment. There were several middle-aged men sitting in different parts of the room amid a miasma of heavy breathing. Each was in a different stage of undress, some had their trouser fly undone, some were dipping inside, some had no trousers, while all the time the girly-things were squealing in surprise and delight as firm hands grabbed hold of them. They'd done this sort of thing before and were beyond clumsy fumbling with boys their own age Now a number of men had a sissy on their lap, and resplendent in make-up and some lingerie the youthful lovelies were seated on their hairy thighs and kissing them, tongues entwined while the gentlemen hand-jobbed their stiff, juvenile stalks.

Amber and Trixie had been thrust side by side across a table and were both being screwed into fits of effeminate ecstasy by a pair of handsomely endowed gentleman admirers. A few feet away from them Prudence was gasping and groaning and jerking about as a businessman from Nigeria, who had recently found a cosy home for his pet Black Mamba, did a veritable cum-storm in his anus.

On a couch by the French doors Mr Frascatti, the Italian politician, was getting in the mood with Candy. From the moment they had felt free to move in on the girly-things Mr Frascatti and Marmeluke Dobbs had clashed over their attraction to him, and when the cute she-boy rested a head on his chest and started to play with his zip the Italian believed he had triumphed in the contest.

Undaunted, Marmeluke Dobbs joined them, and now there were three of them, two men and a delectable sissy sitting together on the couch. Hands began touching and groping the she-boy all over, and after a few minutes it was difficult for Candy to know who was who... where did one person ended and another began.

Mr Frascatti soon had his zip undone without any help and Candy gasped as he saw the big manly thing he was liberating from the front of his trousers. A bar of rigid flesh already erect, standing out from a bush of pale pubic hair and angled slightly off-centre, big, very big. Electricity sizzled between them.

The man had circumflex eyebrows over a chopped angular face, and his greying hair was reflected in the firm arrow of a goatee. Normally his appearance assisted in his dignity as a diplomat, but at that moment he wasn't paying any attention to dignity. He was concentrating on placing Candy's hand where he wanted it, moving up and down his shaft and stroking his it fully. Candy paid full attention to the man's erection, admiring it's size and solidness and watching in fascination as the foreskin wrinkled down to reveal the smooth bulbous head. Not to be outdone Marmeluke quickly levered out his own not inconsiderable offering.

Unable to successfully discourage each other Marmeluke and the Italian eventually settled on an amiable arrangement of collaboration. They sat on the same couch either side of Candy, their hands alternating between his breasts and his genitals, while Candy himself pumped a penis with each hand. He was in awe. He was sandwiched between two mighty rammers, a helpless sissy utterly at the mercy of two manly-men.

"Easy. Let'sa try something else." the Italian smiled. "Gedda up here, my priddy one. Turn around an'a giff me your ass."

Hot with desire himself Candy rose up and straggled the man's lap and was soon embraced by two loving arms, while Marmeluke Dobbs was moving his hand up and down the Italian's shaft and pointing the unseeing eye on its bulbous tip directly at the puckered whorl of Candy's anus. The professor had conceded to second place but was pacified and assured to think that when his own turn came the way would be smoother and somewhat slicker.

The pantywaist felt the penis, felt it pressing, Dr Dobb's fingers guiding it, sliding it, working it into the slick tight passage between his buttocks. He began tidal breathing, mouth slightly open, taking in just a little air with each inhale. He spread his legs wider as it opened him up, and as he turned his head the other man's lips were pressing against his own soft mouth.

After a while the two men swapped places, the men moving quickly, grabbing Candy before he could wander away. Consumed with groans of gross lust they took turns fucking him. They stretched him horribly, but he was helpless and girlish and powerless to stop them. "Isn't he wonderful?" Marmeluke gasped as he pumped energetically. "There comes a time in everyone's life when they begin to understand the value of sweetness. What a doll! What a fuck toy."

Sharing was a thing Mrs Van Damme frequently did with her companion, Clementine. She was not greedy even when it came to sharing lovely things like Marianne, in fact she rather enjoyed the involvement of a third party. She was however aware of the luscious pantywaist being a honey-pot around which all the gentlemen in the house liked to buzz, and wary of others joining in uninvited she abandoned her previous determination to remain in the same room as everyone else. Quietly she led the way to a small salon where the three of them could enjoy a little privacy.

Marianne was wearing a garter belt and high-heeled stiletto shoes, and felt rather pleased when Mrs Van Damme had showed an interest. He didn't even mind when the woman made a close inspection of him. Brusquely she spun him round, her eyes travelling down his slender arms to his smooth back, its muscles and the spine indented to a waist so narrow she was sure a man could span it with two hands. His waist flared out into a bottom as smooth as a peach.

The woman drew him down beside her and Marianne squeaked with rapture when her tongue made circles around his nipples, and he moaned when it moved down onto his belly. Hands went between his legs as Clementine began playing with the dangle of his scrotum while Mrs Van Damme rolled the skin on the fat tube of his penis back and forth until the plump bell-end became wet with sticky juice.

Clementine and the woman were not related - that was just a story that had been put around - but they certainly made a good mother-and-daughter act, helping each other to enjoy what was on offer and not getting in each others way, although Clementine always deferred to Mrs Van Damme when she made a move for the choicest bits.

Fascinated by the palyderm dimensions of the she-boy cock Mrs Van Damme bent forward towards his groin and lightly kissed its length, licking a little here and a little there, a small opaque slaver painting her lips as she brushed them across its nozzle.

Marianne arched his neck in a delirium and gasped, and the sound emboldened her to take the drivelling tip into her mouth and suck on it until a very large and excited prick started oozing translucent pre-cum from its tip. Lordy! Marianne thought. Mrs Van Damme was a woman, but she wasn't a bit like horrible Mrs Gitty who sat on him with her big lardy bum. This woman really knew how to pleasure a princess.

The volume of Buck's Fizz she'd consumed earlier obliged Mrs Van Damme to vacate the room for a while, and she returned to find Clementine had arranged a surprise. She swung through the door to see the young transvestite standing in a corner, feet pressed together, knees pressed together, hands clasped in front of him, head dipped and gazing at the floor. For all intents he was the image of a sorrowful little schoolgirl who'd recently been reprimanded by the headmistress. When he felt her eyes observing him the drippy effeminate peeped up to offer a timid smile.

"I didn't want him marching around too briskly until I've shown you something." Clementine interceded. Seating herself in a armchair she beckoned to the girlish young teeny. "Come here, buttercup."

Marianne hobbled across the room, taking small tenuous steps in his high heels and hugging his thighs together. Eventually he stood before Clementine's chair, displaying the sulkiest, poutiest little mouth a boy who wore skirts ever put on. Without undue preamble Mrs Van Damme's companion knocked his hands away to reveal white bikini pants with a delicate scallop trim. "You see, not even a noticeable bulge at the front."

Mrs Van Damme tutted. "You've tucked everything between his legs."

"Well yes, but I've done more than that. His prodder remains rather flexible even when aroused, and since it as such a good length I've managed to squeeze a few inches into his bottom."

Mrs Van Damme stared incredulously. "Into his bottom! You've stuffed his cock into his own bum?"

"Yes. It took a little bit of experimenting, but he can manage it." the niece-companion replied whimsically. She tipped her head to one side and smiled up at the sissy's contorting face. "You don't mind, do you? You can manage it fine, can't you Marianne?" The sheboys lips were slightly parted, his breath a little ragged and he looked too confused to speak. One of her hands went up behind Marianne and while she spoke she stroked his bottom, her fingers moving along the shape of the underslung penis in the girl-things panties, lavishing caresses on the shaft that had penetrated the clenching muscles of his oiled fundament, and occasionally squeezing his buttocks together where the tip had been inserted.

Marianne remained silent and tried to keep still, although he was glowing with an odd kind of excitement and he couldn't prevent himself moving with the intimate touching, sometimes going with it and sometimes against it. He had no idea what Clementine wished him to do so his fine slim hands remained at his sides, careless of modesty.

The continuous caressing caused him to twitch and stir and the result could have been foreseen. Within moments his chin went down, teeth biting his lower lip, and his breathing became strained as his muscles tensed. A subdued, anguished gasp escaped him as inner juices surged and rapture rose to a glorious peak. Abruptly his eyes opened as wide as saucers and his sissy hips gyrated.

Head twisting from side to side he broke away from Clementine to clutch desperately at buttocks that couldn't be restrained from performing the saucy oscillations of a rumba. "Aah, eek, uunhhh" oooh - ooooh, ooh, ooh!"

When his exclamations subsided into shudders and hushed quivering moans Clementine gazed at him to express amusement rather than sympathy. "Oh, I say! That must be the weirdest sensation. I mean cumming in your own bottom like that. And you always shoot such a garage-load of stuff."

"Marianne, you're an immoral floozy," Mrs Van Damme scolded as his movements subsided, "but I suppose that's why everyone loves you."

In a small enclave of the main room Bambi was feeling fraught. He'd been attending to the aged Earl of Dewy for ages without any sign of a result, and the nurse who was overseeing what he was doing wouldn't even allow him to take a break. It was hopeless. The man's body was a crumbly dried out old stick, but there was no stick at all about his cock. Whatever he did it remained a slack, flabby knoblet of raddled grey meat. Wearily he changed hands for the sixtieth - no, it must have been the seventieth time, and joggled up and down while the man just lay back with his eyes closed and with his fingers in his young attendants hair. This could go on forever, he thought.

The Earl lay still, drawing shallow breaths between thin purple coloured lips, but saying nothing as he observed the machinations of the naked little charmer from beneath half-closed, hooded eyes. Then all of a sudden the gentleman's breathing became faster and Bambi began to feel life in the lump of flesh in his hand. Just when he'd given all he thought he could give, the echoes of long-lost ardour had come back to the man, his cock-flesh seemed to double in size in an instant. It was actually stiffening, extending and rising up.

Bambi was dumbstruck. The Earl began to pant and groan, his watery eyes, closed to mere slits, flashed as he shook his head, and the slack skin under his chin tracked the movement. Stiff flesh reared up vertically like a pale monolith between his scrawny thighs, at last allowing Bambi to work the foreskin up and down properly. Acting instinctively the girly increased his efforts, while behind him, the nurse who was his mentor, gaped. "Gosh, sweetheart. You're a wonder. That's the best stand I've ever known his lordship to manage."

Hugh, Earl of Dewy was amazed himself. He opened his mouth and stared in disbelief, stomach heaving with exertion, teeth biting into his lower lip. His breathing became strained and a potential cry died as instead he gave forth a wondrous moan. "Faster! Do it faster. Pummel that meat for him, my little cherub." the nurse urged Bambi.

Everywhere men were rolling young testicles in their hands and middle-aged bodies were jerking, muscles aching. Rampant pricks strained as they thrust into soft, amenable little backsides, tensing and then relaxing as they released the liquid association of pent-up energy. Men groaned and sissies squealed as semen throbbed up and spewed from twitching members.

As a mere hired hand Toby Parkin shouldn't have been in the same room as the others, but he considered a belated attendance to be a perk of the job he'd been coerced in to doing that night. Having spent most of the evening sympathising with Horace Pratt's bloody nose he had finally got away, and now stood secluded in a dark corner to survey what else was happening. All the guests he could see were men, the ladies had been few and now had gone elsewhere.

He gazed with dismay at the partners of the half-cut crowd that now littered the room. Pretty boys - young and androgynous - skimpily clad, with cudgels rising up from their thighs. Boys with soft mouths and sweeping long lashes - hungry for kisses and cock - advertising their tight little boy-girl attributes - making men hard, making them reject civilisation and draw on primeval instincts. He felt a surge of lust himself, his penis engorged and for a moment he could hardly breathe. Better than sitting in front of the telly at home, he thought.

For a while he just watched the depraved goings on while trying to remain obscure, but when he observed everyone else was preoccupied and blind to him being there he became bolder. Like a priest maddened by the proximity of a tormenting goddess he extracted the aching prick from his bulging slacks and stroked it, running a finger up and down the underside. It was as wide and as in impressive as anything he'd known before, and as rigid as a plank.

Joyfully he played with himself as he watched Dolly and Bertie's elderly valet Hawksworth on the couch nearby. It appeared he himself was not the only hired hand who sought to draw a perk from the heady events around him, because the old retainer had drawn the naked pantywaist backwards against his knees then skilfully lifted him up to straggle his lap, a process that involved spiking the lads effeminate bottom on the vertical penis sticking virulently up from the front of his pinstriped trousers.

Dolly looked flushed and rather dazed. His buttocks tensed and he squeezed over the lustful tip as he impaled himself like an apple on a stick, his resultant high-pitched squeal quivering like a fiddle-string. Still not entirely recovered yet from being thoroughly rogered by a gentleman he'd only known by the wide dimensions of his cock and the vigour with which he'd employed it, he know wiggling his thighs in order to slide down onto the phallus of tense sinew and muscle that the old manservant now presented. The penis became firmly implanted in his bum-hole, and after first stirring the angels testicle bag and jiggling his saucy stiff treasure with his hand Hawksworth pulled on his hips and began to bounce Dolly up and down on his cock.

At the moment another man joined the scene, a going-on-elderly gent wearing a shirt and tie, but no trousers. Toby and the newcomer stood watching the ongoing randy antics between Hawksworth and young Dolly with equal delight, while giving their own cocks a Sunday treat.

Dolly moved. He lifted until the tip of the penis was just contained by his sphincter, then gradually pressed down. Holding his place he slowly began to work his bum up and down from top to bottom, then back again, raising and lowering himself with mounting rhythm and occasionally writhing his hips. With his straggled legs pumping, his hands went behind and he began breathing in rapid gasps as he took everything the manservant had to offer.

Soon Hawkworth's heavy breathing became a moan, a sound of joy rather than horror. "Yes," he cried as the length of proud manhood twitched fiercely inside the small contracting rectum. "Oh yes - yesss!"

His cock was in flood. A pulse of liquid heat surged through his loins and a dam seemed to burst as Dolly's buttocks clenched and unclenched around the thick prong that speared between them.. The sissy boy threw back his head, gasping as a throb of ejaculate hosed into him and having no idea of the people watching nearby.

At that moment Toby and the other man appeared to reach the pinnacle of pleasure at the same moment. The character without trousers stepped forward and closed in on the scene of action, moving right up and aiming his penis at Dolly's face. He performed a brief, furious massage with his fingers, then with a heave of his thighs a spout of semen shot through the air in a low flying arc.

"Hhh - eeeech!" Dolly made a chokey sound has he received a mouthful he'd not been expecting. . That did it for Toby. He raced forward, the contents of his own balls bubbled and then boiled over and he gave out a strangled cry as he too delivered a hefty gobbit of accumulated secretion. The stranger and himself then joyously finished tossing off together into the already churning pink-rimmed cauldron of Dolly's upturned, gasping mouth.

Having had a chance to shower in a luxurious bathroom and change into clean clothes Jennifer Hancock felt refreshed and ready for adventure with Tracy and Sharon, the two game-for-anything Essex girls she'd encountered earlier. She found them cleaning up the drinks area and tidying things away.

"Finished for the night, girls?"

Tracy was engaged in stacking bottles into a box but Sharon took a moment to answer. "Yes, they won't want anything else from us now." She looked up. "You're wearing a different blouse..." Her eyes dropped to the obscene tenting in the front of Jennifer's skirt, "You look altogether different."

"Is there somewhere where we can go?" Sharon panted slightly and pointed to a door. "Through there. In the store."

She led the way into a small dark place that was little more than a large cupboard. It was stacked around the walls with boxes and crates full of bottles and there was no place to lay down or even sit. No one mentioned the lack of space to be a problem. Sharon backed up into a small niche just inside the door. "Keep an eye open for us, Tracy." she murmured to her friend.

Sharon reached down and stroked the curious shape tenting-up the front of Jennifer's skirt. "Feeling horny, are you?"

"Yes. My cock's rock hard." Jennifer replied brazenly fishing around to haul her attachment into view. The cock that protruded from her loins wasn't real, but when she wrapped her hand around it the flaring tip looked businesslike enough.

"Yeah, very hard. Just how I like it." Sharon purred.

A look of delight became etched on her face as Jennifer's fat cock sprang into full view. Her eyes fixed on the jutting contraption. A monstrous thick latex rubber cock straining up from massive balls. "What do you think this is for?" Jennifer asked.

Sharon grinned. "Dunno, you'd better show me."

Utterly prepared to be ravished she took hold of the mighty length and guided its tip between her legs. Jennifer gave an upward heave with her pelvis that made Sharon squeal with amazement. Aggressively squashing her against a wall and without preamble, no talk, no fooling about, Jennifer stuffed her cock straight up between her legs.

Sharon could feel her heart tripping away madly somewhere in her throat and she could feel her legs quaking under the strain. At once she was literally impaled on the huge thing and panting deliriously, and Jennifer was soon giving her a stand-up, back-alley knee-trembler. Slowly she began to ease up and down, then with a steady rolling motion she gradually increased the tempo of her movements, pushing and burrowing, jigging and pumping. Sharon became oblivious to everything else, her eyes closed and her mouth yawned as the muscles of her neck stretched.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh! Oh, Jennifer darling. That cunt-hungry cock is, is... Oh Jen..."

They heaved and rocked together. Jennifer pulled down on the girl's hips as her appliance humped in and out, almost withdrawing before driving back into the wet, sucking tunnel. Sharon rode the prong inside her without any decorum, massaging her own breasts when she could and when Jennifer wasn't pulling them about, grimacing with pleasure as she relished the sturdy length moving inside. She wanted that stalk to thrash up and down in there forever so she used her well developed vaginal muscles to clamp around it.

The girl's friend, Tracy, watched. Standing with the two lovers and hearing the slick, squelching movements of latex moving up and down in a oozing pussy accompanied by salvo's of throaty moans came to feel jealous, but without a shred of modesty she colluded with them both, stroking each of them solicitously whilst noisily urging Jennifer to go deeper and harder and give her friend a good solid rodding.

Unable to stop herself, she reached beneath her skirt to touch her fingers on the gusset of her pants, pressing the heel of her hand on her pubis while urgently frigging the gap between her legs. "Hurry up an' finish, Sharon. I want some too." she chaffed impatiently.

Entrapped in the throes of ecstasy Sharon rolled her head against the wall. "Fuck off, Tracy. Wait your turn."

A pair of French doors leading onto a terrace had been opened to allow a cool breeze to enter, and for those that did not wish to participate to exit. Madame sat outside with Milly, Lady Dewy who had been kind, and who having once been a hoofer on the stage herself could share her appreciation of the theatre. The terrace was adorned with a scatter of white furniture and several Versailles tubs full of verbena which were partially concealed by the shadow of the house itself.

"It's disgraceful!" Milly said, casting a condemning look towards the French doors. Since arriving that evening the earl's busty wife had kept out of the way and taken no part in the proceedings. She lived in high style but knew she was only a fancy lapdog her ageing husband liked to parade at social engagements. She accompanied him on such outings as a purely connubial decoration and as a sop to his inflated ego, but she had no enthusiasm for the things that whetted the earl's depraved appetite. Significantly, while she imbibed in bedroom liaisons with other men from time to time she tended to regard those romps too with cynicism.

"Sex, especially with the wrong person is seriously overrated." she was saying, "Most men promise a girl the moon, but end up just giving her stretch marks and a gin habit. Ages and ages of fumbling and pressing, groping and writhing; and all the time a woman as to look so bloody graceful, when a cup of tea and a decent book would be far more enjoyable." She gave a long-suffering sigh. "I've tried getting rid of the earl several times, but I've not succeeded yet. Last week I personally polished the top of the stairs to the smoothness of a skating rink. He slipped and tumbled the whole way down, but blow me, he only broke a leg. The bloody old goat's got a charmed life."

Madame Dupont smiled, not taking her seriously at all. She delicately sipped a dry sherry that puckered her mouth and pleasantly warmed her cockles while she lounged back to enjoy the tranquil out-of-doors. Having recently suspended her integrity and sold her soul to the devil for an earthly reward she tried not to think too much about what was happening. However disagreeable the deed was done, and her pride had been mollified by a rather good supper in a small room at the back and a fat cheque in her handbag. On the terrace there was the peace that for her was the perfect antidote to the more hectic part of the day. It was a sultry summer evening, with the sky marbled lilac and pink and gold. Overhead a flock of starlings darted by seeking a place to roost. It was all so lazy and serene.

Milly glanced sideways as Bertie Bestable's man, Hawksworth, materialised through the French doors. "Yes, Hawksworth. What is it?"

The valet's face seemed drawn and he spoke gravely. "Excuse my interruption, your Ladyship, I - uh - I regret to inform you that the Earl suffered a seizure when he ejaculated a short while ago. He's been taken into the green lounge and a ambulance as been called."

Not a muscle on Milly's face moved for several seconds, and when the man's words finally pierced her consciousness and they did move they created an expression that was severe. "He jacked-off? That's the first time he's done that since I've known him. Hang on - did you say he's dead? He's actually dead?"

"Er, no ma'am, his lordship is frightfully ill and causing concern, but he's still with us at the moment."

Milly rallied some solemnity and nodded. "Thank you for bringing me the sad news, Hawksworth, and if you have to return with further details later, please remember to fasten your trouser fly."

When he'd gone Milly didn't bother trying to seem mournful or dignified. She was too busy beaming all over her face. "Things are looking up. I may be able to chase husband number five sooner than expected."

"Sometimes I worry about you," replied Madame. "I really do." But underneath her dour expression she too was feeling a little bit silly, as if she'd just encountered a whiff of laughing gas. "You're very wealthy already. You don't need another rich husband."

Milly at last settled for a smile of studied blandness. "Yes I do. It's like a fox-hunt. The chase is enthralling and the game gives me a thrill."

"It's just a game you enjoy playing?"

"More than playing. I delight in being the winner. I relish being the survivor." She tutted softly and stood up. "Dammit! If he's had a heart-attack I suppose I'd better go and stand by his side like a dutiful wife. After all, I do get to inherit all his lovely loot when he finally flips his mortal coil."

"I'm sure you'll get your own way whatever you do." Madame Dupont said, regarding her with a fascinated eye.

Milly gave a delighted gurgle of laughter. "True, I usually do. In fact most women get their own way in the long run, as I'm sure you will."

Within the house sissies continued to squeal and men continued to groan, oblivious of the event just reported, but as the news of the earl's illness filtered among them it quickly drew a curtain on the evening. The prospect of blaring sirens and of uniformed medics dashing about with oxygen-cylinders and stretchers-on-wheels proved to be quite off-putting and much too reminiscent of a police raid for some people - and it encouraged all to make a quick finish.

It was just as well. Each pert sissy bottom had by then played host to several different big cums, and despite the application of copious amounts of lubrication were becoming quite sore.

The group from Nob Street arrived home in the middle of the night, straggling up the steps and in through the door wearily, exhausted by the lateness of the hour and the additional exertions they'd performed.

Whilst still on the pavement outside Jennifer fished an envelope from her pocket that had been handed to her on their departure. It was addressed to Madame Dupont, so she handed it over.

Madame perched a small pair of spectacles on her nose, opened the envelope and studied the note it contained. Once having read it she brought Marianne to a halt on the steps as he was about to enter the house and called him over.

The slender sheboy turned and peered at her coquettishly, eyelashes fluttering, budding breasts pressing out the fabric of his dress. Then he came over and stood formally, hanging his head like a miscreant hauled up in front of an headmistress, his cheeks tinged with a slight flush of guilt. Madame found herself looking at an exquisite necklace of silver and amethyst draped around his neck. "Did Mrs Van Damme give you that?"

"Yes, Madame."

She held the note aloft. "The lady seems smitten. She informs me she wishes to wed you, Marianne. Do you want to marry her?"

He wobbled his shoulders apprehensively. "Um, yes please, Madame. If I'm allowed."

"We'll decide about things in the morning when I've had a discussion with the lady concerned. You'd better hurry off now and get your beauty sleep."

When he'd gone Jennifer gazed at the note she'd been carrying with an expression of consternation. "A marriage! Mrs Van Damme wants to marry Marianne?"

"It's only right she should ask me. Marianne is underage, still a half-child, a rare flower that can be picked or stamped on, and I'm the nearest thing to a guardian he has."

All saw Marianne as beautiful, but for Jennifer he represented a certain kind of perfection. The soft shimmer of his hair, the molten-tar smudges of his eyes and the subtle curve of his mouth projected a purity that discounted the bizarre escapades he often became involved in. He was a transvestite who was quietly sure that nothing he did was ever sinful or wrong and he had the most honest face she had ever seen.

"Marry him! she repeated. She made it sound like an oath. She was astonished. "Marry, surely not. It's ridiculous. Marianne could never be a bridegroom."

"Of course he won't. He's a full-time girl, so Mrs Van Damme will take him as a wife."

Jennifer struggled to grasp the incongruity. A woman as a husband, with a boy as her wife. "Mrs Van Damme is a missis, which means she's probably married already."

"Not any more. Not for ages. Her husband was killed in the war."

"War! What war?"

Madame looked perplexed. "It doesn't matter what war. The man's a goner and that's all that matters."