In the gymnasium a practise was in progress. "One, and two, and three and four," Hardwick's voice brayed above the tinny jink, jink, jink of an elderly piano.

Ten students arranged in a double row of five were dancing to the beat as he called it. It was part of Hardwick's routine. Groups of them came to him daily, either for dance, deportment or gymnastics, disciplines both he and the headmistress considered imperative for developing grace and elegance in young people. Hardwick's entire adult life had revolved around the Terpsichorean arts, and he insisted that when pupils came to him they dressed as near as possible to emulate the students of the School of Ballet he had long served. Tight, shape hugging navy blue knickers and sleeveless white singlet's were the order of the day, and invariably each of his lessons began with a session of ecarte and echappe at the barre. That afternoon because of the practise their feet were clad in chorus-line shoes with block heels.

"One and two, and three and four." Obediently they repeated the steps dictated as the counting continued, but then Trudy Jones stumbled and nearly bumped into Bambi, who dug an elbow into his arm.

The man at the piano shouted. "Trudy, if you intend to dance, let me entreat you to keep time with the music and not race half a beat ahead."

Doggedly Trudy went on repeating the sequence of steps as they were called out. Ball change, heel down, toe down, ankle flick, tap, kick; ball change, heel down - right foot, left foot, right foot again. He wanted to be anywhere but in the gymnasium at that moment with his feet and ankles aching, and shoes that seemed as heavy as coal-miners boots.

Hardwick continued playing regardless and added a vocal rendition to the melody. "Come and meet those dancing feet. On the avenue I'm taking you to. Forty-second Street..." The headmistress had tasked him with providing an aerobics display for Open Day, but an old-pro like himself could offer something better than mere aerobics. He couldn't lay on ballet, years of practise were needed to get that right, but he was determined to put on a first-rate dance routine of some kind.

"Heads!" he ranted keenly, "On the fourth step all heads must swing sharp to the right - snap them round - and back again. Get it together for goodness sake. No, no, no, Holly. Do not gallop, you are not a horse. Move like a bird - a feather - lightly."

Trudy groaned inwardly and concentrated on his own practise; ball, change, heel down, toe down. Dancing lessons usually consisted of ballroom or jive and he resented Hardwick's recent fixation with formation tap. He turned his head slightly to look at his companions and at once Hardwick bawled out. "Keep your eyes to the front, and get rid of those Friday faces, all of you. You must never stop smiling. You must always appear to enjoy your dancing or no one else will enjoy it either."

His fingers fluttered along the piano keys and his voice rippled once more. "Little 'nifties' from the Fifties, innocent and sweet. Sexy ladies from the Eighties, who were indiscreet..."

Trudy staggered sideways and barged into Bambi, and the entire front rank nearly went over like a row of dominos.

Hardwick mumbled something under his breath and banged his hands down hard on the piano. "That's enough of that for today. Run to the wall - and back!" he screeched. His voice sent everyone racing to the side of the gymnasium to touch the wall and then hurtle back to their starting place in the centre of the floor. Exercise didn't matter. Anything that broke the tyranny of dance practise was welcome.

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

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

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

"Running on the spot - begin! Up, up, up!" They were the last batch for that day, and at such times when the mood was with him he enjoyed viewing plenty of bare skin as he meandered between their open ranks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No sir."

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

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

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

He slipped an arm about the sissy-boys waist and allowed his hand to drop onto the rounds of his small bottom to savour the warmth that permeated the flannel knickers, then in a casual fashion he guided him into the gym-store, then through an adjoining door into his room in the gatehouse where he lived. "You were rather clumsy with the dancing today, Trudy." he remarked.

"I'm feeling a bit stiff, Mr Hardwick."

The man nodded wisely. "I see. Well you're in the right place for a remedy. I'm rather good at dealing with stiffness."

Hardwick's accommodation was spartan bachelor pad, consisting of just a small table a couple of chairs and a bed, but unlike most bachelor pads it was conspicuously tidy. Trudy picked up a magazine that lay on the bed. It was entitled 'Hung 'n' Hard', and the front cover depicted a naked young man in an obvious state of sexual arousal. It was an item of stimulation Hardwick had conveniently 'forgotten' to tidy away.

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

Under no elusion as to why he'd been brought to the man's room, Trudy smirked as the gym-teacher's arms encircled his chest, a little utterance of modesty serving to heighten the excitement being stirred. "They're probably thinking about having sex with a nice looking fellow, Mr Hardwick. Maybe they're thinking about pussyboys."

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

How nice, Hardwick thought. His eyes were beautiful, the lashes so long, his face so girlish. There were no pretensions with Trudy, he was a saucy little pillow-biter ready for sex at the drop of a hat. He'd had him in his bed several times in the past and knew him to be a first-class shag - a sissy conversant with all the delights of fucking. What joy to have him alone and fondle him until he opened his mouth and clung on with that delirious urgency that meant surrender. Soon he would make himself available, shaking with desire and yearning for the fucking to begin.

There were so many just like him at Fairyfield Grange. They all needed cock, and so few of them got as much as they needed. No doubt they practised various things with each other and that was better than nothing of course, but to find real release for their urges they needed to be fucked by a man, and he was the only one available. And right at that moment he was just in the mood to pork the effeminate young doll he held in his arms.

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

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

While his mouth sampled the youths lips his fingers scurried over his torso like a creature of the night, stroking the fine skin, exploring the belly and the chest, causing Trudy to arch his body and make the teats of his tiny nipples rise up. The hot teenage body felt so fragile in his embrace. What would those sanctimonious doyennes of respectably at the School of Ballet think if they could see him at that moment, lapping the bare flesh of such a succulent student with far more abandon than they were ever likely to show with their own spouses?

Pressing down he nuzzled the young mans chest with his mouth, marvelling at the satin-like sheen of his breasts with their prominent, sensitive nipples. Relishing everything, he anointed the bare flesh with saliva, kissing neck and chest and then slithering his tongue over the nipples before sucking on each of the delicate morsels. Trudy started and twitched and quaked with pleasure. In the midst of his debauchery the man pressed forward with his thighs to let the young queen feel the shape of his rearing cock.

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

"Am I distressing you? Should I stop?"

"No!" Trudy was certain about that. "It's okay, I like what you're doing. Go on sir, I feel bonky and I want to screw."

Smiling with delight Hardwick immediately led him to the bed. All was ready for the best session of the day, he thought, and dear young Trudy would soon know the pleasure of his formidable length. Over at the house the women would notice an absence from Domestic Practise and would enquire, "Where's Trudy?" On being told, "He's with Mr Hardwick." they would scowl a little, but nothing more would be said.

***

Poppy was gazing out through one of the windows on the second floor landing watching one of the old gardeners pottering about among the flower-beds below. That year the summer was particularly dry and fierce, so the gardeners took it in turns to come back in the evenings to water things when the heat of the day was receding. The garden looked lovely. Poppy liked pretty things and he liked flowers that were ostentatious and showy, and there were lots of them in bloom at the moment.

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

Perhaps Miss Hancock could find a placement for him with someone who owned a flower shop, he pondered wistfully. He knew that he'd always be a bum-fucked sissy bimbo, but he'd like to do something with flowers in his spare time.

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

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

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

He turned, saw the daggers-look in her eyes and pressed a hand to his mouth in horror. "Oh goodness! I was supposed to report to you tonight after supper, wasn't I? And I forgot."

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

"Ouch!" Poppy winced, then suddenly paled as she waved a balled fist in front of his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She sucked in a breath and paused in the doorway to watch for a moment. She enjoyed viewing his nakedness. He was cruelly beautiful; an angel fallen to earth, his pink, slender figure on a par with the prettiest of girls and capable of filling a slimline dress to perfection. And that unnatural enormous dick of his which he never used. Such a gorgeous tease. His girlish bottom would be a popular toy with men for years to come, and while he had only meagre signs of breasts his skin had a smooth creamy texture and his legs displayed the attractive contours of a centrefold female. The sight made her suddenly enthusiastic for what she'd previously seen as a chore on behalf of her mother.

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

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

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

"You like that, do you? You enjoy having your titties pulled about, do you?" She smirked as she gently squeezed his breasts and massaged his nipples until they stood out proud. "Matron said she'd recently increased the oestrogen she doses you all with, and it seems to have had some success with you. I bet you'll soon have real breasts - little soft muffins pushing out on either side of your chest for the other boys to play with. You'll like that, won't you? I think you're ripe for an additional little piece of femininity."
He balked at the little-girl training bra she offered to him, a delicate lacy thing with a pretty pink bow affixed between the shallow cups.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But, why? Where am I going?"

Jennifer lifted her eyes as if appealing to heaven. "Why do all the fairies in this place ask so many fucking questions?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No," the girl agreed, "You're more of a prick-pleaser I'd say. You like men, but you're not strong enough to be a man yourself, so you have to take cock up your little sissy arse."

She knew he wasn't alone in his homosexual interests. The entire school was composed of effeminate panty-boys only slightly less shameless than he was. They were all full of girlish mannerisms; wafting hands, cheeky smiles and light skipping steps, and no harsh words were needed to compel them to hold hands when taken out on nature walks. The use of cosmetics was banned during school time, but they usually risked a hint of perfume, and early in the day each of them would exude a delicate floral fragrance.

They were always clean and neatly dressed too, which was in itself uncommon among young men, and while such a thing was demanded of them by her mother she fancied there were other reasons why they spent so much time bathing and tidying their hair. They did it for each other, because they wished to seem alluring and desirable to their classmates and dormitory friends.

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

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

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

"I do when I'm allowed."

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since her meeting with Lady Diana she had been preoccupied by the threat the woman posed to her and she needed to relax, and at that moment Poppy was her ideal person to relax with. Slipping an arm about his narrow shoulders she steered him towards the four-poster. "The thing is Poppy, you can't remain at Fairyfield for ever and I'm bound to sell you soon. You will be employed by a person of good standing as a houseboy or upstairs-maid, or perhaps as a personal dresser or companion. Whatever role you're given you're certain to be used in a recreational way too. That being the case, there is a need to assess you."

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

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

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

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

"More than a little bit I think. Your dormitory friends are forever wanting to sample you are they not?"

"They're wicked, miss."

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

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

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

"Ooooww, Miss Hancock!" he twittered. Poppy was promiscuous and he was a manipulator, but he had nothing in his repertoire with which to counter the amorous attention of the headmistress. Alarmed, he meekly tried to resist, but only succeeded in falling backwards on the bedcovers where his petite torso undulated like a snake. His heart beat so much he thought it may explode as she lay down beside him and stroked the negligee away from his shoulders.

As she disrobed him she dictated her injunctions. "Keep still. Don't move. You think you know why you are here, but you haven't any idea. You may think I want you to give it to me, but you would be wrong because I'm going to take it from you. Take it, do you understand?"

"You have a young man's body, yet you constantly manage to flaunt it in the manner of a girl." Unimpeded by any need for modesty she reached low to brush the skin of his belly, then blatantly caressed the hard-on tenting in his panties to make his cock thicken under the pass of her pearly fingernails. "You like that, don't you? Does it feel good? Is this what you like the boys to do when they entice you into a cosy corner?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wooow!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

The gym-teacher was generally a contented man, which surprised many people. He'd once held a critical post at the Royal School of Ballet until a fall from grace left him with no option but to settle for work as a fitneess-instructor-sometimes-handy-man at an obscure school in the Yorkshire dales. But lower status hadn't made him bitter. He was a man of simple tastes and defined interests, and he found everything he desired at Fairyfield Grange. He appreciated the beauty of young men who dressed as girls, and his new place of work was full of them.

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

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

The ousting had been tough and had ended a way of life. Denied the use of his old haunts he'd had to roam far and wide in a quest for co-operative young men of the quality he was accustomed to, and it had often proved a frustrating business.

He found the regime at Fairyfield to be the answer to a prayer and a blessing to his pocket too. Miss Hancock laid great store in retaining youthful beauty by regular exercise. She wanted her students trained in girlish bodily expression and to appeal to the eye in every possible way, and she wished for them to be physically fit without appearing too muscular. Smooth slender limbs and a narrow torso was the ideal to strive for, she'd said, since apparent helplessness was part of a sissy's charm. He'd convinced her that an ex-dancemaster such as himself was exactly what was required. He was adept at all kinds of gym work, and nothing could equal ballet routines for maintaining suppleness of limbs and developing elegance and poise. And the dear things would have dancing lessons - not ballet, but country dance, some ballroom and a little jive - all most suitable activities for young ladies.

Everyone must think he had the best job in the world, but it wasn't always easy. Being a trainer of sissies sounded glamorous and there were some perks - so many of the gender-benders needed a regular visit from a cock - but it could be hard for a man alone.

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

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

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

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

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

He moved forward to press the head of his tool between the slender buttocks and heard a sharp intake of breath as he pushed against the resistance of the lads sphincter. Pushing harder he felt a slight give in the ring, then slowly the tip of his cock breached the anal portal. The sissy stifled a cry as the widest part of his cock-head entered to enjoy some delightful peristalsis as waves of involuntary muscle contracted and pushed around it.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

Picking up a two-pronged leather tawse he clipped it onto his waist sash. There were times he felt fed-up with life at Fairyfield Grange, but when he thought about it there had been little radical change in his routine since William became Wendy. He'd had no settled home for ages, so when his parents agreed for him to remain at Fairyfield instead of going to his grandmother in Brighton he wasn't particularly upset. Being dressed and treated as a girl had been a shock at first, but since he wasn't academically minded the unchallenging curriculum suited him well.

Being compelled to be a girl was a new experience, but he'd always been precocious in the way he moved, and at his previous school he'd carried himself so lightly the older boys would often wolf-whistle as he walked by. Not being robust he had learned to seek their association to avoid bullies; providing favours in exchange for their protection. He glanced at his wristwatch and suddenly Brighton faded into unreality; forgotten dreams that had never been real. Fairyfield Grange was reality now.

He hurried out onto the landing and walked along to the casement overlooking the kitchen yard to chase away the clutter of students who always congregated there when Larkin's van delivered groceries. At exactly seven-forty-five on alternate days Ned Larkin's van arrived in the yard below with Judd sitting in the passenger seat. Judd was a teenage hunk and everyone's flavour of the month, and the van was already there.
"No sign of Abigail yet." observed one of those watching breathlessly. He noticed that some of them were flagrantly reaching under their skirts and rubbing themselves as they contemplated the young man in the van.

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

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

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

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

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

He looked at the other boys around him at that moment with searching curiosity. They were all screeching pantywaists like himself and he'd shared sexual intimacy with all of them at some time, but they never fully compensated for the loss of his truelove.

"Judd's such a scrumptious hunk," murmured Jemima, "I'd drop my pants for him any time."

Having recently been inside Jemima's pants himself Wendy knew he wasn't being altogether frivolous. He was an eager little queer who'd shamelessly impale his backside on any cock that came near him.

"Bet he's got a dick like a hockey-stick when it's up." said Holly wriggling girlishly nearby.

Jemima grinned. "Wow, a hockey-stick! That'd make anyone's eyes water." And he contemplated the idea with spread hands caressing the rounds of his bottom.

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

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

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

"His he badly hurt?" asked Wendy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Penny for your thoughts." said Judd, watching him.

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

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

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

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

Judd stood closer. A bit too close. Close enough for Wendy to smell the scent of work on him. "I'd like to meet you some evenin'. Somewhere where we can be alone." Judd rumbled.

Wendy saw the desire in his face, recognised the lust in his partially open mouth and quickening breath. Standing there in front of all that was almost electric. He'd like to have reached out and touched him, but electricity could be dangerous. "I can't get away from here. The tutors are very strict, I could never ..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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