A Sissy Saga

The schoolgirl is wearing a gymslip of such a dark shade of blue it appears almost black. She is bending forward and stretching across a small table that boasts a cover of purple chenille, resting the flattened palms of her hands on the hard surface and pressing one side of her flushed face between them. The back of her skirt as been folded up to her waist and her white cotton knickers have been lowered to mid-thigh. The tutor stands behind her. She is a thin-faced woman in a white blouse and black skirt; hair combed back and fastened behind her head in a severe style. In one hand she wields a well-worn rubber soled plimsoll which she strokes playfully across the girl's naked bottom.

Meagre fingers of gauzy sunlight penetrate the room through tall windows draped with thick serge hangings. Dark portraits gaze down from dim blue flocked-velvet walls upon ponderous Victorian furniture made of mahogany so dark it looks black in the gloomy light. Nearby the even beat of a clock ticking on a carved mantle shelf seems to take on the role of heartbeat to a life-sized terra cotta statue of a Greek Adonis standing adjacent to the bleached oak fireplace. Beyond the window the windswept Yorkshire fells, dun-coloured, bleak and forbidding pose as a backdrop to a garden where winter lingers, moist and cold, the beech trees stripped of leaves and the grass of the lawn standing stiff and dry.

"How many did we say?" asks the woman.

The girl's eyes flicker fearfully. She is eighteen but her eyes are as bright and clear as any less mature juvenile and she is blessed with an exceedingly soft, sensual mouth, dimpled each side. She nervously glances up over one shoulder. "Oh er, please Miss, s-six."

"Um, you'll need to keep count for me in case I forget. Up on your toes, show me how brave you are."

Taking a step to the side the woman carefully gauges the distance between herself and the girls defenceless posterior, waiting while the unhappy young lady pushes up on her toes to present her nicely rounded target before raising the gym-shoe and bringing it down in a calculated arc.

SMACK! A sharp noise as rubber meets flesh, and the girl utters a choking sob as a swathe of tender skin on the under curve of her unprotected buttocks rapidly turns red.

"I didn't hear you count. You can count, can't you?" the woman remarks icily.

The young buttocks squirm, and then settle. "Y-yes, Miss Hancock. S-sorry. One, Miss."

"Too late, we'll have to start again," the woman's voice snaps with irritation, "Up on your toes - push it out."

CRACK! "Ooouf! One, oooh, ooh!" SMACK! "Aaah, aaah! Two. Ooh , my bum!" The buttocks jerk left to right as if pre-empting the next stroke and already trying to dodge it.

"Oh, do keep still you silly thing." The shoe sizzles through the air to deliver another stinging blow. WALLOP! Feet turn inward as two bare knees almost cave in.

"Oow! Thr-three Miss. Oh, it stings, Miss."

"Of course it hurts a little bit; I'd be wasting my time with you if it didn't."

On the edge of the table a phone trills and with a tut of annoyance the woman reaches out for it and signals the girl to stand. "Don't wander away, I haven't finished with you yet." she remarks coldly as she lifts the handset. A syncopated smile replaces her scowl as she speaks into it.

"Fairyfield Grange, headmistress speaking."

She listens for a moment then her voice oozes charm. "Yes, of course I remember, I mailed you our prospectus last week. I'm so pleased our academy for young ladies appears to suit your needs..."

Under the watchful, intimidating glare of the woman's stare the girl stands silently at the end of the table squeezing her knees together in an attempt to prevent her knickers from sliding further down her legs. Her mouth contorts as she tries to suppress the raw, sore feeling of her backside and she spends a moment screwing the hem of her skirt around in her fingers before furtively reaching the back of it to ease her discomfort. The movement is instantly challenged. The woman clamps the receiver with her hand and hisses.

"For heavens sake leave yourself alone."

Startled, the girls hands return to where they can be seen, while quite unbidden her knickers slither to the tops of her knees.

"No, no," continued the woman to her caller, "It's vital they attend here directly they are eighteen. I like to have them early. It makes things that much easier and the instruction more permanent. Of course - the new term will begin in May. I prefer new-starters to arrive on the first weekend ... Yes, yes ... I'll look forward to meeting you."

Dropping the telephone back into its cradle the woman stares absently at it for a moment before her eyes flick back to the girl. "Now where were we?"

The girls mouth quivers and she looks up with large damp eyes. "You've done three, Miss."

Miss Hancock's mouth distorts and she looks rather vague. "Three? Blame it on the interruption but I don't recall giving you three. Never mind. It'll be tidier if we start from the beginning."

The girl seems fit to burst into tears but with a sorrowful expression she shuffles forward to take up her previous position, and her underwear chooses that moment to drop around her ankles.

The woman shoves her forward and the girl utters a stifled protest and struggles briefly beneath the stern hand, but finally submits to being pressed down. Her dress is quickly raised up again, and from knee to waist is revealed a magnificent display of pale, youthful bare flesh of which a naked, rosy behind is the focal point.

Without the encumbrance of underwear to curb her stance the girl's young thighs spread slightly as they meet the edge of the table, and between the legs appears the pendant dangle of a pink scrotum to betray that she is not really female at all.

***

Miriam Hancock's idea of establishing a school blossomed when William visited, an event that brought an end to weeks of prevarication. Shortly before his arrival during his gap-year in 1975 an ancient great-uncle on Miriam's maternal side had died, and being unmarried and childless and without any closer relative, she had been the sole beneficiary in his will. Although the old man left little money she found herself to be the owner of the large, rambling country mansion of Fairyfield Grange.

The drawback to her seeming good fortune was only realised when she found the house to be a dilapidated monster standing isolated in a swathe of remote and almost featureless Yorkshire moorland, and for some time she'd been at a loss to know what to do for the best.

Jennifer, her daughter, insisted that the most sensible thing would be to sell the property for what she could get and move somewhere smaller, but to Miriam that would have been tantamount to giving up a dream she'd long cherished. Fairyfield was perfect for her. It was the realisation of a fantasy. Given some effort she was certain its decay could be reversed and it could look grand in aspect and magnificent inside. The overwhelming yearning in her heart was more than simple pride; she had a fierce desire to seek some eminence that would blot out her humble origins.

She had attended a good school when a girl; yet she had too many memories of her mother and father looking awkward and out of place among the well-bred, genteel parents of her fellow pupils. She'd always longed to be genteel too, and ownership of a fine imposing property such as Fairyfield could make it all happen. She just knew it could.

A defunct marriage had settled on her a small regular allowance, but she could not live well with her two children in a house of such monstrous dimensions on a meagre stipend, and the expense of refurbishment precluded the fulfilment of her dream until her nephew arrived.

William's parents lived abroad and his vacations from boarding-school had always been taken with his grandmother in Brighton, but he rebelled at spending his gap-year -- his pause before higher education - with her. Many of his contemporaries, enjoying new found independence and rapt with a sense of adventure had opted for back-packing around Europe at this time but he, pensive and slightly built merely looked forward to ringing the changes with a holiday in the countryside. Since the railway reorganisation of the 1960s no train had been anywhere near Fairyfield Grange, so his aunt met him with her car at the train-station in Castleford.

He found his aunt not the least bit fluffy pretty or pert, in fact she was rather rangy and tall, but there was an intangible something about her that demanded attention. No gesture, however impatient, seemed to dishevel her, for she was one of those women who looked eternally well groomed, no matter what the circumstance. In racing parlance she had the look of a thoroughbred, a patrician of good breeding and refinement, imperious, distant and demanding of respect.

It took quite some time to drive to her home, but the journey gave him the opportunity to get his first look at the Yorkshire dales. It seemed like an alien landscape in some places showing no evidence of the hand of man, just miles of heather, peat hags and bog pools with black water rippling and tufts of high rushes swaying in an eternal sweeping wind.

It was all so different to the countryside around the school in Middlesex where he had previously lived, and it seemed to auger the start of a wonderful adventure. But on arriving at Fairyfield he found a family of rather odd people in a very odd house.

Set in private grounds the house itself was a decrepit monument to bygone elegance, a vast three storey structure with a steep roof that his aunt couldn't afford to maintain or repair. Life for her family was confined to a few rooms in one of the wings where they were catered for by a housekeeper called Gloria, a bulbous woman with thick shapeless legs showing beneath the skirt of a shapeless dress.

Then there was Aunt Miriam's daughter, his teenage cousin Jennifer. A quirkish girl if ever there was one. Attractive to look at - a flawless complexion, large gypsy eyes and slim figure - yet unwilling to put any of her charms to work. Her manner was disconcertingly blunt, vain and brittle and her mouth smiled a kind of perpetual insincerity that made him squirm. Initially she ignored him, and he felt oddly glad about that.

There was no evidence of an uncle or any other man about Aunt Miriam's home. She never mentioned whom her husband had been, so William assumed he must have disappeared long ago - so long ago that his aunt now insisted on being addressed as, Miss Hancock.

William was eighteen years old, still so fresh in form and face he usually found winning friends easy, but it was only the presence of Aunt Miriam's son Archie that saved his vacation from becoming a disaster.

Young men who are attracted to other young men can intuitively identify each other at a single glance - perhaps it stems from the shine in their eyes or maybe it's something about their wistful smiles - whatever it is, so it was with Archie and William. From the moment they met there was a warm affinity between them, and Archie was exactly the companion needed to make a stay at Fairyfield bearable.

Nearly a year older than himself and two inches taller, Archie was a lively and easy going character and he was academically sound too as had been demonstrated by him passing the Examination for Common Entrance to public school. Handsome to look at with honey-coloured skin and dark eyes, he could be moody at times, but his temper was never as cutting as his elder sister's. It never occurred to William that Archie was as much in awe of Jennifer as he was himself.

When his cousin proposed an expedition to explore the vast unused portion of the old mansion William felt a twinge of unease. He knew nothing about old houses, but he'd noticed a mildewy smell in this one whenever he went further than his aunt's apartments, so he was certain they were not meant to provide comfort. The enormity of the place filled him with awe. It was so big and there were no sounds inside, while the smell of wax and dry dust presented a peculiar mustiness that hinted of windows long shuttered and of cloistered, airless rooms.

There was something oppressive about the immense empty entrance hall and the winding corridors that drifted through the house. The chill dark rooms with lofty ceilings and heavy old furniture were secretive places redolent of neglect and gave out an aura of hidden mystery. It could have been haunted. It was certainly a place to be tortured in, incarcerated in, go mad in. Its gaping maw of a front door was obviously designed never to let people escape; a traitors gate, a mouth of hell. When the house had been built he was sure gangs of gnarled hunchbacks would have been installed on the roof to hurl down bucketful's of noxious fluids onto the heads of visitors below. It was that kind of place.

"I don't like walking around this spooky old house," he owned-up after a while.

"What would you rather do?" Archie asked.

"Maybe we should go out in the sunshine," he replied lamely.

It may have been his nervous hesitance that encouraged Archie to hold his hand, which he loved. When fingertips brushed his own and took a grip a breath caught in his chest. There were things about such a gesture that sometimes made his bones melt. Holding hands was so intimate and said so many things that were difficult to put into words. He gloried in it and it made him feel special.

Archie lead him on down another dingy passageway, then stopped quite abruptly and pushed him gently against a wall, startling him by sliding his hands up each side of his body and pressing them under his arms. William had perfectly pure features, pale roses in his cheeks, dark, long eyelashes, tawny hair and great brown eyes like those of a puppy, and to Archie he really was something special.

"You're gorgeous. Absolute sugar on a stick," he said without being the least bit timid, "I bet you've always been a tease."

William became anchored to the spot, heart leaping as Archie's incredible admiring eyes aroused nerve endings over his entire body. His soft cheeks developed a crimson tinge and he smiled shyly. "I never tease anyone on purpose."

A breathy gasp escaped his mouth as he felt thumbs stroke the front of his shirt in the vicinity of his nipples, then his cousin casually reached up to trail a finger along his jaw, following the combination of soft texture of youthful curves before suddenly pressing his own body against him.

Without any other preliminary he began to feast on William's neck, sucking on it like a baby, and William could only whimper helplessly when his cousin's teeth nipped at the white, creamy skin of his throat.

With his mouth fully employed Archie dragged his fingers over the front of William's shirt, fumbling a little in his own excitement as he pushed it higher and exposed the flat of his stomach. William breathed heavily, but didn't stop the shirt being unbuttoned and it was soon hanging loose. Archie's tongue traced a path along his cousin's collarbone while one hand slued up to stroke a tiny, exposed nipple. William moaned and writhed in a pretence of protest before he pushed himself against the pressure. Eighteen, but with nipples that swelled beautifully to an intimate caress.

"Nice!" Archie whispered as he smoothed a hand down his arm and reached behind to caress the round of his bottom.

"Stop it," William puffed meekly.

"Make me," Archie replied, "You're old enough now to know what you want. If you don't like what I'm doing, make me stop."

He looked directly into face, and William gazed back at him with starry eyes as he tilted up his mouth. There were no more protests; his mood was one of soaring excitement. Instead he raised his head and inched back, his hands on Archie's shoulders, reluctant to break the link between them. He could feel his cousins breathe on his cheek and it made him feel beautiful. Warm noses touched and their faces drew together gain, and this time their lips met. Instantly, astral violins seemed to be playing the sensual symphony of a first kiss.

William felt Archie sucking at his mouth - strongly - draining the strength out of him and making him feel weak. The body pressing against his bare skin felt sensual, and unconsciously he slid one hand into his handsome cousin's fine auburn hair and wrapped his other arm around his shoulder. He felt perfectly safe and deliciously vulnerable at the same time. Archie's leg went between his own and he found himself riding his thigh. He could feel his cousin's erection poking through his trousers at his belly, almost as if it were trying to penetrate his navel or gouge out his appendix.

Archie clutched William's slight body to his firm chest. "Give in to me," he demanded.

William couldn't answer, he could only gasp aloud and open his mouth wider as his cousin leaned into him. The smoothness of the other young man's lips was rewarded by the eagerness with which their kisses were returned. He was ready to allow Archie every kind of liberty. The two of them rolled their heads to the right and then to the left as they kissed again, exchanging kiss after kiss, each one more passionate than the last. Their breathing became deeper and faster as they both began to caress each others backs, running their hands under their shirts and over each others warm, smooth skin. William's stiff cock throbbed as he allowed his cousin's tongue to press between his lips and enter his mouth, and as it licked over his gums and teeth and ran over his own tongue he felt as if he could easily swoon.

Archie really wanted to do stuff, he really did, and he wanted to do it too. One could only guess at what would have happened next if Gloria hadn't suddenly come shouting them both in for dinner.

Aunt Miriam gave them no chance to be together afterwards, but smitten by his cousin's attention William went to bed with excitement straining in his pants and a multitude of wild thoughts churning in his mind. What would happen tomorrow when he and Archie could shroud themselves in the solitude of the moors? He knew that such affairs should have a kind of order to them. First one had to find a girl you liked - he blushed slightly even though he was alone - or a boy. You talked with the person, then dated them, and then asked them to be your boyfriend. And then of course came all the other stuff.

Stroking himself vigorously beneath the bedclothes he dwelt on the possibilities of the 'other stuff'. He knew that wasn't likely to be the order of events with his cousin. Archie would be impatient and want to kiss him again straight away. Mmm, yes. He'd probably pull his shirt open just like he'd done earlier. He'd probably squeeze his chest, kiss his chest. "Ooow!"

Archie was a much more knowing young man than he was. He could sweep a boy like himself right off his feet. If Archie grabbed hold of him and squeezed he'd squeal, and if he started to unbutton his pants he'd say NO. But just like as had happened earlier he wouldn't try to stop him. He'd let gorgeous Archie pull down his trousers, let him play with his cock, touch his bottom. He'd let him DO things. Together they'd play the kind of adult games mothers and fathers were never told about. Mouth on mouth, cock on cock, balls rolling together.

As his Technicolor imagination and caressing hand brought his penis to the pinnacle of erection he heard movement beyond the bedroom door. Predicting it could only be Archie coming to share a few more intimate hugs and caresses with him he didn't even bother to cover himself properly. The door to his room swung open without even a warning tap and his awful cousin Jennifer strode in to glare down at him.

In alarm he fumbled for words. "Jen... what...?"

She bothered with neither explanation nor apology but at once dragged the sheets that covered him down to expose the tops of his legs. His thighs were smooth but such an indication of immaturity was a contradiction to the swollen, stiffness of the penis blatantly thrusting up and glistening wet at its tip.