A Sissy Saga Ch. 03

Rooted long ago as a Jacobean manor, the Grange had been imposing long before being enlarged to an unwieldy extent by the Fairyfield family in the 19th Century. They had been owners of the wool-spinning mills at Opton and Peasmarsh as well as being major shareholders in the lead mines of Castleford, and being extremely affluent but quite bereft of taste they had lavished a great deal of money on gaudy edifices and unnecessary gothic spires.

The structure may have retained some semblance of balance had not additional wings been thoughtlessly added to it in later years, but now, like the industries that spawned it, it's grandeur had gone, leaving behind a bastardisation of Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian ideas, each of them shabby in their own way, joined at the hip by borders so erratic they could have been designed by a drunken goat. More likely they had been decided by a committee, which, collectively, would have had less wisdom then a goat. The result was a chaotic hodgepodge of diverse tastes competing with each other to offer a facade that lacked proportion or symmetry. Too inexperienced to realise the technical reasons that had caused such a thing, Simon Blanquette only knew it looked ugly.

The car drew up before an impressive front entrance where three stone steps led to a large dark panelled door beneath a porch. His mother climbed out and took him by the hand. "It's a grand place." she said, clearly out of step with her son's thoughts.

She rang the bell, which clanked and clattered deep within the house, on and on, before gradually dying away into silence. Eventually came the trip-trapping of feet and the door swung open to reveal a slim, dark-haired teenage girl.

"Good morning, I'm..." Mrs Blanquette began.

"I've been expecting you," the girl said briskly, "I'm Jennifer, the daughter of the headmistress. Mother told me to watch for you and take you directly to her study when you arrived." She glared at Simon, her face smiling without humour. "And this must be our new boarder." She immediately swivelled round. "Leave your bags in the car, I'll have someone collect them."

Mrs Blanquette surreptitiously scrutinised the girl as she followed. She was tall and in her late teens. Her high breasts swelled against a plain buttoned blouse and her skirt was long and loose and gaily patterned. Long dark hair fell in contrived tangles to her shoulders and her gypsy eyes, set wide above high cheekbones, matched its colour. Hollow cheeks led to a firm gently pointed jaw, and her nose while still feminine, was strong, the nostrils slightly flared.

Inside, the entrance hall had a lofty ceiling and a floor of polished oak, while a great curving staircase led to an upper floor. An immense stained-glass window blazed with jewelled colours above the main door to cast hues of the spectrum into the cavernous hall below it. Simon shivered unexpectedly. Everything looked alarming, even gruesome in such unearthly light. The girl took them across the hall and tapped on a set of tall mahogany doors at the far end, then Simon and his mother were ushered into the room beyond.

Miss Hancock's study had once been the parlour of the house and the acme of genteel refinement, and while the years had blunted its original grandeur some attempt had been made recently to refurbish it. Renovating an old house to serve as a residential school had been expensive and money was tight, but Miriam Hancock refused to stint on her own apartments. There was an air of quality promoted in the room she viewed as her headquarters, for while she was parsimonious in many small ways she disliked anything shoddy or crude to touch herself. The dark polished floor gleamed around an exquisite Ushak carpet that splashed patterns of tomato red into the centre of the room, while the pastel yellow walls gave the place a sunny, airy feeling, as did the mellow patinas of a handsome Edwardian writing desk.

Two long sofas faced each other across a low walnut table in front of a large fireplace. They were covered with floral chintz in pink, yellow and blue entwined among trailing green vines. On the Pembroke table and on consoles around the walls stood bowls holding fresh hyacinths, jonquils and daffodils, and there was a view through a large sash window out onto a circular lawn.

The headmistress indicated for them to be seated on one of the sofas, while she herself sat opposite, leaning slightly forward. Miriam Hancock was in her mid-thirties, but nearly six feet tall and with the slender figure of a woman ten years younger. Despite her hair, which she wore in a very stern bun, her long, regal face was relatively wrinkle free. Her eyes were emerald green and the gaze shining out from them was one of utter conviction and confidence. It was a gaze Simon found himself fearfully avoiding. The woman's cherry red lips seemed to curve in a rather cruel smile at the sight of his shyness, and in awe of the strange room and new people around him he placed himself excessively close to his mother.

"Did you have a good journey?" Miriam asked.

"Rather irksome I'm afraid," Simon heard his mother confess, "I'd no real idea how deep in the wilds you are. The roads are simply atrocious, and you're at least ten miles out from the nearest village."

"We are an oasis in a desert; a haven isle in a stormy sea," smiled the headmistress, "Compared with the weed-infested world outside Fairyfield Grange is a garden, and the pupils here are flowers within it. Being so isolated can be a nuisance if one is used to convenience of course, but then such a situation means we are rarely disturbed."

Mrs Blanquette craned her neck as she looked about. "You have some lovely objects here. Everywhere you have something to admire - the paintings, the flowers, the furniture..."

Miriam smiled and bowed her head. "I'm so pleased you approve, I do enjoy having beautiful things around me." She fixed a stare on the woman's son. "It's Simon, isn't it?"

"Um, y-yes Miss."

"Do you like being a girl, Simon? Do you enjoy wearing girl's clothes?"

The boy cast a quick apprehensive glance at his mother. He hadn't wanted the woman to speak directly to him. She inspired awe and he didn't know the kind of answers she expected to her questions. He racked his brains, eventually clearing his throat and replying in a shaky voice. "I-I like it a bit. Mummy says I'll get used to it here."

"You certainly shall. Today you will join the other students at Fairyfield on the road to a new and more productive life. You will be subjected to a rigorous programme of feminisation designed to make you the daintiest, sissiest and most beautiful she-male imaginable."

"I'm not a child. I'm eighteen and I'm not gay." Simon announced urgently.

"Of course you're gay. A sissy is a feminised male who adores being admired by handsome men. They're weaker and more sensitive than real females and they always love men, never girls, and while you're here you'll be taught to be a first-class sissy. Do you play games?"

"Erm - I like football."

"Contact sports such as football tends to be a little - erm - loutish for my tastes, but we do have a first-class gymnasium and a fine fitness instructor." In an aside to his mother she remarked, "It's so vital for young people to maintain a healthy body, don't you think? And Mr Hardwick ensures everyone attains and stays in tiptop condition." Returning a good natured smile to Simon she added, "I dare say he'll also stretch to a game of team croquet occasionally. That's a far more acceptable game for a sissy."

The young man looked bewildered, and his mother took the opportunity to interject. "Simon understands about dressing as a girl and being admired for his appearance, but that's as far as he's progressed." She appeared slightly embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. "On the matter of Simon's allowance. I've agreed the amount you advised and arranged its payment into the account recommended on the first of each month."

"A wise decision. Young people can be frivolous with money, and if I can control their use of it there's a better chance of it being spent more thoughtfully. Not that a great deal can be purchased at the school. Matron stocks a few toiletries, but most purchasing is done by my housekeeper. She goes into the village quite frequently, but as instructions to limit the amount of sweets and confectionery brought here." She smiled at Simon. "You're a trim young fellow, and we wouldn't want for you to develop into a horrible fatty with spots and bad teeth."

Returning her gaze to his mother she went on, "Sissies will try to exist on chocolate and cornflakes if left to their own devises, but you'll know from my brochure that at Fairyfield we strive to implement a regime of good diet and healthy exercise." She crooked her finger. "Stand up, Simon. Let me have a proper look at you."

Reluctantly the young man inched forward to the edge of the sofa and climbed to his feet, wishing he were not the centre of such inquisitive attention. The headmistress smiled. "You have a natural stance that will please Mr Hardwick, he being responsible for the development of deportment and figure training. Do a little twirl for me."

He felt his cheeks colour and risked a glance at his mother, but she merely answered with a acquiescing twitch of her hand. Hoping he was doing it right he performed a quick whirl that made his short skirt billow around the tops of his legs.

"Ah, gorgeous!" Miss Hancock approved. "Good thighs and a pert bottom are to be treasured, and you're blessed with both."

"Mother insists that I take care with my appearance."

"It's pleasing to know you're so compliant with her wishes. You must try to maintain the same commitment with your tutors here. Again. Twirl once more, Simon."

"I thought the skirt a mite too short." ventured the mother.

"No, no..." The other woman watched the young man spin, and when his clothes settled she shook her head. "It's exactly right for his height. Short skirts are an aid to elegance since one is required to stoop rather than bend when picking objects from a low level." She offered Simon a good natured grin. "Showing the seat of ones knickers is considered indecorous and meets with disapproval. You look good in nylons, but unfortunately you won't be allowed to wear them immediately. Nylons are a privilege I reserve for second term girls and new-starters must make do with socks." When she smiled there was an implicit challenge that went with the gentle mockery of her voice.

The door opened and there was a rattling of cups on a tray accompanied by an announcement. "Yer tea, Miss Hancock." The voice emanated from an immense dumpling of a woman with shoulders as broad as a beam. Her face was particularly plump with small porcine eyes so pale they seemed almost colourless, and set so close together they looked even smaller than they were.

"Darjeeling." explained Miss Hancock to Mrs Blanquette as the large woman deposited a laden tray on the table between them. "We spoke obliquely of tea during one of our telephone conversations, and I recall you approved of Darjeeling."

"You've a remarkable memory."

She chuckled. "I've a passion for detail, and one must keep ones faculties sharp when dealing with youthful personalities." Whilst arranging a pair of china cups and saucers she looked up at the large woman who had delivered the tea.

"Thank you, Gloria. I'll pour myself, but I'd be grateful if you could take our newcomer up to see matron when you leave." She leaned towards Simon's mother. "I think it less stressful for farewells to be said quickly, don't you?"

The authority in her voice seemed as absolute as any governess and Mrs Blanquette capitulated at once. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Best to get the hard part done with." She gave her son a kiss on the brow and patted his hand. "Go with the lady. I'll return to collect you at the end of the school term. You will be good, won't you?"

"I suppose." The boy muttered half-heartedly.

"You must be good, learn your lessons and behave, dahling. The ladies here will smack you for silliness."

Miriam smiled mildly. "Do you have a pet name for Simon when you put him in frocks?"

"Well, I do have little names for him, but nothing permanent. Sometimes he's Heidi, sometimes Katie, and at other times he's Anne of Green Gables. I take the names from the books I allow him to read."

Her son flustered. "Don't say Simone, Mummy. Everyone will call me Semolina if you say that."

"May I suggest we call him something with less risk of a pudding and of more classical flavour," said Miss Hancock, "I was thinking of the name, Cassandra."

Mrs Blanquette rolled her mouth. "That sounds rather grand, tho' somewhat clumsy and old fashioned. I'd prefer something more modern, like Amanda. When I was a girl I once had a goldfish called Amanda."

Gloria heaved a sigh that rippled her great bosom, eyes peeping out above puffy cheeks roving swiftly over the willowy figure of her new charge. "That's settled then. Come along wi' me, me little beauty."

The hulking woman led Simon out into the dusky entrance hall and together they ascended a flight of stairs that were so unexpectedly steep he had to hold tight onto the polished oak banister and newel posts. On the landing above they entered a corridor that was gloomy and wreathed in amorphous shadows, and where the pieces of ornate Edwardian furniture that punctuated its length were like nebulous shadows. The room to which he was taken was small and crowded with old fashioned furniture.

"Let's get some o' yer togs off," said Gloria, tugging at his shoulder.

His eyes fluttered uncertainly. "Do I have to get undressed?"

"O' course. Matron'll want to have proper look at you, mi dear," she told him, "Y'know - a medical inspection - that's the routine here." Her hand tightened perceivably. "Come on now. Yer mum warned you about misbahavin' an' yer don't want to be smacked so soon after arriving, do you?"

The gymslip was lifted off and the blouse beneath removed, then Gloria gave him a piece of type written text. "Have a study o' the school rules while I go an' find matron." she advised as she went out the door.

Standing in a vest and a pair of waist-high, blue flannel knickers, he gazed glumly at the paper she'd handed him.

Monday - Saturday: Breakfast 7 am. Schoolroom 8 am. Lunch 12 noon. Resting in dormitories 1 pm. Exercise and deportment 2 pm. Domestic practise 4 pm. Supper 6 pm. Lights out 9 pm.

(1) Girls will conduct themselves with decorum at all times. There will be no running in the halls or corridors, and no conversations will take place in those departments until suppertime.

(2) The school timetables must be strictly adhered to and punctuality is expected.

(3) Silence will be maintained at meals unless pupils are addressed by a member of staff.

(4) Sunday is free time and students may walk in the garden if they are smartly dressed and wearing hats. The school uniform is mandatory unless explicit permission is granted for wearing other clothes. No one may go beyond the school grounds unless accompanied by a member of staff.

(5) Correction is applied to pupils who disobey school rules.

From outside somewhere below the window he heard his mother's car start-up and slowly draw away, and he felt utterly desolate. He stood there in the strange room listening until the sound became swallowed in the warmth of the spring morning and receded into silence. She was gone and he was on his own.

He felt no better when a tall skinny woman wearing a white overall-coat and a scowl appeared through the door. She had a brief muttered conversation with Gloria trailing behind, then glared at him hard, cold fisheyes scrutinising him thoughtfully. Young men came in all shapes and sizes, some broad and muscular, others long and gangly, this one was small and fragile and still retained a kind of graceful beauty.

"It's the start of the summer term. Why are you wearing a full length vest?" Her voice was vinegary and accusing, making him glance down at his singlet guiltily.

"Mummy - my mother dressed me this morning. I suppose..."

"Halter-tops are sufficient for the summer," the woman interrupted peremptorily; "They are on the list of items you were required to bring with you. When you unpack your luggage ensure you get properly dressed."

She squinted down. "Get rid of the stockings and the pants too. White knickers are worn in the summer months here, unless Mr Hardwick requires blue flannel for exercises in the gymnasium."

At last she seemed to compose herself. "You're Amanda?"

"I'm Simon really..."

The woman's scowl instantly reinstated itself. "That's a boys name and this is a girl's school. Are you Amanda or not?"

His cheeks flushed. "Yes, I am Amanda, Miss - matron."

"A fetching little addition to the others." put in Gloria.

The matron ignored her. Leaning forward she brusquely hiked his vest up under his arms. No hint of undue corpulence, the outline of his ribcage was surmounted by a flat chest and pale nipples, and his abdomen was straight and firm She thumbed the nipples thoughtfully, then pulled a stethoscope from her overall pocket, and having fixed the earpieces she place the other end against his bare chest. A moment of auscultation passed before she seemed satisfied, then she hitched the instrument about her neck and produced a small sterile wooden spatula. "Say, aaa!" she demanded.

As his mouth opened she pressed his head back and used the wood to hold down his tongue whilst she peered into his mouth, curling back his lips with finger and thumb to scrutinise his teeth. Having completed her inspection of his mouth she stooped slightly and pulled down his knickers, using the spatula this time to lift his lolling penis to one side in order to gain an unimpeded view of his testicles.

"Do you play with yourself?"

"Oh... I...oh!"

"Never mind, you almost certainly do, but like most new arrivals you'll be reluctant to admit it. Nevertheless, you should remember that at Fairyfield Grange you should always ask permission from a member of staff before you rub your willy."

She stepped back and observed the young man's near nakedness with an experienced eye. He was handsome, rather thin and small. With each anxious breath his nostrils flared, and if anything his slightly upturned nose, like his ears, were too small, but he well formed and healthy. Miss Hancock was always intuitively faultless in her selection of pupils, choosing them for innate sissy potential as well as for health and beauty. She herself was wasting her time with a prolonged examination.

She glanced at Gloria. "Put Amanda in with the other new arrivals for the moment. I'll assess her again later in the week."

"I's a'ready got a space for her, matron." beamed the big woman.

Clearly the matron hated her decisions being assumed in advance and she offered a frosty smile. "How astute you are, Gloria."

"I's been among young people a long time, matron. I's hopes to have learned a bit."

The matron at last released him, and Simon hurriedly adjusted his underwear. But he didn't dare speak until the woman declared there was nothing else to do and then departed.

"Can I get dressed now, Miss Gloria?" he asked timidly.

The big lady closed the door and stood with legs astride, hands on hips with her face twisted in a dark disingenuous smile. "We'll wait a while 'til your luggage comes up in the hoist. That way you won't get into trouble for being dressed wrong. An' there's no need to call me, Miss. Just plain Gloria will do for me."

Simon pouted and his eyes flashing with indignation. "What that lady did - that was rude."

"Oh, you shouldn't worry about it. Matron's a medical lady, like a doctor. She's allowed to do things like that."

She sat down, fixed her bulk into one corner of a black horsehair sofa, and then studied the newcomer. His knees looked slightly knobbly and swelled ever so slightly up his thighs to connect with slender muscles that rippled when he moved. He may have been eighteen but his upper body was pretty, small collarbones prominent beneath a slender neck and no noticeable muscular development in a shape that went straight up and down, but interestingly, his chest bulged in tiny delicate mounds beneath the cotton singlet and seemed to inadvertently invite caresses.