A Sissy Saga Ch. 07bySnurge©
The following morning Sammy was in Mrs Pardoe's class sewing a plain white collar onto a skimpy black dress. It was a compulsory project. During their first term all sissies had to produce their own parlour maid outfit, and it had to be done by hand because Mrs Pardoe claimed exclusive use of the only sewing-machine in the house. Sewing was one thing he hated with a vengeance, he was all thumbs with a needle and half the time he spent with Mrs Pardoe involved needlework of some kind.
Also he had a rather delicate problem. All morning he'd been suffering from the extreme walloping he'd received the previous day, but after lunch the discomfort had dissipated and been unaccountably replaced by a hard-on. He hoped it would quickly fade, but it hadn't faded, and by the time he'd joined Mrs Pardoe's class it was tenting out the front of the panties beneath his skirt. The school teacher was mean at the best of times and there was no knowing the direction her temper would take if she discovered such a display of maleness. Mrs Pardoe hated boys being boys so certainly it would make her angry. It may even make her angry enough to use the plastic ruler again.
He knew just a few moments alone in the toilet and a brisk rub with his hand would solve the problem, but the moody tutor had made that impossible. He'd already swallowed his pride and put his hand in the air like a schoolgirl to ask teacher for permission to go for a pee, but she'd refused to allow him to leave the room, and she'd made him push his knickers down to his knees and flick his skirt out at the back in case he felt compelled to wet himself before midmorning break. She warned him that if he did have an accident he'd get six with her slipper and an hour of cleaning detention after supper, and just to prove how nasty she was she'd made every other sissy in her class adjust their clothing in the same way, which hadn't endeared Sammy to any of them. Both Zoë and Holly Bedlam had given him a look that was thunderous.
The classroom was large, but contained only ten tables for the pupils and the tutor's high desk perched on a dais in front of a blackboard. The whole place smelt of chalk dust and polished wood, while the high ceiling and small windows gave it a nineteenth century ambience. Periodically Mrs Pardoe called a halt while she explained something. She habitually explained things a stage at a time because she didn't trust sissies to remember much, and her students were compelled to sit motionless with their arms folded whilst she talked.
Good gracious, how had it come to this? He was eighteen years old. They were all eighteen; all adults. They were men, but they were dressed as schoolgirls and compelled to behave like schoolgirls. On his arrival he had thought about objecting to such a ridiculous idea, but when he noticed the rough treatment some of the more stroppy people got when they protested he decided it was best to go along with it. It was weird how when one was dressed like a schoolgirl and treated like a schoolgirl one eventually began to feel like one.
That morning Sammy half-wished he was a girl because girls didn't have stiff dicks they needed to hide. He wanted to cross his legs to hide the obstinate stalk thrusting from his loins, but the underwear wrapped around his knees didn't allow him to do that, and as time passed he became increasingly concerned. From the high stool behind her desk the schoolmistress could observe everything, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she deduced he was guilty of more than bad toilet timing.
Then something unforeseen appeared to give him a chance. The hushed silence of the room was shattered by a bobbin of cotton rolling from a tabletop and striking the floor. The noise was minute, a mere plop, but it was enough to warrant the attention of Mrs Pardoe, who watched the reel skid across the linoleum with vindictive eyes. Because she was feeling bored she'd been waiting for a reason to assert her authority, and it seemed that some unfortunate carelessness had provided her with one. Her voice, so quiet and yet so sudden, made everyone jump.
"Yours I think, Jemima." she murmured thinly, her overly calm manner projecting the kind of threat everyone knew well.
The culprits face paled. "M-me, miss?"
"Who else would I be talking to, idiot?" The woman responded testily. "Come and collect it, and you can also collect a smack for your inattention."
"Oh -" reluctantly Jemima rose up and reached down to hoist his knickers, but Mrs Pardoe, peering out from beneath her eyebrows, told him to leave them draped around his legs and hobble forward. After all, she reasoned while extracting an old plimsoll from a recess in her desk, she would only have to pull them down again.
Jemima was a pretty, but Sammy thought him a snooty bitch because he'd recently rejected a bedtime invite. He wouldn't have minded watching him get a wallop, but his own predicament was his main concern at that moment, and in a desperate attempt at salvation he risked humiliation a second time and thrust his arm in the air, hoping that the distraction with the cotton reel would be his ally.
"Please, Mrs Pardoe..."
The woman scowled in irritation at him, aware he'd pestered her previously, but this time she relented. "Go now, and be quick, and be prepared for some smacks when you return. I'll not tolerate my lessons being ruined by silly sissies who lack personal organisation."
He pulled his pants up surreptitiously while she was concentrating on Jemima, then hurried outside. Smacks with a strap or a plimsoll would hurt, but they were preferable to the risk of the ghastly measuring-rule whacking his balls again.
Once away from the classroom Sammy was confident his problem was solved, but at the end of the landing he saw Jennifer hovering by the door of the loo, and he remembered that on Mondays she always did a 'shine' inspection for her mother and paid particular attention to the cleanliness of the toilets. He dared not go near her in his present condition, so he plunging down the steps to the floor below.
The ground floor was out-of-bounds at that time of day, but with the toilets within range he made a sudden dash before coming to an abrupt halt. Marching towards him, dark nylons flashing beneath a short skirt, was Abigail.
The head-girl observed him keenly. "You should be with Mrs Pardoe. What are you doing out of class?"
Sammy flinched. No one could ever ignore the menace of the double-tongued leather strap that always swung from Abigail's waist band. "I'm not doing anything wrong, I promise I'm not." he replied softly.
Abigail pursed his lips. "There we differ in opinion. I think otherwise."
"M-Mrs Pardoe allowed me to go to the toilet. She's going to smack me when I go back." Sammy muttered in a desperate small voice. He hoped the mention of smacks would deter Abigail from punishing him too, but it didn't work.
"I expect she is, but she won't be aware of you going out-of-bounds, so put out your hand."
Sammy's shoulders sagged. It was unfair, he'd done nothing really bad, but Abigail was going to strap his hand anyway, just because he had the authority to do it. Frantically he tried to think of something, a mitigating reason, anything that would help him avoid whatever Abigail planned. Explaining about the stiffness inside his pants was pointless. Abigail would strap his hands all the same, and then go off to have a laugh about it with the prefects.
Whilst he dithered the head-girl grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm up level with his shoulder. "Hold it out - keep your hand flat."
Sammy's face drained of colour, but he knew he had no choice. Disobeying the head-girl would only lead to a spell in the dungeon with prefects coming to smack his bum every hour, so he gave in and watched passively as, slowly, as if savouring the delay, Abigail unclipped the evil looking tawse from his waist and measured the tip against the palm of his outstretched hand.
The first blow when it came was delivered with great precision and stung like a flame. Abigail never missed and never dulled the effect by overshooting the mark, and he knew exactly the right moment to flick his wrist and make the twin-thongs strike with the optimum sting. The tip of the straps lashed down and hit the centre of Sammy's hand with a vicious, sizzling swipe that made him whinny like a horse. His knees buckled and he bobbed up and down as he shoved the seared hand beneath his opposite arm to give it comfort. Then he noticed Abigail smiling icily.
"Other hand." said the head-girl.
Sammy's mouth contorted in horror. A two-hander! Now that really was unfair.
When it was all done Sammy was allowed to go on his way, but not to the toilet on the ground floor. He was turned about and sent packing back up the stairs. He had a little cry on the steps. Well the strap hurt, and he was a sissy schoolgirl so he was a allowed to have a weep whilst nursing his hot, throbbing hands. He resented Abigail's bullying. He was hateful, and he was only head-girl because he was the oldest pupil and his mother was the headmistress - and because he was better at lessons than anyone else - and because he knew how to boss people about - and because he was always smart and shiny - and because he'd got a big cock.
He gave the second floor a miss and took to climbing the steep and narrow steps that led to the dormitories on the attic floor at the top of the house.
Amanda was already there. It was the first time he'd been left in charge of a dormitory during one of Jennifer's Monday 'shine' inspections and he was pacing the landing nervously. Behind him the room he was responsible for was Spartan in its austerity. The pale yellow walls were unadorned, and apart from the heavy plum coloured drapes on the windows, which were too short and didn't meet in the centre, the place was cheerless; a mere space to accommodate half a dozen single beds and a few tall cupboards that held clothing and a few personal items. The floor was bare linoleum, and the ceiling, punctuated by dark wooden beams, started low then swept steeply up to accentuate its proximity to the roof of the house.
The previous evening had been a 'shine-time' in preparation for the inspection. The floor had been swept and polished, then buffed until it gleamed, every horizontal surface had been scoured clean of dust and every scuff mark on the paint work had been sponged away. That morning everyone had risen early. The blankets and sheet on each bed were folded and piled at one end to make counting easy, while on the bare mattress a mass of prescribed items had been laid out in a precise arrangement. A brimmed straw hat lay at the head of the bed, while a pile of blue gym-knickers and a pile of white summer ones occupied the foot. Other things lay in between. Toiletries, including a clean comb, spotless toothbrush and pristine shaving kit laid open to show it was complete, little socks displayed neatly in pairs, and gym shoes, their soles scrubbed to remove any trace of dirt. There was also a small white training bra with diminutive cups that no one knew a use for.
Everything had to be impeccable and in its right place, and the cupboard doors had to be left open wide to prove the neatness of everything inside. To prevent pupils from making good any deficiencies by pilfering from other
rooms a 'dormitory-girl' remained behind to accompany Jennifer, and to secure things after her visit. Miss Hancock was obsessed by 'cleanliness and order' and if her daughter spotted as much as a fleck of dust or ball of
lint anywhere she adjudged it an affront to her mother and would return that evening to punish the pupil responsible.
More importantly for Amanda, she would punish the dormitory-girl on the spot for the laxity she perceived in not detecting the fault, so he'd just spent the past half-hour sweeping and polishing everything a second time. When Sammy suddenly appeared he greeted him with something akin to horror. "What are you doing here?"
Sammy raised his skirt and made a show of the shape bowing out the front of his pants. "Got to get rid of this. Jennifer's inspecting the loo's, so the dorm' seems the only safe place to do it at the moment."
"You can't do anything like that here, I've just spent ages tidying up." fumed Amanda, "You're bound to make a mess, and you know how eagle-eyed Jennifer is on an inspection."
Sammy pushed forcefully past him. "Don't be a fuckwit. I won't make that much of a mess, and just a couple of minutes with my handkerchief is all I need." he said crossly.
Amanda paced frantically back and forth outside the door whilst Sammy stood inside and got busy with his hand. A few moments went by, and then Amanda 's face paled in alarm as he detected the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs. "Oh, no...!" he cried, putting both hands to his face and dashing inside, "She's coming up the stairs and she'll be here any second. Have you finished yet?"
Sammy leaned back against the wall and groaned hopelessly as his hand flashed up and down on his exposed erection. "No I haven't. I'm ready to do it, but I just can't jerk."
Amanda stared horrified at the watering bulb of Sammy's cock, then in a panic to solve the problem that threatened him he knocked Sammy's hand away and grasped hold of it himself.
"Yes, that's what I need - I need a fresh hand." Sammy gasped as Amanda's fingers jigged wildly. "Oooh, yes, stroke my balls too. I'm gunna do it now - I'm gunna do it ..."
"Where's your handkerchief?" Amanda demanded.
"Oh, I don't know - I've dropped it somewhere - ooh, oh, OOOH!"
Jennifer entered the dormitory in her accustomed authoritative manner, with a short black strap hanging prominently on her belt. For a moment she stood by the door, staring at the two boy-girls and half smiling as they each bobbed a curtsy. Then she moved forward, striding across the floor with leisurely decisive steps, her head up and her hard eyes searching the room for errors - anything that seemed neglected or out of place. Adept at minute scrutiny and able to detect the tiniest imperfection and the smallest hint of sloppy application, her reputation for faultfinding was fearsome.
Sammy and Amanda stood side by side feigning innocence, but fidgeting nervously as she halted and regarded them with suspicion. She was always suspicious when she found a pair of sissies secluded away together. They couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other, which was forbidden unless they were being directed and controlled by a female. Her petulant tone and thunderous frown told of herdissatisfaction. "Samantha! Amanda Which of you is the dormitory-girl?"
Flustered, Amanda bobbed a second quite unnecessary curtsy. "I am, Jennifer."
Her eyes narrowed and moved to Sammy. "And why are you here?"
He swallowed hard. "Prep, Jennifer. I forgot to take my prep-book to class after lunch."
"Forgetfulness! No doubt Mrs Pardoe will have something to say about that."
He nodded vigorously. "She's going to spank me."
Jennifer's thin smile returned. Young men in gymslips looked so endearing, she thought, and having to wear girls clothes made them so respectful - so polite - so wonderfully humble. Their helplessness thrilled her, their dumb acquiescence was meat in her gravy and she relished every chance she had to make them squirm.
Glaring, she lifted the strap from her belt and coiled it like a sinuous black snake. It was a longer version of a prefects tawse, designed more for lashing at buttocks than for smacking hands, and with the room passed as okay she was now turned her attention to inspecting the bodies of those found in it. "Pants down. Let me see your pricks." she demanded bluntly.
To many such an instruction would have been unacceptable, but Amanda and Sammy had been at Fairyfield long enough to know not to question her. In unison they reached beneath their skirts and dragged their knickers down to mid-thigh, then they raised their gymslips to reveal two sets of male genitals dangling in innocence between smooth hairless thighs. If they had been up to something reprehensible they'd been clever about disguising the fact.
Jennifer paused a moment to enjoy the little show anyway. Not because either of them stirred any lust in her, but because she knew just how ghastly it made them feel to be made to pose like that - in a skirt - with knickers
lowered - on the orders of a girl.
In fact Sammy and Amanda were beyond thinking of the daughter of the headmistress as a girl. She was a figure of authority with a strap, that was all.
She circled behind them, grabbing Sammy by the wrist and twisting his arm up his back. "What have you been up to?"
"N-nothing, Jennifer." he spluttered desperately.
After a moment she released his arm and confronted them again. "Both of you, down on the floor. Kow-tow!" she snapped. Docile and amenable, Amanda at once fell to his knees and dipped his forehead to the floor, but Sammy hesitated. This was too much. He may be dressed up like a schoolgirl but he had pride. He was a man and he refused to submit to such indignity.
Jennifer stepped nearer and took a firm grip of his hair. "Do you have something to say or are you deaf? If you're refusing to do as I wish I expect an explanation." Sammy noticed the hardness of her mouth and the fire in her eyes, and he sensed the strength of both her attitude and physique as her fingers tightened until they were practically pulling his hair out at the roots. Right away his sullen defiance melted. "S-sorry." he muttered weakly. When the girl pushed down on his head he sank to the floor and there took up the same posture of his timid, more obedient companion.
Immediately Jennifer placed a foot lightly on the back of his neck. "Are you sure you've done nothing wrong?"
"Honest Jennifer, honest." he mumbled.
She transferred her foot across to Amanda's slender neck. "And you, you're not feeling guilty and have nothing to confess?"
Her foot pressed down a little harder. "Are you sure?"
"I've just been looking after the room, Jennifer." came the girlish squeaky reply.
Drawing away she circled around their huddled forms and flicked up the back of their skirts to inspect their naked posteriors. Nothing untoward, but with their pants around their knees and their bare buttocks so defenceless they made a remarkably pretty sight. It was little wonder so many men found such things irresistible. Convinced that some mischief had passed between them, she considered putting the strap across their backsides anyway even if it meant concocting a reason, but she then reconsidered. Best to reserve the strap for proven offences, she thought.
"Phew! We were lucky to get away with just a smack on the legs," Sammy remarked to Amanda afterwards as they made their way down the stairs. "And thanks for what you did back there. I'd have been a dead duck if you hadn't been so quick to stick my knob in your mouth."
His companion gave him a frosty look as he paused to stroke some comfort into the sore red marks on the back of his thighs. "I didn't enjoy doing it. I only did it to keep myself out of trouble, you beast. I've never swallowed
sperm before, and you kept squirting and squirting."
"It didn't taste bad, did it?"
"You've probably poisoned me. Miss Twist says it's acid."
Sammy sighed and put on a lofty expression. "Silly dope! She said its made of sugar and chloride and citric acid - citric acid is what's in oranges, and no one dies from eating oranges." He tugged on the other boys sleeve. "I overheard matron telling Miss Hancock that food with a strong taste can affect the flavour of cum. That's why we have such awful dinners I think. She's experimenting. Miss Hancock wants sissy spunk to taste nice."
Slipping an arm around Amanda's waist he drew him close. "I say, don't be angry with me. I'll make it up to you later."