A Sissy Saga Ch. 09

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"That's it!" encouraged Monica, pumping energetically, "That were a nice one. And another - wow, yes - you don't 'alf chuck it out when you gets going."

When she moved away to wipe her hand Lucy might have believed that an end had come to his indecent ordeal, but Monica had other ideas. Hitching up her skirt she swung a leg over to straggle him, and the sissy looked up to see the gusset of her panties suspended above his face. They were stretched wide and displayed a prominent wet patch were the juice of her excitement was seeping through, and he knew immediately without being told, what he had to do. Girls always wanted the same thing when they sat on his face.

Sticking out his tongue he swirled its snaking tip around the centre of the warm damp stain, causing Monica to hover for a moment to enjoy the flickering effect before she settled down. Her panties descended to squash against his mouth, and Lucy drew a deep breath, passively opened his lips and started to suck.

***

"Jennifer don't! Jennifer please, you mustn't!" Polly Clagget's voice of protest was small and faint as she struggled without effect to break Jennifer's embrace. With rhythmic continuity her little utterings corresponded precisely with each wriggle and squirm of her body as she first pulled away, then backed up against the girl behind her.

Such an easy catch, thought Jennifer happily as she squeezed the pert young breasts that only moments before she'd pulled out from the front of Polly's blouse. Polly Clagget had the reputation of being a prissy young lady, but despite the noise she was making at that moment her protestations were half-hearted and she wasn't trying too hard to escape. Jennifer had pulled the tits out from her blouse the first time they'd met, and was now well acquainted with her meek demonstrations of unwillingness. They served for nothing but to salve the girls own feelings of guilt. Polly loved being mauled, it just horrified her to admit it.

The haberdasher's shop owned by Polly's mother was small and crammed to the rafters with bolts of fabric, shanks of wool and racks of coloured cotton. All the walls, including the one behind the counter were shelved out, while the floor space too was being used for storage and barely allowed enough room for customers to pass from the front to the rear. There were no customers but Jennifer at that moment, she having put the 'closed' notice on the door and locked it.

At eighteen Polly Clagget was modest and pretty and the epitome of every mothers wish. Always sensibly dressed, kind to children, industrious in the home and tireless in the workplace. Everyone agreed that when the right man came along she would prove herself to be a credit to the community as a dutiful wife and outstanding mother. But during a single brief meeting the previous week the girl from Fairyfield had recognised certain elements in Polly that had been common with some girl's she had known at boarding school. They were insignificant things mostly, just a particular nuance in a shy smile and a little quiver when their hands touched, but put together they were enough to tell Jennifer everything about Polly that all the others missed.

"Nice huh?" Jennifer grinned, rolling soft malleable breast flesh in her hands, before lifting it up and gently pulling it.

Polly whined a breathless reply. "Jennifer, you know you shouldn't do this, you're making me a bad girl."

"Oh, but you are a bad girl Polly. I know you have passions bubbling inside you that you don't let other people see, but I see them, and you know what I do with bad girls, don't you?" Polly blushed frantically as Jennifer heaved her forward against the shop counter and pushed her across it. Biting her lip she felt the back of her skirt raised to reveal her attractive young bottom and the panties that seemed rather inadequate to uphold the reputation of a modest girl.

Thwack! "OUCH!" She yelped as Jennifer's hand slapped her rear.

"Hold still," Jennifer demanded, pressing a hand into the middle of her back and making her bared breasts squash down onto the countertop. "Bad girls need smacks. Girls who have naughty thoughts have to be punished, and I know you have lots of naughty thoughts."

Thwack! "OUCH! S-sorry." Her victims voice wobbled. "Sorry Jennifer."

"Quite right. Bad girls have to learn how to behave. That's important."

Thwack! "Oow! Yes Jennifer."

Jennifer practised considerable thought whilst issuing a spanking. If her smacks were too light it made the likes of Monica Braithwaite roll about in fits of giggles, while given too hard just about everyone became hysterical with pain. With her mothers sissies she applied something in between whilst assuming the role of a stern matron; a series of stinging slaps that were keen enough to induce shame, indignation and perhaps a few sorrowful tears, but which also delivered a delicious, indefinable sense of naughtiness. Since Polly appeared to respond well to being bullied and bossed about she thought that to be the most appropriate treatment for her too.

Slipping a finger beneath the elastic of the girls pants she slid it around the curve of one cheek. "Lift up Polly dear. Lift up for Jennifer and let her take your pants down."

Panting slightly the girl eased the weight off her legs and allowed her tormentors fingers to slid under her tummy and pull the underwear down over her thighs. She may have thought her treatment insufferable, but she made no attempt to stop it. There was nothing wishy-washy about Jennifer. She demanded respect.

Thwack, thwack! "Ow!"

More spanks impacted onto a rump that was now utterly naked and Polly couldn't hold back her yelps. She cried out not because of the pain, but because of the wicked pleasure of it all. The pain was a fleeting thing that only shocked for a moment, but it brought with it an insidious burning sensation that lingered to arouse desires she'd always tried to keep in check.

Jennifer took the opportunity presented by the girls helpless wriggling to peep under the back of her thighs and observe the charms snuggled between her legs. Audaciously she reached out to caress things, and to worm a fingertip around the site of an aroused clitoris. "Gah, oh, oooh!" Polly responded only with moans, and when Jennifer's finger became buried in the mouth of her soft vagina the hot fluid of the girls excitement welled up around them.

"Humph! Despite your goody-two-shoes image I bet you're a hot little raver whenever you get a length of prick up there." said Jennifer.

"I - I don't let boys do that. I've promised mummy I'll be good."

Jennifer pulled a face. "Still the sweet prim virgin eh. But you could get around that. There's more than one way to enjoy cock, some girls even prefer it." She stroked a finger between the cheeks of Polly's bottom and probed meaningfully at her anus. "I've got the equipment at home to give you a sample if you fancy it. A small vibrator at first, then..."

Polly shivered in horror, pressed her knees together and clenched her bottom. "Oh god! No I couldn't. Not up my bum. Oh god, no!"

Jennifer's tummy rippled with pleasure at the girls desperate expression. Such coyness was a delight and she was enjoying teasing her. "But Polly dear, girls who wish to keep an unsullied pussy should offer something, that's only polite. I can get hold of a plastic cock that that'll squirt cum into you..."

"No, no. Please Jennifer. Please don't talk dirty like that."

Jennifer's eyes became hooded with fierce desire as she hauled the distraught Polly away from the counter. "It's not important. I can make do with something else for the time being. Kneel down in front of me."

Polly flustered uncertainly. "Kneel down! I-I don't understand."

Jennifer gripped her shoulders and pushed her down, then raised her own skirt to give her some hint of what was expected. Dragging the gusset of her pants to one side she grabbed Polly by the hair and pulled her head between her legs, inching forward until her glistening pussy was poised directly over her upturned face.

"Eat me Polly. Make me cum with your mouth and tongue or I'll spank you until you cry."

The girl swallowed hard. She had no idea what to do even with her eyes open, but she let her instincts guide her, and when she found Jennifer's clitoris she latched onto it and lapped avidly, letting the tender pleasure bean throb against her tongue whilst scooping up the warm juice that flooded out from the slit of her vagina. It was the first time she'd tasted intimate girl flesh and feminine secretions, but the spanking and mistreatment had aroused her to a high pitch. That she had never been with a girl before was unimportant, what she was now doing was so erotic - so naughty.

Almost unaware of her hands, she reached down between her own thighs and her fingers began to whirl madly around the sensitive nub of tissue that had stiffened and now protruded from its tiny refuge at the entrance of her own vagina. "Hmmmmph, glummmm!"

"You learn quickly," Jennifer remarked shakily as she crammed down on her mouth, "But remember to let me cum first. A good girl should always see to me properly before jerking herself off."

***

Poppy Popperwell managed to view most things that happened to him as romantic adventure. Work called for an organised mind, and that was a monumental problem for someone like Poppy who's thoughts tended to drift into daydreaming so easily. He was not yet nineteen years old and somehow fantasies and real life didn't seem at odds with each other. Even punishment he regarded fatalistically (though he wouldn't have known the meaning of the word), and providing it wasn't too brutal if could lend a certain rosy glow to the amorous feelings that constantly stirred inside him.

That day hadn't been too bad. Jennifer had scolded him and pulled his hair and smacked his ears several times for what she called inadequate effort, but she'd only made him cry once.

Jennifer had then gone to the village and hadn't yet returned, and it had been Miss Hancock herself who had taken him upstairs and shown him the outfit she wanted him to wear later that evening.

When she departed he found himself to be the sole occupant of the west-wing, and seeking a change from perpetual cleaning he went back up to the guest room and viewed the dress laying across the bed. It was the same one he'd recently finished in needlework class, a black parlour-maid outfit with short sleeves and a flouncy little skirt. Everyone else completed such set-piece work during their first term, but he had needed two terms to finish it. Mrs Pardoe rated him a slapdash, mediocre seamstress but it was a good result achieved after a great deal of verbal abuse and ill treatment, so he regarded it with a certain amount of pride. There were nylons too, sheer, dark and seamless, and a pair of skimpy black panties, and shoes; a pair of patent leather sling-backs with gorgeous spindly high-heels.

He scrubbed his face with cold water and a flannel until it shone with rosy freshness and was ready for make up, then he brushed his hair back and refastened the plaits behind his head before putting on his new uniform. First the stockings. Hmm, heavenly. He pointed his pretty toes skywards as he smoothed them down his legs, then fastened on the narrow black garter belt, oblivious of how the straps of the belt dangled to frame his penis and testicles.

Next came the pretty, pretty panties, and finally the dress. The waist fitted perfectly and the skirt clung to his hips before falling to an immodestly short hemline in swirling ruches around the tops of his lovely thighs. The colour of the dress was as dowdy as his gymslip, but a white linen collar and cuffs relieved the black as did the tiny frilled organdie apron that he tied about his slender waist.

He examined himself in the mirror, turning and wiggling this way and that to admire his sylph-like reflection and looking as pleased as punch. The clothes enhanced his natural arresting good looks, bringing his girlish features into focus. The combination of black and white was crisp and clean, and the stockings and shoes made him feel mature and professional. A smile made his eyes sparkle, while two bewitching dimples formed on his cheeks which gave his face an appearance of immense sweetness.

"You'll do," he said, hands on hips and twirling about.

It occurred to him that he did look pretty. No wonder men were always falling in love with him, and some women too; women like Miss Hancock. His admirers, and there were many, thought him placid. They marvelled at his mild temperament and basked in his good nature whilst coaxing him into their beds, but what they took as serenity and lack of intolerance was in fact a managed preference. He loathed scenes of emotional turmoil and believed it far more worthwhile to spend time enjoying 'nice' things.

He had always been fair of face and attractive. He'd grown up amid people with glittering eyes telling him how gorgeous he was, and he'd come to distinguish between innocent fawning and wolfish observation. Men he understood, they praised him constantly and always got a hard-on if he pranced around and waggled his bum a little bit. What a beauty! What a body! What a gorgeous little bottom! They marvelled. He'd taken his pants off to please quite a lot of them in the past, so he knew had a certain kind of power over most men in the world, but women were an odd lot, he thought. He could never tell what women were thinking.

"Oh conkers!" he sighed as he felt his willy rising up and the front of his pants pressing outwards. Just like when he'd put on his first ever lipstick nice new frocks so often made him horny, and Miss Hancock would go wild if she saw him like that. She'd be livid too if she found his brand new panties all wet and cummy.

He patted the tenting gently. "Naughty cock!" Never mind, there was plenty of time to make things right, and he knew the best remedy for making things lay down for a while. Doing it whilst wearing stockings and suspenders would be especially nice, but he decided it best to remove the dress. He didn't want to get it creased with all the squirming he was going to do, and he certainly didn't want to risk it being splashed with any of the gooey stuff queuing up for release in his precious girly ball-bags.

There! He thought some time later. With a polishing cloth in one hand and a tin of beeswax in the other he surveyed the end to his work. He wanted to make a good impression so he'd polished everything in sight, the curtains were neatly drawn and the whole room looked sparkling and bright. He straightened a few dented cushions and looked around. Everything was in order. The lighting was subdued and drinks were waiting, so after checking the clock he paused to look at himself in a mirror; touching his hair and rearranging the collar of his parlour-maid outfit. He looked fine and dandy, and he wore the dress with the kind of confidence that made him seem soft and girlish and someone accustomed to being looked at and admired. There were pearls in his earlobes, and the discerning touch of make-up on his cheeks was pearly too.

After a while he heard the car, then footsteps, and finally the door opened. He curtsied elegantly, first for Miss Hancock and then for Miss Twist, and noticed Emma beam as she observed him. "What a sexy looking cutie."

She was sexy herself, thought Poppy, she looked lithe and chic in her tight fitting Katherine Hammet jeans and turtleneck cashmere sweater. Miss Hancock was decidedly suave as always, dressed in slim-line black trousers and a lovely aubergine jacket adorned with a white pearl necklace. Everything looked perfect on her, but Miss Twist's youthfulness gave her the edge in attraction.

Confident that he had chilled the wine to the correct degree he took hold of the bottle and eased out the cork with a gentle screwing motion so as not to excite the contents into excessive effervescence. A faint plop! And he was able to pour.

Emma Twist sank down into the corner of the sofa and curled her feet up beside her as she considered the perpendicular lines of bubbles rising up in the glass flute that was offered to her. "Gosh, real champagne!"

Miriam perched herself in the armchair across the hearth and raised her own glass. "We've enjoyed a glorious evening and I don't intend to ruin it by offering you carbonated glop. Cheers!"

They drank, and feeling at ease and relaxed, began to talk. "It must be quite a change in lifestyle for you Emma, Leeds to darkest Yorkshire."

"Yes," the other woman admitted, turning her glass in her hand, "Cities are impossible. You can't park in them or drive in them, in fact you can't get anywhere without sweated effort. Anyway, I'm not cut out for teaching a dreary syllabus in an urban school, and since I've a natural inclination to be firm with people this is probably the best place for me."

Their eyes met and held, and interpreting some subtle signal Miriam moved across to settle on the sofa next to her, sliding an arm around the younger woman's shoulder and drawing her forward until her head lay on the warm bulk of her chest. The word sensual sprang to mind when she was with her. Where other women were concerned Miriam had a connoisseurs palate and an artists demeanour, and she savoured every texture and taste, both rich and mild.

The day had been wonderful. Earlier Emma and herself had made love for an hour, kissing each others bodies, lapping at each others sex, using fingers and tongues and finally enjoying a volcanic orgasm during a pussy on pussy joust. In the evening they'd taken a table by a crackling open fire in the new bistro on the Castleford Road, and as one of the owners was American they'd enjoyed a delicious supper of New England fare; creamy fish chowder and hot corn bread with lashings of butter, chicken pot pie with green peas and candied sweet potatoes, then apple pie and home-made ice-cream. Now heady from wine and still aglow from Emma's previous attention Miriam was as content as she could be. Or she would have been had it not been for recurring thoughts of Diana Chance-Barton and her lawyer's letter.

Emma smoothed hair from Miriam's cheek, then placing a finger beneath her chin she turned her face upwards and kissed her on the mouth. She was such a busy-head all the time - a cold fish - it was hard to believe she could be such a wonderful lover. She ran her fingers along her bare arm. "Why, your skin is so white, pure, pure white. I've never really noticed before."

Miriam didn't flinch, even though her arm tingled under her touch, she just gave a little laugh. "My mother used to scold me for taking too much colour in the sunshine. She said her own mother used a parasol in the moonlight even when she lived alone."

Emma laughed too as her fingers stroked, her voice soft and caressing. "Beautiful!" she breathed as she lurched against her.

Poppy tactfully hovered against the wall, hands clasped in front, knees pressed together in the stance of a well behaved girl, ready to produce more drink if required but not daring to intrude otherwise. He remained a silent witness to everything. Two women canoodling so intimately made an odd sight, but it didn't stir him at all. Women were odd creatures.

At that moment Emma Twist seemed to be more beautiful than any woman had the right to be to Miriam. Her heart started to beat furiously and her head began to spin. Suddenly she wanted to take the younger woman in her arms and mutter soft, endearing things in her ear. She looked askance at her, aware of the sudden tension building between them.

Emma reached out to stroke her face with the back of her fingers. "God, you're pretty. Those cheekbones - gorgeous! And you've such incredible skin - so smooth, like a child's. You're beautiful, Miriam. Anyone could easily love you. I could love you." Her hand slid up Miriam's throat, touching her ear, then tracing her lips. "Loneliness is a terrible thing," she whispered, "But, we needn't ever be lonely. I could love you, oh, so easily."

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