A Sissy Saga Ch. 16

"So you've misbehaved," she admonished as Fifi reluctantly approached. "Shameless girly - doing disgusting squirts whilst ladies are in the room. There's only one sure remedy for that."

Fifi gurgled behind his hand and glanced dismally at the hurdle. "That's right, it's there for you," Emma confirmed, "Get over it and make your bottom available."

She-boys like Fifi had become quite her favourite since coming to Fairyfield. Pretty, tender-bodied, vulnerable and easy to manage once they'd been cowed and made docile, their gorgeous bottoms were the perfect subject for the attention of a ladies slipper. Their manner could sometimes be surprisingly knowing for a sissy, as if they sensed that smacking them made a lady become damp between her legs, and often she'd give them extras for being so unerringly clever.

When the first swipe of the shoe struck Fifi's already sore backside his feet kicked up slightly and his legs parted before he settled into the kind of pose the schoolteacher appreciated - bottom slightly ajar to reveal a glimpse of anus - and his testes, divided by the harness that bound them, bulging between his thighs like a pair of juicy, fat plums. Circling round and loving the way each blow made him whimper, she took special care to aim her slipper at any pale patches on his reddened skin, then finished off with a couple of good stingers across both bottom cheeks.

No sooner had Fifi been returned to the gym than the belly-smeared Zoë fell foul of events. Halfway along the high-beam whilst doing a monkey-swing the frantic gyrations of his legs ceased and he suddenly paused and hung motionless like a pale pink 'Y'. He couldn't utter a sound of course, but his eyes staring wildly and his underarms, bathed in a slight sheen of perspiration, betrayed whirling emotions. Even in distress he was a gorgeous sight. His smooth slender stomach was made to seem even more delicate by the narrow, hairless chest that heaved above it, while his penis, as rigid as a steel bolt, was pointing straight out and oozing precum. Suddenly the tense cock twitched, and without the aid of any exterior stimulation it pumped forth a spout of cream.

With an expression of hopelessness clouding his face he dropped lightly to the floor where he was able to grasp the wayward gland in his fist and give himself a few moments of extended bliss before being directed over to Miss Twist.

He had only just been draped over the hurdle when Jennifer's voice was calling out again. Trudy Jones had lasted only a further half-lap before the tip of his throbbing member spontaneously bubbled with the appalling juice of manhood, and he too was sent over to Emma.

The doughty young schoolmistress had no intention of allowing a queue to form or of giving her current victim any respite, so she scooped him up bodily and stacked him face down on top of Zoë, pushing him well forward and pulling his legs astride so that Zoë's bottom was exposed beneath his own. With two sets of bared buttocks piled one on top of the other she continued as she'd intended, merely alternating her blows between them, an improvisation that she found so erotic that she did a cum in her pants. But it happened quietly and in secret, of course.

Soon afterwards Bambi too succumbed to the terrible sensitivity that assailed his penis. With the smooth skin of his abdomen taut from continuous repetitious exercise, his body sagged too low as he strained to fulfil a quota of push-ups, and the tender drooling tip of his youthful boner dug into the rubber mat. A spasm shot through him, and seized by erotic tremors his fingers clawed at the ball-gag and clutched at his pulsing cock. Breathing raggedly, nostrils flaring as he snorkelled for air, he was quite unable to prevent a copious discharge spurting forth, and even before his ejaculation had finished Jennifer was calling out, "Forfeit!"

Wearily he wiped away saliva forming on the edge of his imprisoned mouth as he staggered across to where Miss Twist waited to upend him over her hurdle. She gazed with secret relish at his helplessness and the endearing way his smooth legs appeared to be about to give way.

"Ah yes. Bambi!" the tutor murmured as she hauled him over. "I seem to recall you missed out on the first set of warmers earlier, and that being the case you'll get extra smacks now."

When Jennifer closed the circuit Emma hustled the five sobbing, sore-bottomed sissy-princess's together like a litter of puppies, and had them face the wall bars so she could survey their crimson bare bottoms. She was pleased with the result. So many gentle fingers now trying to soothe the heat from so many scorched buttocks. They were unable to talk, but they clearly shared a common anxiety of what would happen next.

"The effects of matron's, um, tonic is yet to wear off completely," she said to Jennifer, indicating the still upstanding line of youthful cocks, "I'll run them around the garden until it dissipates."

"Good idea," Jennifer said. She grasped Poppy by his elongated penis. "Take all the others, but I want this gender-bender for a while. I've some private business with him."

Dumbfounded, Poppy searched the faces around him for some guidance, but found none. Everyone else departed and he was left looking up at Jennifer's face in something of a quandary since he hadn't been aware of any kind of business at all with her. When she unbuckled the strap that held his gag in place and eased out the rubber ball he worked his mouth up and down in silence for a moment to test his jaw was still functioning.

"You're not going to hang me by my bollocks are you Jennifer?" he said at last, wiping the stain of recent tears from his cheeks.

The girl's mouth twisted. "Don't be such a cretin. I was about to compliment you on how well you managed this evening. You didn't disgrace yourself and you were the only one to avoid a forfeit."

He smiled wanly with a kind of ill-concealed pride. " I nearly did a cum loads of times, but I didn't want smacks over the hurdle so I managed to keep it in." His smooth features buckled slightly. "Anyway, I'm sure I got smacked more than any of the others without doing a forfeit."

Jennifer's face contorted in an expression of mock horror. "Why Poppy, you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking such a thing. It's just an impression you've got because you always squeak the loudest."

He gazed at her with a misleading air of wholesome innocence. "I wasn't squeaking - I couldn't squeak with a gag in my mouth."

The daughter of the headmistress allowed herself a small smile while her eyes wandered over him. In every aspect of his person, face as well as physique, he was formed as flawlessly as a girl. Naked in the gymnasium and elevated to the peak of condition, Poppy stood out, surpassing all others in symmetry of form and structure. Only his outlandish, oversized penis betrayed his real gender.

"Well, you know what I mean - you LOOKED like you were squeaking," she told him in a musical voice. "You're being quite horrid, and actually I'm quite put out to think that you believe I victimised you." Actually she was thinking how clever he was to have noticed the special attention she'd provided to his enticing little bum-cheeks. Special treatment because that evening she'd devised a special plan for him before she'd started.

"S-sorry, Jennifer."

"You've no one to blame but yourself if you've experienced discomfort. It's your own fault for bending over to please decrepit old men in the evenings when you should be watering daisies."

Poppy dodged the weight of her criticism in his usual fashion. "I don't water daisies. Feverfew look a bit like daisies, but..."

The girl grasped his arm impatiently. "Stop wittering rubbish. I've a special engagement for you tomorrow and it requires you to hold on to the accumulation of girly-goo in your balls. That being the case you'll spend the night in the dungeon with your hands tied behind your back."

"That's unfair," complained the she-boy dismally, "The gym session was supposed to excuse me from time in the dungeon."

Jennifer took a firm grip on his penis and hauled him towards the door. "Your right Poppy, it is unfair. But life is like that. Sometimes it's terribly unfair for weakling, girly fuckwits. That's unfortunate, but you'll simply have to accept it."

***

That evening found Miriam at her desk in her parlour-office elegantly dressed in a severe high-necked blouse and black knee-length skirt. Her 'headmistress uniform' Jennifer called it. She passed the time going through correspondence that had been ignored earlier, and writing yet another letter to the Historic Buildings Commission outlining why she believed Fairyfield Grange should qualify for a maintenance grant. Her absorption was so complete she was only dimly aware when the clock on the mantle chimed eight. She only checked the time when Gloria poked her head around the door.

"Lady Chance-Barton is here, Miss Hancock."

Miriam pushed her chair back and placed her feet squarely on the carpet. "Ask her to come in."

Diana Chance-Barton entered trying to make a show of indifference rather than reluctance, but the mackintosh she wore buttoned to the neck looked extremely incongruous when considering the hot weather and did much to diminish her haughty swagger. A bitter smile slid across her pale face making her look rather gaunt in the failing light of evening. "You wanted to see me." she said coldly.

Her antipathy was thinly veiled. She stared hard, waiting expectantly and there was a look of belligerence on her face.

Miriam frowned. "I rather think it was you who wanted to see me."

"I was ambivalent about coming, but we must reach an understanding about those wretched photographs you have in your possession. You know very well they only exist as a result of vile trickery."

The headmistress observed her without smiling. Even in surrender Diana Chance-Barton played the part of the aristocrat to the hilt, heaping on condescension until it became nauseating. That wouldn't do. The surrender had to be absolute or there was no satisfaction.

She went forward to confront her. "The evening is far too humid for you to wear such a big coat, Diana. Allow me to help you remove it."

Lady Diana was thin, elegantly thin. It wasn't so much her figure that was striking, though her legs were spectacular, it was the upward tilt of her chin that marked her out as different. Although not born into nobility she had enjoyed the pampered benefits of wealthy parents, and her education had been thorough and privileged. None of that was a crime in itself, but unfortunately it had made this lady in particular unpleasant and arrogant.

The woman's haughty face flushed slightly as the headmistress unbuttoned the mackintosh without her consent and peeled it back from her shoulders. The high-society Mistress of Chance-Hall was revealed in a dark knee-length skirt, plain white blouse with a turndown collar, and a neatly knotted necktie of red and white stripes. Standing her beneath the ceiling lamp where the light was brighter, Miriam studied the woman's complexion with critical acidity.

Her ladyship was an icon of the social set but she was no Lolita. Her beauty was of the kind that looked its best in daylight, but that night she had steeled herself to put aside make-up and haute monde and make an effort to dress as a schoolgirl. In a fit of over-enthusiasm to project the right image she had even opted to forsake wearing a bra, but her breasts were too impressive to retreat into insignificance. Every movement she made was marked by a noticeable judder of bulging flesh beneath the fabric of the blouse.

Diana's face glowed with embarrassment and she was clearly feeling overwrought. "Insisting I dress in this ridiculous fashion to visit you is intolerable." she snapped bitterly. "Perhaps now you've succeeded in humiliating me you're prepared to discuss things in a more mature way. Those wretched faked-up photographs that you constantly threaten me with are..."

"SILENCE!"

"W-what?" the visitors mouth dropped. She was astounded. People just didn't talk to the Lady of Chance Hall in such a sharp way.

Miriam Hancock's stare was glacial. "Don't make things hard for yourself by putting on pompous airs and graces, Diana. Act the schoolgirl part properly or we'll discuss nothing."

The other woman's face became set like stone. Miriam Hancock was an impertinent, conceited bitch, she thought. She'd been trying to influence the plebeian witch ever since she took up residence at Fairyfield Grange, but she'd failed. She had set out to dominate her like she dominated everyone else and it was infuriating to find she had gained the upper hand at every turn. She'd misjudged her. She'd thought her to be dull and insipid when she was actually as sharp as a whip. "Look here, Miriam, I..."

"Stand up straight girl. Put your feet together and stop flapping your hands like a bird."

"I-I'm not used to..."

"Not used to being told what to do? Not used to taking orders? You're twenty-nine years old and still a spoilt brat, but that will have to change."

"Miriam, please..."

"Don't be familiar. You must address me as headmistress."

"Really Miss Hancock, I can do without all this silliness."

Miriam flashed her teeth amid a frosty expression. "Then there's nothing more to be said. Let yourself out. Copies of the photographs will be in the post to all your favourite broadsheets tomorrow, and to the gutter press tabloids too."

Diana Chance-Barton had arrived having not thought beyond trying to assert herself, and now that had failed she was at a loss as to what to do next. "No, don't do that." Suddenly her self-assurance had gone. Her face became pink and her hands fumbled at her sides, just like a nervous schoolgirl. "I-I'd like to stay. Please allow me to stay, headmistress."

Miriam crossed her arms over her chest and savoured the moment. Gloated? Yes she was enjoying a little gloat. "I dare say you attended a good public school when you were younger, Diana. Cheltenham Ladies College or Roedean I expect. You probably became head-girl."

Diana stared at her shoes. "I was only ever head-of-house."

"Even so, you probably enjoyed a position of authority that enabled you to discipline younger girls, and I suspect you relished the power you had over them. Did you punish them often? Did you mock them? Did you strap their hands, twist their tits and pinch their nipples? Did you enjoy making them cry?"

Lady Chance-Barton shuffled uncomfortably. "I was entrusted to maintain the rules. A certain amount of correction was necessary if a girl was awarded a black mark. One had no choice but to do it."

Miriam went to her desk, and when she turned a short leather strap trailed from her hand. "The fright you gave poor Mr Hardwick as earned you a black mark and I'll not even mention the considerable bother you've caused me. Now it's time to pay the price."

Diana stared at the strap in astonishment and horror. "Miss Hancock - headmistress, I..."

"Let me finish." Miriam's voice was chill. "Arrogance as made you an unpleasant individual. That's unacceptable, and I don't tolerate unacceptable behaviour from people who come under my jurisdiction." She tapped the tip of the strap in her palm. "Hold out your hand."

Lady Diana blinked in disbelief. "Oh god. No. you can't..." But then in a mechanical fashion she extended her arm and flattened her fingers.

Still Miriam made no obvious show of triumph, instead she reached forward to coolly check the other woman's arm was level with her shoulder and align the hand, ensuring it was open with fingers pulled together. Then her voice assumed the magisterial tone of an irate schoolmistress. "You're wearing paint on your fingernails, Diana. I don't allow that when girls are in uniform. In future you'll remove it before you come to see me."

"In future?" The horror on Lady Chance-Barton's face increased. "But I thought that - I'm sure we shared an understanding - what I mean is..."

Miriam stepped forward and judged the distance. The strap became raised, then whooshed down to strike squarely across the fingers of the outstretched hand. CRACK! The leather struck keenly and Diana's entire body buckled. "Ooow!"

"If you believed your visit here to be a one-off thing, you are wrong. You will attend here whenever I tell you. Only obedience will ensure the safety of those photographs. Do you understand?"

"Yes, y-yes, headmistress." replied Diana, wincing with pain.

"Good. Now the other hand. Get it up. Hold it level."

"Oh, oh please."

SMACK! "Oooh" The shoulders of the 'schoolgirl' sagged and she clasped her hands and wrung them together frantically, not knowing how best to ease the sting in either.

"So far so good." said Miriam, "but the real test comes when the bottom is punished."

Diana's face became apoplectic. It couldn't be true. Surely this sadistic Fairyfield harridan wasn't planning to belt her backside like some witless junior girl who had neglected to learn her lessons. She was a grown married woman of good breeding. There was her elevated position in society to consider, and her pride had to be taken into account.

The schoolmistress seemed to read her mind and her voice cut the air. "Your head is a nest for vipers, and I must knock them out of you by way of your buttocks. Status disqualifies you from nothing here. Take off your skirt."

Diana had pushed her pleading as far as it would go, and she knew it. While Miriam stood glaring like a bird of prey she looked miserably down at the floor and fiddled with the clasp on her skirt. The zip rasped undone, but she hung onto her pride a moment longer until an impatient intake of breath from the headmistress dissipated the last remaining vestiges of defiance. With a swoosh the garment slipped down and she stepped out of it.

"Fold it neatly, dear. There are no flunkies to do it for you here."

Her ladyship did as directed, making a great show of doubling the skirt over and draping it over the back of a chair, while Miss Hancock observed the close fitting hug of her schoolgirl knickers. "You're wearing nylons, Diana. That's a privilege I only allow to senior pupils at my school."

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Never mind. In a way this occasion is a special one, and the welts of your stockings will enhance the outline of you derriere rather nicely."

With a soft 'plop' the skirt slid from the chair and onto the carpet. "You can't do ANYTHING right, can you? mocked Miriam. "Did you go to a finishing-school?"

"I-I attended Mme Lemarchand's Academy in Switzerland."

"Where you were no doubt drilled in the manner of a society hostess and taught how to eat 'difficult' food such as artichoke and asparagus. You will have been tutored in the correct table settings for various kinds of dinner parties and whether to serve real Cristal champagne or just settle for boring old Moet. Unfortunately no one ever taught you how to hang up your own clothes."

As Diana crouched down to retrieve the skirt her pants tightened around the soft curves of her buttocks, and her bum cheeks wobbled faintly but with a certain resilience as she straightened up. With the skirt properly secured at last. Miriam continued. "Now your knickers. Get them down girl."

Diana hesitated, wavered, and risked one last try to hold onto her dignity. Her voice became breathless and her tone childish, wheedling and pleading all at the same time. "Please headmistress, please don't make me. Don't insist I lower my pants."

"And why not, pray?" asked Miriam quietly with just a hint of teasing.

"It's - it's embarrassing. It's, well - a girl - a woman shouldn't be made to take down her pants for smacks - n - not when she's grown-up she shouldn't."

The other woman listened with an air of reasonable restraint and sounded almost understanding as she replied. "You may be right. Perhaps you are too grown up to have your pants taken down."