A Sissy Saga Ch. 24

"We never see a headline about bread-lines today. And when we see the landlord, we can look that guy right in the eye. We're in the money, come on, my honey. Let's lend it, spend it, send it rolling along."

Sunlight played on glossy thighs that were smooth and shapely with an enticing butterscotch tan. Each dancer's spine had enough curve to generate immense sauciness to its attached gyrating bare bottom cheeks. They were untouchable in the present situation, but more than a few people groaned in frustration and all the men looked like they'd got a car trailer attachment stuffed down the front of their trousers.

When the music stopped Jennifer swept them away to get dressed. All that is with the exception of Lulabelle, who darted off in search of a toilet, and almost barged headlong into Hyacinth Glossop.

The gentlemen were not the only ones to appreciate the display of pantied penis's. The woman moved round to stand in front of him, regarding him thoughtfully, half-hooded eyes like those of a predatory bird, peering down to mentally devour his cotton covered groin with all its interesting shapes, the boy-cock inside the minuscule smudge of girlish-panties bending the material outwards, and the bulge in the crotch where the plump wrinkly bag of his scrotum was cradled.

The darling perfectly proportioned, she noticed, with large innocent eyes and a rose and ivory complexion. He looked carbolically well scrubbed, and the honey sweet smell of newness about him drew her forward like a wasp to ripe fruit.

"How d'y'do. What's your name?" she asked.

"Lulabelle... Lulu if you like." he answered, looking at her suspiciously.

Hyacinth was a short and corpulent. She had a wrinkled, fat face, saggy neck like a turkey, and she was almost as big across as she was tall, with a head that seemed to rise directly out of her ample cleavage. Her peroxide blond hair was caught back in a bun so severe that her pencilled eyebrows were arched high, giving her a perpetual look of surprise. That day she wore tortoiseshell glasses and a snot-green dress which was fighting a losing battle with her figure.

"Are you planning to stay long?"

"I'm... I'm not sure... Miss Hancock decides things like that. Where are the loo's, please miss?"

Hyacinth pursed her mouth and looked towards the house. The edifice seemed to smile beneath eaves warped by time, its complexion mellowed by two hundred summers.

"The loo's? Everyone as permission to use the toilets in the 'ouse today. Come with me, I'll show you."

Lulabelle, flushing slightly and shook his head. "There's no need to do that."

The woman was not to be deterred. Her brow knitted, she took one of his hands in hers and drew him forward. "Of course there is. It's best if I show you the way." she said, moving him away from the garden and steering him purposefully towards the house.

He wasn't sure he wanted her to take him, but she was so overbearing he didn't know how to refuse. He trailed indignantly at her side into the rear door and along a neat, carpeted passage. "'Ere we are. There's the toilet." she remarked, indicating a door. "Can you manage, or shall I come in with you? I don't mind 'olding an' aiming things for a cutie like you."

Horrified, Lulabelle raced into the cubicle and slammed the door. He hoped that she would be gone by the time he'd finished, but his hopes crashed when he opened the door again and she immediately grabbed hold of his hand.

"Let's not go outside yet." she said hurriedly, as if trying to pin down a butterfly before it escaped. She smiled and tilted her head to one side. "I watched you dancing - you boys - h'all that to-ing an' fro-ing an' stamping yer feet. You were h'all squiggley and sexy. It was very - um - entertaining."

As if following a predetermined plan she ushered him a little way down the corridor before guiding him through French doors into a small conservatory set out like a walled garden. It was a botanical wonderland full of tiny flowers dashed with colour and abundant with purple clematis. "This is perfect." she declared.

Lulabelle wasn't so sure. "Oh ... er ... couldn't we go somewhere else? Everyone is outside."

The woman seated herself on a wicker chaise-longe, piling a mass of cushions behind her and patting her tight coiffeur complacently. "No, no, m'dear. This is h'ideal. I like it because it's private." She leaned back against the cushions and watched him covertly. A strange ardour darkened her eyes and an indefinable hunger sharpened the angles of her round face. Up to that point the tenor of conversation between them had been breezy silliness, a light-hearted exchange of nonsense. Now things changed.

"Naughty little mademoiselle, that's what you are. Disgraceful. Does yer mother know you prance about practically naked in front of people? Does she approve of you showing-off like you do?"

"I - I think she knows."

She made a wide gesture with her arm and loose, lumpy flesh jiggled like tapioca. "Awful! Some women these days have no sense of decency. You're a bad boy, makin' people feel sexy like you do. If them that looks after you won't sort you out, I'll have to do the job for 'em. You're... um... little outfit suits you perfectly, but I think we need to 'ave it off."

Hyacinth couldn't resist it. She got hold of him and pulled him forward, letting her hands run the length of his spine until they reached the waistband of his skimpy G-string and then she hooked her fingers under it.

She felt Lulabelle tense as she pushed the tiny garment downward over his legs, hearing his gasp as the elastic scraped the tender pink tip of his cock head as his sheboy lovestick sprang free, stiff and drippy. But she didn't stop. She didn't pause until she'd dragged the garment over dimpled knees and working the thongs off over his ankles and feet.

Then Mrs Glossop cleared her throat and breathed heavily. "I know h'all about you an' that queer lot at the school. But you are a lovely thing. A vamp. Narrow little limbs, just like a toy. How old is you?"

Lulu looked at her sheepishly. "I'm nearly nineteen."

"You don't look that old, but I 'spect that's coz you're a frilly pantywaist shemale." She glanced down. "Nice knob though, a good looking pair o' balls too. It all seems odd somehow. Still, live-an-let-live I allus say. The world would be a boring place h'if everyone was the same."

Lulabelle felt her stroke his bottom very slowly, tantalising herself, letting the line of his legs lead her to the site of her fascination.

Hyacinth felt heat in her knickers. Like an addict in urgent need of a fix she drew him closer. "Down! Get over my lap, yer naughty tranny teaser."

Lulabelle looked startled. "Oh, no. Not my bum, please miss."

"Oh yes." she replied gruffly. "You're not going to throw me off as easy as that, me cherub. It's time you learned a bit of 'umility. A thing like you shouldn't go around teasing respectable ladies like you do. My kids is all grown up and its not often these days I have a chance to tan a pretty arse, so I's gonna spank yours 'til it's cherry red."

She was not about to hurry her pleasure. Breasts swelling inside her bra she settled back, hoisting the front of her cotton skirt up above the welts of her tan stocking before positioning him across her broad lap, drawing him close until his thighs made contact with her knees and then pulling him into the familiar 'bottoms up' position. She felt his penis nudge against her bare thigh and fancied it had extended an extra inch.

Her eyes travelled down his back to observe how his muscles stretched and his spine indented. His waist was so narrow she was sure she could span it with her hands, and his bottom lifted up like an apple yet to acquire a rosy burnish.

"You have a beautiful bum dear, so soft, perfectly shaped for spanking."

With the minimum of fuss she established his position, bottom in the air, legs straight, hands touching the floor. The pose was right, his helplessness right, the surrender of his most intimate parts to a older, wiser person the natural way of things.

SWAP! She smiled and smacked once, a weak flick at best but enough to make Lulabelle catch his breath as it landed. "Oh!"

With her mouth watering she spanked his thighs, beginning with the back of his knees and working slowly up to the soft flesh beneath the crease of his buttocks.

SNICK, SMACK, SPLAT! "Eeeer, Nnnnrrr, Ooooeuf!"

At last the bottom, thrusting upwards, the cheeks round and soft, the skin the colour of ivory touched as yet by just a blush of sunset.

SWIT! Her palm bounced off the juddering backside and the tendons of Lulabelle's shapely legs tightened as his girlish backside gyrated. "Yyyaaahhhh!" He wallowed and squirmed in showy histrionics, his face twisting as he attempted to clutch at his bottom.

SWAT! "Yeouch, oh, oh, oow!" Hyacinth had managed to control her erratic breathing, but now a crooked smile distorted her mouth. Opening her handbag she took out a pot of skin cream and scooped some out to grease her fingers.

Lulabelle's heart raced and his mind whirled. He closed his eyes, aware only of the sting of his bottom and the new sensations being introduced. A hand touched his thighs, wormed between them and eased them apart, then fingers slid up to claw wide his perfect sissy cheeks.

"Oh, miss..."

When she observed his anus she thought the pulpy rosette to be nicely taut. She kneaded his buttocks, giving attention to the crevasse between and rotating a fingertip around his bum hole until the pucker opened up. Then, placing the tip of her finger against the youthful pucker she gave a little push to establish it beyond the ring of muscle.

He felt the hardness. It snouted like a blind animal as it made its way. Her probing finger skewered boldly and flexed amid the satiny warmth within, producing a parody of the masculine penetration of a girl.

"Uph!" In a fraught movement Lulabelle titled his head back as he grimaced, but the woman ignored him. A little jigging around to open things up, then another shove to get in get in another inch. The lubricate made it easy. Her finger penetrated beyond his sphincter to loosen the ring of his anus. Burying it inside him she turned it left and right as if she were trying a key in a lock.

The finger dallied for a moment, embedded to the second knuckle and moving about inquisitively in the moist, mushy confines. When she withdrew it she replaced it with two fingers, and Lulu uttered a little moan as they began to fuck his narrow passage. Every centimetre of her fingers entered, and his tiny butternut bottomhole began to slither around them, letting them go deep. Tight young buttocks, bunching and changing shape as she dug between them.

"Oooh!"

"There we are my little lover. You manage h'everything so nicely."

"It - it feels so big."

"No bigger than some of the things that 'ave ploughed you in the past, I'm sure." Inspired, Hyacinth leaned over and applied her weight, moving her fingers with increasing piston-like efficiency, romping them in and out joyfully, fucking him with a frenzied sleazy passion that felt almost out of control. Her fingers were sturdy and delivered swifter, harder strokes.

"Is that okay for you? Does it feel like a man?"

"Gggnnn! It feels - I dunno, I dunno." He twitched inside, and an enormous shiver of tingling pleasure rippled through him.

She heard his high-pitched tranny squeal as the warm soup his cock slopped out. It splashed onto the bare thigh above her stocking tops and dribbled slowly downwards like melting ice cream.

It proved a trigger for herself. Her tortoiseshell glasses slipped down her nose as hot sensations raked through her own body. Gasping out a sharp cry she clamped her legs together as orgasmic bliss swept through her. Her facial expression told its own story. Her normal high colour intensified into deep puce while her entire body seemed to deflate, draining the tension from her neck and shoulders.

It had been such a long time since she'd enjoyed such uninhibited pleasure, and in answer to the excitement in her loins she withdrew her fingers, dropped Lulu between her thighs, and crammed his face against the warm, slick swamp that had formed in the gusset of her pants.

"Oh, oh, yes. Now make a meal o' that yer dirty little girl." she whinnied while heaving her aching genitals against his mouth.

Outside in the garden the last of the summer butterflies flitted through the dark backdrop of the rhododendrons, and the trees bordering the lake were a blaze of glory; emerald, saffron, gold and deep olive green.

Jennifer, wearing a rose pom-pom chiffon dress with a bow on its wide swathed collar was feeling the model of sartorial elegance which was so different to her usual couldn't care tuppence attitude. The previous day she'd also had her hair styled. She'd gone to Castleford and found a salon with black walls and the kind of music everyone associated with class 'A' drugs, and had emerged with a style designed to frighten old ladies. She looked so much like a rock-chick she'd had to spend the rest of the day subduing the extremes of her spiky new coiffure. That day she looked more gothic than anything, metallic blue lipstick, blood coloured nails and heavy purple eyeshadow.

Out of sight, a Champagne cork popped and some women giggled. Sunlight was bathing the top of the marquee in molten light and tucked inside the open end of it Poppy was being all lightness and warmth. Not content with just playing the diligent new bride to perfection he stood, still in his trousseau, pouring tea and serving tiny sandwiches to the wedding guests, recommending the ones with eggy filling while quietly throwing away all those stuffed with slices of orange coloured fish which he thought tasted disgusting. It was an occupation he was familiar with. Like a child he was a creature of simple pleasures.

"Beautiful weather. Beautiful ceremony in the church too." she remarked to her mother, "Shame Poppy's mother couldn't come today."

"His mother?" Miriam shrugged her shoulders, "She's still in Holloway and can't get the time off. I spoke to her on the phone though. I expected her to be angry, but she seemed oddly resigned. Maybe she expected this was going to happen one day."

"That number you chose for the dancers to perform earlier..."

"It's an old tune."

Jennifer nodded. "But you ARE in the money now you have the full benefit of Uncle Albert's inheritance. You're rather well off."

Her mother gazed around in alarm at the absence of sissies. All but Poppy's closest friends had been taken back to Fairyfield, but suddenly she couldn't see any of them. "Where are they? The wicked imps have scampered off. I've lost track of all my darlings." she complained, "Get Gloria to help you, Jennifer. Go and find them at once. Go and find them and send them back here."

Jennifer dashed along the outside of the marquee in a temper, but couldn't even find Gloria. All summer term she'd kept tabs on her mother's pantywaist ménage without them giving her any trouble, and now on the very last day when she though she could relax with a glass of champagne the trollops had taken advantage to go off on escapades. She should have known better. She should have tied their feet when she had the chance.

Two of the dancers were easily found. Alistair, Mrs Boroclough's grandson, was sitting in a wicker chair behind the marquee, and Jemima and Candy were kneeling worshipful and gaga between his knees, allowing him to spoon-feed them with ice-cream.

It was no mystery why they were attracted to Alistair, he was very dark and wicked looking in a thoroughly piratical way, with the perfect shape of his head tilted with the arrogance of a Roman god.

She regarded him with suspicious and thickly-mascared eyes. With the right provocation he could have made James Dean look like a beatific Noddy, and from the satyr-like expression on his face and the enormous bulge in his trousers he was probably contemplating dosing his two adoring admirers with a different kind of cream to the chilled variety.

She snatched them away and told them to go back to her mother, then moved along the garden away from the tent. The concentration of people had remained in the vicinity of the tent, but Amanda, Holly and Trudy had walked off a little way. They were back in their bridesmaid outfits and gossiping and giggling in an all-girls-together kind of way.

Then others began to appear. She spied Lulabelle returning sheepishly from the direction of the house and then saw Bambi meandering along the path by the lake, hand in hand with a village boy. When he saw her looking the village lad guiltily released Bambi's hand and widened the space between them.

It wasn't as bad as her mother had feared, only Sammy was missing. But where could he be?

Impatiently she brushed around the intense green leaves of a beech hedge. Beyond it was a topiary of high privet with pleasant narrow walks in between. Coming to a sort of crossroad's in the greenery she came to where a marble nymph reclined in a mossy arbour where rustling noises behind the bushes suggested a young person was into mischief.

But when she went to investigate she discovered Lizzie, the niece of Mrs Amos, sitting astride the thighs of a supine Lord Nigel who had his trousers round his knees. On the ground beside them lay a pair of girls pants, and Sophie's skirt was flipped up over her buttocks. The girl's pussy, that part that should have been reminiscent of an oyster, fresh, pink and well guarded, was stretched slickly around the girth of a very rampant penis, sliding up and down fiercely, dipping and rising, smothering the vertical prong with the soft envelope of her young muscular flesh.

Sophie gasped each time she crammed down, urging the cock to stretch her delicate flesh and cleave her young vagina. Up and down went the girl's thighs on that male appendage, slick and slippery down to the fat balls, pausing to appreciate being stuffed with man meat before lifting up to the base of the mushroom tip.

The man bucked his hips and he gasped and gurgled when again and again she repeated the process, but the young miss wasn't daunted by his urgent thrusts. Sophie was probably never daunted. The girl maintained an energetic panting noise, ardent and rhythmic.

"Fuck me, mister." her voice cracked. "Dirty old lordship. Shagging a young girl. Stuffing your big prick into her tiny cunt. Yes, that feels nice. But do it harder, you old duffer. Fuck me harder."

Jennifer turned and walked quickly away. She'd been asked to collect in the sissy dancers and had no intention of being drawn into anything else. Her mother had frequently told her it was inadvisable to interfere in other peoples private family affairs. Anyway, Sophie may be misbehaving, but at least today she was misbehaving in an almost normal way.

She exited from the topiary and then slowed. Beneath the shelter of a spreading magnolia there was a wooden gate that led into a grassy paddock. She froze. Beyond the tree and in the paddock stood a small stuccoed gazebo with a domed roof, and between the miniature Grecian-style columns that formed its upper structure she identified the slim-bodied figure of Samantha. What on earth was he doing there so far away from everyone else?

She tramped noiselessly over the grass and circled round to the doorless entrance to find he was not alone. A woman was with him, a woman was kneeling before him as if in prayer. She recognised her as someone she'd seen hovering around St Barnaby's. Pamela somebody. Yes - it was Pamela Upduff.

"Excuse me." she said. "My mother wants Samantha back at the tent."

It was then she noticed that Pamela's actions were worshipful but far from holy. The woman had one hand curled about the pantyboys erect penis and the fingers of her other were tucked beneath his testicles.