A Sissy Saga Ch. 01

Straightening her back she crossed her legs to adopt her usual posture, a posture that was contained and regal. One elegant eyebrow, a darker black than her dark, clubbed hair, arched above her sceptical gaze. There was an imperious quality in the way she held her head, and her eyes glistened with alert attention. "Punish! William. Whatever do you mean, my dear?" She leaned back as if passing a comment on the weather. "You're not being punished. The very idea! No, no. It's just a matter of including you in the routine we practise here. You need to be taught about obedience."

"But aunty, I am being obedient, really I am, but Jennifer's still going to punish me some more, I just know she is."

Miriam contemplated his spanked bottom leisurely. Smooth, round and perfect, enhanced by a delicious deep blush courtesy of Jennifer's hand. Something inside her stirred, and if she, who was pure in heart could feel such a stirring she could imagine how the lustful would react. She could imagine how men without scruples would react to his undraped loveliness. "You're a grown man now, dear, so you should be able to defend yourself against a young lady. On the other hand if you can't do that Jennifer may think you're just being stubborn so perhaps if you shed a few tears you could soften her heart."

William pouted. "She's already made me cry, and it didn't make any difference at all. It's just not fair."

It certainly wasn't fair, and all too soon Jennifer returned to demonstrate just how unfair things could be. She moved up behind him and ran a fingertip down his back to the base of his spine, pleased by the strong reflexive shiver he couldn't control. Without touching him elsewhere she began to finger his buttocks, teasing him with casual careless touches. "Turn around William. I've brought some clothes for you to wear."

He was suspicious of the sudden sweetness of her voice, it screened her usual acid tone and made him waver. He turned about warily and at once saw the items she'd draped over the arm of an old chesterfield sofa. A short black underslip and a pair of dark nylon stockings - girl's things.

"Put these on." Her voice snapped like a whiplash as she handed him a pair of tiny thong pants.

Stunned, his jaw dropped. "Oh no, I-I can't put any of that stuff on."

The girl loomed before him, her face dark with determination and the fingers of her hands clenching and unclenching like claws. "Pardon, William. I think I may have misheard you."

He shook his head. "But - but - they're girl's pants. I'm a man, I don't wear girl's clothes."

Jennifer's eyes widened maliciously and she grasped his wrist. "That's what I thought you said, and that's exactly the kind of arrogant, haughty male attitude that angers me. You squeal like a little girl and cry like a little girl, so I think you should spend some time dressed like one. Now, put them on."

They were only a few inches apart and she was easily able to reach down and grasp his scrotum, thumb and fingers encircling its root to squeeze and make the testicles bulge.

He winced and tried to break way, but her grip was tenacious and unerringly cruel. "Give in, William. Things will be easier for you if you submit."

"No, I won't put on girl's clothes," he spluttered defiantly.

The corners of the girls mouth twitched as she immediately inflicted such a sudden wicked half-twist to his genitals William produced a shrill shriek.

"You see! You must obey or you'll suffer."

"Aaaah! Okay, yes - yes, okay I'll do it."

Jennifer continued to hold him tight for a moment, using the fingertips of her other hand to lift his chin and enjoy his expression of bewilderment. "That's better," her voice cooed cruelly, "You know you'll have to do it eventually. There's no one to rescue you. No one to help - no one at all. So no more wimpy bleating, right? Mummy prefers daintily frocked nieces to grotty, tiresome nephews, so you're going to spend the rest of the day dressed as a girl."

William's head drooped and he nibbled his lip. "Yes, Jennifer. I'm sorry. Please don't be cross with me again."

At last she released him and he shuffled forward, legs together. He didn't understand anything anymore, he didn't even know what day it was. He was only conscious of Jennifer's voice as she directed him to the sofa.

Miriam watched without interrupting. Three years of marriage and the birth of two children had passed before she'd realised the male gender were a pack of inferiors who needed to be kept in their place. The practise of forcing young men to dress in girl's clothes as a form of discipline was nothing new and was a natural adjunct to the spanking delivered by a dominant female. Making them put on skirts and panties humiliated them wonderfully, and Jennifer was particularly good at making men do that kind of thing, and since she did it with such aplomb it would have been quite wrong to interfere.

The panties she encouraged William to step into and assisted in sliding up his legs at that moment were tiny thongs, flimsy teasers that struggled to cover his youthful charms at the front and disappeared into the crevasse of his bottom behind.

His faced reddened as he adjusted them. Oh, they felt unexpectedly nice especially to a sensorily deprived young man such as himself. His balls felt snug and the soft material rubbed them so beautifully. He didn't want it to happen, but his penis was filling with blood. Oh dear, if Jennifer saw...

Jennifer barked a taunting laugh. "I thought you were a MAN, William. MEN shouldn't get stiffies when trying on girls underwear." She moved close and stroked a hand over his smooth buttocks. "Still, they are a perfect fit and ideal if you're naughty and in need of a knickers-up spanking later on - and I've the perfect outfit to match them."

William remained dumb. The panties and the stroking had made him wiggle, and the wiggling had caused a fattening mushroom to pop out from the sleeve of his foreskin and rub against the inside of the pants. Suddenly he became terrified he'd do a wet orgasm right there where Jennifer and her mother could see. But Jennifer didn't appear to notice and he was so thankful for that he didn't even protest when she clipped a lacy black garter-belt about his waist.

Mother and daughter observed his legs as he seated himself in full girly mode to pull on the nylon stockings. The legs were uncommonly hairless and quite shapely in a youthful, slender kind of way, and the stockings, though black, were so sheer they allowed the warm tan of his skin to show through. Miriam hoped her daughter had judged things right. Then she noticed how carefully William eased the delicate hose over his feet and how he intuitively pointed his toes to prevent his toenails snagging in the fine mesh.

Ah, yes she thought, hugging herself. His expression of alarm looked so cute as he stroked the delicate hose up his thighs, and the way he attached the dangling straps of the garter-belt hinted at a predilection that even he wasn't aware of yet. His skimpy pants had the cutest, firmest little bulge she'd seen in ages. He was going to make a lovely niece.

When a dress was lowered over his head William's head he felt his heart begin to pound anew. His emotions stepped up and he began breathing raggedly as his thoughts whirled. He was being forced to dress up as a girl by females he hardly knew, and the embarrassment he felt was difficult to accept. The dress wasn't really a dress at all, it was really a short underslip with a bodice that sheathed snug against his chest. As Jennifer adjusted the narrow straps that looped over his shoulders he noticed how perfectly the garment fitted in every diminution, as if his measurements were already common knowledge.

The shoes were awkward, not because of there size but because of their style. They were chorus-line shoes with rather high heels and button-over straps; a conundrum to him until Jennifer pushed his hands away and fastened the buckles for him. When he stood up he wobbled precariously and held in a little gasp as the tiny skirt floated down to tickle his thighs.

"Oh yes!" approved Jennifer, "Quite the sweetest looking little sissy I've viewed in ages."

She grasped him by the waist and cooed softly. "Why, I do believe you've even got hips, darling. I bet you could swing them around as well as any real girl. Will you try for me? Will you try to be a lovely girl for me?"

"Oh, um - I, er - I-I suppose ... If-if I really have to."

Jennifer gazed down on him with a light of preponderance in her eyes. Indeed she was the epitome of the harsh martinet. "Oh you really must if you don't want me to think you're a silly girl - a silly, bad girl who needs to go over my lap again. Ensuring you please me is the wisest thing for you today, and the most comfortable course for your pretty bottom too."

Oh dear, despaired William. It was going to be unbearably humiliating when Archie saw him dressed up as a girl.

Miriam Hancock suddenly felt herself fidgeting. Young men were so cute and appealing when they were made to wear girl's clothes. She hated merely being a spectator while Jennifer was so engrossed in dressing William but she drew back from spoiling the perfect display of domination her daughter promoted. Many of her dreams centred on Jennifer. As a young girl she had gravitated naturally to her own way of thinking and had been oddly adept at sharpening her own vague ideas. It was electrifying to watch her these days. She was a doyen of hegemony with a keen understanding of the male brain.

Jennifer loved to lord it over feeble-minded types and make plain her superiority, and naive specimens such as William who were sensitive about anything that threatened their self-image of gender and developing manliness became her natural victims; easy prey to her crass predatory nature. Her greatest delight was to rip their self-esteem to shreds and emasculate them, and she did that by forcing them to dress as girls, making them wear stockings and suspenders and short little frocks. Once they succumbed to her dominance they were doomed. Shame dulled their wits, making them docile and susceptible to even more debasing demands. Eventually they could be reduced to effeminate, mincing girly-things with no thoughts of their own at all.

The process fascinated Miriam, but it could be lengthy, and it was her daughters game and one into which she loathed to encroach. The temptation to do so receded when she heard the tinkle of a bell at the front of the house.

Drat, she thought. It could only be the woman from the village who'd been pestering to visit ever since she'd moved in. Only uncouth rural people would think to call without prior arrangement on a Sunday.

She rose to her feet, a co-ordinated movement that blended grace and control as she entwined the fingers of her delicate hands. "I've a guest calling, Jennifer. Try to be discreet with your games until she's gone."

"Of course. Would you ask Gloria to send me the other one if you see her?"

***

As she made her way through the house towards the front parlour Miriam Hancock dwelt on the problems of remaining the owner of Fairyfield Grange. It was her dream to live there, it was her ambition to enter the ranks of the landed gentry, but the financial requirements required to accomplish such a thing were awesome.

She tried to see the house through the eyes of a prospective buyer, and when she thought about it her uncle's bequest seemed like a millstone rather than a benefit. It wasn't in a good aspect for most people these days, most would balk at the idea of being stuck out on the moors, and few would be able to afford the expense of maintaining a home of such a size either. There were some urgent repairs needed, it needed redecorating throughout, and the garden would be a struggle to put right, so perhaps the best she could hope for was a reasonable price for the land.

Fairyfield Grange had become a sad husk of its original grandeur, and it saddened her when she thought of it. In the past there would have been legions of scurrying staff, crowds of boisterous visitors, gay parties, scandals and tragedies. The walls had so many stories to tell, all of them now covered up in the past and forgotten. Now it was suffering from long term neglect and was a wreck inside, nothing having been done for twenty years except for some patching of wallpaper. Some of the smaller rooms were stuffy and smelled of mildew, so thank goodness for Gloria, for in spite of the mustiness everything was clean and tidy. Gloria was a gem when it came to getting things dusted and arranged neat.

Dorothea Boroclough extended a small, skinny hand to Miriam while critically studying the shabbiness of the parlour in which they stood. The worn Persian carpet, threadbare sofa and rickety lampshades did nothing to impress her, and she sniffed derisively before settling herself delicately into the seat of an armchair without waiting for the customary invitation.

She was tall and skinny, middle-aged with hair arranged in curls about her ears, and her grey eyes peered at everything through spectacles which were attached to a silver chain around her neck. Her clothes were severely styled and she wore no jewellery except a wedding band. The woman's name was often mentioned in Peasmarsh when Miriam went there. Her late husband had been something in a guilt-edged business, and she herself owned half the property in the village, so she was likely to be a force to be reckoned with.

"I must apologise for neglecting you, Mrs Hancock," the visitor began. Dorethea always addressed other women formerly, being of the opinion that her family were several cuts above any other in the area. She tried to make that evident from the start by never resorting to first names. First names made for unwanted familiarity.

"You've been resident here for several weeks now and this is the really the first opportunity I've had to welcome you to the parish. I fully intended to call on you last weekend, but Lady Chance-Barton insisted I attended her garden party. What with that and the Easter festival and gymkhana, and then the Opton point-to-point I've been at my wits end lately to fit everything in."

Miriam smiled wryly. "You clearly lead a hectic life, Mrs Boroclough."

"Oh, but there's always something I'm being asked to organise. For my sins I'm a member of an old established family in the village, and people expect me to lead the way in everything."

People probably weren't given any choice in the matter, thought Miriam cynically. From the moment the woman had entered the house she'd exuded all the self-satisfied inferences and insincere platitudes of a full-time do-gooder. It was an attitude that declared pompously, 'I'm important, I command a lot of influence, and I know best. I'm a merciless critic of Commons immorality and double standards, and as a self-appointed champion of old family values I'm a fierce advocate of marital fidelity. I don't like bodies much, except when they form committees, but I make a point of knowing everything about everyone in the region.'

Yes, she thought, Mrs Boroclough was a Madam Squeaky-Clean (morning showers and clean pyjamas), and without doubt was going to be a pain in the arse.

"It must be a blessing for you to be tucked away in secluded retirement, Mrs Hancock," the woman remarked dryly.

Miriam lifted her chin rather imperiously. "I'm not an old lady, and I don't consider myself retired yet - and please, would you call me Miss Hancock?"

Mrs Boroclough looked stunned. "Forgive me, I understood you to have two delightful children, so I thought..."

Having already assessed her as chief nosey-Parker and head of the local tut-tut brigade Miriam explained quickly, and with some relish. "I was married. Jennifer and Archie were both conceived and born in wedlock, and their father still pays generously towards their upkeep. The prefix of Miss is just a personal preference. To confuse things further, Hancock is my maiden name, although my mother was a Fairyfield prior to her own marriage." She managed a beguiling smile. "Can I offer you tea?"

"Do you have Earl Grey?"

"Er, no. But I buy a good brand from the store in the village."

Mrs Boroclough shook her head. "Earl Grey is the only infusion my digestion will tolerate I'm afraid." Having put that matter to rest she squared up in her chair. "I understand you held an appointment in Social Services before coming here, Miss Hancock. A noble vocation - so very worthy. It must have given great satisfaction to be in a position where you could provide succour to the less fortunate in society. Unfortunately there's no scope to continue such a career here on the moors. You would have to go into Castleford or Richmond to do that."

"I'm not sure what I'll do yet. There's this house to take into account."

"Yes, of course, you're stuck with Fairyfield Grange. It's such a monster of a run-down place, isn't it? All those rooms. It would cost the earth to have central heating installed, and without it it'll be hard to sell. What on earth do you intend to do?"

Miriam shrugged. "Uncle Albert never took to the idea of central heating, he preferred to keep the windows open and wear pullovers. Anyway, someone may like the idea of living with the original features and making do with portable fires. That's what I'd do. I'd like to hang on here if I can, you see. I'd like to refurbish the whole property and live here myself. That would be my idea of bliss."

Mrs Boroclough's expression became one of mild incredibility laced with amusement. "Goodness! You'd be taking on a mighty challenge Miss Hancock. My grandfather used to tell me of the wonderful activities staged here years ago; parties, pageants and balls quite on a par with those put on at Chance Hall he said - and he described the gardens as breathtaking in their splendour, but over the past twenty years everything as fallen into ruin. You'd need a veritable treasure chest to do the old place up, and I doubt you could ever revive the status it once enjoyed. It's a shame poor old Albert Fairyfield didn't have the head for managing money or for maintaining such a fine place, poor man."

"He was pretty much helpless towards the end. I took to visiting him in his retirement Care Home."

"There was something of a tragedy at that place I believe."

"Albert got into the habit of vandalising the garden ornaments there, and eventually a stucco flamingo fell on his head."

"Awful."

"Yes, death by concrete flamingo can't have been a nice way to go."

The woman's eyes ranged over the furnishings in the room with an air of disdain. "Your husband - ex-husband, may be generous for the sake of his children, but I doubt he can provide for you to live in decent style here. It's fortunate the Grange still as some - er - reasonably serviceable chairs worth using."

Having concluded her inventory her eyes snapped forward and offered an intense stare. "Look, you're ten miles out from Peasmarsh and rather isolated here, so I'm sure you'd reap some benefit from attending the Women's Guild. It meets in the village hall on Mondays, and for my sins I'm the chairperson, so I can introduce you to Parson Roper - it's always worthwhile having the church on your side when you're new to a district - and I'm sure I can arrange for some of the ladies to help you out over what's bound to be an awkward time."

Miriam suddenly had a nauseating vision of being given piles of second hand blankets and tins of powdered milk ala Oxfam. Her jaw muscles tightened and she felt an impulsive reply form up in her head. She didn't want to be cross-examined by Mrs Boroclough or one of her committees. She didn't want to be patronised like a wayward orphan. She didn't belong to the wretched woman and had no intention of being influenced by her. Her life was her own, and as far as she was concerned Mrs Boroclough could simply fuck off.