The Wish Maker: A Dark Fairy Tale
By Mother Kali
Once in a land far away, there lived an extremely old woman
who was called, not very imaginatively, "The Old Mother."
This old lady lived by herself in a cottage at the very
edge of the known world. She had been alive longer than
even she could remember. Her face was as brown as tanned
leather and deeply lined from all the time she spent in the
sun. She was stooped and a little shriveled with age. She
wore a plain black dress that was so long the hem dragged
in the dirt and a brightly striped little porkpie hat that
set on her head at such a jaunty angle it was rather
disconcerting on one so ancient.
In the mornings, she worked in her little garden, a well-
worn bit of earth just out back of her humble cottage. She
grew herbs and other botanicals that she used to make
medicinal unctions and cosmetic creams, as well as potions
of a more mysterious nature. In the afternoons, she sat
indoors in the shade and smoked her pipe. She would lean
back in her chair--one of the few, crude pieces of
furniture the Old Mother possessed--and prop her feet up on
the table, showing the muddied edge of her petticoat and
the holes in her old gray stockings that hung loosely on
her stick-like legs.
She did much the same thing in the evenings. The Old Mother
led a quiet life. Few people bothered her. She lived a
great distance from the center of things, and the road to
her house was often inaccessible, drifting with snow in the
winter, flooded in the spring and fall. Most people would
have avoided the Old Mother anyway, even if she had not
been so very difficult to find. The villagers and even the
townspeople, who were usually more sophisticated about such
matters, whispered among themselves about her. They said
she could "do things" and whenever they spoke of her they
lowered their voices and glanced nervously over their
shoulders.
All this suited the Old Mother perfectly well. She found
people to be a silly and confused lot. They hardly ever
seemed to understand even the most basic things in life,
least of all the desires of their own hearts.
Despite her solitude, the Old Mother never wanted for
amusement. She had lived a long time and had seen a great
many things. Her memory provided all the company she could
ever need. As she leaned back in her chair and blew smoke
rings into the air, she would relive in her mind all the
great spectacles of human folly she'd witnessed over the
years, with a soft smile on her lips. At times, she would
cackle out loud, remembering some particularly diverting
incident.
One fine day in May, the Old Mother's solitude was broken
by the rattle and whir of a vehicle carefully picking its
way up the rutted road that led to her house. She roused
herself from her chair where she had just started to doze
and went to look out the window. Coming down the lane was
one of those all-terrain contraptions people seemed to
favor these days. The old lady had developed something of a
grudge against these vehicles. Since they had become so
commonplace, the arduousness had gone out of reaching her
little house. In the past, only the most stalwart and
serious seekers had managed the difficult journey. Now any
stray dabbler might happen upon her. This meant more work
for the Old Mother. Now she had to decide for herself who
was truly worthy of her help, who should be granted his
wish.
The old woman sighed to herself and went to wait at the
door. When the knock came, she opened it and scowled at the
man. For whatever reason, it was always a man who sought
her out. She really had no idea why. She would have thought
that after so many years, after all the stories whispered
in the hamlets and the towns--yes, the Old Mother knew
everything they said about her--that they really would have
learned better.
"What do *you* want?" the old lady asked, rather
unceremoniously.
The man looked somewhat taken aback by her abruptness. He
was dressed in the deep green cloak of a scholar. Clearly,
he was not used to being addressed in such a peremptory
manner. But he quickly collected himself, stepped forward
and offered his hand in greeting.
"Permit me to introduce myself. I am John Ashgrove,
professor of literature at the City University. I have come
desperately in need of your help. I was told you possess
certain-- abilities that might assist me in my quest."
The Old Mother did not take his outstretched hand, and he
quickly drew it back, fearing he had offended her.
She sucked her teeth dismissively. "I don't have any help
for the likes of you."
She slammed the door in his face. Now that the journey
itself was no longer a trial, the old woman had to use
other methods to test a seeker's persistence.
The Professor knocked on the door, repeatedly, but she
ignored him. She returned to her spot at the table, poured
herself another mug of barley beer and sat peacefully
smoking all through the sweltering afternoon while the
Professor knocked and scraped and jumped up and down at
every window and door, trying to get her attention.
When the first shadows began to fall in the late afternoon
and the Old Mother was satisfied that the Professor showed
sufficient determination, she opened the door to him. He
was sitting slumped in the dirt beneath the eaves, huddling
in the meager shade. His face was brightly flushed from the
strong midday sun. Sweat ran down his face and neck in
rivulets. His cloak had been discarded, and the back of the
white cotton shirt he wore was completely soaked through.
He was quite clearly on the verge of heat exhaustion, but
when he saw the old woman appear in the doorway, he managed
to stir himself, although not quickly enough for the Old
Mother.
"Are you going to sit there like a dullard all day?" she
accosted him. "Or are you going to come inside where it's
cool?"
The man nodded eagerly and stumbled through the door.
Inside, he sank onto the first chair he came to.
The mother stood over him with her hand on her hip. "I
suppose you'll be wanting water now," she said,
reproachfully.
An apologetic expression crossed the man's face, but he
nodded. He looked as if he were about to faint. The Old
Mother sucked her teeth, but she did fetch a glass of
water. When she sat it down on the table in front of the
man, he grabbed it quite desperately and downed it in one,
large gulp.
"Thank you," he was at last able to say. "I really was
quite parched."
The Old Mother joined him at the table. "All right then,"
she said. "You've had your refreshment. Now get on with
telling me why you've come all this way to trouble an old
lady like me, young seeker."
The man seemed rather startled to be addressed in such a
manner. He was past forty and could hardly be counted a
youth. But to the Old Mother, who had lived forever, he was
little more than a toddler in diapers.
The man quickly pulled himself together. This was the
opportunity for which he had endured the rigors of the
midday sun, and he wasn't about to waste it. He got to his
feet and began to pace about, as if he were in front of his
class at the university and it was time to deliver a
lecture. The Old Mother sighed inwardly. Of course, he
would have to tell his entire life story--and probably in
minute detail. What man wouldn't if given even the
slightest opening?
Fortunately, the Old Mother had long since mastered the
challenge of patience. The trick, she knew, was to fasten
your mind on the end goal and ignore everything else. As
the Professor took a deep breath to begin his soliloquy,
the old lady imagined all the delicious adventures she
would have at his expense.
"As I said before, my name is John Ashgrove. I am a
professor of literature at the university. I have been
married for the last seven years, and I have a nineteen-
year-old stepdaughter. It is not a bad life I have. My wife
is an attractive woman for her age, and she tries very hard
to make me happy. My stepdaughter and I get along well. I
have a position of respect at the university and a good
working relationship with my colleagues. But somehow, I
just don't feel satisfied. The problem is-- I *am*
straight. You must understand that. It's just these dreams,
these fantasies I have. Sometimes I imagine that my
stepdaughter catches me trying on a pair of her panties--
something I have done on occasion--and she threatens to
tell her mother unless I submit to her."
The old woman yawned. If she had heard once about a man
fantasizing about his stepdaughter, she had heard it a
million times. The Professor, seeing her disinterest,
hurried to add more explicit details.
"My stepdaughter sets out to turn me into a girl her own
age, someone she can talk about boys with. She forces me to
pretend I get my period every month and shows me how to use
tampons. She teaches me to dress and gives me pinups of
young male heart throbs that I have to moon over and
masturbate to. She says if I'm really good she'll introduce
me to some boys she knows--"
"Bah!" The old woman scowled with displeasure. "Surely
you've not come all this way just to tell me this load of
drivel? Be off with you then!"
The Old Mother could not help a seeker who would not take
responsibility for his own desires, who had to camouflage
his lust for men in a thin little fantasy of submitting to
a woman. The Professor clearly wanted to have it all: to
keep his manly status and privileges in public, but to
experience a life of submission in private. The Old Mother
had no interest in that. She looked for seekers who were
willing to give up everything in pursuit of their
obsession. The Old Mother trafficked in sacrifice.
"No! Please!" The Professor begged, no longer calm, his
voice rising desperately, his eyes flashing wildly. "Let me
tell you why I really came."
He sank back down onto the chair opposite the old lady.
"Yes, yes. Speak up then. Don't dawdle about," she said.
The Professor turned red in the face and fidgeted in his
chair. "Well, you see--" He cleared his throat. "There's
this man--"
The Old Mother nodded. Finally, here was something she
could work with. "Go on," she said.
"His name is Lord Marco. He is the new overlord sent from
the central government. I was part of the university
delegation that went to his house to welcome him. Since I
first laid eyes on Lord Marco, I have not been able to
think of anything else. His dark good looks. His broad
shoulders. The ways his velvet leggings lovingly hug his
body and show off his enormous-- um, asset. Every night, I
have dreams--" He blushed deeply. "I have never had such
dreams before. There are various scenarios. We meet at a
fancy ball. We catch each other's eye at the opera. But
they all end the same way--with me lying back, spreading my
legs, begging him to do whatever he wants to me."
The Professor stared at the floor, unable to meet the Old
Mother's eyes. But he continued to lay out the tale of his
attraction to the young overlord.
"I must have somehow caught Lord Marco's attention, because
he has taken to requesting my company in the evenings. I
sit with him and his companions in the great hall of his
house and smoke cigars with them and listen as they regale
one another with epic stories of their heroic exploits
chasing women. Every time Lord Marco speaks--his voice is
deep and rich, like the notes from the most finely played
horn--my heart stirs with the desire to belong to him."
The Old Mother grinned lasciviously. "I'll bet it's not
just your heart that stirs, eh?"
The Professor kept his lowered, clearly embarrassed, but he
admitted, "My body seems to have a will of its own where
Lord Marco is concerned. His companions have even made the
occasional ribald jest at my expense."
The old lady nodded knowingly. "Aye. So you've put yourself
in a right tight spot, eh?
The Professor could not deny the truth of it. The law
enforced a strict order. A man enjoyed all the right and
privileges of citizenry as long as he comported himself as
a man. This did not include allowing himself to be sexually
penetrated. Lord Marco and his cronies could easily decide
one evening to amuse themselves at the Professor's expense.
They had little to fear. Rape was rarely accepted as a
defense against dishonor, and certainly no one would
believe the Professor unwilling when he had routinely been
observed to grow sexually aroused in Lord Marco's presence.
"So that's why you came," the Old Mother surmised. "You've
been forced into it by this precarious position you've put
yourself in."
The Professor jumped to his feet, his eyes flashing. "No!
You don't understand!" He struggled to catch his breath in
his excitement. "It's like I've been leading this double
life. On the outside, I've done everything a man should.
Married. Built a career. Provided for my family. I've even
joined in the lewd comments my colleagues like to make
about the department secretary's extremely large breasts.
But on the inside--"
The Professor sighed heavily. The Old Mother leaned forward
in her chair, waiting. Now it was getting interesting.
"I've always had this-- well, dainty feeling," the
Professor admitted. "I've taken the opportunity whenever my
wife and stepdaughter were out to try on their things--
their panties and bras, their slips and stockings, their
lipstick and perfume and nail polish. In my dreams, I am
always soft and yielding. And there is this man-- I've
dreamed about the same man my whole life. He strides into
the room where I am and claims me. He takes me away with
him. He puts his big hands all over me, whenever he wants,
and his big cock inside me. He tells me what to do, how to
please him, and nothing has ever been more exciting than
obeying him, than belonging to him body and soul."
The Professor seemed to hesitate. The old woman waved her
hand at him impatiently.
"Yes, yes," she said. "Go on."
"When I first walked into Lord Marco's great hall and saw
him there-- My heart just stopped. It was the man from my
dreams, in living flesh. I'd finally found him."
The Old Mother felt the hair prickle at the back of her
neck. It was quite common for true seekers to dream of
their obsession for many years before they actually met.
The Professor, it seemed, was the genuine article.
"So what do you want from this fine dandy of yours, eh? And
why come to me about it?" she asked.
"They say you can make wishes come true, if the wisher's
heart is true. And what I wish more than anything is for
Lord Marco to become my husband."
"Ah," the Old Mother said.
Now, she understood why he had come. This was a very
difficult challenge, indeed. Oh, sure, the law did provide
for the honorable marriage of submissive males, but it was
an antiquated custom that dated from the early days of the
province, when all the land was still as rough and wild as
the outback where the Old Mother lived.
Back then, life was too harsh and unpredictable to entice
many young ladies to venture forth from their comfortable
homes in the civilized regions, and so the men who came to
settle struggled to find comfort for their needs. It was
survival of the fittest, and the youngest, the weakest, the
most passive soon found themselves at the mercy of their
more rough-and-tumble comrades. These timid fellows were
quickly set upon and deflowered. Once dishonored, they were
stripped of all the rights and privileges accorded men in
good standing. They lived as virtual slaves, passed from
man to man, used at will, satisfying with their mouths and
asses the ferocious desires of the lusty frontiersmen.
In all the modern universities, it was taught that that the
Marriage Act for Submissive Males was passed to protect the
rights of these hapless fellows who fell into the clutches
of the big, horny men around them. But, of course, the
Mother who had witnessed it all for herself knew better.
She knew that this law celebrated for its enlightened
stance toward the unmanned was really just a matter of
expediency. It was simply not in the nature of the rough
men who settled the untamed land to share. They squabbled
over property lines and livestock and grazing rights. But
the most fearsome gun battles took place between men vying
for the pleasures of a particular submissive comfort boy.
And so, the government back in the old world passed the
marriage law--not out of any concern for the sissy males
who didn't have the backbone to keep themselves from
getting fucked--but simply to keep the peace.
When the pioneer days had passed, though, the marriage
rates for submissive males greatly declined. There were
women enough once again to go around, so that every man
could have a proper wife who would bear him children. The
law didn't prevent a man from taking a submissive male
bride in addition to his Honored Wife, as his female life-
partner was called. But few men found a reason to take on
that additional expense. There were too many other options.
If a man's wife didn't satisfy him, he could visit any
number of brothels and indulge himself with the ladies
there. If he fancied male bodies--and powerful men did
often find gratification in dominating and humiliating
lesser males--this appetite could also be satisfied.
Brothels were filled with deflowered men who had either
been seduced or raped, and once their dishonor had been
discovered, were stripped of their rights by the state and
forced into compulsory sexual servitude. These poor
unfortunates were available to anyone at a modest price for
any kind of degradation or perversion.
A man could visit a prostitute every night, and it would
still cost less than taking a submissive male bride. To
reflect well, a wife had to be kept in the latest fashions.
There were maids and hairdressers and seamstresses to
employ. And of course, there was a fortune in entertaining
expenses. If a man was going to spend so much money to
dress his wife up, of course he was going to want to show
him off.
Nowadays, the few remaining submissive male brides were
rare creatures, indeed. Through a combination of natural
inclination and intensive study, they became more womanly
and alluring than even the most artful females. They fought
their way through all the intense competition--outsmiling,
outflirting, outshining everyone else--to take their
rightful places at the sides of the most powerful men in
the land. They were the great divas of fashionable society.
Every woman wanted to dress like them. Every man wanted to
sleep with them. Their soap-opera-like exploits fueled the
gossip pages, and their glamorous public lives fired
imaginations everywhere.
Of course, few people knew or cared what these she-men
endured in private. Such was the public interest. It rarely
scratched beneath the surface.
"Taking your young swain for a husband would require a
great deal of sacrifice," the Old Mother advised the
Professor.
The marriage laws for submissive males were really quite
conservative. The wedded she-man gave up all his wealth,
his status, his very right to a legal identity of his own.
A submissive male bride was viewed simply as a piece of
property. He had no more rights before the law than his
husband's old boots. If he was abused in some way, and many
were, he could expect no help whatsoever. After all,
shouldn't a man be free to treat his old boots any way he
liked?
"You will have no freedom and no protection," the Old
Mother told him. "Your husband will be able to do anything
he wants to you. Are you prepared for that?"
"I am," the Professor said, eagerly.
"Bah! Only a fool would agree so easily, without any real
thought to what it means. Your husband may loan you out to
his business partners to help seal a deal. Or send you out
to entertain the field hands when they start asking for
higher wages. Or get a kick out of watching his favorite
hunting hound mount you like a bitch. It would all be well
within his rights."
"Lord Marco is not like that!"
"Ah, my young seeker, you never know what a man's
perversions are until you're at their mercy. Be sure of
that. Are you ready to take that chance?"
It surprised the Old Mother a little that the Professor
seemed far from repulsed. High spots of color burned in his
cheeks. His eyes were bright and fervid.
"Yes, yes!" he declared. "Anything. Everything. However he
wants to use me!"
"The preparation will not be easy, and there's no guarantee
of success. You'll have to go through three trials to prove
you're worthy. Even then, he may not accept you. And if he
doesn't, you'll be ruined."
"I understand."
The Old Mother arched an eyebrow. "Do you really? I wonder.
To give up your freedom. To belong to another man
completely. Your body. Your mind. Your pleasure. *This.*"
She grabbed the Professor's crotch. He jumped in his chair
from surprise, but then the old lady felt him start to
harden beneath her hand. He turned bright red with
embarrassment.
The Old Mother cackled with amusement. "You'll never make
it past the first test with a horny pecker like that."
The Professor fell to his knees beside her chair. "Please!
Please!" He gripped her arm desperately. "I can learn. You
can show me. I know you have all the secrets. This is the
only thing I've ever really wanted in my entire life. I
swear to God. Please! I beg of you!"
The old woman sighed reluctantly. "There will be a lot of
work to do. You'll need to change your appearance
completely, become softer, prettier. And you'll need to
learn to use your wiles, to enchant your young sweetheart.
Otherwise, you'll stand no chance whatsoever."
"Yes, yes, of course. I'll do anything you say."
"That's right you will," the Old Mother said sharply. "I
don't stand for backtalk. If you want my help, then I
expect you to do just as I say."
"Yes, Mistress. I promise."
"And we'll need to get that horny pecker of yours under
control. No man wants a bride who's not chaste. It's going
to be a big challenge. Are you really certain you're up to
it?"
"I am. I swear!"
The Old Mother sighed dramatically. It was a ruse, of
course. She was actually quite excited at the prospect of
helping another young seeker realize his dream, but it
wouldn't do to let him know that.
"All right," she said, after a suspenseful pause. "I'll
help you."
The Professor's face flashed brightly with gratitude. "Do
you mean it? You'll go with me to Lord Marco's house and
help me make my petition to him?"
"Oh, ho, young seeker. You're getting way ahead of
yourself. We have much to do before then. Pick yourself up
from the floor and get your clothes off. Let me get a good
look at you."
The Professor looked quite taken aback. He opened his mouth
as if to protest.
So the old lady reminded him, "You agreed to do as I say.
Besides, if you want to become a bride, you'll have to get
used to being inspected."
The Professor rose from the floor and hesitantly removed
his clothes. He stood naked before the Old Mother,
awkwardly shifting his weight, not quite certain how to
hold his hands. Embarrassment caused his penis, which had
been hard, to quickly deflate.
The old woman scrutinized him carefully. She was pleased to
find that there was enough to work with. The Professor had
kept himself rather fit. He had a trim waist and flat
stomach, as well as shapely legs. He was quite hairy all
over his body, but that could be fixed without a great deal
of trouble. The only real issue was his penis. Although it
was probably no more than average size for a man, it was
far too large for a submissive male bride.
"We'll need to shrink your pecker, of course," the Old
Mother told him. "But luckily I've got a potion that will
take care of that."
The Professor stared at her in horror. "What?"
The Old Mother got up to fetch the magical potion that she
kept stored high in one of the cabinets for just such cases
as this.
"Here's your first lesson, young seeker," the old lady said
as she pulled the jug down from the cabinet. "The secret of
getting a man is to focus on his pleasure, not yours. No
man wants to be in bed with a wife whose pecker is as big
as his own. Or, God forbid, bigger. That's why submissive
male brides always have extremely tiny penises."
She filled a small glass and handed it to him.
"You'll need to take a dose every morning and every evening
until I'm satisfied with the results. It'll create other
changes as well that will do very nicely."
The Professor eyed the bright pink potion suspiciously, but
he obediently downed it as he had been told.
He was actually quite lucky, whether he knew it or not.
Some prospective male brides resorted to desperate measures
to take care of oversized penises. They arranged to have
themselves castrated and smaller prosthetic balls
implanted, so no one would know they had been under the
knife. The reduced testosterone in their systems made their
penises shrink and helped curb their sexual appetites so
they could past the purity test. Still, the point was to
offer your manhood to your husband, not the surgeon's
knife. When these hapless brides were discovered, as they
inevitably were, their marriages were automatically
annulled, and they were ruined forever. Happily, the
Professor would never have to worry about such a thing.
The Old Mother handed him a pair of red silk tap pants.
"This is your training wardrobe. You'll wear a pair every
day. Go on, then. Put them on."
The Professor rested a hand on the back of the chair to
balance himself as he pulled on the silk underwear. When he
slid the dainty panties up over his crotch, his penis
immediately hardened again.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I just can't help it."
The old lady shook her head sadly. It was going to take a
lot of work to break him of his bad habits.
The Professor started to sway unsteadily on his feet. "Oh,"
he said. "Suddenly I feel so woozy."
"Aye. That's the potion. It hits everybody hard at first.
But you'll get used to it. Come on, then," she said.
She took him by the arm and led him over to the little bed
that stood in the corner.
"You rest up tonight, and we'll get started in the morning.
We've got a lot to do tomorrow, Johanna."
"Wha--?" he mumbled, as he settled himself beneath the
covers.
"That's your new name," the Old Mother told him. "From now
on, there is no more Professor John Ashgrove. There's just
Johanna, who wants nothing more than to be the plaything of
the handsome Lord Marco."
"Mmm," Johanna murmured dreamily, already drifting off to
sleep.
The Old Mother stood over him and smiled. Yes, this was
going to be greatly entertaining.
***
The Old Mother had learned from experience that when it
came to such transformations the physical alterations were
usually the easiest to accomplish. So she started with that
on the first day. She whipped up a special batch of hot wax
and spent the morning removing all of Johanna's body hair.
The old lady paid no mind to Johanna's yelps of pain, and
the task was soon completed.
As she smoothed lotion into Johanna's newly denuded skin,
she said, "You ought to be thanking me. That depilatory wax
is a special recipe. The hair will not grow back, so you'll
never have to have another waxing."
Johanna's lip trembled. His balls and the crack of his ass
still burned, and he was not especially grateful.
The Old Mother ignored his sulking and continued on with
the beauty regimens. Three times a day she applied a rich
emollient cream made from the herbs and botanicals grown in
her garden to Johanna's face to make his skin smooth and
clear. By the time she was finished, he would have the
impeccable and timeless complexion that all successful male
brides boasted.
As the old lady had promised, Johanna was required to take
a dose of the pink potion every morning and every evening
before bed. This magic elixir accomplished the greatest
changes. It made Johanna's hair grow long and lustrous and
really quite beautiful. The Old Mother would often find him
sitting in front of the mirror, brushing it until it shone.
The potion also altered the pitch of his voice, taking it
up an octave. It caused his waist to shrink and his bottom
to grow more curvaceous, giving him a more girlish figure.
It even eased the sharp lines and planes of his face, for a
more feminine appearance.
Johanna was greatly pleased with all these changes. There
was only one alteration that seemed to give him pause. The
Old Mother would occasionally catch him casting woeful
glances in the mirror at his rapidly diminishing penis. The
old lady would always turn away with a smile. It was the
sacrifices she most enjoyed when helping a seeker reach his
dream.
The Old Mother spent some time teaching Johanna the finer
points of achieving a feminine appearance. He was a quick
study, having practiced a great deal on his own with his
wife and stepdaughter's clothes and makeup. Soon, he was
walking gracefully in high heels, applying makeup with ease
and skill, fixing his own hair very attractively, dressing
with style and accessorizing quite nicely. It took him a
little while longer to get used to the corset the Old
Mother insisted he wear. She did pull the strings quite
tightly. But Johanna enjoyed how tiny it made his waist and
the illusion of a bosom it gave him. So he stuck with it,
and soon enough, he could wear it without fainting more
than once in a day.
The most difficult aspect of the transformation was
altering Johanna's behavior. In his old life, he had grown
used to holding forth at length on whatever subject was of
interest to him. The Old Mother had a devil of a time
teaching him to hold his tongue, to listen and ask
questions, to be interested in whatever his companion cared
about. His male sensibility died hard, but eventually, he
was able to converse in a ladylike manner.
The subtler ways of flirtation were harder for him to pick
up. He struggled long and hard to figure out when to meet a
man's eyes and when to look down at the floor, when to
blush and giggle and when to laugh voluptuously, how to
play hard to get without discouraging the suitor entirely.
These things that came so easily to a natural coquette took
intensive study for others to master. But eventually, after
many months, Johanna was able to project that air of
extreme demureness coupled with a smoldering sensuality and
a hint mystery that all great beauties possessed. The Old
Mother looked upon him with a great sense of satisfaction.
He had even managed to tame his unruly penis, something the
Old Mother had thought might prove impossible. But now he
could get dressed in his lingerie--not just silk panties
anymore, but also a bra, garter, stockings, and corset--
without any embarrassing masculine weakness. The Old Mother
had taught him meditation exercises to help him control his
desires, and the potion also helped. His penis was now
little more than an inch long, and his testicles no bigger
than raisins. His scrotum had also shrunk, to the size of a
walnut. He was still capable of getting an erection and
achieving orgasm--one had to be a fully functioning
biological male to qualify for submissive marriage--but it
took a real effort.
The Old Mother thought it was time.
"Johanna," she said to him one morning.
"Yes, Mistress."
He was sitting at the table, applying some fancy stitchery
to one of his ball gowns. The Old Mother had taught him to
be useful. He could sew, embroider, knit and make
potholders.
"I believe we should go tomorrow and make your petition to
Lord Marco. What do you think of that?"
Johanna put down his sewing, all in a flutter. "Really,
Mistress? Do you think I'm ready?"
"Of course, child. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise.
I want to know what you think."
"I have no opinion, Mistress. I am ready to obey whatever
you think is best. Your will is my guide."
The Old Mother nodded. She was well pleased by his soft-
spoken docility.
"Very well then, child. We leave tomorrow morning for your
young lord's house. Spend what time remains making yourself
as pretty as you can. You'll need to make a good impression
on the man."
Johanna blushed, and his eyes shone brightly. "Yes,
Mistress. I'll do my very best."
He hurried off to put his wardrobe in order. The Old Mother
smiled as she went to pack her own small bag. They were
finally getting to the good part.
***
Lord Marco's house lay at the end of a long, tree-lined
park. It stood on a slight rise, with a grand, stone
staircase leading up to it. It was classical in style, made
of white marble that gleamed in the sunlight, with proud
columns lining the front facade. There was an enormous
ceremonial bronze door that led inside, and a decorative,
carved frieze above it.
The Old Mother admired the grandeur of it all as they
entered the building. Johanna stayed quiet, no doubt rather
nervous. At least, he was well dressed for the occasion.
The Old Mother had selected an elegant deep blue dress for
him to wear to his petition. It was not the fanciest gown
he owned, but he looked especially well in it. And that was
the important thing, to pique Lord Marco's interest.
They were shown into the great hall of the house. As
overlord, the young gentleman was required to mix with the
local gentry and receive them daily in his home. The room
was filled with richly dressed lords and ladies who had to
come to pay their respects.
The Old Mother did not need Johanna to point out which one
was Lord Marco. It was quite obvious. He was a fine
physical specimen, tall, with bulging muscles, a great
shock of thick black hair, and a haughty air that said he
knew just how good-looking he was. There was a little crook
to his mouth, as if he frequently took pleasure in laughing
at others. He would not be a kind master, but then true
seekers never seemed to fall for easy men.
The Old Mother and Johanna stood together, waiting for Lord
Marco to notice them. Given the old woman's strange getup,
her oversized dress and multi-color porkpie hat, it did not
take long before the young overlord approached them.
"And who do we have here?" Lord Marco asked, clearly
bemused.
The Old Mother bowed her head. "Just a humble servant, sir.
Nobody of any consequence. But, please, allow me to present
my charge."
The overlord inclined his head, and the Old Mother swept
her arm towards Johanna, who curtsied deeply before Lord
Marco.
"May I present Johanna, my Lord," the old woman said.
The young lord walked in a circle around Johanna where he
knelt on the ground and appraised him.
"What a charming creature," Lord Marco pronounced.
He cupped Johanna's face with his hand, lifted his chin and
smiled with great amusement.
"My word, boys," he said to the members of his cabinet who
were attending him. "It seems it's our favorite professor,
looking quite a bit different than we last saw him."
The men all laughed. Johanna blushed demurely and kept his
eyes lowered. It wouldn't do to meet any of their eyes. It
would seem too forward.
"Oh, hey now, my Lord," said one of Marco's friends, a
puffed up fellow with sandy colored hair and a bright red
vest. "We can't see what's going on underneath that fancy
gown of his. He could be in just the same condition as the
last time he was here."
The men laughed louder. Johanna blushed more fiercely, this
time in shame.
"Now, now, Kendricks," Lord Marco said. "That's no way to
talk about a lady." He smiled mockingly. "So tell me,
Johanna, for what have you come?"
The Old Mother spoke up, "If it please you, sir. Johanna
comes to submit his petition to become your legal wife."
Lord Marco's companions snickered. Lord Marco arched an
eyebrow.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes, my Lord," the old lady answered.
"What, then. Does he think I'm made of money? An Honored
Wife and a house full of children back in the capital isn't
enough for me? Would you have me go into the poor house,
Johanna, just to keep you in rouge and furs?"
Marco's cronies guffawed. Johanna was starting to look
distressed. Many more supplicants petitioned for husbands
than were actually taken as brides, but it was really quite
embarrassing to fail before one even began.
"There are some pleasures, my Lord, that are worth the
cost, no matter how dear," the Old Mother said, in the
voice that had been persuading men for ages.
"Is that so?" Marco said. But the Old Mother could see that
he was starting to become intrigued.
"Indeed it is, my Lord," she assured him.
"Hmm." He tapped his finger to his lips, as if in deep
contemplation. "Well, all right then. I give your charge
leave to try and please me. My housekeeper will prepare a
room for you both. Take him to the doctor in the morning,
so the first test may begin. I'll throw thirty days of
parties in which he may attempt to win my favor." He smiled
slyly. "*If*, of course, he doesn't fail the test before
then."
The Old Mother bowed deeply. "Thank you, my Lord."
"Yes, thank you, sir," Johanna added, his voice soft and
fluttery.
"We'll see if you're still thanking me at the end of the
thirty days, my little professor. You know, the boys and I
were looking forward to amusing ourselves with you. But you
went away before we could sample your charms. Now it looks
like we'll still get that chance. When you fail, we'll pass
you around as a party favor. And I'll still get to see the
look on your face when the authorities cart you away to be
auctioned off to some brothel."
He threw his head back and laughed uproariously. Johanna
went pale.
But the Old Mother simply said, "Thank you on behalf of my
charge for the opportunity."
She bowed again and led Johanna away.
Once they were outside the great hall, Johanna whispered,
"I don't think that went very well, Mistress."
The old lady waved her hand. "Nonsense, child. It went just
the way we wanted. He has agreed to give you a chance. We
could not have asked for more."
Johanna looked worried. "But he didn't seem very--"
"Hush now. Put it right out of your mind. We have thirty
days in which to change his mind. That's more than enough
time. Now, let's find the housekeeper, so we may settle in
and get some rest. It's been a long journey, and we'll have
a great deal to do tomorrow."
"Why must we go to the doctor's, Mistress?" Johanna asked,
innocently.
The old lady smiled. "Never you worry. You'll see when we
get there."
She patted Johanna on the hand, picked up her suitcase and
took off in search of the housekeeper.
***
The Old Mother and Johanna rose early the morning. The
housekeeper had settled them in a comfortable room in the
east wing of the house. Johanna would have good light in
the mornings as he applied his makeup, and that pleased the
old lady.
After Johanna finished his toilette, they headed off to the
doctor's office, which was only a few blocks away, on the
other side of the main square. When they arrived, the Old
Mother told the receptionist why they were there, and she
pointed them to the waiting area. She gave Johanna a
curious look before she picked up the phone to let the
doctor know they were there.
They took seats. The Old Mother pulled out her pipe and
sucked on it, although she did not light it. City people
were fussy about such things. Johanna fidgeted nervously at
her side.
"Mistress, might I now know what the first test is?" he
asked.
The old woman considered the request, and decided there
would be no harm in it. He would find out soon enough when
the doctor saw him.
"Very well, child," the old lady said. "You know that the
first test is to prove your purity?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"For the next thirty days, you must abstain from all sexual
arousal in order too prove your chasteness. You must not
get hard. You must not come. The doctor will equip you with
a small monitor, so if you slip, you will be caught."
"Oh," Johanna said, with obvious relief. "That won't be
difficult. I haven't gotten-- you know," He blushed. The
physical mechanics of his male body had begun to embarrass
him. "In far longer than thirty days."
The Old Mother put a finger to her lips. "Hush, child. What
have I told you? It doesn't do to tell everything you
know."
Johanna bowed his head, sorry to have displeased his
mistress. "Of course. I beg your pardon. I will be more
careful in the future."
The old lady patted his hand. "There, there. Don't fret. I
didn't mean to scold you. I simply want you to have the
best chance possible."
Johanna brightened. "Yes, Mistress. Thank you."
The doctor appeared at the waiting room door. He was not
nearly so ancient as the Old Mother, but even she would not
have called him young.
"Are you the seeker's chaperone?" he asked the old lady.
"Yes, Doctor--"
"Doctor Gray," he said. "I just want to assure you that I
have provided medical counsel to many who have sought
submissive marriage, and I know all the procedures inside
and out. I hope that gives you some comfort. I know these
trials can be a great burden, not just for the seeker, but
for the chaperone, too."
The Old Mother inclined her head graciously, pleased by the
old doctor's attentions. "Thank you, sir," she said. "I do
appreciate it."
"Will you be accompanying the seeker into the exam room?"
She shook her head. "He knows what to expect. I wouldn't
want to distract you from your work."
"Very well," he said, and then turned to Johanna. "Shall we
proceed?"
Johanna nodded nervously and rose to his feet.
"Do just as the doctor says," the old lady told him. "And
remember your manners."
"Yes, Mistress."
When they were gone, the Old Mother got up and crept over
to a spot she had noticed next to the exam room. There was
a little chink in the wall there through which she could
watch the proceedings.
Inside the exam room, the old doctor pointed Johanna to a
screen.
"You may undress behind there," he said.
Johanna frowned. "Is there a gown I should put on?"
The doctor shook his head. "It's not customary."
"Oh, okay," Johanna stammered. "I guess--"
"Go right ahead," the doctor said.
Johanna disappeared behind the screen, clearly uneasy. The
Old Mother could hear him rustling around back there until
he finally emerged naked. Johanna kept his hands crossed in
front of his genitals, but the doctor didn't give him a
second glance. He had seen it all before.
"Hop up on the table, if you will," he instructed Johanna.
Johanna stepped up on the low stool and took a seat on the
table.
"If you could turn toward the end, put your heels up on the
edge of table and scoot all the way forward," the doctor
said.
Johanna did as he was instructed, maneuvering himself into
the awkward position, with his genitals swinging freely, in
easy reach for the doctor.
The doctor regarded Johanna's tiny penis and scrotum with a
look of surprise.
"Well, now," he said. "The overlord will like that, won't
he? I'm afraid, though, it may make getting the monitor
implanted properly a wee bit uncomfortable."
"Sir?" Johanna said, sounding quite frightened.
"Never you mind, now," the doctor said. "We'll get it taken
care of. No need to worry."
The doctor went to a cabinet and pulled out a long, thin
metal probe. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and
lubricated the probe liberally. Then he attached the tiny
monitor to the tip of the probe and returned to the exam
table to stand between Johanna's knees.
"I can't promise this won't hurt," Dr. Gray said. "But if
you concentrate on breathing in and out slowly it can help
take your mind off it."
"What are you going to--" Johanna started to ask.
But before he could finish the question, Dr. Gray had
lifted his penis and begun to introduce the probe into the
slit. Johanna gasped loudly and tried to pull away from the
excruciating pain.
"Hold still!" Dr. Gray ordered in a stern voice. "If you
fidget, I could puncture your urethra. And you don't want
me giving a bad report to the overlord, now do you?"
Johanna tearfully shook his head.
"All right then," the doctor said.
He continued to push the probe into Johanna's penis until
it reached the base.
"I just have to get it in the right position," he said.
Johanna's thighs trembled with the effort it took to keep
still. The doctor rooted around inside his penis, trying to
find the correct place to attach the monitor. Johanna's
face went so pale that the Old Mother thought he might pass
out.
"Got it!" Dr. Gray finally exclaimed.
He carefully withdrew the probe, and Johanna breathed a
shaky sigh of relief.
The doctor peeled off his gloves and threw them away.
"There now," he said. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Johanna didn't answer. The tip of his penis was red and
irritated. The Old Mother could tell he was trying not to
cry.
"Off you go then," Dr. Gray said. "Get dressed, and you can
return to your sponsor. I'll see you again when it's time
for the second test."
Johanna fled to safety behind the screen. The doctor left
the room. The Old Mother hurried back to the waiting room.
She had just taken her seat when the doctor came out to
speak with her.
"We've got it in successfully," he said. "But I'm afraid it
wasn't easy going. His penis is so-- Well, I've never seen
anything like it."
"Extremely small genitalia run in his family," the old lady
lied.
"Ah, I see," the doctor said, not fooled for a moment.
"Well, as long as he can pass the medical exam at the end,
if he makes it that far. That's all that matters. The
monitor is functioning already. If there are any slips, an
alarm will go off here. The overlord also has a remote
sensor. When the test is over, the monitor will pass
harmlessly from the seeker's body in his urine stream. Good
luck to you both."
He bowed formally and returned back through the door. A
moment later, Johanna appeared, fully dressed once more.
His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was sniffling.
The Old Mother chucked him beneath the chin. "There,
there," she said. "A little discomfort. That's all.
Remember your goal. Surely your handsome Lord Marco is
worth it, eh?"
Johanna nodded bravely, tears still shining in his eyes.
"Very good," the old lady said. "Now we'll return to the
house and work on getting your dresses in order. The
parties start tomorrow, and you'll have to look your best."
At the mention of parties and ball gowns, Johanna perked up
again, despite the lingering soreness in his penis. The Old
Mother smiled to herself. Her charge was so wonderfully
tractable.
***
The next evening, the grand ball was held to officially
open the thirty days of parties and give Johanna his debut
in society. The Old Mother and Johanna stood outside the
enormous double doors that led into the great hall waiting
to make their big entrance. The old lady took Johanna's
chin in her hand and scrutinized him carefully. Johanna
held his breath as he waited for his chaperone's verdict.
"Absolutely flawless," the Old Mother finally pronounced.
Johanna blushed warmly with happiness at the compliment,
but there was no idle flattery in it. Indeed, he had never
been more ravishing.
The Old Mother had chosen for his debut a simple, striking
gown of the purest white satin, to symbolize his innocence
and virginity, but also to accentuate the creamy perfection
of his skin. The bodice was trimmed with lace and plunged
gently, giving him a delicate decolletage. The sleeves hung
low on his arms, leaving his milky shoulders bare.
The dress was tightly fitted around the middle making
Johanna's already tiny waist appear that much smaller. The
Old Mother had really applied herself to the corset strings
to achieve the right look, so she'd brought along the
smelling salts in case Johanna started to get light headed.
The gown had a full skirt inset with seed pearls, and it
swayed gracefully around Johanna's ankles whenever he
moved. On his feet, he wore the latest, most elegant satin
slippers, with extremely pointy toes and very high heels.
Only someone who had practiced walking in them as much as
Johanna had could manage them without fear of embarrassing
clumsiness.
Beneath his lovely gown, Johanna wore only the finest
lingerie. As the Old Mother always liked to say: "If you
feel pretty in your panties, you'll feel even prettier in
your dress." Johanna's bra was white to match his dress and
made of exquisite Chantilly lace. His garter and tiny
little panties matched his bra. His silk stockings were so
incredibly sheer that only someone with as much skill and
experience as the Old Mother could have gotten him into
them without snagging the fragile fabric.
Johanna had spent at least two hours getting his makeup
absolutely perfect. He mixed together just the right shades
of eye shadow, cheek color and lipstick to bring out all
his best features and camouflage the few imperfections in
his complexion that the Old Mother's creams and potions had
not been able to eliminate.
The Old Mother spent just as long fixing Johanna's hair.
She had brushed his long tresses a thousand strokes until
it was as soft as silk and so lustrous it shone. Then she
arranged it in a cascade of curls on top of his head, held
in place with decorative combs encrusted with pearls and
diamonds, with soft tendrils framing his face. To
complement his outfit, he wore diamond teardrop earrings
and a diamond and pearl choker.
Johanna practically glowed with happiness, his eyes bright,
his cheeks rosy with color. The Old Mother had not beheld
such a vision of loveliness in a long, long time.
When the trumpets finally sounded, their cue that it was
time to make their entrance, Johanna straightened his back,
practicing the good posture the Old Mother had so carefully
taught him.
The old lady laid her hand on his arm. "This is very
important," she said. "Tonight, you should smile, converse,
flirt with any and ever man in the room, the more the
better. *Except* Lord Marco. Him you must ignore
completely, as if you do not even see him."
Johanna frowned in consternation. "But he'll think--"
The Old Mother gave Johanna a sharp look. "Am I your
mistress or not?"
Johanna had the good grace to be properly ashamed. "Forgive
me, Mistress. I forgot my place. Of course, I will do as
you command."
The old lady took Johanna's face in her hands. "That's my
good girl. Trust me on this. Nothing stirs a man to action
quite like jealousy."
Johanna smiled, understanding at last the old woman's
strategy.
The huge doors opened, and Johanna stepped into the room
with the Old Mother at his side. The great hall was
completely hushed with anticipation. When the crowd, who
had come to witness the fine spectacle of a submissive male
trying to catch himself a husband, glimpsed Johanna in the
doorway they gasped collectively in admiration.
Johanna smiled sweetly, quite pleased with his reception.
This was so much better than the mockery he had endured
when he'd first made his petition. He glided across the
room, carrying himself with the regal grace of a queen,
curtseying and accepting introductions from a sea of finely
dressed ladies and gentlemen who all eagerly wished to make
his acquaintance.
The Old Mother drifted into the shadows along the wall from
whence she could survey the proceedings without
interruption. All in all, she was quite pleased by what she
saw. Johanna was surrounded by handsome young officers and
aspiring government officials. These men had not yet become
jaded by life, and they were totally, innocently captivated
by Johanna's beauty and charm. Johanna spoke with them
shyly and blushed at their eager attentions. Occasionally,
after a great deal of flattery and pleading, he would allow
one of them to fetch him a cup of punch.
The high-ranking members of society--particularly the
members of Lord Marco's cabinet--carefully kept their
distance. They watched from the far side of the room with
haughty disdain as the moony-eyed younger sons threw
themselves head over heels at Johanna. Lord Marco himself
wore an expression of bemused indifference and spent much
of the evening discussing horses with a five-star general
who had recently come from the capital.
At the height of the party, Lord Marco finally stepped
forward and clapped his hands loudly to claim everyone's
attention. The room went still in expectation of his
announcement.
"My lords and ladies, honored guests, welcome to my humble
home."
The crowd laughed politely. Lord Marco smiled.
"As you all know," he said. "We are here for the debut of
Johanna, who has petitioned to become my lawful wife."
All eyes immediately turned to Johanna. He ducked his head
modestly.
Lord Marco lifted a glass of champagne. "To Johanna. Whom
we may all thank for giving us thirty days of festivity to
enjoy."
A chorus of "yes, yes" and "here, here" went up around the
room. Gentry loved nothing so much as a good party,
especially when it was at somebody else's expense.
"And perhaps Johanna may give us all some very personal
entertainment before everything is said and done," Lord
Marco added, arching an eyebrow suggestively.
The partygoers laughed. Johanna blushed with mortification.
"To commemorate this extraordinary event, we have arranged
a performance," Lord Marco said. "I hope you will all enjoy
it."
Lord Marco stepped back to clear the way for the performers
and gestured for his guests to do the same. The lights
dimmed, music swelled from the orchestra, spotlights
illuminated the center of the ballroom floor. A troupe of
female dancers streamed into formation and began to
pirouette and arabesque. They wore flowing, filmy costumes
that were practically see-through beneath the spotlights.
The crowd murmured appreciatively. Sensual entertainments
were all the rage.
The dance grew progressively more erotic. The dancers
paired off, and the choreography began to resemble foreplay
more than ballet. The women stroked one another and
undulated together. They wore nothing beneath their
costumes and the graceful twirling of their skirts would
occasionally reveal a tantalizing glimpse of naked, shaved
pudendum.
As the performance neared its climax, each pair of
ballerinas sank to the floor, writhing wildly together in
an artful representation of passion. Then for the finale
each woman bent her head to the other's sex and performed
cunnilingus. Their moans and sighs rose to accompany the
orchestra's sensuous rhythms.
In the crowd, ladies fanned themselves against the sudden
heat of their arousal. Gentlemen strained their zippers
with their burgeoning erections. Only Johanna appeared
unstirred by the performance. He decorously hid behind his
fan refusing to watch a spectacle that was so completely
unsuitable for the eyes of an innocent virgin like himself.
Across the way, Lord Marco watched Johanna with a
displeased scowl. He wore the purity sensor around his
wrist, and it registered no reaction at all from Johanna.
The Old Mother looked on from her dim corner with a wide,
satisfied grin. If the young overlord thought he could do
away with her charge that easily he had another thing
coming.
Once the entertainment concluded, the guests quickly
departed, no doubt to go quench the erotic urges roused in
them by the dance. The Old Mother collected Johanna, who
was walking on air after his great triumph. The old lady
hustled him off to their quarters and helped him get ready
for bed. Johanna changed into his nightgown and completed
his evening toilette. The Old Mother brushed his hair a
thousand strokes and then tucked him into bed. Tomorrow,
she would let him sleep late into the day. There were
twenty-nine more days of parties to attend, and he would
need his beauty rest.
***
The first week of the gala celebration went by much as the
first night had. The young officers and gentlemen clamored
for Johanna's attention, while the more august nobles
remained aloof. Lord Marco arranged every night for some
bawdy entertainment. Male pleasure slaves fellated and
sodomized one another. A pack of horny hunting dogs had
their way with three teenaged maidservants in Lord Marco's
employ, triplets who were all identically voluptuous,
blonde-haired and blue-eyed. There was even an all-out orgy
featuring both female prostitutes and male pleasure slaves
performing every permutation of sex act imaginable. It was
all in the hopes of tempting Johanna into betraying his vow
of chastity.
But every night, Johanna just blushed more deeply than he
had the night before and hid more resolutely behind his
fan. The rest of the partygoers left the great hall flushed
with need, already either moist or hard, ready to indulge
their most wanton whims. But Johanna's penis never so much
as twitched with interest. His sensibilities truly had
become delicate and feminine, and he found nothing arousing
in such crude public displays.
In the second week, the overlord's high-handed tactics to
dishonor Johanna grew even more aggressive. He sent
prostitutes and males pleasure slaves undercover as
partygoers, to infiltrate the crowd in the great hall. He
gave them wide latitude to do whatever was necessary to
cause Johanna to have an unladylike lapse in chastity.
Every night, after fighting off a salvo of groping hands
all indecently trying to fondle his privates, Johanna would
flee to the Old Mother's side and tearfully beg to leave
the party. Such course manhandling offended his delicate
sensibilities very deeply.
The Old Mother would pat Johanna comfortingly on the arm
and lead him away to the safety of their chamber, all the
while smiling inwardly. She was certain such feminine
modesty could not fail to capture the interest of the
master of the house.
By the third week, there was hardly anyone who remained
immune to Johanna's charms. The highest born gentlemen in
the company would have happily crawled on their knees
simply to be allowed to fetch Johanna a glass of champagne
or to retrieve his fan from the chair where he'd forgotten
it. Even Kendricks, the friend of Lord Marco's who had made
such sport of Johanna when he had first come to present his
petition for marriage, practically prostrated himself on
the offhand chance he might be permitted a dance. Johanna
was always careful to dole out his favors sparingly, to
keep his suitors panting at his feet.
Lord Marco watched the proceedings with a deepening scowl.
Every night, Johanna was more brilliantly dressed, more
devastatingly beautiful, more tantalizingly demure than he
had been the night before. Every time another man danced
with Johanna it made Lord Marco press his lips together in
a thin, displeased line. Whenever he heard Johanna laugh at
some other suitor's inane joke, he balled his hands into
such tight fists his knuckles turned white from the strain.
The Old Mother was quite certain she had never seen any man
so jealous in her entire life--and that was truly saying
something.
Once the final week of parties rolled around, Lord Marco
could stand it no longer. He swept Johanna into his arms
and onto the dance floor, scattering his competition with a
withering, dark-eyed glare. And from that time on, he never
let Johanna out of his sight whenever they were together,
not even for a moment. If Johanna wanted to dance, Lord
Marco would dance with him. If he fancied champagne, Marco
would fetch it. If he wanted to hear funny stories, then
Marco would entertain him.
The rest of the gentlemen--even those who were counted
among Lord Marco's closest friends--stared daggers in his
direction, quite put out that they had been displaced from
Johanna's side. But there was nothing they could do about
it. Lord Marco and Johanna only had eyes for each other.
As the thirty days drew to a close, Lord Marco grew quite
persistent in his pursuit of physical pleasure with
Johanna. He was always trying to get him alone somewhere or
to steal a kiss when he thought Johanna's chaperone wasn't
watching. Of course, the Old Mother knew perfectly well
what he was up to. What man in the history of the world
hadn't pressed his sweetheart for more intimacy than was
quite proper to allow? The old lady kept her eye on him,
but did not try to stop it. Nothing sealed an engagement
quite like a man's mounting sexual frustration.
On the final night, Lord Marco managed to spirit Johanna
out to the darkened, deserted terrace that opened off the
great hall. The time, the Old Mother became alarmed and
hurried after them to put a stop to any mischief that might
ruin Johanna's prospects for marriage. Marco had pulled
Johanna into the shadows, clutched him in his arms and
pressed their bodies together. The young lord kissed
Johanna's lips and cheeks and neck feverishly. His hands
wandered at will over Johanna's curves. Johanna's eyes were
closed, and his face was set in an expression of supreme
ecstasy as he murmured his love's name over and again
between every kiss.
"Johanna!" the old lady said sharply.
Johanna started and jumped back from Lord Marco's embrace.
"Sorry, Mistress," he said, in a soft voice.
"Go to your room. Now!" she ordered.
"Yes, Mistress."
Johanna bobbed a little curtsey to Lord Marco and then
hurried obediently away.
"And you!" The old woman pointed an accusing finger at Lord
Marco. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Johanna has
proven himself quite innocent and chaste. You have no right
to take advantage of his inexperience. Such low dealing
does not become a gentleman of your station."
Lord Marco looked truly disconcerted and even a little
ashamed. The Old Mother bet it was the first time anyone
had ever openly accused him of being ungentlemanly. The old
lady flounced off before he could frame a reply. Her first
concern was Johanna. She just prayed that the interlude out
on the terrace had not caused Johanna to break his pledge
of purity.
When the old lady reached their chamber, she found Johanna
pacing nervously in the middle of the room, wringing his
hands.
"Oh, Mistress," he said, truly contrite. "I'm so sorry!
What you must think of me--"
"Hush, child," the old lady commanded. "Lift your skirt and
pull down your panties. Be quick about it!"
Johanna blushed out of modesty, but he knew better than to
try the Old Mother with protests when he'd already
misbehaved so abominably. He did as she said and exposed
himself. The Old Mother breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Johanna's tiny penis hung perfectly flaccid between his
legs.
"All right, then. That's a good girl. You may lower your
skirt," the Old Mother said.
Johanna quickly adjusted his clothes.
"I was afraid your sweetheart's embrace might have spoiled
your purity," the old lady explained.
"Oh," Johanna said, at last understanding. "No, Mistress, I
promise that I have not ruined my chances. I must admit
that it was difficult--" He colored with embarrassment.
"But I remembered all that you had taught me, and I was
able to control myself."
"You have done well, my child. But you must stay on your
guard until the ring is safely on your finger and the
clergyman has declared you man and wife. There are pitfalls
everywhere around you. Even if you never lose control, you
must not allow your young sweetheart to be too forward. A
man won't pay for a cow when he has a pretty good idea he
can get the milk for free."
Johanna lowered his gaze, clearly ashamed of his unladylike
conduct.
"I will remember, Mistress. I promise," he said. "And do
better next time."
"That's a good girl!" T