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REVENGE - payback for an earlier torment By Nicci Knox Chapter I Resolution - a decision made. Fern's ministrations roused me out of my nights slumber. Her persistent, practised fingers stroking and caressing my masculinity through the delicate lacy fabric of the French knickers that - with the matching lace trimmed satin camisole - have been my accustomed nightwear since my wife presented a set to me on our wedding night. She rapidly brought me to a condition of rigidity, but this wasn't yet satisfactory in her reckoning. Throwing back the light duvet that covered us she bent over my still awakening form and applied her mouth to the solid stalk of my organ as it stood proudly naked from the froth of lace that surrounded it's root where it erupted from my loose knicker leg. Satisfied at last with the strength of my erection Fern moved up the bed to straddle my chest, pinning my arms and shoulders with her shins and knees, to present her already salivating quim to my eager mouth. Using my lips, teeth and tongue I paid court to her vagina as she had intended, working up and down the moist slit with the tip of my tongue until the noises in her throat dictated the time for me to begin to push beyond the labia, those engorged guardians of the delight within, and reach into the wet, velvet warmth using my lips now to kiss those she presented to me and to begin to gently rake the inner flesh with my teeth. With gradually increasing pressure I now began to suck into the depths of her font until I could feel the rubber rigidity of her clitty sliding between my teeth moving into a position where I could chew and tease at it's engorged solidity. The while Fern continued to perch across my chest, back arched, head thrown back, eyes closed, lips and teeth clenched, her magnificent black hair cascading down her back, her hands cupping the perfection of her golden-brown breasts, caressing and teasing her bullet hard sepia nipples. Three times she climaxed, flooding my mouth on each occasion with the honey-dew sweetness of her orgasm, before she slid backwards down my body to gather my rigid pulsing cock in her hands, wrapping it carefully in the soft femininity of my knickers, before impaling herself on it's strength, delicate satin encasement and all. Settling perfectly still, her hands still cupping her breasts, head still thrown back, eyes still closed, her only movement the flexing and relaxing interior muscles of her vagina clasping and releasing my rigidity, she rode me to a shuddering explosive climax, a climax that she shared in a final equally explosive orgasm of her own. We lay together for a while in post coital bliss, my cheek on her firm shapely breast, she gently stroking my flowing blond hair before she stirred, kissing my murmured protests away, to start the day - Friday, and Good Friday at that. Four days stretched out in front of us before work again. Four days of glorious undiluted femininity. "Who shall I be today?" I asked her, "Dora, Diana, Diedre ..., or David?" "I think you'd better be Dora, at least to start with." Fern replied, "just in case things get a bit ahead of schedule. I don't know how you do it but somehow you manage to look no more than seventeen at the absolute maximum when you're her. We don't want you being recognised as David, and even as Diana you could be a bit vulnerable to being spotted. We're going to catch an old friend of yours today, you me and the girls. 'Alan'. He and Juliana are back in town and we're going spend the weekend teaching him some manners! In any case," she added, mysteriously, "before today's very much older you'll be someone altogether different again." Alan, THE BASTARD, as I still thought of him in capital letters. Alan who had dominated my formative years at school - mostly by terrorising me but also by inadvertently nurturing the growing compulsion within me, and had then had the temerity to marry Juliana an erstwhile school friend of my wife and my sister Tamsin and, true to his nature, if reports that reached them following the wedding were to be believed, had been systematically domineering and bullying her ever since. Shortly after their marriage Alan and Juliana had left the area but now, five years later, here they were back. They had set up an IT business which had lurched inevitably into failure. Not through any lack of expertise ? Juliana particularly was a genius at both programming and systems - but his imperious attitude towards each and every one of their clients ensured that no one ever came back a second time. Now, nearly twelve years after he'd left school and left me more or less to my own devices, his name could still bring a shiver to my body, a cold sweat to my skin and a sick churning in my stomach. In the interim period, between school and his leaving the area, I'd done my best to keep out his domain. Now here he was back in my life again. I didn't at all fancy another brush with him in any way. 'Still', I reasoned, 'if Fern and Tamsin have it all under control I'd be okay. The one I should be feeling sorry for was THE BASTARD'..., as if! Despite my questions my wife was no more forthcoming than she had already been leaving me to be content with a 'wait and see. It'll soon begin to pan out'. So, after breakfast and a quick shower, I slipped on a pair of Dora's pretty, light cotton panties - printed with tiny rose pink and crimson flowers and trimmed with broderie anglaise - with a matching bra, only lightly padded, and chemise under a plain cotton blouse and a lightweight crimson sweatshirt, and a short slim denim skirt. After moment's consideration, I also slipped on a pair of Dora's pink ankle socks that were a match for my blouse with a pair of low heeled 'slip ons'. Still nervous about the unexpected confrontation with THE BASTARD after all this time, still trying to reassure myself by the knowledge that both Fern and Tamsin would be there too, I arranged my hair and added Dora's almost non-existent make-up and made my way down stairs. "Incredible," my wife commented on my appearance, not for the first time. "See what I mean. You could easily pass for fourteen or fifteen. You look more like my daughter than my husband. Well, we'd better get going. We're off to The Farm, to meet 'the girls' and, not before too long I hope, our guest." Fern, of course, did herself an injustice. She carried her years as well as I did. There was no way she looked old enough to have born a child of fourteen - even assuming I looked that. As I followed out to the car her words came back to me 'you'll be some one else altogether different again'. 'What', I wondered 'was all that about'? Chapter II Beginnings - the foundations of a life style. Dora had entered my life some thirteen-and-a-half years previously, over twenty one years ago now. The school I attended, then an 'all boys' school, decided to put on a production of David Copperfield during the latter part of the Autumn term of my first year in the senior school. The drama mistress, the continued masturbatory fantasies of a succession of pupils as they passed through puberty, decided that my fresh faced, fair skinned, blond headed, shy, fourteen year old prettiness suited both Clara Copperfield and Dora Spendlow 'to a tee' and set about persuading me to 'double' for the two parts. She badgered me consistently over the first few days of term until she broke my initial resistance and achieved my final reluctant acquiescence in an agreement to 'give it a try'. It surprised even me, who to then had never contemplated dressing or acting as a girl or acting as anything or any body else in the school play for that matter, to say nothing of the surprise to my family and friends or to the rest of the school - pupils and staff. Even more surprising to all of us was my modest but undoubted success in the role, particularly in the scene where, as David's mother, I had to submit to his being beaten [off stage] by his step father; then, as Dora, on my deathbed where I had to bid goodbye to my husband, and assign David's future happiness to Agnes Wickfield. Both Clara and Dora, of course, dressed in pretty Victorian femininity, complete with 'poke' bonnets and - at the drama mistresses insistence 'to ensure authenticity' and to ensure that I and the rest of the boys she'd dragooned into taking the other female characters could 'really enter into the roles' - fancy lace trimmed linen underwear. Outdated and old fashioned though the clothes were, my assumption of them for the final few rehearsals and the four performances awoke in me a strange curiosity as to just what it would feel like to wear modern girls clothes. Clothes like those of my sister Tamsin, sixteen months younger than me and then recently turned thirteen, in the first flush of puberty and beginning to assume a more identifiably feminine wardrobe. Inevitably, before long my curiosity got the better of me and became a compulsion. I took the opportunity of being alone in the house one Saturday afternoon to make a surreptitious foray into her room to 'try them on'. Of course, that first time I concentrated entirely on her essential underwear and contented myself with trying several pairs of her knickers. Firstly her school knickers, that didn't feel remarkably different to my own 'Y' fronts, followed by some pretty, delicate little printed cotton panties, trimmed with broderie anglaise, the touch of which set my still developing masculinity throbbing and pulsing. Without any conscious action on my part my hands flew to cup my strengthening arousal in the cool femininity of it's covering and I wanked furiously remembering only just in time to rip my panties ... Tamsin's panties down far enough to avoid spilling my load into them. From then on I was a confirmed cross dresser, well before I became aware of the phrase, or of the word 'transvestite', and it became my habit to avail myself of every opportunity to raid my sisters wardrobe gradually increasing my experimentation until I was no longer content just to put on a pair of her panties but to try the rest of her underwear and her outer clothes as well. I was aided in this by the fact that, at thirteen, my sister was already slightly taller than me and, for a girl with a rapidly developing highly attractive figure, more robustly built. Then Alan 'THE BASTARD' also intervened, inadvertently sustaining me in my newly found pleasure and confirming me in my new life, even as he sought to [and succeeded in doing so] torture my very existence. Alan was one of the largest boys in my form. Not particularly bright but strong and about as sensitive as a bulldozer, and the class bully. He had begun picking on me soon after we all started at the school three years previously and he and his two main henchmen had quickly learned ways of making my life and those of a few other of the smaller, slighter, shier individuals a constant burden, if not an active misery. Always jealous of the apparent ease with which I managed to cope with the academic requirements of the school and now puzzled and annoyed by my success in the school production he took to continually referring to me as 'Dora' and encouraged firstly the rest of the class and then the rest of the school to do the same. So much so that the name stuck in my mind and 'Dora' became my alter ego, my feminine persona, the person I aspired to be when I stood in front of my sister's dressing table mirror clad in her clothes from the skin out endeavouring to attain a proper 'girlish' demeanour as I moved and gestured and studied my reflection during the remainder of that term and over the Christmas holiday. It was after Christmas, at the start of the next term, that THE BASTARD came up with his idea to crown his devilment, to really make me squirm and keep me permanently tormented all the rest of the time both he and I were at the school together. I arrived at the school gate on that first morning of term to discover him and two of his cohorts grinning at me as they drew me inside the gate and hurried me to a secluded little alcove around the back of the boiler house. Once there I was ordered to remove my trousers and underpants with no option but to obey on pain of having them torn off me and thrown into the boiler. As I complied with a scarlet face, tears flowing from my eyes and a sick turmoil in my stomach, Alan opened his school bag and took out a pair of the most exquisite girl's panties I'd yet seen. Alan's sister Marguerite is three years older than him and already, by then, wearing far more luxurious lingerie than any my sister then possessed - even than the deliciously 'grown up' underwear she'd just acquired that I took so much delight in wearing. To my rapture, that Christmas our mother decided that Tamsin was now old enough and developed enough to be given some rather more refined underwear - matching sets of panties, bras', half slips and suspender-belts with stockings to match - that I ached to 'try on' as I watched her open the gift, and took the first opportunity I could to do so. If her delicate cotton panties had and still did fuel my arousal, the feel of delicate, silky, lacy nylon wrapped around my masculinity sent me into paroxysms and once again, as I wanked furiously, I only just managed to prevent myself exploding into her panties by whipping my cock out over the elasticised waist band at the final moment. As it was I dribbled pre-cum into the delicate femininity, and shot my load down the side of her bed cover, giving myself considerable problems in clearing up and giving me some heart stopping moments as I anticipated her discovering the evidence I'd buried deep in her underwear draw in the hopes that my dribbles would dry out before she reached that particular pair of panties, and that the resultant stain wouldn't be too noticeable. In the event my indiscretion went unnoticed and it didn't stop me continuing my experiments, that now included wearing her pretty little bras', suitably padded, stockings and suspender-belts and the silky half-slips. For some reason, at that time, I didn't put anything over my newly acquired underwear contenting myself with dressing only up to my dishabille. Only as Dora did I dress fully. "Well Dora," Alan chortled, "we've decided that as you so obviously like being a girl you'd better dress like one. From now on, unless I say so, these, or ones like them, will be what you wear around school. Every day, when you arrive, you have to report here to make the change. We'll meet you here and ensure that you are 'properly equipped'. And just to make sure of it, if at any time of the day we need to be certain that you haven't snuck off to change your knickers, you'll have to drop your trousers to let us see. You will also report back here at the end of each day and one of us will return your own underwear for you to wear home and back the next day, and for you to return your pretty knickers to us." Thus began the most humiliating, most horrific, most glorious period of my life to that date. In no time the whole school knew what was happening to me and I was constantly being asked 'what colour knickers are you wearing today Dora'? And being forced, on pain of physical retribution and the enforced permanent loss of my trousers if I failed to comply, to drop my trousers and display the intense femininity of my underwear. And the conspiracy of secrecy that always exists between the pupils ensured that my torture was kept from the staff. Even THE BASTARD was intelligent enough to recognise the danger of making me conform to his edict when Games, P.E. or a medical examination were on the curriculum. Completely cowed, I was now universally regarded as 'fair game' to all and any demands made upon. Even the youngest boys and the other wimps in the school soon realised that I was incapable of resisting their demands and that they too had licence to alleviate their own wretchedness by joining in the conspiracy to make my life a misery. And yet, throughout, I was conscious of a secret luxurious exaltation every time I meekly removed my own boyish garments and put on Alan's sister's panties. I came to crave the enforced transfer and to be bitterly disappointed on the days he desisted and, as that term came to an end, became fearful that the Easter break might result in a cessation of my enforced masquerade. I needn't have worried. Alan persisted in his torment and my ritual humiliation continued for four further terms until he left at the end of the following school year, leaving me, on my return to school after the Summer, to continue my studies at sixth form level before going on to university. It puzzled me at the time how he managed to keep supplying me with panties - a clean pair every day. I soon realised that his sister must have party to my torment and willingly kept him furnished with her freshly laundered knickers, finding vicarious enjoyment from the thought of what her brother was making me do. Certainly Fern and Tamsin have since confirmed that her own residual reputation as the school tyrant persisted for a long time after she'd left, well into their own time at the school. Fern's elder sister Amelia, more than a year older than me, and her friends suffered from her excesses at the beginning of their time at the school. As consolation for my enforced but secretly thrilling humiliation was the permanent part Dora now played in my life. But, before he left the school, Tamsin's increasingly sophisticated wardrobe and Alan's Machiavellian mind had, between them, introduced me to my second persona. Diana. The enhanced delicacy of Alan's sister's intensely feminine panties awakened yet further desires within me, to experiment with achieving a more cultivated, more adult female image. Fortunately for me my sister's journey through puberty was rapid and she had little problem in persuading my parents, my mother in particular, that she was ready for a more adult wardrobe 'for out of school times'. I think our mother, still then in her late thirties, still slim fresh faced and highly attractive, quite relished the idea of a daughter she could teach and help to become a mature woman. Tamsin's outer wardrobe gradually began to attain a sophistication that at least kept pace with her newly acquired underwear. A sophistication that I yearned for and I continued to experiment with. At first I thought of it as 'helping Dora to grow up' but I soon realised that Dora, with all her simple school girl artlessness, with her school uniforms complete with her interlock school knickers and 'training' bras', or with her pretty cotton panties and chemises, long white socks and simple girlish skirts, blouses and dresses, was still an essential part of my life. Particularly when I needed a weekend retreat from some of the horrors of my every day 'Alan THE BASTARD' dominated life. My newly developing, sophisticated persona demanded a separate existence. I quickly settled on 'Diana'. The allusion to that name at that time is probably self explanatory. If it's not, I'm not going to explain further. Beyond THE BASTARD'S purview, both Dora and Diana were well established. Now it was time for Diedre to arrive. Three years almost to the day from the start of it all, from the time I'd been persuaded to take the part of Dora Spendlow, the inevitable happened and my masquerade was discovered. In my eighteenth year and just starting my second year in the sixth form, I was alone in the house for a whole weekend. Tamsin, recently sixteen, was spending a 'sleep over' weekend with Fern and Amelia, and a few other girls. Our parents were away until Tuesday morning, as were theirs. Following THE BASTARD'S departure, upon my return to school the next autumn term, as had I moved into the heady reaches of the 'lower-sixth', the remaining pupils quickly seemed to forget my humiliating compliance with my tormentor's demands and I was left alone. Alan's successors in the lower school found other poor victims to terrorise. If they'd forgotten I hadn't. During that first Summer I'd taken a part time job in the County Library to supplement the allowance my parents gave me. The job had continued throughout term times and into and through vacations. As a 'young adult', with reasonable if slightly modest means, my parents now expected me to buy my own clothes. Of course I did so and often displayed the results of my purchases to them. Or, at least, the more conventional purchases. What I didn't display was the gradually increasing store of delicate, lacy, silky lingerie I'd been accumulating. Obviously, in those days, I couldn't acquire a feminine external wardrobe, maintaining a reliance on my sister for that deficiency. True to my training by THE BASTARD I'd preserved the habit of wearing panties and sometimes a suspender-belt and stockings, under my conventional masculine exterior, when [like THE BASTARD before me] I was sure I could get away with it. The rest of the sets - the bras', chemises, slips and half-slips - I liked to add when I could, when I was alone in the house or, occasionally, in the middle of the night when the rest of our large house was at rest. Unbeknownst to me my sister had discovered my secret wardrobe when, at the request of my mother, she'd taken some finished laundry upstairs. Instead of leaving it on my bed as my mother would have done she'd decided to put it away for me, thereby taking the opportunity to carry out some further detective work to try to confirm a suspicion that she'd had for some little while that I, her brother, had been appropriating parts of her wardrobe - a suspicion that I was a transvestite. In fact the girls told me later that, as usual, she'd shared her suspicions with her 'best friend', Fern, and that far from being either alarmed or disgusted at the prospect both of them had found it quite exciting and stimulating and had quickly determined that, if it turned out to be the case, they would assist me in developing my fetish to the point of accompanying them out 'dressed', with at least a reasonable prospect of doing so undetected. The 'sleep over' was their idea, designed to enable them to catch me out and to use that discovery to immediately begin my further development. Luxuriating in the thought of a whole glorious weekend of femininity, on my return from school I divested myself of my masculine exterior as soon as I entered the house and, dressed only in the delicately frivolous, lacy nylon panties I had had on all day underneath my outer ware, I mounted the stairs to my own room to retrieve the matching suspender- belt, bra' and chemise and a pair of stockings carrying them with me into my sister's room to make my selection of a suitable skirt and blouse, or a dress, from her wardrobe. Tamsin and Fern were sitting silently on the bed awaiting my arrival. "Hello, big brother," my sister greeted me as I entered. "Or should I say 'big sister'?" I nearly fainted. I nearly wet myself. I did flush bright scarlet and drop my matching underwear leaving me stood in unmistakably feminine panties that did nothing to disguise the suddenly rampant masculinity they totally failed to contain. My stammering, pitiful protestations were brushed aside by my two interlocutors as I attempted to retrieve my scattered garments and beat a retreat. Attempted only. My fumbling fingers failed to hold any of the clothes that I gathered up and the two girls quickly and easily prevented my escape. "Oh no! Brother ... sister dear," Tamsin reproved me, "we're all girls together now. You can finish dressing here, we'll help you, and then we can all go to Fern's place. You can join us and the rest of the girls for the weekend. You don't have to worry about what you're going to wear, or to pack anything. We've already taken care of that!" Humiliation upon humiliation. I'm not sure that, initially, it wasn't worse than that first forcible assumption of THE BASTARD'S sister's panties under the scrutiny of him and his cohorts, more than two-and-a- half years before. There under the level gaze of the two of them I had to dress myself in the underwear I'd brought into the room with me - filling my bra' cups with a pair of the breast forms I'd acquired along with the lingerie - then, still under their unrelenting watch, select a plain linen blouse and a short slim skirt from my sister's wardrobe and don them, too. "Not bad," my sister commented, as I finally stood upright and regarded myself critically in the mirror. "Tell us, what do you call yourself, when you're dressed like that?" Strangely, as I had dressed, the familiarity of the exercise had taken over and my usual attention to detail, to the need to achieve a proper and satisfactory feminine appearance, had asserted itself. I'd scorned to fasten my bra' in the way I had at the beginning - fastening the hooks in front of me and dragging it around into place. I slipped the straps on over my shoulders and reached up behind me to clip it deftly behind my back. I knew without their endorsement that I now looked like a girl and, suddenly, my confidence was returning. I took my time replying as I continued to make minute adjustments to the set of my clothes. "Diana." I said shortly, without further explanation. And I turned, unbidden, to seat myself at the dressing table and attend to my hair and make-up. The results brought renewed nods of approval from both girls. "Well!" Fern now commented, "I must say I'm impressed. When Tamsin told me what she'd found and what she suspected, that you've been dressing in her clothes and that you've got some knickers of your own, we expected to find that you'd turn out to look like some old drag queen. We never thought you'd look like this. You could pass as a girl easily. In fact you're a dead ringer for Tammy's sister. Her twin even. No. More like her younger sister." "Well," I said, cutting her short, "you said we were going to your place. I'm ready." I had a great time that weekend, and so did the girls. It was there I met Juliana for the first time and Amelia's two friends Susan and Dominique. Once Amelia and the other three got over the shock of discovering that the newly introduced Diana had a most unusual secret hidden in her knickers they delighted in persuading me to try on more and more overtly feminine costumes. Not that I needed much persuading. And, to the jubilation of the five of them, the novelty of the situation and the erotic nature of the garments they provided urged my masculinity into more and more prodigious expressions of arousal that deformed the set of the delicate femininity that enwrapped it - tenting out the fragile, lacy satin and nylon of the panties they had no difficulty in prompting me to wear. At some point, early on, I explained to them how it all started and how Dora had developed from a Dickensian heroin into a modern school girl. I demonstrated her appearance using Fern's school uniform. The girls were delighted and insisted that I demonstrate minutely how she looked in just her school knickers, training bra' and long white socks. Diana's costumes, once we reverted to her, rapidly became so outlandish that we ..., they decided that another persona was required - and Diedre was created. Quite bluntly, Diedre is a tramp. A sexy piece that delights in exhibitionism, provocation and temptation. She wears outrageously short skirts, the lowest plunging necklines that she can contrive commensurate with having to contend with an artificial bust line and the skimpiest knickers imaginable. Of more recent times, not that weekend or for a period afterwards, sometimes she has no knickers at all. To say that her make-up is loud is a total understatement. Several times that weekend, in the persona of Dora, Diana and finally once as Diedre, I was taken out and, each time, the other girls dressed in the same way to accompany me and we became either a gang of giggling school girls, a party of sensible sophisticated young women or, on that one occasion, a mob of prick teasers. By the end of the weekend my initial feelings of fright, feelings of walking around the town in transparent clothes that were identifiably feminine but inadequate to disguise the masculinity beneath, had moderated to a degree that enabled me to participate more actively in the mood of the group and to really enjoy the adventure of the final realisation of what I suppose had been building up within me ever since I first started dressing secretly in my sister's clothes - the reality of going into the outside world as a girl. At least, by the end of the weekend, I was beginning to feel reasonably comfortable as either Dora or Diana. David has, of course, been with me since birth. He presents a conventional, if slightly diffident, masculine exterior that is accepted for what it seems. Underneath, as has already been inferred, he sometimes ..., often ..., as often as possible likes to wear less than conventionally masculine underwear and resorts to either Dora's pretty little undies or Diana's more sophisticated lingerie - usually but not always Diana's. Even after all this time, the though of going out as Diedre fills me with a nervous excitement, half exhilaration half dread, that ties my stomach in knots. I've already indicated that Diedre's attitude to her essential underwear is somewhat unconventional. Her most substantial pair of knickers is little more than what is now called a thong, with a strap of lace around her waist and another passing down through the cleft of her buttocks to join the point of a tiny inverted triangular scrap of nylon lace that just about covers her pubis. None of her knickers are capable of containing [let alone restraining] the rather troublesome masculine appendage that dangles between her thighs. And now sometimes, at the insistence of her friends and to match their own immodesty in the same respect, she is required to leave her knickers off altogether. Either way, knickered or knickerless, given the scanty nature of her skirts, the evidence of her intrinsic masculinity is only too vulnerable to discovery. Of course, in the situation she finds herself - the femininity of her appearance, the feel of her clothes and the abandonment of her behaviour - her masculinity is inclined to assert its rights. It's surprising how often she has to resort to emergency dextral or [if one of her friends is willing and the opportunity arises] oral means to bring it back under some kind of control. Due to the comparatively far more generous disguises afforded by their respective costumes, masquerading as either Dora or Diana is far less stressful and it rapidly became second nature for me to assume their persona. Gradually, working or visiting friends and family who are not 'in the know' as David, although I remained a trifle diffident, the confidence I lost due to THE BASTARD'S machinations began to return. Not helped in any way, of course, by his continuing to refer to me as 'Dora' and always addressing me by the public use of that appellation on the rare occasions that me met ? those occasions when I couldn't avoid it. My life dictates that I have to spend a fair proportion of it as David [usually secretly buoyed up by the thought and feel of my underwear and the early opportunity I'll have to become completely feminine again, since my marriage]. The prospect of being Diedre still engenders a mixture of excitement, intense arousal and panic ? feelings that are in no way diminished by the actuality. All in all, I have to confess that I'm at my most confident, either at home or outside, when I'm either Dora or Diana. Chapter III Re-education - capture and training. I As I anticipated Fern and Tamsin's preparations were faultless. 'The Farm' is Down Farm, now no longer a working agricultural unit lying on the north-eastern slopes of Dartmoor not far from Cheriton Bishop. Fern and Amelia's grandparents bought it when they arrived in England from Ceylon [now Sri Lanka] sometime between the two World Wars. It's remained in the family ever since but now retains only the immediate out buildings as stables for the few horses they keep. The farmhouse itself has been thoroughly modernised. It's big enough to still be regarded as a holiday retreat by the extended family whilst Amelia, Dominique and Tamsin who have set up their m?nage a trois, maintain the homestead area and keep the horses properly exercised. As well as the family it's used by the 'Sisterhood' from time to time although usually, when in the area, the Sisterhood stays in the not far distant Manor House Hotel. Amelia, Dominique, Juliana and Tamsin were already there when Fern and I arrived. And now Fern and Tamsin could explain to three of us what on earth was going on. Juliana already understood at least part of it, she had to as Tamsin had met her off the train at Tiverton Junction the previous evening and whisked up to the Farm. The other two, like me, were still largely in ignorance only having been given the bare minimum of information by the perpetrators of the plot to ensure they kept the weekend free and put off any other potential 'weekend visitors'. Juliana was supposed to helping her mother nurse her sick grandmother in Gloucestershire. She had had no difficulty in persuading Alan to 'stay home' for the duration. Part of his strategy for dominating his wife was to appear all sweetness and reason to her family but to avoid actual contact with them as much as possible. Having deposited Juliana on the train, in Exeter, he took no further interest in her 'comings and goings'. As already indicated, Juliana alighted from the train at the first opportunity, was met by my sister and the two of them joined the party, forthwith. Juliana had no doubts that on the next morning, that Good Friday morning, Alan would be in town taking advantage of his grass widower status. The entire group except Susan and Holly had attended their wedding, the last time any of us had seen him, including me as a petrified David only marginally buoyed up by the presence of the others and the thought and feel of the sophisticated lingerie he wore underneath his masculine exterior. So Susan and Holly were deputed to go into Exeter that morning and 'pick him up'. If successful, they were to bring him to the Farm. The rest of us would prepare for their arrival. Preparation started with the six of us removing our clothes, showering and congregating in the main bedroom, with strict instructions 'not to dust ourselves with talc or to put on any make-up or perfume'. Quickly, without demur, all five of the girls stripped of the clothes they were wearing. I couldn't do less. In any case, all of them had seen me naked on many occasions, as I had them. We showered together, all six of us fitting easily into the large cubicle, nearly big enough to be regarded as a room in its self, specifically installed to enable communal showering. Back in the main bedroom, six almost identical costumes were laid out on the bed. Each set comprised bra', panties and a corselet all in plain satin with a dainty lace overlay, of a slightly paler shade of the same colour. Six satin suspender-straps hung from the bottom of the corselet. On inspection there were two sets in shades of yellow, two in red, and one each in shades of blue and green. With each set was a pair of lace stockings that matched the overlay, a pair of plain satin gloves, plain three inch court shoes and a plain satin hood. Tamsin took the green set and handed me the blue. Fern took one of the yellow sets and handed the other to her sister. The remaining two sets, then, were for Dominique and Juliana. Stockings, bras and panties presented no problem to any of us, but we all needed help fastening and adjusting the corselets - the multitude of minute hooks and eyes that fastened down the back. And I had to be reminded to feed the suspender straps under my panties before I fastened my stockings. The cups of my bra' were bigger than I was accustomed to, and I found that the breast forms that Fern gave me were also larger than normal. But they fitted the bra' exactly. The gloves reached above our elbows to a point midway to our shoulders. Now we all turned and took up the hoods. "Watch." Fern instructed us, and pulled hers on over her head, tucking her hair up inside as she did so. The soft satin moulded her head like an old fashioned pixie-hood, without the point, and with a panel that came down over her face as far as her upper lip leaving only her eyes, nostrils and mouth uncovered. "Try them," we were directed. Then, "but you'll only need to wear these and the gloves when you're in his sight. Get used to the rest, though. It's all you'll be wearing for the next four days. Or, at least, duplicate clean ones. Except you two," she added, turning to me and Juliana, with a slight smile on her face, "You'll have to put something over them occasionally. You two'll have to exercise the horses. You'll create something of a sensation if you go out riding like that." There was general hilarity at the thought of that. The transformation was incredible. Fern and Amelia, both with their heritage of glowing golden skin, both of a height and similar lithe build, were identical. Dominique and Juliana, their black locks tucked away, their slender pale shoulders, thighs and necks on display, also melted into one. My sister's fair skin almost matched my own, now that her darker honey blond hair and my fairer tresses were invisible. Only the colour of our respective lingerie and the difference in our height set us apart. "For the duration we will be 'Maitresse Soleir, Ecarlate, Emeraude and Saphir respectively. Two of each." Fern continued. "Holly and Susan will also be Maitresse Saphir and Emeraude, when they arrive and prepare." It made sense. Holly is very much my size and colouring. It also explained the expansion in my bust. To match Holly's mature, but still firm and shapely, breasts I needed a couple of extra inches. Susan, with her auburn hair and fair freckled complexion, is taller and slightly more rounded - like my sister. "We need two of each," Tamsin took up the explanation again, so that we can keep going all weekend without apparent let up. So you need to remember only to use our pseudonyms. Oh! And while I remember. It doesn't matter what lipstick you've got here, what colour you usually wear. Or what scent. We're all to wear these." So saying she reached across to the dressing table and picked up six sticks, two of a bright scarlet that matched the lingerie worn by the two Maitresses Ecarlate, two of yellow for the Maitresses Soleir, one of green for my sister and one of blue for me. It was the first time I'd ever seen blue lipstick, let alone worn it. Finally, we were each handed a bottle of perfume, two called Scarlet, two Sunshine, one Emerald and one Sapphire, all of which proved to be a little 'heady' and certainly distinctive. Preparation continued. It was decided, had already been decided by the two plotters, that Juliana and I should be kept in reserve for as long as possible, and would only 'take the front line' so to speak, when Holly and Dominique needed rest. The other two pairs, Fern and Amelia and Tamsin and Susan, would swap turn and turn about as evenly as possible. Juliana and I have never been sure whether we was relieved or disappointed not to be facing our erstwhile tormentor at an early stage or as regularly as the others. Yes we are! We were relieved! Anyway, the decision was made and no protestations on our part were of any avail. My wife and my sister had decided that we two, the most vulnerable and the most effected by Alan's previous behaviour, should be subjected to the least trauma. The others agreed, Dominique and Holly, when she arrived, particularly, even though it meant they two had to bear a fuller burden. That's what friendship and concern is all about! "Anyway," we were told, "don't worry. There'll be plenty else to do and we'll all be in at the death in any case." A short phone call midmorning confirmed the success of Susan and Holly's mission. They told us later that the pick up had been all too easy. Alan, obviously less successful than he'd anticipated with the younger element he'd been trying to attract, had been somewhat flattered to be approached by two apparently sophisticated and somewhat older women and the three had fallen into a relaxed conversation, at some point in which Holly had suggested, somewhat archly, that if he was 'at loose end he might like to join the two of them and another couple of female friends for a relaxing weekend'. The two of them still find it hilarious to think that he'd swallowed the bait so readily. The phone call gave us about three-quarters-of-an-hour to be ready and to make our final preparations. As I've already indicated, neither Juliana nor I were directly involved in much of what followed. We were in some, but we observed quite a lot through the one-way mirror that the girls had installed between the main bedroom and the room in which Alan was confined for most of his visit. For the most part we two were responsible for the domestic arrangements - cooking, housekeeping, etc. - and, as has already been indicated exercising the horses over the land retained by covenant for that purpose when the residual farmland was sold to the neighbouring landowners. We brought about a certain amount of merriment when we confirmed that it was the first we'd ever worn corsets, stockings and suspenders under our tee shirts and jodhpurs to go riding. Strangely too, accustomed as I was [and am] to the touch of Dora's pretty panties and Diana's more luxuriant lingerie on my skin, I found the whole situation almost more erotic than I could comfortably manage. I'm sure the feel of the unaccustomed corsetry and general lack of external clothing, played a part in my feelings. As did the constant sight of my lovely semi-clad companions and the knowledge of what my erstwhile tormentor was undergoing. Anyway, to the amusement and slight concern of the girls, I was constantly in a state of arousal that kept producing un-feminine bulges in the front of my satin panties with a regularity that hadn't occurred since the early days when they had taken delight in assisting me to dress in a variety of their own clothes. Bulges that had to be assuaged by the lips of my wife or, failing her presence, one of the others. Well, Juliana. II Fern and Dominique, gloved and hooded, met Holly, Susan and THE BASTARD at the door. A look of amusement and anticipation, mixed with a minor amount of trepidation, skittered across his face as they were introduced as 'Maitresse Soleir and Maitresse Escalate' by Susan who then excused herself and Holly and left him to the tender mercies of the two scantily clad figures that, taking an arm each, drew him into the house and upstairs in the room prepared for his 'education' - although right then he didn't realise it! Susan and Holly ran lightly up a different staircase into the room where Juliana, Amelia Tamsin and I awaited them to assist them in removing their outer garments to reveal their Emeraude and Saphir costumes, and help them into their gloves and hoods. Additionally Holly had to assume her blue satin panties, a match for my own. The only one of all the girls to do so, she habitually went knickerless avowing a distaste for wrapping her genitalia in any form of close fitting lingerie. Another proof of her concern for the two of us, Juliana and myself, being that she was prepared to sacrifice her comfort in this respect 'for the duration'. 'Maitresse Saphir' and 'Maitresse Emeraude' now joined their two companions and their prey in the next room where, under the instructions and the watchful eyes of other two, and faithfully recorded by the hidden video surveillance cameras positioned strategically around the room, THE BASTARD had already divested himself of the clothes he had been wearing and assumed a pair of silk 'boxer shorts', a short skirted dressing gown and a pair of Turkish slippers - unbeknown to him these were to be the last masculine garments he was destined to wear, ever! In assisting him to strip and dress the girls obviously had the opportunity to inspect his masculinity which they did with apparent interest and approval, pursing their lips and nodding slightly to one-an-other. The four girls now led him back downstairs into the dining room where, in an apparent atmosphere of shared excitement and anticipation, the five of them eat a leisurely lunch of a mild Tai curry with two bottles of Muscedet followed by litchi's and green tea. The flavour of the curry, though mild, was sufficient to mask the drugs that had been inserted in his portion. Drugs that Susan and Holly had procured from a doctor friend of theirs, living in the far south west, in Penzance. Drugs designed to knock him out, temporarily, and induce confusion and another to emasculate him. The knock out drug quickly took effect. Before the meal was finished he was having difficulty keeping his eyelids open and by the time the litchis and tea had been consumed he was fast off. The four girls had no difficulty carrying him back upstairs, stripping him again and leaving him chained to the bed - ankles and wrists secured separately to the four bed posts. Then, after carefully smearing his flaccid masculinity with traces of each of there distinctive lipsticks, his four companions took station in the room to await his awakening whist the rest of us made our own meal [from the same ingredients] and cleared the lunch away. THE BASTARD awoke during the early evening. It was obvious from his demeanour that he was totally disorientated and completely unaware of recent events. Still he had to face the immediate scorn of the four splendidly clad and now splendidly indignant figures that stood around his bed. "Well!" Fern exclaimed, venom in her tone, "talk about a wash out! You obviously knew what was expected of you when you accepted Maitresse Saphir's invitation for the weekend. Look at the way you so proudly displayed your masculinity as soon as you got here. No doubt for our delectation. We give you a meal designed to enhance all our expectations and what do you do? Not only fail completely to perform despite our best efforts on your behalf, but flake out on us into the bargain!" Weakly he raised his head from the single pillow the girls had allowed him and stared, blankly at first, at his wrists and ankles then at his flaccid and shrivelled member as it lie recumbent between his thighs, decorated as it was with smears of scarlet, gold, green and blue lipstick. Gradually, to the delight of we four who watched the drama unfold from behind our one-way mirror, some kind of understanding awoke in his face as some kind of memory returned. The look of partial comprehension gave way to a look of horror and humiliation as the presence of his four tormentors registered. After some initial stuttering and stammering his bulling instincts began came the fore and THE BASTARD began to bluster and rage and demand release, instant release. "Oh no, my lad," my wife regarded him arms and legs akimbo, her voice like iced steel, "you're not going anywhere! Not until you've satisfied us ... one way or another!" The last delivered in an ominous tone that specified nothing but left much implied. A look of desperate anxiety replaced the outrage on his face, a face quickly drained of colour and mien. It was the first time I'd ever seen him - the tormentor of my youth and the thief of my confidence - at total disadvantage. He could only anticipate what was to follow with dread. Slowly the four women now stood back and carefully removed first their bras' then their panties, folding each item and placing it on the top of a chest of drawers at the side of the room. Now, in a phalanx, they approached the bed and stood before him, nipples thrusting and burgeoning on each magnificent breast, each with pelvis thrust slightly forward the better to display it's ample decoration - two profuse black bushes, my wife's and Dominique's, one flame coloured, Susan's, one blond, Holly's. THE BASTARD stared at them with disbelief that quickly turned to horror as his lack of response registered. His cock didn't even twitch. It remained flaccid and unmoved. If anything, it shrivelled still further as the full impact of his inadequacy, and the obvious contempt in the demeanour of the four women was revealed. Not so me. From my vantage point behind the mirror, the sight of my wife's obvious sexual provocation, and that of her three companions, brought life and strength rushing, pulsing into my own masculinity. The delicate satin of my panties completely failed to either restrain or disguise my arousal and, once again, my companions looked at me with mixed merriment and concern. "Hmm!" My sister, commented, looking down at the tented front of my fragile knickers, "I suppose we'll have to do something about that. Can't risk you being spotted in that condition. Not yet, anyway." Juliana, who apart from my wife, is the only one of the group besides myself who is heterosexual by orientation, knelt in front of me, eased my panties down over my thighs and took my straining shaft in her mouth to caress and suckle it until I finally exploded. She ensured that she swallowed all my outpourings and that she continued to suckle until all my post-ejaculation discharge was spent, to avoid 'any unsightly stains' in my panties. It wasn't until a little later, when Tamsin had substituted Susan, that I recalled her final words and wondered quite what was to follow. I tackled Fern then - she too had been substituted by her sister - but she only smiled sweetly and bad me 'wait and see'. Within the bedroom, for the next two or three hours the four of them worked on THE BASTARD or, at least, went through the motions of doing so. Their ministrations brought no response. He was by now so desperate that even his mouth dried to such and extent that he was unable even to service any of them with his teeth and tongue. Indeed the few experiments that they made in proffering their quims to his mouth resulted only in his tearful and unhappy moans and pleas for mercy and understanding. And neither their fingers nor their lips could revive his flaccidity. Eventually, apparently giving up in disgust, the four of them gathered up their discarded underwear and left him to himself. To his misery, and tears and to his own desperate but unavailing attempts to revive his masculinity. His distress that was witnessed from behind the mirror by Juliana and myself, and by the others as they drifted out from time to time. Some little while later, before the end of the evening, Tamsin and Amelia - Maitresse Emeraude and Maitresse Soleir respectively - went into the room and attached a small collar to the root of his cock, behind and beneath his testicles. The collar was fastened by a small but intensely strong padlock to the hasp of which a slender, high tensile steel chain was also attached. The chain was fed underneath his perineum, up the cleft of his buttocks and through a small ring set in the back of a second, larger, collar that was padlocked around his neck. Finally the chain was allowed to loop across the room to be attached to a ring high up on the outside wall of the room adjacent to the window. Once he was secured they removed his other shackles and informed him that the chain 'should be long enough to allow you to reach the en-suite facilities, and to enable you to eat at the table. You won't be eating downstairs with us. Not until you've fulfilled your function. Oh! And it's not long enough for you to get far along the corridor or to climb down outside from the window, should you decide to try to make a break for it, the chain that is. And any attempts to remove either of the collars, or to pull the chain out of the wall will probably do more damage to you than to the chain'. Whilst the other two were dealing with his restraints, Juliana and I - hooded and gloved to suit - brought in a meal for him and placed it on the table. This too was doctored, to a lesser extent, the strength of the disorientator had been reduced and the knock out omitted. The dosage of the emasculator remained the same. My first face-to-face encounter was surprising. In the presence of my sister and sister-in-law I didn't feel particularly threatened or vulnerable. I was suddenly struck that THE BASTARD was really quite a short and rather puny spectacle. Taller than me and Holly, of course, but not very tall for a man. Barely as tall as Fern, Tamsin, Amelia and Susan [all much-of-a-muchness in respect of their height] and two or three inches shorter than the somewhat lanky Juliana and Dominique, the tallest of our group. I was struck, too, at the insignificance of his cock. Admittedly, it was suffering from the effects of the drugs that not even the restraint of the collar could nullify, but I remembered that at school his development had been in advance of most of us and he'd been not unjustly arrogant about his proportions. Now, here it was a tiny negligible appendage attached to his stomach. Juliana later confided in me that she, too, had suddenly seen her husband in a different light. One that enabled her to forget the awe and fear with she'd come to regard him once his true personality had subsumed the outer layer of charm that had attracted her to him in the first place. III The torment and humiliation continued for the next day a half. Almost with out let up even for sleep ... on his part. Maitresses Soleir and Emeraude swapped around on a regular basis without any apparent recognition of the fact by THE BASTARD. Juliana and I, doubling for Dominique and Holly on rarer occasions, initially at least mainly confined our activity to providing and clearing away [still doctored] food but sometimes participating rather more actively in the supposed stimulation of our victim. I found it slightly disturbing to be handling another man's genitalia but, at least whilst either of us two were in the room, we all four retained bra and panties and the girls took pains to ensure that any potential for arousal on my part was mitigated in advance of my entry into the room. With him being at such a disadvantage when, in my guise as Maitresse Saphir, I was required to simulate the actions of a rapacious female, frustrated by the inability of her intended victim to raise any kind of a response, I was even more severe on his failing equipment than my sisters. I took delight in gripping his shaft savagely in my [gloved] hands and wanking it furiously, and in squeezing his testicles ferociously, or in tugging and pinching his tiny masculine nipples, bringing moans and cries for mercy from his lips and tears from his eyes. I noticed Juliana being rather heavier handed than the others in those respects, too. After the first occasion when Juliana and I had been working him together Tamsin commented, with a sweet little smile on her face, that it was obvious we both 'quite liked the idea of having him by the balls'! Despite the warnings he did, of course, try the strength of his restraints, to no avail and to discover the truth of the assertion that he would come off worse. He explored the confines of his room and its annex, including testing the small wardrobe and dressing table that resided against the walls, both of which [their doors and draws] were securely locked. Also, with his hands and legs now free, he did try physical reaction towards his tormentors. Again, to no avail. A swift jerk of the chain brought agony to his genitalia and his anus and, in any case, any one of the girls was more than a physical match for him and there were never less than two of them. After Sunday lunch Fern and Tamsin declared that now the time had arrived for 'the next part of the strategy'. The two of them, with Holly and Dominique, stood in front of him as he sat in humiliation on the edge of his bed. "It's pretty obvious that our best efforts in trying to assist you in attaining some measure of response, some measure of achieving the promise inferred by your acceptance of our invitation, have been to no avail." Tamsin addressed him. "We'll have to try other means. We've decided that, if stimulation won't work, maybe humiliation might do the trick. In any case, if you still can't be persuaded to 'rise to the occasion' it will at least give us some amusement. As you're such a pathetic little wimp, we're going to dress you in clothes that suit you're nature and take you out for some fresh air and exercise." So saying, my sister produced a small key secreted somewhere on her person [in her panties I think, but to this day I'm not sure] and unlocked the wardrobe that stood in the corner of the room. The open 'robe revealed a quantity, a plethora, of frilly girlish garments the sight of which I'm bound to admit set my pulses racing, my nerve end tingling and resulted in the inevitable stirring of yet another arousal in my panties. Ignoring the look of horror that swept over THE BASTARDS face and his, admittedly by now feeble, protestations the four of them proceeded to select a suitable costume and dress him. Resistance on his part proved useless. The four of them were easily able to overcome both physical opposition and passive non-cooperation, and in no time they had him dressed in short white frilled top ankle socks, excessively frilly pretty white nylon panties, a white blouse with a lacy collar and lace at the cuffs of the short 'puff' sleeves, a red-tartan pinafore dress, a long straight haired black wig with a red ribbon and pair of shiny red 'button over' flat shoes. The resemblance to 'Dorothy' was both intentional and remarkable. As he stood in total humiliation before them Tamsin handcuffed his wrists behind him then, and only then, unfastened the chain from its shackle high on the wall. The four ushered him downstairs where, two at a time, they left briefly to retrieve and wrap them selves in long loden cloaks coloured to match their outfits. Suitably clad for the bright but still cool spring weather they led him out of the house towards the farm gate and away, THE BASTARDS chain firmly in Tamsin's grasp and with Fern carrying and operating a video camera. Back in the observation room, as we ..., as I watched their departure I was suddenly aware of the amused expressions on the faces of my three companions ? Amelia, Juliana and Susan. I reddened quickly as I became aware of the cause their hilarity. Once again the set of my satin and lace panties was disrupted by the strength of my now enormous erection. "I can see you rather envy him but we'll have to do something about that," Juliana giggled, "they'll not be gone long and when they get back it'll be our turn to change him and move him to his next post." My instinctive question ['what next post'?] went unasked as Juliana distracted me immediately. As before, she eased the waist of my panties down over my cock, took it in her mouth and swiftly and efficiently relieved me of the burden of my arousal ? right down to the last tiny dribble of 'after-cum'. Then, with a sweet smile, she readjusted my panties and patted my now deflated and flaccid masculinity, with the words 'there; that should keep him under control for a while'. We still have the video of the trek. From the farm the four of them forced him to walk into the village, to return to the farm by an alternative circular route of about five miles in all. Throughout the trek one or other of them maintained a firm hold on the chain and the camera, too, was passed from hand to hand so that none of them remained un-filmed. THE BASTARD initially stormed and ranged and tried to resist, but one or two sharp jerks of his restraint soon reminded him of his vulnerability. And, fairly quickly he began to cooperate and move at the same pace as his captors. In fact, shod as he was, he was better able to negotiate the 'ups and downs' and sometimes rather rough surfaces of the narrow country lanes, than they were in their heels. In the lane leading to the village they encountered no-one. But within the village they soon became the focus of attention. They marched their captive into The Old Thatched Inn where they sat him down and removed their capes. The sensation in the crowded bar-room was incredible. Holly, unobtrusively tightening her grip on the chain and bringing tears to THE BASTARD'S eyes in so doing, announced that they were engaged in 'charity challenge' and produced a sponsorship form ? complete with a string of names and promised donations - to prove it. The crowd were delighted and contributed a sizable sum to 'Children in Need' the recipients of the supposed challenge [all the money was duly sent, including the promised donations]. The four girls now clad only in their highly erotic underwear with gloves and hoods were, of course, the main focus of attention for the men and within a short time several tell-tale lumps appeared in the front of several pairs of trousers. The women were more concerned with 'Dorothy' and were anxious to comprehend the full extent of his costume. Dominic duly obliged by raising his skirt to demonstrate to them the frilly femininity of his panties. Had they accepted all the drinks offered none of them would have been in a fit state to make the return trip to the farm, as it was they contented themselves with two drinks apiece and rationed their captive to a single half pint. When the girls finally resumed their capes and led him away they were sped on their way by the revellers. All the while THE BASTARD was kept under close control by the surreptitious application of his constraint and he had to make some attempt to pretend to be entering into the spirit of the event. On the more major roads of their return route they continued to come across other people and, by opening their cloaks and maintaining their story they managed to further swell the coffers. On their return the four of them led 'Dorothy' back upstairs, shackled him to the wall again, removed his handcuffs and left him to his own devices. For their part they sped away to remove their shoes and stockings and bathe their feet. His first action was to visit the en- suite to discharge a stream into the toilet then, amazingly still fully clothed as Dorothy, to fall face down on the bed to cry bitter tears of rage and humiliation. We didn't leave him for long. He started up horrified when a scant ten minutes later Amelia, Juliana, Susan and I entered the room. "Did you think that was it?" Maitresse Soleir, Amelia, asked in sarcastic tones, "that's only the beginning. Come on girls, get him changed and ready again." Briefed as to what was required we stripped him quickly and made him stand up in front of us for inspection. "Sill no signs of life, I see!" Susan commented, as she lifted his still shrivelled and flaccid cock between gloved fingers. It wasn't surprising. He'd been fed enough emasculator over the previous couple of days to deflate a herd of rams or billy goats. His new costume which again, to give him credit, he tried to resist ? to no avail ? was that of a maid. Frilly, black nylon lace panties with matching suspender-belt and slip, black lace stockings, short formal grey dress with white collar and cuffs, white apron edged with broderie anglaise, head band to match [over the same wig] and black high-heeled shoes. Vivid make-up completed his image. His restraining chain again brought him to 'heel' at the first and all subsequent signs of rebellion. It was our turn, wrapped in the same cloaks that our sisters had used and with the video camera again to hand, to take him into the village. This time we left him manacled to the post outside the inn door as we four went in, removed our capes, and invited a fresh set of customers to participate in our collection. Again, a surreptitious reminder forced him to pretend to active participation in the sport, even when one rather 'well oiled' female onlooker managed to raise his skirt and slide his delicate lace panties down far enough to uncover his still flaccid masculinity. Back at the farm it was our turn to experi