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ent. What would it be today? He could suck them both off, that would be nice - and then they could suck him off. He was partial to a double-header from a pair of good looking boys. But no, he decided. He'd fuck them today. They always made such lovely little noises when he fucked them. "I've come up with a special idea for today," he said, "There's some nylon stockings and a couple of ladies garter belts over by the window. Let's see what you look like wearing 'em." Both youngsters looked shocked and rather disenchanted with the idea of having to put on feminine clothing. "Mr Pratt, you've never asked us to do that kind of thing before." "Things change," Horace told them, "I's been inspired recently, an' variety is the spice of life, y'know." While they were getting ready he went out into the shop where Toby ran things with the help of a very fat and very nearly witless woman of fifty summers called Mrs Gitty. The place was otherwise empty. No customers at all. "The shop's quite this afternoon, Toby." "Dole day at the Job Centre, Horace," Toby explained, "People will have money of their own to spend for a couple of days." Horace rolled his cigar in his mouth. "We should take advantage of slack periods. You're good wi' cameras so I want you to do a special job for me later. Go up to Nob Street and take some snaps of Madame Dupont's little pantywaist faggots. Y'know the sort o' thing I mean. Pretty faces an' pretty poses with plenty o' pretty cocks showing under frocks." Toby regarded the plaster on his employers nose and he suddenly looked worried. "Oh, I dunno about that, Horace. I'm not a violent man an' she's got Attila the Hun as a doorman, ain't she?" "This will be okay, no danger." Horace assured him, "She requested it herself, so she'll have arranged things properly." He looked over at Mrs Gitty whose enormous bosom was slumped on the shop counter, and who was absorbed in a copy of 'Teenage Romance.' He gave Toby a nudge with his elbow. "Here, come through into the back and have a break. Pinky an' Ben are putting out for a poke, an' I don't mind sharing 'em today. Mrs Gitty can look after things here." When Toby looked a bit reticent he gave him another nudge. "What's the matter? Don't you fancy a treat?" Toby at last stirred. "Of course I do. I don't use me where-with-all with the missis much these days, but I won't turn down a chance with either of them shirt-lifters in there." A moment later the two men shut the door of the stockroom behind them. Toby's eyes glittered when he saw Pinky and Ben, standing naked except for the skimpy apparel of nylon stockings and suspenders which, not to be outdone by Horace's fertile, deviant imagination, they had each augmented with ladies court shoes. "They're a-fuckin'-mazin'!" approved Toby. "Ere Horace, Pinky an' Ben don't 'alf make horny business outta wearing suspenders an' stockings. Proper little bunny-boys they are." Pinky was a little embarrassed, but squared up bravely. "Hi, Toby. Didn't expect to see you here." "I liked the show you're puttin' on, it's your best yet," Toby said. He turned to Horace. "Y'know they're better than girls. Pinky posed a little and the men appeared to drool. Ben walked with a seductive swish towards them. "We are," he said precociously, "We are better than girls." Both men laughed. They made a badly balanced pair, each well worn in their own way, but while Horace was wiry and almost graceful Toby was younger, ruddy in the face, weak somewhere inside perhaps, but powerful looking on the exterior. Privately he fancied himself as a man for the ladies, but he never turned down a nice bit of boy-arse, and the feminine garb Pinky and Ben wore at that moment seemed to bring together all the essentials for a raunchy episode. "Are yer both oiled-up?" Horace asked the two boys. When Pinky nodded he indicated a waist-high stack of duvets at the side of the room. "Stretch over them me little lovelies, an' let's get started." He looked at his shop-manager. "You have Ben and I'll take the delightful Pinky," he told him, "We can always do a swap after a while if you fancy a change." The two youngsters had been in the stockroom plenty of times in the past and they knew what was expected of them. Without waiting for more directions they leaned forward and settled across the pile of bedding, heads down, their smooth, white derrieres and boyish nylon-clad legs forming up side by side, ready to accept the lust of two degenerate men as the price of Horace Pratt's favoured treatment. The two men didn't take their eyes away from them as they moved up behind. Those backsides were youthful, smooth and enhanced by a smattering of girlish apparel. They seemed almost feminine in appearance, and they were clearly prepared to be dutifully subservient to a manly invasion. Pinky flinched just a little as Horace's firm fingers spread open his soft bottom cheeks to expose the enticing pink whorl of his anus. Toby purred with degenerate glee as he watched. "Boy! Look at the little tease. Clean as a whistle and ready for action." Horace leaned forward, his eyes taking on a fierce glow as his lips thinned. "Is that right Pinky? Is you prepared for some action?" "Er, um, I ain't sure, Mr Pratt. Your thing ...it's so ...it's so big." Delighted by the comment the man smiled in mock disbelief. "Oh come now m'lad. You've been at his game long enough. You must have developed some endurance by now." Almost in unison Horace and Toby heaved the tumescent male appendages out from the front of their trousers and rolled back their foreskins, thumbing apart the lads buttocks to get a look at where they were going before pumping themselves up to maximum arousal, smearing the blunt tip of their knob-ends over the inviting little starbursts revealed, then screwing them around insistently until each dimple gave way and expanded. Horace was slightly envious of his shop-manager because even when he was as stiff as a neat whisky Toby always showed a slightly bigger cock, but he consoled himself with the thought that size wasn't the be-all and end-all of things. It was the way a fellah rooted a lad that counted, and he could make them squeal and moan and bite lumps out of a pillow - no problem. "Phoaw!" He grunted has he established himself fully inside Pinky's backside with no more than two or three forceful shoves, then while he paused to enjoy the constriction of the narrow tube he'd occupied he looked across at Toby. His shop-manager took slightly longer getting started with Ben, pushing his length in with slow deliberation, but going equally as deep while enjoying the lads whimpering. Not as experienced as Horace Pratt he gripped Ben's hips and stood for a moment unmoving until he was sure the lads dinky bottom was fully impaled. Horace grinned at him. "Wow! You're a wild thing when you're let loose, Toby Parkin. A bit of a ragin' bull you are. G'on y'randy bastard, ram as hard as you like. He ain't made o' china." At last Horace started to plough Pinky, pumping in and out of his young arse like a jackhammer, while Toby followed his example with Ben. "What would yer missis say if she could see you know, Toby. Up to yer balls in a lad an' giving him the benefit of yer dick?" "One shudders to think," said Toby helplessly spitting between clenched teeth. "But there's nothing to equal a nice bit of young arse, is there? Tight as a drum. Tighter than his mouth I bet. This little character fucks like a bitch." "They are bitches Toby, they love it an' they stretch like rubber bands, so don't hold back with yer ball-juice." Holding onto Pinky's hips Horace started to heave back and forth with his thighs, angling to left and right then quickening the pace as he began lunging straight down the middle. The two youngsters began mewing and yowling softly, for while each had considerable experience in dropping their pants for men neither was yet completely attuned to the stretching of anatomy and the lustful, deep pounding such situations encouraged. Right from the start they began giving out the soft groans and whimpers that Horace Pratt enjoyed, the noises that relayed to him that they could detect the size of the thing in their anal tracts and could appreciate its vigorous movements. "Oooh, oooh, oooohhh!" Ah yes, Horace thought, they squirmed so helplessly and scratched around exactly like breathless maidens when they had a good cock spearing them briskly in their cute little fundaments. Genially Toby paused for a moment and waited until he felt Ben humping back against him in response, slowly opening up and accepting more and more. And suddenly there was more. Ben was horrified it may split him, and it was none too soon that his anatomy adjusted to cope with things. A thick wedge of gristle-like sinew, irresistible, going further and deeper on a velvet journey. OOOhh, ugh! So smooth. He was huge now, bigger than he'd been with his wife for years, and he was burying his cock to the hilt. Toby could sense intangible power surging out from his groin. His penis was a rod of tingling nerve ends and his balls were aching to release their cargo. He could feel his cock head swelling deep inside Ben's backside. "Oooohhh! Here I go," he gasped. "You get first-prize from me Ben m'darlin'. Uuuuhhh, ooooohhh! Oh yeah!" His cock convulsed suddenly inside the anal snare and he grimaced as a huge jet of cum evacuated his glands. Pinky and Horace were only a little way behind. Pinky felt the shop- owner tensing up, gripping his hips more firmly, pumping back and forth more vigorously, using every inch of his hot, narrow tunnel to stir his liquid seed. "A gennelman could get used to this," Horace grunted as he forced Pinky's legs further apart in order to elevate his beautiful bottom. The tightness of the boys rosette squeezed his thick rod fitfully and quite suddenly he was emptying out. When Horace finally ejaculated he did it with untypical calmness, eyes bulging like marbles, but uttering no more than a series of faint 'aaah, aah's' as he unloaded a mighty lathering of manly cream into the lads rectum. The rumble of a petrol-engine came from outside and a dark shadow passed across the small, unwashed window on the other side of the room, and at once Horace rumbled with irritation like he'd been interrupted midway through a cup of tea. "Dammit, that'll be the lorry from Babbington's warehouse. It wasn't due until later." With his lust sated his mind homed-in on business and he tucked his penis back into his trousers. "Come on Toby, you old hippy. Playtime's over an' it's back to work. Let's go see what it's got onboard." When the two men left the back room to go outside to the lorry Mrs Gitty's porcine eyes narrowed slyly. She was enormously fat; an enormous hank of flab, the size of a paddle, hung from her upper arms and her eyes had to strain to see through the adipose that threatened to engulf them There would be some bartering to do with the driver and the men would be away for at least twenty minutes, and she reckoned that was time she herself could utilise nicely. Abandoning the shop counter she quietly slipped into the stockroom to survey what Horace and Toby had left behind. Glassy-eyed and breathless Pinky and Ben were sprawled on their backs across the duvets like a pair of limp popped balloons in a puddle, legs splayed wide, indolently trying to recover from the frantic rogering and terrific hosing they'd just received. Mrs Gitty exploded before them like a man-o-war under sail, her monstrous melons rising and falling with the intensity of her breathing. "Well now -just as I thought," she remarked with a discernable tut. "Them 'orrble blokes have been doin' mucky things with you both. Makin' you wear stockings like girls while they buggered your little bums without mercy. Disgustin' they are. I've half a mind to report 'em to the RSPCA." The woman's gaze descended upon their bare flesh, concentrating upon their pink bags and their study, still unsated boy- cocks. She unbuttoned the front of her dress, and not having to contend with any foundation garments she was able to shake out her two vast, shuddering breasts - bloated items that were heavy and pendulous and had nipples that stood out like tent-pegs. "Mr Pratt's selfish an' Toby's stupid an' imitates him. Left you here without squeezing out yer spermies, haven't they? A pair o' rascals they are. I knows you scallywags don't mind finishing things for each other, but I don't mind helpin' out. You needs is a bit o' comfortin' from a lady to make things right." With a big cheery smile she swung about and wheedled her enormous backside between them as she sat down, and at once she took a cock in each hand. "Yer deserving of a bit o' pleasure, an' luckily I's in the right mood to give yer fat little todgers a good wallopin'." Mrs Gitty was undoubtedly well qualified to do that kind of thing, having spent her life riding cocks of all sizes she was also no slouch at handling throbbing dicks that were ready to blow. In addition she'd read all of Horace's pornographic novelettes days ago, having carefully tucked them one at a time between the pages of her teenage romance magazines, and at that moment she rather fancied herself in the role of the matron in 'Naughty Boys at School' since no one was better able to pump a whole series of slender young pricks than she was. Pinky and Ben writhed under her furious ministrations, revolted by her grotesque appearance and vast bulk, yet intrigued by her lack of shame and excited by the expert way her podgy hands operated. Her hands were small and her fingers fat, but her manipulations showed all the deftness of a woman who had spent a great deal of time in the past slicking foreskins up and down. With a rearing erection clenched in each hand she bobbed them up and down, making the smooth cock-heads appear and disappear into her fist like a pair of bald-headed jack-in-a-box. Within moments her caresses had graduated from a gentle joggling to top speed pumping. "Come on you two. Don't be shy, let go of yer cummies for Mrs Gitty. A lady like me don't stop 'til she sees a nice result, an' you'll both feel better when yer get the milk outta yer tubes." The constant jigging of her hands had the desired effect. As if in answer to her obscene urging the two boys moaned desperately and each of their pricks began spurting-off, each erupting like a cream-filled Vesuvius, whirling, swirling lassos of sticky opaque lava leaping up to slop over the woman's knuckles. Mrs Gitty beamed with delight. "Whooo! You naughty boys. Playin' with you like that as made me do a great big wet in my knickers." *** The following morning Jennifer was already thinking of getting the house straight and her critical gaze swept over each shabby aspect of it as she went down the stairs; the threadbare carpets, peeling wallpaper and the woodwork that hadn't been repainted for at least fifty years. She had always despised brown as a colour, and number nineteen was absolutely full of brown varnish paintwork. Even the wallpaper had autumn colouring, which to her mind would make living through the summer very depressing. As for the curtains! They were cheap, nasty things, supposedly Draylon but clearly nothing more than cotton. She stamped her foot on a rug in the hall and the cloud of dust that rose up only served to raise her dissatisfaction another notch. The large earthenware urn by the front door was her first mark. She thought it a dreadful looking thing, it stood on the floor bristling with long dead flower stems and with matchstick-like putti clasping hands encircled its bulbous belly. It was the opposite of anything beautiful, being used more often as a doorstop than anything else, and it was probably a safety hazard. She turned to the emasculated Marianne who had traipsed behind her like an inquisitive pet poodle. He was the senior sissy who between sessions of solo rehearsals with Madame Dupont seemed to serve as a downstairs maid. "Get that monstrosity out into the back yard," she demanded tersely. Marianne stooped and took hold of the pot, but achieved nothing. He heaved and tugged mightily, his bare bottom thrusting out under his skimpy skirt and wagging about fiercely as he attempted to raise the urn from the floor, but despite his best efforts he only succeeded in rocking it slightly on its base. "It's too heavy for me to carry, Jennifer. I can't even lift it up," he finally weaselled apologetically. Jennifer tutted in irritation. "Get out of the way you weak little fairy, I'll do it myself." A show of her own strength she always considered a good way of impressing effeminate little faggots who could barely lift a teaspoon without whimpering, but has she took a grip on this particular object its weight almost embarrassed her. It seemed to be made of stone rather than clay and she regretted not first scooping the soil from its innards to lessen the burden. Nevertheless, she was not about to demonstrate frailty with a weedy young pantywaist looking on. She bear-hugged the things, heaved to her feet, and with tendons, sinews and muscles straining walked rapidly through the house to the open back door where she summarily dumped it on the step. There was no garden at the back of the house, and such space that belonged to Number 19 was small, concreted over and enclosed by high brick walls pierced only by a latched gate that allowed access for kitchen deliveries. Marianne stepped out into the yard and gazed bright- eyed at the infernal urn. "It's not a bad pot really. Do you think Madame will buy me a packet of seeds so I can grow flowers in it? Geraniums would be nice." Jennifer shrugged, dusted off her hands and took stock. "Oh, come, Marianne. I know you're a soft, silly creature with cotton wool for brains, but even you must know Madame has more important things to think about than growing flowers." The morning was sunlit, with a promise of a good summer. Bougainvillaea encroaching from a neighbouring property criss-crossed over a nearby wall in a blaze of purple, hot pink and salmon orange, and below it stood Marianne, features softened more than usual because they were in shadow. Marianne, fair-haired, blue-eyed and pink cheeked, was older than the others, and as senior sissy he was allowed to please himself in the way he dressed. It struck her how different he was from the rest. Delicate and slightly awkward in her company his little shows of nervous clumsiness made him seem endearingly vulnerable. There was something fragile about him, a tilt of the head, the slight hunch of his shoulders. Look at him now, his sweet smooth features with pear drops dangling from pierced ears, in his simple white teen-pop-diva tank-top that left his navel bare, and his little skirt. He was on the small side, the French would have termed him petite. But he had a slim young body, perfectly proportioned. A rare little beauty, with a touch of bronze eyeshadow and pale lipstick, and with sandals on his bare feet and his golden hair haloed by the morning sky there was no other word to describe his appearance except racy. From the tip of his honeyed head to the toes of his dainty feet every satin curve of his body tantalised. She wondered for a moment who he really was, but then decided it didn't matter. She noticed that today the young queen wore a slightly longer skirt than the one he'd worn when she'd first met him, but it still didn't hide all that it should. The bell-shaped tip of his preposterously long penis still dangled obtrusively beneath the bottom hem. He was different from the others, not just by the extent of his cock but by his attitude. Marianne clearly adored being the leading light in a household of full of girlishness, he was a mincing, dizzy blond bimbo who was proud of the fact that he could more than hold his own among such a gathering of youthful, feminine beauty. But strangely, although he had an enormous cock he didn't seem to have the faintest wish to use it for anything other than going to the toilet. "How often do you have sex?" she asked. Marianne rolled uneasily from one foot to the other. "Erm, not very often. Not every day." He frequently allowed the younger boys to try their stiff prodders in his backside when they got horny, but he didn't rate that as sex. That was just pleasing people. Being held down across a bed by someone like Samson and having a gigantic skin-covered bone screwed up him, THAT was sex. The girls eyes narrowed as she studied him. He was clearly in awe of her and that pleased the streak of dominance in her nature. But perhaps something was required in addition. "I didn't spank you yesterday when I spanked the others, did I?" Gathering some courage the slightly made she-boy delicately swivelled his hips. "I haven't been naughty, Jennifer." Jennifer conjured up an expression of mock consideration. "Boys who wear lipstick and skirts are innately naughty and always deserve a smack or two. And anyway, I think I should give you a little sampler so you can refer to it in the future." Unconsciously Marianne's hands flew behind him and he hugged the seat of his tiny frock. His face dipped but failed to conceal his precociousness. It was almost as if he were flirting with her. "You wouldn't spank me hard, would you?" Amazing, thought Jennifer. Delightful. He was submitting without argument. "That depends on my mood and your reaction." she told him. "Come along, there's no set time for spanking girlies with me. We'll go through into the sitting room where it's more comfortable - more comfortable for me anyway. It not likely to be at all comfortable for you." As she strutted back into the house Marianne trotted apprehensively at her heels, and she noticed that even in flat shoes the little sex kitten trod little mincing steps as though he were a girl in stiletto's. "Oh please don't spank me hard, Jennifer. Not VERY hard." In the sitting room Jennifer hauled the she-boy before her and concentrated for a moment on the front of his tank-top, or more precisely on the soft, round shapes it concealed. As she coolly appraised the gorgeous young hottie she moved closer, and Marianne made no effort to resist when she raised his top and tucked it under his arms to reveal his chest. His breasts were real enough; not huge in size, smooth and delicate with a rather engaging little uptilt. They were a pair of perfect adolescent girl-tits with virgin pink nipples that were pointy and alert. His eyelids fluttered while a sweet smiled trembled on his glossy lips. It was a softening device that sometimes worked with Madame and always worked with men, but it didn't work with a canny teenager who was so well up on pantywaist tricks. "Get undressed. We don't want anything getting in the way, and I like girls with titties to hang them out when they go over my knee. You don't mind doing that, do you?" Looking slightly bewildered the girly-thing shook his head. He was a pretty, gentle looking creature with lovely eyes, and he shuddered as he removed his tank top and short skirt, turning slowly to let her appreciate how the lines of his legs lead enticingly to the sweet little mounds of his rump. "Not hard," he pleaded while worshipfully looking over his shoulder at the haughty teenage girl in anticipation of the humiliation she was about to hand out. He was a blond-haired sex-pot with a stunning waif-like body, his belly was flat and his torso tapered until he almost had a waist. Everything about him was poised in and appealing girlish way. But of course he was a paradox with his pert girlish bosom and his balls, and his extraordinary elongated penis. The penis was a titanic thing, quite sturdy and smooth for most of its length, only blossoming into a broad sculpture about two inches from the tip where it broadened out to accommodate a fat, purple helmet. For some reason Jennifer thought of a clapper on a cathedral bell. With one hand she took hold of his chest and gently contracted her grip, feeling his flesh take on a shape between her fingers, while with her other hand she reached around the back of him and squeezed his little backside, testing the texture of the soft, defenceless young rump. "Such a naughty girl." she said quietly. He became as vibrant and skittish as a fawn. "Wha ... What are you going to do?" he mumbled. He was standing with his bottom slightly pushed back and Jennifer gave it a preliminary swat with her hand. SMACK! "Uumph! Ow, that hurt," he complained. She let go of him and stepped back. The urge to chastise him was both a personal compunction and a frivolous pastime and in her it was very strong, but she realised she had to control it with Madame Dupont's senior sissy. She was a bully, always the queen pin with a heart as hard as nails. She always had been. She had a quick tongue with an ever ready response. It was in her blood, just like it was in her mothers blood. She had to be in total control of everyone and every situation. She smiled inwardly. At school she had been compared to Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons. Her pleasure was all to do with power, she was the Amazon hunter who constantly chased submissive bottoms. She'd been thoroughly spoilt as a young girl. Her mother permitted her to do just as she wished at home, but at 19 Nob Street it was a different matter. Madame Dupont was a different matter. She was not free to do exactly as she pleased while lodging with her. There were limits that had to be observed, and she suspected that smacking Marianne without just cause was probably going beyond them, so she had to be careful. If she was sent back to Yorkshire labelled as unsuitable or unmanageable before the end of the Summer Season her mothers outwardly mild temper would go pyrotechnic. She regarded Marianne broodily. Some other method of imprinting her dominance was needed. "I'm not going to spank you," she said. The sheboys eyes fluttered and he almost looked disappointed. "You're not? Aren't I pretty enough?" "It's not that. You have all the prettiness needed to make a girl want to stretch you over her lap and tan your bum until teatime. It's more complicated. For instance, is there anything you've done lately that you feel bad about? Anything that gives you a pang of guilt?" Marianne turned his eyes upward to indicate he was thinking deeply. He'd been involved in a number of sexy capers with delivery boys at the back door, but he'd done nothing he regretted. And he'd burnt Madame's morning toast once, but she'd just said to make some more. Slowly he shook his head. "There you are! Just as I thought. There's no point in spanking someone who feels no shame, and Madame would be extremely displeased if I upended you without a valid reason." As she spoke she laid the tip of her finger on his lower lip. It was as soft as a rose petal. She allowed the moment to draw out, then slowly her thumb peeled back his lips so she could examine his teeth and gums as one would inspect those of a horse. All were in perfect condition and scrupulously clean, just as she had expected. Sensuously she eased her finger into his mouth to pierce him in a subliminal way. "For the moment a little display of humility will do," she told him speculatively. "Something to prove your respect for me and to emphasis your place in things. You're such an unusual sissy - a girl with a big cock - so it must be something extra-special." She moved her finger back and forth in his mouth, probing the soft, salivating cavity intimately, pushing at the insides of his cheeks and making them bulge out. When a few moments had passed she inserted three fingers and worked them back and forth. Arms at his side, head tilted up, Marianne accepted her invasive treatment slavishly even though it made him wretch slightly when she lunged towards the back of his throat. "You have a lovely mouth," she told him with approval. Her eyes scanned his face and she thought for a moment before her imagination sparked. "I've got it," she said, withdrawing her hand and viewing the copiously slaver on her fingers. "Use your mouth. Over there. Go and sit down in the corner and suck yourself. I'm sure you can manage it. Suck yourself off. Okay?" Marianne uttered a surprised giggle and the fingers of one hand covered his lips, the long nails making them seem thin and delicate and pointed at the tips. His eyelashes fluttered and he blushed prettily. "Um, ere ...!" Jennifer smiled. "Of course you're bound to make a bit of a fuss, but you're really just drama queen, aren't you?" "Yes, Jennifer," the sissy-boy agreed. He bit a trembling lip and tried to hide against her shoulder, but she peeled him off and sent him on his way. Like a chastised eight year old he moped fitfully across the room, then sitting on the floor he wedged himself into the corner and braced himself against the wall. Opening his legs he drew his knees up to the level of his ears. Other males would have struggled and failed to effect a manoeuvre they could only be do by extraordinary contortion, but Marianne didn't rely on contortion, he was exceptionally lithe of body, and his cock was exceptionally long. With one hand tucked beneath his ball-sac he was able to gently caress the tender globes inside while rising them up, while with his other hand he gripped his serpentine length and guided its spongy, bulbous end upwards to meet a face that was dipping down. As his initial coyness evaporated Marianne angled his penis up towards his face and pulled it towards his lips. Slicking his wet, pink tongue over the tip he took a moment to explore the large, satiny crown which had begun to leak precum from the slit at its apex, then his tongue began gliding up and down the long, smooth shaft, making it wet, making it expand, taking time, teasing and pleasing, until at last his lips settled around the tip and he enveloped the fat plum with his mouth. Having taken in the bulbous tip, he clamped his lips beneath its lower rim and blithely began to pleasure himself by moving them up and down. Never gripping, never biting, coating everything with saliva, drawing it in, pushing down on it, once, twice, again and again. Jennifer crouched in front of him and watched his activity with suppressed enjoyment. Her pleasure was covered by a veneer of calm nonchalance, but at times like this her focus easily shifted and the visual sight came onto her in a dynamic way, like heat. She never allowed effeminate schoolboy imps to see the reaction their submissiveness engendered within herself, and within her pants, to do so would be tantamount to admitting a weakness that the faggots may find a way to use against her one day. Importantly and above all things she liked to present herself as imperious, unassailable and strong. But she was amazed by the swelling and extending and rising up. Goodness! It was much bigger than she ever imagined it could be. She was surprised also, if not astounded, by Marianne's dedication - of a pretty boys mouth gratuitously plugged by his own penis. His member was inside his throat and still he worked his mouth smoothly and relentlessly, while his lips fought with the incessant, electrified liquid urges in his thickening meat This wasn't the first time Jennifer Hancock had supervised young sissy-things in sucking their own cocks. In the past she'd sometimes assisted them to get a result, but this girly- thing needed no help. Marianne had very likely done it before just to please himself, but she knew that being MADE to do it in front of her would add a lovely extra thrill for him. Gently she leaned forward and kissed his neck, speaking quietly, softly, seductively. "You're very pretty," she said, pressing closer to hear his guzzling, feeling her own wetness between her legs, the throb inside her vagina, the stiffening of her clitoris and the swelling of her breasts. The huskiness in her voice didn't need to be emphasised. The movements of his mouth quickly became increasingly eager, and lower down one of his hands was caressing his testicles as if urging his plump ball-bags to give up their treasure. Then in an instant his tinted eyelids fluttered and his expression melted into one of infinite rapture as if in response to some kind of unseen impact. "Mmoh!" His belly undulated in a dolphin-like ripple and a meaningless little noise squeezed out from his throat as he balked slightly, but even though he was clearly ejaculating his lips remained latched in place. Mouth and hands then worked in unison, rapidly pumping the shaft, teasing juice along his glands as he wanked into his own mouth and consumed his own copious discharge with the enthusiasm of a baby at its bottle. For a while his smooth, slender neck undulated to give evidence of deliberate swallowing, but at last he lifted his head slightly and his tongue fluttered over the end of his cock to ensure no trace of secretion was left behind. Jennifer needed to monitor her breathing after seeing such a job so well done. "That's enough of that for now young lady," she told him. "Any more of it and you won't want to eat your dinner." *** At breakfast time the next day Madame Dupont was gushing with revitalised enthusiasm. "I'm got some business-cards now," she said. "They're quite cheap if you do them in one of those little machines outside the railway station. What do you think?" She offered Jennifer one of the cards from a deck in her hand. It read: A DANCING EXTRAVAGANZA MADAME DUPONT PRESENTS HER FRILLY FOLLIES EVERY GIRL A BOY, EVERY BOY A GIRL. Ideal entertainment for private parties and social evenings. Book now to avoid disappointment. THE SHOW OF THE SEASON. ONE NOT TO BE MISSED. Jennifer nodded her approval. "It says everything you need to say. Who do you intend sending them to?" "Why, to everyone." Madame replied jubilantly. "Well, everyone who expressed interest in the past. I've got fifty cards." Jennifer pulled on a coat. "I'm going out to the shop at the end of the road. I was thinking of taking a few of the dancers with me and giving them a little airing. They seem to be stuck here in the house all the time." Madame dropped the cards into her lap. She took off her steel-rimmed spectacles and put them into a black case with a snap. "Take them out! That's impossible," she said. "Why impossible?" "It's for me to decide. I've said it's impossible." "But Madame, it wouldn't cost anything and they'd ..." "They are not free to run about." And that was the end of the matter. Jennifer went out alone. Early morning was the time of day when the London air was least clogged with car fumes and the time the time of day she preferred. It would have been an ideal time to take some of the sissies for a stroll too. Runabout! Madame had said. Goodness, why, they never went anywhere. People once used to stick pins into the eyes of linnets to keep them in their cages, but Madame Dupont only needed a sharp word. Perhaps she had some good reasons. The nancyboy dancers were of a like age to the sissy creatures her mother maintained in Yorkshire, and in some respects there were other similarities. They had always been beautiful. They were among the lucky who from birth had been blessed with sunny dispositions and striking good looks. Relatives and strangers alike had fawned over them and praised them endlessly. People liked to pet them and cuddle them and they'd always been confident in their appearance. They had also become aware that the focal point of their attraction was inside their pants, so they took every chance to put on the most revealing clothes in order to pose and lounge about in ways that guaranteed admiration. When she thought about it she could understand Madame's reluctance to allow them out. The woman took her duty of care seriously. While boarding with her boys were compelled to wear feminine attire constantly and encouraged to affect female mannerisms, so it would be crazy to let them roam around. They were cute and utterly seduced by the magic of dressing up like girls. Madame's students excelled at being extremely feminine, ultra girly-girls, and would doubtless wish to wear high heels and little dresses with a tight waistline, which so often encouraged them to jut out their little bottoms provocatively, while wiggle-walk high heels made it impossible to sashay in any other way than a sexy mincing swish that made their hips swivel deliciously. They were all established sissies and showed no coyness in being attired in that way. They were too cute for their own good really. Set free they would set off erections in trousers all along the street. She was practically at the end of the road when a boy on a bicycle went speeding past her and she recognised him at once as the newspaper delivery boy she'd met on the train and again seen in the corner shop a few days before. Her inquiring mind observed him carefully as he swung off into an alley at the rear of the place that employed him, and instinctively she followed the same route and found the bicycle pushed up against a wall in a small, bland windowless yard. Obviously it was a safe little nook where the lad habitually parked his bike when he went to return his empty satchel to the shop owner. Having satisfied her curiosity she was about to turn about and leave when the instinct that had led her there also made her linger, and she was soon rewarded by being in place when the boy returned. She stared at him for a long moment. He was immaculate in a white T- shirt that showed his slim tanned arms. He wore Levis that fit as if tailored for his narrow backside, and white sneakers without socks. His hair was slightly tussled but neatly cut at the back and sides and his eyes were wide under long lashes. Also his mouth was very nice, kind of sensual. When he went to take hold of his bicycle she gripped the handlebars. "Hi, I never thought I'd see you again. I'm Jennifer. What's your name?" "Fred," he replied apprehensively. "Fred! That's not a very pretty name for someone as pretty as you. You should be called Felicity." "That's a girl's name." "Yes, but it's very apt. You're not very heavily built and you've got a sweet face. You probably need someone strong to look after you." She looked at him, her gaze slightly mocking now and not in the least deferential, observing his entire slight figure, drifting over him with thoughtful appraisal and lingering like a caress. She knew she was right about him. She had a intuitive gift for picking such people out in a crowd, and she found a terrible pleasure in exploiting their vulnerability. Some would respond slavishly at once to her harsh, bullying words while others needed to be handled more cunningly at first. She wanted this one to invite her to take charge. "Do you live around here, Felicity?" "In Fox Mews, with my mum. Please don't call me Felicity." "Okay, I'll call you Freddie, that's a compromise - a halfway house between Frederick and Frederica. Will that do?" "I'm not a girl." "No, of course you're not, but you're as sweet as one. And you know that, don't you?" She noticed the quickening of his breath and his reluctance to look her in the eye. He was slightly afraid, slightly excited. She took a step towards him and she adored his little struggle that wasn't really a struggle when she pinned him against a wall, and the soft, oh of surprise when she gently bit the side of his neck. His arms hung limp at his sides, unwilling to resist, unable to fend her off, and of course she'd known from the start he wouldn't resist. She exercised subtle skill, lulling him into accepting her. She ran her fingers lightly down his arm, felt him draw back, scared blue eyes in an angel's face. She stepped closer, put her hands on his shoulders and felt the delicate bones beneath his shirt, saw the flinching pulse in his throat. He was a boy of slender build and had the kind of soft, delicate features that would have stirred the maternal instinct in most women, but which only aroused the predator in herself. Left alone in her company the dear young thing would instantly bend to her greater will and slip down his pants. Then his pale little bottom cheeks would wobble slightly and quickly turn red as she smacked them. It was important to make it absolutely plain that she was in charge and that he was expected to do just as she wished. Control such as that - reducing young things like Freddie to creatures of unquestioning obedience was her greatest thrill. Hers was a feudal ownership, her subjects had no right of appeal, and afterwards, cradled in her arms and sobbing profoundly, he would meekly agree to whatever other plan she may devise. Suddenly she wanted to kiss him. In fact she'd been wanting to kiss him from the moment she'd first seen him on the train. She wanted to kiss him the way men kiss girls. She put a hand on the nape of his neck, ran her fingers through his soft blond hair, felt the heat there. She stepped forward and swept him up in her arms, giving him a face-full of perfumed lace-covered bosom, saw his mouth open in a soft oh of surrender, and trailed her mouth down his face, nuzzling his brow, his nose his chin, but not yet his mouth. Freddie didn't struggle even now, and as he raised his head to look at her something passed between them - a look, a flinch of acquiescence - not yet submission, but that would come, and she relished the challenge. She smiled, loving the attention the adorable Freddie was giving her. Placing a hand on his head she curled her fingers through his hair before taking a firm grip, then with her other hand she caressed his cheek, sliding a finger beneath his chin to tilt it up. Their eyes met for a moment before the boy shyly averted his gaze, but Jennifer leaned heavily against him and softly nozzled his lips with her own. Freddie's knees went wobbly and his tummy trembled as the girl claimed his little mouth. Unable to move because of the grip she had on his hair and the weight of her pressing against him he merely moaned. At last her mouth pressed onto his mouth and she was kissing him aggressively, forceful and demanding, her tongue pushing his lips open and searching inside. She was always more comfortable in the role traditionally played by men. Tongues touched and slithered together, but just as he was beginning to melt against her she drew back and lowered her lips to his neck, leaving him gasping and panting, his young hard cock now a solid rod in his pants. "Here," she said, forcing something into his hand, "Put these in your pocket. They're a pair of pink panties for you to enjoy at home. Wrap them around your willy and wank into them when you think of me later, but don't forget to rinse them out afterwards. Next time I see you I want to know you're wearing them." Leaning against him she whispered heatedly in his ear, "Promise me, darling. Promise you'll do a lovely cummy for Jennifer." Flushing red with embarrassment Freddie whimpered and squeezed out a faint little, "Yes, oh dear - I - I promise."