The Grown-Up Schoolgirl free porn video

The GROWN-UP SCHOOL-CHILD by "c.c." Oddly enough my problems started when I became unexpectedly rich. I always knew that my father came to America from England when I was just a child, and that some of our relations were wealthy, titled or both, but the full extent of our relationship never occurred to me until years after my parents' death, when I was informed that I had fallen heir to a title, estate, and a considerable fortune -- in England! I am -- or was -- a very successful attorney in Washington DC at the time, with a sizable bank account and investments of my own, so I checked things out pretty carefully before deciding to liquidate my holdings in the United States and take up residence as Lord M--- of M--- Hall. It was a big step, but the money and property that were mine now as Lord M--- would enable me to retire while still a young man, and as for the title, well I must admit that was a powerful attraction as well. Let me indulge some classic British Understatement and say that my new relations were not pleased. Though English-born, I had been thoroughly Americanized, was a stranger to their ways and whims, and besides I was keeping some of them from what they considered rightfully theirs. Pity, that, but I bore up under the strain of their dislike as best I could, comforted a bit by my wealth and luxury. My relations did call on me from time to time, generally when they wanted something. There was a distant Aunt Susan, an attractive woman of Forty-something, who had lived at M--- Hall for some years; she resented being relegated to smaller rooms in the Hall (But not enough to move out, thank you.) and she was always trying to interest me in the investment schemes of her son, Cousin Ronald, a good-looking but rather flashy young man whose ingratiating ways I found rather annoying. "I see you read Mysteries," he piped up one day over Dinner at my expense, "Fancy yourself a Detective, eh?" I said something self-deprecating and changed the subject, but he was right; I have always enjoyed following clues and solving riddles. I never considered this a weakness, though, until.... It was an evening in late Spring, and I was entertaining a few guests on the occasion of someone's birthday. Ronald was one of the party, and he brought with him a devastatingly sexy woman Whom he introduced as Fiona. "So you're Lord M---" She smiled down at me. Well, she had to, since she stood several inches taller than I, even without her impressive heels. I should perhaps mention here that I'm somewhat small-boned -- petite, sort of -- with permanently youthful features that one girl described as "pretty rather than handsome," so when Fiona stood next to me and regarded me with vivid green eyes set in a lovely face, with strong chin and cheekbones, framed by wavy auburn tresses, I felt sort of overwhelmed, especially since she stood close enough that her full, firm breasts were almost in my mouth! "C-Call me Dennis," I managed. And call me often, I wanted to add, but we barely had time for a few words before cousin Ronald swept her away, with a possessive air. But I thought Fiona looked rather wistful. It was a dull evening after that. I kept trying to get back into conversation with this bewitching woman, but the other guests seemed to keep running interference, and when they weren't, Ronald was adept enough to keep us apart. Now and then I'd catch a glimpse of Fiona across the room and it seemed she regarded me with almost predatory interest, but our meaningful glances came to naught. Or did they? Just as the guests were leaving -- Ronald hustling Fiona out like a half-unwilling bride -- she glanced my way one last time and deliberately dropped a card on the floor. I was over like a shot, retrieving the square of finely-printed card stock and tucking it in my pocket, unseen -- I thought. Later that night, I took it out in the privacy of my bedroom and read: RODSTOCKI NG Public School for Adults in need of Correction Lithgow And on the back, Fiona's authoritative signature beneath the words "Find me." *** A week later, a taxi deposited me at the large Ivy-covered old building with the imposing oak doors framed under a massive stone arch engraved "RODSTOCKING". It hadn't beenhard to find, not for a man like me, who reads mysteries and enjoys solving puzzles. Though had I but known what the answer to this particular puzzle would be, I think I would have left it unsolved. Inside, a square-built matronly-looking young woman led me to the Headmaster's Office. I sat across the desk from a balding, rather portly middle-aged man who seemed to radiate an air of stern parenthood. "Let me make clear from the start," he began before I could speak, with the tone of one used to being listened to, "Rodstocking employs no minors and accepts none as clients. Though many of our employees are selected for their -ah- youthful appearance, this is simply to provide the proper atmosphere for a Public School." He looked at me sharply. "I draw a line, sir, between those who enjoy the innocent fantasy of being punished like Children, and those -ahem!- persons who get some sort of thrill from punishing the small and helpless. Am I quite clear?" "I-um-ah-thinkso..." I hesitated, completely clueless as to what this stern, fatherly man was saying, but not wanting to reveal just how little I understood. If I could play along... keep him talking... "So you actually serve the needs of..." "Our 'Students' come here of their own volition. Though I must qualify that; some are sent by their spouses as a condition of remaining married, some are enrolled by their parents in order not to be disinherited. So to be strictly accurate, not all of our Pupils are completely happy to be here. All, however, are adults, and all had the option of leaving -ahem!- before they signed, the enrollment forms." "And then?" "Naturally, once a pupil has signed on -- or been signed -- for a specified period, he or she must remain enrolled. There is no option for leaving, except under the most extraordinary circumstances. But of course, you should have read all of this in the Literature, eh?" "Well, yes, but..." What Literature? I could see now I'd have to play this pretty carefully; it wouldn't do to tip my hand about picking up the card from Fiona. "... But I'm still a bit vague about -what- the -er- conditions of enrollment as a pupil." "Let me put your mind at rest about that, young man." His strong eyes almost smiled under the dark brows. "Students at Rodstocking are given the most rigorous of education, in an environment carefully designed to recreate that of the Public Schools where so many of them spent their youth. Yes, I'm aware this is covered in the Literature, but I think you will be surprised at how successful we have been in simulating the dormitories, the canings, the ambiance of a public school, with its bullies, strong, attractive teachers, mischievous young girls (Again I caution you: these girls are actually adults, selected for youthful appearance.) who indulge in a bit of teasing, the various punishments..." He was warming to his description. "...and the beauty of it is, of course, that the Pupil never knows which other pupils are his fellow-sufferers, and which are our employees, lying in wait to trap him out in conduct that will merit more punishment. Ah..." He broke off, as if suddenly aware of how much he had told me, and how little I had told him. "Sounds delightful." I pretended to enthusiasm I was far from feeling. The notion of being treated as a schoolboy again stirred up painful memories. As I said, I'm small built and always have been; as a boy, I came in for more than my share of bullying at the hands of bigger boys, and merciless teasing from some of the rougher girls. But I was fascinated now, to learn just what Fiona's connection with this bizarre establishment could be? Somehow, the picture of this tall, sensuous woman tricked out as a schoolgirl, bent over a chair getting her bare bottom spanked in front of a classroom full of youthful onlookers excited my curiosity. "Would you mind if I looked around before I make my final decision?" "Not possible, I'm afraid." His face was as composed as ever, but in Headmaster's eyes, I caught just a glimpse of new caution. "Before anyone proceeds beyond this point, he or she must be a registered pupil, having signed all the necessary Releases and such. I'm sure you can appreciate that our Pupils should not wish to be the subject of scrutiny by outsiders. So if you'll just sign here...." He produced a sheaf of papers and I involuntarily backed off. I'm known as a sharp lawyer, but my familiarity is entirely with United States Law, and I was professionally cautious about signing forms I didn't completely understand. But that wasn't the only reason for my abrupt reaction.... You see, I suffer from a mild case of algophobia, which is a morbid fear of pain. In severe cases, men with this affliction have been known to faint at the prospect of a pinprick. My case isn't quite that severe, but I still do fear pain more than most, and I will do almost anything to avoid it. So the prospect of letting myself in for spankings, bullying, teasing and canings naturally filled me with dread. And even the possibility of a closer encounter with the lovely Fiona couldn't shake my deep-seated fear. No Way (I thought!) was I going to let myself in for something like this "In that case," I tried to sound like a prospective customer who just couldn't make up his mind, "I'm afraid I'll have to think it over some more. Naturally, if I could view the---" "How unfortunate." He rose and retracted the papers in one smooth motion. "However we'll welcome you here at any time you change your mind. Now if you'll excuse me...." In less time than I knew, he had escorted me to the outer office. "I'll call a Matron to escort you out," he said, turning back toward his office, "Please wait here." And he was gone. Leaving me alone. Un watched! I realized this was just the sort of thing that always happened to James Bond! My one chance to get a look around the place... if I could only do it undetected! Quickly I slipped out into the hallway. No Matron yet. Just a rather jaunty-looking lad (I knew he was a man, yet his youthful appearance made it hard for me to think of him as anything but a boy!) in what looked like an upperclassman uniform, striding down the corridor. "Hey there!" I said in a low voice. "Want to make some money?" "What for?" He stopped, eyeing me and my adult clothes cautiously. "I don't care for other men, even young-looking ones like you, fellow, so if you're after a quick blow--" "No!" The very idea! Me, a wealthy, successful heterosexual Lord, trying to sneak a quick encounter with a man dressed as a schoolboy! "Nothing like that," I said. "I want to get a look around the place, visit some of the classes. Only I can't do it dressed like this. Now if you want to rent me your clothes for an hour or so, I'm prepared to make it highly rewarding." "How high?" He raised an eyebrow, still obviously leery of my intentions. "A hundred pounds high," I said. "All right." He still sounded doubtful, but that was too much to pass up. "Come with me. I know where we can get it done. But if we're caught, I'm pinning it on you." "We won't get caught," I said, "if we move fast." "This way then." He led me down the hail to a frosted glass door marked BOYS. It was a clean, white-tiled shower room, obviously intended for the boys to wash off after athletics. One wall was lined with lockers, and he showed me the combination to his. "There's an extra uniform in here," he said. "Should fit you. But you'll have to do something about your hair." "My hair?" I touched my scalp. "What's wrong with it?" "Not that hair, you berk," he scoffed. "Your body hair. Or haven't you noticed?" He flexed his muscular arms and legs in the short pants and short-sleeved shirt he wore, and I noticed for the first time they were shaved smooth. "Here." He handed me a jar of some strong-smelling cream. "Rub this on you and then shower off. I'll keep watch." Hesitantly, wondering if I'd stepped in this too far, I stripped off my clothes and hung them in the locker under the big boy's amused eye. It was naturally embarrassing for me, a grown man, to be nude in front of what was, to all appearances, a schoolboy, and his obvious suspicion of my sexual bent was far from reassuring. Blushing furiously, I coated my body with the smelly stuff, then stepped into the shower. The water was hot and strong. And noisy! It thundered in my ears as I scrubbed away the adult hair, leaving my body shockingly smooth and pink. There was a bottle of lotion on a shelf in the shower and I coated my flesh with this, feeling it soothe away the depilatory sting, producing soft, sweet-smelling skin that only added to my boyish appearance. But once I had finished showering off my body hair, I hesitated. The walls of the shower room were mirrored, reflecting back to me myriad images of my new look from every angle. It was a disconcerting sight; did I really look so small and youthful? Was this truly me, -- a successful attorney and English Lord -- this petite, smooth-skinned, peach-pink defenseless-looking picture? The thought of leaving the shower and going out to the locker area like this, to dress in front of that cocky young man filled me with apprehension. How embarrassing to have him see me looking this way! But I realized there was no alternative, really, so I braced myself and scampered out, bare feet slapping on the smooth tile. He was gone. I looked around the locker room for a moment, wondering what could have happened to him. Then it hit me: my clothes! Quick as I could, I opened the locker where I had hung my stylish suit, fearing the worst -- but it was still there! I breathed a sigh of relief, wondering why he'd left. Well, nothing to do now but get dressed and get out of here. Probably a silly idea anyway, to... Suddenly the door flew open and the room filled with a gaggle of almost a dozen schoolgirls dressed in leotards and tutus! Running, chattering, giggling, they swarmed into the room. Panic-stricken, I just had sense enough to slam shut the locker as they came streaming in. "Oh, here now!" "What's this, then?" "There's one of them at it again. OH TEACHERRR!" I just stood there, too shocked to move as they swarmed around me. Hands clasped over my privates, blushing ten shades of red, I shrank in fear as a tall, statuesque lady attired regally for Dance Instruction swept up to me, followed by her sexy blonde assistant. "Well young man?" She looked archly down at me. "What possible excuse could you have for being here?" "I - -" "In front of all these proper young ladies?" "Uh-that is--" "In such a shameful state?" "B-but--but-" I finally managed. "This is the Boys' Room, isn't it?" "Don't play the Innocent with me!" Her eyes flashed. "It was announced to everyone this morning that the young ladies will use this facility while the Girls' Room is being repaired. Now where are your clothes?" Frightened and embarrassed as I was, I realized nonetheless that if this stern woman and her spirited faux-girls discovered I was an interloper, it would go hard on me. I might even be arrested for trespassing! Hard as it might be, I knew I had to play along as a pupil here until I had a chance to sneak back and retrieve my clothes. But had I realized where this hasty decision would lead, I think I might have chosen jail as the lesser evil! At the time, though, I was resolved to carry it through. "S-someone stole them, Ma'am," I said in what I hoped was a convincing schoolboy- tone. "P-please, won't you get me another uniform and let me go back to class?" "And let you off that easy?" the sexy, blonde assistant chimed in, her saucy eyes devouring my unclad, boyish form. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Sylvia 's right," the Teacher said. "Simply letting you dress and leave would hardly compensate for the punishment you have obviously tried so hard to invoke. Indeed, I think perhaps a dozen sharp strokes of the Cane, followed by an afternoon on the Punishment Wheel might begin to address your crimes." I nearly fainted right there on the spot, dizzy with fear, gripped by overwhelming dread of prolonged and painful punishment. "Oh no, Ma'am!" I pleaded. "Not a caning! Please ma'am! Not that! Not that, Ma'am!" Tears were actually welling in my eyes as I begged, standing there naked and childish before that crowd of amused females. "Oh yes young man!" she said forcefully. "Seize him, girls!" All at once I was clasped by a dozen soft, eager hands, clamping firmly on my waist, legs, arms, as the girls grabbed me and held me prisoner. Close to sheer panic, I struggled wildly till one of them got her delicate hands around my privates and squeezed firmly. "Oooonggh!" I forced myself to quit fighting and she eased her grip. "Now hold still, you nasty boy," teacher said coolly. "Bend him over, Sylvia." The shapely blonde walked slowly up and looked me deliberately over, her lip curling in amusement, eyes hot with desire. Moving her hands with considered sensuality, she took my bare shoulders in what was almost a caress and bent me forward in gentle stages till my face was level with the hem of her short skirt. "He's ready, Ma'am," she said softly. I felt Teacher's hand stroke slowly over my quivering cheeks, prolonging my terror. "Pity to mark these perfect globes with such a nasty old cane," she commented. "Perhaps a bare hand might be more fitting. Yes, I think so..." SMACKK!!! Sudden, hot, awful pain exploded over my tender bum as Teacher's hand cracked across it! I squealed, bucked (And stopped that abruptly when a schoolgirl tightened her grip on my privates!) and wailed, "OH! OWW! ST- STOP!" SWAPPPP!!! "Eeeee!" Even as I screamed in fear and pain, somewhere in the back of my mind was a tiny feeling of relief that my tormentor had not used the Cane on me; if the agony of her bare hand was this bad, how much worse would a caning be? SLAAA-AAPPPP! A rapid criss-cross over my fiery buttocks elicited new cries from me. Tears flowed freely from my eyes as I sobbed and begged like a little boy, naked and surrounded by laughing schoolgirls delighting in my humiliation.... Then, all at once, it was over. Teacher backed off, the young lady released her hold on my genitals and I staggered forward, sinking to my knees directly in front of the sensuous Sylvia, "Seems to have the right idea," she mused, looking down at me, curling a finger around my wet locks. She pushed gently on the back of my head, till my face collided gently with the vee of her thighs. Her short skirt yielded to the pressure of my lips and nose till my face was almost buried in her crotch. Instinctively I drew back. "So?" Sylvia arched an eyebrow, looking down at me severely. "Reluctant, are we? Perhaps you should be kissing us elsewhere!" With the practiced skill of a dancer, she spun on her heels and suddenly I was face-to-face with the back of her short skirt. Then she bent forward with supple grace, and I was all at once looking directly at her pantied butt! "A kiss now," she commanded. "And make it a sweet one, or I swear I'll take the Cane to you!" That was all the persuasion I needed! In less than a twinkling, Sylvia had a wealthy, newly-minted English Lord slavishly kissing her bottom with all the passion born of abject fear. The onlooking girls tittered and cheered. "0ooo, look at the naughty naked boy kiss Syl's bum! Isn't he sweet?" "Really goes for it, doesn't he?" "I think his nose has gone completely!" "Looks yummy." "Say, why don't we have him do us?" The idea caught on quickly and in a trice, the girls lined up in a row before me, backs turned, and I was ordered to hobble on my knees down the row, bestowing loving kisses on each rump. Since they had just come in from the Dance Class and hadn't yet showered, the experience of kissing the long row of their warm, moist bottoms was a heady one indeed! At long last the embarrassing ordeal was over, the last girl had pronounced her ass well and truly kissed, and Teacher addressed the subject of What to do with me now, looking sharply down as I knelt in front of her, nude and smooth-skinned, my hands spread over my crotch. "We can't have him here while these young ladies shower, and we most certainly can't have him gadding about in that shameful state. What would you recommend, Sylvia?" "Well Ma'am." The blonde's eyes flashed as she looked down at me with predatory sexuality. "I think I would be fun to just tie him up naked and hang him up at waist-level for us to spank and... make use of!" I quivered wityh drasasd and embarrassment at the idea of what they might do to me like that! Then, to my vast relief, she sighed regretfully and went on, "But I suppose if we must let him go, perhaps our young ladies could furnish him with cast-off bits of their dance apparel?" A short time later I was tiptoeing nervously down the hail, looking this way and that, trying desperately to think of some way to get back to that locker room, retrieve my clothes and get out of this embarrassing condition. And was it ever so embarrassing! The girls had started by dressing me in tight pink stretch-stockings that molded themselves to my shapely legs with terrible effeminacy. On my feet they had jammed too-tight ballet slippers of blue silk, with ribbons that twined up my calves, tied in flowing bows below my knees that flashed and fluttered with every tip- toed step I took. They had then fitted a crushingly tight corset of gold satin to my waist, tightening and re-tightening the laces until my waist was drawn in sharply and my smooth chest and hips bubbled out from the top and bottom in a silly, jiggling, hour-glass look. A full, stiff, startling white tutu was attached to the waist, flipping and rustling with every move I made, and I quickly discovered that I could either hold it down in front to cover my genitals -- which made it flip up in back, showing off my freshly-spanked ass -- or press it down in back, displaying my privates in front! This effect amused the schoolgirls so, they delighted in tying a bright red silk ribbon about my male organs (which were shrunken with embarrassment!) and arranging it in a showy bow. Laughing at my preposterous appearance, the girls next drew long white glac? gloves up my arms. They reached clear to my arm-pits and buttoned so tightly I could barely bend my elbows in them. And the hands were so snug, it was impossible for me to close my fingers. It dawned on me that with these gloves secured on my hands, I was now helpless to remove any of my humiliating feminine apparel! The girls doubly secured the confining gauntlets with strong silk ribbons, soft blue to match those twined about my calves, tied on my wrists with fluttering bows. Next they applied makeup to my face, giving me full red, pouting lips, demure shadowed eyes, and pretty pink cheeks. They even rouged my nipples! "No need to rouge your bottom," Sylvia teased, "it's already glowing pink!" And she crowned my head with a garland of yellow daisies. "Now," she said, "march down the Hall to Room 314 and tell the instructor she's to prepare you for luncheon -er- what is your name?" "D-Dennis?" I was so cowed I scarcely knew how to answer. "We shall call you Denise, then, until you get back into boys' attire. If you ever do. And that is how you shall introduce yourself to others. Questions?" "N-No ma'am?" I quavered. "Very well, then. Be on your way. But first, make a pretty exit." Hoping for the best, I put a nervous smile on my face, dipped into what I hope was a curtsey, and said, "M----My name is Denise, Ma'am, and I w- want to thank you v-very much for these-these pretty clothes and for letting me wear them, Ma'am." "How sweet!" teacher sneered. "Now be off!" Which was how I came to be prancing down the corridor in that ridiculous outfit. The few students and teachers who passed eyed me as if I was an amusing sight, but hardly an unfamiliar one, and their knowing looks shamed and frightened me all the more; if things like this went on all the time here, what more might they do to me? And would it involve another spanking? Or even a caning?? I quickly resolved to do whatever I had to, obey any order, no matter how demeaning, just to get out of there as quickly as I could -- and with as little Pain as possible! And so I made my dainty way to room 314, calves aching from the tip-toe walk forced on me by the ballet slippers, butt jiggling and chests bobbing as my hips swished from side to side with every step, wishing fervently I had never got into this ridiculous quest for the seductive Fiona -- Oh goodness, I thought, what if she sees me like this?! Somehow I made it to my destination and presented myself to an attractively-dressed red-head who appeared to be teaching some sort of Etiquette class. "My-My name is Denise, Ma'am," I said, curtseying meekly for the second time in minutes, "M----Miss Sylvia said you were to p-prepare me for Luncheon." "Well you're not a moment too soon." She looked down at me with frank amusement (Where did they find so many attractive women so tall? I wondered. It made me feel even more childish!) as a group of pupils in their stylish Dress Uniforms pointed at me from across the room and whispered comments to each other. "Grace, Beryl, will you attire our little Denise here suitably for Luncheon?" "Certainly, Ma'am." The two girls who approached looked and dressed like the most popular girls in High School back home; they had that intelligent adolescent/young-adult look that I used to see on the girls active in the most popular clubs, and somewhere in the back of my subconscious it registered that whoever recruited the staff and "pupils" here had actually gone to the trouble of finding adults who looked like girls who looked like adults -- someone here had a real eye for detail! But uppermost in my mind were thoughts of avoiding pain and achieving escape as Grace and Beryl surveyed me critically! "Hmmmm." Beryl, full-bodied, almost plump, looked me over with mischievous blue eyes and shook her head, bouncing her short golden hair negatively. "I don't know, Grace. What do you think?" "Well she'll never work as a teenager." Dark-haired Grace turned her soft brown eyes on me and set me blushing even deeper. "Show off to us, Denise." "Uh-er-- What?" "Show off to us," she insisted, as if addressing a dim child. "Pirouette. Take a few steps so we may see what can be done with you. And do it prettily if you don't care for a spanking!" Burning with embarrassment, I began stepping and turning for them, trying unsuccessfully to hide the shame beneath my tutu from their penetrating stare as I minced and spun about for them, raising my arms in graceful Dance gestures and enduring their giggles. Me, a grown man, carrying on like this for the entertainment of two (to all appearances) teenage girls! "Well she'll never do as a young lady," Grace said at last. "But I think we can make a successful little girl of our Denise. What do you say, Beryl?" "Let's have at it!" And they escorted me to a changing room for my second transformation in less than an hour. To say that the result plumbed the depths of shame doesn't even begin to convey the embarrassment I felt at what they did to me. They turned me into a little girl! For starters, I was given a pair of pink silk panties, trimmed with yards and yards of lighter silk ruffles that rustled and flounced with every move I made. At first I was relieved to have some covering for my privates, but as the girls drew these up my legs and snugged them about my loins, patting, stroking, and teasing me about the way they stretched over my front and flounced in back, all the embarrassment of my predicament returned full force. "See how darling they look," Beryl beamed. "These ruffles cover our little Denise's bum so nicely, no one would ever guess it was freshly- spanked!" "But we know, don't we," Grace smiled. "And look how her little thing sticks out in front-" She stroked the front of the panties and grinned even wider as I moaned with shameful frustration. "She must really love this treatment!" "Then let's give her more!" My pink stockings, ribbons, gloves and ballet slippers were removed, leaving me in just the panties and that cruelly tight corset that seemed to shape my chest into pert breast-like shapes. The girls soon put a chemise over this, a garment like my panties, of pink silk trimmed in yards and yards of lighter-pink lace. It tied in the back with little white satin ribbons which tied in elaborate bows. Next came white silk stockings, calf-length, held up by pink satin ribbons that tied in bows below my dimpled knees. Shiny pink patent leather shoes buckled on my feet, and as I looked down at them, I saw that although they were very childish in appearance, they came nonetheless with a three-inch heel that gave me a very feminine gait when I tried to walk. Petticoats came next, layers and layers of them, most white, but with an occasional pink or blue one slipped in to provide contrast. Each seemed to be shorter than the last, and each was starched to rustling stiffness and trimmed in extravagant lace, so the effect was of a near-waterfall of rioting lace bobbing and bouncing at my knees. That's right: They were just above knee-length, as was the simpering ruffled pink party dress that went over them. It had a low-cut lace- trimmed neckline, short puffed sleeves laced with lighter-pink ribbon, and a matching sash that tied in the back with an enormous bow. The girls led me to a full-length mirror so I could see myself thus attired, and I blushed at the sight till my face was as pink as my shoes. For the sight that greeted me was not -- as I had expected -- that of a grown man dressed like a little girl; no, I looked now just exactly like a young boy dressed as a little girl's dolly! The layers and layers of rustling satin, complemented by the frothy lace trim and glistening ribbons seemed to call attention to every move I made in the tight shoes. And as I saw myself in the mirror in this outlandish state, I realized with a sinking sensation just how childish and silly I now seemed. "I should really like to apply girlish makeup to your pretty face," Beryl said. "And pin curly ringlets into your hair." "Pity we haven't time before Lunch," Grace sighed. "Well there's always tomorrow. Now mince very prettily into the Party Room, Denise. Be sure to curtsey to everyone." "And don't you dare forget to smooth your skirts out under you before you sit," Beryl put in. "Unless you're particularly fond of spankings." So, the very picture of a meek young boy/girl, I stepped daintily into the next room, where it appeared some sort of Junior Formal Party was in progress. Schoolchildren (Or what looked like schoolchildren) of all ages milled discretely about, dressed in what looked like young people's formal attire; a few of the older boys wore slacks with their ties and blazers, and one or two young ladies were dressed in smart adult clothing, but mostly the boys sported shorts, white silk knee socks and shiny black shoes that looked to have three-inch heels. The girls were dressed in everything from simpering party dresses -- like my own -- to more dignified jumpers and frocks. Now and again, I would discern just the trace of a beard on a diminutive young man, or detect the suggestion of a mannish gait as a pretty young girl strolled by, but these touchstones with reality were fleeting and ephemeral. To all intents and purposes, I was a young boy, dressed up as an even younger girl, surrounded by my schoolmates! You may wonder why I was going along with all this so easily, and the answer is that I wasn't. Bide your time, I told myself, just do as they say and when they turn their backs run like hell to that shower room and get your clothes back! So I sat sweetly on an oversized couch, my prettily-shod and white stockinged feet not quite touching the floor, my skirts and petticoats bunched up about me, and sipped tea. I was hungry for more, but the way that corset dug into my waist, I wasn't sure if I could eat much. I noticed a sallow-faced skinny guy hanging about -- and quite a sight he was, in short pants, blazer, white ruffled shirt and school tie, his hair in a short crew-cut looking just like the school nerd back in the States and acting as if he was trying to get up the nerve to ask me something, and I was wondering just what was coming, when suddenly one of the instructresses came in and I gaped in surprise and embarrassment. It was Fiona! She was a remarkable sight, towering over the "students" well-dressed and sexy as ever, but with an aura now of Mastery as she strolled casually about the room, pausing now and again to chide some boy for not sipping his tea properly, or straightening the bow at the back of some errant party frock. Her lips were as full and sensuous as ever, her breasts thrust temptingly under the bodice of her sensible dress, and her legs, still enchantingly shapely, swished enticingly beneath the hem of the dress as she walked. Fiona was, in short, every bit as irresistibly desirable as that first night I saw her. Yet now she seemed ineffably different, more mature and worldly somehow. And what about me?! I suddenly realized that I, a man of wealth and position, who had come here with every intention of getting on intimate terms with this woman, was now seated in the room in a girl's frilly party dress! As Fiona strolled toward my part of the room, I quickly lifted my cup to my lips, hoping to avoid recognition. If only nothing happened to draw her attention my way... And then that geeky kid asked me to dance! "Uh-er- n-no thank you," I quavered, "I-I'd really rather not--" "What's this?" a bratty-looking girl with a shrill voice suddenly appeared. "Didja hear? She's refusing to dance! She's refusing to dance!" "What's that?" Grace and Beryl swarmed around me. "That's hardly ladylike... rather ungracious for a little girl... no sense of proper etiquette... needs correction, I'd say..." Correction?! I knew what that meant around here, and I was anxious to avoid it! I sprang to my feet (In what I hoped was a properly girlish fashion) turned to the geeky boy (conveniently putting my back to Fiona!) and said, "I do beg y-your pardon. I-I forgot myself. Yes, I-I'd love to dance." "And dance you shall," Grace said firmly. "But don't think you're getting off so easily. In exchange for your rude rebuff, I think you owe this little gentleman a peek at your backside -- while we spank it!" Once again I felt that awful spinning sensation in the pit of my stomach as irrational fear of physical pain gripped me. "Oh please, Miss," I felt tears well up in my eyes. "Please don't spank me! I'll be good. I will!" "You'll be better for a touch of my palm on your bum," Beryl said firmly. "Now face the corner... unless you mean to provoke me into fetching the Cane!" That was enough. Fear of the dread Cane cowed me into total submission. With that -- and the knowledge that Fiona couldn't see me with my face in the corner -- as an incentive, I quickly turned, raised my skirts and pettis on command, and bent meekly forward. "Now Gerald," Grace addressed the young man who started all my troubles, "since you suffered from Denise's rude behavior, you should be the one to lower her panties." Bent forward, staring resolutely into the corner, holding up my ruffled skirts and petticoats, praying that Fiona wouldn't look at my face too closely, I felt delicate fingers -- well-manicured, but soft, sweaty and cold -- undo the pink ribbon that held up the waistband of my ruffled panties. Felt them brush my cheeks (still warm and pink from my last spanking!) as they lowered the panties and re-secured them just below the curve of my bottom. "Spread your legs a bit, Denise," Beryl lectured, "unless you want to lose those lovely undies altogether!" Shamefully aware of the display I made, I inched my legs apart. "Very good." It was Fiona's voice! And coming from very close behind me! She was seeing me like this! I made a pretense of bending further forward just to get my face into the corner more, and she commented, "My, our little girl looks eager for this. You may proceed, Grace." Swap! It hurt. It was delivered like a teenage girl, without the strength and expertise of my recent punishment, but coming on a bum already tenderized by that ordeal, it was painful indeed. SWAP! A second one, much harder! Was this still Grace, dealing out this-- WHAPP!! "Oohhhh!" I wailed, but even in my dread pain, I had presence of mind to raise my voice to a high-pitched tone, so Fiona wouldn't recognize it. "Oh, it hurts! Please stop Miss, Pleeeze!" "That's enough, Grace," Fiona said. "Very thoughtful of you to make the first one light... it gulls the child into relaxing. Someday, though, we'll discuss the merits of starting with an extra-hard swat at first, thereby increasing the punishee's fear of more to come. For now, though, let's just leave our little --Denise, is it? -- in the corner a few minutes. Then she can come out and ask Gerald for that dance." What a relief! Fiona wasn't going to make me turn and face her! But then as she walked away, she called back over her shoulder, "I don't think you should let her raise her knickers, though. They look charming just as they are, and I have a feeling they'd just be in the way, so tie the waist band just at the knee -- there's a good lass!" And so it was that a few minutes later I found myself waltzing across the floor in the arms of a creepy-looking adolescent (Or a man who looked like one!) and hating every second of it: the horrid sensation of being in a man's arms, dressed in this ridiculous finery; the awkwardness of stepping in time to the music with my panties at half- staff, the competing terrors of (a) being recognized by Fiona and (b) further spankings... in short the total Unreality of my circumstances combined to make it an odd, dream-like experience: half-real half- nightmare as I stepped about in my rustling finery. At long last, though, the Instructress clapped her hands and ordered everyone to get ready for next Class. There was a flurry of activity as the 'pupils" prepared to leave, some changing shoes, others heading off to Locker Rooms and... this looked like my chance! Quick as I could, I slipped out the classroom door and re-traced my steps back to the BOYS Room where all my troubles started. It was mercifully deserted. Quick as I could, I found the locker where my adult clothes were stored and dialed the combination with gloved-clumsy- trembling fingers. Opened the door with eager hands. There, hanging neatly, was my beloved suit. I looked gratefully at it for a moment, then began quickly disrobing. Or rather I tried to. For I suddenly realized that my earlier observations about my Party Attire were all too true: With those tight gloves buttoned securely on my hands, I was helpless to undo any of the snaps, laces or other bits of ribbon and frippery that held me a prisoner in feminine bondage! I tried pulling at the gloves, straining to close my fingers around the buttons, biting, tugging... but the strong, slippery silk resisted all my efforts. I was trapped in this dress until someone chose to release me. And just then the door swung open. I just barely managed to close the locker before the two young ladies came in: Grace and Beryl! "I thought we might find you here," Grace said casually. "One of the girls told us all about your episode with their bums. Sounds yummy. Now what are you about? Do you have your clothes in here or something?" Should I play along as a willing Pupil to hide my identity? How long could I hope to get away with it? Should I tell them I had adult clothes here and try to get them to help me? Bribe them? Then Beryl removed all indecision by looking at me closely and saying, "Say, you're not the fellow they asked us to look for, are you? The one they think might have snuck in?" I blushed beet red, tipping them off, and their eyes positively glowed with interest now. "Please," I said, "you've got to help me out. Get this dress off me. Let me get my clothes back. I'll pay you. I'm rich. Anything!" They regarded me thoughtfully for a long moment, then Grace said at last, "Hrnrnm. Well you do beg very prettily. What do you say, Beryl? Do you suppose we might as well help her?" "I shouldn't want to get in trouble on her account," the red-head said doubtfully. "Still, if she's prepared to make it worth our while...." "Oh thank you," I gushed. "Now just get me out of these things. Or just take off my gloves and I can do the rest." "Not so fast," Grace said, "if you even tried getting dressed in here, you'd be stopped before you got close to the exit. No, if you want to get out of here, we'll have to take it in careful stages. And you'll have to look as much like a pupil as possible till it's safe to clear out." "I have a thought," Beryl piped up. "Why don't we take her out the infant's way?" "Brilliant girl!" Grace nodded. "You get the things while I get her undressed." Beryl hastened out while Grace turned to me, her brown eyes shining with excitement. "Let's get you undressed for starters," she said simply. She unbuttoned those confining gloves, and in short order the rest of my girlish attire joined them, stuffed in a spare locker. I hesitated when I got down to my lacy panties, and she smiled. "A bit shy, are we?" she teased. "Well you'd best get over it quickly. Your escape route won't allow for much modesty. Now hand them over. And open the locker with your adult clothes. Give them to me." I thought for a moment. What if I just took my chances, got dressed and made a run for it? What if this girl tried to stop me? I thought I could probably master her pretty easily, but if she screamed... and then Beryl returned, wheeling a Baby Carriage (I think you call them Prams over here) and I realized the moment was past. Blushing furiously, I removed my panties, then reluctantly opened the locker and handed my smart suit, shirt, shoes and all the rest over to the grinning girls. Beryl stowed my clothes in the pram, under some soft blankets, then turned to me. "In you go," she tittered, "we'll help you climb." As I got in the stout baby carriage, shaking with nervousness, the girls "helped" me, running their hands over my smooth, naked body, tweaking and prodding playfully till I felt myself getting aroused in spite of my nervousness. "Naughty child!" Beryl eyed the evidence of my growing excitement as she tucked the silk blankets around me. "Perhaps you really like this treatment after all." "Too bad if she does." Grace tied a big floppy pink baby bonnet on my head, knotting it firmly under my chin, then popped an oversized pacifier into my mouth. "The plan is to take her outside for an 'airing', then get behind some shrubbery so she can get into those male clothes safely and get away. Let's be started." It sounded like a good idea. But my heart was pounding like a trip- hammer under the silk blankets as I lay scrunched up in the pram, knees raised to my chest, while Beryl pushed it out into the corridor. And Grace didn't help any; she smilingly walked beside the cart, trailing a hand down inside, playfully stroking my malehood through the silk sheet. This sensation, along with the squirming of my hairless body on the silk blankets beneath me, and the overt sensuality of the young ladies, combined with my fear and tension to put me in a state of tingling arousal mixed with chilling apprehension. Oh, to get out of this and back to the Manor! The roll down the hallway seemed to take forever. Why couldn't they hurry? Did Grace have to keep fondling me like that? Then, as we neared the door, I suddenly heard a voice behind us. "Going out for an airing girls? Let's see your little baby-kins." The next moment, an attractive, slightly matronly woman loomed over the pram, smiling down at me. I sucked furiously at the pacifier and cowered under the covers as she chucked me playfully under the chin. "What a sweet little girl." Her hand strayed down to caress my nipples, adding to my unwilling excitement. "But what's this?" Suddenly she swept the blanket away, revealing my nude body and my shameful state of arousal! "Naughty naughty," she chuckled. "I think perhaps before her airing Baby should get a nice cold scrubbing." Her tone suddenly turned authoritative. "See that she gets a bath before her airing." "Yes ma'am." Beryl obediently turned the cart about and headed in a new direction. "Girls!" I hissed as soon as we were out of earshot. "What's going on?" "You heard Nurse," Grace said firmly (though still toying with my now- exposed erection!) "We have to give you a bath before we can take you out. Don't worry, we'll make it a quick one. I just hope the Nursery isn't crowded." Before I could argue, or even protest, Beryl wheeled me into an elaborately furnished room, the walls papered with pictures of cuddly animals, stuffed toys lying about, two oversized playpens, and, in the center of the room, a big metal bathtub. Two tall, strong-looking women in starched white nurse uniforms turned as we came in, looking down at my blushing nudity with grim amusement. "Another one for bath time, is it?" She had pale blonde hair, pulled tightly back, attractive features, and shoulders like a football player. "Yes Ma'am." Grace spoke like a soldier reporting for duty. "We're to take her out for an airing after." "An airing?" The other Nurse, a tall Jamaican who looked like she lifted weights, strode over. "Well we shall see how she does with her bath. You ladies report back to Class for now and we'll have her back to you when she's all clean." "Take the pram back to supply closet on your way," the Blonde added dismissively. "Just pop the bedding into the laundry chute before you go." And she lifted me clean out of the Pram and plopped me down on a changing table. I looked desperately up at the girls. All my clothes were in that bedding! My keys, my wallet! They looked back over at me with a mixture of amusement at my plight and fear of being caught as co-conspirators. There was a near-imperceptible shrug. Then they gathered up the bedding, pushed it down the nearby laundry chute, and wheeled the oversized baby carriage out of the room. "Now, Baby," the Jamaican woman stroked my exposed privates gently, but the strength in her fingers sent chills up my nude spine. "What's our name?" She pulled the pacifier from my mouth so I could speak. "D-Denise, Ma'am," I squeaked, my mind rioting with fear and trepidation. How was I going to get out of this now? With my clothes all gone? How had I let myself get in such a terrible situation? And what did these two oversized Nannies have planned for me? "We'll just call you 'Neesie while you're going through this part of your training." The Blonde smiled. "Now let's get you ready for bathie." She began rubbing some sort of ointment over my privates. It was numbingly cold, and the chill, combined with my fear of these oversized nurses, not only abated my erection, but actually shrank my genitals to a tiny package. The Jamaican regarded this condition, her wide lips smirking, and brought over something that looked like a rubber condom, which she proceeded to slip over my manly organs. "This will keep you nice and baby-like," she said, "for as long as we choose to keep you that way. Just take care that you don't try to remove it, as the adhesive requires a special solvent." Adhesive? Solvent? I looked down and saw that, the rubber thing she'd placed over my genitals was a small -- very small - replica of a young boy's ( a very young boy's) privates! "All our Babies get those," the Blonde said casually, "until Headmaster decides they may graduate back toAdolescence. There's a hole in the tip for Elimination, and I'll caution you again that trying to remove it can be quite painful." "Shall we show her the other effect of the little peenie?" the Jamaican giggled. "Go ahead!" The black woman ran a soft hand across my chest, toying with my nipples, and bent herhead down to nuzzle my neck, breathing softly into my ears. As she did, the blonde gently stroked my thighs and bottom, cooingsoft endearments. I felt myself becoming aroused----- "OWWWW!" The pressure of my male organ trying to enlarge inside the strong rubber sheath was immediate and quite painful. Still, they continued their erotic teasing. "Ohhh," I cried, "it hurts! Get it off!" "Babies don't talk, Love," the Jamaican tittered. "Or Nursies will have to spank!" She tweaked my titties gently and laughed as I squirmed. "Oh please stop!" I begged. "We warned you!" Four strong hands shoved me back on the changing table and doubled my legs over head, raising my smooth, round rump in shameful prominence. Then, WHAPP! A strong black palm landed smartly on bottom. "OWWWWWW!" WHAPP!! "OHHHHHH!!!" Tears welled up in my eyes and began flowing across my face. WHAPP!!! "EEEEE!!!" I sobbed uncontrollably. All at once it was over. I was free, curled up in a little ball, trying desperately to cover my shameful nakedness and rub my sore bum at the same time and finding my hands totally inadequate to the tasks. Feeling horribly how silly I must look in that floppy baby bonnet, with my ridiculously small genitals and my smooth skin and big red butt. "Bath time, Babies!" the Blonde said cheerfully. They lifted me into the metal tub, which was filled with warm, scented water, and began scrubbing me with a stiff brush. And as if this weren't bad enough, the other "babies" in the room dutifully crawled up, had their diapers removed, and were lifted into the tub alongside me. There were two women and three other men, all smooth-skinned as I, all with the prepubescent faux genitalia, and as they joined me in the tub, I wondered which were "pupils" here and which were employees, hired to increase the fantasyland ambiance of the experience. But I had little time to think. The tub got terribly crowded with all six of us in there, and the sensation of their smooth bodies rubbing against mine filled me with giddy shame. My tub-mates seemed to have no such modesty, however, and they giggled and cooed like naughty children. I felt soft hands flip my false crotch playfully. Someone pinched my sore bottom and I squealed, squirming about. Another hand pulled my leg and I spilled backwards, submerging my head. Before I could get up, I felt a smooth bum sit firmly on my face! I almost panicked, but all at once everybody stood up, and as I struggled to my knees, I suddenly found myself surrounded by a wall of round, pink bottoms. I tried to stand up myself in the slippery tub, but the bare legs kept kicking back surreptitiously, knocking me back to my knees. My face landed against first one ass, then another, provoking gales of childish giggles from the make-believe toddlers. Finally, it was over. One by one, the "children" stepped from the tub, to be toweled dry and dressed in babydoll nighties. I was alone in the water at last, wet, naked, and totally humiliated. "Your turn, Baby," the Jamaican said cheerily. "Let's get you ready for your airing!" I didn't want to go out. Not like this. Not with my clothes now down in the laundry room. But I didn't dare protest as they toweled me dry, combed my hair, and dressed me in a frilly pink hip-length nightie, matching panties, a baby bonnet and a pair of pink knit socks. "Look how her makeup is still so fresh," the Blonde smiled. "They must have used the indelible sort. Isn't she sweet?" "I'll say," the dark woman popped a fresh pacifier between my red lips. "A real Baby Doll! Now Baby, you must go and find Grace and Beryl and have them take you out for your Airing. They'll be in room eight, I believe." She carried me to the door and set me down on hands and knees. "Be off, now. And remember, no walking or talking...Baby!" Red-faced, I crawled out, feminized and infantilized, down the hall, hoping against hope that I would find my two confederates, that they had somehow retrieved my clothes and would help me escape. Now where was room eight? Around the corner. Out of sight of the Nursery, I got to my feet and removed the shameful pacifier from my mouth. Suddenly I heard a soft voice behind me. "What's this, then?" I spun about, guiltily. Behind, me, two petite women dressed in schoolgirls' outfits smiled mischievously. I stared for a moment, feeling the awful contrast between us: me, a grown man, deprived of my smart clothes and body hair, fitted out as a baby -- and they, grown women, but dressed in pale blue jumpers, white blouses, knee socks and sensible shoes, their hair in pigtails, grinning broadly as I blushed and trembled. "Looks like a baby girl to me, Janet." One of them, slightly shorter, looked me up and down, her eyes sparklimng with amusement at my tiny- packaged crotch. She half-clenched her fist, as if looking for an excuse to hit something -- or someone! "Couldn't be, Janey." Her taller, brown-haired companion, with glasses and a studious look said, "Babies aren't allowed to walk." "How about it, then?" the pugnacious Janey challenged, "Are you a baby? And don't lie to us, or we'll spank you." What to do? Run? Make up some excuse? Beg for mercy? Try to get them to help me? I reflected on where the "help" I got from Grace and Beryl had landed me. "Please," I said, nearly sobbing with fear and embarrassment. "I know I'm dressed like this, but I'm not supposed to be. Two of the older girls tricked me into this outfit, and- and now I have to find them or they won't give me my clothes back! Please help me!" "Tricked you, eh?" They grinned even broader. "And where were you supposed to meet these girls?" "Room eight," I said, hoping I had the number right. After all I'd been through this day, I could barely put two thoughts together. "But I can't find it!" "Come with us, then," the spectacled one said, "but as a reward for our services, give me your panties." "WHAT!" I sputtered, mortified at the thought of taking off my undies and letting these two immature-looking ladies see my red butt and ridiculously-reduced genitals. "But-but I-I----" "Take them off now," the tough one said, "or I'll strip you to the buff and spank you while Janet sits on your head. Well?" Tears welled in my eyes again as, blushing furiously, I lowered the flouncy pink panties, trying to cover myself with my hands, and handed them over to the triumphant young misses. "Very well. Follow us." I did. What else could I do? I realized now I had no hope of getting out of this dreadful situation on my own. I was totally dependent on the kindness of strangers. And as I walked obediently in front of these two faux tomboys, listening to their jibes at my shamefully-exposed pratt, I wondered how much kindness I could expect. Not much, it turned out. "What name should we call you, anyway?" Janey asked from behind me. "How about Pansey?" "Uh-er- th-they call me Denise, Miss," I said fearfully. "Well Denise, we've arrived at Classroom Eight. Come on in." But the room they'd escorted me to was filled not with women dressed as young ladies -- like Grace and Beryl -- but with women dressed as schoolgirls like themselves! I looked about in confusion as girls milled about in the classroom, smiling at the shameful display of my shrunken privates, and wondered if I should make a run for it. Then the bell rang and Janet showed' me to a seat near the front of the room. "Just sit here," she said, "and behave." Then a door behind the desk opened and the Instructress entered -- Fiona! I sat there, rooted to my seat, convinced this must be some awful nightmare. But it wasn't. And there was no hiding my face (or much of anything else!) now. I was sitting there all feminized and child-like, wearing just a ruffled pink silk nightie and knit booties, right in front of the tall, sexy woman whom I had come here hoping to impress! "Well, well." Still dressed in her stylishly low-cut white silk blouse and short dark skirt -- plus dark nylons and tall heels that emphasized her height -- she smiled down at me. "And what have we here?" "Her name's Denise, Ma'am," Janey piped up. "And we think she's a runaway Baby." "Hmmm." Fiona picked up the pointer from the blackboard and flexed it contemplatively. "Let's just see. Denise, step up in front of the class. Do it now if you don't want a caning." Close to tears of humiliation, terrified of getting spanked by this sensuous vision in front of -- to all appearances, anyway -- a roomful of schoolgirls, I got to my feet, knees quivering, and minced up to the head of the class. "What's this?" Fiona regarded the hem of my nightie, or rather what was exposed below it, and smiled wickedly. "Raise the hem of your nightie, Denise, so the whole class can see this." Dizzy with shame, I obeyed, displaying my teeny peenie and smarting bottom to the giggling girls. Tears were now beginning to trickle down my cheeks. Fiona took her pointer and gently prodded my crotch with it, rolling my three-piece set over the tip of the stick. "Who took Denise's knickers?" "I did, Ma'am," Janet answered promptly. "Janey and I think she should be nappied." "Excellent thought," Fiona said. "And as we have no nappies here in class, who has a nice silk scarf that might serve?" Hands went up, girls clamored, scarves were compared, and soon I was wearing a diaper (I guess they call them nappies) made from a soft peach silk scarf hemmed with gold braid fringe, pinned up with a gaudy brooch. Wearing this, plus my nightie and booties, I became an object lesson for the class. Fiona had me stand facing the girls while she pointed out my girlish makeup, lack of body hair, and smooth, shapely legs. I was required to pose, strut and display myself as Fiona instructed the women-dressed--as-girls on the fine points of feminization. "The adult male should be deprived as much as possible of those effects that would reinforce his age, gender and identity. You see how this subject has been separated from his traditional suit, shirt, cotton briefs and such. He was originally reduced to a state of nudity -- of his own volition, I might add -- but this was only the beginning. "Once stripped of his gender-related effects, the subject should also be depilated, a procedure that has the double benefit of making him appear both younger and more feminine. A nude male, without body hair, will gladly dress himself in any attire offered, including the most outlandish female apparel, or even -- as here -- the clothes of a baby girl. "You will note that our Denise has also had her genitals shrunken and encased in a lifelike latex cover which gives them the dimensions of a small boy's. Again, there is a double benefit: The traditional symbols of his malehood have been reduced to a laughable size -- he certainly won't feel like showing them off to anyone else in this state! -- also, the cover, which cannot be removed without special solvent, makes sexual excitement very painful, and sexual relief completely impossible. Observe:" She stepped behind me and began rubbing up against me, stroking the backs of my smooth, bare legs with her dark-nyloned ones; caressing my chest and teasing my nipples; breathing warmly on my neck and nibbling my ear. Despite the shameful state I was in, I felt myself grow aroused. Or start to: the pressure of my organ trying to expand in the tight confines of the latex cover was positively agonizing! "Ohhhh," I moaned, "ahhhh, please M---_ Ma'am! It feels so-so...." Fiona stopped and turned back to the class. "Thus those sensations which a male should find pleasurable become instead only sources of pain and frustration. Moreover, as the denial of sexual relief becomes prolonged, the subject becomes increasingly unable to think of anything else. His thinking becomes confused, blurred by obsession, and he therefore becomes susceptible to any stimuli which a woman wishes him to fixate upon." "Do you mean, Miss," a girl asked, "that we could turn him into a fetishist? You know, one of those freaks who gets turned on by panties, or shoes?" "Or feet, or bottoms, or anything else you wish him to respond to. You will note that just now, the subject is terribly embarrassed by his girlish makeup and infantile attire. If we wanted, however, we could make him crave these things uncontrollably." "Could we make him turned-on by spankings?" "Or by ass-kissing?" "Or other men?" "Whatever we wish," Fiona insisted. "With the techniques properly applied, in six months you could give Denise here the choice between spending an hour between the sheets with a sexy red-head--" She eyed me meaningfully. "-- or over my lap getting a spanking on the bare bottom in front of all my friends, and she'd choose the latter." The room erupted in giggles. "As for her appearance," Fiona continued, "that is as malleable as her psyche. Permanent hair removal and makeup applied by tattooing make a nice start. There are treatments to swell the lips, breasts and bottom if you want a more sensuous feminine appearance, or flesh-tone latex sheaths to deprive her of the use of hands and feet, so that she can only crawl about, completely dependent on her mistress for her needs. I also recommend the application of a different style of latex crotch- cover, one shaped to resemble a woman's anatomy!" "Ooooh," Janey piped up. "You mean glued on over her male things? With the same insoluble adhesive so she can't get it off and has to go about looking completely feminine?" "That'sright," Fiona smiled. "And completely frustrated as well. But like anything else, these techniques work best if you build to them. Take your subject slowly, carefully along the paths you have chosen, and in time she will have no choice but to do your bidding absolutely." As she spoke, my embarrassment became mixed with growing horror. Did she really mean to do this to me? To transform me into a child? Or a woman? Or a kinky fetishist? Was this really the intent of the woman who had seemed so attracted to me back in my expensive Manor house, when I was a well-dressed man, surrounded by luxury and fawning guests? "But as class is nearly over," Fiona was saying, "I know you'll all want to give our little Denise a proper initiation into her new life--" She turned to me and said casually, "Denise, go stand by the door, lower your nappie and bend over a chair, displaying your bum prettily so all he young ladies can give it a nice spank on their way out. Girls, line up, and last one out be sure to take Denise's nappie!" I staredin shock at her order, but as sheswung the long,supple pointer thoughtfully in her hand,I realized that any hesitation could let me in for much more serious punishment than a bare-handed spanking from these ersatz schoolgirls. So I obediently scampered to the door, lowered my diaper, and bent dutifully over the closest chair, proffering my naughty bottom for yet another spanking. And did I ever get it! The women play-acting as young hellions lined up gleefully and as the bell sounded dismissing class they trooped past me, each oneswinging a hardright hand down across my sensitive sitter. WHAP! SWAP! SLAP! SMACK! WHACK! It seemed to goon forever. How many women were in this class anyway? I wondered. Itfelt as ifsome of them must surely be going through the line twice.... SLAP! SWAP! WHACK! WHAP! SMACK! Tears were coursing down my cheeks and my little baby-body was wracked with sobbing by the time the last one trooped out, taking my didie with her, leaving me alone, babyfied, bare-bare-bottomed, and feminized -with