St. Searle's Academy: The New Class - Part 1 free porn video

When the Federal Witness Protection Program placed Salvatore 'Big Sal' Buscemi in an all-girl private school, he thought Christmas had arrived early. But then, he never dreamed he was about to become one of the girls. ST. SEARLE'S ACADEMY: THE NEW CLASS - part 1 by BobH (c) 2016 (Note: The events in this story take place after those in ALTERED FATES: AGENT ZULO, which is where Sal first appears and gets framed for murder. You don't need to read that tale to enjoy this one, but it does provide some character and other backstory.) - 1 - It was, all things considered, a pretty sweet deal, thought Salvatore 'Big Sal' Buscemi as the car taking him to his new life sped through the leafy countryside of upstate New York. The Feds had nailed him good. He had been facing a ten-stretch with little hope of parole but now, in return for ratting out Carmine Grazini and his crew, he was free and clear and being set up with a whole new identity under the Federal Witness Protection Scheme. Ordinarily Sal would never have snitched, but having somehow been framed for the murder of Carmine's son it had been a matter of self-preservation to remove him from the board. After he had testified at the trial and Grazini had been sentenced, Sal was flown out of New York and taken to Albany. At the airport, the Feds accompanying him had handed him over to the guy now driving the car, a very surprising car for the area. It was a black London cab. Sal had climbed into the back, marvelling at how spacious it was. Not only could the back seat comfortably accommodate three people but there were two 'pull down' seats in the divider between him and the driver that could up the rear capacity to five people. The car had no meter, nor a taxi sign on the roof so it had probably never seen actual service as a cab. As the driver pulled away he activated a switch on the dash that caused the windows to go from clear to tinted so they could see out but no one could see in. It was a security measure Sal approved of. The last thing he needed was a chance sighting by someone who knew him putting his whole deal in jeopardy. The one regret Sal had about his situation was that he was going into witness protection alone. Though they'd never divorced, he and Joanie had separated years ago. Their daughter Carmela was pregnant with her first child and Sal had been looking forward to being a grandfather but there was a good chance now he'd never even get to meet the kid. At least he knew Carmela was safe from retribution by Carmine Grazini. She wasn't in the life, and there were rules about that sort of thing. Sal's driver was young, tall, solidly built and had something about him that Sal recognized as military. He was probably ex-special forces, or something like that. Whatever it was, Sal knew better than to try anything with the guy. He was in his forties and seriously overweight, but the street smarts born of a lifetime surviving by his wits meant Sal always knew when to chance his luck and when to play it cool. Now was definitely a time to play it cool. And anyway, he had more to lose than he stood to gain by playing along. They told him he would be relocating to a girls' school upstate, and though surprised by this at first the idea had definitely grown on him. Sal had not been told what job he would be given there, but being surrounded by lots of young women was always a good thing. He hoped some of them would be black. He'd had to marry an Italian of course, but Sal had a thing for black girls. He liked grown women not teenagers so he wouldn't try putting the moves on any of the older ones, but they should still provide some very welcome eye-candy. "We got much further to go?" he asked, aware only as he said the words how much this sounded like that bane of every parent: 'Are we there yet?' "No," said the driver. Single word replies had been his response to every attempt at conversation. Fuck it, thought Sal, running a hand through what remained of his hair before settling back into his seat. Some people just weren't prepared to be civil. And he was really getting fed up of the back of the other man's head, starting to see that military buzzcut as something intended to insult him in some obscure fashion. Sal reached into an inside jacket, pulled out his cigar case, and removed the top, raising the case to his nose. He wasn't allowed to smoke in the car of course, but at least he could appreciate the smell of that fine Cuban tobacco. He promised himself that as soon as he could he was going to fire up one of those beauties and enjoy a long, leisurely smoke. After all the help he'd been to the Feds and the stress of the position he found himself in he figured he deserved it. When they did finally arrive at their destination, it caught Sal by surprise. One minute they were driving along a tree-lined lane, and the next they were pulling through the gates of what looked to be a large country estate. The plaque on the white stone gate post read: ST. SEARLE'S ACADEMY FOR YOUNG LADIES In the long drive up to the school Sal saw girls in the grounds playing lacrosse, girls practicing archery, and girls just lounging around and enjoying the fine weather. There was even a couple of young beauties openly necking and not caring who saw them doing so. If not for the stress caused by the uncertainty of his position, this would ordinarily have been enough to have given Sal a boner. Of those girls who glanced over as the car passed them the youngest, all of whom had their hair in pigtails, looked at it apprehensively while the oldest either laughed or smirked. In terms of age they seemed to span all the teenage years, and in looks they ranged from pretty to drop dead gorgeous. "Jeez, there's not a dog in the bunch!" Sal commented, only realizing he'd said this out loud when it was answered with a disapproving grunt from the front seat. It was strange, though. You'd expect there to be at least a few girls who were ugly, 'homely' or at least overweight. Sal found himself wondering if the school had a policy of only admitting lookers. Given how outraged the parents of daughters who didn't make the grade would be and the stink they'd raise this didn't seem likely. Also, there were probably laws against that sort of thing. When the school building hove into view Sal let out a low whistle. It was a large mansion of the sort only billionaires lived in these days and from the architecture it had to have been built sometime in the early part of the twentieth century. The car pulled up in front a multi-car garage attached to left hand end of it. The driver had chosen the door immediately adjacent to the mansion. He pressed a button on his dash, and the door slowly opened. They drove in, the door automatically lowering itself behind them. To Sal's surprise, this bay was walled off from the rest of the garage, though there was a door on the left that looked as if it gave access to it. "Get out and enter the school through the door on your right," said the driver. "You'll find yourself in an anteroom on the side of the headmistress's office. Sit in the chair outside that door and wait to be called in." Sal did as he was instructed, puzzling over the word 'headmistress' as he climbed out of the car. It sounded like the name of an oral-fixated dominatrix in a porno, but he vaguely recalled hearing this was what they called a female school principal in England. He shook his head. Fucking strange people, those Brits. The anteroom was about as plain as a room could be. It resembled a dentist's waiting room with just a nondescript rug and a single chair outside the office door. There were three doors in all; the one to the garage, the office side door directly opposite it, and one that logic suggested would lead to a corridor in front of the headmistress's office. Sal sat down on the chair as instructed and let out a long sigh, wondering what happened next. There were female voices coming from the room. The door was slightly ajar so he peered through the crack. He could see part of a desk but neither of the women who were talking. Then one of them came into view. A slim, attractive forty-something blonde in four inch heels and an expensive looking skirt-suit, she was pacing up and down in front of the desk, smoking a cigarette. Sal frowned, sure he knew her from somewhere. "It was a bit touch-and-go there for a while, Virginia," she said. "A couple of my colleagues in the senate have been sniffing around lately, but I managed to put them off the scent." The senate. *That* was where he knew her from, Sal realized. The blonde was New York Senator Abigail Carson. "Good," replied 'Virginia', who was presumably sitting behind the desk, and from her accent English. "What we do here is important but it has to remain a secret. The last thing we need is congressional oversight or any meddling of the sort. You know that as well as I do, Abbie. And that was our deal with Hoover." "Of course. But even black budgets like the one that helps support this place can be discovered and come under scrutiny if you don't hide them well enough. Obviously the time has come to hide it even more deeply than it's been hidden up 'til now." "That would be prudent, yes." "I'll get on it as soon as I'm back in DC," said Senator Carson, taking a final drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the desk. "It's Connor's engagement party tomorrow and his father and I are taking him and his fiancee Janice to see a Broadway show tonight. Nineteen is awfully young to be getting engaged, but they assure us they know what they're doing." "They grow up so fast," sighed Virginia. "It seems like only yesterday you and Matthew were getting married. Now you have a son who will soon be getting wed himself." That's right; her husband was Matthew Carson the businessman and real- estate magnate, Sal remembered. They were a seriously wealthy family. "To be fair, Virginia, to you everything must seem like it only happened yesterday." "Yes, there is that," she chuckled. "Well, I must be off now. I heard the car pull into the garage a few minutes ago which means that Colonel Thompson has returned and can now ferry me back to the airport. I really shouldn't keep my pilot waiting any longer than I already have. It was good seeing you again, Virginia." "You, too, Abbie." The door opened and Senator Carson strode out, glancing down at Sal as she passed. She gave him an amused smile, though there was also a hint of pity in her eyes for some reason. "Come in, please," said Virginia Chapford. Sal rose to his feet, wheezing at the effort, and ambled into the office. Inside it was all old wooden panelling and ancient oil paintings, with one of those folding screens you see in a doctor's office off to one side. Standing in front of a high-backed leather chair, behind a large and impressively solid desk, stood the headmistress. "Good Morning, Mr Buscemi," she said holding out her hand, "I'm Virginia Chapford and I'm in charge here at St. Searle's." "You're English," he said, shaking her hand. "Indeed I am. Please be seated," she replied before sitting back down herself. Sal settled into the chair in front of her desk, running an appreciative eye over her as she studied the file in front of her. She appeared to be around thirty years old, a fine looking woman. She was paler than he liked, a lot paler, but he decided she was a 'nice piece of ass' and found himself wondering what it would be like to fuck her. Apart from the guy who'd driven him here there didn't appear to be any other men in the joint, so Sal liked his chances. Hooking up with this limey chick could definitely make his stay here a real pleasure. "Well," she said looking up from the file, "judging by this you've been brought to the right place." "What exactly will I be doing here?" he asked. "No offence but me and an 'Academy for Young Ladies' don't exactly seem like a good fit." "You'd be surprised," she said, turning and opening the small safe on the floor behind her desk. Sal didn't get to see the combination, but then it only appeared to contain an old ledger and a small figurine neither of which looked to be worth much. She removed the figurine and placed it on the desk in front of him. It was an ugly looking thing, a crude stone carving of a woman of the sort Sal had seen when he'd caught the occasional PBS special. "Is that a fertility goddess?" "Something like that. Pick it up, please." "Why?" asked Sal, looking at it suspiciously. "It's part of the school's initiation procedure. You're not superstitious about such things, are you?" "No, but when I'm asked to do something I like to know why." "Just humour me please, and I promise I'll explain everything." "Well, okay, I guess." Sal picked it up. As soon as he did his body froze, rendering him completely immobile. Virginia Chapford muttered something that Sal, shocked by his sudden paralysis, didn't catch. Then the impossible happened. Panicking, but able to move only his eyes, Sal watched his hands in horror as they started changing before him, his thick fingers getting smaller and becoming slender. He was shrinking too, growing shorter, thinner, his large paunch melting away, and he could feel his sparse hair getting thicker, longer, as it flowed down over his shoulders. Sal had always accepted he could do with shedding a few pounds - alright, a lot of pounds - and had wanted to lose weight, but not like this! What was happening to him wasn't possible, and nothing moreso than the change in his left pinky finger. Sal had lost most of it in an unusually vicious fight during his younger days when the other guy had bitten it off, so to see a full finger gradually emerge from the mutilated stump it had been filled him with a mixture of awe and superstitious dread. If he could he would have crossed himself. Yet only as the final changes occurred, as he felt his penis receding into his body and the small mounds growing from his chest, did the penny finally drop. "Yes," said Virginia Chapford, as if reading his mind, "magic is real, and you're being turned into a girl. Now remain quiet, keep hold of the figurine, and even though you'll shortly be able to move again I need you to remain still." It had taken barely a minute but now Sal was a teenaged girl, one half-buried in the oversized clothes now pooling at her waist and hanging down past her feet. Sal sat there stunned, his heart racing, barely able to believe what had just occurred. "As long as you continue to hold the figurine after your transformation you're still suggestible, so listen very carefully to what I have to say. Your name is now Lucy Costello and this is the only name you will answer to. You will not do or say anything that would let anyone determine who you used to be, nor will you indicate to anyone who has not undergone the process that such a thing is even possible. You will do anything you are ordered to by the staff or the school prefects except where this would cause you actual harm. You will not leave the school grounds without permission, you will obey the school rules without question, and you will never tell any outsider about what goes on here. You will conduct yourself as a young lady and not use foul language. You are a child now and will show adults the proper deference and respect. Teachers will be addressed as 'Sir' or 'Miss'. We will not tolerate physical or sexual abuse either committed by you or done to you. If anyone does attempt this report it to a member of staff immediately. We also don't tolerate racism or homophobia; if you have such thoughts you will keep them to yourself. You will not commit violence against anyone at the school and will employ any criminal skills you have only at the discretion of the school and in its service. For today only you will not leave this building. It's best you stay indoors while you come to terms with your transformation. Now, I'm sure you've stashed away some of your ill-gotten gains confident that no-one would ever find them. You will make a list of all of these, complete with numbers for bank accounts and any and all passwords. But first, go behind the screen and change into the clothes we've laid out for you. You will leave behind the clothes you're currently wearing, including anything you have in your pockets. OK, you can now put down the figurine, Lucy." Numbly, Sal did as he was told. Yanking up his voluminous trousers as high as he could with one hand and preventing the jacket from slipping off his now much narrower shoulders with the other, he stepped out of his too-large shoes and dutifully shuffled over to the screen. Behind it were a wall mirror and a chair. Laid out on the chair were a short, red tartan skirt, white shirt, red tie, white socks and black 'Mary Jane' shoes - the school uniform - along with a plain white cotton bra and panties set. Sal let his clothes slip from his much reduced frame and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He felt sick. What hit him first, beyond even the change in gender, was how tiny he now seemed. He had been a big man, a heavy man, now he was this skinny little girl staring back at him. She was pretty, and looked Italian, but there was nothing to suggest any family resemblance. Her face was the face of a stranger. Sal reached up and gently squeezed one of his small, high breasts. Tits, he had tits! Yes they were the tiny tits of a young girl going through puberty and actually smaller than his former 'man boobs' had been, but there was no denying these were real female breasts. Gingerly, he slid his hand down to the slit where his cock used to be, feeling a huge sense of loss. That was the moment Sal accepted that physically at least he - no it was *she* now - was a girl. "Hurry up and get dressed," said Miss Chapford, impatiently. "You'll have plenty of time to admire your reflection later, young lady." Still in a daze, Sal dressed as quickly as she could. All of the garments felt strange on her body, but she was particularly weirded out by the bra. Sal had removed many bras over the years, but this was the first time she had ever put one on. When she was dressed, she stepped out from behind the screen. "Ah, that's much better," said Virginia Chapford, looking her up and down approvingly. "Now sit back down and make a list of all the money and valuables you've hidden away during your years as a criminal." Sal had salted away a lot of money and other items to finance a comfortable retirement, something she had kept secret even from family, yet she started writing and found herself unable to stop until she had listed everything. "Good girl!" said Virginia Chapford, smiling. "All the assets we recover from you that don't need to be returned to a particular owner will go into the school coffers. Part of the reason why the school exists is to separate people like you from their ill-gotten gains and to transform you into useful, law-abiding members of society." "By turning us into females?" said Sal, finally finding her voice. "Yes, by turning you into females - the superior gender. As well as being made younger, you've been upgraded thanks to the figurine. Indeed, the school wouldn't exist without it." "What is that thing anyway?" "It's incredibly old, the race of people who created it long since vanished from the world. Back then there were vastly fewer of us on the planet and in order to increase their numbers and thus their power tribes would raid rival tribes and steal their women. Obviously, only half those in any given tribe would be female. If you could increase that number, turn captured males into females and then impregnate them, this would clearly give you an advantage over those other tribes. That's what I believe happened. The shaman of the tribe that created it somehow called down that power and locked it in the figurine. In those days lives were short and females became mothers as soon as they were physically capable of carrying children, so it makes sense that it also makes you as young as it does." There was a knock on the door that led to the corridor. "Come in," said Virginia Chapford, and a pretty young girl entered. Sal shuddered as she realised that was now also her own description. The girl stood before the desk and gave a little curtsey. "You wanted to see me, Miss Chapford?" she said, looking nervous. "Yes, Kathy. Lucy, this is Kathy Cardinelli; Kathy, this is Lucy Costello, a new arrival. Show her to her room and explain to her how we do things around here." "Of course, miss." Virginia reached into her desk and pulled out two red ribbons, which she handed to Kathy. "Take these and also show her how to do her hair. That will be all." "Yes, Miss Chapford." Kathy gave another curtsey then grabbed Sal's hand. "Come on," she said, "I'll show you the ropes." Numbly, Sal allowed herself to be led away. - 2 - Kathy Cardinelli looked to be about a year or so older than Sal now was and Sal had a lot of questions for her, something the other girl obviously recognised and expected. "To answer your first question," she said before Sal could ask it, "yes, as Miss Chapford told you and as should be obvious to you by now, magic really is real. It's worth repeating because a lot of us have difficulty believing it at first, even after what was done to us." "Us?" "Us. Every girl in the school used to be a man." "*All* of them?" said Sal, appalled. "Every last student?" Until that moment it hadn't occurred to her this might be the case, despite Miss Chapford referring to those who had "undergone the process". "Pupil," said Kathy, "we're always called pupils, never students." "Huh? Why?" "For the same reason we have a headmistress rather than a principal, and why this is the ground floor rather than the first floor, which is the one above this one. Despite being located in America and almost every girl in it American, Miss Chapford insists that St. Searle's is run as if it was an English boarding school. Apparently it once was, but somewhere along the way it got transplanted to the US. Since we all got handed over by federal authorities the school is obviously officially sanctioned in some way, though none of us know the precise details." "When I got in, the headmistress was having a meeting with Senator Abigail Carson," said Sal. "One of them mentioned something about Hoover." "Yeah, we know J.Edgar Hoover was involved back in the day, but not how. There's a rumour he faked his death and became a pupil here himself. That was in 1972, so if he did she would be out in the world somewhere now, a good-looking woman in her late fifties who used to be the most feared man in America. Someone must have originally set up the system by which the FBI secretly hand criminals in witness protection over to St. Searle's. Hoover seems a likely candidate. These days it's Flash who takes delivery of them, but there must've been others here who did the job before him." "'Flash'?" said Sal. "Oh, sorry, 'Flash' is what we call John Thompson, the guy who drove you here, after the character in old Spider-Man comics. I knew we were getting a new pupil when Flash drove up to the mansion in the black cab. He brings every new arrival here." "You knew there was only one passenger?" "There's only ever one passenger. They don't want any of us to know who anyone else really is. That's why we all arrive here alone, why the cab's windows are kept tinted, and why the section of the garage it parks in is walled off from the rest. You don't change your ethnicity when you're transformed so you might think that would let you figure out who someone might be but it's less help than you might think. For example, you and I are both Italian. Let's say for the sake of argument you were a mobster before you came here. If you thought I was too you'd start going through all those cases you remembered in which a mobster had given evidence against others to identify who I must be. Why that won't work is that not everyone in here used to be in the mob. Some were lone operatives, some were white collar criminals, and some were probably crooked cops. Also, while some of us are brought straight here after entering the program, others spend a year or two in regular witness protection before being sent to the school. They arrange it so that we arrive at the school at the start of the academic year, which is on Monday, two days from now. Newcomers have been turning up in the black cab for the past week. You're the latest, but there's still time for a few more." "God, I need a cigar!" "Smoking's not allowed until you're a fourth year, and then only cigarettes and only in your own room, the fourth year common room, or outside in the grounds. Cigars are considered unladylike." "'Unladylike'? So they're serious about turning us into 'young ladies'?" "Deadly serious." "Shoot!" said Sal. "Wait! Why did I just say 'shoot'?" "Miss Chapford told you you couldn't swear." "Not at all?" "No." "Fudge it!" "Yes, about that," chuckled Kathy. "Attempting to swear and having things like 'fudge' come out instead marks you as a newbie and will get you laughed at by the other girls, so you should try not to." "I've just realised this place is actually a slammer, despite how it looks," said Sal. "How long a stretch am I expected to do here, anyway?" "We're all here for four years," said Kathy, "after which most of us graduate and move on to college. First years are fourteen to fifteen years old, second years fifteen to sixteen, third years sixteen to seventeen, and fourth years seventeen to eighteen. It's pretty easy to tell who's in which year. First years like you have to wear their hair in pigtails, which second years like me don't. In your third year you graduate from white socks to dark stockings or panty hose, but still have to wear flats. Only fourth years are allowed high heels, and boy do they love strutting about in those heels! Second years take make-up classes, but we're not allowed to wear any until we're third years. We all have to keep our hair long - no shorter than shoulder length - but only fourth years are allowed to grow out their nails. Black pupils have a separate list of styles they are and aren't allowed to wear, which loosens up as they progress through school, as it does for us. It's all pretty hierarchical, actually. Oh, one more thing: first, second, and third years are required to curtsey to Miss Chapford on entering and leaving when we're called to her office. You'll need to practice that." "Great, just great," said Sal, "and when we get to my room I suppose you're going to show me how to braid my hair into pigtails and tie those ribbons Miss Chapford gave you in pretty little bows around the ends?" Sal had seen pigtailed first years on the drive up to the mansion. "That's right." "What if I refuse to let you? What if I refuse to go along with this whole deal and make a run for it?" "We're coming up to the entrance lobby," said Kathy. "Please go ahead and leave the building." "You won't try to stop me?" said Sal, looking at her uncertainly. "No, and neither will anyone else. We won't need to." Sal nodded, turned on her heel, and headed for the lobby. When she got there she headed for the main doors...then stopped. Was this something she really wanted to do? The headmistress had told her she couldn't leave the building tonight, so was it right to disobey her? Sal chewed her lip nervously, then turned on her heel and headed back to where she had left Kathy. The other girl smiled sadly at her. "Still here?" she said. "It's not like there was some force I was straining against," said Sal. "Nothing was stopping me but I just couldn't bring myself to walk through those doors." "By telling you what you can and can't do while you're holding the figurine Miss Chapford basically put what's known as a geas on you. It's isn't like some sort of restraint you're constantly pushing against; that's not how it works at all. No, it's both more subtle and more powerful than that. The best way of explaining it is in terms of inhibition and reluctance. It's a bit like like being a shy guy, summoning up the courage to ask a girl out then telling her anything but what you really want to when she's actually standing there in front of you." Sal digested this for a moment, then decided to ignore it for now until she had time alone to figure all the angles. Instead she turned to another matter that had been bugging her. "There's one thing I don't get." "Only one thing?" said Kathy, giving an amused smile. "I get why they the people who supposedly created the figurine would want the women it turns guys into to be good-looking," said Sal, ignoring the other girl's quip, "but back then they had a very different idea of what an attractive woman looked like. They liked them fatter, broader in the beam, and large-breasted, but driving up to the school a lot of those I saw and now know are fourth years here look like modern day beauty queens. How come?" "You're not the first girl to ask that. The best theory anyone's come up with is that the figurine somehow 'reads' what we consider an ideal female form and somehow programs that into our transformation. In fact there's support for the theory that the ideal changes over time in old school photographs. There are some on the corridor walls just along here." There were framed photos dating back to what appeared to be Victorian times. They stopped in front of a photo labelled 'Class of 1953' which followed the pattern of most such photos with the teachers sitting on chairs in front and the students arranged behind and beside them in rows. "Notice how curvy they all are," said Kathy. "In the early fifties Marilyn Monroe was the ideal, whereas these days she'd be considered fat." Sal nodded in agreement, but her attention had been caught by something else. She rapidly scanned all the photos, her eyes widening as she did. "Holy carp!" she said. In the middle of every photo, from Victorian times right through to the one taken last year, sat the headmistress. In every one she was around thirty and wearing the hairstyle and clothing of the time. And in all the photos that headmistress was Virginia Chapford. ********************** To be continued.... ********************** Notes: 1) The name 'St. Searle's' is of course a nod to Ronald Searle, creator of the anarchic schoolgirls of St. Trinian's whose movies were the inspiration for this series, (though I refuse to acknowledge the existence of the movies featuring the school made after the 1960s, which are all awful IMHO). 2) I started this tale in 2012, but laid it aside in favour of others that grabbed my attention more, though its genesis is a lot older. The school is first alluded to in this passage from the end section of ALTERED FATES: PROJECT ZULO, posted here in 2004: *** "So Jake's folks were also transformed by the medallion?" said Julia. "No, only his father was," said Duvall. "His mother graduated from a rather special girl's school in upstate New York." "She was mystically transgendered at a school?" said John. "That sounds intriguing." "It is," said Duvall. "The school's story is a fascinating one, and when the time is right I'll tell you more about it, but not now." *** Yes, I really do plan that far ahead. It was always going to be called St. Searle's, always inspired by St. Trinians. Figuring out how to adapt all the elements of St. Trinians to TG school St. Searle's was the fun bit of writing this. Having said which, I'm beginning this with only a vague idea of where I want to take it, though I know the stations I need to call at along the way. I wanted to challenge myself to try something new, so unlike with 'The Crossing' I don't have the final(ish) scene written before posting this instalment. It's also likely future instalments will be posted at a more leisurely rate than the weekly one I managed with 'The Crossing'.