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Pleasures at Dressing Manor - part 5 of 7 by PRIM The story so far: Young teacher Miles Johnson receives a letter from his pupil, Lyndon Blonding, 18, telling how his spiteful stepmother is keeping him prisoner and dressing him childishly. He takes the letter to his Headmistress, Alison Forceman, who secretly feeds Miles the feminizing drug Fem-Agra, so that he becomes addicted to girls' clothing and suffers embarrassing changes to his body, before accompanying him in his bid to rescue the boy. Invited into Dressing Manor by Vera Hidebotham, Lyndon's stepmother, he is introduced to a group of overwhelming women, who bring out his passion for little girl dresses. He realises that Vera has turned her stepson into a girl and that the same fate awaits him. The males: Lyndon Blonding, 18, a delicate student. Miles Johnson, 24, slim and modest, a newly qualified teacher. The women - all of them big busted, wide thighed and hateful of males: Vera Hidebotham, 38, brunette, stepmother of Lyndon and owner of Dressing Manor. Alison Forceman, 42, blond bobbed hair, Headmistress of St Ursula's School. Doctor Jessica Harding, 45, blond perm, very large, conducting un-sexing treatment. Councilor Barbara Welting, 60, silver hair, spectacles, a keen corporalist. Arabella Widely: 36, big and blond, dedicated man-hater Andrea Spitewell, 42, big busted and highly sexed. Gail Ampleweight, 43, pageboy blond, 140 pounds, similar to Arabella. Enid Feel, 30, the smallest, black hair to her shoulders, employed as nanny to Lyndon. Lucinda Heiffer, 38, very large, strong jaw, formerly Miles' landlady, now his nanny. *** Chapter 5: Getting to Know the Ladies "Open wide, Sweetie," said Doctor Harding in her sing-song voice as if to a baby. Miles Johnson felt hands opening his mouth, none too gently. Lucinda Heiffer had his arms in his back but still had a free hand for his jaws, with Enid Feel helping her. The Doctor presented him with a red ball, far too big to go inside his mouth. "Wider, ladies... that's nearly it... just... Gottim!" The wretched teacher thought his jaw had just broken, it ached so much under his ears as the pink straps were pulled tight and buckled behind his neck. His naked buttocks and legs slid deeply into the front of Miss Heiffer's floor length skirt of black taffeta as she adjusted him so that she held him bent forward from the waist. He found himself looking at the wheels of the child's pushchair that held his pupil, Lyndon Blonding. How helpless he was in the hands of these three women, how weakened he had become. What a mistake it had been to come to this dreadful house and throw himself into the trap these women had laid for him. From trying to rescue this youth from his unhappiness, he needed to be rescued himself, but no-one even knew he was here. His identity had been erased. The tears filled his eyes as he realised he was doomed to this new and frightening life. He was looking at the hem of Doctor Harding's nursing tunic in pink cire satin, then his head was surrounded with silky white ruffles. Her sleeves and huge pink bosom filled his view as she buttoned him shut at his throat. He was wearing a babyish bonnet. He glimpsed her black stockings and black high heels before his head felt the slurry of a second bonnet, sizzling around the first, with lemon satin spreading forward all round his face. He tried to protest but his tongue was pressed flat under his ball, his jaws couldn't move, and his words came out in a high-pitched "Mmmm!". "What's that, Johnson?" asked the doctor, turning to gather his next item. "Got something girly to say have we? Can't wait for those little girl dresses? Ha-ha!" The two nannies laughed with her, bending him forward and holding him helplessly by the arms. Then he squeaked with fright. In front of his eyes came a solid board, four foot in length, separating lengthways into two halves and with circles cut out for his neck and wrists, and with metal bars extending from each end. He knew what it was for. Again he was startled by the horrifying things these women were capable of. Its halves were opened, hinged at one end, and they forced his head and wrists into the cushioned semi-circles. Ohhhhhhh, the defeat of feeling it close on you and hearing it lock, top to bottom, at one end! Then they let go of him, and he raised himself with the added weight of the equipment, with his shoulders stretched back and his hands out of sight beyond the sides of his bonnet. "Ohhh, Mr Johnson," he heard through his bonnets. He turned his pillory board in the direction of Lyndon's words, but it was grabbed and he was twisted away, and he felt the ends of his board being attached to wires and the tension pulling taut until he felt the strain in his neck as his bare feet almost lifted off the floor. "Ohhhhh, you're so helpless," called his pupil. "They've got you girled and helpless. Yesssss, you're going to be a girl now." The youth's voice oozed with lust, as if aroused by what he saw. But Johnson had no time to guess why this was, since blouses and skirts were busy around him, lifting one of his legs so that he hopped on the other to avoid swinging. They had a loop round his knee, and before he realised it, the other knee was lifted and looped as well, and pulled sideways and upwards, so that his genitals and buttocks swung forward and he found himself looking at the ceiling in the corner of the room, knowing that his penis was presented in front of his widely separated legs. "You vill turn this way, Pansy," declared Miss Heiffer, her frilled white blouse blocking his view as she arranged his dangling harness so that he faced his pupil in his pushchair. He tried to extricate himself but could barely kick a foot or wriggle his body. When she moved away, he saw that Lyndon had been gagged into silence in the same way, his face a picture of pain as his jaws gaped wide around a white ball with the word GIRLY in pink across it. His nanny and Doctor Harding unfastened him from his pushchair and lifted him, one on either side, to lay him on a bed that looked like it was covered in white rubber. How girlish he looked. How completely his stepmother and Doctor Harding had managed to change him. He longed to run over to him and press a kiss onto his bulging cheeks and... he was ashamed to think it, but... he wanted to kiss the effeminate boy all over. What on earth had happened to him over the past few weeks? Why did he suffer these new, perverted feelings? It wasn't quite a bed, because it was only as wide as the boy's shoulders and held him as if in a shallow trough, while his head was lifted on an angled head rest so that he looked down the bed to his feet. He wasn't fully naked, either. His feet were prettied with dainty white anklet frills and a pair of delicate girls' shoes in red patent, with half heels and two narrow straps across each instep. Miss Feel lifted his head with its lovely blond hair almost to his shoulders, and encased it in a pink plastic rain hood that fastened under his chin with pop fasteners and reached six inches or so forward from his face. His miniature penis stood almost erected on a smooth and babyish groin. Miles Johnson's penis ached with pleasure as he watched Miss Feel and the doctor fasten him down onto the bed. The boy's legs curled up in self defense, but were soon brought down and secured, so that the lower half of his bed could be separated to spread his legs wide apart. Ohhh, that stiffened little penis, thought the teacher. It's so lovely... half boyish and half girlish. He watched it as the doctor drew a bonnet of white satin over the plastic bonnet, doing the ribbons into a bow at his neck. The brim folded forward, and as he watched, the boy's ball-gag and face disappeared as she fastened a row of buttons up the front of his face. A moment later, she was pulling a yellow plastic curtain covered in pictures of little girls in their dresses along a rail that surrounded Lyndon Blonding's bed, and the three women turned their attention to him. "Hello little girl Johnson," grinned the doctor, her pink tunic brushing horrifyingly against his penis as she drew the sides of his lemon bonnet forward. He peered out at her from his surround of white ruffles. "Let's button you up into your bonnets, so that the ladies see how pretty you are while they fill you with panty-frillies." Miss Heiffer held him still by his pillory board as Doctor Harding fastened the satin-covered buttons up the front of his bonnet, over his ball-gag, his eyes, and up to the front of his hair. He felt his penis being held and pulled in fingers. Maybe Miss Heiffer's, maybe the doctor's, but he was defenceless as they played with his pathetically small privates. He heard the curtain, and he was curtained off like his hapless pupil... dangling with his legs stretched apart and completely helpless. *** He jumped, or rather jiggled around in his pillory and harnesses, as he heard the door of the room open and whoops of laughter echoed round the Pantyfrilling Chamber. He made out voices that he recognized, from the big lounge with the chandeliers where his dreadful ordeal had begun. "Darling, what a gorgeous idea." It was the bossy voice of Barbara Welting, the oldest of the women. "You'll have the wimps begging you to smother them in your tits." He made out hugging and kissing sounds as they embraced. "I want my tits firmly under control while I'm flogging their hides," said a laughing voice. It was Andrea Spitewell, who had held him with his legs apart as they had all laughed at the way his penis had become so humiliatingly small. He felt it stiffening more, now that she was in the room. "And Gail, you'll have them drooling as well," he heard from the Councilor. Ohhhh! Gail Amplewaite! She had helped to thread that darling little dress up his legs, with its integrated panty. Ohhhh, she might be back to dress him again! Miles' penis was delirious with anticipation as he heard her laughing. "And Arabella," said Miss Welting. "My, they'll suffer agonies of female superiority under that skirt, darling." Even through two bonnets, the teacher heard the rush and sizzle of silky garments, as Arabella Widely cried: "There's no pleasure greater than spreading the circle of your skirt over a captive as your anus closes on his nose. But Barbara, how do you do it? The two of them will tremble when you stand over them." Miles pictured the woman in his mind, telling him just an hour earlier that he was theirs now... their captive... their plaything. She had made him wet his pants. Barbara Welting was easily the oldest female at Dressing Manor, but in spite of her silvering hair, her spectacles and those unavoidable lines around her mouth, she made him feel so weak. "Revlon Super Lustrous on the lips is always a good start, darling," he heard in her calm, firm voice. "I'm looking forward to kissing some helpless sissy lips, once Jessica has finished with them." "But where are the sissies?" cried Andrea; "behind the curtains?" "Here's Jessica," cried Arabella, clapping her hands. "Have you got them in there, Doctor? Can we see the sissies?" A sweat of fright came over the young teacher as the click-clack of heels ran across the treatment room. His curtain would be thrown back... but no. He heard the swish of a curtain all right, and the squeals of delight from the women, but they were over to one side. They had gone to Lyndon Blonding and were delirious at finding him strapped to his bed with his legs wide apart. "Help yourselves to gloves and panties," giggled Jessica Harding, "so that you can panty-frill him when he realizes you're here." Miles Johnson listened, his chest shivering with worry as he held his breath. At least they weren't going to mock and humiliate him. "I love to see them fastened down like this," he heard the councilor say. "He's got some movement in his hands," said the doctor, "because they're on elastic straps." The sizzle of the women's blouses reached Miles inside his bonnets, then an outburst of laughter. "But he can't protect himself." "Let's open him up so that he can see the nice ladies." A squeal of laughter followed, and he could picture the poor youth peering from his plastic and silk bonnets to see the laughing women surrounding him. Their cries were wild and merciless, as if he was trying to struggle out of their clutches. He could imagine the doctor pointing to his penis... probably stiffening as he was being explored. "Who's a little baby girly in his pwetty bonnets den?" he heard. It was Andrea Spitewell in a soppy mummy voice. "Does our little girl like to have her clitty played with, hmmm? In luverly ladies' satin gloves?" "Let's see if she likes a panty kissing on her clitty, Gail. Use these pink nylon ones to make our girly feel so sucky and ducky." The torment went on for the 18-year-old. Miles knew he was helpless to escape. He heard his bleating between the peals of laughter and mockery, until his whingeing faded into a string of moans. "Look at the girly's clitoris," sang Barbara. "Responding sweetly," said the doctor, "but let's not forget the idiot's sissy sweetheart over here." The helpless teacher jumped in his dangle frame as he felt the draught of the curtain sweeping back. The women burst out laughing as their voices surrounded him, and he cringed as half a dozen satin gloved hands gripped his thighs and fondled his body. There were fingers undoing the front of his bonnet and as it parted, a wall of female laughter greeted him. The doctor opened his bonnets wide to show him the women in front of him. His head was at the level of their breasts and his weight hung him slightly backwards, so that his feet were not much lower, while his buttocks were thrust forward as if to offer his genitals for teasing. He caught sight of one of his feet out to the side: he was wearing girls' white knee-highs, with a pink strapped and heeled shoe. Arabella Widely stood in front of him, her chubby face shaking with giggles above a large blouse collar in maroon and silver stripes. "I've got some lovely girly panties for you, sweetheart," she cooed, and held them up to show him, her sleeves rustling around her bust. They were in pale apple green silk and almost transparent, with an inch of self coloured lace round the legs. "Aren't they gorgeous, sweetheart?" she cooed, finding the label. "55 centimetres, sweetie... that means they're girls' panties. Give them a lovey dovey kiss for me," and she held them inside Miles' bonnet, her satin gloves sliding the panties softly up and down his face. Miles Johnson ached with the heat of his desire to kiss a pair of girls' panties. He could tell from the tension surrounding his penis that he was in panties himself, and the girlishness this brought on for him brought blubbers of helplessness to his throat. "Mmmmph! Mmmphhh!" he hummed into his huge mouth ball. "Come on, Arabella," he heard; "move over and let the rest of us play with Sissikins." It was Barbara Welting, the councilor, in a brown and white striped blouse. "Oh dear, sissy pet," she cooed, lifting the pair of pink panties she held and using them to cup his chin, "why so unhappy, you little pouffe?" Miles felt a tear run off each cheek into his bonnet frills. "Oh dear, what a misery!" teased Andrea, using one of his knees to turn his dangling frame towards her. "Why is lickle Sissy Girly so unhappy in her wuverly heels an' stockings?" she said as he dangled precariously in front of her white organza blouse. He was surrounded in silky blouses with his panties dangling between the hips of their skirts. "And in her sissy girly bonnets too. She looks so pretty!" added Arabella. "I know," said Gail with the red ruffles of her blouse in his face; "what the lickle sissy wants is pwetty panties, isn't it, pet?" "Lots of pretty panties," echoed the others, and Gail gave them the lead by spreading the coral pink pair she was holding over his face and massaging them into the sides of his bonnet. "Frilly, silky panties," cooed Barbara, standing behind his suspended back and reaching her arms round him so as to fondle one of his erected nipples in her pair of white silk panties as Andrea panty-fondled the other. "I think the sissy wants his pouffy little clitoris to be girly-pantied too," declared Doctor Harding, and she hooked her fingers into the waist of his panties so that Arabella could slot her panties inside. "What Sissy Girly really wants is lots an' lots of loverly panties slipped down inside here," she said, folding a pair of ice blue satin panties with a white lace panel at the front of its gusset. "Mmmm, yessss!" "Luverly panties!" cooed the others, folding up their panties and slotting them into Miles Johnson's panty, some sliding under his testies, others round to the sides, and four pairs spread across his helpless genitals. Now that his face wasn't pantied any more, he hung pathetically and watched as satin-gloved hands smoothed every inch of his panties around his most delicate places. He wailed and cried, all of which came out as hums and a flood of silent tears. He was panty frilled by the women for another five minutes before the arrival of the two nannies, Enid and Lucinda. "Miss Hidebotham and Miss Forceman are waiting for you," said Enid as she began unfastening Lyndon Blonding from his panty frilling bed. "We'll need a good quarter of an hour to give these two their instructions, with the help of a bit of botty paddling. Then we'll bring the two of them in to join you." "Excellent," said Jessica from her nursing cabinet. "By the time you ladies are all sitting comfortably, I'll have their medication ready, and the nannies will have the sissies nicely tricked out for a little bit of sissy-baiting. "Good-bye, sissies," cried the women as Barbara led them to the door. "We'll see you when you've been put into something more suitable for little girls!" and their laughter disappeared into the corridor as they made their way to join Vera and Alison. *** Miles Johnson felt the buckle being unfastened at the back of his neck and the huge ball was eased out from between his teeth. A wail of relief flowed from his throat as his jaw found release and he was able to speak. "Miss Heiffer," he wailed, not knowing whether he could still talk properly, "Miss Heiffer... help me... Help me to escape." The long skirt of his landlady beneath him seemed to lunge and a stinging slap cracked across his upturned buttocks. "Owwwowwww!" he squealed, his arms held behind him in one of Lucinda Heiffer's hands as she applied her leather strap with the other. WHACKKK! - WHACCCCKKKK! - SWAPPPPPP! The strokes of the leather bit across his bottom making it more fiery with every swipe. "How dare you to ask me to help you escape, you vile little vorm," she said from between her teeth as she returned to fastening cuffs of pink leather to each of his wrists. "You are here to suffer the punishment in ze little girly dresses, ja, and you vill suffer deeply, mein little sissy." The young teacher struggled to come to terms with what she was telling him. In the past few hours he had lost the support of two people on whom he was counting: Alison Harding and now his big landlady. And even Lyndon Blonding seemed to want to see him suffer the humiliation of being put into little dresses and made even more girlish than he had already become. He looked across at his pupil now, suffering the same indignity as himself, face down across the knee of his nanny, Miss Feel. Ohhhhh, how pretty his face looked, in girlish smoothness, cupped between pretty frills of white chiffon around his cheeks. He was brought back to his own plight as one of his hands was pulled behind his head and his wrist cuff was attached to a chain. Oh no! he was to have his hands fastened with a chain, as well as his ankles and knees. He struggled to wriggle free across the long black skirt which fell to his landlady's ankles. "Have pity on me, Miss Heiffer," he cried. THRASH! WHACKKK! went the strap. "You vill get no pity, you pervert!" she said with a growl, and his face pitched into the taffeta of her skirt as his other hand was pulled up and back to meet the chain. This meant that his face and chest were pushed forward. He couldn't even reach his face with either hand. "Wh-why are you doing this, Miss Heiffer?" he cried, suddenly feeling alarmed. "What are you going to do to me?" The answer came in the form of leather, whapping again and again across buttocks that were already smarting and stinging. His pupil was suffering a similar fate a few feet away. "Oh please don't strap my bottom," wailed Miles, twisting as much as he could but failing to avoid a single full-blooded blow. "You vill shut up," cried his nanny, "or get ten strokes of ze strap. You vill be punished!" she shouted. Her voice was like a fog horn, and Miles Johnson cringed in silence as she keyed a number on her phone. The answer came immediately. "Ze sissies are ready, Miss Forceman. Is you vanting zem in ze Dressing Lounge?" Johnson lay quite still and heard the voice of his Headmistress from the phone above him. "Yes, Lucinda. Very good. We'll see the two of them now." It was the signal for a surge of activity. "Up! shouted Lucinda, and so did Miss Feel, and the two sissies found themselves wobbling on high heels with the jingle of little chains everywhere. Their nannies shook out their own skirts and petticoats: Lucinda in a floor length skirt and Enid in a charcoal midi skirt. Like traditional governesses, their blouses were high necked and full sleeved, and rustled in crisp silk as they pulled their whimpering sissies towards the door. "Your sissies are ready, ladies," said Lucinda, standing in the doorway. "Shall we bring them in?" There was a gush of excitement from the Dressing Lounge. "Yes, bring them in," cried Vera, and both nannies applied their straps to bare legs, bringing squeals from the males, then crying... more whipping... and then the two of them had to run ahead, tippety-tapping across the floor in their Mary Jane shoes, with the jingle of miniature chains that kept their legs close together. Around them, the room erupted with a roar of ecstasy as teacher and pupil tried to run in twelve-inch steps along the polished floor round the outside of the circle of armchairs, hastened on their way by cuts across their buttocks and legs from the whippy straps wielded by Enid and Lucinda. Both of them wore nothing but a little blouse, with bare arms and bare legs apart from frilly anklet socks and pink strap-over shoes. Beside him, Miles could see Lyndon's blouse, in white corrugated silk chiffon, which looked pink because of the delicate rose print all over it and a high cuff collar ending with a ruffle that cupped his chin, his cheeks, his ears and the back of his hair. His own blouse, like Lyndon's, had little puffed sleeves and an elasticated waist, which because it was a girls' blouse, finished above his waist but was stretched a little lower by two blouse ribbons, which pulled from a button in front of each hip, fitting tightly into the slots on either side of his genitals, where they joined into a single ribbon under the crack of his bottom before pulling on a single button at the back of the blouse. It was pink satin with a thick Peter Pan collar across his shoulders, which fluttered up into his face as he tried to run. WHACK! - THWACK! The leather straps echoed round the room, adding yelps of pain to the noise: the whoops of the women, the rattle of chains and the patter of Mary Janes and high heels filling the brightly lit air. "Ouch! - Oh please stop!" cried Miles, feeling his penis stiffened at the top of his legs through having to perform in front of these strong, blousey women. They had to run with their cuffed knees chained six inches apart and their ankles not much wider. They ran with their hands spread behind their shoulders, like little girls in a panic, since another chain ran from one wrist cuff to the other but fed under the ribbon at the top of their buttocks where it rejoined the back of the blouse. "Oh whip them," cried Barbara Welting, kneeling on her armchair in her knee length brown leather skirt and clutching the chair-back with whitening knuckles. "Sting those sissy butts. Harder, Enid!" "Ow... Ow-www!" came the cries in girlishly high voices as Miles Johnson and Lyndon Blonding tried their utmost to stoop their bottoms or twist them to the side, trying to outrun their nannies. "That's enough running," roared Lucinda, aiming a particularly full-armed swing of her leather across Johnson's rear. "SKIP from now on, d'you hear? Skip! Skip! Skip!" The two of them did their best, fearful of the consequences. "Come on, knees up! Higher!" cried Enid, lashing a swipe across the back of Blonding's legs, and the jingling redoubled as both the sissies tried frantically to lift each step as high as they could. They managed to impress their audience, because there was applause to accompany their laughter as the women watched the spectacle around them. "Bring the little darlings over here and show them to us," called Vera, settling back into her armchair, and everyone sat down, high with excitement, as Lucinda and Enid grabbed their sissies and marched their short-stepping Mary Jane's into the circle of chairs. Lucinda presented Miles to Miss Forceman, while Enid held the youth in front of Miss Hidebotham and leaned him back so that his exposed genitals pointed towards his stepmother. Vera could scarcely stop giggling, he looked so ridiculous. "Well, my little girlie, what a darling little blouse Miss Feel has got you in for your drinkies this evening. So short, and with such a pretty ruffle round your face. You must feel so girlish, you weed." "Oh stepmother, please... don't let me be whipped any more. It hurts so much..." "You only get whipped when you deserve to be, idiot, and you weren't being sissy enough for Miss Feel so she had to make it hurt. Naturally!" "They like it really," observed Alison Forceman, sitting up on the edge of her armchair and comparing the two sissies. "Look at their girls' clitties, stiffened and enjoying being looked at and laughed at by the ladies. Isn't that right, Johnson? You like being laughed at for being ridiculous?" Miles Johnson would have cowered with dismay in front of his headmistress but for the knee planted firmly behind his sore buttocks by Miss Heiffer. His nanny pulled him further back by the chain between his wrists so that his pelvis arched forward, pointing his penis towards the chandelier. He tried to say something in his defence, but only managed: "I feel so silly in front of the all the l-l-ladies, M-Miss Forceman." The Headmistress assumed a warning look. "Not 'silly'. 'Sissy!' Say it!" The sniggers all around him were too much for him. The tightness of his chain pulling his wrists behind him and the bareness of his body made him so vulnerable. His face wrinkled as he started to cry... which didn't satisfy Lucinda Heiffer. "Say it!" she shouted into his ear, throwing him into a jingle of chains. "I feel so sissy in front of zese lovely ladies!" she cried, and shook him by the backs of his arms so that his pink blouse collar fluttered up and down around his face. "I f-feel so sissy... boo-hoo... in front of the ladies," he blubbered, bending at the knees and almost collapsing as his governess held on to his arms. "Now," she boomed, hoisting him back fully onto his feet and talking into his ear, "what have you been told to ask the ladies?" The young teacher remembered only too well and began: "P-Please will you p-p-p..." He was interrupted by a flurry of smacks across the back of Blonding's legs with Miss Feel's strap. "You too, you little hussy," she cried. "Both of you ask. Now!" The young student began crying too, in a girlish voice, and the two of them shared a glance to coordinate their line: "P-P-Please will you p- play with our g-g-girlish little clitties, ladies?" The giggling attention of every woman was on them as Vera and Alison indicated where their two sissies were to sit on their laps. Lyndon Blonding was placed in the lap of his stepmother, whimpering with surrender as his nanny turned him and lowered his bare, sore bottom onto her shiny hose covered lap. The mistress of the house was wearing a larger sized version of a little girl dress which made Miles Johnson's groin ache with longing. It was almost straight, except that its box pleats from a high yoke gave it an A line as they opened towards the hem, which failed to cover the crotch of her white panties. The dress was in thick pink silk and buttoned down the back with five big pink buttons, with two little puffed sleeves and a white Peter Pan collar that was scalloped round its edge. A little trim of lace prettied the line of the yoke at front and back. To complement her dress, she had a bow of pink silk on top of her hair, while her legs shone in navy blue tights with black patent high heels on her feet. She was the adult picture of a lovable little girl. Miles Johnson found himself on the strong, nylon covered thighs of his Headmistress, who knew the effect her girlish costume would have on her victim. He turned to her, sheepishly thinking he might ask her to pity him, but a smirk of contempt spread over her crimson lips. Her costume too had a little girl theme, only hers was a schoolgirls' dress in green and white gingham: a junior school dress, straight, with some flare from a low waist, which meant it spread wider round her generous hips. Her teacher squirmed with helpless arousal as he saw how her dress fastened down the front with white fisheye buttons, and how it failed to cover her white ruffled panties. She wore dark tights and patent high heels, while in her hair she had two white hair ribbons, one at either temple. Around them spread the circle of strawberry plush armchairs, some of them with outward folding leg troughs where the women had their legs opened wide, showing their panties. A tremble came out in a warble of fear as he saw the pairs of latex gloves and piles of panties. What might they be going to do with them? He drew his knees together to protect his sex. If only he could have gathered his chained hands in front of him to defend his bust as well. They were all laughing at him. Laughing loudly. Helplessly. "Well," he heard from Vera, as she pulled her stepson right back and looked down into his eyes, "does sissygirl Lyndon like his stepmummy's lovely dress then, with its lovely pleats here, look... and its pretty little collar?" He watched as she pulled the hem of her dress out into the open and spread the pleated pink silk across his bare thighs and groin. Lyndon Blonding certainly saw it as a girls' dress. He wailed with a high, girly voice and a ripple of pleasure shook his chains at wrists and legs as he tried to turn his stiffened penis towards it. "I think he wants to make love to your dress, Vera," said Barbara with a face of bitter disgust. "Just look how girlish he is in that ruffled collar all round his face," declared Andrea. Her armchair was only ten feet away from Vera's but was furthest away on the opposite side of the circle. "With girly little blouse buttons up the back." "And his hair," sneered Gail, reaching forward and letting a handful of his blond hair run through her fingers. "His voice, his skin, his thin arms and legs..." "His shapely legs," butted in Arabella. "He might as well be a girl, with a body like that." "But he isn't a girl," snarled Vera. "Not yet, anyway. Not until tomorrow. In the meantime he's a girlish little sissy," and her fingers closed round all of his genitals in one clutch bringing another wail in an undeniably girlish voice. "And look at this one," snapped Alison, holding Miles Johnson across her lap on his back with his head watching from one arm of the chair and his bare knees draped over the other. "He wants to kiss my schoolgirl dress, don't you, my little girly?" Johnson thought he was expected to answer her question. "Y-Yes please, Miss F-F-Forceman," he bleated, his lower lip trembling with desire for the shiny green gingham. His na?ve openness brought a sneer from his Headmistress. "You want to kiss my girls' dress buttons, don't you, you sissy pansy?" His shame twisted his face into a mask of misery. "Y-Yes, Miss Forceman... please," and his knee tried lifting so that he could turn himself towards her... and push his infant penis into her school dress. "You're a disgusting sissy, Johnson!" rasped his Headmistress, helping him to turn but rolling him all the way onto his stomach across her tights-clad thighs. "What you need is a good spanking over my knee... for being such a sissy, do you hear?" "And that's what this pansy is going to get too," echoed Vera as she whipped his lightweight body over to present his bare bottom in her lap. "This is what you get, dear stepson, for being such a sissy," and her hand slapped down hard across the delicate flesh in front of her. SMACK! SLAPP! SMACK! STING! SWIPE! A tattoo of spanking filled the air, mingled with "Owww! Oooooh! Ouchhhh! Owwwwww!" and the jeers of encouragement from all the women present as the two nannies stood over the heads of their charges and held their chained wrists well out of the way. When the two males were crying uncontrollably and their owners had had enough, the spanking stopped. "Quite right, Vera... and Alison," said Barbara Welting with a tremble in her voice; "spanking or punishing with blunt instruments or your hands, so as not to mark their soft, fleshy bottoms and their legs. In that way, they can be punished again after a short interval. And remember... if they dare to ejaculate, they will be punished." As Miles Johnson was turned over onto his back, he saw how the sleeves of the councilor's striped blouse had disappeared to the elbows through the hip slits of her leather skirt and she had the heels of her boots on the seat of her armchair, knees spread inelegantly apart. He could tell from the plopping ripples of leather that she was masturbating the gusset of her panties. In front of him, Doctor Harding sat on the arm of Barbara's chair, and spoke to everyone now that they were quiet. "Girls," she said, looking down on the other women in the circle. Her knee-length nursing tunic in pink cire satin showed two or three inches of a narrow, knife-pleated skirt. The crisp collar and cuffs of her white blouse were folded out, and she wore a starched white nursing cap. To Miles Johnson, it looked as if she enjoyed seeing all these smart women in this state of excitement. "Let's understand one or two ground rules," she said. "As you know, we have the two males completely helpless and defenceless. First, there's Vera's 18-year-old stepson, Lyndon Blonding. We've already come a long way in unsexing him, with female hormone treatment and conditioning. When he sees a little girls' dress, he wants to ejaculate. Then there's Miles Johnson, his 24-year-old teacher. Alison has done a beautiful job redirecting his sexual drive towards girls' dresses and underwear." Miles wanted to fall through a hole in the Dressing Lounge floor. "You've already seen how feminized the bodies of both of them have become." Vera Hidebotham interrupted. "I want you all to experience the most wonderful thrill of your lives," she said, "and knowing how we all share a love for torturing male perverts, I am sure you will agree that Jessica deserves our gratitude for making these two so helplessly devoted to little girls' dresses. Which is why Alison and I are dressed as we are." The women laughed and gave warm applause to the doctor who beamed with pleasure. "Thank you, girls," she said; "but now that the sissies are ready, they will unwillingly provide us with plenty of opportunities to make them suffer. I am going to further feminize the pair of them," she told her eager audience. "We want them to be utterly weakened ready for their girling ceremony tomorrow." Miles Johnson's mouth fell open, his lips trembling. His girling ceremony? What on earth were they going to do to him and Lyndon? The Doctor wheeled her trolley to the narrow gap between Vera's and Alison's armchairs, and had pink silk bibs to fasten onto the two sissies. "It's time to feed the two of them with their main medication for the evening," she said, her tunic sizzling about her as she walked round Vera to Lyndon's head and reached over him with the bib to spread it over his front. "They will be unsexed during tomorrow afternoon's ceremony, and this will prepare them for the job." There was a flurry of little chains as Miles and Lyndon tried to struggle... to get away... to avoid what their nannies were doing to them. Enid helped the doctor to fit Lyndon into his bib as his stepmother held onto him, while Lucinda and Gail fitted the other onto Miles. The bibs were wider than their shoulders, in plain, stiffened rose pink silk with a border of frilled white chiffon all round. They reached to the tops of their legs, with an aperture for their genitals, so that the bib fastened with white ribbons behind their necks and again under their scrotums. "Why Sweetheart," marveled Enid as she fastening the bow beneath Lyndon's privates, "your bib has a message for us, in silver satin. Is this what you want to tell us, while we're feeding you with your unsexing medicine? Look everybody... this is what he wants to say," and she read it out as Vera held him up for everyone to see the large words in four rows. "MAKE - ME A - SISSY - GIRLIE." "Aaahhhh!" gushed the circle of women with sniggers of mock sympathy. "Of course we will, darling," they said, and: "Vera, hurry up and feed the sissy his girling drink." "And look at this one too," declared Lucinda, holding Johnson in a sitting up position between herself and Alison. They all laughed at him in his pink blouse and bib. "Look how pathetic his message is: I WANT - TO LOVE - GIRLS' - DRESSES." Peals of laughter filled the peach tinted air of the Dressing Lounge as the women watched both sissies reacting to their messages by stiffening visibly in their tiny penises, which reached into the air through their pink bibs as if straining for some girlish satisfaction. Jessica was enjoying her role immensely as she opened the two aluminium flasks and took out the bottles of warm milk to set them on the top of her trolley. "These bottles," she said, "each contain two pints of sheep's milk, well- known for its rapid access to the blood stream, laced with triple doses of Fem-Agra, my favourite drug in their cases, because there will be nothing they can do to reverse its effect." "Oh no, please," gasped Johnson, supported on Alison's bare arm, his wrist chain pulling first on one side, then the other, through the back of his blouse. "Please don't let her give me the drink, Miss Forceman. Think what it might do to me." Alison burst out laughing. "I know what it will do to you, you pansy worm," she said, "and that's why I'm going to give it to you." Miles Johnson felt utterly betrayed. He tried to disguise his misery... his wretched hopelessness, but as he looked from one woman to another, he saw their faces on him, watching his reaction, thrilling with pleasure at his defeat and agony as they began to organize the fold-out arms of their armchairs ready for the tormenting that was about to begin. "It's just what you need, too, you sniveling, ex-male nancy-girl," said Vera, talking down into her stepson's trembling face. "No, stepmother. Don't let her give me the drink," he wheedled, his eyes imploring her for love and pity. "I promise I'll be ever such a good sissy boy for you, and wear short shorts and little blouses... only don't let her make me more girly... pleeeeeeease, stepmother." Vera was grinning and giggling as much as the faces all round her as they listened to his pleading and watched his useless efforts at wriggling on her lap. "Tell us again, Jessica... what is so special about Fem-Agra? "Yes do, Jessica," said Barbara, arranging the collar of her blouse over her rows of beads, "I want to know how those sissies can have the same drug as us, with hugely different results." She had her brown leather skirt and her russet silk slip folded back on themselves to beyond her waist so that her stocking tops and panties were uncovered in her armchair. The others wanted to know as well, so Jessica stood in her pink and white outfit and explained. "Fem-Agra has an immensely enhancing effect on the hormonal system. The most noticeable effect, I suppose, is an enormous increase in the sex drive. In the case of women, and as you know, you've all been drinking it in coffee, you probably already feel a raised sexual appetite. But wait until you get really aroused: you are in for some very deep-felt orgasms... almost un-lady-like." "Rrrrrrr!" growled the women around her. "I've definitely noticed a stronger urge to watch these two being humiliated," said Andrea, who had her skirt unbuttoned up to the waist and was fondling her purple panties with both hands. "That's right: you'll enjoy your feelings much more and you'll almost burn with desire for satisfaction. But for a male physique and psyche, the effect is quite different. They will experience a heightened female sensitivity as well, which of course in their cases means... feminization." "Miss F-Forceman... I d-don't want to be feminine," grizzled Miles Johnson. "I want to go back to St Ursula's on Monday and teach my classes... please... oh pleeeeeeeease!" "Oh?" said Alison, looking into his eyes with a disbelieving expression. "I rather think you want to lie here on my girls' dress, my little sissy. Well? Do you want to kiss my school dress?" Her young teacher dropped his eyes to the green gingham covering her prominent bosom and wilted into more of a crouch in her arms. His lips trembled with embarrassment and he whimpered the truth. "Y-Yes please, Miss Forceman," and his fervor grew as his eyes roamed over the adorable dress. "May I kiss your pretty collar, please?" Alison cast a look of conquest round her friends, then spoke to her sissified teacher again. "You love little girly dress collars, don't you, Johnson? Isn't that why you want to kiss it? It will make you feel more girlish, won't it?" Her words sank into his enfeebled mind and he recognized his desires in what she said. "Yes, M-Miss Forceman. I will feel girlish and... lovely." "Exactly," declared the Doctor, crouching beside Alison's chair. "Kissing Miss Forceman's dress collar will make you stiff and pretty in your clittie, won't it, sissy girl?" and she produced a plastic teat in the shape of a little penis and testies and held it next to the straining genitals at the top of his legs. "Ohhhh! Ha-hahhhhh!" laughed Gail who was crouching on the other side of the sissy. "It's an exact replica, look everyone." There was a burst of laughter as all the women made a comparison, and it was true. "And this other one," she said, turning to Vera and holding a second teat against her stepson's infant-like organ, "is a replica of yours, you little pansy girl." There was ribald laughter as everyone watched Jessica fitting the teats onto the two bottles, with the Johnson teat on Blonding's bottle and vice versa. "You must get used to sucking these juicy little baby pieces," she cried over the laughter, "because it's what you'll be doing several times a day," and she passed the bottles to Vera and Alison. Miles Johnson bucked and wriggled. He had to stop that bottle from coming near his mouth. Gail Ampleweight crouched beside him, holding him by an arm and the side of his bib, with Andrea Spitewell holding him the same on the other. He couldn't get his hands free... he couldn't stop Miss Forceman from settling him back onto her arm, with his legs being held by Lucinda Heiffer. "No! Oh no-o-o-o-oooo!" he heard from the other group of women as they held the bleating 18-year-old in the middle of them, two of them with their skirts off and their panties and stockings showing. "Miss Forceman, I... I can't... I don't... I-blub-bluggle-glugug..." and Johnson found himself sucking on his young student's penis, or the shape of it... a fast-feeding teat too, so that he had to drink and drink, or choke and drown. He did choke, several times, as Miss Forceman tipped his bottle nearly upright and poured the potent mixture down her sissy's throat. All faces were watching him, including Doctor Harding looking down from above, as he swallowed repeatedly, knowing that he was changing his weakened body and mind. "And this brings me to another effect of Fem- Agra, ladies," said the Doctor as all eyes watched the gulps of air bubbling into the large bottles: "tease the idiots and play with them as much as you like, because they'll crave more and more pleasure and find it very hard, almost impossible, to reach orgasm. We're talking big frustration for the little dears. They'll cry and cry like the little girls they are. Mind you, and this is the beauty of Fem-Agra, when they do ejaculate, it'll go on and on, much more than if they were still males. And then they'll want the next one, needing more and more dress satisfaction." *** Next time: Chapter 6 - Adoring Their Little Dresses All seven parts of this story are in Prim's art and story website at www.primspetticoatwendyhouse.com where all members get everything.