Pink Impermeable free porn video

In England from time to time, 'crazes' appear amongst teenagers seemingly from nowhere for certain items of clothing or ornamentation, ice blue jeans, winklepicker shoes, Burberry caps for example. The 'crazes' flourish for a few months and then die out. The most recent 'craze' was for tough teenage girls to go round in groups dressed in pink translucent plastic raincoats. Donald found this very exciting, he didn't know why but it stimulated him in ways he had never experienced before. He began to fantasize about being one of the gang and wearing that strangely appealing garment. He began to follow the girls around at a discrete distance, envying their 'devil may care' appearance and the way that even the local rough lads gave way to them on the pavement. He watched them enter a shop selling woman's outerwear and saw them emerge minutes later, laughing and shrieking as they were pursued by the irate shop owner, yelling at them to keep their thieving hands off her stock and not to dare coming back. Donald noticed that several of them had suspicious bulges under their macs and concluded that they had been shoplifting. Donald tried to walk casually past the shop, scanning it as he did so and saw the coats that so enthralled him hanging on a rack towards the rear of the shop. His heart missed a beat or two and then began huddling rapidly. Without any real conscious thought he turned toward the entrance of the shop and began to walk purposefully towards the object of his desire. Once inside some vestiges of intelligence began to return and when the shop owner asked him if she could help he managed to stammer that he wanted a raincoat for his sister. The shop owner looked at him quizzically and inquired why his sister didn't come herself, after all, what did a young lad like him know about raincoat? Donald had by then anticipated this question and quickly explained that she was at work but particularly wanted this coat for the weekend as she had an outing in the country planned and the weather forecast didn't look too promising ( this was England by the way, so to be expected). Seemingly accepting the explanation, the lady asked what style did his sister want and Donald pointed to the rack of plastic macs, his finger palpably shaking with excitement and fear. The lady's expression hardened as she asked what colour? It hardened more when Donald pointed at the pink ones. "Is your sister part of that gang for hooligans, the ones who were just in here?" interrogated the shopkeeper. "Oh no," replied Donald, "she just loves that colour, she has a 'thing' for pink clothes." Slightly mollified, the lady asked what size Donald's sister was? Donald was a bit stumped here, not being au fait with women's sizing. "Er, she's about my size," he equovocated. Scepticism was written all over the shopkeeper's face but quelling her doubts on the basis of 'a sale is a sale'. "You are about a 12," she stated firmly and selected that size from the rack. "You'd better try it on to make sure I'm right about the size," she instructed Donald and without further ado, in the middle of the shop, began to thrust him into the shiny garment, which rustled enticingly as it slid over his shirt sleeves and onto his shoulder. Donald had gone several shades deeper pink than the coat in which he was now encased and was now in a trance like state as the lady secured the fasteners. She stopped at the collar fastener and drew the attached hood over Donald's head, then secured that fastener. Donald was completely overwhelmed by the sensory overload the mac was transmitting, the lovely smell of new PVC, its soft supple touch, the gentle rustle at his slightest move. The shopkeeper, of course, noticed this and compared it mentally to the reactions of one or two other 'special gentlemen' customers she had served over the years. Her suspicions were confirmed by these observations and she smiled to herself realising that this young man might prove to be a valuable long term prospect. "Step over to the mirror," she ordered, "and let's see how you look." The mesmerised youth moved in the direction indicated and stood before a full length mirror. What he saw increased his satisfaction, apart from the incongruity of trouser bottoms protruding from beneath the long calf length of the mac, he saw a quite pretty girl reflected. The hood concealed his boy hair, adding to the illusion. "My, my" said the lady, "quite the pretty young thing aren't we?" "Truth time now," she said sternly, "the mac is for you isn't it?" Donald was destroyed, his secret had been unearthed, all because of a stupid impulsive act which he had seemed unable to control. He burst into tears and began sobbing and trying to excuse himself but only succeeded in blubbering more and hiccoughing. He tried to leave but realised he was still imprisoned in the mac, besides which the shopkeeper barred his way. "Now this won't do," she said commandingly, "pull yourself together, stop crying and we'll have a little chat in my back room through here." She propelled the distraught Donald towards a curtained off doorway,, pausing only to ensure that he shop door was locked and the closed sign visible Miss Lancaster, for that was the shopkeeper's name, made Donald sit down on a straight backed dining chair next to a small table. Opposite was another straight backed chair which Miss Lancaster seated herself in and began, surprisingly gently to question Donald. "O.K. Donald, how old are you?" "Ssssixteen," managed the lad between sobs. "Where do you live?" she continued. "Dddown Rossendale Avenue, I live with me mum," he croaked. Seeing the difficulty Donald was having with his voice, Miss Lancaster got up and went over to a small sink, filled a kettle and put in on a gas ring to boil. She then put a measuring spoon of her favourite Darjeeling tea leaves in a Brown ceramic teapot and fetched two well used china tea cups from a wall cupboard. A small refrigerator supplied a bottle of sterilised milk and she carefully poured a measure into each of the cups. "Milk in first," she explained, "otherwise the milk is scalded and spoils the subtle flavour of the tea. Sugar?" she asked. "Nnnnone, please," stumbled Donald. The kettle began to whistle and Miss Lancaster poured the still boiling water into the teapot, placed its lid on and then covered it with a heavily padded patchwork leather teacosy. "We'll let it mash a few minutes shall we?" she said rhetorically. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, you live with your mother in Rossendale Avenue, your father?" "Mmmy father left us a few years ago, it's just me and me mum," replied Donald, the sobs and hiccoughing beginning to subside. "That must be hard for your mother, how does she manage?" queried Miss Lancaster. "She gets by well enough she works in an office in town and has plenty of men friends who look after her, take her out and things. She never seems to want for money and gets lots of presents," Donald revealed. "You and your mother must be close given the circumstances," stated the shopkeeper beginning to scent difficulty. "No, not really," confessed Donald, "she doesn't have a lot of time for me what with work and going out most evening's and weekends." "What about housework, shopping, meals and laundry?" she pursued. "Oh! I do that, mum hasn't got time," responded Donald, brightening a little. Miss Lancaster paused to reflect on this and used the time to pour the much needed cups of tea. She was aghast that a youngster with all the burdens of growing up, adolescence and school was also responsible for managing the house. "I do the garden too," said Donald proudly. Miss Lancaster's hand trembled slightly as she handed the tea cup to the lad, fighting tears of compassion. "What about your school work?" she inquired. Donald's mood fell again as he said, "I get most of me homework done but sometimes I run out of time or am too tired to finish." "How do your teachers react to that?" she asked. Donald shifted uneasily in the chair. "It depends on the teacher, some don't care if the work is done or not, some get angry and put me in detention or give me lines which makes things worse and a few, the nice ones are aware of the situation and help me out by letting me work through breaks when the other kids are out on the quad. I also get letters to take home but me mum chucks them in the bin." Anger and sadness in equal measure filled Susan Lancaster, this was an abused and neglected boy. Childless herself, her husband was a casualty, when on National Service in the Malayan Emergency, leaving her a widow at 21. She had been a worker in a clothing factory in Brunely, Lancashire and had used the small payment she received from the Government to move to a small Shropshire town on the River Severn and buy a ladies outfitters. The shop had done well in the few years she had owned it and she was now thinking of selling it and moving back up North to settle in a comfortable cottage probably in the Lake District. This boy needed help and she was in the perfect position to help. To give herself more time to think she bade the raincoated youth to drink up his tea while it was still hot. Her mind worked furiously, this lad was clearly gender confused and seemed to have a particular liking for raincoats, something which she could relate to having worked at Atkinsons, the premier ladies raincoat manufacturer. "Donald, why do you want to wear girl's raincoats?" Miss L. quizzed. Donald blushed bright red and seemed on the verge of tears. "It's alright Donald, I'm not going to censure you in any way, I'm intrigued to know why so please tell me the truth," said Miss L reassuringly. "Wwwell," Donald stammered, "when I was young, me mum used to wear these brightly coloured raincoats, macs, I think she called them and before she went out she used to hug me and I got used to the funny smell they had and the lovely rustling sound they made as she moved in them. A couple of times when she took me out in the rain she covered me with her mac and I loved the slippery feel of them on my bare arms and legs. Later on those beautiful coats gave way to cheaper plastic ones and although they didn't feel quite the same, I still got the fizzy tummy feeling I used to get whenever I saw one and sometimes when me mum was out I tried hers on and the feeling was so intense I wet my pants. Only a bit, you see, with that sticky stuff the boys at school are always talking and joking about. I thought that if I was a girl I could wear them all the time and perhaps me mum would love me again." This outpouring of frustrated emotion almost broke Susan L's heart and she had to turn away to dab at her eyes. "I don't suppose you remember the make of your mother's old raincoats sdo you?" she asked, half anticipating the answer. Donald smiled as he was able to recall the manufacturer perfectly. "Oh yes I can, most of them were Atkinsons, always the best me mum said." He looked at Susan conspiratorially and said, as a youngster I once retrieved one that mum put out for a jumble sale and secretly wore it to bed for some weeks but she found out where I stored it, fortunately she just thought she had forgotten to send it to the jumble and she took it to the Sally Army. Susan was delighted to hear the name Atkinsons, her early workplace and scene of many fond memories and friendships. She confided to Donald, "I used to work there when I was younger, it was a smashing place to work, Mrs A, that's what we called Mrs Atkinson who owned the factory, ran the place like a well oiled Swiss watch. Well she did after she got some high flying consultant from London involved. Lovely she was too, very unusual then to have a female consultant back then. Mind like those computers you hear so much about these days but able to communicate easily with everyone. She was adored by all the workers, no airs and graces just plain speaking and sweet. She could do all of the jobs in the place, purchasing, cutting, seamstress, warehouse, quality control, packing, distribution, sales and all that and often did to demonstrate new methods. Happy days!" "Now I come to think about it, I have a couple of Atkinson's originals in the stock room, very old stock that were here when I bought the shop. I've never tried to sell them because I don't think that people buy them anymore, would you like to try them on? I'm not sure they will fit you but you can see." Donald was beyond excited by this offer and blurted out, "Ooh yes please Miss." "Donald, I think we are beyond 'Miss' now, don't you? Please call me Susan, my name is Susan Lancaster," she chided gently. Donald smiled peering out rather coyly from beneath his pink hood, "Yes Miss Susan." Susan feigned a clip at his ear. "Take the plastic mac off, ready," she instructed. Reluctantly Donald complied but buoyed by the thought of trying his true love on he completed its removal. Susan disappeared into the stock room, leaving Donald with his thoughts in a whirl, following the tough girls, impulsively entering the ladies outfitters to buy a girl's mac, being exposed as some kind of pervert, then finding that the person who uncovered his secret was seemingly sympathetic, gosh! Susan reappeared with 2 raincoats over her arm and Donald could tell from the gentle sussuration they made that they were indeed the idol of his childhood. Susan proffered one. "It may be a little too large because it's a 14 but the other is an 18 but you can try that on after for a giggle," she explained. The mac was unlike any others Donald had seen, it was shiny black on the outside and matte on the inside, there was no lining, skin would thrill to the touch of Mackintosh's invention. Trembling, Donald slid on the coat, thrilling to its siren call. Shaking hands fumbled the buttons till Susan sprang to assist. First she completed his buttons, then fastened the belt tightly around his waist, wrist straps were similarly tightened and finally the hood fitted snugly and its ties secured beneath his chin. Again he was led to the full length mirror and this time the dream was complete, he looked so sweet and pretty, younger perhaps than his 16years and very girlish. The experience proved too much for Donald and he swooned like a Victorian maiden whose corsets were too tight. Fortunately Susan caught him, having noticed first his glazed expression and then his eyes rolling up. Propping him up on the floor she saw that the skirts of his mac had fallen open and that there was a damp patch on the crotch area of his trousers. She was amused by this but a little concerned how to handle the 'accident' with minimum embarrassment. "Donald, Donald sweetie," she called as he came around. "Uh! What happened?" he croaked and then feeling the moist stickiness on his the groin, endeavoured to cover himself with his skirts, a gesture which Susan found endearing and very feminine. "You fainted," she explained, "come on get up and let's have another cup of tea, this time with sugar to revive you." Donald followed her instructions and went back to his chair whilst still attempting to cover the tell tale patch. He sat down demurely ensuring the skirts covered his lap, a bit like a maiden aunt thought Susan. Tea was again poured and two teaspoons of sugar added for Donald. He drank gratefully while Susan mused, "Don't be shy but we ought to get you out of your wet pants." Donald blushed bright red so Susan sought to ease his difficulty. "It can happen when someone is overwrought, nothing to be ashamed of. Anyway I thought it would be an opportunity for you to match the gender of the rest of your clothes with the macs you like so much. What do you think?" Donald was stuck for words, the conflict between his desire to do just what Susan suggested and his embarrassment at admitting that he really wanted to, robbed him of his powers of speech. Susan immediately perceived this and answered for him, "Of course you'd like to, so strip off and let's get you sorted out, this is a ladies outfitters after all!" Reluctantly Donald conformed and relived the frisson of wonder as he slipped the black rubber lined confection off his arms. He quickly stripped down to his underpants complete with its sticky patch all too visible. "We'll have those off as well," she laughed and handed him a warm damp flannel to clean himself up with. Completely exposed now, Donald cleaned himself, thankful that the flannel was warm and, having finished, used the flannel to cover up his 'parts'. Meanwhile, Susan had been on a mission and came back bearing a bundle of clothing which she placed on one of the chairs. She selected a pair of satin pink pants which rustled curiously. "Here put these on, they will protect the clothes from any more little accidents." She carried on to explain that they were incontinence pants which she had specially and discretely made for a customer using a local supplier in North Shropshire. Donald took the pants hesitantly and began to pull them on and was thrilled to discover that they were made of a mackintosh material which slid smoothly up his prepubescent hairless legs and covered his 'parts' which sprang to modest attention. Susan smiled at this and produced a pad. "Here you'd better put this down the front, it's called a sanitary towel and we girls wear them during 'that time of the month', it has strips of adhesive to hold it in place on the pants in the right place." Donald accepted the towel and positioned it so that his 'parts' were securely covered, thrilled to be included in the description 'we girls'. The clothes which Susan handed in sequence to Donald, were, she explained returns, wrong size, wrong colour or just didn't suit when they arrived home, all in 'as new' condition and to be sold at a discount in the 'Reduced' section. First a training bra, Susan felt that Donald's slight frame would look wrong with a more adult size. She showed him how to put it on and adjusted it for him. It had padding to give him some shape. This was followed by a silky petticoat which Susan slipped over his head. Donald had a brief thrill as the lovely material slipped over his body. "Stockings next," Susan announced, and produced a pack of gold/brown elasticated top nylons and helped the boy to roll them up his legs, whilst Donald experienced a further thrill. Finally a light white, silky summer dress adorned with flowers was expertly placed over Donald's head and smoothed into place, falling just above the knee. "Now for just a bit if tittivation," said Susan, "we don't want to guild the lily. A little eye make-up, mascara on those lovely lashes and a pale lipstick, I think should do the trick since your complexion is fabulous already." Susan left the room and quickly reappeared with her lady's toolbox, as she called it. She set to work on Donald's face and within minutes pronounced herself satisfied. Once again Donald was ordered to the mirror and was further surprised by the changes. A wide eyed innocent looking young lady stared back at him, he then astonished himself by winking and that transformed the look to that of a mischievous young imp. Susan spotted the wink and laughed. "Be careful who you wink at young lady, a look like that could get you into real trouble," said Susan only half joking. "I can't do anything about your hair, it's too short to give you even a pixie cut, which, by the way, would look absolutely divine on you, so I thought this would work," she said producing a headscarf of the same material as the dress. Susan tied the headscarf on expertly in a film star style which added a year or so to Donald's female persona's age. "Hmm!" mused Susan, "you could now pass for 16 or 17. O.K. the stage is now set but in order for you to experience the reality of being a teenage girl, I want you to go out and walk around town for a while and get a feel for the role in life you wish to adopt to see if that really is what you want. Put your pink mac on and be careful out there." Donald looked worried and then laughed. "Aren't we forgetting something?" Susan looked puzzled so Donald raised his foot and wiggled it. Susan giggled. "You're right, I don't think barefoot is a good look in town and anyway you'd ruin your stockings. Ah! I know, I have just the thing." She went to a cupboard and found a pair of knee high shiny pink plastic boots with a 2inch heel and they were only one size too large for Donald's dainty little feet. Swiftly they were put on and Donald took a few practice steps, managing to stay upright without great difficulty. Shorter steps will help make it even easier. Donald tried this and soon found his rhythm. With his pink mac and pink knee high boots, he looked very 'with it'. "Donald," said Susan, "I can't keep calling you Donald when you look like this, you need an appropriate name, what you like to be called?" Donald quipped swiftly, "Anything but Sissy." Susan smiled and then suggested, "What about Diana, I've always thought that was a good name." Donald thought for a few seconds and responded, "Yes I think that would suit me nicely." "I'm afraid I don't know your surname," admitted Susan. "Oh! Of course not, it's Bayfield, Diana Bayfield." Suppressing a chuckle, Susan commanded, "Right then Diana Bayfield, put your mac on, you can't be too careful in England even if it is early summer and out into the big wide world you go. Be back in about an hour and we'll talk about how it went and what we can do next." Diana slipped the mac on with alacrity and with some trepidation walked back into the shop whilst Susan unlocked the door. The door opened jangling its bell and Diana stepped out of the shop onto the pavement. The door closed behind her and Diana saw Susan blow her a kiss. Once out of the shop, the freshly minted girl began to walk slowly down the main street taking in details she, as he, had missed before, a drapers with pretty materials displayed artfully in the window to catch the eye, a wool shop with sweet little cardigans for babies, a milliners with hats of all descriptions from berets to exotic creations suitable for Ascot. Taking all this in, Diana wondered at her new perspective and decided that she really was a girl and that all she had needed was the push, well shove was closer to the truth, which Susan Lancaster had provided. What would happen now? God! If her mother found out! She had no time for Donald as it was, she'd have a fit if she met Diana! Pondering all this, Diana had ceased to be aware of her surroundings when she was shaken out of her fugue by a loud shout. Turning round she saw the group of tough girls who had first lead her to Susan's shop, they were close behind her and pointing in her direction. She heard one of the girls call to her, "Hey yow! We wanna talk to yow." Diana thought about running but realised in those boots she wouldn't get away, so she waited as the similarly clad girls caught up to her. There were 5 girls each clad in same translucent pink plastic raincoat which Diana was wearing and on grabbed her arm. "Why am yow wearing our coot?" the largest and most formidable of the girls demanded. "Yow ay part of our gang am ya," she stated. "Wier am yow from?" The dialect the girl spoke was a bit difficult to understand but Diana got the gist and responded, "I'm from here, Bridgewest." "Well we'm from Foxhampton in the Black Country, we've come here on the bus fer a bit of fun and now we've found it, yowm gunna come with us and be initiated in our gang ay she girls?" The others nodded and grinned looking forward to their 'bit of fun'. "Wot's yower name mah luvver?" asked the big girl. "Diana," said Donald, worried about where this was leading. "Well Diana, I'm Shazza, these others am Joanie, Ruthie, Mazza, Mu and Rags," introduced the big girl, "and we'm off to get a few things for yower initiation. Fust stop, th'ironmongers and then the fancy shop a bit further along to get a nice candle." Joanie grabbed Diana's other arm and was propelled along the street by the gang, they stopped outside the ironmongers and 3 of the girls went in making a lot of noise whilst Shazza and Joanie stayed outside guarding Diana. Diana wondered what was going on but soon realised that 2 of the girls were creating a diversion with their noisy antics while the third was helping themself to some of the ironmonger's wares. At this point Diana struggled to get away but stopped her attempts when Shazza said menacingly, "I wun't do that if I was yow," flourishing a long bladed flick knife. The thief exited the ironmonger's with something bulky concealed under her coat, whispering, "Got it," triumphantly a few moments later the other two came out followed by a barrage of abuse from the ironmonger. They walked on down the high street, stopping outside a fancy goods shop. The caper was repeated and further items were 'liberated'. They continued to walk down the high street with their captive increasingly fearful about what was planned. They turned off into a side street which quickly led into a wooded area and headed for a glade which they had found on a previous visit to Bridgewest. Once in the glade they dragged up some discarded wooden boxes and an old carpet which had been rolled up next to the trunk of a large tree to protect it from the weather. The carpet was spread on the ground and Diana forced to lie on her back on its rather mildewed surface held down by Joanie and Rags. "O.k. girlie, yow wanna wear our uniform, yowm gunna be initiated proper. We'm gunna tek yowr pants down and gie yow a proper seeing too with this here candle, mek a proper 'umman uv yow," announced Shazza with glee. Diana cried out, "No! Please! You mustn't. Help! Help! Somebody please help me," and began flailing her legs in an effort to get free Shazza cursed, "Shut yowr f*****g gob or it'll gu real hard for yow. Gag her with summat Mu and the yow an Mazza hold her legs down." Mu pulled out 2 dirty, disreputable hankies, stuffed one in Diana's mouth and efficiently tied the other over her mouth and round the back of her mac's hood. She then grabbed one of the flailing legs whilst Mazza grabbed the other. Between them they easily subdued the frail 'girl'. Shazza stuck her hand under Diana's dress and grabbed the pants, she got a surprise and exclaimed, "These am funny pants and look there's a jamrag in 'em, her must be near her time. It doh matter I'll just lift her dress and we con gerron. Ooh! F**k me gently with blunt end uv a ragman's trumpet, her's a mon." The others gazed at Diana's unexpected parts. "Her's one uv them transcontinentals yow read about in the letters page," Mu shrieked. Shazza said scornfully, "Transvestysummink, Eeh! This'll be good, we said we'd mek a proper 'umman uv yow an we wull." She opened her deadly flick knife with a flourish. "'Old 'er still." With one hand holding Donald's testes she hacked down with the less than sharp blade and after many sawing moves managed to remove the bloody pieces. She then moved her attention to the penis where she proceeded in the same fashion and eventually succeeded in removing it as a mangled piece of tissue and blood. Diana had fortunately passed out but was bleeding copiously from the awful wound. "Shazza, exclaimed Mu, " Hers gunna bleed to jeth." "Naw 'er ay," responded Shazza contemptuously, "pull them funny knickers up an mek sure the jamrag is over the mess." Mu complied, pulling the incontinence pants up and ensuring that the sanitary towel was compressed over the ugly wound. Diana remained blessedly unconscious. "Worram we gunna do with 'im now?" asked Mazza. "'E ay an 'im anymore, 'e's an it, a thing," she said gloatingly, "An 'ere's the proof," as she waved the bloody pieces about. "It's a bloody good job I 'd got me mac on otherwise I'd 'ave ruined me jeans. Naw wot we'm gunna do is Pierrepoint it, yow've got the rope yow nicked from the ironmonger's ay ya? "Ar, 'corse I 'ave," confirmed Mazza. "Well yow con tie an 'angmans knot in it cor yow?" asked Shazza. "Ar con do that," Rags interjected, "an ar've got some cord wi con tie its 'onds and feet with." "Great," beamed Shazza. Mu looked a little disquieted and pointed out, "They pull horrid faces when them 'ung an ar doh want nightmares after." Ruthie, who had been quiet through most of the horror came up with a solution, "Wi con wrap its 'eadscarf round its face an to mek sure wi con put its mac on back to front an pull the hood up over its face as well." "Good idea," enthused Shazza, "Let's gerron with it 'fore anyone comes. Arm gooin down the brook to wash this mess off me mac, gerrit ready while arm gone." By the time Shazza returned from cleaning herself up at the brook with a bit of discarded cloth, Diana had revived and was securely trussed up, only her legs were free. Ruthie's prescription had been followed and the headscarf covered Diana's whole head, her mac was reversed and the vinyl hood was slowly expanding and contracting in time with her breathing. Diana couldn't see that a rope, complete with hangman's noose had been thrown over a thick overhanging tree branch and that a discarded wooden box placed below it. "What's happening?" said a very frightened Diana, her voice muffled by the headscarf and the hood of her mac. Shazza moved closer so that she could hear and be heard more clearly. "Nothin' to worry about, wust of the initiation is over, just a little balancing test an' its over. So if yow'll just step this way, that's it," she lied, taking Diana's arm and leading her to the box. "Naw just step up here." Diana did so hesitantly, wanting to believe everything would be ok but the immediacy of her unmanning made her fear the worst. "That's fine," soothed Shazza, stepping up behind her, "Naw if yow'll just stretch yowr neck, I'll put this support in place." She slipped the noose over Diana's hooded head and positioned the knot on her neck just below her left ear and tightened it. "What's happening?" came Diana's muffled voice. "Just adjustin' the stabilizer fer yow," said Shazza reassuringly. "Best if yow stand on tippy toe fer this." Diana complied, completely terrorised. Shazza gave a signal to Rags who tensioned the rope, taking up the slack and forcing Diana to remain on tip toes. "Soon be over naw, I'm just steppin' dahn, I'll tie yower legs an ankles together and then it'll be yower chance ter perform, just nod when yowm ready." Shazza stepped down and tied Diana's legs tightly together at the knees with some cord they'd pinched from the ironmonger's and then repeated the process around Diana's ankles. She then waited, Diana at a complete loss but totally submissive gave as much of a nod as she could manage, constrained as she was. At that, the box was jerked violently away and Diana experienced a massive increase in the tension around her neck, her cry of fright being instantly cut off by the pressure. Her bound feet scrabbled hopelessly for the platform and she began to jerk at the knees as though performing bunny hops to try and ease the crushing pressure. Vaguely through the sound of blood rushing in her ears she heard the gang cheering, "Cor! lookarit dancing in the air, good ay it," then she blacked out. Some time earlier back in the shop, Susan Lancaster had been tidying up in the back room when she heard the doorbell. She returned to the shop and found her friend from the wool shop looking flustered. "Hello Judy," greeted Susan, "you look a bit bothered, what is it?" "Did you see that gang of girls from Foxhampton?, you know the ones that sometimes come over and cause trouble, vandalism, thieving and such, all wearing them pink plastic raincoats like a uniform." "Well yes," responded Susan, "they came into the shop, all five of them but I knew they were up to and sent them packing." Judy looked admiringly at her friend. "That was brave, the gang have been down the High Street terrorising the shopkeepers and stealing, the police have been called and 4 policemen are patrolling here now. The worst is that they seem to have kidnapped a young girl who had the misfortune to be wearing the same raincoat as their uniform, probably saw it as some sort of challenge. Anyway one of the shopkeepers swears he saw them leading her off at knifepoint." Susan turned white at that point and started for the door, Judy called after her, "Whatever's the matter?" Susan shouted back, "I just sold that girl the raincoat, it's my fault!" With that she ran off down the street in the direction Diana had taken. She saw a group of uniformed officers towards the lower end of the street and headed for them. "Officers, she panted, I've just been told that a gang of thuggish girls have kidnapped a young girl, is it true?" A plainclothes detective who was with the group of officers replied, "I'm Detective Constable York, Madam, and we are investigating a report of an incident such as you describe, can you help us in any way?" "Constable, Earlier today I sold a young girl a pink raincoat exactly the same as the ones the gang were wearing and she left my shop with it on because of the uncertain weather, I'm afraid the gang may have seen her wearing it and viewed as a provocation," volunteered Susan. "Madam, what you have said ties in with the other reports we have received. This is very serious, we have had reports from West Midlands Police that this gang has been responsible for a number of serious assaults, to date no one has been willing to identify them as they live in a very tight knit community called the Argylls in Foxhampton where a significant number of violent offenders congregate. They also scatter and hide their uniforms after the assaults making it more difficult to catch them. Would you be public spirited enough to help us when we catch them by identifying the victim? sorting the sheep from the goats so to speak." "I certainly will, Constable," replied Susan promptly, "I feel responsible for this poor girl's abduction so I'm happy to help in any way I can. I may also be able to recognise the gang because they came into my shop earlier. Do you have any idea where they have taken her? when she left my shop she was walking this way." "We aren't sure Madam, said the Constable but one of the witnesses says they turned off the High Street a little way down from here." "Ah!" reflected Susan, "that makes sense, there is a small wood just off that side street with a glade where the local kids like to gather, people dump rubbish there too which means the kids can use the discards to build dens and suchlike." "Would you show us please Madam?" queried the increasingly worried detective. "Of course, Constable York and my name is Susan Lancaster. I can see there is a need to hurry so would it be ok if we ran? "It certainly would be ok with me, Miss Lancaster," confirmed a slightly less agitated detective. Susan broke into a swift run with the detective matching her pace, two uniformed officers following ponderously behind. They covered the ground rapidly and were soon at the entrance to the wood, in the distance they could hear laughing and cheering. Susan guessed that the noise was coming from the glade she had described and ran even faster outpacing the detective. The sight she saw would stay with her for the rest of her days, A pink raincoated figure was perched precariously on a wooden box with a rope around its neck whilst similarly clad figures were scampering round shouting with glee. One of the figures held the rope using the friction of a tree trunk to keep it taut. Another of the figures appeared to binding the legs of the victim. Susan cast around for a weapon and was gratified to see an old discarded hockey stick, this was her ideal armament, she was after all Susan Lancaster, terror of Bruneleys hockey fields. Whilst the detective was still struggling to catch up, Susan circled round to get behind the girl holding the rope. She wasn't fast enough, she saw the box pulled away from the noosed figure and felt despair as she saw the figure begin to jerk on the rope. She raced up behind her target not caring about her noisy approach. Susan needn't have worried for Rags was enthralled by the gruesome spectacle she was enacting and unaware of nemesis approaching. A swift hard jab with butt of the hockey stick to the back of the head an Rags was out of the game. Rags dropped the rope and the figure it was suspending slumped to the floor. Racing toward the inert figure , Susan was confronted Shazza, her face contorted with rage, wielding her flick knife she made an underhand pass at Susan who swayed to avoid the blade and with a deft stroke hit Shazza's wrist a smart blow causing her to drop the knife. "Yow've bosted me wrist," Shazza howled but no more words were forthcoming because Susan reversed the stick and gave Shazza a hard blow to the temple with the butt. Shazza was now out of the game. Susan looked around at the other three would be murderesses but they were already in flight because Detective York followed by his uniformed colleagues had arrived on the scene. Susan moved quickly to release the strangling knot and remove the concealing hood and scarf. Diana's face was a horrid mixture of red and purple, her tongue was protruding from between bluish lips. Susan was just bending to give Diana the kiss of life when the young 'girl' gave a gasp and colour began to return to her lips as her face started to resume a more normal shade. "What's happened? Oh Susan those horrible girls were hanging me," croaked Diana. Susan began to reassure Diana, "It's all ok sweetie, you are safe now. The police are rounding up those monsters." "It's not ok Susan," screamed Diana, "they have done something vile to me, they've cut my bits off, I'm not male anymore!" Susan looked horrified and began scrabbling under the skirts of the mack to verify the awful tale. Diana stopped her. "Please don't look, it hurts and I think I'm bleeding. That towel you gave me may be all that is stopping me from bleeding to death." Susan saw the sense of that and called out to Detective York, "Detective! An ambulance is required here very urgently." The young Detective replied, "I've already sent for one Miss Lancaster, it should be here in minutes. How is the young lady?" "She's badly injured with knife wounds to her groin, her sanitary towel is staunching the bleeding at the moment so I don't want to disturb it. Her neck is badly marked but she's breathing ok," reported Susan. Diana began to sob, " Oh God Susan! what is going to happen to me? How can I explain this to mum? She'll be furious. What can I possibly say other than that I'm a pervert who likes girl's clothes?" Susan tried to comfort the weeping child whilst thinking furiously of a plausible explanation why the boy should be parading in the streets dressed in this way. "Wait! I've got it! You came to the shop after you spotted me clearing them off, checking that I was ok. You were concerned that they were going to do further mischief here in town and having always fancied yourself as a bit of a detective, you were trying to think of a way to infiltrate the gang and hit on the idea of disguising yourself as a girl in their uniform and as I was already in shock at having been raided and not thinking straight, I reluctantly agreed to the plan." Diana absorbed this. "It's a bit odd, do you think it will work?" she managed to get out between heaving sobs. "I'm sure it will, I can play the distraught shopkeeper to perfection which will deflect the unusual circumstances," said Susan confidently. "Ah! Here's the ambulance. Over here please." Susan rapidly outlined to the paramedics the injuries Diana had suffered without detailing the castration and explaining that the bleeding was under control as they could see so investigating the injury could be left to the doctors at A&E. She then reassured Diana that she would follow on to the hospital after she had spoken to the Detective. Diana was then taken away on a stretcher by the paramedics and the ambulance left with its sirens wailing. A day later, Susan visited a now alert Donald, she had been told by the consultant that nothing of Donald's manhood could be saved and that they had been forced to reposition his urethra into a female position so that urination would be possible without distressing wetting. She had also made a statement to the police who had confirmed that it tallied with what they had heard from Donald. The police had given her a good telling off for going along with Donald's plan but accepted that she was in shock at the time and not thinking straight. Susan walked into the room and found Donald alert and talking to a nurse who was trying to console him. She spoke softly to the nurse who nodded and left Susan alone with the sobbing boy. "Ssssusan!" he cried. "They don't understand." "No," agreed Susan, "they can't but I'm here and I'm sure your mother will be here soon." "She's already been wept the distraught youth, she wants nothing to do with her pansy son and is throwing me out." Susan began to cry but they were tests of anger. "The wretched woman, what kind of a mother abandons her son when he has been brutally assaulted and almost killed?" A determined look began to appear on Susan's face. "Well if your mother won't look after you, I will." Hope began to spread through the distraught youth. "Do you mean that?" "Yes, I most certainly do, I had begun the process of selling my shop and we can move away from here to somewhere no one knows about you." A smile began forming. "Somewhere nice and rainy." Donald spotted the implication and he too began to smile. Several months later after the trial of the "Thugettes in pink" and the associated publicity, Susan and Diana were walking across the wet Lakeland fells wearing their favourite macks and revelling in the experience. Susan asked the rather pretty girl beside her if she was happy. Diana replied, "I'm happier now than I have ever been and although I'm damaged goods now thanks to those girls, facing more surgery, I just love being here in the damp rainy Lake District with you. Thank you so very much Susan, I love you." Authors Notes: The distinctive Black Country Dialect spoken by the girl gang may seem a little impenetrable to outsiders but it is thought to be the most authentic form of Anglo Saxon English as spoken by Chaucer. It lends itself to a curious form of humour, for example Aynoch and Ayli ( Enoch and Eli) were discussing their fishing experiences in the cut (canal) Aynoch says - Ah woz fishing in cut an ah caught a whale Ayli asks - Ar did yow know it woz a whale Aynoch responds - Ah cud see the spokes. The Black Country of the English West Midlands is an area of overlapping small towns where the Industrial Revolution took place. It had the natural resources of iron ore, limestone and coal. The smoke from its blast furnaces gave rise to the name. The inhabitants are fiercely independent and proud of their heritage and dismiss with scorn the neighbouring city of Birmingham or 'Brummidgum' as they call it. Those interested in learning more about the region, its history and quirks would find the 'Black Country Bugle' to be an excellent resource.