A Pansy Among The Thorns Pt. 15 free porn video

Pt. 15: Cheryl Beautiful. This was beautiful. Cheryl had seen the look in that young man's eyes the moment he'd walked in the door, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that would happen. Seeing the boy on his back getting treated like a schoolgirl in heat was so entertaining she almost wished she hadn't stopped them. Miss Pansy now had firsthand experience of the very worst aspect of womanhood: being totally helpless to stop unwanted male advances (just like the kind of predatory advances he'd attempted with Mia). But unlike Mia, Prissy had looked truly helpless. Cheryl shuddered to think what might have happened if she hadn't interrupted them when she did. When Hank arrived back at the house late that evening, she sat him down in the kitchen with a serious expression on her face. He slumped: "What now?" Playing the perfect concerned mother, Cheryl explained what she'd found when she entered her darling son's room, being careful to emphasise how 'brave' and 'honest' the boy had been. She told Hank he absolutely mustn't scold the boy at all, and that he had to have seen this coming really. Hadn't a part of him arranged the study meeting kind of hoping to give his son what, deep down, he knew he really wanted? "No! Fuck Cheryl, Jesus. I don't want my kid to be a fucking fag!" Hank's head was in his hands. "For God's sake... what are we gonna do?" "I'm not sure, honey. I had a little search online and it seems like all the people advertising tutoring services around here are men. I'm happy to give another one a try but..." "No. Don't. We'll... we'll have to just hope he can fix this on his own. Just, don't let him indulge all this girly stuff so much OK? Please?" Cheryl put her hand on Hank's and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll try my best, but we can't stifle who he is. If he cares more about lipgloss than lessons, I don't know if there's anything we can do to change that." After meeting her gaze for a few seconds, Hank returned her kiss, stood up and left the room quietly. In the days and weeks that followed, Cheryl noticed her husband cultivating a closer relationship with Mia, focusing on her academic and sporting prowess, all to the detriment of his bond with Prissy. He never mentioned the incident with the tutor, but he became curt and harsh with the boy and rarely even made eye contact. Hank also became more comfortable bossing his son around, demanding he bring him drinks and clean any bit of the house he deemed too untidy on a whim. Cheryl relished seeing her Pansy become even more isolated, losing the one ally he had left and being cornered inescapably into an ever smaller, more domestic life. While her daughter was flourishing socially and in school, achieving everything she wanted, her stepson was at home every night: rolling up his hair, perfecting his glamour doll lipstick pout, and following his father's every (increasingly irritable) command. She began to wonder for a time if this entire project wasn't a little evil. Then she'd see the boy pulled over Hank's knee for some tiny mistake in a drink order or chore, skirts pulled up over his bottom, kicking his little high heeled feet and begging for forgiveness. Wouldn't a supposedly strong man be able to resist such an abject, total defeat? Certainly neither Cheryl nor her daughter would ever let anything so demeaning and pathetic happen to them. No, she thought, this was the life he'd earned. -- At the breakfast table one day, after Hank had left for the office, the women of the household were enjoying a hearty hot breakfast cooked by Prissy while the boy gingerly nursed on a foul looking green shake consisting of avocado, kale, spinach and a splash of oat milk. (Mia now had the boy on a fully vegan diet: "Dairy goes straight to your hips doll, remember, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels!") "Right then, you two better get ready for school. Mia - car, 15 minutes, OK? Prissy, your bus leaves in 10. Better get a hustle on, your mascara needs a touch up," Cheryl announced, noting with satisfaction the boy's anxious scramble to pull out his compact and assess his long lashes. Mia, however, didn't move; Cheryl noticed a devilish glint in her eyes. "I was thinking maybe Prissy and I could give school a miss today Mum," the girl said, placing the index fingers of both hands together just under her chin. "Mia... now is the most important time for you both to be studying hard. Prissy in particular, you've seen his recent grades!" For his part, the boy looked equally confused and more than a little concerned. Mia smiled. "Well that's just it. My brother dearest here was complaining just the other day that he's terrified he won't get into any university at all at this rate, and unfortunately, I think he's right. He asked me to look over some of his coursework from this term and it's... well let's just say it looks like the academic world is no longer for him." Prissy looked crestfallen, he'd evidently still been holding out hope he could secure high enough grades for university, and Mia had dashed those hopes in one understated remark. "So I was racking my brains: what kind of opportunities are there for boys like Prissy? And I have to say," she placed a hand on her stepbrother's, looking at him in a caricature of sympathy, "the options are quite limited." Cheryl watched as Prissy clutched Mia's hand in desperation, amused at how successfully Mia had managed to position herself as the boy's saviour. "Mum, have you heard of the Dancing Dolls?" Cheryl looked quizzically at her daughter. The name rang a vague bell but she couldn't place it. At the name alone, Prissy's eyes widened with fear. "They're a local dance troupe that performs these super elaborate routines to all the girliest pop hits - all while," she formed finger quotes, "dolled up to the nines every night. I mean some of these outfits are just incredible, and the girls are so perfectly coordinated, they must practise all the time." She briefly showed a video clip on her phone, demonstrating that she hadn't been exaggerating in the least. The girls truly did look like dolls, twirling and leaping around in flawless synchronisation while yards upon yards of chiffon, taffeta and satin skirts billowed around their tiny waists. Their heavily made-up faces matched in both decoration and expression, every girl sporting the same ridiculous plastic smile as they kicked their legs high in the air and flapped their stick-thin arms to the beat of saccharine music. Cheryl had no idea how she'd done it, but Mia had somehow managed to find a group even more ludicrously femme than her stepbrother, whose eyes were glued to the video like a deer in headlights. Immediately understanding where this was going, Cheryl played along for the boy's benefit. "OK darling, that sounds wonderful - what does it have to do with your brother?" As if he wasn't sat there dressed in a high- waisted mermaid skirt and a ruffled organza bandeau top! "Well, after Prissy's performance for my birthday, I couldn't stop thinking what a waste it was that he didn't get to dance so prettily every day. So after he came to me with this terrible conundrum, I figured it was the perfect moment to help him meet his full potential. I sent the video to the troupe's manager, and she was just tickled pink. She's asked you to come in for an audition today Prissy, isn't that exciting? Well done!" "Well, Miss Mia!" Prissy responded hastily, his voice quivering with apprehension. "I don't know... those girls dance so beautifully, I'm not sure I could do that." "Nonsense Priss!" Mia stroked the boy's hand warmly with a grin spreading across her face. "Mrs Mann - she's the manager by the way - said you were a natural born dancer! She said she's never ever seen a boy who moves with such 'feminine grace'. Even Dad agreed you looked at home while performing." Cheryl snorted at that, while Prissy turned a deep shade of crimson. He'd been anything but a natural, requiring hours and hours of repetitious, supervised practice to perfect the routine. If there was one thing she'd learned during the boy's transformation though, it was that practice makes permanent. Prissy had performed femininity over and over until it dripped from every movement and sound he made; without thinking or focusing whatsoever. He simply epitomised the mincing, dainty ingenue from the inside out, no matter how much it disgraced his former male pride. If Cheryl wanted him to be a Dancing Doll, then he would dance and dance and dance, until he could do nothing else. "Besides, darling," she interjected, "it sounds like you really don't have many other avenues open to you at the moment. Why don't we all go and pay this Mrs Mann a visit, and you can demonstrate your talents in person." Frantically grasping for any escape hatch, Prissy blurted out: "I won't! I need to go to school!" He stood up from the chair as forcefully as he could in the four inch patent leather heels strapped to his feet, and began to storm towards the hall, when Cheryl grabbed his upper arm. The boy looked back in disbelief. "Now you listen close missy. It's obvious school isn't providing anything for you anymore, and Mia has gone out of her way to help you find an alternative vocation. You are going to go to this audition and you are going to throw yourself into it heart and soul, because if you don't get into this troupe, there will be hell to pay. Do you understand me?" Cheryl even shocked herself with the blunt cruelty of her intimidation, feeling the boy shake under her vice-like grip. It occurred to her that she didn't even need to invoke the tape or his original crime anymore: Prissy was so browbeaten, so reconditioned that some stern words and a steely glare were enough to bring him into line. She proceeded to physically drag her stepson out to the car and fasten him in before returning to the kitchen to get Mia. "Ho-ly shit Mum," her daughter laughed, a look of stunned glee on her face. "Holy shit yourself!" Cheryl laughed back, "Seriously, the Dancing Dolls? I cannot wait to see this..." Pt.15b Upon arriving at the theatre where the Dolls practised (and performed in the evenings), Cheryl and Mia marvelled at the hyper-femininity of its decor and atmosphere, which was obvious even from an exterior view. The place oozed Old Hollywood glamour, with the heady scent of perfume and hairspray wafting out the front door. Tightly holding Prissy's hand on her left side, Cheryl used her other hand to knock (the venue wasn't open to the public during the daytime). Shortly, the door opened and in its frame stood a short woman in her mid-30s, sporting a blunt, peroxide blonde bob and a pair of round spectacles, through which she peered at the trio discerningly. "Oh, you must be Mia's family? A pleasure to meet you," she said, extending a hand out to Cheryl. Mrs Mann wore a grey, well-tailored suit and a pair of low heels, accessorising with a gold wristwatch and matching stud earrings. The woman spoke with an upper-class accent, seeming to regard Prissy with bemused curiosity. "Please, do come in," she waved the group in the door. "The girls have been so excited to meet you Prissy, giggling to themselves all morning like children. Oh, but I'm sure you know how girls get when a handsome young man comes to visit." She winked at Cheryl, who had immediately taken a liking to her. As they toured through the building, passing dressing rooms, costuming set-ups and practice spaces, Mrs Mann explained a bit about the troupe. "What we do here isn't a joke, you understand; some kind of comedy show. The girls take their work incredibly seriously and they're very dedicated. This is their lives. Naturally, the audience does come in for a good time - we get a lot of bachelorette parties and gay men of course, although there's a decent proportion of straight men who like to join in the fun too! We have to keep an eye on those ones," she said with a low chuckle. Cheryl could tell Prissy was intensely uncomfortable in this environment - his pulse had shot up and his eyes were darting around the glamorous interior, looking for anything familiar he could latch onto. She merely kept a tight grip on his hand and continued pulling him through the hall until they reached the main auditorium, where a group of around a dozen young women were all sitting in the front row. The dark lacquered floor of the stage was trimmed in gold, and it was flanked by two thick velvet pink curtains. Two stage lights illuminated a six foot wide circle at the centre of the currently bare stage. "Ordinarily we have a fun set design, you know, a baroque ballroom or a steamy boudoir scene. We thought it would probably be best for Prissy to just show us his talents au naturale, as it were!" Mrs Mann announced, standing at the side of the stage. The assembled girls had turned around and spotted the boy, immediately falling into giggles and whispered comments. Cheryl felt Prissy attempt to sidle behind her, but she pulled his wrist forward sharply, causing the boy to awkwardly totter forward. "Oh don't mind my girls, sweetie," Mrs Mann said jovially. "They can get a little bit silly sometimes but honestly they're the nicest group. And we're all so excited for your audition! Are you ready?" The boy had turned white as a sheet. He was clearly calculating the incredibly limited options available to him, hoping some way out would present itself. Cheryl, however, knew it would not, and took the liberty of answering for the boy: "Well of course he is! He's been absolutely dying to dance for you all." "Super!" Mrs Mann clapped her hands and directed the boy to their stairs at the side of the stage. She sat down next to the troupe in the front row, and had Cheryl and Mia sit to the other side. Now all 15 women were looking up at Prissy, who was visibly shaking atop his three and a half inch heels. "Uhhh... Mrs M? Hasn't he got a leotard?" One of the girls said loudly, causing a ripple of giggles throughout the rest of the troupe. "Dear? Didn't you bring..." Seeing the stunned expression on the boy's face, Mrs Mann sighed. "OK... I'm sure we can find one in storage for you, don't worry. Give me one second." She left the auditorium, and returned a few moments later holding a sparkly purple leotard, which she proceeded to onto the stage, landing right at Prissy's feet. "Go ahead doll, pop that on and we can get started." "I... but, where's the changing room?" Prissy's quivering falsetto elicited yet more snickers from the assembled girls. Mrs Mann replied matter-of-factly. "Oh don't worry about that now Prissy. If you want to be a Dancing Doll, I'm afraid you'll be changing with the rest of the girls anyway. It's nothing we won't all see sooner or later. Go on, quickly now." Cheryl couldn't resist a soft titter of her own as the boy stripped down to his panties, eyes shut tight as he tried to ignore the staring and whispering of the girls. It was hard not to notice how gorgeous the troupe was, even in their casual attire with barely any makeup on - they were the kind of girls Prissy would have loved to chase after and hit on in his former life. Cheryl was so glad she'd managed to save any of them that harassment. Instead, he was standing on stage in a tight, shimmery leotard and heels, pin-up ponytail dangling from the top of his head, about to make a complete fool of himself for their entertainment and amusement. And of that, he did a wonderful job. The girls fell about laughing as Prissy repeated his routine to the Rihanna track, even clapping and singing along during the chorus while the boy threw his hands in the air, imploring an imaginary lover to treat him 'like the only girl in the world'. Prissy was a little sloppier and slower than during his first performance, Cheryl noted, which made sense - he'd had several weeks of no practice whatsoever. She was nonetheless pleased to see that their intensive drilling of the dance had sunk in to the point he could repeat all the steps to the four minute song from memory. Looking across, she noticed Mrs Mann watching intently and making notes on a clipboard. He'd better not mess this up, she thought ruefully. Eventually, the song ended, with Prissy once again holding that hilarious bent-over turnaround pose, at which point the girls (clearly having planned this gag ahead of time) whooped and cheered, throwing panties and bras on the stage as though he was a sexy rockstar and not a pathetic prancing fairy. Although he managed to continue maintaining the position, with one finger on his lips and one hand at his waist, Cheryl could see tears welling up in Prissy's eyes. Mrs Mann continued making notes enigmatically for a couple of minutes after, during which time the boy still didn't move, but eventually she raised her head, peering over the top of her spectacles. "Not bad," she announced coolly. "But not nearly our standard." Cheryl felt herself getting angrier and angrier at the boy. Couldn't he do anything right?! "Feet: arhythmic, arms: aggressive, spins: slow, leaps: lacklustre... need I continue Mr Pansy?" Mrs Mann reeled off a diagnosis of his dancing deficiencies, each of which seemed to buoy the craven little sissy's expression more. Cheryl realised: He thinks he's getting out of this! "I'm sorry Mrs Thorn," the director turned to Cheryl. "Your son has a lot of enthusiasm but I'm afraid he's not quite Dancing Dolls material yet." Cheryl sat for a moment, consternation obvious on her face. "...yet? But that means he could get there, right?" Mia said hopefully. "Mrs M, this has been Prissy's dream forever - ever since he heard about the Dolls he's been talking about becoming one. Tell her Priss!" Seeing hesitation on the boy's conflicted face, Cheryl echoed her daughter. "Yes darling, tell her." She made eye contact with Prissy, pouring every ounce of her domineering, menacing presence into the oppressive stare. The boy took a deep breath and then, as always, crumbled. Tears rolling down his face, he pleaded on his hands and knees to be allowed to join, bleating about how much he 'adored' dancing and making people laugh, promising he'd do 'anything at all' to join the girls on stage. Cheryl savoured the extent to which Prissy's male pride had been systematically stripped from him: far from the constant resistance he showed to the first steps of his punishment, now he would tearfully beg to sign even more of his life away to ultra-feminine public humiliation. The rest of the girls regarded this display with distaste. They took pride in their vocation, and this sobbing boy on stage was beginning to make a mockery of that. Mrs Mann waved her hand, bringing silence to the auditorium once more, and spoke: "OK, OK, that's enough young man. You've got potential, but you're absolutely not ready to join the squad on stage. I will allow you to join us on a preliminary basis, provided you agree to several conditions." "Well of course he will!" Mia exclaimed excitedly. "Didn't you hear? He said he'd do anything at all!" "Ah," Mrs Mann smiled. "So he did." Still kneeling on the stage, Prissy wiped a tear from his mascara smudged eye and waited for judgement to come down. "You may join the Dolls as a pair of helping hands for the time being. This will entail cleaning the theatre before and after performances, making sure the girls' outfits are clean, ironed, and laid out in the dressing room ready to go, and running errands anytime any of the girls or I need something done. This might be as simple as running out for coffee in the morning, or you might end up having to sew extra pieces onto everyone's costumes before a show. You can sew, can't you boy?" Cheryl leaned across, "He'll learn, don't worry. Thank you so much Mrs Mann, Prissy is absolutely delighted to accept this generous offer." "I'm not quite done yet Mrs Thorn," Mrs Mann continued. "This position will, of course, be unpaid, but Prissy will have the privilege of dancing with the girls during rehearsals. He will need to acquire several leotards, of his own, for this." She shot a stern glance at the boy. "However, the biggest problem right now is that Prissy doesn't have the fundamentals of feminine dance. He has learned the moves to his routine but he doesn't understand how to move, how to float like a petal in the breeze. "For that, I'm afraid, he will need to take an intensive beginners ballet class. There's one at the local community centre we tend to recommend for girls who are interested in joining, although they're usually a bit younger, around 13-14. If he's taking this seriously, which he must, at least one day a week will need to be fully blocked out for practice - no school, no socialising, nothing but dance. The rest of the week will require only a few hours of practice a day. "If you can commit to that, Prissy, then I can see you joining the Dancing Dolls as a fully fledged member as early as the beginning of next year. Does that sound acceptable to you?" Taking a deep breath, the boy stood, his heels clacking loudly on the stage, ponytail swishing around his neck. He clasped his hands together and squealed in a voice so obsequiously pathetic Cheryl had to stifle another laugh: "Oh Mrs Mann, that sounds like an absolute dream come true! Thank you ever so much! I can't wait to get started." Mrs Mann placed her pen down on the clipboard, pushed up her glasses and said: "Well, in that case girls, let's welcome our first ever boy to the troupe. Congratulations Prissy, you're now an official Baby Doll!" Pt. 15c That evening, Cheryl was tucking Prissy into bed, gently stroking his face after ensuring his curlers were correctly affixed to his head with bobby pins. It had been an exhaustingly long day for the little fairy, whose body clock had now fully adjusted to his 8pm bedtime. Following the audition, the three of them had headed to the shopping outlet to pick up several leotards and shiny dance tights. By this time, the boy was moderately used to being seen in womenswear, however it never failed to provoke profound embarrassment when his sister treated him as a dress-up doll, forcing him to pirouette and tiptoe about in each get up. He turned an especially satisfying shade of pink when Mia picked a tutu for his ballet class. The delicate garment featured decorative floral embroidery on the middle panel of the bodice, and its skirts flared out in the typical style, although Mia's choice featured fairly short, fluffy skirts that stuck out just 30cm or so from the boy's waist. He'd emerged from the dressing room shamefaced and whimpering, while everyone else (including the store clerk) agreed it looked so precious he should wear it home. Hank was less than pleased when his only son returned home from what was supposed to be a day at school looking like he'd just stepped out of an eight year-old's ballet recital. Just as Prissy's eyes were beginning to droop, Cheryl started speaking softly to him, as though telling a bedtime story. "I think it's time I explain a little bit more about Dr. Price's treatment you're on. It's been about four weeks since your first injection, and I have to say, the effects we discussed before have definitely already started taking effect. Have you noticed? Mia and I definitely noticed earlier - in your leotard? Unmistakable little boobies of your very own! And while your waist is looking delightfully slim, your hips have definitely expanded a bit. Little by little, you're losing all of that masculine muscle and taking on that gorgeous hourglass shape the boys just love." She made an exaggerated hourglass shape with her hands while Prissy had begun panickedly wriggling under the covers. Cheryl merely held the covers to the bed either side of him, easily constricting the 18 year old boy's movement. "It's not true! You can't - you have to stop this!" Even full of righteous indignant fury, the boy just sounded shrill and ridiculous now. "And of course, as you're demonstrating so fantastically now, the treatment has already completely sapped any strength from the muscles you have left. I daresay most girls in your little beginner ballerina class will be stronger than you. Better make sure you show them respect Priss, or who knows what could happen." "Mummy... please," Prissy was whimpering, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I don't want to be a ballerina, or a doll, or dancer or a princess. I want to do something real, I want to make things, or help people. I want to solve problems." It was the most sincere expression of genuine, hopeful ambition the boy had ever expressed to her. Cheryl smiled inwardly as she prepared the final blow. "Do you know how many girls throughout history have dreamed of being more than just the princess? How much richer, more full of knowledge and joy our society could have been if we'd let them? Darling I know you'd like to do more but the truth is you just can't. I've decided this," and she gestured around the room with all its lacy pink furnishings, the vanity table, the countless dresses hanging in the wardrobe. "This is your destiny - and you should understand by now that Mummy knows best. It's your destiny, but perhaps more importantly, it's your biology." Prissy stopped struggling for a moment. "What do you..." "See there's another couple of parts to Dr Price's treatment that I may have... forgotten to mention before. You know how all your schoolwork has seemed so incomprehensibly tough recently? How it feels like nothing clicks? The truth is it's not just because you've been slacking on the homework front. Dr Price's drug also has the effect of inhibiting and slowing down some of your more complex higher order thought processes. You're still perfectly capable when it comes to basic stuff: addition, subtraction, language, in fact your ability for rote memorisation and repetition may apparently be improved! But when it comes to concepts and abstract problems dear, I'm afraid you're going to be utterly hopeless." The boy was, appropriately, speechless. A look of abject horror gripped his features. "Dr Price actually said it was a side effect of the drugs in her little cocktail, but I think it's a deliciously fitting one. As a 'man,' how many times did you look at women and think them stupid or facile? Now you'll quite literally be nothing but a ditzy little miss, whose talents are best suited to those wonderfully traditional feminine pursuits: cooking, cleaning, dressing and of course, dancing." "I'll... I'll go to the police!" Prissy squeaked unconvincingly. "Mmm? And tell them what? The hormones you insisted I buy privately and inject you with aren't giving you quite what you wanted? Even though you're currently sporting a pair of tiny titties? Even though you've been dressing like you're late to a beauty pageant every single day to school? Even though not only all the students and all the teachers would corroborate this, but even your own father would agree you've been living out your deepest fantasies? He really is quite resentful, you know." She watched the gears turn (slowly) in Prissy's head. By being so cowardly and weak-willed for so long, the boy had built an enormous case of evidence suggesting this was exactly the life he wanted. Perhaps at his sharpest, he might have been able to explain to Hank or a judge how she'd stitched him up, but now? Cheryl was confident she could easily run rings around the boy whether he spoke up or not. He'd realised it too, sinking back and softly sobbing while Cheryl continued to stroke his cheek. "There there Priss. I'm sure that eventually you'll come to love being our dainty fairy princess. Lots of little girls absolutely dream of having a life like yours. Just try to think like them, it shouldn't be too hard!" She couldn't help but giggle, causing another flood of tears from the boy. "Sorry, sorry! OK, there's just one more thing we need to discuss. And it's a little embarrassing I'm afraid..." Prissy didn't even respond: what could possibly be worse than what she'd just told him? Get ready, she thought. "You may have noticed recently a bit of... shrinkage, around your private parts? And, while I hope you haven't been indulging in any perverted habits like the ones that got you into this situation, you may have even experienced a difference there too." The thousand yard stare in Prissy's eyes told her he knew exactly what she was talking about. "As Dr Price says, there's nothing more masculine than a big angry... you know what. Now I know you didn't have the most enormous equipment to begin with, but if the formula has started working its magic, which I think we both know is the case, you should now be sporting a rapidly shrinking noodle that - correct me if I'm wrong - struggles to, rise to attention?" Prissy's stunned silence told Cheryl everything she needed to know. "Wonderful, wonderful. So don't worry, like I said, I've no interested in making you a real girl, that would defeat the point of everything we're doing here! Once the hormones in your system level out, you should still be left with a very, very small little nub down there, although it won't ever be able to do the kind of things you used to dream about doing to my Mia." She wagged her finger in a mocking impression of a schoolteacher. "I believe your little grapes will just recede up into your body again, which will help make your lovely panties fit all the better. So it's not all bad news!" Under the covers, Cheryl noticed Prissy attempting to gauge the status of his member, the depth of his terror totally outweighing the embarrassment of the situation. "Stop that! You disgusting little pervert, you just can't help yourself can you?" She slapped his face. "Like I said, I'm afraid little Prissy junior won't ever be waking up again, which of course means you can't have any of that nasty playtime anymore." She pulled the boy's arms out from under the cover and took both his hands in hers, as though offering sincere emotional support. "You may be wondering: doesn't that process have some kind of important health implications? Doesn't a man need to release his horrid goo sometimes? And of course you'd be right! It's very important to keep your pipes clean and moving, which is why Dr Price included a special relaxant in the drug. She explained it with a lot of very technical scientific jargon that I could barely follow, so I won't even bother trying to relay it to you. The effect is simple though: when your body is in its most relaxed state - that is, when you're asleep - your muscles will loosen such that seminal fluid can just pass through your flaccid penis with no sensation whatsoever. The Dr said this will likely happen only around once per week, when a certain volume of fluid has built up in your testicles, so it shouldn't be too bothersome - although I don't want you ruining all your knickers!" Prissy was shaking, filled with a mixture of fear, rage and sadness, but what could he do? The boy was completely impotent - in more ways than one, Cheryl thought to herself wryly. "I know, it's a lot of change to take in. I just wanted to give you an advance heads up, so you don't panic when it happens the first time. Just think of it like this: you're going through a very special sissy boy puberty, and when this release happens, it will be like getting your sissy period. When I put it that way, it sounds kind of exciting, doesn't it?" "I... why would..." At this point, her fairy prisoner was so exhausted, both mentally and physically, he couldn't even summon the energy to protest, and began to drift off, even through his tears. His defeat was so thorough, so sumptuously mortifying, Cheryl couldn't help but smile with genuine happiness as she stroked the boy's cheek one more time and walked out of the room, turning the lights off as she went.