Quinn s Saga
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A Sissy Saga Ch. 04 free porn video
The highly polished writing table was uncluttered, the only item encroaching its pristine surface being the letter of application Miriam Hancock had received from Emma Twist, the young woman who now sat stiff backed in the chair facing her.
Miss Hancock folded her hands over the pieces of paper and gave the impression of ignoring them as she assessed the candidate. She was smartly dressed and rather good looking. Although not beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, she was so vital she gave the impression of beauty, a vividness of colour contributing to that effect. Her ink-black glossy hair was styled in a coif about her head, coming to a peak above a face so clear and luminous it might have been carved from pale polished marble. The rather elongated visage, with its prominent cheekbones and wide brow were impressive, and there was a hint of restlessness in her chin. Her eyes were her most spectacular feature, large and intelligent and of a cornflower blue so deep they appeared almost violet.
From her application it transpired she was in her early twenties and unmarried, and from her bearing Miriam thought she’d probably been thoughtfully spoilt as a child and was used to having her own way, which wasn’t altogether an undesirable quality to find in someone wishing to be a tutor at Fairyfield Grange. ‘Perhaps I should begin by explaining the concept of this school. It’s somewhat unique.’ she began.
‘I know a little about it already.’ The other woman put in immediately.
Miss Hancock raised her eyebrows. She was power-dressed. In her serge skirt and high-necked white lace blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves she looked the epitome of the elegant school ma’am.
‘Indeed! That’s impressive since I never promote what we do here widely.’
‘It wasn’t easy. Everything seemed to be rumour and gossip, and word of your staff vacancy only came by chance conversation.’
Miriam nodded. ‘We’re not a mainstream institution or an ostentatious private one, we’re rather a special school. What exactly did you learn?’
Emma curled one knee over the other and began to relax. ‘That you operate a school for boys who you dress as girls and train to be feminine.’
The older woman allowed herself a half smile, the lack of denial only serving to confirm what had been said. Her fingers toyed absently with the large cameo broach on the neck of her blouse. ‘We have nothing to hide. The boys are all of legal age. We’re expanding. There are places for thirty-six boarders at Fairyfield and we already have upwards of two dozen, so I need extra help. That’s the reason for the vacancy.’
For the first time she glanced down briefly at the sheets of paper under her hand. ‘You’re a year out of teacher-training, and experienced in…’ She left the question open, awaiting a response.
‘I’m currently employed at a school in Leeds,’ Emma flashed a fierce smile, ‘It’s not proved ideal for me.’
Miriam cleared her throat. ‘Well, I must be frank with you. The object of this establishment is to teach boys lessons of quite a different nature to those offered elsewhere. Apart from a little reading and writing the education here is perfunctory and consists mostly of skills suitable for use in domestic service. I would rather my students could recognise a jam-spoon than solve a problem in trigonometry. The overriding function of the staff I employ is to eradicate their undisciplined boyish traits and establish in them a gentler, more feminine personality. Such work requires a tutor to constantly apply stern correction and frequently impose an element of humiliation.’
Emma Twist moved slightly in her seat. It was no different to what she’d expected – no different to what she desired. ‘I’m quite adaptable and willing to fit in with whatever program you have. Allow me to be frank also.I’m disenchanted with the state education system and the truth is I’m likely to lose my present job soon because of my eagerness to apply corporal punishment. There’s no avenue left in most schools these days to instil proper discipline, but I had an idea this school may be different.’
Miss Hancock drew back. She sensed a undertone of desperation in the younger woman’s voice, and she relished desperate people since they were invariably grateful and loyal. She flashed a challenging glance. ‘We here do not necessarily conform to the world outside. We’re a private institution and have ways of getting around most facile regulations.’
‘Boys are impudent and wilful and need to be taught respect.’ One side of Emma Twist’s mouth twitched. ‘The idea of turning them into girls – or at least into sissies – well, that’s quite shaking in its audacity and deserving of some support.’
Miriam saw no sign of squeamishness in her expression, instead there was a gleam in her eyes that betrayed other things. A flash of light that hinted at cool judgement and implacable tenacity, and yes – excitement incited by an element of cruelty.’ All in all she seemed to be a grown version of Jennifer, headstrong and a little selfish, but with the potential to develop into a heartless dominatrix.
The headmistress replied with a slightly crooked smile. ‘Fairyfield Grange promotes the perfection of a sissy gender. Here the pupils are allowed to know they are boys without ever being allowed to be boys. It’s a concept that generates a great deal of appeal to some people.’
She rose up. ‘Look, I find myself at an impasse. I’d envisioned a more mature person for the position here, and while academically you’re ideal, your inexperience makes me cautious. People pay large fees to send their offspring to me, and in return I must assure them of unremitting commitment from those I employ. During term-time there is no possibility of social activity, and that may prove a frustration to a young person such as yourself.’
Her mouth twisted as it moulded additional words. ‘That doesn’t mean I find you unsuitable, Miss Twist. On the contrary, I detect in you a spark that could embellish Fairyfield Grange if it were allowed some rein. Perhaps you’d indulge me. It would be reassuring if you’d agree to undertake a small test.’
Emma bridled, resenting the notion that her suitability wasn’t obvious, but she kept her voice calm and level, after all, she really did want to work there. ‘A test? Well, I suppose, if I must.’ she replied somewhat sourly. ‘What kind of thing have you in mind?’
The older woman’s eyes glowed. ‘The application of discipline, my dear. Physical punishment is the most effective way of controlling sissies, and I must be sure my tutors are competent in such things.’
Emma Twist followed her sullenly out through the door. ‘Stupid test!’ she chaffed silently, ignoring the fact that she herself had the nature of a bully and got a certain kick from dominating anyone around her weak enough to tolerate her manner. She’d always been forceful with her girlfriends, but young men had been her favourite victims since her time as a student teacher. Despite having cheek and bluster they had such innocent, naive minds, and they were easy to command via a little brutality. Making them cry was a pleasure and humiliating them a joy. And what better humiliation could there be than forcing them to be girls? Why, oh why, couldn’t this bitch of a headmistress recognise the dedication she would apply to a post at her school without fooling around?
As she strode into the entrance hall she reassessed the headmistress. She chatted easily and had none of the lisps and drawls affected by the boorish schoolteachers she’d known in the past. Her smile was ready too, but she was certainly an expert at duplicity, because the slightly prim and stately front she presented was certainly a clever facade.
On leaving the study she was confronted by a scene that pushed aside her churlish mood. She’d not seen any students on her arrival, but the departure from the office appeared to coincide with a routine movement within the building and the central st
airs that led to the upper floors suddenly became full of schoolgirls.
They descended in orderly procession, two abreast, anxious expressions set on smooth pale faces, each dressed identically in a white blouse with a little Peter Pan collar overlaid with a traditional schoolgirl gymslip. Of course she knew they were all really intensely feminised males, very girlish boys, very delicate young sissies, and there was no pretence regarding their true sex, no clever wigs or padded bras. Their hair was grown long, but uniformly plaited and pinned to the back of their heads. It could have been a scene from any number of public girls’ schools of the recent past, the only surprise being the brevity of the skirts which were tailored high up on bare thighs and would have been considered extremely indecent by more righteous people than herself. The space between the high-riding hems and little white ankle socks was all slender legs, youthful bare calves and dimpled knees.
She felt a thrill rise in her, but tried not to make too much of a show. ‘They’re all lovely. One would never guess they were boys from appearances.’
‘Standards of dress are rigidly enforced and male clothing is absolutely prohibited.’ came the brisk reply, ‘Fairyfield girls always dress in skirts, that’s a rule, sissies must never wear trousers.’
A tiny smile flitted across Emma’s face. ‘I expect they all hate being dressed that way. Such a thing will be abhorrent to their overblown male egos.’
Miriam nodded dourly. ‘Some do arrive as haughty individuals, but we conspire to induct them into a gentler, more feminine frame of mind. Often there are tears when they’re first forced to wear a skirt, and sometimes attempts at rebellion before they accept the use of a girls name, which is why firmness and strict discipline are so important. Some upheaval must be expected if they’ve previously been allowed to develop an overt male image of themselves, but once sissification is imposed they play a girlish role well enough.’
At the bottom of the staircase one of the pupils in the lead of the procession broke away and stood, arms akimbo, to watch the others file past. The dark stockings he wore opposed to the white ankle socks of his classmates, together with an intensely watchful expression, lent him an air of authority.
‘Movements within the house are enforced as silent periods,’ Miss Hancock explained, ‘We have no patience with noisy banter or disorderly conduct. You’ll appreciate these boys, like so many others in the world, would descend into savagery were it not for close supervision. Tidiness is a concept alien to them, while their nature is to be idle and they would rarely wash or change their clothes if allowed to please themselves. Such delinquency as no place at Fairyfield. Here we have orderly routines, and each pupil is closely monitored and subject to inspection. Rules are everything, and they must be enforced vigorously.’
The crocodile of effeminate young men trailed out through the far door, each member of it walking so delicately there was a noticeable general movement of short skirts swaying saucily across the backs of naked thighs and small, high buttocks. Miss Hancock beckoned to the supervising she-boy. ‘This is Abigail, the fruit of my own loins, and now my head-girl.’ she explained.
Emma’s gaze moved from the procession of she-boy beauties to the long, black-hosed legs of the lovely Abigail who’s perfectly shaped elegance had assumed a feminine stance. ‘Crikey! She means it’s her son’, she thought.
Miss Hancock misinterpreted her expression of amazement and presumed her fascination was directed at the two-pronged leather strap swinging from the sissy-boys waistband. ‘The head-girl and prefects carry a Scottish tawse as their symbol of authority and may use it to punish the others in trivial matters of discipline, which can be a merciful relief to the tutors.’ Her eyes turned to the head-girl. ‘Go and find Poppy and bring her to the staff common-room.’
They mounted the stairs in a slow stately manner, Miss Hancock blithely unconcerned with Emma’s desire to get on with things. Halfway along the landing they plunged down a dimly lit corridor and found two students standing motionless adjacent to a closed door. Emma noticed their nervousness as they were approached.
‘What are you two doing here?’ the headmistress asked them curtly.
Clearly in awe of her, each grasped the hem of his tunic and raised it an inch, then bobbed a small curtsy. ‘Please Miss. Mrs Pardoe told us to wait here, miss.’ said one of them in a subdued soprano voice.
‘She intends to smack you?’
A tinge of regret ruffled the upturned face, the smooth features were ingenuous and vulnerable, and their was a simplicity about them that was sweet and rather innocent. ”Spect so, Miss.’
‘Why are you to be punished?’
The face of the second pupil swung down to gaze at the floor. ‘I’m not sure, Miss,’ said the upturned one, ‘S’pose we must have been naughty.’
‘Indeed, I suspect you must have been.’
The two women marched on, Emma feeling slightly nonplussed by the words that had been exchanged. ‘That pair – they didn’t appear to know why they were to be punished.’
The headmistress scoffed. ‘Oh, they knew well enough, they just didn’t wish to admit it. My pupils are all of an age when their hormones are bubbling, and they spend endless amounts of time thinking about sex. Being isolated from suitable females creates a tendency for them to channel their feelings at each other, and there’s a good deal of kissing and touching goes on – and other stuff, too.’
Emma Twist raised an eyebrow. ‘Other stuff?’
Miriam Hancock’s nose twitched. ‘Sex. It’s a common enough occurrence among groups of people living together, and sissies tend to be even more sexually active than others in a similar situation. Of course, that doesn’t mean we can condone it.’
Emma felt her heart beat a little faster. ‘Oh, certainly not. Naughty sissies should be made to regret their grubby misdeeds.’
The headmistress smiled thinly. ‘When Mrs Pardoe as reprimanded them they’ll regret things without doubt.’
Swinging left she led the way down another ill-lit passageway, then pausing as if debating something with herself. She then went on. ‘From time to time – rather often in fact – the rascals here may misbehave in the way a lady is not used to. They can become – um, rather ‘prominent’ when their pants are taken down.’
Emma held back a smirk. ‘You mean, they get an erection?’
‘Quite so! You must ignore such things. The reason for it happening confounds me, but you must treat all such displays with contempt. It’s important for their development that they understand it’s unwanted in a girl. If you can endure such sights you’ll find their… erm,…’
‘Erections?’
‘… to be a constant reason for discipline. If the dears are desperate to sate themselves they must first seek permission from a member of staff.’
‘They must ask permission to masturbate?’
‘Yes, it’s a rule.’
The staff common-room lay at the end of the corridor, and nothing within it except the electric light seemed to belong to the present day. The blue flocked walls were dominated by portraits of long deceased gentry flanked by neo-classical prints, beneath which stood so many black horsehair sofas and mahogany whatnots as to make the room a shrine to bad taste. A purple chenille cloth covered a small table laden with bric-a-brac by the window, and there was a potted aspidistra lodged against a life-sized replica of a Greek Adonis in the corner. Emma couldn’t help but think both those items would have been more at home out in the garden.
No sooner were they installed than there was a timid knock on the door, and Miss Hancock’s rather dour features suddenly brightened. ‘Ah, that will be Poppy. Now we can get down to business.’
At her bidding the door opened, and what appeared to be a young girl ent
ered the room, though Emma was wise enough by then to realise that it was no more than one of the students, a boy dressed as a girl. He bobbed a little curtsy and stood silently just inside the door until the headmistress signalled him to move further into the room.
‘This is Poppy…’ she explained, ‘Poppy as been here quite some time which makes him an ideal subject for any kind of test. Like many of my sissies he was brought to Fairyfield by his mother. Poppy can be a very naughty girl, and she quite rightly sought to have his behaviour modified. She feels that the most effective way is to ensure this with her son is to have him transformed into a sweet, obedient and completely submissive daughter.’
Emma regarded the she-boy with a hard stare. He was beautiful, probably no older than eighteen, with hair the colour of ripened wheat that started as a cute fringe across his forehead, and had been grown long enough to be fashioned into two neat plaits that were looped up and pinned behind his head. It was delightfully little-girlish style and complemented by gold studs in his ears, and a schoolgirl uniform.
‘Miss Hancock, just what do you expect of me?’ she asked quietly.
The headmistress drew close to her. ‘Trust to your instincts, dear. Punish the sissy-creature in some fashion.’
‘Punish him – her! Punish him for what reason?’
A wry smile crinkled the older woman’s face. ‘Oh, we have plenty of rules here and he’s sure to have infringed some of them today and thought himself clever enough to get away with it. Sissies can be cunning about such things. I applaud a talent for imagination, so invent a reason if you need to. He’s probably been masturbating without permission. They all do it. At their age they can’t control their sexual impulses, but at Fairyfield they learn that sexual pleasure comes at a price. And it’s helpful to have them associate the wonder of an orgasm with the pain of corporal punishment.’
She pulled a slightly sour face. ‘I would mention now that which you may not wish to ask about: to whit, caning. Sever punishment is not required in the management of my students, so I don’t tolerate rattans or whips. You’ll find they respond quite adequately to a strap, slipper or paddle, or just to the smack of a hand. You’re free to use whatever of those methods suits you best.’
Emma appraised the girlish boy again. He was standing stock still, feet together, arms pressed into his sides. He was small in stature, a waif of a thing, lightweight enough to stretch across her lap without undue trouble, but his looks were winning ones, and the gentle slope of his shoulders only added to his seeming vulnerability. Everything about him seemed to conspire to soften her heart and undermine her resolve. He encouraged gentle cuddles more than harsh smacks.
Miss Hancock glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Look, I’ll leave you with him for an hour. Poppy can be a little madam and he’ll squeal when you spank him, but just ‘shush’ him firmly if he does. Certainly don’t allow him to side-track you.’
Her gaze lifted and she looked Emma full in the face. ‘You’re a handsome woman Miss Twist, and I dare say your looks have often set a male pulse racing in the past, but you must never allow sissies to assert themselves in a male role here, that would be disastrous for their training and ruin your prospects.’
When the door closed leaving her alone with the girl-boy Emma grimaced. The last warning was uncalled for. Did the officious headmistress really think she was the kind of woman who fucked with girly-creatures?
She felt suddenly at a loss as her attention became focused on Poppy’s androgynous profile, on the soft line of his jaw, the slight upward tilt of his sensuous little mouth and the fluttering eyelashes that graced butter-wouldn’t-melt-the -mouth eyes. Lower down the gymslip fitted perfectly, its high-waisted skirt serving to emphasis the boys round smooth thighs. His legs were bare and slender, graced only by little white socks and brown shoes with a broad, slightly raised heels that tipped the pelvis to create a sexy curve in the lower back and give a pleasing shape to his calves and slim ankles.
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