Quinn s Saga
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A Sissy Saga Ch. 06 free porn video
The following day was Sunday. Margaret Pardoe never resented being duty-tutor on a Sunday, it was the only day of the week without any kind of formal lessons and she was only responsible for overseeing the pantywaists when they strolled outside in the grounds. That said, much of the time she could idle away in the headmistress’s study in pretence of monitoring the telephone, and she knew where Miriam Hancock stowed her sherry. On Sundays there were rarely any other staff about, and nothing to spoil the serenity. Not unless it was Church Sunday. Unfortunately it was Church Sunday that day.
On the fourth Sunday in each month, Parson Roper the incumbent of Peasmarsh, came to preside over morning worship, and the first part of the day was irritable bustle as she was compelled to direct parties of students in preparing the entrance hall for the service. When the school assembled later the pupils were paraded for a check-up by the headmistress: clean socks neatly folded down to equal lengths, clean hands and fingernails, shoes polished, gymslips pressed.
It was also an ideal opportunity for a knicker inspection and even though they were all young men they were required to raise their skirts to prove they were wearing an approved pattern of underwear. Being smartly turned-out on Sundays was important to Miriam Hancock and everything had to be just right. It was a ritual from her own youth she never regretted inflicting on others, and she maintained it imperative to make a good impression on Parson Roper’s visits.
Afterwards, acting a role of regal elegance, Miss Hancock entertained the parson to tea before his departure, and Margaret’s greatest distaste came with having to accompany her on such occasions. It shouldn’t have needed two of them. In most social situations Miriam could command a roomful of people without dominating it, her conversation was clever and broad, light and serious, she could impress anyone usually. But Roper was a creepy character with whom she refused to sit with alone.
‘Since we’ve no means of getting the whole school down to your parish as a group we’re always grateful when you can find the time to come out to Fairyfield for our benefit, parson.’ Miriam said as she led the way into her study. ‘And we forever admire your skill in conducting morning worship in the confines of the entrance hall.’
Her remarks were purely polite conversation. She detested the clergyman, but having lately become out of favour with the formidable Mrs Boroclough when malicious rumours about the nature of her school began to circulate, she was in need of a substantial ally in the local community. She had to have one even if that meant having to indulge a bloated ecclesiastic ego.
Patting both hands over the endomorphic mound of his stomach the parson made a satisfied noise and sank into the corner of a well padded sofa. Small, plump and sleek, he had the pursy mouth and complacent air of one who knows himself to be at home to a pin on any subject.
‘Make no mistake Miss Hancock, it’s a treat for me to attend. Religious matters are so often neglected by young people these days and it’s refreshing to find such an attentive number here.’ He gazed up and around whimsically. All the downstairs rooms at Fairyfield contained handsome woodwork, fine stucco and imposing ceilings. The original owners had clearly wished to provide themselves with gracious living and impress visitors with their wealth.
‘You’ve done a marvellous job in restoring the old Grange, and that’s a fact. There was much talk when Albert Fairyfield was still alive that he intended to leave the place to the National Trust, and one can only surmise at the ruin it would still be if he’d done that.’ He swept his arm around in an extravagant gesture. ‘You’ve raised it up like a Lazarus. It’s becoming quite lovely.’
‘Uncle Albert had no family of his own, and I’m fortunate he thought so highly of me.’ Miriam replied, ‘I’ve done the best I can with limited resources and tried to restore the original character of the place. Some people insist the mixture of architecture is a misalliance, but I can’t agree, I feel the blend of styles hold a certain charm.’
‘It does have some rather quaint aspects,’ the parson smiled dourly, ‘The depiction of the satyr over the gatehouse for example is – er – quite racy, don’t y’think? And you’ll have seen the corbels round the roof – extremely rude some of ’em. The Fairyfield’s who built this place would seem to have been a questionable bunch.’ He laughed, then looked as though he shouldn’t have done. ‘Not like today, oh dear no! Good thing most people don’t usually look upward these days or they’d get quite a shock.’
Miriam shuffled uncomfortably. Mr Hardwick was accommodated in the gatehouse and a satyr carved into the wall there seemed oddly apt. Hurriedly she tried to draw the parson to consider other aspects of the building.
‘Many of the interior rooms were still in surprising good repair when they were examined, and only the hall and the kitchen needed any real attention. I also found a great deal of rather old but serviceable furniture scattered about.’
‘All the same it must have cost a tidy sum to make everything right, Miss Hancock’
Miriam screwed her mouth slightly. ‘I’m told the recipe for success in life is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, and I’ve found that to be true. Everything I’ve accomplished here so far as been done by sheer hard work. However, I’m fortunate in having a number of generous benefactors to help me with the expense, and I’ve galvanised an obscure quango called ‘The Historic Buildings Commission’ in hopes they’ll provide me with a grant to maintain things.’
The parsons eyes rolled to the front of the lids as his thoughts drifted to other things. ‘You’re success is marked by you being able to accommodate so many lovely girls here, Miss Hancock. Lovely, lovely girls.’
Miriam turned to Mrs Pardoe, barely able to repress the scowl on her face. She knew exactly the indulgence he was obliquely seeking. ‘Do go and find a suitable girl to join us Margaret. The parson likes to have one sit with him whilst he takes tea.’
Disgruntled, Mrs Pardoe rose up and went to the door. She too was aware of the parsons questionable tastes, and they offended her feminist nature.
Having collected their hats from the dormitories the sissies were by then filing out the main door in dribs and drabs to enjoy the freedom of the garden, and she grabbed the arm of the nearest. ‘Come with me. You’re invited to tea with the headmistress.’ she snapped at him with some asperity.
Holly Bedlam entered the room looking – and smelling – as fresh as a rose. He curtsied apprehensively, first to Miss Hancock and then to the parson. Sissies were really only obliged to curtsy to ladies, but the parson was an important person and he didn’t want to chance doing anything wrong.
The clergyman’s piggy eyes slowly widened as they appraised him from head to toe, and he took a shine to Holly at once. He was exquisite and with a figure that was perfect for filling a schoolgirl gymslip, his hair was brushed straight and neat down to the tops of his ears and forming a cute fringe across his brow, while his face presented a dazzling smile and one that emitted such radiance it almost shimmered. His eyes, wide and open were beguiling.
‘Well I never! Lovely, lovely! What’s your name, lovely girl?’
‘Holly, sir.’ replied the sissy, somewhat in awe of the people around him.
‘Holly,’ repeated the parson. ‘A Christmas joy that is now a summer blossom.’ He uttered a hollow little laugh, tapping his knees with short thick fingers while he pondered. Was this young person in front of him a he or a she? It was hard to tell. There had been some strange gossip in the village but it wasn’t difficult for a man and his penis to enjoy looking at a honey such as this one, whatever it was.
‘By! You’re a smart thing. Quite the fin
e young lady. Lovely indeed! Bet you could do with a nice cuddle though, eh? Here, come and sit next to me.’
The two women watched dourly as he hauled Holly down beside him, noting the sly way he arranged the student’s skirt high up on the tops of his legs, and how he flipped the back of it out to allow possible egress for a roving hand.
The parson’s expression became a feral grin. ‘I believe you’re planning to hold something of an Open Day at the end of the school term.’ he suddenly said to Miriam.
‘Yes – I, er – an informal gathering of my clients and sponsors. I fear it will be rather a dull affair.’ she replied offhand, wishing he hadn’t raised the matter, since she didn’t want him in any way involved.
Mr Roper drummed his fingers on Holly’s bare knees. ‘Oh but I’d love to attend. Partaking in such events are what keep clergy such as I in touch with people. Of course, my dear lady wife may not be able to come with me. She suffers so abominably with hay-fever throughout the summer, and it would be rather a trial for her.’ He took a sideways glance at Holly and hugged him. ‘Lovely!’
Holly Bedlam was an angel fallen to earth, and he didn’t mind if the dear thing was a young man. He was a delight, and if let loose in the village men would likely fight for a peek at his panty-covered bottom. The parson’s stubby fingers casually moved up from bare knees to thighs, skimming the bottom rim of the ruckled skirt. Holly’s head jerked as he felt something slick beneath the back of it.
Gloria burst into the room carrying a tray. ‘Tea, parson.’ she announced briskly, ‘I knows y’partial to Earl Grey, but we ain’t got any. We’s got Darjeelin’ or PG Tips, an’ I’s made a pot o’ each so’s you’ve got a choice.’
She took one look at him and Holly together, then swiftly assessed the scowls of the two stony-faced women seated opposite him. Nobodies fool, she left them all to it without saying another word.
‘It’s a hot day.’ said the parson to no one in particular. ‘Even the most precious flowers in the garden get hot on such days as this.’ His eyes roved over Holly boldly, speculatively. ‘Depending of course on the amount of shade they have.’ He thought the figure at his side looked positively glowing. ‘Are you hot, my dear? Too many clothes on a day such as this will make you feel ill.’
His words, innocent superficially, brimmed with innuendo, and the desire to help remove some of Holly’s clothes flickered in his eyes. The sissy may have been a young man but he was too naive to grasp the meaning of the sophisticated double-talk and was uncertain of how to reply. Luckily a shake of his head was sufficient.
Miss Hancock tried a diversion. ‘Your sermon today was most eloquent, parson.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Mrs Pardoe, bristling tartly and not attempting to disguise her irritation. ‘A twenty minute lesson detailing the debauchery prevalent in Sodom and Gomorra was most apt for a girl’s school.’
The parson seemed oblivious of her acrimony, paying more attention to the lightweight thing seated beside him than to inflections of speech.
‘Sin and retribution! Such stories have to be told,’ he declared grandly, ‘Weakness of the flesh is all too easily accepted as normal these days, and there is a duty to warn young people of the consequences of immorality.’ His brows knitted and he gazed steadfastly at Holly. He renewed his embrace and the sissy blushed deeply as the man stroked the contours of his face with the back of a finger.
‘Who can find a virtuous women for her price is far above rubies.’ Shifting his eyes towards Miriam he smiled. ‘Proverbs, chapter 31, verse 10.’
The headmistress gazed back unimpressed. ‘I’m familiar with the quote, parson.’
Bloody hypocrite, thought Mrs Pardoe as she surreptitiously observed the man’s podgy hands fluttering up and down Holly’s thighs in a way that was more flirtatious than avuncular. The students had dubbed him ‘Groper Roper’, and not without good reason. If priests needed a license she’d have made damn sure he never got his renewed.
With the tea poured Miriam leaned back just in time to see the creepy cleric push his fat lips against the sissy’s ear and whisper something that made Holly’s breath catch in his throat. He glanced furtively across at the headmistress as if seeking her approval, but he was too much in awe of everyone to speak, and eventually he climbed up and seated himself on the parson’s lap.
Almost at once he began to wriggle, moving with an almost imperceptible rocking of hips and pelvis that was obviously designed to drag the seat of his pants back and forth over the growing lump in the parsons trousers.
Roper put an arm around Holly’s shoulders and stroked a fingertip against his neck, feeling the delicate tendons beneath the skin, watching the gentle pulse in his throat. ‘The duties of a clergyman can often be a great burden,’ he mumbled, his grey eyes rolling in his head as his chest began to heave.
Miriam raised a plate of Garibaldi’s from the tea tray and leaned forward. ‘Biscuit, parson?’
‘Ahr, yes. Lovely, lovely!’ the man replied languidly.
Mrs Pardoe derived no pleasure from sitting in the company of such a repugnant man, and stirred her tea so hard it splashed over the rim of her cup. ‘The, er, girls will be in the garden. I really should show myself outside.’ she muttered sideways at Miriam.
The headmistress shook her head. ‘They’ll be fine for a while without supervision.’
Holly’s shunting was unremitting as he applied himself to squirming down and working the crease of his bottom back and forth over the firm uprisen shape in the man’s slacks. He’d never done anything like that before, but he was sure he couldn’t be doing anything wrong if the parson had asked him to do it.
For a while Roper sat still, stiff, upright and unblinking, his eyebrows making large comical arches, then part way through nibbling a biscuit his mouth became limp and crumbs fell down his chin. He went red in the face and grunted, then took a sharp intake of breath which was followed by a vague slushy noise. He gave a gulp, his eyes seeing nothing even though they protruded like gimlets. ‘BABYLON!’ he eventually exclaimed.
Holly stopped moving abruptly, his mouth fell open and he gazed at Miss Hancock in astonishment, but still without saying anything.
‘Parson Roper, are you ill?’ Miriam inquired.
‘No, no.’ The man gasped, shaking his head as if trying to clear it of cobwebs. ‘Just a touch of indigestion, I fear.’
‘Dear me! I do hope it wasn’t caused by the biscuit.’ murmured Mrs Pardoe sarcastically.
The clergyman sat spluttering, fumbling for his handkerchief and allowing Holly to escape from his lap. As he wiped his face he didn’t appear to notice the prominence of the dark moist stain on the front of his trousers.
Mrs Pardoe rose silently and took Holly out through the door, and once in the safety of the hall the teenage pantywaist wriggled his hips to demonstrate some discomfort.
‘Um, ah! The woman grumpily sought for words, transferring her outrage at the clergyman to irritation with the him. ‘I think you should go and change your underwear before you go into the garden.’
When the parson had gone Miss Hancock disappeared to take her customary Sunday afternoon nap and serenity returned. Mrs Pardoe went back into the study, going directly to the French vitrine in the corner, inside of which she knew would be a dark red Venetian glass decanter. Ignoring the crystal Waterford glasses encircling it she removed the stopper and lifted it to her pale cold lips to swig from the bottle.
Things felt a good deal better then. A sense of well being, of euphoria, washed over her as the alcohol permeated her system. Sunlight poured in between the window drapes and there were summer flowers in vases all around. Lovely!
Tucked inside the cabinet she found a notebook, and a glance told her it was really an account book for
the management of the monthly allowances the residents received from their parents. Margaret Pardoe was no genius, but it didn’t take an intelligent person to realise there was something odd about the entries inside it. Page after page was littered with deductions for additional clothing that were never purchased, treats that were not provided, and fees for extracurricular activities that didn’t exist.
When it came to acquiring money Miriam Hancock didn’t miss a trick. She was robbing all the effeminate sods in her care of most of their pocket-money.
She raised the decanter again, but this time only a trickle of liquid touched her tongue. She glared in disbelief. It was empty. Despite all the money Miriam Hancock raked in she still couldn’t keep the sherry topped up.
***
Upstairs on the third floor the last of the pupils were streaming out from the dormitories after collecting their hats, intent on going down to enjoy the freedom of Sunday in the garden. Holly came in but soon dashed out again, then as Trudy Jones prepared to depart himself he looked Poppy up and down critically.
‘Better not wear your hat on the back of your head like that. Mrs Pardoe will think you sloven and give you a smack.’
Poppy rolled his lips in exasperation, pulled his straw boater forward and fixed it in the approved prim position on top of his head. ‘I get fed up with rules sometimes.’ he grumbled as he made for the door.
‘Me too,’ Trudy told him, following at his elbow. ‘Say, would you like to come for a walk with me?’
‘Can’t,’ replied Poppy with a self-satisfied foxy smile. ‘I’ve got a date with Nanette.’
‘Phooey! Nanette’s an alpha-dog,’ Trudy remarked derisively, ‘He only wants you for your arse. He’ll be into your knickers faster than you can say ‘scissors’.’
Poppy gave him a cynical sideways glance whilst instinctively making a half turn and bending slightly forward to accentuate his pertly rounded bottom. He then reached behind to flatten his palms on the outline of the gently thrusting cheeks and stroke them lightly. ‘If that’s true it won’t be any different than going for a walk with you Trudy Jones, will it?’
Amanda and an elegant houri called Samantha found themselves the last to leave. As they took the final steps to the floor below Samantha darted behind and steered Amanda into the recess of a bowed window, then without explanation he placed an arm across his front to prevent him going any further. ‘Hi, sweetheart. How’s tricks?’
Amanda pulled a face. ‘Excuse me. I don’t think I know you.’
‘Of course you do. I moved into your dormitory last night.’
‘What I mean is, we haven’t been introduced.’
The other sissy grinned. ‘Introduced? Ooo, lah, lah, mademoiselle, you crack me up. What kind of world do you live in?’
Amanda’s face contorted with displeasure. ‘A very proper one I’ll have you know.’
‘A very rigid and frosty one, that’s for certain. You need to let go and hang loose, honey. Okay, I guess I’ll just have to introduce myself.’
Stepping back a pace the stranger employed an engaging smile. ‘Hello, I’m Samantha, most people call me Sammy. What’s your name?’
‘I’m Amanda. I’m not gay and I shouldn’t be here really, but mummy… erm… my beautiful mother is in America looking for her umpteenth rich husband.’
Sammy nodded appreciation. ‘The fellow that keeps me owns a rock’n’roll band. He’s on a world tour at the moment, but he wouldn’t take me along. Life’s a bitch, and so is he. Do you like it here?’
‘Um, well, it’s a bit of an odd place, isn’t it? You know, with everyone having to dress up as girls all the time. But it’s better than any of the other places I’ve been. People in other schools can be frightfully rough.’
‘I guess that’s true,’ Sammy agreed, ‘But if you want to enjoy an nice time here you need to be friendly. Do you know what I mean?’
Amanda pondered. He looked at the imploring face in front of him and liked it right away. ‘Friendly? I don’t know about that. What would I have to do?’
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