Quinn s Saga
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A Sissy Saga Ch. 08 free porn video
In the gymnasium a practise was in progress. ‘One, and two, and three and four,’ Hardwick’s voice brayed above the tinny jink, jink, jink of an elderly piano.
Ten students arranged in a double row of five were dancing to the beat as he called it. It was part of Hardwick’s routine. Groups of them came to him daily, either for dance, deportment or gymnastics, disciplines both he and the headmistress considered imperative for developing grace and elegance in young people. Hardwick’s entire adult life had revolved around the Terpsichorean arts, and he insisted that when pupils came to him they dressed as near as possible to emulate the students of the School of Ballet he had long served. Tight, shape hugging navy blue knickers and sleeveless white singlet’s were the order of the day, and invariably each of his lessons began with a session of ecarte and echappe at the barre. That afternoon because of the practise their feet were clad in chorus-line shoes with block heels.
‘One and two, and three and four.’ Obediently they repeated the steps dictated as the counting continued, but then Trudy Jones stumbled and nearly bumped into Bambi, who dug an elbow into his arm.
The man at the piano shouted. ‘Trudy, if you intend to dance, let me entreat you to keep time with the music and not race half a beat ahead.’
Doggedly Trudy went on repeating the sequence of steps as they were called out. Ball change, heel down, toe down, ankle flick, tap, kick, ball change, heel down – right foot, left foot, right foot again. He wanted to be anywhere but in the gymnasium at that moment with his feet and ankles aching, and shoes that seemed as heavy as coal-miners boots.
Hardwick continued playing regardless and added a vocal rendition to the melody. ‘Come and meet those dancing feet. On the avenue I’m taking you to. Forty-second Street…’ The headmistress had tasked him with providing an aerobics display for Open Day, but an old-pro like himself could offer something better than mere aerobics. He couldn’t lay on ballet, years of practise were needed to get that right, but he was determined to put on a first-rate dance routine of some kind.
‘Heads!’ he ranted keenly, ‘On the fourth step all heads must swing sharp to the right – snap them round – and back again. Get it together for goodness sake. No, no, no, Holly. Do not gallop, you are not a horse. Move like a bird – a feather – lightly.’
Trudy groaned inwardly and concentrated on his own practise, ball, change, heel down, toe down. Dancing lessons usually consisted of ballroom or jive and he resented Hardwick’s recent fixation with formation tap. He turned his head slightly to look at his companions and at once Hardwick bawled out. ‘Keep your eyes to the front, and get rid of those Friday faces, all of you. You must never stop smiling. You must always appear to enjoy your dancing or no one else will enjoy it either.’
His fingers fluttered along the piano keys and his voice rippled once more. ‘Little ‘nifties’ from the Fifties, innocent and sweet. Sexy ladies from the Eighties, who were indiscreet…’
Trudy staggered sideways and barged into Bambi, and the entire front rank nearly went over like a row of dominos.
Hardwick mumbled something under his breath and banged his hands down hard on the piano. ‘That’s enough of that for today. Run to the wall – and back!’ he screeched. His voice sent everyone racing to the side of the gymnasium to touch the wall and then hurtle back to their starting place in the centre of the floor. Exercise didn’t matter. Anything that broke the tyranny of dance practise was welcome.
‘Stand still!’ he bellowed. ‘And now adjust your dress.’
Without a word each of his students pushed his singlet up beneath his armpits and rolled his knickers down onto his hips until they resembled skimpy bikini briefs – tight little pants holding precariously onto the contours of small, cute bottoms.
Apart from his work young men of their age were Hardwick’s only interest in life, and one of the indulgences he allowed himself was the freedom to observe their bodies. Despite matron regularly dosing them with hormones they were not yet curvaceous in a feminine way, but their slight stature lent them lissom delicacy, while the absence of adipose tissue allowed smooth flesh structured around delicate bones and muscle to present an enticing effect. He often congratulated himself on how fortunate he was to have employment that combined work and personal interests so closely.
‘Running on the spot – begin! Up, up, up!’ They were the last batch for that day, and at such times when the mood was with him he enjoyed viewing plenty of bare skin as he meandered between their open ranks.
‘Knees up higher, Holly. Keep your arms by your side, Zoë!’ Adjusting their clothes he explained to his students, gave their hot bodies much needed ventilation, but none of them fell for that line. They knew he was a perv’ and liked to ogle them, and yet in the vanity that resulted from constant sissification some of them quite enjoyed his lascivious inspection and delighted in teasing him by pushing out their chests and wickedly showing off their tiny pale nipples whenever he passed near.
‘Up, up, up – annnnd stop! Trudy stay here, the rest of the class is dismissed.’
With a veritable whoosh and scampering of feet the bulk of his pupils dashed off like so many clod-hopping woodland-nymphs. Usually Hardwick would have followed them to the showers to watch as the water washed over their slender forms and around their cocks, but that day he turned to the pensive young man left behind.
Trudy slouched with his weight on one foot, the pose accentuating the swell of the opposing hip. The dark fringe of his hair was long, but it didn’t hide the despondent expression in his downcast eyes as he stared blankly at the tutors gym-shoes.
What a stunner! thought Hardwick. Slim with nice legs and a narrow waist, and with his pants still slung low and his vest draped across the top of his chest, he was quite as attractive as any novice at the School of Ballet. Rather willowy, but a handsome fellow all the same. Nice dense hair, black, cut neat and brushed smart. He had a nice face too, with twinkling eyes and a sensuous mouth. His cheeks were flushed, the rosy tinge not solely a product of vigorous exercise. Wow! He was a beauty! As good as a girl. Better than a girl! Just licking his face would make some men jack-off in their trousers.
His shoe tapped ominously against the floor and he put on a suitably severe expression. ‘I’ve not been impressed with you today, Trudy. You were lackadaisical in our figure training session and most unsatisfactory in the dance. I’m quite in a mood to send you off to a prefect for a strapping.’
‘Oh!’ the boy murmured guardedly. He’d not been aware of doing anything other than he’d been told, and his enthusiasm had been equal to that of everyone else.
Surreptitiously the man took every opportunity to steal a glance at the tantalising shape in the front of Trudy’s skimpy pants. Perhaps the lad was too innocent to know his penis could attract such attention, but knowing Trudy as well as he did, he doubted it. ‘Do you want to be punished?’
‘No sir.’
‘Well, it would be wrong to let you off scot-free. What other solution is there?’
Trudy then understood. He was no stranger to the wily antics of the gym-teacher. He knew that Hardwick was playing out a charade, and a lack of approbation was one of the ploys he used when he felt in the mood to amuse himself and incite a student into a commitment. He wondered why the cranky old twit couldn’t just say he was feeling horny. After all, a young man such as himself may look angelic, but it wasn’t as if he was virginal and unused to being stuffed with randy cock. Aware that he had been chosen as Hardwick’s ‘sissy of the day’ and knowing his body mesmerised the man, he put on an act of his own, one of thoughtfulness, and his hands
turned out as if in supplication. ‘I could stay here for a while with you, sir.’
Mr Hardwick smiled at once. ‘Ah, yes. Well, if you’re in a mind to oblige we can make do with that.’
He slipped an arm about the sissy-boys waist and allowed his hand to drop onto the rounds of his small bottom to savour the warmth that permeated the flannel knickers, then in a casual fashion he guided him into the gym-store, then through an adjoining door into his room in the gatehouse where he lived. ‘You were rather clumsy with the dancing today, Trudy.’ he remarked.
‘I’m feeling a bit stiff, Mr Hardwick.’
The man nodded wisely. ‘I see. Well you’re in the right place for a remedy. I’m rather good at dealing with stiffness.’
Hardwick’s accommodation was spartan bachelor pad, consisting of just a small table a couple of chairs and a bed, but unlike most bachelor pads it was conspicuously tidy. Trudy picked up a magazine that lay on the bed. It was entitled ‘Hung ‘n’ Hard’, and the front cover depicted a naked young man in an obvious state of sexual arousal. It was an item of stimulation Hardwick had conveniently ‘forgotten’ to tidy away.
The man drew up behind him and viewed the magazine over his shoulder. ‘I see you’ve found my catalogue of male art poses. Some of the young fellows in it are really good looking, aren’t they?’ He beamed as he assisted Trudy turning the pages. ‘Most of them seem to be excited about something, don’t they? Look at that one! A battering-ram – he could knock down a door with what he’s got, couldn’t he?’
Under no elusion as to why he’d been brought to the man’s room, Trudy smirked as the gym-teacher’s arms encircled his chest, a little utterance of modesty serving to heighten the excitement being stirred. ‘They’re probably thinking about having sex with a nice looking fellow, Mr Hardwick. Maybe they’re thinking about pussyboys.’
The pantywaist eased back against Hardwick’s chest and glanced up, then immediately dipped his eyes, which created an illusion of him being slightly shy. An illusion he knew intoxicated men. Hardwick brought his chin back up with the tip of a finger and observed that while the eyes remained languid the boys mouth was poised half-open and ready. The magazine was unnecessary now. No more titillation was required with Trudy. The seduced had become a seducer.
How nice, Hardwick thought. His eyes were beautiful, the lashes so long, his face so girlish. There were no pretensions with Trudy, he was a saucy little pillow-biter ready for sex at the drop of a hat. He’d had him in his bed several times in the past and knew him to be a first-class shag – a sissy conversant with all the delights of fucking. What joy to have him alone and fondle him until he opened his mouth and clung on with that delirious urgency that meant surrender. Soon he would make himself available, shaking with desire and yearning for the fucking to begin.
There were so many just like him at Fairyfield Grange. They all needed cock, and so few of them got as much as they needed. No doubt they practised various things with each other and that was better than nothing of course, but to find real release for their urges they needed to be fucked by a man, and he was the only one available. And right at that moment he was just in the mood to pork the effeminate young doll he held in his arms.
Trudy didn’t think quite along those lines, but he didn’t mind giving the man some lurid thrills. Hardwick may have been a tired old geezer and his prick less than the leviathan snout his conceit thought it to be, but spending a couple of hours with him was better that doing the two hours of ‘shine’ before supper that everyone else would have to do.
Hardwick’s hands stroked up and down the students lithe, lean body a few times before lifting the singlet off over his head. He didn’t know too much about women, but he knew that just like women sissy-boys enjoyed a bit of foreplay. They needed to be warmed up, excited and aroused. He liked them to be impatient and hot for cock when the time came. He liked them to want it. His face descended and their mouths rolled together squeezing and sucking. When the gym-teacher thrust out his tongue he found Trudy’s own pink, wet tongue already flicking forth to slide juicily around it and make him quiver.
While his mouth sampled the youths lips his fingers scurried over his torso like a creature of the night, stroking the fine skin, exploring the belly and the chest, causing Trudy to arch his body and make the teats of his tiny nipples rise up. The hot teenage body felt so fragile in his embrace. What would those sanctimonious doyennes of respectably at the School of Ballet think if they could see him at that moment, lapping the bare flesh of such a succulent student with far more abandon than they were ever likely to show with their own spouses?
Pressing down he nuzzled the young mans chest with his mouth, marvelling at the satin-like sheen of his breasts with their prominent, sensitive nipples. Relishing everything, he anointed the bare flesh with saliva, kissing neck and chest and then slithering his tongue over the nipples before sucking on each of the delicate morsels. Trudy started and twitched and quaked with pleasure. In the midst of his debauchery the man pressed forward with his thighs to let the young queen feel the shape of his rearing cock.
‘Oh sir, ooh!’ Trudy’s face contorted, ‘Mr Hardwick, your prick’s so big. It’s a monster.’ That was pure flattery and not particularly true, but he knew from experience that such comments always put the old duffer in a good humour, which didn’t do anyone any harm.
‘Am I distressing you? Should I stop?’
‘No!’ Trudy was certain about that. ‘It’s okay, I like what you’re doing. Go on sir, I feel bonky and I want to screw.’
Smiling with delight Hardwick immediately led him to the bed. All was ready for the best session of the day, he thought, and dear young Trudy would soon know the pleasure of his formidable length. Over at the house the women would notice an absence from Domestic Practise and would enquire, ‘Where’s Trudy?’ On being told, ‘He’s with Mr Hardwick.’ they would scowl a little, but nothing more would be said.
***
Poppy was gazing out through one of the windows on the second floor landing watching one of the old gardeners pottering about among the flower-beds below. That year the summer was particularly dry and fierce, so the gardeners took it in turns to come back in the evenings to water things when the heat of the day was receding. The garden looked lovely. Poppy liked pretty things and he liked flowers that were ostentatious and showy, and there were lots of them in bloom at the moment.
Leaning forward with his elbows on the sill he began to hum snatches of a little tune whilst wagging his bottom from side to side, the rim of his white knickers showing just a fraction beneath the hem of his gymslip with each rhythmic bounce. ‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow…?’ he crooned softly.
Perhaps Miss Hancock could find a placement for him with someone who owned a flower shop, he pondered wistfully. He knew that he’d always be a bum-fucked sissy bimbo, but he’d like to do something with flowers in his spare time.
He was so preoccupied he didn’t hear Jennifer coming along the landing in her rubber soled ‘catch-em-with-their-pants-down’ shoes, but she noticed at once how the satin sheen of his bare thighs slipped into the soft and slightly plumped out swell concealed in the peep of white knickers. Little wonder he was such a well-used fuck-puppet if he draped himself around like that all the time, she thought.
‘… with silver bells and cockle shells, and …’
‘Here you are!’ Jennifer suddenly hissed in his unsuspecting ear.
He turned, saw the daggers-look in her eyes and pressed a hand to his mouth in horror. ‘Oh goodness! I was supposed to report to you tonight after supper, wasn’t I? And I forgot.’
The girl
snarled. ‘It’s because you’re such a stupid featherhead I’ve had to come and find you.’ Her face contorted with reigned-in anger, then her open hand swept up and struck him smartly on the back of the head.
‘Ouch!’ Poppy winced, then suddenly paled as she waved a balled fist in front of his face.
‘If mummy wasn’t so keen to have you in prime condition I’d give you lumps, you brainless worm. Come with me now. You’re due for two days of assessment with the headmistress.’
‘But Jennifer, I haven’t got anything ready. My toothbrush and things…’
The girl ground her teeth in exasperation, and gripping his arm she ripped him away from the window. ‘If you need anything I’ll have it brought to you, but I’m in no mood to stand around whilst a nancy-boy like you dithers about packing his handbag.’
Holding onto him with buzz-saw determination she whisked him quickly along the corridor to a door marked ‘private’ that lead off to the left. As she shepherded him down a passageway carpeted in much grander style than any of the others he was in no doubt he was being taken to Miss Hancock’s family apartment in the west-wing. The prospect unnerved him No one else had been to the west-wing – except Abigail and Wendy of course, because of family ties, but even they never went there during term-time.
He was taken to a bedroom that was such a chaotic muddle it would have caused an uproar if it had been a pupil’s dormitory. The floor was strewn with an agglomerate mass of clothing, dresses and blouses, trousers, skirts and snaking hose, and the whole place looked so untidy he was about to make a caustic remark until he realised it was Jennifer’s own room, and of course criticising anything of hers was extremely unwise.
For a moment Jennifer stood clasping and unclasping her hands, staring unseeing at the detritus around her. ‘Bathe.’ she rasped at him, then leaving him to run a bath she went to the big free-standing cupboard on the landing to collect a towel, a bar of soap and some gardenia bath oil. When she returned she found Poppy already naked and stepping into the bath.
She sucked in a breath and paused in the doorway to watch for a moment. She enjoyed viewing his nakedness. He was cruelly beautiful, an angel fallen to earth, his pink, slender figure on a par with the prettiest of girls and capable of filling a slimline dress to perfection. And that unnatural enormous dick of his which he never used. Such a gorgeous tease. His girlish bottom would be a popular toy with men for years to come, and while he had only meagre signs of breasts his skin had a smooth creamy texture and his legs displayed the attractive contours of a centrefold female. The sight made her suddenly enthusiastic for what she’d previously seen as a chore on behalf of her mother.
Mystified by events Poppy bathed himself thoroughly, then climbed out and allowed himself to be towelled and powdered all over. He was a little embarrassed by Jennifer’s close attention, but what could he do?
Jennifer gave him nylon stockings and a garter-belt and sat him on the bed to put them on. While he was busy she sat behind him and breathed in his fragrance. Sissy’s all smell so sweet, she thought idly, and they all got stiff and drippy in the arms of a man or those of a strong girl.
She passed her hands under his arms so she could fondle his chest, scrapping the tip of her fingernails over his stiffening nipples and cooing when he gave a little pant and rolled his head backwards.
‘You like that, do you? You enjoy having your titties pulled about, do you?’ She smirked as she gently squeezed his breasts and massaged his nipples until they stood out proud. ‘Matron said she’d recently increased the oestrogen she doses you all with, and it seems to have had some success with you. I bet you’ll soon have real breasts – little soft muffins pushing out on either side of your chest for the other boys to play with. You’ll like that, won’t you? I think you’re ripe for an additional little piece of femininity.’
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