Principal Felicity Pressmore addressed the girls of The Jessica Hynde All-Girls College in their special assembly. Her audience bubbled with excitement: whenever Miss Pressmore called a special assembly, it was so that she could pile more and more shame on their sissy-baby sociology teacher, and this time, the helpless little prick was right there on stage with her, behind that deep red curtain that wafted occasionally with restricted movement.
"Girls," called the forty-five-year-old spinster, patting her immaculate blond hair tied back in her characteristic bun, "starting in this new term, Mr Shaw will no longer be your baby."
If the Head had pressed the mute button on the scene, there could not have been a more blank silence. Girls looked at each other in distress. Alarm! Anspeth Johnson and Virginia Sloane, Miss Pressmore's senior girls, were equally shocked standing alongside the Head on stage.
"But Miss, you wanted us to humiliate him as much as we could, to teach us about male weakness" cried Anspeth.
"We've been trying our best," added Virginia, her voice almost breaking with injustice. "He cries as soon as we arrive in your study to pick him up, cos he knows..."
She stopped, interrupted by a whimper from behind the curtain of the on-stage cubicle. Miss Pressmore cast a chuckling glance at the curtain, her nose in the air with self-righteous satisfaction, and addressed her senior girls and the whole assembly.
"Dear girls, I have decided. As you know, Mr Shaw proposed marriage to me eighteen months ago, then changed his mind."
The entire hall hissed with protestations of female hate and annoyance. Miss Pressmore swelled with satisfaction at the solidarity she had created amongst her girls in her support. "I know, I know. I sympathise with your disgust. And even though I have since then persuaded him to become my fiance, I agree that he has been unforgivable. A typical male. But it was me and me personally that he offended. So it is I who should take a personal revenge on the creep."
Sighs of acceptance filled the air from two hundred deflated girls. They had to admit the Head, as always, was right.
"However, I would like you girls to help me in my revenge, just as before."
"Oh Miss, can we?" cried Anspeth, brightening, along with every other face present.
"Instead of having him dressed as your baby," continued the Head, "I have unsexed him, by dressing him as my sexless twin."
Anspeth and Virginia exchanged puzzled looks.
Felicity Pressmore was enjoying this little pantomime for her girls, knowing the thrill they would all enjoy in a moment's time, and she stepped to the side of the red curtain. "From now on he will wear some of my things," she said, "as well as certain apparel befitting a sexless little dick-head". She paused for a moment and then pulled the cord to sweep back the curtain. "Like this!"
The Principal's twenty-five-year-old fiance stood before them, bound at wrists, knees and ankles in pink ribbons, a pacifier in his mouth, and dressed in a large blouse and a little pink tutu. It took a moment for this picture of girlified sweetness to register across two hundred lively minds, then the squealing broke out.
"Oh Miss, you've got him in your pantyhose!"
"And your high heels, Miss. What a brill idea!"
"Miss, isn't that your white blouse, only it's a bit different?"
Miss Pressmore raised her hands for quiet, which was only partly achieved, as she explained. "True, he will be in my blouses, but modified to be worn by a sexless wimp." She stood next to her fiance whose tears were coarsing down his cheeks. "You see this collar has been added, with buttons, so that when we turn it up round his face, like this, we can button him up inside his collar." Her words were greeted with a roar of laughter as Virginia helped her to turn the collar of crisp white silk up all round his head so that Miss Pressmore could fasten his blouse buttons up the front, over his face, to close him inside.

"He won't know who's standing round laughing at him," observed Virginia against the din of girls' laughter.
"No Miss," cried Anspeth, "or who's playing with his clitsy-pop!"
"Trust you, Anspeth Johnson," laughed Miss Pressmore. "Perhaps we had better secretly choose one of the girls to come up on stage and perform the honours."
A sea of hands filled the air and girlish bottoms danced up and down on their seats. Anspeth picked Rebecca Downton and beckoned her to come on up and approach the immobilised and sissifed teacher. A swell of quietened anticipation fell across the rows of girls as Rebecca stood to one side so they could all see her lifting his tutu and the silky petticoat underneath. Miss Pressmore's pink satin panties came into view, and they were lifted and unhooked from the offending stiff male organ. With a glance of pure excitement towards her friends sitting below, Rebecca closed her fingers gently onto the solid flesh, and his clitsy-pop burst immediately into life with a squiggle of cum firing into the air, and again and again, then dribbled madly as she masturbated him properly as Miss Pressmore had taught them.
"Oh that's wonderful, Rebecca," she declared with a broad lipstick grin. "Now women are completely in control of his sexuality. We can all see what a pathetic confirmed sissy we have made of him. Remember this lesson in future girls, whenever males prove disappointing. "