by Prim
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The story so far:
He approaches Headmistress Alison Forceman, who seems supportive, but similarly uses Fem-Agra on her young teacher in his daily visits to her study. He develops an irresistible desire for little dresses, and Miss Forceman tells her young teacher that she will help him to intervene at Dressing Manor.
Chapter 3: Mr Johnson to the rescue It was Friday, after school, and Miles Johnson sat in the passenger seat of Alison Forceman's car, following her sat-nav towards their worrying destination. If he had been told three weeks ago that he would be joining her to save his 18-year-old pupil, Lyndon Blonding, he might well have had second thoughts about pursuing his crusade. But in spite of his dread of her size and her force of personality, here he was sitting beside her, breathing her heady perfume, aware out of the corner of his eye of the wide sleeves and turned back cuffs of her white satin jacket and her ample bust above the steering wheel. He had thought about Miss Forceman's breasts a great deal since he had been in attendance in her study after school each afternoon; or to be more exact, about her breast encasing blouses. His thoughts also returned frequently to her knee-length, swishing, pleated skirts. His penis stiffened in his pants as he thought about them now: he would like to reach out and stroke her pleats with submissive affection, and feel her cold glare as she watched him like a severe aunt might allow her nephew to experiment with his young sexuality. He was startled out of his reverie by the rap of her voice.
"Keep your eyes open for the road, Mr Johnson. You need to be wide awake this evening. Pantyway Lane is what you are looking for." He stole a sideways glance at her profile: her prominent lips and slightly forward teeth, the attractive curve of her blond pageboy bob, higher at the back than at the front, and the deliciously large collar of her candy striped blouse, half covering the collar of her coat.
"I told Miss Hidebotham we would arrive at 4.45, in three minutes' time," she said. "You may not hold punctuality a virtue, young man, but I certainly do." But he didn't notice her, and he didn't smell a rat, and pressed on with his Headmistress in his bid to come to the aid of young Lyndon Blonding. Pantyway Lane was a driveway rather than a road, with a white metal fence disappearing into a hedge. Soon there were flowering bushes on either side with trees behind, and as they rounded a bend between rhododendrons, they came upon the house: tall, box-like and solidly built, with a dozen or more chimney stacks on the grey slated roof. There was a large graveled forecourt, with five or six cars parked round its edge: a lovely Mercedes and several equally expensive, sporty coupés. Miss Forceman parked her Volvo and they both got out. Miles Johnson was close to losing his nerve. The Victorian house was much larger than he had imagined, in red brick with sandstone cornices, window sills and lintels that were blackened with age. "Come along, Mr Johnson," said Miss Forceman as she crunched across the gravel in her spiky high heels; "you will be doing the talking during our visit. I am here simply to add female authority." The visitors climbed a set of six steps that led up to a large front door flanked with terracotta urns of foliage. The young teacher took a deep breath and stepped up to press the bell button. It made no sound, as if it hadn't worked. He pressed it again. "That will do, Mr Johnson," tutted Miss Forceman. "Come and stand here with me." From the front, he could see the pink and white stripes of the Headmistress's blouse, and her collar cupping her white earrings and spreading across her bosom. "Stand still," she said, and held him by one arm as she licked her middle finger to smooth it along his eyebrow and another lick for the other. She combed and shaped his hair with her fingers, but was interrupted by a sound at the door. It pulled open, slowly because of its size, and revealed a tall woman in her mid thirties with short, loosely permed hair and fashionable spectacles. Her café au lait blouse was buttoned to the neck, and her skirt was wide, in chocolate taffeta, pleated but with a panel of five buttons down the front. Miles Johnson felt his lower lip trembling as he tried to think what to say. He stared at the lace trimming round the woman's collar and down either side of the pearl buttons that rose over her ample bust. "Mr Johnson, is it?" Her voice was strong and she had an attractive smile. "And Miss Forceman?" "Er… I, erm… We've come to see Miss Hidebotham, please. About her son… er… her stepson, Lyndon… He's been absent from school." The smile flickered. "I am Vera Hidebotham. You had better come in." She stepped back from the door, looking straight at the young teacher as the two visitors entered a spacious hall leading to an impressive staircase. The floor was in cream and brown tiles, more than half covered by a Persian carpet, with wood panels on all the walls. Miss Hidebotham closed the door behind them and secured the locks, adding gloom to the interior. A second door also had to be locked over the first, then the hostess joined her visitors. "I've been expecting you both," she said brightly, speaking more to the young teacher than to the headmistress, "and you can't imagine how much I've been looking forward to your visit." As she spoke, her words disappeared beneath the rattling approach of a wheeled frame. It was being pulled across the hall by another woman, and was soon seen to be a dress rail as used in a clothing store. It was filled on two levels with clothing in clear plastic covers, from which dangled the pink and white labels that Miles Johnson recognized only too well from his pleasurable visits to Miss Forceman's study. Miss Popsy's boutique. A whimper quivered his lips as he realised the passing rail was carrying girls' dresses… with skirts at the lower level. How lovely! He could see a puffed sleeve of orange satin, and another of blue, and the cuffs of white blouse sleeves! Ohhh, if only he could walk over there and browse, and slip the plastic cover off some of the pretty dresses and… He swallowed and seemed to struggle in a state of bewilderment, wondering as he often did in the last couple of weeks, why it had suddenly become such a deeply felt desire for him to touch girls' clothing, like the little dresses and blouses he found occasionally in Miss Forceman's study. But most of all… he wanted to WEAR them, or even… and he cringed with shame at the thought… he wanted Miss Forceman herself to DRESS him in them! And here she was beside him as these dreadful feelings coursed through his mind. Another fright seized him. His penis had stiffened at the sight of the dresses, as his eyes followed them across the hall until they disappeared with more rattling into the side corridor. What if Miss Forceman, or Lyndon Blonding's stepmother, were to notice his bulging trousers and realize his terrible wish? What a deviant they would see him to be. Oh how uncontrollable this affection for girls' clothes had become. He found himself looking into the eyes of Miss Hidebotham, who had her head on one side with a smile. No wonder she was perplexed by this teacher who seemed to drift off into a daydream all of a sudden. He couldn't remember what he had been saying, or why he was there between two attractive women in their thirties, both taller than him. "You came to see me about my stepson, I believe, Mr Johnson," prompted Miss Hidebotham with a smile. "Lyndon has kept his father's name: hence, Lyndon Blonding."
It was coming back to him, and he blushed. "Er, thank you… Miss Hidebotham." He looked round for Miss Forceman's approval, but her raised eyebrows were telling him to get on with it. He followed her across the carpet with Alison Forceman behind him. A wood paneled door opened ahead of them and a blond haired woman stepped out to greet them. Her blouse of cream silk had shoulder frills that looked like they belonged in Stepford, and a short skirt in stiffened peach satin. "Ah, Doctor," smiled the hostess, turning to the young teacher. "This is Mr Johnson from St Ursula's. I know you'd love to meet him. And Miss Forceman, the Principal. Mr Johnson, this is Doctor Hardman."
Miles Johnson reached a nervous hand forward and Jessica Hardman grasped it in both hands, her wide sleeves seeming to swell outwards from the V of cream frills that rose from her waist to her shoulders. His heart dropped. His plan was that he and Miss Forceman would talk to his pupil's stepmother, on her own with her stepson. With Miss Forceman alongside him, he would have felt assured and safe, and would be on his way home after quarter of an hour. He stepped into a large room with high windows and wall mirrors interspersed with lavish drapes and lace-edged netting, and crystal chandeliers from the ceiling, but his immediate impression was of being surrounded by big bosoms and short skirts. A cluster of tall women surrounding him, immaculately made up and smartly dressed. Doctor Harding held him by his hand and introduced him to each lady in turn. "This is Miss Widely… Mr Johnson." His heart was beating in his throat as Miss Widely took his hand and said how pleased she was to meet him. Her skirt was particularly big but exceptionally short for a woman of her age. She wore a cream satin blouse, with waterfall frills over her bosom. "And this is Councillor Welting, who has a lot to do with education." The young teacher contained his emotions as he faced a woman with mousey, neatly permed hair and glasses who smiled at him as if reading his soul. Her bust was barely contained within a blouse of cerise pink satin, worn with a beige pleated miniskirt and black knee boots. His own knees suddenly felt weak and he floundered, but he was seized round the waist by Doctor Harding and held at the hands by Councillor Welting. "I'm s-s-sorry," he stammered, trying to stand firm again on his legs. The Councillor held on to his hand so that he couldn't withdraw it. "There's no need to apologise, Mr Johnson," she smiled, turning to the faces around her. "We're all delighted to see you." The size of her bust brought a tingling pleasure to his own nipples, similar to the pleasure he felt whenever he was sitting opposite Miss Forceman's big breasts in her study. Then a shock struck him, wringing another whimper from his throat. This woman's nipples were erected and pushing their shape forcefully into the cerise satin of her blouse. It reminded him of what he had discovered recently: In the presence of large breasted women in crisp, shiny blouses his own nipples would enlarge inside his shirt. He could feel them now, stiffening… pulsing. Oh what dreadful, frightening changes were coming over him. He really must get himself registered with a local doctor. "Let me introduce you to Miss Spitewell," continued Doctor Harding.
"I've heard so much about you, Mr Johnson," gushed a blond woman with black-rimmed glasses, perhaps five years older than the others. "I do love handsome young male teachers." Her bust was in a tight knitted top in pale blue, above a pleated navy blue miniskirt. "And this is Miss Ampleweight," pursued the doctor, reaching the woman furthest to her right. She wore a powerful silk blouse in stripes of black, pink and silver, with an upturned collar that flared from her face and billowing sleeves that sizzled as she took Miles Johnson's hand. It was no wonder he felt faint, surrounded by perfumed women who stood taller than him in their very high heels, looking intently at him with smiles on their glossy lips. He felt a hand catching his other wrist. Thank goodness. It was Miss Forceman giving him support, and he found himself being led towards the armchairs in the middle of the room, surrounded by silky blouses, short flaired skirts and sizzling, nylon stockings. He was having to take deep breaths. Oh how he wished his penis would go down. "Take a seat, everybody," he heard from Vera Hidebotham, who stood at a low table covered in coffee cups. "There's coffee for everyone. Mr Johnson dear… this will be your place." The male visitor found himself in a narrow, short seated armchair with his back to the door. He was in the middle of the company but, unlike the white chairs around him, his was pink, in a satinised material that had a vague feel of leather to it that was pleasant to the touch. A little behind him sat Miss Forceman, while on his other side was Doctor Harding whose short skirt showed her stocking tops and suspender clips. "Here we are, Mr Johnson," said Miss Hidebotham with a smile, presenting him with his cup and saucer. "Luckily there's a larger cup that you can use." In a moment, every lady round the group was holding a coffee and drinking demurely, while Miles Johnson discovered that it was the same delicious coffee he was used to in Miss Forceman's study, and he drank it avidly. It helped him to appreciate the gleaming pairs of sheer or patterned stockings on all sides of him, all of them black, with shiny black high heels on the carpet. "It's amazing how young our teachers are these days," smiled Councillor Welting as she addressed the circle. "It's a bit like our young policemen. May I ask how old you are, Mr Johnson?"
The young visitor swallowed the gulp of coffee he had in his mouth and rested his cup on his saucer.
Mr Johnson thought for a moment. "I have distant cousins, I think, in Australia… but we don't keep in touch." The young teacher held out his cup and saucer for it to be filled to the brim. "Er… no. No, I suppose I haven't," he said. There was a moan from one of the ladies to his left, and another half moan, half choke on her coffee from Gail Ampleweight. "Well you will always find friends here," declared Doctor Harding, sitting forward so that her blouse was alongside him. "We are all deeply concerned for you and your future. As a matter of fact, when you arrived a few minutes ago, I had just finished giving everyone a medical examination, and I would be pleased to examine you as well, while I am here. You see how lucky it was for you to find me at the Manor today." "Er, yes… well, if it isn't too much trouble doctor." He struggled to recall what he was doing here in this softly lit drawing room, surrounded with beautiful women. "It's no trouble at all, my dear. Drink up your coffee while I put on my medical tunic." He drank as she stood up and turned to leave the circle, then choked on his coffee as he saw the pretty blouse buttons down the back of her blouse. He was vaguely aware of the silent attention all round him, but his eyes were fixed on Doctor Harding as she lifted a crisp tunic from the back of a chair in front of one of the tall mirrors and slipped her wide blouse sleeves into it before returning to her place.
"It's vitally important for us all to keep healthy," she said as she sat on a stool that one of the ladies had placed beside the teacher's chair. She fastened the large shiny buttons over her bust as she was talking, and on down to her waist where the tunic stopped in her lap. It was in stiffened lemon nylon, with a large collar that folded behind her ears and cupped the back of her neck, with the neckline plunging onto the bosom of her blouse and spreading in two points outside her breasts. Miss Forceman intervened. "Shall I take off your jacket, Mr Johnson?"
A burst of emotion swept over the young teacher as he realised Miss Forceman had taken off her coat, and he saw her blouse properly for the first time. Its collar was even larger than he thought since its neckline dipped lower than her breasts, showing far more cleavage than he had ever seen before, and her sleeves… they were enormous! The adorable scent of her blouses filled his nostrils, as she used both hands to loosen his tie and unfasten it. He sank back into his chair, to find that Doctor Harding was unfastening the cuff at one of his wrists. "Miss Widely will help you to relax your ankles and your feet. Thank you, Arabella." Miss Widely stooped in front of the visitor's chair with difficulty, because she was a large woman. She unfastened his shoes and slipped them off, followed by his socks. The doctor caught hold of a pink toggle on the outside of the teacher's chair arm and pulled out an extending strap so that it crossed his arm above his wrist, clipping it into place on the inside of the chair. It matched the upholstery in smooth pink leather and had a soft but firm caress. Her crisp yellow tunic rustled in front of him and the pointed wing of her collar slid across his face and caught there for a moment. He gasped for his next breath. It wasn't quite clear to him what was happening to his feet, but his ankles were similarly clipped into straps of pink leather, since the front of his chair was divided in two, one for each leg, and it took Arabella Widely a few moments of attention to attend to the visitor's feet. The doctor stood over her patient and dipped her hand into one of the large patch pockets with button tabs that formed the bottom hem of her tunic. "I'm using this wrist cuff," she said, taking out a soft piece of cloth "to measure your pulse dear." She opened it into a length of ribbon four inches wide and passed it under his wrist. It was in white slipper satin with a frill on the forward edge, and she fastened three little pearled buttons along the back of his wrist to secure it in place. A moment later she was buttoning his other wrist in the same way. The bewildered 24-year-old felt a quiver of pleasure at the pulse cuffs that he had to wear. They made him recall how worried he had been the last few days when he realised how his wrists seemed to have narrowed… to have become more delicate or dainty… almost like a girl's! He didn't object to his cuffs. In fact they made him feel sweet… and rosy inside his tented boxers. In any case his mind was distracted by the closeness of Doctor Harding's peach skirt with its lovely buttons right in front of his face as she fitted a satin cuff around his neck.
"I'm making sure I can monitor your heartbeats, Mr Johnson," she said softly as the aroma of her satin skirt filled his head. "Would you mind fastening him up, Miss Forceman?" She smiled down on her patient. The cuff for Miles Johnson's neck was eight inches deep, in the same white satin but with a larger frill, at each end. He couldn't see them, but down its front there were three satin covered buttons in pink. His throat too, he remembered: it was a source of serious worry to him. He had taken to feeling it with his fingertips every evening in front of the mirror, because it had become narrower and had changed its shape. His Adam's apple! What had become of it? And he couldn't really tell, but he was beginning to fear that his voice had changed: he couldn't get it as loud as it used to be, he was sure, and it was softer and… and it sounded higher, almost like a girl's. His pupils had noticed the change and giggled about it. Miss Forceman fastened the six little pearl buttons up the back of his neck and fluffed out the back of his hair above them. And since Miss Ampleweight was combing her hair as she sat waiting in her armchair, she asked to borrow her comb. "Just for a moment, dear. We need it for a little neatening up." She combed her teacher's hair out from the crown in all directions, taking care to make it as smooth and as fine as could be. His mid brown hair was another mystery to him: it was growing like mad these days and how thick it had become when he brushed it. Miss Forceman had noticed and had forbidden him to have it cut, saying it was getting to the length for a style that would suit him perfectly. And here she was, combing it for him now, dividing it meticulously into a parting - on the girls' side - and combing it out over his left eye. "Pass me a slide, Doctor," she said as Miles sat peacefully, feeling warm and secure, like when he was at the hairdressing salon. Jessica Harding slipped the item out of one of her tunic pockets and passed it over. He didn't see it, but his quiff was lifted up the side of his hair and clipped above his temple with a glittering butterfly in pink plastic. "Look at me," ordered Miss Forceman, sitting forward so that when her teacher turned towards her, his face was inches from the front of her collar. She cupped his chin in the fingers of one hand, even though his chair straps meant that he couldn't turn, and raised his face towards her so that she could pretty his hair with her other hand. The sleeves of her blouse caught under her collar and lifted the crisp wings higher so that they were around his face as she fussed. It was too much for Miles Johnson, and a breathless whimper bleated from his throat as his Headmistress primped and puffed his hair for him.
There were moans from two or three ladies as they watched and picked up on his moments of pleasure. Vera Hidebotham mentioned it.
Miss Forceman, had his chin securely in her hand and carried on caressing the shape of his hair as if needing to do more before she was satisfied. Mr Johnson couldn't form any words. He felt he desperately wanted more coffee. But more than that, he had to hide the shameful feelings he was suffering from Miss Forceman's blouse. He wriggled his hands to try and free them, pulling inwards, then trying to push his wrists outwards, then in, then out. His ankles too. He had to stand up out of his chair, if only he could! "Kiss my collar, Mr Johnson," said Miss Forceman, using her free hand to clasp the front edge of one wing of her collar and present it to his lips. Everyone in the room was intent on his face, and the trembling of his lips showed them how right Alison Forceman had been. Several ladies had their hands under their skirts or inside their panties and were bringing themselves to a nice level of excitement as the wretched male's lips pressed softly onto the pink and white stripes of his Headmistress's collar. Her hand supported the delta of silk as his face pressed into it, sinking deeply as she pushed it up to receive his kiss, and wrapping it slightly around his cheek. "Just a little movement, Mr Johnson. Nothing to worry about," said the hostess as she adjusted his chair; it silently reclined a little, his head sinking back by a few inches, his legs rising off the floor and his feet parting by three feet. This brought into everyone's view the strap fastened ankles of the poor visitor, whose feet had been dressed, unbeknownst to him, by Arabella Widely while she was down at the floor. She had pulled his trouser legs up, to make way for his pink leather ankle straps, and now a pair of frilled white ankle socks were folded over onto his feet, with large pink ribbon bows at the front of each, enclosed in a pair of Mary Jane shoes in pink patent leather, with two narrow straps across each instep. "I just can't wait to get started," said Arabella Widely, leaning forward with her elbows planted on her chair and her legs rocking impatiently. Councillor Welting turned to her, her finger at her lips with a look of reproach, bringing a "Tsk!" from the broad lady. A moment later, released from his Headmistress's collar, Miles Johnson was a picture of blushes as he sat being watched by seven women. Clouds of confusion swept over him. He ventured glimpses around him and every female face was slightly open mouthed at his show of affection for a blouse collar. He was more than a little relieved to see that their looks of astonishment changed slowly into smiles of understanding, but he knew he had betrayed himself in revealing these shocking feelings that had turned his life upside down. What on earth were they all going to think of him? Was he a fool and a pervert in the eyes of these women? And what about Miss Hidebotham, the stepmother of the poor pupil who needed his help? It suddenly all returned to him about his reason for being here in this drawing room in the first place. He turned his head to his right, as far as he could and saw that Miss Forceman was there, straightening her blouse and adjusting her beads across her bosom. She acknowledged him with her eyes, and he felt emboldened to speak up in front of all these women. She was expecting him to perform effectively. He would have to be brave and face down the bad start he had made. He took a quick look around, to find all eyes on him as if expecting him to speak, so he faced the boy's stepmother and launched his attack. "Miss Hidebotham," he said, calming a tremble in his voice, "your stepson Lyndon has written to me at school, complaining about his treatment since… since his father left home." Vera reacted with a look of hurt surprise and clutched her beads in her fingers. "He told me how you have kept him locked in his room, with a governess." Vera lifted her chin as if not to deny it. "And he says you make him wear clothes that are too small… and much too young for him." "I would have thought," replied the lady of the house, "that it was my place to decide how best to arrange the wardrobe of my own stepson, Mr Johnson. I can tell you that my stepson is fine and is… excited… about his new life." "Well, er… yes, well… he also told me that you cane his bottom and his legs." There was a blurted moan from one of the women in the circle - Councillor Welting - but it was quickly stifled. The young male teacher pressed on with his purpose. "He said in one of his letters that you made him go to bed at 6 o'clock," and he shared this information with the ladies around him since they would certainly see the unfairness of it, "even though he is eighteen years of age."
He received some looks of sympathy, and added even more damning evidence of cruelty.
"Wide sissy collars, Mr Johnson? How wide?"
"Sissy collars?" queried Gail Ampleweight, sitting the other side of the hostess. "So they would be wide white collars, I suppose?" They were interrupted by Councillor Welting. "I can understand the boy being dressed in a wide sissy collar," she said, "but at least he hasn't been put into a girl's clothes. Then I would see some reason for objecting." It was while she was saying these words that a sudden draft billowed one of the ceiling to floor drapes of strawberry taffeta and a hand parted the curtain at the wall to reveal the arrival of a woman through a concealed door. Or rather her arrival, while pushing ahead of herself a child in a pushchair. The newcomers ventured forward a few paces and stopped before the wheels had reached the carpet. There were "Ohhhs" and "Ahhhs" from all sides as the women turned in their armchairs to see the little girl with her nurse, and everyone seemed to be exchanging smiles of delight and excited comments about them. Miles Johnson recognized the woman. It was Nurse Feel who had twice brought him letters to his classroom on behalf of his pupil. She was wearing a lavishly frilled white blouse with a high neck and leg-of-mutton sleeves coming to narrow cuffs that buttoned right down her forearms. He thought about turning to Miss Forceman and drawing this to her attention, but instead he joined everyone else who was looking at the little girl in the pushchair. Her hair was a golden blond colour and beautifully smooth, immaculately flicked up all round her neck and with a big bow of pink silk forming a butterfly on top of her head. She was sucking on a pacifier which half covered the healthy rosy blush of her cheeks and she had enormous black eyelashes that curved into view from beneath her blond fringe. Her hands were out of sight, but her knees were pressed together in a second pink ribbon, done into a bow under her chin, while a third ribbon was bowed at her ankles, as if she was joining the company as a presentation gift box. That must have been the impression of the group of ladies, Miles Johnson thought, for they were beside themselves at the sight of her, whooping and "Ahhh"-ing with pure delight on their faces, with their hands to their cheeks and bosoms and their stockinged legs pressed and sliding together. But who was this little girl? She must have been very young, he thought, going by the little dress she was wearing. He felt his penis stiffening immediately because she had adorable little sleeves of puffed chiffon at her shoulders with pink ribbon bows on the outside of each, although her arms were out of sight, maybe behind her. Then a frilled little collar under her blond hair, with beautiful frills of chiffon bursting outwards from above her waist in a short skirt with lace-bottomed petticoats filling it out so sweetly. And… and his heart jumped with delight as he caught what he was sure was a glimpse of her panty frills at the top of her bare legs. At that very moment, the girl looked straight at him, he was sure, and shook her blond hair from side to side and up and down. He presumed it must have been some little game she was playing in her head, but Miss Feel took it as time to swirl her pushchair round, showing flashes of white petticoats under her wide black and white skirt, and disappeared with her ribbon-packaged charge between the curtains as if she had never been there.
There was gasping from nearly all of the ladies. What an impression the little girl had made on them and they turned to Miss Hidebotham with excitement on their faces. Of course. That was it. She must have been Miss Hidebotham's little daughter, and she was too shy to meet so many strangers all at once. But ohhhhhh, that little frill of panty silk! How it touched his desires. If only he could have seen her panty properly, or if… if he could visit her bedroom and open her panty drawer to see all her girlish little panties folded neatly with their frills and their elastics. "Thank you, everyone, you're so kind," glowed their hostess. "But tell me: what did you think of the little dress I had her in?" All thought of rescuing Lyndon Blonding left Miles Johnson's head as the conversation turned to the little dress he had just seen.
"I thought it was gorgeous, Vera," cried Councillor Welting. "It was so short, leaving her darling legs completely bare." There was a silence round the circle. What had he said? What had he done? Oh why was he incapable of controlling himself when he saw a girls' dress? His inner longings to be near them and to touch and feel and kiss them just came out and he couldn't stop them. These women were going to think he was some kind of pervert when they heard what he had just said. And what about Miss Hidebotham, the stepmother of the youth he was trying to protect? And Miss Forceman! Oh God, no!
He turned his neck to try and see her and she was closer than he thought… right beside him in her blouse. She spoke. His penis was rigid now in the front of his pants. He could feel it forcing his trousers out in front of him. Hopefully no-one would see it as thoughts of dresses floated round pleasantly in his mind.
"What about double buttons at the front, Mr Johnson," said Doctor Harding making him turn to see her face above the big yellow collar of her tunic. "They can look very sweet and feminine."
Miles Johnson's heart was pounding, as he was vaguely aware that Miss Hidebotham had left her seat beside him. A thrill was surging through his whole body at the thought… she was going to show him a little girls' dress, with double buttons. He sat in his armchair, slightly reclined, and smiled apologetically to the attractive female faces around him, all of them intent upon him, their blouses thrust forward containing their breasts - and he noticed Miss Widely's breasts even further expanded, forwards and upwards, with her nipples jutting stiffly forward in points of cream silk.
Her hand caressed the underside of one of her breasts, her fingertips closing on her nipple. "Girls' dresses are so pretty these days," she said to him. "It must be lovely to put them on." "Oh yes," breathed Miles Johnson. He found himself looking beyond the circle of faces to where one of the tall mirrors had swung open, reflecting the chandelier and the fireplace, and Miss Hidebotham was there talking to Miss Forceman who had joined her.
Then they were coming back… with a dress… a little dress which must have been for a little girl. They returned to their places, and Miss Hidebotham sat beside him to show him what she had got. "Here we are, you see," she said: "this sweet little dress is in white dicel with a flared skirt in patterned orange and yellow. Look, little rabbits and ducks and lambs all over it, isn't it sweet Mr Johnson?" There was bleating from his throat in the satin frilled cuff and his penis stiffened furiously, forcing out his pants. He wanted the dress. Oh how he wanted it! "And here, look, the white top opens down to the waist and has two little rows of pearled buttons on the bib between these frills. I'll fasten them up and show you." His mouth hung open as she lay the dress in the lap of her brown taffeta skirt and fastened the first of the six little dress buttons and the second, three inches to the side of it. Then the next pair, and finally she said: "and the last little button passes through this little loop here, under the dainty frilly-edged collar." She had brought the dress even closer on its hanger… twelve inches from his face, as she used her other hand to fuss the hem of the skirt into a wide spread. "But now let me show you a lovely dress with single buttoning down to the waist." She passed the first dress to Miss Forceman behind him and lifted a little dress of pale blue cotton towards him. A moan swelled from his throat at the sight of its big square sailor collar in smooth white cotton with a pretty line of blue an inch from the edges and with a little blue pony in each corner instead of an anchor, while under the collar could be seen a row of three big pearled buttons down to the blue waist band. She fussed out the wide skirt, which had an integrated petticoat with a little broderie anglaise edging underneath, and as she lifted the front of the skirt and petti, it had a little white panty sewn into it as well. Miles Johnson surged with desire, his hands wriggling for release and his ankles aching to pull free as he craved for a kiss… a caress from the dear little sailor dress. "Aren't these buttons so cute for such a dainty little dress, Mr Johnson? And what do you have to say about its darling sailor-girl collar?" "It's a darling collar," he gave straight back to her, his eyes riveted on the large square collar at the back as she turned it right round for him. "It is lovely, isn't it?" she agreed, pouting her lips in a pursed smile. "Doctor, could you hold the little sailor dress for Mr Johnson? And now," she said as she lifted the remaining dress, "we have a precious little button-through dress for a three-year-old." He heaved on his chair, which didn't move because of its solidity, and warbled with desire towards the little rose pink dress she held up in front of him. It was a short, A-line dress no longer than sixteen inches from neck to hem with a full circle white collar four inches wide, dividing at the front with pink dress buttons from top to bottom between ruffles of pink silk. The sleeves were white too, puffed into little balls and with a pink button on the outside of each. The stretching in the front of Miles Johnson's pants was furiously urgent as his penis strained hard in desire for the dear little-girl dress. Its little white pockets with a pink button on each; its half-belt in white halfway down the back with a pink button at each end. The teacher's mouth lolled open and saliva ran down his chin as Miss Hidebotham showed him the front buttons again and counted them for him. "Six very lovely buttons on the front for you dear," she said softly. "You would like your dress buttons to be down the front of your dress, isn't that what you said Mr Johnson?" He nodded, drinking her words, oblivious to the women around him with their blouses rustling, their skirts upturned and their fingers urgently fondling their wet panties. "I want you to feel lovely with your dress buttons, Mr Johnson, and… I saw how fervently you wanted to kiss the collar of Miss Forceman's blouse and… I wondered if you would like to kiss one of these little dresses?" It was as though he was in heaven, with that smell of roses surrounding him which seemed to come from any girls' dresses he had ever kissed. His legs slowly parted even further from the seat of his pants without him realizing the silent adjustment of his chair, so bewitched was he with the darling little dresses being held in front of him. His feet were still only inches from the carpet but his knees had moved sideways into a wide spread of 120 degrees. There was an adjustment at his wrists as both leather straps was pulled into a tighter position. His ankles too were pulled until they were tightly strapped, then the back of his chair slowly sank, away from the faces that were intent on him, until he was gazing more at the ornamental ceiling and the edge of the chandelier. "But Mr Johnson," enquired Miss Hidebotham, leaning her face over him with a comforting smile; "would you like to kiss the orange, yellow and white dress with two rows of pretty buttons? Or would you like your lips to kiss the little blue and white sailor dress with its lacy petticoat and frilly panty? Or would you like to kiss the darling little white dress with pink dress buttons all down the front? Which is it to be?" "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! The little blue and white sailor dress with its p-petticoat and p-panty, please," he warbled, his penis swelling with the most lovely waves of pleasure he had ever endured. How lovely and all-consuming little girls' dresses had become for him. "Of course, Mr Johnson," and the sailor dress closed towards his face, its collar on either side of his cheeks and its three pearled buttons coming nearer and nearer until they kissed him on the lips.
"Isn't it pretty?" he just about heard from somewhere. And as he gurgled in front of his dress, the women watched the upward-pointing flies of his grey suit trousers, knowing what to expect, waiting for it, then seeing it. A patch of damp spreading darkly at the top of his point, widening until the whole top of his flies were soaking wet. "Little buttons," he whimpered. "Pretty collar!" Miss Hidebotham held the hanger very close to him, above the level of his head so that the dress hung in front of his face, its hem just touching the tip of his chin. Around her every woman in the group had lifted the front of her skirt. In shameless abandon Arabella Widely had flicked out the two foot rests that opened from the arms of her chair and had lifted her high heeled shoes onto them, her stockings spread wide, and so had one or two other women. The young 'male', meanwhile, was unaware that six pairs of panties were facing him in a circle, all of them showing wet stains, all of them with fingers pressing the material into hot vaginas or rippling with the shape of fingers under their silk or nylon gussets, pushing and fondling in their most sensitive places, all with expressions of forced self control, lips tightened, voices silenced… and all of them with their eyes locked onto the pushing, wetting, erected point in the front of Mr Johnson's trousers as his penis pointed uncontrollably upwards between his separated legs. Behind him, Alison Forceman had hooked her stockings over the arms of her chair with her high heels dangling above the carpet. She was wearing panties in pale pink silk with a little frill at the leg, and had the fingers of both hands inside the legs as the sleeves of her blouse rustled softly, bringing herself to pleasure the way she knew how. What glorious pleasures her unfortunate young teacher was going to provide her with. Vera had one hand under her skirt and had pushed the gusset of her white panties into her vulva, her eyes lidding repeatedly with pleasure as her friend the doctor softly fondled the teacher's face with one side of the little sailor collar. A surge of deep satisfaction warmed her genitals as she noted the twin points in his shirt, pushed sharply into the air by nipples that were clearly responding sexually, but her pleasure grew with the greatest flush when her eyes returned to devouring the stiffened, pulsing point in the front of his trousers. There was the inevitable gasp from one woman or another, or someone would let out a stifled moan, but Doctor Harding masked it with her soft talk to the unsuspecting teacher. She further adjusted his seat, lowering his feet an inch or two, and bringing up the flies of his pants. What a tented point they all had there to enjoy, pulling upwards as if wanting to touch the high ceiling, and gradually, as they watched, the highest point changed colour, from pale grey to dark grey, as a wet patch spread outwards until it was all round the tip of his trouser flies. Fingers worked diligently, bringing deep pleasure to every woman in the circle as they watched. What agonies of shame and disgrace this little fool was going to suffer in that very penis in the not too distant future. But for now their pleasure must wait. Councilor Welting caught everyone's eye one by one or laid a hand on the arm of Arabella Widely whose eyes were closed in blissful aches of pleasure, and signaled to them all to sit up and adjust their clothing. The longer they enjoyed themselves now with pretend pleasures, the longer they would be deferring the paradise of pleasures they were all looking forward to. It was at that moment that Vera Hidebotham's phone pulsed softly on the coffee table, and she passed the dress hanger to Alison Forceman who held it from behind the male teacher and kept his face covered, while she picked it up. In a quiet voice she answered a message, stood up and crossed to the door they had all entered by from the entrance hall. She keyed in the code, released it, and admitted a tall, well built woman who stepped in quietly wheeling a large suitcase, while the hostess wheeled in a second case and placed them near the door. The new arrival exchanged hugs, took off her coat, and sat near the door as if to stay out of sight. Everyone was finally ready, their wet panty gussets planted on the rubberized seats of their armchairs and their handkerchiefs back in their bags after wiping their hands and pussies. Miles Johnson's chair had been silently and slowly returned to its normal position with his frilled socks and pretty shoes near the carpet. Barbara Welting looked round her, nodded to the doctor and Mr Johnson's little sailor girl dress was moved back an inch or two, for one final little kiss on the panty, before it was returned on its hanger to the hostess. He blinked apologetically, as if he had woken up from a wet dream to find himself in the middle of his classroom with a class in front of him, watching his every move, aware of the full depths of his desires. Was he a fool and a pervert in the eyes of these women? And what about Miss Hidebotham, the stepmother of the poor pupil who needed his help? Well, perhaps he needn't have worried about her disdain, because after all, it was her idea to show him girls' dresses in the first place. He found her smiling at him, now that he was sitting upright again, although there seemed to be a twist of double meaning on her lips. Perhaps she did see him as a pervert. It was as his worries mounted in his breast that the curtain at the wall blew again into the room and the little girl was back in her pushchair, pushed by Nurse Feel, still wearing her white, Edwardian blouse and black and white miniskirt. This time she wheeled the child into the middle of the room and stopped right in front of a surprised Miles Johnson. The little girl seemed different in some way. Her dress had changed, he noticed, but that wasn't it. Different in some other way. Then he realised what it was: the ribbons had disappeared from her knees and ankles and in their place were strong looking straps, similar to those that held his own wrists and ankles for his medical examination. But there was something exciting about this little girl, which brought a flurry of emotion to the teacher. He felt the cold wetness of his pants as his penis strained forward into his flies. She was sucking on a pink pacifier with a large pink ring hanging from it. In the top of her blond hair was a bow of pink silk, while her hair was flanked with big puffs of pink and white gingham, the sleeves of her little dress. She seemed to be playing her game again, for she was swaying in her pushchair in front of him. In fact, she was so vigorous, she was nearly pulling it over, and Nurse Feel did some fixing at each wheel that extended a leg to give it a wider base. She adjusted the front of the pushchair too, by lifting the child's feet so that her bare legs stuck out in front of her towards Mr Johnson, perfectly straight at the knees, with frilled white socks at her ankles and dainty Mary Jane shoes in pink patent. Something hit the teacher at this point. The girl's legs were long, too long for a little girl. They were almost touching his knees. He looked more closely at her face, which didn't have the long lashes any more, or the rosy cheeks. As he watched, the nurse lifted elastic over the girl's hair, took hold of the pink ring and pulled the pacifier out of her mouth. "Oh thank goodness! Thank heavens you are here, Mr Johnson!" he heard. It was the little girl who blurted out these words, and Miles Johnson was stunned. How could she know his name? He had never seen her before in his life, and yet her face was full of effort as she rocked on her pushchair and seemed to be trying to get out of it. "I knew you would come, Mr Johnson," she cried, looking straight into his eyes. "You must help me. Speak to my stepmother. Make her stop dressing me like this. Tell her now, Mr Johnson, so that I can come back to St Ursula's again." As the girl blurted these words, her nurse made a further adjustment to her pushchair. She turned her back to the startled teacher, presenting him with a spread of white petticoats, and opened the front of the pushchair right out. When she returned to her place behind the girl, Miles Johnson was horrified. There was a burst of laughter all round him, adding to his confusion, for between the girl's legs, and she was not wearing any panties at all, there was a set of little boy's - or was it little girl's - genitals. A perfectly formed baby penis and testicle set! "Mr Johnson! It's me! Lyndon! Your pupil at St Ursula's!"
Miles Johnson's face froze in shock, muddling his words as they came out. They were hidden by the laughter of women, filling the room. This was no little girl; he was looking at Lyndon Blonding, his pupil. A boy, who - and his pulse trebled at the feeling - had been turned into… a girl! And he was suddenly frantically aware that his penis was stiffer than it had been since he arrived in Dressing Manor. Next time: chapter 4: "Girl him! Girl him!"
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