Mitch

[mommasboy]

I think I love Yuliyah. I love the little sissies being made into piggies and forced to wallow in filth. Yes, please

[Sandra B]

103.
Moira Sullivan was excited.  In the Scout world, she was about to become famous, as the young, dynamic troop leader prepared to go the extra mile in embracing the LGBT ethos, setting an example to her older peers.  She had explained her plan to the boys the day before, and though their reaction had been unenthusiastic, to say the least, they were already so demoralized by the spread of their notoriety even to their troop leader that they were unable to defend themselves, and capitulated without a fight.  As she made her way to the girls’ tent, where they were lodging, a squishy parcel whch had just arrived by courier under her arm, and two rainbow scarves in her hand, she fantasized about fame, promotion,… awards, even.  At the last convention she had been rather looked down upon for her youth and inexperience.  But now she was going to make a name for herself, and they would all see her in a different light.  Which turned out to be a surprisingly accurate prediction…

In her excitement, she he rather anticipated the time the Scouts would be rising, and found a tent full of sleeping bodies when she arrived.
“Boys!” she hissed, nothing daunted.  “Boys!  Look what I’ve got for you!”
“W-wha..?  Miss?  What time is it…?” asked Bobby, sleepily.
“I don’t know, Bobby,” replied Moira, irritably.  “Look.  I’ve brought you new rainbow shorts, and your rainbow scarves.  You’ll need to wear these today…  For the photographer, remember?  She’ll be here at one.  You can change here…say at twelve.  Then I’ll come and check you, make sure you’re both neat and tidy.  It’s very exciting…”
But Bobby had already fallen back asleep.

Moira had it all worked out.  The local paper had at first been reluctant to take the story, but she had pestered the editor until he agreed to hand it to one of his junior reporters.  He didn’t promise he’d publish it in the print edition, but after a lot of cajoling from Moira agreed to do a splash online.
The reporter, one Sandy Simpson, sounded on the phone not much older than some of Moira’s charges.  But at least she was enthusiastic, took down all the details, and asked intelligent questions – such as, “how did you find out the boys were gay?” and “do you anticipate any adverse effects from this publicity?”  In short, she got the whole story, and all she then needed were some photos to back it up – and a video would be nice, since it was publishing online.  So the appointment was made.

Penny and Tracey were the first to wake, disturbed by Moira’s premature arrival.  They saw the Pride scarves, and decided they would do the boys a favour and open the parcel for them.  As quietly as they could, they unwrapped the paper and took out a black plastic bag.  Penny reached in and pulled out two pairs of shorts.  They were undeniably pretty – bands of rainbow colours in the translucent latex merging into each other, the zip pull a large pink plastic ring, and a little pink rubber flower attached the left leg, just above the turn-up – one of Alison’s logos.  They woke Marcia and Marcella, and all four of them were soon giggling over the boys’ new outfits.  Marcella help a pair up.
“There a bit on the small side, aren’t they?  Are they seriously going to get their pictures in the paper wearing these?”   
“The rubber’s a lot thinner than their other shorts,” remarked Marcia.
“Well, at least they’ll stretch a bit more then,” said Penny.  “But they’d better be careful they don’t burst them!”
Marcella pulled at the latex.  “See that?  When you do stretch it, it’s almost see-through!  The colours aren’t solid like on their other ones.  And what’s this?”   Inside the parcel there was also a little carboard packet, with the name “Lubitex” on the outside.  She opened it, and held up a what looked like a tiny toothpaste tube.  With some difficulty she read out the instructions.
“The printing’s so tiny…  Let me see…  ‘Lubitex lubricant…specially designed for close-fitting latex clothing…assists dressing…’  Here we go…  ‘Use sparingly.  Squeeze small bead of lubricant inside clothing and spread over interior surface by rubbing garment from outside.’”
“They’re certainly going to need that,” grinned Marcia.  She picked up one pair of shorts.  “Here, squeeze some in here…”
“I’ll do these,” said Penny, eagerly.  “Shh – don’t wake them up just yet…”

Once both pairs of shorts had been treated with lube, and folded up again, Tracey shook the boys by the shoulder.
“Wake up, guys!  Time to get up.  You’ve got a big day ahead of you!”
Bobby and Michael roused themselves.  Bobby lifted himself up on his elbows and looked around sleepily.
“What’s going on?  What do you want?”
“Come on, sleepy head,” said Tracey, gently.  “You need to get ready for the photographer.”
Bobby frowned.  Michael blinked.
“What’s the time?  Nine?  Not yet, idiots,” groaned Bobby.  “We don’t have to change until twelve.”
“But look at your new Pride shorts,” said Penny, holding them up.  “So pretty!  Bet you can’t wait to slip into them.”
The boys didn’t get the joke, of course.  But they looked at the shorts with some misgivings.
“They don’t look big enough,” remarked Michael, frowning.
“Oh, they’ll be fine,” said Penny, brightly.  “They stretch.  See?”  She demonstrated. 
“But you’re right.  We’ll put them back in their wrapping till later.  There,” she added, slipping the Lubitex tube quietly into her pocket.

Later that morning, Moira got the girls together.
“I want you four to stay behind when the troop goes out this morning.”
“Miss?  But we were supposed to be going to the world of adventures place!”
“I’m sorry.  I need you for the photoshoot.  I’ve got it all planned.  I’ll be in front with an arm around each of the boys.  I want you four to stand behind us, two on each side, looking happy and excited.  Make peace signs, or whatever.  I want us to look like a big happy family.  Understand?”
After she had gone, the girls looked at each other miserably.
“She’s totally ruined our day,” said Tracey.
“It’s all about her looking cool,” said Marcella.  “That’s all.  She doesn’t care about Bobby and Mike at all.”
“Or us,” added Penny.
There was a silence.
“I know,” said Marcia.  “Let’s go put a bit more lube in their pants.  Make sure they’re nice and slippery.”
“Good idea,” said Penny.  Give them a treat.”
And they sneaked back to their tent, unfolded the rainbow sorts, and gave them a second treatment, paying special attention to the crotch.

The campsite was deserted now.  The four girls and the two boys hung around in the games room playing table tennis and tabletop soccer.  About twelve-fifteen Moira interrupted them.
“Girls, you look very nice.  Boys?  Ms Simpson will be here in less than an hour.  You need to go and get changed now.  I’ll come and inspect you shortly.  It may be easier for you to change outside the tent – but go behind it, by the hedge, just in case.  I don’t want any of the other admin staff seeing you.  We’ll come out onto the grass for the photos and use the tents as a backdrop.  Girls, you’d better wait by the driveway just in case the journalist arrives early.  Tell her we’ll be ready shortly.”
“Yes, miss.  What does she look like, miss?” asked Penny.
Moira looked at her with exasperation.  “I don’t know, Penny!  Like a journalist.  A young woman.  What do you think?”
Penny gave a bored shrug.
“And boys, roll your scarves neatly, understand?  Not too tight.  And tuck your shirts in.  I’m going to check everything when I come over.  Now I need to go and put on my best shirt and my award sash.  We’ve all got to look our best.”

Bobby and Michael made their way reluctantly back to the tent.  They collected the package and went round behind the tent in the shade of the hedge, where they removed their navy shorts and prepared to put on the rainbow ones.
“Bit small, aren’t they?”
“Shit, Mike, we’re gonna look right sissies in these…”
“Slide on easy, though…”
“Too easy…hold on, let me zip them up…”
“Well they’re on…but…”
“They’re so short, there’s no room for your willy…”
“If you’re not careful, it’s gonna come slipping out of the leg!  Put it vertical, like this…  See?”
“I can see, all right…  I can see everything you’ve got!  Seriously, I’m not having my picture taken like this!”
“You got no choice, mate…  Try walking about…”
They walked up and down behind the tent a few times. 
“Bobby?  Are you feeling what I’m feeling…?”
“I’m getting a massive erection, if that what you mean.  They’re so slippery!  It just keeps sliding about.  I’m gonna put my belt on, or it’ll be out of the waistband soon at this rate!”
“Yeah, when I walk it slides from one side to the other.  I’m gonna hold it still, and keep my hands over it for the photos.”
“And what if she wants us to wave, or something?  It’s gonna look a bit suspicious if you stand there holding it in one hand, isn’t it?”
“Why did she have to do this?  She never asked us if we wanted to be in the paper.  It’s all about her, as usual.”
“What’s she gonna say when she sees  the state of us?”
“We’ll just have to pose in a way that it won’t show, that’s all…”
“Yeah, that’s good…kneeling, or sitting on the grass…that’ll work.”
“Shh!  Here she comes.”
Moira appeared around the side of the tent.  She was dressed in  her best uniform, with a green skirt and a green sash across her chest smothered with award badges.  She wore a beret on which she had sewn a Scout badge.
“Hello boys!  All ready?  She be here in about….”   She stopped and stared at them in horror.
“How have you got yourselves in that state?  I can’t be photographed with you looking like that!  What have you been up to?”
“It’s not our fault, miss!  It’s these shorts you got for us!  They’re so small and tight, and inside they’re all slippery!” wailed Michael.
“Yeah,” added Bobby, “and the rubber’s so thin and stretchy it shows off everything we’ve got!  What are we supposed to do?”
“Well you can’t have your photos taken like that!  It’ll sabotage my big moment.  Why do you boys always have to be so…”  She looked at them indignantly.  She thought for a moment.  “Do you need to…you know?”
“What?”
“Masturbate!  Would that help?”
“It might…”
“Well do it, then.  I’ll go round the front of the tent.  Just don’t take too long.  Ms Simpson will be here in…let me see…about twenty-five minutes.”

She left them, and with sighs of relief they released their overheated members from their confinement and began to masturbate.  But masturbating to order is not the same as simply relieving one’s excitement.  They had been put in a rather uncomfortable position, and neither was relaxed enough to achieve the necessary result.  After five minutes or so, Moira called to them.
“Well?  Are you finished?”
“Sorry, miss,” replied Michael, working away conscientiously at the appointed task without really getting any nearer a satisfactory conclusion.  “It’s difficult…  I don’t think we’re really in the mood…”
“Not in the mood?  Not in the mood?  You’re joking, aren’t you?  If that’s not being in the mood I’d like to see you when you are in the mood!”
She paced up and down with frustration.  Then she made a decision.  If she wanted this photoshoot to come off successfully, she had to act.  She strode round the tent and confronted them.  If she hadn’t been in such a state of nerves she would have laughed out loud.  They stood there sheepishly, holding their stiff, oozing coc-ks, and looking at her apprehensively.
“Right.  Stand side by side, backs to the hedge.”  She took them by the shoulders and pushed them into place.  “Okay.  You can let go of them now.  If you’re unable to perform a simple task, then I suppose I’ll have to show you how it’s done.”
It has to be said that Moira was quite adept at hand-jobs.  All her boyfriends knew it was one of her specialities.  These were mere boys, so she was confident she could achieve her end in short order.  She knelt, took them in hand, (one in each hand, to be specific), and began to massage them with slow, regular strokes.
“Good boys…” she purred,  “just relax and enjoy…  Maybe I should have suggested you wank each other…but I hope this will be almost as good...  Gosh, your coc-ks are so big and hard…and so juicy, too…  Look, your juices are making my hands all slippery…”  She began to alternate the movements of her hands.  “Does that feel nice?”
The boys’ eyes were closed now, their heads back, and they were breathing deeply.  Michael took his friend’s hand and held it tight.  Bobby groaned.  Moira really knew what she was doing.  He wondered how long he’d be able to hold on.

Moira’s plan had been to bring them to orgasm simultaneously, then at the critical moment to bend their pricks up and outwards, generating a sort of sperm firework display.  She thought it would be a fitting climax to her demonstration of sexual expertise.  They were nearly there, when she caught sight of a slight movement out of the corner of her right eye.  She glanced towards it – and froze.  Peeping round the edge of the tent was the face of a young woman!  A young woman holding her phone and quite obviously recording the proceedings.  For an instant, she panicked, not knowing what to do.  Possibly she inadvertently gripped the boys tighter for a moment.  Whatever the reason, at that moment they both emitted cries of ecstasy, and climaxed.  She let go of their pen-ises and went to rise from her knees.  But as they started c-umming, both boys instinctively reached for something to steady themselves, and the only available support was Moira’s head.  Her beret was knocked off, and she found herself held by her hair, while the boys unloaded their pent-up sperm all over her!  She struggled to escape, but by the time she had disengaged herself, they were spent, and she was smothered from her eyebrows to her skirt!

She rose slowly to her feet.  The woman – she was scarcely more than a girl – emerged from her place of concealment, smiled a triumphant smile, and spoke – without lowering her phone for a second.
“You must be Moira Sullivan.  Pleased to meet you.  I’m Sandy Simpson.”
Moira was virtually speechless.  “I…I…I was just…”
“Just getting the boys ready?  So I see.  So nice to meet someone who really loves what they’re doing!  Now, the girls are nearby.  Shall we do the shoot?  Just as long as the boys have tucked themselves away, of course…”
The boys, who had been standing and staring open-mouthed, quickly took the hint, pushed their softening boyhoods back into their shorts, and zipped them up.
“Are…are you videoing me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.  I quite forgot!  There.  Off.  Now, I was thinking I’d have you pose just there, with the camp and the hills in the background.  What do you think?”
“I – I need to go and…”
“Get cleaned up?  No time, I’m afraid.  I need to get back.  Come on.”
“No!  I have to get…”
Sandy Simpson sighed.  “I think you’d better do what I say.  Otherwise all I’ll have is this video, and I don’t really want to have to put that on line…  I mean, suppose the District Commissioner…”
Moira got the message.  Her fate was in Sandy Simpson’s hands.  She had nothing on her she could use to wipe herself – not even a tissue.  So she put her beret on, wiped her face and chin with her hand as best she could, and decided not even to look at the state of her shirt.  Ms Simpson called the girls over, who stared uncomprehendingly at the state of their troop leader, and whispered eagerly amongst themselves.  Sandy Simpson ignored their puzzlement, and soon had them arranged as she wanted – Moira in front, on her knees – “That seems your natural position,” she remarked – the boys standing either side, holding hands, turned towards each other so that the little bulges in their shorts were directly opposite Moira’s cheeks, and the girls behind, waving or making peace signs.  She snapped away from various angles.  After a minute or two the boys, remembering what their troop leader had just done for them, began to get aroused once again.  The fact was not lost on Ms Simpson.
“Boys?  Lean in closer, please…  Perfect!”
It was an invitation they were happy to accept, and they willingly pressed their warm, tumescent pen-ises against Moira’s cheeks.  She could feel them, hot, firm and throbbing, against her face.  She blushed with embarrassment and annoyance as she watched the journalist’s exultant expression.  There was nothing she could do except endure the humiliation.

Finally Sandy Simpson had got everything she wanted, and made to depart.
“Don’t worry, Miss Sullivan.  I’ll send you copies of everything.  I don’t suppose we’ll use the video.  But I won’t delete it.  That would be such a shame.”
“Please…the pictures…”
“Oh, I think I’ll be able to find a suitable one amongst all that lot, don’t you?” she smirked.  “You can say you spilt your milkshake, maybe…”
“You fuc-king bitch!” Moira was thinking.  But she was unable to say a word, even when Ms Simpson went to speak to the boys.  Yes, she was getting their numbers!  She was going to send the stuff to them as well!  No!  She couldn’t!
But she did.  She knew that she had, when later that evening Bobby came up to her.
“Thank you for doing that today, miss.  It was really…amazing!  We were just watching the video again.  Sometimes we get like that, you see, and we just don’t know what to do.  It would be so great if occasionally you could, you know, help us out.”
“I see, Bobby.”
“So…would you?”
“I…”
“We’d keep it all a secret, I promise.  We’d be so careful not to leave our phones around, where someone could…”
“All right!”
“You will, then?”
“Yes.  Yes, I will.  Okay?  But if anyone else ever…”
“Don’t worry, miss.  We know how to keep a secret…”

[Sandra B]

104.
By the time the straw had arrived, the pen was already well under way.  A row of stout wooden stakes about two and a half feet high had been driven into the ground, running in a straight line from the right-hand corner of the loose boxes to the field fence.  Stretched between them were five rows of taut wire with gaps of no more than six inches between them – so that the it would be impossible for a little piggy to escape.  At the hedge end was a gate with a bolt and padlock, the keys to which were held by Shirley, Yulya, and Deborah.  It was late afternoon by the time the workmen had finished, so it was decided the piggies would be allowed to run about the field and then go to bed in the straw.  Yulya, in her farmgirl outfit, and Deborah, in her riding gear, herded them out of the main building, and Deborah, by the use of her favourite dressage whip, drove them across the field towards their sleeping quarters.  They weren’t able to move very fast, but it helped that the field sloped down to that far corner.  However, when first Max, then Luke, took a tumble, the ladies quickly discovered that their piggies were unable to get up without help.  Watching them rolling about in frustration was rather amusing, and it occurred to Yulya that this would make their forays into the mud pool all the more entertaining.  But that had to be for the morrow.  The important thing now was to make sure that they understood their daily routine, and then to get them settled down for the night.

The solid rubber sissifiers had been dispensed with.  Yulya had brought with her two new gags on pink leather straps.  These were equipped with short pink rubber-lined steel cylinders, not more than an inch long, with small lips inside and out to prevent them being dislodged.  The boys were soon fitted up, and when she stood back and saw them both staring at her indignantly, with their little round open pink mouths, their nose-rings, and their hooked-up nostrils, she couldn’t help exploding in laughter.
“Boys – you so cute piggies!  Stick tongues out, please.  Luke – go on.  Thank you.  Hope all comfortable.  Now, see these?”
She took a pair of yellow latex gloves out of her belt-bag and held them up.
“Well?”
They nodded.
“These my milking gloves.  When you see me wear these, you know milking time is come.  Good?  Right…”
She slipped of her jacket and pulled on the tightly-fitting gloves.  They came to just below her elbows.  She tugged at them until they fitted smoothly.  Then she produced a steel spring-link, and, pulling Max and Luke face-to-face by their nose-rings, carefully linked the rings together so that the boys faces were only inches apart.  Deborah helped her remove their pouches, then took a seat on a straw bale and sat there smiling.
Yulya knelt between them, and took a pen-is in each hand, stroking and teasing them until they began to swell and stiffen.
“Good piggies…  Hope piggies have lots of piggy-milk for piggy-mistress, yes?”
“I’m sure they have,” said Deborah.  “It’s been a while, hasn’t it boys?  Considering you were c-umming every few minutes when you were being milked by the Milkmax machines.  But you find Miss Yulya’s expert fingers much nicer, I think…”
To judge by how hard their coc-ks were, the boys thought so as well.  In fact, they could hardly believe their luck.  Not only had they been relieved of their chastity devices, but now the girl of their dreams (literally) had her hands wrapped around the most sensitive parts of their anatomies.  They stared into each other’s eyes with a mixture of surprise and anticipation.
Once Yulya was satisfied they were fully erect, she produced two condoms and rolled them on.  Then she began to milk, gently but firmly squeezing and pulling, milking alternately as if she were milking two udders of a cow.  Soon the boys were making inarticulate sounds through their open gags, dribbling onto the straw, and squirming involuntarily.  Yulya encouraged them in low, seductive whispers.
“Mmm, little piggy pen-ises nice and hard…juicy already…very nice…Yulya like very much…make Yulya juicy too…”
“Oh, Yulya, by the way,” interrupted Deborah, “are you wearing a dil-do like you said you were going to?”
“Of course, Miss Debbie.  Leggings have nice smooth rubber dil-do built in.  Making me all hot and…”
But this was too much for Luke, and with a groan and a sudden blast of dribble into his friend's face, he began to fill his condom.  His orgasm set Max off, and then they were both c-umming violently, emitting strange animal yelps, whilst struggling to keep still and not to pull too hard at their nose-rings.
When their orgasms eventually subsided, Yulya weighed the filled ends of the condoms in her hand.
“Piggies do very well.  Get reward.  Maybe need milking again.”
The “reward” soon became apparent.  Reaching into her belt-pack, Yulya drew out two short rubber sissifiers – just short pen-is-shaped rubber plugs, each with a little hole in the tip and a cap at the other end.  She opened the caps, then detached Luke’s condom and carefully decanted the contents into one plug, closed the cap, and pushed it into Max’s gag until it clicked home.  Then she filled the other with his c-um, and fitted that into Luke’s gag.
“There.  Now piggies have nice milkies to drink.  Will ooze out slowly, or piggy bite if thirsty.  Now Miss Debbie, we leave piggies hooked up to sleep, yes?  Tomorrow exciting day.  Piggies play in pen, and girls come to see new piggies and give them treats, maybe.”
“Yes, and don’t forget my boots still need cleaning.  You’re going to have a busy day, little ones.  So get some rest.”
With which admonition, Yulya and Deborah left the box, bolting the lower half of the door behind them.
 

[Sandra B]

105.
The piggy training lasted nearly four weeks, and only terminated when Shirley decided its purpose had been achieved.  Every third day, one of the boys was taken inside, fitted with a chastity device, and released from his suit, which was then cleaned.  He then spent two hours in the gym, took an hour for lunch, and another two hours in the gym in the afternoon, under the supervision of a physical therapist.  Thus refreshed and restored, he was zipped back into his suit, and went to join his friend.  Around these periods of respite a rigid routine was established.   Yulya woke them at seven.  In their previous lives they had been used to masturbating every evening.  Now this pleasure was denied them, and by the time they woke their pen-ises were straining at their pouches and itching for attention, their little balls bursting with sperm.  Ripe and ready for milking, in fact.  So when Yulya pulled on her yellow milking gloves and stroked their cheeks, they were beside themselves, desperately nuzzling her boots and jostling each other for her attention.  She would sit on a bale of hay and begin the milking, usually making them take it in turns.  Sometimes she used condoms, sometimes a bowl or bucket.  Normally she would bring them to a squeaking, shaking orgasm five or six times each.  Occasionally she varied the routine, masturbating them simultaneously using both hands, once placing them bum to bum, cojoined with a double-ended butt plug!  But whatever the technique, after their flaccid little coc-ks had been fastened back into their pouches, their sperm would be mixed in a big bowl with yoghurt or sweetened cream and fed to them for breakfast, either by itself or on cereal. 

After breakfast their private teacher would visit, and they’d have lessons till ten.  Then out into the field for a run about until their paying visitors started to arrive, when they would be put into the muddy pen and Deborah would drive them up and down with her riding whip, the audience screaming with laughter.  The big joke was when they fell over.  It was quite impossible for them to regain their feet without help, so they would roll about in the mud getting in a more and more filthy state.  Then a couple of the visitors – usually young girls – would be provided with wellies and long rubber gloves and be allowed to enter the pen and help them up, so the performance could begin all over again.  The audience grew every day – at a pound a head it was the best entertainment in town – and to their eternal chagrin inevitably included more and more children from their own school! 

After the morning session in the pen Yulya would hose them down ready for lunch.  After lunch there were more lessons, and at three they were back in the pen again.  Another hosing, after which Deborah would wash the mud off her boots, then milk them and use their sperm to polish them up.  Then supper, evening lessons, and bed.

The routine was designed to inculcate habitual behaviour, and to discipline and reward.  So when, one morning in the third week, Yulya put on her milking gloves, smiled, stroked their faces, gently squeezed their bulging pouches, and then did nothing at all, they stared at her with disbelief and dismay, their little eyes pleading, making pathetic whining and squeaking noises.   They had become completely dependent upon her for relief.  And when none was forthcoming for the rest of the day, and it became obvious it was not going to be, they started to get desperate.  Then, a couple of days later, when she put them down to sleep, Yulya unfastened their pouches and took out their quivering members, which she fondled gently.  The boys looked at her with beseeching eyes, but any faint hopes they may have entertained were soon dashed.
“There, there…  Poor little boy coc-ks…so hot and stiff…and juicy…  Miss Shirley say Yulya not do milking any more…not until school work improve.  Sorry boys…  But here, I can take off gags - make you more comfortable.  Perhaps it time for you to attend to selves...”

It took them a single day to succ-umb.  Or suc-k-c-um.  There was no alternative.  Shirley Mandy and Yulya watched on CCTV as, after a short murmured conversation, they manoeuvred themselves into the sixty-nine position, and began to nurse on each other’s aching pricks.  Violent orgasms came almost immediately, too prolific to swallow.  But, ignoring the spunk dripping from their faces, they soldiered on for two hours, until, both utterly exhausted, they fell asleep.

They were still snoring when Yulya visited in the morning.  They looked so sweet lying there, faces all sticky with each other’s sperm, she had to take a couple of snaps.  And once they had experienced this intense mutual pleasure, there was no stopping them.  After a week Shirley pronounced phase one of the sissification process a success.  They had ceased to be two independent misbehaving louts, and become a truly unselfish couple, intent only on pleasing each other and receiving pleasure.  “True love,” Mandy called it.  Shirley visited them one morning towards the end of the fourth week.
“Boys?  I was wondering if you would like to come back and live inside now.”
Their eyes widened with hope and they both nodded vigorously.
“Yes please, miss!” they chorused.
“You’d have to be very good, of course.  No more naughtiness.  You could have a double room, and nice clothes.”
“Please…  Oh, please…we’d be so good,” whined Luke.
“Any misbehaviour, mind, and you’d be back out here.  And this time your little coc-ks would be permanently locked away, and all the visitors would be free to do whatever they wanted with you.”
“No, really, we understand, miss…” said Max, adopting an expression of virtuous determination.
“All right then.  We’ll give it a try.  You’ll both have a full wardrobe of clothes – girls’ clothes, to remind you of your new more feminine personalities – and I’ll expect you to behave with girls’ decorum and sweetness.  Your tight rubber suits will be replaced with light dresses and soft satin panties, your strapped-up legs will be sheathed in smooth stockings and tights.  At night you can cuddle each other in silk nighties.  What do you think of that?”
After their uncomfortable and humiliating confinement in heavy latex, the idea of light fabrics and a soft bed had immense appeal.  So great an appeal, that they both felt themselves getting quite excited at the thought.
“Oh my god, miss…  You’re so kind to us…  We’ll do anything…”
“Good.  I hope you will.  I’ll ask Yulya to lead you in, and we’ll get you showered and changed.  And I’ll have to find some replacement piggies, won’t I?  Mustn’t disappoint the visitors…”

[mommasboy]

Thank you for the latest updates. Love this story

[Sandra B]

106.
“Mitch!  Lovely to have you back!  How was camp?”  Shirley gave him a big hug.
“Oh, it was great, thanks.  Actually, it was incredible.  Not like any camp I’ve been to before.”
“Really?  What…?”
“First of all, two of the boys were caught together…being more than usually friendly.”
“You’re joking!”
“No.  But just before we came back there was something even better than that.”
“Yes?”
“Moira – our troop leader – well, let me show you the video.  This is strictly secret, mind.  A couple of the boys have copies, and I wheedled one for myself.  But no-one else has seen it.  Here.  I’ve turned the sound off.”
He handed her his phone.  Shirley stared, her mouth falling open as events unfolded.
“And here…here’s the photo they put in the local paper.  You can see the state she’s in.  See what it says underneath?  “Moira Sullivan, troop leader at 2nd Beckleyford, with members of her troop and the two boys who have recently ‘come out’.  (Unfortunately Ms Sullivan had just been pranked with an exploding bottle of vanilla milkshake.  But she bravely agreed to go ahead with the shoot anyway!)””
“She bravely went ahead?  What about those boys?  Cute shorts!”
“Bobby and Michael.  But they weren’t given any choice.  Nice photo, don’t you think?  It caused a bit of a sensation locally, I gather.  Moira’s hoping things die down, and it’s never seen by headquarters.  But what with that, and what with the video, the boys have her eating out of their hands at the moment.”
“I bet.”  Shirley thought for a minute.  “Maybe she’d like to help out here sometimes.  She seems to have the right approach.”
“If you want I can ask her.”  He laughed.  “Or tell her!”
“But Mitch, I have some amazing news.  Mainly as a result of having some satisfied parents on the education board, the local authority has been persuaded to confer upon us specialist private school status!  We are now the P & S School.  Starting next month, we shall begin taking in students with special behavioural needs – largely disruptive or aggressive boys – for one day each week.  We’ll be paid by the local authority, who are also financing the enlargement and refurbishing of the premises.  You’ll see work has already begun on one of the classrooms.  I’ll be the official headmistress, Mandy school secretary, Yulya and Deborah will be teaching, and Anna will be doc-umenting our progress and dealing with PR.”
“Wow!  That’s incredible!”
“And obviously you Mitch, if you agree, and maybe a couple of the others, will be helping out.  You can be enrolled as part-time employees.  What do you think?”
“Thanks, miss.  I’d love to be involved.  But…I mean, won’t it be difficult keeping order?  And what will you be teaching them?”
“It’ll be a challenge, certainly.  Deborah will be in charge of discipline.  I think she’s well up to it.  She will be the stick – or the whip.  On the other side, Yulya has volunteered to be the carrot;  Actually, I think she relishes the idea of using her natural charms to keep a bunch of adolescent boys in order.  That girl!  What would I do without her?”
“But lessons…?
“That’s why I was interested in what you were telling me.  Mandy and I have discussed the matter, and we have concluded that there’s nothing better for subduing difficult boys than encouraging the development of a proper appreciation of their own gender.  If you can achieve that, it can cancel out all the alpha male nonsense that causes the problem in the first place.  Perhaps your friends…”
“Bobby and Michael?”
“Bobby and Michael, yes.  Perhaps they could help to set a good example to our new students?  From what I’ve just seen they’re just the sort of guys that could feel at home here.  And just the sort I’d like to have around.  We already have one couple – Luke and Max have come a long way since you went off to camp.”
“They have?”
“Oh, yes.  The various therapies have worked a treat.  So what do you think?”
“I’ll ask them.  Maybe they could visit?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t ask them to get involved without visiting.  Yulya could show them around.  Do you think her presence would be of any interest to them?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that!  They may like to experiment a bit, but it hasn’t affected their natural affection for girls like Yulya.”

[Sandra B]

107.
On that first day back Mitch discovered Room 1 – the first classroom – was well under way.  It formed part of an extension at the back of the main building, which was still in the process of being built.  The blackboard had already been installed, a wooden floor had been laid, and workmen were occupied in fitting skirting boards and painting the walls in a pale schoolroom green.  If one stood facing the front, on the left there were big windows looking out onto the fields, on the right a blank wall so that no-one could look in from the corridor and the pupils would not be distracted by anyone walking along it.  The door had a single small frosted window, and, Mitch noticed, brass bolts.  In the corridor outside were piled up school desks, still in their polythene wrapping.

In the event, Room 1 was ready for use in less than three weeks, in the middle of September – perfect timing, allowing for decisions to be made about students who had returned to ordinary school at the beginning of the autumn term.  The first intake, from several local schools, consisted of thirteen boys.  Unexpectedly, there were few objections from the boys themselves.  Some rather lurid rumours were circulating about the P & S School, possibly originating from a boy who had visited and encountered Yulya, and in any case being sent there attracted a certain amount of kudos, implying as it did that anyone who was must be the worst of the worst.  Nevertheless, Shirley was still anxious about the issue of discipline, and in preparation for trouble had negotiated a charter with the local authority allowing for the application of “reasonable physical discipline” and “appropriate physical restraint” where the school authority deemed it necessary “for the protection of other students”.  In other words, she pretty much had carte blanche to treat the boys as she thought fit.  It was a concession the local officials decided they were prepared to make in view of the fact P & S appeared to be their last hope in the perpetual struggle with disruptive students.

The thirteen arrived from various directions, in various modes of transport, and in various states of mind.  But by nine-thirty on that first Friday morning they were gathered in the main lobby, where Anna was acting as receptionist.  The parents and guardians having been dismissed, the repartee began, the sexual comments and insinuations, the general abuse.  However, it didn’t last long, being cut off by the entrance of Deborah Buff-Hopkins, in full riding outfit, swinging a thick plaited leather riding whip and clutching a sheet of paper.
“Silence!  Stand up straight all of you.  Names please.  From the left.  Yes, you, boy.”
“Er…Simon…”
“Simon what?”
“Simon Baker.”
“Simon Baker what?”
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me, boy!  You call me Miss, or Miss Buff-Hopkins.  Or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of this crop.  You will address all the staff here correctly.  You will have been told that we have total freedom to apply whatever discipline we think fit, and we shall not hesitate where we think it necessary.”
Simon Baker, sensing the smirks of his colleagues, looked as if he might be ready to make a cheeky reply.  Fortunately for him, he didn’t get the chance, for at that moment in walked Yulya. 

She had dressed simply but impressively.  There was a communal gasp, and the boys goggled helplessly.  A skimpy cropped cotton vest, no bra, fingerless black leather gloves, skin-tight leather pants, and black vinyl thigh-length, high-heeled, dominatrix boots.
“Thank you, Miss Buffy.  Yulya take boys to classroom.  Follow, boys.”
They needed no second bidding, crowding behind her as she passed out of the door, vying for pole position in the wake of her swaying posterior.
“First I give you quick tour.”
She led the down the corridor.  The first stop was the new gym, followed by the canteen, the common-room, and finally the games room.
The games room, with its big screen, sofa and controllers, had always been the clincher for uncertain guests.  But now, courtesy of a local authority grant, it had been enlarged and fitted out with multiple games stations and high-end gaming PCs, and high-backed leather chairs.  Four of these were occupied, two by Sam and Meredith, and two by Scouts in full uniform and little mauve and yellow rubber shorts.
“Wow!  Cool!” cried one of the boys, while the others stared in disbelief.
“It was true about this place, then,” breathed Simon.  “Guys, whatever we do, we gotta make sure we don’t get kicked out of this school!”
“Bobby and Michael.  Please bring boxes to room 1, yes?”
“Yes miss,” they chorused, sliding off their chairs and heading for the door.
“Who are they?” asked a boy, looking askance at their shorts. 
“They look so gay,” chimed in another.
Bobby gave him a glare, and pushed past into the corridor.  The boys watched them retreating, much amused.
“Bobby and Michael are our new assistants,” said Yulya.  “Here, gay is okay.”
They stared at her to see if she was serious.
“Now, follow me to classroom.”  And she led them around the corner to Room 1.
“Sit, please.  Occupy front desks, yes?”
The room was equipped with twenty-four desks, with attached chairs, arranged in six rows of four, and bolted to the floor.  They almost fought to get in the front row.  One boy, she noticed, the smallest, found himself relegated alone to the fourth row.  He looked miserable, and Yulya made a mental note to investigate.
“Good.  Now, I am Miss Yulya.  I am principal teacher.  Please obey me so we have good time together.  Bad behaviour make punishment.  You – boy there – take smile off face, please.  And take eyes off my breasts.  These are rules.  In class, no talk, put hand up to speak, no phone, pay attention – and you, no masturbate in class, please.”
“I’m not, miss!” protested the boy at the end of the front row, quickly moving his hand and turning red.
There was a ripple of surprised laughter.  Yulya was not like any teacher they had had before.
What’s “masturbate”, miss?” said another, cheekily.
“You not know?  Then we have lesson later today.  Ah, here is Miss Buffy with uniforms.  When you here, you wear P & S uniform, okay?”
Debbie was followed in by Michael and Bobby, each carrying a cardboard box, which Debbie directed them to place on the teacher’s desk.  Then they turned, took each other’s hands, and made for the door.  Someone at the back gave a wolf whistle.
“Quiet please!  Now, you will wear uniform all time when you are here.  Even if you stay late to play in games room.”
“Can we?”
“If behaviour is good.  Now, Miss Buffy will hand our parcels.”
“Right.” Said Debbie, severely.  We have your measurements on file, and each uniform has been designed to fit its recipient.  You may open your parcels when I say and not before.  First, Simon Baker.”
When all the packages had been handed out, and the murmur of puzzled voices had grown into a hubbub, Debbie brought the conversations to an abrupt ending with one stroke of her whip on the nearest desk.
“You will take your parcels next door.  There you will change.  Then you will return here for the inspection.”  She took a cloth bag from her pocket and dropped it onto the teacher’s desk with crash.  “If you have any objections, you may leave now.  You will never be readmitted.”
Now, she made this sound as if by leaving they were turning their backs on the greatest opportunity of their lives.  That sense, on top of the dizzying visions of Yulya and the games room, convinced every one of them they’d rather go through hell than lose…well, whatever it was that was so desirable.
It took them some minutes to adjust to the idea of their new uniforms, but somehow they did.  It wasn’t so much the pink vinyl zip-up tunics with the yellow satin trimming and the “P&S” logo, nor the yellow patent leather Mary Janes and the pink knee-socks.  But pink latex zipped hot pants with yellow leather straps at the thigh and a yellow leather belt?  Not cool.
Nevertheless their curiosity was such that they endured even this comprehensive humiliation, though they changed in silence, avoiding catching each other’s eyes, and returned much subdued to the classroom.
Debbie had emptied the bag onto the desk, and now there lay a pile of tiny brass padlocks.  She called the boys up one by one.  The thigh straps were tightened, buckled and padlocked.  The zip was pulled up to the waist, (sharply, taking no account of the discomfort caused to their private parts), and the slotted zip-pull slipped over a hasp on the belt; then the belt was closed, and also padlocked.  The boys were instructed to take their seats.

Yulya smiled and left, stopping briefly at the door to smile, and say, “I shall return for this afternoon’s lesson, on the subject of masturbation.  Miss Buff-Hopkins will conduct morning school.”  She was elated.  The first stage had been completed successfully.  She could feel herself vibrating with excitement at the thought of all those unruly boys firmly locked up in their rubber pants.  It had been her idea.  She had never warmed to conventional chastity devices.  It restricted the possibilities.  No, it was much more fun to watch them getting all hot and bothered, knowing they could not get at themselves properly without permission.  She just loved to tease them into a state of abject desperation, to see them salivating over her, cheeks burning.  And this way, she hoped to observe all the physical symptoms of their arousal.  For her it was a real turn-on. 
“You are awful pervert, Yulya,” she said to herself.  “But in end it is for their own good.”   

Debbie took a seat on the desk.
“This morning we are going to talk about sexuality.  Do you know why?  Why is this class composed only of boys?  Well?  Any suggestions?”
“Cos we’re the only ones what ‘ave the balls to say what we fink.”
“I see.  Well. You’re certainly the only ones with balls.  But remember, balls make you vulnerable.  I could squeeze them, or flick the with my whip, and you’d be down on your knees in a moment.”
They fidgeted uncomfortably at the thought.  One or two moved their hands into a protective position.
“I would like to suggest a different reason.  You like to disrupt…because you are insecure.  You have a need to obtrude yourselves upon the notice of others.  You need reassurance that you are recognised…respected…feared.  But in seeking it you merely show you are insignificant…despised…ridiculed.  Everything you do is for show, because…that is all there is.  Inside you are nothing.”
She paused, and looked into the distance.  None of the boys spoke, or tried to object.  She had spoken with such conviction, as if she knew them inside out.  She continued.
“Because there is no substance, that is why you have no confidence, and have to supply the lack with pretence.  But you are young, and all is not lost.  Do you want to be whole?  Do you want to be guided in your lives by certainty and conviction, or moan and bluster till you collapse like a pricked balloon?  Just for a moment, imagine it.  Imagine you are educated, knowledgeable, confident.  You can mix with anyone without feeling inferior and needing to show off.  I know you have not had the chances of your peers – that is why you, and not they, are here.  But here we can begin the work of development.  We have good teachers – better than those you are used to.  Trust us, show you can endure minor humiliations without losing your cool, learn to understand and express your real selves.  I – we – can help you do that.”
“But miss…why aren’t there girls here then?  Some of them are the same as us.”
“Because girls deal with their sense of inferiority in a different way.  They punish themselves internally, and make themselves believe the fault is theirs.  We can do nothing for them.  We are not therapists or psychiatrists.  For the moment we can only help you.  And the way we can do that begins with your sexuality, letting you express what you actually feel, without guilt or embarrassment.  Tell me, do you like Miss Yulya?”
Murmurs of “fuc-k, yes”, and a few unrepeatable suggestions.
She smiled.  “Then you should enjoy this afternoon’s lesson.”