CHAPTER NINE -- A SCHEDULE CHANGE
About a week later, Michael was feeling how he always felt in math class: confused and overwhelmed. Mrs. Torsten had demonstrated some properties of parallelograms and then given the class a worksheet full of problems. The idea was for students to do most, or maybe all, of their homework in class, so they wouldn’t have a lot of work to do tonight. Plus, she’d be there to help and answer any questions they had as they worked.
The problem was, Michael hadn’t taken good notes while his teacher had talked. He’d tried to, but his little weiner kept trying to get hard and thus kept mashing up against the confines of its lavender plastic prison. Plus, he wasn’t much good at taking notes anyways, even when he wasn’t distracted. Mrs. Torsten was so intimidating: young for a teacher and blond like Michael liked, she was totally unlike any female teacher he’d ever had. She wasn’t maternal or comforting at all. She was cold and businesslike and demanded excellence from her students. Because of his poor performance last year, as a ninth grader, Michael was having to retake Geometry, making him at least a year behind in math compared to his peers. In their brief one-on-one interactions this year, Mrs. Torsten had always made him feel intimidated and small, an unwelcome distraction she’d rather not deal with.
But he’d vowed that things were going to change this year! And he knew that one of the things he needed to work on was asking for help when he needed it. That was something his Mommy had always encouraged him to do . . . or at least she had encouraged him to do it a lot last year. She hadn’t really said anything about it this year. But still, Michael saw an opportunity to demonstrate his maturity and knew he needed to seize it.
“Mrs. Torsten,” he said, knees shaking as he approached her desk. “I, uh--I had some questions about the homework?
His teacher looked up from the work she’d been grading and brushed her long straight hair out of her face. She grimaced when she realized who had interrupted her. “Let me guess,” she said in a snide tone, “you need help with the very first problem?”
“Well, uh -- actually, I -- y -- yeah.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Mrs. Torsten said with a huge sigh. “Still, it doesn’t matter.”
Thinking that she meant that it didn’t matter what problem he needed help on, Michael’s spirits lifted for a moment: “Thank you for helping me, Mrs. Torsten.”
The teacher frowned. “I’m not helping you. Why would I help you on homework that doesn’t even count for you?”
Michael was completely confused. “Doesn’t -- ? I . . . I thought you said this was due tomorrow?”
“It is. For students who are still enrolled in my class.” Mrs. Torsten was not whispering, and Michael was suddenly acutely aware of other students hearing their conversation.
“N -- not enrolled? I’m . . . I’m enrolled,” he stammered.
Mrs. Torsten rolled her eyes. “Not anymore you’re not, baby,” she said, putting an almost sinister spin on the word baby. “Math’s just too stressful for you, and starting after today, you’re going to use this period to get your special needs met.” From her tone of voice and the sneer on her face, Michael had no doubt about the contempt in which she held him.
“I -- I don’t . . . I’m not sure what you’re . . . ”
“Look,” Mrs. Torsten said, “you’ve wasted enough of my time. If you have any questions, you can ask your little helper there.” As she spoke, she pointed, and Michael turned to see Lauren entering the classroom. This was deeply odd because Lauren was not in this math class. Michael had no idea what she was doing here.
“Mrs. Torsten?” Lauren said, loud enough to project across the room, “I’m here to pick up Michael.”
“Please,” Mrs. Torsten said, waving her hand, “take him.” Several students giggled, shocked and delighted to see a teacher being so salty.
“Come here, Mikey,” Lauren said, using her pet name for him. “Do you have all your stuff? Oh no, you don’t. Here, let’s get you all packed up and then we’ll get you right to lunch.” She crossed to Michael’s empty seat and began packing his backpack for him.
Michael rushed over to her. “Lauren! Hey! I . . . you don’t have to . . . ”
“Hey,” she said, reaching over and stroking his hair. “It’s fine. Let me take care of you a little, okay? There we are, all ready to go.” Instead of handing Michael’s backpack to him, Lauren just lifted it herself, putting over one shoulder and extending a hand to him.
“Lauren? Wh -- what’s going on?” he whispered, embarrassed. “Lunch isn’t for another 15 minutes.”
Lauren reached over playfully and beeped Michael’s nose. “Sure, for the rest of us. But sometimes special kids get special treats. Now, come on,” she said, forcibly taking his hand. Michael’s face was crimson from blushing as they exited Mrs. Torsten’s room, which was alight with snickers and whispered comments as the students watched Lauren lead Michael out of the room while she carried his backpack and held his hand.
“Lauren? What’s going on?” Michael asked again as she led him through the empty hallway. “Mrs. Torsten was being weird and she said something about me not being in her class anymore?”
“That’s because you’re not in her class anymore,” Lauren said, matter-of-factly.
“What? Everyone has to take math!”
“Not special kids,” Lauren said, as though that explained anything.
“But -- but -- what do you mean? What does that mean? I have to take math! Everyone has to take math! And how do you know about any of this? And where are we going?”
“Ssssssssshhhhhh,” Lauren said, stopping and kneeling in front of Michael. She physically put a finger over his lips as she continued: “you’re getting loud, and we don’t want to make a scene in the hallway, do we, baby?” The way she said baby made Michael both squirm with embarrassment and throb in his cage. “Plus, we don’t want you getting worked up and having an accident, do we? Are you dry, sugarbear?”
“Yes!” Michael snapped. “I told you, I don’t really need those, my Mommy just --”
“Riiiiiight,” Lauren said with a gentle smile. “You don’t need pull-ups. It’s just that your Mommy makes you wear them because sometimes you wet your pants at school. I see now. Hey--” she said, seeing Michael cringing, “stop that. I know you’re a little confused, but this is a really, really happy day. And we wanted to keep it a surprise so you could really enjoy it. I mean, are you really going to try to pretend that you’re not glad to be done with math? Now, come on.”
We? Michael thought as he trudged along behind Lauren, his hand still in hers. Who’s we?
Lauren led Michael through a series of hallways, never letting go of his hand. Mercifully, they were largely empty because most students were still in class. Eventually, she took him to the front office, where the receptionist seemed to smile knowingly at Lauren as they entered. From there, Lauren positioned Michael in front of her and steered him towards the nurse’s office. Seeing Michael, the nurse smiled and, looking at Lauren, said “Everything’s ready, you can take her on in.”
Reeling as he tried to process the school nurse calling him “her,” Michael followed along behind Lauren as she opened a door and lead him through it. The room was small but it was crowded: a small loveseat sat against the far wall, under a heavily curtained window. It was warm in the small room--which Michael vaguely realized must have been a small office for the school nurse--and the lights were low: no overhead lighting, just a small lamp on a small table next to the loveseat. On the couch, grinning ear to ear, sat both his Mommy and his wet-nurse, Linda.
“Hiiiiiiieeeeeee, baby!” his mother squealed, rushing to him and kneeling to envelop Michael in a hug. Part of him was glad she was there to hold him; at the sight of Lauren and Nurse Linda in the same room, Michael’s knees had buckled. He was so humiliated that he felt dizzy and flushed, sick to his stomach. This could not be happening! He’d tried so, so hard to keep his two worlds separate, to have home be home and school be the place where he could be his own . . .
“How’s Mommy’s special little baby?” his Mommy asked, pulling back from her hug to look at him. “Did you have a nice trip down here with your special friend, Lauren?”
Michael cringed. How could his Mommy expose his crush on Lauren so casually? As if it were nothing?
Melissa, by now used to talking over Michael or through his silences, continued: “After your little accident at school awhile back, Mommy had a meeting with the experts at A Caring Place, baby, and we’ve all been working hard to set up this surprise for you. Since school keeps on being so hard for you, we’ll just have you do less of it, honey! So instead of math class, now, every day you’ll come down here and Nurse Linda will breastfeed you. You can have a nice long nursing session, and then you can relax and nap right through lunch. Then your special friend Lauren can pick you up and take you to history class right after lunch!”
“Mom!” Michael shrieked. He could feel his world crumbling, and he was furious. “You -- you told Lauren? About -- about -- ?”
“About your special needs and your special care? Of course, I did honey, I --”
“I HATE YOU!” Michael screamed, pulling away from his Mommy and slapping at her, ineffectually. “How could you --? How could you tell her I -- I -- I HATE YOU!”
Melissa reeled back. His blows posed no danger to her whatsoever, but she was shocked by the degree of his defiance.
“I’M NOT A BABY!” Michael shrieked, “I don’t want to breastfeed or wear a pull up or miss lunch! I want to go to school! Like a real boy, a normal boy!” Unable to maintain his anger for long, Michael’s energy began crashing into sadness as he turned to face Lauren. “Whatever they told you, I didn’t -- I’m not -- I didn’t want --”
Michael suddenly felt a deathgrip around his right upper arm. Surprised, he turned to see that Nurse Linda had stood up and crossed the short room to where he stood. Her left hand was wrapped around his skinny upper arm with a vice-like grip, and he’d never seen Linda--whom he associated, up to this point, only with love and nurturing--like this before. She was furious, her face set in a scowl and her eyes glassy with rage.
“Listen here, Missy,” Linda said, pulling Michael past his mother and over to the couch. “YOU are a sweet baby GIRL, and sweet baby girls are not hateful, ungrateful little wretches. When Mommy and her friends go out of their way to do something nice for a sweet baby girl, SHE is nothing but grateful and appreciative.”
Michael, stunned by the intensity of Linda’s reaction, toddered in helpless shock as she sat down on the loveseat and jerked down his shorts, dropping them to the floor and exposing the pull-up his Mommy had dressed him in this morning. This one was Tianna-themed, from The Princess and the Frog, and even though he wasn’t facing Lauren, he cringed to think of her seeing him in it. But that thought was short-lived, as Linda soon slid Michael’s pull-up off and pulled him down over her knee, his bare bottom exposed and vulnerable.
“I don’t know where this flare up of male ego is coming from,” Linda ranted, “but believe me, I will not tolerate it.” With that, she swatted Michael’s bare butt, hard. He squealed in pain and kicked, but she held him in place easily. Punctuating the pauses in her words with hard spanks, she continued: “You--Missy--need to learn--that special little girls--are best seen and not heard--And they definitely--do NOT--backtalk their Mommy--because--Mommy--knows--BEST.”
Never one with a high tolerance for pain, Michael was already in tears, just from this brief onslaught. He begged that he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant it, but that didn’t slow or deter Linda in any way.
“I know this is hard to watch,” Linda said to Melissa and Lauren, both of whom had approached the loveseat to get a close-up view of the spanking. “But this is exactly the kind of thing we talked about.”
Lauren nodded. “Mrs. Harper said that sometimes Michael was going to struggle with the transition.”
“Yes,” Linda agreed, hammering in another series of hard blows to Michael’s reddening behind. “It’s not Melissa’s fault--she didn’t know any better at the time--few women do--but our little sugarplum here -- has spent -- far -- too -- much -- time -- thinking she’s a boy -- and a big boy at that -- so she has this sense of --”
“A false persona,” Lauren said, “it’s just like we talked about on the phone, Mrs. Harper!”
Melissa smiled and touched Lauren’s hand. “Lauren, you are such a blessing. It’s such a huge help to have a helper with a foot here in Michael’s school world, especially one who understands as well as you do.”
“Oh, I love Mikey,” Lauren said, “he’s always been like a little brother--or I guess I should say sister now--to me. I’m so happy to do anything that will make things easier for him. Er, her.”
Michael, still bent over Linda’s broad thighs, noticed that while his Mom didn’t disagree with Lauren calling him a girl, she didn’t object either. He felt their words sting ever harder than the punishment Linda was doling out to his backside. All the work he’d put into keeping his two worlds separate--home where he had to be babied and school where he could be normal--had failed. Lauren knew. And even worse, she seemed to be sympathetic to these older women’s plans for him! He went limp across Linda’s lap, staring at the floor and sobbing helplessly.
“There now,” Linda said, finally stopping her assault. “There. All better now. I’m sorry I had to do that, buttercup. But when little baby girls misbehave, their Nurses have to help them get back in line, don’t they? Yes, they do, come here, baby . . . ”
Michael had no resistance left. He was limp as a rag doll as Linda pulled him to his feet, once again standing him in front of her, though this time she spun him around. He was facing his Mommy and Lauren, naked from the waist down except for his cage, as Linda got a tube of cooling lotion out of her purse and rubbed it on his blazing backside. He was in physical pain, yes, but that was just a distant ache compared to the humiliation he felt, knowing that Lauren knew about his baby treatment, about Linda calling him a girl, about Linda being his wet-nurse. His hands rushed to his front to try to cover his tiny, caged weiner, but his Mommy gently moved his hands away, leaving him totally exposed to Lauren.
“Mikey?” Lauren said, kneeling to be at face-level with him. “It’s okay, Mikey. It’s okay. It really is. I think it’s a beautiful thing that you need your cares lifted, and you don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me. You really don’t.”
Michael had no words left. No thoughts. He was sobbing now, harder than he’d been sobbing when he was being spanked. The humiliation coursing through him felt like it was going to break his chest in two. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open. He just squinted his eyes shut and looked down at the floor, knowing that whatever these powerful women, Lauren included, wanted to happen was going to happen. He simply had no say in it.
His bottom coated in cooling lotion, Michael was spun around again by Nurse Linda and taken down into her arms. At this point, even though he was humiliated to know that Lauren was there, Michael responded immediately to being put in the nursing position. Linda’s arms were strong and comfortable and he’d been in them often enough now to know that when he was here, he didn’t have to think. And not thinking sounded perfect right now because thinking was painful. All he had to do was close his eyes and latch on to Linda’s huge, milky breast and suc-k. No thinking, just suc-kling. No worrying, just jets of warm breastmilk in his mouth.
“Oh . . . WOW,” Lauren said as she watched Michael latch on and begin to nurse. “I mean, you told me that he -- she -- you told me Mikey was nursing, but -- ”
“Seeing it yourself is really something else, isn’t it?” Melissa whispered as she dimmed the lights in the small office. Lauren nodded. “Michael needs this,” Melissa said. “Michael really needs this. When Dr. Thurman, his therapist, first suggested this, I -- I didn’t know . . . ”
Lauren let out a small, quiet laugh and nodded. “When you first explained things on the phone, I . . . ”
“Thought I was crazy?” Melissa laughed. “It’s okay. Sometimes I still think I’m crazy, but then I see how Michael responds to this treatment.”
Lauren nodded as they looked down on Michael. Things got quiet in the room and all they could hear was the wet, slurping sounds of his nursing and Linda’s gentle words of encouragement as she stroked his hair: “That’s it, baby girl. What a good baby. That’s Mommy’s sweet baby girl. Yes, it is. I’m so sorry we had to spank, baby, but isn’t everything better now? Yes, everything’s better now, isn’t it? All you needed was your wet nurse’s nipple, wasn’t it? Yes, everything’s better when you stop thinking and just nurse. That’s why you’re going to come here every day. Yes, no more math class for Mommy’s little angel. Your special friend Lauren is going to bring you here every single school day so your wet nurse can give you what you need. No more bagged lunches and lunchtime with the big kids ‘cause you’re not a big kid, are you? No, of course you’re not. You’re Mommy’s special baby girl, and you’re going to be breastfed every single day at school from now on, yes you are!”
This continued on for another ten minutes or so, Lauren and Melissa watching intently but settling into an awed silence at the beauty of what they were witnessing. Over this time, Michael’s crying finally subsided, and he turned towards Linda, almost seeming like he wanted to crawl so deeply into her arms that he disappeared. Over time, he almost seemed like he was sleeping except for the faint, slow, suc-king motion of his mouth. Eventually Linda moved him off of her left breast and put him on her right. Not long after that, the women in the room heard a strange rushing sound and were shocked to see a small jet of pee erupt from Michael’s caged coc-k. Given the downward facing angle his cage positioned his weiner at, the spray mostly soaked Michael’s own thighs, though some of the mess ran on to Linda’s lap as well. Lauren and Melissa were both shocked, but Linda just smiled.
Michael, for his part, barely stirred from the blissed out trance Linda’s breast milk had put him in.
“Ssssshhhhh,” Linda whispered, reassuring the others. “Don’t wake her. This is a good thing. It’s a really good thing, a really important step, one I thought we were still months away from. Melissa, just hand me her pull up, we’ll clean up with that. And don’t worry about me. Believe me, you work around babies long enough, a little pee is no big deal. And truly, this is the sign of something really beautiful beginning for our special girl.”
� Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Topic: A Caring Place (Co-Written by PervScenes11) (Read 70052 times)
