In which our heroine learns more about the nature of corseting and unfortunately suffers a homophobic attack. However her attackers get their cum-uppance in later chapters.

I'm persevering with this story for It helps me maintain continuity in my head for the re-writes of the later chapters. I have learned to my cost that it doesn't do to let a story go 'off the boil' because continuity can go awry if one returns to it 'half cocked' and just plunges into the story without keeping track of the plot.

What plot? Do I hear you say.

Exactly.

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Queen of all she surveys.

Chapter 10.

Sissy Farm

List Of Characters.

Me. Michelle A Natural transvestite sissy.

Janice My Younger sister

Aunty Bev Janice and My mother’s Sister.

Mistress Janet Headmistress of the young lady’s academy

Doctor Shirley Williams. My endocrinologist.

Miranda. A very effeminate Sissy sales assistant.

Miss Stern Miranda’s mistress who owns the shop.

Peregrine. AKA. Uncle Penny. My transvestite uncle. (Aunty Bev’s brother.)

James AKA. Auntie Jamie Peregrine’s Partner

Victoria An older RG friend of mine.

Jemima Victoria’s sissy brother.

Portia Victoria’s mummy.

After our meagre lunch we sissies were formed up into a crocodile in our beautiful frilly dresses then paraded down the street, across the main road and into the park. The two girls Daphne and Elizabeth led the way with Jemima and Angelica in the second rank whilst I, as the smallest, found myself in the very last rank mincing along beside Mistress Portia. I wanted to ask lots of questions but the crocodile moved along in a genteel silence as we minced in step. The crocodile was a perfect picture, as our beautiful dresses flounced around our hips and the hooped petticoats swayed deliciously.

Many eyes followed us but this being London; strange sites met Londoner’s eyes every day. London had more than a dozen schools that sported bizarre school uniforms ranging from Morning dress, complete with top hats, through to caped girls in tri-corn hats down to junior children in corduroy knickerbockers, buckled shoes and frilly cotton blouses.

It seemed that in London, school uniforms for fee-paying schools basically amounted to whatever fad took the school governing board’s fancy. Tightly corseted girls with tiny waists in frilly knee-length dresses over lacy hemmed, ankle length pantalets and Easter bonnets would seem to be just another sartorial excess subject to a headmistress’s whimsy.
Londoners had seen it all before and simply glanced casually at the newest addition before carrying on their way. I noticed however that our frilly, velvet, shoulder capes came to just below our waists so that nobody would notice the extreme diminution of our slender waists. We entered the park with little disturbance and Mistress Portia directed us to a secluded patch of grass surrounded by trees and bushes where she organised the afternoon’s games.

“Right girls. We’ll play catch the ball first, form a circle please.”

We did as ordered and I took my place last for want of knowing exactly where I stood in any pecking order. Naturally I stood next to Mistress Portia so as to take any directions she might issue. Within seconds, Mistress Portia lobbed the ball gently towards Angelica who minced a couple of urgent steps to the side and just managed to catch it.

Then Angelica lobbed the ball gently to me. I realised immediately that I was going to have to stretch for the ball or I would not catch it. Only then did I realise just how restrictive our corsets made us. As I moved to line myself up for the ball I realised I could not step to the side as easily as I would have liked. Had I been dressed in ordinary boy’s clothes it would have been but the simplest act to snatch the ball from the air and hurl it towards the next boy. Sissies in tight corsets however, had no such freedom. I found myself mincing urgently sideways but I had not responded in time nor anticipated my immobility. As I minced desperately to my right the ball sailed gently past my outstretched fingers and I stumbled sideways. As I lost my balance, I sat with an undignified plop and my hooped underskirt flipped up my petticoats to reveal my silky pantalets. All the other sissies squealed with delight for I looked like a proper sissified Nancy.

Then the next indignity made itself apparent, all the other the sissies giggled and squealed with delight as I struggled to get up. Once again I was made to look ineffectual and pathetic as my long length, rigid corset prevented me from bending sufficiently to get myself to my feet. Instead I had to stretch out my hands like some pathetic little child and beseech somebody to come and help me to my feet. Mistress Portia smiled with satisfaction as she approached me then gently pulled me to my feet before hugging me and kissing me as though she was rewarding some twelve-month-old toddler who was learning to walk.

“Never mind Peaches. You’ll soon learn to catch the ball.”

I wanted to shout out loud that I could have easily caught it but for the corset I was wearing. However I was already settling into the sissy mentality. It seemed that the culture of sissydom was somehow infectious and the company of sissies accelerated that infection. I was reduced to giggling inanely as I tried to hide my silliness and embarrassment.

The next humiliation followed quickly and this involved throwing the ball to the next player.
When a boy throws a ball, he brings his arm right back, folds his elbow then swivels freely at the shoulder and releases the ball with maximum force. This naturally requires that he has a firm footing with his feet spread apart to take the reaction of his throw. Now that I was rigidly corseted, I could not spread my feet very wide and more importantly I could not twist or bend my back to get all my weight behind the ball. My first attempt immediately brought me crashing down again and my hooped petticoats flipped up once more to reveal my silky, frilly pantalets. Again I was reduced to stretching out my arms like some simpering toddler and again, Mistress Portia assisted me with a knowing little smile playing on her lips as she explained.

“You must understand Peaches, when a corseted sissy throws a ball she has to maintain her decorum and femininity. Now you have to hold the ball like this, bend your arm at the elbow then flick it daintily like this see?”

She threw the ball exactly as a sissy girl would and it hardly travelled but about ten yards. I was sent to recover it and had to practice the stiff-backed sissy bob with my knees pressed together. I wobbled alarmingly in my efforts to reach down and pick up the ball but fortunately I just managed it and I minced back victoriously towards Mistress Portia who smiled patronisingly.

“There you are Peaches. You see darling, you can do it if you just try hard enough. Now choose somebody to receive the ball and toss it gently as I have shown you.”

Thus was I compelled to stand with my feet together and flick my elbow and wrist to gently lob the ball to Jemima. She caught it easily and the game took its course. After my humiliation, the mood amongst the sissies became joyful. I had been well and truly inducted into their sorority. If a ball were utterly impossible to catch, Mistress Portia would declare it a ‘no-throw’ or a ‘no-ball’ and the sissy who had thrown it had to pay a forfeit. Usually this was either Elizabeth or Daphne being allowed to put her hands up the sissy’s frock and pinch or squeeze the sissy’s nubbin. The sissy would let out a tormented squeal for a sissy-clit is an extremely sensitive little nubbin even though it is only the size of the tip of one’s finger. That is about as long and as wide as the fingernail on the thumb.

Occasionally I also threw a no-ball and Daphne would argue with Elizabeth as to who could squeezed my strange little, erect boy-clitty. The two girls were obviously very curious as to how a boy’s clitty differed from a sissy’s clitty and they fell to bickering about who’s turn it was after several investigations.

Eventually Mistress Portia had to arbitrate each time. Naturally, the other sissies noticed this development and they slowly expanded the circle every time it was my turn to throw the ball. This meant I had to try and throw the ball harder and this caused me to lose directional control as I tried to flick my wrist just that little bit harder. This in turn caused me to throw ‘no-balls’ more and more often. The agenda had secretly changed amongst the sissies as they noticed Daphne and Elizabeth getting more fractious about who should claim my forfeit.

Mistress Portia also recognised the altered secret agenda and she was savouring the minor spat between the girls. Their dispute only amused the sissies and they widened the circle a little more so that it was virtually impossible for me to throw the ball accurately to any other sissy. I was missing nearly every time. Within an hour, I was all red and breathless from the extra exertions and forfeiting nearly every throw. I became quite breathless from the constant attentions of Elizabeth and Daphne to my boy clitty. Eventually I suffered a fit of vapours from constantly having to try and catch the ball. Then I fainted and Mistress Portia had to slacken my corset laces, to help me recover. After this instance, Mistress Portia decided there had been enough selectivity in the games so she decided to we were next to play hide and seek.

This game involved a sissy standing with eyes closed at ‘the den’ and counting to a hundred very slowly. All the other corseted sissies could mince off to hide as fast as their corsets would allow and find suitable hiding places in amongst the surrounding bushes and trees. I was new to this game and once again I brought myself a pile of grief.
Ordinarily, the children hiding, would make themselves invisible whilst trying to spy on the seeker who after counting slowly to a hundred, would come seeking the hiders. Once the hiders adjudjed that there was sufficient space between the seeker and the den, they would emerge from their hiding places and try to beat the seeker back to the den. As it was my first time, I carefully lay down by a fallen tree whilst making certain that I could use the branches to get up again.

For several long entertaining minutes, I enjoyed myself watching the hiders and the seeker frantically mincing with urgent little delicate steps and wiggling buttocks as they raced each other back to the den. It was an absolutely hysterical scene and I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I was lying on my tummy peeping through some dense foliage and I hadn’t realised that my hooped petticoats had popped up behind me like a peacock’s fan. From the back I looked like nothing more than a giant pink and white floribunda rose as my frothy petticoats ballooned up.

From the centre of the ‘rose’ my pantalets were lewdly displayed like the stamen of some giant flower and presented as a perfect invitation to any passer by. My mistake was that whilst I was looking inwards towards the secluded glade and my companion’s game of ‘hide and seek’, I had completely failed to realise that my frilly, pink butt was poking outwards towards the rest of the park. It was a perfect invitation to any passer by.

Naturally a pair of naughty boys about my age quickly accepted that ‘invitation’. I was so engrossed in watching the game and hugging myself with anticipation of my taking my chance to dash for the ‘den’ that I failed to notice the boys creeping up behind me. Suddenly I felt a pair of hands poking up my silk clad butt whilst another pair of hands arrived at my side and held me down whilst simultaneously clamping my mouth.

I almost fainted again but this time from shock and fear. It was no use trying to get up for my corset utterly prevented me from any effective form of struggle. The only thing I could do was thump my feeble, little fists uselessly on the soft earth and try to wiggle my constrained knees. I was well and truly trapped!

The worst of it as that I couldn’t even recognise my attackers. One was completely hidden behind the huge hooped layers of my petticoat and the other was kneeling beside me with one hand easily holding down my narrow waist while his other covered my mouth and thus prevented me from turning around to get a good look at his face. It wouldn’t have mattered even if I could turn for he was wearing a hooded jacket and his face was all but invisible. I tried my hardest to squeal for help but his fingers blocked my mouth. The worst of it was, the more I struggled, the more breathless I became and the less strength I had. My corset prevented any sort of violent activity necessitating deep breathing. Indeed, after a few feeble efforts to free my arms and a few pathetic efforts to wiggle my legs at the knees, I was forced to give up. I was getting quite breathless. Very quickly I was forced to lie still and submit to whatever horrible plans they had for me as I struggled to recover my breath in short fluttering gasps. I didn’t even have enough breath to scream!

Then the boy holding my mouth laughed cruelly as he spoke to his mate.

“Well, well. This is some weird chick Pete. Look at her stupid dress and what’s she wearing under all those frills? It feels kind’a hard.”

“I dunno, Jimmy, she’s got some sort of tight thing on. It’s all sort of stiff with like rods in it.”

He pushed his hand under my corset and between my thighs as he checked out my under things. Soon I felt his fingers groping further up into my most secret places until he realised exactly what it was that so hampered my movements.

“Crickey. It’s a corset! Look Jimmy! She’s wearing a corset!”

Pete, then pushed all the frilled layers of my petticoat up my back to expose my lacy pantalets and the stiff hem of my white and pink satin corset only a couple of inches above my knees.

“Bloody hell. That’s why she can’t kick. Look, she can’t even spread her thighs properly.”

“Can you get your hand up?” Demanded Jimmy.

“It’s too tight,” conceded Pete as he struggled to move his hand freely. “There’s no room cos her corset is binding her knees together. And these long legged panty things are real passion killers. I can’t get them down. I can’t reach her waist.”

“Well rip them off then!”

On hearing this I froze with fear. The very idea of some horrible boys exposing my desperate secret left me almost paralysed with terror.

Pete fidgeted with his fingers under my corset until he managed to gather a small fold of material, then he tugged furiously as he tried to either rip the crotch of my beautiful pantalets or drag my pantalets out from under my corset. To his chagrin, my all-in-one pantalets were made of heavy-duty chartreuse and he could not get a proper grip of the slippery, silky material under my corset. The crotch of my pantalets resolutely refused to tear and he ended up yanking me backwards as he tugged furiously. His efforts to rip my pantalets caused me to lurch backwards and momentarily free of Jimmy’s grasp on my mouth. With one terrified, desperate effort I managed to release an ear-piercing scream and Jimmy cursed furiously.

“Shut up you posh bitch or I’ll kill you!”

I fell silent again as my terror took hold and I lay still as Pete repeatedly tried to rip my pantalets. Finally he gave up and tried to poke his fingers into where my dingly would have been if I’d been a girl. When this failed because my pantalets were too strong and of course, I didn’t have a dingly, he cursed again and started trying to squeeze my bum. Despite the fear I started to feel sort of gooey as his hands pressed against the silky material of my pantalets rubbed my bum. It felt sort of strangely nice. I started to wriggle my bum but Pete misinterpreted my reactions. He thought I was trying to wriggle free and he pinched my bum as he cursed again.

“It’s no fucking good,” he cursed. “These bloody passion killers are soft as silk but as strong as fucking canvas. I can’t get a proper grip and I can’t even feel her properly. I’ll need a knife or something to get through them.”

“What you asking me for?” Cursed Jimmy “I don’t carry a bloody knife! Not since that business last month when we got arrested and cautioned. That fucking copper’s always bloody stopping me.”

“Well, there’s no way these bloody passion killers are coming off. I’ll try undoing this bloody corset thing.”

As Pete spoke, he tried to find a way of untying my corset but of course, the little padlock completely stymied his explorations. He let out another gasp.

“Fuckin’ hell. She’s bloody locked into this fucking corset. How the fuck am I supposed to get at her?”

Jimmy leant back and cruelly strained my neck as he bent over to study the little padlock in the small of my back.

“Shit! This is fucking weird. It’s like she’s wearing armour or summat!”

“Well there’s no way this bitch is going to get de-bagged. Try and feel her tits!” Suggested Pete.

Jimmy made a move to roll me over onto my back but at that moment he spotted one of the other sissies coming towards the patch of bushes as she searched for me. It was Jemima who was the ‘seeker’ and she had obviously heard my scream!

“Shit!” Cursed Jimmy. “There’s another of them! Let’s ger’ ourr’a here!”

Pete needed no second bidding. He was already frustrated by the complicated arrangements of my corset and pantalets so he pulled his hand from under my corsets, smacked my calves because he could not smack my arse under the corset then he bolted after his crony Jimmy. The moment I was free I let out another wail of distress and Jemima immediately located me as I struggled to lever myself up by grabbing the same fallen tree that had so successfully hidden me from view. Just as I managed to pull myself up and rise very unsteadily to my feet, Jemima arrived and recognised something was wrong. My muddied dress and tearful face were obvious signs of my distress not to mention the nasty red marks around my mouth.

“Gosh Michelle. What’s happened?” She gasped.

“Some boys! They attacked me!" I squealed hysterically."Look there they go, across by those goal posts.”

Jemima turned and spotted the sprinting boys but they were now too far away to be identified. Anyway, there was no hope of us corseted sissies ever catching them. Our corsets made sure of that. Instead, Jemima gave me a hug and started to help me clean myself up. She studied my mouth thoughtfully.

“Your lips, they’re all bruised darling. Come on, we’ll have to tell Mistress Portia.”

All thoughts of the game of ‘hide and seek’ were dropped as I minced painfully into the glade were the other sissies were gathered. I had somehow sprained my ankle during my struggles and Jemima had to support me as we minced unsteadily back to our group.

“What on earth’s happened?” Asked Mistress Portia as she studied my dishevelled muddied appearance.

“Some boys attacked me.” I replied tearfully. They put their hands up my dress and tried to do me.”

“Oh my gosh! Let me see.” Announced Mistress Portia matter-of-factly as she bent down to investigate my under things.
Without a thought for my modesty, I raised the hoops and layers of my petticoats and Mistress Portia checked me out. She clucked and tutted as she recognised the grubby hand marks where Pete had tried to feel me up and de-bag me.

“Well at least they didn’t manage to get at you. Your pantalets are intact. Would you recognise them again?” Asked Mistress Portia solicitously as she gently stroked my cheeks and wiped the tearstains away.

“Only by their voices and their names. They called each other Pete and Jimmy.”

“What about their clothes?”

“Jimmy as wearing a grey hooded top, but that’s all I saw. He forced my head down by ramming his fingers in my mouth and squeezing my lips.”

The bruising around my mouth confirmed my story and Mistress Portia nodded her head as she concluded the questioning and dialled the police on her mobile.

“Come on, we’ll get you back to the house and clean you up. These monsters need to be found.”

The afternoon games were immediately curtailed and we filed back to Victoria’s house where I was cleaned up and made presentable again.

After being cleaned up, I met a young policewoman and my Auntie Beverly who had been informed by mobile. She gave me a hug and reassured me for I had been terrified by the attack. The policewoman smiled to reassure me and asked a whole pile of questions before nodding sagely.

“We know who they were. It’ wont be hard to get them. The forensic doctor has just arrived so she will take some DNA samples. I’m afraid we’ll need to take away your underwear for testing.

My Auntie Beverly seemed a bit unsure of this idea but Victoria’s daddy was a special doctor and, because he was a transvestite himself, he was much more aware of the rights of transsexuals and alternative lifestylers. He nodded to agree with the policewoman and invited Auntie Bev to go upstairs and remove my pantalets. Upstairs as she helped me out of my dress and corset, Auntie Bev smiled to reassure me.

“Fortunately your pantalets are made of strong material and they are all-in-ones so he was unable to assault you. However, the police are taking your friend Jemima out in a car now and we’ll see if they can be found. D’you feel up to this?”

My thirst for retribution now gave me fortitude and I nodded angrily.

“Good girl,” reassured my Auntie Bev. “We’ll see things put right.”

With this decision taken, Jemima was put in the police car and driven around the neighbourhood until she spotted the likely culprits. In the mean time Victoria’s daddy garnished some forensic evidence from my mouth. A broken nail had been discovered in the frilly leg of my pantalets and it wasn’t mine. My nails were immaculate as well as being painted red. It was obvious that the nail must have been Pete’s. The Policewoman smiled with evident satisfaction.

“This will make excellent evidence. If it’s a DNA match it will go a long way to establishing he was assaulting Michelle.

“He must have broken it when he was trying to rip my underwear.” I added tremulously. “It proves he was trying to rip my pants off me.”

“Precisely young lady,” smiled the policewoman. You’re a smart little cookie aren’t you?”

As she spoke, another lady who was the police forensic surgeon arrived at the door. She and Victoria’s dad took some samples from my mouth for there were bloodstains around my cheeks and neither the forensic surgeon or Victoria’s dad could find no trace of any cuts to my face or mouth.

“It could quite possibly be the attackers blood,” observed the forensic surgeon as she turned to me. “Did you bite him or anything?”

“No. I was too afraid, but he might have cut his fingers on my teeth when he yanked my head back.”

“Quite.” She finished as she delicately swabbed the blood from my lips and cheeks. “There will obviously be your DNA here but if there’s any trace of your attacker, he will have the Devil’s own job trying to deny anything. You’ve been a very brave little girl. Especially by not removing the blood stains.”

I smiled gratefully as she carried out some more tests that I didn’t understand and finally she gathered up her equipment. As she prepared to leave she remarked to the policewoman.

“The blood and the fingernail are the best evidence, I think we’ll catch them very quickly. Their descriptions match.
The policewoman nodded and turned to Auntie Bev.

“D’you want to take her to hospital?”

“I don’t think there’s any need,” interrupted Victoria’s dad, “Do you want to go Michelle?”

I smiled and wagged my head as I replied.

“I’m not injured, just my ankle and that’s only a sprain.”

It was only then that I learned that Victoria’s daddy was a psychiatrist and had obviously qualified as a doctor before specialising in Psychiatric Medicine. The Policewoman knew him and knew of his work for he had often helped in sexual assault forensics. He agreed with the consensus and left, satisfied that the situation would have a successful outcome.

It did.

Jemima and the Police located the attackers and an excellent case was soon prepared against them.

The assault was deemed to be a homophobic attack and my evidence coupled with the forensic material soon had a strong case against the boys. Apparently the two of them already had a long record for other offences and their progression into sexual assaults was the final straw. It was exactly the sort of offence that the local police had been looking for to have these two young thugs sorted once and for all.

At the juvenile hearing it transpired that the pair had an endless string of offences against their names including several other sexual offences. The sexual assault against me was to be the final straw. They had reached an age when the courts were empowered to take proper action against them.

They were from broken homes and their single mothers conceded that the boys were getting beyond parental control. The courts ruled that the needs of pair would be best served in some sort of correctional institution. As we left the courts, Victoria’s father took Auntie Bev and me to a café across the street.

“They’ll be off the street for several years. I know that judge. His own daughter was attacked as a young girl and he shows no mercy towards sexual offenders. Because it’s a juvenile case, there was no jury and no press. His decision will be law. I’ll be speaking to him next week about the sentencing.”

“I didn’t know you were so tied up with the courts,” replied Auntie Bev.

“Well ever since my own son turned out to be a deviant abuser, I’ve come to realise that nobody’s perfect. However, the judge has been pleased with the behavioural reports about Jemima. The probation officer is a closet transvestite and also a friend of mine so Jemima’s case is not publicised. I’ll be seeing if I can get the judge to put those two miscreants into the same curative programme.”

“You mean have them sissified!” Giggled Auntie Bev.

“Don’t knock it if it works.” Declared Victoria’s dad. “Just look at Jemima, she’s perfectly behaved and become a genuinely solicitous, kind hearted young person.”

“Well, yes. I’m forced to agree on that,” continued Auntie Bev as she turned to me and smiled. “What d’you think Petal?”

“It’ll serve them right. They shouldn’t hit girls, - or sissies,” I added as an afterthought.

“Exactly,” agreed Victoria’s daddy. “I think Mistress Janet’s academy will serve them perfectly.”

“But, - but,” I pleaded, “what if they you know, -? What if they attack me again?”

“Oh believe me darling. Those two will not be able to attack anybody after Mistress Janet’s finished with them.”
I became frightened.

“Does she, - does she punish all the children?”

“Good gracious no my sweet. Good girls and good sissies are treated very well. Your auntie tells me you love being a sissy. Is that so?”

I nodded thoughtfully as I replied.

“I like wearing girl’s things. They’re just so much nicer than boy’s.”

“Well there you are then. Mistress Janet’s will be perfect for you. You can indulge your desires to your heart’s content and more importantly, if you grow up with a sissy body and shaped like a girl, you’ll always be able to wear girls clothes. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I nodded gratefully for the idea of being able dress and pass as a girl was one of my greatest ambitions. Victoria’s daddy recognised my appreciations and she smiled.

“Remember, girls and sissies can always wear jeans and shirts if they want. Girls and sissies have a much greater choice, especially if the sissies are shaped like girls and look like girls. Just imagine wearing tight stretch jeans but having those jeans stretched around a nice curvy butt. It’s just so much more attractive. Now finish up your juice. I’ve got a clinic this afternoon. I’ll probably see you at the club next Friday.”

I finished my juice obediently and Auntie Bev caught a taxi back to Uncle Penny's pub where we were staying. When Uncle Penny and Auntie Jamie heard the outcome of the case they were very pleased for it was one more tiny, vital step on the ladder to emancipation for alternative life-stylers.

We stayed at Uncle Penny’s pub until the end of the school hols so Janice and I were free to indulge in all the delights that London had to offer a child. The holidays appeared to fly by and all too soon it was time for Janice and me to start our first term at Mistress Janet’s academy for young Ladies. Mummy drove home to our own house and we prepared for the new school.
During those last few weeks in London, I noticed my breasts beginning to ache and itch simultaneously. I wanted to rub and scratch them but instead, Auntie Bev bought some special cream to sooth them. I had to gently rub it into my breasts each morning and evening to sooth away the itching and aching Little did I know what else was in the cream that worked in tandem with the vitamin pill that Auntie Bev ensured I swallowed each morning and evening. I did notice though that by the middle of September, just before we started school, Auntie Bev had to get me fitted for a new corset. My waist was the same but my hips were slightly bigger whilst I noticed that the new, soft little cups were slightly larger and I was beginning to fill them. On the morning we were dressing to attend our first day at school, I turned to Auntie Bev after stepping into my corset.

“Are my tits getting bigger?” I asked, secretly hoping that they were.

“D’you want them to?” Countered Auntie Bev as she stroked my protruding nipples through the silky material of my new corset’s bra cups and smiled. I jerked with surprise and Auntie Bev smiled.

“Is that nice?”

I gasped and my knees sagged as her actions sent delicious thrills tingling down to my boy clitty.

“Oo-ooh yess! Gosh that’s just so-oo nice.”

“Well if your tits become bigger, those lovely little nipples will also become bigger and even more sensitive and you’ll really begin to like it.”

I couldn’t resist lifting my fingers to my nipples and gently stroking the sensitive nubbins through the soft silky cups of my corset. As I squirmed and gasped Janice watched thoughtfully for she quickly recognised my responses.

“Will mine grow like that?” She asked hopefully.

“Yes dear. But you’re a year and a bit younger so you’ll have to wait a bit longer.”

“Aa-ah that’s not fair. I want mine to grow the same time as Michelle’s. After all, I’m a real girl!”

“Be patient darling.” Smiled Auntie Beverly indulgently as she kissed my sister Janice to reassure her. “By this time next year, you’ll have caught your sissy-brother up. Girls develop younger than boys. It’s all to do with biology.”

With a frustrated sigh, Janice stepped into her corset and then turned me around to fasten my laces before I returned the favour. Once I was fastened into my corset, Janice's eyes fell to my swollen breasts as they swelled in rhythm with my short shallow breathing.

“Gosh, your bra cup is quite full. You lucky thing.”

I leant forward and kissed Janice affectionately.

“Why that’s just the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Thanks sis.”

She gently fingered my protruding nipples and I squeaked with delicious surprise.

“Ooh! Owooh that’s nice! Not too much though, it’s makes my boy clitty hard.”

At this interaction Auntie Bev interrupted our fun.

“Come, come now girls, you’ve got to get ready for school. We’ve got to be there before noon because you two will be weekday boarders. If you’re late, the full term boarders will get all the best rooms.”

This got Janice and I moving and soon we were driving along the country lanes to Mistress Janet’s academy.