Brittany really does not want to give up her Easter Saturday in order to move her school's costume collection. On the other hand, her brother Tom says he'd do anything to see Sir John Thunder's collection of cars.

Author's Note: This is a standalone story, one of several set at the Seacombe Independent Girls' High School, or SIGHS. If you enjoy this story, you might like to try more SIGHS stories: Jolly Hockey Sticks; Your Starter For... and Strings of Sighs.

Warning: This story, like most of my other stories, is a light-hearted cross-dressing romp, and is not to be taken seriously.

"Can you believe it?" Brittany moaned to her younger brother Tom, as she arrived home from school. "I've got to give up my Easter Saturday in order to go and help old Thunderbirds with the school's costume collection."

"Tough," Tom said, concentrating on his maths homework. Brittany was always moaning about something or other. "Anyway, who is Thunderbirds? You've never mentioned her before."

"She used to teach Textiles, and she took early retirement a few years ago. She was the person who built up the costume collection and when she left, no other member of staff wanted to take it over. She said she'd keep it at her house - then girls could come over as they wished to see it."

"You don't sound as though you wish to see it," Tom remarked. "So why do you have to go?"

"No one wants to see it," Brittany said. "It's a stuffy old collection of Victorian and Edwardian dresses. They're not even part of the curriculum. I think it's one of the reasons why Miss Harper, the Head, got rid of her - she was always living in the past."

"That still doesn't explain," Tom said, "why you have to go there on Saturday."

"I was late with my Textiles homework again, and Nosey Parker said that instead of giving me a detention, I had to go and help Miss Thunder move the collection to a room upstairs, over the Easter weekend. Apparently, Sir John - her brother - wants to expand his stupid car collection."

There was a moment's silence as Tom made the connection and then, "You mean Sir John Thunder?"

"Have you heard of him?" Brittany clearly hadn't.

"He was a motor racing champion years ago, in the days when racing cars really looked like racing cars. He was a national hero and everyone loved him. He won almost every racing title in existence. I'd heard he lived locally, with his collection of cars, but I never knew where. Do you think I could come with you when you go?"

Brittany shrugged. "Don't see why not as long as you help move some of the stuff. I'll ask Nosey if it's all right."

"That's brilliant, sis," Tom said. "I'd do anything to see his collection. You get me in there and I owe you one."

***

"Nosey says she's not even going to ask," Brittany said the following afternoon. "Apparently, Miss Thunder hates boys. Reading between the lines, she had a big row with Miss Harper about boys using SIGHS' facilities."

Tom's school, Seacombe Public School, or SPS for short, cooperated closely with SIGHS, the Independent Girls' High, particularly when sixth formers needed facilities that their own school didn't have.

"You're joking," Tom complained, distraught. "What's wrong with the woman? I so wanted to see Sir John's collection."

"And I so wanted to spend as little time moving costumes as I had to," Brittany said.

There was a brief silence, and then Brittany added, "I suppose..."

"No," Tom said. "It would never work."

"Thunderbirds doesn't know what I look like."

"That doesn't matter," Tom said. "What does matter is that I don't look like a girl."

"I think if I washed and styled your hair, your face could look quite passable."

"Thanks," Tom said. "It's bad enough when the other boys say I look like a baby, without you saying I look like a girl. Anyway, my body is the wrong shape."

"We could easily do something about that, simply by stuffing a bra with socks."

"No way."

"So when you said," Brittany said, trying to find a way out of her problem, "that you'd do anything to see Sir John's collection, you weren't serious?"

Tom paused, "Well, I..." He thought some more. He really did want to meet Sir John and see his collection. "I suppose you were just going to wear jeans and a tee shirt, weren't you?"

Brittany smiled. "And a bra. But to be honest, if you were going in my place, I'd seriously suggest going in school uniform. That gives you an identity like nothing else would. That's what it's for."

He hesitated some more. "I don't know, sis. I'd feel incredibly stupid if I was sussed."

"Well, you'd better not be," she said." Don't forget, it would be me who would get the ear-ache from Nosey. I'd probably get sent to Miss Harper."

"Yet you seem keen for me to do it."

"I've got far better things to do than go there on Saturday. And also..." It was her turn to hesitate. "Well, I think it would rather exciting to try. I mean there's old Thunderbirds who hates boys who's going to be bossing one around on Saturday without even knowing it. I think this could be rather fun. Don't you think so?"

What she didn't say was that most of the fun would come from dressing up her younger brother like a little doll. Of course, he could have worn some of her leggings and a tee shirt, but where was the fun in that? She'd take a few pictures and be able to blackmail him for evermore over this little adventure.

So she was rather surprised when Tom grinned and said, "I guess you're right. It would be quite exciting."

But what she didn't know was that, deep down, there was another kind of excitement surging through Tom, which had started at the thought of wearing a bra. When Brittany suggested he wear her white blouse and black pleated skirt, he knew he wanted to wear those just as much as seeing Sir John's collection of cars. But all his senses told him he had to be careful about people knowing.

"There's only one thing," he added. "Not a word to anyone else, OK? Especially Mum and Dad."

"I was thinking of ringing Emily Davis," Brittany said. "She's in the new Music Academy, now, but rumour has it that she got a boy to pretend to be a girl for some musical performance, and that was in front of two hundred people. I thought I'd ask her for any tips."

"OK, but don't mention my name to her, all right?"

"Of course."

***

"She's bringing something over straightaway," Brittany said, after she put down the phone. "It's called a Torsolet and it makes a boy look like a girl - gives him breasts and even a pussy. Sounds great, doesn't it. And she reckons it will just fit you."

"I thought you weren't going to mention my name!"

"She needed to know who you were so she could decide if it would fit. She reckons it will do fine."

Half an hour later, Brittany and Tom were looking in amazement at the skin-coloured garment Emily had spread out on Brittany's bed. It was a high-necked, flesh-coloured sleeveless leotard, but with small, rosebud nipples, padded hips and bum, and - something Tom couldn't turn his eyes away from - a bush of pubic hair, with a slit all too visible beneath.

"It's only a garment," Brittany said, noticing Tom's fixation. "Not the real thing."

"My boyfriend, Gary, was just the same when he saw it for the first time," Emily admitted. (See Strings of Sighs by Charlotte Dickles.)

"He went to Chets, didn't he," Tom said. "No one has heard from him lately. How is he?"

"Oh, he's fine," Emily said, rapidly deciding to change the subject. "The breasts are inflated with water by fastening this pipe to the tap and connecting it to the nipples like this." She demonstrated. "You need to spread gel over your body before putting it on, to stop all the sweat. There are two pots of gel. The green gel is for short term use, but it's no good for more than a few hours; the red gel is for longer use, but..."

"I heard you have a crush on Gary's cousin, Gabriella, now that she's come to the Academy," Brittany mischievously said.

"We play in the quartet together," Emily said, a deep blush coming to her face, "so we have to be on good terms. Anyway, I have to get back to rehearsal with the group. We're playing at the Albert Hall in a week's time."

"That's fantastic," Tom said, rather annoyed at Brittany's teasing.

She was gone in just a few seconds, leaving the pair of them looking rather apprehensively at the Torsolet.

"I guess you'd better try it on," Brittany said, picking it up and holding it against him.

"I need to spread this gel over myself first," Tom said, picking up the pot of green gel and moving towards the bathroom.

"What's the other pot for?"

"If you hadn't been teasing Emily," Tom said, "you'd know. The green is for when you're using it for just a few hours, which is fine for tonight. But since I'll be wearing it all day Saturday, I'll need to use the red gel for that."

***

"Do you want to come in, sis?" Tom shouted from the bathroom, ten minutes later. "And you'd better bring that pipe with you to inflate my..." It felt so strange talking about his breasts that another surge of excitement shot through his body. It was a good job his penis was strapped firmly down between his legs, in the pouch behind his new pussy, otherwise he knew he'd have an enormous erection.

"Wow, you have hips," Brittany said when she saw him. "OK, put this bra on and then we can inflate your breasts.

"Don't be such a wimp," she added as she saw Tom shaking slightly.

"Sorry," Tom said, pleased she hadn't realised the real reason he was shaking - with sexual excitement, not fear.

She fastened the bra behind his back and then fitted the piece of piping between his left nipple and the hot water tap, as Emily had showed them.

She turned on the tap and watched Tom's breast grow. If only her own breasts grew as quickly, she enviously thought. She'd loaned Tom her newest bra - a B-cup - she had to use cotton wool to fill it when she wore it, but there was no need for cotton wool with Tom. She inflated his breast until it nicely filled the bra cup, and then did the same for his right breast.

"Hell, they're huge," Tom said peering down at them, trying to sound shocked, rather than delighted.

"Get used to them," Brittany said. "You only have to wear them for a day. I have them all the time. Now, about your hair...."

But her comment was interrupted by a call from downstairs. "Hi kids, I'm home. Are you upstairs?" The words were immediately followed by the sound of their mother climbing the stairs.

***

"You go and tak to Mum," Tom hissed. "I'll lock the bathroom door and get out of this."

"There's no time," Brittany said, adding as their mother appeared at the top of the stairs, "Hi Mum. Come and see what Tom's put on. He wants to take my place on Saturday."

"You shit, Brittany..."

"Now Tom, I've told you before about swearing and I won't have it... Oh." She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the body of a teenage girl with the head of her son. "What on earth..."

"It's called a Torsolet, Mum," Brittany said. "Tom got me to ring up Emily Davis to find out how she disguised a boy to look like a girl, and she brought this round."

Mrs Walker had been a mother for long enough to cope with all kinds of weird things which kids got up to, and she barely hesitated before speaking. "Well I think you look amazing, Tom - or should I call you Thomasine?"

"Mum." Tom squirmed. "It was Brittany's idea. She wanted to get out of shifting some costume collection on Saturday and I wanted to meet Sir John Thunder and see his collection of cars. She made me do this."

"I did not..."

"Kids. Kids. It really doesn't matter whose idea it was. Now tell me everything, especially everything about dishy Sir John Thunder."

"Dishy!" Brittany said. "Do you know him?"

Their mother smiled. "Every woman of my age knows Sir John Thunder, but in most cases not as well as we would have liked. Mind you, he always tried his best to put that right. He'd have a dozen pretty girls continually hanging around him."

"But Mum," Tom protested, "he must be a hundred years older than you."

Their mother thought briefly. "About thirty, actually, so when I was fifteen, he'd have been in his mid forties."

"Mum," Brittany said. "That is so revolting. How could you fancy a forty-five-year-old? And he must have been a pervert, like Jimmy Saville."

"There's nothing perverted about a man fancying young women, or a young woman fancying an older man, and I've never heard anyone complain about him. From the stories that went around, no one had reason to."

"Mum!" They both said it that time.

"Anyway," their mother said. "What's all this got to do with Tom's cross dressing?"

Brittany told the tale, minimising her involvement and making out it was all Tom's idea. Tom tried to protest, but she simply talked over the top of him.

"Well I think it's you missing a trick, Britt," their mother said when she had heard it all. "If I thought I could get away with it, I'd be putting on your school uniform to get to meet Sir John."

"Yuk," from Brittany.

"Anyway," she said, "we need to get Tom's conversion sorted. I must say, that Torsolet is fantastic. You say you can inflate the breasts as much as you want? Mmm, I wonder. You have such wide hips, Tom, so why don't we try one of my C-cup bras and see how you look in that?"

"Mum," Brittany protested, "my blouse wouldn't fit him if he wore a C-cup. In any case, I thought you'd be livid with Tom at his stupid plan."

"It seems a great idea to me," Mrs Walker said. "If Tom has the initiative and - yes - the courage to carry this through, then I'm right behind him. And we could always buy Tom a bigger blouse. You're going to need one soon, anyway."

"But I don't want to wear one of my brother's cast offs," she complained.

"Then you shouldn't have got involved in this in the first place," Mrs Walker said. "Now take that bra off him and I'll go and get one of mine."

"But Mum." At last, Tom got in his protestations. "These breasts are already huge. I can't..."

"If you're going to meet Sir John Thunder," his mother advised, "I can assure you there are no such things as breasts that are too large. A C-cup is the absolute minimum. I used to stuff a D-cup with cotton wool when I went to the race circuits and tried to get noticed in the pit enclosure." She stared at Tom carefully and said, "Let's try on the C-cup for now. We have the rest of the week to get you a bigger bra." She disappeared towards her bedroom leaving both her children staring open-mouthed at her departing back.

"But Mum," Tom kept up his protestations, "I only want to look at his car collection. I don't want to have sex with him."

"Well," said Mrs Walker as she returned waving her bra at him. "You may not want to have sex with him, but wouldn't you like a ride in one of his cars? A boy may get little more than a look at the outside; a girl with the right attributes can usually get far more."

"Mum," Brittany moaned. "That's disgusting."

"Nothing wrong in flashing your tits to get what you want," Mrs Walker said, "even if it is at a seventy-year-old. And I think Tom is hardly in danger of losing his virginity to Sir John." She unhooked Tom's bra and removed it, replacing it with the one she had just brought in. "Now, show me how that pipe fits on here."

Within five minutes, Tom's tits had grown even bigger, although his mother still seemed dissatisfied. "I suppose it will do for the time being," she said. "Let's go into Britt's room and put on some school uniform."

She marched straight into Brittany's room, opened her wardrobe and pulled out a blouse and a skirt.

"Mum," Brittany said, "that's my best blouse and skirt. I was going to give him some of my old stuff."

"If he's going to meet Sir John," Mrs Walker said, holding out the blouse so that Tom could put his arms into it, "he needs to look smart. In any case, we may buy him some new uniform before Saturday." She buttoned up the blouse which — Brittany was right — was rather tight, and then got him to step into the skirt.

"Hmm, not bad. You'll need some decent tights, but we'll have to wax your legs before then, and I don't know what we'll do about shoes. I don't suppose Britt's will fit, will they?"

She reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of Mary Janes. But she only had to place them besides Tom's foot to discard them as being too small. "We can go shopping tomorrow after school for them and anything else you'll need." She stared at him some more. "We'll need to get your ears pierced."

"Mum. Everyone will laugh at school."

"Lots of boys have piercings," Brittany said, trying to add to his discomfort.

"That's settled, then," Mrs Walker said. "What were you going to do about his hair?" she asked Brittany?

"I thought I could wash and style it," Brittany said.

"I think it will need more than a style," Mrs Walker said. "I think a cut's needed. Not too much, just enough to give it a girlish look."

"Mum, I have to face my friends afterwards," Tom said. "I can't have it cut."

"Don't forget most of your friends are going away for Easter," she said. "You have the whole of the school holidays to grow it out, and if the worst comes to the worst, we can get it re-cut afterwards. I'd better ask Sharon to come round on Friday evening, and she can cut it here. She can also do your piercings. After all, we hardly want any of this publicising."

"No Mum," Tom wholeheartedly agreed.

"So if it leaks out," his mother said, "we know it will be Britt to blame."

"Me!" Britt protested. "Why me?"

"If Tom lets it out the bag, he has nothing to gain by hiding it. If I do, then I certainly wouldn't blame you, so that only leaves you. And let me tell you, if this leaks out then you're grounded until you turn eighteen. Do you understand me?"

"But I've only just turned seventeen," Britt complained.

"So it had better not leak out, had it?"

"No, Mum."

"Right, then all we have to do now is to wax your legs, and I'll lend you a pair of my tights and some shoes to wear for the rest of the evening."

"The rest of the evening! But Mum..."

"There's more to being a girl than simply looking like one; you have to behave like one as well, so you must practice all the time you're at home. And do try to speak more softly, and make your voice more lively. I want you to think of your favourite girl at school, and then try to speak and behave like she does."

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but then saw the look on his mother's face and closed it again. Why on earth had he told Britt he'd go ahead with this stupid scheme? Then he glanced down at his bulging breasts and knew the answer.

***

"Hello, Miss Thunder?" Tom said into the gate intercom. "I'm Brittany Walker. Mrs Parker asked me to come over and help shift the costume collection."

"Good morning, Brittany. Come on in." There was a buzzing as the lock on the pedestrian gate was released and he pushed it open. His mother had stopped the car outside the front gate of the large house standing in its own grounds, and once she saw he had gained access, she gave him a wave and drove off. He took a deep breath; he was on his own now — or did he mean, she was on her own?

The front door of the house opened as Tom approached and Miss Thunder appeared at the door. Tom had imagined her as a very large lady, who only had to cross her arms for the thunder clouds to gather. Instead, she was quite small, with crinkle lines on her face which suggested a smile was never far away. Indeed, she broke into a smile, now.

"Come in," she said. "I gather from Mrs Parker that there was an acute shortage of volunteers. I'm glad she managed to persuade you to come."

"Well, I have to say I wasn't very keen at first," Tom said, adding with complete honesty, "but when I found out about the collection, I realised how fortunate I was to have the chance of seeing it."

That delighted Miss Thunder, as he had intended. "I really don't understand why girls so rarely come to see it," she said. "It's a marvellous collection. Come through and look at it. It's currently stored in the Coach House, but my brother wants the space in order to expand his car collection."

Tom had expected to have to make some polite noises, but when he went into the large outbuilding, the array of garments made him gasp with delight. "Oh Miss Thunder," he cried, "they're gorgeous. I thought Victorian dresses were all black or grey, but there are so many different colours, here."

She smiled at him. "It's true that after the death of Prince Albert, Queen Victoria went into mourning for many years, and the upper classes of Victorian society followed her lead. And it tends to be those clothes which are generally in display in museums. But we mustn't forget how the Industrial Revolution was creating a rising number of middle class, as well as a new group of very wealthy industrialists who were not allowed to be part of the upper classes. They could afford — and choose — to dress how they wished."

She had been a good teacher, Tom realised, feeling himself carried along by her enthusiasm.

"Now I have to admit," she continued, "that most of the dresses here are not originals. Such a collection would be well beyond the coffers of SIGHS, and those that are were mainly donated by ex-girls and parents who have acquired them on the death of elderly relatives, with no room in modern houses to keep such wonderful clothes. Those are the originals at the end of the room." She pointed to the far end, where the lighting was subdued, as were the half-dozen dresses on display.

"But what about the other dresses, Miss Thunder? You must have dozens of them here."

"There are thirty-eight in total. Most have been made by the girls during Textile classes, following original designs. Miss Primrose - the previous Head - was very enthusiastic about the project."

Tom could understand that the current headmistress, the dynamic Miss Harper, would much prefer her girls to become fashion designers, rather than creating outdated dresses for a collection few would ever see. All the same...

"You've created a fabulous collection, Miss Thunder." Tom wandered down the central aisle, admiring the pretty fabrics, but also noticing some of the clumsy stitching of the girls.

"They're not all perfect," she said. "But it does mean that girls can wear them without fear of damaging them." She hesitated slightly. "I notice the school uniform you're wearing is immaculate. I was rather expecting you to be wearing jeans. Did you bring anything to change into whilst we do the hard work?"

Oh, no! He and his mother had been far too busy creating the image of a perfect schoolgirl to ponder the job itself. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't think about that."

"Well it's not a problem," Miss Thunder said. "You can put on a maid's dress to do the work. She walked a little further down the aisle and pulled a dress from the rack. This one will be perfect for you."

"You want me to put on a maid's dress?" Tom felt both a sinking feeling in his stomach, and exhilaration in his heart.

He stared at the dress Miss Thunder held before him. It was a long black dress with a high neckline and wide skirts beneath a narrow bodice. A feeling of both disappointment and relief swept through him, as he shook his head. "I don't think it will be big enough for me," he said. "That bodice is far too tight."

"Don't be silly," she said. "You have to wear it with a corset."

Thank heavens his penis was strapped safely away somewhere inside the Torsolet. Otherwise, he would surely have ejaculated on the spot! As it was, he gasped and staggered a little.

"I can see you are shocked at such an idea," Miss Thunder said, "as many modern women are. But it was normal wear in Victorian times, and they are really not the garments of torture that modern women depict them to be."

"But will I be able to work in a corset?"

She smiled at him. "People did. As I say, they really are not garments of torture. Why not try one on? We'll tighten it a little and then see how the maid's dress fits you. After that, you can see for yourself how restricting they are, and then give your school friends a factual account."

Tom very much doubted he'd be doing that. In fact, he decided that no one else was going to find out about this embarrassing interlude. He smiled back at her. "You've convinced me, Miss Thunder. Let me try one on and find out for myself."

"There's a changing area in the corner," she pointed at an area with a large wall mirror and coat hooks on the wall, but no curtain, and Tom realised he was going to have to change in front of her. Hopefully, she wasn't going to notice the places where the Torsolet met his skin, although his mum had used cosmetics to disguise the join as much as possible.

"You'd better take everything off," she continued, "then we can dress you in just the same way women dressed back then."

"Presumably," Tom said, "I should leave on my bra and panties."

"Don't be silly," she said. "Bras weren't invented until much later, and most working class women would not wear drawers or pantaloons. Go on, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Slip everything off."

Tom gulped a little, and then started to slowly remove his clothes and hang them on the hooks.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Miss Thunder said, "it's as though you've never taken off your clothes before. She stepped up to Tom and was immediately undoing buttons and zips, unfastening bras and carefully peeling tights down his legs. Within seconds, Tom was standing before her totally naked, and shivering slightly, partly through cold and partly excitement.

"I say old girl," an elderly, but rather sprightly man had come into the room, "when am I going to be able to use this room for my... Oh! I say. What a pretty girl."

Miss Thunder placed herself between Tom and the man. "How dare you enter this room without knocking," she said.

"Sorry, old girl," he said, stepping slightly to the side so he could have another look at the naked girl. "You should have warned me you had visitors."

"Will you leave here THIS MINUTE." Miss Thunder was suddenly every bit the thundercloud Tom had expected from the start. "I also think that Brittany deserves an apology."

"Yes of course," he replied. He smiled apologetically at Brittany and said, "Sorry Brittany." Then his grin widened, as he added, "Nice tits."

A shiver of pleasure ran through Tom at such a candid compliment, and for the first time he understood why it was that his mother, and thousands of other girls had hung around the pits with their bras stuffed with cotton wool, hoping to get noticed by Sir John Thunder.

"PLEASE LEAVE NOW!"

Miss Thunder followed her brother out of the room and Tom could hear her continuing to berate him.

"If she reports you to Miss Harper, you could be arrested as a voyeur."

"I told you it was a complete accident. How could I have known she was there?"

"How indeed? I sometimes suspect you listen in to my phone calls."

"Of course not. I'm not that kind of chap."

"There will be no repetition of that funny business, do you understand?"

"Of course, old girl. I can assure you nothing was further from my mind."

"Make certain it stays that way."

"Yes, old girl."

It appeared that Miss Thunder felt she had made her point, for she said, "I need to get back to the poor girl and get her dressed."

With the cheek of the devil he was, Sir John added, "Just say if you need any help."

So it was that Tom had a wide grin on his face when Miss Thunder entered the room. "I am so sorry about that," she said. "I hope you don't feel that you have been violated in any way."

"Miss Thunder, it's perfectly all right."

"And there's no need to mention it to anyone else?"

"Miss Thunder. That's exactly the kind of thing my mother warned me to expect from Sir John. I won't mention a word to my school." Of that, Tom was certain.

She gave him a warm smile "It's very good of you to be so understanding. Now, let's get you dressed." She bent over and started to rummage through drawers and pulled out a white linen slip and an object wrapped in its own cord. Tom knew exactly what that was.

"Put on this chemise, first," she said, holding the garment above his head. Tom obediently lifted his arms and she slipped it over his head and pulled it down his body. It was a tight squeeze to pull the narrowest part of the garment over Tom's breasts, and without any of the kind of inhibition a male teacher would have had with a boy, Miss Thunder slipped her hand down from the top and eased his breasts through the garment. Thank heavens, he thought that he and Brittany had been able to convince their mother that a D-cup would have been too large. And also thank heavens, he added, that he had on the Torsolet and not a bra stuffed with cotton wool.

"Now the corset," she said, unrolling the cord from around it. She opened it out, and then worked it to and fro, so that the the cord was evenly spaced between the two halves of the garment. Then she reached it around his torso and started to clip up the front busk. It was a tight squeeze to fasten it around the narrowest part of his waist, and Miss Thunder had to adjust the cord some more in order to fully fasten it.

"I can see how that's improved my figure," Tom said, staring at his new waistline in the mirror, "although it does feel quite tight."

"Heavens, child," she said. "I haven't even started to tighten the cords, yet. You do have an unusually low waist, which means it will cover less of your bust than normal. I hope that doesn't excite Sir John too much."

"Oh. Will we see Sir John again?"

"I expect he will want to bore you with his car collection. He does with most females who step through the door."

She seemed to have forgotten all about the "funny business", Tom realised.

"Actually," he admitted, "I was looking forward to seeing Sir John's collection."

"He'll be pleased. Now, let's start tightening this corset."

She went behind him and pulled on the cords, and Tom watched in amazement as his waist got smaller and smaller — and smaller still.

"There," she finally said as she tied off the cords. "That's not too tight, is it?"

"N-o," he cautiously said, "although..." he moved a little, experimentally, "...it does make it difficult to bend from side to side or bend over."

"A girl should never bend over," she said. "The corset teaches you to maintain your body in an upright, ladylike position. Bend your knees if you wish to pick up something from the floor."

"Yes, Miss Thunder."

"I should have told you to put your stockings on, before your corset, as you'll have difficulty now in pulling them up. Never mind, let me find some." Another rummage through a drawer and she pulled out a pair of woollen stockings, as well as something white and frilly. "Put a foot up on a chair," she commanded.

Tom obediently put one of his feet onto a chair and Miss Thunder bunched the stocking and carefully pulled it up his leg. Then she slipped a white garter up his leg and secured the top of the stocking. For Tom, it was another of those moments when he thought he was going to have an orgasm, especially as he felt the woman's hands slide up his leg. She's even older than my mum, he told himself, keep control.

"Come along, don't dally. Next foot."

He hurriedly switched feet and Miss Thunder put on his other stocking.

"Now, let's see if your dress will fit." She quickly undid the buttons on the maid's dress, whilst Tom stood staring into the mirror at the big busted girl with the hour-glass figure, in her corset and white stockings. "Strictly speaking, you should wear a crinoline with this dress," she said, as she dropped the dress over his head and pulled it down, "but we can do that next time."

"Right," he said, transfixed by his appearance as she fastened the buttons behind his back. Then her words came to his consciousness. "Next time? Will there be a next time?"

"Of course," she said, giving him a really nice smile. "You're obviously so captivated by your new shape, I think we'll be trying on some more dresses by the end of the day, don't you."

"Oh," he said.

"Final thing," she said, "a maid must always wear an apron to protect her dress, and a cap to protect her hair." She picked up the frilly garment she had pulled from the drawer. "Here, put on this pinafore and I'll help you tie it behind your back. I think you can probably put on the smock cap by yourself, can't you?"

That was one thing he managed to do by himself.

***

Once Tom had got used to the restriction of movement imposed by the corset, he found working in it quite comfortable. But more importantly, he felt completely at ease in his new clothes, as he helped Miss Thunder move her collection upstairs to their new location. It was a huge house, dating from the late 1800s, Miss Thunder told him, built as the home of one of the wealthy industrialists that the upper classes had so despised. But the house had included a Long Gallery, where pictures could be displayed, and Miss Thunder had converted this so she could properly display her costume collection.

Tom did the hard work — that of collecting the costumes from the coach house and carrying them up the stairs - whilst Miss Thunder arranged them on the many mannequins she had especially purchased. It was a delight to see the new display area taking place before his eyes, and with Miss Thunder's words in his ears, he couldn't help but wonder which of the fabulous dresses he'd be allowed to try on.

"I say," a voice came from behind him as he carried one of them up the stairs. "You look as pretty in that housemaid's dress as you did when you were stark naked."

Tom turned and smiled. "Thank you, Sir John, but I'd better tell you my mother warned me about you."

He looked concerned. "Do I know her?" He was clearly wondering whether he'd known her in the biblical sense.

"No, but not because she didn't try to get to meet you, but I understand there was stiff competition. I gather you always had a dozen pretty girls around you."

He smiled back. "And now there's only one. I think it's lunchtime, don't you Penny?" He'd raised his voice so that Miss Thunder would hear him as she worked on the floor above.

She appeared now and said that she thought it was indeed lunchtime.

"In the olden days," she said, "the staff would have eaten separately in their own kitchen. But now we only have one kitchen where we all eat together. I have some cold meats prepared. Perhaps you'll help me get them out."

***

"Do the girls still call her Thunderbirds?" Sir John asked Tom over lunch.

"Er... Well..."

"You've embarrassed the poor girl," Miss Thunder said. "Teachers aren't supposed to know their nicknames." She smiled at Tom. "My first name is Penelope and when John was first knighted, they used to call me Lady Penelope, but that was too much of a mouthful."

"Oh," Tom said. "I didn't realise you knew."

"A good teacher has to have eyes in the back of her head and hear everything that's said," Miss Thunder said.

"Now, John," she added, turning to her brother, "Brittany would like to see your car collection. I'm sure you would love to show her round after lunch."

"Oh, absolutely old girl." He beamed at Tom and winked. "I'll show you everything I've got."

"Brittany wears her costume so well," Miss Thunder said, "that I wonder whether she would like to join us on the Vintage Car Run on Easter Monday?"

"I have a 1902 De Dion Bouton," Sir John said, seeing the puzzlement on Tom's face. "There's a Vintage Car Run around Seacombe on Easter Monday, and Penny is suggesting you dress up in a costume and come with us."

"Oh, I'd love to," Tom responded without thinking through any of the consequences. He'd be on public display to the hundreds of people who lined the streets. The idea both excited and terrified him.

Seeing his mixed reaction, Sir John said, "I think you said your mother used to follow my antics when she was younger. Why don't you ask her if she'd like to join us?"

"She probably wouldn't want to come," Miss Thunder said. "And I don't expect Mr Walker would be very happy about it."

"Mum got divorced a few years ago," Tom said, "and we don't see much of Dad now. I'm sure she'd love to meet you. She was so excited when I told her about coming here today."

"That's all settled, then," said Sir John, wondering just how much Brittany's mother would love to meet him. "Now let me show you around my little collection."

***

"How would you like a spin around my race circuit," Sir John asked Tom, sometime later, after he had shown him every car in his collection, from the 1902 De Dion Bouton through to his latest acquisition, an open-topped Lotus Elise.

"You have your own race track?" Tom could not believe it.

Sir John modestly shrugged. "It certainly doesn't meet international standards, but there's extensive land attached to this house. Most of it is rented out to local farmers, but I upgraded some of the tracks to form a continuous circuit, which the farmers keep clear. It's pretty slow for a race circuit, but I can touch well over the ton on the fastest bits."

"And you'd take me round it? What in?" Tom couldn't stop his eyes drifting to the Lotus.

"Why not?"

Within minutes, Tom was sitting next to Sir John in the tight cockpit. Sir John gunned the engine, and they set off with a kick like a mule in the seat of the pants.

"We'll just take it easy for the first lap," he said. "Just make certain the track's clear. Always a bit embarrassing if you meet a tractor on a hairpin bend."

Sir John may have felt he was taking it easy, but to Tom, it was incredibly fast — their tyres screeched like crazy on every corner, and the wind blew through his hair. Fortunately, he'd removed both apron and smock cap, but he was still in his maid's dress, in which he felt rather incongruous. Victorian maids really did not ride in expensive modern sports cars.

"I've named each of the corners after similar ones on other race tracks," he said. "This one is Devil's Elbow — Mallory Park." They screamed through a fast downhill left-hander. "This is Woodcote, Silverstone." A fast right-hander. "This is Thunderballs. That's unique to this circuit."

"Why's it called Thunderballs?" Tom asked.

"Maybe I'll show you later," he said.

***

"Hello, Nosey? It's Helen Harper. I've been away for a few days so I've only just read your email - about old Thunderbirds asking you to provide a girl to help her move the costume collection."

"Oh yes," Mrs Parker said. "Of course, no one wanted to give up their Saturday."

"They didn't?" Miss Harper felt the relief sweep through her body.

"No. Not one of them."

"Thank heavens for that."

"So I had to force Brittany Walker to stand in."

"You what?"

"Well, I just said. I threatened Brittany Walker with a detention if she didn't volunteer to move the damned collection."

"Oh my God! You know what you've done, don't you?"

"No."

"But you must do. The whole school knows about what happened to the four girls who helped Thunderbirds move her costume collection to her own house."

"I was Miss Thunder's replacement as Head of Textiles, remember. Whatever happened was before my time, although of course I know of Sir John's reputation with young women. Was there..."

"Under-aged sex? Yes, I'm afraid there was a complaint to the Governors and the police were brought in. Fortunately, I managed to persuade all the girls to lie to the police about what happened and they dropped the case with insufficient evidence."

"You should have warned me."

That much was abundantly clear now to Miss Harper. The problem was that the more people you warned, the greater the risk of it being picked up by the press and emblazoned over the front pages of the gutter press.

"I'll ring up Mrs Walker," Miss Harper said. "See whether Brittany has returned home."

"And if she hasn't?"

"I'll go round there."

***

"Hello, Mrs Walker? It's Miss Harper, Brittany's Head. Mrs Parker tells me that Brittany has kindly agreed to help Miss Thunder with the costume collection today. Has she returned yet?"

Mrs Walker heard the loud music coming from Brittany's room, where she and two of her friends were preparing to go to the disco, that evening.

"No, she's still there," she lied. "I dropped her off at about nine-thirty this morning. Is there a problem?"

"No," Miss Harper also lied. "I wanted to thank her for filling in like that."

She put down the phone and then grabbed her keys and raced out of the house towards her car.

***

Just a few minutes after they had set out, Sir John was saying, "OK, that's the first lap completed and it's all clear. So, we'll open her up now."

And he did.

Tom should have felt terrified at the speeds they were travelling, without any crash barriers to keep them on the road if anything happened. Indeed, at times they flew through the air as they went over the brows of hills that would never appear on a modern race track. Instead, he felt exhilarated to the point where his body was shaking with excitement, but he also felt extremely safe in Sir John's competent hands.

***

Miss Harper left braking so late, she almost crashed into the gate of the Thunder's house, but her Mazda MX2 didn't let her down; she stopped just inches from the gate. She hurriedly got out of her car, raced to the intercom and pressed it.

"Yes?"

"Penny. It's me, Helen Harper. I need to see Brittany right away."

"Well she's currently with my brother..."

"Open the bloody gate."

As the gates started to open, Miss Harper jumped back into her car and drove up to the house and straight round to the Coach House at the rear, where she knew the costume collection was kept. As she got out of her car, she heard a car hurtle past at high speed on Sir John's race track, but her mind was on other things.

***

They completed several more laps before Sir John said, "Let's take a break here."

Thunderballs was the next corner, and instead of accelerating as they went round, he braked, and the car skidded sideways off the road onto a little hard-standing area, stopping just before the oak trees which bordered the road. He turned off the engine and suddenly everything was silent

"What do you think?"

"Fantastic, Sir John."

"Call me John," he said. "Look, the reason I brought you here is that I want to talk with you a little. Do you mind?"

Tom smiled at Sir John. "Mind? Why should I mind a little talk?" He knew he was being provocative. He knew that any sensible girl in such a position should ask to be taken back to the safety of Miss Thunder. But Sir John was such an old rogue. Could he really be turned on by a boy masquerading as a girl?

"Sometimes," Sir John said, "people do things which upset us. For example, when I walked in on you and Penny, this morning."

"I've already said that wasn't a problem."

"I know but... Well, in the past, some of the girls have complained about things, and what I wanted to ask is that if you have a problem with anything, you tell me. Would you do that for me?"

"Of course I will. But..." Tom paused, uncertain how to put the words, "sometimes a girl might tell a man to stop and the man takes no notice."

He smiled at her. "Well it's never happened in my case. I have never forced anyone to do things they didn't want to, and..." It was his turn to pause. "You want me to kiss you, don't you?"

What the hell was he getting into? Tom wondered. He knew he should say no, but Sir John was such a nice old rogue. Besides, what harm could one kiss do? "Yes," he said.

***

Miss Harper ran inside the coach house to see the room almost empty of clothes, but what immediately caught her eye was the white school blouse and black pleated school skirt, hanging on a hook in the changing area.

"Oh, there you are," Miss Thunder said, entering the room. "You can see we have almost cleared..."

"You undressed her, didn't you?"

"The school uniform she wore was completely impractical for the job so I loaned her a more suitable dress."

"You know what I mean. You physically took off her clothes."

"Well, she did need a little assistance to remove her clothes, yes."

"What then?"

"Nothing at all," Miss Thunder replied.

"I don't believe you. You had a naked girl in front of you and you didn't try to touch her..."

"My brother came in. I think he'd been listening at the door and decided to come in when she was naked."

"Thank God," Miss Harper said. "So he stopped anything happening?"

Miss Thunder shrugged. "Nothing was going to happen anyway. People get too excited nowadays about a little cuddling, and tickling a girl in her more sensitive spots."

"Where is she now?"

"My brother's driving her around the circuit."

Miss Harper smiled at her recollection of being driven around the circuit by Sir John. She'd had a crush on him since her schooldays, when she had stuffed a D-cup bra with cotton wool and paraded around the racing circuits, trying to attract his attention. Who would have thought that all those years later, he'd have laid her on the bonnet of his car and given her the fucking of her lifetime? "Now do you see why this bend is called Thunderballs," he'd asked her.

Her heart missed a beat. "I haven't heard his car drive past for several minutes."

Miss Thunder smiled at her. "She'll be perfectly safe with my brother. You know all those stories about him being a philanderer were all made up. Cars are his passion. Really, he's never been that interested in women."

It often amazed Miss Harper that people could so easily delude themselves about those they were close to, but now was not the time to debate the issue. "I need to find Brittany."

She raced back to her car, jumped inside and started the engine. She took a moment to fasten her seatbelt. She was going to have to drive faster than she'd ever driven before.

***

"I think you should stop, now," Tom said.

"You don't really want to stop, Brittany. Your body is telling you that you want to carry on. You won't regret it."

"It doesn't matter what my body is telling me," Tom said. He used his forearm to push Sir John away, just as his mother had coached him. "It's time to stop."

"Damn," Sir John said. "Never mind, there'll be another time."

Tom couldn't help smiling at his optimism.

"I expect Penny will want you and your mother to come over tomorrow," he said, "to choose your costumes for Monday. Perhaps your mother would like a spin around the circuit."

Tom had to gasp at his audacity. Sir John and his mother? Impossible! Still, there was no harm in letting him have his flights of fancy. "I'm sure she would love that," he said with a smile, "only don't go getting any ideas. My Mum's not like that."

It often amazed Sir John that people could so easily delude themselves about those they were close to, but now was not the time to debate the issue. "Of course not," he said.

"I say," he added, "I can hear another car on the circuit, and they're going at full chat. Who on earth is driving at that speed?"

Sir John got more and more aerated about the speed of the vehicle approaching them, until it was only seconds away.

"They're crazy," he said. "They'll never get around this bend at that speed."

***

It says much for the strength and safety features of modern cars that Miss Harper would walk away from an accident that, a few years earlier, would have killed her outright. Indeed, she would remember for years to come, the horror — not of the accident itself — but of the slow motion recall of those last few seconds before her car smashed into the huge oak tree.

In spite of Sir John's reservations, the Mazda might well have safely taken the corner - albeit on its limits of adhesion - had she not seen the parked Lotus and stamped on the brake. Even the ABS couldn't stop the car from going into an uncontrollable spin towards the trees and the Lotus.

She knew she was going to die and for a moment, she thought she was going to hit the other car, killing the girl she was trying to protect. By some fluke, the Mazda just missed the corner of the Lotus and then she was looking directly into the cockpit of the Lotus as her car slid past.

There was the shocked face of Sir John which turned into recognition of the woman he had laid on this very spot. And there was the equally shocked face of the girl — still with her clothes on, thank heavens. But although the girl had Brittany's eyes, IT WAS NOT BRITTANY.

"Strange," she thought, in a moment of clarity, "Brittany doesn't have a sister, only a brother." But then she suddenly thought of Emily Davis and the antics she had recently got up to; and her sister Jessica before that.

She thought it was her dying breath, and all she could say was, "Oh no! Not again!"