At every other desk in Class Paxwell there's work going on. Everyone's writing, looking things up in their Steinbeck paperbacks, then writing again. Me, I'm writing too, but not what they're writing. I did two sentences to make a start then switched to my main thing, what makes school such a paradise of dreams for me. How can I possibly concentrate on English with Miss Warwick in front of me in her mint green satin blouse and long pleated bottle green skirt.
I look up at her from under my brows. I can't risk her seeing me looking at her, she's so sharp, so quick to notice anyone not working. She's going through papers on her table, treating me to a lovely view of her blond hair almost bobbed onto her shoulders. Ohhhh, her blouse, so slippery, so shiny. I write a bit more: "The reason I want to wear your pale green blouse, Miss Warwick, is because you wear it too. You have ruffles going over your shoulders, running over your breasts, which must be in a white cross-your-heart bra, and meeting almost at the waistband of your skirt." My cock is so stiff as I look up at her ag... Oh my God, she isn't sitting any more - she's walking, coming down our aisle. I slide the paper into my exercise book and slip it under Of Mice and Men, leaving my English notebook on top. She's so close, maybe she saw it. She stops by my elbow.
"Well, Ashworth? How does Steinbeck tell us in Chapter 2 that George and Lennie will never be separated?"
Dammit! My English notebook has turned over the page. I've got an empty page in front of me. I'm not thinking of her blousy breasts at my face now, I'm desperately trying to think what to say as I find the right page with my bit of writing.
"I've been talking to the class about it for the past five minutes." She moves my arm with the back of her hand and gets my blouse notebook out from under the rest. My notepaper is sticking out. She's got it in her hand. She starts reading it as my heart is ready to explode. What the bloody hell is she gonna say?
"If you paid more attention to your English lesson instead of - other things - you would be in a better place, my boy." She takes my book back to her desk and sits down, leaving me sweating, trembling. I'll be summoned to Miss Rottenshaw, I know I will. My mind goes crazy as I try and remember what I'd written on it. Please God she won't look anywhere else in the book. I think back to English yesterday when she was in her white starched blouse with puffed sleeves to her forearms and those long buttoning cuffs to her wrists. Oh God, I'd written that I wanted her to button me into her cuffs as I sat on the couch at her side. I wanted her to fasten me up in her blouse because I love her in her white starchy blouse. My head starts to spin: a double page on each of her blouses: her blue silk blouse with that huge bow and long ribbons that dangle over her breasts, her wide coral pink blouse with rows of lace trimming down the front and how I want to wear it, her apricot shiny blouse with buttons down the back!
Her head is down a lot, as if reading, turning pages. Oh help me yes, it's my blouse notebook she's going through. She gets her phone and sends a text.
The next thing Miss Rottenshaw is here, standing talking at her desk, looking down. She stands in the way with the back of her maroon suit towards me. She must be reading my book. She turns and heads towards the door, then goes. My head is swirling. I'm going to faint with relief, but Miss Warwick comes towards me, her shiny scarlet lips straight with determination: I want my desk to be on a trap door so I can fall through the floor and escape.
"Come with me," she says.
I follow her to the front of the room, every face following me, exchanging looks with mates. She leads me into her store-room and opens one of the tall cupboards. "Take your shirt off," she says, and into sight she brings one of her blouses. It's her crisp blouse in red and white stripes, with crisp pointed collars, very full sleeves and long cuffs, all starched. Why am I taking off my shirt? She can't be going to tell me to put on her blouse!
My eyes are filling up as she tells me to turn round and put my arms into its sleeves. Its cold crispness gathers round my shoulders in rustling slithers of shiny, smooth cotton. It's perfumed and it fills my nostrils, adding more sting to my tears. She turns me round to face her and takes one of my hands with the full sleeve and open cuff dangling over it. It folds back on itself, making it extra crisp, so feminine, and she slides a big white blouse button through both sides of the cuff so that it is buttoned on both sides. I can't help myself - I start to cry. She fastened my other wrist the same, then she gives the two sides of her blouse a little shake to straighten them, and fastens all the buttons down my front, from where the collars meet on my breast down to where my cock is pushing my pants right out in front of me. Her fingers slide under the sides of the collar and she shapes it from back to front, cupping my neck in striped cotton up onto my hair, and the points spreading across the fronts of my shoulders.
"There, Master Ashworth, you are wearing one of my blouses. It's what you want, isn't it?"
I fight to get control of my sobs and just about manage it, but I can't say anything. My cheeks are burning, but when I drop my eyes they find themselves looking down my collars and blouse buttons in shameful women's clothes. "Hold the bottom edges of your blouse," she says, catching my hand and placing my fingers on one side, down below my hips. She puts my other hand in place too. "Hold them out to the sides." Then she opens the door back to the classroom and stands for me to go through first.
I don't know whether I'm walking into space or into a wall, my eyes are so blinded with tears as I walk out in front of twenty-five faces. A wall of laughter meets me and if I wasn't crying before I am now. I keep walking until her hands catch me by both elbows and turn me to face the rest of them as they laugh and laugh. What have I done to deserve this?
"Right," I hear her saying, raising her voice for once, but then as the laughter dies down and stops she says: "You've had your laugh but that's it. Jonathan Ashworth is going to sit in class wearing a blouse. Hermione, he needs your desk at the front; go and sit in his place."
I see the shape of Hermione Eckersley get up and move away and Miss Warwick's hands turn me round by the blouse and guide me into her seat. The girl comes back with my bag and puts my books on the table. "Ohhh," she blurts out, "he's got Miss's perfume on." A couple of seats to the side and back a row or two I hear a burst of snorting giggles. I feel Miss Warwick's hand on my shoulder.
"Jez Mathers," her voice is firm, "do that once more and you will have to be dressed too. You will sit there alongside this blouse boy." You could hear a pin drop in the silence.
As I sit there, everyone's eyes burn into my back, covering me in shame and disgrace. They are looking at the back of Miss Warwick's blouse and I have this aching hard-on. I'm wearing her blouse. It's like as if I am Miss Warwick!
At that moment Miss Rottenshaw returns and stands in front of me. "Well," she says as I look at the waist of her skirt as her jacket parts to reveal her white blouse, "you do look a sight for sore eyes. Come with me to my study." She makes me walk ahead of her, as if to check that I really was wearing a blouse belonging to one of the women on her staff. In her office she makes me sit in front of her as she tells me what is to become of me.
"Since you wrote things about Miss Warwick and Miss Marsden in this notebook of yours, your mother says you are to be punished as Miss Warwick and Miss Marsden see fit." She must have phoned Mom at work at Burnsden Royal. Wait til I get home - the questions Mom is going to ask me! The Principal picks up her phone and makes another call as I sit opposite her, blushing from my roots. "Amelia, did Carol speak to you just now? Have you got what you need here in school? She will bring him along for you to make a start in a few minutes, in the staff changing room. I can provide some very effective lingerie." She gets up and walks behind me, opening a drawer and moving stuff around. "Keep your eyes forward," she says.
Then I have to stand up and walk alongside her in my blouse as she wheels a gold valise along the corridor until we are back in front of Miss Warwick in Class Paxwell. She takes the teacher's place at the front of the class and Miss Warwick takes me with her, wheeling that valise, until we arrive at the staff changing room. Inside Miss Marsden is waiting for us. She is my music teacher for two lessons a week. I'm sure I shrink to half my height with shame because I can see from the look in her eyes and the deep breath she breathes in that she knows what I've written about her. My emotions flood higher in my breast.
"So," she declares, her hand on the hip of her long pleated skirt, "this is the boy who wants to wear your blouses and my blouses?" She shakes her head so that her red hair flutters above her white blouse. I start crying in front of them, I am so guilty.
Miss Warwick makes my fingers hold the sides of her blouse again outside my legs. "If you don't want to cry," she says, her voice sharp with sarcasm, "you shouldn't have such thoughts about your teachers. You certainly shouldn't write them down. You would be a lot better off right now, my boy, if you paid attention to your lessons." I feel her undoing the buttons at my wrists, and Miss Marsden stands in front of me and undoes my blouse from the bottom upwards until they can take it off me. It goes onto a hanger, and it's then that I see there's a rail of blouses for it to go on. My heart jumps as they undo my pants and take them down, and my crying rises to a peak as my erection is there for them to see. They undress it, depriving me of my boxers, and soon I stand naked between them.
"Your mother says you will be dressed the way you ask for, so that you can feel ashamed and humiliated," says Miss Warwick, and she reaches round me from behind, passing a pink suspender belt round my waist and clipping it behind me. I have to sit down, and they each have a light brown nylon stocking which they thread onto my feet and roll up my legs, until I am clipped into them with tight suspenders at the front and the side of each leg. I am so ashamed of my cock, it's so thick. I have a black high heeled shoe fitted onto each foot and they make me stand and find my balance.
"This little cock looks like it belongs to a right sissy," Miss Warwick says, letting it rest on her fingers. "It needs a blouse, Miss Marsden. Can you pick out one that it likes, I wonder?"
My throat is blubbering uncontrollably as Miss Marsden has my blouse notebook and she has it open - to read something out!
"I 'heart' Ms Marsden - she is wearing her apricot shiny blouse and I want her to dress me in it, with a frill down the front, full sleeves, silk buttons and long cuffs right down to my hands." She passes the book to her friend and reaches into the rail of blouses. My heart all but collapses as she slides out the sizzling shape of her apricot taffeta blouse. My knees feel weak but Miss Warwick steps close and stands in front of me to hold me up as Miss Marsden holds the blouse open behind me for my arms.
"You don't want to grow up a sissy, Jonathan Ashworth," she says as she draws it together and starts to button me into it. "But we'll make sure you don't, after a good bit of shameful dressing as punishment."
Oh my God. Miss Warwick fastens my cuffs above where my blouse sticks out over my aching cock. Maybe they'll dress me in a skirt, or a pair of their panties. I find myself hoping, longing. But will they take me back to class like this? Will I have to sit in front of Jez Mathers and Meg Watts and Felicity Ormrod like this? Suddenly my heart is bursting with horror and panic.
Instead Ms Warwick opens the valise from Ms Rottenshaw and lifts out of it one pair after another of the most feminine, frilly panties, mostly pink, and hangs them on a rack. They're surely not hers, or the Principal's. They must be punishment panties. I lose all control over my lips as they blubber with fright. "Wh-Wh-What are you going to do to me?" I whine. "Please don't take me back to class like this, pleeeeease!"
Miss Warwick's brows lifted higher to show I deserved to face the consequences of my silly blouse fetish instead of asking my teachers for mercy. "I can tell from your blouse notebook, Jonathan Ashworth, you have a baby's mind."
"Or at least you need to be treated as a baby," added Miss Marsden. "A baby girl in a blouse and pretty panties." My heart nearly stops as I realise she has a baby's disposable diaper in her hands and she's opening it out. It must be for me. They're going to put me into a baby diaper. As she unfolds it, it spreads and spreads, bigger and bigger, all white with pink edges. They thread it under my legs and bring it up on either side of me, and Miss Warwick holds the sides in place as Miss Marsden sticks tabs all the way down. They arrange my blouse so that it slides down the outside, leaving half the huge diaper showing between my legs, and my cock has never known such aching blissfulness.
"I think these are the panties to match such a nice baby diaper," says Miss Warwick, and she chooses a pair of pink ruffle panties, very wide, with elastic almost closing the legs. I can't help crying again as I have to step into them. They are in pink nylon, with rows and rows of ruffles. They make me sit in front of the mirror as I cry my heart out, and pull up a chair each so that they can sit on either side of me.
"You are not going back to class like this," she says. "Instead you are going to be punished here in our changing room." Miss Marsden takes over: "We will dress you in our blouses and in sissy baby diapers and panties until you learn to be more of a boy, Master Ashworth." She takes my leg and lifts it across her blue pleated skirt, keeping it stretched upwards and outwards. Miss Warwick does the same with my other leg, and I find myself laid back on my chair unable to get down or go anywhere. Then they hold my hands and keep them out to the sides as they fuss my blouse and panties.
"Miss Rottenshaw says we are to dress you in our blouses, with diapers and panties, three afternoons a week for the rest of the term. It's all for your own good, my boy. You are going to find your manhood melting away if you really wear blouses that women wear," says Miss Warwick. "The next thing, you'll be wanting to wear girls' panties and a bra, and their cute mini skirts."
Her words flow over me like melting chocolate and my excitement is unbelievable - I've never been so sexually filled up and agitated. It does something to me inside my diaper, so that I moan and cry out with desperation. Miss Marsden lifts the front of my blouse and slots her hand inside my panties to find my cock, her lips pouting with annoyance. I try to turn my erection away from her but I can't, and I can't cover the moan that springs from my breast as her fingers close round its stiffness.
"Why is this cock so excited?" she cries. "Are you a sissy already? I think maybe we are going to have to dress him in more blouses, or maybe our petticoats and skirts too, Miss Warwick. Oh! Ohhhhhhh! He's doing it, into my hand!"
Miss Warwick doesn't look too pleased. "I think we need to put our sissy blouse boy into another blouse - my pink silk blouse, I think - and we'll change him into prettier and frillier panties. And a fresh diaper, Amelia. If we keep dressing him, maybe he will feel the shame more bitterly, especially if he's going to ejaculate like this every time."
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