William was sulking.

The problem was that his mum wouldn’t perform Artistic Striptease in school assembly and he was being teased by his friends.

“Your mum’s a coward,” they cried, repeating the words over and over until their chorus resembled a monastic chant.

“She’s a coward ... Hey! William! Your mum’s a coward...”

Each of them took a pristine envelope containing a white feather and in a ceremony that resembled a monastic ritual they presented their feathers to William demanding that he hand them to his mother.

They could have presented the feathers to William’s mother themselves because she was their school’s headmistress, but this would have resulted in inciting her ire.

She was well known for her ire.

Her ire would have meant a rap on the knuckles with a ruler, followed by a lengthy lecture, followed by detention, followed by a note to their parents; followed by ignominy and no supper. Therefore, it was better to present the envelopes to William and let him take the brunt of his mother’s ire. He, of course, was mortified with their gift, but not because he was fearful of his mother, because he wasn’t; but because he didn’t understand why she wouldn’t strip for the boys.

It was what women did, wasn’t it? They were sex objects, weren’t they? It was why God had made them with breasts and pussies and legs and asses.

Every morning William’s mother stood in front of the entire school population in school assembly wearing her black teacher’s gown and with her day book in her hand and her rattan cane lodged under her arm, and following the obligatory hymn and a prayer and an extended warning about the dangers of sexual abstinence, she would introduce the designated mothers to the stage and would encourage and discuss their stripteases. It was her role to ensure there was suitable strip friendly music available, an appropriate wardrobe and plenty of props.

And she always complimented mothers when it was appropriate to do so, and she presented prizes for the best stripteases; and she frequently arranged for boys from the fourth form photography club to use long telescopic lenses to take intrusive close-up pictures that would later be posted on the school web-site – including some that would go in the section entitled ‘gynaecological instruction material’. These pictures were posted for the boy’s sexual education with William’s mother’s blessing, yet she had a son who was a pupil at the school, and she refused to participate in the worthy striptease tradition herself.

Why not? William didn’t get it, and he felt humiliated to have her as a mother. Therefore, this day he walked home slowly and down-spirited, kicking an empty beer tin languidly down the long dusty road, knowing that he must deliver the twelve white feathers at the earliest opportunity or face losing honour amongst his friends.

How could his mother refuse to do what other mothers did so impeccably?

Ginger’s mum had put on a spectacular show despite being old, fat and clinically obese. Henry’s mum had been eight months pregnant and had done it to proper stripper music despite having milk-laden udders and saucer-sized nipples that bounced around on her enormous lump.

And what of Mark’s mum? She was a pensioner – a touch over forty two years of age – and she’d made the year seven boys giggle in horror as she’d danced on the stage having undressed with vim and gusto, hiring professional clobber from a back street lingerie shop including heart shaped pasties, colourful tassels and a strapless bottom that she’d glued to her doodah. The applause had been spontaneous and ecstatic to the extent that she’d given a big, raucous encore, ripping off her fragment with a bold theatrical flourish and opening her legs so that Gregory Smythe – whose birthday it was - could be consternated and overwhelmed by her wet glistening pearl.

What a sight! What a scene!

What a drama!

And then there was Douglas’s stepmom who was twenty six years of age and looked more like Douglas’s sister than his stepmom. She worked as a genuine bone fide stripper at the Naked Angel Lap Dancing Club where she earned a great deal of money, and where she’d met Douglas’s very rich dad only two years previously, and even now they were married she took Douglas to work sometimes when the child minder was ill. He would sit at the back of the club and focus on completing his homework - or so Douglas’s stepmom explained. Her only stipulations were that he didn’t make it too obvious that he was ogling the girls, because he did ogle the girls, and that he didn’t beg anyone for lap dances – except on Tuesday and Wednesday when it was quiet – and he must stay away from the alcoholic beverages.

Anyway she performed a dirty, uncompromising bump and grind and did it close up, giving two of the tenth form science nerds their own personal lap dance that produced trouser lumps and wet stains and an uncomfortable and embarrassing queue for the toilets.

Everyone had been wonderfully and melodramatically agog!

“It’s not fair,” William bleated, having kicked his rusty beer-can all the way from the school gates to the vegetable plot at the back of Dorinda Lane’s garden where he discovered that she was crouched on her knees in the soil with a jam jar beside her that she was filling with worms. “You would do it wouldn’t you, Dorinda?” he fussed, positioning himself on an upturned barrel so that he could see down her school blouse to the lace of her bra and the bulge of her tits. “Why aren’t mothers like other people? ... like you, for instance. I bet you’ll strip for your kids when you’re married and have children.”

Dorinda was a girl with red curly hair, freckles and a loud rosy complexion that accompanied her big bonnie tits, but it was her tits and not her freckles that boys noticed. She fell backwards into the soil with her legs apart and she lazily wiped her brow and extracted a worm with a dirty thumb and forefinger and dropped it into her jar. Dorinda was a fourteen year old girl, but she was a tom boy at heart and so she understood what it was that boys wanted, and she liked to please them. As a tom boy she had a passion for pulling wings from butterflies and legs from spiders, and dropping ants into acid and dropping salt onto slugs. She liked to mess about with cars and chemicals, and get dirt on her clothes, and if a boy could go down to the creek and get naked and go skinny dipping with his mates, why couldn’t she?

She saw things as boys did, and she was one of them.

“Of course, William,” she murmured breathlessly, jiggling her tits with unanticipated exhibitionist excitement. “It’s a mother’s duty to come to the school when she’s invited and to strip naked in her son’s school assembly. Everyone knows that.”

William sighed and locked his maternally directed displeasure into an unsightly frown and he arranged his head so that it was supported by his hand which made him look wise, ancient and intrepidly masculine.

Or so he hoped.

It also helped him get a better view down Dorinda’s blouse, which had been white before she’d managed to spot it with soil, and it hadn’t been ironed, or if it had, Dorinda had creased it. He saw that the top of her breasts were a hazy soft pink, and that her bra plunged at the centre.

“Everybody’s mother has done it,” William moaned, fixing the image of Dorinda’s bosom into his indelible memory where it would stay forever. He paused. “Even puny Alan Saddington’s mum has done it. She was so frightened that she wouldn’t leave the house until Mr. Yates the milkman worked his magic and brought her to school dressed as a school girl wearing a gym slip, stockings and pig tails. He then dressed in a headmaster’s gown like my mum’s and brandished a cane and told her that she was getting six on the bare, and if she dallied about removing her clothes the number would be doubled. Well, it was doubled and doubled again, and doubled a few times after that. She got so many strokes on the bare that she had more tramlines than Blackpool has on its promenade. No one thought she was going to break and take off her clothes, but she did.

She broke.

She whimpered and then she stripped naked and did everything Mr. Yates said she must do. He persuaded her to prance about on the stage and to open her legs and even to fuck herself with the back of a hair brush, and afterwards, she got down on her knees and sucked more man juice out of Mr. Yates’ cock than he had milk on his milk float, and Ginger was at the front and he says she was wet and he’s sure that she came.”

William paused, reflecting that his mum would look pretty sexy if her ass was made to resemble the tramlines on Blackpool’s promenade. He imagined her standing on the school stage with her panties around her ankles and Mr Yates alongside, and him making her bend across a chair so that her legs were eighteen inches apart and her pussy was open, with everything on show, and that’s how Mr Yates would cane her, and his mother would cry and the tears would roll bountifully down her cheeks as the strokes reigned upon her ass.

Would she cum? Would she climax?

“Are you alright, William?” Dorinda asked. “Is something the matter?”

“What?”

He was trapped in a bubble, daydreaming, and Dorinda felt it, but the nice thing about Dorinda Lane was that she had gallons of empathy for boys, more empathy than William had unspent jism in his balls; and she glanced at him wisely from her prone position sitting in the middle of the vegetable patch with her legs embarrassingly apart, and she squeezed another worm into her jar, fastened the lid, brushed back her hair and clambered over to where William was sitting and sat at his side, her legs carelessly ajar. “Would you like to touch my panties,” she murmured, grabbing his hand and depositing it artfully north of her bare knee. She held it there in position for several seconds before dragging it along the inside of her thigh towards her groin. “I’m your friend, William, but I’m also a girl. So I could strip if you wanted. I’d show you my panties and my bra, and I’d take them off too: everything ... all my clothes, my underwear too ... I’d be naked ... Would you like me to pose for you?”

She lifted her skirt and pushed his hand to within a couple of inches of her panty gusset, and held it there firmly. “Look at my panties, William, and imagine that I’m dancing for you and taking them off. It’s not my first time. I did it for Ginger when he asked me. I went with him into the conservatory and stripped off my clothes between the tomatoes and the runner beans. I tied my bra round the stem of a fig and threw my panties into the purple bougainvillea, and afterwards, I took his cock and sucked it until I had his juice in my mouth and I swallowed the lot. According to Ginger, I’ve got strong jaw muscles and I’m good at sucking and therefore he was extremely appreciative. He said ‘thank you’, and – if you wanted - I could do the same for you, William, and I would do it ... if you think it would help ... I’d like to do it. I’d even do it for free.”

What could he say? He liked Dorinda and if she’d been suggesting that they throw stones at Mr. Brewer’s conservatory, or fill the key hole of Mrs. Hatchett’s front door with quick-drying cement, or put a camera in the girl’s changing rooms to they could sit and laugh at them undressing for hockey, he’d have been up for it, but this was different.

This was ... Dorinda, and she’d stripped for Ginger!

Dorinda was his friend, and Ginger was also his friend – or had been. He wasn’t any more!

Of course, he still wanted to hug Dorinda and fuck her and slap her all at the same time because she was a girl and the two of them were friends and she’d aroused him. And now she was holding his hand and brushing his fingers across the narrow slither of her panties between her legs, and she was asking him if he wanted her to strip and remove them and show him her pussy, and he was in awe. He liked her as a boy. As a boy she was his friend, but this was a girl thing; and he couldn’t accept her that way.

“Don’t you want me to strip?” she asked coyly, pushing his hand hard against the silky gusset of her panties and rubbing there until a wet stain appeared in the fabric that slowly spread across the centre of the gusset.

He nodded. His eyes were shining. He couldn’t believe what they were doing and where he was touching, and what he was seeing, and his cock was hard.

He felt sick.

“What’s the matter, William? You have to say, ‘yes’. You have to tell me to strip. You have to order me to do it like you’re a dictator and I’ve been captured. I’m a prisoner and we’re down in the boiler house where no one can hear, and I have to do what you say because if I don’t, you’ll hang me up by my wrists and you’ll torture me. Are you listening? William? I don’t normally do it for free, but I like you, and once I’m naked I’ll let you touch me if you want - anywhere you like ... anywhere at all ... inside my pussy ... all the way deep inside if you tell me that’s what I have to do.”

She was forcing his fingers against her panty gusset and making him rub there, and her breathing was quickening. Her legs were opening wider, and still he sat there and stared at her and said nothing.

“Are you angry?” she panted, leaning back and using her free hand to squeeze her breasts.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Dorinda, but why would I be angry?”

“Because I stripped for Ginger.” she panted. “I think you’re jealous.”

“Ginger’s my friend.”

“That’s what I meant. So you should whip me.”

She shivered.

“What did you say?”

“You heard. You should tell me to undress and then you should whip me. I have a whip. So if you think I’ve been bad, you should tie me between the pillars in the conservatory and whip me and show me how much I’ve displeased you. William: I’ve never said that or let anyone do that to me before; especially not in the conservatory. I’ve never been whipped, and I’m frightened, but you mustn’t relent. You must give me everything I deserve and I’ll let you and I won’t complain because you’re my friend. You must give me tramlines and make me resemble Blackpool promenade like Mr. Yates did to Alan Saddington’s mum. Some people think I need a strong man. My dad says it all the time, but he doesn’t whip me, and I’d scream if he did. The teachers say it. They say I’m bad news and that I ought to be caned, but they’re not allowed to do it. They say I should learn how to be a girl. So teach me to be a girl, William. I need it. Whip me. What do you think?”

He lifted her up to her feet and gave her a long, adult kiss and then manoeuvred her back into the conservatory, and somehow as he was doing this, the top buttons of her blouse came unfastened. William had no idea how this happened but Dorinda didn’t seen overly concerned, and so it would have been easy to have grabbed her and torn off her blouse.

He didn’t do that because there was still a wall in his mind: an impenetrable barrier. He couldn’t tie her hands and feet to the two pillars and pull off her clothes and then fold them and hide them in amongst the Azaleas. He couldn’t take one of the bamboo canes that had been supporting the sweet peas and use it to beat Dorinda’s legs and breasts and her ass so they were smothered in red lines, and he couldn’t possibly brush squeezed blackcurrant pulp across her lips and cheeks and then make her suck his hard cock.

She was his friend. She was Dorinda. She was a tom boy. She wasn’t a girl.

“You ought to talk to Dr Peterson,” she said afterwards, while she was slowly and very painfully refastening her blouse. She’d been crying and the blackcurrant pulp had run down her cheek, and the blouse had been torn, and she was holding her bra in her hand.

“I should?”

“I heard my Aunt Nellie say that your mum goes to see him every week.”

“That’s because he’s her doctor.”

“But that’s not why she goes to see him.”

“What do you know about why she goes to see him, Dorinda?”

“Because she gets the same treatment from him as I just got from you, and more besides.”

“That’s impossible. It’s disgusting!”

“Maybe so, but she trusts him ... Damn, you hit me real hard! I’m not going to be able to sit properly on a chair for days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m just not used to it, especially those firm ones you laid on my tits. They’re going to colour up nicely tomorrow, and I bet they’ll be sensitive and it’ll hurt too much for a bra. Anyway, back to Dr Peterson. It’s not just medicine he carries in his bag. There’s also a quirt. At least, I think that’s what it’s called. Aunt Nellie says that whatever it is, it hurts like one. She says that women have to be whipped with a quirt to be happy, and that most guys are too soft or too cruel and don’t know how to whip or quirt a woman; or else they don’t care; and that if a girl submits to the wrong guy, he’ll take advantage, and that’s worse than no whipping, which is why I need you to go to Doctor Peterson, William, because I need you to learn from his methods because there’s no one else with his skill. I don’t want to become like poor Susie Davenport.”

“Who’s she?”

“Don’t you remember? She worked part time as Mrs. Howard’s maid and then she moved to New Hampshire to be with her husband, and then after that she had children. Well, two months ago she was in Wal-Mart and got caught shoplifting; and after they arrested her and took her to court, they were going to put her in prison, but then her lawyers called up Doctor Peterson, and he gave evidence to the judge and explained that she’d been under his supervision, but she’d moved and so the reason she’d done it was because she’d been missing her discipline. So the judge graciously allowed the Doctor to walk her to the supermarket where he undressed her outside in the car park and when she was naked he gave her a hard thrashing across the front of her body in public with everyone looking.

He beat her tits, her pussy and her thighs, and everywhere in between. She was crying and weeping and embarrassed, and the people in the crowd were taking pictures and because of it she never stole from a shop again. The story is that the Doctor saved her career because she didn’t go to prison, and he saved her marriage because her husband would have lost his job if she’d gone to prison. So now she drives here once per week with her husband’s permission and she goes to the Doctor and gets her treatment. Aunt Nellie told me the story, and she said that she has to go for the same reason your mum goes to his surgery after the porn class competition at school. Helping the boys and girls make those porn films stirs her up so bad that if she doesn’t get treated she’s sure to jump some well hung boy during the middle of a class porn shoot and then she’ll be in a ton of trouble. Discipline’s important for a woman, William. We need it: even me. I need it bad. You should give it to me often; and your mum needs it too.”

William thought about going to Doctor Peterson to get his mum whipped, but he backed off because he didn’t see how it was the kind of help a boy could get from an adult. “Please, sir, will you whip my mum with your quirt.”

Uncle Jack posed no such problem, however. William could ask anything he liked from his uncle, so he broached the subject after he got home while Jack was helping with his homework.

You want me to whip your mother?” Jack expostulated. “Are you joking?”

“You don’t have to whip her hard,” William explained carefully. “At least, not as hard as she hit me when I drove Mr. Montgomery’s Cadillac into the river ... well, maybe a bit like that to show that it hurts ... and she would have to be totally naked when you did it; not just a bit naked but have her pants on for modesty. I want her completely naked; and if she cries and wriggles and jiggles her tits and finds it impossible afterwards to sit down for a few days, I don’t mind. That’s all right as well.”

Jack shook his head. “You’re crazy! I’ll always help you whenever I can, William, but not like this. You know what your mother thinks of me. She regards the lowly rats and poisonous lizards as being higher in the evolutionary scale than me, and more intelligent. If I pulled this kind of trick, she’d throw me out of the country.”

William acknowledged that his uncle was right. His mother did have more regard for single-celled amoeba than his uncle Jack, and probably for good reason. Therefore he was stuck. He considered the matter carefully, and in the end decided that the only solution was to listen to Dorinda’s advice and call on the services of Dr Peterson; because there was nobody else available.

“It’s not fair,” he complained to his mother as she sat on one side of the table a little later eating cheese and jam sandwiches with mustard and lettuce, while he sat on his side of the table kicking his feet and looking at pictures of Douglas’s twenty six year old stepmom in the school magazine, as taken by the fourth form photography class.

“What’s not fair, William?”

“You. You won’t strip. My friends say it’s because you’re a yellow pussy.”

“That’s rude thing to say.”

“But it’s true!”

“Can I look at your magazine when you’re finished with it?” Uncle Jack enquired politely.

“Sure, uncle.”

“Pass the salt, William, and explain to your Uncle Jack that the pictures in the school magazine are school property and not to be posted on the internet without my permission.”

William complied, passing the salt to his mother, and then he looked more fervently at the picture of Douglas’s stepmom’s bare tits, and he picked up a sandwich and bit on it.

The sandwich kept his attention for a while because it was hot, grilled, and had Dijon mustard and homemade raspberry jam spread alternatively on the layers of cheese – which William liked, but he quickly skirted back to his friend’s stepmom’s naked tits. No wonder she was a stripper. Her tits were huge, and they weren’t even the best bit of her.

“My friend Algernon says you refuse to strip because you’re a dyke,” William observed, and he flicked the page to a picture of Douglas stepmom’s pussy, taken from behind, which was undoubtedly her best feature. She was bending forward to present a big close up of her butt, but it was her pussy that drew William closer, because it hung invitingly between her cheeks, and was shaved with large puffy lips that hung wide open, beckoning him to look closer at the velvety pink flesh that her lips should have been hiding, but weren’t.

He gulped.

“Will Algernon be saying this to me face?” his mother inquired condescendingly.

“No. He can’t. He’s scared.”

“Of me? But I’m not a dyke, William. In fact, in the hands of the right man I purr. I sing. And don’t read your dirty magazines at the table, it encourages your uncle. If he wants to look at that woman’s pussy then he can bloody well go to the Naked Angel and tip her properly like a decent man would.”

“Yes, mother,” William said, continuing to admire Douglas’s stepmom’s best feature. “And by the way, it’s impolite to swear.”

“I didn’t swear, William. I only used the word ‘bloody’ in that one sentence which is perfectly acceptable when I’m tired or angry or frustrated – or jealous - and while it’s a mild swear word in England, it isn’t in America. I didn’t say ‘fuck’, or ‘cunt’, which are much stronger swear words.”

“No, mother,” William said, and he bit again into his sandwich. Being filled with Dijon mustard, cheese and raspberry jam kept him quiet for a bit, because that combination was his favourite, or maybe it was the continued sight of Douglas’s stepmom’s open pussy that did it, or that he could see her clitoris, or that he could see that she was wet which explained that her lips were open, or maybe it was that his mouth contained more cheese and jam than many distinguished professors at universities like Oxbridge and Cambridge thought possible.

Whichever it was, he flicked over to the next picture where Douglas’s stepmom was kneeling and her tits were hanging beneath her like udders. He could feel his mother bristling and wanting to say something hurtful and disparaging about Douglas’s stepmom’s udders, but he ignored her, and instead considered the picture in front of him for some seconds before he said:

“Uncle Jack offered to come into school and give you moral support if you decided to strip, but he says you won’t do it because it’s the rule that you have to suck the cock of your moral supporter once you’re naked, and you won’t do that because when he was younger he got you thrown out of school.”

“I wasn’t thrown out of school, William, and I’m not a dyke, and I don’t swear; although it’s true that I did strip for the teachers and the boys at my high school, and I earned the reputation of a slut, but since then I’ve learned from my mistakes. I got pregnant and leaving school was a necessary sacrifice – so let’s not give credence to your Uncle Jack. The less said about him the better. And, one more thing: if you’re determined to look at that magazine during tea, William, then don’t speak with your mouth full while you ogle a lady’s naked tits. It’s rude.”

“So, is Uncle Jack my father?”

“Pardon?”

“Uncle Jack. He says he isn’t really my uncle; so is he my father?”

“No, William, he’s most definitely not.”

“Uncle Jack says he’s my father.”

“Then he’s lying, which is true to his character. He’s never been your father and he isn’t your father now and he never will be your father in the future.”

“But he says that he’s got a test done and it proves it.”

“It proves nothing at all. I could get a test done as well, and I’m not your father.”

“But he says that the test proves that it’s a scientific fact that he’s my father.”

“It only proves that there’s a direct biological relationship, William, which is not the same thing at all. There’s much more to fatherhood than popping a few chromosomes into a lady’s pussy.”

“There is? I don’t understand that because it’s not what they told us in biology...”

“You’ve been mistaught and I’ll have words with Mrs. Johns and censure her for her error. Admittedly, your Uncle Jack showed great interest, trickery and invention to get into my knickers shortly before you were conceived, but that was the end of any involvement by him with your upbringing. A real father would show at least some interest in his offspring after the act.”

“But he is showing interest, mother. He helps me with all sorts of stuff, and he knows how desperately I need you to strip in assembly, and that’s why he volunteered to be there to support you, and he’s even prepared to let you suck his cock despite that you don’t want to do it and you’ll probably bite him. That’s true, isn’t it, mum?”

“No, I wouldn’t bite him. I might not like your Uncle Jack, but I would never bite him! What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“Really?” Jack explained, pleasantly surprised.

“The guy’s a felon and a scoundrel,” William’s mum countered ferociously. “And so of course I’d prefer that he left us alone, left this house, and never bothered us!”

“If you keep saying that to him, mum, you can’t complain that he shows no interest; and he does show interest. He helps me with my homework, and not just the fun subjects, the tough ones too. We play football together, and he teaches me about girls and what I need to do to get into their knickers. I’m not a baby, mum. I’m fourteen years of age. When Uncle Jack was my age, he visited the girl’s school and all the girls stripped for him – all of them, even the sixth form girls. They took him to their changing rooms while they were preparing for hockey and he said it was good luck if they sucked his cock, and so they did it! He said you were one of those girls. He said you were hot for him back then. He said you were real keen. Is that true, mum?”

“Well, what if I was? What is this? A cross-examination? I think we’ve heard enough of Jack’s fairy tales from days gone yore – haven’t we, Jack?”

Jack nodded. He was sitting at the table and would have entered the conversation but was prevented by constant angry looks from William’s mother.

“And is it true that you were so keen on Uncle Jack that to gain his attention you came into the boy’s changing room wearing a sexy Bo Beep outfit and you stripped naked in front of all boys? He says you did that as well in biology and also in class registration, and once you did it on stage for the school production of Gypsy where you sat on his lap, and then you slept with him.”

“I didn’t sleep with Uncle Jack, William. We never slept. I’ve already told you. Eat your tea.”

“Is it true that you seduced him by sneaking into his dorm and you stripped for him there?”

“I did not seduce your uncle, William. This is nonsense.”

“He says you got into his bed and you were naked and pressing your privates into his cock!”

“I was not naked. I was wearing a bracelet and earrings, and nail polish ... and I only got into his bed because it was cold and we had important matters to discuss...”

“That’s so romantic, mum!”

“It is not! I got pregnant and Jack left me in the lurch. I’ll never forgive him for that, so let’s not talk about Uncle Jack. Eat your tea, William.”