Tuesday Afternoon

Penelope somehow combined the body of a young Amazon, the looks of a vid-star and the presence of my Mother. It was a terrifying combination. Add to that Head Prefect, Girl's Head of School, President of this and Ladies Captain of the other, and you will see why she was the terror and envy of every girl in the school. "Ah, Pilsbury; no Mr. Pilsbury now, isn't it! How are you?" she enquired, squeezing both charm and disdain into those few words.

She was looking immaculate, indeed even more impressive than usual. Seeing her standing to "welcome" me made me realise that the last time we had met formally, perhaps three months ago, the corset had been a little strained and the breasts too obviously pushed up; the whole effect a bit contrived. Now, it all fitted. It was a different dress, of course, mostly of blue and cream silk with lots of swoops and frills, but on her it did not look nearly as silly as it might have. Somehow this one was cut as if it had grown on her. The wasp-like waist was, well, now she simply had a wasp-like waist. And breasts. It was quite extraordinary how the cleavage and shape of those creamy, swelling globes of flesh were just her.

Shit. Too late I looked up, to see a brief glimmer of satisfaction at my indiscretion pass over her face. "You know Madeline and Charlotte, of course." She indicated them blithely, as we sat ourselves down, and I nodded frostily. Oh yes, I knew them alright. Those two snotty bitches had snubbed me twice a day in the school corridors for the last five years, and our last conversation, only two weeks ago, had hardly endeared them to me.

That would be the one where Charlotte had sat down next to me at lunch in School, and "made friends".

As in all schools these days, the common rooms are segregated like the lessons, and even in Etiquette or Dancing there is hardly any opportunity to chat. It is only in the dining hall that we can really mix with the girls. Even I knew that for a girl to come over and ask to join me at the lunch table was a declaration of social intent, and when Charlotte started chatting to me like an old friend, I was genuinely flattered. She was really good at it too. She must have read up about motorbikes, because she actually knew something about them, and she was really interested in my hoped-for new machine.

"And why is it better than the 710RS?" she had asked, gazing into my eyes.

"Bigger bore," I responded, showing off my intimate knowledge of such things. "Longer stroke and an extra..."

"A big bore is good then?" she interrupted.

"Oh, yes, and combined with..."

"Being a really really BIG BORE," she insisted, with a strange expression on her face.

"Yes, I explained about the cylinder volume. Now..."

"And the BIGGER the BORE the better!" she crowed, looking around. I was completely bewildered by now. "I am sorry girls. I can't keep this up any longer, it's too much!" she cried, exploding with laughter, and staggered out of her chair. I realised she was talking not to me but to someone at the table behind me.

I had to look around to see Madeline and the others holding their hands over their mouths before I finally understood. They were clutching each other for support they were laughing so much. As I fled the room their renewed howls had filled my ears, and I knew the whole school had been laughing with them.

And now here we were. The cats and the mouse were in the same cage, and I could see from the glint in their eyes what was going to come next. Oh, but nothing rude or vulgar, of course. Naturally form must be observed.

And so it started, the conversation that wriggled over the seconds and writhed through the minutes. Here were the silver teapot, the bone china, and the crustless cucumber sandwiches. And with them came the slights, the bragging, and the unsubtle snubs. For all I knew, lots of subtle ones too, that I was just to slow to notice. Through it all, they politely passed me tea and cake, and barely bothered to hide their giggles. It was a relief when they just cut me out and, presumably tired of the sport, moved on to topics which excluded me completely.

While they talked of people I did not know, and what she had said to her about what she had said to her, I leant back in silence on the ornate embroidery of the sofa and drank my tea. I had thirty minutes left to endure. At least the cake was good. That old collarmaid Smithers did not look up to much, but if it had baked this then it could replace our Geoffrey any day as far as I was concerned.

There was nothing to do except watch the girls prattling on in front of me, and surreptitiously glance at my watch every now and then. It was funny to think that my Mother was determined that within a few months I would be engaged to well, if not one of these three (they were way out of my league), then some other girl in the same position. I had refused to even think about the possibility, but everyone else did it. In a year's time I could have one of these extraordinary creatures living in our house, going everywhere with me, and supposedly at my beck and call. How was that going to work? Why would any girl do what I told her to, even if we were called husband and wife? Short of wearing a collar, I thought, and even that did not seem to work too well.

Then there was, well, sharing my bed. I stared at the three females in front of me, and tried to imagine having access to one of them; you know, the right to tell her to take her clothes off and lie down on a bed and open her legs so I could stick my thing right inside her. How was that going to happen?

But there they were, sitting on that couch just a few feet from me. I stared at Penelope's lap. Right now, just under those layers of silk and satin, where her legs joined, must be a triangle of blonde hair and a slit. She was going to offer that to some bloke only my age, and let him do what he wanted with it.

And she was probably going to do it soon. After all, "second date" was the rule, which didn't give you much time. I mean, there was nothing stopping me asking a girl out. Well, other than getting her to say yes. But supposing there was a girl sufficiently desperate to take me on. You got one date to see if you got along, then on the second you were supposed to take her to bed and try it out, the whole way. By the third date you had to be announcing engagement plans, or apologies. How are you supposed to choose someone to spend the rest of your life with in that time-scale? It would take me that long to find out if we watched the same vids. I sighed. Perhaps they were right to get me a collar to practice on after all.

I gazed forlornly at the three specimens in front of me. Bizarrely, most chaps would have envied me sitting here. After all, they were the cream of the school totty. Just for arguments sake, if I had to, which would I have chosen?

Madeline Carter was the obvious choice: the school glamour queen, and as even I had heard, really hot stuff. She had the figure. She was slim, but her breasts were sticking out in front of her like melons on display and at least some part of the goods must be real. She had the looks; an elegant face with beautiful makeup and long waving red hair. Slightly too much makeup, I decided, and I wondered if the hair colour was natural. And of course, she had the rep. She must be well over seventeen now, so she had been playing the field for over a year. Her name was whispered in the corridors as the ultimate lay, and I had no idea how many boys she had gone out with (although I bet there were some who were counting.) However, no-one ever made it past the third date. You had to be mad, bad or reckless to ask her out.

Charlotte Gubbins, on the other hand, was in a way as much out of her class as I was short, almost chubby, with a simple open face that was too cheerful to be beautiful. Even worse, she spoke what she thought, although she could be friendly enough to be almost naive compared to the other two. That was why I had not spotted a rat that lunchtime; of all the people to pull such a trick, Charlotte was last in my mind. Yes, she was definitely outclassed, except for the one thing. Money. Her family owned the Walk-Rite factory, that used more collars than the rest of the town put together, and made most of the shoes for the Kingdom. Her dowry was rumoured to be ... well actually I couldn't remember, but I knew it was some ridiculous number.

And then there was Penelope. I had not called her Penny since we were twelve, and they had stopped us playing together. In some way or another, I had known her all my life. Our mothers had met in the maternity ward of the local hospital, and we were born within a week of each other; hence the birthdays, and the joint Ball. There had apparently been a time when we were inseparable. The embarrassing photos of two naked cherubs making mud pies together were still around to prove it. There had been other times when she had been the one hanging around at my door, waiting for me to drag myself away from my Airfix model-making long enough to tell her to buzz off.

But following the mysterious transformation from gangly girl to expensive young woman, there was no doubt where the whip hand was now. Not for the first time, I was wishing that my Mother would accept that her friendship was only between her and Mrs. Jones, and leave Penelope and me out of it.

"James! My dear Mr. Pilsbury, do kindly give us the honour of your attention." Penelope's voice cut into my reverie.

"Ah, yes, sorry just ahh ... You were saying?"

"We were asking Penelope to show us her coming-of-age present" said Charlotte.

"Oh, yes, please do!" I chimed in, completely failing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Did I mention that her family lived in a house at least twice the size of ours, and that on any social occasion, she or her mother could be guaranteed to outdo any achievement of ours?

She produced a black case, undid the locks and opened it towards me. There, on the purple velvet lay, glistening, a silver chain that supported one single clear tear shape, transparent except for the light that leapt and shone from each facet, colourless except for the rainbows that flared every time my eye moved. One big diamond, and from this family, there was no possibility that it was imitation. The two other girls gasped.

"Ohh, Penny, it's gorgeous!" exclaimed Charlotte, her hands instinctively reaching out for it. Madeline just looked green with envy.

"Very nice," I joined in, and for once, I meant it. For that girl, it was exactly what she needed. It was going to be a showstopper around her neck on Saturday night, and I was only wishing my parents had had as much insight with their choice.

Penelope snapped the lid shut and Charlotte got her fingers out of the way just in time. "Sorry, I am not allowed to wear it until Saturday," Penelope said sweetly. "What about you, Mr. Pilsbury? Did I hear that you now have a collarmaid of your very own?"

"Oh yes, do show us!" exclaimed Madeline. There was something about her voice that worried me. "Ring for the Smithers, Charlie, and get it brought up here so we can admire it." Despite my protestations, the Smithers was summoned, and duly despatched to return with my new collarmaid, presumably from the kitchen. My heart sank while we waited.

I had hardly noticed the collar when we had left the house, but now, as it was lead in by the Smithers, Madeline's smirk made me forcefully aware of how it looked. For once, I understood just where my Mother was coming from. Yes, its hair was brushed, yes it had a clean face, but in the same room as these three lovelies with their immaculate war paint and the pearl encrusted constructions on their heads, it seemed very plain, even a little pathetic.

"Pass me the controller, Pilsbury," instructed Madeline briskly. It is a measure of how uneasy I was that I seriously considered refusing. But Christ, it was only a collar, and it was bad enough being trapped in this room already without antagonising them. I handed it over.

"Turn around," she snapped and I winced in sympathy as she jabbed at one of the buttons without waiting for the thing to respond. I saw its knuckles go white as it hastened to obey.

"How quaint, I was not aware the circle of fashion had turned so quickly," scoffed Madeline, staring at the collar's dress. "It can't have been born when that style was in vogue."

"Although with tents, perhaps style is not so important?" murmured Penelope, shaking her head.

"Pineapples!" tittered Charlotte.

I stared at the dress, which until then had seemed fine, indeed too nice for a collar. Now it was suddenly out of proportion (my Mother had shortened it to above the knee, as befitted a collar), and too big, and yes, the pattern did have an unfortunate resemblance to pineapples.

"Well, it's just something temporary, you know, until I go shopping tomorrow," I mumbled, and then mentally kicked myself. Any reply at all was always going to be a mistake.

"James shopping for a collarmaids clothes! This we have to see!" cried Penelope, to general mirth.

"When are you going? We promise not to laugh!"

"Go for one size bigger, James, then you will both fit in there."

"Oh, I am sure he fits in there all too well. Tried it out yet, Pilsbury?"

Surely Madeline could not mean what she seemed to mean. I sat open-mouthed and silent, which was perhaps just as well.

"Perhaps it would look better out of the tent," sneered Madeline. "You — take it off." The collar looked bewildered, but jerked as she stabbed a button again. "Undress now. Strip!" she ordered again.

Scandalised, I could not believe what was happening, but I knew better than to step in and try to protect it. Bright red, but unresisting, the collargirl slowly undid some fastenings and clumsily pulled the dress over its head, to stand there uncertainly, one arm across its chest. Shit, it wasn't wearing a corset or even a brassiere. No wonder it had failed to fill the front of that thing.

"James, how could you let it go out in just those pathetic little panties?" giggled Charlotte in mock reproach, waving at the sad grey cotton briefs hugging its hips.

"Get rid of those too" snapped Madeline, and I held my breath as the collargirl clutched its breasts and managed to slide the knickers down its legs with one hand. I still managed to notice that the panties were outside the suspenders and stockings. Of course, so that's how it worked.

"Oh, dear, we are being so mean to it. Look, it's all shy!" laughed Penelope as the collar straightened up, now with its other hand over its pubes.

"Nice suspenders. Almost tasteful; do we have a little thing for stockings, then James?" came with more giggling from Charlotte.

"So, this is it Pilsbury. A bit of cliché, don't you think; a sweet little collarslut for the boy to practice on?" Madeline's smirk as she addressed the remark to me said it all. This was not about humiliating the collar. This was about humiliating me.

Well blow that, I thought. "What do I care? It doesn't do anything for me," I shrugged and waved at it airily. "This is not my idea it is all my parents. I am going to return it tomorrow for a refund, anyway."

"Oh, so you don't think anything of this thing?" Madeline was glaring now. "You! Present yourself."

She could not mean...

"You know the pose. Do it NOW!" and she emphasised her command with a couple of seconds on one of the middle buttons.

The collargirl gasped and rocked unsteadily on its high heels, then started to turn around until it was facing away from us. In slow motion, in horror, I watched it move its feet wide apart and bend over to grasp its ankles.

I couldn't look. I watched instead the girl's faces. Penelope, rising to her feet, was oddly fascinated, almost hungry in her stare. Charlotte was wincing; I heard her mutter, "God, is that what it looks like?" And Madeline gazed in triumph, not at the collar, but at me.

"There you are, Pilsbury. Go on, take a good look. Haven't seen one like that before have you?"

Against my better judgment, but unable to resist, I turned my eyes to the target.

Somehow the contrast of the white suspenders and stockings against the smooth golden skin made it even more naked than the view I had had back in my room, from what seemed an age ago. The tight round buttocks were displayed lewdly by its pose and its legs on those heels seemed so, so long. Its thigh and calve muscles were stretched taut to hold that position, showing that, smooth as they were, there was hardly a trace of fat on them. Between its bottom cheeks, the tight little pucker of an anus almost winked at me. And where its legs joined its body, larger than a pair of fingers, two soft plump lips stared at me.

The word succulent leapt to my mind, and, for the first time in my life, I could see myself doing this thing. Yes, yes, I had known for years how it was supposed to happen in theory. But now, I could actually imagine standing there, just behind it. I would put it there, and push, and it would go in there, and ... God, what would it feel like? Without warning I was so hard it caught me by surprise, and I had to shift on my seat to ease the sudden discomfort.

Madeline laughed cruelly. "Let's see what that little hole looks like. Reach back and pull your cheeks apart for me."

Unbelievably, it reached back and with both hands, and spread its bottom cheeks apart. The actual anal opening was clearly visible — a small, wrinkled hole, darker in colour. There was a movement, a rustle. Penelope had sat down again, too suddenly.

The spell broken, I turned away, flushed and angry, to glare at Madeline. On a roll, she continued. "Pity about the tiny tits. Plenty for someone like you, though. And, oh dear, they haven't even bleached its arsehole. Still, it will be even browner by the time you've finished poking around in there, eh?"

I did not know the word but there was no doubt which hole she meant. I had not thought she could shock me even more. I looked away from her, back to the collar.

Its red face was hanging down between its legs, and its hair swept the patterned carpet as it swayed. Its eyes were screwed shut, but not shut tight enough, for shining trickles ran from them, down across its forehead, heading for the floor.

"ENOUGH," I shouted, leaping to my feet. I saw Madeline's smirk change to a look of alarm at seeing me loose it. I glared at her, fighting for control.

"Oh, my dear Pilsbury." she said, unctuously. "We are so sorry if..."

I stood over her and in a voice of ice cut across her. "This will be you. In six months time, if you are lucky, this will be you. Remember this poor girl when you are presenting to your new husband. I hope he is kinder than you were."

It was as if I had tossed a bucket of cold water over them. I turned back to the collar, which was straightening up in surprise, and told it, "Get your stuff. We are going."

Outside in the hallway, I stopped and leant against the wall to catch my breath, wondering what had I done. Well, to hell with them. "Get dressed," I waved vaguely at the collar. For some reason, it hesitated.

"Master, is it true? That you are going to send this collarmaid back?"

"What? Yes, your trials and tribulations are over. I am going to return you to the school." But the resulting look of horror was not quite what I was expecting.

"Master, what has this one done to deserve rejection?" it asked, wide-eyed.

What was it talking about? I could do without this sort of conversation in the hall outside the room where I had just destroyed my social future. "Get in here," I commanded, and grabbing it by the arm, dragged it into the nearest door.

This was obviously a spare bedroom. It was tidy and pretty enough in ornate floral wallpaper, but devoid of personal possessions. I sat on the embroidered bedspread and stared at the girl. Disheveled, half naked, panting and clutching the wretched dress to its chest, it still looked weirdly desirable. I put the thought out of my mind.