Warnings: M/M, TG, Mdom, humil, body modification, alternate universe, magic

Note: For John, here's my response to your interesting fantasy of a white wedding. Also, I must give credit to She from whom I've taken my name. The goddess Kali
is sometimes known to grant men's wishes in order to teach them a lesson. She is my inspiration for the character of the "Old Mother" in this story.

Once in a land far away, there lived an extremely old woman who was called, not very imaginatively, "The Old Mother." This old lady lived by herself in a cottage at the very edge of the known world. She had been alive longer than even she could remember. Her face was as brown as tanned leather and deeply lined from all the time she spent in the sun. She was stooped and a little shriveled with age. She wore a plain black dress that was so long the hem dragged in the dirt and a brightly striped little porkpie hat that set on her head at such a jaunty angle it was rather disconcerting on one so ancient.

In the mornings, she worked in her little garden, a well-worn bit of earth just out back of her humble cottage. She grew herbs and other botanicals that she used to make medicinal unctions and cosmetic creams, as well as potions of a more mysterious nature. In the afternoons, she sat indoors in the shade and smoked her pipe. She would lean back in her chair--one of the few, crude pieces of furniture the Old Mother possessed--and prop her feet up on the table, showing the muddied edge of her petticoat and the holes in her old gray stockings that hung loosely on her stick-like legs.

She did much the same thing in the evenings. The Old Mother led a quiet life. Few people bothered her. She lived a great distance from the center of things, and the road to her house was often inaccessible, drifting with snow in the winter, flooded in the spring and fall. Most people would have avoided the Old Mother anyway, even if she had not been so very difficult to find. The villagers and even the townspeople, who were usually more sophisticated about such matters, whispered among themselves about her. They said she could "do things," and whenever they spoke of her they lowered their voices and glanced nervously over their shoulders.

All this suited the Old Mother perfectly well. She found people to be a silly and confused lot. They hardly ever seemed to understand even the most basic things in life, least of all the desires of their own hearts.

Despite her solitude, the Old Mother never wanted for amusement. She had lived a long time and had seen a great many things. Her memory provided all the company she could ever need. As she leaned back in her chair and blew smoke rings into the air, she would relive in her mind all the great spectacles of human folly she'd witnessed over the years, with a soft smile on her lips. At times, she would cackle out loud, remembering some particularly diverting incident.

One fine day in May, the Old Mother's solitude was broken by the rattle and whir of a vehicle carefully picking its way up the rutted road that led to her house. She roused herself from her chair where she had just started to doze and went to look out the window. Coming down the lane was one of those all-terrain contraptions people seemed to favor these days. The old lady had developed something of a grudge against these vehicles. Since they had become so commonplace, the arduousness had gone out of reaching her little house. In the past, only the most stalwart and serious seekers had managed the difficult journey. Now any stray dabbler might happen upon her. This meant more work for the Old Mother. Now she had to decide for herself who was truly worthy of her help, who should be granted his wish.

The old woman sighed to herself and went to wait at the door. When the knock came, she opened it and scowled at the man. For whatever reason, it was always a man who sought her out. She really had no idea why. She would have thought that after so many years, after all the stories whispered in the hamlets and the towns--yes, the Old Mother knew everything they said about her--that they really would have learned better.

"What do you want?" the old lady asked, rather unceremoniously.

The man looked somewhat taken aback by her abruptness. He was dressed in the deep green cloak of a scholar. Clearly, he was not used to being addressed in such a peremptory manner. But he quickly collected himself, stepped forward and offered his hand in greeting.

"Permit me to introduce myself. I am John Ashgrove, professor of literature at the City University. I have come desperately in need of your help. I was told you possess certain-- abilities that might assist me in my quest."

The Old Mother did not take his outstretched hand, and he quickly drew it back, fearing he had offended her.

She sucked her teeth dismissively. "I don't have any help for the likes of you."

She slammed the door in his face. Now that the journey itself was no longer a trial, the old woman had to use other methods to test a seeker's persistence.

The Professor knocked on the door, repeatedly, but she ignored him. She returned to her spot at the table, poured herself another mug of barley beer and sat peacefully smoking all through the sweltering afternoon while the Professor knocked and scraped and jumped up and down at every window and door, trying to get her attention.

When the first shadows began to fall in the late afternoon and the Old Mother was satisfied that the Professor showed sufficient determination, she opened the door to him. He was sitting slumped in the dirt beneath the eaves, huddling in the meager shade. His face was brightly flushed from the strong midday sun. Sweat ran down his face and neck in rivulets. His cloak had been discarded, and the back of the white cotton shirt he wore was completely soaked through. He was quite clearly on the verge of heat exhaustion, but when he saw the old woman appear in the doorway, he managed to stir himself, although not quickly enough for the Old Mother.

"Are you going to sit there like a dullard all day?" she accosted him. "Or are you going to come inside where it's cool?"

The man nodded eagerly and stumbled through the door. Inside, he sank onto the first chair he came to.

The mother stood over him with her hand on her hip. "I suppose you'll be wanting water now," she said, reproachfully.

An apologetic expression crossed the man's face, but he nodded. He looked as if he were about to faint. The Old Mother sucked her teeth, but she did fetch a glass of water. When she sat it down on the table in front of the man, he grabbed it quite desperately and downed it in one, large gulp.

"Thank you," he was at last able to say. "I really was quite parched."

The Old Mother joined him at the table. "All right then," she said. "You've had your refreshment. Now get on with telling me why you've come all this way to trouble an old lady like me, young seeker."

The man seemed rather startled to be addressed in such a manner. He was past forty and could hardly be counted a youth. But to the Old Mother, who had lived forever, he was little more than a toddler in diapers.

The man quickly pulled himself together. This was the opportunity for which he had endured the rigors of the midday sun, and he wasn't about to waste it. He got to his feet and began to pace about, as if he were in front of his class at the university and it was time to deliver a lecture. The Old Mother sighed inwardly. Of course, he would have to tell his entire life story--and probably in minute detail. What man wouldn't if given even the slightest opening?

Fortunately, the Old Mother had long since mastered the challenge of patience. The trick, she knew, was to fasten your mind on the end goal and ignore everything else. As the Professor took a deep breath to begin his soliloquy, the old lady imagined all the delicious adventures she would have at his expense.

"As I said before, my name is John Ashgrove. I am a professor of literature at the university. I have been married for the last seven years, and I have a nineteen-year-old stepdaughter. It is not a bad life I have. My wife is an attractive woman for her age, and she tries very hard to make me happy. My stepdaughter and I get along well. I have a position of respect at the university and a good working relationship with my colleagues. But somehow, I just don't feel satisfied. The problem is-- I am straight. You must understand that. It's just these dreams, these fantasies I have. Sometimes I imagine that my stepdaughter catches me trying on a pair of her panties--something I have done on occasion--and she threatens to tell her mother unless I submit to her."

The old woman yawned. If she had heard once about a man fantasizing about his stepdaughter, she had heard it a million times. The Professor, seeing her disinterest, hurried to add more explicit details.

"My stepdaughter sets out to turn me into a girl her own age, someone she can talk about boys with. She forces me to pretend I get my period every month and shows me how to use tampons. She teaches me to dress and gives me pinups of young male heart throbs that I have to moon over and masturbate to. She says if I'm really good she'll introduce me to some boys she knows--"

"Bah!" The old woman scowled with displeasure. "Surely you've not come all this way just to tell me this load of drivel? Be off with you then!"

The Old Mother could not help a seeker who would not take responsibility for his own desires, who had to camouflage his lust for men in a thin little fantasy of submitting to a woman. The Professor clearly wanted to have it all: to keep his manly status and privileges in public, but to experience a life of submission in private. The Old Mother had no interest in that. She looked for seekers who were willing to give up everything in pursuit of their obsession. The Old Mother trafficked in sacrifice.

"No! Please!" The Professor begged, no longer calm, his voice rising desperately, his eyes flashing wildly. "Let me tell you why I really came."

He sank back down onto the chair opposite the old lady.

"Yes, yes. Speak up then. Don't dawdle about," she said.

The Professor turned red in the face and fidgeted in his chair. "Well, you see--" He cleared his throat. "There's this man--"

The Old Mother nodded. Finally, here was something she could work with. "Go on," she said.

"His name is Lord Marco. He is the new overlord sent from the central government. I was part of the university delegation that went to his house to welcome him. Since I first laid eyes on Lord Marco, I have not been able to think of anything else. His dark good looks. His broad shoulders. The ways his velvet leggings lovingly hug his body and show off his enormous-- um, asset. Every night, I have dreams--" He blushed deeply. "I have never had such dreams before. There are various scenarios. We meet at a fancy ball. We catch each other's eye at the opera. But they all end the same way--with me lying back, spreading my legs, begging him to do whatever he wants to me."

The Professor stared at the floor, unable to meet the Old Mother's eyes. But he continued to lay out the tale of his attraction to the young overlord.

"I must have somehow caught Lord Marco's attention, because he has taken to requesting my company in the evenings. I sit with him and his companions in the great hall of his house and smoke cigars with them and listen as they regale one another with epic stories of their heroic exploits chasing women. Every time Lord Marco speaks--his voice is deep and rich, like the notes from the most finely played horn--my heart stirs with the desire to belong to him."

The Old Mother grinned lasciviously. "I'll bet it's not just your heart that stirs, eh?"

The Professor kept his lowered, clearly embarrassed, but he admitted, "My body seems to have a will of its own where Lord Marco is concerned. His companions have even made the occasional ribald jest at my expense."

The old lady nodded knowingly. "Aye. So you've put yourself in a right tight spot, eh?

The Professor could not deny the truth of it. The law enforced a strict order. A man enjoyed all the right and privileges of citizenry as long as he comported himself as a man. This did not include allowing himself to be sexually penetrated. Lord Marco and his cronies could easily decide one evening to amuse themselves at the Professor's expense. They had little to fear. Rape was rarely accepted as a defense against dishonor, and certainly no one would believe the Professor unwilling when he had routinely been observed to grow sexually aroused in Lord Marco's presence.

"So that's why you came," the Old Mother surmised. "You've been forced into it by this precarious position you've put yourself in."

The Professor jumped to his feet, his eyes flashing. "No! You don't understand!" He struggled to catch his breath in his excitement. "It's like I've been leading this double life. On the outside, I've done everything a man should. Married. Built a career. Provided for my family. I've even joined in the lewd comments my colleagues like to make about the department secretary's extremely large breasts. But on the inside--"

The Professor sighed heavily. The Old Mother leaned forward in her chair, waiting. Now it was getting interesting.

"I've always had this-- well, dainty feeling," the Professor admitted. "I've taken the opportunity whenever my wife and stepdaughter were out to try on their things--their panties and bras, their slips and stockings, their lipstick and perfume and nail polish. In my dreams, I am always soft and yielding. And there is this man-- I've dreamed about the same man my whole life. He strides into the room where I am and claims me. He takes me away with him. He puts his big hands all over me, whenever he wants, and his big cock inside me. He tells me what to do, how to please him, and nothing has ever been more exciting than obeying him, than belonging to him body and soul."

The Professor seemed to hesitate. The old woman waved her hand at him impatiently.

"Yes, yes," she said. "Go on."

"When I first walked into Lord Marco's great hall and saw him there-- My heart just stopped. It was the man from my dreams, in living flesh. I'd finally found him."

The Old Mother felt the hair prickle at the back of her neck. It was quite common for true seekers to dream of their obsession for many years before they actually met. The Professor, it seemed, was the genuine article.

"So what do you want from this fine dandy of yours, eh? And why come to me about it?" she asked.

"They say you can make wishes come true, if the wisher's heart is true. And what I wish more than anything is for Lord Marco to become my husband."

"Ah," the Old Mother said.

Now, she understood why he had come. This was a very difficult challenge, indeed. Oh, sure, the law did provide for the honorable marriage of submissive males, but it was an antiquated custom that dated from the early days of the province, when all the land was still as rough and wild as the outback where the Old Mother lived.

Back then, life was too harsh and unpredictable to entice many young ladies to venture forth from their comfortable homes in the civilized regions, and so the men who came to settle struggled to find comfort for their needs. It was survival of the fittest, and the youngest, the weakest, the most passive soon found themselves at the mercy of their more rough-and-tumble comrades. These timid fellows were quickly set upon and deflowered. Once dishonored, they were stripped of all the rights and privileges accorded men in good standing. They lived as virtual slaves, passed from man to man, used at will, satisfying with their mouths and asses the ferocious desires of the lusty frontiersmen.

In all the modern universities, it was taught that that the Marriage Act for Submissive Males was passed to protect the rights of these hapless fellows who fell into the clutches of the big, horny men around them. But, of course, the Mother who had witnessed it all for herself knew better. She knew that this law celebrated for its enlightened stance toward the unmanned was really just a matter of expediency. It was simply not in the nature of the rough men who settled the untamed land to share. They squabbled over property lines and livestock and grazing rights. But the most fearsome gun battles took place between men vying for the pleasures of a particular submissive comfort boy. And so, the government back in the old world passed the marriage law--not out of any concern for the sissy males who didn't have the backbone to keep themselves from getting fucked--but simply to keep the peace.

When the pioneer days had passed, though, the marriage rates for submissive males greatly declined. There were women enough once again to go around, so that every man could have a proper wife who would bear him children. The law didn't prevent a man from taking a submissive male bride in addition to his Honored Wife, as his female life-partner was called. But few men found a reason to take on that additional expense. There were too many other options.

If a man's wife didn't satisfy him, he could visit any number of brothels and indulge himself with the ladies there. If he fancied male bodies--and powerful men did often find gratification in dominating and humiliating lesser males--this appetite could also be satisfied. Brothels were filled with deflowered men who had either been seduced or raped, and once their dishonor had been discovered, were stripped of their rights by the state and forced into compulsory sexual servitude. These poor unfortunates were available to anyone at a modest price for any kind of degradation or perversion.

A man could visit a prostitute every night, and it would still cost less than taking a submissive male bride. To reflect well, a wife had to be kept in the latest fashions. There were maids and hairdressers and seamstresses to employ. And of course, there was a fortune in entertaining expenses. If a man was going to spend so much money to dress his wife up, of course he was going to want to show him off.

Nowadays, the few remaining submissive male brides were rare creatures, indeed. Through a combination of natural inclination and intensive study, they became more womanly and alluring than even the most artful females. They fought their way through all the intense competition--outsmiling, outflirting, outshining everyone else--to take their rightful places at the sides of the most powerful men in the land. They were the great divas of fashionable society. Every woman wanted to dress like them. Every man wanted to sleep with them. Their soap-opera-like exploits fueled the gossip pages, and their glamorous public lives fired imaginations everywhere.

Of course, few people knew or cared what these she-men endured in private. Such was the public interest. It rarely scratched beneath the surface.

"Taking your young swain for a husband would require a great deal of sacrifice," the Old Mother advised the Professor.

The marriage laws for submissive males were really quite conservative. The wedded she-man gave up all his wealth, his status, his very right to a legal identity of his own. A submissive male bride was viewed simply as a piece of property. He had no more rights before the law than his husband's old boots. If he was abused in some way, and many were, he could expect no help whatsoever. After all, shouldn't a man be free to treat his old boots any way he liked?

"You will have no freedom and no protection," the Old Mother told him. "Your husband will be able to do anything he wants to you. Are you prepared for that?"

"I am," the Professor said, eagerly.

"Bah! Only a fool would agree so easily, without any real thought to what it means. Your husband may loan you out to his business partners to help seal a deal. Or send you out to entertain the field hands when they start asking for higher wages. Or get a kick out of watching his favorite hunting hound mount you like a bitch. It would all be well within his rights."

"Lord Marco is not like that!"

"Ah, my young seeker, you never know what a man's perversions are until you're at their mercy. Be sure of that. Are you ready to take that chance?"

It surprised the Old Mother a little that the Professor seemed far from repulsed. High spots of color burned in his cheeks. His eyes were bright and fervid.

"Yes, yes!" he declared. "Anything. Everything. However he wants to use me!"

"The preparation will not be easy, and there's no guarantee of success. You'll have to go through three trials to prove you're worthy. Even then, he may not accept you. And if he doesn't, you'll be ruined."

"I understand."

The Old Mother arched an eyebrow. "Do you really? I wonder. To give up your freedom. To belong to another man completely. Your body. Your mind. Your pleasure. This."

She grabbed the Professor's crotch. He jumped in his chair from surprise, but then the old lady felt him start to harden beneath her hand. He turned bright red with embarrassment.

The Old Mother cackled with amusement. "You'll never make it past the first test with a horny pecker like that."

The Professor fell to his knees beside her chair. "Please! Please!" He gripped her arm desperately. "I can learn. You can show me. I know you have all the secrets. This is the only thing I've ever really wanted in my entire life. I swear to God. Please! I beg of you!"

The old woman sighed reluctantly. "There will be a lot of work to do. You'll need to change your appearance completely, become softer, prettier. And you'll need to learn to use your wiles, to enchant your young sweetheart. Otherwise, you'll stand no chance whatsoever."

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll do anything you say."

"That's right you will," the Old Mother said sharply. "I don't stand for backtalk. If you want my help, then I expect you to do just as I say."

"Yes, Mistress. I promise."

"And we'll need to get that horny pecker of yours under control. No man wants a bride who's not chaste. It's going to be a big challenge. Are you really certain you're up to it?"

"I am. I swear!"

The Old Mother sighed dramatically. It was a ruse, of course. She was actually quite excited at the prospect of helping another young seeker realize his dream, but it wouldn't do to let him know that.

"All right," she said, after a suspenseful pause. "I'll help you."

The Professor's face flashed brightly with gratitude. "Do you mean it? You'll go with me to Lord Marco's house and help me make my petition to him?"

"Oh, ho, young seeker. You're getting way ahead of yourself. We have much to do before then. Pick yourself up from the floor and get your clothes off. Let me get a good look at you."

The Professor looked quite taken aback. He opened his mouth as if to protest.

So the old lady reminded him, "You agreed to do as I say. Besides, if you want to become a bride, you'll have to get used to being inspected."

The Professor rose from the floor and hesitantly removed his clothes. He stood naked before the Old Mother, awkwardly shifting his weight, not quite certain how to hold his hands. Embarrassment caused his penis, which had been hard, to quickly deflate.

The old woman scrutinized him carefully. She was pleased to find that there was enough to work with. The Professor had kept himself rather fit. He had a trim waist and flat stomach, as well as shapely legs. He was quite hairy all over his body, but that could be fixed without a great deal of trouble. The only real issue was his penis. Although it was probably no more than average size for a man, it was far too large for a submissive male bride.

"We'll need to shrink your pecker, of course," the Old Mother told him. "But luckily I've got a potion that will take care of that."

The Professor stared at her in horror. "What?"

The Old Mother got up to fetch the magical potion that she kept stored high in one of the cabinets for just such cases as this.

"Here's your first lesson, young seeker," the old lady said as she pulled the jug down from the cabinet. "The secret of getting a man is to focus on his pleasure, not yours. No man wants to be in bed with a wife whose pecker is as big as his own. Or, God forbid, bigger. That's why submissive male brides always have extremely tiny penises."

She filled a small glass and handed it to him.

"You'll need to take a dose every morning and every evening until I'm satisfied with the results. It'll create other changes as well that will do very nicely."

The Professor eyed the bright pink potion suspiciously, but he obediently downed it as he had been told.

He was actually quite lucky, whether he knew it or not. Some prospective male brides resorted to desperate measures to take care of oversized penises. They arranged to have themselves castrated and smaller prosthetic balls implanted, so no one would know they had been under the knife. The reduced testosterone in their systems made their penises shrink and helped curb their sexual appetites so they could past the purity test. Still, the point was to offer your manhood to your husband, not the surgeon's knife. When these hapless brides were discovered, as they inevitably were, their marriages were automatically annulled, and they were ruined forever. Happily, the Professor would never have to worry about such a thing.

The Old Mother handed him a pair of red silk tap pants.

"This is your training wardrobe. You'll wear a pair every day. Go on, then. Put them on."

The Professor rested a hand on the back of the chair to balance himself as he pulled on the silk underwear. When he slid the dainty panties up over his crotch, his penis immediately hardened again.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I just can't help it."

The old lady shook her head sadly. It was going to take a lot of work to break him of his bad habits.

The Professor started to sway unsteadily on his feet. "Oh," he said. "Suddenly I feel so woozy."

"Aye. That's the potion. It hits everybody hard at first. But you'll get used to it. Come on, then," she said.

She took him by the arm and led him over to the little bed that stood in the corner.

"You rest up tonight, and we'll get started in the morning. We've got a lot to do tomorrow, Johanna."

"Wha--?" he mumbled, as he settled himself beneath the covers.

"That's your new name," the Old Mother told him. "From now on, there is no more Professor John Ashgrove. There's just Johanna, who wants nothing more than to be the plaything of the handsome Lord Marco."

"Mmm," Johanna murmured dreamily, already drifting off to sleep.

The Old Mother stood over him and smiled. Yes, this was going to be greatly entertaining.

The Old Mother had learned from experience that when it came to such transformations the physical alterations were usually the easiest to accomplish. So she started with that on the first day. She whipped up a special batch of hot wax and spent the morning removing all of Johanna's body hair. The old lady paid no mind to Johanna's yelps of pain, and the task was soon completed.

As she smoothed lotion into Johanna's newly denuded skin, she said, "You ought to be thanking me. That depilatory wax is a special recipe. The hair will not grow back, so you'll never have to have another waxing."

Johanna's lip trembled. His balls and the crack of his ass still burned, and he was not especially grateful.

The Old Mother ignored his sulking and continued on with the beauty regimens. Three times a day she applied a rich emollient cream made from the herbs and botanicals grown in her garden to Johanna's face to make his skin smooth and clear. By the time she was finished, he would have the impeccable and timeless complexion that all successful male brides boasted.

As the old lady had promised, Johanna was required to take a dose of the pink potion every morning and every evening before bed. This magic elixir accomplished the greatest changes. It made Johanna's hair grow long and lustrous and really quite beautiful. The Old Mother would often find him sitting in front of the mirror, brushing it until it shone. The potion also altered the pitch of his voice, taking it up an octave. It caused his waist to shrink and his bottom to grow more curvaceous, giving him a more girlish figure. It even eased the sharp lines and planes of his face, for a more feminine appearance.

Johanna was greatly pleased with all these changes. There was only one alteration that seemed to give him pause. The Old Mother would occasionally catch him casting woeful glances in the mirror at his rapidly diminishing penis. The old lady would always turn away with a smile. It was the sacrifices she most enjoyed when helping a seeker reach his dream.

The Old Mother spent some time teaching Johanna the finer points of achieving a feminine appearance. He was a quick study, having practiced a great deal on his own with his wife and stepdaughter's clothes and makeup. Soon, he was walking gracefully in high heels, applying makeup with ease and skill, fixing his own hair very attractively, dressing with style and accessorizing quite nicely. It took him a little while longer to get used to the corset the Old Mother insisted he wear. She did pull the strings quite tightly. But Johanna enjoyed how tiny it made his waist and the illusion of a bosom it gave him. So he stuck with it, and soon enough, he could wear it without fainting more than once in a day.

The most difficult aspect of the transformation was altering Johanna's behavior. In his old life, he had grown used to holding forth at length on whatever subject was of interest to him. The Old Mother had a devil of a time teaching him to hold his tongue, to listen and ask questions, to be interested in whatever his companion cared about. His male sensibility died hard, but eventually, he was able to converse in a ladylike manner.

The subtler ways of flirtation were harder for him to pick up. He struggled long and hard to figure out when to meet a man's eyes and when to look down at the floor, when to blush and giggle and when to laugh voluptuously, how to play hard to get without discouraging the suitor entirely. These things that came so easily to a natural coquette took intensive study for others to master. But eventually, after many months, Johanna was able to project that air of extreme demureness coupled with a smoldering sensuality and a hint mystery that all great beauties possessed. The Old Mother looked upon him with a great sense of satisfaction.

He had even managed to tame his unruly penis, something the Old Mother had thought might prove impossible. But now he could get dressed in his lingerie--not just silk panties anymore, but also a bra, garter, stockings, and corset--without any embarrassing masculine weakness. The Old Mother had taught him meditation exercises to help him control his desires, and the potion also helped. His penis was now little more than an inch long, and his testicles no bigger than raisins. His scrotum had also shrunk, to the size of a walnut. He was still capable of getting an erection and achieving orgasm--one had to be a fully functioning biological male to qualify for submissive marriage--but it took a real effort.

The Old Mother thought it was time.

"Johanna," she said to him one morning.

"Yes, Mistress."

He was sitting at the table, applying some fancy stitchery to one of his ball gowns. The Old Mother had taught him to be useful. He could sew, embroider, knit and make potholders.

"I believe we should go tomorrow and make your petition to Lord Marco. What do you think of that?"

Johanna put down his sewing, all in a flutter. "Really, Mistress? Do you think I'm ready?"

"Of course, child. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. I want to know what you think."

"I have no opinion, Mistress. I am ready to obey whatever you think is best. Your will is my guide."

The Old Mother nodded. She was well pleased by his soft-spoken docility.

"Very well then, child. We leave tomorrow morning for your young lord's house. Spend what time remains making yourself as pretty as you can. You'll need to make a good impression on the man."

Johanna blushed, and his eyes shone brightly. "Yes, Mistress. I'll do my very best."

He hurried off to put his wardrobe in order. The Old Mother smiled as she went to pack her own small bag. They were finally getting to the good part.

Lord Marco's house lay at the end of a long, tree-lined park. It stood on a slight rise, with a grand, stone staircase leading up to it. It was classical in style, made of white marble that gleamed in the sunlight, with proud columns lining the front facade. There was an enormous ceremonial bronze door that led inside, and a decorative, carved frieze above it.

The Old Mother admired the grandeur of it all as they entered the building. Johanna stayed quiet, no doubt rather nervous. At least, he was well dressed for the occasion. The Old Mother had selected an elegant deep blue dress for him to wear to his petition. It was not the fanciest gown he owned, but he looked especially well in it. And that was the important thing, to pique Lord Marco's interest.

They were shown into the great hall of the house. As overlord, the young gentleman was required to mix with the local gentry and receive them daily in his home. The room was filled with richly dressed lords and ladies who had to come to pay their respects.

The Old Mother did not need Johanna to point out which one was Lord Marco. It was quite obvious. He was a fine physical specimen, tall, with bulging muscles, a great shock of thick black hair, and a haughty air that said he knew just how good-looking he was. There was a little crook to his mouth, as if he frequently took pleasure in laughing at others. He would not be a kind master, but then true seekers never seemed to fall for easy men.

The Old Mother and Johanna stood together, waiting for Lord Marco to notice them. Given the old woman's strange getup, her oversized dress and multi-color porkpie hat, it did not take long before the young overlord approached them.

"And who do we have here?" Lord Marco asked, clearly bemused.

The Old Mother bowed her head. "Just a humble servant, sir. Nobody of any consequence. But, please, allow me to present my charge."

The overlord inclined his head, and the Old Mother swept her arm towards Johanna, who curtsied deeply before Lord Marco.

"May I present Johanna, my Lord," the old woman said.

The young lord walked in a circle around Johanna where he knelt on the ground and appraised him.

"What a charming creature," Lord Marco pronounced.

He cupped Johanna's face with his hand, lifted his chin and smiled with great amusement.

"My word, boys," he said to the members of his cabinet who were attending him. "It seems it's our favorite professor, looking quite a bit different than we last saw him."

The men all laughed. Johanna blushed demurely and kept his eyes lowered. It wouldn't do to meet any of their eyes. It would seem too forward.

"Oh, hey now, my Lord," said one of Marco's friends, a puffed up fellow with sandy colored hair and a bright red vest. "We can't see what's going on underneath that fancy gown of his. He could be in just the same condition as the last time he was here."

The men laughed louder. Johanna blushed more fiercely, this time in shame.

"Now, now, Kendricks," Lord Marco said. "That's no way to talk about a lady." He smiled mockingly. "So tell me, Johanna, for what have you come?"

The Old Mother spoke up, "If it please you, sir. Johanna comes to submit his petition to become your legal wife."

Lord Marco's companions snickered. Lord Marco arched an eyebrow.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, my Lord," the old lady answered.

"What, then. Does he think I'm made of money? An Honored Wife and a house full of children back in the capital isn't enough for me? Would you have me go into the poor house, Johanna, just to keep you in rouge and furs?"

Marco's cronies guffawed. Johanna was starting to look distressed. Many more supplicants petitioned for husbands than were actually taken as brides, but it was really quite embarrassing to fail before one even began.

"There are some pleasures, my Lord, that are worth the cost, no matter how dear," the Old Mother said, in the voice that had been persuading men for ages.

"Is that so?" Marco said. But the Old Mother could see that he was starting to become intrigued.

"Indeed it is, my Lord," she assured him.

"Hmm." He tapped his finger to his lips, as if in deep contemplation. "Well, all right then. I give your charge leave to try and please me. My housekeeper will prepare a room for you both. Take him to the doctor in the morning, so the first test may begin. I'll throw thirty days of parties in which he may attempt to win my favor." He smiled slyly. "If, of course, he doesn't fail the test before then."

The Old Mother bowed deeply. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Yes, thank you, sir," Johanna added, his voice soft and fluttery.

"We'll see if you're still thanking me at the end of the thirty days, my little professor. You know, the boys and I were looking forward to amusing ourselves with you. But you went away before we could sample your charms. Now it looks like we'll still get that chance. When you fail, we'll pass you around as a party favor. And I'll still get to see the look on your face when the authorities cart you away to be auctioned off to some brothel."

He threw his head back and laughed uproariously. Johanna went pale.

But the Old Mother simply said, "Thank you on behalf of my charge for the opportunity."

She bowed again and led Johanna away.

Once they were outside the great hall, Johanna whispered, "I don't think that went very well, Mistress."

The old lady waved her hand. "Nonsense, child. It went just the way we wanted. He has agreed to give you a chance. We could not have asked for more."

Johanna looked worried. "But he didn't seem very--"

"Hush now. Put it right out of your mind. We have thirty days in which to change his mind. That's more than enough time. Now, let's find the housekeeper, so we may settle in and get some rest. It's been a long journey, and we'll have a great deal to do tomorrow."

"Why must we go to the doctor's, Mistress?" Johanna asked, innocently.

The old lady smiled. "Never you worry. You'll see when we get there."

She patted Johanna on the hand, picked up her suitcase and took off in search of the housekeeper.

The Old Mother and Johanna rose early the morning. The housekeeper had settled them in a comfortable room in the east wing of the house. Johanna would have good light in the mornings as he applied his makeup, and that pleased the old lady.

After Johanna finished his toilette, they headed off to the doctor's office, which was only a few blocks away, on the other side of the main square. When they arrived, the Old Mother told the receptionist why they were there, and she pointed them to the waiting area. She gave Johanna a curious look before she picked up the phone to let the doctor know they were there.

They took seats. The Old Mother pulled out her pipe and sucked on it, although she did not light it. City people were fussy about such things. Johanna fidgeted nervously at her side.

"Mistress, might I now know what the first test is?" he asked.

The old woman considered the request, and decided there would be no harm in it. He would find out soon enough when the doctor saw him.

"Very well, child," the old lady said. "You know that the first test is to prove your purity?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"For the next thirty days, you must abstain from all sexual arousal in order too prove your chasteness. You must not get hard. You must not come. The doctor will equip you with a small monitor, so if you slip, you will be caught."

"Oh," Johanna said, with obvious relief. "That won't be difficult. I haven't gotten-- you know," He blushed. The physical mechanics of his male body had begun to embarrass him. "In far longer than thirty days."

The Old Mother put a finger to her lips. "Hush, child. What have I told you? It doesn't do to tell everything you know."

Johanna bowed his head, sorry to have displeased his mistress. "Of course. I beg your pardon. I will be more careful in the future."

The old lady patted his hand. "There, there. Don't fret. I didn't mean to scold you. I simply want you to have the best chance possible."

Johanna brightened. "Yes, Mistress. Thank you."

The doctor appeared at the waiting room door. He was not nearly so ancient as the Old Mother, but even she would not have called him young.

"Are you the seeker's chaperone?" he asked the old lady.

"Yes, Doctor--"

"Doctor Gray," he said. "I just want to assure you that I have provided medical counsel to many who have sought submissive marriage, and I know all the procedures inside and out. I hope that gives you some comfort. I know these trials can be a great burden, not just for the seeker, but for the chaperone, too."

The Old Mother inclined her head graciously, pleased by the old doctor's attentions. "Thank you, sir," she said. "I do appreciate it."

"Will you be accompanying the seeker into the exam room?"

She shook her head. "He knows what to expect. I wouldn't want to distract you from your work."

"Very well," he said, and then turned to Johanna. "Shall we proceed?"

Johanna nodded nervously and rose to his feet.

"Do just as the doctor says," the old lady told him. "And remember your manners."

"Yes, Mistress."

When they were gone, the Old Mother got up and crept over to a spot she had noticed next to the exam room. There was a little chink in the wall there through which she could watch the proceedings.

Inside the exam room, the old doctor pointed Johanna to a screen.

"You may undress behind there," he said.

Johanna frowned. "Is there a gown I should put on?"

The doctor shook his head. "It's not customary."

"Oh, okay," Johanna stammered. "I guess--"

"Go right ahead," the doctor said.

Johanna disappeared behind the screen, clearly uneasy. The Old Mother could hear him rustling around back there until he finally emerged naked. Johanna kept his hands crossed in front of his genitals, but the doctor didn't give him a second glance. He had seen it all before.

"Hop up on the table, if you will," he instructed Johanna.

Johanna stepped up on the low stool and took a seat on the table.

"If you could turn toward the end, put your heels up on the edge of table and scoot all the way forward," the doctor said.

Johanna did as he was instructed, maneuvering himself into the awkward position, with his genitals swinging freely, in easy reach for the doctor.

The doctor regarded Johanna's tiny penis and scrotum with a look of surprise.

"Well, now," he said. "The overlord will like that, won't he? I'm afraid, though, it may make getting the monitor implanted properly a wee bit uncomfortable."

"Sir?" Johanna said, sounding quite frightened.

"Never you mind, now," the doctor said. "We'll get it taken care of. No need to worry."

The doctor went to a cabinet and pulled out a long, thin metal probe. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and lubricated the probe liberally. Then he attached the tiny monitor to the tip of the probe and returned to the exam table to stand between Johanna's knees.

"I can't promise this won't hurt," Dr. Gray said. "But if you concentrate on breathing in and out slowly it can help take your mind off it."

"What are you going to--" Johanna started to ask.

But before he could finish the question, Dr. Gray had lifted his penis and begun to introduce the probe into the slit. Johanna gasped loudly and tried to pull away from the excruciating pain.

"Hold still!" Dr. Gray ordered in a stern voice. "If you fidget, I could puncture your urethra. And you don't want me giving a bad report to the overlord, now do you?"

Johanna tearfully shook his head.

"All right then," the doctor said.

He continued to push the probe into Johanna's penis until it reached the base.

"I just have to get it in the right position," he said.

Johanna's thighs trembled with the effort it took to keep still. The doctor rooted around inside his penis, trying to find the correct place to attach the monitor. Johanna's face went so pale that the Old Mother thought he might pass out.

"Got it!" Dr. Gray finally exclaimed.

He carefully withdrew the probe, and Johanna breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

The doctor peeled off his gloves and threw them away. "There now," he said. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Johanna didn't answer. The tip of his penis was red and irritated. The Old Mother could tell he was trying not to cry.

"Off you go then," Dr. Gray said. "Get dressed, and you can return to your sponsor. I'll see you again when it's time for the second test."

Johanna fled to safety behind the screen. The doctor left the room. The Old Mother hurried back to the waiting room. She had just taken her seat when the doctor came out to speak with her.

"We've got it in successfully," he said. "But I'm afraid it wasn't easy going. His penis is so-- Well, I've never seen anything like it."

"Extremely small genitalia run in his family," the old lady lied.

"Ah, I see," the doctor said, not fooled for a moment. "Well, as long as he can pass the medical exam at the end, if he makes it that far. That's all that matters. The monitor is functioning already. If there are any slips, an alarm will go off here. The overlord also has a remote sensor. When the test is over, the monitor will pass harmlessly from the seeker's body in his urine stream. Good luck to you both."

He bowed formally and returned back through the door. A moment later, Johanna appeared, fully dressed once more. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was sniffling.

The Old Mother chucked him beneath the chin. "There, there," she said. "A little discomfort. That's all. Remember your goal. Surely your handsome Lord Marco is worth it, eh?"

Johanna nodded bravely, tears still shining in his eyes.

"Very good," the old lady said. "Now we'll return to the house and work on getting your dresses in order. The parties start tomorrow, and you'll have to look your best."

At the mention of parties and ball gowns, Johanna perked up again, despite the lingering soreness in his penis. The Old Mother smiled to herself. Her charge was so wonderfully tractable.

The next evening, the grand ball was held to officially open the thirty days of parties and give Johanna his debut in society. The Old Mother and Johanna stood outside the enormous double doors that led into the great hall waiting to make their big entrance. The old lady took Johanna's chin in her hand and scrutinized him carefully. Johanna held his breath as he waited for his chaperone's verdict.

"Absolutely flawless," the Old Mother finally pronounced.

Johanna blushed warmly with happiness at the compliment, but there was no idle flattery in it. Indeed, he had never been more ravishing.

The Old Mother had chosen for his debut a simple, striking gown of the purest white satin, to symbolize his innocence and virginity, but also to accentuate the creamy perfection of his skin. The bodice was trimmed with lace and plunged gently, giving him a delicate decolletage. The sleeves hung low on his arms, leaving his milky shoulders bare.

The dress was tightly fitted around the middle making Johanna's already tiny waist appear that much smaller. The Old Mother had really applied herself to the corset strings to achieve the right look, so she'd brought along the smelling salts in case Johanna started to get light headed. The gown had a full skirt inset with seed pearls, and it swayed gracefully around Johanna's ankles whenever he moved. On his feet, he wore the latest, most elegant satin slippers, with extremely pointy toes and very high heels. Only someone who had practiced walking in them as much as Johanna had could manage them without fear of embarrassing clumsiness.

Beneath his lovely gown, Johanna wore only the finest lingerie. As the Old Mother always liked to say: "If you feel pretty in your panties, you'll feel even prettier in your dress." Johanna's bra was white to match his dress and made of exquisite Chantilly lace. His garter and tiny little panties matched his bra. His silk stockings were so incredibly sheer that only someone with as much skill and experience as the Old Mother could have gotten him into them without snagging the fragile fabric.

Johanna had spent at least two hours getting his makeup absolutely perfect. He mixed together just the right shades of eye shadow, cheek color and lipstick to bring out all his best features and camouflage the few imperfections in his complexion that the Old Mother's creams and potions had not been able to eliminate.

The Old Mother spent just as long fixing Johanna's hair. She had brushed his long tresses a thousand strokes until it was as soft as silk and so lustrous it shone. Then she arranged it in a cascade of curls on top of his head, held in place with decorative combs encrusted with pearls and diamonds, with soft tendrils framing his face. To complement his outfit, he wore diamond teardrop earrings and a diamond and pearl choker.

Johanna practically glowed with happiness, his eyes bright, his cheeks rosy with color. The Old Mother had not beheld such a vision of loveliness in a long, long time.

When the trumpets finally sounded, their cue that it was time to make their entrance, Johanna straightened his back, practicing the good posture the Old Mother had so carefully taught him.

The old lady laid her hand on his arm. "This is very important," she said. "Tonight, you should smile, converse, flirt with any and ever man in the room, the more the better. Except Lord Marco. Him you must ignore completely, as if you do not even see him."

Johanna frowned in consternation. "But he'll think--"

The Old Mother gave Johanna a sharp look. "Am I your mistress or not?"

Johanna had the good grace to be properly ashamed. "Forgive me, Mistress. I forgot my place. Of course, I will do as you command."

The old lady took Johanna's face in her hands. "That's my good girl. Trust me on this. Nothing stirs a man to action quite like jealousy."

Johanna smiled, understanding at last the old woman's strategy.

The huge doors opened, and Johanna stepped into the room with the Old Mother at his side. The great hall was completely hushed with anticipation. When the crowd, who had come to witness the fine spectacle of a submissive male trying to catch himself a husband, glimpsed Johanna in the doorway they gasped collectively in admiration.

Johanna smiled sweetly, quite pleased with his reception. This was so much better than the mockery he had endured when he'd first made his petition. He glided across the room, carrying himself with the regal grace of a queen, curtseying and accepting introductions from a sea of finely dressed ladies and gentlemen who all eagerly wished to make his acquaintance.

The Old Mother drifted into the shadows along the wall from whence she could survey the proceedings without interruption. All in all, she was quite pleased by what she saw. Johanna was surrounded by handsome young officers and aspiring government officials. These men had not yet become jaded by life, and they were totally, innocently captivated by Johanna's beauty and charm. Johanna spoke with them shyly and blushed at their eager attentions. Occasionally, after a great deal of flattery and pleading, he would allow one of them to fetch him a cup of punch.

The high-ranking members of society--particularly the members of Lord Marco's cabinet--carefully kept their distance. They watched from the far side of the room with haughty disdain as the moony-eyed younger sons threw themselves head over heels at Johanna. Lord Marco himself wore an expression of bemused indifference and spent much of the evening discussing horses with a five-star general who had recently come from the capital.

At the height of the party, Lord Marco finally stepped forward and clapped his hands loudly to claim everyone's attention. The room went still in expectation of his announcement.

"My lords and ladies, honored guests, welcome to my humble home."

The crowd laughed politely. Lord Marco smiled.

"As you all know," he said. "We are here for the debut of Johanna, who has petitioned to become my lawful wife."

All eyes immediately turned to Johanna. He ducked his head modestly.

Lord Marco lifted a glass of champagne. "To Johanna. Whom we may all thank for giving us thirty days of festivity to enjoy."

A chorus of "yes, yes" and "here, here" went up around the room. Gentry loved nothing so much as a good party, especially when it was at somebody else's expense.

"And perhaps Johanna may give us all some very personal entertainment before everything is said and done," Lord Marco added, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

The partygoers laughed. Johanna blushed with mortification.

"To commemorate this extraordinary event, we have arranged a performance," Lord Marco said. "I hope you will all enjoy it."

Lord Marco stepped back to clear the way for the performers and gestured for his guests to do the same. The lights dimmed, music swelled from the orchestra, spotlights illuminated the center of the ballroom floor. A troupe of female dancers streamed into formation and began to pirouette and arabesque. They wore flowing, filmy costumes that were practically see-through beneath the spotlights. The crowd murmured appreciatively. Sensual entertainments were all the rage.

The dance grew progressively more erotic. The dancers paired off, and the choreography began to resemble foreplay more than ballet. The women stroked one another and undulated together. They wore nothing beneath their costumes and the graceful twirling of their skirts would occasionally reveal a tantalizing glimpse of naked, shaved pudendum.

As the performance neared its climax, each pair of ballerinas sank to the floor, writhing wildly together in an artful representation of passion. Then for the finale each woman bent her head to the other's sex and performed cunnilingus. Their moans and sighs rose to accompany the orchestra's sensuous rhythms.

In the crowd, ladies fanned themselves against the sudden heat of their arousal. Gentlemen strained their zippers with their burgeoning erections. Only Johanna appeared unstirred by the performance. He decorously hid behind his fan refusing to watch a spectacle that was so completely unsuitable for the eyes of an innocent virgin like himself.

Across the way, Lord Marco watched Johanna with a displeased scowl. He wore the purity sensor around his wrist, and it registered no reaction at all from Johanna. The Old Mother looked on from her dim corner with a wide, satisfied grin. If the young overlord thought he could do away with her charge that easily he had another thing coming.

Once the entertainment concluded, the guests quickly departed, no doubt to go quench the erotic urges roused in them by the dance. The Old Mother collected Johanna, who was walking on air after his great triumph. The old lady hustled him off to their quarters and helped him get ready for bed. Johanna changed into his nightgown and completed his evening toilette. The Old Mother brushed his hair a thousand strokes and then tucked him into bed. Tomorrow, she would let him sleep late into the day. There were twenty-nine more days of parties to attend, and he would need his beauty rest.

The first week of the gala celebration went by much as the first night had. The young officers and gentlemen clamored for Johanna's attention, while the more august nobles remained aloof. Lord Marco arranged every night for some bawdy entertainment. Male pleasure slaves fellated and sodomized one another. A pack of horny hunting dogs had their way with three teenaged maidservants in Lord Marco's employ, triplets who were all identically voluptuous, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. There was even an all-out orgy featuring both female prostitutes and male pleasure slaves performing every permutation of sex act imaginable. It was all in the hopes of tempting Johanna into betraying his vow of chastity.

But every night, Johanna just blushed more deeply than he had the night before and hid more resolutely behind his fan. The rest of the partygoers left the great hall flushed with need, already either moist or hard, ready to indulge their most wanton whims. But Johanna's penis never so much as twitched with interest. His sensibilities truly had become delicate and feminine, and he found nothing arousing in such crude public displays.

In the second week, the overlord's high-handed tactics to dishonor Johanna grew even more aggressive. He sent prostitutes and males pleasure slaves undercover as partygoers, to infiltrate the crowd in the great hall. He gave them wide latitude to do whatever was necessary to cause Johanna to have an unladylike lapse in chastity. Every night, after fighting off a salvo of groping hands all indecently trying to fondle his privates, Johanna would flee to the Old Mother's side and tearfully beg to leave the party. Such course manhandling offended his delicate sensibilities very deeply.

The Old Mother would pat Johanna comfortingly on the arm and lead him away to the safety of their chamber, all the while smiling inwardly. She was certain such feminine modesty could not fail to capture the interest of the master of the house.

By the third week, there was hardly anyone who remained immune to Johanna's charms. The highest born gentlemen in the company would have happily crawled on their knees simply to be allowed to fetch Johanna a glass of champagne or to retrieve his fan from the chair where he'd forgotten it. Even Kendricks, the friend of Lord Marco's who had made such sport of Johanna when he had first come to present his petition for marriage, practically prostrated himself on the offhand chance he might be permitted a dance. Johanna was always careful to dole out his favors sparingly, to keep his suitors panting at his feet.

Lord Marco watched the proceedings with a deepening scowl. Every night, Johanna was more brilliantly dressed, more devastatingly beautiful, more tantalizingly demure than he had been the night before. Every time another man danced with Johanna it made Lord Marco press his lips together in a thin, displeased line. Whenever he heard Johanna laugh at some other suitor's inane joke, he balled his hands into such tight fists his knuckles turned white from the strain. The Old Mother was quite certain she had never seen any man so jealous in her entire life--and that was truly saying something.

Once the final week of parties rolled around, Lord Marco could stand it no longer. He swept Johanna into his arms and onto the dance floor, scattering his competition with a withering, dark-eyed glare. And from that time on, he never let Johanna out of his sight whenever they were together, not even for a moment. If Johanna wanted to dance, Lord Marco would dance with him. If he fancied champagne, Marco would fetch it. If he wanted to hear funny stories, then Marco would entertain him.

The rest of the gentlemen--even those who were counted among Lord Marco's closest friends--stared daggers in his direction, quite put out that they had been displaced from Johanna's side. But there was nothing they could do about it. Lord Marco and Johanna only had eyes for each other.

As the thirty days drew to a close, Lord Marco grew quite persistent in his pursuit of physical pleasure with Johanna. He was always trying to get him alone somewhere or to steal a kiss when he thought Johanna's chaperone wasn't watching. Of course, the Old Mother knew perfectly well what he was up to. What man in the history of the world hadn't pressed his sweetheart for more intimacy than was quite proper to allow? The old lady kept her eye on him, but did not try to stop it. Nothing sealed an engagement quite like a man's mounting sexual frustration.

On the final night, Lord Marco managed to spirit Johanna out to the darkened, deserted terrace that opened off the great hall. The time, the Old Mother became alarmed and hurried after them to put a stop to any mischief that might ruin Johanna's prospects for marriage. Marco had pulled Johanna into the shadows, clutched him in his arms and pressed their bodies together. The young lord kissed Johanna's lips and cheeks and neck feverishly. His hands wandered at will over Johanna's curves. Johanna's eyes were closed, and his face was set in an expression of supreme ecstasy as he murmured his love's name over and again between every kiss.

"Johanna!" the old lady said sharply.

Johanna started and jumped back from Lord Marco's embrace.

"Sorry, Mistress," he said, in a soft voice.

"Go to your room. Now!" she ordered.

"Yes, Mistress."

Johanna bobbed a little curtsey to Lord Marco and then hurried obediently away.

"And you!" The old woman pointed an accusing finger at Lord Marco. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Johanna has proven himself quite innocent and chaste. You have no right to take advantage of his inexperience. Such low dealing does not become a gentleman of your station."

Lord Marco looked truly disconcerted and even a little ashamed. The Old Mother bet it was the first time anyone had ever openly accused him of being ungentlemanly. The old lady flounced off before he could frame a reply. Her first concern was Johanna. She just prayed that the interlude out on the terrace had not caused Johanna to break his pledge of purity.

When the old lady reached their chamber, she found Johanna pacing nervously in the middle of the room, wringing his hands.

"Oh, Mistress," he said, truly contrite. "I'm so sorry! What you must think of me--"

"Hush, child," the old lady commanded. "Lift your skirt and pull down your panties. Be quick about it!"

Johanna blushed out of modesty, but he knew better than to try the Old Mother with protests when he'd already misbehaved so abominably. He did as she said and exposed himself. The Old Mother breathed a deep sigh of relief. Johanna's tiny penis hung perfectly flaccid between his legs.

"All right, then. That's a good girl. You may lower your skirt," the Old Mother said.

Johanna quickly adjusted his clothes.

"I was afraid your sweetheart's embrace might have spoiled your purity," the old lady explained.

"Oh," Johanna said, at last understanding. "No, Mistress, I promise that I have not ruined my chances. I must admit that it was difficult--" He colored with embarrassment. "But I remembered all that you had taught me, and I was able to control myself."

"You have done well, my child. But you must stay on your guard until the ring is safely on your finger and the clergyman has declared you man and wife. There are pitfalls everywhere around you. Even if you never lose control, you must not allow your young sweetheart to be too forward. A man won't pay for a cow when he has a pretty good idea he can get the milk for free."

Johanna lowered his gaze, clearly ashamed of his unladylike conduct.

"I will remember, Mistress. I promise," he said. "And do better next time."

"That's a good girl!" The Old Mother patted him on the cheek. "Now, off to bed with you. The overlord makes his decision tomorrow. We must be prepared to receive it, whatever it may be. Hopefully, he'll not dawdle about all day and keep us in suspense."

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