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Message-ID: <35944asstr$1017627005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Mother Kali <kali_mother@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} ST: The Wishmaker, Pt. 1/2 (M/M, TG, Mdom, body modification, magic)
Date: Sun, 31 Mar 2002 21:10:05 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is
for entertainment purposes only and intended
exclusively for adults. If you are not legally of age
according to the laws of your land or are offended by
such content, please go away.

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

Come visit my web site at: www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Mother_Kali/www

Send feedback (I really like feedback) to:
kali_mother@yahoo.com

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.

Thanks for reading!

***

The Wishmaker: A Dark Fairy Tale
By Mother Kali

(Part One)

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."

***

(Continued in Part Two)

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