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Subject: NEW: Estragon's "Pommel Horse" 1/? femdom
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NEW: Estragon's Pommel Horse 1/? Femdom

This posting in two parts contains the complete text thus far,
but the opening segment of Estragon's Part Two has been attached 
instead to the end of Estragon's Part One because of AOL's 
posting requirements.
                                                
The author of this story is Estragon (RGT@WELL.COM) and NOT the person
posting it.  Praise where praise is due.



Estragon: "The Pommel Horse," I/?  (femdom)

(For adults only.
Copyright 1997, Estragon Productions.)






Every boy is really two boys. One is the sweet slave of womanhood, the
other a rebel in the bootless cause of male pride. It is only a question of
which boy prevails in a given young man's soul.


Benjie Beanstock would be the only boy heading for the lockers today. The
others had done their last chin-ups and broad-jumps for the year. But
Benjie had gotten himself involved in a different kind of exercise: some
wild scheme of Miss Ashley's-she's one of the girls' phys-ed teachers and a
gymnastics coach, and she was once on the Olympic-team, and her first name
is Kate, and the girls adore her and the boys admit she's something - and
now here was Benjie, approaching the deserted locker-room to change into
gym-clothes before being received as the guest of dishonor in Miss Ashley's
class.

Gotten himself involved was right: technically, Benjie was a volunteer, a
free agent. Technically he was doing a favor for Miss Ashley, who was
charming and vivacious and had, yes, that compact gymnast's body and a face
that was truly pretty - let's say beautiful - and who was a teacher in any
case, and you looked at her manicured fingers (which all her girls
imitated) and her earrings, and you smelled her perfume, and, considering
this and that, you couldn't help wanting to make her like you. But, all the
same, he was the favor-doer here, definitely, even if Miss Ashley wasn't
being abundant in her gratitude, and if he thought better of it now, at the
last minute, even as the pretty gym-teacher was preparing for him, and her
seventh-grade girls were gathering in the gym above-well, technically, he
could walk away from it right now and be on the street heading home in a
flash. Technically, he didn't have to do what he was doing, didn't have to
be unlatching the heavy door of the locker-room, didn't have to be staring
into that shadowy place, taking in the spooky absence of stripped and
stripping boys, the strange stillness where he was used to big-time din.
Benjie never loved the hoarse vulgarities, the obsessive taunts, everyone
calling everyone faggot, everyone saying "pussy" just to hear it said; for
that matter, he never loved the stripping, the shower, the nearness of
bodies too much like his own, everyone checking out everyone's body-hair,
making fun of the smoothies, calling them pussies, calling them girls, the
unpleasant male odor everywhere. But he missed their familiarity now. He
missed that unsteady brotherhood of boys which was secure at least in this
place, so formidably off-limits to females. The locker-room was cool for
this time of year, and its tile and metal and concrete surfaces made
Benjie's every sound, his footsteps, his nervous breath, echo down the
aisles.

Then, as the main door banged heavily behind him, Benjie yielded to the
truth: he wasn't free at all. Gotten himself involved didn't cover it at
all. What was technically true was so far from true it was stupid to go
over it. A favor? He was doing Miss Ashley a favor? He knew how ludicrous
this way of seeing it would soon appear to anyone who dropped in. Miss
Ashley knew what she was getting when she chose her "volunteer."


There'd been a test. All the ninth-grade boys took it. It was supposed to
help Miss Ashley collect what she called "profiles" for her research on her
doctor's degree. She was planning to be a doctor of psychology or something
of that kind. But the test was very strange, not quite one thing or
another, with some questions that sounded tricky and IQ-ish, and others
that were plain snoopy. On one you had to tell the weight of two bricks if
one brick weighed six pounds plus half of itself. On some you had to choose
which you preferred of two equally unpleasant experiences-coming upon a
corpse versus carrying a load of bricks, for instance. On some you had to
pick from a list of attitudes towards various situations the one that "best
expressed your own feelings." There were plenty of word-ratio questions,
strange ones, however, in which the answers didn't seem logical so much as
psychological: you couldn't be wrong in your answer, just highly revealing.
Scattered throughout the test were questions about nakedness-not a lot, but
such things stand out, especially with fifteen year-old boys. Would you
rather see another boy naked or have him see you that way? What about a
girl? Which would be more embarrassing to you: having to be naked in front
of a roomful of girls or a roomful of boys? Older girls? Younger girls?
Grown women? Is your family doctor a man or a woman? Do you think real men
don't cry? In your opinion, is it 1. Easier/ 2. Harder / 3. Neither easier
nor harder/ to grow up as a male than as a female? Do you think girls on
the average are smarter than boys? Less smart?

And after the test an interview with Miss Ashley.

"Do you have any idea what that test of mine was testing for, Benjie?" Miss
Ashley asked. Benjie said none at all, except that it was connected to her
becoming a doctor.

"A doctor of psychology," Miss Ashley explained. "That kind of doctor." The
test, she said, had been specifically designed to identify "certain forms
of cooperativeness in young men." The enigmatic phrase was not meant to be
instantly enlightening. Benjie gave the lovely teacher his most polite look
of puzzlement: God forbid she should mistake his lack of understanding for
a failure of her teaching-skills.

He was afraid to look Miss Ashley in the eye, so he stared straight ahead,
at her chest. This probably wasn't a good idea either, but Miss Ashley was
wearing her gym-shirt and, the way the light hit it,  Benjie detected the
wonderful margins of her bra under it, and for all his conscience and
chivalry, he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Miss Ashley noticed. He noticed her noticing. But she went on unruffled.
"Let me start a different way, Benjie. You'll understand me soon enough. My
real concern in life isn't actually boys at all. No offense intended.
You're a very sweet young man, and your test-score makes you even sweeter
to me, for reasons I'm getting to. But my real concern is girls, and how
they grow into women, and how full of deceit and harm that process, which
should be so beautiful, actually is in our culture."

Benjie was thinking that he should nod, more out of politeness than out of
agreement with what Miss Ashley was saying, just to show that he was
listening and was bright enough to follow, when it occurred to him that he
did understand what she was saying, understood all too well really, and
that somehow he was destined to help Miss Ashley help the girls she cared
about so much - all because of things he admitted on that strange exam of
hers. He went ahead and nodded.

"I'm glad you understand, Benjie," Miss Ashley said. "In any case, for the
last few years I've had this little project. It's little enough. But it's a
contribution I can make in my present position to the cause of freeing
girls from myths about themselves, and in particular myths about well,
about men and boys like you, Benjie. Like you."

"So, Miss Ashley," Benjie said, "if I'm just a boy or man or whatever like
everyone else, what did the test have to do with it? I mean, I'm the boy
you wanted to talk about this with."

"Just the right amount of scrappiness," Miss Ashley said. "You're a doll,
Benjie, and I'm offering you a chance to be played with. In a good cause.
The best. But where were we? Why the test? I'll tell you the truth, it's a
time-saver and maybe a heart-ache saver too. The girls I'm talking about -
the ones whose lives I know I can affect, especially if I have your help in
it - they're young still. My seventh-graders. Thirteen, you know, most of
them. What I've been doing is, at the end of every school-year, a kind of
last-class treat, what I've been doing is look, Benjie, this is hard even
for me to say, you're a sweet boy, and anyhow I have nothing against
boys, you are what you are, but what your test made clear to me is that,
more than any other boy in your class, you know what a lie masculinity is,
what a myth the superior power of males."

"Did I say that?" Benjie asked, trying to sound whimsical.

"Benjie, your test did. Yes, it did. You may not want to admit it now, but
your test told me what you truly are. I'm not saying it's really so simple.
Every boy knows the truth about the myth, and every boy also tries at least
some of the time to keep the falsehood going. Every boy. Even you try to
keep the falsehood going. In a way, you're trying that right now. But you
do it less often than most, and with less conviction when you're at it. You
know it's a fool's errand. I mean you know it more of the time than lots of
boys and men. I read that in your test. You're ripe for this outing,
Benjie. And, as I said, time is a ruling factor here. I can tell you from
my own experience that bringing an obstinate male to his knees Benjie,
don't tell me that word comes as a total surprise!"

"I guess it doesn't, Miss Ash , Miss I guess it doesn't."

"Of course it doesn't. To his knees . So, then, moving on: it's a wonderful
thing for a grown woman, or even an older girl, to vanquish an impertinent
male. But I'm talking seventh-grade adolescents here, some bold, most
timid, but in any case not quite sure they understand the weakness of males
even when the evidence is in front of their noses. They do see it, Benjie.
I'm sure you're aware of that ."

Benjie nodded - that is, noticed himself nodding.

"And that's what makes it so tragic, Benjie. That's what's awful in girls'
lives: they learn to deny what they plainly see. It's heart-breaking."

"I guess so," Benjie obligingly imparted. "I guess it is heartbreaking.
Sure.."

Miss Ashley had risen from her desk. Benjie nearly jumped: it was her
sudden movement, but also the revelation of her lithe figure and the fact
that she was wearing a body-suit under her athletic-shirt and tights under
that, and the sharp, slender bones of her hips showed prominently and the
terse mound where her legs met swelled gently in her snug clothes.

"What I'm asking of you, Benjie," the flutelike voice of that delectable
body said, "is simply to share with my class a thing you already know. I
mean, the fact that as a boy you're vulnerable to them, to every young girl
and every grown woman - vulnerable, helpless, breakable. Call it what you
want."

"Miss Ashley!"

"Go on, then, say."

"Miss Ashley! Wow!" Benjie said.

"Right," Miss Ashley said. "Wow is right. If you have any questions...."

"Didn't I hear you say before that you've already done this kind of thing?"
Benjie said.

"Yes, that's right. I lost my thread. That's what I was explaining. Yes,
twice now. The girls in your grade were the first. Maybe you noticed the
difference when they came back to school in the fall. A real
transformation. I like the boy to be a few years older than my girls."

Oddly enough, he had noticed something different about his female
classmates, but who could have explained correctly? Summer growth-spurt or
something made enough sense. "Are you saying, Miss , er Ashley, are you
saying that you would want me to be naked in your gym-class."

"Well, naked is a big part of it, a prerequisite, you might say, yes."

"God!"

"Benjie, you half like the idea. Deep down you welcome it. I don't mean to
embarrass you, but I have read your test, let's remember, and I have a
strong feeling that there's something in this idea of mine that doesn't
entirely displease you. If you're being honest with yourself, that is . I
know it cuts both ways that you're bound to have mixed feelings. Of course
I know that."

"Naked. God!"

"I think you have it, B.B.," Miss Ashley said. "Naked, and then some."

"And then some . And then some . God!"

"I'm being honest with you, Benjie. I want you to understand that I'm not
being frivolous. I have a serious wish, towhich I've given several years of
serious thought: I want the girls to see how fragile you are. How easily
broken ."

"Wow! And you've done this with other boys, like last year and the year
before that?"

"That's right."

"Excuse me for asking, Miss Ashley, but couldn't you get into trouble for
this? I mean, you actually got the school to require us to take your test."

"It's a close run, sure. I do as much of it as I can on the up-and-up. I'll
be giving you a parental-consent form, as a matter of fact. Most of the
folks in this community are glad to have me here Olympian and doctoral
candidate and, I hope, a good teacher and I haven't kept my feminist views
secret either. I'm a firebrand, but everyone's favorite firebrand, it
seems. Most people are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, and a
lot of people - I mean men as well as women - plumb agree with me. And even
though I never lie about what I'm doing, I don't get too explicit about it
with just anyone either. I know there's this hysteria about sex in the air.
So, yes, I'm running a slight risk. But the reward is high, believe me.
Will be for you too. I know you, Benjie."

"Will what you what you and the girls do to me, Miss Ashley, will it hurt?"

"Oh, I think so, Benjie, more than likely. The emphasis will be on the
precariousness of what is called virility. Let me tell you, it makes an
unforgettable impression on young girls to see how defenseless males
actually are. And, if you think about it, you'll see that this
demonstration must involve causing you some pain. But this is hard to
explain to you, but if you are the boy your test revealed you may
understand intuitively your imagination may understand well, the pain
you'll feel will not be like other kinds of pain you may have experienced.
Not like banging your head or skinning your knees, not like a toothache,
not even like a stomach-ache. It will be in your boy-parts, and it will be
caused by a woman and by girls, and it will be you may not be able to
imagine this but it will be beautiful to you."

"It won't hurt that much?"

"That's not what I'm saying, Benjie. It may hurt that much. But, believe
me, after a little while I'm pretty sure you will be very happy about it."

"About being hurt? I can't imagine that at all," Benjie said. But he knew
that he was not being truthful. That was the strange thing. Miss Ashley was
right about his intuition, and he couldn't explain it either. But something
about the thought of girls making pain in his "boy-parts" gave him a
premonition of addled bliss. Pain, and this pain in particular, with its
accompanying humiliation, its helpless exposure, remained frightening to
Benjie, but he knew all the same that he was drawn to it. The fact that
Miss Ashley had perceived this in his answers to questions wildly indirect
just proved to him how deep-seated the predilection was. And so, in order
to prevent himself from running in terror from the attractive trial Miss
Ashley was describing, Benjie made a dizzy proposal, convinced that
crossing the terrible frontier and reaching the point of no return would
make him resolute forever. "If you would show me what it will be like right
now, Miss Ashley, then I won't be able to back out afterwards. I'd have
taken the big step here and now and you'd be the witness, so what would be
the sense of changing my mind?" All he wanted was to lock the escape-hatch
tight.

"Show you? I'm not sure what you mean, how I could do ."

"I give you my I take down my pants and give you my you show me what you
will do to me in class how it will hurt . Like that, Miss Ash ."

"Oh, Benjie, I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible. Wouldn't be appropriate,
rather. That would just be idle recreation. I'm trying to teach my students
something. The time in class has to be the first ."

"I see," he said, not seeing. "Well, okay then."

"Look, Benjie. I'll give you this much: you're here because you have a
penis and a scrotum containing two testicles. I know it means a lot to you
to have me say it."

"Yes, yes," Benjie replied with much feeling. She'd spoken as quietly as a
school-teacher, as aloof as a person who already had a doctor's degree, but
this way of telling him she knew what was under his clothes - knew and had
a right to know - put him instantly in tatters. She might as well have torn
his clothing off, seized his penis roughly in her hand and forced him
downward into one of those twisted poses he hated to look at in the
stroke-mags. Later Benjie would be unable to relive this glorious shame
often enough. His own penis insisted upon it, and there would be a constant
chill in his groin and stomach which he identified with Miss Ashley's
presence and the cool of her likely touch down there, and again and again,
more times a day than he'd ever wanted to do it, he had to masturbate to
make that woman's possession of him tangible.

"Take a week," she said, "get back to me. Whatever you decide. But, if I've
figured you right, Mr. Benjamin Beanstock, I think you'll choose to join my
girls and me in a highly rewarding experience. You give it some thought,
won't you?"

"Will I cry, Miss Ashley?"

"Take a week to think about it."

"Wait, please . Will I? Cry, I mean."

"That will be up to you, Mr. Beanstock. There's a chance you will. But,
once again, I know you won't understand until it happens but they will be
beautiful, your tears. Anyhow, maybe a week is a bit too long ."

"Don't give me time to think, Miss Ashley." Benjie felt strangely drugged.
"Saying what you did, do you see I'm hard, Miss, ."

"Benjie, I don't want you to speak this way. I haven't been seducing you. I
have no interest in that. I simply knew the sort of boy you'd be. That sort
of boy is saying yes now, isn't he?"

"Yes," Benjie said.

"Good," Miss Ashley said. "But I do have one more thing to ask you. You are
circumcised, aren't you, Benjie?" Benjie dropped his eyes and nodded. She
was knowing even more of him.

"Here's that consent-form," Miss Ashley said. "Have your mom sign it,
Benjie. When I see you next time, I'll have some details for you about
preparing for class."


The consent-form Benjie delivered to his mother was a masterpiece of
elusiveness. Benjie had volunteered, it said, to participate in a lecture
demonstration to be conducted by Miss Ashley before selected members of the
school community. The purpose was to observe, using students without
particular athletic training, the different advantages and limitations
enjoyed by each of the sexes in connection with the use of certain standard
pieces of gymnastic equipment. In order to make observation as precise and
unambiguous as possible, the male participant would have to be minimally
clothed for portions of the exercise. Mrs. Beanstock's son understood this
requirement and had expressed his willingness to comply. Strict standards
of decorum and supervision would of course be observed. The chances of
injury from the planned activities were small and almost certainly limited
to temporary soreness and strain such as might result from participation in
any athletic event.

"What's this, Benjamin? They've got you to agree to swing naked from
high-bars?" his mother laughed.

"I don't think they're expecting that, exactly," Benjie said.

"Why you, Benjie? I don't see you as Tarzan, darling."

"I passed a test," Benjie said. "Highest grade in my class. Next thing I
know, Miss Ashley's having me in for a talk. Has to do with her doctor's
degree."

"Doctor's degree. I just hope she knows first-aid. An exhibitionist you're
not, Benjie," his mother laughed. She was signing the form. "You must have
a crush on this woman."

"I guess there's some crush in the picture, mom," Benjie said.

"Just don't crush anything you may need later, dear," his mother said,
lightly handing him the signed form.

"I'm sure they'll be leaving that to others," Benjie said with an edge of
private sardonic, aware all the same that the author of the consent-form he
was just then holding would have appreciated the equivocation.


End of part one


Estragon: "The Pommel Horse," II/?  (Femdom)

(For adults only.
Copyright 1997, Estragon Productions)



His arrival at the deserted locker-room was merely a step in a long
itinerary handed over to Benjie a full week earlier. It was Wednesday now.
The previous Saturday, following Miss Ashley's protocol to the hours,
Benjie had shaved off his pubic hair. This would allow several days for
some stubble to return, so her girls could see the pattern of a boy's hair
without having it obstructing their clear view of his anatomy. He was to
make sure he shaved his groin and perineum as well. The process of
depilation was thrilling to Benjie in a way, though the effeminacy of it
made him shudder. Yet, once out of the shower, he hurried to his room to
examine the bareness he had lost at puberty. The shaven area was tender and
responsive, and soon enough exploration led to ejaculation. Benjie could
hardly wait now until Tuesday night, the evening before Miss Ashley's
class, when he was to shave his actual penis and scrotum smooth, and his
armpits too - the latter to lessen, Miss Ashley had explained, the
likelihood of the considerable sweat he was apt to produce in class turning
offensive.


He had his instructions for the day itself. Change into his gym-outfit,
except no jock-strap, and wait by his locker until someone came to fetch
him. Of course a boy who had his instructions wasn't free. He'd understood
that the evening before, in the shower, when he'd brought the razor to his
armpits. He'd shaved his penis and scrotum too, terrified that he would
nick the delicate parts, and now they were bare and thin-skinned and looked
like big pink babies in sharpest contrast to the dark adulthood of Benjie's
re-emerging pubic hair. And he'd shaved his armpits like any girl,
repeating Miss Ashley's explanation for this request and telling himself
how totally reasonable and agreeable it was to him. He was likely to sweat
a lot, a strong, nervous sweat, and shaving would help make him less
offensive when this happened. If he shaved at night, she'd explained, she
could assure him as a woman that in the morning he could dose himself with
deodorant without inflaming his pits. She advised him to put some sort of
balm on his genitals too.



Benjie drew the regulation boys' gym-shorts up his legs. They were strange,
baggy things from another era, with a bulky fly made of two flaps of
material which overlapped more or less when you passed two frayed strips of
fabric through slits in the waist-band and tied them in a bow. No elastic,
no buttons, no snaps, just this pale blue bunch of cotton that felt as
though it would fall off you at any moment, and a fly that sagged and
looked wide open. Every Friday you tossed your outfit into the laundry-bin
and the school boiled and parched it and you picked out an identical set on
Monday. But for your jock-strap, you'd be sure your penis was going to slip
through, but today Benjie wore no jock-strap. The thinning cotton swaddled
his penis.


He waited by his locker. He sat on the narrow bench that divided the aisle.
He tried different postures. He handled his penis, as anxious boys can't
help doing when they think they're unobserved - pulled and kneaded it
through the threadbare fabric of his shorts, until the worried organ
hardened with a grudge, tried to warm to the thought of what awaited it
upstairs, then timorously subsided. Nerves, vacillation, the quick fantasy
succession of manly fortitude and headlong surrender. That's how it always
is for a boy: no middle ground, just sudden death. The advantages girls and
women had over you left you anything but neutral. You pitched between gruff
misogyny and eager humiliation. You plunged into one in order to escape the
other.

end 1/?
Vickie Tern@AOL.COM

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