And swim with the currents

That afternoon, the physical education lesson for the day was 'Sensual Swimming'. The art of looking alluring in aquatic conditions. Students of Stanfield’s Academy were of course expected to be able to live up to their high standards of servitude in all climates. If they were taken yachting on the high seas by their future masters, or even dropped into the frozen tundra… they were still expected to be able to move and act with grace and poise. To that end, today the thermostat had been turned way up: to generate a Caribbean-esque swelter. The little sluts lounged around in their individualised bikinis and one-pieces, trying not to sweat their makeup off in between Ms Julian's commands to swim lengths.

Jesse rather enjoyed such challenges, though the heat made him feel dizzy and lightheaded. It was nice to have something straightforward and physical to contend with, rather than the increasingly complicated rules and politics their other lessons were devolving into. There was a lot more to learn about being polite in other cultures and keeping a master's secrets in order to be the perfect sex-pet, than he ever could have imagined. Using one's body as a tool of others' pleasure was apparently only half of it… A properly trained slutwife dedicated her entire mind to such goals as well.

So a couple of hours spent splashing around, trying to 'emulate the mythos of mermaids'. Was a far cry less straining upon certain muscles. Though, it had to be said, there was a degree of chafing involved: His own, personal swimsuit consisted of one long stretch of tight rubbery material, but open at the sides and back. It revealed all the smooth curves of his now distinctly hourglass frame, to the point of offering out the top of his buttocks for perusal, before sliding down between them like a thong. Some extra room had been allowed at the front for a small pair of testicles and the shaft between them… but clearly it had been designed specifically to present and advertise the shape of such things by clinging to every contour.

The same could be said for the small, tender orbs which had grown upon his chest. Still not what could be fully considered breasts, but not the chest of a real man by any metric. Jesse had been finding his puffy areola and pointy, little nipples had grown ever more sensitive recently. A fact which was only exacerbated by the raw friction of this outfit. It made him near shudder with electric excitement every time he brushed up against anything. An observation which Mrs Durren had nodded in approval of, when first trying it on. "That will be a source of endless amusement, for one mistress or another..." she'd stated, in her usual flat tones. Adding such additional flair and playability to the human toys under her charge had become second nature by now. The clients always enjoyed a button or two to push. The fact that Jesse’s were picked out so clear and pointedly could only add to his attraction.

The sissy slid through the pool like a salmon, keeping his arms and legs together and just using the flexible strength of his stomach and hips to weave through the water. It wasn’t the most effective method of swimming and eventually ran out of momentum, needing to be replaced by more traditional strokes. However, he had been assured it was by far the most sexy way to glide below the surface; providing excellent views of a slut’s backside as it just about broke the waterline. He once had seen Selene cross near the entire length of the pool doing it. The epitome of femboy grace having seemed to enter, travel through and leave the water without ever causing more than a ripple. So different from Suzy’s cutesy floundering, Francine’s powerful breaststroke or even Lizzy’s near-perfect butterfly. It seemed to him that everyone else was beginning to truly take shape into the individually distinct fucktoys they would someday be, but he still had so far to go! Where their outfits and outlooks and mannerisms all seemed to be cementing to a theme… he was still stuck in the crossroads of so many different directions.

Selene and Mrs Durren and all the other teachers had told him not to worry… not to overthink it too much, but Jesse simply couldn’t help feeling he was lagging further and further behind. He had finally come to terms with the fact that he was born only to serve at other’s pleasure, and had thought everything would be simpler from then on. That all those plaguing anxieties and doubts inside him would finally just slip away. Yet… all that had really happened was that a whole world of new sources for his general unsurety had opened up: Worrying if he was walking right. Worrying if his cock-sucking techniques were growing stale. Worrying if in learning all these complicated new rules of engagement, that he was then forgetting just the basic tenets of slut etiquette. He had tried dying his hair. He had tried acting pouty and surly. He had tried just walking down the street in nothing but a thong and tank top. All it ever seemed to achieve was getting his regular customers like John and Miranda to giggle with giddy glee at his attempts. They didn’t discourage him at all, in fact were nothing if not supportive and complimentary. But neither did they ever seem to say: ‘Yes! This is the perfect look for you. This is how we want our plaything to behave.’ Everyone just always told him he’d look pretty in anything… Which didn’t actually help at all...

Jesse sighed, as he heaved himself onto the poolside again. It wasn’t as if he was ungrateful. It still set a little fire inside every time anyone said he looked sexy, or cute, or smacked his ass on the Maglev. He knew it was wonderful that nearly everyone he walked past paused to ogle or grope him. What more could a proud protégé of Madame Stanfield’s Academy ask for? However he’d just… he’d just thought it would suddenly become easier, once he knew who he was. Not even more complicated as his heart struggled to fit all these new loves he’d found: For Suzy, and Betsy and their possible child, and all his other classmates who he’d shared explicit and intimate moments with. For his teachers and their whips and wisdom, for the headmistress herself and her fierce pride and expectations. For his ever-growing list of fans and clients, who bombarded him with gifts and messages and invitations to get down on his knees in front of them.

He didn’t want to let any of them down. Didn’t want to fall short of the ‘1st Class’ rating he’d been inexplicably given. He wanted to be the most perfect little slutwife he could be… the only problem was… He just couldn’t quite visualise what that meant.