Miss Pressforth stood before the assembled school, regal in her floor length academic gown of burgundy velvet, her permed silver coiffure shining in the stage lighting, and her spectacles wide enough to eye every face without moving. It was the first day back after the summer vacation, and every soul wondered what the new Principal would bring to their college days.

"When I was appointed," she said, her voice quiet enough to force ears to work hard, "I promised the Academy trustees I would make major changes, changes that would lead to visible benefit to my pupils. I refer of course to my girl pupils. Boys are babies - all of them - and will be treated as such."

At least half the girls in the hall turned to look at each other. Someone had said that the new Head dealt with boys in no uncertain terms at her last post, and word got around that there was something going on with Philip Ditherington: he had been seized by staff when he set foot in the school this morning, and Ainsleigh Yeo and Ferne Chalmers had been called to the Principal's study for a special assignment soon after. Miss Pressforth had the Dame Crushforth Formation Academy giving her their undivided attention.

"Girls," she went on, "you look divine in your new silk blouses and satin skirts. I hope you will do them credit. I want you to keep them clean at all times, so when bathing the babies you will wear plastic aprons and latex gloves."

This time every girl exchanged wide eyes and open mouths. Sitting here and there between them, and trying to disappear, there were open-mouthed boys who thought this was pretty poor joke material, while their awareness of girls' excitement around them fed an evil, niggling worry in their hearts. They needed something to dispel this silly 'babies' nonsense. Miss Pressforth turned to the wings and motioned someone to come into view.

Ferne Chalmers backed onto the stage, her waist length blond hair swinging round her shoulders as she paid attention to her companion. It was - It was Philip Ditherington, struggling, close to tears, being pulled by one girl and pushed by another, Ainsleigh Yeo. As the trio wriggled their way to centre stage, it was obvious to everyone that he was wearing a women's thigh length jacket in crisp vinyl, crackling in see-thru pink, and the whole school could see that he was wearing nothing underneath. Miss Pressforth viewed the reaction of her school: quiet but agitated, with not many viewers knowing what would happen next.

"Here is one of the babies," she said. "One of twenty-four." Boys were outnumbered eight to one by the girls of Dame Crushforth. "Ferne and Ainsleigh have bathed and powdered him, so now he is ready for his diaper." She turned to the girls on either side of the boy with the trembling lips. "Take off his baby coatee, girls, and put him into his diaper."

A wail fell from Philip Ditherington's lips, and at different points in the watching assembly, boys felt their hearts sinking through their bellies like lead through jelly. Girls on all sides were sitting up with one foot on their chairs to get a better view, their panties resting on one of their new high heeled shoes. Oh my God, they saw Ditherington naked, and his cock half stiff, pointing straight in front of him, as Ainsleigh held him by the arms and Ferne forced an opened diaper between his legs. She spread it round his ass, up to his waist as he stood between them, and closed him up in its white padding, securing him with tabs down both sides.

"Good," observed the Principal, remaining calm even though the girls of Dame Crushforth were getting more and more agitated. "My experience is that boys are forever wetting themselves, so diapers on their own will not suffice. They must be kept in rubber panties, as well as their baby bloomers. See to him, girls."

Her audience was adding two and two, and girls on all sides were turning grins of menace towards the nearest red-faced boy and promising him diapers, panties and goodness knows what else. On stage, Philip Ditherington burst into tears at his public humiliation as his cream rubber panties were covered in ruffled baby bloomers in peach-pink satin. "Girls, with boys who will not be changed until late afternoon, you can never be too sure," declared the Head. "So they will wear plastic baby pants over their bloomers. Put him in them now, then you can dress him in the new boys' uniform for Dame Crushforth."

A minor disturbance in the front row had girls jumping to their feet. Arnold Lightfoot had fainted and collapsed amongst stockings and high heels. Miss Pressforth called for calm. "Lilian Withers and Amanda Worthington, he will be your baby. Take him for an early bath. Miss Chatsworth will provide you with a baby buggy to transport the unconscious infant."

A pink buggy, with huge wheels and equally huge bows of pink satin, was wheeled across below the stage apron, and Lilian and Amanda lifted the senseless shape of their baby into it, fastening its belts to keep him in place. The hall was on its feet - except for the twenty-two remaining boys, sweating, finding it hard to breathe, wondering if they could push their way through two dozen girls to the exit, or would they simply be arrested and hauled back again?

"Their uniforms have arrived, girls," continued Miss Pressforth, enjoying her first day more and more. "Ferne, Ainsleigh, kindly show the girls how they are to dress their babies."

The girls had practised well and knew exactly how to hold Philip Ditherington to render him helpless. Ainsleigh gripped him from behind by the wrists, so that her chin rested on his shoulder with quiet warnings, and fed one hand, then the other, into his little white petticoat. Over it he was dressed in his pink satin school dress, with a white Peter Pan collar edged with frills and puffed sleeves at the shoulders. Neither his dress nor his petticoat could be fastened down the front of his plastic panties, as the girls demonstrated to squeals of approval. He was put into a baby bonnet with a heart-shaped brim of white satin, fastened under his chin with a bow of hot pink, and then into high heeled pumps to match. The boy wailed at the top of his voice, so Ferne stood in front of his bonnet and presented him with a finger to suck on. The audience loved it, and surges of girls marched forward to the stage front with the three boys who had tried to make a run for it.

"Girls," said Miss Pressforth, "I can see that you are approaching this new beginning with my own spirit of determined authority. Look at this boy with me," and she displayed Ditherington being held on either side, "and you will see what a boy looks like while he is wetting himself." All eyes saw the suppressed whimpers, the stoop at the waist and the squeezed knees, followed presently by his unavoidable grunts of uncontrolled urination. It was all too much for him, and at least six of the boys hemmed into the mass of watching girls found their pants and legs getting warm and wet as they saw what the new semester at Dame Crushworth's had in store for them.