Samantha moves quickly, suddenly grabbing Priscilla around the waist and pulling her down across her wide, strong lap. As this happens, Cherry leans forward and takes Eve’s right hand. The lovely, startled she-male does not resist, but allows her hand to be guided on to Cherry’s white nylon-sealed right thigh. Eve feels the heat of her body through the sheer, soft material and gasps with pleasure, a gasp accidentally timed to coincide with the first crack of the ivory-handled hairbrush against Priscilla’s tightly pantied backside and her own cry of pain, a cry that quickly transforms into an equally powerful and helpless moan of pleasure.
Samantha administers twelve hard smacks of the hairbrush, reducing the lovely Priscilla to a moaning, crying, wriggling wreck. And as the blows rain down, Cherry allows Eve to lean forward and edge her hand further up her nyloned thigh until it reaches the edge of her tight panties. And as the last blow is delivered, Eve’s hand slips on to the panties’ soft, electric material and she finds herself seeking out the hard, long, thick cock that is imprisoned beneath. Then Priscilla’s cries of discomfort are suddenly augmented with Cherry’s cry of intense and angry pleasure.
All the time, Helen watches Eve and her smile increases, a smile that betrays her own significant sexual arousal. Yet this smile is also a very obvious smile of triumph.
Eventually, poor Priscilla is thrown off Samantha’s knees, her eyes red, her body shaking. Despite her bondage, she manages to clamber to her heeled feet and perform a deep, elegant curtsey before whispering a hoarse, sex-tinged ‘thank you, mistress’.
Helen then orders Priscilla to kneel before her. Still bound, the beautiful TV maid obeys, lowering her form with a striking grace. Helen kicks off her stylish, sexy shoes and raises a beautifully formed, black nylon-sheathed foot. Priscilla leans forward and kisses her toes before the foot slips deep into her mouth.
Eve watches this act with some astonishment as her drink-hazed mind is being tormented by the feel of Cherry’s substantial, silk-sheathed member. She feels this fundamentally male organ with a new and dark desire. She measures its length and finds herself wondering what it would be like to be fucked as a woman by this precision sex tool. She remembers the highly erotic tease of the vibrator and imagines this magnified by a factor of ten.
Then Priscilla finishes worshipping the buxom beauty’s feet and her head is quickly forced deep beneath Helen’s skirt and firmly lodged between her mistress’s nylon-sheathed thighs. Helen’s eyes are closed and a smile of sexual pleasure is spreading across her face like the shadow of the darkest desire. Cherry moans angrily as Eve increases her caress and her sex strains against the younger she-male’s eager, teasing hand.
‘So, Eve,’ Helen says, an edge of unavoidable physical pleasure in her elegant, husky voice as Priscilla sets to her task. ‘Will you be joining us?’
Eve looks at the clock. It is after midnight and she is now beginning to feel very tired.
‘Yes,’ she mumbles, only barely aware of what she is saying, her face inches from Cherry’s silken bulge. ‘Yes.’
Helen smiles. ‘Good girl.’
The buxom beauty then releases a tiny cry of pleasure before continuing. ‘We’re really looking forward to working with such a gifted young she-male.’
Then Helen eases a stunned, extremely aroused Priscilla from beneath her long, elegant skirt.
‘Sam, I suggest you take charge of Pris for the rest of the evening. I’m sure you can keep her entertained.’
Priscilla rises to her feet and straightens her pretty maid’s attire. Her make-up is smudged and there is a look of wild sexual passion in her beautiful emerald eyes. Her wrists still bound behind her back, she performs a somewhat ragged curtsey before Helen and then wiggle-minces over to Samantha, where she quickly performs a more confident, deeper curtsey and looks up at her with desire and fear. Samantha smiles, her eyes filled with an ambivalent passion. Eve knows that poor Priscilla will suffer at her hands, but that there is also a profound sado-erotic desire here, a desire that Priscilla clearly shares.
Samantha climbs somewhat unsteadily from the chair, takes Priscilla by the hand and leads her from the room, turning briefly to Eve as she does so.
‘I will see you again soon, Eve. Then we can get to know each other a little better.’
Her words are filled with dark promise and the lovely, intoxicated she-male feels a wave of electric anticipation flow over her feminine form.
As Samantha leaves, Eve’s eyes fall once gain upon the redhead’s long, finely hosed legs and her already tormented sex presses with a terrible frustration against the silken padding of the body-shaper.
‘Come here, Eve.’
Helen’s tone is hard and determined. She is now Eve’s mistress. Suddenly feeling very tired, Eve removes her hand from Cherry’s secret delights. The two TVs exchange a hungry, knowing smile. Eve then walks over to Helen. This beautiful, mature and erotically ample female is without doubt one of the most striking women Eve has ever encountered.
‘Kneel before me,’ she orders.
Eve obeys without hesitation, falling into exactly the same position as Priscilla. Her eyes rest on Helen’s long, black nylon-sheathed ankles. She is a vision of female power and Eve is her willing subject.
‘I met Pris, when she was a he,’ Helen says, her tone softening, her body relaxing. ‘Maybe ten years ago. He was just out of university – about twenty-one. I was in my late thirties. Strangely enough, I was the secretary to his boss. I’d just gone through a pretty nasty divorce, and the last thing I wanted was another demanding, neurotic, self-obsessed man. But Pris . . . well, let’s just say that as a man he was very kind, considerate and also very interested in me. He made me feel important, powerful, attractive. He pursued me in a way that I had never experienced, in a way that I really couldn’t believe. I was startled and aroused. He made love to me on our first date and it was like I was being worshipped, like my body was a temple to him. I found out he was a transvestite after about six months, just before we got married. By this point, it had already become apparent that he wanted nothing more than to be my complete slave. His masochism was present in every respectful gesture. The harsher I was with him, the more attentive he seemed to become. And this excited me terribly. And then, in a moment of supremely erotic humiliation, he knelt before me and confessed his passion for knickers and tights. Then, at my command, he dressed for me. And when I saw Priscilla for the first time . . . well, to be quite honest, I was rather jealous. She was a beautiful young woman, a strikingly convincing and rather gorgeous girl. There had always been something inherently feminine about him, but as soon as I saw my lovely young man dressed as Priscilla, I knew this femininity was a profound and very fundamental aspect of his true identify, an identity that was more she than he.
‘This is what really inspired me to develop Pris, to investigate cross-dressing – to create and build up the Crème de la Crème club. All of it really came from that first exposure. Driven by that first, startling encounter, I went from being a secretary to a self-made business woman. Along the way, we made refinements and changes. She has been Pris permanently ever since she first revealed herself to me She resigned her job within a week and we were working on the Crème de la Crème project within a month. We sought out equally beautiful TVs. I’m afraid they weren’t that easy to find. But then there was Cherry, a sexy bolt out of the blue. An established figure in the local scene and someone able to plug us into wider networks. And Cherry had a friend who worked in computers. That’s how the website started. Cherry’s friend had a transsexual girlfriend who was undergoing gender reassignment and knew a rather excellent plastic surgeon. And that’s how things went to the next level. That’s when we really began to develop the concept of the she-males at the heart of the Crème de la Crème club. The Elect.’
Eve listens to this detailed personal history fighting exhaustion and the elated shock of teasing Cherry. The mention of the plastic surgeon brings her back from the edge of an embarrassing slumber.
She remembers the girls in the club, the pneumatic figures of Priscilla and Cherry. She recalls the stunning authenticity of their buxom figures, especially their large, firm breasts. The ‘concept of the she-male at the heart of the Crème de la Crème club’. She tries to review the pictures from the website. Yes, all the same; every single striking she-male has the same utterly convincing chest, a chest that isn’t a clever illusion of padding, but a physical fact created by silicon and the hands of an expert and sympathetic plastic surgeon.
‘Samantha,’ Eve whispers and Helen’s smile broadens.
‘Yes, indeed, Eve. Samantha is a superb plastic surgeon; an expert in the field of gender reassignment – and a key figure in the development of our little venture.’
‘And do I get . . . developed, as well?’
Helen’s smile fades slightly, a coolness returns to her luminous blue eyes. ‘That will be up to you, Eve.’
Helen holds one of her beautifully shaped feet before the lovely, drunk she-male. There is a brief moment of hesitation. Eve then leans forward, takes the warm, nylon-wrapped foot in her hands and places a kiss against the shapely, scented instep. She knows this is as good as signing a contract of absolute servitude.
‘Help Eve up,’ Helen says to Cherry, who obeys by stepping forward and taking Eve’s right hand gently in her own.
Eve turns as she rises and finds her eyes travelling up the splendid, erotic spectacle of Cherry’s carefully crafted and packaged form. Then she is looking directly into Cherry’s stunning, dark eyes.
As Eve beholds this gorgeous, perfectly formed she-male sex bomb, her cock struggling desperately in the relentless confines of the body-shaper, she is conscious of Helen rising from the sofa and standing in her stockinged feet behind her.
‘I suggest you show Eve some of the pleasures of being a full member of Crème de la Crème.’
A hungry smile slides across Cherry’s full, blood-red lips. Eve, her eyes pulled deep into the sensuously promising gaze of the dark beauty, takes a deep, anticipatory breath. The smile fades from Cherry’s lips and the fires of desire burn brighter in her huge black eyes.
Cherry then leans forward and gently kisses Eve on the lips. A first contact that sends a bolt of high-voltage sex electricity blasting through every vein of Eve’s so carefully feminised body. She swoons as Cherry wraps her long, silk-encased arms around her and pulls her into a tight, unyielding embrace. Eve’s carefully constructed bosom presses against the astonishing and considerable breasts that Samantha’s expertise has given all the she-males of Crème de la Crème. The kiss becomes more passionate. Wider, harder. Their tongues intertwine. Eve feels Cherry’s hand slip beneath her dress and press against her upper thigh. She cries into the tight gag of the kiss and allows Cherry’s hands to work up to the crotch of the shaper and then beyond.
Then, finding the front panel, Cherry hesitates. Her eyes widen with cruel amusement. She releases Eve and tells her to take the dress off. Eve hesitates and Cherry’s smile widens.
‘Please, my angel. I can give you so much pleasure.’
Eve smiles and turns, so that her back is facing Cherry. The dusky she-male beauty gently lowers the zipper and eases it over Eve’s shoulders. Eve turns back to face Cherry as the dress slips down her body to reveal the erotic detail of the shaper. Cherry’s eyes widen and she whispers ‘Very nice’, her voice filled with sex need.
To Eve’s surprise, Cherry steps back, her eyes drinking up the expert perfection of her body. She then stretches her arms behind her back and unclips the top button of the startling white maid’s dress, which is set into the high, heavily frilled neck.
‘Please, unbutton me.’
With these words, Cherry turns and Eve, her hands shaking, steps forward to help Cherry out of the dress. Each button is made from an expensive cream-coloured pearl shot through with strands of silver grey. Eve, her fingers increasingly impatient, struggles to free each one, sweat on her painted lips, her heart pounding, her tiredness changing swiftly into an edgy sexual arousal fuelled by a real promise of relief.
As the back of the dress parts, Eve finds her teased eyes presented with a slender white silk bra-strap, the satin panel of a very tight waist-cincher, and a pair of heavily frilled white panties. Her cock screams out its violent demand for release and she gasps with a hard, bitter animal pleasure.
Once the bottom button is freed, Cherry eases the dress over her broad shoulders and allows it to cascade down her sumptuous body to the floor. She then turns and reveals the true erotic genius of her creation to a stunned Eve. Her very large, firm and beautifully shaped breasts, the result of Samantha’s careful, kinky labours, strain helplessly against the gentle prison of a snow-white silk brassiere. Her surprisingly narrow waist is held firm and fast by the cream satin-panelled, leather-reinforced waist-cincher, and a pair of spectacularly frilled white silk panties add a final touch of cream clarity to this deliberate look of servitude and innocence. Against the length of the front of the panties runs the hard, metallic outline of Cherry’s considerable sex, and Eve stares at it with a helpless and hungry fascination.
Long, elegant legs sheathed in sheer white tights run from beneath the lovely panties, sliding down to the simple, sexy white leather court shoes. She is a vision of pure sex, and Eve’s eyes betray a terrible, irresistible sexual need.
Cherry, smiling, her eyes on the front panel of the shaper, then slowly unclips the bra and gently eases it away from her breasts. Eve gasps with admiration as the bra is allowed to fall to the floor and the large, milk-chocolate orbs are fully exposed to her deeply aroused vision.
‘My God,’ she whispers. ‘Oh my God.’
Cherry’s smile widens. She takes Eve’s hands in hers and places one on each warm, perfect tit. She gasps as Eve begins to gently knead her breasts and then to tease her rock-hard nipples.
‘They’re so dreadfully sensitive,’ Cherry whispers, ‘there’s something in the final chemical brew that Sam uses that makes them . . . extra reactive to the caresses of fabrics and other skin.’
Her words fade and her eyes close as Eve increases her erotic ministrations. Then she leans forward and places a gentler, loving, worshipful kiss on each large, soft, brown boob. She revels in their perfection. Cherry moans with pleasure and, as Eve pulls away from this helpless act of adoration, she notices that Cherry’s large sex is rigid and desperate beneath the tight silk panties.
Eve lowers a hand to the front of the panties and begins to rub the painful hardness beneath. Cherry’s moans merge into cries of tormented ecstasy. Eve, never taking her eyes away from Cherry’s, slips the panties down over the black beauty’s broad, womanly hips and lets the cock pop up for air. But what Eve discovers is not what her sex- and drink-addled mind was expecting. Instead of a huge, brown male sex, rampant and desperate, she finds herself staring down at a large, firmly erect penis sheathed in very tight white latex, with two gleaming silver rings fixed tightly about its teased length, at the base and the head.
Eve steps back, astonished and horrified.
‘We’re all restrained, Eve,’ Cherry says, her eyes now filled with guilt and dark sex hunger. ‘Once we become Helen’s property. Once we become members of the Elect.’
As Eve continues to stare at Cherry’s massive, imprisoned cock, the dusky she-male steps forward and begins to release the front panel of Eve’s body-shaper. Eve, too shocked to speak, watches as Cherry proceeds to slip her hands inside the body-shaper, over the rim of her black nylon tights and then inside to seek out Eve’s own hard, tormented sex. Eve squeals with girlish shock and arousal as Cherry takes firm hold of the much sought-after item and gently extracts it from the shaper. A brighter, more relaxed smile appears and she kneels down, almost as if she is seeking a better vantage point to view the newly exposed sex.
‘Make the most of it, petal,’ Cherry says, just before she slips Eve’s sex deep into her dark, warm mouth.
Eve is in a state of helpless bliss within a few seconds: Cherry’
s lips and tongue are expert in the art of oral pleasuring. She explodes quickly with a scream that is halfway between a terrible, black despair and agonised ecstasy. Her hot cum erupts out of the fat, ripe head of her crimson cock and crashes against the roof of Cherry’s mouth. She grabs the beautiful she-male’s shoulders and begs for some form of impossible forgiveness. Yes: there is, at the heart of this furious coming, a sense of absolute and inescapable sin. Suddenly, Eve is Adam, and suddenly he sees that this, all of this obsession, the endless, irresistible urge towards absolute femininity, is part of a profound illness whose name is Being, yet it is an illness he or she can only embrace and glorify.
Eventually, Cherry releases Eve and she staggers backward, her spent cock waving before her like some startled, stunned snake wounded in jungle battle.
Cherry, wiping her mouth, her smile wider than ever, rises to her feet and minces over to Eve. She takes her by the arm and leads her over to the sofa. Within a few seconds, they are splayed out, tangled in each other’s arms, kissing, cuddling, Cherry gently working Eve’s cock back to a state of full excitement.
Then Eve becomes aware of someone standing over them. She looks up and finds herself staring into the ice-crystal eyes of Helen.
‘That’s enough for now. Cherry. You can play with Eve another time.’
Cherry nods weakly, pulls herself up from the sofa, then stands to attention before the divine mistress of her sissy soul.
‘Go to my room and wait for me.’
Cherry nods, curtsies deeply, takes up her discarded clothes and leaves.
‘Get up,’ Helen orders Eve.
Stunned, exhausted, hard once again, Eve climbs up off the sofa, her sex rising erect from the body-shaper.
Helen regards it with something approaching contempt.
‘I have learnt one key lesson since forming the Crème de la Crème: control the cock and you control the mind.’
Eve looks at this buxom, painfully beautiful woman with confused eyes.
The Secret Self Page 14