‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers. ‘So very beautiful.’
Eve responds with a quiet, modest ‘Thank you’ and then slips the elegant, expensive velvet choker around her neck, which is deliberately exposed by the open neck of the shimmering black silk blouse.
She looks at her reflection and her smile widens. Again her striking and highly convincing feminine beauty is confirmed.
She rises from the leather-backed stool and gasps with a pleasure mixed with trepidation. She balances on the highest of heels with expert care, at the core of which will always be a highly erotic fear of falling. She totters forward, her mini-skirted bottom wiggling helplessly, the perfectly formed and tightly nylon-sheathed edges of her buttock globes just visible. Her steps are small and precise, each a deeply felt sado-erotic gesture.
Richard immediately moves behind the she-male beauty and slips his warm hands beneath the virtually non-existent skirt. Eve moans with a shocked pleasure and pressures her bottom against the teasing hands.
‘A bum made for spanking,’ he whispers. ‘Should I spank you before we leave? To warm you up a bit?’
Richard lets one hand slip between Eve’s legs and begins to tease her crotch through the film of nylon and the silk and satin walls of the body-shaper.
Eve’s moans of pleasure increase in volume. ‘Yes. Please.’
Richard pulls her towards the bed and then throws her firmly over his lap. He administers a hard and extended spanking that leaves Eve kicking her high-heeled feet and begging for mercy. Her nylon-sheathed bottom, fully revealed after Richard has rolled up the skirt and then pinned her wrists behind her back, wobbles like the sexiest jelly in the world under the repeated and harsh blows, and by the time he has finished, poor Eve is close to coming and thus creating a rather sticky situation seconds before they leave for the Crème de la Crème club.
The heels make driving impossible, so Eve is the passenger in Richard’s expensive sports car.
The journey is made in a nervous silence. Eve’s heart pumps with aroused anticipation. She has very little idea of what the night before her holds, but she knows that at the very least it will involve her total acceptance of a transformation that will change everything. With Eve there has always been the possibility of denial – the opportunity to return to the fundamental and simple fact of Adam. Yet, once she submits herself as a full member and adherent of the Crème de la Crème Elect, she knows this opportunity will disappear. And with it, the safe and very carefully constructed life of Adam. Indeed, as she reviews – yet again – the events of the last week, she begins to see a certain inevitability, a gradually increasing drive towards fundamental and inescapable change. The moment she stepped out of the door on that cool winter’s evening dressed as Eve, she opened a doorway through her previous, easily controlled reality, a reality based on a clear dual identity, into the truth of Eve, a truth that will always demand full transformation and openness to the world.
They arrive at the club with two minutes to spare. The anonymous metal door is opened, to Eve’s surprise, by Honey, the petite beauty so intimately and painfully displayed in the club a few nights before. She is dressed in a very short white silk dress, with matching nylon tights and white, high-heeled shoes. Her hair spills over her shoulders in thick, long curls, and her pale-blue eyes are filled with a haze of sexual excitement.
She says nothing, just smiles sweetly and then indicates that they should follow her.
And soon they are in the reception area, by the thick red velvet curtains. Cherry is sitting at the reception desk and the moment her dark eyes fall on Eve, a wicked yet deeply adoring smile crosses thick, cherry-coloured lips. She rises from the table and Eve feels a strange but elating dizziness wash over her. She smiles and blushes as the striking black beauty comes around the desk and embraces Eve.
‘I’m sooo glad you came! I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’
Her manner is flamboyantly feminine, yet delicate and gentle. She is wearing a very tight red leather mini-skirt, black fishnet tights, high-heeled boots that reach up to just above her knees, plus a very tight black-nylon sweater. She is also wearing a striking wig of very thick, glossy black curls that spill over her broad shoulders. The sweater accentuates her considerable and perfectly formed breasts to such an extent that two very long and very hard nipples are clearly visible through the erotic second-skin material.
As she moves closer, Eve feels Cherry’s sex press against her lower stomach and finds herself staring into two beautiful brown orbs of helpless desire. She remembers the black beauty’s soft, bloody lips embracing her painfully hard cock and feels a sudden, deep love for this gorgeous she-male, a love that she can see returned with interest. Then there is a silence, a brief moment of mutual insight. The smiles fade, the eyes widen. A terrible, sensual and emotional truth has been made disturbingly apparent.
Richard coughs slightly. Eve is suddenly shocked out of the magnetic pull of Cherry’s eyes. She turns, smiles slightly. Cherry smiles knowingly at Richard.
‘Hi, Ricky,’ she says, with a coy familiarity. ‘You’ve certainly hit the jackpot this time.’
Richard smiles and nods. ‘No doubt about it.’
Eve blushes, both proud and embarrassed.
Cherry leads them through the red curtain, followed by Honey.
The main club area is, to Eve’s surprise and horror, packed and very noisy. Every table is taken and there are a number of erotically attired TV serving girls wiggling on painfully high heels serving drinks to surprisingly rowdy guests with glazed, sexed-up smiles. It is almost as if every member of the Crème de la Crème club has been drafted in to deal with the eager, desiring mob and that each is wallowing in the intense sexual pleasure induced by their intricate exposure in the outrageously sexy costumes. Each gorgeous servant girl is attired in the waitress uniform Eve had first pondered with deeply aroused eyes on the previous Wednesday night, and many of these sexy beauties are fending off advances from the loud, teasing men and women sitting at the tables. Most are lost in the shadows of the club and it is difficult to make out details, but one thing Eve notices almost immediately: a significant majority are men.
As she follows Cherry through the shadows cut periodically by blinding slashes of powerful white light exploding from spotlights hung from the ceiling above the long bar-front, Eve finds herself, despite her increasing nervousness, considering the startling physical presence of Cherry and remembering the kinky adventures of the previous evening. She has sucked my cock and I have teased hers through films of satin and nylon. Yes, she knows that much without question or doubt. Yet there is a deeper need for Cherry, a need she has felt for no one, not even her glorious Aunt Debra. And as Eve’s eyes seek out the long legs of the dusky maiden, and as her mind submerges into a glistening vat of thick sex dreams in which her fingers walk across this nylon-sheath, on a journey of sensual discovery, she is again overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all, by the rapid descent into this astonishing world of sex mystery. She gazes into the shadow-wrapped crowd and for a minute, thanks to the flickering, changing lights, is convinced that she can see each pair of eyes burning like orange sodium in the darkness, enflamed by a violent animal desire, a possessive and unforgiving need; eyes that want her in the most fundamental and complete of ways; eyes that ravish and overwhelm. She feels her cock press harder against the body-shaper and returns her gaze to Cherry’s lovely, eagerly wiggling bottom.
They walk across the dance-floor area and then directly in front of the stage. Eve totters precariously on the hard wooden floor on her sky-high heels and looks up at the blood-red curtains. She remembers the sado-erotic performance played out with such dizzying commitment on Wednesday night. At first she is convinced they are to be paraded on the stage before this baying mob; indeed, ever since Cherry led them through the velvet-curtained doorway, she has been convinced that the evening will involve some kind of dark initiation undertaken beneath the unforgiving spotlights. But when they r
each the end of the stage, Cherry gestures for them to follow her through a narrow doorway and down a dark hallway that stinks of petunia oil and seems to be lit by two very weak, pink-coloured, bare light bulbs.
The corridor is short and at its end are two doors – one on either side. Cherry raps on the right door and Helen’s clear, elegant voice snaps a sharp, decisive ‘Enter!’
And so Cherry leads Eve and Richard, still closely followed by Honey, into a surprisingly large room with red velvet-wallpapered walls covered in pictures of the Crème de la Crème membership. The room is much brighter than the corridor, its light clear white inducing a sense of momentary visual distortion that leaves all four of them briefly disoriented. But when Eve has adjusted her eyes, she finds herself facing a long, antique wooden desk, behind which sits Helen. Standing beside her is Priscilla, and sitting on a long red leather sofa in a darker corner is Samantha.
Despite the table’s obvious age, it is littered with the tools and emblems of modern business: a black, flat-screen computer monitor, two phones, a palm-top device and a speaker to allow tele-conferencing. Off to the left of the desk is a row of very new-looking filing cabinets.
Helen’s eyes have not left Eve’s since she entered the room. The aristocratic dominatrix is dressed in a black silk jacket and a white silk blouse, with a large bow tied tightly at the neck. Her hair is worn in a very formal bun held in place with a diamond clasp. As she rises from the table to greet them, Eve notices that she is wearing a long black velvet skirt that reaches down to the edges of her ankles, together with very high-heeled black leather court shoes. Her ankles are sheathed in shimmering black nylon, and this tiny glimpse is, for a reason beyond Eve’s imagining, fiercely erotic.
‘You look utterly stunning, Eve. A vision of she-male sexual beauty.’
Eve smiles modestly and turns to her handsome, smiling partner. ‘It was Richard’s . . . selection.’
Helen turns her piercing crystal eyes upon Richard and they fill with a knowing amusement.
‘Yes, Richard. How nice to see you again.’
Richard’s smile hardens slightly, but he remains relaxed and clearly fascinated.
‘Hello, Helen,’ he says, his gaze firm, his manner demonstrating a simple fact: he is not intimidated by this strikingly robust (and busty) female.
Eve looks over at Priscilla. Gorgeous, rangy, mysterious Priscilla. A creation of careful deceit, whose own true self is locked in not just a male biology but a dual she-male identity as the nominal manager of the Crème de la Crème club and the servant of the stunning, imperial Helen. Tonight she is dressed in a short black silk dress, silk stockings and modestly heeled mules. Her striking red hair has been freed from the tight maid’s bun and is once again exploding over her shoulders like a waterfall of gleaming autumn leaves dipped in liquid gold.
‘We really must talk later,’ Helen says to Richard, ‘but now we need to focus on Eve.’
Richard nods with a careful indifference.
Helen, her buxom physique even more alluring in this black attire and heels, lowers her soul-crushing gaze upon the gorgeous she-male and Eve feels her heart skip a beat.
‘Last night you agreed to become a full and true member of Crème de la Crème. You did so knowing full well what such an agreement entails and demands of you. You did so knowing that the moment you formally join the Elect, you will surrender everything associated with the male life that currently sustains your physical existence. You did so knowing that you will become not just one of the Elect, but an employee, that you will work as my administrator, as one of our models and also as a key part of our new service. For this you will be paid a not ungenerous salary – certainly more than you are earning at the moment. You agreed knowing that membership of the Elect requires not just fundamental changes to your lifestyle, but also to your body; changes that will make it impossible for you ever to return to your male identity; changes that will firmly establish you as a transsexual who must live her life as a woman. But now there is only one question, one question you must answer without hesitation and with absolute certainty. For if you back out tomorrow or in two months’ time, your association with us will be over forever.’
There is a moment of deeply unsettling silence. Eve meets Helen’s firm, determined gaze and then looks back at Priscilla, who is now smiling at her with genuine affection and very obvious desire. Then she looks over at Samantha, who has remained silent since they arrived, her ironic smile hiding secrets Eve fears to know.
‘So, do you still want to join?’
Eve feels surprisingly relaxed at this moment of highest tension. During the day, Eve has never questioned the decision she made last night, even though – at the time – she was very drunk. No: the drink had opened the door and now she knows the only way forward is to step through it without hesitation or fear. She is confident in her decision.
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘Very much.’
Helen nods and smiles. ‘Good. We’re all very happy you remain so confident in your decision, Eve. I’m sure you won’t regret it. You will be given a month to wrap up the affairs of your previous male life. You will then begin work as my assistant. Between now and then, you will be expected to make yourself available as a model for the website and our range of videos. Most of the shooting takes place in the evenings and at weekends, so that shouldn’t be a problem, especially as Richard is responsible for most of it.’
She looks over at Richard and they exchange cool, ironic smiles.
‘We will also begin the hormone and associated drug therapies that are necessary for your full transformation into Eve. The final physical transformation will be completed in three months’ time by Samantha at her private hospital. By that point, you will have already begun to see the impact of the drugs. I also wish you to begin our special training course as quickly as possible. This is run by Cherry, with help from Honey and Pris, and I think you will find it both instructive and very enjoyable. When you start working directly for me, you will also be required to join our new escort project.’
Eve listens in quiet astonishment, her life being re-engineered, her future being set out like the instruction manual for a new computer. Yes, I am being programmed to be the perfect Crème de la Crème she-male, she thinks. And this thought fills her with nothing but intense excitement. To surrender to the plans of Helen Bliss and her gorgeous associates is a prospect of almost unbearable anticipation. Yet in the heart of Helen’s detailed and teasing descriptions is a new and slightly disturbing development. Despite her excitement, she finds herself wondering what on earth ‘our new escort project’ could be.
‘Cherry, take Eve to the changing room and fit the restrainer. Then I think she can spend the rest of the evening serving at the tables. Yes, a very good introduction to her future duties, I think.’
‘The restrainer?’ Eve finds herself asking, despite having witnessed its wicked presence on Cherry.
Helen smiles coolly and nods.
‘The restrainer is the heart of discipline. Restraint is the key to true understanding for our she-males. Without it, they would quickly descend into a totally useless and self-destructive sexual excess that would undermine both the club and themselves.’
‘But who controls the . . . restrainer?’
‘We do. You stopped being anything other than our property the moment you agreed to become a member of the Elect.’
‘But what about . . . Richard?’
Helen’s smile widens. ‘Oh Richard knows all about the restrainer.’
Cherry steps forward and takes Eve by the hand. Cherry’s smile is gentle and erotically reassuring. Then she is led from the room without another word.
As soon as Cherry has closed the door behind them, the black beauty runs a warm, elegant hand across Eve’s pale cheek. ‘Come on, petal. Let’s get you ready for your new life.’
8
Bought and Sold
Cherry leads Eve through the opposite door into a small, cluttered dressing room,
the kind seen in a million films of show-business life.
Set against a wall are three theatrical dressing tables, complete with mirrors framed by gleaming white bulbs. The tables are covered in make-up and the apparel of she-male transformation. Opposite the tables are mobile clothes racks from which hang a vast array of transvestite fetish wear and more conventional female attire.
‘Sunday nights are very popular,’ Cherry says, leaning down to open a draw beneath one of the tables and extracting a small wooden box. As she bends forward, her skirt rides up her fishnet-sheathed thighs to reveal a hint of red satin, heavily frilled panties. ‘It’s called Mistresses and Maids night. Basically, the wives/partners of the members . . . well, they get to auction off their tranny mates. It’s actually where Mistress Helen got the idea for the escort service.’
Eve stares at Cherry. In the somewhat dim, pink-tinged light of the dressing room, she appears even more beautiful, even more sexy. Cherry places the box on the dressing table and turns to face Eve.
‘Auction off?’ Eve mumbles, her eyes feasting on the splendid and incredibly erotic spectacle that is Cherry.
‘Yes. That’s why there’s so many men. Most of them are well-off notables. They know they can trust Helen. They come here and buy themselves a pretty TV for the night. It’s really amazing how many men like transvestites in that way. I mean – look at Richard! That’s why Helen wants to start the escort service. There’s a real demand.’
Eve’s eyes widen with shock. ‘You mean they . . .’
Cherry bursts out laughing. ‘Yes, they buy a TV to have sex. Nothing serious. Most just want a tranny to give them a blow-job. The whole idea of ambiguity seems to turn them on. And most of them are really nice.’
‘And you’ve been auctioned?’
‘Yep. Twice. By Helen. And tonight makes three times.’
‘You’re going out there tonight?’
Cherry’s smile fades slightly. ‘Stop asking silly questions.’
The Secret Self Page 16