There is a moment of electric silence, a moment during which they look at each other with nervous, aroused eyes. Eve ponders being sold to the highest bidder, being with a strange man. She remembers the taste of Richard’s large, harsh cock and feels her own sex react helplessly. Then, suddenly, Cherry steps forward and takes Eve’s beautiful face in her large, graceful hands. Then they kiss. A long, soft, loving kiss that merges with a prolonged, erotic embrace. Cherry’s hands slip beneath Eve’s skirt and begin to ease it down her legs.
‘I’ve never felt like this,’ Cherry whispers, briefly detaching herself from Eve’s mouth. ‘Not with a girl, a man, or a TV.’
Eve feels her delicately hosed knees begin to buckle; she is gripped by a sudden, dizzying elation. ‘Me neither,’ she whispers.
Cherry’s lovely face is illuminated by another beautiful smile. ‘I wish we could be together tonight.’
Eve nods, her heart pounding, her stomach turning with nervous need.
Cherry then seems to shake off the sex madness gripping her splendid form. ‘Maybe another night. Soon. When the training begins. But now, we’ve got to get the restrainer sorted out. You need to get undressed.’
There is a moment of hesitation, then Cherry begins slowly to unbutton the black blouse, whose translucent material shimmers under the soft lighting of the dressing room. Eve’s lips part with helpless sexual abandon and she slowly runs her dark-pink tongue over glistening, blood-red lips. As Cherry releases each pearl button, her large, dark-brown eyes never leave Eve’s. She feels her cock press desperately into the body-shaper and swallows down a terribly nervous, unforgiving need.
The buttons freed, Cherry slips the blouse over Eve’s shoulders and down over the erotic structure and fabric of the body-shaper. She eases the tails of the blouse out of the mini-skirt and then pulls the wide, soft sleeves free. The blouse falls to the floor. Then Cherry kneels down in front of Eve, just as she did the night before. She slips her hands into the edge of the skirt and eases it over the shapely hips provided by the body-shaper’s padding and down Eve’s perfectly shaped, sheer nylon-encased legs. Eve moans with a dreadfully acute, mind-bending pleasure and her hands fall upon Cherry’s shoulders. Cherry helps Eve step out of the skirt and then slowly, elegantly rises to her feet.
‘Those heels look like trouble.’
Eve smiles and nods. ‘They are. But I love them. The way they make me feel. The way they make me walk. It’s an incredible feeling.’
Cherry then flicks a finger under the left silk shoulder strap of the body-shaper and eases it down Eve’s arm. She repeats this with the second and Eve helps her slide the intricate, erotic foundation wear down her slender she-male body. As she does so, she feels her heart crash against the wall of her rib-cage and her sex burn into her stomach. Cherry pulls the shaper down over her stomach. Eve is wearing the tights beneath the shaper and the black silk panties over it. As she carefully lets her desperate, boiling sex pop up (still trapped fetishistically inside the tights), she manages to pull the shaper and the panties down over Eve’s thighs and then over her knees. Then Eve is stepping out of the shaper. Now she is dressed in only the striking, demanding heels, the gorgeous, ultra-fine tights and the elegant, very pretty choker. Once again, Cherry straightens up as Eve steps out of the body-shaper. As she rises, she places a gentle kiss on each of Eve’s pale-rose nipples.
Following Cherry’s whispered instructions, Eve kicks off the stiletto-heeled shoes and wiggles out of the black tights. Cherry watches this deliberately erotic and deeply balletic display with wide, tormented eyes. A sense of acute frustration hangs in the air like a powerful sex perfume. Cherry faces a naked Eve, a she-male revealed to be physically so very male. The black beauty places a tentative but teasing hand on Eve’s large, hard, burning cock and then removes it quickly, a playful smile lighting up her beautiful face.
‘Ooo, it’s so hot,’ she says in a mock Marilyn Monroe-style voice.
Eve laughs lightly, but her heart is filled with the heavy weight of sexual need and helpless love.
‘Can you cool it down?’ Eve asks, her eyes filled with sexual suggestion.
‘I think so.’
Cherry opens the small, pink wooden box. From inside she takes a narrow tube. She unscrews the silver lid and then presses a small amount of a clear, rosewood-perfumed gel on to the fingers of her left hand.
Her smile fades to a tight frown of concentration as she again kneels down. Then, with slow, infuriating precision, she begins to massage the gel into Eve’s aching, steel-hard cock.
Eve squeals with a hellish, inescapable pleasure. She begs the stunning TV for release from this awful, ecstatic suffering.
‘Let me come. Oh please, Cherry, my beautiful love . . . let me come!’
But Cherry doesn’t let her come. Indeed, her mission is part of the discipline of controlling the urge for release and also part of the training regime of the Crème de la Crème. For as soon as she has thoroughly lubricated Eve’s rigid, tormented sex, she steps back and extracts a small, pink rubber finger-like sheath from within the wooden box.
Eve looks down at the sheath and sees the fate that awaits her.
‘No,’ she whispers, her eyes wide with fear and need.
But no, in this case means, yes. This is a no riddled with melodramatic pretence. This is denial for effect.
Smiling, Cherry begins to roll the sheath very slowly over the engorged purple head of Eve’s long-tormented, desperate sex. The poor she-male beauty cries out in an ecstatic agony and begins to wiggle uncontrollably.
‘Keep still, you naughty girl,’ Cherry chides. ‘I could cut you with my nails.’
Eve looks down through tear-stained eyes and realises the potential for injury. She struggles to remain still, but as the sheath is progressed down the hot, hard meat of her cock, she finds herself truly tested.
Yet, perhaps amazingly, there is no injury, no pain, just unbearable pleasure. Then the sheath is stretched tightly over her bulging balls and snapped in place, and her hard cock is rising before her like a pink sex sword.
‘The tip is lined with micro-filtering,’ Cherry explains. ‘This will allow you to answer the call of nature. However, the rubber and the rings make ejaculation impossible.’
Eve’s eyes widen with genuine fear as Cherry proceeds to extract two slender, gold-coloured metal rings from the box. With a cruel light in her gorgeous dark eyes, she slips the wider of the two over Eve’s aching, tormented sex and runs it down the gleaming rubberised surface. It fits tightly, but not too painfully over the base of Eve’s sex. The smaller ring is less forgiving. Cherry has to fight to squeeze the fat head of Eve’s cock through it, and this is both painful and strangely arousing. Then, as soon as it has traversed this obstacle, it snaps very tightly into place directly beneath the head. Now there is more than a mild discomfort and the lovely she-male moans with the pain created by a sudden and unrelenting pressure.
‘Don’t worry, Eve, you’ll get used to it. We all do.’
Eve looks down at her tightly and perversely imprisoned sex in astonishment and horror.
‘Must I wear this all the time?’ she asks, in a muted, terror-streaked voice.
‘As long as your mistress requires. Normally, it is released only as a reward for good behaviour and as part of your training in pleasure giving and receiving.’
Cherry then runs a blood-red finger along Eve’s enraged, but also tightly contained cock and the gorgeous, wide-eyed she-male beauty moans with a terrible, frustrated fury.
‘I’m sure this will be let out when you behave, or when your mistress or master needs its services.’
‘Master?’ Eve whispers, her eyes closed, a gasp of infinite pleasure escaping her pretty mouth micro-seconds before the questioning word.
‘Don’t worry, I know all about Richard’s tastes,’ Cherry responds, removing her teasing fingers. ‘Now, it’s time to get you ready for the evening ahead.’
Cherry once again climbs elegant
ly to her feet. She places a soft, quick kiss on Eve’s cheek and turns to the rack of TV clothing. Eve continues to stare down at her sensually and painfully restrained sex. She runs a curious hand over its rubberised surface and gasps with helpless pleasure.
Cherry holds up what appears to be a spectacularly sequinned, red basque, complete with generous padded bra-cups and a very tight waist.
‘This should fit you,’ she says, her eyes filled with arousal and conspiracy, her red tongue running across her soft, glistening lips.
She places the basque on the dressing table and takes a pair of bright-red silk panties from another drawer in the dressing table.
‘Put these on.’
Eve obeys, drawing the sexy, skimpy panties up her silken legs and positioning them with obvious care over her hard, imprisoned cock.
Cherry covers Eve’s slender, beautiful form in a mist of powerful rose-scented perfume. She extracts a shimmering pair of black, seamed and very fine nylon tights from the same drawer as the panties. As Cherry holds them before Eve, it becomes apparent that they are shot through with hundreds of very tiny silver stars that twinkle insanely under the soft dressing-room lights.
‘They’re gorgeous,’ Eve whispers.
Cherry smiles and hands them to the fascinated, aroused and terribly frustrated she-male.
Eve rolls the left leg of the tights into a bowl shape and then gently pulls it up over her foot and long, perfectly shaped leg. She moans ever so slightly as the soft, sheer fabric covers the smooth, sensitive skin.
By the time she pulls the thick black waistband of the tights up around her slight waist, she is in a state of some considerable sexual excitement. This has an immediate and painful impact: as her sex expands helplessly, answering the fundamental call of a male’s aggressively desiring nature, the cock rings tighten and press down. Cherry smiles almost sadistically when she notices the paradox of Eve’s desire and discomfort. She then orders Eve to put on the basque.
Eve smiles weakly, her eyes torn between the gorgeous shimmering delight that is the basque and the erotically perfect vision of Cherry, her buxom she-male form almost unbearably delightful under the gentle pink lights.
She steps into the basque with a strange sense of inner peace. As she surrenders to this latest development, this further intensification of her grand sexual adventure, she feels at her most relaxed and content. Weirdly, despite all the madness and adventure of the past week, she is now more at one with herself than at any time since Aunt Debra placed her in soft, delicate, endlessly teasing panties and hose.
Cherry helps Eve draw the stunning basque over her thighs and then up her torso. A pair of slender, red silk shoulder straps hold the finally positioned piece of impressive fetish wear in place, and Cherry’s hands linger lovingly upon Eve’s shoulders as she gently slips them into position, causing a shiver of powerful, heart-stopping pleasure to cascade across her body.
Eve gasps with need and pain. The basque is much lighter than the body-shaper and the sense of control it brings is wonderful. She feels overwhelmingly feminine and utterly unhindered by doubt or, ironically, physical restriction.
Satisfied that the basque is properly positioned, Cherry retrieves the striking ultra-high-heeled mules that Eve had worn to the club and tells her to step back into them. Eve obeys with a half-smile of teased desire and is soon hovering a few inches above Cherry. Cherry looks up into Eve’s stunned, aroused eyes and smiles.
‘How do you feel?’ she asks.
‘Wonderful,’ she whispers. ‘Absolutely wonderful.’
Cherry smiles and extracts the final touch to this spectacular and deeply erotic dressing: a pair of shoulder-length white glacé gloves. She draws them over the silky arms of the younger she-male with a deliberate slowness that inspires more deep moans of intense physical and mental pleasure.
‘I love the gloves. They’re like stockings for the arms. You really do feel consumed by femininity.’
Eve can only nod helplessly at Cherry’s sensually whispered words and lose herself in the infinitely soft caress of the gloves. She is submerged completely in wondrous feelings of submissive femininity. She is gripped completely by a womanly need. The sense of Eve, the erotic reality of the feminine personality that for so long has been at the very core of her being, is now burning with a fierce, erotic brightness. She feels her long, shapely legs so marvellously encased in the sheerest and most stylish of fine nylon and presses her thighs together. She wiggles her tightly sealed bottom with girlish delight and feels the restrainer demand absolute and eternal obedience to the spirit and power of dominant womanhood. She looks down at the buxom beauty of Cherry and feels, once again, a terrible love, a love bordering on pain, the same all-encompassing and deeply sexual pain that is now besieging her iron-hard sex.
Cherry takes a brush from the table and delicately combs the pretty pageboy wig. She then adds a touch of blood-red lipstick and another squirt of the expensive sex-mist perfume. ‘You look good enough to eat.’
Eve looks at Cherry’s incredible body with helpless longing. ‘I want you so badly,’ she virtually growls. ‘So very badly.’
Cherry smiles weakly, shocked and aroused by this sudden, violent declaration. Then she steps forward and they kiss once again – longer, harder with the deep, deep passion of true lovers.
‘I want to be with you forever,’ Eve gasps between kisses. ‘So that we can share it all – this . . . wonderful feminine being.’
Cherry smiles and nods. ‘Like true lesbian lovers,’ she says.
Eve laughs and seconds later they are locked in another furious kiss.
But then Cherry very gently pushes the gorgeous, hungry Eve away.
‘Come on,’ she says, carefully adjusting her short, so terribly sexy skirt. ‘There’s work to be done.’
Cherry takes Eve by the hand and leads her from the dressing room. The dazzling she-male totters elegantly on the high, high heels, her bottom wiggling, her well-padded chest bouncing merrily before her. In seconds she knows she will be exposed to hundreds of people in this provocative costume. And the thought fills her with a terror-streaked, deeply sexualised elation.
Eve follows Cherry down the corridor and out on to the dance floor. The spotlights are blinding bright and momentarily Eve covers her eyes. She feels her precarious balance fail and a moment of sheer panic washes across her gorgeously feminine form.
Cherry steps forward and leads Eve directly into the unforgiving path of the lights. The crowd are even more animated now: there is much wild clapping and cheering and Eve becomes aware of a familiar female voice booming over a powerful public address system.
‘For your pleasure, ladies, gentlemen and those somewhere in-between, lot number 39, Bethany Rose!’
There is a sudden ear-splitting deluge of clapping and cheering. Unbearable sound and light. A surreal nightmare which is only relieved when Cherry guides Eve beneath the light into a zone of deeply soothing darkness.
Cherry stops. ‘Are you OK, Eve?’
Eve totters to a halt and lets her wide, shocked eyes adjust to the new semi-light. She is surrounded by tables packed with people. She feels a hand on her bottom and jumps with shock. She turns rapidly to find Richard staring at her with dark, powerful and highly excited eyes.
‘Are you being auctioned tonight, my pretty?’
Eve smiles coyly, but before she can reply, she is dragged away by Cherry, who looks down at Richard with playfully angry eyes.
Cherry leads Eve through the tables and the crowd continues to respond passionately to unseen events on the stage.
Then they are standing by the bar. Eve notices that there are three other very pretty she-males in exactly the same costume as herself. Two are armed with silver trays, one is serving behind the bar.
Cherry leans over to the bartender, a very pretty blonde with a particularly large chest, and shouts, ‘Brought you some help. This is Eve. A new member of the Elect.’
The blonde looks up at Eve and
smiles warmly. ‘We need all the help we can get tonight!’ she shouts, just as another roar of dark pleasure fills the vast room.
Cherry turns to Eve. ‘It’s my turn soon, so make yourself useful. Daisy will show you the ropes. Pris will come and find you later.’
Cherry turns to leave, but Eve gently holds her back.
‘When will we meet again?’
Cherry smiles sadly. ‘When Mistress Helen allows us to.’
Then she is gone and Eve finds herself filled with a sudden, horribly powerful disappointment.
‘Ever served drinks before, Eve?’ Daisy shouts, pulling Cherry from her funk.
Eve looks at her with amazed, confused eyes. ‘No. Well . . . yes. But just to my . . . boyfriend.’
Daisy laughs a loud, deeply male laugh and shouts ‘Hilary!’
One of the uniformed she-males steps forward. She is a striking strawberry blonde, her thick, gold-flecked hair bound in a ponytail that runs down to the middle of her back. She has large, peach-coloured lips and slightly Asian, light-brown eyes. Her small, girlish ears hold large diamond-stud earrings. She smiles slightly at Eve and then gives Daisy a slightly bored, yet also mildly curious look.
‘Eve’s new. She’s been sent over by Mistress Helen. Show her the ropes.’
Hilary nods and turns to face Eve. It is only now that this very pretty, rather petite she-male begins to take real stock of her new work-mate. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in the full impact of Eve’s beauty and her indifference is quickly washed away on a wave of powerful sexual attraction.
‘I like the tights,’ she says, her own hose simple seamed black nylon, yet still attractive and very sexy on her long, statuesque legs.
‘Cherry chose them,’ Eve responds.
Hilary smiles slightly. ‘Good old Cherry.’
The clapping and cheering suddenly increases at this point.
‘Take that tray and follow me,’ Hilary says, leaning forward to shout over the noise.
On the bar before her is a silver tray laden with two tall glasses and a wine glass, all three filled.
The Secret Self Page 17