The Secret Self

by Christina Shelly

  Eve’s eyes widen with arousal. She nods weakly and rises very carefully from the chair, her heart pounding in her head.

  Ms March pushes the coffee table back to allow Eve to kneel down before her. The beautiful, nervous she-male does so with a grace that betrays her natural femininity and her eagerness to impress. As she takes her body weight on to her nylon-sheathed knees, she feels the restraining rings tighten and moans with a pain-streaked pleasure.

  Ms March smiles sympathetically. ‘The discipline of the restrainer can be rather testing at times. But I think it really does help focus the attention. Do you like it?’

  Eve can only nod and stare down at Ms March’s striking black leather court shoes. They are beautifully crafted and shaped, with a small diamond buckle that gleams in the soft light of the visiting room and cruel five-inch stiletto heels.

  ‘Do you like my shoes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Eve replies, her eyes fixed on the sparkling diamond. ‘They’re Gucci . . . aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, indeed,’ Ms March says, clearly impressed by Eve’s detailed knowledge of feminine footwear. ‘You really are an expert, Eve. We should go shopping sometime. Would you like that?’

  The thought of shopping with this beautiful and famous woman fills Eve with an intense and erotic joy and she moans a sexed ‘Yes’.

  ‘Good. I’ll ask Beth to arrange something. Now . . . my feet.’

  Eve nods obediently and gently slips the right shoe from Ms March’s foot with a sigh of pleasure. She gently places the shoe down on the carpet and repeats the process with the left shoe. Then she very carefully takes Ms March’s right foot and places it on her black nylon-wrapped knees. It is a perfectly formed foot, if perhaps a bit large. But Ms March is a tall, firmly structured woman. Eve rests her hands on the warm, soft instep and feels a powerful electric shock of pleasure shoot through her body. This is fetishistic intimacy of the most sensual and electric kind. Eve’s erection complains and her excitement increases. She feels her heart pound against her well-padded chest and fights to stifle a loud moan of bottomless pleasure.

  ‘You have beautiful feet,’ she whispers, her voice hoarse with desire.

  Ms March smiles her gentle, maternal smile. ‘Thank you Eve. I’ve always thought they were a bit too big.’

  ‘No: they’re perfect. You’re perfect.’

  Ms March laughs lightly and stretches her nylon-sheathed feet with a big cat’s simple, sensual pleasure.

  Eve then gently increases her expert ministrations, knowing this is an act of intense submission that the women of Crème de la Crème seem to demand of all their she-male slaves.

  ‘I bet you can’t wait until Samantha’s special treatment begins. All the other TVs go wild with delight when they first get their boobs. Apparently, they’re ultra-sensitive.’

  ‘Yes, I’m . . . really looking forward to it.’

  Ms March nods, her smile broadening. ‘Yes, of course you are. And so am I. In fact, I’m going to insist the first bra you wear will be bought by me. A special present for a very special she-male.’

  Poor Eve swoons with a terrible delight. It is then that she leans forward and places a gentle kiss on Ms March’s left foot and feels an orgasmic shudder of pleasure sweep across her handsome, buxom form.

  ‘Yes,’ she continues, her voice suddenly deeper, hoarse, filled with sex desperation. ‘That’s lovely, Keep kissing. Please. Everywhere. All over my legs. Right up to . . . the top.’

  And Eve eagerly obeys, covering Ms March’s hosed feet in sissy kisses and then, after carefully adjusting her position, very gradually and teasingly working her way up her long, firm legs. Ms March moans with a deep, fundamental pleasure. Her eyes close and her mouth falls open. She is clearly overwhelmed by this erotic attention. Her arms fall to her side and she slides almost drunkenly on to the sofa. The now empty wine glass slips from her hand and rolls across age-dulled red leather. Eve, her attention absolute, her arousal painfully intense, works her way from the elegant, mature beauty’s calves, up across her knees and then sets to work on her outer and inner thighs. It is at this point that Ms March’s moans begin to increase in volume, and then begin to fragment into hoarse cries of animal pleasure. Eve feels the heat of Ms March’s nylon-sheathed skin against her lips, a heat that increases as she works her way to the edge of the mature beauty’s grey skirt. Sensing that Eve is approaching a barrier, the tormented MP suddenly sits forward and rolls her skirt back over her thighs to expose her upper legs.

  ‘Keep going,’ she whispers between girlish cries of pleasure. ‘Please.’

  And, of course, Eve obliges, progressing closer to Ms March’s most intimate secrets, guided by the increasingly powerful scent of her sex and by the dampness of her inner thigh. Eventually, Eve finds herself with her head lodged firmly between Ms March’s muscular thighs, her face pressed against her nyloned and pantied crotch, her lips covering the approximate area of her sex in tiny, teasing kisses.

  ‘Use your teeth,’ Ms March cries. ‘Nibble and bite. Oh God. Please!’

  Eve obeys, carefully, even gently nibbling at the soaking, sheer grey nylon that lines Ms March’s crotch area. Then there are a series of louder, darker cries and Eve finds her head squashed in the vice grip of Ms March’s tightened thighs. Although her ears are covered by the thighs, she can still hear cries of ‘Fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck yes!’ as the beautiful, regal MP experiences an obviously very considerable orgasm.

  Then the thigh embrace is loosened and Eve crawls free of a clearly devastated Ms March.

  Eve carefully rises to her feet and returns to the chair, where she takes up the same carefully crafted, ultra-feminine posture. After a few minutes, Ms March manages to pull herself upright. She rolls down her skirt and wipes her brow. She looks up at Eve with a gaze of dark, brutal satisfaction and a slightly manic smile. Then she rises to her stiletto-heeled feet and adjusts the rest of her clothing.

  For a moment, Eve thinks she will merely walk from the room without a word. But then Ms March walks over to Eve and regards her with a look of admiration.

  ‘That really was quite wonderful, Eve. Thank you. I will talk to Helen about finding a time when you can spend the day with me. So that we can go shopping and get to know each other much better.’

  Eve smiles nervously and nods. Ms March leans forward and kisses the lovely she-male full on the lips, an astonishing moment of passion that leaves Eve stunned and aroused. Then, without another word, she turns and leaves, Eve’s eyes pinned with desperate hunger to her plump bottom and shapely legs, the taste and smell of her sex all-pervasive.

  Eve retains her strictly ultra-feminine position for at least ten minutes before the sound of more high heels striking the stairs fills the room. A sense of real apprehension washes over her as the heels become louder. She assumes the heels’ owner will be Pris, but it is, in fact, and to Eve’s secret delight, Helen.

  ‘Teresa loved you, Eve. Well done.’

  Eve smiles and blushes. She stares at Helen and feels a sense of extraordinary and deeply erotic helplessness. Although she had found herself highly excited and impressed by Ms March, Helen’s presence is, without a doubt, far more arousing. Yes, she is a startlingly beautiful woman who projects an aura of absolute assurance and real power. Before her Eve is gripped by a sense of awe.

  ‘By the time we have finished your training and the physical changes . . . well, I think you’ll be our jewel in the crown. Ms March has already booked a whole day and night with you. And I’m sure there will be plenty of others. The escort agency will make a fortune.’

  ‘The escort agency?’

  Helen smiles and sits down, crossing her legs. She takes the still intact glass from the sofa and fills it with Chablis.

  ‘The new service I mentioned. Before you agreed to join the Elect.’

  She looks at Eve with a much harder gaze now, a gaze that seems to be challenging her.

  ‘You mean you want me to work as an escort?’

  He
len nods and takes a sip from the glass. ‘The latest Crème de la Crème service: TV escorts of the very highest quality.’

  ‘You want to make money from sending me out with . . .’

  ‘With men and with women. And with both. The other girls are all ready. The auctions have established a clear market. The new website is ready as well. And Ms March is our first customer. You will spend the whole of next Wednesday with her. She’ll pay us £3,000, and you get to keep a third. Imagine that. Imagine three or four customers a week, Eve.’

  Eve’s eyes widen with shock and more than a little concern.

  ‘But what do you want me to do? Just keep them company?’

  Helen laughs loudly and bitterly. ‘Oh come off it, Eve. You know it’s more than that. Look at what just happened with Teresa!’

  ‘You want me to . . . service them, for money. To be a prostitute for you?’

  The word is harsh and clear and Helen’s ironic smile fades as its unpleasant truth fills the alcohol-scented air of the visiting room.

  Helen sits up and looks at Eve with clear, hard eyes.

  ‘I don’t want you to do anything, Eve. It’s what you want. I’m talking about letting you be as you’ve always dreamed of being. To reveal, finally, the self you’ve hidden all these years – the secret self whose existence you have never fully been able either to reveal or confess. I’m talking about finally, truly knowing yourself.’

  Eve hesitates. Suddenly she can feel the tears welling up in her eyes. The smell of Ms March’s cunt mingles with the remnants of her alcohol breath and Eve’s own powerful French perfume. She imagines herself with a strange man, then she imagines Richard, Richard with Cherry, and feels a terrible sexual arousal, an arousal she fights to accept. For the first time in a long time she feels deeply uncomfortable with what she is. With Eve. With the strange adventures of the last two weeks. Suddenly, she feels she needs advice, the only advice she knows she can trust: the advice of her beloved Aunt Debra.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. I didn’t . . .’

  ‘There’s no more thinking, Eve. You’ve accepted your position in the Elect. If you say no now, then it’s all over. The journey’s finished. And I’m afraid you will never reach the end.’

  Tears begin to trickle down Eve’s flushed, sex juice-stained cheeks. Yet even as this last struggle is waged, her sex burns with even greater darker force inside the wicked, sado-erotic restrainer. I am being dragged by my desire into the final dark room before the light, she thinks. I am fighting the thing that has always been so very obvious: my true self.

  Then, with a helpless resignation, she nods. Slowly, wearily. Acknowledging the inescapable fact of her fate and the desire that has led her perhaps inevitably to this point.

  Helen’s ironic smile returns and she utters a decisive ‘Good’. She then rises from the sofa and walks over to the now openly sobbing TV beauty.

  ‘Don’t worry, poppet. You’re in shock. Acceptance is like that. Look at this little episode as a cathartic moment – the clearing away of final resistances.’

  Eve looks up at Helen through tear-stained eyes.

  Helen’s smile turns a little more cruel. ‘I think you need to go home now. But I don’t think you should be alone.’

  It is then that Cherry steps into the room, with Richard at her side.

  10

  A Plundered Soul

  ‘We thought it would be best if you were with Cherry tonight,’ Helen says, turning to Cherry and her handsome male companion. Teresa was very keen to have her, but Richard helped me out. And anyway, she got an even better treat.’

  A weak, but elated smile passes over Eve’s lovely face and all doubt fades. Now she sees the truth: Richard had bought Cherry for her! She smiles at him, divinely relieved and he seems genuinely moved.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Helen continues, ‘you’ll go into work and tender your resignation, both from your job and from your male identity. You will cite mental health problems. Samantha will provide you with a doctor’s note giving you at least a month’s sick leave. You shouldn’t have to return to work. I will come and pick you up at noon, so you’d better have made sure you’ve seen the necessary people by then. We’ll leave immediately and return to your house. Cherry and Richard will stay with you until the evening. I’m having a little gathering at my house and I want you there.’

  Eve can only respond with a look of helpless, happy confusion. She nods without understanding why.

  Cherry then steps forward.

  ‘She’s a little upset, so be gentle with her,’ Helen instructs.

  Cherry smiles a warm, sensual smile and her large brown eyes lock with Eve’s reddened, tear-logged orbs. It is then that the anger and confusion are brushed aside by the ever present and fundamental force of desire.

  Noticing Eve’s sudden change of heart, Helen nods with satisfaction and then leaves the room. Eve is so entranced by the spectacle of Cherry, that she hardly notices the woman who has changed her life forever depart.

  Cherry holds out a long, elegant hand and Eve takes it, noticing that her long nails are now painted a sparkling silver.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’

  Cherry leads Eve from the room, over to Richard. He stands aside and whispers a teasing ‘Enjoy yourself’ before she is taken down the stairs and into the shadowy hallway that leads to the entrance.

  Cherry takes a black leather sports bag from the reception table before they mince together down the hallway, down the damp alleyway and out into a cold, surprisingly clear night. It is now the early hours of the morning and the streets are deserted. Cherry, still holding Eve’s hand, leads her quickly down a side street. And it is only as the sound of their heels ringing against hard concrete begins to echo loudly down the street, that Eve remembers she is still wearing the waitress costume. Yet she has little time to feel embarrassed; indeed, her primary feeling is one of sudden and intense cold, a fact made very clear by the plumes of steam that are flowing from their mouths as their breath quickens.

  Eventually, Cherry totters to a halt by a small, red Nissan car. She opens the passenger door and tells Eve to get in. Eve obeys with enthusiasm, driven forward by the bitter cold and her desire for Cherry. Inside the car it is colder than outside and Cherry starts the motor with shaking hands.

  ‘It’s bloody cold!’ she cries, a loud and desperate statement of the obvious.

  She rubs her hands together and turns to face Eve.

  ‘Cuddle me!’ she suddenly snaps. ‘It’s the quickest way to warm up!’

  Eve hesitates and then leans forward into Cherry’s outstretched arms. Within seconds they are bound tightly together in more than a pragmatic means of warming each other. Indeed, as Cherry’s large, soft bosom presses against Eve’s own artificial chest, she quickly loses all self-control and seeks out Cherry’s full, cherry lips with her own.

  The kiss is long and hard. Their tongues quickly lock and the embrace collapses into a mutual fondling that discovers one simple, terrible truth: the restrainers they both now wear.

  Eve’s eyes fill with sudden, frustration-ridden sadness. Cherry senses Eve’s despair and smiles weakly.

  ‘Don’t worry . . . I’ve been told to look after you tonight, so I think we can dispense with the restrainers for a few hours.’

  Eve looks at Cherry with a terrible, helpless gratitude. ‘Really . . . you can do that?’

  ‘With a little KY jelly and some fortitude on your part, yes. The rings are very hard to get off when you’re hard. But not impossible.’

  They continue to kiss and cuddle for a few more minutes before Eve begs Cherry to take her home.

  As they drive through the deserted streets, Cherry allows Eve to retain a hand on her fishnetted thigh.

  ‘Did you enjoy Ms March?’ Cherry eventually asks, her voice cut through with passion and need. ‘You really smell of her sex.’

  Eve blushes, but Cherry reassures her instantly. ‘Oh don’t worry . . . it turns me
on something rotten.’

  Eve confesses the pleasure she took in servicing Ms March. She also confesses her fascination with the gorgeous, powerful woman.

  ‘She’s a real love,’ Cherry continues. ‘Very gentle. Very maternal. She likes to spank now and again and to dress you up like a little girl, but never violence or any nastiness. Always with this motherly love. Yeah, that’s her big thing – the gentle mummy. One or two of the sisters don’t like that. But I love it. And I think you will too.’

  The thought fills Eve with genuine excitement and adds to her desperate need for some form of relief.

  ‘What about Richard?’

  Cherry’s eyes darken. ‘He’ll find some way to keep himself entertained.’

  ‘You don’t seem to like him.’

  She nods slightly. ‘I used to like him a lot. And I thought he liked me. But what he really likes is playing games. It took me a while to figure that out.’

  Eve feels a sudden, harsh pang of guilt. ‘You mean he and you . . .’

  ‘Yes. But a while before you came along. I’m really old news as far as he’s concerned.’

  She ponders the confusing pictures of Richard that her mind is painting.

  ‘Take me home, please.’

  Cherry smiles sympathetically and within a few minutes the car pulls into Eve’s driveway.

  Eve lets them into the house and within seconds of entering the living room, they are locked in a passionate embrace and covering each other in hungry, hard kisses. Eve gasps with desire as Cherry turns her back on the lovely she-male and asks her to unzip the striking dress. Eve’s eyes widen and, with shaking hands and a pounding heart, she slowly lowers the zip down the elegant curve of Cherry’s spinal column. Then the striking, dusky beauty turns back to face Eve, her gorgeous eyes gleaming with need, and slowly slips the dress over her shoulders. As it falls down her body and on to the floor, Eve lets out a moan of shocked pleasure. For Cherry is dressed in the most splendidly teasing and erotic of undies. A semi-transparent red silk bra holds her two large, expertly engineered breasts with long, hard nipples that threaten to tear through the delicate fabric. Her waist is sealed tightly in a red satin-panelled, boned mini-corset. A red, elastane-panelled panty girdle and red silk panties fill the gap between the corset and her long legs. The girdle’s taut, perfectly flat surface suggests a real girl and for a moment a look of real surprise fills Eve’s already startled eyes.