After Nathaniel sat down, six other people boarded the bus. The first was a woman, mid-thirties, dressed exactly like the driver, only a skirt replacing the pants, a different color necktie, and black pumps with three-inch heels instead of oxfords. Nathaniel then noticed that the bartender also was dressed the same: shirt, tie, vest, pants. Only the color scheme and pattern of his shirt and tie differed, his shirt bei ng taupe and theirs black. Nathaniel had been in the working world long enough to realize that these were uniforms, with the differences in shirt colors and tie patterns indicating different ranks and functions. Very subtle, he thought, immediately followed by apprehension. Rules, brochures, uniforms, secrecy. THE ESTATE sounded more and more ominous the more he learned of it.
More ominous still was the way the woman was addressed by the driver and the bartender. "Good evening, Mistress Sylvia," each had said, the driver first. Mistress Sylvia did not speak to them, barely acknowledging their greeting. She looked directly at Nathaniel, a brilliant smile breaking her otherwise stern visage.
"Good evening," she beamed extending her hand. "You must be Mr. Spotswood." Nathaniel stood and nodded, shaking her hand. "Welcome to THE ESTATE. I hope you enjoy your stay with us."
Nathaniel was trying to think of something to say when a middle-aged couple boarded th e bus. "Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Harris," the bus driver said, alerting Sylvia to the couple behind her. She turned, the neon smile on.
"Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Harris," she beamed. "It is always a pleasure to have you visit us."
"Thank you, Sylvie," Mr. Harris said, easing his way past her. He turned to the bartender. "The usual Jeff," he said without breaking his ambling stride.
"Yes, thank you, Sylvia," Mrs. Harris said wearily as she passed Sylvia, trailing her husband. She merely nodded to Jeff, indicating the usual for her also. The couple took the last alcove on the right of the bus.
Nathaniel had silently watched all this, still standing, not knowing whether to continue his conversation with Sylvia. At least one thing was settled: he did not have to call her Mistress. Just as the Harrises settled into their alcove, two women clamored aboard the bus. They seemed to be about fifteen years apart in age, the younger one in a black leat her skirt suit, the hem of the skirt barely below the hem of the jacket, knee-high boots with five-inch heels. With her overly teased and spiked hair, all she needed was a large sign proclaiming "Butch Dyke." Whatever THE ESTATE was, Nathaniel concluded, it had a varied clientele.
"Welcome to THE ESTATE, Ms. Trevor," Sylvia beamed, her smile now on automatic. "And your guest is ... ?"
Her guest looked at the floor. Like Ms. Trevor, she wore a skirt suit, but unlike Ms. Trevor, hers was raw silk, dark plum in color, matching the deep red pumps, handbag, and briefcase. Her hemline was below the knee.
"Sylvie, this is my lawyer. I got a whole mess of legal problems I need to work out." Turning to the lawyer, Ms. Trevor placed her left forefinger under her chin, forcing her head up. "Georgina, honey, this is Sylvia. Mistress Sylvia to you. You be a good girl this weekend, or I'll give you to her." Ms. Trevor turned to Sylvia, "Sylvia, this is Georgina Mettri nos, terror of music producers on three continents, and most of the staff at ... " Ms. Trevor stopped and smiled, at Sylvia. "Almost forgot about that privacy thing here." Turning back to Georgina. "See, Georgie honey, they got this thing about respecting everyone's privacy. Members gotta respect everybody too. Bad things happen if you break the rules. Nobody's gonna know that Ms. Hardass Bitch spends her weekends as a Stepford Wife to her No. 1 dyke client."
Sylvia looked at the pair with a pained expression. Ms. Trevor was the birth name of one of the most successful female country singers in the nation. Her image of the wholesome, demure, well-mannered All-American Girl Next Door had been carefully crafted. Few knew that she was really a foul-mouthed, alcoholic butch lesbian with a mother fixation. Ms. Trevor visited THE ESTATE about three times a year, between tours and engagements, and always for extended stays of weeks. Sylvia only had to deal with her arrivals an d departures, but her stays often tried the best of the other mistresses, and not a few of the masters. And always with some woman ten to twenty years older who looked like she was June Cleaver's clone. Sylvia wondered if Ms. Mettrinos' alter ego was really the submissive housewife type, or was she a very savvy lawyer indulging a very rich client. If she was that savvy, maybe she should be a member.
"Jack Daniels and two glasses, Jeffy," Ms. Trevor yelled as she sashayed to the alcove at the left rear of the bus. The bus driver sat sideways in his seat, watching the ass and one of the finest pair of legs in country music--hell, in America--weave down the aisle. Jeff also took a good look, pretending to fix the drinks. A quick look from Sylvia caused both men to assume their professional poses. They were here to serve, not to enjoy. Sylvia didn't object to their looking or enjoying, on a personal level. She'd had those fine legs draped over her shoulders before, and if i t wasn't for Ms. Trevor's tendency to get maudlin and possessive a week or so into her stay, she wouldn't mind yodelling in that canyon again. Was Ms. Mettrinos to be there only for the weekend? And what could she do to make the lawyer a bad girl?
Nathaniel was now seated, observing all. He wasn't aware of the lesbianism of the three younger women, or their history, but he did notice how Sylvia put the driver and the bartender in their place with nothing more than a look. There were a few female supervisors at his job who could do that. Good thing he didn't work for them. Good thing he was a guest, and not a staffer here.
Nathaniel was not the only audience for this last performance by Ms. Trevor. The sixth and last person to board the bus was a woman in her late thirties, wearing a dark green shirt dress with white polka dots, white pumps, hosiery, white shoulder bag, faux pearl necklace and earrings. She had stood in the stairwell as Ms. Trevor commanded cente r stage. Now that that show was moving to the back of the bus, the driver turned and suddenly saw her.
"Welcome to THE ESTATE, ma'am," he said loudly, alerting Sylvia. Neither knew how long she had been waiting, but keeping a member or guest waiting was a major infraction of the rules. Both had been negligent, but it was Sylvia's head that would fall if the member complained. Lucky for both of them, the member was Ms. Bradley.
"Welcome back, Ms. Bradley," Sylvia smiled. "You remember Jeff, our bartender?"
Ms. Bradley broke in a wide smile as she leaned forward to see Jeff. "Hello, Jeffrey," she smiled, a certain lilt in her voice. "You know what I want, don't you?"
"Teacher's on the rocks, and hold the rocks, right?"
"Right, Jeffrey. I haven't had any Teacher's since my last visit, and I could use a lot tonight." Sylvia and the bus driver smiled. Jeffrey used to be a teacher. Sylvia knew there would be no complaints from Ms. Bradley.
"You may proceed, Cleveland," Sylvia said to the bus driver.
"Yes, Mistress Sylvia," Cleveland replied. He went outside and stowed the luggage on the sidewalk next to his bus in the luggage compartment, returned to his seat and pulled the huge vehicle into the street. The drive from the airport to THE ESTATE takes about half an hour, made mostly in silence, broken on this trip by Ms. Trevor's sobbing as she looked out the window into the coming darkness. Ms. Mettrinos made no attempt to console her. Ms. Bradley would have preferred to sit in the alcove Nathaniel had so she could flash her crotch at Jeffrey. She had to settle for the middle alcove on the right side, her dress hiked up to her hips, her legs on the seats.
Sylvia sat with Nathaniel. "I need to speak with you at THE ESTATE," she said, her voice low. She then took out her briefcase, THE ESTATE's Roman lettering in gilt across the leather surface, and began doing paperwork. Nathaniel rode in silenc e, looking at Ms. Bradley's legs reflected in the window opposite them, then turning to watch the road unwind under the bus' headlights.
Cleveland pulled the bus into the busport of Guest House II. This had been the servants' quarters a century earlier. Even by the standards of those times the place was sumptuous. There were twelve rooms, down from the twenty original ones since toilet facilities had to be added to each. The dining room and kitchen had been maintained; what could serve thirty servants and their families could also serve twenty guests. The kitchen was open 24 hours, seven days a week. Guest House II was only meant to receive late arriving members and guests who would be assigned other facilities in the morning, and meals were available on demand. The Harrises and Ms. Bradley, being members, only needed to sign in and receive their door cards. Ms. Trevor, being quite drunk by the time the bus reached THE ESTATE, needed to be carried in bodily. This also meant Sylvia had to sign her in and make sure she and Ms. Mettrinos were properly taken care of. By the time she returned to Nathaniel, it was close to 7:00 p.m.
"Mr. Spotswood, would you mind if we had dinner in your room?"
Nathaniel did not mind. In fact, he wanted to ask a million questions. What was this place? How was it run? Exactly where were they? What was going on? Where was Guy? What was expected of him?
His room was on the third floor, reached by an elevator that had required extensive remodeling of the building to accommodate it and still make it look like part of the original building. The room itself was huge, having been three of the larger servants' rooms. Actually it was a suite, one room being the bedroom, another being a living room, and the third being a large spa. Unlike the other rooms, this suite could be used for a long stay, not just overnight. Sylvia gave him a tour, ending just as a knock on the door signaled the arrival of their meals.
"Just leave everything," Sylvia said, dismissing the waiter. She then prepared two plates, setting the little cafe table in a corner of the living room. As they began eating, she anticipated most of his questions. "Mr. Spotswood, THE ESTATE is a very special and very exclusive resort, dedicated to the special desires of its members and their guests. You might call it an exclusive sex resort. THE ESTATE really assures its members and their guests of their privacy, so I must make sure that you understand the absolute necessity of minding one's own business."
She waited for Nathaniel to agree. Nate looked at her, then nodded. She continued.
"There is no reason for you to talk to staff. Mr. Hughes has made all the arrangements, and unless there is a problem that cannot be resolved when he is not present, everything is taken care of. You are a guest of a member, which means you are to be treated by staff as if you were that member yourself. If you need to speak to staff, only those staffers wearing a white or black shirt or blouse are permitted to speak to members or guests to which they have not been assigned, and we strongly prefer that you only speak to someone wearing white. Of course this does not apply to your ordering meals, drinks, or asking directions. Do you have any questions?"
Nathaniel had plenty, but he knew the question was rhetorical.
"Certain staff are addressed as master or mistress by other staff, but never by members, and only by guests in certain categories. You are not in tho se categories. You will address staff by their first names, for we are your staff. You will always be addressed as Mr. Spotswood, or, after your transformation, as Ms. Spotswood."
This was the first indication that Sylvia knew about Guy's proposition. Nathaniel wondered how many others knew.
"Mr. Spotswood, you have no secrets at THE ESTATE. You're here to become a woman, and we're here to make that passage enjoyable and memorable. You only become a woman once. You will address all members and other guests as Mr. or Ms. whatever unless they give you permission to be more familiar. They will accord you the same courtesy. Do you understand all of this?"
Again Nathaniel nodded. He didn't really understand it all, but enough to get by. He'd just have to play the rest by ear.
"Tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. the staff supervisor who is responsible for your transformation will arrive. She will have much of this same conversation with you and ask you again whethe r or not you want to go forward. You will be asked this several times during your transformation. Even if you're not asked, you can still stop this at any time."
For the first time, Nathaniel felt trapped. He realized if he wanted to get out of this he couldn't. He didn't know where he was, he had no money, and he was at the mercy of these people with their power games. Panic played over his face. Sylvia read the consternation on his face.
"Mr. Spotswood," Sylvia said, "You are not going to be raped. If you do not want to go through with this, all you have to do is say so, at any time. Now, tomorrow, any time. Mr. Hughes knows our rules about mutual consent very well. No means no. Now, do you want to go through with this?"
Nathaniel was really conflicted at this point. He really wanted to experience this weekend as a woman. He wanted to try being out in public. He knew he would never get another opportunity like this. Would being fucked be so bad? Would he be expected to do anything else? He nodded again.
Sylvia looked at him doubtfully. There had been trannies who backed out at the moment of penetration. Most times the member stops. Sometimes he doesn't. These had been messy situations. Is it rape when she says no just as he drives it home? Can she say no after penetration? THE ESTATE had been no more successful in resolving these questions than society at large. Given the unique nature of THE ESTATE, they tried to make sure the situation never came up. Nathaniel should have no doubt about why he was there, and what was to happen to him. If he didn't want it to happen, he shouldn't wait until he was on his back with Guy's cock nuzzling the crack of his ass. Sylvia had her doubts, but she could only ask if Nathaniel was willing. And Nathaniel said he was.
"Come with me, then."
She led him into the bedroom and opened the drawers of the dresser. The drawers were full of lingerie: panties, stockings, panty hose, bras, slips, half slips, camisoles, garter belts. Next she opened the drawers of the chest of drawers. Blouses, shells, women's shirts, nightgowns, loungers, pajamas. Next she went to the doors of the walk-in closet. Several dresses, skirt suits, skirts, and shoes, mostly heeled from 2" to 4".
"This is all yours, no matter what your decision."
Nathaniel was in a state of revelry. He ran his fingers through the panty drawer, then pulled out a shell and held it against himself as he modeled himself in the mirror. Only when he went to the closet did he realize what she had said.
"No matter what my decision?" he asked. "I thought I just indicated I would go through with it?"
Sylvia looked at him doubtfully again. "Like I said, you can say no any time. You will not be seeing me again this stay. So, whatever your decision, I wish you a happy life." She then shook his hand and left.
It was difficult enough to build one elevator into the ol d building. To build one for members and guests and another for service staff would have been prohibitive. It would have been cheaper to tear down the old building and build a new one. At the second floor, Sylvia had to wait while two waiters loaded carts. Well, she didn't have to wait. She could have ridden to the lobby and let them summon the elevator after she had exited. Most mistresses would have done that. As she let them load their carts, she saw a naked Ms. Bradley open her door to Jeffrey, literally jump his bones, wrapping her legs and arms around him as he walked them both inside. Looks like Jeff was going to do some late night tutoring, Sylvia mused. Maybe pull an all-nighter. Sylvia wondered if she should inform Ms. Bradley that she, Sylvia, also was once a teacher.
By the time Sylvia reached the lobby, Nathaniel had stripped off his clothing and slipped into a burgundy lounger. Good thing too, for the meal came with a bottle of Bordeaux which Nathaniel nea rly finished before spilling a glass on himself. While it was Nathaniel who removed the soiled garment, it was Ellen who replaced it with a satin nightgown.