Guy And Ellen
Part III
Ellen's phone rang at 8:55 a.m., as she was finishing breakfast. "Good morning, Mr. Spotswood," came the voice through the earpiece. I am Brenda, your transformation consultant. If you are ready, I will be up in five minutes."
"O.K., I'm ready," was all Ellen could reply, weakly. As she put the phone down, she debated whether to be Nathaniel or Ellen when Brenda arrived. In truth, the decision had already been made. Ellen was wearing panties under the nightgown and open-toe wedges. Changing to Nathaniel just to be transformed back into Ellen didn't make sense. The doorbell rang at precisely 9:00 a.m. Brenda did not arrive alone; she was accompanied by two persons dressed as French maids. Ellen immediately realized that they were men in drag, although nothing in their appearance actually gave them away. Maybe it was the silliness of their uniforms: lacy dresses with plunging necklines and hemlines just below their crotches, white aprons that were barely bigger than handkerchiefs; platform shoes with 4" heels, making both of them well over six feet tall, and definitely not suited to cleaning toilets. But if she only had to look at their faces, Ellen would not have thought them anything but attractive women rather heavy on the powder and paint. Brenda was a different read. Dressed exactly like Sylvia, she was just under six feet in her heels, about the same height as Ellen when Ellen wore heels. Ellen didn't know whether she was a tall woman or transgendered. If they had been anywhere other than THE ESTATE, she wouldn't have even thought about it.
"Please sit down, Mr. Spotswood," Brenda requested. Ellen sat on the loveseat, wondering if she should insist on being called Ms. Spotswood. Or really Ms. Sharpe, the last name of her en femme self. Brenda didn't give her the option. "I spoke with Mistress Sylvia this morning, so much of what I have to say you have heard already. But I am required to say it, and you are required to hear it." Brenda then repeated Sylvia's spiel of the night before: respect the privacy of the other members and guests; limit her contact with staff to either white or black shirts, white shirts preferred; as Mr. Hughes' guest, she will be treated the same as Mr. Hughes himself; everything she had received up to now was hers to keep, no strings attached; and that she could back out of the arrangement at any time. After each condition was explained, Brenda asked and received Ellen's acknowledgment.
Brenda then stopped and looked at Ellen. After a long while, she continued. "Mr. Spotswood, there is a task I must perform at this point. It may be embarrassing to you, and I will understand if you don't want to do it. But if you refuse, you must understand that it is the same as refusing to continue."
Ellen swallowed hard, then nodded, not certain to what she was agreeing.
"Please remove your clothing," Brenda commanded. Ellen looked at her, then at the two maids, who had remained standing and silent. Ellen complied, turning sideways as she removed her panties. "Please get on the loveseat on your hands and knees."
Again, Ellen complied. Brenda approached Ellen's rear. Ellen felt Brenda's hands on h er nether cheeks, spreading them. Next she felt something long, hard and sharp against her asshole, followed by something softer and fleshier. Ellen realized she was being examined. The examination ended just as abruptly as it had begun. One of the maids came over without instruction and began wiping Brenda's finger. When she finished, Brenda walked over to the phone, dialed, then waited for several minutes.
"Good morning, Mr. Hughes. This is Mistress Brenda. Mr. Spotswood is as advertised. Would you like to speak to him?" She held up the phone, indicating that Ellen should come and speak.
"Hello? Guy?" she asked tentatively.
"Hello, who am I speaking to, Nathaniel or Ellen?'
"Ellen," she said. Then more strongly, looking at Brenda, "Ellen Sharpe."
"Well, I'm very pleased, Ellen Sharpe," Guy laughed. "I'm required to say this. You can stop this at any time without any repercussions. All the clothing you have received is yours, and you wil l still have the benefit of the make-over and the entire stay for the weekend. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Guy, I understand, but I do want to go through with this."
"I'm glad to hear that, Ellen. Place yourself in Brenda's hands. I have used her services before. She knows exactly what I expect, and exactly what you're going through. I will pick you up for dinner at six tonight. Do you have any questions?"
Millions of them, Ellen thought. "I'll save them for this evening."
"Until then. Please put Brenda back on the phone."
Ellen handed the phone back to Brenda. The conversation was one-sided, and that side was on the other end. All Brenda said was "Ms. Sharpe will be ready by six tonight."
Brenda put the phone in its cradle and looked at Ellen. Ellen realized that she was standing naked except for her shoes in the middle of the room with three fully dressed, presumptively women. All four of them, if not the entire ESTATE, knew that the only purpose for Ellen to be hear was for her to be fucked by Guy this evening. Brenda walked over to the door to the spa, opened it, then turned to Ellen.
"Ms. Sharpe, shall we begin?"
With both resignation and anxiety, Ellen entered the spa, followed by Brenda and the two maids. The spa was a giant sunken tub, the rim about eight inches above the floor. One of the maids turned on the faucets while the other went to one of the cabinets and began removing various jars and cases. As the spa filled, the second maid poured bath salts into it, resulting in the room being filled with floral fragrance, and the spa with suds. The first maid took Ellen by the hand and led her into the spa. As she settled into the water, the maids produced natural sponges and began washing her. Ellen nearly drifted off to sleep under their soothing ministrations until one of them began handling proof that she was also Nathaniel. Ellen jerked to a sitting position and looked at the ma id, only to see the non-involved face of a servant performing a routine task.
"Relax, Ms. Sharpe," Brenda consoled her. "Chantrelle and Adriane are here to serve you. They are just preparing you for the next step."
"The next step?" Ellen asked.
"You have done a fairly good job of removing your hair from your legs, your chest and your face. We will do a more thorough job, including those places you can't reach, such as your back and shoulders. You will only have hair on the top of your head when we are finished here."
Ellen relaxed, as ordered, and let the maids have their way with her. Every inch of her body was scoured with the sponges. Her hair was shampooed, the first time someone else had treated her this way since she was a boy. A little boy. Being rinsed by two people with spray hoses was a new experience. Next came a depilatory cream that made her feel like a giant subway sandwich as she lay on a cot and had the cream smeared over her back . Rinsed, she was led back to the cot and the procedure was repeated, this time as she lay on her newly denuded back. Despite being told to relax, having her penis handled, and cream spread over her balls, her perineum, and into the crack of her ass was unnerving. Rinsed a second time, Ellen emerged from the spa a third time as hairless below her ears as the day she was born.
This degree of nakedness left her feeling extremely vulnerable--and extremely feminine. The hair removal process also softened Ellen's skin, giving it a translucency that could only be described as glowing. Through all this, the maids said nothing, and Brenda only commented on the various actions to explain what was being done and why. By 10:30, Ellen was depilorated, washed, shampooed, and powdered.
The efficiency with which the maids worked, with no direction from Brenda, revealed how often they performed this service. Ellen wondered if they did this only for Guy, or were there numerous G uys who were members of THE ESTATE and requested this service. How many Nathaniels had they seen transformed into Ellens. How many Ellens had they helped become women. How many times had Guy used their services. Ellen could only lose her virginity once, but how many maidenheads had Guy taken?
The maids then led her back to the bedroom, where Brenda had laid out a light pink wrap dress, panties and banded open-toed mules. It took only minutes for Ellen to put the clothing on. Brenda led the way from the suite. What a sight they must make, thought Ellen. Tall woman, striding forth in heels and skirt; tall man in a dress and slings, for Ellen wore no make-up or wig, and it was obvious that she was a he; tall person in very abbreviated French maid's outfit, with two inch platforms and 4" heels. The second maid had the glorious duty of cleaning Ellen's suite. If they made a sight as they left the elevator and strode through the lobby, no one said anything. In fact, no one ev en gave them a second look. Well not exactly no one.
Cleveland had just pulled the bus out of the busport for the morning run, and had to stop as the surrey arrived to pick up the trio. All transportation around THE ESTATE is done by motorized surreys; no private cars allowed. As the three feminine forms climbed into the surrey, Cleveland mused that Guy Hughes must be visiting. The guy, no pun intended, likes his sissies. Cleveland wondered if he would see the finished product on Monday. If this one turned out like Brenda, it would be something. Looking at them, he still had a hard time believing Brenda was a man. Fooled him enough to have him fuck her. Only male ass he ever had, although there was plenty of opportunity at THE ESTATE. Nope, he was just a bus driver. An employee. Do your job, get your paycheck, mind your own business. And get your nookie someplace else. Don't play where you work and don't work where you play. As the surrey pulled away, Cleveland steered the bus toward the highway and the airport.
"We're now going to Chrysalis," Brenda explained during the ride. "Since you've used its online services, they have a pretty good idea of how you want to look, and how Mr. Hughes wants you to look. You'll be under the care of Mistress Elaine, who has been advising you on the web."
"Do you do this often?" Ellen asked, now more comfortable in her role. Brenda looked at her, not sure whether the "you" meant her or THE ESTATE. Ellen realized that she had been less than clear. "I mean ... does this place do many ... transformations?'
Brenda had expected this question much earlier. "Quite a few. About a third of our clientele are gay or bisexual men. About two-thirds of them come here to be en femme without worry. Then there are the submissive men whose wives or girlfriends make them go through a transformation." She glanced at Adriane. "We get most of our French maids that way. So I guess that means that two out of five of our male members or guests at any time are in drag. And a lot of them insist they are perfectly straight, so I strongly suggest you don't let any you might meet en femme--that's one of the preferred terms at THE ESTATE--think you regard them as gay."
"Is it wrong to be gay?" Ellen asked, uncertain about the mixed signals she was getting from Brenda.
"We accept our clients and their guests as they are." Brenda turned and faced Ellen squarely. "But if society accepted all sexual preferences, you wouldn't be here. Could you go to work dressed as you are now?"
Even if she could, Ellen wouldn't have worn what she was wearing to work. But she understood Brenda's point. There are personal beliefs and societal beliefs. And even in a culture where nearly every mass media entity openly had gay people, and even gay-oriented shows, people acted differently when the gay guy was in the next cubicle, in the apartment down the hall, or running on the treadmill f ive feet away.
"Let me advise you of this," Brenda said as the surrey pulled up to a non-descript building that looked like a brick factory from the pages of Dickens. "Mr. Hughes thinks of you as gay. Gay doesn't mean camp, or swish, or lisping, or mincing when you walk. It doesn't mean limp wrists, or being a hair stylist or interior decorator. There is a lot of sexism in the gay world, especially when it comes to sex roles. A lot of misogyny too. Why is it a punishment to make a man wear a dress, or panties, or make-up? How come the worst insults you give a man is to insult his mother? Think about it: bastard, son of a bitch, motherfucker. No male equivalent for slut or bitch. Most white men would never choose to be Black or a woman. I was born the former and choose to live as the latter.
"You've come this far, and if you go the rest of the way, before midnight you're going to be on your back with Mr. Hughes' respectably-sized dick up your ass and his tongue i n your mouth. If that's not gay, I don't know what is. Only you can say whether there is something wrong with that. I've been there, and I didn't find it unpleasant.
"You've been with Guy?" Ellen asked.
"Yes, but that was some time ago. You'll probably meet three or four other transgendered whom Mr. Hughes has deflowered. He might be your first, but you're not going to be his. Mr. Hughes is not a bad introduction to this life. In fact, he is one of the better ways of finding out about yourself, in this way. Now, do you still want to go through with this?"
That question again. No one was being subtle about what was going to happen to her, or that she had to be a willing participant. She was going to be fucked, unless she stopped it. And she didn't want to stop it. And now there was a new twist. She had thought gay sex was done doggy style. She was prepared to be on her hands and knees being fucked by Guy just as she had been examined by Brenda. Being fuck ed missionary style would really being made a woman. And she wanted it. She wanted to end up this day on her back with Guy's dick up her ass and his tongue in her mouth. She wanted to be Guy's woman! She looked at Brenda, knowing that a mere nod was not enough this time.
"Yes, I still want to go through with this."
[ Part 2: "Attached Text" ]
Note to Nifty Archivist: Do not include my e-mail address with this submission.
Guy And Ellen
Part III
Ellen's phone rang at 8:55 a.m., as she was finishing breakfast. "Good morning, Mr. Spotswood," came the voice through the earpiece. I am Brenda, your transformation consultant. If you are ready, I will be up in five minutes."
"O.K., I'm ready," was all Ellen could reply, weakly. As she put the phone down, she debated whether to be Nathaniel or Ellen when Brenda arrived. In truth, the decision had already been made. Ellen was wearing panties under the nightgown and open-toe wedges. Changing to Nathaniel just to be transformed back into Ellen didn't make sense. The doorbell rang at precisely 9:00 a.m. Brenda did not arrive alone; she was accompanied by two persons dressed as French maids. Ellen immediately realized that they were men in drag, although nothing in their appearance actually gave them away. Maybe it was the silliness of their uniforms: lacy dresses with plunging necklines and hemlines just below their crotches, white aprons that were barely bigger than handkerchiefs; platform shoes with 4" heels, making both of them well over six feet tall, and definitely not suited to cleaning toilets. But if she only had to look at their faces, Ellen would not have thought them anything but attractive women rather heavy on the powder and paint. Brenda was a different read. Dressed exactly like Sylvia, she was just under six feet in her heels, about the same height as Ellen when Ellen wore heels. Ellen didn't know whether she was a tall woman or transgendered. If they had been anywhere other than THE ESTATE, she wouldn't have even thought about it.
"Please sit down, Mr. Spotswood," Brenda requested. Ellen sat on the loveseat, wondering if she should insist on being called Ms. Spotswood. Or really Ms. Sharpe, the last name of her en femme self. Brenda didn't give her the option. "I spoke with Mistress Sylvia this morning, so much of what I have to say you have heard already. But I am required to say it, and you are required to hear it." Brenda then repeated Sylvia's spiel of the night before: respect the privacy of the other members and guests; limit her contact with staff to either white or black shirts, white shirts preferred; as Mr. Hughes' guest, she will be treated the same as Mr. Hughes himself; everything she had received up to now was hers to keep, no strings attached; and that she could back out of the arrangement at any time. After each condition was explained, Brenda asked and received Ellen's acknowledgment.
Brenda then stopped and looked at Ellen. After a long while, she continued. "Mr. Spotswood, there is a task I must perform at this point. It may be embarrassing to you, and I will understand if you don't want to do it. But if you refuse, you must understand that it is the same as refusing to continue."
Ellen swallowed hard, then nodded, not certain to what she was agreeing.
"Please remove your clothing," Brenda commanded. Ellen looked at her, then at the two maids, who had remained standing and silent. Ellen complied, turning sideways as she removed her panties. "Please get on the loveseat on your hands and knees."
Again, Ellen complied. Brenda approached Ellen's rear. Ellen felt Brenda's hands on h er nether cheeks, spreading them. Next she felt something long, hard and sharp against her asshole, followed by something softer and fleshier. Ellen realized she was being examined. The examination ended just as abruptly as it had begun. One of the maids came over without instruction and began wiping Brenda's finger. When she finished, Brenda walked over to the phone, dialed, then waited for several minutes.
"Good morning, Mr. Hughes. This is Mistress Brenda. Mr. Spotswood is as advertised. Would you like to speak to him?" She held up the phone, indicating that Ellen should come and speak.
"Hello? Guy?" she asked tentatively.
"Hello, who am I speaking to, Nathaniel or Ellen?'
"Ellen," she said. Then more strongly, looking at Brenda, "Ellen Sharpe."
"Well, I'm very pleased, Ellen Sharpe," Guy laughed. "I'm required to say this. You can stop this at any time without any repercussions. All the clothing you have received is yours, and you wil l still have the benefit of the make-over and the entire stay for the weekend. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Guy, I understand, but I do want to go through with this."
"I'm glad to hear that, Ellen. Place yourself in Brenda's hands. I have used her services before. She knows exactly what I expect, and exactly what you're going through. I will pick you up for dinner at six tonight. Do you have any questions?"
Millions of them, Ellen thought. "I'll save them for this evening."
"Until then. Please put Brenda back on the phone."
Ellen handed the phone back to Brenda. The conversation was one-sided, and that side was on the other end. All Brenda said was "Ms. Sharpe will be ready by six tonight."
Brenda put the phone in its cradle and looked at Ellen. Ellen realized that she was standing naked except for her shoes in the middle of the room with three fully dressed, presumptively women. All four of them, if not the entire ESTATE, knew that the only purpose for Ellen to be hear was for her to be fucked by Guy this evening. Brenda walked over to the door to the spa, opened it, then turned to Ellen.
"Ms. Sharpe, shall we begin?"
With both resignation and anxiety, Ellen entered the spa, followed by Brenda and the two maids. The spa was a giant sunken tub, the rim about eight inches above the floor. One of the maids turned on the faucets while the other went to one of the cabinets and began removing various jars and cases. As the spa filled, the second maid poured bath salts into it, resulting in the room being filled with floral fragrance, and the spa with suds. The first maid took Ellen by the hand and led her into the spa. As she settled into the water, the maids produced natural sponges and began washing her. Ellen nearly drifted off to sleep under their soothing ministrations until one of them began handling proof that she was also Nathaniel. Ellen jerked to a sitting position and looked at the ma id, only to see the non-involved face of a servant performing a routine task.
"Relax, Ms. Sharpe," Brenda consoled her. "Chantrelle and Adriane are here to serve you. They are just preparing you for the next step."
"The next step?" Ellen asked.
"You have done a fairly good job of removing your hair from your legs, your chest and your face. We will do a more thorough job, including those places you can't reach, such as your back and shoulders. You will only have hair on the top of your head when we are finished here."
Ellen relaxed, as ordered, and let the maids have their way with her. Every inch of her body was scoured with the sponges. Her hair was shampooed, the first time someone else had treated her this way since she was a boy. A little boy. Being rinsed by two people with spray hoses was a new experience. Next came a depilatory cream that made her feel like a giant subway sandwich as she lay on a cot and had the cream smeared over her back . Rinsed, she was led back to the cot and the procedure was repeated, this time as she lay on her newly denuded back. Despite being told to relax, having her penis handled, and cream spread over her balls, her perineum, and into the crack of her ass was unnerving. Rinsed a second time, Ellen emerged from the spa a third time as hairless below her ears as the day she was born.
This degree of nakedness left her feeling extremely vulnerable--and extremely feminine. The hair removal process also softened Ellen's skin, giving it a translucency that could only be described as glowing. Through all this, the maids said nothing, and Brenda only commented on the various actions to explain what was being done and why. By 10:30, Ellen was depilorated, washed, shampooed, and powdered.
The efficiency with which the maids worked, with no direction from Brenda, revealed how often they performed this service. Ellen wondered if they did this only for Guy, or were there numerous G uys who were members of THE ESTATE and requested this service. How many Nathaniels had they seen transformed into Ellens. How many Ellens had they helped become women. How many times had Guy used their services. Ellen could only lose her virginity once, but how many maidenheads had Guy taken?
The maids then led her back to the bedroom, where Brenda had laid out a light pink wrap dress, panties and banded open-toed mules. It took only minutes for Ellen to put the clothing on. Brenda led the way from the suite. What a sight they must make, thought Ellen. Tall woman, striding forth in heels and skirt; tall man in a dress and slings, for Ellen wore no make-up or wig, and it was obvious that she was a he; tall person in very abbreviated French maid's outfit, with two inch platforms and 4" heels. The second maid had the glorious duty of cleaning Ellen's suite. If they made a sight as they left the elevator and strode through the lobby, no one said anything. In fact, no one ev en gave them a second look. Well not exactly no one.
Cleveland had just pulled the bus out of the busport for the morning run, and had to stop as the surrey arrived to pick up the trio. All transportation around THE ESTATE is done by motorized surreys; no private cars allowed. As the three feminine forms climbed into the surrey, Cleveland mused that Guy Hughes must be visiting. The guy, no pun intended, likes his sissies. Cleveland wondered if he would see the finished product on Monday. If this one turned out like Brenda, it would be something. Looking at them, he still had a hard time believing Brenda was a man. Fooled him enough to have him fuck her. Only male ass he ever had, although there was plenty of opportunity at THE ESTATE. Nope, he was just a bus driver. An employee. Do your job, get your paycheck, mind your own business. And get your nookie someplace else. Don't play where you work and don't work where you play. As the surrey pulled away, Cleveland steered the bus toward the highway and the airport.
"We're now going to Chrysalis," Brenda explained during the ride. "Since you've used its online services, they have a pretty good idea of how you want to look, and how Mr. Hughes wants you to look. You'll be under the care of Mistress Elaine, who has been advising you on the web."
"Do you do this often?" Ellen asked, now more comfortable in her role. Brenda looked at her, not sure whether the "you" meant her or THE ESTATE. Ellen realized that she had been less than clear. "I mean ... does this place do many ... transformations?'
Brenda had expected this question much earlier. "Quite a few. About a third of our clientele are gay or bisexual men. About two-thirds of them come here to be en femme without worry. Then there are the submissive men whose wives or girlfriends make them go through a transformation." She glanced at Adriane. "We get most of our French maids that way. So I guess that means that two out of five of our male members or guests at any time are in drag. And a lot of them insist they are perfectly straight, so I strongly suggest you don't let any you might meet en femme--that's one of the preferred terms at THE ESTATE--think you regard them as gay."
"Is it wrong to be gay?" Ellen asked, uncertain about the mixed signals she was getting from Brenda.
"We accept our clients and their guests as they are." Brenda turned and faced Ellen squarely. "But if society accepted all sexual preferences, you wouldn't be here. Could you go to work dressed as you are now?"
Even if she could, Ellen wouldn't have worn what she was wearing to work. But she understood Brenda's point. There are personal beliefs and societal beliefs. And even in a culture where nearly every mass media entity openly had gay people, and even gay-oriented shows, people acted differently when the gay guy was in the next cubicle, in the apartment down the hall, or running on the treadmill f ive feet away.
"Let me advise you of this," Brenda said as the surrey pulled up to a non-descript building that looked like a brick factory from the pages of Dickens. "Mr. Hughes thinks of you as gay. Gay doesn't mean camp, or swish, or lisping, or mincing when you walk. It doesn't mean limp wrists, or being a hair stylist or interior decorator. There is a lot of sexism in the gay world, especially when it comes to sex roles. A lot of misogyny too. Why is it a punishment to make a man wear a dress, or panties, or make-up? How come the worst insults you give a man is to insult his mother? Think about it: bastard, son of a bitch, motherfucker. No male equivalent for slut or bitch. Most white men would never choose to be Black or a woman. I was born the former and choose to live as the latter.
"You've come this far, and if you go the rest of the way, before midnight you're going to be on your back with Mr. Hughes' respectably-sized dick up your ass and his tongue i n your mouth. If that's not gay, I don't know what is. Only you can say whether there is something wrong with that. I've been there, and I didn't find it unpleasant.
"You've been with Guy?" Ellen asked.
"Yes, but that was some time ago. You'll probably meet three or four other transgendered whom Mr. Hughes has deflowered. He might be your first, but you're not going to be his. Mr. Hughes is not a bad introduction to this life. In fact, he is one of the better ways of finding out about yourself, in this way. Now, do you still want to go through with this?"
That question again. No one was being subtle about what was going to happen to her, or that she had to be a willing participant. She was going to be fucked, unless she stopped it. And she didn't want to stop it. And now there was a new twist. She had thought gay sex was done doggy style. She was prepared to be on her hands and knees being fucked by Guy just as she had been examined by Brenda. Being fuck ed missionary style would really being made a woman. And she wanted it. She wanted to end up this day on her back with Guy's dick up her ass and his tongue in her mouth. She wanted to be Guy's woman! She looked at Brenda, knowing that a mere nod was not enough this time.
"Yes, I still want to go through with this."