.

The doorbell rang and I checked my appearance in the full length mirror in the hallway and gave my hair a little primp before I went to answer it, as usual consciously enjoying the swish of my petticoats against my nylons as I sashayed to the front door and opened it.

An impeccably dressed man stood at the threshold, briefcase in hand. He was tall and quite handsome, probably in his mid-thirties, blondish hair cut short and vivid blue eyes. My heart skipped a beat.

“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?” My standard greeting was accompanied by a small curtsey and a demure smile. He was so nice-looking….maybe this would be the one.

His eyes went immediately to my bust, which I must admit is worth looking at especially with my push-up bra and plunging neckline performing their magic. I know I’m vain but I admire myself every morning before I shower and they are two of my favourite features. The other is between my legs and it was already anticipating some action.

His eyes came back almost reluctantly to my face and he cleared his throat.

“I have an appointment with Ms. Worthington. “

“Yes, of course, sir. Please come in. May I take your coat?”

He stepped inside. I shut the door and took his briefcase, setting it down on the hall table, then helping him to take off his camel-hair Kent & Curwen topcoat, which I carefully placed on a hanger before hanging it on the coat-tree. I took in his suit when the coat was off….definitely Savile Row….or maybe Jermyn Street. Top quality either way. The shirt was white silk and his striped tie was probably some club or other but I didn’t recognize it.

“Please follow me, sir. She’s in the drawing room.”

“And you are…?” he asked me. His accent was very public-school.

“I’m Dolly, sir, and it will be my pleasure to serve you while you are with us today.” I batted my eyelashes a little and took a deep breath to make my chest swell.

“Dolly….hmmm….what an appropriate name. “ He gave me a charming smile, but his eyes hinted at other things. Somehow he had a slightly raffish aura about him.

“Thank you, sir. This way please.” I minced down the passage to the drawing room, as sexily as I could, giving my hips that little extra sway to keep his attention focused.

I was not dressed in that caricature French Maid uniform, but a nice black satin dress, long-sleeved and knee-length, skirt a little flared with a couple of lacy petticoats and a genuine full-sized apron and frilly cap….a working maid with a little panache. The only concession to the stereotype being my wide and deep boat-neck barely covering my nipples.

I knocked on the door and my employer’s voice called out, “Come in.”

I ushered our visitor in and said, “Mistress, you have an appointment with this gentleman?”

She rose and came forward.

“Yes. Thank you, Dolly. Good afternoon, Mr. Jones…so good of you to come. Please sit down.”

She took his arm and ushered him to the sofa.

She is a handsome woman, my Mistress, and I adore her. After all, she made me what I am today. She doesn’t seem to have aged at all in the last seven years and is still a slender, elegant forty-something lady with a commanding presence.

“Dolly, please fetch Mr. Jones and I some tea, or would you prefer coffee, Mr. Jones?”

“Tea will be just fine, Ms. Worthington.”

“Right, and some cakes and biscuits too, Dolly.”

Yes, Mistress.” I curtsied and left the room, swinging my hips.

As I went I heard him say, “She’s very well trained, isn’t she?”

The door closed and I didn’t hear her reply.

I busied myself in the kitchen, making the tea and readying the best china on a tray with sugar and milk jugs, a cake-tree with both cake and biscuits, small plates, spoons, tongs and everything needed to serve the snack. I take pride in my domestic skills and besides, I wanted to impress him.

I checked myself again to make sure that I was as close to perfect as possible, seams straight, hair and make-up impeccable, cap just-so, apron-strings hanging correctly across my derriere, the bow also balanced just so. I tugged my dress down slightly to give him the best possible view of my bosom and stuffed a couple of pieces of tissue into each of my bra-cups (to give that little extra help to the push-up). I was so pleased that I gave myself an impromptu twirl on my four-inch-heel patent pumps….balance perfect, naturally, seeing I had worn heels all day, every day for seven years. Actually, I doubt if I could walk in flat shoes now.

Putting tea-pot and strainer on the tray I returned to the drawing-room, balancing the tray on one hand as I opened the door. Crossing the room to where they sat, one on each end of the sofa, I squatted gracefully, knees together, as I had been taught, and placed the tray on the low table before them.

“Shall I pour, Mistress?”

She nodded assent, deceptively indifferent.

“How do you like it, sir?” I looked him straight in the eyes, promising much more than tea and biscuits.

“Not too much milk and one lump please.”

I poured the tea and added milk, gazing at him with my lips slightly parted. “Say when, sir.”

He almost croaked when he said “When.” And his eyes were definitely not focused on the cup.

I added the lump of sugar and bent forward far more than absolutely necessary as I handed him the cup across the table, knowing that this would expose my decolletage to the maximum. I love these French words that Mistress has taught me. French is such a sexy language. My nipples hardened just thinking about it.

Straightening, I took a small plate and the tongs.

“Cake or cookie, sir?” I asked in the most sultry voice that I thought I could get away with without annoying my Mistress.

“Cake please, Dolly,” he said, a little breathlessly.

I tonged a piece of cake onto the delicate plate and once again bent low to place the cake on the table in front of him. The teacup wobbled dangerously in his hand, making a clatter against the saucer..

Turning my attention to my Mistress I poured her tea as I knew she liked it, following with three biscuits.

“Thank you, Dolly. That will be all for now, but please wait in here in case we need anything more.”

“Yes Mistress.”

I curtsied and retreated to a corner of the room, where I assumed a sort of “at ease” position and let my mind drift until I was required to do something. Their voices droned in my ears and I registered what they were saying, but it only half impinged on my consciousness. I was dreaming of the handsome Mr. Jones escorting me down a wide marble staircase, him in a smart tuxedo and me in a shimmering silver sequined gown, diamonds dripping from my ears and nestled between my breasts and wrapped around my wrists.

I just lurve diamonds. In the words of the song “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend.” I thought something not too flashy on the third finger of my left hand would be just nice, two or three carats in a brilliant blue-white, perhaps.

“Well, Mr. Jones, I imagine you have checked my credentials thoroughly, just as I have yours.”

“Of course, Ms. Worthington. Your advertisement on the website merited an in-depth check….such an intriguing proposition.”

“Please, call me Joan….and may I call you Steven? I feel we are going to be in one-another’s company for a while.”

“Certainly, Joan, and Steven will do nicely. You don’t mind Dolly hearing what we are saying?”

“No. Her mind will be in a sort of stand-by mode until I ask her to do something, and anyway, I can instruct her to forget anything she hears and she will forget it.”

“Then can I ask you a little about where she came from and your methods of training?”

“Of course. Dolly is actually a bit unusual in that I did not acquire her through my normal channels. As you obviously already know, I am a clinical psychiatrist and hypnotherapist. If I say so myself I think my talents are well-recognised in the medical community.

“I’m sure you won’t mind, Steven,” a small nod as she spoke, “ if I ask you to demonstrate your bona fides before we go any further.”

“No problem, Joan” He smiled widely, opened his brief-case and a large sum of money became visible.

“Five hundred thousand pounds. If we conclude our transaction the other ninety per-cent will be transferred to an account of your choosing electronically. I hope that’s satisfactory?”

She leaned across and took a bundle and riffled it to ensure the notes were all there, and then did the same with another couple of bundles.

“You are welcome to examine them as much as you like. I promise they are genuine. It would be foolish to try and gull you,” he said with a thin smile. “Now will you tell me where these girls come from and how you obtain them and train them?”

“Steven, your down-payment entitles you to that. It is clear that it is non-refundable, is it not?”

“Your advertisement was quite clear and my investors accept that.”

“Very well. Mostly I obtain my subjects through the Social Services system. I do a lot of work with wayward children and I keep my eyes open for what would be called by most “real delinquents” who have been passed from foster-home to foster-home and proven to be unmanageable and intractable, so that no-one wants them. I get to check these children medically and I always test for susceptibility to hypnosis. To be of interest to me they have to be in the 5% of the population who are exceptionally suggestible. When I find one in this category aged about thirteen or fourteen I then assess their physical characteristics to ensure that they have not gone through puberty and that they will be suitable for feminization.”

“I’m sorry. Could you run that past me again? I’m not sure I understood you.”

“What didn’t you understand?”

“What you said about feminization.”

“I thought you would have known. I only take boys as my subjects. They are much easier to train than girls and there are far more of them that are considered to be socially irredeemable so that few people even notice a disappearance. They are assumed to have run away and not much effort is put into tracking them down. With girls everybody is concerned about their safety and morals. They’re simply not worth the trouble, and I think you will come to agree that our girls are superior in every way. If you wish you may sample Dolly to satisfy yourself. Just say the word.”

Steven Jones looked slightly stunned. “Dolly was a boy?”

“Oh, yes. All my girls started out as boys.”

I stood in my corner waiting to be summoned. The last few sentences from Mistress had penetrated my consciousness and I fervently hoped that he would want to sample me, because I certainly wanted to sample him. It made me wet just thinking about being together with him.

But he just continued his conversation with Mistress.

“How do you actually obtain them?”

“Simple. When I examine a suitable boy with the right physical and mental characteristics I arrange a follow-up medical exam and I plant a post-hypnotic suggestion that at a particular time they walk out the door and jump into one of my vehicles waiting for them. Hey Presto! They simply disappear.

“Then we start on the process of educating them and transforming them into worthwhile members of society that people like yourself are willing to pay for. That’s when they become my girls, which means that nobody is looking for them and those delinquent boys no longer exist.”

“Amazing. How many do you have under training at any one time?”

“It depends on the supply, but usually three or four, in various stages. Would you like to see another one?”

“Yes I would.”

“Dolly.”

I stepped forward and curtsied. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Please go and get Fifi and bring her here.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I left the room to do her bidding, somewhat miffed at having to bring Fifi…the little minx…to meet Mr. Jones.

I found her making beds and ordered her to accompany me to the drawing room. She has to obey me because I am the senior girl, but she lets me know that she doesn’t like it through dumb insolence. The cheeky little slut has only been with us for three years and has a lot to learn before she is ready for sale.

I led her back and knocked politely to allow Mistress to ask us to come in. Civility is one of the cornerstones of our training. With permission given I ushered the hussy in and then had to seethe in silence while Mistress had her perform and pirouette for our guest, who ogled her like a side of meat. A dumb lamb chop; I had to swallow a smile.

“She’s only half-trained, Steven, and not yet fully transformed, but I think you can see the potential there. I can see you are aroused. Would you like a demonstration?”

“If that is acceptable…”

“Fifi, please service Mr. Jones.”

My blood boiled. This should have been me. What was Mistress thinking?

The little bitch stepped forward and knelt in front of him. I had to grudgingly admit that she did it quite gracefully. She took hold of his trousers and pulled down the zip of his fly, inserting her hand inside and pulling his penis out. Him being a man he was already rigid and she began to fondle him. I was so jealous. His tool was gorgeous and I wanted it. It should have been mine.

She gave a sly, triumphant glance at me and lowered her lips to take him in her mouth, pulling back his foreskin as she did so. When she began to suck that engorged purple helmet I could have killed her, and then she ran her tongue up and down that glorious shaft and I nearly came in my panties. I swear the bitch was taunting me while she was enjoying herself.

She began to take the whole of his meat and swallowed him back into her throat. He grabbed hold of her head and pulled her all the way onto him, then spasmed and came, ejaculating all he had into her mouth.

The silly little bitch couldn’t handle it and streams of jism started to dribble down her chin, threatening to drip on his trousers. I took the opportunity to step forward quickly with a handful of tissues to wipe her chin, and then use another handful to lovingly wipe his cock and clean him thoroughly before carefully tucking his member back into his pants and zipping him up with an affectionate pat.

“I do apologize, Steven. I thought Fifi could do a bit better than that. I can assure you that Dolly would perform perfectly, but I wanted to save her for later. Anyway, you will now have a basis for comparison if you wish to use Dolly.

“Fifi, you may go now.”

She didn’t exactly sneak away but she wasn’t anything like as cocky. I sniggered inside.

Steven Jones had recovered his composure and turned back to Mistress.

“Joan, you said that Dolly didn’t come to you in the normal way, so how did you find her?”

“Serendipity, perhaps. I was just taking a walk one autumn evening, on a quiet street not too far from one of my seaside apartments, merely getting some fresh air. It was quite cool and I saw this girl come out from a house maybe a hundred yards ahead of me. She came towards me and there was something not quite right to a woman's eye. She was wearing a summer dress and a headscarf and really it was too cool for that particular kind of dress.

I realized that no girl would be dressed that way on an evening like that and watched as she came towards me. Her movement was wrong and I realized she wasn’t a girl…she was a boy, so as she came close I asked her if she could tell me the time. Automatically she went for her watch…which was a man’s watch, not a ladies’ watch…and then she almost went into shock when she realized that she was being asked a question.

She was about to run when I grabbed her by the wrists and told her not to run or I would scream, but to calm down because I wasn’t going to hurt her. She was shaking like a leaf and I pulled her over to a bench and made her sit. Then I asked her to tell me her story. Why was she dressed as a girl? She was almost incoherent but I managed to get out of her that dressing as a girl made her feel good.

I kept stroking her arm and said I would like to talk to her some more, and I wasn’t going to harm her. She was terrified I would tell her parents and I promised that I wouldn’t as long as she came to see me, but reminded her that I knew where she lived. I got her to agree that she would come to see me at my flat the next Saturday as she…he…was still at school, a thirteen-year-old. Her name was Roger. I gave her my card with my local address and made her promise to come and see me on pain of disclosure and let her go. She promptly fled back to her house. I use the pronoun “she” because he was dressed as a girl, and I felt that “she” was psychologically a girl.

“I didn’t know if he would come, but he did, and that signaled to me that he really wanted to be understood, so I sat him down at my place with a cup of my special coffee (with a few drops of ketamine tranquilliser) and he told me ….with lots of urging from me….how he had always wanted to be a girl and had been dressing in his mother’s clothes for a number of years and that it was the very first time that he had ventured outside when I had caught him. His worst nightmare was being caught by his parents.

“I asked him if he was absolutely sure he wanted to be a girl and if he would mind if I tested him. I told him I was a doctor with experience in these things, and he was so relieved to have someone sympathetic to his plight that I think he would have agreed to anything. I gave him a thorough physical examination and he met my criteria perfectly.

“So I hypnotized him…or maybe I should say “her”. He was definitely one of the most susceptible 5%.....no, 1%...in fact he was the most susceptible subject I had ever come across. You cannot lie while you are in trance and the more questions I asked the more I became convinced. There was absolutely no doubt that this was a girl. I could have let her go back to her parents, but from what she told me they were fundamentally opposed to any expression of femininity on her part, her father violently so, and she was terrified what would happen if he found out..

“So what was I to do? In a way I adopted her. I never allowed her to be Roger again and I never allowed her to wear male clothing again. I christened her Dolly on the spot and she accepted it as though that had always been her name. In a way there had never been a Roger, not as a real person. She has always been the most feminine of my girls and has needed no conditioning to induce her to be a girl because she always was one. I am almost ashamed to put her up for sale but money talks. She welcomed the transformation procedures like no other of my girls and I will guarantee she is worth every penny that I am asking for her.

“That was seven years ago and I have trained her in everything she needs to know to become totally female and feminine. She is proficient in all aspects of running a home. You have had an opportunity to see her work as a maid and later on I hope you will sample her cooking. She has all the female arts of lovemaking and is completely at home with both male and female partners. She has other attributes that I will have her demonstrate for you, although there are some that you will have to take on trust until we reach an accord.

“I have had all the necessary surgeries performed to transform her into a woman, including facial surgeries that ensure she can never be recognized by anyone from her previous life, not that it is likely that a twenty-year-old will be compared with the thirteen-year-old that she was when I rescued her, and it was a rescue. Had I not chanced upon her she would have been doomed to a miserable existence.”

“Thank you for your frankness, Joan.”

“I want her to be happy and you will have to guarantee that no harm will come to her if you decide to proceed with the purchase. Bondage and S/M are permitted as is total sub/dom in any sexual or physical relationship provided that she is not physically damaged. She cannot be damaged psychologically because she is so suggestible that she will welcome any instructions given to her under hypnosis. If you tell her she is a chicken she will be a chicken, although I do not recommend such a thing as it may be difficult to reverse. You do not want to have the most expensive chicken in the world.”

“What other attributes are you talking about?”

“Besides her domestic training she is an accomplished catwalk model and an excellent companion for all formal occasions, much more than what somewhat vulgarly might be called “eye candy”. She can be transformed into an utter slut and whore who will give satisfaction to any man or woman who desires her. She can also be programmed to remember and repeat verbatim any conversation you want to overhear and then instructed to forget if that is what you wish. Physical pursuits include Tae Kwon Do, ballroom dancing and she plays the piano beautifully. There is more but we will have to complete our transaction before I reveal those to you.”

“All of that is as your advertisement promised. I am sure we can continue with our negotiations.”

“Very well Steven. Would you care to stay for dinner and perhaps overnight? That will allow you to experience some of her other aspects personally….a preview.”

They exchanged conspiratorial and lascivious smiles.

“That would be delightful.”

“Dolly.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Coming out of my reverie I stepped forward and curtsied automatically.

“You will prepare dinner for three. Asparagus spears with Hollandaise sauce to start. I suggest grilled salmon for a main course and creme brulee to finish.”

She cocked an eyebrow towards Mr. Jones, who nodded.

“Excellent.”

“Put a couple of bottles of the Krug on ice to chill. My research says you are an afficionado of champagne, Steven.”

He nodded and smiled.

“And Dolly, you shall be our hostess tonight, so please dress appropriately and arrange for Fifi to serve. We will eat at 7.30. After dinner you will entertain Mr. Jones until tomorrow. Please ready the main guest room and bathroom for Mr. Jones’ use. You may address him as Master for the duration of his time with us”

“Oh, yes, Mistress. Thank you Mistress. Thank you Master.”

I curtsied to both of them and scurried off to prepare the meal, mentally selecting my gown for the evening and organizing the presentation. I wasn’t going to let that little cow Fifi ruin it.

I prepared the asparagus and the sauce ready for cooking. It would only take a couple of minutes on the stove and I could tell her when to do it. The salmon needed to be marinated and I organized that. The grilling would take ten minutes at high and the potatoes a little longer. The peas were a five-minute job. The creme brulee could not be started until the main course was eaten and I would have to supervise the little cow but if she ruined it she was so dead.

I checked the main dining room to make sure that the table was correctly laid and that the flowers in the centre were fresh and arranged properly. They should have been because I had done them myself earlier but it never hurts to check. Then I made sure that there were fresh towels and toiletries in his suite, including two toothbrushes and toothpaste.

When my preparations were done I went back to the drawing room to make sure my Mistress and my Master were comfortable. They appreciated the service and asked for drinks so I poured them a Glenmorangie (no ice) and a gin-and-tonic before leaving to ready myself for the evening.

It was 5.30 p.m. when I went to change. I took off my uniform and underwear and admired myself in my bathroom mirror. I am pretty good-looking even if I say so myself. I had to stand on tiptoe because I am unused to standing flat-footed, but that makes me look better anyway because I have great legs. My toes are painted violet. My pussy and hips are just right, shading to a small waist and then swelling out to my chest, which is adorned by my beautiful breasts.

My arms are slender, not too muscly, and my hands are delicate with nails half an inch longer than my natural length and painted the same violet as my toenails. Shoulders are a little broad but not too masculine. Some things cannot be changed by hormones. By and large, I am more than satisfied with who I am. Of course I wish that I had been born female. Who wouldn’t?

Ah! Did you think I didn’t know about my transformation from male to female? Mistress never hid any details from me and I never had any qualms about becoming physically a girl. If she hadn’t found me I would have been condemned to life as a boy….a life of misery and probably pain and hurt…..or maybe no life at all.

So,yes, I do remember being a boy, or at least everyone telling me that I was a boy, but I never believed them. I knew I was a girl and I owe so much to Mistress. The day I went to talk to her at her flat was the first time I had ever been able to explain my feelings and have somebody actually understand. I was overjoyed when she kept me there and even more overjoyed when she gave me my maid's uniform...my very own set of female clothing, not borrowed from my mother.

I was so lucky that she found me before male puberty had commenced and she put me on testosterone blockers and hormones straight away. Occasionally I feel a little sorry for leaving my birth-mother but she never would have understood my nature and my father may have killed me. A week after Mistress found me we sent my parents a letter telling them I had run away and posted it from London.

I have described what my body has become. I like my face too. It’s perfectly heart-shaped and I have these blue/grey/green eyes, high cheek bones and a small snub nose and big pouty lips. Mistress certainly did me proud with the cosmetic surgeries. My eyebrows are neatly plucked to a nice arch and my dark auburn hair hangs to my breasts unless I style it differently. I know I’m vain but I do appreciate myself and could look at myself all day if I didn’t have other things to do. Weell, perhaps not ALL day.

Speaking of which…. I tucked my hair into a shower-cap and stepped into the shower, using a lavender-scented body lotion to cleanse myself and make sure I smelled nice. I wanted Master to appreciate me. As usual I paid some attention to my nipples and aroused myself while I imagined him inside me. Climaxing in the shower is always so pleasant.

Wasting no time afterwards, I dried myself and did my face again after moisturizing to ensure that no trace of my previous make-up remained. This time I applied more dramatic evening shades to my eyes and a rich burgundy to my lips. I swept my hair into an up-do and secured it high with a butterfly white lace ribbon bow which contrasted nicely with my dark hair.

I debated whether to wear a long slinky silver-sequinned halter-neck Dior number or a Calvin Klein cocktail frock that I liked, a true LBD, short and sweet with a single diagonal strap and reaching to mid-thigh, tight over my bust naturally, but draped rather than clingy so that it swirled prettily when I moved. I chose the latter because it would be much easier to get out of when we went to bed.

So, a black suspender-belt, frilly black panties and a strapless black bra, sheer grey-shaded nylons and I slipped into the dress and zipped myself up. Next a pair of Jimmy Choos, 4-inch stilettos of course with a half-inch platform sole and gold-motif straps between toe and ankle.

Finally the bling; a pair of dangly diamond ear-rings, and a diamond bracelet on my right wrist. Not too much; less is more.

Now I allowed myself a little personal fashion show, primping and pirouetting to make sure that my dress was nice and swirly and my diamonds swung and glittered to good effect. I pulled out a couple of locks of hair to give myself a slightly waifish look and declared myself a five-million pound girl. Worth every penny too I grinned to myself and blew me a kiss in the mirror

Only one thing remained and that was to redo my nails in the same burgundy as my lips. Fifteen minutes later, waving my fingers in the air, I was ready to go downstairs, a silver Oroton clutch-bag with a repair kit in one hand. I walked through a mist of Chanel No. 5 before leaving. My timing was just right. It was 7 o’clock. Enough time for an aperitif while I made sure Fifi didn’t burn anything.

Both Master and Mistress were very appreciative when I entered the dining room. Master came to his feet, gently grasped my hand and kissed it gallantly.

“My Dear, you look absolutely lovely,” and he undressed me with his eyes. I didn’t mind. I just wished we didn’t have to wait to actually do it.

Mistress air-kissed me on the cheek and told me I was exquisite. “Party time,” she whispered in my ear.

My dinner was a great success. To be fair to little Fifi she tried very hard to make sure everything was perfect and the only course I had to really supervise was the creme brulee and that’s not an easy dish to prepare properly. For the rest I merely looked on to make sure it was OK, and she was so demure when she served...butter wouldn’t have melted in her mouth, even though I knew she was dying to jump his bones. Of course she couldn't actually because she hadn't yet been fully transformed.

Besides the Krug I had chilled a couple of bottles of Chablis Grand Cru to go with the salmon and a Chateau D’Yquem for the dessert. During the meal we chatted about the Queen’s upcoming Diamond Jubilee, the Arab Spring in Tunisia, Libya and Egypt and its chances of success in Syria, President Obama and his opponents in the US elections and other current affairs subjects.

What I really wanted to do was get him into bed. I felt totally gorgeous in my LBD but I wanted to feel gorgeous out of it. Foreplay is all very well, but…. Finally we sat with coffee and Mistress said she was going to bed if we didn’t mind. It had been a long day, so we stood and I kissed her cheek and she whispered in my ear “Now it’s slut-time.”

My Master gently shook her hand and she departed up to her bed..

I took the cups to the kitchen and then we devoured each other with our eyes, and came together in a mad grope, hands and lips all over the other until we were breathless.

Then I took him by the hand and towed him up to his bedroom, pulling off his jacket as we entered.

Somehow his shirt and tie ended up on the floor, as did my dress and then I had his trousers around his ankles and him on his back on the bed. Shoes and socks flew across the room and his trousers followed them with underpants not far behind. God! He looked good naked with his dick standing like a flagpole. I had to restrain myself from immediately engulfing it with my mouth but I didn't need to wait long.

He hadn’t been wasting time undressing me either and I wound up wearing only my stockings and suspender belt…which weren’t going to get in the way of anything.

He was an excellent and surprisingly considerate performer and four times I brought him to climax while I lost count of my own orgasms.One of the best things about being female is the total intensity of the sex.

The fourth one took some considerable time but that was fine with me as it meant that I had him inside me for a lot longer. I could have kept on going but like all males he ran out of steam. It’s so frustrating when they start snoring while you’re still working on them. So, reluctantly, I curled into him and joined him in Slumberland, his penis in my hand.

The next I knew he was shaking me awake.

“Get dressed, Dolly.”

“Why?” I asked somewhat sleepily.

The next words he spoke triggered my most basic defensive mechanisms and I snatched the hair-pin from my chignon and stabbed him right in the heart without even thinking about it.

His eyes went wide and he started to throw me off, but the poison acted so quickly that he was dead within seconds.

“Mother!” I screamed, and in moments the woman I address as Mistress in public was in the room.

“What’s up darling?”

I pointed at the lifeless body on the bed.

“He was a fake.”

“When will they ever learn?” she sighed, and started examining his clothes.

“What tipped you off?”

“He did. He said, “I’m from the Government and I’m here to help you”. One of those basic lies that you condition us against.”

She had pulled a wallet from his jacket and was examining the contents.

“Well, my dear Dolly, our principals will be pleased. It seems you have just killed a certain James Bond.”

The End