Mary Pilson found that for a woman her age, living on her own was not easy. What little money she had saved she used to rent a dingy one-room coldwater flat. She managed to find a job as a shopgirl for minimum wages and long hours. She started at seven in the morning and finished at six in the evening. Mary had just enough time to catch a bus home, eat a small meal and change into her evening clothes before she went to her second job.

Mary’s good looks had attracted many a young man where she worked in the shop or when she sat in the park eating her meagre lunch. She shooed them away, showing no interest in the young men who fancied her; she had her sights set engaging with an older man, a mature man, a powerful man, and most importantly, a rich man. She was far from naïve and knew that she was attractive and sexy and intended to use those attributes to ensure she was well kept.

During her lunch break one day a mature sophisticated woman approached her. Mary was sitting in the small park across from the shop where she worked, eating a corned beef sandwich. The woman was dressed in an expensive cotton and silk suit that clung to her curves, her hair was coiffured and her makeup perfect. Mary was very self-conscious of her cotton shift, scuffed shoes and laddered stockings that she darned each evening to save money.

The woman indicated the vacant seat beside Mary and Mary nodded demurely then looked away, ashamed of her obvious poverty. The miasma of the woman’s perfume drifted to her nose and Mary began to wrap the remains of her lunch in greaseproof paper that she had carefully folded to be reused.

The woman lit a cigarette and Mary was surprised when the woman shook the packet of Park Drive in front of her.

Mary nervously took one and was visibly shaking when the woman flicked the flint of her gas lighter and offered it to the tip of Mary’s cigarette. Mary cupped the cigarette to shield it from the wind until she noticed her chipped nailpolish and dirty fingernails and instinctively whipped her hands to her sides.

“Hard work being a shopgirl,” Mary could tell the question was rhetorical.

Of course it was. Her appearance was reflective of her employment. She was not some glamorous ditz who served at the cosmetics counter of a posh department store; she hauled bags of spuds and root vegetables from the cellar and arranged them on display trays in the shop. She had to manhandle daily deliveries of meat, milk, and other perishables; she stocked shelves, swept floors and washed windows as well as manning the till and attending to customers.

“But I admire your chutzpah; your spunk. Most girls with your looks and sex appeal in a shitty job like yours would take up with the first decent bloke that came along,” the woman tapped ash off her cigarette.

“But I’ve seen you turning down the steady stream of Lotharios who’ve made advances,” she flicked a speck of ash off her silken-hosed knee with the back of her hand.

Mary looked at the woman and saw that she was smiling.

“You’ve seen me?” Mary whispered; her voice catching.

“Yes here in the park, in the shop, and here and there around town,” the woman raised her brows.

“But why?” Mary looked down at the scuffed toes of her shoes.

The woman extended her hand and lifted Mary’s chin.

“Because I know a smart, independent, hard working young woman when I see her,” the woman smiled, her bright red lips framing brilliant white teeth.

“I have to ask again; why?” Mary searched the woman’s eyes.

“Because I want to offer you a job,” the woman smiled.

“I have a job,” Mary replied indignantly.

“Indeed you do. I’m offering you a second job; a nighttime job,” her smile widened.

“I’m not a brass!” Mary pulled her chin from the woman's fingers.

“Oh indeed you’re not. I think you’re a virgin. Are you a virgin?” the woman crushed out her cigarette with the sole of her black patent leather high heel.

“None of your business,” Mary snapped.

“Well it is if you want the job; I only employ virtuous young ladies,” the woman reached into her purse and pulled out her cigarettes again.

This time she did not offer Mary one.

“What is the job?” Mary said reticently.

“I am the manager of Chez Ami. It’s a supper club in Soho. I’m looking for a new hostess,” the woman said.

“No! Not that sort of hostess if that’s what you're thinking,” the woman extrapolated.

“I employ service people, table waitresses, cocktail waitresses, attendants, hatcheck girls and alike,” the woman sniffed.

Mary perked up.

“In a real supper club? In Soho? Sounds wonderful,” Mary allowed a smile to light up her face.

“You would start at the bottom of course; as a cigarette-girl,” the woman placed her cigarettes back into her clutch.

“What’s a cigarette-girl?” Mary asked.

“You cruise the club selling cigars, cigarettes, matches, lighters, sweets and alike from a tray held by a neck strap. You understand?” the woman appeared to be getting ready to leave, packing away her lighter, snapping her purse closed.

“My mother is an usherette in a big cinema and at the weekend sessions they have cigarette-girls in the foyer,” Mary replied.

“So you have a family affinity for the job then; it’s in your blood,” the woman guffawed.

Mary blushed with embarrassment and then became indignant and made to get up from the seat. The woman gripped her wrist.

“Don’t let your pride deny you of an opportunity,” the woman said levelly.

“Look at it as a start. You can still work both jobs,” the woman went on.

“I provide you with the uniform; you pay it off out of your wages.”

“Ok. When do I start?” Mary’s smile had returned.

The woman fished a card out of her clutch and offered it to Mary.

“Come to the club tomorrow as soon as you finish work,” the woman rose from the bench and smoothed her skirt.

Mary rose too, brushed her shift and offered her hand. The woman looked at Mary’s hand and sniffed.

“See you tomorrow then,” the woman turned away.

“Wait! You don’t know my name,” Mary called.

“It’s Mary Pilson,” the woman called over shoulder.

Mary looked after the woman bewildered.

The woman spun on her heels.

“And you didn’t ask how much it pays,” she grinned.

“Two pounds a week plus tips,” the woman’s grin widened.

Mary sat down again flummoxed.

This time the woman kept walking.

Mary was very nervous when she arrived at Chez Ami and even more so when she went inside. The place was imposing and very old, very British; lots of dark wood panelling, a long bar, a sitting room, a huge dining room with a stage running along one wall. There was a grand piano and other musical instruments lined up on the stage and chairs for the musicians set up behind music stands.

The lighting was muted and she could see a series of stage and spotlights that were obviously used when the entertainment was in full swing. The area in front of the stage was cleared so it could be used as a dance floor.

Mary lingered in the foyer peeking into each of the rooms and taking in their ambience. There was a maître d'hôtel lectern just inside the door and behind that a hatcheck counter. Beside the counter was a small office. The door opened and the woman from the park strode out; she was talking animatedly with a man in an evening suit, giving him instructions. She looked at Mary and nodded towards her office giving her an unspoken cue to wait for her in there.

Mary went into the office and took a seat. There was a polished oak desk with a large comfortable leather chair behind it; the desk was barren except for a black antique telephone. Mary was sitting on one of three hard-backed chairs arranged against the wall adjacent to the desk. She figured the chairs were deliberately made uncomfortable so that whoever sat in them knew who was in charge.

The woman came into the office; she was once again impeccably dressed, this time in an evening gown. Mary was wearing her best and only suit.

“I’m dressed for work tonight; this isn’t how I normally dress,” the woman smiled as she sat down, easing herself into the chair in her tight dress.

Mary didn’t know what to say; she had stood up when the woman entered and remained standing.

“That was supposed to be a joke Mary,” the woman remained smiling.

Surprising Mary with the gesture she held out her hand.

“Millicent Varity; the staff here call me Millie behind my back. No one dares call me that to my face nor should they,” she remained smiling but her smile was icy.

Mary shook Millicent’s hand and sat down when she waved at the seat.

“Can you start tonight?” Millicent lit a cigarette, taking a large crystal ashtray out of the desk drawer.

Millicent didn’t wait for answer.

“You need to sign these; see Victoria at the coat check counter and she will give you your uniform. You can buy dance tights if you like, some of the girls sew stockings to their knickers to save money. You can do either, so long as your seams are straight and there are no ladders. And you provide your own high heels; black of course. I pride myself on how my girls are presented,” Millicent handed a piece of paper and a pen to Mary.

She did not expect Mary to read the contract before signing and nor did she.

“You get paid on Fridays. Cash; off the books. I deduct five bob from your first pay for the next four weeks and that pays for your uniform,” Millicent put the signed paper in the desk drawer, butted out her cigarette and put the ashtray away.

Her desk was once again pristine.

She gave Mary a wan smile and made a shooing motion with her hands.

Mary stood but was a little confused.

“Is there any training?” Mary asked.

Millicent guffawed loudly.

“Show off your smile, your tits, your legs and your arse to sell as much as possible from your tray. Don’t complain when the clientele pinch your bottom but don’t let them touch your tits; they know that’s not allowed. Don’t let any of their wives and girlfriends see you flirting with the men. And whatever happens or whatever you are offered, keep your virginity!”

“Now fuck off; you’re trained!” Millicent reached for the phone.

Victoria, the girl manning the hat and coat check counter, was very nice and welcomed Mary to her new job. Mary’s uniform, what there was of it, was hanging in a cheap plastic suit cover.

“You can wear sheer dance tights if you like but they are expensive and they sometime ladder. I buy cheap stockings at Gimbol’s on the high street, they come in packs of six pairs for two bob. Sew the welts to the leg-holes in a pair of nylon knickers and wear the frilly knickers that come with uniform over them,” Victoria explained.

“I started off as a cigarette girl. I hope you’ve got a good back; you’ll be lugging that tray all night.”

“I better get home and get changed if I’m going to be here on time,” Mary looked down at the cheap watch on her wrist.

“Yes you better. Good luck and call me Vicky when Millie isn’t around but don’t you dare let her hear you.
‘Abbreviating one’s name is common doncha know,’” Vicky did a pretty good imitation of Millicent Varity.

They both giggled and Mary took the suit bag and ran for her bus.

The costume left little to the imagination. It was basically a red and black satin and lace bodice that one stepped into, with a very short skirt attached.

Mary had painstakingly sewn the tops of the welts of her best sheers to the leg-openings of a pair of form-fitting nylon kickers then she put them on, rolling the stockings on like tights. She carefully arranged the seams along the middle of the backs of her legs and pulled the sheer knickers as tight as possible. Then she stepped into the bodice of the suit, which was stiffened and gave her a waspy waist and pushed up and supported her breasts without a bra. She pulled on the satin and lace knickers and smoothed them in place over her nylon full briefs so that it looked like she was wearing sheer tights.

She pulled down and adjusted the little lace-ruffled skirt that was attached the bodice. It hardly covered anything and was more like a ballerina’s tutu than a proper skirt.

She had already fixed her makeup, lots of black eyeliner and mascara, mauve and purple hued eyeshadow, blushed cheeks and bright red lipstick. The makeup was very ‘showgirl’. Her long red hair was brushed out and arranged around her shoulders to good effect. She stepped into a pair of black stilettos that she had been keeping ‘for special’.

Mary looked at herself in the full-length mirror that she had found left out on the street for the rag and bone man. It was cracked and some of the silver had been scratched off the back but it was good enough.

She definitely looked the part. Then she realised that there was no way that she could walk to the bus stop, catch the number nine bus, and then walk to the Chez Ami dressed like this. Before panic set in she realised that she had an old, almost full-length Mackintosh that she could wear as an overcoat. Most of the buttons had come off it and she had no time to sew them back on so she tied the belt tightly around her waist and headed out.

The coat fell open when she was climbing the stairs to the top deck of the double-decker bus and she was rewarded with a wolf-whistle from a brazen youth. An old biddy with hair curlers under her headscarf gave the youth a scornful look and followed up with a withering stare at Mary.

“Shouldn’t be allowed,” she sniffed looking Mary up and down disapprovingly and then went back to her knitting.

At least Mary did get offered a seat by a middle-aged man in a suit and trilby who spent the whole bus ride looking down at her tits. Mary pulled the coat around her but she couldn’t pull it too tight otherwise she would ruin her costume. She supposed that showing a bit of leg and tit on the number nine bus was a small price to pay for a well paying job.

Mary was thankful that the neck strap took most of the weight of the tray and she was even more thankful for the tray itself, which kept grabbing hands away from her breasts. Her bum though remained undefended and as the evening wore on and the men became more inebriated some them decided that her derriere was their private playground. Some of the men dropped their change in her tray and a couple of brazen types stuffed notes down her cleavage. Mary remembered the advice not to complain and she kept a painted smile on her face and took comfort that the tips she was receiving were likely to double her wage.

She spent the night walking between the tables and cruising the bar, the sitting room, the dining room, and the foyer trying to sell her wares. She was often summoned over to sell cigarettes or more often to light cigarettes for customers who obviously had their own lighters but wanted to ogle her.

By the time she finished her shift at midnight and handed her tray over to another young woman wearing an identical costume she was beat and she needed to be at work at the shop by seven in the morning.

Mary had been working at Chez Ami for a couple of weeks before she was approached by Victoria to see if she was interested in making some extra money on the side.

“I can’t Vicky; I’m shagged by the time I get home around one in the morning and then I’m up at six to go to my shopgirl job,” she and Vicky were standing in the alley at the back of the club during their one allotted fifteen-minute break having a cigarette.

“Oh pooh to your shopgirl! You won’t need to work two jobs if you start doing extras,” Vicky blew on the tip of her cigarette.

“Extras?” Mary was bamboozled.

“God you are a ditzy bint! Going with some of the punters from the club after work,” she winked.

Mary paled.

“You mean prostitution? That’s illegal and I bet Millie would have a fit!” Mary was aghast.

“What Millie don’t know about, Millie shouldn’t care about, and it ain’t brassing if you’re on a date,” Vicky smiled wickedly.

“A date that ends with your knickers around your ankles and a man between your legs,” Mary scolded.

“Half these blokes can’t get it up; they’re too old or too pissed or both. The younger ones are so excited you can fetch them off with your hand in thirty seconds or do it the French way and spit it out,” Vicky sniggered.

“Oh my god Vicky; yuck!” Mary screwed up her face.

“Besides; I was told that Millicent only employs virgins,” Mary countered.

“Who told you that!” Vicky looked disconcerted.

“Was it Millicent?” Vicky had paled.

“Yes. She was quite insistent,” Mary replied.

“Jesus! You’re one of them!” Vicky looked concerned.

“You’re a candidate Novice for the Circle. For fuck sake don’t tell Millie anything about what I’ve said to you,” Vicky pleaded.

“What’s an Novice? What’s the problem?” Mary stroked Vicky’s shoulder trying to soothe her.

“Well I’ve only seen one girl who was selected to be a Novice, but apparently there have been a string of them over the years. Millicent takes on young virginal girls and tests their integrity. If they can last out long enough without giving into temptation and losing their virginity or don’t run away with some toff they meet at Chez Ami, they get to move onto somewhere incredible,” Vicky said; her voice full of wonder.

“What a load of bollocks, you’re making that up,” Mary laughed.

“The story is she works for a rich geezer; a Lord or a Baron or an Earl or something; and that she provides him with beautiful young virgins who he schools in the arts of eloquence and seduction. Some sort of secret society called the Circle that only the hoi polloi can join; you know the aristocracy and that,” Vicky said excitedly.

“Bollocks!” Mary replied again and punched her playfully in the shoulder.

“Well whatever; just don’t tell Millie that I offered you job doing extras ok?” they finished their cigarettes and went back to work.

Mary saw ‘extras’ actually happen on the premises not one week later. Mary needed to replenish the stock on her tray; the stockroom was a small closet inside the hatcheck room which itself was pokey. She had to put down her tray and wriggle her way through all the coats, jackets and furs hanging from the tiered racks. She had joked to Vicky that she could hide in there half the night and sleep standing up and no one would find her. Vicky wasn’t in attendance and Mary assumed she had gone to quickly use the toilet.

Mary was rummaging around in the stock room when she heard the door to the hatcheck station open and then muffled voices.

“Shh! Keep your voice down or you’ll get me sacked and you will end up divorced,” Vicky hissed.

“Come on Vick; give me a bit of a feel at least,” an older male voice was pleading.

“Your missus is out there right now at one of those tables,” Vicky chastised whoever was in the room with her.

“Come on darling; I haven’t had a shag for ages; just give us a kiss a cuddle and a feel and I’ll slip you ten bob,” the man pleaded.

Mary opened a small gap in the coats hiding her from view and she could see Vicky talking to a grey-haired man wearing an expensive dinner suit. He had to at least sixty.

“You can have a quick feel up while I lean against the counter here but you have to stay behind the wall where you can’t be seen. If anyone comes for a hat or a coat you bloody well stop it and stay hidden,” Vicky snatched the ten shilling note from his hand.

The geezer grinned and sidled up to the wall beside the counter. Vicky leaned out and seeing the coast was clear she nodded at the man and stood leaning against the counter, just like she would normally do at work.

Vicky’s uniform was a plain black cocktail dress with a very short skirt and open bodice; all the girls costumes were deliberately provocative in order to attract male clientele. The man reached out and lifted the back of Vicky’s dress, her gauzy black stocking-tops, suspenders and her plump bottom clad in sheer tight black nylon knickers were perfectly presented and the man wasted no time in sampling her wears. He stroked her thighs, his fingers gliding along her sheer stockings and then feathering across the pale skin above the welts of her stockings.

“You ladder my nylons and it’s another two bob,” Vicky hissed.

The man removed his hands briefly but only to open his flies; for an older gentleman he had a considerable sized and rather useful erection. The man stroked himself while he played with Vicky’s knicker-clad buttocks; Mary could see the man was getting very red in the face as he stroked himself and squeezed Vicky’s bottom.

“Jesus Vick I’m going to come any second and I really want a shag. Go on please let me,” the man begged.

“Another tenner and you better be bloody quick,” Vicky said in a harsh hushed tone.

The man quickly stepped out from behind the wall and positioned himself directly behind Vicky. He eased the gusset of her knickers aside and fumbled for little while then stood on tiptoes and thrust, pushing himself all the way in.

“Humph!” Vicky grunted as the man impaled her.

She hung onto the edge of the counter and pushed out her bum to assist the gentleman. He gripped her waist and thrust once, twice, three times and then he shuddered and ground himself against her bottom.

“Mmm…oh jeez Vick!” the man sighed.

“Quick! Quick! Someone is coming!” Vicky reached behind herself and pushed at the man.

He withdrew; his penis still hard and leaking semen. A gobbet of his spend rolled down the inside of Vicky’s thigh and soaked into the welt of her stocking. Vicky pulled down and straightened her skirt as the man squeezed himself up against the wall, still breathing heavily as he quickly did up the buttons on his fly.

Mary had to stifle her laughter as Vicky served the client at the counter. When she came to collect the coats off the rack Vicky was shocked to find Mary hidden amongst the coats and jackets.

“Making a little extra on the job are we?” Mary whispered.

Vicky fixed Mary with a glare that declared she was in no mood for jokes.

The customer mucked around fitting his companion into her coat as Vicky impatiently tapped her heel on the floor. When the couple finally left she spun around and grabbed the older gentleman by the arm and pushed him out the door.

“Thanks Vicky that was wonderful,” the man grinned when he was safely on the other side of the counter.

“Don’t forget my tip,” she growled.

“You are a sport,” the man smiled and popped a ten shilling note on the counter.

When he left the foyer both Mary and Vicky broke down laughing. They hung onto each other and cackled like a couple of banshees. They laughed so hard that they teared up and their makeup ran.

A rather serious looking maître d'hôtel returned to his post and gave them a scornful look.

“Stop that this instant; where do you think you are?” he growled.

“You! Fix your makeup and get your arse back out there and you; tidy up your counter and behave like a professional,” he scolded them.

Mary used her compact mirror and fixed her makeup then shoved it all back in her purse and put it up on the employees shelf and returned to her duties. She couldn’t stop smiling thinking about Vicky bent over the counter with the elderly chap behind her rutting away. As it turned out her smiling countenance earned a few extra bob in tips that night.

One year later…

Charlotte Beason awoke and with a start; it took her a few seconds to remember why she was in the huge bed with fresh sheets wearing silk stockings, satin directoire knickers, and a nylon full slip. The fabric of her sleeping attire felt wonderful against her soft clean skin.

She recalled everything that had happened yesterday; how she had been picked up and taken to Chelmsford Hall, Mary helping her to bathe and doing that special thing she did. The memory of that caused her already erect penis to throb.

Charlotte got out of bed, found a chamber pot under it and used it to pee with difficulty at first until her erection subsided. Then she went to the vanity table washed her face, fixed her makeup and brushed her hair. There was a jug of water in the large washing bowl, two water glasses, a beaker, a tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush. She brushed her teeth and finding nowhere else appropriate after she’d rinsed, she spat in the pot.

She remembered what Mary had said about induction and was very curious as to what that would entail. So much had happened to her over the last few days. The one thing she was certain of was that she should have been born a girl not a boy and she was happy that she now had the freedom to live that way.

There was a soft knock on the door and Mary entered. Mary was wearing a business suit although she doubted that most businesses would approve of her short skirt and incredibly high heels.

“You look wonderful today Mary,” Charlotte beamed.

“And you look pretty good yourself compared to what the cat dragged in last night. How did you sleep?” Mary came over to Charlotte and held her gently, scrutinising her face and showing genuine affection.

“I think it was the best sleep ever. Perhaps that little release as you call it helped,” Charlotte blushed.

Mary smiled knowingly at her.

“Ok young lady; you can’t spend all day in here, let’s begin your indoctrination.

Mary led Charlotte through the maze of corridors in the large house explaining what most of the rooms were. Charlotte had spent most of her formative years at Harrow School as Charles and was used to large imposing heritage buildings. They finally arrived back at the large shared bathroom facility and a few doors down they came to a dormitory with six beds. Beside each bed was a large armoire and a desk and chair. There were privacy screens for each of the beds but they were pulled back and tied off.

“This is your bed where you will live until your Novice training is completed; the process can take as little as four weeks to as long as three months,” Mary began.

“Your day will be regimented. You will assist with chores such as cleaning, laundry, cooking and serving food and you will also be given lessons in deportment, etiquette, manners, and comminations skills; sort of like a finishing school.”

“Once you are considered to have mastered the skills required, you will be presented to Lord Edward Tilsbury for a final assessment. If you are considered worthy you will move on from being an Novice to an Acolyte of the Circle, one who is proficient at her trade,” Mary explained.

“And what will be my trade?” Charlotte swallowed.

“Why you will be a lover of course. A willing and accomplished lover,” Mary smiled.

“For who?” Charlotte was almost too scared to ask.

“For members of the Circle and only members of the Circle,” Mary replied.

“In the armoire you will find all of the clothing you will ever need; in fact the armoire and the desk contain all of the possessions you will need why you are here. We will care for you for as long as you remain an Novice or an Acolyte; you will want for nothing. Once you reach the age of twenty-five you will be released from servitude with a stipend that will set you up for the rest of your life; you will live like an entitled Lady. Of course there will be conditions imposed but that is to be expected as you will always be beholden to the Circle.”

“If I refuse?” Charlotte whispered.

“I will arrange to have Sargent Pitt return you to the streets where you were found. You will say nothing of what you have seen or heard here or of the Circle. The same goes if you fail your training,” Mary said emotionlessly.

“But if you fail; then I have failed. I am to be your mentor. You are very special; you are the first of your kind to be offered the privilege of being an Novice,” Mary lifted Charlotte’s chin and looked her in the eyes.

“On the desk is a document detailing the proposal I have summarised for you; you have until noon to read and sign it,” Mary pointed to a parchment scroll bound by a red ribbon.

Charlotte did not hesitate. She unrolled the parchment, dipped the pen in the inkwell and scrawled her signature in the space provided. She felt free; totally unconstrained for the first time in her life signing the document with her female name.

“You didn’t read it,” Mary said, tying the scroll with the red ribbon.

“Do I have to? The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about and I have no desire to return home. Besides, I have faith in you. You won’t let me fail,” Charlotte smiled.

Mary pulled her close and hugged her.

“You know where the bathroom is; you will be required to bathe each day before dinner and again if instructed to. You may open the armoire; you will find quite a few different garments and ensembles. For now all you need do is dress in your Novice’s uniform; that is the black pleated shirt, white blouse and blazer hanging together. You are to wear only white underwear and black stockings with your uniform, you will find them in the drawer. The black leather instep-strapped high heels go with the uniform; you may wear white anklets while you are undertaking chores and the white apron too,” Mary explained.

“Get dressed for tuition, no socks or apron, and meet me down the corridor in the room on right marked ‘Tuition’. We will finish your indoctrination and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the Novices,” Mary turned with a flourish and strode away gripping the parchment in one hand.

Charlotte looked around the dorm and happy that she was alone she took off her garters, rolled down her silk stockings and slipped out of her satin directoire knickers and a nylon full slip. She folded the garments and placed them on the foot of her bed like all the others in the dorm had done and then she excitedly opened the armoire and wished she had time explore all of the clothing hanging there but she didn’t.

It took her only ten minutes to dress but she was distracted by the contents of the armoire. The drawers contained all sorts of delectable goodies besides underwear and hosiery there was cosmetics, jewellery, toiletries, perfume and all sorts of feminine prerequisites.

Charlotte tapped softly on the tuition room door and opened it. There were five other young ladies sitting two to a desk dressed identical to Charlotte in their Novices uniform. They all turned to stare at her as she stepped into the room.

“Ladies; this is Charlotte. Charlotte is the special Novice that I have told you about. She is to be treated no differently than any other of the other Novices here except for as I explained, she has a penis, which is totally off limits to all of you,” Mary came over and took Charlotte’s hand while she was speaking.

Charlotte wasn’t sure who blushed the reddest; her or the other girls.

Mary led Charlotte to the front of the class and introduced her to the five young ladies but Charlotte had so much going on in her mind that she immediately forgot their names. Then she was directed to sit next to the one girl sitting on her own and Charlotte nervously sat down beside her and gave her a wan smile.

The girl beamed back and reached out and stroked her cheek.

“I’m Cynthia and you are beautiful; no one would ever know that you’re…well that you’re special.”

Charlotte smiled back at Cynthia; relieved that she was so nice.

“Don’t worry we are all nice to each other here; there is too much work to do and too much to learn so we all support each other,” Cynthia whispered.

“Except for Gloria. Gloria is a cow!”

The girl directly in front of Charlotte turned around and stuck out her tongue.

All the girls giggled.

“Ladies! Ladies! Back to our lesson please,” Mary chastened her proteges.

“Ok. Gloria please pick up on where we left off with regard to engaging in polite conversation,” Mary nodded at Gloria.

Charlotte’s first lesson began.

Later it was explained to her that the curricula was cyclic and repetitive; designed to ensure that that the young ladies were adequately schooled in charm, etiquette and all facets of what was required to be a lady who is responsive to the needs of cultured gentlemen. Because of the repetitious nature of the syllabus it also meant that the girls could commence or complete their schooling at any time during the course of the syllabus.

Charlotte enjoyed her first few weeks at Chelmsford Hall. She found the other five Novices charming and supportive, her special situation was hardly ever mentioned although she noticed the girls would often peek at her when they bathed. She envied the other girls’ breasts and the smooth rounded V of their knickers covering their pubis.

The daily routine consisted of the girls checking the duty roster; they would each be allocated chores and duties in the kitchen, in the dining room in the laundry or around the Hall attending to housekeeping. There was an employed staff of course but the girls had to pull their weight alongside the ‘downstairs’ employees; it was considered character building.

During her second week a doctor examined Charlotte; Mary chaperoned her.

“You are a healthy young ma… err woman but with obvious deficiencies. Lord Edward Tilsbury has directed me to help you as much as I can. I have to warn that some of the treatments will be painful,” the doctor explained.

“Will the treatments make me more feminine?” Charlotte asked.

“Oh absolutely,” the doctor replied.

“I can give you silicone injections which will enlarge your breasts; not too large, but large enough, say a size B cup?”

“I will also inject you with female hormones. They will take a while to work but they will feminise you to some extent; that is, make physical changes to your body. Your breasts will develop, you will cease growing body hair to a great extent, not that you have much anyway, you will lose muscle tone but your figure will become more feminine,” the doctor explained.

Charlotte was beaming.

“What about?” she glanced down at her genitals.

“There has been some experimentation in that area but there is still no established safe procedure; besides, Lord Tilsbury has strictly forbidden me from proposing that course of action,” the doctor warned.

“Ok; but I want the hormones and the breast enhancement,” Charlotte pleaded.

“The silicone injections will hurt considerably; but if I have your consent there is no time like the present. I will also inject you with female hormones and leave you some pills to take as directed. I will need to inject your breasts with silicon, at least once a week until they are of satisfactory size and proportion,” the doctor laid out his surgical equipment.

“Are you sure?” Mary touched Charlotte’s cheek and looked deeply into her eyes.

Charlotte nodded.

“Good girl,” Mary smiled.

She helped support Charlotte during the procedure; the breast augmentation injections caused so much pain that Charlotte fainted but the results were almost immediate.

“See you next week doctor and thank you,” Charlotte said through gritted teeth.

But the rest of her training was far from painful.

There were dance lessons, riding lessons and gymnastics; the girls were kept fit and healthy.

There were also twice weekly ‘fulfilment lessons’ which Charlotte found quite disturbing when she sat in her first session.

The girls were particularly giggly before the first fulfilment lesson that she attended but they would not tell her why. Charlotte was quite taken aback when she entered the tuition room that afternoon and found that at each place setting was a life-size replica of an erect penis.

Some were painted to look very realistic while some were jet-black alabaster.

“Ok ladies settle down,” Bridget, another of the Acolytes who lived in at the Hall said sternly.

“Now you all know the various parts of the penis and Charlotte I know this is your first lesson but being the proud owner of one of these appendages I’m sure you will catch up quickly.”

“Ok ladies; let’s review what we have learned. We know our duty in life is to make every effort to please our masters in every way possible; but when it comes to sexual pleasure what are our two prime duties?” Bridget asked the class.

“To prolong and enhance the experience,” Gloria replied with a self-satisfied grin.

“And now more revision; lets point out the parts of the penis that we have in front of us. The shaft, the foreskin, the glans, and the meatus,” the girls pointed each of the parts on the model penises on their desks.

“And where is the most sensitive part and what is it called?” Bridget asked.

“The fraenulum Miss and it’s here under the glans,” Cynthia answered this time.

“Correct and under the penis hangs?” Bridget had the girls almost chanting their replies.

“The scrotum and inside are the testes,” the girls piped in.

“And?” she led them on.

“It is very sensitive and must be caressed with caution and extreme subtlety,” they chimed.

“Correct. When you are finally allowed the privilege to pleasure your masters, you will find that manipulation of the scrotum and testicles will vary; some will want them manipulated quite vigorously whereas some will not even want you to touch them at all. The Master will always indicate his preference accordingly,” Bridget explained.

“Today ladies I have a special treat for you. We will have a living model on which to practice. Of course you will not be allowed to touch him but you will be trained observers and learn from what you see,” Bridget said rather sternly.

The girls all cooed with excitement.

Bridget pulled back a curtain and exposed a raised examination table. Lying on the table was an adult male wearing a black silk hood. Other than the hood the man was naked.

“Gather round now girls,” Bridget said.

The sound of stools scraping on the floor was accompanied by the excited chattering of young ladies.

“Ladies! What is the first thing I taught you!” Bridget said angrily.

“To be quiet and demure in the company of our Masters,” the girls sung in chorus.

Bridget waved a hand over the supine male body lying before her.

The girls all nodded then crowded around the table.

“See before you; the male sex organs. The subject is already semi-erect likely due to the fact that he knows that he is about to be pleasured and of course he is surrounded by beautiful young women,” Bridget explained and the girls giggled politely.

“Now if I gently manipulate his scrotum like so, see the effect I’m having,” Bridget softly stroked the man’s scrotum with her fingertips.

“See his testes contract and his penis becoming harder; and watch now,” Bridget bent over the table and gently blew a stream of air on the man’s genitals.

“So. Now I will take the shaft in my fingers and stroke it, see his penis come to full tumescence.”

She featherlightly caressed the man for a few minutes with her fingertips until the man on the table began to breathe heavily and squirm.

“See his response. Now see what happens when I do this?” Bridget gripped the shaft of the man’s penis and began to slowly stroke him.

“You can see now that his fully erect penis is throbbing; the veins are at full capacity and he is leaking pre-ejaculate or pre-seminal fluid,” Bridget took a gobbet of the clear liquid on her fingertip.

“Here,” she offered it to Gloria who tentatively stuck out her tongue and tasted the offering.

“Quite tasteless and not at all offensive?” Bridget looked at Gloria who nodded in agreement.

“Now once you have your man in this state you can extend his pleasure as long as he wants. Sometimes he will want the foreplay to continue for a considerable period and sometimes he might just want you to get him erect so that he can enter you immediately,” Bridget was lazily stroking the man’s penis as she spoke.

“Remember what I told you about the fraenulum?” Bridget ran her manicured fingernail along the sensitive spot and then stroked it with the pad of her fingertip.

The man on table shuddered and his penis leaked more pre-seminal fluid.

“Of course your Master may want, and you should always be prepared to offer him, stimulation or relief the French way,” Bridget leaned over the man and took his penis in her mouth.

The man groaned as Bridget began to suckle his penis. Bridget lifted her head away form the man and he sighed with disappointment. Bridget patted him indicating that she was sorry and would soon return to her duties.

“Oral sex is an artform in itself that can only be mastered by continual practice on a real man. You cannot of course do that until you graduate but if you remember the basics; run your lips along the shaft of the penis and use your tongue to slaver the glans concentrating on the fraenulum you can’t go wrong. Like so,” Bridget lowered her face to the man’s genitals and began to fellate him again.

The man put his hands on her head and guided her; using his touch to direct when he wanted her to suckle him vigorously and when to slow down and just use her mouth and tongue gently on his phallus to delay his orgasm.

Bridget lifted her face again.

“Now I could continue and bring our subject to extremis in my mouth, but for today’s exercise I want you to observe his ejaculation. Just remember when you conduct fellatio for the first time, if the man ejaculates in your mouth you must swallow what he has given you,” Bridget cautioned.

“Of course I could keep our subject in a constant state of arousal all afternoon using my hands and mouth; some men will want you to use other body parts during foreplay but we will cover that during the session on fetishes,” Bridget was stroking the man, keeping him hard during the instruction.

“So now. Ejaculation. Are you ready Master?” Bridget asked the subject who nodded.

She gripped his hard phallus and using his pre-seminal fluid as a lubricant she firmly stroked his penis, building up the tempo and squeezing it harder until the man arched his back and gasped. He began to shudder and stream after stream of hot semen ejaculated from his penis. Ropes of the hot, white viscous fluid splashed on Bridget’s arm and on the man’s belly. Bridget milked him until the man was empty then she released his cock, which was already beginning to deflate.

“Smell that ladies? I know you have before Charlotte; but for those of you who haven’t, move in and smell the pungent musky aroma of his semen,” Bridget instructed.

“I want you want each of you to scoop up a little semen and taste it. It is not bad; just different; some say salty but I find it more piquant, sort of musky,” Bridget took a little herself and put it on the tip of her tongue.

When all the girls had nervously tasted a little of the man’s spend, Bridget wiped him down with a warm damp towel, then dried him and offered him a black silk robe which she helped him don.

The girls were chattering amongst themselves discussing what they had just witnessed and comparing the smell and taste of the man’s ejaculate.

“Ladies! Ladies! To your seats please and practice what you have just seen using the models on your tables,” Bridget ordered.

She escorted the man to the door of the classroom and then outside.

“Thank you being our model today,” she smiled up at the hooded man.

The man removed his hood and smiled down at her.

“My pleasure,” he leaned into Bridget and kissed her passionately, squeezing her buttocks as he did.

The man broke the kiss. He turned and walked away smiling.

Sargent William Pitt quite liked his collateral duties.

To be continued