The Collector
by
Michele Nylons


Chapter One – Catamites and Rent Boys

The big dark car cruised slowly along the street; the windows were dark, the grille and bumper bars were all chrome; the large headlights sitting atop of the gleaming front wheel panels glowed an ominous dull yellow.

Charlotte leaned against the rough brickwork in the dark railway underpass hoping the car would pass by without incident. A small suitcase on the filthy pavement beside her contained all of her worldly possessions; she hadn’t eaten for four days nor bathed for two. She wanted no truck with whoever was in the car.

As the black behemoth entered the tunnel, the high beams lit up, dazzling her. She raised her hand to her eyes to shade them.

“There. That one,” the man in the backseat of the limousine pointed to the dishevelled young girl shielding her eyes.

“She looks pretty shabby Guvnor,” the chauffeur commented.

“They always do when I first get my hands on them. She’s the Eliza Doolittle to my Henry Higgins,” the man in the backseat replied.

“You might be Rex Harrison but she is definitely no Audrey Hepburn,” the driver sniffed.

Charlotte picked up her suitcase and began walking but there was nowhere to go. She was effectively trapped in the tunnel; she shuffled along the pavement, leaning heavily to one side to compensate for the weight of her suitcase. She struggled to walk in her high heels, which were two sizes to big for her.

The car pulled up beside her and the back window wound down.

Charlotte glanced over and saw a handsome, middle-aged man beckoning to her; he seemed refined and was very well dressed. His black mane was shot through with distinguished streaks of grey. She felt even shabbier but more importantly if the man got too close to her, her secret would be revealed.

“Come on over I won’t bite,” the man said in a clipped British accent.

Charlotte kept walking; deliberately looking away. She stumbled and fell; skinning her knee and tearing a hole in her already laddered nylons.

She kneeled on her hands and knees and began to sob. She didn’t care what the men in the car wanted with her; Charlotte was despondent, dejected and rejected. She felt worthless and fatally depressed.

Charlotte felt the presence of the man beside her. She could see his immaculately shined shoes and pressed trouser cuffs. Feeling shame wash over her, she looked up at him.

He was offering her a leather-gloved hand, which she reluctantly took.

The man helped Charlotte to her feet; he was smiling, not in a wolfish sort of way, which is what she has continually experienced since she had been thrown out on the street. He seemed genuinely concerned for her.

She stood shaking, leaning one hand on the cold damp brick wall for support. The man pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it on her face. Grime and caked-on makeup soiled the cloth, now moist with Charlotte’s tears. This made Charlotte feel even more abject.

The man took her shoulder to steady her and started to lead Charlotte to the car, which idled at the curb, a plume of blue smoke snaking from the exhaust. The chauffer had got out of the car and picked up her shabby suitcase.

“Where are we going?” Charlotte whimpered.

“Does it matter?” the man replied.

He helped her into the car and Charlotte offered no resistance. The car was clean and warm; two circumstances she had not experienced for some time.

The man climbed in the backseat after her and Charlotte clambered across and hunched in the corner, as far away from the man as possible.

“Are you scared?” the man asked.

Charlotte nodded.

The chauffer slammed the boot and came around to the front of the car; he got in and started driving.

The man reached inside his coat and produced a small bar of chocolate. He offered it to Charlotte who snatched it from his grasp and began to wolf it down.

The chauffer watched in the rear-view mirror and tutted his disapproval. The man flicked a switch and the dark glass window separating the rear passenger compartment from driver’s seat slid into place.

The man lit a cheroot and contemplated the waif. He reached across and turned her face to his, holding her by her pointed chin.

“I bet you’re pretty under that grime,” he groused.

“I’m not a girl; at least not a real one,” Charlotte whispered her confession.

“Oh I know. But I’m going to help you become the next best thing,” the man smiled at her and ruffled her hair.

One year earlier…

Charles Beason was on school holidays, home alone.

Charles was a slender lad who was clumsy and ill-suited to play cricket, squash or rugby, which was almost a religion at the public school where he boarded. He was bright and performed well academically; but not being sporty and considered rather delicate meant that Charles was ostracised by his Housemates. Life at Harrow School was hell on earth for him and he longed to be home where his mother doted on him.

Charles’ father was an Old Harrovain and expected Charles to follow in his footsteps and become a prefect or even a House Captain. The rather exorbitant expenses that his parents paid for the privilege bestowed on Charles was a frequent conversation piece whenever Charles’ poor performance at Harrow arose.

“Leave him alone Reginald; Charles is doing his best. His grades are good and he’s excelling in arts and music,” his mother defended him.

“They should bring back fagging and corporal punishment; toughen him up a bit,” his father made no effort to hide his disappointment.

His mother would usually take Charles in her arms and smother him at this stage of the altercation and Reginald would sniff disapprovingly, flick his broadsheet and mumble something about pansies.

Charles delighted in his mother’s soft embrace, the smell of her perfume, the gentle caress of her Angora sweater.

“The boy will end up a fucking homo if you keep mothering him like you do!” Major Reginald Beason (Rtd) growled, pouring scotch and lighting a cigar.

“Reginald!” Wendy Beason said disapprovingly and put her hands over Charles’ ears.

Charles liked it when he had the house to himself. His father was thankfully often away on business and his mother had endless rounds of social engagements that demanded her attention.

She would cuddle her beloved son before she went out for the day or the evening, kissing him all over his face. Quite often when she came home ‘in her cups’ she would slink out of her gown, kick off her heels and climb under the covers to snuggle and cosset her beloved teenaged boy.

There was nothing sexual between them, but Charles adored the feel of his mother’s soft body sheathed in satin and lace pressed against his; her legs encased in sheer slippery nylon wrapped around his as she held him tight until she fell asleep. Then he would breathe in her smells: lipstick, powder, and perfume with an undertone of champagne, gin or whisky.

From an early age Charles had been fascinated with the look and feel of ladies intimate apparel. Sheer stockings and nylon and satin knickers and underpants, full-slips and half-slips, bustiers and brassieres, suspenders and garter belts; all these things were sacred to him. He loved how they looked, he loved how the felt, and he loved how they smelled after his mother had worn them.

Another passion was shoes. Specifically women’s high heeled shoes. Pumps, stilettos, ankle strap heels, wedge heels, sling-back heels, high-heeled sandals, peep-toes, mules; they fascinated him equally. And his mother had plenty of them all.

Charles could not remember exactly when he first tried on ladies clothing. He remembers encountering his mother’s stockings drying on the towel-rail and her knickers and brassieres and slips hanging from the clotheshorse near the fireplace. He remembers taking soiled undergarments from the laundry basket. He remembers rubbing the items against his bare skin and revelling in the wonderment of their feel.

Charles does remember however numerous occasions when he did wear the garments; late at night in his room, under the bed covers. The stockings were baggy on his legs but they felt luxurious, the same with the knickers, slips and bras.

He would slide into a pair of stockings, pull on a pair of satin panties and then a nylon or satin full-slip and roll around under the covers delighting in the delectation of the garments against his soft, unblemished, sensitive skin.

Charles became brazen. He stole lingerie from the neighbour’s clothesline; they had a daughter who was close to him in size. He spent the day dressed in her lingerie and stockings, clunking around in a pair of his mother’s pumps. He had the house to himself so often that it became routine and he had to admit the chance that he might get caught only added spice.

He wore his hair long; well longish, as did most Harrovians, just below his collar. It was whispy, blonde and curly and his father hated it; said he looked like a London rent-boy. Charles would brush it out and centre part it with a fringe while he was dressed enfemme and brush it back severely at other times.

One day he sat beside his mother who was at her vanity table putting on her makeup dressed in stockings, knickers, bra and slip; her beautiful silk evening gown hanging on a satin-padded hanger ready to slip into before she left for her engagement. Her satin dressing gown was cinched at the waist but Charles could see quite plainly what she was wearing underneath. Wendy ruffled his hair and moved over so her beloved boy could sit beside her while she preened. She was drinking a gin and tonic and gave him a sip.

“Don’t you tell daddy,” Wendy kissed him quickly and then rubbed her lipstick off his rosy cheek.

“Is that hard what you are doing mom? You seem to have to have to really concentrate when you put on your makeup?” Charles asked, innocently enough.

“It’s something all girls learn to do as soon as they can; I could do my makeup by the time I was thirteen,” Wendy grinned at him.

“Did your mother teach you?” Charles was interested.

Wendy turned to him and looked at her son very seriously for a beat.

“I know you like to wear my clothes sometimes Charles,” she said to him.

Charles sat stunned; his mouth agape. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

“There, there,” Wendy pulled him into her embrace and patted his back.

“Look Charles; it’s not unusual for men and boys to be fascinated with ladies clothes, especially their underclothes. Why do you think women wear them?”

“We wear them because we like to but also because men like us to wear silky undergarments; they like to see us dressed in them and feel us wearing them. For instance daddy especially likes me to wear stockings and sometimes I wear them to bed for him. You understand what I’m saying? Your father has had THAT conversation with you surely?” she held him at arm length by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

Charles lied to his mother and nodded. Reginald had not had THAT conversation with his son because he fully expected that his son would find out all about the birds and the bees from the upper-classmen at Harrow, just as Reginald had and his father before him. Charles knew enough about THAT to know that his fascination with women’s apparel was not sexual.

“I do too. That is I like the feel and I like the smell,” Charles admitted.

“You mean this smell,” Wendy pointed her ornate perfume bottle at him and pressed the bulb.

“Mom!” Charles whined; but they both laughed.

“Now you smell like a girl,” his mother teased.

“Mom!” Charles whined again.

Wendy had been drinking gin and tonics all afternoon. She and Reginald had had a huge fight the evening before when he was packing for another of his business trips. Wendy suspected that he had been having affairs while he was away and Reginald had scoffed at her when she had shown him receipts for flowers, chocolates and lingerie that she had never received.

“You’re being silly, woman!” Reginald had simply declared; closed the lid on his trunk and stormed out the house to his car.

This seemed like a good time to pay him back somewhat; knowing how much Reginald hated that their son was not the rough and tumble larrikin that Reginald wanted him to be.

Wendy puffed the little bottle again and giggled.

“Now you definitely smell like a girl,” Wendy laughed, finishing her drink.

“I do mother. I smell like you,” Charles blushed.

“Well I’ll tell you what. You go and pour your mother another drink and we’ll play dressup together ok? It will be our secret. Just this once and we never tell daddy. That way, when you get married, you will know how much trouble your wife goes to make herself beautiful and enticing for you. You won’t want women other than your wife, because you will appreciate her,” Wendy’s voice caught.

Charles was too excited to notice his mother’s distress and he skipped away to pour his mother a generous gin and tonic just like he’d been taught.

When Charles returned he handed the drink to his mother who downed half of it in a single gulp.

“Go and get your little collection of ladies wear,” she smiled knowingly at him.

Charles blushed. His mother had told him that she knew that he liked to dress in ladies underwear; it should not be a surprise that she knew where he kept it.

His heart thumped in his chest as he went to his room and pulled out the pathetic collection of ‘unmentionables’ from their hiding place at the back of his wardrobe.

When her returned his mother was applying the finishing touches to her makeup.

“There’s my lovely boy. Let’s see what you have,” she smiled at him.

Charles felt embarrassed and ashamed as he held up each piece of his piteous little ensemble. His mother mooched around and selected a pair of full-cut nylon underpants, a suspender belt and a satin full-slip.

“I’ll turn around while you get dressed. I’ve seen you naked many times of course but now that you are of the age of consent I do not think it prudent for me to do so now,” she turned back to her mirror and fussed with the cosmetics.

Charles was quivering with embarrassment, trepidation, excitement, and expectation all at once as he shucked out of his clothes and slipped into the proffered lingerie. He had to sit on his mother’s bed to slip on the knickers and suspender belt and it felt surreal to be doing so.

He nervously padded back to where his mother sat at her vanity table. She turned and smiled at him.

“Well not too bad I suppose; they don’t fit you very well but that’s as expected. Here. A little present for you, you can’t wear those pathetic laddered hose,” she extracted a package of stockings from one of the drawers and handed it to him.

Charles took the package with trembling fingers. His very own brand new stockings! In the past he taken his mother’s discards from the bin or stolen them from the drying horse or from next door’s clothesline.

Dorothy smiled as her son sat on her bed and excitedly opened the package with trembling fingers.

“Be careful not to snag them darling,” she called across the room, sipping on the remains of her drink.

She giggled as she watched Charles struggle to roll the nylons up his legs and clip the welts to the garters. She became a little frustrated and, ensuring her gown remained closed, she strode across the room and sat beside her son.

“Here; watch how I do it,” Wendy entreated.

She smoothed the diaphanous nylon sheath along his leg; took one of the suspenders and adeptly slipped the little rubber disk under the gauzy welt at the stocking top and clipped it to the silver snap.

She smiled at Charles and ruffled his hair.

“Easy, see. Now you do the rest,” Wendy left him to snap the rest of his suspenders in place while she went and refilled her glass.

When she returned, Charles was dressed in knickers, stockings, suspenders and slip. He looked very embarrassed and his face was glowing.

“Don’t be scared darling we are doing this just once to get back at daddy for being mean to both of us,” Wendy hiccupped and spilled a little of her drink.

“Ok you sit at the vanity and bush out your hair and then mommy will do your makeup. I’ll do it as best as I can and we’ll see what you would look like if you’d been born a girl instead of boy,” she beamed.

First Wendy patiently painted his fingernails with two coats of glossy plum red nailpolish. She told him not to smudge the nailpolish before it hardened and explained how women often tried to match their nailpolish with their lipstick.

Wendy applied a coat of foundation to Charles’ face and neck and then set it with a liberal dusting of matching face powder and then went to work on his eyes. She brushed mauve eyeshadow onto Charles's eyelids working from the inner corner of each eye to the centre above his pupils. She worked the powder upwards up to his eyebrows and then applied a coat of blue eyeshadow out to the far corners of his eyes, lightening the makeup as she worked it up to his brows and blended the two shades where they merged.

Wendy tut-tutted a little and reached for some pink eyeshadow and applied it liberally around the edges; blending the eyeshadow with a small brush and making final adjustments with her fingertip.

Charles was fascinated with the changes that his mother was making to his appearance. He was transforming into a girl right there in the mirror.

"Ok Charles; turn to me and keep very still now and just half-close your for me; here comes the hard bit; the eyeliner." Wendy’s breath smelled heavily of gin and tobacco.

Wendy applied black eyeliner to his upper and lower eyelids, working outwards so that Charles’ eyes were framed by the black makeup.

"Open your eyes; lift your head up but look down at my tummy and keep still for me darling ok; I'm going to do your mascara,” Wendy explained.

She applied plenty of thick black mascara to his upper and lower eyelashes; fiddling a little as she worked. She explained that as his eyelashes were very fine she had to apply lots of the product to get a good effect,

"Ok nearly there," she sighed and took a sip of her drink.

Wendy applied blusher to his cheeks, then she dusted his whole face and neck with a coating of finishing powder, being careful not to smudge the mascara and eyeliner.

Finally Wendy coloured his lips with a coat of plum-red lipstick, applying a second coat after the first had set. She had him bite down on tissue to take up any excess.

"Perfect," she whispered more to herself than him.

“Look at yourself darling. I hardly recognise you,” Wendy beamed and spun her son around so that he faced the mirror.

“Oh my god!” Charles was absolutely astonished.

Staring back from the mirror was gorgeous young woman.

He lifted a hand to brush his fringe from his eye and observed that his long elegant fingers with red fingernail polish were effeminate and in no way out of place.

“I look like a girl,” he whispered.

“Yes you do darling and you should have a girl’s name. What about Charlotte? That’s a lovely name,” she grinned; more than a little drunk.

“You can try on some of my high heels if you like; I know you have been doing so. Try stuffing the toes with paper if they are too big; you have such tiny feet,” Wendy slipped and hung onto the back of Charles chair for support.

“You can play dressups all night if you want to but I have to get going; I’m already late. Make sure you remove your makeup before you go to bed,” she hiccupped.

Charlotte felt so very feminine and was delighted when she was required to help Wendy into her evening gown and zip it closed at the back. Wendy fell asleep waiting for her taxi and Charlotte gently woke her when it pulled up outside.

Wendy awoke with a start looking confused and then her memory returned.

“My lovely daughter,” she smiled and kissed Charlotte on the cheek.

Wendy wound her way down the hallway to the front door while Charlotte remained in the lounge room. When Charlotte had the house to herself she practiced walking properly in her mother’s high heels until she was adept enough to saunter from room to room. She had a thoroughly enjoyable evening in her new found persona and in the early morning reluctantly removed her makeup and nailpolish and kicked off her heels. She went to bed wearing everything else.

And so a new chapter started in Charles’ life. He became Charlotte at any opportunity that presented itself. Charlotte practised her makeup skills; worked hard at dressing as feminine as possible, walking like a lady and talking like a lady.

She tried on her mother’s dresses, skirts and blouses, and accessorised with jewellery and clip-on earrings.

Charlotte was indistinguishable from any of the girls living nearby and prettier than most of them. Her small feet were her only drawback; she wished that she could summon the courage to buy a pair of heels that fit her but there was no way that was possible.

In 1950s Britain boys did not purchase ladies shoes.

The inevitable happened when Reginald and Wendy arrived home unexpected one afternoon. They had only been gone for an hour or two and were expected to be gone overnight, staying at Lord Cavendish’s estate in the Cotswolds. The argument that began just as they had left home had become a screaming match not much later; Wendy had found further evidence of Reginald’s infidelity.

Charlotte was engrossed in her own world, twirling around the parlour with an imaginary paramour, the loud music from the gramophone had masked the sound of the car pulling up outside the house and the entrance of his distraught mother and angry father.

Their bawling and shouting announced their presence but it was too late for Charlotte. She was caught red handed.

The recriminations and counter recriminations sallied back and forth. Reginald threw his effeminate offspring against the wall and then made to punch Charles in the face.

Wendy threw herself between her husband and her son to protect her only progeny.

“This is all your fault! You mothered the boy and treated him like a girl; no wonder he never hardened up!”

“Look at the pathetic little Nancy-boy sniveller! He looks like he belongs with the catamites and rent boys down in Soho,” Reginald reached around his wife and clipped Charles around the ear.

He pushed Wendy aside and began to shake Charles by the shoulders.

“How did you learn to dress like this? Is someone putting their cock to you?” Reginald threw Charles against the wall.

“Answer me you fag!” Reginald roared.

Charles looked at his mother and saw the look of trepidation and anxiousness on her face. She pleaded soundlessly with her son.

“I’m not Charles when I’m dressed like this. I’m Charlotte! And nobody taught me; I learned to dress like this myself. I don’t want to be Charles any longer! I want to be Charlotte!” she cried out indignantly.

Charlotte did not know where the courage came from to answer her father like that. Years of being repressed, oppressed, beaten and bullied had finally taken their toll and roused her spirit; provoking her to retaliate.

A wicked grin crossed Reginald’s face.

“And then so it shall be! Come with me!” Reginald grabbed Charlotte in a vice-like grip and dragged her across the room, out the parlour and upstairs.

Charlotte lost her shoes and half staggered and was half dragged up to her room. Reginald dragged a small suitcase off the top of the wardrobe.

“You won’t need any of this lot will you harlot,” Reginald pulled the wardrobe forward and it smashed down on the floor.

“It’s full of useless boys clothes. Let’s go see what your mother can spare,” he roared.

Wendy stood at the door crying and pleading with her husband to be gentle with her boy.

“I blame you for this; you dozy bint! He’s a fucking disgrace to the family!” Reginald dragged Charlotte past Wendy hauling the suitcase in his other hand.

He dragged Charlotte to the master bedroom and began throwing his wife’s lingerie and clothes onto the floor. He swept her makeup off the vanity table.

“Here! Help yourself you pathetic closet queen! I paid for all of this so take what you want,” he threw Charlotte to the floor.

Charlotte was sobbing uncontrollably as she scrambled through the mound of clothing and underwear and shoved articles that she thought would fit her into the suitcase followed by some her mother’s cosmetics. Wendy tried to go to her aid but Reginald spun her by the wrist and threw her on the bed.

“If you’d spent more time on that fucking bed with your legs open waiting for me instead of drinking and going out with your friends and mollycoddling this homo, I might have a son instead of this girly-boy,” he growled.

Reginald reefed the suitcase out of Charlotte’s grip and slammed it shut then began to drag her down the stairs. Wendy scrambled off the bed and followed.

Don’t do this Reginald! For god’s sake please don’t do this! Don’t throw our only child out onto the streets!” Wendy implored her husband.

“Shut up you whining harpy! I’ll throw you out too if you don’t fuck off back to the bedroom where I told you to stay! Get your arse up there, get on the bed, hike up your skirt, take off your knickers and open your legs and wait for my return! The other option is to join this pathetic transvestite on the streets!” Reginald roared.

Reginald pushed Charlotte out the door, threw the suitcase after her and then tossed the high heels she had been wearing through the door before he slammed it shut.

The suitcase burst open and Charlotte had to suffer the added indignity of raking together the pathetic pile of clothes and makeup and shovelling them back into the case.

She walked away from her family home with absolutely no idea where to go or how she was going to fend for herself.

Lord Edward Tilsbury found her in the railway underpass tunnel a week later. One of his many ‘spotters’, to whom he paid a substantial reward if their information yielded fruit, had seen her living there, barely getting by on handouts from strangers.

Three months later…

Charlotte put her eye to the keyhole.

Edward was at his desk writing, dipping his pen in the inkwell and swiftly returning it to the document he was working on so very fastidiously.

Edward’s bedroom was gloomy; the only light came from his desk lamp and the keyhole restricted Charlotte’s field of view. She could see only the area in front of the door; the bed itself and the ensuite bathroom were obscured.

Mary went behind a screen set up in the corner and when she emerged she had taken off the heavy, green, cut-velvet evening gown; the evening uniform for the ‘Acolytes of the Circle’. She emerged wearing a black and red basque, the bodice of which pushed up and supported her breasts and cinched her waist. It tied in the back and six black satin suspenders snaked down her legs clipped to the welts of her fully-fashioned black silk stockings. The basque was constructed of red satin with a black lace decoration and whilst the bodice ended at the bottom of her hips, a black lace ruffle running around the bottom of the garment obscured her pubis and her derriere.

Devoid of her gown, Charlotte could now see that Mary did indeed have the voluptuous hourglass figure and long legs that she suspected Mary kept hidden under her everyday clothes.

Mary poured Edward a glass of port from the crystal decanter he kept on a side table and walked over to where he sat working at his desk.

Edward sat on a small bench rather than an office chair; the bench was a little larger than a piano stool and Mary sat beside him and put down the drink. Edward ignored her and kept writing.

Mary stood and ruffled her fingers through his thick hair and then ran her hands down his neck to his shoulders; stroking and caressing him as she did. She bent and whispered in his ear seductively.

“Would you like relief tonight master?”

Charlotte felt the beginnings of an erection growing in her knickers.

“You can see that I’m busy,” Edward barely acknowledged her, even as she massaged his shoulders.

“Yes you are busy now master; but when you have finished you will want your usual service from me before you retire and you will awaken me regardless of the time,” Mary leaned down and nuzzled his neck.

“You’re distracting me Mary,” Edward growled.

“We can just do that thing you sometimes like to do while you are still clothed,” she nibbled on his ear incitingly.

“Very well. I’ve lost my train of thought anyway,” he said, sounding irritated.

Edward picked up his port and spun around on the bench. He was still wearing the heavy trousers that he had worn to dinner but had vested himself of his frockcoat and wore only his waistcoat and shirt.

Mary stood in front of him, just out of arm’s reach. Charlotte could only see Mary from the rear now. She admired what little she could see of Mary. Her dark ginger mane flowed down her back; the nape resting on the back of the corset where it was cinched at her waist. Her ample derriere, the creamy white flesh above the dark welts of her stockings, the backseams perfectly aligned along the centre of her legs and her feet shod in the black stiletto heels were a delight to behold.

Mary had Edward’s full attention now. She spun on her heels and bent at the waist; offering him her bottom. Edward smiled but made no attempt to gasp the luscious buttocks being proffered.

Mary snapped her head up and looked directly at the door; her green eyes narrowed and she grinned. Charlotte gasped and pulled away from the keyhole.

Had she been seen?

Charlotte nervously placed her eye to the keyhole again. Mary was looking at her; smiling. Mary winked and Charlotte pulled away again in astonishment. But she couldn’t not look. She put her eye back to the keyhole.

Mary was wriggling her buttocks seductively whilst Edward just sat and watched; drinking his port. Charlotte didn’t understand why Edward didn’t just reach out take the proffered prize. Then it dawned on her; it was some kind of ritual.

Mary spun around so that she was facing Edward and slowly and seductively approached him but he still made no advances towards her. He sat rigidly on the seat enamoured by her performance but choosing to not actively participate. She leaned into him, pushing her bosom into his chest and nipping at his earlobe. Edward hissed but remained otherwise motionless.

Mary pirouetted again and this time looked directly at the keyhole with a beatific smile on her face. She slowly lowered herself into Edward’s lap, wriggling her buttocks as she kept her weight on her heels.

Edward grunted again and closed his eyes briefly.

“Shall I unbutton you?” Mary whispered but looked directly at Charlotte.

“No you may not,” Edward sighed.

Charlotte was fully erect and slowly stroking herself through the satin directoire knickers that she had to wear to bed.

Mary twirled in Edward's lap so that she faced him; her legs spread either side of his body, heels flat on the floor. She leaned in to kiss him and Edward turned away.

“You may not do that either,” he breathed.

Mary placed her cheek against his and pushed her bosom into his chest and began to writhe. Edward allowed her to do so for a beat and then his hands rose to her waist.

“Turn!” he commanded.

Mary twisted in his lap so that she once again she faced the door.

“Unbutton me!” he ordered.

Mary tottered on her high heels precariously as she lifted her derriere and reached behind herself to unbutton Edward’s flies.

A bead of sweat formed on Charlotte’s upper lip despite the cold as she gripped her penis in the gathering folds of her knickers and slowly stroked herself.

Although Charlotte couldn’t see it from her point of view, she knew that Edward’s erect penis was sitting up rampant from the pleat of his trousers.

Mary put a hand under the ruffled hem of her basque.

Charlotte didn’t really know what was under there; she had never seen a woman’s sex but she knew that it had some sort of fleshy folds that led to a moist channel. Some of the upper-classmen at Harrow had inferred that it smelt fishy but Charlotte knew this was an old wives tale. She had inhaled the aroma of her mother’s knickers on many occasions and the smell was delightful and exotic.

What she did know was that Mary had to be wearing tight knickers, panties they were sometimes called, and that the front of them would be a smooth rounded V covering her pubis. Charlotte had once observed this when her mother had inadvertently let little Charles into her boudoir whilst she was dressing and had not closed her robe sufficiently to preclude his inquisitive gaze.

Charlotte so wanted to have that smooth, sleek, curved appearance at the front when she wore tight knickers; not the unsightly bulge she was currently blighted with.

Mary was fumbling with her knickers; easing the gusset aside. A smile crossed her face.

Mary beamed a beatific smile across the room to Charlotte as she slowly lowered herself onto Edward’s appendage.

“Mm,” Edward grunted when Mary was fully impaled on his tumescence and her buttocks rested in his lap.

He placed his hands on Mary’s hips and lifted her slightly; she wriggled her hips as he did.

“Don’t!” Edward chastised her.

Mary stopped wriggling but she had a mischievous grin on her face.

“Now!” Edward pulled Mary down onto him and held her there.

His fingers dug into her waist and he forced her buttocks hard against him.

“Oh! Yes! That’s it!” Edward hissed through gritted teeth.

Charlotte orgasmed with Edward; soiling the front of her drawers.

As Edward emptied himself into Mary; Charlotte was overwhelmed by the intensity of her own orgasm. The deep sensual feeling of tingling delight emanated from the glans of her penis, intensified by the slick feel of her silken knickers, ran down her shaft and radiated out from her scrotum.

As Edward’s immense climax surged through his body; so did Charlotte’s.

Mary grinned as she felt Edward’s huge phallus pulsate inside her, ejaculating, and filling her vagina with his hot seed. She wanted to grind and wriggle in his lap but she knew this was not part of the ritual and would detract form his enjoyment. She would pleasure herself later in bed.

Charlotte fell to her knees; the enormity of her sexual apogee causing her almost to faint.

The doorknob rattled and the door thudded as she fell against it unable to control her body’s response to the sexual thrill and delightful sensations that coursed through her flesh.

She curled up on the cold flagstones quivering; but she quickly realised that she had likely given her presence away.

“Who’s there?” she heard Edward call.

Edward whipped Mary out of his lap, his erection stood proud from his flies. He pushed it inside his trousers as he strode to the door, stopping briefly to do up enough buttons to keep his manhood contained.

He flung open the door and peered down into the gloom. The granite walls flickered with dim shadows created by the meagre light coming through the open door.

Charlotte had stopped just around the corner; she pressed her back against the granite blocks, feeling the cold through her flimsy satin nightgown and stockinged feet. She held her breath and prayed.

Edward glanced down and saw three little droplets on the flagstones glistening in the lamplight. He grinned.

He closed the door and turned around.

Mary was sprawled on the floor where he had dumped her; she was wiping her sex with a silk handkerchief that she had stuffed in her bodice just for this task.

“Charlotte?” Edward raised a brow inquiringly.

Mary smiled and nodded.

“She needs to learn,” Mary replied.

“Not too much too soon though,” Edward advised and strode back to his desk.

He picked up his pen and began to scribble as if nothing had happened.

“Pour me another and then your duties here are complete,” he droned, not looking up from his work.

Mary went behind the screen and struggled back into her dress; she left it uncinched at the back. She filled the glass with port and placed it beside Edward. He didn’t register her presence.

She took off her high heels and padded out of the room. She did not want the click-clacking of her heels on the stone floor to disturb those sleeping in the dormitories as she passed.

When Edward heard the door close behind him he smiled wolfishly.

“Good girls,” he whispered to the silent empty room and went back to his work.

To be continued

Mary Pilson knew that her ‘uncle’ Walter was grooming her. ‘Uncle’ was a silly term that Mary’s mother used to describe the men who moved into their home to take advantage.

Mary had no time for her uncles; she saw them for what they were, parasites and users. Mary’s mother could hardly make ends meet working as an usherette at the local cinema. Her good looks, curvy body and long legs ensured that she was well tipped by the male customers but she also attracted the sharks.

Mary mostly ignored the string of uncles who came and went; she lived in her own fantasy world where she was the star in a movie that she had made up in her imagination. Mary was well developed and very mature for her age; she was also very intelligent and excelled at school. But Mary had no intention of finishing her O-levels; what would be the point?

Her mother was unable to fund her tertiary education, and in 1950s Britain women were expected to stay at home and be housewives. But Mary had other plans.

Walter had started buying Mary little favours as soon as she reached the age of consent. He bought her crisps, pop, chocolate, copies of Girl Magazine and other treats. Whilst other girls her age made do with long socks or heavy tights, Mary was wearing fifteen denier fine stockings bought for her by Walter.

“Here. I know that young ladies like you want to grow up as soon as you can. Don’t tell your mother,” Walter had given her a cosmetics case.

When he started to buy her underwear, nylon and satin knicker and bra sets, she knew what he was after. She had seen him with her mother; he was quite blatant and thought nothing of squeezing her mother’s breasts or pinching her bum in front of Mary. Then he started doing the same to Mary.

“Look at my two girls; I can’t decide which one has the better arse,” he would say pinching them both.

“Don’t be naughty Walter,” was all her dippy mother would say in response to him pawing at her daughter.

It was a Saturday night and they were all at home, congregated in the little sitting room of the two-up two-down council flat. The fire was roaring and they’d had fish and chips for dinner with beer for the grown-ups and dandelion and burdock for Mary. The only light came from the black and white TV that they rented, which was showing a British suspense movie. Mary had dozed off in the big lounge chair, full of dinner and pop, the warmth of the fire causing her to become drowsy.

“Stop it Walter; Mary is right there!” her mother giggled.

Her mother and Walter lay snuggled on the couch, initially under a blanket but it had been discarded because of the warmth of the fire.

Thinking that Mary was asleep and emboldened by the beers that he had consumed Walter was up for some slap and tickle as he called it. He was lying with his back against the back of the couch with Mary’s mother lying in front of him, spooning. They were both fully clothed but had kicked off their shoes. Walter’s erection had been poking Mary’s mother in the bum all night and she had been playfully batting it away.

“She’s asleep you dozy bint; besides the girl’s gotta learn all about it one day, she’s old enough to shag now,” Walter whispered into Mary’s mother’s ear.

She winced. The thought that her daughter was of the age of consent was disturbing; not because she was concerned about Mary’s chastity; Mary reaching censual age meant that her mother was getting old.

The drone of their whispering and the squeaking of the couch awakened Mary; she pretended that she was still asleep but watched her mother and her ‘uncle’ through heavily lidded eyes.

Walter was nuzzling her mother’s neck and his hand was under her skirt, which he’d rucked up her thighs. Her stocking tops were visible and Walter seemed to like stroking them and then sliding his hand further up under her mother’s skirt, exploring her buttocks and the treasures she kept in the confines of her loose nylon panties.

“Oh my!” her mother wriggled on the lounge and bit her lip.

Walter must have found what he was looking for Mary thought.

She watched her mother push back against Walter’s hand as her breathing became heavier.

“Jesus I can’t…that’s better,” Walter sighed and her mother lifted her rump off the couch so that Walter could get his hand where he wanted it.

She opened her legs for him.

She looked over at her sleeping daughter.

“Be quick and be quiet,” she whispered.

“You’re the one who needs to be quiet; you scream like a banshee when you’re coming,” Walter chuckled.

Her mother blushed.

Walter fumbled with his flies and her mother wriggled out of her knickers, bunching them around one ankle.

“Here,” Walter bent her arm behind her back and put his phallus in her hand.

“It’s bloody huge!” her mother gasped as she began to stroke Walter’s rampant member.

Walter had his hand between her mother’s legs and whatever he was doing she liked it. She mewed and bit her lip to stifle her moans and the stench of sex filled the air. Tonight was supposed to be bath night but they’d delayed it until Sunday so they could watch the telly. The pungent reek of a week’s worth of her mother’s vaginal secretions, only dabbed at after she pissed, permeated the room. Mary’s mother’s genital hygiene was over-reliant on perfume and roll on deodorant.

Walter however obviously found the scent arousing; he fumbled behind her buttocks easing himself inside her labia in order to penetrate her. She lifted a leg to assist him.

“Oh!” her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a moan as Walter slid all the way inside her.

Walter lowered her leg and began to thrust slowly in and out of Mary’s mother. He smoothed down her skirt so that to the uninitiated it would just look like they spooning on the couch.

He didn’t take long. He thrust a few times, pummelling against her soft creamy buttocks, working his penis all the way inside her then nearly pulling all the way out, then plunging his cock deep inside her again. He stifled his orgasmic cries by crushing his mouth on her neck and her mother bit down hard on her fingers as she shuddered and suppressed her shrieks of pleasure.

They both grunted as they rutted, she saw her mother push back with her buttocks; writhing and wriggling as Walter held her by the hips and rode her to coital completion.

Mary still pretended to be sleeping. The musky smell of semen joined with the piquancy of her mother’s sex and assaulted her nose.

There were rustling and mutterings as her mother pulled on her knickers and they adjusted their clothing to make themselves decent.

Mary stirred and feigned waking up. She reached down to the carpeted floor and found her pop bottle. The sweet liquid was sickly warm but she forced herself to drink it.

“You ok love?” her mother called across the room.

“I’m fine mom. I think I might go to bed,” she smiled wanly at her mother, who remained wrapped in the arms of her lecherous lover.

“Be a poppet and bring us both a bottle of ale off the sideboard before you go up please Mary,” Walter raised his head over her mother’s supine body.

Mary popped the caps off the beers and bought them over, handing them to Walter over the back of the couch. He grinned up at her and winked salaciously; Mary shuddered but kept a false smile on her face.

“Time to move on,” she said to herself as she climbed the staircase to her pokey attic bedroom.

In fact the time to leave came the very next day.

With her mother required to work the matinee session at the cinema and Walter at the afternoon session down at the pub, Mary decided to get dressed up and go for a walk.

Mary was very much a loner and enjoyed her own company. Most of the girls at school were better off financially and looked down at her but were jealous of her academic achievements and good looks. She was also allowed to dress more grown up, wearing makeup and stockings to school; her breasts were well developed and the boys made advances but were quickly turned away.

Mary had very few nice clothes but she made the most of what she had.

A Bri-Nylon panty-girdle with suspenders attached; matching brassiere and flesh-toned fully-fashioned stockings completed her foundation garments over which she wore a navy-blue fitted skirt with a tight waist, the hem resting just above her knees. She wore a tight red satin blouse and fitted jacket to match the skirt and her only pair of black patent leather high-heel pumps.

Her makeup was perfect, dark eyes and bright-red lipstick, her dark ginger mane complemented her peaches and cream complexion. She had a pair of navy-blue gloves to match her suit; she wore plain silver-plated jewellery, which was all she could afford.

In her mind she was Audrey Hepburn heading out for a stroll through Paris as opposed to the young lady she really was, about to walk through the dingy streets of Birmingham. She lived on Upper Thomas Street in Aston and she intended to walk through Aston Park and admire the gardens and lawns, an oasis in a city of soot-stained red brick, and maybe explore Aston Hall if it was open to the public.

This was one of Mary’s few escapes from the drudgery of her home life.

She’d nearly made out it out the door when Walter staggered in reeking of beer and tobacco.

“Well don’t you look pretty my girl,” he leered at her.

“I’m going out for the afternoon. Mom’s got the matinee but she’ll bring dinner home,” Mary tried to pass Walter at the doorway.

“Well that just means we have all afternoon to get know each other better with your mother out the way,” he grinned and blocked her way.

“What on earth do you mean Walter!” Mary spat at him.

Walter grabbed Mary by the shoulder and hip and flung her across the room. She careered into the couch, dropping her handbag. Walter pounced; pinning her beneath him.

“Don’t treat me like shit on your shoe you fucking stuck-up slag! You take all the presents I give you! I bet those nylons you’re wearing are one of my gifts. What about yer knickers; did I buy you them?” Walter tried to get his hand under Mary’s skirt.

Marry used all her strength and pushed Walter off her as he tried to kiss her and force his hand between her legs.

“Get off me you fucking pervert!” she squealed at him; her strength superior to his only because he was drunk.

“I’ll tell mom about this!” she panted, catching her breath.

She had gotten off the couch and was adjusting her clothing; seething with anger. Walter was on his hands and knees near the fireplace, winded and heaving in lungsfull of air.

“Tell her you dozy prat. I’ll tell her that you offered yourself to me for a few quid to go out on the town. She’s already jealous of you; she’ll believe me over you,” he sneered.

“I’d rather be mounted by a pig than by you!” Mary snorted.

Walter shot out a hand and gripped Mary by the ankle. He yanked her feet out from under her and she tumbled to the floor.

“Well you might get to make that comparison girly cause I think I’m gonna fuck you right now,” Walter grasped her other ankle and wrenched her towards him.

Mary’s skirt rode up as he dragged her across the carpet and Walter leered at her. He got to his knees and fell on her, prising her legs apart with his knees. Mary struggled underneath him but he used his weight to pin her down, his foul breath assaulted her senses.

“Ok girly; time to pop your cherry,” he pulled at his belt buckle with one hand and yanked at Mary’s knickers with the other.

Mary’s hands scrambled across the floor, looking for something to grip onto so she could pull herself free. She found the tiled hearth and then the fireplace tool caddy. She knocked it over and her fingers wrapped around the handle of the poker.

Walter had freed his erection from his trousers and was now using both of his hands to pull down her knickers.

Mary swiped the poker sideways with all her might and caught Walter on the temple. He lurched sideways and let go of her underwear and bought his hands to her throat to choke her. Mary swung again and this time the spur of the poker lodged in Walter’s skull.

He looked down at her; surprised and stupefied. He put his hand to his head and was bewildered to see it covered in blood.

“What have you done you cunt?” he slurred and fell off her.

He lay comatose on the carpet, blood pooling around his head.

Mary did not hesitate. It took her less than five minutes to pack everything she owned into a single suitcase.

She didn’t even look at Walter’s body as she left the house.

One year later…

Charlotte Beason felt a little sick having scoffed the chocolate. She was a quite surprised that she could see out of the windows of the limousine that had appeared dark and impenetrable from the outside.

They were heading north-east through Essex past Brentwood, and Charlotte, finally warm and comfortable, fell asleep.

The man gently shook her awake as they entered Chelmsford. It took Charlotte a while to come fully to her senses and then she remembered where she was and how she had got here. She was acutely aware of her body odour, which she had tried to disguise with perfume until it had ran out two days ago.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“There,” the man pointed to an imposing structure that could have been a small castle through the trees.

Behind the building loomed a huge metal tower; the structure towering above the treeline in the dwindling light. Charlotte knew from her World War Two studies that it was an old Second World War radar tower; the only one still remaining and it helped Charlotte find her bearings and figure out where she was.

The car pulled onto a long driveway girded by tall pines followed later by the crunch of gravel as the car entered a courtyard out the front of what appeared to be a manor house.

“Welcome to Chelmsford Hall; I’m Lord Edward Tilsbury, and the distinguished gentleman driving us is ex-Sargent William Pitt,” Edward said, patting Charlotte chastely on the knee.

The car pulled up beside the steps leading to a grandiose set of wood and glass double doors. William leapt from the driver’s seat and opened the door for Edward and then made his way to the boot to heft out Charlotte’s suitcase.

Edward opened the door for Charlotte and she stood bewildered and shivering looking up at the three-story sandstone mansion.

“This is Mary Pilson; one of my personal staff. She will look after you from now on,” Edward smiled down at Charlotte and indicted Mary who was standing on the bottom step with a beatific smile on her face.

Mary rushed forward and took Charlotte’s hands in hers.

“Welcome to Chelmsford Hall; or just call it ‘The Hall’ as we all do,” she beamed.

Charlotte was still very befuddled and she shook her head to clear it.

“Who are ‘we all’? Why am I here? Who are you?” she said perplexed at the situation.

“All very good questions Charlotte and they will be answered soon enough but let’s get you bathed and settled for the night,” Marry led Charlotte up the stone steps and through the doors.

Charlotte became self-conscious of her appearance again. Her last wash had been from a coldwater tap in the ladies loo at a park near the railway underpass where she had been living for the past week and she was wearing the same clothes that she left home in.

The foyer of Chelmsford Hall was impressive and commanding. Suits of armour in the corners, medieval weaponry and portraiture hung on the walls, stuffed animals in cases, it was very museum-like. Opulent marble staircases ran up either side of the walls and Mary led Charlotte up the one to the left.

The place was deathly quiet; the only light came from wall sconces set in the smooth sandstone walls.

“Everyone’s asleep except for the night watchman,” Mary explained.

Charlotte was too tired and disconcerted to ask who ‘everyone’ was and why a night watchman was needed.

Mary led Charlotte to a large bathroom. It was similar to the shared facilities that Charles had used at Harrow. A row of toilet stalls along one wall, a set of benches to sit on whilst getting changed, laundry hampers in each corner, stacks of clean towels and hooks and lockers, on and in which, to hang clothes.

Behind a wall supporting half a dozen sinks with mirrors above them was as many baths; old deep porcelain bathtubs with chrome pluming and faucets. A gauzy lace and nylon curtain separated each bath.

Charlotte baulked; suddenly wide-awake.

“I’m not… I’m not… I’m not really a girl,” she apologised and began to weep.

Mary pulled her close and put Charlotte’s head on her shoulder and stroked her hair.

“Yes you are. You’re just special that’s all,” she patted Charlotte’s back.

“It’s my job to help you become the best girl you can be,” she whispered into Charlotte’s ear.

“Come. Let’s have you out of these,” Mary disengaged from Charlotte.

She led Charlotte to the bench and had her sit. She helped take off Charlotte’s high-heels, now scuffed and scarred; Mary made no comment about the paper shoved into the toes so they would fit, nor the reek of foot odour. She unclipped Charlotte’s stockings and rolled the tattered hose down her legs and cast them aside.

Mary stood behind Charlotte and helped her take off her jacket, then her skirt and finally her blouse.

Charlotte stood shivering in her filthy knickers and bra.

Mary put a heavy cotton bathrobe around her.

“There is toothpaste and a toothbrush over at the sink; brush your teeth and I’ll check on your bath,” Mary said.

Mary checked that the water in the deep bath was not too hot and not too cold by dipping her elbow into the steaming water. She went back to the basins and found Charlotte nearly asleep on her feet. She led Charlotte to the bath.

“I’ll turn my back while you disrobe and take off your underwear; I understand your reticence about being seen naked,” she said turning her back on Charlotte and holding out her hand for the robe.

She took the robe around the divide and hung it from a hook and returned to collect Charlotte’s knickers and bra from the tiled floor and dropped them in a basket beside the rest of the clothes that Charlotte had been wearing. On the lid of the basket was one word written in red ink ‘Burn’.

Charlotte lowered herself into the hot water slowly and luxuriated in the feel of the soapy water on her skin. A raft of bubbly foam drifted on top of the steaming bath water.

Mary came back and kneeled on the smooth wooden-planked duckboard beside the bath.

“Feel better?” Mary smiled and Charlotte smiled back.

“Yes! Oh god yes!”

“Can I do your back?” before Charlotte could reply Mary picked up a large soft sponge and doused it in soapy water and ran it across Charlotte’s shoulders.

Charlotte sighed and Mary smiled.

Mary sponged Charlotte’s chest and her arms. She worked the sponge into Charlotte's fingers and noted the chipped nailpolish and torn fingernails caked with grime.

“Just relax honey and I’ll fix your nails for you,” Mary said and Charlotte was too tired to respond.

Mary had a little manicure set on the table beside her and she clipped, shaped, and sanded each of Charlotte’s nails, moving around the other side of the tub to do her other hand.

“We’ll fix your nailpolish tomorrow,” Mary sighed.

“Can you sit up for me while I wash your hair?” Mary prepared shampoo and conditioner.

Charlotte luxuriated in the touch and caress of Mary’s fingers on her scalp; it reminded her of her mother washing her blonde locks and she felt tears run down her face.

“Now look what you’ve done; your mascara is running,” Mary tittered.

They both laughed at the joke; Charlotte's makeup was already a ruin.

Mary used the sponge and a washcloth to carefully clean Charlotte’s face.

She moved the little stool down to the bottom of the bath and washed Charlotte’s feet and manicured her toenails. She gently lifted Charlotte’s leg free of the now scummy water and used the sponge. She started at her ankle and worked up her calf and finally onto her firm thigh. When she got to the top of Charlotte’s thigh, Charlotte startled and roused from her reverie and her hand shot out and gripped Mary by the wrist.

“No,” she whispered.

Mary smiled inwardly. She moved around the other side of the tub and did Charlotte’s other foot and leg. Then she moved back to the top of tub.

Mary leaned into Charlotte and put her arm gently around her shoulder as she began to slowly sponge her neck again.

“It was hard living on the street?” Mary slid the sponge down to Charlotte’s chest.

“After father threw me out I wandered the streets until I found the tunnel; the railway underpass. It was dark so I could hide and it was cold; but not as cold as being on the open streets,” Charlotte murmured.

“Your father, your mother, they didn’t come looking for you?” she moved the sponge in circles, her fingertips occasionally grazing Charlotte’s nipples.

“Sometimes a car would come into the tunnel that I though was ours; I mean my father’s, but it never was. He disowned me and mother had no choice but to stand by him,” Charlotte leaned her head on Mary’s upper arm.

“But you mother knew about you? About Charlotte?” the sponge slid under the suds, circling Charlotte’s belly.

Mary used the fingers of the hand that she had around Charlotte’s shoulder to lightly stroke her nipples. Charlotte mewed.

“She helped me play dressup,” Charlotte sighed.

“And then she abandoned you,” Mary murmured.

Charlotte had no answer.

“This is important. Were you ever…did you ever…did any men take advantage of you?” Mary droned in Charlotte’s ear.

“The tunnel was used by prostitutes; brasses my dad calls them. Cars would crawl the curb and the drivers would call the brasses over. Sometimes men would walk down the curb and engage with the brasses; they would, you know, do it against the wall,” Charlotte drawled sleepily.

Mary tweaked Charlotte’s nipple; it hardened to her touch and Charlotte inhaled deeply.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she sighed.

“Some of the brasses didn’t like me being there. I moved into a nook where there was a service entry for the railway maintenance crews; it was just a recess in the brickwork but was out of the wind. That’s where I slept.”

“Sometimes men would approach me but one of the brasses would shoo them away. She gave me a snack sometimes and the fag-end of her cigarette to smoke to tame my hunger. She told me I should move on before something bad happened to me,” Charlotte drawled.

Charlotte relished having someone touch and caress her after being thrown out of her home and sleeping rough for days on end.

Mary slid the sponge further down Charlotte’s lithe frame and began to circle just above her pubis.

“It’s important that you answer yes or no. Were you sodomised? Lord Tilsbury will only take in virgins,” Mary whispered in Charlottes ear and then nibbled the lobe gently.

“I’m a virgin if you mean I have never been sodomised,” Charlotte sighed.

“Good. This is not against the rules however,” Mary gently wiped the sponge across Charlotte's genitalia.

Charlotte tensed as Mary’s fingers found her near fully erect. Mary’s soapy fingers slid along Charlotte’s burgeoning appendage, her other hand cupped her scrotum and gently squeezed. She nibbled Charlotte’s earlobe and then slid her tongue into her ear.

“Oh… I’ve never had anyone else touch me there before,” Charlotte purred.

“A true virgin then,” Mary moved her mouth to Charlotte’s.

They kissed and Mary gripped Charlotte’s fully tumescent penis with her foamy fingers and squeezed. She slid her fingers up and down the shaft only twice before she felt Charlotte’s whole body shudder and her penis pulsate.

Mary slid her tongue into Charlotte’s sweet mouth as she milked her of her seed; the hot ejaculate erupted from her quivering penis. Globules of the warm sticky discharge splattered on Mary’s forearm as other gobbets rained down through the soapsuds and splashed the bath water.

“Oh… my,” Charlotte sighed into Mary’s mouth.

“There, there, sweetheart. A little release before we put you to bed,” Mary disengaged and kissed Charlotte gently on the cheek.

“Stand up now and I’ll rinse you off,” Mary wiped the scummy soapsuds and the string of semen clinging to her arms on a towel and arose.

She filled a large jug with fresh warm water and encouraged Charlotte to stand. Charlotte was embarrassed by her slowly contracting member but Mary ignored it as she poured the water over Charlotte, washing away the soapy residue from her body.

She bought in thick, warm, white towels and helped Charlotte dry her hair and then her body; helping her step out of the tub and dry her feet. Mary wrapped Charlotte in the bathrobe and led her through a maze of dark corridors to a bedroom.

“Here let me help you,” Mary whispered.

Laid out on the bed were a pair of silk stockings with two elasticised lace garters to support them, a pair of satin directoire knickers and a nylon full slip.

Mary helped Charlotte into her nightclothes explaining that this was the mandated bedroom habit for residents boarding at Chelmsford Hall.

She sat Charlotte in front of a vanity table and helped her put on a little makeup and brushed her hair so that Charlotte could feel comfortably feminine.

“You get to sleep here tonight and to sleep-in tomorrow. We will induct you tomorrow and from then until you graduate as an Acolyte and join the Circle you will live in a dormitory,” Mary helped Charlotte into the big bed covered with a satin and lace comforter.

“Induct? Graduate? Circle?” Charlotte asked, barely awake.

Mary tucked Charlotte in and kissed her on the forehead.

“Sleep my precious; all will be revealed tomorrow,” Mary whispered and turned out the light.

Mary padded down the dark corridor carrying a lamp to find her way to Lord Edward’s bedroom. There was a sliver of light coming from under the door. She knocked softly and entered.

It was still early morning and Edward lay in his huge bed propped up on satin pillow-slipped pillows; the sheets and the coverlet were also satin and many a time Mary had had to leap out of that very bed to retrieve the pillows when they slipped off.

“How is she?” Edward was looking at a ladies fashion magazine.

“She’s clean and she’s fast asleep,” Mary extinguished her lamp and put it beside the one burning on the bedside table.

“You know what I mean; don’t be obtuse,” he growled.

“She’s a virgin; unsullied. Never had any form of sexual congress with anyone else,” Mary ran her fingertips across the bedspread.

“Until tonight?” Edward grunted.

“Until tonight,” Mary smiled cheekily.

“Do you think that was wise?” Edward looked up from his magazine.

“It was just hand relief but it’s a effective start to the bonding process,” Mary slid her fingertips further up the counterpane.

“Mm,” Edward grunted again.

Mary smiled seductively.

“It’s made me quite excited,” her hand continued its journey.

Edward’s eyes went back to his magazine. Mary looked disappointed.

“Don’t you want me?” she purred, sliding her fingers along his arm.

“It’s too late. I need to sleep. So do you,” he replied.

“Use the stocking,” he commanded.

“You can pleasure yourself while you do it if you like,” he said indifferently, not looking up from the pictures of lingerie-clad women.

Mary knew what he wanted.

She opened a drawer on the bedside table and took out a package of silk stockings. She extracted one and rolled it up with both hands.

‘Such a waste and so expensive’ she thought to herself as she pulled down the covers and rolled the stocking over Edward’s thickening cock. She perched on the side of the bed and gathered the skirts of her heavy green velvet gown, pulling them high up on her legs.

She smoothed the stocking over Edward’s erection, and around his scrotum. Edward’s purple glans bulged the shape of the diaphanous stocking; the blue veins could be seen pulsing, pumping blood to bring the organ to full tumescence. The dark silk became wet where it sheathed his glans and then a transparent globule of pre-seminal seeped through the fabric.

Edward grunted. This would be quick.

Mary put her hand inside her knickers. Her fingers opened her folds, already wet. She ran her fingers featherlightly up and down Edward’s trembling cock shrouded in the silk stocking. She used a similar technique on her own sex.

She became wetter and Edward’s cock leaked more pre-ejaculate; it darkened the silk that was wrapped tightly around his member. Mary slipped a finger inside her vagina and worked it slowly in and out, using the pad of her thumb on her clitoris.

“Oh!” she bit her lip.

Edward gasped; her arousal stimulated him

“Now!” he commanded.

Mary gripped his stocking-sheathed phallus tightly and worked her fingers up and down. At the same time she pushed more fingers inside herself and pressed her thumb on her clitoris.

“Good!” was all Edward said as a sphere of white semen bubbled out of the stocking.

“Yesss!” Mary orgasmed.

She shuddered as she peaked.

The globule of semen dribbled down the shank of Edward’s penis soaking into the stocking as gobbets of hot white spend exuded from his glans. Mary worked the issue into the stocking as she drained her master.

Her wrist ached as she worked her fingers in her sex, prolonging her climax until it slowly began to dissipate.

When Edward finished ejaculating she mopped up his issue with the stocking and wiped him dry. She withdrew her hand from inside her knickers and straightened her skirts.

“Good night,” Edward said, reaching for the lamp.

Edward extinguished the lamp and rolled onto his side away from her.

Mary quickly illuminated her own lamp and padded to door.

“Good night master,” she whispered and closed the door quietly behind her.

She dropped the semen doused stocking in her pocket.

To be continued

The Collector
by
Michele Nylons


Chapter Three – Shopgirl

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

The Collector
by
Michele Nylons


Chapter Four – Initiation

Mary Pilson had been working at the Chez Ami for six months when Millicent Varity asked her to come in early one day. Mary finished at the shop and went straight home, washed, fixed her makeup, put on her cigarette girl uniform and got the first bus she could to the Chez Ami.

“Come in Mary; close the door behind you,” Millicent called out from her office.

Millicent was dressed in her daytime attire; an expensive cotton and silk suit that clung to her curves, her hair was coiffured and her makeup perfect. It was too early for her to have changed into her evening gown. Mary sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair when bidden to do so; she squirmed as the hard wooden seat dug into her thighs.

A distinguished looking gentleman in an immaculate suit sat on chair in the corner. Millicent did not introduce him.

“I told you that I only employ virgins but you have been here long enough to know that that is not quite true,” Millicent lit a cigarette and slid the pack across the desk to Mary.

“I know all about the so called extras that the girls earn,” Millicent blew smoke at the ceiling.

“Silly sluts selling their future for a pittance. At least the ones who marry the rich punters have some sort of a future,” she continued.

Mary blushed; there was no need for her to answer.

“To the best of my knowledge you have kept your virginity; am I right?” Millicent looked Mary in the eyes looking for any tell that she may be lying.

“Yes ma’am; I’m still a virgin,” Mary whispered.

“I’m going to make you an offer on behalf of a very special friend of mine. His name is Lord Edward Tilsbury and he owns Chelmsford Hall. He has a position open for a Novice such as yourself; young, virginal, pretty, intelligent and astute.”

Mary opened her mouth to reply and Millicent raised a finger to silence her.

“The life I’m offering you is not for everyone, it is difficult at first and requires devotion and dedication. You will be required to devote yourself to the Masters of the Circle and to be disciplined and discreet. You start as a Novice much like a nun in nunnery, but the dedication required is not to a deity, it is to a flesh and blood human being, a man, your Master.”

“Once you complete your training you become an Acolyte; a devotee to our way of life, even after you leave Chelmsford Hall you have a lifelong commitment to the Circle. But you will never be poor, never be alone, and never suffer any indignity from those outside the Circle. By learning to serve you will set yourself free,” Millicent crushed out her cigarette.

“Those of our order care for each other and for as long as we remain Acolytes to our Masters; we want for nothing. Once you reach the age of twenty-five you will be released from servitude at The Hall and be given a stipend that will set you up for the rest of your life; you will live like an entitled Lady. Of course there are conditions imposed but that is to be expected; you are an Acolyte for life.”

Mary didn’t hesitate.

“Yes I want to do that Millicent,” Mary whispered.

“Are you sure? You will get only one chance to leave once you begin training and that is prior to graduating to become Acolyte, which for you is likely to be about two months away,” Millicent lit another cigarette.

“Yes,” Mary said a little more forcefully.

“Yes mistress!” Millicent barked.

“Yes mistress,” Mary replied in a loud clear voice.

“I would like to introduce you to Sargent William Pitt,” Millicent indicated the gentleman sitting silently in the corner.

He nodded at Mary but did not speak.

“He is Lord Tilsbury’s chauffeur and gentleman; what the lower classes sometimes incorrectly refer to as a butler if you will,” Millicent explained.

“He is here on behalf of Lord Tilsbury to conduct a final inspection before you are accepted as a Novice. Lord Edward has seen you on numerous occasions here at my Club unbeknownst to you. I recommended you to him and he likes what he sees. But Mister Pitt will need to confirm to him your chastity,” Millicent tapped ash into the ashtray.

Mary blushed a dark crimson.

“Oh my! Milli… er mistress?” she squirmed on her seat.

“Yes I understand I suppose, but couldn’t… er couldn’t you do it?” Mary’s acute embarrassment made it hard for her to talk.

“You will learn not to question your Masters. No; I cannot do it; it is Sargent Pitt’s duty to do so and report back to Lord Tilsbury. I will remain here as your chaperone throughout,” Millicent replied.

William Pitt arose and his chair scraped ominously on the polished wooden floor.

Millicent arose too and butted out her cigarette.

“Come Mary. Stand over here and bend over; hold onto the desk. It won’t take long,” Millicent’s voice had changed to a soft soothing tone.

Mary nervously did as she was told. She approached the desk, bent over and placed her palms on the desk.

Sargent Pitt opened a small valise and extracted a surgeon’s glove and jar of Vaseline. Mary began to shake as William Pitt snapped the glove and then pulled it onto his right hand.

“There, there. This won’t take long and it won’t hurt; it will just be a little uncomfortable,” Millicent stroked Mary’s shoulder.

“Let me help you,” Millicent pulled down Mary’s satin frilly knickers to mid-thigh and then the tight nylon panties she wore underneath with the stockings sewn to leg openings, exposing her sex.

“Mm; you will need to shave that thatch Miss Pilson,” Millicent commented.

“Open your legs slightly and allow Sargent Pitt to perform his duty. Squeeze my hand if you need to,” Millicent moved aside to allow William Pitt access to Mary.

William dipped his gloved fingers in the Vaseline and moved behind Mary and leaned down to inspect her. Millicent pulled Mary’s skirt up and out of the way; Mary shivered.

There is a common misnomer that a girl’s hymen is located inside her vagina; it is in fact a band of tissue located at the entrance. Sargent Pitt spread Mary’s labia majora and carefully inserted a finger inside her labia minor, the inner lips of her mons. He felt the constricting ring of her hymen at the entrance to her vagina. Mary winced.

William removed his fingers from her vulva and without warning inserted a finger into her anus. Her sphincter was tight despite the lubrication.

“Oh my!” Mary hissed and pushed herself up on her tippy toes.

William retracted his hand from her sex, stepped away and began taking off the glove.

“Pull up your knickers girl and wait outside please,” Millicent patted Mary on the shoulder.

Mary pulled up her underwear and went outside; closing the door behind her.

“All indications are that she is celibate and she has a tight anus indicating that it is likely she hasn’t been taking it up there to keep herself intact. I will report that this young lady meets our requirements,” William Pitt returned his tools of the trade back into the valise.

“No reports of her Frenching the punters to make money on the side?” he closed his bag with a snap.

“None; she is perfectly behaved,” Millicent replied reaching for her cigarettes.

“Leave those. I invoke my right as a member of the Circle; I have needs of you service,” William ordered; his tone suddenly authoritative.

Millicent’s demeanour changed immediately. She bowed her head awaiting the command of her Master. She saw the bulge in his trousers and smiled to herself.

“You have a need sir? I see Mary has caused you some excitement,” Millicent whispered.

“Bend over the desk,” was William’s response.

Millicent bent over the desk.

William stroked her buttocks as he unbuttoned his flies. Millicent became wet in anticipation; years of conditioning created an instinctive response.

“Lift your skirt,” he commanded as he began to unbutton his trousers.

Millicent took the hem of her tight skirt and pulled it up her thighs. William gasped as the dark welts of her stockings came into view and then her milky white thighs. Millicent was wearing tight white silk knickers that stretched over her voluptuous buttocks.

William growled deep down as he caressed her silken-clad globes. Despite her advancing years Millicent as still a magnificent specimen. Her affect on him was evident by the large appendage protruding from his trousers.

He positioned himself behind Millicent and eased the gusset of her knickers aside; the aroma of her sex assaulted his nostrils further inflaming his desire. He gripped her hips and thrust forward, impaling himself deep inside the splendid example of mature womanhood.

“Oh my Master; you were indeed ready,” Millicent gasped.

William said nothing; he gripped her tightly and began to thrust himself in and out of her sodden minge. Millicent pushed back against him; his thick shaft was stimulating her clitoris and she concentrated on keeping the rhythm. William kept a steady pace; enjoying the feel of Millicent’s vagina gripping his hard phallus, he was close to extremis.

He needed to be necessarily brisk; he had his duties to attend to.

He pulled Millicent’s ample derriere hard against his groin and ejaculated deep inside her; Millicent dutifully ground her buttocks against him and used her vaginal muscles to milk him of his spend. Her own orgasm rocked her and she bit her lip and whimpered.

“There, there,” Sargent Pitt patted Millicent on the bottom and extracted himself.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his appendage dry while Millicent remained bent over the table; William’s issue dribbled from her vagina and ran down her thigh. William dabbed at it before it soaked into her stockings. He lifted the gusset of knickers back into place and pulled down her skirt.

“Thank you Millicent; you are relieved of your duties,” he said matter-of-factly as he buttoned his flies.

“Thank you Master,” Millicent replied and her demeanour changed again.

She was once again his equal.

Millicent smoothed out her skirt and reached for her cigarettes offering one to William who declined.

“I must away on my duties. Have the girl pack up her things tonight and tell her I will pick her up outside her flat at eleven o’clock. She knows what to expect?” he picked up his valise, ready to leave.

“She knows enough,” Millicent inspected the filter on her cigarette.

“Make sure she’s ready,” Sargent Pitt demanded as walked out the door.

“Come in Mary,” Millicent called after him.

The scent of sex assailed Mary’s olfactory senses as she entered the room.

One year and three months later

Mary was combing Charlotte’s hair. Charlotte’s blonde hair had thickened and become longer. Her curls had been tamed and her tresses fell to her shoulders, she wore her fringe straight; above her shaped and pencilled eyebrows.

Charlotte’s body had softened; becoming more feminine after three months of massive doses of female hormones. The doctor had completed her silicon injection regime and she proudly displayed a pair of small but pert breasts. It wasn’t to be until ten years later that the silicone granulomas caused by the treatment would be discovered during breast implant surgery.

Mary had requested that Sargent Pitt conduct some research amongst transvestite prostitutes and female impersonators to solve the problem of Charlotte’s unsightly bulge. He described a method of tucking involving pulling the penis backwards in between the legs while simultaneously pushing the testicles up into the inguinal canal which Charlotte eventually perfected. She held her ‘tuck’ in place with tight panties under her directoire knickers at night and surgical tape during the day.

She was happy that she finally had the nice curved V at the front of her knickers that she longed for.

Charlotte was without a doubt the most beautiful woman at Chelmsford Hall with Mary a close second. They had formed a bond with Mary mentoring and tutoring Charlotte but the effort to fully feminise and educate Charlotte had taken time and it was now three months since she had first arrived.

“Are you excited?” Mary asked as she fussed around Charlotte.

“Of course! Weren’t you when you lost your virginity?” Charlotte replied.

Charlotte was no longer the meek, passive, young girl that she had been when she arrived. She had developed self-confidence as well as femininity; but she knew how to be demure and accommodating to her Masters and mistresses when necessary.

“Yes; but it was different for me. I lost it twice. Once in the front and again behind,” Mary joked playfully tugging at Charlotte’s hair.

“It will be painful enough losing it for me. When Sargent Pitt examined me back there when I first arrived it was excruciating,” Charlotte recalled her ‘virginity inspection’ on the morning of her second day.

“Well you have no hymen to break put you obviously convinced William that you were chaste,” Mary preened at Charlotte, making adjustments here and there.

“Well I was chased once through that bloody railway underpass; but he never caught me,” Charlotte could joke about her past now that she was safe and secure at Chelmsford Hall.

“There; done!” Mary helped Charlotte to her feet so that she could see herself in the full-length mirror.

Her hair was perfectly coiffed and her makeup was heavy, sexy. A leather choker around her neck had a silver ring to which would be attached a leash, she also wore a silver necklace with an emerald stone, matching earrings and bracelets; a graduation present from the other girls.

Charlotte wore the eveningwear of an Acolyte for the first time. The heavy, green, cut-velvet evening gown under which she wore a black and red basque, the bodice of which pushed up and supported her breasts and cinched her waist. The waist-cinching bustier was trimmed with lace and had attached to it four suspender straps which were clipped to the gauzy welts of her black fully-fashioned nylon stockings. Mary had helped her straighten her seams; her feet were shod in four-inch heels, which made walking difficult but lifted her buttocks and thrust our her breasts invitingly.

She was tucked but not taped; a pair of full-cut tight satin knickers held her penis in place between her legs.

“You look stunning,” Mary grinned, equally proud of her achievements as Charlotte’s mentor and teacher.

“I know,” Charlotte said and pirouetted before the mirror.

Mary clipped a black leather leash to the ring on Charlotte’s choker.

“Ready Charlotte?” she brushed Charlotte’s fringe lovingly.

“Yes. And thank you,” Charlotte leaned forward and pecked Mary’s cheek.

Mary led Charlotte out of her room and they were greeted by the current class of Novices standing either side of the passageway like an honour guard, each holding a candle. The Acolytes did not participate in graduations; Charlotte would soon be an Acolyte herself and they would greet her then as a peer.

Mary led Charlotte through the dark lamp-lit corridors until they came to the imposing door of Lord Edward Tilsbury’s bedroom. Mary solemnly knocked on it three times with the heel of her palm. It creaked open and Edward Tilsbury stood there barefoot, wearing only a black silk robe tied at the waist.

Mary silently offered him the leash and he took it, pulling Charlotte into his lair and closing the door behind them. Mary smiled and returned to her room remembering what her first night with Lord Tilsbury had been like. A smile crossed her lips and she felt herself become moist.

Charlotte kept her head bowed as she had been instructed; she should have nothing to fear, she had been trained in the arts of femininity and knew all there was to know to please a man theoretically. All she needed to do now was to put it into practice.

This was of course not a new experience for Edward Tilsbury; he had deflowered many a virgin right here in this room. But this would be the first time he deflowered a transvestite. Edward had wide and varied tastes when it came to sex; he had sampled just about every perversion and fetish that a virile predominant sexual man possibly could. When he had succumbed to an invitation to sample a lovely young effeminate transvestite who was the favourite of a friend of his, it gave him the idea to recruit such a girl as a novel way to entertain the other Masters of the Circle. Edward and his fellow Masters enjoyed variety.

The Circle, as they called themselves, were not sadists as such, although some of them liked to spank and occasionally lightly whip the Acolytes. But they were all predominant and the Acolytes were very submissive and totally accommodating to their Masters needs.

Edward reached out and lifted Charlotte’s chin so that he could gaze upon her face. The magnificent creature before him was a vast improvement on the pretty but pathetic orphan that he had rescued from beneath the railway underpass.

He tugged on the leash and pulled her to him; he lowered his face and kissed her. She tasted sweet; her mouth was succulent and yielding. He slid his tongue into her mouth and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him; enclosing her in his arms.

Charlotte’s head was spinning; she felt so womanly and cherished. Edward whispered pleasantries in her ear, telling her that she was adorable and beautiful, he unclipped the leash and stroked her face and nibbled her ears. She felt his erection pressing against her body; her own penis was uncomfortably tucked under her groin as it distended. She responded to Edward's kisses and slid her arms around him; they embraced, kissing whilst enfolded in each other’s arms.

Edward guided Charlotte to the huge four-poster bed and she felt the back of it against her legs. He eased her down on the bed without breaking the kiss and lay on top of her. Charlotte slid her hand between their bodies and inside his silk robe and found his manhood hard and hot to her touch. She began to put into practice all of the things she had learned about pleasing a man.

Charlotte ran her fingers lightly up and down Edward’s shaft, gently brushing his fraenulum with a long manicured fingernail. Edward gasped and pushed against her, encouraging her to tighten her grip on his phallus and stroke it. Charlotte wrapped her fingers around Edward’s engorged member and squeezed a droplet of pre-ejaculate, which she massaged into his glans. Edward groaned into her mouth.

“Would you like me to pleasure you the French way?” she whispered.

“Not now my darling; perhaps later when I have sated myself inside you,” Edward’s voice was raspy.

He eased himself away from her and opened her gown slowly, like unwrapping a much cherished and anticipated Christmas present.

Charlotte wriggled free of her gown and cast it aside; Edward gasped as he took in her countenance. Her creamy white skin, her pretty face, her pert breasts with berry-like nipples already erect in anticipation, her flat belly and those long, long legs.

“Magnificent,” he whispered and lowered himself to her breasts.

Charlotte gasped and cradled his head while Edward suckled at her teats. He sucked and nibbled her nipples and Charlotte felt wavelets of pleasure burst forth from her bosom. She stoked his leonine head; his long black hair shot through with wild streaks of grey.

Edward’s lips slid along her decolletage, along her neck and he found her mouth again. Charlotte kissed him passionately, wrapping her leg over his and caressing his cock with her stocking-clad thigh, using the fingers of her free hand to stroke his glans.

Charlotte was delightfully surprised when Edward slid his hand inside her tight satin knickers and freed her erect penis. She gasped and kissed him deeply and lovingly and gripped his manhood; caressing and stroking it as she felt the pulse of his heartbeat in her hand.

Edward rolled on top of her and lay between her legs and instinctively Charlotte opened them wide and then lifted them up and wrapped them around his torso, raising her buttocks to permit him entry. Their cocks pressed together and they ground against each other, the frottage eliciting pre-seminal fluid to lubricate their hard phalluses as once again Edward suckled on Charlotte’s bosom. They writhed together on the big bed, steadily building their pleasure and lust.

He lifted his face to hers again.

“You are prepared?” he smiled down at her.

Mary had shown Charlotte how to douche and then lubricate inside her anus with Vaseline, as all the Acolytes were required to do so in event that their Master wanted to use their bottom.

Charlotte nodded and eased the gusset of her knickers aside and guided Edward’s manhood to her puckered sphincter; she relaxed herself as she had been taught. She was so excited that rather than dreading the moment of her deflowerment, she lifted her torso and pressed herself against her lover so that his glans slid inside her. Charlotte wrapped her arms around Edward’s neck and kissed him with fervour as she lifted herself up and pressed harder so that Edward’s long thick cock slid all the way inside her.

“Wonderful!” she gasped as she felt his erection fill her back passage.

The tiny nerves at the entrance to her anus were tingling with excitement and the head of Edward’s phallus pressed on her prostate.

“Fuck me please Master,” she looked up lovingly into Edward’s contented face.

Edward obliged and began to thrust his penis in and out of Charlotte’s anus, extracting the tip of his glans to the very entrance of her channel and then burying it deep inside her, grinding his pubis into hers as his scrotum slapped against valley between her buttocks. His hard belly rubbed against her penis as he fucked her, stimulating her delightfully.

Charlotte locked her legs around Edward; her silken-sheathed thighs stimulating his sensitive flesh. The two lovers clung to each other and rutted, gasping and growling, their mouths locked as they kissed, nipped and fondled each other, building their passion to its peak.

Edward gripped Charlotte by the hips and drove himself deep inside her as he climaxed; she strove to meet him and cinched her heels behind his lower back, straining to hold him close as her anus spasmed and milked him. Her own member ejaculated hot semen onto her abdomen and Edward’s belly smeared the viscous fluid across her belly as he continued to erupt inside her. He began to thrust again and his spend seeped from her sphincter and ran between her buttocks.

Charlotte sobbed as intense feelings of love, lust, and gratification manifested themselves. Edward kissed her and held her tight as they both rode their climaxes to fulfilment.

Finally sated, Edward lay between Charlotte’s loins; she lowered her legs and stroked his back as their kissing became more tender and less fervent.

“That was wonderful Master,” Charlotte looked up lovingly at Edward who kissed her cheeks and licked away her salty tears.

After a while Edward rolled off Charlotte and lay on his back beside her.

“Go bring wine and get me a fresh towel. Once we are dried and you have poured wine you may smoke a cigarette while I smoke a cheroot,” Edward commanded.

“You will stay here tonight. Mary and the other Acolytes will move your thing into your quarters. All of this has been explained?” Edward raised himself up on an elbow.

Charlotte slid her panties back in place and scooted off the high bed. She made her way over to the table where the smoking requisites, ashtray and wine awaited.

“All has been explained Master. Tomorrow I am to become common property of the Circle but tonight I belong to you,” Charlotte wiped at her belly and between her legs with a warm damp flannel.

She put the wine, crystal glasses an ashtray, cheroots, cigarettes on a silver tray and put a fresh towel over her arm. She carefully made her way back to the bed, tottering on her high heels.

“We shall drink and smoke and then you will demonstrate your French skills to me,” Edward smiled at her and Charlotte smiled back.

The next day

“Was it magnificent?” Mary asked, looking expectantly at Charlotte.

“It was more than that,” Charlotte beamed and went on to describe her deflowering.

“Tonight you will be presented the Circle. You will undoubtedly be very popular being as it is your first time,” Mary smiled.

Mary lay on Charlotte’s bed smoking a cigarette. Charlotte was still exploring every nook and cranny of her new quarters; a single room of her very own. She was enjoying the freedom that Acolytes possessed compared to the restrictions placed on Novices at Chelmsford Hall.

“Also because I am different?” Charlotte turned and raised a brow to Mary.

“Of course. Who wouldn’t want to fuck a lovely young girl who has a cock sticking out of her knickers!” Mary teased.

Charlotte threw a pillow at Mary who squealed and giggled, rolling around on the bed.

“Ok enough! Sit down and let me help you dress for tonight,” Mary suddenly became serious.

Later…

“Are you ready?” Edward took Charlotte’s hand in his and squeezed it.

They stood at the top of the long curved stone staircase, the murmur of the Masters and Acolytes talking and the clinking of crystal glasses drifted up to them.

“Yes Master,” Charlotte whispered.

“You are magnificent. Be proud of who you are and where you have come from; but be demure and accommodating to the Masters of the Circle,” Edward kissed her cheek.

“Let’s go.”

Charlotte held onto Edward’s hand for support. The heavy, green, cut-velvet evening gown and the waist cinching bodice made it difficult to breath. The four-inch heels made walking down the stone steps a challenge, not helped by the fact that she had been instructed to keep her head held high as she entered.

The polite applause started as soon as she came into view and continued until she and Edward stood amongst the crowd of Masters and Acolytes. Charlotte guessed there were perhaps thirty people in the room.

“Masters and Acolytes may I present to you Miss Charlotte Beason,” Edward beamed.

The Masters were all dressed in black silk robes tied at the waist; Charlotte thought she recognised some of them either from pictures in the press and perhaps some might even be acquaintances of Major Reginald Beason (Rtd), her father. Not that it mattered; discretion was one of the most valued attributes that Acolytes possessed. The Acolytes of course were dressed in their green velvet evening gowns but some of them were already dispensing with their outer clothing as they paired off with Masters who required their services immediately.

Charlotte knew that the monthly meetings of the Circle were little more than orgies. The Masters met before the festivities and discussed business pertaining to the Circle but when the meeting adjourned and the Acolytes were summoned forth, their only objective was pleasure. Some would pair off and slink away to bedrooms or a small group would commandeer a room for group sex but many chose to fornicate in public; it was part of the thrill.

As expected Charlotte was immediately surrounded by Masters wishing to use her for the first time but it was also obvious that some of the Masters did not want anything to with a transvestite, which Charlotte had fully expected.

Mary burst through the small throng surrounding Charlotte who was confused and overwhelmed even though she thought that she knew what to expect.

She gripped Charlotte firmly by the forearm.

“For those of you who would like to partake of our newest Acolyte; may I propose you follow us to the library,” Mary pulled Charlotte along with her into a large room.

“There is no bed in here,” Charlotte was still confused.

“Just go with what I am about to do,” Mary whispered in her ear.

“Behold Masters; I will engage with our newest Acolyte for your viewing pleasure; feel free to join in when you think it appropriate,” Mary grinned.

She spun on her heels and pulled Charlotte to her and began to kiss her as a cheer went up from the small group of men watching them. She pulled Charlotte close and slid her tongue into her mouth and Charlotte began to respond. Charlotte returned the kiss and wrapped her arms around Mary.

The men present slid into armchairs to watch the show.

Without breaking their kiss the two women undressed each other; their evening gowns fell to the floor leaving them dressed in bustiers, knickers, stocking and heels, their red lipstick smeared around their mouths from the passion of their kisses. They freed each other’s breasts from their corsets; Charlottes pert little titties contrasted with Mary’s voluptuous bosom. They stroked creamy white flesh, squeezed paps and tweaked and pinched each other’s nipples as they continued to kiss with fervour; their desire intensifying.

They lowered mouths to areolae, lapping, licking sucking and nipping, dilating nipples and eliciting gasps of pleasure and lust. Some of the Masters were improving their erections as they watched the gorgeous vixens pleasure each other.

Charlotte lifted Mary’s face to hers so that they could kiss; as she did so her fingers found Mary’s sex wet inside her knickers, her fingers explored the warm sodden flesh and she knew that she had found Mary’s clitoris when Mary gasped and shuddered. Charlotte smiled.

Mary reciprocated and her hand slid inside Charlotte’s tight nylon knickers and found her erect penis taped under her goin. She ripped off the tape and eased Charlotte’s phallus free of her panties. The Masters gasped at the sight of the beautiful young girl with the hard cock growing from between her legs.

Mary stroked Charlotte’s engorged flesh while Charlotte slid a finger into her vagina and used her thumb to thrum her clitoris.

“Fuck me before I come in my knickers,” Mary whispered hoarsely into Charlotte’s ear.

“Oh god yes I want to so much darling but there is no bed,” Charlotte nibbled Mary’s earlobe.

Mary pushed Charlotte away from her; ripped off her knickers and fell to the carpeted floor on her knees; she raised her buttocks and looked back over her shoulders.

“Fuck me!” she hissed.

Charlotte needed no further encouragement and she dropped to her knees between Mary’s ankles, gripped Mary by the hips and impaled Mary with her rampant phallus in one lunge. She feel of Mary’s hot, buttery cunt was wonderful.

“Oh god yes!” Mary gasped as Charlotte’s hard cock filled her.

Charlotte became aware of movement in her peripheral vision and then she too felt a man between her ankles followed by a cock probing between her buttocks. The man gripped her waist and held her still as he searched for her sphincter. He found it and slid his engorged flesh into Charlotte’s lubricated rectum.

It was now Charlotte’s turn to gasp with pleasure. The double delight of fucking Mary on her knees whilst being fucked herself was indescribably wonderful. But some other Masters were still wanting to participate; one of them shed his gown and straddled Mary’s lower back, offering his manhood for Charlotte to suckle which she did without hesitation. Another took Charlotte’s hand from Mary’s waist and placed it on his hard cock.

Charlotte was using all of the skills she had learned and some that she had only dreamed of. She fucked Mary, slowly thrusting in and out of her sodden maw as the man behind her got into sync, held her tight and fucked Charlotte with long slow stokes. His penis stimulated her prostate; the thick girth elicited little sparkles of excitement from the sensitive nerves at her sphincter.

Charlotte growled with pleasure and desire around the thick cock on which she suckled. She worked her lips along the smooth shaft and used her tongue on the glans, concentrating on the fraenulum as she had been taught to do. She must have been adept, as the man she was fellating began to moan with pleasure. Undoubtedly stimulated by watching Charlotte masturbate one Master whilst being fucked by another and fucking Mary simultaneously, the man could not hold back. He ejaculated and filled Charlotte’s mouth with creamy warm semen, which she dutifully swallowed.

Charlotte felt the cock she was stroking suddenly convulse and a stream of hot spend splashed her forearm and then sprayed over Mary’s back. Mary felt the hot come soak through her bodice and realised what had happened; stimulated by Charlotte’s deep fucking and the experience of the Masters orgasming around her she was tipped her over the edge and she too climaxed. She pushed back against Charlotte’s thumping cock and ground her buttocks so that her clitoris was fully stimulated.

As Mary’s cunt began to palpitate and squeeze Charlotte’s cock, Charlotte too orgasmed, further stimulated by the man fucking her tight anus. His throbbing cock pushed on her prostate and he gripped her hips and emptied himself inside her.

All five members of the Circle were climaxing synchronously. The library filled with groans, moans, sighs and subdued screams.

Charlotte collapsed over Mary’s prone body, the man she had fellated stepped away fully satisfied as did the man kneeling beside them who had received hand relief. The man fucking Charlotte was persistent and hung on to her, grinding away at her derriere as he empted the last of his load deep inside her. He extracted his penis just as Mary’s arms gave way and she fell to the carpet with Charlotte astride her.

A roar of cheering and applause came from those who had gathered to watch the spectacle.

When Charlotte and Mary were finally untangled Mary picked up her knickers, took Charlottes hand in hers and led her away. They were both out of breath and leaking semen from their orifices. Mary entered a bathroom, pulled Charlotte in behind her and locked the door.

They kissed for a while despite being out of breath.

“That was magnificent,” Charlotte panted when she could finally speak.

“Yes it was. Now get cleaned up; the night has just begun. We will not need our gowns for the rest of the evening but we need to wipe away the mess and fix our makeup,” Mary explained.

When they were presentable Mary turned to Charlotte and smiled.

“Are you ready?”

As soon as they stepped through the door Charlotte and Mary were dragged in two different directions by two well endowed Masters who were impatient to have their way with them.

The End (possibly)

The Collector
by
Michele Nylons


Chapter Five – Conspiracy

Author's note: I thought I'd done with Charlotte and the Masters and Acolytes of the Circle but during my travels whilst on sabbatical I noticed a gathering in a graveyard in small English town; mostly well-dressed women obviously 'of substance' and the scene piqued my imagination. So here is my offering. One more chapter to follow... please tell me what you think.

The attractive, elegant women stood huddled in small groups; it was obvious to any observer that they were grieving and were comforting each other, bound by their loss and a common sense of purpose.

Their nationalities varied but they were all beautiful, most under thirty but a few older; although they all wore black they all wore it stylishly, figure-hugging dresses, or skirt and jacket suits, expensive hosiery, plenty of Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin high heels. Their hair and makeup was perfect and despite being dressed in funereal finery, they exuded sexuality.

The women all wore discreet gold rings shaped in the form of a serpent swallowing its tail on their wedding ring fingers.

The men were also very well dressed in expensive tailored suits and they exuded a sense of upper class entitlement, refinement and affluence; they too were gathered in small groups. They surveyed the women in the same way a horse racing syndicate might survey their stable of mares; appraising the particular features of each creature. Many of the men would be instantly recognisable as peers of the realm, leaders of industry and commerce, politicians and public servants, military men, academics and artists. They were older than most of the women; not one of the men was younger than forty.

The men all wore black onyx and gold rings on their right ring fingers, the band of which was fashioned into a serpentine design.

Of course there was no one outside of this distinguished group of men and women to recognise any of the mourners; they were a closed society and the funeral was a private service.

The just completed internment had taken place at the family crypt inside the hallowed grounds of Chelmsford Hall. Lord Edward Tilsbury’s funeral service had taken place prior to his internment in the Chelmsford Hall chapel. The chapel could not accommodate all of mourners; and anyway few of them were religious so most had elected to pay their respects at the graveside service.

Now that the service was over and marks of respect had been rendered the groups of men and women began to merge, no longer divided by their sex. The few mature women were confident and assured of their status; the younger women more supplicant and shy.

A woman of uncertain age but likely in her forties stood on a small knoll observing the ceremony under the shade of one of the few remaining healthy Elms in England. She was stylishly dressed in Dior and Louboutin. A black suit consisting of a knee-length tight pencil skirt with a kick pleat clung to her buttocks and thighs; the equally tight jacket over a white satin blouse delineated a modest but pert decolletage. Her blonde hair was exquisitely coiffed, ironed straight, the nape rested on her shoulders her fringe cut perfectly straight across her eyebrows.

Her makeup was heavy but impeccable, dark eyes, rouge defined high cheekbones, ruby-red full lips; she had accessorised with modest gold jewellery, as befitted the occasion.

She sensed the presence behind her but did not turn her head when she spoke.

“You remain devoted to him even now he’s gone,” the woman rummaged in her purse for cigarettes.

“I loved him,” the other woman, of similar age and equally elegantly presented, replied.

“All of us Acolytes of the Circle loved him Mary,” the woman placed a cigarette in her lips.

Mary took a step forward and flicked her gold lighter and placed the flame under Charlotte’s cigarette.

“When was the last time we met?” Mary lit her own cigarette and blew smoke over her shoulder.

“Oh I think it was at that thing at Dickie’s place in Kensington, just before I went to America, must have been at least ten years ago,” Charlotte scrutinised the filter of her cigarette, picking off a stray skerrick of lipstick.

“Yes; that was it. You do look good,” Mary smiled.

“You got fat,” Charlotte replied; a whimsical grin crossed her lips.

Mary smiled and turned down her lips; she knew that she had not put on a single ounce since they had last met. She had a voracious appetite but her exercise regime was the equal of any Olympian athlete. She refused to rise to the bait.

“Well. As I said, you look good. You've kept your figure and you have the arse of a twelve-year-old boy,” Mary replied.

“I used to be a twelve year old boy,” Charlotte smiled and turned to face Mary.

“But some jumped up shopgirl, turned cigarette-hawker in a men’s club gave me a few pointers a few years ago and now you see what you see,” Charlotte dropped her cigarette and crushed it into the grass.

She pulled Mary into a warm embrace and kissed her on the lips.

“How have you been darling? It’s so wonderful to see you,” Charlotte smiled warmly and tenderly rubbed at Mary’s lip where she had smudged her lipstick.

“All the better for seeing you,” Mary smiled back and held Charlotte at arms-length and appraised her.

“Those tits are new,” Mary’s eyes scanned Charlotte’s decolletage.

“Well… I had to have those fucking silicone granulomas removed but lucky for me the plastic surgeon was able to remove them without too much damage and he gave me a nice set of implants,” Charlotte patted her chest.

“Yes, well back then all they had was silicon injections to enhance breasts. How about… I mean… you know?” Mary glanced down at Charlotte’s mid-section and raised her brows inquiringly, blushing as she did so.

“Oh that?”

“No she’s still tucked away between my legs and neatly gaffed. Never saw the need for a prosthetic vagina; besides, what do the French say? Vive la diffėrence? There’s plenty of the Masters used to like my toy; as did you if I recall correctly,” Charlotte sniffed.

Mary blushed a deeper red until Charlotte began to chuckle and then Mary laughed with her and the two beautiful women fell into each other’s arms and kissed again.

“Is it awful? Laughing during a funeral I mean?” Charlotte dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief.

“Well technically the funeral and interment are over so no; not really,” Mary smiled wanly.

“Come. Let’s walk the gardens and go down to the Hall and get a drink,” Mary took Charlotte gently by the elbow.

“I have so many questions; so much has changed,” Charlotte said.

“And so much has remained the same,” Mary said, a little bitterness in her voice.

“I see you got your ring,” they were holding hands and Mary squeezed Charlotte’s left ring finger.

“Yes,” Charlotte self-consciously twisted the ring on her finger.

“Edward introduced them not long after you left for America. Turns out some tosser was passing himself off as a Master of the Circle and was shagging Acolytes like a randy dog, mostly young ditzes who had been Novices only weeks earlier. He never came to any of the Meetings of the Circle of course, just found Acolytes outside of the meetings and demanded his right as Master of the Circle by invoking the Master’s command,” Mary began.

“I have need of your service,” Charlotte whispered the command that bound Acolytes to their Masters.

“Precisely. Anyway, one of the old hands found him out and Edward had Sargent Pitt sort the tosser out if you know what I mean? Problem was that membership of the Masters of the Circle was getting too big to properly oversee. So Lord Chelmsford introduced the rings as a means of identification,” Mary explained.

“Sort of ‘no tickee-no-washee’,” Charlotte grinned.

Mary playfully punched Charlotte’s arm and smiled back.

“Exactly!”

“Speaking of ‘no tickee-no-washee’, I notice a few other changes too,” Charlotte raised her brows inquiringly.

“Oh yes. It’s the nineties dear; the Circle is an equal opportunity employer. We have black women, Asians, ladies of all nationalities…we even have a few more of your sort,” Mary teased.

“Not really,” Charlotte sniffed.

She was well aware that there were a few other transsexual Acolytes but they had all undertaken gender reassignment surgery.

“But the Masters are still all British upper-class?”

“Yes; well that’s because potential Masters are only invited to join the Circle by the current crop of Masters so of course the candidates tend to come from their own gene pool so to speak. Besides, the selection and indoctrination process for a Master takes nearly as long as it does for a Novice. We have to ensure the utmost discretion and that secrecy is maintained,” Mary answered.

“As you are aware, at twenty-five the Acolytes can leave the Hall and live freely in society, but are still bound by their commitment to the Circle. Most of them soon marry and leave the Circle; sometimes a Master will even marry an Acolyte he’s fallen in love with.”

“Can’t imagine being married to a woman who has had more pricks in her than a second-hand dart board. But then I’m not a man,” Charlotte sniffed.

“Well you used to be and you know better than to speak about us like that! You’ve been away a long time but you still wear your ring. You’re still sworn to the Circle!” Mary let go of Charlotte’s hand and crossed her arms angrily.

“Keep yer knickers on; you know I was only joking,” Charlotte sidled up to Mary and put her arm around her waist.

“Second-hand dartboard indeed!” Mary scoffed as they kept walking towards Chelmsford Hall.

“There are disturbing things happening within Society of the of the Order of the Circle, Edward was trying to get to the bottom of them when he was taken from us,” Mary abruptly changed the subject.

“Really. What things?” Charlotte’s interest was piqued.

“Well I told you about the imposter using our Acolytes. Also many of our younger Acolytes have resigned from the Circle,” Mary continued.

“Yes Mary but many do. They become attached to man or they decide the lifestyle is no longer for them,” Charlotte replied.

“Yes, but so many more than usual and some of them have simply disappeared, never heard from. And even more disturbing too many of our Novices are withdrawing from Society of the Circle prior to graduation. We have always had a few that were not suitable or who decided that devotion to the Circle until the age of twenty-five was not for them; but we are losing too many for it to be a coincidence,” Mary said.

“Intriguing. Have you any idea at all what’s causing our Novices and Acolytes to relinquish their devotion to the Circle?” Charlotte asked.

“Not really but Lord Tilsbury thought he was close to solving the mystery,” Mary sounded melancholy and more that a little lost.

Charlotte took Mary’s hand as they continued to enjoy the gardens.

Charlotte and Mary completed their walk around the grounds and arrived at the Hall to find a crowd of Masters and Acolytes clogging the main entrance as they made their way to the extravagant wake that awaited them in the main hall.

“Let’s go in through the conservatory,” Mary smiled and dangled a key.

“So you never left Chelmsford Hall? You stayed and worked for Edward all these years?” Charlotte touched Mary’s arm briefly.

“I never wanted anything else. I am content to be an Acolyte of the Circle and was gratified with my role as Edward’s personal assistant,” Mary sighed.

They made their way through the conservatory and Mary led Charlotte to Lord Tilsbury’s private quarters where both his office and his bedchamber were located. Mary invited Charlotte to sit in one of the beautiful antique chintz armchairs while she poured them both a drink.

“I heard you had a child,” Charlotte lit cigarettes for both of them.

“Yes; Tiffany. Edward is her father, she’s away at finishing school in Paris. She knows nothing of the Circle nor will she,” Mary said determinedly.

“But it’s good enough for her mother? You’ve devoted your life to the Circle,” Charlotte countered.

“I gave my up daughter not long after she was born. A good friend of mine who married well and relinquished her Acolyte status adopted Tiffany. I’ve been fortunate that I have been able to watch her Tiffany grow up into a beautiful intelligent young woman; visiting the family regularly, I’ve still been part of her life,” Mary put down the drinks on the table and took the proffered cigarette.

“It must be hard. What about Edward?” Charlotte picked up her drink.

“The one thing we never agreed on. He didn’t want me to have the baby but I insisted. Now it doesn’t matter anymore,” Mary wiped at her eyes and forced a smile.

“Enough of me; what about you? I’ve heard you’re a world traveller and entrepreneur?”

Charlotte reached into her purse and handed Mary a matte black business card embossed with silver script: ‘Something Special - Charlotte's Web’ with an international phone number discreetly inscribed on the bottom right corner.

“A callgirl agency?” Mary could not keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Charlotte stiffened.

“Not at all! It’s like the card says… something special. Membership to an elite club that gives members unfettered access to a pool of gorgeous, articulate ladies who are artisans as well as companions,” Charlotte reproached.

“Callgirls,” Mary repeated herself.

“No!” Charlotte slapped her palm on the table.

“Charlotte’s Web is modelled on the Circle, but is a commercial venture. Men pay an exorbitant monthly stipend for the privilege and the girls are well paid for their services. They also get to keep whatever extra remuneration the members bestow upon them,” Charlotte calmed herself as she spoke.

“I see,” Mary didn’t sound convinced.

“Charlotte’s Web has franchises in most of Europe, Singapore, Japan and Australia. I’ve lived in Australia for the last seven years; made it my base of operations so to speak.”

“But you went to America first?” Mary frowned.

“I tested the business model there but the Americans just don’t get it. They couldn’t appreciate the privilege of belonging to an exclusive clique with a clearly defined dictum and principles. They treated the girls like hookers; passing them on to non-members, they didn’t treat the women with respect,” Charlotte began.

“Americans like to deride the British upper-classes as stuck up and antiquated, whilst secretly being jealous of our formality and social propriety. Just like their addiction to junk food and shopping malls, everything needs to fast, ‘to go’ and disposable. They do not comprehend the subtlety of the Acolyte and Master relationship; they just wanted ‘wham bang thank you ma'am’ sex; the Circle model never worked there. But I learned a lot about running a commercial venture; then I shut down my enterprise in America and reopened in Australia with a refined business model.”

“And now it’s a roaring success,” Charlotte beamed.

“So you stole the whole premise and tenet of the Masters of the Circle and turned it into a grubby commercial business?” Mary finished her drink and took their glasses to the bar to refill them.

“You don’t approve?” Charlotte crushed out her cigarette.

Mary didn’t answer but asked another question.

“You still wear the ring of an Acolyte; does that mean you still abide by the dictums of the Circle?” Mary bought the drinks back to the table.

“It’s who I am. I won’t ever forget where I came from and what Sir Edward Tilsbury did for me. I will always be an Acolyte of the Circle,” Charlotte said solemnly.

“So… Speaking of the Late Sir Edward, is it true that that jumped up little twerp nephew of his Barnaby will inherit the title?” Charlotte sipped her gin and tonic.

“Edward’s is one of the few remaining hereditary peerages in England. He has no son and as Barnaby is the legal benefactor and heir decreed in Edward’s will, Barnaby will inherit the Earldom, but there is likely to be some pushback from the peerage; he’s not well liked,” Mary explained.

“I’ve heard he’s a right little shit,” Charlotte looked over the rim of her glass at Mary.

“Let’s just say he’s not in favour with most of the Acolytes; he can be a bit forceful and boorish at times. Some of the Masters are not at all pleased about him becoming the Grand Master; they don’t think he has the acumen, diplomacy, nor the intelligence for that matter to oversee the Society of the of the Circle,” Mary said as diplomatically as possible.

“So if I can decode your English vernacular, he’s an idiot with power and is heir to a title who likes to treat his women rough,” Charlotte smiled.

Just then the door opened without being knocked and Barnaby Tilsbury strode into the room.

“Speak of the devil,” Mary whispered, her eyes crinkled in a wicked smile.

“And he will appear,” A smile also crossed Charlotte’s lips but she quickly suppressed it.

“Thought I’d find you here Mary; we need those god-awful Novices to get their act together. We’re running out of champagne and the caviar is getting warm and… well hello! Who is this ravishing young woman?” Barnaby came to an abrupt halt beside the two women, made an effort to bow, and gave them both a lecherous sneer.

Both Charlotte and Mary cringed inwardly at Barnaby’s clumsy attempt at decorum and humour.

“I’m hardly a young woman sir. I’m forty something but thanks for the compliment,” Charlotte rose to her feet in deference to Barnaby’s status as a Master and offered her hand.

Mary rose with her and politely nodded.

“May I introduce Ms Charlotte Beason,” Mary said.

Barnaby kissed the back of Charlotte’s hand and Charlotte curtsied in reply.

“Delighted to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Uncle Edward,” Barnaby grinned insipidly.

“Yes. Charlotte was one of Lord Edward’s early foundlings and the first of our special Acolytes, I was her mentor,” Mary explained while Barnaby kept hold of Charlotte’s hand.

“Yes; of course she’s a trans…er as you say special,” Barnaby corrected himself and Charlotte’s ire began to rise.

Barnaby twisted Charlotte’s hand.

“I see that you wear the ring. That you are bound by the convention of the Acolytes of the Circle,” Barnaby’s grin became malicious.

“Yes sir; you see…” Charlotte never got to finish her sentence.

“I have need of your service,” Barnaby hissed.

“But Sir! Today is Lord Tilsbury’s funeral; it is not expected that Acolytes will be performing their duties during the service nor the reception. Perhaps we can arrange something when the guests have departed,” Mary interjected.

Charlotte paled. She tried to retract her hand but Barnaby held it in a vice like grip.

“Shut up you jumped up strumpet! Whatever standing you thought you had disappeared with the death of my uncle,” Barnaby snapped back at Mary.

“Now, Ms Beason. I have need of your service!” Barnaby growled, squeezing Charlotte’s hand and glared at her defiantly.

Charlotte remained frozen until Barnaby shook her.

“Acolyte! Perform your duty!” he bellowed.

Charlotte regained her composure. Her demeanour changed from being overwhelmed to resolved.

“Of course Master. Perhaps we could retire the bedroom?” Charlotte said resignedly.

“I have no time for that you ditz; I have guests awaiting for me in the main banquet hall. This will do just fine,” he pulled Charlotte over to Lord Tilsbury’s huge oak desk.

“Drop your skirt and bend over,” Barnaby demanded.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Mary began to make her way over to the adjoining bedroom door.

It was quite common for Masters and Acolytes to pleasure themselves in front of each other; in fact the Masters of the Circle met monthly in the great hall at Chelmsford House for what was essentially an orgy. But Masters and Acolytes also often met for discreet encounters if the Master so deemed.

“No need to leave Miss Pilson; in fact I’d be delighted if you stay,” Barnaby grinned.

Mary blushed and bowed her head.

Charlotte unzipped her skirt and pulled it down her thighs and when it pooled around her ankles she picked it up and smoothed it over the back of the chair. She bent over the desk as directed; presenting herself to her Master.

“What the bloody hell are those awful things!” Barnaby had positioned himself behind Charlotte and was unzipping his flies.

One of the dictums mandated to the Acolytes of the Circle was that they were always to wear stockings. The Masters had decreed this when pantyhose, or tights as they are known in the UK, became popular in the 1960s. The reasons being because stockings are far more sexier than pantyhose, but also they facilitate easy access to an Acolyte’s vagina and anus. A dispensation was made to allow the wearing of hold-up stockings when it is impractical to wear a suspender belt. The wearing or slacks or jeans is strictly forbidden; Acolytes are always to wear skirts or dresses when they wear their ring.

Charlotte was bent over the desk seething with anger. Her magnificent derriere being offered to her Master was sheathed in sheer-to-the-waist, seamless pantyhose with translucent, gossamer thin panties worn over. Charlotte had worn the garments so as not to spoil the lines of her tight pencil skirt.

“But Master, I was not expecting to have to provide Acolytic service to a Master today because of the solemnity of the occasion,” Charlotte explained.

“There are no exceptions to the rules whilst you wear the ring; I bloody well hope you are prepared!” Barnaby growled.

When Charlotte was a Novice all those years ago Mary had taught her how to douche and then lubricate inside her anus as all Acolytes were required to do in the event that a Master wished to use their bottom.

“Charlotte is right sir. There was no reason for her to expect to have to render service today,” Mary offered her support to Charlotte.

“If you wear the ring then you abide by the dress code and are always prepared,” Barnaby unbuckled his belt, he had taken off his jacket and was in the process of dropping trow.

“I am prepared Master, but I am not lubricated,” Charlotte felt colossally humiliated having to explain this whilst bent over the desk supplicating herself.

“You do have magnificent arse,” Barnaby slapped Charlottes buttocks and she flinched.

He positioned himself behind Charlotte and began to rub his rather well equipped manhood in the crevice of her behind, leaving silvery streaks of pre-ejaculate on her transparent panties. He gripped her hips and ground himself against Charlotte’s buttocks.

“I have to admit that does feel rather good,” Barnaby purred.

“Put some effort in old girl!” Barnaby goaded Charlotte and spanked her left buttock.

Years of supplication to Masters too numerous to count and adherence to her Acolytic training engendered Charlotte to comply and maximise the pleasure of whoever was using her for his satisfaction. Accordingly Charlotte began to rotate her buttocks and push back against Barnaby’s thrusting member.

“Mmm; that’s better,” he droned

“Now let’s just see what we can do about this,” Barnaby chuckled wickedly.

He pulled aside the gusset of Charlotte’s knickers and hooked a finger into the seamless gusset of her translucent pantyhose. He snagged his nail into the flimsy fabric and tore a hole.

Charlotte whimpered at the indignity and Mary turned away; not wanting to see her friend degraded.

Barnaby nestled the glans of his penis into the puckered bud of Charlotte’s sphincter and began to massage the bulbous head of his penis in her cleft.

Charlotte gripped the desk tightly and shuddered. She tensed as she felt the crown of Barnaby’s penis pushing at her entry.

“As I said Master; I am not pre-lubricated but I do carry sachets of lubricant in my purse,” Charlotte attempted to reach for her pocketbook but it was out of reach.

“Sorry old girl; you should have thought about the consequences when you decided not to be adequately prepared,” Barnaby smirked.

He spat, dripping spittle on the head of his phallus and into the crack of Charlotte’s anus.

“This will just have to do,” he grunted as he thrust forward.

Charlotte refused to scream as the pain as Barnaby's huge phallus renting her anus surged through her. Instead she gasped and gritted her teeth.

“My god you’re tight for an old hag,” he gripped Charlotte’s hips and pushed himself all the way inside her until his groin pressed against her buttocks.

Mary couldn’t help but look when she heard Charlotte’s cry; she could see the pain on Charlotte’s face, and witnessed her gritted teeth and grimaced countenance. Charlotte’s fingers raked at the desk and then she gripped it tightly whilst Barnaby assaulted her derriere.

Barnaby enjoyed the feeling of having his cock deep inside this attractive, elegant trans-woman; her anus clenched his cock because it was inadequately lubricated. He could barely move his erection it was so tightly wedged in her back passage; Charlotte’s obvious discomfort only served to heighten his pleasure.

Mary stumbled over to the desk and snatched up Charlotte's purse.

“Here Master; allow me to lubricate your shaft so that you might better enjoy your Acolyte,” Mary feigned supplication.

“She is rather tight,” Barnaby extracted his penis from Charlotte’s rectum and Charlotte sighed with relief.

Mary tore open the sachet of KY Jelly and applied it liberally to the shaft of Barnaby’s penis and to Charlotte’s crinkled fissure. She finished her task and made to walk away when Barnaby snatched at her wrist.

“Don’t leave us dear; I have need of your service also,” Barnaby smirked.

“Please relocate my manhood back into his creature’s bottom.”

Mary did as she was told and took Barnaby’s engorged manhood and guided the glans into Charlotte’s puckered entrance. Barnaby pushed forward and this time his cock slid easily all the way into Charlotte’s back passage. Charlotte grunted as he did, but at least there was no pain; just a sense of being filled.

Barnaby began to thrust slowly in and out of Charlotte’s anus enjoying the tactility of her tight channel as he fucked her. Charlotte could now easily accommodate Barnaby’s member and she began to push back against him and wriggled her buttocks to enhance his enjoyment, the motive being to intensify his pleasure and invoke his climax as quickly as possible.

Charlotte couldn’t help her physical response to the stimulation of Barnaby’s cock as it triggered the sensitive nerves in her anus and massaged her prostate. She began to feel pleasure. Despite being a bounder, Barnaby was an accomplished lover and he worked his penis expertly in and out on Charlotte’s channel, stimulating her sphincter and ensuring his glans caressed her prostate.

Barnaby grinned when he moved a hand from Charlotte’s hip and reached between her legs and found her engorged penis tenting her pantyhose and knickers.

“Help her,” he commanded, taking Mary’s hand and guiding it between Charlotte’s legs.

Mary was a little surprised to find Charlotte erect but given that Charlotte was now purring with desire and rutting against Barnaby as he fucked her, she was obviously enjoying being pleasured regardless of whether it was against her will or otherwise.

“Oh yes!” Charlotte moaned as Mary began to stroke her penis through the silky layers of pantyhose and panties.

She writhed with pleasure and Barnaby gripped her hips tightly and fucked her with long hard strokes as she bucked against him. Her tight anus gripped his cock and he felt his orgasm approaching.

“That’s it you slut; take my cock! You tranny whore!” Barnaby groaned as he pulled Charlotte back against him; pushing his groin hard against her buttocks.

Charlotte arched her back and shuddered as Barnaby ejaculted deep inside her and her own climax was wrested from her, triggered by the sensation of Barnaby’s scalding semen flooding her back passage, his cock thrusting against her prostate and Mary milking her turgid phallus through her panties.

Hot ejaculate permeated through Charlotte’s pantyhose and panties, coating Mary’s fingers with a coagulative plashet of sticky semen.

Barnaby ground against her buttocks emptying himself inside Charlotte as his orgasm wracked his body. Charlotte fell down supine on the desk, exhausted and sated; letting Barnaby finish his assault on her derriere. Mary removed her hand from under Charlotte and wiped it clean with tissues taken from a box on the desk. She took another handful and dabbed at Charlotte’s crotch.

Fully gratified, Barnaby extracted his deflating manhood from Charlotte’s distended sphincter and grinned as he observed some of his issue dribble out of her and soak into her pantyhose gusset. He pushed away from her and began to dress while Mary helped Charlotte stand up and handed her tissues so that she could clean herself as best she could before dressing.

As Charlotte struggled to pull up her skirt Barnaby turned to Mary.

“You may leave now Acolyte; I have further business with this woman,” he instructed.

Mary looked at Charlotte inquisitively but Charlotte just shrugged her shoulders and looked bemused.

Mary left the room and pulled the door closed behind her while Charlotte finished arranging her clothing. Barnaby smoothed out his jacket and grinned at Charlotte.

“So how was my performance Ms Beason,” he grinned stupidly.

Charlotte slapped him across the face with such force that the blow rocked him on his feet.

She wound up and slapped him again; this time with such intensity that Barnaby staggered back.

“You lecherous moron! What the fuck did you think you were doing!” Charlotte roared.

“You fucking impertinent imbecile!” she screeched at him as he cowered away from her.

“But you instructed me to behave as if we have never met and to demonstrate my authority, power and domination over you in front of Mary; to demean you. That way she won’t suspect that we are allies and conspirators,” Barnaby sounded like a sulking schoolboy as he gingerly rubbed at his reddening cheeks.

“I didn’t instruct you to molest and violate me!” Charlotte hissed at him so violently that Barnaby took a step back.

“But it was the ultimate display of power; and you know that I have desired you since I first met you,” Barnaby whined.

“And I told you that I might let you have me when we have achieved our objectives,” Charlotte snatched up her cigarettes and lit one.

“So how are we progressing?” Charlotte drew on her cigarette.

“It’s all going to plan. My uncle’s last will and testament will be read in five days and I fully expect to inherit all of his estates and titles,” Barnaby grinned.

“After which I expect to be inaugurated as the Grand Master of the Circle by the Privy Council.”

“Then, you and I will have full control of the Society of the Masters of the Circle and we can complete what you have started,” Barnaby grinned.

“What about the Sisters of the Web? Are we still meeting our commitments to our Arab friends?” Barnaby began to feel empowered now that they were conversing as equals.

“Of course! The Novices are fetching phenomenal prices; Saheed is brokering for us in the Middle East, whilst Tiffany is facilitating the movement of our new girls from the UK to Australia, Singapore and Japan. The women who insist on remaining in the UK are servicing our clientele here and supplementing our stock in Europe when needed,” Charlotte blew smoke at the ceiling.

“And Mary has no idea about the Sisters of the Web? Even though her daughter is involved?” Barnaby asked.

“Mary knows nothing and if she tries to stop us we will just have to take care of her,” Charlotte crushed out her cigarette.

To be continued

The Collector
by
Michele Nylons


Chapter Six – Sisters of the Web

Dubai - One Year Before Lord Tilsbury’s Funeral

Charlotte sat in the comfortable wing-backed lounge chair her legs demurely crossed at the ankles. She was wearing a dark green business suit, the jacket was open and her pert breasts strained at the tight white silk blouse, the skirt was so tight that without the kick pleat that effectively split the skirt to her thigh, she wouldn’t have been able to sit at all.

Her blonde hair had been coiffeured only that morning, tinged platinum, her fringe straightened and the nap crinkle-ironed. She had argued with the coiffeur that the style was too young for her but he had flattered her and told her that she looked wonderful. Charlotte was did not succumb to flattery but she agreed that she did look good. She wanted to look her best.

She’d had the hotel’s beauty therapist come to her suite and give her a makeover; she favoured heavy makeup, with dark eyes, rouged cheeks and red lipstick, which she wore well. She jokingly told the cosmetologist that the look she wanted was ‘eighties high-class hooker’. They had both broke up over the joke.

But what she did want was to look every bit the professional businesswoman whilst also looking unbelievably sexy. She was wearing almost transparent full-cut panties and matching bra; the areola of her breasts were faintly visible through the diaphanous fabric of her blouse and brassiere. She wore Pretty Polly fully-fashioned, 15 denier stockings held up by the flimsiest suspender belt and her feet were shod in Christian Louboutin four-inch high heels.

Sitting across from her in the Dubai Hilton’s penthouse suite was Prince Saheed bin Alrani, next in line to the throne of one of the six Emirates. He appraised Charlotte whilst listening intently to what she had to say.

“An interesting story Ms Beason, fascinating in fact but I’m not sure I have need of your services,” he sipped his tea.

Charlotte had told Saheed of an organisation called the Society of the Masters of the Circle who recruited virgins as soon as the reached the age of consent and offered them the position as a Novice.

“They are required to devote themselves to the Masters of the Circle and to be disciplined and discreet. They undertake training at Chelmsford Hall much like a nun in nunnery, but the dedication required is not to a deity, it is to flesh and blood human beings, to men, to their Masters.”

“Once they complete their training they become Acolytes; devotees to their way of life; a lifelong commitment to the Society of the Circle. At the age of twenty-five they are released from servitude at Chelmsford Hall and are given a stipend that sets them up for the rest of their lives so long as they remain Acolytes,” Charlotte explained.

“So they are really nothing more than high-class prostitutes,” Saheed took a cigarette from a gold case and then offered it to Charlotte.

Charlotte reddened but suppressed her anger.

“Oh they are much more. They are devoted to their Masters, nothing is denied. They are discreet, beautiful, elegant and well educated,” She leaned forward to take a light from Saheed’s lighter knowing that he would look at her breasts.

“And you have stolen some of these women and girls from this Circle and they now work for you and this company you own. Charlotte’s Web,” Saheed blew smoke at the ceiling.

Again Charlotte repressed her ire and smiled sweetly.

“They have been recruited, not stolen Prince. I merely offered them an alternative. Work for me as Sisters of the Web and get paid extremely well for their services. The stipend offered by the Circle has not kept up with the cost of living and is not reflective of the income needed by these women to live the lifestyle they desire,” Charlotte corrected him.

“I directly and discreetly also recruit girls other than Acolytes who meet my standards. I have set up my own Finishing School to indoctrinate these candidates as Sisters of the Web; there simply aren’t enough Acolytes of the Circle willing to defect to me to meet the needs of my clients in Europe, Singapore, Japan and Australia.”

“But they are not virgins when you recruit them; only these so called Novices,” Saheed nodded sagely.

“Men who subscribe to Charlotte’s Web are guaranteed beautiful, exquisite, sexually talented, well educated and most importantly, discreet company whenever and wherever they want it. Of course it comes at a price but it could crudely be compared to an ‘all you can eat buffet’ of delicious woman-flesh,” Charlotte smiled.

“But we already have this in my country,” the Prince smiled back at her.

“I am well aware of your, ahem, recruiting tactics, Prince. But what I offer would mean you would no longer need to keep your harem of Western women, some of whom I believe are not necessarily content with their arrangements,” Charlotte countered diplomatically.

“My friends and I like the ones who put up a struggle at first,” Saheed’s grin was quite salacious.

“So I’m afraid your proposal is declined Ms Beason,” Saheed straightened up and was preparing to leave.

He half-rose and then sat down again and looked at Charlotte pensively.

“However. These Novices you speak of; these virgins. We would be very interested in acquiring them,” he stroked his thin beard.

Charlotte smiled. She was expecting a counter offer.

“They are very hard to acquire. I do have someone inside the Circle at Chelmsford Hall who recruits Novices for me but we have to be extremely cautious and we only take a few from the pool so to speak,” Charlotte sipped her tea.

“And if I supplied them to you; it would only be for a short time. Once they are deflowered I would want them back working for me as Sisters of the Web,” Charlotte pursed her lips.

“Acceptable. Once they are sullied and have been tasted by each of my colleagues they will be of no further use to me or my colleagues anyway, as we have our harem to keep us amused,” Saheed nodded his assent.

“They will not come cheap,” Charlotte was all business now.

“We will negotiate a good price and the girl will get half. You will ask too much and I will offer too little but eventually we will reach an agreement to all of our satisfaction,” Saheed smiled and made to stand again.

“One stipend to the deal if I may?” Saheed smiled.

“Anything within reason,” Charlotte smiled back.

“One year’s free membership of Charlotte’s Web. I can use it when I travel; let’s call it a sweetener,” Saheed chuckled.

“Done!” Charlotte stood and offered her hand.

Saheed bowed his head and kissed Charlotte’s hand. He looked her in the eyes.

“You are an Acolyte of the Circle, you wear the ring?” he took her left hand and displayed the serpent ring on her wedding ring finger.

“But I am confused; you are also a Sister of The Web?” he asked.

“I suppose I am; I have never thought about it that way,” Charlotte smiled back at him.

“In that case; now that I am a member of Charlotte’s Web I wish to fuck you,” Saheed grinned.

“Oh!” Charlotte was surprised.

She was not expecting this. She was still an Acolyte of the Circle and would readily service any Master of the Circle who demanded her services but that hadn’t happened for a very long time and as the founder, owner and manager of Charlotte’s Web she herself had never been requested to offer her services. But she supposed for all intents and purposes that she too was a Sister of The web.

The prince was extremely handsome in that swarthy way that some Arab men have. He was dark-skinned with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, tall and athletic in his Hugo Boss suit.

“Of course Master. All you need ever say is ‘I have need of your service,’ and any of the Sisters of The Web will be compliant to you needs,” Charlotte put her arms around Saheed’s broad shoulders and kissed him softly.

She broke the kiss just as their passion began to build.

“There is one thing you should know. I’m not necessarily what I seem,” she smiled coyly.

“I know you are a mukhannath. What westerners call a pre-op transsexual?” Saheed raised his brow.

“I too have done my research,” he spread his arms and opened his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“I don’t consider myself ‘pre-op’ per se. I’ve had plenty of ‘ops’; what you see before you has been refined and shaped by the surgeon’s knife. I just haven’t the desire nor the inclination to replace what I have between my legs; I think I am perfect just the way I am,” Charlotte grinned seductively.

“You are indeed a rare and exotic creature and I find you fascinating,” Saheed took her hand again and kissed it.

“Now Charlotte Beason; I have need of your service,” he smiled and pulled her to him.

Charlotte became immediately aroused as the young Prince embraced her; his tongue explored her mouth and she reciprocated. It had been quite some time since she had been made love to and her ardour to please and be pleasured was ignited. She wrapped her arms around Saheed and her fingers dug into the hard flesh of his shoulders. She lifted one leg and locked it around his calf; moulding herself to his body.

It was not only the flesh of Saheed’s shoulders that was hard; she could feel his manhood, thick, long, and hard as steel pressing against her. She complied when Saheed began to ease her towards the bed.

Saheed unclenched her arms from around him and pushed Charlotte down on the bed. She lay on the white satin coverlet, her breasts heaving and her legs spread as far as her tight skirt would allow. Saheed gazed at her beautiful face and then his eyes began a journey down her body, her pert breasts pushing at her tight satin blouse, trim waist and flat stomach and those lovely long legs sheathed in gossamer hose. The split in her skirt displayed one of her legs all the way to the top of her thigh.

“Magnificent,” Saheed gasped and ripped off his clothes.

Charlotte watched the young man undress; his body tanned, tight and muscled. When he dropped his briefs she was impressed by the heft of his manhood; it was the largest penis both in girth and length that she had ever seen. A filament of clear pre-ejaculate oozed from his glans and the appendage appeared to her to be palpitating.

Charlotte struggled out of her jacket and was attempting to unbutton her blouse when Saheed fell on her and began to ravish her.

“Don’t worry about the suit; I’ll buy you all the clothes you want,” he growled as he crushed his mouth to hers and tore open her blouse.

He entwined his fingers in the clasp of her brassiere and tore that garment from her body. Charlotte gasped with pain; but it was an exciting pain, an arousing pain that further awakened her desire.

Saheed was straddling Charlotte, kissing her almost viciously. His big hands pawed at her breasts, cupping and squeezing them; tweaking her nipples. Charlotte gasped into Saheed’s mouth; she had not been taken like this before, even when the Masters of the Circle had used her. She was being ravaged, defiled, violated…and she loved it.

Saheed’s lips fell to her breast and he nipped at her teats as they hardened. Charlotte squealed and stroked his leonine head, encouraging him to suckle her breasts. Charlotte moaned like a whore as Saheed lay on top of her, pressing his huge cock against her belly as he sucked and nibbled her nipples.

Saheed moved his mouth from her breasts and returned his lips to hers, kissing her passionately, rubbing his cock on her flat stomach. Charlotte guided his face back to her breasts, she wanted more, and she began to writhe and moan underneath the big man.

Saheed pushed himself up and extricated himself from Charlotte’s grasp. He flipped her over and tore off her skirt, renting it in two along the pleat. He tore off the remains Charlotte’s blouse leaving her dressed only in panties, stockings and heels.

He flipped her over again so that she was on her back facing him. They were both panting with exertion and lust.

Charlotte reached up to him, beseeching him to come into her arms, which he did. He fell on her and Charlotte lifted her legs and wrapped them around his torso.

They kissed and pawed at each other, Charlotte bit his lip and drew blood and Saheed raked her milky white breasts, scratching her soft creamy flesh. Charlotte lifted her groin off the bed, pressing her panty-clad crotch against his hard cock.

Charlotte’s panties were torn from her body and with it her gaff. Her penis was erect and leaking precum.

“Take me please Master,” Charlotte growled and bit Saheed’s earlobe.

Saheed lifted Charlotte’s legs and opened them wide; he put her ankles over his shoulders so that Charlotte lay under him, her buttocks raised. He kissed her nylon-encased ankles, nipping at the flesh and Charlotte reached for his manhood, she bucked under him, trying vainly to put his penis into her puckered bud.

“Beg for it you whore!” Saheed looked down at her, his piercing blue eyes lit with lust.

“Fuck me Master! Please fuck me!” Charlotte pleaded.

Saheed impaled Charlotte with one thrust.

Charlotte screamed.

Saheed’s cock nearly split her he was so big.

Charlotte pulled his face to hers; she was crying with pain and pleasure. Saheed’s cock was a burning poker inside her tight rectum but underneath the pain, an intense sensuality and desire was building. Charlotte wrapped her arms around Saheed’s neck and kissed him deeply and intensely. To his surprise instead of trying to extract his penis from her tight anus she began to fuck him; lifting herself up off the bed and grinding her buttocks to intensify their pleasure. His huge cock was triggering the pleasure centres in the nerves ringing her sphincter and pressing delightfully on her prostate.

Saheed began to fuck the beautiful woman impaled on his phallus lying beneath him. Her tight passage had been pre-lubricated, and now the rivulet of precum leaking from Saheed’s cock commingled with the lubricant greasing Charlotte’s back passage. He was able to fuck Charlotte with long slow strokes as she lay beneath him, writhing with pleasure and raising her buttocks to meet his thrusts.

Her tight anus gripped his cock and Saheed could feel her internal muscles squeezing and milking his pulsating phallus. Charlotte groaned and howled, hanging onto Saheed with her arms around his neck and her heels around his flank; she rutted like a harlot as Saheed’s cock elicited waves of pleasure from deep in her rectum.

They both screamed when they climaxed; Saheed thrust himself inside Charlotte as deep as he could; his scrotum resting in the crease of her buttocks as his penis convulsed and ejaculated his hot seed deep inside her.

Charlotte felt him discharge his semen inside her and it triggered her own orgasm; her anus undulated and contracted, milking Saheed of his spend as she herself spent against him; her secretions smearing on his tight belly as he drove his cock deep inside her. They kissed, pawed and raked at each other as they climaxed; their shrieks and groans reverberating around the room.

When they finally finished rutting they were both bathed in sweat, scratched, bruised and bleeding as they lay panting, Saheed lay exhausted on top of Charlotte, she gasped for breath as Saheed’s semen dribbled from her sphincter, his cock slowly deflating inside her.

When they had recovered enough to catch their breath Charlotte languidly placed her arms around Saheed’s neck and lowered his lips to hers. Their kisses were tender, soft and loving now that their lust was sated.

Saheed rolled off Charlotte and pulled the coverlet over them. They kissed and caressed each other sensitively and softly like lovers. They kissed and licked each other’s wounds and tenderly stroked each other.

Saheed fell asleep in the afterglow of their lovemaking and Charlotte smiled to herself; she had not made love to man so passionately since she could remember.

She gently lifted the coverlet and began to swing her legs out of the bed when she felt Saheed’s strong grip on her arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he chuckled.

“I thought you were sleeping so…” Charlotte smiled down at him.

“So…I have need of your service,” he smiled up at her and brushed her fringe out of her eyes.

“So soon!” Charlotte feigned surprise.

“Yes; so soon. And for the rest of the day,” Charlotte squealed like a schoolgirl as Saheed picked her up in his arms and then dropped her back on the bed and fell on her.

Paris – Three Months Later

“How long have known?” Charlotte took a drag of her cigarette.

“My mother told me that I was adopted as soon as I was old enough to comprehend it. She wouldn’t tell me who my mother and father were, but Mary Pilson spent so much time at our house that I began to suspect. It wasn’t so much that she was there all the time; it was the way she looked at me and touched me,” Tiffany took a drag of her own cigarette.

They were sitting outside of a small bar-restaurant on the Place Joffre, they could see all the way down the Champ de Mars to the Eiffel Tower. They drank espresso and cognac and smoked too many cigarettes.

“The resemblance was one thing; but also her mannerisms. Looking at Mary was sometimes like looking in a mirror. So I put it to my mother one day; I told her I’d confront Mary if she didn’t tell me the truth, so she did,” Tiffany tapped ash from her cigarette.

“Then I asked her why Mary had given me up. I’m sure mother was tempted to lie but she knew I would see through it. So she told me about the Society of the Circle; what it was like to have been a Novice and then an Acolyte. Then she told me how she had met my father who was one of the Masters; how they fell in love and left the Circle,” Tiffany sipped coffee and Charlotte nodded.

“So your parent sent you to finishing school here; far away from Mary, Chelmsford Hall and the Society of the Circle,” Charlotte added.

“They were worried that I’d tell Mary that I knew that she was my birth mother; or worse. That I’d somehow want to become a Novice at Chelmsford Hall,” Tiffany replied.

“You know that potential Novices are approached by an Acolyte and then inspected and recruited by a Master; it’s not the Girl Guides, you can’t just join,” Charlotte stated and Tiffany laughed politely.

“Besides; Mary would never allow it,” Charlotte said.

“But Lord Sir Edward Tilsbury might. I know he’s my father and I know that he and Mary have fought over me; that he didn’t want Mary to have me. It would be revenge of sorts to recruit me as a Novice,” Tiffany beckoned to the waiter to bring more cognac.

“But that would be sacrilege! Incest! A scandal that could break the Circle,” Charlotte said quite agitated.

“Of course Lord Tilsbury would not be able to initiate me; my deflowerment and initiation would have to be undertaken by another of the Masters,” Tiffany finished her coffee.

“I’m sure there would be plenty of volunteers. So you er… this is a little delicate? Are you still intact?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes I’m still a virgin,” Tiffany smiled sweetly.

“So. You know who I am then? What your birth mother was and is to me?” Charlotte waived away the waiter after he put down the fresh drinks and began to clear the table.

“Yes. I made mommy tell me everything. You were the first transsexual Acolyte; my birth mother was your mentor and was your best friend,” Tiffany crushed out her cigarette and reached for another.

“She still is,” Charlotte said wistfully.

“Yet you haven’t seen each other for years. You live in Australia and she in England. And she knows nothing of this,” Tiffany slid a matte black business card embossed with silver script: ‘Something Special - Charlotte's Web’ across the table.

“Where did you get that?” Charlotte was shocked.

“One of your Sister’s of the Web recruited my best friend whilst she was still at our school. She was a virgin at the time and so when she agreed to become a Sister of the Web she was immediately sent to one of the Emirates where her virginity was sold for one hundred thousand Euros,” Tiffany explained.

Charlotte was stunned into silence.

“She received half the money and stayed in the Middle East for a month before returning home to Paris where she continues to be employed as a Sister of the Web,” Tiffany lit her cigarette.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Tiffany but let me explain,” Charlotte began.

“Nothing to explain Charlotte. She loves the work and she loves the pay; she says it’s better than any other job she could possibly think of. She gets to travel, she gets well paid, she gets to use her education as well as her body and besides, she likes to fuck,” Tiffany smiled.

Charlotte blushed.

“Well I’m glad about that then,” Charlotte patted Tiffany’s knee.

“I want in,” Tiffany stated boldly.

Charlotte choked on her drink.

“You want what?” Charlotte was stunned.

“I can’t be an Acolyte so I want to be a Sister,” Tiffany replied.

“It’s not that simple Tiffany; besides your mothers, both of them, would never forgive me,” Charlotte dug in.

“I’m nineteen years old and I can do what I like. Besides; if mummy and Edward knew you were recruiting virgins and other young girls to populate your business model, which is basically a rip off of the Society of the Circle, I’d think your friendship was kaput anyway. And of course you would have to deal with the fallout from the Society of the Circle,” Tiffany smirked.

“So I’m being blackmailed by a nineteen year old virgin,” Charlotte was bemused.

“Precisely,” Tiffany smirked back at her.

“Ok. Let’s finish our drinks and go back to my hotel where we can have some privacy; you had better know exactly what you are letting yourself in for,” Charlotte finished her cognac in one gulp.

“You’re not just luring me into a honey trap are you Charlotte?” Tiffany teased.

“Your virginity is worth far more than a quickie in a Paris hotel,” Charlotte replied sarcastically.

“Well you don’t have a cunt, but you were still recruited as a Novice,” Tiffany baited Charlotte.

“I still don’t have a cunt, but if you keep behaving like a petulant child I might show you what I do have. I can use it on your body in other places so that you keep your virginity,” Charlotte teased her in reply.

“Promises, promises,” Tiffany giggled.

Charlotte couldn’t help but admire her friend’s daughter. Tiffany had mettle and a dry sense of humour like her own. She was going to need all the spunk she had when she was sent to Dubai.

Two months later Tiffany came back from the Middle East no longer a virgin, seventy-five thousand Euros richer and a newly indoctrinated Sister of the Web. Charlotte saw the potential in Tiffany and put her in charge of the European operation. Tiffany was the right age, from the right background, and had the right connections to recruit other suitable candidates for Charlotte’s business enterprises.

It was around this time that Charlotte concocted her cunning but dangerous plan. She would amalgamate the Society of the Masters of the Circle and the Sisters of the Web. It was an ambitious audacious plan that would require a co-conspirator inside the Circle; a Master or an Acolyte willing to sell out or disgruntled. For a while she considered trying to rouse Mary Pilson to her cause but Mary was devoted to Lord Edward and the tenets of the Circle; she would never betray them.

Barnaby Tilsbury was bought to her attention through Tiffany, who was telling Charlotte what a bore the man was.

“I believe the lower classes use the word ‘plonker’,” she sniffed.

“He came around to visit mother and father and was bragging about how he was to inherit Lord Edward’s titles and estates,” Tiffany told Charlotte over coffee after one of their business meetings.

Charlotte had not been back to England for so long that she felt like a stranger in her own land but she soon settled down and quietly put out feelers ensuring that neither Edward nor Mary got wind that she was back in country. Barnaby turned out to be exactly the ‘plonker’ that Tiffany had described but he was an ambitious, greedy and impatient plonker, and when Charlotte made her pitch he took the bait hook, line, and sinker.

Barnaby would identify suitable Novices under training at Chelmsford Hall and entice them away to join Charlotte’s Web. He had to be very careful; ensuring that he made offers to the very few he was certain would defect. He also fed Charlotte with the names of Acolytes of the Circle who seemed either dissatisfied with their lot or were likely to be tempted to forsake the Circle for the freedom and wealth that the Web had to offer.

Charlotte or Tiffany would approach the prospective Acolytes and attempt to recruit them to the Sisterhood of the Web and so far they had a one hundred percent strike rate but Charlotte knew that Edward would soon find out what was going on. She knew through her contacts that Edward suspected there was foul play afoot because of the increased number of Acolytes resigning from the Circle.

But then Lord Edward Tilsbury had died; and although Charlotte was as heartbroken as Mary, she was also callous enough to realise that his demise was fortuitous. She made contact with the most powerful members of the Circle, the Privy Council of the Masters of the Circle and requested a meeting. She told no one; not even her co-conspirators Barnaby or Tiffany about the meeting or what was discussed.

The Day of the Inauguration of the Grand Master of the Society of the Masters of the Circle

At Chelmsford Hall every Master of the Circle who could possibly attend was crowded into the Great Hall as were most of the Acolytes. Cameras had been set up so that those unable to attend could watch the ceremony online.

The six Privy Councillors of the Masters of the Circle sat on a raised rostrum; the dais where the Grand Master of the Circle was to sit was vacant, awaiting the appointment of the successor.

Barnaby was grinning like a Cheshire cat, fully expecting to be sitting on the dais all too soon. Many of the Masters were patting him on the back or shaking his hand, toadying up to him in anticipation of the wealth and power that would soon be his.

The eldest of the Councillors rapped a gavel and bought the Grand Hall to silence.

“We are gathered here to appoint the successor to Lord Edward Tilsbury, Earl of Chelmsford and founder of the Society of the Masters of the Circle,” he began in a wavering voice.

“The two issues are of course totally separate; The Earldom is a Royal peerage and the Grand Master is an appointment within the Society of the Circle,” he explained.

“As you are aware, Lord Edward’s nephew, Barnaby Tilsbury is fully expected to inherit both titles,” the Councillor’s voice boomed.

Barnaby Tilsbury stepped forward onto the rostrum with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“But I have been advised by the Queen’s Council that advice to the contrary has been decreed. I read to you the document forwarded by him to the Council of the Circle.”

“The holder of a peerage may not transfer his title to an individual, it devolves automatically to the first born son or to other sons in order of birth, the incumbent has no right to designate a successor to the title. In any event, the Earl of Chelmsford, Lord Edward Tilsbury’s last will and testament has been found to been found to be unproved and likely a forgery. His previous will stands; with the bulk of his estate being held in trust to be administered by the Privy Council of the Masters of the Circle,” he read from a scroll.

“But this is preposterous!” Barnaby cried.

“Please be quiet; we have more business,” the councillor continued, ignoring Barnaby’s pleas.

“Further; the Privy Council have met and after much deliberation have decided that for the Society of the Masters of the Circle to survive in this modern age, we must look to the future and change with the times. Therefore we have appointed a new leader of our esteemed society.”

“Please welcome our new Grand Acolyte of the Society of the Masters of the Circle, Ms Charlotte Beason.”

The End

PS. A comment or two would be appreciated,
thanks
Michele