Date: Tue, 08 Jun 2004 10:55:05 -0700
From: Eugene Webber
Subject: Guy and Ellen Part 4

Postcards from THE ESTATE: Guy and Ellen
Part IV

As she stepped from the surrey, a breeze from the lake lifted her
wraparound. Experiencing such a cooling breeze on her smooth skin
enhanced her feeling of nakedness, as did the way the breeze revealed her
to her waist. As she struggled to keep her dress down, Ellen didn't
notice the approving stares she received from the driver, Brenda, and
Adriane. Brenda led the way into the building, followed by Ellen, then
Adriane.

The inside of the building belied its industrial exterior. Its entire
ground floor was one large store, with racks of dresses, skirts, blouses,
shells, pantsuits, skirt suits, wardrobers, panties, pantyhose,
stockings, body shapers, teddies, bras and corsets. Every possible style,
mostly in larger sizes. Cotton, silk, leather. Wedding dresses, maids'
outfits, dominatrices. One could go from Joan Crawford to Madonna to
Jennifer to Brittany, and every one in between--from Stepford Wife to Sex
in the City to Sadie Thompson. And shoes, shoes, shoes.

All this Ellen had to gather in as she followed Brenda, who swiftly went
through the store to the elevators. The elevator stopped first on the
third floor, where Adriane got off. The top floor, the fourth, was as
different from the ground floor as the interior was from the exterior.
The elevator opened into a reception area with deep carpeting that
retained the heel impressions for minutes after being walked upon. The
furnishings were cherrywood and sea blue upholstering and polished marble
tops and brass fixtures.

"Mrs. Bowen is waiting for you," the receptionist said as soon as they
exited the elevator. "You may go right in."

Mrs. Bowen's office could have housed a start-up. It was thirty feet
long, twenty of which was glass windows which gave a striking view of the
inland sea that was one of the Great Lakes. Her desk was a mahogany
conference table, the view from the windows reflected in its
mirror-polished surface. The only thing on it was a black keyboard and
flat-screen monitor. Mrs. Bowen herself sat dwarfed in a large leather
chair, its back rising like an obelisk against the blues of air and water
behind her. Nathaniel would have thought he was having an audience with
the great Oz. Ellen was as scared as Dorothy.

Brenda was also scared. She made this trip at least once a week, usually
on weekends, yet in nearly two years at THE ESTATE she had never ceased
to be intimidated by Mrs. Bowen. Mrs. Bowen stared at them as they
entered and continued to stare as the receptionist closed the office
doors behind them. Ellen felt she should curtsy, but resisted the urge,
looking to Brenda for cues. Brenda just stood there, a few steps inside
the room.

Mrs. Bowen continued to stare at Ellen, then shifted her gaze to the
monitor. Looking at Ellen again, "Welcome to THE ESTATE, Mist. ... Do you
prefer Mr. Spotswood or Ms. Sharpe?"

"Ms. Ms. Ms. Sharpe," Ellen stammered.

"You need not be afraid of me, Ms. Sharpe," Mrs. Bowen said, a faint
smile on her lips. "Despite what you will hear," she looked at Brenda,
"or may have heard, I'm really quite harmless."

Brenda shuddered. She had not said anything about Mrs. Bowen, to Ellen or
anyone else, and certainly not anything negative. Why would Mrs. Bowen
even think she had. And why would she let Brenda know that she thought
Brenda had.

Mrs. Bowen noted Brenda's shudder. What did Machiavelli write, all those
centuries ago. It is well if a prince can be both feared and loved. But
if he is to obtain only one of these, it is better to be feared than to
be loved. And Mrs. Bowen was one of the princes who ruled THE ESTATE.

"You know why you're here, correct?"

Ellen thought she should be discreet. "I'm here as a guest."

"Yes, Ms. Sharpe, that is correct. But I think you know what I was
asking. Let us not play word games or mind games. You are here as a guest
of Mr. Guy Hughes, one of our valued members. Mr. Hughes uses our
facilities for one purpose: to transform men such as yourself into
attractive women, with whom he will have sex. This will not be a
seduction where you play the coquette. We will make you into as lovely a
woman as we can. I believe both you and Mr. Hughes will be quite pleased
with the results. But it is Mr. Hughes who will make your transformation
complete--and final. You have an advantage: you can say no at anytime.
Mr. Hughes will have to accept that. That is a basic rule of THE ESTATE.
No one is raped here. But we also do not like our members to be
disappointed with their stay. If you have any doubts about what is
expected of you, you should say so now."

Ellen now saw that as she met with each higher level at THE ESTATE she
would be asked to reaffirm her consent to what was going to happen to
her. And for the first time, someone--a very important someone--had
informed her of the control that consent gave her. Even if she said yes
until she was about to surrender, she could still say no at that last
moment. And Guy would have to honor it, or incur the wrath of THE ESTATE.
That's very feminine: being a cock teaser. Not that she intended to be
one, but the option was appealing.

"I have no doubts, Mrs. Bowen."

"Are you certain, Ms. Sharpe?"

No, she wasn't certain. The only thing she was certain of was that she
wanted to at least reach that point where she would have to submit to Guy
or end their relationship.

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Bowen noted the tremor in Ellen's voice. Hopefully, Guy Hughes would
not be disappointed. THE ESTATE would regret having to discipline him if
he broke their no-means-no rule. Or any others.

"Then I'll let Ms. Duncan take you to Ms. Neville."

Brenda had not said anything during the entire interview. She started to
turn when Mrs. Bowen spoke again.

"Ms. Sharpe," Ellen and Brenda both turned toward her. "Please come visit
me this evening."

"Yes, ma'am," Ellen replied, not certain what the invitation meant.

Brenda understood the invitation plainly. Mrs. Bowen wanted to see what
the transformed Ellen looked like, and to make sure she understood--and
consented to--what was going to happen later. The invitation was also a
command--to Brenda and Elaine. Bring me this person before you present
her to Guy Hughes. As Ellen replied, Brenda nodded. Greater than the
wizard and all the witches of Oz, Mrs. Bowen was She Who Must Be Obeyed.

It was just past 11:00 when Brenda delivered Ellen to Elaine. Ellen
immediately recognized her, and felt much better just seeing Elaine.
Elaine ushered her into a small room. The door was a large mirror, with a
three-sided floor to ceiling mirror on one wall, and a vanity on the
opposite wall. The furnishings was a bench at the vanity, and a chair
used by hair stylists which allowed them to raise and lower their
clients, and to turn them around.

"Take off your clothing." Elaine ordered. Ellen removed the dress.

"Everything." Off came the panties and Ellen stepped out of her shoes.
Elaine flipped a switch, and the lighting in the room became intensely
bright. "You have excellent skin tone," Elaine said. "The girls did a
great job on you."

Elaine opened a box and removed a small cylindrical object, which she
coated with a cream from a jar on the vanity. Turning to Ellen, she held
it up for her to see. "You know what this is?"

"A tampon?" Ellen said, incredulous.

"Right. Sit down over there." Elaine pointed to the stylist chair.
Instead of a foot rest, there were two stirrups. Elaine placed Ellen's
heels in them then positioned the chair so that Ellen was looking between
her legs at herself in the door mirror. Elaine handed her the tampon.

"Push it in until only the string is left." Ellen did so, watching her
asshole swallow the white tube, squeezing some of the cream out as she
did so. Elaine took some tissue from the vanity and wiped the excess off.

"The cream contains a desensitizer," Elaine explained. "It takes an hour
or so to work. If you have to go, then make sure you replace it with a
new one. You'll find the cream and tampons in every restroom in this
building, and in your suite. And afterwards, you should use one, every
time."

Ellen looked at her reflection again. For the first time she didn't see
her asshole, but her pussy. And she was on the rag!

"Now try this," Elaine said, holding what looked like a standard pair of
full cut panties. As Ellen pulled them up, she noticed that there was a
pouch on the inside front of it. Elaine reached inside and tucked Ellen's
cock into the pouch, then adjusted the panty. The control panel in front
and the pouch pushed his cock between his legs, giving him a smooth
feminine look.

"Get back in the chair." Ellen complied, this time placing her feet in
the stirrups without being told. Elaine then went to the door, opened it,
and signaled. Adriane and Chantrelle came in. "Girls, she's all yours."
As they had done that morning, Adriane and Chantrelle worked wordlessly.
A half-hour later, Ellen had perfectly painted toes, and fingernails a
quarter-inch beyond the tips of her fingers, both a deep red.

Elaine returned with a third maid carrying several boxes. Although she
had heard of them, these were the first prosthetic breasts Ellen had ever
seen. They were all the same size and type, different only in skin tone.
Elaine couldn't get a perfect match, but by the time she had them in
place and made up the edges, Ellen was the proud possessor of a set of
C-cups that looked natural.

"I doubt whether Mr. Hughes will give you a rigid inspection," Elaine
assured Ellen, who didn't need any reassurance. She snatched the bra
which Elaine next produced, anxious to have something actually attached
to her body to fill it. The bra was longline, a style Ellen had not
tried. "The bra replaced the corset," Elaine explained. "It works like a
suspension bridge. That's okay when you have something to hold up. But
when what you have is not a natural extension, you need support from
beneath."

As Elaine fastened the back, Ellen saw what she meant as the cups pushed
her new breasts up and out. A garter belt and thigh-high stockings
followed.

"This is only for this afternoon," Elaine explained as she presented
Ellen with a dark-blue skirt with box pleats and a long-sleeve white
blouse with barrel cuffs. "I have something else for you for this
evening."

Ellen took great pride in buttoning the blouse, seeing it swell in front
of her as she closed the material over her breasts. Elaine brought her a
pair of blue-and-white wing-tip pumps as she was putting on the skirt.

"Put this on and walk around. If they're not the right size, or just
don't feel right, I'll get something else.

Ellen could have spent the rest of the afternoon walking back and forth
in the shoes, watching how the skirt swayed with each step, if Elaine had
not insisted that she needed to do Ellen's face. Or rather that Ellen's
face needed to be done. For this, another staffer came in. A man, with a
lavender shirt, tan vest, print tie, the first time Ellen had seen this
particular combination. She was surprised that he had a photograph of her
that she had sent Elaine some weeks ago. It was the most successful
attempt she had at making herself up, and she was very proud of it.

The depilation of that morning was better than any she had done herself,
and that gave the make-up specialist a smoother base to work with. Plus
his much greater skill and experience. Ellen had never been able to apply
eye shadow and mascara properly. He had given her a sultry look that
wasn't slutty. The only flaw was her eyebrows.

The make-up man stated, "I should pluck them."

Elaine nixed the idea. "On Monday, Ms. Sharpe will have to become Mr.
Spotswood and return to the city and his old life. It would be difficult
for him to explain plucked eyebrows."

The make-up man did his best, giving Ellen's brows a more feminine arch.
Her lips were the same shade as her nails, but with a gloss that made
them shimmer. When the staffer was finished, Ellen looked like the
photograph, only retouched to make her very, very attractive. Looking at
the photograph and then at her reflection was like looking at before and
after.

Finally came the wig. Ellen had never been satisfied with the few wigs
she had ordered through the internet. Elaine had chosen a shoulder-length
layered shag in the same color as Nathaniel's hair. When Elaine finished
styling it, Ellen saw her face framed by convex bows. I'm so beautiful
I'd like to fuck myself, Ellen thought.

A single stand pearl necklace, and matching clip on earrings was the only
jewelry Elaine provided. Elaine had nixed the piercing of Ellen's ears
for the same reason she wouldn't let her eyebrows be plucked. When Ellen
looked at herself in the three-way mirror, she saw a beautiful Junior
Leaguer dressed for lunch with the girls--or her lover. Satisfied, Elaine
escorted Ellen into the main portion of the salon. From the expressions
on Brenda's face, Ellen knew she was gorgeous. Several of the other
patrons cast envious glances at her, as did Adriane and Chantrelle.

Brenda looked at Ellen, remembering what she looked like that morning.
"Mistress Elaine, you've done a marvelous job. Mrs. Bowen will be
pleased."

"Thank you, Brenda," Elaine smiled. Brenda was not given to sucking up,
and she could read Mrs. Bowen second only to Elaine herself. She looked
at Ellen. "Happy, Ms. Sharpe?" Ellen nodded emphatically. "Ready for
something to eat?" It was now 1:00 p.m. It had been four hours since
Ellen had eaten. While she hadn't been hungry before, the mention of food
now caused hunger pains. She nodded.

The second floor housed the cafeteria for staff and the tearoom for
members and guests. As they waited for the elevator, Elaine explained
more of the transformation process.

"A transformation is only partial when we have transformed your
appearance. You must not only look like a woman if you're going to be out
and about, but you must deport yourself as one."

Ellen asked just as the elevator arrived. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, no," Elaine comforted her, pressing the button for the second floor.
"In fact, you carry yourself as a woman much better than I thought you
would, since you've never been out as one. But I've been a woman all my
life. There are certain things I do that I don't think about doing, but
which someone in your position wouldn't do. And then there are things
that Mr. Spotswood would do that Ms. Sharpe wouldn't do. So we have to
enhance the former and eliminate the latter."

As they exited the elevator, Brenda broke in. "What Mistress Elaine is
saying, Ms. Sharpe, is that being a woman requires you to just be a
woman. You have to try to not be Mr. Spotswood trying to be Ms. Sharpe,
but just be Ms. Sharpe. There are subtle differences, and obvious ones,
in the ways a man stands and a woman stands, the way a man walks and a
woman walks, how one sits, then stands. You want to appear not so much as
feminine as womanly. You don't want to look like a campy drag queen. Take
me. Until I told you I was transgendered, would you have guessed that I
was once a man?"

At this Elaine said nothing. Although she had been at THE ESTATE for
several years, and had rid herself of most of her sexual stereotypes and
prejudices, she still thought of Brenda as a man living as a woman. In
fact, that's how she thought of all the men who went through the
Transformation Services. Her job was to make their efforts as successful
as possible. Brenda was daily proof that it could be very successful.

Ellen shook her head to Brenda's question. For a year she had been
looking for assurance and support that she could present herself as a
woman without looking like a caricature. And now standing next to her was
proof that this could happen.

"It took me years to reach the state I am at now." Brenda continued,
looking at Elaine. "And I would never claim to be as womanly--as
feminine--as Mistress Elaine." She turned back to Ellen. "But I regularly
leave THE ESTATE and I never worry that someone will look at me and see
anything other than a woman."

By now they had reached the door of the tearoom. Brenda opened the door
and Elaine led the way in. The tea room had two rows of tables and
seating arrangements. Like Mrs. Bowen's office above, one wall was a
large expanse of windows and glass doors looking out at the inland sea
and the woods between its beach and the Transformation Services building.
At each end of the row closest to the window wall were living room type
settings: sofa, loveseat, two wing chairs, coffee table, end tables,
lamps. On each coffee table was a porcelain tea set. Dead in the middle
between the two settings was a simple cafe table with two cafe chairs.
The other row ran down the center of the room, consisting of five sets of
cafe table and chairs.

Elaine led the trio to a table at the windows that commanded a great view
of the large body of water and the trees between the building and the
shore. Outside was a terrace with another row of tables, suitable for a
large party. At one of them were six women drinking tea, some of whom
Ellen recognized being in the salon that morning.

A waiter came by with a cart with coffee of various blends, followed by a
second with teas, a third with fruit drinks and soft drinks. Elaine
selected a tea, Brenda coffee, while Ellen settled on a tea after first
deciding on a fruit drink then a soda. The men, all dressed as the bus
driver had been dressed, turned and disappeared through a set of swinging
doors. As they exited, another set of waiters entered, the entire
procedure reminding Ellen of a medieval clockwork she had once seen. The
first tray was a salad bar, the second had entrees, the third side
dishes. It was like having a buffet on wheels which came to you without
being summoned. The selections made, the carts were wheeled back behind
the doors.

"Ms. Sharpe," Elaine began between mouthfuls, "Appearancewise, you're a
woman. In most of the gestures and mannerisms, you're okay. What we'd
like you to do now is just be a woman. Walk around, get used to your
heels and other accessories, and talk. Especially talk. Right now, your
voice is too masculine. Not deep, just masculine. Don't try a falsetto.
That is so camp! And Mr. Hughes would not be pleased. As you talk, you
will develop your own feminine voice. It won't be perfect, in the few
hours we have, but it will do for this visit. So, tell me about
yourself."

Ellen began talking, repeating what she had told Guy about how she had
gotten into crossdressing. Elaine and Brenda knew all this, but talking
about one's self is always an icebreaker. Elaine asked questions about
Nathaniel, the type of work he did, his family, friends,
girlfriends--questions to fill in the blanks about what they already
knew. Ellen let it all out. It was the first time she had been able to
talk about her life, not just type it.

Elaine and Brenda listened without interrupting. As she spoke, Ellen
gradually moderated her voice so that it sounded less masculine. Not
necessarily more feminine, but definitely less masculine. And her
mannerism underwent a similar metamorphosis. Ellen sat, stood, walked,
sat again, crossed her legs, uncrossed her legs, recrossed her legs, put
her hands in her lap, used them to gesture as she spoke, stroked her
hair, adjusted her clothing.

By the time they finished lunch, it was 2:00 p.m. Elaine stood nodded to
the women on the terrace. "Ms. Sharpe, your deportment is very good. We'd
like you to spend an hour or so with other transgendered women." She
looked at the sextet. "Those women."

Ellen wasn't sure about this. There had been half a dozen persons
undergoing treatments in the salon this morning. Three of them would
never pass as women. At least two of them were the type of campy sissies
she didn't want to be. Brenda guessed her reluctance.

"You don't have to do this," she said. "But I think you should. You know
what type of woman you want to be. This way you can also see the type of
woman you don't want to be."

Ellen looked at the group again, then at the duo at her table. She
nodded. Elaine led the way onto the terrace. The women in the group
turned toward the door when the trio entered the terrace. They continued
to stare as the trio approached them. Reaching them, Elaine smiled at the
oldest of the six. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Lancaster," she began. "This is
Ellen Sharpe. May she have tea with you this afternoon?"

Mrs. Lancaster looked at Ellen with the expression of a wealthy matron
whose grandson had just brought a girl from the wrong side of the tracks
to dinner. Ellen returned the stare, seeing a sixtish woman in a dark
blue long sleeve shirtdress with a pleated top, a gold chain around her a
parson's collar with a man's pocket watch as a pendant. Only the Adam's
apple where a turkey neck should be indicated the true gender of Mrs.
Lancaster.

"Of course, Elaine. We'd be delighted to have her."

Elaine turned to Ellen. "Ms. Sharpe, this is Mrs. Elizabeth Lancaster,
one of our most valued members." Elaine turned back to Mrs. Lancaster.
"Mrs. Lancaster, this is Ellen Sharpe, a guest of another valued member."

The two women nodded at each other. As she was making the introductions,
three men in black shirts, gold vests, and paisley neckties appeared out
of nowhere, each carrying a chair. Seeming to ignore them, Elaine
addressed Mrs. Lancaster. "I will leave her and Brenda with you, if you
don't mind."

The third man immediately turned and left, taking his chair with him. The
other two held the backs of their chairs as Ellen and Brenda sat down.

"Mrs. Lancaster-York, would you like to be mother?" Mrs. Lancaster asked.

As Mrs. Lancaster-York poured, Elaine quietly turned and left. Ellen
waited for Brenda to pick up her cup and saucer, then emulated her. Ellen
looked around the group. Mrs. Lancaster-York was about ten years younger
than Mrs. Lancaster, making her still nearly twice Ellen's age. She was
dressed in a short-sleeve print dress, the kind Guy had called dowdy. She
wore a green beaded choker necklace which effectively masked any Adam's
apple she might have had. Ellen noticed her perfectly manicured hands,
the set of her hair, the natural way she moved and shifted as she filled
the cups, then set the tea pot down. Everything ladylike and natural.
Only her face gave her away. Even with a make-over she made a very ugly
woman.

Mrs. Lancaster handled the introductions. "This is my companion Mrs.
Virginia Lancaster-York." She didn't explain that the hyphenated name
meant more than companionship. Brenda realized that she hadn't explained
the use of the honorific "Mrs." for all members in a female role,
regardless of their true gender.

"This is Mrs. Georgia Ferrero." Mrs. Lancaster continued. Mrs. Ferrero
was about five years younger than Mrs. Lancaster-York. She was dressed in
a sea green skirt suit with white pipping and a pale green shell. Faux
pearl necklace and earrings matched a one-inch faux mother-of-pearl wrist
bracelet. Only the ladies' wrist watch on the other wrist did not match.
She wore her hair short, and Ellen realized that with a comb-out it would
take a masculine look.

"This is Mrs. Giselle Yonkovic." Mrs. Lancaster said, moving on to the
next member. Mrs. Yankovic was the epitome of a Slavic woman. Heavy,
plain, bad skin, jowls. Brenda had often joked with Elaine that so many
of their members such as Mrs. Yonkovic were passable only because so many
of the women of their ethnicity were so damn ugly.

"This is Senora Serena Mendez." Senora Mendez was in her mid-thirties and
a true beauty. She had her hair pulled back severely into a pony-tail.
Heavy on the eye make-up and rouge, with a disconcertingly red lipstick,
she presented the image of a fading Latina beauty, although she was
really Filipino. She wore a white peasant blouse that would have cost a
peasant a month's income, her surgically enhanced chest swelling the deep
plunging neckline. She'd paid dearly to have cleavage and she wasn't
going to hide it.

"This is Mrs. Jennifer Thierry." Mrs. Thierry was about the same age as
Senora Mendez. She sported the blonde hair and blue eyes and fresh look
of the suburban woman Ellen wanted to achieve, not knowing she had
already succeeded. She was wearing a blouse and skirt ensemble nearly
identical to Ellen's, down to the pumps. Only Mrs. Thierry's was in
shades of tan and brown. Mrs. Thierry looked at Ellen and Brenda.

"Miss Klienz, this is Ms. Ellen Sharpe. Ms Sharpe, Miss Nancy Klienz."

This was the first time Ellen had heard the honorific "Miss" at THE
ESTATE or any where else in her lifetime. She wondered at its
significance. She now noted for the first time that all of the women,
except for the Hispanic one, were referred to as "Mrs." And even "Senora"
means Mrs. Brenda noted that she would have to explain that "Miss" is
reserved for younger guests sent to THE ESTATE by parents or guardians
for training as young women. Nancy was dressed the part: a
white-and-black houndstooth jumper, white blouse, white knee-high
stockings, white patent leather T-straps with one and a half inch heels.
Her hair was in a short bob with bangs cut straight just at her eyebrows.
She also looked the part: eyes wide with fear not knowing what was
happening to her or why.

The introductions completed, Mrs. Lancaster turned to Ellen. "So, Ellen
is it?" Ellen nodded. "So, Ellen, what brings you to this place?" "She's
the guest of a member," Brenda interceded. Mrs. Lancaster knew the rules
about privacy, although she strove mightily to violate them constantly.

Mrs. Lancaster looked a dagger at Brenda, then smiled sweetly at Ellen.
"So, my dear, how long have you known Guy?"

Brenda rolled her eyes; Ellen's eyes widened. How did this woman know
about Guy? "Er ... Uh ..." was all she could say.

"I'm sure Brenda here informed you about THE ESTATE's privacy rules,"
Mrs. Lancaster gloated. "Those rules are usually useless, as most rules
are. We all," here she waved her bejeweled hand at the entourage, "know
what we are, and why we're here. You're young, you're very pretty," Ellen
blushed, "and you're at this particular place with this woman." She
looked at Brenda, pausing. "That means you're here for one Mr. Guy
Hughes. Right, Jennifer?"

Jennifer gave Mrs. Lancaster an exasperated look. Bitchy old queen, she
thought. Like Mrs. Lancaster, she too had surmised that Ellen was here to
be fucked by Guy. Shepherding Guy's turnouts was one of Brenda's duties.
Jennifer had been in Ellen's position a little over a year ago, and also
endured tea with Mrs. Lancaster. She kept her teacup poised in mid-air.

"There are certain rituals that get observed here, Ms. Sharpe," she said.
"Guy's ... interests ... are one of them. We are all transgendered here.
We saw what you looked liked when you came in, we see what you look like
now, you're with Brenda and Elaine, and you're having tea with us. That's
usually a prelude to having Guy's dick up your ass tonight. Not exactly
rocket science."

"Oh my, Mrs. Thierry, such language!" Mrs. Lancaster said in mock horror.
Everyone except Nancy and Ellen gave her a pained look.

"My good queen Bess," she retorted. "Every one of us except Nancy, and
Ellen, is a queer who's had a man's cock up her ass and down her throat."
She then looked at Ellen. "And this time tomorrow Ms. Sharpe will be a
member of our sorority."

There it was again, Ellen thought, only now from someone who was not an
employee of THE ESTATE. I'm going to get fucked tonight, and everyone
here knows it. Some privacy.

Mrs. Lancaster had enjoyed this little dust-up, even though she resented
being called 'queen Bess.' The afternoon had become rather boring, what
with no one having anything to really say to each other. Jennifer was
coming along nicely, turning into the bitchy queer Elizabeth Lancaster
had been at Jennifer's age. But there were two others who could be
indoctrinated. Mrs. Lancaster turned to Ellen.

"We each come here by different routes, Ms. Sharpe." Mrs. Lancaster
looked at Nancy. "Nancy is here to pay for an indiscretion. Seems she let
her aunt catch her sucking off her cousin." Nancy blushed. "Her aunt, and
her uncle, are members. Hildegarde decided that if her nephew is going to
suck cock like a girl, maybe he should spend the summer as a girl. Right
Nancy?"

"It wasn't like that at all, Mrs. Lancaster, and you know it!" Nancy
cried. Mrs. Lancaster and Mrs. Lancaster-York looked at her askance. "You
know Stephen and I were only fooling around. You know he did it to me
first. You know I only did it to him to be fair. Aunt Hildy shouldn't
make me dress like this. She shouldn't have sent me here. It's so
unfair!"

"Unfair, Nancy?" Mrs. Lancaster smiled her cold smile. "You should be
glad she hasn't punished you the way she's punishing Stephen. Be thankful
she's treating you like a niece. Be thankful she's trying to teach you
that nice young ladies don't suck their cousins' cocks. Be thankful you
won't have to suck another cock this summer unless you want to. Your
cousin doesn't have that option, young lady. Stephen she's not even
treating like a son or a daughter. This treatment is mild compared to
some of the other services THE ESTATE has to offer."

Mrs. Lancaster-York, Mrs. Yankovic, Mrs. Ferrero, Senora Mendez, Mrs.
Thierry, and Brenda all nodded in agreement. Maybe it did happen as Nancy
had said. That may have been the first time Nancy had sucked cock, but it
was not the first time Hildegarde had caught her son with his cock in
another boy's mouth, or a cock in his. Or her husband. And now her
husband's nephew. Were all the males in this family born cocksuckers?

Nancy hadn't even thought about what had happened to Stephen. Unknown to
her, he, now Stephanie, was also at THE ESTATE, being put through her
paces as a transgendered prostitute at The Brothel, another service.
Being a few years older than Nancy, and having incurred the wrath of his
mother, sexual exploitation was not prohibited for him. As his cousin was
having tea dressed as a teenaged school girl, Stephanie was dressed in
fishnet stockings and garter belt, her shoulder-length hair bleached and
styled in a punk manner, her heavy make-up smearing the pillow of the bed
she was on while being spoon-fucked for the second time that day. And
loving it!

Ellen looked at the others. Curiosity got the better of her. "What other
services?"

Everyone looked at Brenda. This was a little bit beyond what Ellen needed
to know. But it had come up in the course of the conversation, a
conversation her boss had encouraged Ellen to have. Brenda explained,
"THE ESTATE caters to many tastes, Ms. Sharpe. When it comes to the
transgendered, there is a great desire to either be maids, or with our
members into dominance, to have their submissive partners be maids. We
therefore have created the Maids' Service to provide this role. The two
maids who assisted you this morning are in the Maids' Service. They are
members and guests, not employees.

"We also have an Escort Service, with male escorts, female escorts and
transgendered escorts. Escorts perform a variety of services, not the
least of which is sexual activities with our guests or members."

Brenda noted the fear on both the faces of Nancy and Ellen. "As I said
earlier, Ms. Sharpe, no one is raped at THE ESTATE. But lots of dominant
women like to see their men being forced to submit to the sexual
aggressiveness of other men, especially when the submissive is in drag.
The men do not have to come to THE ESTATE. They do not have to dress as
women, and they don't have to submit to sex. Whatever pressures may be on
them to bring them here, once here all they have to do is say 'no.' This
is made very plain to them, as it is to you."

Turning to Nancy, Brenda continued. "What I have said to Ms. Sharpe also
applies to you, Miss Klienz. With one exception. Because of your age, you
will not be engaging in sex while at THE ESTATE. Nor will you be
subjected to any of the more physical regimens of our various programs
and services. If you don't want to continue in the role your aunt has
selected for you, all you need do is say so."

Nancy wanted to say so. She was relieved to know she wouldn't have to do
anything sexual. She hadn't wanted to suck Stephen's dick, although she
did enjoy him sucking hers. At THE ESTATE she was actually safer. Even if
she had to dress and act like a girl, nothing else would happen to her.
With her aunt and uncle, she'd still have to dress and act like a girl
for the rest of the summer. And there were boys in the neighborhood who
would rape her thinking she was a girl, and do much worst when they found
out she wasn't. She said nothing.

The next two hours were spent with small talk, as everyone endeavored to
soothe whatever feathers they had ruffled. Throughout the afternoon, Mrs.
Lancaster, Mrs. Lancaster-York and Nancy remained seated. After about an
hour, Mrs. Yankovic and Mrs. Ferrero left, followed a half-hour later by
Senora Mendez. Jennifer got up and walked around the terrace several
times, twice to have private conversations with Brenda. Ellen also got up
and walked around, more to see the view and to escape Mrs. Lancaster then
anything else. She wondered about Jennifer and Guy, Brenda and Guy, even
Jennifer and Brenda. Can two drag queens have sex with each other? Is
this lesbianism?

At 4:00 p.m., Brenda pulled Ellen aside. "It is time to get you ready for
this evening, Ms. Sharpe. Do you still wish to proceed?"

"Yes!"