Transitional Summer

by Mardee Louise Prynne

  

Part 2

    

Greg reached for his phone as soon as his last tutorial was over. "Ronnie, hi. Greg here. Sorry I was such a mope earlier. Pick a really nice place for dinner...No. This one's on me...Great...Say I pick you up at six-thirty."

Ronnie showered, dabbed dusting powder over her smooth soft skin, stepped in a pair of black stretchy panties, sat at her vanity table and polished her previously bare fingernails. An impish smile as she studied her toes. "Oh, why not? Tonight might just be really, really special." She lacquered her toenails. Her lustrous, dark brown hair was too short for a French braid or twist. She swept her bangs to the side, pulled her hair behind her ears and pinned it in place. "I look like a kid," she giggled. "Guess I feel that way too. Like a kid with her first crush."

Ronnie opened her underwear drawer, took out a black push up bra, studied it and tossed it back. After changing her panties to a pair of snow white tailored briefs, she opted for an open bottom all in one and, leaving the detachable straps in place, wiggled into it. She put her hands on her waist as she turned slowly admiring her reflection in the full length, three way mirror. Only seamed stockings would do. After slipping on the black suede sling-back heels, Ronnie did her makeup; understated but ever so appealing, ever so exciting.

The basic black dress she had selected was fully lined and needed no slip but a little black chemise with a lacy hem and lacy cups would certainly enhance the 'vamp' effect if the evening went the way she hoped. Ronnie lay the chemise across her bed, opened the bottom drawer of her vanity. " a little insurance," she told herself as she pulled each cup of the all in one forward and pushed the breast form in place. Her own very round, very nearly perfect B cup breasts were even closer to perfection as they pushed out over the lace hem of the cups. "Well, lot's of guys like small breasts...or so I've heard."

Now for the jewelry. A pearl necklace to start with, a gift from Jodi Matthews. She stepped into the dress, zipped it, and donned the black kidskin elbow length gloves. The gold watch and the pearl bracelet would be worn over the gloves. Her stud earrings were replaced with clusters of baroque pearls.

"Formidable!" she said in French as she studied her reflection. Ronnie couldn't resist lifting her skirt to mid-thigh, straightening her seams and tightening the black garters that attached her stockings to the all in one. "Greg, you're never going to be able to resist that move. God, at least I pray he won't."

Ronnie bent forward as she smiled at her reflection in the vanity table mirror. "Well, Ronnie, those curves look good enough." She picked up a perfume bottle, tilted it to wet the class stopper and dabbed a few drops into her cleavage. A drop behind each ear. "Yes, Ronnie, good enough to eat!"

She said a prayer. "Please, God. You made me what I am. It's so terribly lonely even here. Please let him like me. Lord, I'm not being selfish wanting him. I just know we could go someplace and make each other happy." She crossed herself, took a black shawl from her closet, turned on the porch light, and watched for Greg.

Greg was struck by the beautiful woman who was framed in the doorway and illuminated by the headlights of his car. Gracefully, with a slowness as if in a dream, she spread her shawl, raised it over her head, enveloped herself in its folds. This was a side of Ronnie that he hadn't suspected. She was overwhelmingly beautiful; classically, gracefully beautiful.

Ronnie was down the stairs before Greg could get over his sudden feeling of awe. She put her gloved fingertips to his chin and kissed him as he inhaled the clean scent of her hair mingled with her perfume. A cold thrill started where Ronnie's lips touched his and spread to his toes. He felt intoxicated as his heart started to pound in his chest. Greg had experienced this sudden physical and emotional urgency with only one other human being. Motria was fair skinned with light brown hair and an artist. Ronnie was dark and a bureaucrat in a school albeit an unusual, even unique school. Could there possibly be a commonality between these two? Greg acknowledged that he may never know.

Greg opened the passenger door for Ronnie who playfully leaned back as she sat down still facing him. She raised both feet off the ground as she made ready to pivot forward but suddenly pulled her left knee higher allowing her skirt to slide back along her thighs. Greg caught a very fleeting glimpse of her stocking tops and of the overwhelmingly alluring tiny triangle of white under the edge of her open bottom all in one. An electric tingle was already building up in his loins as Ronnie flirtatiously winked at him.

Greg slid behind the wheel and put the car in gear as Ronnie rested her hand on his thigh. Her finger tips slid down along his inner thigh and created a greater thrill for Greg than if she had rested her hand on his crotch.

They rode in a silence through which they communicated more profoundly, more meaningfully than if they had resorted to words. A touch here, a light squeeze there told of a depth of expectation that was immeasurable. Each anticipated something rare was about to happen to them both yet neither dared to think of what this might turn out to be. Both anticipated a seduction, a romantic night, perhaps the start of an affair. Ronnie, through her loneliness in the midst of so many others, sensed that a lover was at hand, a lover who could understand every aspect of inner being, appreciate all she was.

Ronnie interrupted that magical silence only to give occasional directions. Despite an unspoken wish they shared that the drive would last, they arrived at their destination. The country inn sat on a low hill overlooking a bend in a river. Quiet informal gardens surrounded the old house. It was a perfect setting to begin a romance. Greg looked around the parking lot. Too many cars suggested they would have little privacy.

A slender hostess greeted Ronnie by name. She guided them along a corridor past several small dining rooms a small room with an alcove overlooking the gardens and the river beyond. "Allow me," said the hostess as she nodded to the waitress who presented a bottle of vintage Graves. "My way of offering a toast to your first evening together."

"I'm sorry, Greg. I don't want you to think I'm forward or being bossy but I called and told her how much I want this night to go right." She reached across the table and pressed Greg's hand in her own as the hostess, having uncorked the wine and poured a bit into a glass, offered it to Greg for his approval. He nodded. "Thanks for caring," he said to Ronnie who left her hand on his.

The superb dinner was served slowly leaving lots of time for conversation and fine wine between courses. Greg was more and more impressed by Ronnie's broad knowledge of literature and philosophy.

"No, really. I've never taken a college course in anything. Jodi was my mentor, my tutor...She was a lot to me. That's over. Just haven't met any one, girl or guy, I was even remotely attracted to until now. Good grief, I'm running on at the mouth again."

They finished after dinner liquors and espresso. It was after ten thirty when Greg called them back to practical matters. "This was wonderful but it's late and neither of us is any condition to drive. Is there any way we can get someone to drive us home?"

"Greg, I'm supposed to be the cold hearted administrator who sees to all contingencies. Well, the game is up. I hoped we would enjoy ourselves and not be concerned with our responsibilities. Well, we did and we're to be congratulated...and rewarded. When I made the dinner reservation, I arranged for us to stay the night." Ronnie took Greg by the hand and led him from the dining room to the verandah. She leaned against him as he put his arms around her.

"Are we sharing a room?" Greg asked hesitantly.

"I thought you'd never ask." Ronnie took his hand from her tummy and kissed the palm.

They walked back into the building and up the stairs.

The gauzy curtains fluttered in the breeze that came through the open window. The full moon illuminated the four poster bed. The comforter was folded down. A nightgown and peignoir, the color of old ivory, lay across the foot of the bed, matching panties next to them.

Ronnie eased Greg's jacket down his arms and carefully put it on a hanger. She undid his tie as he stepped out of his shoes. "Be a love and undo my zipper." She turned her back to him. He complied. Her dress fell to her feet. she stepped out of it and back from him so he could take in the full impact of her body clad in the black chemise, heels and hose.

They kissed, tentatively at first. Their lips were together, tongues tip to tip as Greg shed his clothes. He pulled Ronnie to him, cupped her girdled bottom in his hands as she ground her belly against his. Their kisses were growing in intensity, and intensity that was near desperation. She wrapped her legs around his waist as they hugged. They lay on the bed as Ronnie got to her feet and slid the straps of her chemise from her shoulders. The tension of her flesh against the girdle added an appeal that neither skin nor soft silk or nylon could compete against.

Greg kissed that ever so slight swell of skin at the tops of her hose. Ronnie lay back against the pillow unhooked her garter tabs and rolled her stocking down her flawlessly smooth legs. Again she stood and wiggled out of her all in one. She smiled as she removed breast forms from the garment. "You don't really need those," whispered Greg as he sucked her nipples. All that remained were the virginal white panties.

Ronnie guided Greg's hand to her panty crotch as she ran the fingertips

of her other hand around the rim of his cock head. She ran her finger tip over his pee slit and lifted the drop of precum to the tip of her tongue. Greg was thrilled beyond endurance as she pressed his hand to her mons and further. Desperately he pulled her panty crotch aside allowing her cock to escape from it silken confines. He gently wrapped his hand around the head, kissed the shaft, ran his tongue around the rim before taking the head in his mouth.

Ronnie lay on her side and pulled Greg to her before he could make her cum. "I need to taste your cum, Cum in my mouth," pleaded Greg.

"Yes, lover, but not yet. I want this to last. I want to hold you, feel your warmth against me."

"God, yes, yes," muttered Greg as they kissed repeatedly, playfully. "I swear this will last forever, forever."

"Greg, Greg, don't say things like that unless you mean them."

They fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, the taste of their intermingled cum lingering on their lips. The sound of rain awakened them in the morning.

Ronnie smiled at Greg, leaned toward him and kissed his lips before drifting back to sleep. He kissed her shoulder, slipped out from under the covers and dressed quietly.

 

Most of the inn still slept. Coffee, rolls, and pastry were spread on a buffet table for the accommodation early risers. Greg poured himself a cup of coffee, buttered a roll, and went out onto the verandah. He balanced his plate and saucer on the arm of a chair and sat down. The hot coffee was just right. He put his feet up on the rail, bit a piece from the roll and chewed slowly.

The disk of the sun showed through the clouds. A few bathers had dared the light rain that still fell. The fine rain added to the joy of their before breakfast swim. Greg sipped his coffee and wondered where all this was going to lead when a small soft hand covered his eyes. He took the wrist and brought the hand to his mouth and gently kissed the palm. Ronnie bent over him and kissed his forehead.

"Care for a head on your coffee?"

"Please."

"Back in a sec."

Ronnie returned having filled Greg's cup and brought her own as well.

She sat on the rail, her back against a pillar. She looked out over the landscape, then smiled at Greg. "Going to be a fine day as soon as the clouds burn off."

"Think so."

"Oh, yes. Don't forget I'm a townie. Lived here all my life so I know the weather signs. Besides, it can't be anything but a fine day if I'm with you."

Greg smiled. Ronnie wore white shorts and a red and white checked blouse tied modestly at the waist yet still managing to show a bit of her smooth tummy as she moved. Her legs were bare but for plain white Keds sneakers. A tiny gold watch on thin black cord band was all the jewelry she wore or needed. Her hair was pushed behind her ears and held in place by a tortoise shell barrette on each side.

There was something so wholesomely beautiful, so much the epitome of a classy, outdoorsy yet feminine girl that Greg wondered if she were real and not something out of central casting at a major movie studio. Ronnie absentmindedly fussed with the top button of her blouse, so innocently but so effectively calling attention to her small but well shaped bustline.

There was no way, reasoned Greg, that she could be wearing the open bottom all in one she had worn last night. He regretted not having stayed in the room to watch her dress.

Ronnie put her foot on the rail and drew it close to her bottom. She rested her chin on her knee as she studied Greg whose eye was drawn to the back of Ronnie's thigh. The thin leg band of her blue cotton panties showed.

"Greg, I hate to break this moment. It all feels so right but I know I'm not being fair to you. I have to give you some distance, some room to come to terms with your past...No, don't say anything. You've got put some closure on whatever, whoever your past is. Not that I don't want you. I need you here. With a little luck, and with the two of us doing it together, Janus'll survive as it is. Maybe we can even get Gwen on track."

"Ronnie, I appreciate your caring. When you came out a few minutes ago I was trying to look into the future. My future is with you"

Greg lit the cigarette he had been holding between his fingers. "Maybe you're right. There are a few things that need to be worked through.

"As for Gwen, she's just too restless. Better off turning her loose, let her go somewhere and do it her way. Let her take Ricki away with her. That one's too controlling. Sometimes I wonder if she isn't taking charge of Gwen.

"I'm just glad there's you."

He reached for Ronnie's hand. As she rose to take his hand, she bent forward. The kiss was fragrant with hope and with the promise of a future to be shared, to be enjoyed together.

Ronnie smiled warmly, hopefully. Deep down she knew Greg had a past that must be put to rest before they could love out a meaningful future together. This was a given. Could his past, whoever or whatever that might have been, have a more powerful hold on Greg than his present with Ronnie, than the future they could build and share? She shuddered.

"Ronnie, for God's sake let me get you a sweater. You're shivering."

"No sweater, Greg. Just hold me. Warm me with your nearness."

*****

While Ronnie and Greg were busily falling madly, although somewhat reservedly, in love, Gwen Laurent dismissed Siobhan with two weeks pay and an airline ticket back to England. Later that same morning Ricki was ordered to continue as a pupil at Janus but was told, in no uncertain terms, that she would toe the mark and conform to every rule and standard of the school.

"But Aunt Gwen..."

"I said you're to conform and conform you will. You'll stop calling attention to yourself. You're here for as long or as short a time as I tell you."

Ricki folded her arms and threw herself around in her chair winding up with one leg folded under her, her uniform skirt in disarray. A sullen pout gave her a challengingly sexy appearance.

"That may work with other people but it's about time I stopped indulging you and made you act your age...or at least act any one age for more than ten minutes."

 

Ricki stuck out her tongue. Suddenly uncomfortable under her aunt's scowl, Ricki took a deep breath but didn't quite relax. "Okay. You're right. But I'm so confused sometimes that I don't know which is the real me. And so what? I'm mean I'm not being snotty, really Gwen. It's just that no matter what, we end up stuck at Janus. Janus, big whoop. Honestly, Gwen, I'm not just trying to worm my way out of a bad spot but you've got so much going for you that you're wasted at Janus...And what about me? All I get to meet are these twerps...No wonder I make a real jerk out of myself over Greg. God, I really, really hate him now; him and that Ronnie. Bloody hell! There's nothing here for either of us."

"Child, no need to finish. We're going to get away from here soon enough. One thing though; we're not just going to run out in an instant. You're quite correct that I wasted too many years here. Time to move on, get out of this stifling little world. Janus is just too provincial, too suffocating for a girl like you. But we're going to do it with a plan. And when we do, you my love, will be made into a young sophisticate! You'll learn never to waste your attractions on men like Greg. Oh, they'll want you but you'll be in control, total control. You'll own them, break them and leave them destroyed. They'll measure every woman they ever meet against you. And no woman, real or otherwise will begin to compete against your charms and talents; especially not after you've been trained in the real world.

"Let Ronnie have her narrow little world...."

"Oh Aunt Gwen! See, I really didn't do something so very terrible after all."

She threw herself over Gwen and kissed her all over her face before covering the older woman's mouth with her own. Gwen found herself responding to Ricki's onslaught. As their tongues probed ever more deeply, Gwen reached under Ricki's skirt, covered the boy/girl's balls and then wrapped her fingers around Ricki's swelling cock.

Later Ricki felt uneasy, restless over the sudden change in Gwen's plans. In a matter of minutes Gwen had gone from ordering Ricki to be the model Janus girl to agreeing to take her away to convert to a woman of the world.

*****

It was a warm August evening as sheets of rain blew across the brightly lighted street. Lightning periodically lit up the sky. The parents stood in the waiting area as they proudly watched their daughters rise on pointe to the relentless, metronome-like voice of Motria. Cool down work over, she dismissed the class. It was Motria's aloofness that drew so many fathers to pick up their daughters after class with this exotic dance teacher. Her full but athletic figure in a classic black leotard and white seamed tights didn't repel them either. Even the fathers who were most generous in their gifts to this mysterious dance teacher were rewarded with only the slightest suggestion of a smile.

She locked the studio door as the last pupils left. Her hand reached into her pocketbook as she sat at the office desk. The letter was still there although it little mattered since, having read it so often, she had memorized it.

Attendance record filed, she left a note for the studio owner. Motria stood, opened the gauzy dance skirt that reached midway down her thighs and replaced it with a mid-calf wrap skirt such as any young matron might wear to the market. Her ballet flats were replaced with a pair of Keds.

She undid the scarf that held her honey blond hair in a pony tail. After shaking out her hair, she brushed it, gave it a quick twist and pinned it up in loose bun. She tied a brightly printed scarf around her waist, donned her trench coat, angled her large hat so that it best framed her face, grabbed her bag and started to leave.

No need for an umbrella now. The rain had all but stopped leaving the night cooler and cleaner. She decided she would walk to her favorite restaurant and then continue on home. Well, perhaps just one drink before dinner. The phone jangled her back to the moment.

"Mme. Ollia's. Good evening."

"Yes. I saw your advert in the yellow pages. My niece and I will be living in New York for at least several months and I would like her to receive some classical training."

"How old?"

"Teen-ager."

"Please be more specific...Now as to previous dance training."

"None of any kind."

"We do have classes for older teens and young adults who have had no dance training but who want to experience the feel of classical dance and to learn grace, poise."

"Can you provide her with individual classes to make up for lost time?"

"We do have individual training but it's not cheap. Mme. Ollia would have to evaluate her so that we don't waste our time and your money.

"If you give me your name and a phone number where you can be reached I'll see that Madame calls you to arrange a visit...Thank you Dr. Laurent. Madame will have this message in the morning."

"How odd," thought Motria as she took the cigarette case from her bag. "She evaded giving me her niece's age. Talked around it but wasn't at all specific. Could have been anything from twelve to sixteen or seventeen. Why does that seem familiar?...That's it! Greg wrote something about someone, a girl who was able to appear all different ages. Could this be? Her accent fits, too. Definitely from someplace in the British Isles. Yes, Greg said something about, where, Wales. Too much of a coincidence. Doesn't fit with the whole picture. Still, awfully close. Weird."

She leaned back as she reread Greg's letter. "Am I fooling myself so I have reasons to think about Greg? Damn you, Greg. Why did you have to get in touch?...He doesn't know where I am. Yes." She looked at the envelope. "This was forwarded so he hasn't the vaguest notion of where I am. Janus Academy...Motria, you're a mess...Just forget him."

 

The next morning Motria called the long distance operator and was eventually connected to The Janus Academy.

"I'm calling Dr. Laurent. I believe she's a staff member there."

"Oh, yes. She's not available this week. Dr. Laurent is out of town in preparation for a leave of absence. Can I take a message?"

"No, thank you."

Motria hung up the phone, biting her lip to keep her from asking for Greg. She smiled to herself. "It is the pair Greg wrote about! So now I know where he is. Damn it all. Got to decide. Is it worth the risk of more hurt, more pain?...Do I go on not knowing how it would play out?" A deep sigh.

Two days later Gwen Laurent and Ricki arrived at Mme. Ollia's. Madame and Miss Motria were going to screen the applicant who emerged from the dressing room clad as if she had been dancing for decades. She wore a black scoop necked leotard less clingy than those of today. The outline of her bra showed under the leotard, both front and back. The white bra straps weren't quite covered by leotard's neckline. It was quite a show of bra for a girl who barely needed one. White full fashioned tights emphasized the slender but adequate shape of her thighs and calves. Even in the flat, soft-soled ballet slippers, and covered by the heavy tights, her ankles showed they were flawlessly sculpted.

Motria, similarly attired but more muscular, fuller bodied than Ricki, warmed up at the barre as Ricki started to wrap a mid-thigh dance skirt around her waist.

"You're to remove that at once," ordered Madame.

"But she looks so graceful in..."

Madame interrupted Gwen in mid-sentence. "Both of you will do as I say or this audition is over now. Perhaps you expect that skirt to obscure a problem with the placement of her hips."

Gwen was taken aback. She turned red. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Madame Ollia, I apologize." Gwen frowned, her brow wrinkled as she realized she had been away from Janus for only a few days and already she was taking orders from this ballet mistress who couldn't even pronounce the words correctly. "Decadent piece of Russian trash. Madame indeed. Mistress was more like it. Slut mistress to a low life Czarist officer or some such...Pretentious, affected...Likely did her best dancing on her back...And now I'm all but fawning at her feet. I hate it!" Gwen felt rootless, ungrounded. She hoped these feelings would soon pass. Surely they would; Just as soon as she could get some focus, some direction. She felt ugly, fat. To her it seemed everything was moving in slow motion.

Madame ignored Gwen and directed her attention to Ricki. "Stand in the middle of the floor next to Motria...Face the mirror. Now, you're to copy all of Motria's moves...The mirror, look at the mirror...Don't turn to look at Motria...Keep your eyes off the floor."

Ricki looked every bit the dancer until she started to move. She was awkward, off the beat, stiff. Sweat ran down her face, matted her leotard to her body. She grimaced in pain as muscles she didn't know she had were stretched at the barre.

"Your niece, beautiful yet all but hopeless as a dancer."

Gwen felt humiliated, angry. "You must give her a chance. You see..."

"This is my school. Don't dare to suggest what I must do." Madame glowered imperiously at Gwen. Some subtle gesture by Madame called Motria to her side. "See if she can take instruction. First let her rest."

"Take some water. I'll be with you in a few minutes." Motria gave Ricki a slight smile. They moved away from Gwen who had already started to console Ricki.

"What is the most unusual thing about the way that girl moves?" asked Madame.

"Her weight is centered in her chest and not her hips."

"Quite so. What does that tell you?"

"As beautiful as she is, she wasn't born a girl."

Madame summoned Gwen to her office while Motria tried to instruct Ricki in order to see if she could follow even the most rudimentary training exercises.

Gwen sat back in a dramatic pose, her elbow resting on the back of her chair, as she deliberately crossed her legs high enough at the thighs to reveal the tops of her stockings but not quite high enough to reveal the smooth skin above. She had heard somewhere that an unusual number of ballerinas preferred their intimate relations to be with other women. This might give her some leverage over this haughty Slav.

"Dr. Laurent, I will consider working with Ricki. She can never be a real dancer but, if she can put forth tremendous, concerted effort, we can give her some graces. Whether we work with her remains to be seen.

"Now I have a question for you. Why, with what you ask me to do for Ricki, what you are willing to spend to improve her, why do you not tell me the whole truth as to Ricki's nature? Well, answer me."

Gwen squirmed uncomfortably, tugged her skirt to a more modest level. "I'm sorry but I don't get your meaning."

"Of course you do. Why didn't you tell me that Ricki is a boy?"

Gwen's body almost collapsed as she sighed. Was it really that obvious? Apparently it was.

"Come, come, Dr. Laurent. Ricki is exquisitely beautiful and exquisitely convincing. When one has trained dancers for as long as I have, one see subtle differences. She may have a great future but not as a dancer."

Madame looked through the glass panel that opened onto the studio. Motria nodded to her.

"Very well, Dr. Laurent. There is hope for Ricki. Motria says she can be taught to move like a dancer...Go now. We'll contact you if we accept Ricki as a student."

*****

 

Gwen and Ricki said nothing during the taxi ride back to their hotel suite. Gwen stared out of the window feeling empty, defeated. She angrily addressed Ricki the instant they were in their suite. "That ballet bitch may have won this round but I'm not done...Ricki, get over here."

"Aunt Gwen..."

"Don't 'Aunt Gwen' me, you ungrateful little bitch. How could you embarrass me like that? Why did you let them know that you're a boy?"

"But I didn't...I swear I didn't. I don't know how they figured it out."

"I'm furious at you...Well maybe I'm being just a bit harsh. I just feel so out of place."

Ricki slipped off her leotard and stood facing Gwen clad only in white training bra and tights. Her panties barely showed under the thick, opaque tights. Gwen stepped in front of her, pressed her hand against the boy/girl's breasts, felt her nipple swell under the bra. She cupped Ricki's tightly gaffed crotch. "You're right. No way on earth could be seen as a boy. But if I find out you betrayed me to them, I'll..."

Ricki stepped back. "You'll what? Right now you need me more than I need you, more than I've ever needed you, more than I'll ever need you. What are you trying to do? Make me into your high class trannie whore so you can use me to promote your insane ideas! The only winner here is Janus because they're rid of you and your mad ideas."

Gwen pulled her hand back and threw a slap at Ricki who caught her wrist and used the older woman's momentum to yank her over her hip. Gwen landed on her back. Whether she was hurt more by Ricki's diatribe or by landing on her back was uncertain. She drew her feet closer to her hips in an attempt to rise. A lascivious, sadistic gleam lit up Ricki's eyes as she leered at Gwen's exposed panty crotch. Taking a handful of Gwen's hair, she turned the larger woman so she was on her hands and knees. As Gwen struggled to a kneeling position, Ricki sent her sprawling with a solid knee to the ribs.

Gwen lay on her side in a fetal position as she started to cry more in fury and frustration than in pain. Ricki stood over her, her hands on her hips in that way that young girls often stand when they know they're in control. She screamed and fell to the floor as Gwen, with surprising speed and force, kicked her ankle.

Ricki was totally overwhelmed as Gwen dropped her knee right into Ricki's tummy. The situation was reversed as the trannie's breath was knocked from her body. Gwen effectively hobbled her adversary by pulling her tights down to her knees. She yanked Ricki's panties and gaffe clear of her hips. Again Ricki screeched as Gwen closed her hand over the trannie's tender balls.

Gwen was now the one to stand in triumph over her adversary. Ricki tried to roll away but Gwen grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. The frightened girl/boy's movements were hampered by the tights that were down to her knees. Gwen sneered as she slapped Ricki's now hard cock. "Oh, the tough little slut must like being beaten, being humiliated. Look how hot you are!" Gwen squeezed Ricki's balls as she wrapped her other hand around her cock. Ricki's cock began to throb as Gwen released her and pushed her to the floor.

Gwen raised her skirt and fixing Ricki's attention with a generous view of her pantied crotch. She slipped off her pump and massaged Ricki's sore balls with the toes of her stockinged foot. Ricki's throbbing cock showered cum over Gwen's feet.

But Ricki's humiliation was far from over. Gwen sat on the arm of a chair, pressed her cum covered foot on Ricki's face. The girl/boy rolled to her hands and knees and licked her own cum from Gwen's feet.

Gwen pressed Ricki's face to her cunt. A few minutes later she sighed as she came.

"That's my nice obedient little girl again. Take a bath while I choose what you're going to wear."

"Obedient little girl, my arse. Shit! She still hurt me, humiliated me. You'll pay for that little humiliation, you pathetic wreck,' thought Ricki. "I'm the one who's been calling the shots and you don't even know it."

*****

Ricki heard the phone ring as she soaked in the warm tub. Ricki smiled as she thought about the way she was taking control of Gwen. "The poor old dear really believes she's my mentor." Still, this was no time to enlighten Gwen as to her real attitude. She was pondering her next move when the phone rang. "Poor Gwen. She hasn't an inkling of what I'm going to do to her." Ricki smiled smugly as she consoled herself with that thought.

A few minutes later Gwen walked into the bathroom. "Well, child, you're in. That dance studio will train you. That little dyke, what was her name? Motria? In any case she'll contact you in a few days to get you started."

Ricki rose from the tub and wrapped herself in a huge terry cloth towel. She strode into the bedroom, grabbed a pair of yellow cotton panties from the drawer and stepped into them. Leaning forward she adjusted the straps of the padded bra. Vigorously, almost aggressively she brushed her hair until it gleamed. A blue hair ribbon to pull it back from her face. A multi layered petticoat went on next. She pulled on a pair of powder blue anklets before stepping in her flat shoes. Ricki studied her reflection as she stepped into the blue flared skirt shirtwaist. She reached under her skirt to fluff out her pettis, and to rehearse flashing her panties. This innocent sensuality she communicated so well, she knew, would be one way she would exert her power in the coming weeks.

Ricki was beyond angry, beyond furious. She was determined to humiliate Gwen for what Gwen was trying to do to her. This was nothing new, just more extreme. Gwen had so often thwarted her from becoming anything good, anything wholesome. Ricki had had enough. Maybe it wasn't too late.

She walked around the neighborhood of the hotel in ever widening circles until she was familiar with the shops in the area. A Thom McCann shoe store! Perfect for what she needed. Ricki rewarded the young salesman with a generous glimpse of her pettis and even a tiny bit of thigh. This wasn't the first pair of saddle shoes she ever owned but her others were left behind at Janus. A pair of white bucks completed her purchases.

Gwen was waiting when Ricki got back their hotel suite. Nothing was said as Ricki sat on the couch, slipped off her shoes and socks, and rested her heel on the edge of the couch. Her thigh and panty crotch were revealed among the frothy pettis. Gwen stared unabashedly at the trannie's thighs. Ricki tilted her and gave her a derisive smile.

Ricki slipped into pair of crew socks before putting on the saddle shoes. Gwen sneered disapproval. "You're not going to wear those, are you? They look ridiculous on someone like you. You're learning to be a woman of the world, not a coed cutie."

"I'm just breaking them in. Really, Aunt Gwen, is it any of your business what I wear? Legal age in the States is eighteen and I'm nineteen."

Gwen stepped back. "Darling, listen to Aunt Gwen. Weren't you excited when I said you're going to be made into..."

"Well maybe I don't want to be made into anything. Maybe I want to be one person just long enough to find out who, what I really am, what I can really be. Don't you get it, I'm tired of being what suits your purposes, sick of constantly changing character. When I finally came to live with you, I thought...Oh, the hell with it. Never mind what I thought...No place I can ever go and not be a freak..." An attempt at further manipulation or a moment of weakness during which Ricki showed some degree of regret over what had become her lot in life?

Tears trickled down Ricki's cheeks as her chest heaved with irregular breathing. It took a few minutes but she got herself together.
"Oh, Aunt Gwen, please forgive me. I'll be whatever you need me to be. I promise. It's just that right now, I want to be like real girls my age, at least part of the time."

"Of course, darling."

Gwen felt triumphant now that Ricki's brief rebellion had ended. Ricki turned away and smirked. Gwen had been brought to heel and would continue to indulge and support her while she furthered her plans to take full control over her aunt and, more to the point, her aunt's money.

Gwen was out looking for suitable living quarters for them when Motria phoned to arrange Ricki's first session. Ricki saw this as an opportunity to make a friend, perhaps the first real friend she had.

"Oh, Miss Motria, I'm really so very excited but I really have only that one leotard and that one pair of tights...You will. That's wonderful but I don't know my way around...Could you take me there?...Oh, all right. I guess I can find the dance shop on my own but it would be really neat if I had you with me...Maybe some other time. Bye-bye for now."

Ricki hung up the phone and sat brooding. "Damned stuck-up bitch. Won't even take me shopping for dance gear. Really, I don't give a hoot whether I learn to move like a dancer or not. Just need something to do to fill the time and appease Gwen until I can get away from her. Wonder what Gwen gets out of keeping me near, like I'm a child...I wonder. Did mum provide me with an income that Gwen's getting? Stealing's a better word.

"Damn that Motria. Why am I so drawn to her? Bloody hell! Made a fool of myself with that stupid crush on Greg. That's over so now I'm hot for that ballet bitch. Not even a real dancer, just a teacher in her aunt's school. At least we have that much in common; both dependent on near relations. The difference between us is that I'm going to break free and that sap is stuck where she is forever."

She grabbed her pocketbook, put on a flat straw hat and started out to find the dance shop Motria had promised to call with a list of what was needed. The phone rang as she opened the door to leave. She picked up the phone.

"You will! Motria, I love you! Meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes."

She left a note for Gwen.

"Going to shop for dance gear with Motria. Might treat her to dinner for being so nice to me. Will phone later, if I'm not too busy."

*****

They left the dance shop in mid-afternoon. It was all Ricki could do to keep from taking Motria's hand as they walked along the busy thoroughfare.

"Let me buy you dinner as a way of saying thanks."

"That's not at all necessary but it sounds like fun. We're not holding classes for a few days. The studio is being moved to larger quarters. That leaves me with some free time. Madame has bought a very comfortable building for us to live in and have the school in."

"I hope you like it."

They had wandered into a large park. Motria led the way to an isolated stream. Their finger tips touched lightly as they sat close to each other on a shaded bench. Motria took Ricki's hand and studied her palm.

"You're as unhappy as you are beautiful."

"You can tell that from reading my palm?"

"Not really. I'm just very good at reading people's moods. With you unhappiness is more than just a passing mood. I can read palms though. Yours says you have no life of your own."

Ricki squirmed uncomfortably and drew her hand away from Motria. "Stuff and nonsense...How did you know I'm not really what I seem to be?"

"I didn't read you by your appearance; at least not right away. It was when you tried to dance that you gave yourself away. Your weight isn't centered in your hips like a woman's. Ollia and I saw that as soon as you began to copy my movements."

"Oh. Gwen was...Never mind."

"It showed. She was angry at you for her own dishonesty with Madame. You shouldn't be treated as if you're an infant. Forgive me for being so open. This is really none of my affair so I'll just shut up about it."

Ricki broke the silence. "Do you only read palms or do you tell fortunes other ways?"

"Tarot, ordinary cards. Not terribly unusual among my people."

"Who are your people? You don't look like a gypsy."

"Not a gypsy at all. I was born in Paris to Russian emigres. We have communities in many places in Europe and in a few places in America."

Their fingertips touched, then intertwined. Ricki's head rested on Motria's shoulder.

"Motria, I have no right to say this to you but I was drawn to you the moment I saw you. I was hurt not so long ago so I was frightened by being attracted to you. Yet in spite of what happened, I'm willing to risk more hurt. For the first time that I can remember I want to be totally open and honest with someone. When you held my hand just now, I felt that my unhappiness would lift if we...It's so freaky but I feel alive with you. It's as if you can show me who I really am."

"Don't you know who you are?"

"It's a strange story. I'll tell it all to you if you want to know."

"Not yet. It may be a burden, a responsibility that I don't care to take on."

Ricki tried to maintain her facial expression but she was wounded by Motria's refusal to become her confidante. She also had to admit to herself that her skill at manipulating people to serve her own purposes might be inadequate to the task of making Motria her unwitting pawn. It also struck Ricki that she felt genuinely hurt and rejected by the girl's reluctance to hear what she wanted to tell her. She wasn't use to feeling the need for other people and anything close to feeling hurt was a rare experience. It was the realization that she might have some sort of genuine need for Motria's approval, for her genuine friendship that disconcerted the trannie above all. It was hardly conceivable that she might be developing genuine emotions beyond arrogance and selfishness.

After a minute or two, Motria continued. "Before we go further you must realized that, like you, I'm not what I appear to be...Not that I'm like you, a boy living as a real girl would live. I was different from the day I was born...Just trust me for the moment."

She put Ricki's palm against her breast. Ricki blushed as she felt Motria's nipple stiffen. Motria pushed her hand into her blouse. Ricki felt light headed as Motria guided her finger tips into her cleavage. Ricki's lips rested against Motria's. Her hand was guided under the ballerina's skirt, against her panties. Ricki purred, drew a deep breath as she found Motria's cock!

"You're like me," she cooed.

"Like you but different from you." was the strange reply as Motria spread her legs and pushed Ricki's hand down onto her crotch. Diminutive balls were in a tight, all but non-existent scrotum. Motria eased Ricki's hand into her nylon panties.

Ricki lay her head on Motria's breast and began to cry. "This is so silly of me. I don't know why. You're so wonderful, so special." She lay her head on Motria's lap, sucked her thumb as the dancer rested her cool hand on Ricki's forehead, soothingly stroked her hair.

Footsteps along the path! The pair sat up, smoothed their skirts, smiled flirtatiously at the two men who walked passed on their way home through the park.

Ricki walked with a swinging lilt enjoying the feel of her petti against her bare legs. Motria took her hand from time and spun her around, enjoying the sense of relief that had come over her new friend.

They sat in the back booth of a small restaurant not far from the dance studio. Ricki was quiet as she thought of how similar Motria was to Siobhan.

Motria was preoccupied with other thoughts. Greg had written that the boy/girl had an unwholesome quality about her. There was no mistaking that Ricki was the girl he had in mind. Motria wondered if she had been playing the fool, risking being manipulated by this little flirt. But what reason, other than an exercise in control, could Ricki have for this behavior?

Motria was angry at herself and at Ricki. Still, she must put up a good front is she was going to learn what Ricki had in mind. Ricki started to speak only to be cut off in mid-sentence by Motria.

"Please stop. I see that you're naive, too trusting, too assuming. You know so little about me yet you're about to tell me your whole history. Perhaps I led you on when I revealed to you what I am. What I am may not be who I am. That way we're very different.

"I've already told you that I'm not ready to hear your personal confession. Our friendship, if it's to take root, must be allowed to breath."

"Sorry for burdening you. You trusted me and so I want to trust you.

I feel trapped because I am trapped. Partly my own doing..." Ricki's eyes changed from frustrated to sad and then to bitter.

"I'll listen but not here and not now." They held hands across the table. Motria sighed and thought "All the more fool I am for this but I must know. Greg is right. There is something quite unwholesome about this girl."

The waitress took their order.

Ricki paid the check and they walked from the air-conditioned restaurant into the closeness of an August evening. "Well, thanks for helping me..." Ricki paused hoping that Motria would invite her home. It didn't happen.

*****

Motria sat in front of the open window enjoying the breeze that came off the East River. She studied Greg's letter. She reached for the phone, started to dial long distance, put the phone down. A cigarette and a glass of whisky. She was relaxed now as she opened the drawer of her desk, took out the Tarot deck and spread the cards on the desk top. Greg, the cards told her, was about to make his life with someone else but someone not unlike Motria. She shrugged and went on with the reading. She, Motria, could anticipate changes that would, after turmoil, begin an exciting and satisfying phase of life.

Motria went to her bedroom, knelt before the icon of the Blessed Mother next to her bed, prayed, crossed herself from right to left in the Orthodox manner, rose to he feet and went out. She strolled past her usual haunts; the arty bars on the edge of Brooklyn Heights, the areas called Carol Gardens and Cobble Hill. She waved to a few acquaintances who gazed blankly out of the dimly lit windows of these places that attracted the self proclaimed nineteen-fifties Bohemians. She was alone that evening but not lonely.

Motria paused at a news kiosk. She read the headlines on the early editions of the News and the Mirror, scanned the magazines and selected a mystery magazine and a crossword puzzle magazine. Determined not to brood on Greg, she decided to numb herself with mindless activity.

A cup of tea on her night table, she turned her radio on. Two hours later she awakened form her very relaxed sleep long enough to turn off the radio. She stirred again as the birds twittered. A quick trip to the bathroom to tinkle and rinse her mouth and then back under the covers and a light doze.

Motria let the light cotton nightgown fall from her shoulders to the floor. A stretch to the ceiling and then she bent at the waist, planting her palms flat on the floor. Her reflection in the mirror brought an approving smile to her face. She had the well shaped, toned but sensual body of a European ballerina. Full, well muscled thighs, a slightly rounded but very firm tummy, powerful arms compared to most American ballerinas, and very adequate breasts. Motria had reason to be smug about her reflection.

Motria tied the sash of the light kimono that barely concealed her white cotton panties. She didn't want the voyeurs in neighboring buildings to see too much of her but she also felt it would be unfair to deny them so much that they couldn't even fantasize about their beautiful, desirable but unattainably aloof neighbor. Wouldn't they be shocked if they saw her remove her panties? "Poor saps couldn't handle a girl with a cock. Jerks."

The gas was lighted under the percolator. Motria was about to head for her shower when the phone rang.

"Motria?"

"Yes. Good morning Ricki. What's on your mind at this early hour?" Motria wasn't thrilled at being called at home by a student.

"Just wanted to thank you for helping me yesterday and for having dinner with me. And thanks for listening to my tale of woe...
"But I didn't listen, not really."

"More than most everyone I know lately. Anyhow, I appreciated it. Maybe we..."

"Poor thing sounds desperate or maybe she's putting me on," thought Motria. Ricki began to talk to someone in there room with her, someone, it seemed, who was berating her.

"Excuse me for a sec." Ricki's hand covered the mouthpiece.

A moment later Ricki spoke again. "I've got to ring off. Call you back when I can... No. I swear, Aunt Gwen..."

It sounded to Motria as though the receiver was knocked out Ricki's hand and then slammed onto the cradle. "Quite a show. Too bad I'm an indifferent audience. Better not turn my back on either of that pair." The phone rang again as Motria stepped into the shower. She ignored it and continued to ignore its repeated ringing as she dried off, saronged her towel around her and selected matching pastel blue bra and panties.

She stepped into the panties, adjusted her cock, and then slipped her arms into the bra straps. Her dancer's flexibility allowed her to hook the bra

closed while it was on correctly. She bent forward, nestled her boobs in the cups and tightened the straps.

Motria slipped on a pair of white Jamaica shorts that were not so opaque that the blue of her panties was totally hidden. No matter; she wasn't planning to wear that pair of shorts when she left her apartment. A blue and white checked gingham, short sleeve blouse was tied under bust. Motria undid her ponytail, grabbed her hair brush and went into the tiny kitchen. A glass of orange juice, a bowl of corn flakes were on the table. She turned on the radio, opened to a crossword puzzle only to be interrupted by the persistent ringing of the phone.

"Oh hell. Might as well deal with them now." She picked up the receiver.

"Oh, good morning Dr. Laurent. How can I help you?"

"You can stop pursuing my niece or I'll report you to your employer."

"Number one, I'm not pursuing your niece and number two and more significant, you have no right to tell me what to do. Is that clear?"

"In that case, perhaps I should withdraw her from Madame's school."

"Really, Dr. Laurent. Ricki has been accepted on a trial basis only. Why don't we just save time and trouble and call off the trial."

"Don't be hasty, please. I just have concerns for Ricki's..."

"Then don't threaten me. And don't ever try to prevent me from seeing Ricki should I choose to. This conversation is ended. Good-bye."

A sip of orange juice and back to the corn flakes and the crossword. Motria was feeling at peace with herself and her thoughts of Greg. Maybe she really was putting the past to rest. Was Greg doing the same?

"Enough's enough," Motria decided as she dropped some bread into the toaster. "These people are more trouble than they're worth." She smiled as she found the phone number for the Janus Academy.

Breakfast over, Motria headed for the studio for her morning practice session. She toweled off, took a sip of water, and started to change to her toe shoes. The street door buzzed. "Go away. We're closed or can't you read the sign," she said aloud although there was no way anyone could have heard her. The buzzing accelerated. Motria went to the office and pressed the speaker button. "We're closed for the week. Feel free to call at our new location next Tuesday."

"Motria, please. I need to see you. This is Dr. Laurent."

"There's nothing to discuss at this time."

"Please...Motria, I need to speak to you."

"That may be but I have no need to speak to you nor do I choose to."

*****

Two hours later a sweaty Motria, her practice session over, reached for the office phone.

"Yes. Dr. Greg Davies, please....Away for the day! I'll call tomorrow. Please let him know that Motria called and I'll reach him tomorrow. He knows who I am. Oh, by the way, is there anyone who can give me some information on Dr. Gwen Laurent and her niece Ricki? Dr. Laurent has asked that I train Ricki as a dancer... Oh, she's away with Dr. Davies. Thanks all the same. Bye." Motria leaned back in the swivel chair, exhaled slowly and said aloud, "Wonderful! He's off with some female academic. Well, Greg, at least you're with someone. I hope it works out for you."

*****

Motria walked along Henry Street enjoying the cool shade of the sycamores when she saw Gwen Laurent coming out of a local pharmacy. Gwen smiled and waved at Motria. There was no civilized option but to be passively polite.

"Motria. Good morning. Allow me to apologize for my rude behavior toward you. I don't know what's happening to me. I'm just so moody, so tired...Please join me for lunch."

What struck Motria was the sincerity behind Gwen's words. She noticed that the good doctor wasn't quite put together. Her clothing was just a little rumpled, her makeup ever so slightly smudged, her hair the slightest bit untidy. Her hand shook as she extended it in friendship.

Gwen placed her package on the table as she opened her pocketbook. Motria carefully noted the label on the packet of pills that she took from the paper bag and deposited in her pocketbook. "Synthroid." Totally ordinary prescription medication.

Motria decided to confront Gwen with the incident where the phone was snatched from Ricki and slammed down. "Motria, I didn't know Ricki called you. I was out of the suite until after eight. Ricki's been complaining to me that you've been foisting unwanted attention on her...I don't know but that I imagined the whole thing. Swear I feel like I'm going mad lately."

What was becoming painfully clear to Motria was that Ricki was a liar, a convincing but very deliberate liar. Ricki had almost succeeded in making an unwitting ally or even tool of Motria. It was also apparent that, despite appearances to the contrary, the young trannie had very successfully taken control of Dr. Gwendolyn Laurent. The remaining question was whether Ricki was responsible for Gwen's descent into madness and if so, how?

"Gwen. I know someone who can help you avoid the madness you fear but you've got to trust me." Motria hesitated to tell Gwen of her suspicions regarding Ricki lest Gwen's misplaced loyalty to the young trannie frighten her away before Motria could help her. "Come with me while I make a phone call."

The starch seemed to flow out of Gwen as she listened to Motria and reflected on her own plight. The bright, handsome, self-possessed woman knew she was on the skids. Janus had been her home for almost two decades. She was one of those instrumental in the development of this unique school and its program. Now she had cut herself off from the world she had helped create.

Gwen walked restlessly around Motria's apartment. Had she felt better about herself, she might have asked Motria for the history and meaning of the fascinating objects that seemed to fit so comfortably in Motria's home and in her personality. A samovar, icons, things Gwen couldn't name but knew were as Russian as the dancer who owned them fascinated the sophisticated Welsh academic. None of these were as beguiling to Gwen as Motria herself.

Motria spoke Russian as she carried on a serious phone conversation, so serious that she was taking notes! "Gwen, my friend needs to ask you some questions. Relax. He's quite fluent in English."

Few minutes later Gwen returned the phone to Motria who listened carefully before ending the lengthy call. Motria sat back on the couch, rested one foot on the cushion and looked gently, caringly at Gwen.

"I can't believe this. That bitch!"

"But you do believe it. You have every right to be angry."

"No wonder I gained weight. Just look." She stood, hiked her skirt to the top of her thighs. "Look at that bulge at the edge of girdle, over my stocking tops. Who'll ever want me like this? And I thought I needed to have my medication adjusted. That little slut was switching the medication. And your friend, Vasily Gregorivich, is that how you pronounce it? No matter. He says that sudden withdrawal from my medication would create the madness, the hallucinations, the mood swings.

"I swear by the goddess, I'll kill that little whore."

"No. At least not yet. I'm going to ask to see Ricki for another "audition." While she's with me, you check out of the hotel and take all your things. Pay for an extra night so Ricki doesn't catch on until they throw her out.

"Oh, and by the way...Maybe I'm speaking out of turn, but Gwen, you are so, so beautiful, so desirable. You won't ever have to worry about anyone wanting you."

Gwen looked incredulously at the exotically beautiful dancer. She was suddenly arrested by her fair skin, her high cheekbones, her almond shaped, blue eyes. She studied this young woman who had just, in effect, saved her life. Gwen felt a surge of libido as she caught a flash of white panty as Motria shifted her legs, extended them forward, pointed her toes, and finally crossed her feet at the ankles.

"Gwen, put your pills in this pill box and leave them here. Above all. don't take any kind of medication that Ricki might have been near."

Dr. Laurent nodded.

*****

"What do you mean checked out? As of tomorrow!"

"Calm down or we'll have to ask you to leave now."

Ricki left in a snit. A few hours later she sat in an upscale bar near Manhattan's Gramercy Park. A well dressed woman joined her at a table. Men and women cast sidelong glances at the pair. The men wondered if they might ever experience closeness, intimacy with anyone even approaching the polished worldliness of the older woman. The youthful vigor of the younger radiated attractions that were different but still managed to project that aura of being at once desirable and attainable. Envy drove even the most secure women to disparage the near perfection of the pair. It was the naive innocence of the 'college' girl that was the more attractive the more formidable despite the self-assured elegance of her companion.

The couple spoke in hushed, almost intimate tones. To the casual observer it might have been an out of town college girl out for an evening with a friend or relative who was showing her the more urbane haunts of the Manhattan night scene. That would have been a very inaccurate assessment. In reality the two had met to conduct a business interview.

"Sorry darling, but my girls don't do dry hustle. You'll have to produce for my clients if you want to work for me. Suit yourself but it would take a little cutie like you no time at all to earn her fare back to England. Why with that little English girl image you do and that delicious cock of yours, you'll have all the work you can handle."

"Agreed."

"Oh stop looking like such a mope. You were in over your head in the game you tried to play with Gwen Laurent. Like I told you , you'll lose and lose big."

Ricki took a sip of her G&T. A sad smile crossed her face. "Damn it all to bloody hell! When I saw her niece struck by that lorry I could have sworn I was looking at myself. The resemblance between us was uncanny. The police and the ambulance corps arrived. Turned out one of the plain clothes coppers who showed up was a lad who was shaking me down. Treated me better than he treated a lot of the others. Never took money from me; just wanted it free. Took care to see no one ever hurt me.

"Winked at me, he did. A week later he told me that the girl in the accident was a boy who was living full time as a girl. 'Quite normal and upstanding unless you took a look in her knickers. Seems she's got an aunt in America who knows about this masquerade. Poor twit's going to be in a rehabilitation hospital for a long time. Might never remember who she was or who he was; you get my meaning.' My chap was about to move up in the CID (Criminal Investigation Division) so he didn't want a cheap bit of good like me around knowing what I did about his habits so he traced the girl's aunt and helped me make contact with her pretending to be her niece. Thought I could fool that pompous witch, ass that she is, into believing I was her niece. That part worked but the rest didn't come off. Still, I learned a few things. Had a great time with that guy Greg Davies. You know we could have had a real special thing going. That's what I'm most sorry about in this whole tawdry experiment."

"Darling, this was no experiment. You tried a major swindle and failed."

"Yes and don't forget to remind me that I pissed away almost two years on it. Then again, I got some pretty decent schooling."

"Decent schooling? You were a coarse, ignorant low life fit only to hang out around Picadilly until you were beaten to death or got some disgusting disease. Darling, you became a real lady at Janus. Play it right and you can make a fortune and then find some kinky swell to keep you in style."

"I guess I did get something to build a future on. Perhaps this wasn't so 'failed' a venture as I thought." Ricki looked down at her hands and smiled sadly. "I became a lady and that's something."

"Erica, my darling, that you did. Now let's drink to your immediate future, your future with me."

They adjourned to dinner. The older woman steered the girl into a darkened doorway. They kissed deeply before they continued on their way. From dinner to bed.

Ricki awoke to the smell of an English breakfast. The drapes were suddenly drawn aside letting in blinding sunlight. "Erica, my love, breakfast awaits. Eggs, sausage, and a fried slice."

"Sounds so yummy but so fattening. And thanks for last night. Not just for dinner but for everything we did to each other."

"Not at all. It was just wonderful. Haven't felt so alive in ages. Now scoot."

Breakfast was a leisurely affair. A maid, apparently well skilled, anticipated their needs from a discrete distance.

"Don't even think about finding a place to stay just yet. I'll see that your housed in one of my, let's call them 'locations' for now. But now we have to go uptown to equip you."

The cab deposited them at Henri Bendel's, a store on fifty-seventh street noted for one of the most exquisite collections of intimate apparel to be found in any city the world over. It was clear that Mistress Rhonda was a regular customer. "My niece is just over from England to become a woman of the world..." Rhonda began.

Ricki, always called Erica in her new role, felt a stirring in her loins as she experienced the real silk panties, the embroidered girdles. Her cock strained against her gaffe as she admired herself in the mirrors of the fitting room. The superb detailed, the hand tatted lace trim and insets subtly framed the trannie's singular yet ever so fascinating charms.

After a stop at I. Miller Shoes on Fifth Avenue it was on to lunch where it was all Erica could do to keep from gawking at the celebrities who abounded. They finished the afternoon with a visit to the Museum of Modern Art.

"You're wondering why we're here. No special reason other than I think I want to do things with you." Rhonda took Erica's hand as they stood before paintings that Erica had only seen in art books at Janus. "Now then, my darling, I want you to forget what I said about my girls not doing dry hustle. This is terribly awkward but I could easily fall in love with you. Not at all a bad idea even though it won't last. Since we're going to be lovers I don't want anyone but me to touch you. Still, you've got to develop some skills that can earn you money.

"You've already got a wonderful English accent. You do know what 'English, is, don't you?"

Erica shook her head.

"God, you were such a cheap street tart that you never even learned about specialties. You're going to be trained in all sorts of self-defense and fighting techniques. Men will pay a fortune to suffer at your hands, especially if you dress the English school girl role. The scenario will be that they try to abuse you and you turn on them, defeat them, strip them and whip them. That plus a glimpse of your cock will make them come by the quart. Best part is that you'll order them to wank once you've dominated them and the clients will be thrilled to comply."

"Fine with me."

Rhonda smiled as she thought to herself, "You conceited little tart, you puffed up piece of cheap goods. I'm going to enjoy you and you're going to make me some real bucks. If you really, really please me there might a big payday for you."

*****

Gwen had been a power at Janus for so long that she was uncomfortable at having become dependent on Motria. Now this beguiling dancer was taking her to see a friend who might have suitable accommodations for the displaced woman. Then it occurred to Gwen that if she could seduce Motria, then she would have some degree of equality with her. "Never happen, thought Gwen sadly. "This trannie lives for her dancing. And besides, I feel so fat, so unattractive since that little bitch Ricki switched my synthroid on me. I'll kill her!"

The fully furnished apartment was on the top floor of a converted brownstone. It would do. Before Gwen could give it any thought, Motria told her friend that Gwen would take it on a month by month basis. No lease.

"But why no lease?" Gwen asked later.

"Because you belong back at Janus."

"That may be but it can never come to pass. Burned my bridges is what I did. Damn that Ricki."

"Never can be an awfully long time or it can go by in a wink."

"Aren't we getting philosophical. Really, Motria. You know nothing about it."

"But I can always learn." She gave Gwen a warm smile, tilted her head and winked.

"Girl, you've lost your mind."

Gwen suddenly found herself unable to speak because Motria had covered the older woman's mouth with her own. The shock lasted a few seconds before Gwen responded to the ministrations of Motria's tongues as it brushed lightly over her own. Somehow her skirt was above her thighs as the young trannie's fingers brushed lightly over her panty crotch.

Gwen was on fire as Motria stepped away from her long enough to unzip her own skirt and let it fall to the floor. The virginal white cotton panties were sexy beyond endurance especially when the outline of Motria's cockhead was so clearly visible through the light fabric.

They faced each other only inches apart. Gwen put her palm to Motria's lips. "Don't vanish. Be real, not a dream."

"This is no dream." She put her hand over Gwen's, kissed the palm, sucked gently on her finger tips. "I'm real and you are too...."

Gwen's hand rested on Motria's tummy. Her fingers pulled the waist band forward, slid down as Motria sighed. The trannie's cock was hardening as Gwen wrapped her fingers over the head. She dropped to her knees and applied her tongue to the rim. Motria moaned, dropped to her knees and kissed Gwen who pushed the trannie onto her back, removed her blouse. Gwen knelt over Motria, kissing her hard nipples even as her hand stroked her cock. Motria squirmed and whimpered as Gwen kissed her navel, licked her balls. Motria began to thrash as Gwen used her lips, her teeth, her tongue to drive the trannie into ever increasing heights of arousal while denying her the release she needed yet wanted to delay. Gwen straddled the flailing Motria, lowered her soaked panty crotch to her face as she imprisoned her lover's head between her thighs. In spite of her crescendoing excitement, Motria kissed Gwen's thighs, grasped the fullness of her legs in the dark, sleek hose as Gwen's juices flooded her mouth. They lay on their sides as they both shrieked and squealed as they exploded.

The lovers made their way to the bed. A cum soaked kiss that lasted until they drifted off to sleep.

*****

Greg Davies sipped coffee as he looked with fascination at Robbie as she scrambled their breakfast eggs. She bent forward to take some rolls from the oven. Greg drew a breath as her pajama top rose to reveal the hem of the white cotton panties she had worn to bed. "I'm staring at your cute bottom. You realize you're getting me all hot and bothered."

"Wow, Greg! After last night I'd think you're worn out or at least satisfied."

"Lover, I can't ever get enough of you."

"Thanks, and I feel the same but don't get started. We've got to get that committee moving on developing that proposal for a junior college extension of Janus. Some of our grads have no place to go after they finish high school with us.

"I do like you idea of an emphasis on the lively arts."

"Might work. Maybe give our 'girls' an edge when they finally decide how they're going to be seen in the world."

"Sounds great to me. Be some problems setting it up. Staff could be hard to find. Too bad Gwen Laurent lost it and took off with that little tramp. We could use her if she ever got it together. Little Ricki has probably bled her dry by now. Poor Gwen."

"Robbie. We really have to talk. I love you and I just know we're going to have a life together...But I have a past and I need to talk to you about her."

Robbie stood alongside of the seated Greg, draped her arm over his shoulder. His arm found its way around the trannie's waist.

"If you need to tell me, I'll listen and I promise not to judge. Greg, I love you."

 

They were in Robbie's office getting ready for the committee meeting when the phone rang.

"Long distance for you, Greg."

A few minutes later Greg hung up the phone. "This is just too ironic." He shook his head and started laugh but then turned serious.

"That was my past. She had been my contact with those questions we wanted answered at the start of the summer. I swear I never phoned her or spoke to her before this minute."

"I believe you but it doesn't matter even if you did."

"Sit down 'cause you're not going to believe this."

Robbie jumped to her feet as Greg finished the abbreviated version of the story Motria had given him. Her arms were around his neck as she kissed every part of his face.
"This is so, so neat. Ricki's gone. Your ballerina friend is sleeping with Gwen and Gwen's back to being her real self."

"You're not angry?"

Angry? I'm elated. We can get Gwen back and your friend is tailor made to be our new dance department. We're leaving for Brooklyn right now to bring them back here. Can't chance letting them get away this time."

*****

The following spring Ricki sailed for Southampton on the RMS Queen Mary. She immediately took the boat train to London to find her police officer. Ricki is reportedly doing well as London's most connected trannie domme. Those in the know say she is retiring shortly and will 'marry' a chief inspector in the CID.

 

Mardee Louise Prynne

 

  

  

*********************************************
© 1999 by Mardee Louise Prynne. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.