Sunday, June 26, 2011

The Elphinstone Formula Part 6

Sorry about the long absence on my posting of these stories.  I could try to make some sort of lame excuse about how my life got really busy, but that would be a pale and obvious lie since I've been posting captions this entire time and posting one of these stories takes almost no time in comparison to making new captions.  So now, after a long absence, I am pleased to present you with part six of Edith Bellamy's TG masterpiece Elphinstone Formula.


A little after one in the morning a war council convened in the Elphinstone's Seraglio Room, whose last clients had departed early because of a curfew imposed by their ship, leaving the suite vacant of men. Gladys, the Elphinstone's senior prostitute, presided. Also in attendance were Mabel, who was next in seniority, as well as Fiona and Sarah, who had been slightly delayed by their last makeup repair session for the new transmutes, Iris and Daphne, before their final, all-night assignation with Sir Lawrence Cockburn, the eccentric Admiral of the Fleet.

It is worth a moment of our time to digress from our narrative to describe the admiral. Whenever at the Elphinstone, Sir Lawrence wore an adorable baby-blue Shirley Temple dress with puffed sleeves and three petticoats — over ruffled pink panties, with baby-blue calf-length lisle socks and black patent-leather Mary Jane shoes. He liked to be spanked on his bottom with a No. 22 Kent hairbrush for being such a naughty, naughty girl. Naughty, that is, for being an Admiral in His Majesty's Royal Navy who always wore ruffled pink panties under his uniform, even while engaging the enemy. (Perhaps not coincidentally, Sir Lawrence had been known to his school chums at the Royal Naval College as not as "Larry" but as "Pinkie.") Ferocious in combat, "Pinkie" was as shy as an eight year old schoolgirl when en jeune fille at the Elphinstone and always blushed most charmingly when forced to bend over a chair and lift his frilly dress to be spanked, revealing his trademark ruffled pink panties.The Elphinstone whores considered Sir Lawrence easy duty, and no one expected to hear anything from Iris and Daphne anytime soon.

To resume our narrative, then, Georgia and Leona were also present at the war council, but as transmutes they had no role in any decisions that might be reached, having been invited into the room only as witnesses. They sat a bit apart from the others, each one fiddling with her breasts, like dogs scratching fleas, for the rashi-dharva was working on them, too, and they were becoming uncomfortable as their bras became tighter by the minute.

Gladys, still dressed in a maroon harem girl outfit with a peacock blue veil and peacock blue satin slippers, with a fake ruby in her navel, was in a state of high excitement. Her harem veil down round her neck like a kerchief and a cigarette dangling from her lips, she was waving an official-looking document above her head. "Look, girls," she began, flicking the ash off her cigarette, "If what Leona and Georgia reported is true, this is the chance of a lifetime for us! We get to run the place by ourselves and Dr. P. becomes our property! It's all right here!" she exclaimed, smoothing the document out on a round brass tray set up as a table and tapping the relevant passage with the long, enamelled vemilion nail of her forefinger.

"Explain it to us again, Glad," said Mabel, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I'm not sure I get it." Mabel's intellectual prowess was notoriously feeble, but she was nonetheless earnestly trying to comprehend what Gladys had been telling them.

"Look, it's like this," Gladys replied. "The Elphinstone bordello, like all whorehouses in the Raj, is considered a vital wartime enterprise under the Colonial Wartime Enterprises Act of 1940. We're essential to the morale of the British fighting man. We can't just willy-nilly shut down or go out of business. In the eyes of the Act, we're just as 'vital' as a bomb plant or an aeroplane factory. So, like a bomb plant or an aeroplane factory, the Elphinstone is required to designate an alternate responsible party in the event that the principal dies or becomes incapacitated by illness. Actually, the Act says, 'incapacitated by illness or other exigency which may prevent the principal from performing his duties in managing the enterprise in a prudent and efficient manner, consistent with promotion of the war effort.'

"It's all government blather, of course," she continued, "And no one ever thought it would mean anything for us. But now it does! It does because, according to this stupid piece of paper, signed by Old Two Fingers in 1941, notarized and stamped with the official seal of the Bombay District Wartime Enterprises Authority, I'm the designated responsible alternate! The authority made Old Two Fingers designate someone — that's me — and give me total power of attorney, signatory authority over bank accounts, and all that other legal nonsense, in case he should die or become 'incapacitated' under the terms of the Colonial Wartime Enterprises Act of 1940. Or they would have closed the house down right then and there, expropriated its assets and distributed them (including us girls) to other bordellos, ones that would conform to the Act. Don't you see?"

"Um, well, no," Mabel stolidly replied. "I don't see."

"O, for Crissakes, Mabe, just listen! I'm the alternate, right? It says so right here on this paper, see?" Gladys tapped the paper again. "And if Georgia and Leona are right, Old Two Fingers no longer exists.... that is, no longer exists as Old Two Fingers. If they're right, he's a transmute now, just like them! Old Two Fingers was a man. What these two saw upstairs means he's now a woman. So the great Sandeep Pradesh, M.D., Fellow of the Royal College of Obstetrics and Gynaecology, is as good as dead in the eyes of the Act, and that means I'm in charge because I'm the designated alternate! If he's a woman now, no one outside this bordello will give the least credence to any claims he might make that he's actually Dr. Pradesh. They'd lock 'him' up in the looney bin for trying to impersonate a man. Don't you see?

"And even if he could get anyone to believe that he's the great Dr. P., transformed into a woman," Gladys continued, "There'd be ample grounds to prove 'him' incapacitated . Now pardon me, girls," Gladys said, changing her tone and addressing Leona and Georgia apologetically before her next comment, "but transmutes are by definition non compos mentis. They generally can't reason their way out of a paper bag within two weeks after being transformed. Just look at that blonde idiot Daphne, after only a day! She used to be a signals officer, for Chrissakes, and now all she can think about is frilly dresses, lace panties, petticoats and babies! Transmutes can sing, dance, serve or fuck. No one can beat them at that, OK? They can fuck better than we can. But they're basically mental incompetents." Turning back towards Georgia and Leona, she concluded, "Sorry again, you two, but I had to say it."

Georgia and Leona looked slightly hurt by being referred to as mental incompetents, but they both knew that what Gladys was saying was essentially true, and so made no objection. Besides, they were barely paying attention, as their little heads were suddenly filled with images of Michel Vaudin and his enormous cock and how it would feel when he shoved it inside them. Their main concern was how soon they could arrange another "training session" with the Frenchman.

"Now do you see, Mabe?" Gladys asked, returning to the subject at hand, almost pleading with the dull-witted whore.

"OK, I guess that makes sense," Mabel agreed, slowly nodding her head, "If Georgia and Leona are telling the truth."

Fiona, who had been silent up until now, turned to the two transmutes. "Tell us again exactly what happened."

Both transmutes began speaking at once, so Gladys, like a traffic policeman, held up her hand. "One at a time, one at a time! You first, Leona. Exactly what happened?"

"Well," she began, "at awound ten o'clock the twins got me and Geowgia and told us they were bwinging us upstaiws to Dr. P's office on the fifth flooah. They told us that Fiona and Sawah had to fill in for us while we wuh gone, but that it shouldn't take moah than fifteen minutes or so."

"That's right," Georgia confirmed. "The twins brought us into the office. Dr. P. was sitting at his desk. There was a tray with two glasses of milk on it, a little bottle next to the phone full of some sort of yellowish liquid, with a glass stopper in it, and a medicine dropper lying next to it. He said that the little bottle had some new sort of rashi-dharva in it that would make our boobs bigger and would make us want to fuck, just like Iris and Daphne...."

"That's wight!" Leona confirmed. "He said the yellow stuff — it was actually mowah owange than yellow, Geowgie, sowt of like honey — that it would make up fowah what he had given us befowah, that didn't wowhk on us. He said if I dwank it, I'd be able to thwow away my stupid twaining bwas. And he put it in the milk and told us to dwink it up wight away and to get wight out of his office and leave him alone. So we dwank it and wan dowstaiws wight away and told you what happened! That's the whole twuth!"

"That's it?" asked Fiona, making a sour face and splaying out the fingers of both hands, palms upwards. "That's it? That doesn't prove anything."

"Well, I don't know about that," countered Leona. "My bweasts are much biggah alweady. Look!" And the petite transmute slipped off the straps of her black velvet gown, reached behind herself and undid her bra, which she removed, and proudly thrust her chest forward, displaying a respectable pair of breasts, nothing like the little bee stings she had been cursed with since her inception as a girl more than a year ago. Without replacing her bra, she pulled her dress back up and put the straps back on her shoulders. With an "I told you so" smirk, she ever-so-casually leant forward in her chair, hands gripping "Jesus Christ, the kid has boobs now!" remarked Mabel. "She has to be tellin' the truth!"

"Mine are bigger too" boasted Georgia, thrusting her chest forward. Her halter top was strained almost to breaking. The tops of her areolas were beginning to peek above the edge of the purple satin fabric, and lower halves of her breasts were plainly visible below. The taut upper garment resembled more a flat ribbon than a halter top. The natal girls regarded her with wonder (if not with some envy).

"OK, OK, so the stuff Old Two Fingers gave to Georgia and Leona worked," Fiona conceded. "So what? That's not the issue," she continued, folding her arms and shaking her head. "The only issue is what happened to him, if anything. We need more evidence than this!"

Gladys intervened. "Tell us what the doctor looked like, girls, when the twins brought you into his office," she demanded, looking severely at the two transmutes.

Georgia and Leona again began talking at once, so Gladys again held up her hand. "One at a time! One at a time, for Chrissakes! Georgia, you tell us."

"Well!" Georgia declared, with her trademark flip of the wrist, "Dr. P. didn't look altogether well, as a matter of fact. He was pale and sweating. His voice kept squeaking with every other word, like a twelve-year old boy whose voice is breaking, but worse than that. Plus his jacket was bulging in front, getting tighter as we stood in front of his desk, like he was... well, like he was growing boobs right before our eyes. And he kept squirming in his chair, as if his trousers were too tight. Also, I could have sworn he'd been plucking his eyebrows... they were thin and arched and I wondered why he had done it. And how he had done it so nicely. I mean, mine hardly look that good. And usually, by the end of the day, even though he's an Indian, he gets a bit of a five o'clock shadow. But his face was totally smooth and hairless, like a girl's, and soft-looking, too. His hands were trembling when he used the medicine dropper to draw up the rashi-dharva, and they looked smaller — he kept having to push his wristwatch back up on his forearm, because it kept sliding down over the back of his hand, like the watchband was too big."

"Have you anything to add, Leona?" Gladys asked.

"I agwee with evwything Geowgia just said," Leona replied. "And it was all happening wight in fwont of us, like two balloons wewh being slowly inflated inside his jacket. It was pwetty obvious even to us that he was tuwning into a giwl wight in fwont of ouah vewy eyes, and that's why he wanted to get wid of us as soon as we dwank the milk. He was hoping we wouldn't notice anything, but it was impossible not to."

"Very well," said Gladys. That'll be all. You two have been very helpful. Why don't you and Georgia go upstairs to bed now? You've both had a hard day. And you, Leona, chuck out all your training bras: it's clear whatever the doctor gave you did the trick. Rajendra will give you some new ones that'll fit you. I'll tell Vaudin you two will be looking for another 'lesson' after luncheon tomorrow. My guess is that Dr. P. hit the perfect recipe and that you'll both be wanting to fuck like crazy, so you'll need Little Big Man to take your edge off or you'll be driving us all absolutely nuts by suppertime. I'll assign you to one of the suites tomorrow evening. I'll have to find a couple of the less popular girls to hats and cigarettes, 'cause if this stuff really worked, you'll be able to out-fuck them two to one. Maybe Elsie and Hannah. Damn! This is all so unexpected! I never thought I'd actually be running this bloody place! I'm gonna need help!"

Gladys angrily stubbed out her butt in an ashtray and removed a fresh cigarette from a pack she kept tucked just below the waistband of her panties, where the pack didn't show under her loose harem trousers. "You two go up to bed!" she concluded, as she rapidly tapped the cigarette on the flat of her thumbnail to firm it, "And not a word to the other girls about it, or you'll both be leashed up for a month — and no Vaudin, either."

Georgia and Leona nodded, then obediently went out of the room and upstairs to bed.


Once the transmutes had left the room, the four natal whores began to deliberate on the best course of action.

Even Mabel knew what the main problem was. "What do we do with Old Two Fingers if he's really a woman?" she asked.

"Name her Sandra, sign her into the official prostitute registry, take her downstairs to the clinic and do everything by the book. Then give her the usual session with Little Big Man and put her to work! That's what I think," offered Sarah, who now spoke for the first time. "You're a midwife, Glad. You know how to do all that exam stuff, send off the cultures and smears, right?"

"Sure, I can do all that, but let's not jump the gun," Gladys replied, lighting her cigarette and shaking out the match. "We have to be absolutely certain that he really has been changed into a woman. In other words, we have to go up there and have a look. And that could be a problem, getting past the twins. So the first thing is, what we tell Ghulam and Ghopal, and when. Unless we get 'em on our side, none of this is going to work."

"Well," said Fiona, "I don't think the twin'll be a problem. They've always been well-disposed towards us girls and, besides, even though they don't have any balls, there's nothing wrong with their brains. In fact, they rarely miss a trick. They read English, too, so once we show 'em that certificate of alternate responsibility, or whatever the hell it's called, they'll want to check things out upstairs right away, you can bet on it."

"I think you're right, Fee," agreed Gladys, who had been blowing smoke rings while Fiona was speaking. "I say we get 'em here right now, tell 'em everything we know and show 'em the paper.."

"I'll go find 'em," said Sarah. Gladys and Fiona nodded approval and Sarah left the room in search of the eunuchs, returning with them in tow less than two minutes later.

"What can," began Ghulam, ever respectful ,

"We do for you ladies?" finished Ghopal.

"Is there being a problem with one of the clients?" Ghulam asked.

"Or something perhaps is needing to be done for Miss Iris and Miss Daphne?" Ghopal asked.

"No. No, nothing like that," Gladys replied. "Iris and Daphne are busy spanking Sir Lawrence on his pink panty-clad bottom for the rest of the night. They won't need any help with him, I'm certain. He's quite harmless. No. It's something much more serious, actually."

Gladys proceeded to tell the twins all that had happened and what the four whores now proposed to do. When she was done, the eunuchs glanced at one another for a moment or two, then turned back to Gladys and said, in unison, "Please to be showing us the paper you were mentioning, Miss Gladys. We wish to be satisfying ourselves that it is just as you say."

"Here you are, boys," Gladys said, handing over the document. "You can see it's all tickety-boo, with all the official seals and stamps and everything in order. And you recognise Dr. P.'s signature, here at the bottom, and mine?"

The twins looked at the signatures and nodded. "Please to be excusing us for a moment," the twins said in chorus. They moved to the end of the room, Ghopal holding the document, and commenced a private conference. They did not confer long.

Returning to where the whores were congregated, Ghopal began, "We are agreeing with you that we must perform an inspection."

"And if Dr. P. has been transformed into a female, as is sounding very most likely," continued Ghulam,

"Then we are also agreeing that Miss Gladys is now being in charge, and we shall be pleased to be taking our orders from her," concluded Ghopal.

The four women exchanged satisfied glances. "Good!" exclaimed Gladys. "Now I suggest we all get some sleep and meet here again at seven-thirty sharp. This gives a little time for Fiona and Sarah to gather up the blondes after they're done with Sir Lawrence and settle them in their room. They'll likely want to sleep until luncheon. I'm sure their arms will be tired. Mabel, scare up some undies and a robe. I'll bring a can of chloroform, should Sandra resist, and you, Ghopal and Ghulam, bring restraints and a gag, just in case. I don't think they'll be necessary, but one never knows with fresh transmutes. Sometimes they react quite violently when they discover they've been turned into girls."

"I'll bet anything she's already discovered she's been turned into a girl," remarked Fiona dryly, "And is busy checking herself out right this very minute!"

The other three murmured agreement, then Mabel asked, "But what shall we do with her?"

"Just what Sarah suggested," Gladys replied. "Fill out the official prostitute registration certificate in the name of Sandra Pradesh (since that's my official surname as well), then take her downstairs to the clinic. I'll draw the blood, do the pelvic, get the required cultures and smears and send them off to the municipal health authority ."

"And the labial ring?" Fiona asked. "If we're going by the book, she needs to have one."

"Agreed," Gladys replied. "If we've chloroformed her, no problem. If not, I'll just inject some novocaine. It'll burn for a moment or two and then she won't feel a thing. I've seen Dr. P. use the crimper before. It just takes a sec. 'Ker-CHING!' and it's done. Just one big drop of blood."

"Good!" cried Mabel, rubbing her hands. "Imagine, Dr. P. a helpless transmute, with a ring in her labia! I like it! And then the usual training with Little Big Man, I trust. Several times, until she's all raw?"

"Hold on," Gladys cautioned, wagging her forefinger. "I know a lot of us have grudges against Old Two Fingers for one reason or another. But this is strictly business, not to settle old scores. This place is our bread and butter, and we can't let it go under. If Old Two Finger's really been turned into a girl, then I'm running the Elphinstone starting in the morning — with your help and advice — and I say we go by the book. Yes, Sandra gets basic training with Vaudin — that's in the house regs, And if she needs more sessions with Vaudin, then she'll get more sessions. If she's recalcitrant, won't work or gives trouble, she'll get the leash, just like any other transmute. OK? But no more talk about revenge. And now, off to bed. See you all here at seven-thirty sharp! And remember, we could all be wrong! And if we are, we're in a lot of hot water."

With this admonition, the group dispersed to their respective quarters for the remainder of the night.


The four whores and the eunuch twins reconvened in the Seraglio Suite promptly at seven-thirty next morning. The girls were in their ordinary day clothes: Gladys, Mabel and Sarah wore plain cotton dresses, with stockings and heels. Fiona was in slacks of the style made popular by Katherine Hepburn; she looked quite smart. They had lipgloss on, of course, but no other makeup. Gladys had her hair up in curlers. Sarah's and Fiona's hair was still damp from their morning shampoos. Mabel's hair was perfect — it always was. The twins were dressed in their standard bordello uniforms, and were the only ones who appeared wide awake. Somehow, the eunuchs got by with only two or three hours of sleep a night, and never appeared any the worse for wear.

"OK," Gladys began, who brought the undies?"

"I got 'em right here," Mabel replied. "Regulation plain white cotton panties and bra.... I brought 'em in three sizes just in case. I figure that after the exam, we'll be locking her in the secure room for a while ..... she'll find plenty of stuff there that'll fit her, no matter what size she is. She can pick out her own outfit."

"We are carrying some cord and a gag," the eunuchs chimed in.

"And I have chloroform, gauze, and the legal papers," said Gladys, "And we can pick up a leash from the office cabinet when we take Sandra downstairs. A two-metre one. Just in case."

"OK, then, let's move out," said Fiona, setting her jaw. "It's time to stop talking and act!"

The group quickly ascended the stairs to the fifth floor, where the doctor's quarters were. When they reached the office door, Gladys hissed, "Ghopal! Ghulam! You go in first. If he's not a transmute, and wakes up, tell him you were just checking up on him, because he said he was unwell last night. We'll disband and try to cover our tracks. But if you find he's a woman, come right out and get us and we'll proceed as planned."

The twins quietly pushed opened the door and tip-toed through the darkened office to the inner door that led to the doctor's bedroom. They disappeared through it. In a few moments Ghopal alone re-emerged and hastily walked through the office to the whores, who were waiting breathlessly for his report.

"Well?" demanded Gladys. "What's the scoop? Is he a woman, or what?"

"There's a beautiful naked Indian lady fast asleep in the doctor's bed. She looks as if she could be the doctor's twin sister, so alike are their faces," the eunuch softly replied.

The whores exchanged looks of triumph. With Gladys leading the way, they stealthily traversed the office and entered the bedroom, to find Ghulam standing at the foot of the bed, gaping at the lovely creature sleeping there. Sandra — for that is indeed whom we are talking about — had cast off her bedclothes during the night, for it had been sultry. She was sleeping soundly on her left side, facing the door. Her face, flushed with sleep, was lovely in repose. It was the doctor's face, to be sure, but softened and feminised, its regular features appearing more finely-etched than before. Her round copper-colored shoulder heaved in time with her slow breathing. The curve of her uppermost hip dipped deeply down towards her high, narrow waist. She slept with one hand under her face; her other hand was nestled between her plump thighs, the wrist and forearm concealing her love-mound. But it was her enormous breasts that were her most salient feature.

The whores were in awe. "Lordy!" ventured Mabel, in a reverent whisper, "Would you look at the knockers on her! And not a single stretch mark!"

Sandra did not wake, but she unconsciously sensed the presence of people in her bedroom and stirred in her sleep, rolling onto her back and murmuring something inaudible. She moistened her lips and moved them wordlessly. She was dreaming. The hand she had had wedged between her thighs now rested on her love-mound and she brought her other hand up and let it fall limply into the deep crevice between her breasts, where it disappeared from view. Her thighs were now slightly parted, so her slit was plainly visible to all through its haze of silky black hair. She smacked her lips softly several times, frowned like a baby, rolled her head to one side, drew one leg up a bit, flexing her knee, and then lay still again, except for her regular breathing. No conceivable doubt remained in anyone's mind that this was indeed Sandeep Pradesh, M.D., F.R.C.O.G., transformed into a woman.

The group turned their eyes towards Gladys and raised their eyebrows as if to ask, "Now?"

Gladys, understanding their glances, nodded. She approached the bed and gently shook the sleeping woman by the shoulder.

Sandra opened her eyes, blinked, groaned, closed them again and then abruptly sat up in the bed, eyes wide open in panic. She scrabbled for the bedsheet she had thrown off in her sleep, and, finding its edge, drew it up protectively over her breasts, almost up to her chin, clenching it tightly with both hands, in an instinctive gesture of feminine modesty. Now fully awake, her eyes flashed in rage.

"How dare you come into my bedroom!" she shrieked, then fell dead silent, startled by the unfamiliar sound of her soprano voice. Swallowing hard and clearing her throat, she tried again. "You shall all be severely punished! Ghulam, Ghopal, throw these vile whores out of my bedroom immediately!" Her light soprano, unchanged, failed to project convincing authority.

Neither of the eunuch twins moved a muscle, but stood as immobile as obelisks, arms folded high on their chests, their eyes unblinking, their faces expressionless.

"I ordered you to throw them out now!" Sandra shrieked again, "Or you'll be in the street yourselves in two minutes flat, begging for your food!"

No one stirred.

Sandra made a motion as if to arise from the bed, but, recalling she was now a woman, and a naked one at that, she remained sitting, glaring at the delegation, each member of which continued to stare at her without the slightest acknowledgment on their faces or in their eyes that anything she had just said, or might possibly say, could alter whatever purpose they had come into her bedroom to accomplish. They appeared as implacable as a firing squad about to carry out its duty. She saw that she had no authority whatever over any person in the room, and that, on the contrary, every one of them had power over her and that there were no words she could say that would make the slightest difference in these elemental new facts, as elemental as her now being a woman. Her entire world and her relationship to it and to every living person had been radically realigned and turned upside down without remedy and she knew it. So Sandra did what a woman often does in such situations, when it is absolutely clear that she cannot get her own way and that all seems to be going against her. She began to cry.

Tears streamed down her lovely cheeks and piteous sobs wracked her shoulders. Her onlookers (being women and eunuchs) were naturally touched. Simple-minded Mabel immediately sat down next to Sandra on the bed, put her arm round her shoulder in motherly fashion and began cooing, "There, there! There, there! It's going to be all right, dear. It's going to be all right." Presently Sarah sat down on the other side of the bed and put her arm round Sandra's other shoulder in sisterly fashion, removed a pink hankie from her bosom, blotted Sandra's eyes, then applied it to her nose and urged her to blow. Which Sandra did. Then she relapsed into a fresh cascade of sobbing and tears which went on for some ten or fifteen minutes. She blew her nose several more times, stopped crying and faced the little group, her eyes tear-swollen and red and her cheeks blotched from crying.

"W...w...what are you going to do with me?" she stammered, looking from face to face and hoping for mercy.

"Well, hon," Gladys began, "First off, you're not the head cheese around here anymore. Remember this paper Dr. Pradesh signed and gave to me?" she asked, displaying the official document.

Sandra gazed at the paper with a blank and bewildered expression. It was clear she had no recollection of any such document. So Gladys explained it to her, and Sandra nodded assent at each step of the explanation, posing no objections. All were amazed at how fast the rashi-darva had worked to eradicate practical masculine memories. So Gladys instantly decided to change tack and proceed as gently as possible, for there was certain information, known only to Dr. Pradesh, that she would have to obtain before it was totally eradicated from Sandra's rapidly feminising brain. Such as the combinations to the bordello's safes, of which there were two: one in the office, which held the weekly receipts, and the other in the laboratory, which held the bordello's priceless supply of rashi-dharva as well as the ancient Sakati manuscripts and formulas. Or the names of the two banks (and the numbers of the accounts) in Switzerland where the bordello's main financial assets were held. The account at the local bank, the Greater Bombay Bank and Trust Company, was no problem: Gladys had often handed over signed checks to the bordello's various vendors and knew the account number by heart, but the account held only operating funds — generally no more than two weeks' worth.

Gladys silently shooed Mabel and Sarah off the bed and sat down beside Sandra, putting her arm over her shoulder just as Mabel had done. She lifted up Sandra's chin with two fingers until the transmute was looking her straight in her eyes. "You asked what we are going to do with you," Gladys soothingly began. "So I'll tell you. We're starting off by naming you Sandra, Sandra Pradesh, the same last name we all have. You're going to be one of us, a prostitute, and fuck men for your living. I know you'll like that, dear. Am I right?" She released the transmute's chin.

Sandra snuffled and rapidly nodded her head, for she was, after all, a concubine class transmute, like Iris and Daphne (and now like Georgia and Leona as well), whose main purpose in life was to copulate with men as often as possible. Sandra bit her lip to suppress a small smile that was struggling up through her snuffles; but it was clear to all that she was comforted to learn she'd be expected to work as a whore.

"Of course, you'll have to be officially registered, like all of us. And that means a number of things...."

"You mean I'll have to have a... a... a pelvic exam?" she asked, her face falling again.

"Yes, hon, 'fraid so. It's a health authority requirement, as you very well know. It's for your own good. I'll be doing it. I'm a midwife, remember? And I'll make sure not to hurt you."

"And... and I have to have a ring, too?"

"Yes, dear." Gladys replied firmly. "You must have a ring. I can't start off my tenure as the Madam here by breaking major house rules, and house rules say every transmute gets a labial ring. In fact, what I've learned over the years is that transmutes find their rings comforting — sort of a guarantee that they'll never get too far out of control, even if they never need leashing. The ring's sort of a transmute's external conscience, a constant reminder to be a good and obedient girl."

Sandra snuffled again and nodded her head —this time not so rapidly, however — acknowledging the truth of what Gladys had said.

"But I'll tell you what, Sandra: you can pick whether it's on your right of left side. OK? Most new girls don't get to choose." Sandra compressed her lips tightly and nodded again — almost imperceptibly .

"And I know that right now nothing would please you more than to get into some nice silky panties, and put on a nice, silky bra to support those magnificent knockers of yours," Gladys continued, touching on a subject that was invariably foremost in every new transmute's mind. "You'll be ever so much more comfortable. I think in your case we can forego the regulation white cotton undies and get you into something silky and pretty right away."

Although Gladys had released Sandra's chin, the transmute remained staring at her with an expression of puppy-like trust. Then she looked down again and stammered, "I'd like that very much. I was thinking of silky undies all night long, and how nice they'll feel on me now that I' that I'm a.... a girl. But right now I have to... I have to go to the loo... and I'm so embarrassed, because I've not ever done it!" And she began to cry again, this time quietly and without sobbing. Like soft rain, tears spattered the sheet she was clutching to her bosom.

"It's perfectly natural to be embarrassed, hon. It's the same for most new transmutes the first few times." Addressing the bystanders, Gladys said, "Why don't the rest of you wait outside in the office for a while, and I'll take Sandra into the bathroom." She shooed them away with sweeps of her inverted hand. As they moved towards the door, she added, "And you, Fiona, go down to the wardrobe room and bring back the prettiest things you can find so Sandra can get dressed right away. Bring her enough to choose from." Then she lifted up Sandra's chin again and said, "As soon as they're gone, hon, we'll go into the bathroom together and Gladys'll show you how a girl goes to the loo, all right?"


When the others had left the room, Gladys gently helped Sandra up from the bed and draped the bedsheet around her for the journey to the bathroom, which was only ten paces away. Guiding the transmute as if she were an invalid, Gladys led her inside and shut the door.

"OK. Nobody's watching but me, so drop the sheet now," Gladys directed. Sandra did as she was told and stood revealed in all her loveliness, blushing and trying to cover all bases with her hands — one over her mound, the other, most inadequately, over her breasts.

Ignoring the quite insignificant cellulite, which her sharp eye did not fail to detect, Gladys shook her head in wonder and said, "I can't believe how nicely you turned out! You really managed to whip up quite a potent batch of your stuff. But tell me, Sandra, how ever did you manage to drink it yourself?"

"I don't know," she replied, "Or else I can't remember. I didn't do it on purpose, though. I think it wasn't supposed to be used on men. It's making my mind go...." Sandra was now speaking matter-of-factly, trying desperately to tap into to what remained of her male memories. "I know you don't wish me harm, though I'm not sure about the other girls. And I do want to work here as a prostitute — it's what I want most. I can't help wanting to fuck! I thought about Vaudin all night long!

"And I know I can't run the place anymore and that the paper you showed me gives you all the power around here now that I'm a transmute. And for you to run the place, you need to know lots of things I'm already forgetting... I don't think I could understand an invoice now, much less manage a bordello, a nightclub and a restaurant."

"That's right, Sandra, you're quite incompetent to run anything at all. My guess is you couldn't even place a phone call right now. Or order a meal in a restaurant. And you're right that I need to know a few things. I need the combinations of the two house safes, and I need to know the names of the Swiss banks where the house has its accounts, and the account numbers, too. The Certificate of Alternate Responsibility gives me control of all the bordello's assets, but, practically speaking, I can't control 'em if I don't know where they are."

"Yes," agreed Sandra, assuming a little-girl pensive look and tapping her upper lip with her forefinger. "Of course you need to know all those things to run the place. But I'm afraid I can't help, not right now. Why, I can't even remember where the stairs are! Funny, though, how other things stick in my mind, like the size of Vaudin's.... But, really, Gladys! This is ridiculous! I have to pee or I'll burst!" Sandra coloured again, and her face assumed an expression of genuine physical distress. She was, in fact, bending slightly forward to relieve the pressure on her bladder and had crossed her legs tightly at her thighs as she stood before Gladys, like a little schoolgirl afraid she could not hold it in.

Gladys pointed to the toilet. "Be my guest. No more doing it standing up for you — you'll just make a mess. Girls sit down to pee, in case you forgot. Oh, yes, lower the seat first." Gladys affected to scratch an itch under her nose, but she was really concealing a smile at the new girl's discomfiture. Transmutes could be so endearing at times over the most inconsequential things! This one was mortified about sitting down to pee, but Gladys knew she wouldn't hesitate to copulate, say, on the stage of the Royal Opera House downtown in front of two thousand people if she were told that was her job.

Sandra obeyed, lowered the seat and sat, nervously entwining her fingers together and squeezing her hands between her knees.

"Now what?" she asked.

"What do you think? You just go! There's no bloody secret about it."

Sandra furrowed her forehead. "I can't!" she cried.

"Relax. Don't think about anything. Empty your mind."

Sandra closed her eyes. Her face became placid. Suddenly, she released her stream with a high-pitched female hiss that continued a good forty seconds before tinkling out.

"Ahhhh!" Sandra sighed, expelling the last drops and blushing at the ignominy of having to pee sitting down. "That's much better. The muscles are all different, but it's actually quite easy once you find them."

"I didn't think you'd have more of a problem than any other new girl. Now wipe yourself, dear. Girls are dainty, you know."

Blushing again, Sandra tore off a strip of toilet tissue, spread her thighs and did as she was instructed. Then she pulled the chain and stood. "Right thirty-eight, left past thirty-eight to four, right to twelve," she said.

"What did you say?"

"Right thirty-eight, left past thirty-eight to four, right to twelve," Sandra repeated, her face completely blank.

"Don't move!" cried Gladys. "I'll be right back!"

Gladys rushed out of the bathroom, ran through the bedroom and into the office, where the other usurpers were lounging about.

"Where's a memo pad and a pencil?" she asked. "Hurry!"

The twins were in a corner, their uniform jackets off, sitting crossleged on the parquet floor in their shirtsleeves, playing gin rummy. Fiona was busily laying out various undergarments, stockings, blouses, skirts, dresses and shoes on the long leather sofa for Sandra's inspection. Mabel was asleep in an armchair in a position that could not possibly threaten her hairdo. Sarah, sprawled in the doctor's reclining chair with her stockinged feet up on his desk, was smoking one of his Chesterfields, his Waterford crystal ashtray on her lap. She held the obsidian phallus paperweight in her other hand and was admiring its remarkably lifelike detail. As Gladys rushed into the office and made her request, she sprang up from his chair and began yanking drawers open until she found the required items. She hastily handed them to Gladys, who rushed back into the bedroom, calling back over her shoulder, "She's remembering the combinations!"

Back in the bathroom, Gladys breathlessly asked Sandra to tell her the numbers again.

"Right thirty-eight, left past thirty-eight to four, right to twelve. It's the combination to one of the safes," replied the transmute blandly, as if this item of intelligence was of negligible importance. In the short time Gladys was out of the bathroom, Sandra had been irresistibly drawn to the full-length looking-glass, like a moth to a candle, and had begun striking various provocative poses in front of it. She had sucked in her tummy and was trying to look like a calendar girl. She had brought one leg up, bent at the knee, thighs touching, and was standing tip-toe on her other foot, one hand on her hip and the other splayed out on the back of her head, while her rapturous face was tilted up towards the ceiling — though not high enough up to prevent her from continuing to admire her reflection.

"Which safe?"Gladys asked, scribbling down the combination.

"Haven't the foggiest." Sandra replied, as she reversed the leg she was standing on and reversed her hands as well. "How's this look?" she asked, turning slightly towards Gladys.

Ignoring the question, Gladys asked, "What's the other combination?"

"Can't remember!" Sandra cried, as she lost her balance and had to put her free foot back down on the floor.

"Empty your mind again!"

"It is empty," Sandra replied, trying a new pose, this time bending forward at the waist, legs straight and together, smilingly frowning and wagging her finger to admonish an imaginary terrier who was holding her imaginary panties in its imaginary mouth. "Well, actually, I was thinking about Vaudin and when I could, um.... well, when I could... um, see him today," she continued. as she put both fists on her hips and faced the looking-glass frontally, legs spread apart like a pirate and chin lowered, assuming a sultry Veronica Lake come-hither look on her face. "I like this pose the best. Think Vaudin will go for it? Think it'll make him harder?"

"Sandra! Stop admiring yourself! Stop thinking about fucking!"

"Can't help it. I have to think about fucking. I'm a concubine class transmute, remember? That's what we do."

"Christ! You're impossible! OK! If you give me the other numbers and bank names you can have Vaudin all afternoon if you want!"

"That's really quite kind of you, Gladys, but that just makes me think more about fucking," Sandra replied, languidly angling her face in different directions to see what from which perspective she looked her best.

"All right, then!" exclaimed Gladys, exasperated. "Sorry I mentioned him! Just be a good girl and brush your teeth and take your shower. By the time you're done, Fiona'll be back with some pretty clothes for you. We'll dress you and take you downstairs to the clinic. Then you can have breakfast. Meanwhile, I'll stay here in case you remember anything else."

"Breakfast? In the refectory?" Sandra asked. She at last abandoned her reflection and faced Gladys with a look of trepidation on her face. She was afraid of meeting her former employees (and slaves) in her transmuted state, afraid they would jeer at her and tease her. Or worse.

"No. You're a bit of a special case. For the next few days, you can stay here, and we'll send up your meals. Then I'm afraid you'll have to move into the dorm with the other girls and eat in the refectory. I'll be moving in up here. You can take my bed. It's next to Mabel's. But there's no postponing the exam. We need to get you registered right away so you can start earning your keep."

Sandra sighed with relief to hear she'd not have to face all the other girls just yet. She went to the sink, removed her old toothbrush from its holder and sprinkled some tooth-powder in the palm of her hand. She turned on the spigot, wetted the brush and dipped it into the tooth-powder. She brought the brush to her mouth, but then paused, turned about and addressed Gladys.

"Um, Gladys, if it's all the same to you, when you move up here, Mabel can have the room to herself and you can put a bed, a vanity and a wardrobe for me in the transmutes' room. There's plenty of space, if I remember correctly. I'd rather be with them. I think I'd be more comfortable there than rooming with a real woman right away."

"You're a real woman, Sandra."

"Well, I know that. I have eyes. And everything else, for that matter. What I meant was, I just think we transmutes would have more things share." In truth, besides having conjured up images of Vaudin the previous night, Sandra had also imagined having sex with the transmutes — all of them — singly and en mass, for she found them terribly attractive. There was something highly erotic about women, who were formerly men, making love to one another. The thought alone had been good for three orgasms. She could barely wait for the reality. It was Iris she was chiefly interested in. (Had Sandra remained a man there was little doubt she would have taken Iris to bed in the very near future.)

Gladys sighed resignedly. She was beginning to understand the quirkiness of rashi-dharva. It was completely impossible to predict how a given transmute would turn out! The permutations were endless. Gladys knew immediately what Sandra wanted to "share;" after all, she wasn't born yesterday. She wouldn't be particularly surprised, she thought to herself, if Sandra were suddenly to make advances to her.

"Well, what the hell," she told Sandra, "I'll have Ghulam and Ghopal set up another bed and everything, with Iris, Daphne, Georgia and Leona. I'm sure you girls will all have a fine time together, um, sharing things. Now brush your teeth, Sandra, for Chrissakes!" Gladys knew that tooth-brushing was often a time for absent reflection, and was hoping that the activity would evoke some additional intelligence before it was blotted out for good.

She was right. But it took a few minutes, because as soon Sandra began brushing her teeth and set up a rhythm, her enormous breasts began twirling about. All she needed was a pair of pasties and she'd be a great nightclub act (the very idea of which immediately crossed Glady's mind — without the toothbrush, of course). Sandra's eyes opened wide and she pursed her lips in surprise at the unique sensation caused by the twirling of her breasts. She simply had to try brushing her teeth with her other hand to make her breasts twirl the opposite way, to see how that looked and how it felt. She also abruptly stopped brushing several times to observe how long it took before her breasts stopped twirling. Then she had to try twirling her breasts without brushing her teeth (she couldn't — not yet). This was indeed the longest tooth-brushing performance Gladys had ever witnessed. Sandra was going around her upper teeth for the fifth or sixth time when she suddenly stopped and thickly exclaimed, "Rothschild Bank AG Zurich twenty-seven dash one-nought-three-five-eight!" Then she spit out and rinsed. She undulated lazily over to the shower, opened the glass door and turned on the spigots.

"Good girl!" cried Gladys, hastily writing down the new information. "That's worth an extra hour with Vaudin. Take your time showering, hon. I'll be standing right here, pad and pencil in hand."

Having satisfied herself that the water was just the right temperature, Sandra entered the shower, closed the door and began singing "You're Dangerous," a popular Helen Forrest number. "Her voice isn't at all bad," Gladys thought. "And she keeps on key. Now, if she can dance as well as sing and fuck, she'll be a real asset to the house, even though she's over forty. She still looks pretty firm, and what with makeup and the right costume and those incredible knockers of hers, she'd be a smash. We'd pack the house every night and we could get five or six years out of her, easy. Bill her as the Elphinstone Maharanee."

The singing, however, soon ceased. Sandra had stepped out from under the stream of water and had soaped herself up, providing a brand-new source of entertainment, for the feel of her hands sliding over her soapy, slippery body, especially over her breasts, tummy, thighs and derrière, was wonderfully erotic. She simply had to rinse off and re-soap herself eight or nine times. Gladys was afraid she'd exhaust the bordello's hot water supply. But at last Sandra rinsed herself off a final time, turned off the spigots and stepped out of the shower. Gladys handed her a lush bathsheet to dry herself off with. Naturally, the act of drying provided yet another diversion. Sandra was completely dry and almost at the point of rubbing herself raw when she finally stopped her towelling and uttered another bit of intelligence.

"Bayerische Landesbank AG Zurich four-six-five dash three-seven-six dash five-nought-two."

"Oh, Good God, Sandra! I don't speak German! Spell that for me!"

'B-A-Y-E-R-I-S-C-H-E    L-A-N-D-E-S-B-A-N-K," came the bored response.

"And the number, once more. You said it too fast."

"Four-six-five dash three-seven-six dash five-nought-two."

"One more hour with Little Big Man! " cried Gladys, adding the bank's name and account number to the memo pad.

As it turned out, Sandra never did come up with the other safe's combination. That was because, for simplicity's sake, Dr. Pradesh had had the same combination installed in each safe, which Gladys soon discovered. So Sandra had, within the course of less than an hour, provided Gladys with the keys, as it were, to the Elphinstone's treasury.


Gladys helped Sandra wrap herself in the bathsheet, using it as a sarong, showing her how to tuck the free corner into her cleavage. She led the transmute out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and into the office, where the others had been cooling their heels while Sandra had been performing her toilette with such unfettered enthusiasm. The twins packed up their cards and stood; Mabel awoke, her hair still perfect; Sarah stopped rubbing the obsidian paperweight up and down along its length with her encircled fingers; and Fiona displayed the laid-out garments on the sofa with a flourish of her hands.

The deep, rich cordovan leather of the long, high-backed sofa intensified the sensuousness of the feminine clothing thereon displayed, particularly the silks and satins and lace of the lingerie. The garments seemed to glow with an inner luminosity, tempting to any woman, but particularly tempting to a transmute who had thus far only dreamed of clothing herself in such incendiary apparel, but had not as yet felt the snug confinement of panties, the silky caress of a bra, the gentle tug and pull of garters on nylons, the startling sensation of the taut nylons themselves (particularly when brushed over by a slip), nor the unique breath of cool air that wafts through her stockings when a woman is walking.

"Now, dear," Gladys began, "Fiona has laid out some very pretty things for you to wear. Pick out what you fancy and I'll take you back into the bedroom and help you put them on."

Sandra, in her bathsheet sarong, approached the sofa with an I'm-hard-to-please look on her face. Starting at the left, where Fiona had laid out the lingerie, she picked up several pairs of panties in turn, held them at eye level, and like a department store buyer inspecting a consignment of lingerie for which the jobber is demanding too high a price, minutely examined the front and the back of each, ran them through her fingers, touched the all-important gusset to assess its softness and replaced them carefully on the sofa, one overlapping another, like the display in a lingerie counter. Stepping back a few paces, she stroked her chin with one hand, narrowed her eyes and moved her index finger towards one or another and back as she silently considered each pair.

"I'll take those," she declared at last, pointing to a pair of full-cut plum-coloured silk briefs with black lace trim, of Parisian manufacture. A miniature pink satin rose with a tiny pink centre garnished the sides of the panties, just above the midpoint of each legband. At the waist, directly in front, was a matching miniature flat satin bow with six pink folds secured by a tiny plum-coloured tie. The silk was patterned in a faux brocade which could only be seen when the light caught the panties just so; otherwise, the fabric appeared as smooth and shiny as a wet bar of soap. The downysoft white cotton gusset contrasted starkly with the plum of the silk, and was embossed with dainty little four-petalled daisies. These were panties to die for!

"Done!" Gladys said, snatching them up, as well as the matching bra, slip and garter belt that went with them, all trimmed with the same black lace and bearing similar decorations of roses and bows. She tossed them over one arm as casually as if she had plucked them up from the bargain bin at Marks & Spencer.

"And those nylons, if you please," Sandra continued, choosing a pair in the same copper hue as her skin, which, with her implanted transmute's intuition, she knew would yield a glistening nude effect when they encased her long legs.

Gladys added the nylons to what she had already picked up.

"Now, Fiona, hold up the dresses, one at a time, so that...." Gladys said.

"I don't want a dress," interrupted Sandra, causing her audience to exchange startled glances at her self-assured tone of voice. "I want that skirt and that blouse," she continued, pointing first to a long, narrow skirt in black raw silk with a high walking slit up the front and a rear-zipper closure, and then to a long-sleeved ivory silk blouse with a large, drooping self-fabric bow.

"That slip you just picked up won't do at all, Gladys: it'll show through the slit when I walk. I'll have to make do with that short midnight-blue half-slip over there." Sandra said, as she languidly pointed to the item in question. "The colour won't clash with skirt, nor with the rest of the lingerie. And it's short enough so that the hem will be above the top of the slit and won't show when I walk."

The onlookers were amazed that this raw, brand-new girl could possibly have acquired such an acute sense of feminine fashion.

Gladys placed the full slip back on the sofa and picked up the half-slip, blouse and skirt, draping them over her arm on top of the lingerie and stockings. "Anything else, Milady?" Gladys asked with a mock bow, thoroughly enjoying how seriously Sandra was taking the process of selecting her very first outfit of feminine clothing. "My! How that rashi-dharva brings out the most unexpected traits in a girl!" Gladys thought to herself.

Sandra was, indeed, not done with her selection. She demanded, "Where are the shoes? And the white gloves? And the hat? You can't expect a girl to visit a clinic if she's not properly dressed!"

"Oh, come off it, Sandra!" exclaimed Fiona. "You're not a Royal Princess cutting the ribbon for a new clinic, for Chrissakes! You're just a whore who's about to have her first pelvic exam, if we can ever get to it at this rate! Just wear these black pumps. They have pretty broad three inch heels and won't give you much trouble. And forget the gloves and the hat. We don't have any, except for the night-time costumes."

Sandra laughed a silvery laugh as she picked up the pumps Fiona had mentioned. "Can't you take a joke? I was just twitting you! You didn't really think I'd wear white gloves and a hat, then pull off my panties, hop onto an exam table, hike up my skirt and put my feet into stirrups, did you?"

A transmute with a provocative sense of humour was indeed a rarity. There was a stunned silence for a few moments — then everyone laughed. Sandra had successfully broken the ice with the very group that might have done her real harm. Whether she had done this by accident or design could not be determined, however. Just as a new transmute's internal organs must settle into position, with little quivers and flutters, over the course of several days, so too does her personality and character settle, often taking contradictory and confusing twistings and turnings before arriving at their real destinations. But for the moment, at least, Sandra had won the mutineers' hearts.

Gladys told the group to disband, as their main purpose had been achieved with essentially no casualties. She told Fiona and Sarah she'd call them when it was time to go down to the clinic — she wanted them present, more for Sandra's hand-holding than anything else, knowing how stressful a transmute's first pelvic could be. She asked Fiona to leave the make-up case she had brought. As for the twins, she thanked them for their support and excused them for the remainder of the day, as it appeared their services would not be needed. Gladys felt secure that Sandra would remain quite tractable.

As soon as they others had left the office, Gladys turned to Sandra, proffering the garments she had been holding draped over her arm.

"Here's your new duds, dear," she said. "Why don't you go on back into the bedroom and get yourself dressed. And remember... your panties go on over your garterbelt! Give me a yell if you have any problems. You might, with your bra. I'll be sitting right here at the desk. I have to start going through the files and the accounts if I'm going to get a handle on running this joint! Call me when you're done, and I'll come make you up. Nothing fancy, but I don't want you to try it yourself just yet."

Sandra accepted the garments. Her womanheart was so aflutter at the imminent prospect of clothing herself in feminine apparel for the very first time that she could find no words sufficient to express her feelings. She simply said "Thank you" to Gladys and retired into the adjoining bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

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