Part Seven of Edith Bellamy's "Elphinstone Formula." Enjoy.
BOOK VII — THE NEW REGIME
Gladys's first act as Madam of the Elphinstone bordello was to extract one of Dr. Pradesh's Chesterfields from its Waterford cigarette box that sat on his huge teak desk; the cut-crystal box held forty fresh smokes (she took an extra and placed it behind her ear for good measure). She lighted the cigarette with the doctor's matching Waterford lighter, leaned back in the the doctor's luxurious swivel chair and inhaled deeply, savouring the mellowness of American tobacco for the first time in weeks, for Gladys generally smoked Kanpurs, a harsh and inferior Indian brand: she could not afford the American cigarettes for sale at the bordello at black market prices, so she rarely got any unless given to her by a client. But now she was top banana, and could smoke whatever brand she faniced!
Gladys relaxed, letting the smoke stream out through her nostrils, and reflected on the morning's bloodless coup, and on how Dr. Pradesh, once so daunting and omnipotent, was even now in the next room discovering — for herself — the profound mysteries of Parisian lingerie. She reflected on how swiftly the doctor had been transmuted — apparently by his own hand — into Sandra. a voluptuous and tractable female of the concubine strain, whose main purpose in life was to lift her skirts to copulate with any man who would meet her price. And as the transmuted doctor no longer had the least notion of the value of money, and would sell herself as readily for one Rupee as for a thousand, the house could pay Sandra a pittance — or nothing at all — and she'd continue to fuck one client after another, night in and night out, for little more than a pat on the head as full compensation. That was the nicest thing about concubine strain whores — for them, fucking was its own reward.
As Gladys took another drag on her Chesterfield, she heard a muted moan of ecstasy reach her ears from the bedroom, the door to which Sandra had left ajar. No doubt, Gladys thought, Sandra had just pulled on her scrumptious silk panties (minutely described in the foregoing chapter), and had found them entirely to her satisfaction. Gladys reckoned that Sandra would take at least half an hour stroking herself through those panties with the palms of her hands — over her hips, her tummy, her derrière (and her more intimate parts) — before hazarding the perils of her bra, which, Gladys was certain, would send her bleating into the office to beg for assistance as soon she pinched herself in the underwires or found herself unable to fasten the hooks. There were some things about new transmutes, after all, that one pretty well could predict!
Gladys took the occasion of a guaranteed respite to leaf through the file drawers in Dr. P.'s desk. Here were the health records of all the Elphinstone's girls — natal ones and transmutes alike. A quick perusal of several folders told her she would find who had been pregnant — and how many times — who had miscarried and when (or who had been aborted), who had (and did not have) the special Sakati copper bow inserted in her uterus and who had been treated for venereal disease. The files also revealed the fees earned by each girl, neatly tabulated by week, month and year.
Another drawer held folders of various contracts — with fishmongers, bakers, upholsterers, milliners, butchers, greengrocers, fruiterers, shoemakers, chimneysweeps, coal merchants, wine merchants, tobacconists, dance bands, plumbers, electricians and purveyors of black market nylons and French lingerie. A smaller drawer revealed the files of officials who required regular bribes — how much and how often and how paid (in cash or in kind) — bribes to health, building and fire inspectors, police lieutenants, street sweepers. tax collectors, magistrates, jailers and various other major and minor functionaries of the municpal and colonial governments. Gladys was amused to find that Captain Herrick, the Chief of Police of the Bombay Northern District, received payment only in kind — her very own services, in fact, with every charge written off! No wonder Herrick was such a regular customer of hers!
Gladys closed the file drawers: their contents were clear and unambiguous, merely requiring review but no deep understanding. She could deal with such files at her leisure. It was the wall safe that interested her most. She spun her chair about until she was facing the safe, which was set into the wall behind the desk. Holding the memo pad with the combination Sandra had given her, Gladys was about to twist the dial. But first she paused and listened: she did not wish Sandra to disturb her. She heard nothing but silence. Gladys cupped her ears towards the bedroom door. At last she detected the faint sound of regular panting.
She arose from her chair, silently approached the door to the bedroom and peeked in. The transmuted doctor had made pitiful progress in dressing herself, for she had not yet advanced beyond her panties, which she had pulled on straightaway, ignoring Gladys's admonition to put on her garterbelt first. Lying supine on the bed, legs drawn up, thighs parted, eyes lightly closed and nostrils dilated, Sandra was arrested in the panty-stroking phase of her maiden voyage to the Magic Wonderland of Lingerie. Her long, tapered fingers were fully extended, so much that they curved slightly backwards. She had applied the fingertips of one hand to her mound, which she was rubbing firmly in circular fashion, while with three fingers of her other hand (her pinky delicately raised), she was lightly stroking the entire length of her slit through the plum-coloured silk of her exquisite panties. Gladys could detect a dark streak of moisture along the course of her stroking, where Sandra's intimate fluids had already seeped through the fabric.
Gladys stood in the doorway, mesmerized by Sandra's performance, unable to repress the thought that this stunning woman obliviously masturbating on the bed had been, not twelve hours earlier, the formidable Dr. Sandeep Pradesh, her whoremaster of the past eighteen years. In truth, Gladys found the thought to be quite erotic; had she been a man at that very moment, there would have been little question that she'd instantly have ravished the transmuted doctor in order to witness her gasps of shock and alarm to feel a stiff cock plow pitilessly into her female softness for the very first time. For a moment, Gladys actually regretted she herself was not male. Her regret was fleeting, however, for such a trivial obstacle as being the wrong sex did not discourage Gladys, who was growing moist as she watched Sandra approach the crest of that delicious wave a woman can ride and ride and ride before it breaks into brilliant white surf, rushing high up the beach in a surge of liquid pleasure that is only slowly absorbed by the sand.
When it was clear from her moans and an abrupt alteration in the tempo of her strokes that Sandra was nearing that crest, Gladys could endure it no longer: she entered the bedroom, noiselessly closed the door, locking it behind her, and hurried over to the bed. She stayed Sandra's hand — the one with which she had been stroking her slit — and whispered, "Wait! Let me do that for you, honey!" Sandra opened her lovely eyes halfway and murmured, "O! Gladys, it's you! I was hoping you'd come to me! That's why I left the door open...."
"Yes, it's me," Gladys softly replied. "Now back off for a mome — don't come yet! — and give me a sec to get out of my duds."
"A sec" was hardly an exaggeration, for any whore worth her salt is accustomed to displaying her wares in an instant. Consequently, in the span of just a few heartbeats, the statuesque Gladys had stripped to her own panties — of mauve nylon tricot — not quite as fine as silk, but smoother to the touch. Within a few more heartbeats she had pounced on Sandra and mounted her. The two were tummy-to-tummy, Gladys on top, supporting herself on her extended arms, Sandra on bottom; they began to gyrate their hips, each causing her mound to rub slickly over the other's, mediated by the lascivious silkiness of their panties. At the same time, each woman began to play with the other's breasts. Gladys bent forward to take little love-bites on Sandra's nipples, causing the latter to squeal with delight while Sandra kneaded Gladys's. They soon shifted position and lay on their backs side by side, thighs widely spread. Each stroked the other's slit until both had become ridiculously wet. Then Gladys kneeled over Sandra, her slit over Sandra's face, and her own face over Sandra's slit. They began nuzzling one another through their panties until the fabric was sopping and they had both been whipped up to a state of excruciating sexual tension.
"I can't stand it!" Sandra suddenly cried. "The panties have to go!" Sandra scrabbled at Gladys's panties, and Gladys at Sandra's, pulling them off one another in an insane frenzy of desire. Panties off, the two women greedily lapped along the length of each other's clefts (sometimes delving deep with their tongues), licked each other's clits and otherwise titillated one another until they brought themselves off in a devastating mutual climax that left them flaccid and whimpering. Each lay down beside the other again and inserted her fingers deep into the other's wet softness. Thus each savoured the spasmodic pulsing of the other's vagina as well as that of her own, which continued for almost ten minutes before tapering off. When it was all over and done with, when all their intimate tissues and membranes had ceased to flutter and stir, when their vaginas had finally ceased to pulsate, they entwined themselves in each other's arms and fell fast asleep.
The encounter related in the preceding chapter complicates our narrative to a considerable degree — for a number of reasons.
What reasons, you may ask? First, because Gladys and Sandra had fallen madly in love and became, from the moment of their mutual and simultaneous orgasm, an inseparable couple bonded for life.
Why (you may ask again), is this a complication? Because both were whores — one by choice, who had dedicated herself to the ancient vocation by twenty years of hard work on her back; the other, by dint of an only slightly less ancient Sakati potion, a potion that had transmuted her against her will from Dr. Pradesh into a woman in less than two hours — into a woman to whom fucking men ten times a day was as essential as breathing. Yet the two instantly loved one another and had no love for men, though each needed men for differing purposes.
Gladys, as the first Madam of the Elphinstone bordello, could finally abandon her client duties in the interests of "administration," but Sandra could do no such thing: Sandra had no choice but to fuck men, like it or not. Were she to not fuck men, she would die like a fish out of water. What a predicament for two women in love!
Another reason, you ask? Sapphic love has always existed as long as there have been women to love one another. Indeed, adherents of Sappho claim such love to be the noblest, purest love of all, love between superior creatures (men being but pitiful, forkèd animals — coarse, angular, rough-voiced and hairy, concerned principally with deception, money, warfare and pillage), a love unencumbered by the demands of procreation and child-rearing. But in the year 1942 such love between what we now would call "lipstick lesbians" — though it existed then as it had existed through all the ages — was anathema. It was a love to be concealed, to be ashamed of, a love that existed beyond the pale of all social norms in all cultures. A love to be pursued and consummated in secret, if at all. A love to be never acknowledged, to be denied and derided in public.
A third reason involved the peculiar mores of the Elphinstone bordello. Although discreet lesbian relationships were common enough between natal whores (as they are in any bordello), sexual liaisons between natal and transmuted women were as strictly taboo as, say, miscegenation in the Third Reich (or in Scotland or France, for that matter). Though transmutes were tolerated, or even admired by natal whores for certain of their qualities, they were considered inferior beings, a lower form of life. Just as American Southern belles might admire Negro women for their voices, their strong teeth, their Biblical fertility (able, while picking cotton, to deliver a baby without missing a row), even for the soft, velvety and unpimpled quality of their rich, chocolate skins — and would even sing their praises for these very attributes — yet these same Southern belles scorned these same Negresses as women, ascribing such superior physicial characteristics as teeth and skin to those elemental forces of nature that move glaciers, cause thunderstorms, allow camels to go without water for two weeks at a time, or make an iguana to grow a new tail. Southern belles were as superior to Negro women as pasteurized cream is to raw goat's milk. In the same way, natal whores felt superior to transmutes.
The final reason our narrative has been complicated also involves the bordello's girls: what was Gladys to tell them about the accidental transmutation of their erstwhile lord and master, Dr. Pradesh, into the stunning Sandra? There had always been undercurrents of ill will towards the doctor, although only on the part of the natal girls (the transmutes feared him of course, but, all were, in fact, grateful to him for having turned them into girls). So, quite apart from her new relationship with the transmuted doctor, the opprobrium attaching to which Gladys could avoid by keeping her relationship with Sandra a discreet one — not flaunting it, that is — it was quite another matter exactly what to tell the other girls. A distraction would be needed to protect Sandra from possible retribution now that she was a powerless female: a scapegoat had to be found and sacrificed in a good old-fashioned public hanging, so to speak, to deflect anger away from her. But more of this later.
When Gladys and Sandra awoke from their love-nap after some two hours, they instantly comprehended the difficulties of their altered relationship.
"I'm not moving downstairs with the other transmutes, you know," Sandra declared, yawning and languorously stretching her arms, fists in the air. "I'm staying here with you."
"No, you're not moving downstairs," Gladys agreed. "And if I ever catch you around Iris or Daphne, I'll wring your little neck! Same goes for Georgia and Leona!"
"I know it," Sandra replied. "Don't worry. Now, about that pelvic exam...."
"You still have to have it. It's expected."
"Yes, I thought you'd say that."
"Well, I mean it. We can't ignore government regulations."
"And the ring?" inquired Sandra.
"You really want it, don't you?"
"Yes, of course. What you said about rings is true. A transmute's labial ring is a conscience of sorts. A reminder for a girl to be good."
"You Goddamn-well better be good!" said Gladys.
"I want my ring on the left," Sandra said, ignoring Glady's admonition.
"That's where I'll crimp it, then. On the left," Gladys continued, ignoring Sandra's ignoring of her admonition.
"Gladys..." Sandra ventured.
"I still have to fuck men, you know. Can't help it. It's in my nature."
"I know it," Gladys replied. "Some people have to be doctors. Or architects. Or signal officers in the Royal Navy. Or whores. Or concubine transmutes."
"But I think I'll like fucking men.... will that be OK?"
"Yes, of course it'll be OK. I like fucking men as much as the next girl. It doesn't mean we can't love one another. For whores, fucking men is just a nine-to-five sort of thing, except we work at night. "
"Just checking," Sandra said. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Just remember," Gladys continued, "Stay away from the other transmutes. Especially Iris. She's pretty aggressive and would love to get into your panties. Daphne, as vapid as she seems, is almost as aggressive. They're both very powerful transmutes."
"I know it," Sandra replied. "I made 'em, remember?"
"God, I love you, Sandra!" said Gladys.
"I love you!" Sandra replied, rolling over in bed to face Gladys and kissing her full on the lips. And giving her a possessive squeeze on her buttocks.
"We have to get up now, call the others and go downstairs to the clinic."
"I know. I'm ready."
"I promise I won't hurt you."
"I know you won't," Sandra said, kissing Gladys once more. "You have to help me dress, though: I still don't know how to put on a bra. And you'll have to put on my makeup as well. I can't do it myself. No yet."
"Let's get up then," said Gladys. "I'll make you as pretty as can be. And hurry," she added. "It's getting on towards eleven, and I have to figure out what to announce to the girls at luncheon — word's doubtless already leaked out about you and rumours are probably flying. I haven't even begun to think what I'm going to tell them!"
"Don't announce anything at luncheon. Wait 'till dinner at least," Sandra suggested. "That'll give you some breathing space."
Gladys glanced sharply at her new lover. "You're bloody clever for a transmute, you know," she said. "That's not a bad idea. Now let's get going!"
We need not dwell upon how thrilled Sandra was at last to feel her breasts gently supported by the silky cups of her bra, nor upon how she felt as she rolled her nylons up over her long smooth legs and fastened them to her garter-belt. Nor need we dwell upon the thrill she felt to be clad in a skirt, her vulnerability all but exposed beneath it save only for the thin silk of her panties. Nor, as she walked about in her first pair of women's shoes, how she thrilled to feel her breasts gently jouncing or the elastic tug of her garters as the smooth sheath of her nylons grew taut with each step.... We need not dwell upon these details, for they are the same as what any new transmute would feel, and we have described them in earlier chapters in sufficient detail to render their repetition superfluous.
Nor need we describe Sandra's first pelvic exam — how she indeed stepped out of her panties, hopped up on the table, hiked up her skirt and obediently put her feet into the stirrups. Suffice it to say that Fiona and Sarah were present at either side of the table, holding her hands to comfort her, while Gladys inserted a speculum, ratcheted it open and peered into Sandra's vagina all the way up to her nulliparous cervix, took the required smears and cultures, then removed the speculum and performed a bimanual examination, assuring herself that Sandra had the requisite stuff in the requisite places (she did).
Of perhaps greater interest to the reader is the placement of Sandra's labial ring. Gladys shaved a small area on the upper part of Sandra's left labium majorum, prepped it with a solution of iodine and injected a small amount of a local anaesthetic. Gladys loaded the crimper — but not with a stainless steel ring normally given to transmutes. No, to ratify Sandra's special status as the former Sandeep Pradesh, M.D., F.R.C.O.G., Gladys selected a titanium ring, which glinted with lavender brilliance as she inserted into the crimper. Gladys applied the instrument to the shaven, prepped area, and, squeezing the handles tightly with both hands, managed to release the spring-loaded device, crimping Sandra's ring into place with a resounding metallic "ping." After drying off the usual ruby-sized droplet of blood with some gauze, Sandra was allowed to hop off the table, clean the lubricant from herself with some tissues, and slip her panties back on. She was now a full-fledged concubine class transmute, no different in essence from those she had herself created during her prior existence as Doctor Pradesh.
As a concubine class transmute Sandra was, of course, on fire to be fucked by a man. Now that the "formalities" were over and done with, she begged Gladys to arrange a session with Vaudin with the least possible delay. Unfortunately, Vaudin was at that very moment initiating Georgia and Leona, who, having been given the same rashi-dharva Sandra herself had ingested, had also been sorely in need of immediate servicing. The two had been whining to Fiona all morning that they needed their "training" and could brook no postponement. So when Sandra descended to the Victorian Suite, the poor thing had no choice but to wait her turn, cooling her heels in one of the armchairs in an alcove outside the door, as if she were waiting for a dental appointment.
Presently Georgia and Leona emerged from the suite, patting loose strands of hair into place and adjusting their dresses, their faces flushed and glowing. Upon seeing Sandra sitting there, they paused at the alcove. It was the first time they had encountered the new transmute since the previous evening, when she was en route to womanhood but had not quite arrived. They, of course, recognised her immediately for who she was — or, rather, for who she had been.
Leona cocked one hip and planted her hand on it. Closing her eyes halfway and rocking her head side to side with each word, she crooned, "Well, well, well, if it isn't doctah deawie waiting huh tuwn to be fucked!" Leona widened her eyes, stopped rocking her head and mockingly added, "My, but awen't we the cutie! How d'ya like being a giwl? How d'ya like having to weah a bwa and panties like the west of us? And, Oh! Sorry we took so long with Vaudin..... but we each had to go twice, didn't we, Geowgie?"
"That's right," replied Georgia, who was busy adjusting her slip, for it had been showing. "We each got fucked twice. It was great! We just know you'll love it!"
"Look," Sandra said, crossing her legs with a whizz of nylon-on-nylon, "Let's not get off on the wrong foot. We're all concubine transmutes, so we're in the same boat now, aren't we? Being nasty to me won't change a thing — we'll all still be girls and if you're like me, you adore it — so we may as well be on good terms. And the name's Sandra, not 'doctor dearie.' And of course I like having to wear a bra and panties. What girl doesn't? Want to see my panties? They're scrumptious!"
Sandra stood and hoisted her skirt above her waist, struck a calendar girl pose and treated Georgia and Leona to an unimpeded view of her snug-fitting, plum-coloured panties.
"They're from Paris!" she exclaimed, practically bursting with pride, "Like them?" After the others had ogled her to their satisfaction, Sandra dropped her skirt and smoothed it into place with the palms of her hands.
"Goahgeous panties, Sandwa," Leona replied, pulling up a bra strap that was still out of place, "You fill them wathah nicely. And you'we wight. We do like being giwls. But it's such fun teasing new twansmutes, it's hahwd to wesist."
"So you two don't hate me for making you female?" asked Sandra.
"Not weally," Leona replied. "Making us female was the best thing that evah happened to us! Twue, we bitch a lot about ouah pewiods, but when all's said and done, we adowah being giwls, just like you said. We wouldn't be anything else!"
The three transmutes had to laugh at what amounted to a delightful shared predicament: having been transformed from men into girls against their wills — but adoring what they had become. Not one of them had major regrets about masculininity lost: had some magician appeared before them that very moment, threatening to change them back into men, they'd have scratched out his eyes rather than give up being girls.
Sandra briskly smoothed down her skirt again, then put her hand on the doorknob. But before she entered the suite, she turned to Georgia and Leona and said, "Hope you left some for me!"
"Don't wowwy!" Leona exclaimed. "The little weasel's a wegulah fucking machine!"
Sandra turned the knob and entered, while Georgia and Leona clippity-clopped down the corridor, the rapid staccato of their high heels broken only by Georgia's occasional mis-steps.
Vaudin had put his trousers and shirt back on. He was in his accustomed place on the sofa, feet up, smoking an English cigarette. He had been briefed by Fiona about the doctor's apparently accidental transformation, and about the house coup as well. He was consumed with curiosity to see the doctor transmuted. At the same time, uneasiness gnawed at his guts because that very transmutation had deprived him of his protector at the bordello. The Frenchman, we must recall, was thoroughly detested by most of the natal whores, as he often demanded — and obtained — their services at no cost to himself, with no regard to their desires or convenience. Vaudin was particularly uneasy because he had alienated Gladys any number of times — and she was now the Madam.
Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of him: he was prepared to complete his day's assignment of initiating three transmutes — an unprecedented number. He had enjoyed fucking Georgia and Leona: they had been so starved for so many months that they had been as hot as minks. He was not sure, however, how to approach the transmuted doctor.
Sandra had entered so quietly that the Frenchman was unaware of her presence until the lamp cast her shadow over his face. He sat up with a start and immediately stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
"Hello, Vaudin," Sandra said, in a low voice. "I'm sure you never expected to meet me quite this way, did you?"
The Frenchman was speechless and could not answer. He looked the gorgeous new transmute up and down, his eyes practically starting from his head in amazement. "What a voluptuous woman!" he thought to himself. "And what enormous breasts! A definite improvement over the doctor!"
"You don't have to say anything," Sandra continued, reaching behind herself to unzip her skirt. "In fact — don't. Just fuck me. I've been thinking about nothing else for hours." She had already removed her half-slip along with her skirt, and had laid them over the arm of the sofa. She quickly unbuttoned and removed her blouse, then undid her stockings and rolled them off, tossing them aside.
"Help me with my bra," she said, turning her back to him. "I still don't quite have the knack."
As Vaudin undid the hooks, Sandra stepped out of her panties, then released her garterbelt. She slipped her bra straps from her shoulders and let the bra fall to the floor. Nude, she sinuously turned back around, plastering herself against Vaudin like ivy on a wall. She worked her hand between their bodies and slid it down inside the front of his trousers, pleased to find him already quite hard, and even more pleased to find that he instantly grew harder under her touch.
Detaching herself from the Frenchman, she toppled him over onto the sofa, undid his trousers and slipped them off, releasing his huge cock, which sprung to attention and swayed menacingly. It was angled in the proper direction, so that she could readily lower herself onto it without shifting her position. Not giving him time to unbutton his shirt, she reached down, spread her labia apart with one hand and lowered herself, gasping with pleasure to feel his shaft enter her, filling her vagina, stretching it, giving it form, as no feminine fingers (or tongue) had done or could ever do. Their position was, however, an uncomfortable one, so Vaudin stood, and, as he did, Sandra wrapped her legs round his torso and her arms round his neck.
There being no convenient horizontal surface at the proper height which would afford them full freedom of movement — other than the carpet — Vaudin slowly knelt down, then tumbled Sandra onto her back. She uncurled her legs from around him, planted her heels and let her thighs spread apart to the widest extent her hips would allow, which meant, as she was now a woman with a woman's suppleness, that her outer thighs were flat on the floor.
We have already described in minute detail what a new transmute feels when she is first fucked by a man, as his cock slides into her newly-penetrable body with the relentlessness of a piston, so we need not repeat it in Sandra's case. Except we should add that Vaudin outdid himself in servicing her, having been stimulated to the furthest extreme of rigidity by the thought that he was actually fucking his former boss, who had been a man less than a day earlier, and who, by some calamitous accident (for Vaudin regarded being female as a calamity of the first order of magnitude: he considered women an inferior species, suitable only as living vessels for the gratification of male lust).... who, as we were saying, by some calamitous, accident had been transformed into a woman — though a stunning one. So when he came, he came mightily, spurting his essence with such force that it readily pierced Sandra's cervix, distending her womb with its volume, and causing her to cry out to feel herself so abruptly filled with semen.
Vaudin could not know it, but Sandra was the last woman — transmute or otherwise — he was ever to fuck.
It was not until Sandra was engrossed in getting Very Well Fucked that Gladys was able to return to the office upstairs, to pick up where she had left off some four hours earlier — that is, with the wall safe. Pretty sure that she would not be disturbed, she again held the memo pad on which she had written the only safe combination Sandra had given her: right thirty-eight, left past thirty-eight to four, right to twelve. Gladys entered the combination — the door handle engaged and the door smoothly swung open, revealing bundles of banknotes neatly bound with coloured paper bands: red for 10 Rupee notes, blue for 20's, green for 50's, brown for 100's, black for 500's and yellow for 1,000's. The total of each bundle was neatly written on each paper band. But Gladys did not bother to add up the bundles, for her attention was immediately distracted by a small glass vial containing a clear amber liquid. The vial was jammed in among the bundles of 50 Rupee notes on the top shelf of the safe.
It took Gladys only a moment to perceive that this was the very vial of rashi-dharva that Georgia and Leona had described — the very vial from which Dr. Pradesh had extracted a dropperful to place in their glasses of milk the previous night. Indeed, there was the glass medicine dropper, too, lying on the shelf at the base of the vial. In all the excitement of the previous twelve hours, Gladys had forgotten all about the rashi-dharva — and here it was before her eyes, enough to turn the whole crew of a battleship into girls!
Gladys tremblingly removed the vial, grasping it carefully with both hands. She conveyed it to the surface of the desk as if it were full of nitroglycerine about to explode. Once it was safely on the desk, she heaved a sigh of relief and sat back in the doctor's swivel chair to contemplate the implication of her discovery. It came to her in a flash. She needed a scapegoat, someone to absorb the anger the Elphinstone's whores might direct towards Sandra once they learned she was the doctor transformed. Why not deliver up to them instead their nemesis, Michele Vaudin, universally hated by the natal girls? Not only would transmuting Vaudin into a woman satisfy any blood lust the girls might harbour, but it would simultaneously eliminate Vaudin as a rival for Sandra's attentions: given that Sandra had to fuck men as part of her "sentence" as a concubine class transmute, would it not be better that she satisfy her copulatory urges with clients, for a juicy fee, than at no charge, with the loathsome Vaudin?
Why not make Vaudin the Elphinstone's drone whore? Other Bombay houses had drones, but Dr. Pradesh had never subscribed to the concept. [Editor's Note: A drone whore is like an understudy in theatrical productions. She is always ready to fill in, in the event the principal becomes indisposed. The drone is also offered, at no charge, to recompense clients for small inconveniences, like the spilling of soup on one's dinner jacket in the restaurant, or one's steak being overdone. One could almost consider a drone to be like a "loaner car" at an automotive repair shop — a high-mileage vehicle, almost a "beater" — offered for the day at no charge to substitute for a client's car that is left in the shop. Drone whores were, of course, considered the lowest level of house prostitutes, only one notch higher in status than streetwalkers.]
The more Gladys considered the idea, the more attractive it seemed. Vaudin as a drone, the least significant whore in the Elphinstone pecking order? Yes! Perfect! She would do it! She leant forward and depressed a key on the intercom, summoning the eunuchs, who, true to their ways, appeared before her within seconds.
"You called, Miss Gladys?" they asked in unison.
"What is your bidding?" they asked, displaying the same reverential behaviour — bowed heads and making namaste — as they had always displayed for the doctor.
"Go down to Rajshree in the wardrobe room. Tell her to send up a size four French maid's outfit with a cutaway top, the tartiest one she can find. I want a mock feather-duster too — an oversized one — with fluffy pink ostrich plumes. And the most ruffled panties she can come up with."
Without evincing the least interest in why such an odd costume was being requested, the twins repeated their instructions and left the office to accomplish their mission.
No sooner were the twins gone than Sandra staggered in, looking bedraggled, seams crooked, her make-up a wreck. "Vaudin really cleaned my clock," was her only comment as she tottered into the bedroom and flung herself face down on the bed, exhausted. Gladys arose from the desk and followed her into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Sandra's shoulder.
"Well?" she asked
"I far prefer making love to a woman," Sandra replied. "But I also I really need a regular fucking: we transmutes can't help it! Don't fret — one doesn't have to love food even though every day one becomes hungry and has to eat to survive. I'll want my regular fucking as often as my little internal clock tells me I need it — probably at least three times a day, sort of like having regular meals..... but don't worry, Glad: I'll always come back to you."
This was as satisfactory answer as Gladys could have expected, for she well knew that concubine class transmutes have no choice: they were created to fuck men, like it or not.
Gladys informed Sandra she planned to assemble the girls that evening directly after supper, so that an announcement could be made regarding the profound changes that had overtaken the Elphinstone in the last twenty-four hours. This was to take place, she said, in the nightclub part of the restaurant, where there was a stage, on which Sandra's presence was absolutely required. There was no conceivable way Gladys could announce the doctor's transmutation without exhibiting the corpus delecti, so to speak, and that meant displaying Sandra as soon as possible. Sandra was dismayed to learn her début was to happen so quickly, but she quite saw the necessity of it, given the circumstances. She was more dismayed, however, to learn that "displaying" required her to appear before the assembled girls in the nude, in order to establish the authenticity of her transmutation beyond any shadow of a doubt.
"Look, Sandra," Gladys explained, trying to soften the blow, "Don't be such a prude. You're a whore, for Chrissakes, showing herself to other whores. You'll have a robe on — all you have to do is take it off for a few seconds (just hand it to me), turn yourself around a couple of times on the stage, then I'll help you back into your robe again. It'll be over before you know it!"
Sandra reluctantly assented.
Then Gladys told Sandra about her decision regarding Vaudin (and about the French maid's outfit as well), and how she would introduce the subject to the girls immediately after Sandra had been displayed, before they could begin chattering amongst themselves. The only matter remaining unsettled was whether to effect Vaudin's transformation right there on the stage before the assembled whores or to hold it, like some sort of pageant, at another place in the bordello. Because Vaudin, male chauvinist that he was, would quite likely need to be leashed early on in his "training," Gladys decided it would be better to drag him down to the clinic for his transmutation, where his labial ring could immediately be crimped in place, and a one-metre leash locked onto it without undue delay. True, the clinic was barely large enough to accommodate all the Elphinstone girls — they would be cheek to jowl, of course, like spectators at a cock fight — but Gladys rather liked the idea of a crowd packed tightly around the examining table, as it would maximise Vaudin's humiliation, thereby drawing off more of whatever venom the girls might be habouring.
When they had finished discussing Vaudin, Gladys asked Sandra whether she wanted something to eat, for their morning's lovemaking had caused them to miss breakfast, and now the luncheon hour had passed as well. Sandra said she'd be satisfied with a sandwich. Gladys ordered one up from the kitchen — chicken salad on toast. After Sandra had finished eating, she fell into a deep slumber until Gladys awakened her early enough for her to dress and be made-up for her presentation to the Elphinstone's girls.
While Sandra was sleeping, Gladys jotted down a few notes for the speech she was to make that evening — whores are not great orators, as a rule, and Gladys had not made a formal address since her grammar school days, when she had had to stand before her sixth form class and declaim on the social life of ants.
She informed Ghulam and Ghopal to make sure the girls had an early dinner, for she planned her announcement for seven. The twins were to conduct them all to the nightclub and then stand by, as their assistance might be required — either to restrain the girls in case of a riot, or else to restrain Vaudin. At about six in the evening, Rajshree delivered a perfectly lascivious French maid's outfit — tight-fitting, with a peekaboo bodice that exposed the breasts. It had a laughably short skirt with a frilly white apron in front, an apron that stopped just short of the cut-outs for the breasts. The seat of the white panties — always exposed because the skirt was so short — was covered with rows of extravagant lacy ruffles. It was a costume in the worst possible taste, worthy of the vilest establishment in Bombay, but it suited Gladys's purposes to perfection.
The entire contingent of the Elphinstone's whores had assembled in the nightclub promptly at seven, in full work regalia, madly buzzing like a hive of galvanised bees. They stood tightly clustered together on the dance floor, facing the brightly lit stage, in the center of which Gladys, Mabel, Fiona and Sarah were seated on chairs. Behind them and to their right sat Iris and Daphne in their white sailor-girl suits, as well as Georgia and Leona, decked out in brand-new harem-girl costumes (for they were assigned to the Seraglio Suite that evening). Their sparkling silver two-piece outfits were adorable; Leona's halter top had been altered that afternoon to be especially low-cut, so that she could exhibit to her new acquisitions to greatest advantage. As for Georgia, her halter top had to be of a construction more massive, as she badly needed all the support she could get for her now very large breasts. Ghulam and Ghopal stood on either side of the stage, arms folded high on their chests, as imposing as the Pillars of Hercules. Sandra, awaiting her cue, was backstage, out of sight, clad in a short robe of deep ruby satin and wearing the same simple black pumps she had put on that morning.
All day long the Elphinstone grapevine had been heavily laden with ripe bunches of rumours, from which many had already been plucked. One held that the doctor had fallen into the elevator shaft and had been crushed to death when the car descended. Another held that he had been stabbed through the heart with a nine-inch hat-pin by Gladys, who had seized control of the house. Yet a third reported that he had been transformed into a woman in labour, and had been delivered of twins in the clinic at ten in the morning, and that mother and infants were doing quite well, though a wet-nurse had to be called, as the doctor's milk had not yet come in. All the rumours had a grain of truth, but none had more than a grain.
Lacking a gavel, Gladys stood and stamped her spiked heel on the stage several times; the staccato reports of her metal heel-cap at last commanded attention and the room settled down. All eyes were expectantly fixed on Elphinstone's senior whore, who was held in greatest respect by the girls. Like a good shop steward, Gladys always took the girls' part whenever "management," personified by the doctor, had tried to work them too hard, or had made unreasonable demands on their time or their energies. It was Gladys who had argued for — and had obtained — electric washing machines, clean sheets and towels after every client encounter, free feminine hygiene products.... and even maternity leave for the rare times one of the girls had got pregnant. In short, Gladys was regarded as the champion of downtrodden whores, and her opinions carried great weight with the girls.
"Quiet!" she cried, having finally got their attention. "Stop your silly chattering and stop spreading false rumours! I'm here to tell you the truth!"
"Hush up," came a cry from the floor.
"Hear her! Hear her!" came another.
"Tell us what's happened, Gladys!"
"Where's the doctor?"
"Who's in charge?"
"Be quiet and listen," Gladys responded, holding up her hand as if she were about to administer a solemn oath to a convocation of aldermen.
"As you all know, this has been an eventful week here at the Elphinstone. Today is Friday. On Wednesday, only two days ago, the doctor added Iris and Daphne to our ranks." Gladys turned towards the two blonde transmutes and motioned them to rise, which they did to general applause from the girls, then immediately sat, blushing and giggling like schoolgirls.
"Last night," Gladys continued as soon as her audience had settled down again, "Dr. P. whipped up a new batch of his Sakati potion in order to rectify certain shortcomings of a previous batch. To be specific, he wanted to promote Leona and Georgia here," and she gestured to the two transmutes without bidding them to stand, "to concubine status, and to make 'em better...." Here she was interrupted by general titters from her audience, some of whom where nudging one another and pointing towards Leona and Georgia. "....to make 'em... well, to make 'em stacked. Leona? Georgia? Please stand for a moment so the other girls can see what you've got ."
The transmutes stood, Leona shamelessly thrusting her breasts forward. Gladys motioned for them to sit again, and they did.
"Dr. P. succeeded," Gladys went on. "You can easily see the physical results. As for their promotion to concubine status, Georgia and Leona had a marathon session today with our own Little Big Man..."
The reference to Vaudin elicited boos and hisses from the floor, but Georgia and Leona could be seen smirking with satisfaction behind their sheer little harem half-veils. As usual, concubine transmutes and natal whores did not share the same appreciation for the Frenchman. Gladys was pleased that animosity towards Vaudin was still running high among the natal girls.
Gladys held her hand up again to silence the crowd. "In the course of preparing the potion," Gladys began again, "It appears that Dr. P. managed to swallow some of it himself. It's not at all clear how it happened — whether it was an accident or was intentional...."
"See? I told you so!" came an exclamation from the floor.
"The doctor's a girl!" came another.
"Wait till I get my nails on her!" came a third.
"Quiet!" Gladys commanded. "Just hear me out! Yes, Dr. P. is now a stunningly beautiful transmute. We've named her Sandra. And, because of this document here," Gladys took the Certificate of Alternate Responsibility from Mabel (who had held it out to her at the appropriate moment), and waved it above her head, "I'm now in command of the Elphinstone. I'm moving upstairs to the doctor's former quarters, and Sandra is staying there for the time being as well, as there is certain information I need from her about running the house. Each of you may inspect this document later upstairs in my office...."
Pandemonium erupted on the floor as all the girls started shouting at once.
"We want to see this Sandra!"
"We don't believe the doctor's been transformed!"
"Trot him out!"
Gladys again held up her hand. "Do any of you really think I'd tell you all this without being able to back up my words? Of course you'll be able to see her! Sandra, you may come out now," she cried, turning upstage.
Sandra had heard, of course, all that was transpiring onstage. While waiting, she had decided to cast all modesty to the winds, to go for broke, to make a big splash with her former employees. She had been standing next to the props table, from which she had taken a tall, ruby-feathered chorus-girl headdress and had put it on, as well as a pair of oversized fake ruby pendant earrings from a box of costume jewellery on the table. She had also taken a large Japanese fan from the table — it was made to match the headdress. When folded, it resembled a large ruby feather, but when opened to its full span of three feet, sparkling with hundreds of sequins, one could see that there were actually small ruby feathers fixed to the apex of each fold, which gave the impression of a single large feather when the fan was closed, as it presently was.
Sandra had also exchanged her simple black pumps for a pair of high heels she had found on top of the costume rack. They were covered with ruby sequins, and were intended to be worn with the headdress and fan. She found the matching two-piece costume as well (there were perhaps a dozen, in fact, on the same rack as the shoes), but did not put it on, preferring to remain nude under her robe as the whole purpose of her appearance on stage was to be seen in the altogether. She did, however, pull on a pair of long ruby gloves that she found clipped to a hanger on the costume rack. As Sandra listened to the proceedings, she began to walk to and fro behind the black scrim, to see if she could manage the heels. To her gratification, her gait was steady and firm, without a hint of a tell-tale wobble. So she was quite ready for her cue when it finally came.
To build up suspense, Sandra did not emerge until Gladys repeated her call. Even then, she waited until the crowd became audibly restless. At last she strutted languidly into view, flagrantly undulating her hips, the closed fan tucked under one arm like a swagger stick. When she reached Gladys, Sandra assumed a classic chorus-girl stance, dramatically flourishing her arms above her head. The waiting girls had fallen silent the moment Sandra appeared. The statuesque woman stood before them, her long arms gracefully upraised and the topmost feathers of her towering headdress trembling lightly. A dazzling smile illuminated her lovely and perfectly made-up face. After the stunned silence, the assembled whores drew in their breath in a collective gasp.
"It's him for sure," commented one of the girls, recognising Dr. Pradesh's unmistakable facial features, softened and feminized.
"She's absolutely gorgeous!"
"How did she manage those heels right away?"
"I wonder how much of that stuff she swallowed?"
When the murmurs had died down, Sandra snapped open the fan, and, using it as a screen, undid her robe and slithered out of it, smoothly transferring the fan from one hand to the other as she wriggled out of the sleeves, concealing her torso from view. The robe fell to the floor in a shimmering heap. Still smiling her dazzling smile, Sandra improvised a slow fan dance, artfully keeping her nudity concealed from view as she moved. She even turned completely about several times, always managing to hold the fan between herself and her spellbound audience.
"So she can dance, too!" thought Gladys, mentally adding this latest talent to the list of Sandra's accomplishments.
At last Sandra faced directly forwards and assumed another classic chorus girl pose, thighs tightly together, one leg slightly bent at the knee. She abruptly snapped the fan shut, tossed it negligently onto the stage behind her and again threw both her lithe arms up into the air in the triumphant manner of chorus girls everywhere. She was nude, save for her headdress, earrings, long gloves and sequin-covered high heeled shoes. After a few seconds, she assumed a defiant posture, legs spread apart, unambiguously revealing her slit — and her little titanium ring that sparkled whenever it caught the light. She brought her hands down and planted her knuckles on her hips. She thrust forward her magnificent breasts and leisurely turned her torso side to side from the waist in shameless — but glorious — display, allowing each and every girl on the floor to obtain complete ocular satisfaction. Sandra literally had nothing left to show them. Never once did her brilliant smile falter or fail. And no one even noticed the little bit of dimpled fat on her bottom, her hips and her thighs: her whole presence was so overpowering that such a trivial detail was lost.
The Elphinstone girls went wild. Instead of a cringing, whimpering transmute, crying and begging for mercy, pleading not to be fucked and to be turned back into a man right away, here was a stunning feminine creature, basking in the glory of her splendid body.
"She's one of us!"
"What a show!"
"Let's give Sandra a hand!"
As the girls applauded, Gladys picked up Sandra's robe from the floor and helped her back into it.
"Sandra, you amaze me," Gladys said to her sotto voce. "There's nothing else you could have done better to de-fuse the situation. Now take my chair. I have to deal with Vaudin." Sandra sat. Gladys commanded silence again with a raise of her hand.
"Yes, girls, Sandra is one of us," she began. "Starting tonight, she'll be working the Geisha room, just as soon as we get her a kimono (and a smaller fan) . She'll be going for 50 Rupees an hour, 500 Rupees all night. But listen. We have some unfinished business." Gladys nodded to Fiona, who now produced the little glass vial of rashi-dharva and handed it to Gladys, who held it aloft with both hands, like a sacred chalice.
"This is what I found in the doctor's safe earlier today. It's the stuff he gave Georgia and Leona, and the same stuff that created the lovely creature sitting right next to me on this stage." Gladys indicated Sandra, who instantly rekindled her dazzling smile, and turned her beaming face right and left, nodding slowly, like a queen bestowing favours on her court. "It would be a shame to let the rest of this potion go to waste, Gladys continued, "And from all I understand about rashi-dharva, it rapidly loses its potency, so if we're going to use it on anyone, we need to use it tonight! Whom do you choose?"
The whores on the nightclub floor exchanged puzzled glances. This was indeed a novelty, the chance of a lifetime — to pick which man should be turned into a girl!
It took a few moments for the gravity of what they were being asked to sink in. Suddenly the name "Vaudin!" rang out.
"Yes, let's give it to Little Big Man!" cried one girl.
"If any man needs a good lesson, it's him!" said another.
"Be careful!" cautioned Gladys. "If it's Vaudin you want, we'll need to find a new chef."
"He doesn't do anything in the kitchen anyway, except read smutty French novelettes, smoke his English cigarettes and order Vashi and Ashok around. They do all the cooking!" exclaimed Elsie, the diminutive whore who was now to be the house's hatcheck girl. As a junior whore, she was constantly being sent to the kitchen in quest of snacks for the other girls, so she knew what she was talking about when she said that Vashi and Ashok did all the cooking.
"Elsie's right. Vaudin isn't worth keeping around as a chef. Let's give him the rashi-dharva and see what he turns into..... he might finally be able to earn his keep," cried Lavinia, a slight and very pretty whore (dressed as a pulp fiction night nurse), whom Vaudin had raped in the third story broom closet only last week.
Within moments all the girls were calling for Vaudin's head on a platter, just as Gladys had hoped. In the midst of the tumult, she dispatched Ghulam and Ghopal to fetch the Frenchman from the kitchen, which was only a few steps away. The girls all cheered when they saw the two eunuchs exit the nightclub in quest of their victim.
The nightclub fell curiously silent when the twins returned a few minutes later with Vaudin. The chef, who had no suspicion what was in store for him, had come willingly enough. But the moment he entered the nightclub, he was aware of the hostile atmosphere that hung in the room like a visible mist. He stopped, drew back and made to turn about to leave, but the Punjabi eunuchs each clamped an arm, and propelled him inexorably forward and up onto the stage, where they turned him frontwards. Gladys stood a bit to his right, facing him; she held the vial of rashi-dharva behind her, concealing it from his view. Vaudin looked out over the assembled whores, saw their lips parted in expectation, saw their cool and unblinking gaze directed at... him — and knew he was in some sort of hot water. He lifted his chin, thrust out his lower lip and sneered, with that unique belligerence acheivable only by the French.
"Michel Vaudin..." Gladys began, as if reading a death warrant, "We have brought you here before us to-night to inform you of changes that have taken place at the Elphinstone...."
"Oui, I am well aware of zem," Vaudin cooly replied, in his cartoonish French accent. "You are running ze place maintenant and ze docteur has been transformed into ze beautiful Sandra, whom I had ze plaisir of initiating only zis afternoon." Vaudin smiled wickedly in Sandra's direction and made an obscene motion with his pelvis to indicate the sort of initiation he meant. Sandra bestowed the same smiling nod on him as she had bestowed on the girls.
"Those are not quite all the changes, Vaudin," Gladys continued. "There is still one change that has not yet taken place, in which you shall very shortly play a large part."
Vaudin jerked his head and leered at Gladys, still not suspecting what was to come.
"Your days of initiating transmutes are over," she said, bringing her hand out from behind her and displaying the vial of amber liquid before the Frenchman's suddenly startled eyes. "The next transmute to be initiated around here is going to be.... you!"
Cheers arose from the floor. Vaudin stiffened and tried to break the grip of the twins, but he was unable to move his arms even an inch, so vise-like was their grasp. "Non!" he cried his voice cracking with panic, "Not zat! I'd razzer be dead! You cannot turn me into ze woman!"
"Can't we, now? We'll soon see about that," responded Gladys. "Mabel, the tablespoon please." Mabel produced the spoon she had been holding and passed it to Gladys.
"Generally, only a few drops suffice, but in your case, Vaudin, you'll get a whole spoonful," Gladys said, unstoppering the vial. She passed the glass stopper to Mabel, so that she was free to fill the spoon. A hush fell over the room as Gladys poured the distillate into the tablespoon, which she then brought to Vaudin's trembling lips.
"Now open your mouth like a good boy and take your medicine!" Gladys commanded.
"Jamais!" he cried.
"Never say 'jammay,' Vaudin," Gladys replied, giving Mabel a little nod. At this signal, Mabel, who had been standing on Vaudin's left, suddenly brought the stiletto heel of her shoe down on the top of his foot. The pain was delayed for an instant, then it swept into his brain and he involuntarily opened his mouth wide in a gasp. As he did so, Gladys inserted the full tablespoon and rammed it as far down his throat as she could. Vaudin sputtered and coughed, trying to expel the rashi-darva. And, to some extent, he succeeded. But he had swallowed more than enough to transmute fifty men. Vaudin's face went ashen, nearly the same white as his chef's uniform. His knees buckled in terror, so that the twins had to support him.
"As I said, 'Never say "jammay,"' Vaudin," Gladys repeated, passing the empty spoon back to Mabel in exchange for the glass stopper, which she restored to the vial.
Vaudin was unable to reply, though his lips were furiously working: all that emerged was a weak and unintelligible whimpering.
Gladys now turned to Fiona, who had been holding the outlandish French maid's uniform, neatly folded, on her lap. Fiona stood and dangled the frilly garment before Vaudin's horrified eyes.
"I daresay that in half an hour or so, Vaudin, this will fit you quite nicely. Do note the clever peekaboo top: you won't need your bra when you're wearing this outfit, though your nipples might get chilled when you walk.... O, Fiona!" Gladys continued, in mock admondition, "You forgot to bring Vaudin's darling panties to show him! And where is his pink feather duster?"
"No, his panties are right here... I pinned them to the back," answered Fiona, and she turned the outfit around so that now the ruffled seat of the flagrant panties was practically in Vaudin's face. "And Sarah has the feather duster, see?"
Sarah now stood and brandished the ridiculous pink ostrich-plumed duster under the Frenchman's Gallic nose.
It was too much for Vaudin to endure. His eyes rolled upwards so that only their whites showed: he had fainted dead away. The twins glanced questioningly at Gladys.
"Take him downstairs to the clinic, undress him and put him on the exam table — in the stirrups," Gladys said in response to the twins' glance. "Use the lamb's wool-lined leather restraints for his wrists and his ankles. They're in the drawer at the foot of the table. The rest of us will be down shortly."
The twins promptly departed, dragging Vaudin, each with a hand under his armpits, his feet trailing limply on the floor. By the time they had reached the door of the nightclub, the top of Vaudin's uniform had already begun to bulge alarmingly in front. His shoes, suddenly too big for his shrinking feet, fell by the way as they dragged him into the corridor.
It took ten minutes for the group to assemble in the small clinic room downstairs. Vaudin, still unconscious, had been stripped of his clothing. Wrists and ankles in restraints, he was pinioned on the examining table, his ankles suspended in stirrups. His transmutation was already well underway: his feminised features were delicate, almost birdlike, resembling the faces of those compact Parisian streetwalkers who inhabit the Place Pigalle, swinging their purses and clacking about on the pavements in their spiked heels like so many bantam hens. His wiry body had already developed its layer of feminine subcutaneous fat, rounding out nicely what had before been bony and angular. His legs were now shapely, too, in pleasing proportion to his trim little frame.
All this was transpiring before the rapt gaze of the Elphinstone girls, almost none of whom had ever witnessed a transmutation before, though they were all familiar enough with the end product. The four English transmutes were particularly transfixed by the spectacle, as they, too, had been unconscious during their own transformations, and were burning with curiosity to witness the very process that had changed them into girls. Many whispered comments were made, and fingers were pointed, as various parts of Vaudin's anatomy fell under the feminising scythe of the rashi-dharva sweeping so rapidly over his body. It was to be expected, in light of the huge dose he had received, that his breasts would be disproportionately large for one of such diminutive stature. Indeed, they were cripplingly heavy, with nut-brown areolas the size of tea-saucers, and the sort of puffy, conical nipples one finds on young virgins.
Vaudin regained consciousness at the critical moment his genitalia were on the brink of reverting to their primal embryonic state — which, as we all know, is female — changing him without remedy into a woman. He looked about in terror. Seeing all eyes fixed on the space between his thighs, he attempted to raise his head, but because he could gain no purchase against the free-hanging slings in which his little ankles were suspended (not to mention the obstruction posed by his enormous breasts), his attempts to look at himself were risibly feeble. All he could glimpse was his blunt little love-mound, covered with a tuft of brown fluffy maidenhair.
"O, help Vaudin out!" cried one of the girls, "He's trying to look at himself!"
"Yes, it's only fair Vaudin gets to watch his manhood vanish forever!"
"Let him have a look before it's too late!"
"Hurry up! His little ding-dong's about to disappear!"
Fiona and Sarah obligingly lifted Vaudin up by the shoulders, holding him high enough so he could see over his breasts and over the edge of his love-mound, just as that which had made him a man (barely one-tenth its former size as it approached its destined clitoral dimensions), retracted into its tiny hood with the astonishing rapidity of a chameleon's tongue, making a faint slurping sound. Below it, cleaving him all the way to the crease of his hairless buttocks, his fresh-minted labia, fringed with sparse brown hair, gaped widely, revealing his bright pink vagina, tight and virginal. The transmute regarded his new penetralia with horror... and screamed.
"Incroyable! I cannot be ze woman!" he gibbered, still with a comical French accent, but now in a tiny feminine voice, like the that of a ventriloquist's dummy, or of a grown woman who persistently speaks baby-talk throughout adult life.
"Well, you're certainly not a man," observed Gladys, pulling on her examining gloves, and intentionally neglecting to warm the speculum at the sink. "Lower him back down on the table, girls. I have a few things to do yet. Relax, dear, and it won't hurt so much," she instructed Vaudin, as she thrust two unlubricated fingers into his vagina, rupturing his hymen, then depressed her fingers downwards to make room for the speculum, which she immediately inserted, spreading its blades as widely as the instrument allowed. The transmute struggled and strained, squealing loudly to feel his tender new tissues thus invaded and stretched, but there was not a thing he could do to prevent it: the horrid speculum remained, spreading him open for all to see. Gladys adjusted an overhead exam light, directing its beam into Vaudin's vagina. Then she invited each waiting girl to come have a look ("Take all the time you want," Gladys said) — which each of them did.
"Why, what an adorable little pussy you have, Vaudin!" remarked Lavinia when her turn came. "Here, take a look... I brought a mirror. Lift him up again, girls, so he can see himself."
Lavinia held her hand mirror between Vaudin's thighs while Sarah and Fiona lifted him at his shoulders. With bulging eyes, the transmute clearly saw his cervix glistening deep inside himself like a little pink doughnut. When they lowered Vaudin back down on the table he began to babble hysterically in his ridiculous, baby-girl voice, begging and pleading to be turned back into a man again, while thrashing his head side to side in anguish.
"Je vous en prie!" he squeaked, "Turn me back into ze man immediatement! Je vous en prie! I cannot be ze woman!"
"Too bad you cannot be ze woman, Vaudin," Gladys mocked, "Because that's what exactly you are and there's no being turned back! Now just shut up and stop whimpering, so I can do your pelvic. Try to take a few deep breaths and relax your tummy."
Gladys proceeded to obtain the required smears and cultures. Only then did she remove the speculum, causing Vaudin to groan with relief. But the worst was yet to come: first Gladys performed the regulation bimanual exam, with two fingers thrust deep in Vaudin's vagina, her other hand pushing into his womanbelly, palpating his internal female organs. Then she shaved and prepped his outer labium — on the right side — injected some novocaine and loaded the crimper with a number four stainless steel ring — one slightly stouter than would ordinarily be used on such a small transmute. Vaudin shrieked to feel the sting of the anaesthetic, his soprano piercing and shrill. Gladys actuated the crimper with its usual resounding metallic snap and mopped up the usual droplet of blood with a gauze square. To Vaudins's infinite horror, Gladys took the one-metre leash Fiona had been holding, clipped it to his freshly-placed labial ring and locked the miniature high-security lock with a tiny key. The leash, a finely wrought stainless steel chain with a leather handle at its free end, glittered in the bright clinic light.
Gladys stepped back from the table, holding the leash but leaving it slack. "Release his restraints and take his ankles out of the stirrups," she directed. Fiona and Sarah unbuckled the broad leather straps about the transmute's wrists and ankles and placed his legs on the table, leaving Vaudin free to get up. But Vaudin did not get up. Instead, his eyes darting wildly about but unseeing, he ran his little white hands over himself, touching his face, his huge breasts, his flat tummy (oddly broad for so small a woman), his hips and his legs. Saving the most shocking for last, he cupped his little love-mound and extended his fingers down along his labia, not daring to enter the dread aperture between them. Then he sat up, spread his legs and looked down at himself, shaking his head in numb disbelief that he now was as female as the whores he had so enjoyed fucking until this horrible disaster, this repulsive transformation, had overtaken him, shattering his existence. He was now surrounded by those very same whores, who were gaily enjoying his discomfiture at finding himself a woman like them.
"Enough exploring, Vaudin. You'll have plenty of time for that later!" cried Gladys. "Off the table with you!" and she gave a light tug on the leash, causing Vaudin to squeal. The transmute instantly seized the leash and pulled it towards him, to keep some slack between his hand and his vulva. Then he gingerly hopped off the table and stood — nude and helpless, his huge breasts jiggling at his least movement— amidst all the whores, who were, of course, splendidly dressed for their evening's assignments.
"The poor thing must be cold!" exclaimed one of the girls.
"Yes, he needs to get some clothes on," said another, a tall whore with sleepy eyes, who was dressed as a Flamenco dancer.
"Get Vaudin's outfit!" Gladys directed. Fiona, who had been holding the flagrant costume at the ready, laid it on the exam table.
"Garterbelt first!" said Gladys, handing Vaduin a flimsy black nothing with six dangling garters and tabs, which jingled like so many tiny sleigh bells. The little transmute took it as if it were a dead fish, not knowing which was the back and which the front, nor inside from outside. The Flamenco dancer, whose name was Fanny, stepped forward and fastened it on for him, smartly tugging it down on his wide hips to settle it in place.
"Now stockings, and keep your seams straight!" was the next command. Vaudin tentatively picked up the black nylons that came with the outfit. Perching himself on the edge of the table, he managed to roll them on, but he could neither straighten the seams nor fasten the welts to the garter tabs. Fanny again stepped forward and deftly put Vaudin's stockings right, using all six garters.
"Now your panties, dear."
Vaudin, at least, knew back from front for this garment (if only because of its ruffles). He picked up the panties and was about to step into them, when he realised that he'd have to deal with the leash. He looked imploringly at Gladys with tear-blurred eyes.
"Just step into them and pull them up. I'll deal with the leash," Gladys replied in response to the transmute's enquiring glance.
Vaudin obeyed. He stepped into, then pulled up his panties, exhibiting none of the rapture a new transmute generally feels the first time she dons so quintessentially feminine a garment. The leash emerged from above his waistband. Gladys shoved the handle end of the leash down inside his panties, and drew it out from below so that the leash now exited under the right legband, along the transmute's thigh.
The weeping little transmute stood forlornly in his garterbelt, stockings and panties, carefully keeping slack in the leash lest Gladys decided to tug it again. Without being asked, he picked up the main part of his outfit, but had no idea how to put it on: there were so many straps, stays, tabs, hooks, eyelets, ribbons and frills. Again Fanny helped him into it, even adjusting the bodice so that Vaudin's pendulous breasts were nicely centered in the cutaways. All that remained was the little maid's cap, which Fiona set in place for him with hairpins. And his little maid's shoes, a parody of real ones — in black patent leather.
"Make-up!" announced Gladys. "Sit on the edge of the table."
Vaudin sat as instructed while Fiona and Sarah made him up, Betty Boop style, with scarlet cupid's bow lips and false eyelashes that stood straight up from his upper eyelids, giving him an incongruous look of surprise. With a flourish, Fiona added a little heart-shaped beauty mark on his left cheek.Gladys handed him his feather duster: Vaudin was now complete, appearing, but for his mournful expression, quite like the model for a naughty French picture postcard.
In the entire course of exploring himself, getting dressed and being made up, Vaudin revealed nothing on his face but the deepest revulsion. And this was odd, for most new transmutes enjoyed being female almost from the instant they discovered they were. If not then, certainly by the time they stepped into their panties or, at the latest, when they gingerly touched their clits for the first time. But the rashi-dharva force-fed to Vaudin had indeed lost much of its potency by the time Gladys poured it down his throat.
How could that be, you ask? Was not Vaudin transformed into a woman, with all the requisite female sexual organs in all the right places? And in near-record time, too? Ah, but that was not the potency the potion had lost. The rashi-dharva had certainly feminised Vaudin's body, but it had had no effect on the new transmute's mind, which remained as masculine as before. This is why Vaudin was so tortured, so revulsed, by his transformation: a woman in body, he still had the mind and spirit of a man!
Physically Vaudin had become the very creature he so despised — a cleft, pregnable female, slave to all the bodily needs and demands of a woman, slave to all a woman's sexual urges. Such needs, demands and urges, after all, exist on a physical plane. But he was at the same time disgusted by these very demands, urges and needs, which he was powerless to resist. The more aware Vaudin became that he was now soft and penetrable, and the more he yearned to be penetrated by a man, the more he loathed his enforced femininity. His was an exquisite punishment, worthy of the most imaginative in Dante's Inferno, or of the most bizarre paintings of Hieronymus Bosch.
The failure of the rashi-dharva to feminise Vaudin's mind will explain why we must continue to use the masculine personal pronoun when referrng to him, and to withhold a feminine first name. As long as Vaudin continued to see his female body through male eyes, as long as he rejected his female sensations (no matter how good they felt) and as long as he despised his female emotions — for just this long he would remain a man.
Yes, Vaudin would remain a man, transformed in body into a diminutive tart, dressed in an obscene French maid's outfit, holding a ridiculous fake feather duster, and led about by a leash attached to a labial ring. For this was precisely what was happening to him that very moment: Gladys had tugged his leash as a signal to follow, and Vaudin obediently trotted along behind her like a well-trained French poodle, fast enough to keep slack in the leash. His outsized breasts jiggling and jouncing, he followed her out of the clinic room, down the corridor and into the elevator, horribly mortified by the catastrophe that had engulfed him and powerless to prevent it from running its very predictable course.
After the girls left the clinic, they dispersed to their various work stations for the evening. Gladys decided to raffle off Vaudin for the night, at 10 Rupees a chance. She sent the twins back up to the office to fetch a roll of tickets, and led Vaudin, by his leash, to the Victorian Suite. What better time to raffle him off than after bidding had closed for Iris and Daphne! The low bidders would undoubtedly be interested in a consolation prize, and would likely buy several tickets apiece for a chance to be the first man to deflower a virgin transmute.
Iris and Daphne performed the same strip tease they had done the previous night, culminating with the same splits executed on top of the bar. After the winning bids were announced and the blondes had gone off with their clients, Gladys rang the little gong on the bar to command the attention of the guests, many of whom were voicing their disappointment to one another at having been outbid.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" she announced. "The house regrets that not everyone can have our two lovely blondes. But tonight we're making a very special offer as a consolation to one of the low bidders. We're raffling off our latest transmute — a virgin — who has been female only for a matter of hours. His name is Vaudin and he's rather down in the dumps, I'm afraid, about suddenly being turned into a girl. He badly needs a bit of cheering up, and one of you here is the man to do it! Tickets are ten Rupees each, no limit on the number of tickets per chap. The winner gets Vaudin for the entire night. He's leashed, as you can see," and here Gladys held up her end of the leash, causing Vaudin to take a quick step toward her to keep the leash slack. "He's leashed because he's not at all reconciled to being a girl," Gladys continued, "So he may have to be, um, pulled into line every now and again."
As the guests began to converge, Gladys bent down and whispered into the little transmute's ear, "Now try to smile, Vaudin, if you know what's good for you! You may as well do this gracefully, because like it or not, I'm raffling you off every night for at least the next two weeks, until you're properly broken in. My advice is to just lie back and enjoy it. You're going to get fucked on a regular basis, starting tonight."
By the time Gladys had finished whispering this little tid-bit of practical advice, quite a number of guests had gathered round to have a look at the prize being offered. Most of them now knew something about Sakati transmutes, and their interest was piqued. Several were bold enough to grope the transmute's plump derrière, causing Vaudin to jump and utter squeaks of indignation.
"A fresh transmute, you say? (Egad, what huge breasts!) What was she before she was turned into a girl?" asked the tall, tired-looking officer, a regular in the Victorian Suite. It was he who had explained all about transmutes to the other patrons the previous night.
"Yes. Guaranteed fresh — he's been female for less than two hours. Never been touched by a man. He was our French chef. Got crosswise with some of the girls once too often, it seems. They thought that turning him into a woman would teach him a lesson."
"A Frenchman? How very intriguing!" The tired-looking officer surveyed the petite transmute, walking around him as he absently rubbed his chin. He, like many Brits, had no great regard for Frenchmen. The idea of being the first to fuck such a transmute was quite appealing, so he purchased two tickets, telling Vaudin (in excellent French) that he hoped he, Vaudin, would have years of opportunity to compare the lovemaking abilities of Englishmen vs Frenchmen and that he, Vaudin, would come to agree that former make far better lovers. The transmute shot him a poisonous glance, but remained silent.
"And why, pray," enquired the tired-looking officer, ignoring Vaudin's hateful look, "Do you persist in referring to her as 'him' when she's so obviously female?"
"That's because, unlike most new transmutes, this one doesn't fancy being a girl," Gladys replied, jerking Vaudin's leash so he had to jump quickly to his left to avoid a tug on his vulva. "Once he comes round and gracefully accepts that he's female for good, then we'll refer to him as 'her 'and call her Michelle. Until then, he's still a he and we'll call him Vaudin. All he really needs is to be fucked a few dozen times; he'll come around soon enough."
"Doesn't fancy being a girl? The deuce, you say!" commented the tired-looking officer, "That actually makes 'his' deflowering all the more of a challenge, I should think. You don't suppose 'he's' frigid, do you?"
"Not at all," Gladys replied. "I'll wager he'll prove quite responsive just as soon as he feels his pussy get wet. Then he'll implore you to tear off his panties and will spread his legs as wide as the best of our girls. But I'd advise you to tease him through his panties as long as you can until he's absolutely frantic to be entered.... I guarantee he'll end up begging you to fuck him, or I'll refund the price of your tickets."
Vaudin turned as red as a beetroot to hear Gladys's guarantee: he knew she was right, that he'd end up begging to be fucked, for despite all his revulsion, his pussy was already quite wet at the prospect of its imminent penetration. He loved how it felt and loathed himself all the more for wanting a stiff cock stuffed inside him. He shot the tired-looking officer another nasty look. The tired-looking officer, paying no attention whatever to Vaudin's glances, bought six more tickets and retired to the bar for a whiskey.
As word spread that Vaudin had been the Elphinstone's French chef just that afternoon, and had been transmuted as punishment for taking too many liberties with the bordello's Anglo-Indian girls, the tickets sold quickly: every man there wanted to be the one to deflower him. When the tickets were gone, Gladys placed the numbered stubs in a cocktail shaker and passed it off to one of the guests.
"Shake them up," she told him. "Then open it and have Vaudin pick the winner."
The designated guest took the shaker and did as he was asked. Removing the top, he proffered the bottom to Vaudin, who turned towards Gladys and looked blankly at her, uncertain of what was expected.
"Pick one, you little idiot!" she hissed, prodding the transmute sharply with her thumb in his broad derrière.
Vaudin squeaked at Gladys's prodding, then sullenly selected a ticket stub and held it up in his little fingers, not knowing what to do next.
"Give it here," said Gladys, snatching it from him. "Number 47!" Gladys declared, reading from the stub. "Number 47's the winner!"
It was Colonel Fitzmorris, the chap who suffered from priapism. Rubbing his hands briskly together and murmuring, "Capital! Capital!" he strode up to Gladys, handed her his ticket and took the leash, hardly giving Vaudin a glance.
"You'll be in room 304 for the night, Colonel," Gladys said. "Hari has your key at the bar. Ring if you need anything. I'd like to have a few words with you when you're done."
"Capital! Capital!" Fitzmorris said, and made to move off with his prize.
But before the colonel could lead Vaudin off by his leash, Gladys pinched the transmute's cheek, wagged a finger in his face and cautioned, "Now be a good girl, Vaudin, and do everything the colonel wants you to. Remember my advice. If I get any complaints, you can be sure you'll be punished."
"Oui, Mam'selle Gladys," replied Vaudin, almost inaudibly. "I'll try to be ze good girl." This was the very first indication from the transmute that he knew what was expected of him— and that he would do it. Gladys patted him on his head and said, "That's much better, dear. I'm sure you'll enjoy being fucked by the colonel. He has a solid reputation with all the other girls." Looking downwards, Vaudin managed a wan smile, actually quite appealing on his little, bird-like features.
"May we go now?" asked Fitzmorris. "If you don't mind awfully, I'm in rather a hurry to get started."
"Of course, Colonel. I quite understand your eagerness. A reluctant transmute always brings out the best in a man. Just let me know when you're through."
"Certainly," the colonel crisply replied. "I shall give you a full report in the morning."
Leash in hand, Fitzmorris turned and strode off towards the bar to pick up his key, continuing to murmur "Capital! Capital!" Vaudin had to hurry after him, feather duster in one hand, his leash in the other, always keeping it slack. His exposed breasts jounced about crazily as he scurried, struggling to keep up.
Gladys watched them go, quite satisfied at how events had turned out that day. Her only regret was that she'd not be able to witness Vaudin's defloration, that she would not see the expression on the new transmute's face when the colonel's ever-hard pole plunged into Vaudin's vagina and the transmute realised with awful finality that he was irrevocably a woman.