The Stables: Elinor's induction

This follows "Pretty Dr Vayne Comes to Bits". The earlier "The Stables: The Psychotherapist" is close enough if you prefer shorter pieces. Elinor, the female psychotherapist in a boutique shemale brothel, finds herself compromised, and in danger of being inducted into the machine.

I

It was the morning after Elinor's Ritual. The girls sat in their kitchen in their night clothes, sipping coffee. Clover was at the stove, an apron over her brushed cotton pyjamas. It was her turn to cook breakfast. Amber and Simone still hadn't surfaced from Amber's room.

The girls were all in a good mood. Still excited by the events of last night. They were trying to make sense of it.

"But why did she do it?" Roxy asked.

"Maybe she realised a client wanted her," Fleur suggested simply.

"What, some dude looks at her tits and she drops her panties?" Roxy snorted.

"It happens to me," said Sophie, then blushed. She still didn't understand why.

Roxy looked at her in surprise. Fleur, supporting Sophie, added "Me too. Though only with Charles."

Roxy developed a small frown. Fleur laughed and said, "and with you too, on a good day." She slipped her hand up Roxy's thigh. The girls hadn't had their cages put back on yet.

Roxy opened her mouth to respond but closed it again as Fleur grasped her cock. Fleur's hand started to move under the light blue silk.

"Girls! Get a room!" Clover plonked porcelain plates in front of them. Fleur winked at Roxy and slid her hand back down her thigh. Clover had cooked a full English. They were all hungry.

Clover sat. She had been with Elinor when it happened. "Helen told me she was going to join my session with Alex," she said.

"But just to observe?" Roxy asked.

"I don't think so. She didn't bring a notebook or anything," said Clover. "She didn't even put on a bra."

There was a pause as all of them imagined Elinor's breasts.

"So, is she our therapist still or one of us?" Roxy looked around. None of them knew.

"And can we..." she continued.

Fleur laughed. "Not once your cage is back on sweetheart."

Roxy blushed. Fleur held her gaze and slid her pink tongue slowly up the side of her knife.

Then both noticed Sophie was looking at the open doorway.

Elinor stood there hesitantly, wearing a towelling robe and fluffy slippers. Looking lost.

Clover beamed at her. She put a cup of coffee on the table and pulled out an empty chair. Sophie stood, took Elinor's hand, and led her to the table. Elinor sat, still holding on to Sophie's hand. She smiled uncertainly at the girls.

Fleur caught the way Roxy was looking at Elinor. She pinched Roxy's side playfully. "Until you're locked again you belong to me, stud," she whispered.

II

Elinor was surprised how quickly she felt accepted by the girls. Even Amber. Who had always regarded her with cold suspicion. Who had made her beg to be fucked in the Ritual. They met in a corridor later that morning. Amber stopped her as she made to pass, straightened out Elinor's robe to expose a balanced amount of cleavage, retied the belt, smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek. Then moved on, without speaking a word.

The others happily began to include her in meals and chores, showing her the ropes. Elinor internally bristled at first -- housework hadn't been part of her duties. Perhaps Clover understood. After breakfast as the others cleared away, Elinor sat there looking glum. Clover put on yellow rubber gloves theatrically, watching Elinor. She let each glove snap when she released them. Just like Elinor had done when she milked Clover before putting her into chastity. Clover raised an eyebrow.

Elinor's eyes widened. Then she laughed, releasing tension. Clover handed Elinor a towel. She gave her a kiss and said "I'll wash, you dry"

Roxy's frank lust still made Elinor self-conscious, and Elinor suspected Fleur was jealous of her feminine curves. She wasn't one of them. Not yet.

They were relaxing in the girls' kitchen after lunch. Elinor had washed and dried the dishes this time and was hanging up the tea towel when Nina appeared with a silver tray. It bore a summons from Helen. Elinor read it and looked up. The other girls gave her encouraging smiles. Sophie squeezed her hand.

Nina led her to Helen's bedroom, then glided to stand facing into a corner. Helen was in the dressing room. Elinor entered with some trepidation.

She had expected mock friendliness from Helen, thinly masking crueller intentions. But Helen was gentle and genuinely pleasant. She smiled as Elinor entered, and glanced at Elinor's cleavage, still as Amber had arranged it.

"Nicely done," Helen said with real appreciation. "You'll need some proper clothes of course."

Elinor said nothing. Helen said casually, "Take off your robe."

Elinor hesitated, then folded her arms over her chest. She tried to meet Helen's gaze. She found she could not.

She stood there awkwardly while Helen simply waited tolerantly. The pause extended.

Finally, Elinor blushed, unfolded her arms and hesitantly undid her belt. She slipped off the robe and laid it on a chair and turned to face Helen. She didn't know what to do with her arms. She clasped her hands behind her. This pushed her breasts forward. After a moment she felt self-conscious, so she folded her hands in front of her. Helen smiled and turned back to sorting through clothes.

"You'll want something casual to wear around the house," Helen said. "Would you like a maid's uniform?"

She looked at Elinor. "No? Fair enough. Your duties will be less domestic after all." Helen put away the plain navy-blue smock she had been considering. She pulled out a short, low-cut silk cocktail dress. She put it against Elinor at arm's length and assessed the look.

Elinor had moved her arms to the side. She was looking at Helen, who seemed absorbed in the dressing. Did Helen know the effect she was having on her?

Helen slipped the dress over Elinor's head. Elinor felt Helen's sleeve against her bare skin as she slid the dress down. Helen carefully adjusted the straps, then smoothed the silk over Elinor's breasts. Slowly, her palms slid one by one over Elinor's nipples. Elinor's breath caught. She felt her nipples harden against the silk. Helen's hands moved on, settling on her waist.

"You'll have to grow out your hair," Helen said. "We can't have boyish girls here." She laughed. "Take it off."

Helen watched as Elinor stripped back down to naked. Helen unconsciously undid the second button of her blouse. Then she handed Elinor a skirt. Black, pencil, slit. Helen helped her fit it. Elinor was wearing nothing else. She felt her breasts, heavy and naked, her nipples still hard. She tensed her midriff -- she was proud of her tone. The skirt's slit presented her thigh all the way up to the hip.

"Will you be wearing panties?" Helen asked.

Elinor looked at her. "Which would you prefer?" she asked meekly. Then wished she hadn't.

Helen put a finger to Elinor's cheek, turned it towards her, and kissed her on the lips. Elinor felt her eyes flicker shut. Then Helen drew back, and Elinor felt bereft.

"It's not about me, dear," she smiled. "Whatever makes you feel more comfortable."

Helen tossed her a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Elinor pulled them high. Helen shook her head gently, then pulled them lower so they sat on her hips. Helen added a crop top that exposed Elinor's midriff and only just covered her breasts. It looked casual, kind of. Elinor wished she had a cardigan, though the house was warm enough.

Helen called Nina out of the corner. Elinor felt Nina's gaze travel over her, lingering. Their eyes met. Nina's gagged face gave little clue to what she might be thinking. Elinor's cheeks burned all the same.

"Room 6, Nina," Helen instructed. Elinor remembered with a small jolt that this was now her new room. A girl's room.

They left Helen's bedroom. Elinor was carrying a cardboard store bag with the clothes she had meekly let Helen dress her in. A slip of silk hung over the lip of the bag. Helen had not given her any panties.

III

Room 6 was small but pleasant. Someone had made the bed, and a vase of fresh dahlias was on the windowsill. Elinor hung the clothes in the wardrobe. Alongside them, pushed to one side, hung one of her old dresses -- she had never particularly liked that one -- and her long coat. Beneath them were a pair of sensible shoes and a small empty suitcase. She looked at these for a long time.

Then she closed the wardrobe door.

Helen had said her first client appointment would be on Thursday. Two days.

The time passed quickly. The house was busy with its prime purpose. As far as possible Elinor had kept at arm's length from the business side; now she had a chance to see it from the girls' point of view. Helen limited appointments to one per day to keep the girls fresh. Indeed, Elinor was disconcerted by how enthusiastic they were. Nina brought a roster each morning, and the girls crowded round to see their appointments. There were squeals of pleasure at seeing their regulars' names and disappointment if they had no appointment that day. They teased each other. Before appointments they would help brush each other's hair, put on make-up, and give opinions on lingerie, sharing tips on what familiar clients liked. Elinor knew that some of their enthusiasm was her doing. It was too late for her to take professional pride.

Clover had the evening off that day. Elinor spent it with her, and later Clover took her to her room and cuddled her to sleep. But Clover was popular and the next night she had a client. Elinor slept alone.

She didn't feel properly anxious until she woke on Thursday. She had only seen Helen once or twice in the distance during the last two days. Helen had said Thursday, but nothing further. Elinor began rehearsing her defiance, imagining how she would refuse, and wondering how it would turn out. But by Thursday evening she had not been summoned, nothing had been said. She had checked the roster twice -- her name wasn't there. Would it be? She didn't know. She brushed Clover's hair and helped her dress, feeling weird about making her pretty for a man to fuck her. Clover's excitement was unself-conscious. Then finally Elinor went to bed alone again. She felt relieved. No, she realised, as she was drifting off to sleep. She didn't.

Her name wasn't on the roster the following day either. It was her turn to cook breakfast -- she had never been a good cook, but she made her best attempt and felt pleased when the other girls praised the results. Elinor spent the rest of the morning in the Stables gym, shared lunch with Fleur and Simone, and with nothing better to do after, began to clean their shared spaces. She had mopped half the kitchen floor when Nina appeared, bearing a tray with a summons from Helen.

IV

Helen stood in her dressing room. She had already met the client, warmly. Sophie brought him a drink, and she had installed him comfortably in Elinor's former office, a late-autumn fire in the grate.

Then to business. She slipped off her suit jacket. After a moment she also removed her rings.

She laid out the outfit Elinor had worn in her Ritual, now freshly laundered. She smiled at the thought of Elinor wearing it for her first official client.

The sound of Nina's heels. Elinor appeared at the door. She looked anxious. She was wearing the tracksuit bottoms, sitting prettily on her hips. She was also wearing one of Roxy's long t-shirts.

Helen raised an eyebrow and tut-tutted. She stepped towards Elinor and took hold of the bottom of the t-shirt. "Arms!" she said.

A moment's pause, then Elinor raised her arms. Helen pulled the t-shirt up. As it passed over her head Elinor and Helen came face to face. Helen saw fear in Elinor's eyes. A moment later she looked like she might start to cry. Helen paused, savouring the moment, then tossed the t-shirt casually towards the linen basket, her eyes still level with Elinor's.

"You're too pretty for that," she smiled.

Helen dressed Elinor in her bra first, the black quarter cup providing lift that Elinor didn't need. Helen fitted it herself, her touch gentle and languid. She cast a professional eye on Elinor's exposed nipples, then reached for a small pot on the dressing table. Opening it she darkened the tip of one finger.

"I can..." started Elinor.

Helen cut her off. "Keep still," she said.

Helen painted Elinor's left nipple first, slow circular strokes that left it a deep, deliberate rose. Then the right. At first Elinor stayed motionless, then barely perceptibly leaned into Helen's fingers. Helen could hear Elinor's breath becoming ragged.

She stepped back, considered, and touched up the left again. She nodded to herself.

Helen gave Elinor a pair of white cotton panties. As she slipped them on, Helen put her lips to Elinor's ear. "Clients like to take them off," she said softly.

Helen put the short lilac skirt around Elinor's waist. She adjusted it carefully so it almost but did not quite hide the panties. She could see they were becoming wet. She would make Elinor change them before she was dispatched to the client.

Finally, the short jacket. This time Helen arranged it so it covered most of Elinor's breasts.

"You don't want to look like you're asking for it, after all," she said. Helen smiled to herself. This was going better than she had expected.

V

Nina led Elinor into the room, her former study, just as she had left it. Nina stood aside for her, then curtsied to the client and left. His eyes followed Nina's form briefly, then reverted to Elinor. Elinor suddenly had no idea what to do.

The client smiled at her slightly timidly. He had one of her journal issues open in his hands. He closed it, tried to put it back on the shelf and look at Elinor at the same time. He fumbled with it, eventually having to turn and push it back carefully. He turned round, looking more awkward than ever.

She looked at him, uncertain, mustering defiance. But the defiance was defused by the way he looked at her. He glanced down at her body, over the lilac jacket, the bare curve of her breasts above the quarter-cup bra, the short skirt, but quickly looked back at her face. He blushed and smiled self-consciously. He was older, in good shape, maybe late 50s, wearing a Harris tweed jacket over a white shirt and unfashionable jeans.

"You're so pretty," he said. Unpoetically, but with real feeling.

"Noted," she said, holding his gaze.

He looked disconcerted. After a moment, he looked down. "I don't usually do this sort of thing," he said, apologetically.

"Me neither," she replied without thinking. Then laughed self-consciously.

A pause. She could feel herself blushing. He didn't seem to know what to say either. He was trying not to look at her breasts. The silence stretched.

Eventually she asked. "So why now?" She meant the question to sound challenging, but it didn't. She just wanted to know.

He squirmed slightly. Eventually, "My wife. She died."

He looked for Elinor's reaction. She was listening.

"I'm... I've been lonely. Helen said that..." He stopped. His look was pleading.

"That I would listen?" Elinor searched his face. Then she felt her shoulders relax. "Would you like to sit down, ...?"

"Gerald," he supplied. He followed her gesture to the armchair. It had been her armchair. A pouffe had been set next to it. After a moment's hesitation she sat on that. She looked up into his eyes. They were gentle, brown. She paused, briefly almost captured by his gaze.

Then, "Tell me about her."

VI

Time had passed but she hadn't looked at the clock. Her hand was on his, feeling its warmth. His eyes were moist. He had told her about his wife, the car, how he had been supposed to drive that day, then he wept. She had struggled not to weep herself. He had seen that.

Her former role had been breaking confused young men into transwhores. She had thought she relished it. But now here she was, a whore herself. Performing therapy.

All the same, she was feeling good about the session. There was something cleansing about the eye contact, the deep feelings Gerald had shared with her. And she had helped him. She felt it.

But this had been impromptu. She could see he was developing an erection again. Now, like a typical man, he would want to fuck her. That's what he had paid for.

She waited for the expected flood of anger from these thoughts. It didn't come. She looked back at him. His smile showed gentle affection. He had looked into her eyes the whole time. She had forgotten her shame at her outfit. She realised her hand was still on his. She left it there.

Then he was standing, turning so his erection was hidden, reaching for his jacket.

"Wait, what?" she said before thinking.

"Elinor," he said. Then corrected himself. "Doctor. Thank you."

He read her expression. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll tell Helen I've changed my mind."

"It's not that," she said. She saw his slight puzzled concern. He waited for her to continue.

And it wasn't that. But she struggled to articulate to herself what it actually was.

"I... I mean. You..." Elinor was suddenly afraid he would just leave. At the start of the session, she had expected to be defiant, to spurn the client's advances. He would complain to Helen, she and Helen would argue, shouting and angry gestures, her finally leaving the house with her head held high. Dignity restored, ready to start again. Somehow, it hadn't turned out like that.

Now she imagined the dismal consequences after Gerald simply left. Helen's cold appraisal, a night alone feeling vaguely in disgrace, being asked to leave the house the next morning.

But it wasn't that either.

"You could stay a while longer... If you like," she heard herself say.

She watched his expression. He hesitated and she felt panic rise inside her. Her hand slipped to her jacket, holding it slightly open.

His eyes went to her breasts, lingered there for a beat. Then he looked up into her eyes. She had made them up heavily. She blinked once, slowly.

"If you're sure..." he said hesitantly.

She wasn't sure. No way was she sure.

"Yes," she said.