The girls
laughed and Gina strutted over to Julia, magnificently naked and
whiplash lean, her breasts full, the hard teats rising from
brownish-pink aureoles, her pubic mound completely hairless,
drawing attention to the dark cleft of her sex.
'We're all
models here,' she sneered. 'But sometimes we're told to do more.
Are you prepared for that?'
'I don't know
what you mean,' Julia replied, as afraid of these brazen girls as
she had been of the bullies in her school playground, to whom she'd
always come off worst.
'You don't?'
Gina sneered again, hands on hips. 'Well, neither did we. Isn't
that so, girls?'
'That's
right,' they chorused. 'We went like lambs to the slaughter.'
'I told you to
be quiet,' Grace insisted, and lifted the short cane she carried,
slashing Gina around the thighs and backside. Then she seized
Julia's arm and marched her towards another door.
Julia hung
back, frightened of what lay ahead, but Grace would have none of
it, dragging and thrusting her into the next room.
It's going to
be all right, Julia kept telling herself as she submitted to
Grace's rigorous grooming.
First she was
stripped and pushed into the shower, washed all over with scented
gel, rinsed off, then told to step out. She was wrapped in a large
warm towel, and Grace was utterly scrupulous about drying her.
The luxury of
her surroundings, the pampering lavished upon her, the fragrances,
the soft samba music in the background, all conspired to ease
Julia's mind and arouse her senses. Wherever she looked she could
see Mr Gabor's face, and his deep voice seemed to mingle with the
pulsing beat of the Afro-Spanish rhythms. When Grace sank to her
knees before her and parted the damp fluff bordering her labia, she
imagined it to be him. Grace's tongue became his, coaxing her
swelling bud, and it was his long brown fingers that reached for
her nipples, not the woman's.
They were in a
dressing room. There were racks where clothes hung; daywear,
evening gowns, and a large collection of garments made of leather
and PVC. She could see trousers and catsuits, split crotch panties,
basques and corsets, and weird contraptions that resembled a pony's
harness. Accessories were on stands close by; hats, broad-brimmed
or pill-box shape, some with alluring veils, and shining helmets
with ostrich feather plumes; cloaks and masks and bull-whips,
paddles and tawse and birches. The shoes ranged beneath were
extraordinary and theatrical; high heeled courts and mules and,
most fascinating to Julia, thigh-high boots with lacing at the
outer sides, stack heels, sharp pointed toes and spurs. Metal
glinted on the clothes and footwear, studs and rings and zips.
'Is this part
of Marty Blake's collection?' Julia asked innocently.
'Not exactly,'
Grace answered, straightening up and unwrapping the towel, so that
Julia was naked, pink from the shower and glowing with outer warmth
and inner arousal. 'But you'll be wearing something like them. Mr
Gabor has important customers coming tonight.'
'Buyers for
big stores?'
'Don't ask so
many questions,' Grace said abruptly, and gave her hip a light
slap. 'Yours is not to reason why, but to do as you're told.'
Then the woman
had Julia sit on a stool in front of the dressing table mirror and
commenced to massage her with body lotion. Soon she felt limp, as
if she was floating in a rose-scented cloud. Grace had a magic
touch, her capable hands becoming marvellously gentle, yet with a
firmness that brooked no resistance.
It was while
she was skilfully applying make-up to Julia's face that the other
girls burst in, chattering and laughing, brandishing a list of what
they were to wear and in which order. Gina seemed to be the
ringleader and she stood close beside Julia, staring threateningly
at her in the mirror.
'Leave her
alone,' Grace warned, calmly but with menace. 'She's not for you,
or for me.'
'Who then?'
Gina demanded like a spoilt child.
'I have my
orders,' Grace informed her, brushing Julia's lustrous hair. 'Mr
Gabor wants to put her through her paces.'
'What's so
special about her?' Gina asked spitefully.
Grace said no
more, but simply continued brushing Julia's hair.
'Come on,
darlings,' called a magnificent person who shimmied in on
enormously tall stilettos that added six inches to his already
considerable height. 'Stop frigging your fannies and get into your
gear. We can have a quick rehearsal before the curtain goes
up.'
'Oh, Roberta,
must we?' they complained in unison, but the stranger would have
none of it. He strutted around them, running a critical eye over
them from top to toe.
'You certainly
must. I've been too lenient with you, I can see that. Discipline is
needed, and that's what you're going to get. Come on, chop, chop!
You too, Gina. You didn't think I'd let you get away with laziness,
did you?'
The stunning
figure scrutinised Julia. 'Is this her - the new one?' he asked
Grace. 'Mr Gabor's been telling me all about her.'
Julia stared,
open-mouthed, as the person beamed at her. He - and she assumed he
was a he - had the bearing of an empress. His skin was smooth and
unblemished, and he wore a short skirt that finished mid-thigh. His
legs were superb, his make-up faultless, his eyes emphasised by
kohl and mascara. His hair was out of this world, mainly dark but
with reddish streaks and a number of little plaits ornamented with
colourful glass beads. One of his slim hands reached out and tipped
Julia's chin up with a long talon that matched his gold eye
shadow.
'This is her,'
Grace confirmed, pride in her voice as they viewed her handiwork in
the mirror.
'And your name
is...?' he asked the bewildered girl, missing nothing as he
assessed her face and figure.
'J-Julia...'
she faltered, nonplussed by his strangely intense interest in her.
'Julia Jones.'
'Cute breasts
and a pert little tush,' he commented. Gina and her friends, blonde
Katie and dark Vesta, were watching like hawks, hoping to see her
discredited, but Roberta smiled with a flash of white teeth, patted
her shoulder kindly and added, 'You'll do fine, love. I've a
wonderful scenario worked out. Get her into the white outfit,
Grace, and she can strut her stuff during rehearsal.'
The room
became backstage, with everyone concentrating on donning their
costumes, doing their make-up and hair, and quarrelling like
children until Roberta lost it and told them all to shut up. The
warm façade vanished and he was suddenly cold and cruel, and Julia
shivered as she imagined incurring his wrath. He might look like a
glamorous leading lady, but he had a vicious temper and the
strength of a man.
The first
ensembles selected were quite conventional, next spring's fashions
in spice and sand, lit by flashes of citron. Grace didn't attire
Julia in the white costume, not quite yet. First of all she had to
put on a dressing gown to go out to the reception room where an
apron-shaped platform and a long catwalk had been set up.
'Get your mind
off pussy and your hands off cocks!' Roberta shouted to a pair of
slouching engineers who were eyeing the models with intent. 'Music!
Lights!'
At once
everything was transformed as the houselights dimmed and the spots
were aimed at the stage. Gina appeared, swinging her hips, ribs
lifted, breasts jutting, wearing an orange see-through sarong, a
tiny G-string, and strappy sandals with thin heels. Raunchy disco
music pounded out and she moved in time to the beat. Julia,
watching from the wings, thought her superb, but Roberta wasn't
pleased.
'No, no, not
like that,' he shouted. 'You're walking as if you've got a prickly
pear shoved up your quim. Put some zing into it. You know how to
walk... like this.'
He made an
entrance, paused for full dramatic effect, and then moved down the
catwalk with all the fearsome grace of a hunting leopard. Julia
forgot he had originally been a man, for he was so svelte, so
sinuous, elegant, aristocratic and sexy, that he might have been
born a female. The only giveaway was his height, the size of his
hands and feet, and the flatness of his bum. Apart from that, he
was a female by nature rather than surgery and hormone pills.
'Watch
closely, girls, especially you, Julia,' he demanded in a high,
bossy voice. 'One, two, three, pause, legs apart, give 'em a
thrill, then twirl, turn, hands on hips, up stage we go. Walk,
walk, face the audience one last time, and off. Have you got it?
Right, come on then. Julia, with me, walk, walk...'
This was
nothing like the time when Arlene had drilled her in a church hall.
She felt clumsy and totally inept, and deeply regretted being drawn
into her friend's hare-brained venture. It was Julia who'd had her
dresses stolen. It wasn't her who had the hots for the alleged
perpetrator of the crime. So why was she there, being taught how to
walk like a model by a giant transsexual, and possibly in danger if
the little ruse was discovered? This wasn't her scene at all, but
then, she wanted to be a recognised reporter, and this venture
could be a great step for her...
Roberta
clamped a firm grip around her arm and directed her to follow his
moves. She began to get the hang of it, responding to the exciting
beat that shot straight down to her epicentre. She stalked, she
paced, she stared haughtily at mere mortals. She might not be
dressed for the part, but by the time she'd walked the catwalk for
half an hour with Roberta, she had the edge on the others.
'And rest,' he
said at last, and took her back to where Grace waited. 'The bride
gown,' he instructed, and they exchanged a significant glance.
'She'll be in the finale. In fact,' he added, a little sinisterly,
'she'll be the finale.'
Grace nodded
enigmatically and a faint smile flickered in her eyes. 'Do you want
her shaved?' she asked.
'I think not,
at this point. Mr Gabor didn't mention it. But later, no doubt
he'll let me do the honours.'
'Shaved?'
Julia gasped, staring from one bizarre face to the other - Grace so
gaunt and unfeminine, and Roberta a brazen parody of a woman. 'But
I don't want to be shaved.'
'Whilst here
your wants have nothing to do with anything,' Roberta said
dismissively, any trace of beneficence gone from his features; he
now looked as stern as Grace.
Julia had a
job to do, she reminded herself. Will wouldn't crack on a story,
and neither would she. That's what investigative journalism was all
about. 'You're right,' she said, drawing her shoulders back
determinedly. 'I'm sorry.'
At once
Roberta changed, visibly relaxing. 'I do,' he said, smiling. 'Obey
me from now on, and we'll get along just fine.'
He strode to
the catwalk, clapped his hands smartly together, and took the
models through the routine again.
The air was
charged with a heady excitement, and this increased as the girls
prepared themselves. Much spring water was consumed, alcohol being
banned before a show, but they puffed edgily on innumerable
cigarettes and consumed more chocolate and sandwiches than anyone
harbouring the idea that models were anorexic would have
believed.
And eventually
it was time for Grace to dress Julia in the white gown they'd all
spoken of.
Bridal dress
or confirmation attire, Julia wasn't sure which it was, and doubted
that it mattered. The important thing was that it symbolised
purity, an innocence that someone, probably Vincent Gabor, couldn't
wait to besmirch. She stared at herself in the pier-glass, no
longer Julia Jones, self-styled super-sleuth, but transformed into
a male fantasy of feminine virtuousness. The gown was a simple
length of silk chiffon with long full sleeves, reminiscent of that
worn by a medieval princess in a fairytale. It was buttoned to the
throat, but of so sheer a weave that the outline of her nipples
could be seen, and the faint shadow between her thighs showed as an
indistinct triangle through the diaphanous pleats.
This teasing
display was more arousing than if she'd been naked, and despite her
concerns, she thrilled at the sensuous sight and feel of it.
Grace pinned
on a beautiful corsage, then topped the whole with a floating white
veil that covered Julia entirely. She resembled Demeter, the
goddess of fertile crops, or a young maiden about to dedicate
herself to a god.
'You look
lovely - doesn't she, Roberta?' Grace said as the glamorous
transsexual appeared in the dressing room.
'Perfect,' he
gushed.
Now Julia
could hear the murmur of voices from outside, and the compelling
beat of soul music. Her heart began to thump, and once again she
was reminded of her predicament and swamped with nerves.
She was
shaking as she stood with Grace in the wings, waiting until the
other models had displayed their first costumes. She listened to
the ripples of applause and murmured comments.
During the
intermission the girls changed into outlandish gear, which might
have been supplied by a back street sex shop, not a respected
fashion guru.
'You ready for
this?' Gina mocked, as she stood close to Julia.
Her glossy red
hair was piled high, and she wore a shining black patent leather
bustier opened down the front and fastened with criss-cross lacing,
her breasts lifted high, their upper slopes bare. Black and gold
suspenders stretched to clip her stocking-tops, framing her pubis,
which was part-covered by a pair of scarlet, open-crotched panties.
Elbow-length black gloves and ankle boots with zips and stilt heels
completed her outfit.
Vesta and
Katie also wore provocative attire. Vesta's blue satin corset
finished under her breasts, the upper curve decorated with chains
that chaffed her teats and made them crimp. Her pussy was bare, and
so was her generous bottom, apart from leather straps that ran
across her navel to part her cleft on either side, pushing it into
prominence, then disappearing into her crease, over her anus and up
to the back of her waist.