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Chantal's Game. By Jennifer Richardson I'd been employed as an office administrator for about five years, ever since leaving University. When the company I worked for was bought by a multinational conglomerate, I wasn't too worried at first. Once the asset stripping started however things began to look a bit bleaker until finally it was decided that the office was to close completely, everything was going to be run from a central service centre in the North and miles away from me. Come my final day I was absolutely distraught to be unemployed. The way things were in the area I knew that much of the same thing had been happening in similar businesses and that the employment offices were overrun with office staff like myself. Though fortunate to have some savings to fall back on, I knew that it wasn't going to last forever. I moved from my flat in an up and coming area of the city with a fantastic view over the city, to a smaller flat out in commuter country, not that I'd be doing much commuting for a while. The worst aspect of the whole thing for me was the lack of funds available to support my crossdressing, the vast majority of my wardrobe was femme, only my office suits were masculine and even then I always wore lingerie beneath. I'd been dressing since I was about eight years old and was totally addicted. Being quite tall and slim and with having grown my hair down passed my shoulders I suppose I might have carried my transvestism over into "normal" life, true enough I regularly ventured out dressed as my inner ego, Chantal. Sitting in my new flat moping seemed the best thing for me but I decided to snap myself out of it and have a night out on the town; it might be the last for a while after all. So, after a long soak in a hot scented bath where I ensured my body was hair free, smooth and soft I shampooed and conditioned my hair and after rinsing it I wrapped it in a fluffy towel turban. Soon after drying myself thoroughly I went into the bedroom and sat naked on the end of the bed, considering what to wear. I chose a white lace teddy with attached suspenders and put it to one side, first came my boobs, wonderfully realistic silicon breast forms which felt just like the real thing, warming to skin temperature quickly with natural weight and movement. I held them in position until the super strength adhesive was secure, removing my hands and looking with pleasure at the reflection in the mirrored wardrobes, pushing my male parts back between my thighs and crossing my legs I smiled at the reflected female shape. Picking up the soft lace teddy I stepped into it, easing my member into the tube of Lycra I'd sewn into the gusset. When I fastened the poppers in the gusset my manhood disappeared back between my legs and was pulled up into my abdomen leaving a smoothly feminised shape. I got the idea for the Lycra tube from specialist catalogue and was utterly thrilled with the result, it had taken a while but now all my teddies were modified in the same manner. Easing sheer white stockings up my legs thrilled me as always, the soft caress of the glossy material kissing and stroking my long lithe legs to mid thigh where they met the taut suspender straps of the teddy. The white lace teddy and the stockings gave me an almost virginal look that gave me an extra special joy; it spurred me to sit myself in front of the dressing table to do my make up. Glancing down at my toes I admired the gloss of the ever present nail varnish, this time flame red. What kind of look should I go for? Soft and demure or perhaps sophisticated and inviting? I decided on the latter and began with a soft and light foundation; thankfully I have a light beard growth that is undoubtedly kept in check by the beard retardant cream that I apply each morning and night. Whilst working I'd always dreamed of commencing a course of hormonal cream treatment and also the capsule boosters for body shaping I'd been frightened of how the bosses would react to the advertised development of breasts and curvy buttocks. Now of course, being unemployed I couldn't finance it. I put these thoughts out of my mind and turned my full attention to my make up. What the hell I decided, it wasn't as if I had to worry about work the following Monday so I began carefully shaping my eyebrows, plucking and teasing until I'd shaped them into truly feminine arches. After blending shimmering gold and bronze eye shadow I turned my attention to my lashes, using a thickening and curling mascara brush to highlight them. Whilst this first coat dried I stuck false nails to my fingertips and once the glue had set I painted them in a matching flame red to my toenails. These dried while I applied a second coat of mascara until, I was able to line my lips with a lip pen, a slightly darker red then the gloss flame red I filled in with, blotting before adding a second layer. After adding a little blush to my cheeks I unrolled the towel from my hair and began to style my mid brown hair into a softly feathered and layered confection that really pleased me. I'd always loved trying to style my hair like the girls in magazines and had over the years become more than reasonably proficient I slipped gold-hooped earrings into my ears and a broad gold rope, which lay, round my throat in coils. Adding rings to my fingers and a selection of thin bracelets to each wrist I clipped a ladies evening watch with its metallic gold coloured strap to my right wrist. With a giggle I fastened an ankle bracelet to my left ankle then moved over to the wardrobe. Choosing to continue with my virginal look I picked out a mid thigh white Lycra dress that clung to my body like a second skin, following my curves to great effect. To emphasise my trim waist I tied soft chiffon scarf in shimmering pink round me, leaving it slightly loose over my right hip. Steeping into a pair of white patent leather lace up boots I became almost mesmerised by the way the four inch spiked heels affected my leg muscles, stretching and slimming them, providing my walk with a lovely sexy wiggle. Checking myself over in the mirrors I decided that I just had to have a photo of myself in the outfit and quickly set up the camera and tripod. Posing until the timer whirred down and the flash captured the moment. With a black leather cropped biker style jacket over my arm I crossed to the lounge and phoned for a taxi then found my black velvet evening bag with its silver chain straps, checking the contents, make up, soft brush, cash and keys. Downing a long cool glass of white wine, I waited for the taxi to arrive. When the intercom buzzed I did another quick check of both myself and my clutch bag, slipped into the jacket catching a glimpse of the shining red satin lining, another of my modifications, then left the flat and locked the door behind me. Going down the three flights of stairs I again marvelled at the echo of my heels resounding off the walls. Similarly I enjoyed the clicking of the heels on the pavement outside on my way over to the sleek black saloon parked at the kerb. Sliding carefully onto the cool leather seat in the back I was careful not to give the driver a flash. He looked into the driver's mirror with a broad grin on his face and asked me where I was off to. "Whispers." I replied, Chantal's voice, soft and honeyed, with a slight lilt to it that had developed over time. Now it came out naturally, enough that if someone rang me at home or on my mobile I would immediately adopt her voice if the caller were someone who knew the inner me. The driver's eyes sparkled and a lewd leer spread over his face when I told him where I was going. Whispers is a very well known gay club, so either he knew I was a transvestite or he thought I was a lesbian. Either way I wasn't overly bothered, in fact if he thought I was a lesbian then he thought I was a girl so all the better. I know a lot of gay people, both men and women, and enjoy and welcome their company. I'd been propositioned by both and had been a disappointment to both, girls who hoped I was a girl and gays who hoped I was gay. In an ideal world I'd have found a bisexual girl who'd find me attractive but so far no luck. I'd posed as the girlfriend of some of my gay male friends to company functions, their family weddings, christenings and the like, even dated them if I was asked but had never had to fight them off. When the taxi pulled up outside the club I thanked the driver and paid the fare, I considered booking a return journey but as I had no idea what time I'd be leaving the club I decided not to. Stepping from the car I clipped my way to the canopied entrance and was rewarded with a wolf whistle from some young lads along the road. I wonder what they thought when they saw me going into the club? Just inside the door I was met by two Man Mountains, Steve and George the clubs senior doormen. Steve smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek, George likewise. "Hi Chantal, haven't seen you for ages!" George has such an obviously gay voice that I often wonder how on earth he gets away with being a bouncer, probably his huge size. Steve helped me out of my jacket and stowed it in their small office to the left, saving me cloakroom fees. "Well, we have to look after our favourite girl don't we!" Steve smiled in such a wolfish manner that it would have frightened any girl who didn't know him. A former boxer who had managed to keep his chiselled good looks and with piercing blue eyes that could strip a girl on the spot. Not that Steve would be much interested in stripping a girl of course. I squealed in shock when Steve nipped my bum, letting out a giggle of delight when he told me he'd pat it better for me later if I liked. I wiggled my bum at him before hurrying into the club proper. Pausing a moment to let my eyes adjust to the flickering lights which pulsed in rhythm with the pounding dance music. Though early the club was packed with people, most dressed for a night out but some expressing themselves more openly. There were a number of Leather clad prowlers, one or two obviously butch girls with their petite femme girlfriends, a Dominatrix, rubber clad, the usual gaggle of Drag Queens, some obvious trannies and many you'd need to see naked before you'd believe they were male. I took a stool at the bar and accepted the tall glass of complimentary chilled champagne and began to thoroughly relax. After two glasses of wine cadged from the barman who I flirted with I excused myself and paraded round the club to the smaller long room which is a little quieter than the main room. Almost as soon as I entered I saw Monica, a long standing friend and the first real girl I'd met as Chantal. She runs a dressing service in the city centre and has been best friend and ally from that evening forth. Dressed in a clinging black sheath with spaghetti straps she looked simply stunning with her long blonde hair braided and coiled on top of her head. She was telling a good looking man with bleach blond hair what she did for a living, glancing up she beamed a smile at me and stood wrapping me in her arms before kissing me on both cheeks. When she stepped back from me I scanned her quickly then gave her a broad smile, drawing her back to me I whispered in her ear. "Monica, you seem to have forgotten your undies again!" The dress was so sheer that any lingerie beneath would have stood out a mile. She giggled and pointed to the low sofa she was sharing with the blond haired man. "You won't have met Mark before, he's just moved down from Scotland." Mark didn't seem to know what to do, shake my hand or give me a peck on the cheek, Monica patted his thigh and from the look of astonishment on his face I realised that he was both very nervous and very shy. "I'm sure Chantal would love to show you round the place Mark, she's ever so willing you know!" Mark flushed bright red and stammered his excuses and left hurriedly. "Thought that might put him off! He's so unsure of whether to come out of the closet or not he doesn't know what to make of the place!" We were soon chatting about all kinds of things, Monica listening to my work troubles with a very sympathetic ear. "Something will turn up sooner rather than later darling, I'm just sorry that I can't help you out at the moment, I've just taken a new stylist on, if you'd told me earlier there might have been something I could do." The night passed so quickly that I was surprised when the lights came up, signalling the end of the evening. Monica and I left together, collecting my jacket from Steve who asked me if I'd like to go out for a meal on Sunday evening. I kissed his cheek and told him to ring me in the morning. He held my jacket from me an allowed his hands to stoke down my hips to my bum which he patted better just, as he'd promised. Monica flagged down a taxi and offered to share it with me, my flat being in the opposite direction to her place; I at first made my excuses only yielding when she said she'd stop over at my flat. Once safely home Monica used the phone to call her husband to let him know where she was, he is so into his business that he doesn't really have that much time for Monica who revels in his inattention and largely does whatever she wants. We shared a bottle of wine then went to bed, Monica insisting on stripping me and putting me into a soft see through baby doll with matching white satin panties. "If you want to look virginal you can stay virginal!" She laughed before slipping under the duvet then holding it back for me to slide in next to her. She tormented me for ages, stroking and caressing me, refusing to let things go any further. She woke me with breakfast in bed in the morning then watched me get dressed in a white roll neck sweater and black knee length skirt, doing my make up for me as a thank you for putting her up overnight. After tying my hair up with a pale pink scarf. We had coffee in the lounge and fought over the local morning paper, I wanted the fashion, and she wanted the adverts to see if her own was in. My attention was fully caught by an article that told me that tartan was the next big thing when Monica gave a sudden laugh. "Here's one that's right up your street Chantal!" Her finger pointed out an advert in the lonely hearts section and read out loud: Very generous business man, mid thirties, seeks the company of an extra special girl. She should be fashion conscious and willing to dress to please. Wining and dining, social gatherings and business conferences. All expenses paid office skills required, educated and intelligent. Capable of passing muster in any situation or inspection, apply to: There followed a mobile telephone number and a contact box number. "There you are! That describes you!" I snorted with laughter, "And just how do you work that out Monica!" Bit by bit she took the advert apart, "Well, you're definitely an extra special girl, you love fashion and dress to please. You're comfortable anywhere, clever and well educated. You work... sorry worked, in an office environment and you pass everywhere!" "I don't think the extra special bit refers to me, I think my extra special bit would frighten him something rotten!" I laughed thinking Monica was joking. "Well, we'll never know unless we try!" Monica snatched my mobile from the coffee table and began to push buttons. I sat and watched thinking she'd been pretending. She suddenly handed me the phone and I heard the ringing tone. My eyes shot open when it was answered almost as soon as I'd heard the ringing. Monica was nodding her head vigorously so I decided to bluff it out. The voice on the other end of the line was quite cool in its tone, betraying no emotion. "Hi, I'm ringing after seeing your advert in the local paper and I wondered if the position was still open?" The voice asked me to tell him something of myself. "My names Chantal, I'm twenty four, I'm an office administrator..." The voice cut across me asking how tall I was, what my build was etc. "My height depends on the heels I'm wearing!" I replied, beginning to think that I was bout to be subject to a dirty phone call. "Tell me what you're wearing now." I made a face then leaned close to Monica so she could hear him. "I'm wearing a knee length black skirt and a soft white roll neck sweater." "And?" Black high heeled strap sandals, black stockings and panties with a black lacy bra." There was a pause at his end that conjured up images I'd prefer not to have had. "Are you able to attend an interview this afternoon Chantal?" Monica stifled a laugh and then began nodding. "Yes, I was going to the beauticians, but I can certainly cancel." "Good, I have a suite at the County Hotel, I expect to see you in the lobby at three o'clock this afternoon. Now, you are willing to dress to please?" I paused and replied with a guarded "Yes." "Good, it would please me that you wear a white blouse, tight fitting ankle length skirt in black or navy blue. Beneath I would be pleased if you wore a basque stockings and panties. The stockings should be seamed and your shoes will be the highest heels you have. Your hair should be pinned up in a French plait. You will be carrying a briefcase and you should also bring with you an evening dress of your own choice. Only two conditions apply to the dress, it must be low cut and it must be calf length." He paused, Monica and I looking at each other. I was filled with surprise, Monica appeared to be calculating. "This will be possible?" Snapped out of my surprise I answered yes and then asked how I would recognise him. "I shall recognise you, I know exactly what you will be wearing." The line went dead Monica and I burst out laughing. "Come on Chantal! You've got to do it!" "What if he tries something on!" "Kick him where it hurts!" "Oh! I'm not sure Monica, I mean it's a bit of a risk isn't it?" "Look, I'll come with you and watch from a distance, if you go to his suite I'll find out which one it is and follow you up. If I hear you scream I'll have the Police there in seconds!" "I don't know." "I've got the perfect dress Chantal, I dare you!" She knew she'd got me; the promise of one of her dresses would have driven me to walk over hot coals. At mid day Monica borrowed my car to go over to her shop to collect the dress. I went into the bathroom and covered my body with hair remover even though I didn't really need it. Once the half-hour wait passed I stepped into the scented oiled bath and allowed myself a soak, washing my hair then ensuring I was properly dry. Thankfully the silicon breast forms are entirely waterproof, as is the special adhesive that only comes off with a solvent remover. In the bedroom I began to dress, first the extremely tight fitting basque of black panelled satin. The basque forced my body to conform to its constriction, enforcing and exaggerating my shapely curves. Pushing my breasts upwards and proudly outwards. I stepped into high-legged tight fitting silk panties that held my bits nicely hidden. The seamed stockings slipped silently up my legs and clipped taut to the suspender straps of the basque. I checked to make sure the seams were properly straight before slipping a soft white satin blouse with rear buttons to the high neck. Next the clinging skirt that I knew would further restrict my stride. I'd just slipped my feet into my six-inch stiletto heeled court shoes and joyfully accepted the effect they had on my calf and thigh muscles when Monica let herself back into the flat. She came straight through to the bedroom and put a soft dress carrier onto the bed. She chased me to the dressing table and began brushing my long hair and styling the French plait until it looked perfect. Pinning it in place she commented that I was looking every inch the Personal Assistant of some highflying Director. She did my make up for me, using soft pinks and turning down my request for a touch of gloss, telling me I didn't want to overdo it. "Why do you think he wants me to take the evening dress?" I asked, rather naively in retrospect. "He probably wants to see you done up to the nines darling!" She went on to suggest a look for me, very sophisticated and sexy, I worried that I might not manage it and said so, thankfully Monica was only too happy to drill the method into me. Even going so far as to demonstrate on herself and then pack the shades required into a larger than normal handbag. "You're not getting to see the dress until he asks you to show it off. I don't want you getting any preconceived plans, you need to act and react naturally and without too much thought or analysing things as you go along. We can do that tonight." She went on to explain she'd decided to stop for the rest of the weekend. I reminded her that I was supposed to be having dinner with Steve on Sunday evening but she waved it off, telling me to keep my mind on the afternoon ahead. At two o'clock we left the flat, Monica was to drive as I was trying to keep myself concentrated and to get myself in a settled state of mind. We pulled up outside of the County Hotel, one of the best in the city, with twenty minutes to spare. We got out of the car so I could get some fresh air, feeling the breeze caressing my stocking clad legs and through the sheer blouse. I'd been a little worried that the blouse would show off the basque beneath, it wasn't overly obvious but was certainly hinted at. I was more excited by knowing others could see it than embarrassed. At ten to three Monica patted my bottom and sent me on my way assuring me she'd give me a minutes start. Stepping into the lobby was like entering a different world, expensive furniture, carpets and d?cor; an air of oppressive affluence was about the place when I looked around me. I took an inward breath as much as the tight basque would allow and tried to project confidence and a sense of belonging in such an opulent place. I sensed movement to my left and turned to look, seeing a tall, salt and pepper haired man heading toward me. He was incredibly good looking, film star quality, confidence and surety exuded from him. His stride was very confident, the light grey suit expensive and the shoes could only have been hand tooled. He had the movement of a toned athlete, as he approached his face carried no expression, only when he grew closer did he show any emotion and this was merely a small smile, tight and not overly welcoming. Standing next to me I realised with some shock that he was at least three inches taller than me even though I was in six inch heels, I ran a quick calculation and worked out he must stand at least six foot four. "Chantal, I'm glad to see that you are both punctual and capable of dressing as requested. If you'd like to follow me we'll go up to the suite." He set off at a pace without offering to take my briefcase or the dress from me and I struggled to keep up with him, the heels and tight skirt forcing me to move carefully, I decided not to hurry and saw him turn to look at me. I moved with as much elegant grace as I could muster this seemed to please him, as again there came that small smile. He veered away from the lifts and headed toward a long flight of stairs, the style of staircase the leading actress would make her grand entrance on in the great Hollywood films. I worried that the suite would be on the top floor but when he gestured me to proceed him he told me "second floor". All the way up I felt his eyes burning into my backside, sashaying side to side due to the heels and my taking my time. The high heels forced me to move in such an utterly obvious female walk that I became very excited and had to fight to control my breathing. He moved past me at the second floor landing and indicated a pair of large polished wooden doors, using a smart card to click the lock open then pushed the left hand door so it swung silently open. He ushered me through into the spacious room, plush deep pile carpet, and large desk to the left with a lap top computer on it. A table and chairs were central to the room, an open door to the right led through to a bedroom where I could see a large four-poster bed complete with canopy. "Put your things over to the side there and then I want you to fill in the questionnaire on the PC." Other than this he said nothing else and I decided I didn't much care for his attitude, I further decided to give it an hour and then make a final decision. Crossing over to the computer I switched it on and waited for a few seconds before a screen came up. "The file your looking for is in 'personal,' titled Chantal-1." He informed me of this from over my shoulder, close by, his movement had been completely silent next time I looked he was sitting at the table going through some papers. Sitting at the desk I opened the relevant file and scanned through the first few questions. Mostly personal details address previous employment, education and the like. As I worked down the page the tone of the questions changed, they became more personal, leg length, bust measurement, hip, waist, shoulder to waist measurements. It dawned that these details could well be the measurements from which clothing could be made, individual to me? Intrigued, I continued with the questions, what kind of things made me happy, sad, and angry. How would I deal with certain scenarios, almost as if my answers to the questions would form the basis of a psychological profile? Next up was a page to do with the type of cosmetics I use, perfume, hair styling products and the like. Then a page about my favourite fashions, styles of clothes, colours, materials and footwear, I thoroughly enjoyed answering them and was much more open with my answers. The themes of the questions drifted back and forth, one minute it was all about schooling, the next was asking me if I'd do anything to change my appearance if I could. I answered that I would consider a boob job, then changed my mind and was more than a little puzzled to find that I couldn't change my answer. Then came questions regarding banking and insurance, I asked if he really needed them immediately, obviously the only details for my bank account and the like would be for my normal self, not for Chantal. "Just fill in what you can and what you choose to disclose, it's of no real relevance." He told me shortly. Driving details followed, I typed in that whereas I could drive I didn't hold either a provisional or full licence. Finally the end of the document came up; I glanced at my watch and was surprised to see that I'd been at it for an hour and a half. Again he surprised me by appearing at my shoulder; I saw that he'd removed his suit jacket and that the crisp white shirt beneath rippled against what looked like a heavily muscled body. My heart skipped a beat when he lowered an arm and brushed my shoulder, his fingers reached the keyboard and I watched as the screen flicked up a list of e-mail addresses. A few more buttons and the screen flickered a moment then the questionnaire disappeared, sent in a second to the long list of addresses. I picked out two of them that I could remember, one a bank I'd never heard of and another to an insurance company. He stepped back and glibly informed me that my new bank account would be opened and that I'd receive all the relevant information through the post on the Monday morning. "You're saying I've got the job?" "No, what I'm saying is that your new bank details will arrive on Monday morning, I'll decide whether to put anything in the account this evening over dinner. In fact, I think we might go down for an early aperitif. So, if you'd like to change into your dress?" He was looking intently at me, looking for some kind of expression on my face that might count against me. This made me all the more determined I suppose, so, stepping away from the table I crossed to where I'd put the dress carrier and picked it up, giving him my best beaming and confident smile. I walked through to the bedroom and glanced a little apprehensively at the four-poster bed and went through to the dressing room adjacent to an immaculately expensive bathroom suite. Hanging the dress carrier on a hook I drew down the long zip at the front and gasped at the dress I found within it. Crimson satin with a rouched effect from the right arm slashed across to sit just above the cleavage. There was no left arm at all, cut high on the left hip the hem slashed down to the right, just above the knee. There was a further slash straight up to just below the stocking top; the leg within would be slightly masked by a satin and lace ribbon trim. If I gasped when I saw it I positively purred when I stepped into it after stripping to my lingerie. Drawing up the rear zip encased me in cool rustling satin and I loved it. Reaching down to the briefcase I rummaged through it until I found the heated curling tongs, the dressing room mirror was positioned next to a power point, which pleased me. The thought then went through my head that a hotel as classy as this one wasn't likely to inconvenience its guests by putting the plug point on the other side of the room would they? With the tongs heating to one side I carefully cleansed the make up Monica had so painstakingly applied, then began trying to recreate the look that Monica had suggested. Soft cream foundation, smoothly applied, then I paid attention to defining my eyes with a black pencil. Exaggerating their shape a little at the outer edges of the lids. Monica had agreed that I could stick with my favourite gold and bronze eye shadows but insisted that I should make the look a little more dramatic. Taking my time I did as she wanted and was immensely pleased with the results. Lashings of mascara followed. My thoughts earlier of dramatic entrances down staircases resurfaced in my mind, I tried to picture myself doing so and shuddered inwardly at the prospect. When I realised that the lipstick Monica had selected was of a very similar shade to the dress I could only wonder at her forethought and planning, maybe in her line of work she could imagine a look in an instance? I decided that I'd have to gain as much education from her as possible. As quickly as I could I steamed my false nails from my fingers in the basin, drying both my hands and the removed nails I fixed the set Monica had put in the briefcase for me, crimson talons a lot longer than I was used to. This was going to be great fun. Unpinning my hair took a while; during that time I tried to build up a mental picture of the hairstyle Monica had envisaged. I thought it a little ambitious and was wondering how out of my depth I was allowing myself to get. I was hardly in control of the situation was I? Monica had set the ball rolling, I'd played along while she set about planning my look and now I was here I was at his beck and call, or so it seemed. He'd e-mailed my personal details to God knows where and I didn't even know his name! Putting as much of this out of my head I set to work with the tongs, forming loose ringlets and curls all the way round my head. That done I looked into the mirror and was a little astonished at the look produced. Certainly it was undeniably feminine but was so unlike anything I'd imagined that I was shaken to the core. I couldn't decide whether it looked the part or it appeared that I'd got out of the shower and let a loose perm dry haphazardly. With a deep breath I reached to the briefcase again, praying under my breath that the next trick would be the "magic moment" Monica had assured me it would be. The shimmering silver hair clasp looked ungainly in my hand, holding it there with my gaze on it I wasn't overly sure where one went next, probably the Police station I concluded. With a resigned to my fate shrug I carefully lifted the ringlets and tumbling curls to sit on top of my head then clipped the clasp into position. It seemed to draw the tresses upwards away from the sides and the front before allowing them to tumble and cascade back down. Mesmerised and almost breathless with astonishment I blessed Monica for her imagination, the finished style looked absolutely and utterly dazzling. I swore that I'd never doubt Monica again and give my trust to her completely. A final dip into the briefcase for a heavy pendant on a light silver chain and I was ready, or as ready as I ever would be. I gathered up the discarded clothing and put it away neatly in the dress carrier and zipped it up, leaving it hanging on the hook. Next I put the rest of my stuff away in the briefcase, checking the room to ensure I hadn't missed anything. Finally satisfied I offered up a prayer to whichever deity protects down on their luck transvestites, hell bent on fraud and stepped out of the dressing room. Walking through the bedroom I caught sight of myself in a full-length mirror. My breath caught in my throat, if I say so myself I looked gorgeous. I paused again as I left the bedroom holding what I hoped was a dramatic pose. His eyes travelled up my body from my feet to my head and back down again. It wasn't a half-hearted glance; this was a full on inspection. Now a girl likes a compliment or two, as many as she can get actually, all I got was the slight smile and a quiet Hmm! Of what I hoped was pleasure or at least satisfaction. "Come over and stand by the table." He spoke levelly, fumbling with his cufflinks on his dress shirt before standing to put on a tuxedo jacket. It was only then that I noticed the scarlet cummerbund and matching bow tie. Perhaps I'd been selfishly concentrating on his lack of reaction to the vision before him. If that was the case then stuff him! He walked behind me and through to the bedroom, I heard the click of a wardrobe door and then nothing until he was standing behind me. His fingers stroked either side of my neck and then I felt something heavy being fastened at the back of my neck. I made to look down or turn to face him but his strong hands rested on my shoulders and stilled me. "Close your eyes Chantal." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. I wondered if I was at last provoking a reaction. Something heavy clasped my left wrist, a sudden horrible thought of a collar and wrist cuffs being fitted to me but I fought it down, he'd had plenty of time to do that by now. Another cool object was put on my right wrist then I felt his gentle fingers at my ears, removing the pear drop earrings I'd chosen to wear and other heavier weights replaced them. "Don't move and don't open your eyes." His voice had returned to its normal monotone, so I supposed the moment, if it had been a moment was gone. He was back a moment later telling me to hold out my arms, I hesitated, wondering what was going to happen. On doing as he requested I felt my right arm being slipped into a sleeve, then my left. Something so soft and sheer slipped along my skin, making me shiver and tremble. He settled the coat onto my shoulders and then turned me round on the spot. "Okay, you can open your eyes." On doing so I was staring straight at him he was standing so close I couldn't see passed him. Stepping smoothly to one side my view was unimpeded and I saw my reflection in a full-length mirror he must have moved from the bedroom. I must have looked very undignified for a moment, as I'm sure my jaw had dropped. A broad glittering collar fitted tightly round my throat, diamond or diamante I didn't care, it looked so perfect, as did the matching band on my right wrist and the dazzling evening watch on my right. From my ears glittered a waterfall of silver cascades. The jewellery was breathtaking enough but the calf length silver fox fur coat threatened to make me feint. Though I'd never have wished any ill will on a poor defenceless creature normally, this didn't enter my mind at that moment. If anyone had ever told me that I could be described as looking glamorous I'd have argued them to a standstill, seeing myself dressed as I was left me with nothing to say. My mouth and throat were dry and my heart was speeding away in my chest. Pulling myself together I managed to turn to look at him. His face stayed set though his eyes were watching me intently. "Thank you!" I managed to whisper; he nodded in reply and moved like a prowling panther to the door, holding it open for me then closing it behind me. On the way along the passage to the stairs he took my arm, I fought the urge to allow my head to rest on his shoulder, when we finally reached the main staircase down to the lobby my heart was in my mouth. Looking down into a milling throng of people I had a momentary pang of panic when I saw heads begin to turn. Carefully making our way down the broad stairs I realised he was allowing me my moment. A sudden surge of gratitude swelled up in me and I glanced across at him. I didn't see Monica as we made our way down but she tells me that the glance I gave him was one as near to a look of adulation that she'd ever seen. I objected to the charge but agreed to differ when she told me that I had looked perfect. I'd been expecting to be guided through to a bar or restaurant, instead he waited until we were half way across the lobby to direct me over to a cocktail bar through a door in the corner. Leaving me mid stride I watched the crowd almost part for him when he crossed to the reception desk. Refusing to be left standing where I was I turned toward the door he'd pointed out. The crowds likewise parted for me that set me to thinking. Was it because of him or was it because of how I was dressed? An egotistical question that I refused to answer to myself, of course it was because of him but again the question why arose. Money? Power? Family connections? Crime? Politics? What? The door to the cocktail bar was opened for me, instead of being left alone which I would have expected the doorman guided me through the tables to a corner booth and helped me from the coat. I was suddenly loath to have it out of my sight so told the doorman I'd keep it with me. He looked to be on the verge of objecting but changed his mind with a small nod. I watched him wend his way to the bar, he spoke to the barman who ignored other customers in order to pop the cork on a champagne bottle and pour a tall flute of the bubbling liquid, which was duly brought to me without pause. I accepted it with a whispered thank you; all the attention was beginning to embarrass me. This turned to annoyance after three-quarters of an hour when the realisation dawned that if I drained my glass it would be immediately noticed and the waiter would scurry over with a refill. The fact that it was going straight to my head hadn't gone unnoticed either. At long last he appeared through the door, heading straight toward me without speaking to the man on the door. Obviously I was seated at his regular table. How many other girls had been here before me? I idly wondered. He made no apology for his delay and no explanation of his whereabouts for the past forty-five minutes. The ever-hovering waiter was dismissed abruptly without an order for a drink and I was on the edge of an explosion, he caught me off guard. "Why did you insist on keeping the coat with you?" I mustered my thoughts and calmed myself, explaining that I didn't want to be parted from it when I didn't know the whereabouts of the cloakroom, adding that I didn't know the staff either. He nodded in response then was distracted by movement over towards the door. He grunted to himself and stood up then held my chair for me raising an eyebrow at me when I didn't immediately get up. Again he helped me into the coat and instead of offering me his arm he gently took my left hand in his and led me from the bar. I concentrated on my steps, terrified that the champagne was going to throw me off my heels in an undignified heap. Out of the bar and through the lobby when it dawned on me that we were heading for the main entrance. Outside under the large canopy we paused until a huge shining black Mercedes eased up to the kerb. A uniformed chauffeur leapt from the driver's door and moved to the rear passenger door. Lifting a hand to his cap when he opened the door and I was ushered into the cavernous interior. He joined me moments later, the door closed and soon the car drew away from the kerb, down the drive and off into the city to God knew where. My thoughts leapt to Monica; any hope of a safety clause appeared to have gone out of the window. "Vaughen's." He said, once we were on our way, and then pushed a button and a smoked glass screen rose up between the front and rear seats. He leant forward and lifted the top of a black leather covered container and produced a small crimson evening bag with thin golden chain straps. Handing it to me he told me that he hoped all that I needed would be within. I wondered if my oversight had counted against me, so I looked inside the bag, when I found a money clip with a wad of notes in it I found my voice and asked what it was in aid of. He turned and gave me an amused look that stayed on his face for a mere second or two. "Vaughen's is a casino, no point going to a casino if you haven't got a stake. Anything you win is profit; if you choose not to gamble it's yours through prudence. When we get there you will meet an acquaintance of mine, and his wife. I want you to look after his wife while I have a chat with him. If things run overtime, I'll give it two hours at most, he will no doubt send for his wife. When that happens return to the cloakroom and collect your coat, the car will be waiting for you and will take you back to the hotel. Check for any messages for me at the reception desk then go up to the room. It's up to you if you stay the night or not, if you decide to leave the receptionist will sort you a taxi." To me this sounded as if it was coming straight from a spy movie, I considered pointing this out but at that moment he lowered the screen and spoke to the driver. "Once you've dropped us off go and get a bite to eat, be back outside in an hour and three quarters, if Chantal is waiting our comes out take her to the hotel. Once you've dropped her off head back to the house. I'll ring if I need you, if not, you 're off duty until the morning Okay?" The driver nodded and the screen went back up. I was to busy trying to balance a sudden fear of what I was getting into, rather, what I'd got myself into with a growing excitement about the whole evening that I barely registered the car pulling up outside a garishly lit building. I'd never heard of the Casino and I surmised that we were in the part of the city where we poor folk aren't really meant to tread. Once the door had opened and he'd stepped out I saw that I had little choice but to follow, what if I refused to go with him? I'd end up God knows where, the handbag would be gone and with it my "stake." It was a certainty that it would get cold quite quickly and the chances of the coat staying with me were remote at best. Stepping out from the car he took my hand and guided me out slipping an arm round my waist and drawing me close, almost nose to nose. His eyes were lit with excitement and some of that transferred itself to me, my free hand rising unbidden to rest lightly on his right hip. That vague smile flickered then he stepped aside and led me up the entrance steps and into a bustling entrance. Two things then happened that at least eased some of my worries. A tall man in a faded tuxedo patted him on the shoulder as we passed into the main room and hailed him as Paul. Then, a stunning blonde girl in a sparkling green dress appeared and addressed him as Mr. Jacobs; she led us over to a small room off to one side. A burly minder opened the door, we stepped through, the blonde disappeared and when my eyes readjusted to the dim light I saw a small card table with three men sitting round it. Paul Jacobs looked at the group, then at the door guard who took my coat. I felt all eyes on me when my dress was revealed and a cackle came from a florid faced man sitting to the left. A soft voice came from beside my left ear, honeyed and slightly accented, "So, you must be Chantal, well darling, let's leave them to it and go and enjoy ourselves." Almost as quickly as I'd entered the room I was out of it again and being led through the gambling tables. When we arrived at a small restaurant at the back of the building I could have eaten anything, provided it was well done, once seated, again by an over attentive waiter my new companion ordered for me. She introduced herself as Patricia, though everyone knew her as Trish. I couldn't put an exact age to her, her face was without a wrinkle although she carried herself with a worldliness of experience, golden blonde hair fell to her shoulders in a long bob. Her body sheathed in a backless shimmering black evening gown that clung to her superb body. No sign of sagging there I thought to myself unfair and rather bitchy. When the waiter appeared with our first course, a warm green salad, she asked me how long I'd known Paul. "Oh not too long really, we're still getting used to each other I suppose." I realised I was going to have to play everything by ear and also pick up as many hints to background that I could pick up. More questions followed which I either fielded or turned to refer to me. One or two things dropped in my lap, so to speak, and by the time I'd got half way through a deliciously cooked steak I'd learned that Paul Jacobs had his fingers in many pies. He holidayed rarely, worked all hours and had been nagged by his social group to find a good girl and settle down. I stifled a giggle over the good girl, well I was almost as pure as the driven snow, and perhaps the question was, was I good at being a good girl. I decided to believe that I was a bit better than good at it. After a lemon sorbet to die for we lingered over coffee, I was beginning to feel myself drawn to my new friend who not only went out of her way to include me in the conversation but seemed genuinely interested in me. When she asked me where I had got my dress from I almost told her, Monica could probably have covered with something or other but the whole thing could have been blown in the air. I managed to catch myself in time and told her I'd borrowed it from a friend, gaining the sympathy vote at the same time. "You really must get Paul to look after you properly Chantal," she laughed warmly, "it's not as if he can't afford to!" Eventually we left the restaurant; the meal went on Trish's account, and then headed back to the tables. She played a little poker and did okay; I lost a little at blackjack and decided not to risk the dice, not that I understood what was going on. When Trish won a huge pile of chips everyone round the table applauded enthusiastically, though she merely handed it over to a huge gorilla who disappeared with it. A trip to the ladies room was a little nerve wracking but I managed to survive without suffering too much discomfort. It had never been something I'd worried about at Whispers, things that went on in the ladies there would have caused a stampede in Vaughen's. I stopped Trish on the way out, noticing something clinging to her hair, just a bit of fluff from somewhere or other. Her soft hair set a strange shiver down my spine that intensified when she gently stoked my bare arm in thanks. "Such a sweet girl! The rest of them in here would have been laughing behind my back!" Back in the main room we wandered over to the roulette wheel, whilst I had a grasp on the basics Trish filled me in with the rest, none of which made much sense to me at all. With a nervous twinge I placed a pile of notes on number eleven; my pile of notes a lot smaller than the other players. When my number came up inwardly I was screaming in triumph, outwardly I maintained as much of a half interested expression as Trish had shown earlier. One must keep up appearances! The same gorilla appeared silently at my side; with hidden reluctance I handed over the chips, bagging the pile of returned cash. We moved over into the bar and perched on stools in front of a huge fruit machine with our drinks. Trish coached me through the workings of it and soon it spat out a stream of thick red chips, we were dividing them up when the shimmering blonde approached with a beaming smile. She took the chips from us and gestured to another floor walking gorilla. "Mr. Corcoran has finished his meeting Mrs. Corcoran, he'd like you to meet him in the members bar." Trish turned and kissed my cheek, insisting that I tell Paul he must bring me to dinner, then left with the blonde. So, this must be my cue I thought, allowing them to disappear into the throng before turning away in the opposite direction and heading for the entrance. At the cloakroom I collected my coat and was handed a thick brown envelope with a smile from the uniformed girl behind the counter. So this must be the way the great and the good get their pay off, the low life had to queue at the over busy booths. With the coat over my arm I stepped toward the door, half way there I was caught by the blonde. She smiled and nodded to the coat on my arm. I smiled my thanks and she helped me into it. She rather formerly shook my hand, something I didn't quite understand. Holding it a little too long she smiled up into my eyes and a light bulb went off in my head all the way from Whispers to Vaughen's, she was coming on to me! I held her eyes and smiled back, squeezing her hand a little, well; you never know when you're going to need a friend. She hurried off; perhaps she was worried she might attract attention. I figured that as the dress she was wearing was created to attract attention she'd probably failed. In any case, I stepped out through the front doors and paused before stepping slowly down the steps. When I was half way down headlights came on off to my right and a car crawled forward. I stopped where I was until it drew closer and stepped directly down from me. Only when I recognised the driver did I make my way down to the car. The driver smiled and touched his cap when he opened the door. I got in and he closed the door behind me, stepping quickly round to the driver's door. Off we went, the screen was up so I lowered it, and catching the driver's eye in his mirror I asked if he'd been waiting long. "Just a few minutes Ma'am, straight back to the hotel is it?" Still recovering from being addressed as Ma'am I didn't answer straight away. "Yes, straight back, oh, did you manage to get something to eat?" "No, I'll be okay 'til I get back to the house. I don't like leaving the car around here for too long, if its not nailed down someone will have it away and Mr. Jacobs would have my bits for dog food!" I thought it quite funny but evidently he figured he'd over stepped the mark and the screen went up after a muffled "Sorry Ma'am." Over stepped the mark with who though? The boss's assistant, girlfriend or gangsters moll? During my time of pondering this, the car pulled quietly up outside the hotel. I waited until the door was fully open, enjoying the moment for as long as it lasted. A quietly spoken goodnight was all that was said, and then I walked up to the imposing entrance doors and thence through the still busy lobby to the reception desk. I waited quietly until the receptionist dealt with an enquiry from an elderly German gentleman and his wife. He must have been sidetracked by my arrival, as the receptionist had to go through the whole explanation again. The man's wife gave me an annoyed look before hurrying him away. "How can I help you?" The girl asked me brightly, quite how she managed to stay as bright with all the bustle and commotion that was going on I don't know, programming perhaps. "Yes, are there any messages for, or from, Mr. Paul Jacobs please?" With a dazzling smile and a "one moment please" she disappeared round behind the rear of a screen only to reappear moments later with a large white envelope addressed to me. "Miss Chantal Pearson?" Having signed for the envelope I wandered into the melee, goodness knows what was going on, I wasn't all that interested to be completely honest. I found I'd made my way over towards the cocktail bar and decided to review the contents of the envelope over a long cool drink, again I was fussed over and rather airily waved the attention away once I'd got the drink delivered to the "regular" table. Mystery upon mystery, an envelope inside of an envelope, the outside of the envelope inside had "open in the suite" written on it in neat script, the only other thing inside was the smart card for the door to the suite. Well, at least I wasn't going to be on the streets overnight. I dearly love high heels but even I would admit that my feet were beginning to raise a protest. I finished my drink and hurried up before I received any more attention. Once in the suite I took off the coat and sat on the end of the bed, eased my shoes off and only then noticed the bottle of champagne in its bucket of ice on the far side of the bed. This raised an eyebrow in question, was I to indulge myself or was I expected to wait and share an intimate glass of bubbly before bed? Whatever, I opened the bottle and determined to have a little control over what was happening to me. Opening the inner envelope I found a neatly written list of instructions, or if not instructions certainly suggestions to my next course of action. Chantal, No dear, dearest or my darling? What a disappointment. If your reading this then I trust you are safely ensconced in the hotel. There are one or two things in the wardrobe should you choose to take them with you when you decide to leave. Listed below are a couple of contact numbers that you may or may not find useful, one is the car phone number, if the car is not in use your call will be transferred to Franks mobile number. If you need him you he will come and collect you. The other number is for a small office that I keep in the Victoria complex in the city centre. I will be there between eleven and three on Monday. If you decide you would like to work for me then phone Frank and he will bring you to the office. Should you choose to do so I would be pleased if you were wearing a short black mini skirt, white blouse, tight fitting and see through. You will wear dark lingerie beneath. Your hair to be tied back in a scarf. Enjoy the champagne, that which you wore this evening is yours as are the things in the wardrobe. Regards Paul I read the letter through twice more and then remembered to my horror that Monica would be worried sick. I snatched up the phone and dialled my flat; she sleepily answered on the fifth ring. "Hi Mon, it's Chantal." "Where the Hell have you been you stupid cow! I've been worried sick!" "Okay, I'm sorry, I'm back at the hotel, I'm alone and I'm perfectly safe." I went on to explain as much as I could about the evening, as much detail as I could think of knowing that Monica would be able to recall anything from her amazing memory should I decide to go along with the game that Paul appeared to be playing. We'd decided to leave nothing to chance and so all the details we could remember would make things that much safer. After all, one didn't want to suddenly do something out of character did one? "So, what's he like?" "Very aloof, very controlled and from what I've gathered he's absolutely loaded!" The champagne was affecting me again. "Is it all above board or do you think it might be dodgy?" "Could be either really Monica, it's all very hush hush and very mysterious." I told her all about the notes and then dropped the bombshell that I was now the owner of a silver fox fur and some rather dazzling jewellery. While she was whooping and laughing I remembered the envelope handed to me at the casino cloakroom and retrieved it, stuffed as it was into the evening bag. Opening it I found a thick pile of twenty pound notes, a rough guess told me there was somewhere in the region of a thousand pounds plus at note from the blonde in the green dress, one Sandra and her phone number. Once Monica had calmed down I told her I'd be back in the morning, deciding not to tell her about my further good luck. "He's a really good looking guy Chantal, you're sure you're not interested in him from a different point of view?" I blurted a defiant no, then considered a more truthful answer. "To be honest he intrigues me, he's hiding an awful lot and I'd like to know more about both it and him. I don't fancy him anymore than I fancy Steve at Whisper's." "I saw the way you looked at him when you came down the stairs darling, you looked as if you'd found God!" She laughed at my denial again then added that I could do worse; "I can just see you as the Lady of the Manor!" I hung up on her in annoyance. With my third glass of champagne in hand I padded in my stocking feet over to the wardrobes. The first two doors revealed nothing however; the third door made me step back in surprise, when I took a step forward it was in pure pleasure. Hanging on the middle of the gaping space was an ankle length, snow white, nightdress. Touching it told me it was of the finest, sheerest silk from the shoulder to hem. The full sleeves were edged with silk cuffs, the cowl neckline so simple it was breathtaking. It was paired with a matching negligee. Unable to resist its allure I stripped naked on the spot and was soon encased in its intoxicating overwhelming caress. My body reacted immediately, arousal filling my entire body. Every nerve end stood to full attention as I verged on sensory overload. I found myself stroking my skin through the gorgeous gown and had to force myself to stop. Slipping into the sleeves of the negligee I turned to see my reflection in the mirror, it was spoilt only by the full blown bulge sticking out from within, I chose to look at myself from the neck up. To distract myself from my profile I looked behind the fourth door and saw a large suitcase pushed to the back of the wardrobe. I pulled it toward me and discovered that it was quite heavy. My mind was filled with thoughts of cash, or the ill-gotten gains from some kind of criminal act. When I reached that point I stopped right there, criminal acts covered such a multitude of sins, many of them to terrible to contemplate. One I had the case out of the wardrobe; it was easier to manage, though the nightgown and negligee tried their best to tangle my legs up within their folds. I hoisted the case onto the bottom of the bed and reached for the zips beneath the central strap. There was a rolled up piece of paper beneath the strap that eventually came out. Unrolling it I found the now well-recognised script. Chantal, The key is under the left-hand pillow on the bed. I crawled up the bed to the pillows and flipped them over finding the little key. Back at the case I wondered what the game was that was being played, giggling to myself when I realised that I didn't know and didn't now the rules either. The lock came undone with a soft click enabling me to pull round the zips fully. Pulling back the lid revealed a purple cover on which was yet another envelope, written on the outside was a short note. I'd be very pleased if you would wear each of the enclosed for me at least once. That forms your part of this clause of the agreement. My part is to decide when and where you will wear each. As I said, the contents are yours, I'd be pleased for you to wear them for me yet you do not need to fulfil this should you chose not to. I was beginning to get a little tired of all these little notes and mind games so without any further pause I turned my attention to the contents of the case without really knowing what to expect. I was more or less prepared for anything, well, anything other than twelve black plastic bags, all sealed and numbered. Needless to say there was a note. You may receive a phone call at any given time, you will be given a time to be ready and a place to be picked up from. You will also be given a number that refers to one of the parcels. Each parcel contains an outfit that it would please me for you to wear for me. Remember the list of measurements you supplied? All will fit you perfectly. I lifted them out one by one and felt each in turn; all that I could tell from this inspection was that each contained a pair of shoes. I replaced the parcels in the case and finished the champagne. After putting the lights out I fell asleep pondering the game and what was going on. I found no answers and decided to speak to Monica about it in the morning.