CINDERS

 

A FAIRY TALE FOR OUR TIMES

Once upon a time, like early this year, there was a man who lived in Hollywood. He was middle-aged and very rich and only a little bit overweight, or so he thought.

He'd divorced his first wife as soon as he got rich. Unlike her, his second and third wives had both been young and beautiful, but - greatly to his surprise - once safely married to him, each one had turned out to be a real son-of-a-bitch. It had cost him massive sums of money to get each of them to allow him divorce them without a lot of publicity about his private habits.

He wasn't going to make that mistake again, so his fourth wife was a real good woman, only fifteen years younger than him.

She moved in, together with her two teen-age daughters, and few months later she died of complications following plastic surgery to improve her breasts. The sad thing was that her boobs had actually been quite nice, but not quite nice enough, or big enough, for a film magnate's wife.

That left him single again, but now he had Bette and Marylou living in the house. Well, he thought, they'll be good company for Adrian, his only son from his first marriage. He's so shy and immature, while they seem - if anything - a bit precocious. Maybe they'll bring him out a bit.

So they all lived in the big house, and as Daddy was away on business a lot, the three young people were mostly left to look after themselves. They were helped only by the chauffeur, the gardener, the Filipino maid, and of course their gold cards. Daddy's office always paid those, and nobody ever questioned the absurd amounts which regularly appeared on them.

Adrian was just sixteen, slotting neatly between the girls who were a little older and younger respectively. Counting age in years, however, is deceptive. Compared with the girls he was a child, and they treated him like one.

"Hey, Ade, chuck that crappy music and put on some funky stuff!" "Ade, sweetie, do go and fetch me my sunglasses!" "Who do you think you are, looking at me like that, you little rat!" It went like this all day - they bullied him, pushed him around, and made him into their plaything.

As the weeks went by, Adrian's development seemed to go into reverse. He became even more shy, and blushed when the girls took to slopping around the house half naked. He never showed any sexual impulses, though they might be expected from a boy of his age.

The girls found this comic, and started to cock-tease him with provocative displays. They only succeeded in making him blush, and with his fair-skinned complexion the slightest blush became desperately obvious. The girls showed no mercy.

"Hey, Marylou, just look at Ade! He don't like the look of my twat. C'mon, you little sissy - doncha like looking at girls' twats?" She drew her vaginal lips apart to make him take a good look inside. "Are you a fruit, or something?"

But Adrian showed no inclination to that side, either: he remained an asexual child. "Gee, I dunno - you're jes' a sissy little girl." And they took to calling him Sissy and redoubled their efforts to humiliate him.

One day Bette was lying topless by the side of the pool. "Here, Sissy, cm'ere! I wancha to paint my toenails - I cain't be bothered to do it m'self." The boy was sent to fetch the cosmetics case, and set to work. Actually he felt he might quite enjoy this particular job, as Bette had well-formed feet. And as he got on with it, he saw that painting them made them look nice, and he told her so.

Bette lazily opened her eyes, and saw him looking at his own toenails. "You reckon, hey? So whyncha paint your own, and make yourself real pretty, too?"

That triggered a little explosion in his head. Why not? Why shouldn't he, too, look pretty? He painted away at his own feet with loving care. And when he'd finished, he thought, that's nice.

"Hey, Marylou! jes' come an' look at Ade!" The girls examined his crimson toes carefully, and he felt flattered and excited. "Why stop there, Ade? why not do your fingers, too?"

Sure, why not? Once again, he made a good job of it, and now he had twenty twinkling crimson nails to admire. How they flashed in the brilliant Californian sunlight! What other bits of his body could he paint?

The girls rocked with laughter when they saw him preening himself. "C'mon! let's do a proper job on him. Let's turn him into a real girlie. I reckon he's about your size, Bette, so let's get some of your fancy stuff and get him all dressed up."

In a kind of daze, he allowed them to bundle him upstairs into Bette's bedroom suite. It was true. His slight frame was much the same as Bette's.

First they produced lacy knickers and bra. Of course, when going out, Bette often dispensed with either bra or knickers. Sometimes she went without both: it saved so much hassle on the many occasions when she had reason to take her clothes off in a hurry. But this panty-and-bra set came from a sex shop, and the knickers were crotchless anyway.

That immediately gave them a problem - what to do with his little Willie hanging out? Easy! they pulled it back between his legs and fixed it with a Band-Aid. It hurt a bit, but Adrian was strangely delighted with all the attention he was getting, so he didn't mind.

Of course he had nothing to fill the bra, but as Bette was a bit short in that department as well, she could produce a couple of foam pads to slip into the cups.

Next, a garter belt to match, and sheer black stockings. Next, Bette dug out some very high-heeled strappy sandals. He forced his feet into the straps at the front, and the buckled strap at the rear was just long enough to keep them there. When he'd got those on him and stood up, they had to gasp in admiration.

"Why, land's sakes, Ade!" said Marylou. She fell back into using her mother's nursery vocabulary because of the surprise she'd had. "What gorgeous legs you've got! Who woulda' thought it?"

He looked in the mirror and found it was true. His long legs looked absolutely wonderful. And the heels gave him an interesting, mincing, walk. How delicious!

Meanwhile, Bette had looked out a dress which she'd bought at least a month ago, and was on the point of throwing out. It was the most suitable thing she could think of now - the very essence of girliedom in pink gingham with ruffled frills all over it.

They had a bit of a struggle with the zip at the back, because his chest was bigger than Bette's. Then she cinched a wide belt very tightly round his middle to make believe he had a small waist.

Now for the make-up: foundation, blusher, and powder. Mascara for the lashes, and eyepencil. Lots of pink lipstick over a white base. A little ruffling and back-combing of Adrian's fine sun-bleached hair, and the job was finished.

The boy was thrilled to bits. He looked wonderful, and felt even better. He stood in front of the full-length mirror looking at his image while turning endlessly this way and that, smoothing the dress and feeling the smooth pleasure of sheer stockings down his long legs. Marylou crept up behind him and squirted scent behind his ears. Adrian hadn't been so happy since his mother left him.

The next day the girls came back from a heavy session with their gold cards. There were more parcels tossed into the back of Bette's convertible than they could carry, so they ordered the chauffeur to bring them all upstairs. Then they called Adrian in, to show him all the pretty things they'd bought him.

They had shopped with care, and using Bette as a model, made allowance for the small differences between her and Adrian. They were too old to play with dollies, but Adrian was a living doll, so that was different.

This time they had gone really dyke - stiletto-heeled thigh boots, a shiny black rubber mini-skirt, tight as a sausage skin, and a silver-studded leather vest, fingerless gloves. A biker's cap to hide his blond hair. Black lipstick and nail varnish, this time. Dark shades. Adrian was no less enchanted with this image.

They were cooing over him as he paraded for their benefit, when the Filipino maid came into the room. She took some moments to realise what was going on. Appalled, she muttered something in Tagalog, and made a hasty retreat, but Bette called her back.

"Shut the door, Maria." The maid was a small, downtrodden figure, and might have been anything between thirty and fifty.

"You like your job with us, don'cha Maria?" Maria nodded speechlessly, and looked even more downtrodden. "And you hafta keep it so's you can send money back home to your son, right?" Maria nodded again. "Waal, you wanta make sure you keep it, then. And you do that by not blabbing, OK?"

"Of course, Miss Bette," Maria trembled.

"You unnerstand me, then, OK? And to show we mean well, I'll slip you a few extra dollars every week. Just so's you don't blab. And if we're so minded, you come and help us with our li'l games. OK?"

Maria had recovered from the shock, but not from the compassion she felt. How could they do this to the poor boy? How could he not die of shame? And yet, he didn't seem to mind too much, but stood there grinning sheepishly at her. He was the same age as her own son - the one who was going to do so well in college, and for whom she lived so frugally. She must help him, somehow.

But over the next week or two, she found there was nothing she could do. Adrian was obviously enjoying himself. At first the girls came back most days with yet more bizarre outfits for him to wear, and they'd spend hours dressing him up. Then they got a bit bolder, and took with them as "their country cousin Cissy".

The deception was quite good, though it wouldn't stand up to close inspection. Anyone who really looked would note his well-developed Adam's apple, and the size of his hands, and see through it all. But he learnt to speak as little as possible, and to pitch his voice up a bit when he had to, and so they got by pretty well. As well as his pleasure in wearing women's clothes, the pure devilment of deceiving the world got him all excited.

There were lots of parties at their house - two or three times a month, usually. Caterers would bring the food, hired staff would swarm round the garden and swimming pool, and there would be some kind of music.

Usually the girls avoided getting mixed up in these events, which were really a part of Daddy's business. They didn't find anything or anyone to interest them: most of the men visitors were either overweight elderly lechers or their lickspittle young satellites. The women were just as sharply divided: A few eagle-eyed ladies of many summers and many face-lifts, but mostly pneumatic bimbos, a majority of them very blonde. Nothing for Adrian either. Anyway he was too shy to show his face at all.

There was lots of sniffing and smoking, but they didn't need to go to Daddy's parties to get hold of stuff - that was easy enough through their own circles.

It so happened that the next one was different. Word was that Count Bee would be there. All of College (which Bette and Marylou quite often attended, when they felt like it) was in a ferment about Count Bee and his fantastically successful album. Here was a golden opportunity to meet the great man in person. They sure were going to be at this one, and got themselves dolled up in what they hoped were their funkiest rags, in case.

As the first limos were pulling up, they discovered that Adrian, too, had designs on the party, and he, too, had dressed for the event. He'd gone back to his first love - the pink gingham and the strappy sandals.

"Oh no!" they wailed. "You cain't! You cain't!"

For once Adrian thought he would assert himself. "I will so too come to the party!" he shouted in a furious baritone, forgetting to pitch his voice up.

The girls retreated into the passage. "We gotta stop him somehow!" Marylou muttered, "but how?"

"I know," answered Bette "we'll get him into his bathroom and pretend we're fixing the back of his dress, and I'll tie his hands behind him. Then we can tie him up proper and lock him in there until they've all gone home."

Several lengths of rope were produced. When the girls came back upstairs they were pleased to find Adrian already in the large bathroom adjoining his bedroom. He was standing in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches to his lipstick.

"Hey, Cissy!" exclaimed Bette. "you've got your zip all caught up behind. Here, lemme fix it for you." And Marylou added "I've brought you this pretty bangle, 'cos I thought it went so well with that pink. Wanna try it on?"

With both girls busying himself about his person, Adrian suspected nothing untoward until he suddenly found his wrists snared behind his back and pulled together by Bette, who was quite as strong as he was.

There was a bit of a struggle, and they all fell to the ground. Adrian began to shout, so Bette simply sat on his face to shut him up. She had skinny little buttocks, but they served well enough to muffle his outcries, and even made it hard to breathe, so that his struggles became quite feeble.

Pinning him down like this made it easy for them to tie his ankles together with another piece of rope. Adrian had now stopped struggling altogether, and felt pleasing and unaccustomed sensations running through him.

Bette got off his face and examined their handiwork. "He'll get free if we don't tie him up good!"

There was quite a lot of spare rope, so first they wound it round and round his legs. Adrian raised his head and was strangely moved by the pattern of white rope biting into this black stockinged legs. It felt terrific. Next, they tightened another length around his chest, pinning his upper arms.

Marylou rose to her feet, slightly breathless. "Lessee you get out of this, then!" she panted. Their prisoner obliged with a few token wriggles, but he didn't think he could possibly escape and anyway he didn't want to.

"We gotta stop him calling for help," said the practical Marylou. "I know, I saw this film once ..." And she dived into the medicine cupboard and produced a wide roll of sticky plaster. Three layers across his mouth,and silence was guaranteed.

"He don't like quite so pretty now, with that stuff over his face," gloated Bette. "Let's at least give him a mouth." Picking up the pink lipstick which had fallen to the ground in the struggle, she painted a pretty cupid's bow on the flesh-coloured gag. "How did I do, Cissy?" she asked, holding a hand mirror in front of him. "Good, eh?"

Adrian studied the bizarre image with pleasure. It just felt so good.

"OK, Cis - don't go away, and we'll be back real soon." Of course they couldn't lock the bathroom door from the outside, but that didn't matter. There was no way he was going to free himself. They turned out the light and their giggles diminished down the corridor.

Some time later, Count Bee himself strayed into the house, rather drunk, and badly in need of a pee-house. The only one he'd found was occupied - by two people, if the sounds coming from it were anything to go by, so they wouldn't be out in a hurry. Going along a remote corridor, he heard thumping noises and went in to investigate. When the light came on, Adrian found himself being inspected by a huge and handsome black man.

"Wha', what're you doing there?"