‘I must be brave’
The lift ascends. He remains frozen to the spot. He’s sure he’s alone in the compartment but he can’t see to press the stop or emergency button, and his hands are bound. He hears the doors hiss and a hand presses against his rear. For a moment he dreams that it might be his Aunt come to rescue him, but he’s pushed forward in silence and he steps on to a carpeted floor. He can hear some distant hubbub.
Poor Andrew. He's quaking with fear. He's shaking so much that he's almost wobbling on his 7" heels. That would never do. He doesn't want to give the ladies of The Sisterhood the vicarious pleasure of seeing him discomfited, or provide them with another cause to criticise his Aunt for not training him properly. He's dreamed so much of having 7" heels. An extra 2” would help him get just that little to bit closer in height to Jane or The Sisterhood in their customary 5" heels, although he knows it they make him more vulnerable and he’d never be able to run. He’s surprised how comfortable they feel. His toes don’t even feel pinched. Jane was so wise keeping him in 4”, then 5” and latterly 6” for so long for his feet to adapt. He’d grown to love the pleasure of being in 6” in the evenings after college while they’d been on the run.. He wished that he could be back home so that he could see Will. And see Will wearing 7” heels. He would almost be on an equal level with his friend. And 7” would be even better: he would hardly have to turn his face upwards to get a precious kiss on his lips. 
He mustn’t wobble. He must stand tall and prove to The Sisterhood that he is the complete girl. No tottering or shaking. He must calm himself. 'I must be brave', he thinks to himself.
He feels the strap on his mask being loosened. At least it’s a mask and not a blindfold so it shouldn’t have messed too much with his make-up. For a few moments he’s dazzled by the bright lights. A pretty mistress stands beside him. He feels he recognises her but is transfixed by her beauty. He’s scared to meet her eye. While averting his eyes, he remembers his agent training from Jane and tries to read the open ledger that the Mistress is holding but his gaze is distracted by what she is wearing. He adores her pencil knee length latex skirt. He used to have skirts like that back at Fullerton Hall. He’d modelled one like that for BOY?™: “The skirt for the Boy about town” had been the advertising pitch. He didn’t just have black, he had pink, white and red too – all the ones he’d worn for the shoot. She’s wearing one of those skirts, she’s wearing a BOY?™ skirt! He feels a shiver. Not a shiver of fear this time but a warm shiver of pride. The style must have become popular with girls and ladies if a Mistress saw fit to wear a BOY?™ skirt. A style he and Jane had designed together. It looked so good with her white silk blouse and heels. He wishes he was back at Fullerton Hall. Back safe in a latex skirt, latex blouse and heels – 7” heels. Back safe with Jane and Will, and even Chantelle. The Mistress turns towards him and his chance to glean something from the ledger is lost.
He slowly realises why he feels he recognises the Mistress: she bears a striking resemblance to him, an older him, him when he used to have dark hair with a fringed bob. Albeit her bob was severe. Jane had always preferred him with more of a shag finish to make his bob look slightly uneven - suitable for when he was Andy during the week working in town on shop design, and Andy in the evenings and weekends when he was staying with her at Fullerton Hall. She always liked a shag finish for him. All he needed was a little more make-up when he got home. His co-workers were already used to him wearing nail varnish and eyeliner – after all they expected a little flamboyance from one of their designers. Even his switch from black nail varnish to a bright red hadn’t surprised many: most of them knew or could guess even before he did. His work with BOY?™ must have had a real impact if even Mistresses were copying his styling and look.
He tries to compose himself. Remember his tradecraft. He’s in a corridor. There’s a frosted double door ahead of him. It seems to be where all the noise is coming from. He must be in a private area of a hotel with many people in a function room. Two mistresses are standing chatting on a staircase at the end of the corridor. He can’t hear what they’re saying. If the Mistress confronting him looks like an older version of himself, one on the stairs appears to be a clone of Madame Dark. That gives him the wrong kind of shiver. He still lives in fear of Madame Dark after his first stay at Knightley Towers.
He's trying to take in as many clues as possible about where he might. He’s looking for monograms or motifs that might identify the house or hotel. Then he realises the Mistress is speaking to him, or rather not speaking to him, instructing him in polished tones: “The doors will open. You will enter and walk to the centre. Your cloak will be removed and your auction will commence.”
‘Not another auction’, he thinks to himself, ‘I had one auction back in the US and that led to me becoming a ponygirl and a stablegirl.’ Although he had liked his time as tutor for Jamila and Akila, the Shaykah’s girls. He’d even got to like the Shaykah. And he had grown to like Mistress Aaliyah. At the thought of them taking away his cloak, he goes into a cold sweat. Everyone will see what he’s wearing, or not wearing.
“Take a breath Andrew and don’t be afraid. Imagine, in a few hours you could be on a plane for France, America, or even China.”
His mind briefly wanders: ‘France.’ He has friends in France. He knows people in Paris. He knows shopgirls and make-up girls in Paris. He knows people in Lyon. He knows shopgirls and beauticians girls in Lyon. Maybe they could help him.
His reverie is interrupted by the resonant clang of a gong. The Mistress stands aside as the double doors swing open and a blast of heat heats him. A hand on his bottom again - her hand he now knows - and the Mistress thrusts him forward. He lifts his head. He is not going to let down his Aunt. He gives a slightly exaggerated lift from his knees and sways his hips. He takes delicate short steps, one foot in-line with the next, and slowly struts across the polished floor in his heels. He must maintain his composure; he must remain aloof; he mustn’t wobble. He doesn’t wobble but his bottom wiggles just like Auntie taught him, though no-one will be able to see under his all-enveloping cloak. Ahead of him is a large ballroom, crowded with tables and people. The room goes to hushed silence as he enters.
He can hear whispers in the crowd as he steps on to a little raised platform at the centre of the room. Two Mistresses step forward. One starts to unbuckle his cloak at the neck. Another Mistress, dressed in a formal white tie evening tails and top hat, joins them on the platform. She has a microphone headset. It’s the first time he’s seen evening tails on a woman outside a circus ring, and he’s never seen tails made of latex. ‘Auntie would look so good in them,’ he thinks to himself.
The cloak is pulled from him. The air of the ballroom hits the cold sweat that has gathered on his skin and he is enveloped in warmth despite his nakedness but that soon turns chill as the perspiration gathered under the cloak evaporates. Goosebumps break out from cold and nervousness. He stands naked except for his ringed collar, his harness, his lead, his transparent latex stay-up stockings, and his heels. His 7” heels. At least he has his heels. That’s a comfort.
The Mistress speaks. “And now our highlight of the evening. This is Andrew. I know you’ve all heard about from the escapade we had with his rogue handler in the States. Some of you will have seen him at the recent Sisterhood Hunt. He’s increased in value since his time in the Middle East. His next posting will be for three months. Let’s say we start the bidding at, say, half a million. Guineas, not dollars, naturally.”
Numerous hands rise in the audience.
…….. to be continued ……..
Hey! Have I forgotten something????
No I have not.
A belated happy Birthday to my absolute style icon and favourite actress (just edging out Emily Blunt) the totally gorgeous and fun and amazing Keira Knightley.
Also you may recall my saying I have been playing with Ai image creation, well you else am I gonna dream of first. 
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