Dean sat on his new bed and stared out the window to the identical block of flats next door. The room was smaller than the one of his childhood but at least it was his.
It felt good to finally have some privacy again. He wasn't sure how much longer he could have endured sleeping on Melody's couch. She was a nice girl, always kind and considerate, nothing like his mother and her friends. But her constant hovering was driving him mad. After she had confessed her feelings for him, the situation had become intolerably awkward. He was grateful to have his own room now; albeit in the home of a mysterious old lady that he only just met.
The doorbell rang and he could hear several ladies being welcomed in. Joyful chatter echoed through the hall just outside his closed door.
"Hi Mark. You're looking hot as usual. Take our things to the lounge honey. You must introduce us to the new boy," an elderly feminine voice said.
This snapped Dean right back to reality and he felt a flood of anxiety. Today was the first day of shooting and he still had no idea how he was expected to dress; let alone what he would be doing. He kicked himself for not reading the contract more carefully; not that it would have helped very much. Normally he would be pedantic about this type of thing but he wasn't himself lately.
He checked his reflection in the mirrored door of the wardrobe. He wore some lite foundation, elastic leggings and a tight shirt.
Someone knocked on the door a moment later.
"Come on Dean. The ladies want to meet you. You should have been out here waiting for them," Mark called out.
Dean jumped to his feet and opened the door to find Mark wearing hotpants and a skin tight T-shirt. He was muscular, tanned and lean. His face decorated with a layer of makeup, subtle eyeliner that made his dark eyes pop and soft lipstick that drew attention to his lips. A black leather collar clung tightly around his neck. A gold ring hung down from the front and a gold plate was pinned just above. The letters 'SS' engraved in large font and 'Lockwood' in smaller letters underneath. Dean wondered if he was as beautiful as Mark and he felt his stomach tumble.
How times had changed. Centuries ago it was femme who would spend hours enhancing their appearance. Now the sight of a boy in makeup was becoming increasingly normal, especially in porn. Everything about Mark's appearance advertised him as an object to be exploited by femme.
Mark gave him a terse glance up and down. His face said it all. Dean felt completely ill-prepared. He wore long elastic shorts that were a size or two too large and a tight fitting t-shirt; the standard thing he would wear around the home.
"Is he in there Mark?" a mature feminine voice called out from the lounge room impatiently. Dean could tell from the voice that she was at least 50 and quite heavy set. His heart sank. He had hoped to at least be working with some young attractive femme.
"Yes lady Gynohold," Mark had an anxious look on his face which he managed to keep out of his voice.
"Bring him in now sweetie," lady Lockwood said confidently.
"Of course, domina. He will be out soon."
Anger flashed in his eyes now.
"What the fuck are you wearing?! Have some respect man!" he scolded Dean just above a whisper.
Dean felt a cold jab in his stomach.
"How did I manage to mess up already!?" he thought.
"Take off those pants for Goddess sake. The domina never gave you approval to wear those on set!"
"Domina?" Dean thought. "What the hell does that mean?"
"She never said anything about this," Dean mumbled sheepishly.
"It's called being professional you dick-wit," Mark snapped. "You need to dress the part, she didn't hate the ones you wore in the audition so they are ok for now. Put them on."
This sent Dean's anxiety through the roof.
"Okay then," he stood still for a moment.
"Now!" Mark stared Dean in the eyes with his arms folded, puffing his chest. In that moment it felt like he could crush Dean.
"Well, give me a moment," Dean replied with his hand on the door.
Mark glanced at the door and rolled his eyes.
"Really?! If you are squeamish about getting changed in front of other dudes then you are in the wrong business homophobe. There are plenty of boys ready to replace you."
Mark stepped back with resentment in his eyes.
Dean shut the door. As he hopped out of his pants he wondered how he had managed to get off to such a disastrous start. He had hoped to build some comradery with the other male performer, but it seemed like his only colleague was already an enemy.
He grimaced as he squeezed into the tiny Chloe Goldfemme hotpants then reached down to adjust his package only to force the inseam farther up between his butt cheeks. Glancing in the mirror, he sighed. The position of his cock could be inferred from the asymmetry of his bulge. His once proud endowment brought him nothing but shame now, he once again found himself wishing it was smaller.
"And take those shoes off. The ladies prefer the boys barefoot," Mark's slightly muffled whisper came through the door. Even that simple instruction seemed scathingly condescending.
The shorts were originally purchased to impress an attractive and wealthy young femme. But now they were showing him off to a room full of poor, ugly old hags. Even being barefoot felt degrading. The scriptures of Dibellanism consistently state that male's are never to wear any footwear in the home because they are essentially part of the matriarch's estate. This symbolism was a constant reminder to the men who fall under the dominion of the sisterhood. Many coven sisters can be aroused just by the sight of a boy's feet, because it symbolises his submission. To this day, Dean still felt vulnerable and a little humiliated to be barefoot in front of femme. He thought that the feeling would subside; after all, he was a slut now. He was wrong.
"How did I get here so fast!?" he thought. "If only I had kept it in my pants!"
Part of him was still fighting; still wanting to run. But it was too little too late. Now when he looked in the mirror he saw a whore. A slut who's only hope in life was to surrender his dignity to the femme with the biggest bank account.
"This is only temporary," he told himself.
Opening the door, Mark shot him an impatient look and gestured for him to lead the way.
Dean felt like a lamb to the slaughter as he walked down the narrow passage. One last glance at his near-nudity reminded him of the inevitability of the situation. His body was already being presented as an instrument of feminine pleasure.
Who would have him? He assumed that it would be lady Lockwood but the echoing of several voices down the hall made him wonder.
The couch came into view as he rounded the corner, revealing the familiar hulking frame of Rita Gynohold, then Aaliyah Lockwood and Tammy Freefemme next to her.
"So I think that we might get some additional investment from-" Aaliyah interrupted herself as Dean came into view.
As he continued to round the corner he noticed two more geriatric femme. Smiles spread all around as hungry eyeballs invaded spaces that were once private to only him. His heart raced all the more. The apparent absence of any femme under 50 made his heart sink and stomach tumble.
"Speak of the devil," Rita said.
"Here he is ladies," Aaliyah announced. "The new star of Supreme Sisters productions!"
The room erupted in applause with occasional wolf whistle. Looking around in panic, Dean saw Mark gesturing with his finger to tell him to spin around. He still looked somewhat aggravated. Aaliyah did the same a moment later and Dean was happy to indulge her. Dean couldn't help but crack a smile in response to the adulation.
"I see why he likes to make an entrance," an elderly lady with curly white hair looked straight over her thick glasses and at Dean's genital bulge as she spoke. She shot a knowing grin to the lady next to her. The gaze of these strangers felt like jolts of lightning through his chest.
"So tell us about yourself Deany," Rita said.
"Oh.... Um... I go to UCLA. About to start my last semester. I'm a runner. And um... I guess I'm not that interesting."
"Oh rubbish," Rita said.
"Yea you look plenty interesting to me," a lady standing behind the couch called out, prompting a wave of laughter that broke the tension.
"Oh my Goddess, we are behind schedule already," Aaliyah spoke up. "Why don't you go with Dr Gynohill into your room sweetie. She is our props director so she'll be responsible for getting you ready."
The old lady with the thick glasses immediately began to walk towards him.
"No shortcuts thanks Gwen."
"Oh Aaliyah. You know that I would never," Dr Gynohill turned back to the other ladies as she took Dean's hand.
"Go wait in your room my gorgeous boy," she looked down into his eyes while patting his bottom. "I'll bring you a drink and I expect you to be nude by the time I arrive."
--
The door suddenly unlatched and the enormous frame of Dr Gynohill plodded inside while Dean was carefully stepping out of his elastic hotpants.
"We're always on a tight schedule so it's important that you are prompt," the doctor's voice was stern. "You should be ready by now."
"Sorry m'lady," he said while receiving the glass of water. He felt tiny next to her tall and wide frame.
"At least you have manners. That's a start. Now drink it all up. You need hydration."
Dr Gynohill shut the door behind them and Dean began to down the water gratefully. He was more thirsty than he realised.
With the door shut, her laboured breathing was all that Dean could hear.
"Spectacular," she said.
Dean put the empty glass on the set of draws.
"Excuse me?"
