I become more than adequate doing my nails.... attention to my manicure and pedicure persistent. The application of makeup continues to improve. And I visit Molly at the beauty salon every two weeks, finding her prognostication correct about the need for maintaining the luster of my blond locks. She has me remove my clothing in the back room, panties remaining in place. Near naked with Molly fully attired, it is one of the two remaining thrills after the many months of indoctrination... acclimatization.
I try my best to refrain from taking those walks in the park. As promised, Miss Ramona gave up the photos she used to inveigle me into the Escobar affair... and indeed I keep them in a special drawer that zoom photo of me offering good head... the in flagrante delicto shot. But the memory of being unveiled brings horripilation.
And so I deny myself that only other thrill... the offering of myself to men when I once again touch, feel, sense virility... and know that stimulating the male organ is about the only thing left for me to control.
So I am a good girl.
***
It is Saturday. I am making breakfast. As usual I am nude. With the many mirrors I have assembled about the apartment, catching glimpses of my plumping effeminate form brings a quirky joy.
The buzzer for the building entrance sounds.
Who can it be?
“Yes,” pushing the intercom button.
“It is Miss Lalique, Renee. I have something for you.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“Does it matter?”
I suppose not, recalling the long evening of being trained while naked to walk in heels.
I press the button for the electric lock. Within minutes there comes a knock on my door. I consider grabbing a robe... but decide not to deny myself one of the two remaining thrills, instead pulling the latch to offer entry.
The large woman enters and smiles. Once again I am naked in the company of a fully clothed woman. I sense the power exchange and inwardly smile.
“You so much enjoy showing off, no?” the French accent bringing memories, her hand extending to tenderly tweak my right nipple.
“Coffee?” I inquire, feeling myself blush, feeling the twinge below.
I become apprehensive when it dawns that, sans Nurse Sueann’s prostate manipulation, I am given to ooze... down there. Very unladylike. I sometimes find my panties to be moist, particularly after visiting Molly to have my hair done. Without a stitch of covering, such a reaction will bring drool to my inner thighs.
“Yes, thank you.”
I prance on toes to the kitchen. Catching my reflection in a dining room mirror, I pause to straighten my hair.
“Miss Ramona has sent a gift,” Miss Lalique calls out. “She knows you miss those diamond earrings.”
The mention of her name brings distress... but I do indeed regret the loss. I have purchased cheap replacements. A girl needs something to occupy the unsightly holes, but such are disappointingly dull. When I passed Tiffany’s one afternoon I spotted pendants similar to those worn for Miss Ramona and the price astounded. I will be wearing fake for a long time.
I return with a tray and two steaming cups. Miss Lalique sits, having placed a small box on the living room coffee table. As I sit opposite she unwraps.
“Very unique, very rare,” heightening the anticipation as a wad of cotton is removed.
She extracts a set of baubles, the size considerable, the shape rather ungainly. Two lumps of clear Lucite. In holding them in the room light, gray spheres within occupy the center of the cubes, the edges rounded presumably for comfort in wearing.
Miss Lalique smiles... a pleasant smile... perhaps tinged with Schadenfreude... and she beckons me to lean forward.
“Large... but precious.”
The left hand pushes back the locks of hair about my right ear. My cheap paste earring is removed. In its place a stud is thrust through my earlobe... and another penetrates the second opening in the body of the cartilage... offering added support for the bulky lump.
It is comparatively heavy.
Miss Lalique does my left ear as well then turns her attention to her coffee. I arise, anxious to model my gift for myself, heading for one of my many mirrors.