Betrayed Ch. 04
Keywords: Betrayed, Ch., 04,
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*Chapter 4: Let The Games Begin*
I really wasn't surprised when Dianna directed me into the parking lot at "Ringers." It was only a few blocks across town from my new home; a five-minute drive, if the traffic wasn't killing at the time. Consciously, it had not been a factor in my decision to take the new place. Sub-consciously... well, who knows?
"Pop the trunk," she instructed as I shifted into "Park".
I complied. She didn't wait for me to get her door. She slid out, stepped to the rear of the car, fished her Capezio bag out of the trunk, then closed the lid with a precise "click." I guessed she had had experience with precision-engineered automobiles before. Most people would have slammed the trunk lid; so necessary with American cars. It occurred to me Dianna was the type of girl who attracted a more affluent clientele. She had said she had had her pick of a large number of 'Sugar Daddies' – and turned them all down. I felt blessed.
She shouldered the bag and took my arm in hers.
"Let's go, Sweetie," she chirped brightly.
"Where to?" I responded coyly.
"Your future awaits," she replied, "but we mustn't keep it waiting another minute."
We strolled down the sidewalk, my arm linked through hers, past the usual long line for the second show. The doorman recognized her immediately, greeted her, and waved us through, much to the muttered annoyance of the lost souls waiting in line. They were not amused that the "rich bitch and her husband" were given preferential treatment. "Talent coming through," was all the hired muscle said to placate the throng, who were anything but as we were admitted. We picked our way from the door to the other end of the room, stopping frequently to greet this bartender, that performer, or another 'working girl' or 'date'. "Everyone" knew Dianna by name – another source of pride on my part, mixed with a touch of awe.
She guided me directly into the performer's dressing room without so much as a knock on the door. Eight or ten gorgeous 'girls' were in various stages of dress, from fully costumed to not at all. Dianna paid no mind to their modesty – or complete lack thereof – any more than they seemed to mind my presence. Of course, everyone had to drool over my lover's dress, shoes, jewelry, and especially her fabulous fur coat. They guessed the source of her newfound beneficence and turned to me appreciatively.
"He's "cute"," one girl opined, giving me an appreciative once-over. "Sharp dresser, too, although it doesn't seem to fit him very well. What's his name, Honey?"
"His name is "Taken"," my sweetheart replied cattily.
"Is he your latest husband, Dianna?"
"Not for long, Sugar," Dianna responded sweetly. "Girls, meet Lisa Layne. She is about to become my latest "wife. "Ladies, a little help, please."
The shrieks and catcalls came fast and furiously. Fully a half-dozen pairs of hands whisked my coat, shirt, tie, shoes, and pants off in the blink of an eye, leaving me in my lingerie, standing in the middle of a hen party.
""Not bad", Dianna," another girl clucked. "No wonder the suit didn't fit. You've already got her in drag. She's got some shape to her."
The girl squeezed one of my fake boobies playfully.
"Oh yeah, she's gonna be a "cutie"! How "do "you do it? If you can bottle it, we'll all be rich!"
"In your dreams, Chantal," Dianna countered with a grin. "I just know how to pick 'em. I don't chase everything and anything in pants – like "some" people I know."
That drew another raucous round of catcalls.
"Now, help me get her dressed and out front," my lover bid them. "We have to start teaching her "the ropes.""
""Wait a minute!"" I exclaimed.
Dianna turned to me, smiling.
"Wait "what", Sweetheart?" she trilled.
"Don't I get to say something about this?"
The seductive siren wrapped her arms around my neck and nuzzled my nose with hers.
"But Baby, you already did," she pouted. "You told me you didn't want to stop. You haven't changed your mind already, have you? I would be "so disappointed.""
"It's just... I mean..."
"Open mouth, insert foot, Bud. It's a little too late to claim you didn't think she was serious. This isn't the sort of thing Dianna would kid about, anyway."
"... I would be embarrassed to death if someone recognized me," I squeaked.
My lover just shook her head back and forth. Her smile was not to be denied; nor was her gentle kiss on my lips.
"You are "so silly"!" she proclaimed. "I doubt that would be a problem here, but your wish is my command. We will just have to make sure no one "can". Who would know more about that than us?"
"What is she gonna wear, Dianna?"
My sweetheart grinned and reached into her shoulder bag.
"This little number right "here"," she crowed, whipping out her semi-sheer blouse, suede suit and mules. "She loved it on me this afternoon. Now, let's see how it looks on "her"!"
In less time than it took to describe it, I was in Dianna's outfit from earlier that day. It might not have looked quite as good on me as it had on her, but I was surprised how good it "did" look – pleasantly surprised. Aside from my lack of makeup and hair, I didn't look like a man in a dress, which I had fully expected. Those previously-mentioned shortcomings did not last for long.
I was shepherded into a reclining salon-style chair and dropped almost to horizontal. A salon apron was draped over my body, covering everything from the neckline down and protecting my clothing from whatever was to come. Then, they "really "went to work on me. The cast of 'makeup artists' changed constantly as girls came and went for their respective sets on stage. My eyebrows were attacked simultaneously with four or five pairs of tweezers. Individual hairs were ripped out without mercy or so much as a by-your-leave. When, at last, they were satisfied, they examined my complexion for imperfections.
"You are amazing, Sweetie," one girl told me. "Your face is as soft and smooth as a baby's bottom. I just about need a magnifying glass to see your pores. No dark circles or blemishes – I can't even find a "trace" of a beard!"
"I "hate" shaving," I revealed, "body hair, too. It trapped sweat and bacteria and made me smell really nasty after a long run – not to mention it just felt... creepy to me. I had it all removed by laser as soon as I started making money."
"And you've "never" dressed before?" Chantal asked incredulously. "What a waste!"
That last bit was spoken playfully. They were beginning to warm to me – and I to them. This whole experience seemed so surreal. Barely a week before, I had had only a passing awareness of this world. Now, I was being drawn into it. There were no illusions on my part; had I been by myself, my good looks, slender physique and charm would have amounted to exactly squat to them. My connection to my beautiful lover, whom they obviously held in high esteem, had everything to do with their acceptance of me.
One girl applied a sheer makeup base to give my skin a little color. She blended it carefully with a fine-pored makeup sponge, then set it with powder and brush. Blush was added to the hollows of my cheekbones, at my temples, and under my jawline. Another drew careful strokes" "on my forehead above each eye with a soft pencil. My first thought was she might be accentuating my eyebrows, but it felt she was working well above my browline.
They took a good, long time on my eyes, starting with thick showgirl lashes above and below. Shadow came next; a lot of it, judging by the time it took them to apply it. Liquid eyeliner was painted above and below, too. My lips felt like they were being outlined by yet another pencil. Then, they were filled in with a brush dipped repeatedly in what I saw to be a deep-red lipstick. Once the first coat was smoothed out, a second was applied. Then came a coat of clear gloss. It was so bizarre to feel, "know" what they were doing, but not be able to see it.
"Are you gonna get these cock mittens pumped, Dianna?" Chantal questioned as she painted my lips.
"Uh-huh," my 'drag mother' intoned. "Cheekbones too – as well as other parts of her anatomy. All in good time."
Meanwhile, other pairs of hands had pinned my wrists to the padded armrests. Something was carefully applied to my fingertips. After a few minutes, several coats of what I suspected was nail polish (once you smell that smell, you never forget it) was brushed on my fingertips. At the same time, my stockings had been removed. My toenails were receiving similar attention.
"We need something for her ears," Dianna pronounced. "Cheríe, are you packing tonight?"
A tall, attractive Black girl rummaged through her own shoulder bag and came up with a pistol-like device.
"Always," Cheríe proclaimed. "Have gun, will travel. Mild or wild?"
""Wild!"" echoed a chorus of voices.
Dianna smiled with amusement, gazing into my face.
"You heard the ladies," she pronounced. "Go to town. I want the best for my wife. In this case, the "baddest" is the "best". I want her so her own mother won't recognize her."
In the next twenty minutes, each ear was stung repeatedly by what felt like a swarm of silent bees. Several pairs of hands were swiping at the pinpricks with cotton swabs dipped in peroxide. Then something was applied repeatedly to my ears that added more and more weight to them.
"She needs hair. Who's got hair?"
The cry was echoed around the room.
"I doooooo," chirped a voice clattering down the stairs from the stage door. "I guess I'm just in time to add the crowning touch. Happy to help."
"You are a doll, Mimi," Dianna complemented gratefully. "I owe you big time. Knowing how "you "are about hair, it's got to be special."
"It's special, all right," Mimi crowed. "Showgirl Deluxe, in 'Bleach Bunny Blonde'. With those Baby Blues of hers, she's gonna be "fabulous"!"
The chair was pivoted, then tilted upright. I was now facing away from the mirror. My longish hair was brushed back, then tucked into a tight-fitting mesh cap. A long blonde wig was fitted over that, then anchored to my head with a series of bobby pins that were wound around and around locks of my own hair before being slid into place.
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Keywords: Betrayed, Ch., 04,