1.
It started one day when Ms Brand asked Josephine if she knew any French. Now, months later, in the car to the airport, Josephine was more excited than anything. "Stop fidgeting and be calm," is all Ms Brand said distractedly as she focused on her phone, sending a last message to some company called Chasseur Maroquinerie.
"How much French did you manage to learn, Josephine?"
"Uh, a little, Ms Brand. I can read more than I speak. It was harder than I thought."
"I see. So, virtually nothing. Well, you will have to get by while we're in Paris."
"What about the German leg?"
"The Germans are more prepared than the French to meet you halfway with English. In any event, a lack of French shouldn't be much of an issue."
"So," began Josey, scanning their itinerary again, "It's Paris to visit a place called Maroquinerie Chasseur, then the London reception, Berlin for the latex fashion show and ball and then client visits all the way to Monaco to finish off?"
"If that is what it says on the sheet. From here out, I'm tasking you with being on top of exact flight numbers and travel times."
When Naomi had dropped them off for their flight to Paris, Josey had been feeling a little overawed at the adventure she was about to embark upon. Now, in the line for the TSA, Josephine would have been a nervous wreck if her experiences and training at Desire Boutique hadn't taught her a few things about emotional endurance and withstanding duress.
The things they'd done to her - with her enthusiastic consent, of course - had given her considerable patience when anxiety and excitement were spiralling and blossoming inside her… that was, only so long as she knew that a more active or dominant ally was nearby for support. If Josey had been alone right now, she would have been a wreck. And even now, sheltering within Ms Brand's aura of invincible poise, the young woman was still nearly trembling in her heels.
"You will be fine, Jospheine," Ms Brand said, emphasising the will almost like making it true through the force of her certainty. "I have been over this with our travel booking service and they can confirm that girls of your kind will face no issues with airport security. Yes, they will be able to detect the belt underneath your dress, but it is registered on your ticket as a medical device and so will not cause trouble."
"Yes, Ms Brand. I know. It's just, I've never done something like this before: travelling as a girl. Being so far from my home. It's like even though I've been working as Josey for months now. When I get home, I feel sometimes like I can just 'be' and I just leave that "store slave" role at the door. But if I get on that plane, I won't be able to just leave it at the door …"
"And yet, here you are anyway. I am very proud of you for coming along on this trip as my executive assistant and model."
"Well, the opportunity… an all-expenses paid tour of Europe!"
"Josephine, remember: I don't want you to be able to leave the role 'at the door' like you say. This is not a holiday. Not by any means. For the next two weeks, we are here to work, make contacts, find new product lines and win orders. I do these trips every few years and find they are much easier with an attentive assistant. There are long days, quite a few events and a great deal of moving around. I will be relying on you to help me, keep tabs on the little things, anticipate what we need and to be my product tester and model. So, I need a smile on your face, a song in your heart and your head in the game - 24/7. You understand what I am saying?"
"Yes, Ms Brand. I will be the best assistant you could hope for."
"No. What I mean is, you do understand this means your belt is staying on throughout?"
"Yes, Ms Brand. That was mentioned weeks ago in all the details of getting ready. But I didn't think about it much. I figured it wouldn't be very different from how things were back at the store," Josey sighed. "I mean, the longest I have been in it without a break has been that long weekend when you didn…"
Ms Brand raised an imperious eyebrow.
"When I forgot to ask you to unlock me."
Ms Brand smiled and Josey continued.
"But I have not done it for a couple of weeks! So, I'm sure it will end up driving me nuts at some point, but I agreed and I am here to please."
"I suppose, yes, it may be a little like being on-shift at the store. However, most find it is simply the ongoing duration of control that is the most difficult to adjust to, but you will. Apparently, it becomes increasingly insistent - driving the trainee to distraction. Driving them nuts, as you say. And then, if you can keep on task, if we keep up the duration and we promise not to turn back at the 'nuts' stage, there is eventually a breakthrough and you're on the other side - changed. In the lead-up to it, such as you are in now, you are nearly as amenable as when you are past it. The timing and intensity of the change are different for every girl, of course. We may have to ramp up the pressure to force it, but I prefer to let nature take its course. All my other assistants have been through it and they all adjusted after a while."
"How long has it taken?" asked Josey with growing excitement and alarm. Her crotch was stirring and tingling with apprehension.
"It seems to be totally random. For my other girls, the 'duration of control' stage has been between anything from 1 month to 2 years," Ms Brand said.
Josey gasped.
"Don't be dramatic, dear. The 2 years was an extraordinary case. The circumstances of her delay and breakthrough are unlikely to be repeated."
"I suppose that is a relief."
"Of course. And you are not a girl in the same way that the others were. But you're now set in your role rather… ah… definitively that there will likely be no difference. Besides, there's nothing you can really do to take your femininity off, so to speak. It would take some months for it to wear off. Not that you're permitted to start that process while we're on the trip…"
Ms Brand's phone buzzed and she glanced at it for a moment, before regathering her thoughts and continuing, somewhat absentmindedly. "In any case, my other assistants have adjusted to the duration of control. You will too. By all means, keep me abreast of developments, but I will not be hearing any whining."
"Yes, Ms Brand. I understand why I have to wear it."
"Good girl," she said casually, looking back to her phone.
Josephine would have blushed, such was the insidious effect that simple phrase had come to have on her. She would have blushed, if not for the nerves.
They inched their way down the line to the security scanners. Even though they had business class seats, for now everyone was all in the line together with everyone else. Josephine could see that she and Ms Brand stood out, and herself more so than her boss.
While Ms Brand was in a smart business pantsuit and merely looked more elegant than most of the passengers. As for Josephine, well, Ms Brand had also personally supervised all of her packing. All of her daywear was either the corporate skirt suits and dresses that suited a fashionable young executive assistant or the house style of Desire Boutique - a tasteful blend of playful fetish, sleek classical lines and a touch of cute coquettish. Josey noted that she had no casual attire, nor even a single pair of jeans or slacks. As for her eveningwear, there were two cocktail dresses plus a panoply of strappy things from the DB fetish collections that could be vaguely called "clothing". Several pairs of heels and a half-dozen full sets of matching lingerie filled out her bulging suitcases.
And so the assistant stood in line next to her employer in a grey knee-length dress - a soft, stretchy breathable fabric that was quite clinging and yet very comfortable. Over this, Josephine wore a black business blazer. Beneath, she had zipped on a pair of black ankle boots with a 3-inch block heel (stilettos being a bad idea on aeroplanes). Heels were not necessarily comfortable or practical for a flight, but Josephine had been wearing stride limiters around her Achilles tendons for months. Her ankles had well and truly adapted. These days, she could barely feel those implacable bands, except when barefoot. Back in the store, Josey had joked that she felt like a duck unless wearing heels or walking on tiptoe. So, now she was conditioned to heels and 3 inches was the lowest that was tolerable. In all, she definitely stood out as a fashion-forward young woman among all the others in line wearing their jeans, hoodies and T-shirts. And the two of them, plus a few other men and women, stood out as destined for the business class lounge… just the other side of the security men and their magnetic wands.
2.
The trans-Atlantic flight passed with the usual tedium. Josey could not tell if her nerves or the surge and wallow of the aircraft coming in to land in Paris, but she was filled with a kind of energetic nerviness. Business class had been nice. Ms Brand had ordered champagne for them both and then had relaxed into reading an old novel. Josey had watched a few bad movies, noticing again that these days she opted more for dramas and biographies than the action-adventures that once distracted her. As the plane gently pitched down from cruising height, Josey noticed several of the other women in business class putting their heels back on. Josey, of course, had left her shoes on.
The plane touched down and they disembarked. They passed through customs and security again and stepped into the arrivals area.
"You have our check-in documents, so please gather the luggage and find our driver. I have calls to make, I'll be in the cafe. Come to me when we're ready to go."
And with that, Ms Brand left Josey - the pretty young girl - to her duties, alone in the massive and bustling halls of Charles De Gaulle Airport. Josey set her chin, settled the strap of her carry-on handbag on her shoulder and made for the luggage carousel. She tried to walk carefree and confident, but inside she was filled with dancing butterflies. Paris!
This feeling acquired a new aspect when she noticed a young man - perhaps 20 years old - get his friend's attention so they could both ogle her as she passed by them. She became very aware of her butt jiggling with each step under the tight dress. Physically, she kept her head up and kept going, mentally she felt as if she were faltering. She did not look back but could somehow feel their eyes on her ass as she walked away. They could only guess at the strappy lingerie she was wearing underneath… and they could never guess about the secure alloy-fabric underneath that!
She made for the business class luggage pickup counter and handed over the boarding passes for both herself and Ms Brand. Her luggage was quickly wheeled out on a complimentary trolley.
"Thank you. Could you please show me where the private transfers desk is?"
The counter staff member got out a printed map of the airport and drew a dotted line for Josey to follow. Her heels robbed her of leverage and the knees-together stance of dress-wearing robbed her of a strong base to push from, so the task of wheeling the trolley about was all the more ponderous. But once she got it moving it was easy enough. A uniformed young man of the airline's gate staff trotted over, but not having any Euros and not knowing if she'd need to tip him, Josey tried to smile him away. He was insistent and spoke over her, but eventually, she shooed him off. She heaved the trolley forwards with a thrust of her hips and headed towards the transfers desk to find their car and driver. Ms Brand fell into step alongside her. "I do not expect you to haul our suitcases around, dear girl!" the older woman chuckled.
On the flight, Ms Brand revealed that she was broadly capable of speaking French, albeit with an accent and without fluency. She explained to Josey that the French people, dealing with so many tourists, appreciated when foreigners could get by - or at least attempted to get by - in their language.
"They'll hear you and immediately switch to English if they speak it… and they probably do. However, the simple fact that you attempt French will put you on the best foot. Some might even find it charming. Even so, like anywhere, there will be people who see you as 'just another ignorant foreigner', it's never personal, but it will feel like it is."
Josephine had been working hard on her voice, the only feminine attribute that the styling wizardry of Desire Boutique had not been able to help with. Too much depth or resonance would shatter the feminine illusion she had worked so hard to attain, aided by the training, standards and demands of working under the thumb of Desire Boutique. After a month, she'd found the habit of using her vocal cords in a different way. This however only made her voice androgynous, if not necessarily pleasant to the ear. Given how thorough the rest of her transformation had become, a flat voice of indistinct gendering didn't cause anyone to twig that she wasn't everything she seemed. Still, the difficulty she had with tonal control made her very limited command of French all the more awkward.
The young woman working at the counter was abrupt and unhelpful. Confused and looking over her shoulder as she walked out with Ms Brand, Josey saw the shop assistant gossiping with a co-worker, both of them glancing sharply back at Josey.
"This is something else you will have been largely shielded from spending so much time around the girls and myself. We are, for want of a better word, "your set". Your group. You must understand that women are fiercely loyal to their friends, but this can also mean being cold to those they think are outsiders, especially if the other feels threatened by you. You didn't go through high school as a girl, so you might not be aware of this. In any event, this is what just happened to you."
"But I wasn't threatening!"
"You look wealthy, you're travelling and you're beautiful. You appear glamorous to them."
"Beautiful?"
"Yes my girl, you were quite presentable as a boy and so my girls had a lot to work with. And the resulting product is of a high standard. You work particularly well as a model. It's a large part of why I got you to come on this trip. You standing here, are a team effort. We contributed as you contributed. And you are now a valuable business asset. The potential was there and we brought it out. But there are some downsides, and getting the occasional nasty reaction for no reason other than how you look, that is one of them."
"But what do I do about it?"
"Well, young lady, you smile and get by. What else can you do?"
3.
Until now, Paris, to Josey, had seemed like just a big city. Yes, the wide boulevards were nice, but it did not feel like Gay Paree to her until their car turned down this narrow alley. Modest in dimension, but not in wealth. For, even though the businesses of the street had very small premises, they clearly served a very well-heeled clientele. There was no ostentation to their fit-out, but rather the simple appearance of discrete and tasteful quality. Buildings not made of concrete or brick, but of classically carved stone. There were few pedestrians, and some more people about, taking coffee at the bistro - which only had 3 tiny tables, each an antique. Everyone was expensively, yet tastefully, dressed.
Josey and Ms Brand exited the car in front of an atelier. Through the window, the young woman could see that the interior was spotless, albeit arrayed - nearly cluttered - with products and ephemera. Ms Brand stood in front of the door. The moment extended until Josey regained her wits and opened the door for her employer. The handle was solid brass and ice cold. They walked into the shop, chiming the bell, and were shocked with what felt like an arctic blast of air-conditioning. Yes, it was a cool and gently breezy day outside, but the still premises of Chasseur Maroquiuinie was nearly chilly. Josey shivered and Ms Brand rearranged her scarf.
Tools neatly slotted into their places, workbenches of smooth though heavily marked wood, dark green paint, a pleasant smell of tanned leather and books.
Laying open on the coffee table, Josey saw a few crisp and glossy hardback books filled with what she could swear were actual supermodels in fetish wear and couture designs. All were vividly captured by the photographer. A profusion of leather bookmarks showed that Chasseur had referred to these books in his work. Josey definitely wanted a closer look…
It seemed empty inside the shop, but then they heard a bustling from the back of the room. Soon a short and snappily dressed middle-aged man strutted briskly out to them.
"Madame Brand! It is you! Welcome back to Paris! And who is this, this lovely mademoiselle?"
"Monsieur Chasseur, it is a delight to see you again. This is Josephine, my assistant and our model for today."
"Mademoiselle!" exclaimed Monsieur Chasseur to Josey and she let out a natural smile. Apparently, the atelier was smitten by her on sight, for when Josey went to extend her arm for a handshake, the leather craftsman instead seized her warmly by both wrists, drew her in and air-kissed her cheek. Josey was taken aback. Where once that would have caused her to tense as a reflex, she instead now yielded in his strong but fastidiously manicured hands. A detail Ms Brand did not fail to notice.
She cleared her throat and Mons Chasseur zipped his attention back to her in a lively but not uncontrolled snap of his head.
"Shall we…?" Ms Brand said.
"To business, of course."
The first item Ms Brand was here to inspect was an armbinder of extremely supple yet classic black leather. Upon seeing it, she and Chasseur made eye contact and Ms Brad simply gestured to Josey with a casual flex of her hand.
Chasseur helped Josey off with her blazer, and then Josey held her hands behind her. She turned and was left facing a blank wall as the atelier and Ms Brand slid the single-sleeve up her arms, fitted her into its soft and unyielding embrace and murmured behind her back. It took them some time to discuss eyelets and lacing, but they soon brought her elbows together until they were touching.
"Now there is a buckle at the wrist and another here, high on the arm," Chasseur said. "And the buckle has a roller to make it easy… ummph …easier to make very tight enough. As you can now see."
"I have always liked your care over details."
"Of course, madam."
Over the next quarter hour or so, they treated Josey like a mannequin and talked about her behind her back and in the abstract "it fits there and moulds the curve here" rather than "it fits her here and follows her curves there".
Ms Brand asked if there were other pieces and Chasseur brought out a pair of matching ankle cuffs separated by a short length of articulated metal.
"This is to stop the wearer, say, straying too far."
"May I see it on her too?"
Mons. Chasseur bowed and soon dropped to Josey's ankles to snugly strap the cuffs on.
"No, you can see that she may still stand, but cannot wander too far. Stairs have been found to be an especial hindrance. To run, of course, is, how you say, futile. So, mademoiselle," he said, giving Josey a light push in the lower back, "a walk and a turn for us now."
Josey, no stranger to being hobbled, extended her leg the half-step she was allowed and minced away across the tiny shop's main floor. Her boot heels clicked on the shiny stone floor. She stood in the best light for a moment, pirouetted and then came back to them.
"Ahh, I see," said Ms brand, "Using swivels and metal links rather than chain means the hobble is nearly silent and doesn't bash around so much."
"Just so."
Josey came back to them, smiled and she stood facing the pair, but Mons Chasseur simply turned her back around to face the wall so they could resume their discussions of the bondage appliances she wore. Becoming bored but staying obedient, she did not try to turn back.
She heard them discuss stitching materials and colours. Soon she heard the crinkly paper of the patterns as they laid them out and pored over them. They prodded and adjusted the armbinder despite her. This she realised was what it was really like to be a clothes horse. It was kind of fun. The urge to join in mounted up. She sighed and made a turn. She'd not made it a quarter turn before Ms Brand's cold hand closed over the back of her neck.
"Ms Brand, I think the fit is good, but…"
"Hush dear," said her boss absentmindedly. Chasseur's hands caught Josey by the hips and turned her away again firmly. The pair continued murmuring and working until…
"… well, madame, I have more finishes and leathers in the stockroom. It is in the attic. I shall bring some down"
"How many finishes do you have up there?"
Chasseur glanced up briefly to a narrow steep stairway that housed his collection of antique hand mirrors that caught odd angles of the rolls of slick materials housed on the upper floor. "Of leathers? Many hundreds," he said with pride.
"Well, then it makes more sense for us to go up than to come down."
"True. However, the staircase is steep…"
"That's no matter. Josey will stay here."
Monsieur Chasseur shrugged in that French way and walked off to snap the latch on the front door and flip the sign to 'Closed'.
"Josey, you are done for now. Feel free to wander about, but don't touch anything while myself and the monsieur are gone," Ms Brand said in a droll tone.
4.
And so they went up the narrow and steep stairway, leaving her there trussed up in a foreign store. Josey's predicament now hit her as she gazed out the window. She trembled as subspace mounted upon her. In her mind, many thoughts half began and half ended. Minutes passed and the wave of addled mesmerisation receded. Her wits emerged again above the surface of the pink mist that had just enveloped her attention.
The two upstairs did not seem to be coming down any time soon, so Josey hobbled around the store. She shuffled at first, learning what the hobbles would let her do. Soon her heels were clicking softly in the cool stillness as she moseyed about looking at various things. Next, she practised different ways to walk elegantly with her stride limited to just half a step. The natural instinct was to keep shuffling, but that was not an attractive thing for a classy sub to do. But soon Josey found a way to actually walk while hobbled. It could be done, so long as you gave up trying to get anywhere quickly. She noticed it made her walk more from the hips and made her upper body - her tits essentially - twist and wiggle more. Surely an intentional effect above considerations to restraint. In the long mirrors here and there, she found the visual to be very fetching in the cutely erotic way - nearly amusing - of a girl helplessly hampered but trying to remain self-possessed and go about her business as best she could.
Chasseur had a vast array of leather-working tools. All apparently old yet in perfect repair. Hooked sticks and thick needles and little wheels and minuscule saws and blunted tines and spiralling prongs and other instruments she had no words for. She bent at the hips to inspect items and had to blow her fringe off her face. After a while, she became aware of her breasts straining at her blouse under the crossed straps of the armbinder. Since they had grown in (or "swollen" in), she'd become used to her breasts always just "being there" - prominent and unhideable parts of her, so different from breast-forms. Yet, at times like now, their presence insisted on her attention. She noticed that her nipples were standing out, obvious and hard. She sighed - no way to cover that up right now. Her awareness of the straps forcing her breasts out to jiggle and tingle was still distracting enough that she stopped bending to look at things on the desk and simply sashayed slowly around the perimeter of the shop floor to admire Chasseur's selection of paintings and framed photos. Like much of the rest of the clutter in the shop, they were neat and many.
Eventually, she became bored and carefully lowered herself into the armchair next to the coffee table with those fashion books. Much deeper and softer than she expected, the chair practically swallowed her as the caramel leather padding collapsed underneath her slight frame. Indeed, her sudden weight shift overtopped the balance point of her heels and she toppled gently backwards. Of course, with her arms trapped helplessly and her ankles cuffed loosely together, she couldn't stop it and came to rest deep in the chair - the toes of her boots lifted off the floor by the protrusion of their heels. It was an extravagantly comfortable chair though, and she lay there in the slick softness for a time, legs incapacitated and arms pinned behind but not at all crushed.
There she just watched a tiny slice of Paris go past behind the cover of the dark glass and fastidious clutter of the interior of Maroquinerie Chasseur. Pedestrians came in ones and twos every now and again. Scooters, bicycles and little cars. She heard MB and MC upstairs moving around and talking. Eventually, she got a little bored. Her nose itched. The chair was comfortable. The travel and lingering jetlag began to overcome her. Her mind wandered again. And wandered more. Perhaps she hadn't overcome the subspace wave from the moment shortly after her "abandonment" here. Maybe she even had a tiny nap, she couldn't say. She roused herself awake - she was on the clock dammit! Her boss and the atelier were still upstairs.
The gorgeous fashion books were just there, right in front of her. With some effort and zero elegance, she wriggled and pushed herself forwards in the chair, up out of the pillowy stuffing. Her legs stuck out and waggled around awkwardly. Her skirt rode up quite high and showed her stocking tops. She was helpless to pull it back down. So she'd just have to be on display a little more, like it or not. She eventually gained the edge of the armchair's seat, where the underlying frame gave more support. She perched there and then leaned over to look at the open pages of the book. She was unable to turn a single page, of course. The thickness of the paper meant the books did not lie flat and other than the designs open to the world, Josey could glance into the edge of the book to see shadowy hints of other designs in the dark crescent-shaped gaps. Naked forms, long limbs, bands of leather, heavily made-up eyes above sharp cheekbones artfully tear-streaked with mascara. The hints she could barely make out excited her more than if she'd been able to see the full images. The captions were in French, but she could still read that Maroq Chasseur was involved in these images in some way. She sighed longingly. Oh, to be one of those girls.
Then she remembered where she was, the predicament she was in and who she now was! She glanced over to the nearest mirror again. There she was: a boy, turned semi-permanently into a gorgeous girl, in implacable chastity for gosh knows how long now, employed as a bondage model, flown halfway across the world and now functioning as the personal assistant of an imperious woman. On top of it all, she was now tied up in a $5,000 armbinder and being treated as a dressmaking dummy in the studio of a master fetish craftsman!
Other than the fact she still had her clothes on and was not currently posing upon some baroquely styled bed, she was one of those girls! She ached with a sense of nervous lust that she had come to know so well. She swooned and bit her lip, trembling with the excitement of the realisation. Then pain!
She looked up, startled. No one. Then she peered at the staircase and saw Ms Brand's eyes laser beaming down at her, reflected in one of the mirrors lining the staircase. She'd been keeping an eye on Josey that way ever since she sat down! Ms Brand made intense eye contact then raised her eyebrows and jutted her chin: Get up girl! We are about to come down.
Josey nodded deeply and Ms Brand acknowledged it by curtly dropping her chin and then looked away. Awkwardly Josey got her heels under her and tottered back to her feet.
5.
"This is a top-of-the-line item," Monsieur Chasseur said, holding up the sleepsack. "We make it on a standard pattern cut to the general height and weight of who will be occupying it. Then we can rapidly tailor it to exact measurements. This is why I asked you for your girl's measurements just before your flight. It was to be able to demonstrate our capabilities in a real-world test."
"Impressive. I would like to see it."
"Here and now?"
"Yes."
"Your assistant will provide a report?"
"Yes."
"Ahh, well, leather is a natural material, so it will give and settle with frequent occupation. While we have already softened this item, this first test may be tighter than you expect. It is not unlike buying a new pair of shoes from the cordonnière, no?"
"I see, so a test here will not give the whole account of the quality of the item."
"Just so."
"Well, do not worry, Josephine may look delicate but she is made of stern stuff and is quite enduring."
Monsieur Chasseur nodded, satisfied with Ms Brand's comment. Josey, herself, was nonplussed by its exact meaning.
"Where do you find such girls," Chasseur said admiringly.
"Sometimes they find me. And sometimes I mould them to my needs a little."
"If only I had your touch with finding the right help," Chasseur said. "Now, if you could ensure young Josephine is prepared to go in. I will give you a few moments."
The atelier exited the room.
"Josephine." It was all Ms Brand had to say.
When Monsieur Chasseur returned to the room, Josephine was standing there in her black lace lingerie, which scarcely covered the Ultralux. Chasseur appraised her slim body.
"Good. Excellent," he said, mostly to himself. "Please lay upon the table next to the item and we shall introduce you to it." He turned to Ms Brand, "May I touch her to guide her body into the correct positions?"
"Yes, of course."
Josey noted that the permission was apparently not hers to give. Monsieur Chasseur gave Josey a small courtly bow and then stooped to grip her leg by the calf. His touch was soft. His hands were freezing; her skin pimpled.
He then glanced up and saw the chastity belt. He recognised it for what it was.
"Ahhh, c'est la version masculine de l'Ultralux, non?"
"Oui c'est le cas. Mais je ne permets pas à Josey d'être un garçon - même si elle veut l'être parfois. Heureusement, ces moments deviennent de plus en plus rares. Je la garde en tant que fille dans la chasteté à tout moment maintenant, malgré les protestations ou les supplications qu'elle fait."
Turning to Josey, Monsieur Chasseur said, "Oh mademoiselle, I see more clearly now. You are as fortunate as you are rare as you are beautiful."
"Uhh, thank you," said Josey, puzzled and nearly blushing. "What did you two just say?"
The monsieur began "We--"
Ms Brand cut in. "Perhaps you should have paid closer attention to your French lessons." She did not say it cruelly, but it was clear there would be no translation.
Josephine was abashed.
Monsieur Chasseur guided her to a small step and then up onto a large spotlessly clear workbench of old polished wood.
"Lie down, please."
Josey lay between them in her lingerie.
"Please continue with the item, Monsieur. Strap her in and lace it up. Tight."
And they did.
Ms Brand and Josey made their preparations to leave the atelier, with each - plus Monsieur Chasseur - bustling around on separate tasks of administration and logistics, Josey realised something and went over to her boss.
"Ms Brand. Would you like me to arrange with Monsieur Chasseur for shipment of the sleepsack back to the boutique?"
"No. Please ask him to package it as a normal sale."
"We're taking it with us?"
"We will need it later," Ms Brand said. "Ah, the taxi is here. Go and hail the car and I will finish up with the monsieur."
Soon Josey and Ms Brand were comfortably ensconced in the back seat of a taxi (A Mercedes) and cruising back to the hotel.
Without any pretext, Mr Brand suddenly spoke, "Good girl." It was all she said, and then she touched the control bracelet. Josey's crotch twinged with the tiniest and briefest spark of pleasure - the belt's lowest setting. The girl gasped silently for breath and her attention swam blankly. It was like she had just been reset, somehow. It only lasted a moment and then she regathered herself. She sat quietly for a moment.
"Ms Brand, I don't want to be out of place, but are you trying to condition me by saying 'good girl' and then touching the bracelet?"
Ms Brand turned to her with a stony look on her face, "Yes."
Josie was taken aback by the bluntness of it.
"Oh…"
"Actually, I've been doing it for some time, but you hadn't noticed until now. I have noticed though, and it is working. Don't worry, it's nothing sinister. I am simply continuing your training as my executive assistant. A good assistant is attentive to their manager and can anticipate their thinking. I've been helping that along in a near-subliminal way. That is all."
"So that explains it! I couldn't put my finger on it, but from time to time I've suddenly become somehow aware of the belt - in a nice way - but I can't tell if it has actually been doing anything."
"Well, some of that may have been me," Ms Brand admitted. "But a lot of that is probably in your head too. Which is precisely what I want."
Josey thought for a moment. "Does this mean I am going to be acting as your extension, something like a day manager, at the shop?"
"No, dear. Don't worry about that. Every staff contract, including yours, stipulates an organisational structure. In your contract, you are at the bottom: permanently subordinate to all current staff. That's actually a real clause under contract law. So, even though your regular 'store slave' duties are not defined in the contract - and wouldn't be enforceable anyway - your bottom rank under your current contract legally cannot change. As such, you will not be relieved of your duties unless you resign - which you are free to do - or I change your contract and you re-sign it. Although, I doubt you want either of those things to happen…"
"Not at all, Ms Brand!"
"Good. Rather, what this altered role means is that you will soon be functioning as my direct assistant in a semi-regular capacity. As such, I want you oriented, so to speak, to my expectations."
Ms Brand gestured smoothly to her bracelet.
"On the same wavelength?" asked Josey in a sing-song manner.
"If that is a pun about the bracelet's signals, consider yourself on pre-termination notice!" Ms Brand joked.
"Sorry, ma'am, couldn't resist," Josey giggled in return. Ms Brand laughed, but still tapped the bracelet to give Josey a little sting of pain. She did it with a smile, and Josey was startled but kept giggling. This time a little nervously. A silence descended and they rode on. When they were stopped at a traffic light for what seemed an interminable time, Josey found herself talking again.
"That was a bit of a surprise."
"What was?"
"When you left me in an armbinder and ankle cuffs when you went upstairs."
"You had told us it was comfortable, the door was locked and there was currently no use for you. So it did not matter. Unless you were misrepresenting the comfort level, there is no issue."
"It's just… you had me tied up and then sort of abandoned me in a strange--"
"Okay, Josey, being serious now: Are you actually complaining? Really? Were you okay down there by yourself? I even saw you had a little nap in that armchair."
"Yes, I guess. It's just…"
"Then enough now, child. Being placed in bondage is simply part of your life now. It has been for some months and it is going to happen a great deal more. So the matter is closed. We have other work to do."