© Copyright 2015 - Charlotte Arabella Graham - Used by permission
Storycodes: F+/m+; MF+; cd; latex; maid; uniform; leather; clothing; chast; blackmail; revenge; femdom; hum; hobble; party; cons/reluct; X
Part Four: Plans
A little later, Cecilia, now dressed as a parlour maid, was stationed waiting in the entrance hall. She heard another car on the drive; noisier and more modern. Cecilia opened the door a crack. She wasn’t very good at European cars, was it a Jaguar, perhaps, certainly one of the Prince’s. Whatever, it could only be Joseph; no-one else would have been let in at the front gate this, of all, mornings.
The driver got out of the car, looked about him then, as there was no welcome party, climbed the steps to ring the bell.
‘Time to begin my play acting’, Cecilia thought. She opened the door and curtsied.
“Hello”, said Joseph, a little startled to be so promptly greeted and by a maid in distinctly Victorian attire.
“Good afternoon, sir, the Prince is expecting you. He asks if you would care to join him in the pool. Though a little unconventional, the Prince believes that, in view of the delicacy of the matter that you wish to discuss it would minimise the possibility of being overheard. If you would follow me, sir, I will show you to the changing room where the Prince hope that you will find everything to your liking”.
So saying, Cecilia set off, Joseph trailing behind trying not to look too hard at her disappearing, shiny, bottom.
Joseph chose one of the many swimming shorts in the room and changed into them. Full of confidence that all was going to plan, ‘swimmingly’, he mused with an inward smile as he opened the door and stepped out on to the pool side.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Joseph, sometime prince’s private secretary, turned blackmailer”.
It was the Contessa, dressed in black leather jodhpurs and a white silk blouse, fondling a riding crop in her hands and with menace in her voice; not the Prince as he had expected.
“I don’t like people who try to blackmail my friends then set their bully-boys on them when they fail. But you got it wrong, Joseph, oh so very wrong. Yes, the Prince likes to dress as a maid and be ordered around and, yes, some of the photographs that he commissioned were a little, shall we say, risqué, but you were wrong in thinking that would have any effect on our relationship. Quite the contrary. I find that I like to discipline men and have them totally under my control. The only problems with Prinny are that he tends to get bored unless I invent better and better humiliations for him and that, because of his official duties, I can’t be his full-time dominatrix”.
“So, I am going to give you a choice; either you can be turned over to the authorities who can, I am sure, be relied on to make certain that you have a very long sentence in the company of some very unpleasant fellow prisoners or you can become my most junior maid, for me to order as I please when the Prince is unavailable”.
“How long do I have to make a choice”, asked Joseph defiantly.
“I would think about five seconds should be quite sufficient”, the Contessa replied. “I’ve already spoken to the Commissar. All I have to do is send this text and you will be picked up”.
She dangled her mobile it in front of Joseph. “Shall I press the send button?”
Joseph paused for a moment. What a choice, not that there really was one. His attempt to blackmail the Prince had back-fired leaving him with an uncertain future. Whatever he chose he was sure it would not be pleasant though perhaps marginally better with the Contessa. She could humiliate him but not as much as being sent to prison; with the connections she and the Prince had, that was a certainty.
“Your time is up, Joseph. Be my play-thing or I send the text”.
“Wait a minute. Don’t send the text. Yes, I’ll do anything you want”.
“That’s better. Your life as you knew it, Joseph, is now over, hence forth you are mine now to order as I please. And my first step is to make you my maid, Josephine. Just so there can be no mistake, you will take off those swimming trunks now and put on those things”.
The Contessa waved her crop in the direction of a chair on which some things were piled. Joseph had not noticed then before; now they seems to fill his gaze; a maid outfit, complete with apron and mop cap but worse, much worse, girl’s metal chastity belt.
“You can’t expect me to ware those thing, can you”, said Joseph in astonishment.
“Oh yes I can and you will”. Was the reply. “Unless, that is, you’d like me to send the text after all”. The Contessa’s finger hovering over the button.
“No, no. Not that!”
“The dress, then”.
Joseph picked up the dress and belt with unconcealed disgust.
“Put them on in front of me. I want to see you humiliated”.
On Cecilia’s return from showing Joseph to the pool, Ms Westbury had, indeed, calmed down and seemed to be deep in thought. Cecilia, however, thought it better in the circumstances to still be formal.
“If I can be so bold as to make a suggestion, Ma’am”
“Yes, what is it?” snapped Ms Westbury coming out of her reverie.
“Well, Ma’am you have lovely long hair but you always wear it up in a bun. If you were to let it down this once it would look, it would look …”
“I was going to say, less severe, Ma’am”.
“Was that a euphemism? And stop calling me, ‘Ma’am’. I am not the Queen!”
“But you told me right at the beginning …”
“Just stop it”.
‘My, Ms Westbury feathers really have been ruffled’, thought Cecilia as she picked up her dress and looked at it.
From the front it looked quite normal, even conventional except, perhaps, for being in latex, with long sleeves and a high collar. The back, however, was quite a different matter.
At the neck it fastened with a broad black collar in the form of a buckle and strap that, Cecilia could not have expected otherwise, had a small pad-lock, the hasp of which passed through a hole in the strap so locking it on.
Below the collar were eleven red straps, holding the dress together, with buckles on each side of the front piece of the dress a little way behind where the side-seam would normally have been placed.
A single strap closed the dress at bust-level with two clinching it together at the waist. The fourth was placed below the wearer’s bottom but so positioned as to lift up the cheeks and make then stand out.
The remaining seven were obviously there just to hold the legs together. At loosest the skirt was a tight hobble, but pulled tight and any movement of the legs would be impossible.
The dress was made to be worn without panties or a chastity belt of any sort.
“What do you wear under it?” Cecilia asked in astonishment.
“Nothing! There is not room and, anyway, it would show and spoil the effect. Get the front part on, then I will help you with the straps at the back. Some of the buckles are a little difficult to reach”.
Eventually both were ready. Ms Westbury, her hair for once not in a bun but falling luxuriantly down her back, fussed about, delaying their start down stairs but, in the end, even she had to give up. With a sigh of resignation she turned to Cecilia.
“Shall we go?” she asked.
Cecilia found the landing difficult. Walking in the hobble skirt was far from easy, the straps pulling with every step; what was more was the temperature difference between her back and front – her bottom was distinctly cold!
They turned to the highly polished chestnut stairs. Cecilia took one look at them and wished she had stayed at home. There was no way she could get down them in one piece with these heels platform soles and skirt. Ms Westbury, who was having difficulties of her own, recognised the problem.
“Let me undo the straps a bit while you get down stairs”, she offered. “But I’ll have to do them up again as soon as we get to the bottom”.
Clinging on to the handrail, Cecilia somehow managed to negotiate the stairs, pausing at the bottom to get her breath back while Ms Westbury did her up again – tighter than before, or so it felt to Cecilia.
By the time they had arrived the Contessa, dressed much as before and still wheedling her trade-mark riding crop, was waiting for them.
“Lavinia, it’s so nice to see you again. And the dress, it’s so you. I was right, wasn’t I, the Victoria style suits, shall we say, the older woman, doesn’t it. And this must be your niece, Cecilia. You won’t mind if I call you, ‘Sissy’ do you, my dear. What a wonderful dress, give us a twirl”.
Cecilia, who really hated being called, ‘Sissy’, reluctantly turned round, showing her naked back.
“Wonderful, wonderful”, said the Contessa. “Quite tempting, very tempting indeed, but we’d better leave that ‘til later. If you would allow me, though, I think that the straps on the skirt should be rather tighter, don’t you agree, Lavinia, more like this”.
With that the Contessa bent down and began to pull the straps two holes tighter so that Cecilia, already hobbled, was rendered almost immobile. More embarrassingly, the tightening of the fourth strap caused her bottom to stick out even more. What was worse, in the process, the Contessa’s crop came perilously close to the cheaks of her bottom, very close; deliberately so.
At last the Contessa was done, leaving Cecilia even more embarrassed and flushed than before.
“Shall we join the others”, she said, marching off in the direction of the drawing room.
Brigitte and Alain were already in the room, Brigitte in a one-shoulder long dress, Alain more formal in a white leather tuxedo and black trousers was pouring Champagne.
After the introductions the ritual of kissing again took place; this time Cecilia receiving two on each cheek, ‘I must be going up in the World’, she thought.
“This is Josephine”, the Contessa wave in the direction of Joseph. “She’s my new junior maid. I’m afraid that she still has much to learn, quite untrained in fact, but I’m sure I shall have fun whipping her into shape. It’s not tonight, though, is it Josephine, or any other night, is it?”
Josephine gave the slightest nod of the head.
“Show us why, Josephine”.
Joseph, completely embarrassed, did not move.
The Contessa slowly drew the crop though her hands.
“I said, show us, Josephine”, the Contessa commanded, menace in her voice.
Reluctantly, Joseph lifted his skirt to reveal a firmly-locked charity belt, not only that, it was Cecilia’s, now excruciatingly tight on Joseph’s more ample figure.
“Turn round so everyone can get a good look”, the Contessa ordered. “Keep turning, slowly”.
“It’s not a bad chastity belt, I’m sure you’ll agree, though it does leave one orifice unplugged; must do something about that”.
Ignoring the slowly rotating Joseph, his skirt still up in the air, the Contessa turned to, Brigitte.
“Actually, I seem to have lost the key. I think I must have dropped it somewhere. It doesn’t matter, Josephine will be wearing the belt for a long time but if one of your cleaners should come across it, you might post it to me”.
She turned back to the hapless Joseph.
“Josephine, what are you waiting for, get back to the kitchen and bring us more canapés”.
Cecilia knew that she had drunk too much Champagne but, somehow magically, her glass never seemed to get any emptier. In a story that she had been force to read at school some character had said that it was, ‘not much stronger than lemonade.’
‘That couldn’t be true’, she thought with a suppressed inner giggle. Her feet were beginning to tingle and she was quite glad of the tight hobble skirt as it helped to hold her up.
Eventually, the ringing of a bell announced that dinner was served and they trouped into the dining room, the Contessa leading the way, Ms Westbury and Cecilia bringing up the rear, literally in Cecilia’s case.
There were six chairs round the table but, when she had done feasting her eyes on the elaborate decorations of the place setting with their multiplicity cutlery and glasses, it was set only five.
“Where is the Prince?” Cecilia asked under her breath.
“If I am right”, responded Ms Westbury in a whisper, “you will not see him at least until dinner is served, perhaps even later”.
The chairs round the dining table were contemporary ones made of clear plastic. As well as showing everything, Cecilia soon found herself sticking to the seat. She wriggled to try to get unstuck but such relief as it was only lasted for a moment. At least, she consoled herself, the seats aren’t antiques made of stuffed horse-hair. Sitting on itchy seats in this dress would be hell.
The meal was served by two young women who the traiteur had brought with him for that purpose. Joseph was made to carry the heavy trays up from the kitchen to the dining room, the servers doing all they could to embarrass him in the process.
Partway through the Contessa made Joseph stand in front of her, his hands by his side. She looked at him closely.
“I think the skirt is much too long. It should be wrist length at most, don’t you think? You’re an expert on these things, what do you think, Cecilia?” she said, turning.
What Cecilia really thought will never be known as she received a sharp kick under the table.
“Er, yes” she blurted.
“There, you have it from an expert. Where do you get maids’ latex dresses from quickly, Levinia”.
Course followed course but still there was no sign of the Prince. Finally, the dessert was reached. An enormous cake entered the room, rolled in on a trolley. The lights dimmed and a fanfare sounded…
Out of the top of the cake popped…
The Contessa burst into applause and the others, guests and servants, joined in. Clearly this was what was expected as the Prince, dressed in a short red satin sissy dress, curtsied to all and sundry.
The clapping died down and the Prince took the vacant place at the table. Soon the assembled company was talking and laughing about persons that, to Cecilia, existed only in the celebrity columns of gossip magazines. Really she was rather glad to be out of it. Apart from having rather too much to drink and the front half of her being rather sticky with the warmth of the room, the back half still not having come to an accommodation with the chair, so much had happened in the last few days. There was so much to think about. Certainly things could never be the same again. But what would they be?
Suddenly she was woken from her day-dream.
“Wake up, Cecilia”, it was the Contessa, “You’ll come to the wedding, of course. The ceremony will be in the cathedral so, externally, it will have to be rather more traditional, no wedding-dress for Prinny, I’m afraid, but I’m sure that we can still make it exciting. The staff at the reception”, she waved in the direction of Joseph, “will be much the same. I’m sure that you will be interested in seeing how some of the training is getting on anyway”.
Next morning Cecilia was packing their cases to leave when Ms Westbury, who had been in conclave with Alain and the Contessa all morning, came into the suite.
“You should pack all of your maids’ dresses, you will not be requiring them again except, perhaps, for special purposes. Put on the things that we bought in Paris, Cecilia; I want show you round Bourges before we leave. It is rather like York, the proper one that is, not New York, but without the tourists. We must also get you some more clothes and some jewellery. Then we can visit the castles of the Loire. I have to confess that I have rather a liking for wine from Savennières. I know a nice hôtel quite near. Here’s the number. Ring ahead, will you dear, and book their best suite with two bedrooms, one for me and one for my dear friend, Cecilia”.
“As well as the dress, the Contessa gave me some very interesting information on the basis of which I believe we should re-launch the business. I think that it ought now to have a new name though, and was wondering, if you agree, if it could be called, Westbury and Niece. Now, what the Contessa told me was this …”
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