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The Professionals

by Charlotte Arabella Graham

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© Copyright 2013-20 - Charlotte Arabella Graham - Used by permission

Storycodes: F+/m; cd; maid; latex; costume; boots; collar; mask; caught; strip; moulding; plaster; cons/reluct; X

This story is a sequel to "The Consultants"

Chapter 1

Brrrring, brrrring, Leslie reached over for the ‘phone, wincing as she did so, abrupt changes of position still catching her unawares. 

 “Hello Lesso,” it was an excited Amber on the other end. “I’ve just found an amazing ad on the Internet. It says, ‘The Mistress invites those already well versed in BD and SM to vacation at her fairy-tale castle set in extensive, secluded grounds. Well-equipped dungeons offer a comprehensive range of traditional and modern apparatus. The spacious bedrooms have many ‘interesting features’ that will appeal to the connoisseur. In order to give opportunities for the greatest range of possible activities a maximum of four guests can be accommodated at any one time.’ All this came out in a torrent. 

“There’s more,” she went on, “but how about all four of us going for Christmas?”

“That sounds great. Actually, I could do with a get-together. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I can give to Barry by way of a present for helping me like he did. You know Barry; it has to be something, well special. Anyway, I’ve had what I think is a super idea, but it involves all of us so I wanted to discuss it first before I do anything. Tomorrow’s Friday. How are you fixed to come round for a bite of supper? Gwyneth was talking about coming up to Town, anyway, and I expect that I can arrange for appropriate staff to be available.” 

Amber gave a little giggle at the word, ‘staff.’ Presumably it referred to Charlotte who had again been handed the short straw by Leslie and would presumably find himself acting as maid at the party.

“That’ll be great, but what about the castle and things? Shouldn’t we book straight away, in case they get booked up? They only take one party at a time. It sounds so exciting. I bet it would be super.”

“We’ll talk about that too. Email me the details, copy to everyone so we can all have a copy, then be a good girl and run along I’ve got things to do.”

Leslie switched the ‘phone off and shook her head.

‘What shall we do with the girl?’ she thought. ‘With all the excitement we have had recently I was hoping for a bit of peace and quiet.’

That evening Leslie listened out for Charles’s return. She heard a car arrive in the mews and then the sound of the garage door closing. A minute later there was the characteristic click of high heels going up the metal fire exit to the upstairs flat.

‘Give her time to get her coat off and then I’ll ring,’ she thought.

The new maid’s outfit they had designed together had arrived that day and she wanted to see just how it had turned out. Given half a chance Charles had turned out to be just as kinky creative as she was. Leslie picked up the ‘phone.

“Hello, Charlotte, Leslie here, how was the office.”

“Not too bad,” was the reply, “I think that the worst of the reprogramming is over and it’s just a matter of tidying up the loose ends and making sure we haven’t missed anything. You had a good day? Anything exciting happened?”

“Well, excited. Amber rang.”

“What’s up with her today?”

“Nothing, she found a holiday castle with dungeons and things that she wants all to go off to it for Christmas. Also, your dress has come and I thought that you might like to try it. It looks even more way-out than I imagined. I’ve fixed up with the Gals to have a bite of supper here tomorrow to discuss Barry’s present. We can talk about Amber’s holiday home as well. Can you come down; I want to try an idea over with you?”

“Yes, okay. Have you eaten?”

“Just a snack.”

“Well I could do with something.”

“Why don’t you come down now? I’ll send out for a pizza.”

“Righty ho, see you in ten minutes.”

Charles new maid’s dress was intended for use in the dungeon on the occasions when he played the role of maid to Leslie as mistress. The first time he had worn his original French maid outfit comprising a short dress made of black PVC with lace trimmed white PVC collar and cuffs to the long sleeves. There was a matching white PVC apron and round cap both, again, lace trimmed. The whole ensemble was finished off by fishnet tights and a pair of frilly panties that had the effect of holding the dresses skirt out at forty-five degrees. This was fine, as far as it went, but he had felt that something very much more extreme was needed so, together, he and Leslie had devised this new creation. The general idea, inspired by a vaguely remembered spoof space movie, was to give the effect of a maid in the form of a mechanical robot doll, more prop then person.

“You’ll have to help me into it,” he said. “There’s no way I can manage by myself.”

‘Nor get out.’ Leslie mischievously though.

Charles stripped off to his rubber undies, tight cycle pants, waspie and padded bra.

“Legs first, I think,” said Leslie, holding up a pair of crotch length front-laced boots with eighteen-centimetre heels and just the smallest of curl toes so that he would not quite have to walk en pointe as in ballet heels.

Sitting, Charles worked his feet into the boots then held out his legs for Leslie to do the lacing. The boots were deliberately rigid with concealed stiffening to prevent them bending at either the ankles or knees. Leslie helped Charles up, steadying him as he tried to walk.

“This is neigh-on impossible,” he said, trying to move by swinging his rigid legs from the hips. “The heels are stuck in the pile of the carpet.”

“Try rocking a bit from side-to-side as you go.” Adding, helpfully, “It should be easier in the dungeon on the flag stones.”

“It will, if I don’t fall down a crack,” Charles retorted. “It’s a good job we didn’t go for the roller-blade option!”

“Well, actually,” Leslie smiled, “I did order them as an accessory. Like to try?”

“No, damn you Leslie, you’re wicked.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied the smile turning to a laugh. “But whose idea was this outfit in the first place? Here, let me help you to the sideboard then you can support yourself while I get you into the dress.”

The dress, in black latex with white ruffles, both with a metallic sheen, continued the automaton theme; the exaggerated bust exceeded in size only by the even larger puff sleeves. Like the boots, the sleeves with attached gloves, were stiffened with lots of boning. Once the full-length zips were pulled up the arms could no longer be moved at the elbow, but instead were bent at about forty-five degrees. Shoulder movement was also restricted to only fore and aft at a slight angle so that his hands could still meet if both arms were extended fully forwards. Sideways movement was prevented, by machinery hidden under the large shoulder puffs. Finally, the white trim along the top of the high posture collar fitted tightly under the jaw and curved upward towards the ears locking the head firmly in place. The dress’s black skirt was cut full, but ridiculously short; thirty-two centimetres Charles had specified. However, it was held out more or less horizontally like a ballerina’s tutu by layer-upon-layer of integral ruffled white latex petticoats.

Charles tried to move his arms and head. Essentially, he couldn’t, well that was how it was supposed to be.

“Pinny and cap,” said Leslie as she fitted them on him. “I still think you ought to have a robot mask to complete the effect. Don’t you think so now?”

Charles tried to say, “No he didn’t,” but found that his design of the collar was all too effective at suppressing speech.

“Pardon,” laughed Leslie, “did you say something? You’ll have to speak more clearly if you want me to understand. Oh, you agree do you? In that case it just so happens that I ordered one in case you changed your mind.”

Charles tried to stop her as Leslie covered his face with the mask, fixing it firmly behind his head with elastic. But to no avail, the best he could do in a futile attempt to grab her hand was to pump his arms like the pistons of some demented steam locomotive. Leslie was in hysterics as she settled a fizzy red wig on top of the robot.

“Oh, Charlotte,” she gasped. “You look a scream. No, really, it’s wonderful. Here, hold my hands and try walking.”

Holding on for grim death to Leslie’s outstretched hands, Charles took a few unsteady paces as she walked backwards in the direction of the hall. There the going was indeed easier. The boots tended to skid on the smooth surface of the marble, but at least it was more predictable than had been Charles’s recent fight with the lounge carpet.

“Want to try on your own?” Leslie asked after a few minutes of practice in which she slowly led him the length of the hall.

Charles nodded; what little he could, his assent.

Leslie turned him round so he could work his way back. Working his arms and legs in the correct rhythm progress was possible, but slow. He had gone less than a third of the way when the doorbell rang. Leslie went to open the door and Charles, half-turning, froze in his tracks as he heard Leslie’s call of, ‘Come in.’ This outfit was not for casual front door visitors.

In walked a pizza delivery boy. Two paces into the hall he stopped in his tracks at the sight that met him. Coolly, Leslie took the box from his hands and placed it in Charles’s

“My maid,” she said. “I take it that you have seen maids before. Wait a minute while I fetch my purse.”

Chapter 2

Friday evening arrived and, contrary to his better judgement, Charles had been persuaded by Leslie to again climb into his mechanical maid costume.

“Just to show the others,” she had coaxed as she positioned him close to the front door a few minutes before Amber and Gwyneth, who had phoned on her mobile, were due to arrive.

At the press of the bell, Leslie swung the door open. There was a stunned silence then in unison.

“What have you got on?” they chorused.

After a detailed inspection of the latest Weston & Graham creation they all made their way to the lounge. Charles, left to fend for himself, was by a long way the last, so that by the time he arrived the others were comfortably seated with Leslie holding court.

“I know Amber’s desperate to tell us about this holiday castle she’s found, but first I must ask you all about an idea I’ve had for Barry’s thank-you present. Time is going by and what I have in mind will take a bit of time to get done so it has to take priority.”

“Oh, go on then,” said Amber scarcely able to hide her impatience, “only don’t blame me if when you get round to it, it’s fully booked, that’s all.”

Leslie briefly caught Charles’s eye, pushed her chair back and began.

“I’m sure it won’t be,” she soothed. “Anyway, what I have in mind is this. At first I thought of letting Barry have the Flame Leaper.”

“You can’t. It’s sort of part of us,” Amber interrupted.

“No,” Gwyneth agreed. “After all you went through for it you really can’t let it go, it’s more of a family treasure that even before.

Charles nodded his assent too, nearly decapitating himself in the process as he, for the moment, forgot the restricting collar of his new maid’s costume.

“Don’t worry, though I’m glad that you all agree. In the end I couldn’t bear the thought of parting with it. I thought I was just being silly and sentimental. It’s good to know I’m in such good company. Anyway,” she went on, “it has to be something special for Barry so what I have been thinking is this.

“You know that I pipped him to those Allan Jones pieces down in my office. I don’t think that he begrudges me getting them, it’s all part of the sport, but I know that he would like them or something similar. Well, I tracked down the people who made them. Of course, they won’t do exactly the same again and, anyway, they were done twenty odd years ago so I think we could do something a bit more up to date.”

‘She means risqué,’ Charles thought.

 “They still have some of the moulds and they seem all right,” she went on. So, well, to cut a long story short, if you’re game what I’ve tentatively agreed to is this. They’ll make a new set.” She paused, then pointing at each of the assembled company in turn, added, “With different heads. One more thing, as part of the deal they told me that they were looking for a model as the prototype for a new commission. What they wanted was a young woman, fairly tall and preferably with a shaved head.

Simultaneously they all pointed at Amber.

“What do you mean,” she shrieked.

“I mean, I’ve arranged for us all to go round to Nigel’s studio a week on Friday afternoon. Can you manage to get off early Charles? I’ve worked it all out.”

‘I bet she has,’ Charles thought.

“There are four of us.”

“Do you really want me?” Charles asked. “The original sculpture has three figures, all girls.”

“Of course, we want you. Anyway, we are copying, well not exactly. So, my idea is to have two chairs, a table and the hat-stand.”

“Who gets to be what?”

“Well, Charles is the tallest so I think he should be the hat-stand.”

“What with the laced-up thigh boots and the leather G-string? Come on.”

“It’s only the heads we’re changing the body can be more, well you know, sort of like the original.” Leslie hurried on so as to evade any embarrassment or argument. “I thought Gwyneth and I could make a pair of chairs, and Amber could do the table.”

At this Amber rushed out of the room. There was a distant shriek from the Office and a clatter of her feet as she raced back up the stone stairs.

“It has great big boobs hanging down,” she cried when she returned.

“Yes, dear.” Leslie said. “That’s why I chose you for the job.”

“Oh!” said Amber.

Charles had been thinking.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s letting the side down, but I can’t do it. I have to work there. I know that I probably got the job because I turned up in that latex dress, but I can’t be a piece of kinky sculpture in the office of my boss.”

“Charlotte has a point,” agreed Leslie. “She does have to work there and I can see that it could lead to all sorts of difficulties. There must be a way round it.”

They thought in silence for a minute, Charles especially trying to think of something that would be guaranteed to get him off the hook without creating the impression of asking for favours. It was Amber who came up with the first real suggestion. 

 “I’ve an idea,” she said, hesitantly. “Though I don’t expect it is,” she added looking down at her fingers.

“Oh, come on Amber. You’re always going on like that. What’s your idea?”

“Well,” she went on, drawing out the word. “Well, the other day I was surfing the net.”

“Oh, yes?” Gwyneth butted in.

“Shut up G. Go on Amber,” said Leslie rather angrily.

“Well, I was doing research for a programme and I came across this picture of a girl done up as a glass-topped coffee table except that, unlike your Allan Jones picture, Leslie, she was wearing a black latex catsuit and an all-over hood so you couldn’t see who it was. If we copied that it wouldn’t matter who was inside, would it? It could even be Barry,” she added with a giggle.

“I’m not sure about Barry. He’s so plump we might not be able to pick it up, but the rest is brilliant.”

Amber glowed.

“Actually, now you mention it I think I know that picture you mean. I was so stuck on the AJ idea I quite forgot about it.”

She walked over to her computer.

“Can you remember the site so we can have a peek?”

“It was Skinkyskin, I think,” offered Amber.

“Right, let’s see what we can find.”

A few clicks later a picture appeared on the screen.

“That’s it,” cried Amber in excitement jabbing a finger at the screen. “See what I mean? It could be anybody.”

Charles, now that the probability of him becoming a piece of furniture had receded to a comfortable distance, felt able to participate in the discussions again without tempting fate.

“Great as a coffee-table,” he observed, “but it’s a bit like that Allan Jones offering form that point of view how do you scale it up to be a table at that you can sit at for a meal? Even if you make the chairs low, how do you get your knees under?”

Amber, not wanting her moment of triumph to be spoilt, started to make a comment to the effect that some people had much slimmer legs than others, but Charles was also in full flow.

“Especially when wearing proper high heels. I reckon what we should do is instead of chaining her ankles together and supporting the top on her back we use a good size spreader bar and pull the legs up and apart so that the top is supported on as big a triangle as possible on the ballet-boot heels and shoulders. With the legs spread like that it should be erotic enough even for Barry,” he added remembering how Barry had a camera in the outer office with which to look up the skirts of unwary visitors as he had been. 

“It still won’t be that high though.” Charles was almost talking to himself now. “I suppose that you could pull the head back and balance one end on that, but that sounds a bit dodgy. Packing at the shoulders, I suppose. Not very nice.”

“I know,” he said coming back to the real World with a snap. “Casters. Have a little trolley to which you fasten the knees and wrists. Gives the extra height and you can wheel it into position and push it to the side when you’ve done. Super idea Amber. Well done.”

Amber was not altogether sure how much of her idea was left but she didn’t let that get in the way of referring from then on to, ‘my table.’

“That’s settled, then,” Leslie reverting to her, brook-no-excused tone. “Table like you say so it’s no one recognisable. Could still be you Charlotte, dear, if you wish,” she teased.

Charles winced.

‘I thought I’d got out of this,’ he thought.

“No,” Leslie said in mock surprise, “Oh dear, what a pity, well then, I propose that I’ll do the hat-stand and Gwyneth and Amber can be a chair each, that way up you won’t have to worry about your boobs, love.

Amber was looking at the picture on the computer screen again.

“Shall we give the table an inflatable dildo like in the picture?”

“Don’t see why not,” Leslie replied.

“What about the hat-stand? How about adding a dildo and butt plug to the harness? Wouldn’t show that much, but it would be kind of interesting when you knew they were there.”

“And nipple clips under the transparent plastic blouse. They would be visible,” Gwyneth added.

“Perhaps it would be a bit different as well if you had ballet heel boots. You’re going to have to attach the feet to some sort of plate to stop it toppling over.”

“Yes, I think all of you are right,” Leslie agreed. “And if we have ballet heels on the table and stand, the chairs should have them as well to match. So, now we know what we are doing about Barry, let’s talk about Amber’s idea for a holiday.” 

Charles propped himself against the sideboard in an attempt to take some of the weight of his toes and hoped that Leslie would soon take pity and let him off duty. “That will be nice for you,” said Charles quietly.

“You’re coming too!”

“You know that’s really kind, but there’s no way I can be away over the end of the year. I don’t think anything will go wrong, but I owe it to the rest of the team and to Barry to be there, just in case. No, you and the others go off and have a lovely time. You deserve it.”

“We don’t deserve it any more than you do. And, anyway, what are you going to do over Christmas and the New Year?

“I don’t really know,” replied Charles. “To be honest I haven’t thought about it. You and the Gals are the only real friends I have now. New Year's Eve I’ll have to be at the office, of course.”

“Well, I’m not going to have you sitting in the flat on your own for Christmas with a candle and a frozen Christmas dinner of one. Tell you what, a better idea. Amber’s fairy-tale castle may be very romantic in the snow but I fancy a summer holiday when it should be pretty and a bit warmer? Then we can all have Christmas together here. When can you take a break?”

“Anytime really. Barry’s talking about keeping me on in some capacity, but formally my contract will be over by then. Just have to avoid my signing on dates at the Labour Exchange.”

Leslie laughed, “I know someone who might have a full time vacancy for a maid, but I expect Barry will come up with something. He usually does and I think he likes the way you dress too much to let you off the premises for good.”

“Who actually needs to be at the office on New Year’s Eve?”

“Actually, probably no one. As I said I feel duty-bound to be there, but no one else need be. Why do you ask?”

“Okay, try this on for size. I suppose we could just take Barry’s stuff round and say, ‘Have a present.’ but that would need a hell of a lot of gift-wrap. So how about we set it all up in his sanctum sanctorum and we give him a New Year dinner party there? I’ll entertain Barry and talk Art, while you and Amber and Gwyneth arrange things. You’ll all have to have the same dresses, but we can sort that out later. You can pop upstairs between courses to check that all is well and if, as you expect, it is we can party all night.”

“That sounds great. One thing, how come I always get to be serving maid?”

“’Cause you’re so good at it. And it wouldn’t do to having you get all woozy before midnight, would it?”

Charles was unconvinced about the, ‘good at it,’ bit, but knew better than to argue with Leslie, especially when she was in one of her, ‘organising everything,’ moods.

Amber was beginning to look rather crestfallen. Okay, having Christmas and New Year at Leslie’s was always fun, but she had had this romantic vision of a fairy tale castle in the snow and sleds pulled by horses and log fires and was in the point of saying so and that they never did anything that she wanted when Leslie went on:

“Good, that’s settled, because I’ve booked the four of us a fortnight in the summer.”

Amber gave a whoop of joy and flung her arms round Leslie in a big hug.

“Steady, love,” she said pushing the excited girl away. “I’m still a bit fragile. But you just wait until the summer; you’ll wish then you’d never seen that ad.”

“Oh goodie, I can’t wait.”

“Just you be careful, my gal.” Leslie wagged a finger at Amber. “I have ways to pin you down.”

“Please,” simpered Amber.

“Perhaps later. First there are things to sort out for Christmas.”

The visit to the studio took longer than expected. Charles, still unhappy with himself at refusing to be part of the statuary, had gone along and agreed to have a cast of his face made too, so it was late in the afternoon before Nigel, after much tut-tutting and head shaking, was satisfied with the casts of the faces of the four, and that they would properly marry up with the bodies that he had in stock. More than once he expressed concern that what he was being asked to do was tantamount to plagiarism. Finally, he was satisfied and turned to Leslie as his client.

“Please would you ask the young lady to strip off, please?” he asked looking through Amber as he carried the last cast to the workroom at the back of the studio.

From the moment they had arrived Amber decided that she did not like the place. It seemed all too much like a morgue with the plaster bodies lined up against the walls, the open moulds yawing sarcophagi. Nigel she thought was kind of creepy. He had some of the mannerisms of an undertaker, rather detached from his work, attentive to detail, but lacking in emotional involvement. She was on the point of expressing her misgivings and refusing or at least making a scene when Leslie whispered.

“Come on, you know the deal. He wants some new bodies for a special client, so just do your stuff. And anyway, Nigel prefers boys to girls.”

Amber was not sure that made any difference, but by the time he returned she was down to the most minimal of G-strings.

“Quite nice,” he observed. Amber felt that he would have liked to add, ‘For a girl.’

“Please take everything off.”

“I’m pleased to see that the young lady is hairless as you said,” he addressed Leslie. “My client is very insistent on that point. He has requested several poses. Stand like this please.”

The first pose was straightforward enough, hands on hips with, one knee set forward. After half an hour building up the mould and allowing the plaster to go off, Amber was released and set into new poses that got progressively more extreme. The session ended with her hanging from a ring suspended from the studio ceiling, her arms turned so that the palms of her hands were together and her feet off the floor altogether, toes pointing straight down, perfectly en pointe. The position reminded Charles of an Art Deco sculpture he had seen. Surely the special client couldn’t be Barry, could it? No that would be too much of a coincidence.

“We ought to come here more often,” Charles observed to Leslie. “I can’t think when last we kept Amber still for so long.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking the same and it’s given me an idea.”

Leslie walked over to Nigel where he was meticulously checking his new moulds. Holding a finger to her lips she glanced in the direction of Amber, who was still getting the last remnants of plaster off as she dressed - if the few scraps of clothing in which she had arrived could be called, “dressed.”

A whispered conversation ensued, terminated by a nod from Nigel and a shake of hands. Leslie returned grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Got it,” she said to Charles, mysteriously.

Continues in


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