An artist I watch created a series of images which were, as he said, "inspired by some old 70s era bondage pics". It made me think "Why don't we go the whole hog, back to the era of Bettie Page and those fabulous, bizarre foundation garments?" This is the result

Hello, readers - watchers, I'm told you are known as - my name is Daisy Collins, and I would like to tell you a little about my journey from innocent naivete to… well, you can judge for yourself. I don't know whether you will think it a cautionary tale or inspirational, but I hope you will at least find it entertaining.

I was born in 1938, in a tiny, sleepy village deep in rural Norfolk. I had two older brothers and three older sisters, so there was always somebody to play with, and my childhood was idyllic - long hot summers playing in the fields, cycling and horse-riding around the countryside, winters curled up by the fireside reading stories of high adventure in far-away places.

As I grew through my teenage years, the question of what I would do with my life became uppermost in my thoughts and those of my parents, who could ill afford to support their entire brood as they reached maturity.

It was simple for my brothers, Peter and John, who were fully employed on the farm owned by my father. My eldest sister, Emma, worked on the farm as well, milking and doing other 'women's work'. The next sister, Joan, had fallen in love with and married the local young vicar, and so had moved away to live in the parsonage.

The final sister, Annie, had found a position in service to Lord and Lady Hailsham, working as parlour maid in their huge country house. This had been such a success that it was generally assumed that I would follow her lead, possibly even with the same family.

I didn't mind the idea of working in service - in some ways, it wouldn't be that different from skivvying at the farm, as I had been doing since I was fourteen - but the thought of spending my whole life never having travelled further than the flat fens of East Anglia, never having explored the world I had read about, filled me with horror. I had been inflamed by those adventures I had read, and I wanted to experience some of that excitement. I didn't know how I would do it, but I knew that the first step must be to leave this cosy cocoon in which I had grown up.

I pleaded with my parents to help me get away to somewhere, anywhere, out there in the big wide world but, for years, they refused to entertain the idea. But, when I reached my eighteenth birthday, they finally relented and agreed to a compromise. There was a distant relative of the family who lived in London, and they proposed that they would pay for two months' rent for me to stay with her whilst I looked for a job. If, at the end of that period, I had not secured gainful employment, I would return and take up the position on offer alongside my sister. I was ecstatic and readily agreed to this scheme. At last, I could escape!

I won't trouble you with the details of my job search, or the false starts I had in various employments which ultimately proved wholly unsuitable. Suffice it to say that my prayers were finally answered when I saw an advertisement in The Lady reading:

"Sir Robert and Mrs Rosalind Chesterton seek young woman for employment as live-in maid at 12, Grosvenor Place. Must be hard-working, presentable, well-mannered and able to follow instructions to the letter. No previous experience required, full training in all duties will be provided."

I telephoned to express my ardent interest and presented myself the next morning as instructed, dressed in the new summer dress and sensible court shoes bought for me by my parents at considerable expense. I was met at the door by a woman, probably in her sixties.

"Mrs Chesterton?" I asked nervously.

"Dear me no, love," the woman smiled, "I'm Mrs McManus, the housekeeper. You must be the girl for the maid's job. Come in and I'll show you through." I followed her down the hall and she ushered me into a room.

The room looked like a cross between a library, with books lining the walls, and an office, with a large imposing desk and a filing cabinet. Behind the desk sat a woman, I guessed in her early thirties, and it was immediately obvious that this was the mistress of the house. She was dressed in far more elegant and, indeed, expensive clothes than I had even seen, let alone worn. A silk blouse, tailored pencil skirt to just below her knees, seamed stockings and black patent leather high heels were complemented by expensive jewellery at her neck and wrists. She was immaculately groomed - perfectly manicured, not too much make-up, just enough to highlight her striking good looks, and straight blonde hair pulled into a French plait. She looked up from the papers she had been perusing and gave me a taut smile. I immediately felt completely intimidated.

"Ah, you must be Daisy," she said in a neutral tone, not too welcoming but very professional, "is that your CV?" I handed the single sheet of paper containing a brief list of my work experience to her, realising that my hands were trembling which, in turn, was making the paper shake alarmingly. She took it from me, glanced over it, then put it to one side before skewering me with her intense gaze once more. There was no chair on my side of the desk, and she gave no indication that I should pull one over from the side of the room, so I just stood there, feeling small and insignificant, yet totally exposed.

"So," she went on calmly, "you have no real experience of working at all, let alone in service?"

"N-no, ma'am," I stammered, horrified at just how badly this was going already, "I understood from the advertisement that it wasn't required. But I am a hard worker, and eager to learn!" Even in my ears, this last sounded a little desperate.

"Don't worry, Daisy, you are quite right," Mrs Chesterton responded, "it is far more important that you are able to listen to instruction, learn and obey. But please don't call me 'ma'am', it makes me sound so old! You can call me 'Mistress'." I looked at her, rather startled, but I could see that she wasn't joking.

"Er, yes… Mistress," I replied, bringing the first genuine smile to her face.

"Good, Daisy. Now, in terms of this interview, I think the best way to proceed is with a small test to determine whether you are suitable for the position. You don't have any objection, I assume?"

"Er, no, Mistress, not at all," I replied a little nervously, wondering what would be expected of me. "What would you like me to do?"

"I would like you to take off your clothes, Daisy."

"E-excuse me?" I asked in confusion at this bizarre request.

"I'm sorry, was my instruction unclear?" she said, a hint of steel audible in her tone, "I wish to evaluate whether you can understand and obey instructions. So I will say once again, Daisy. Take off your clothes." I could see by the look on her face that she was deadly serious, and I realised that this was a crucial tipping point - was I willing to obey what seemed to be an unreasonable request, or was my dignity more important to me than securing this job?

"Yes, Mistress," I said quietly, submissively, and pulled my dress over my head. I placed it on the chair nearest to me, stepped out of my shoes, and stood in front of her, my cheeks reddening at the thought of what she must be making of the rather old and worn underwear now on show.

"I didn't say for you to stop, Daisy," she said in her firm tone. "Continue." Reluctantly, I slipped off my brassiere and stepped out of my panties, putting them with the dress, before returning to stand before her again, one arm across my chest to hide my breasts, the other covering my crotch, trying desperately to retain some scrap of modesty.

"Put your hands on your head, I wish to see you properly." I did as I was told, blushing even more deeply at this shame. Mrs Chesterton indicated for me to turn around, and I did so, slowly, giving her ample opportunity to examine my naked body.

Suddenly, there was a noise to one side and, to my horror, I saw the door of the room opening! In a panic, I dropped to my haunches and crouched down behind the desk, staring at the door to see who would enter.

"Ah, there you are, dear, I was just trying to find my…" A tall - over six foot - well-built man strode in, his voice trailing off as he caught sight of me trying, but failing, to hide from him.

From the grey in his hair and the lines on his face, I guessed that he was in his fifties, but his craggy face was very good-looking. I could certainly see why he had been able to marry this much younger woman.

"Stand up and resume your position, Daisy," she said sternly, "this is only my husband, Sir Robert. Robert, this is the girl I was telling you about." As I reluctantly obeyed, standing in front of the bizarre couple, allowing them to stare at my naked body, I wondered exactly what she had told him about me. 'I'm interviewing a girl who is so stupid and desperate, I'm going to see how far I can push her. Why don't you come and see, it will be fun'?

"So, what do you think of her?" Mrs Chesterton asked. Her husband's face seemed to become more serious as he focused on me for a moment, making me blush even more. But the look quickly passed.

"Domestic matters, your area, wouldn't want to interfere," he said briskly, turning to leave, "but if you want to take her on, no complaints from me!" And with that, he walked out, closing the door behind him.

"Well," Mrs Chesterton said, smiling at me, "you seem to have made a favourable impression there - he rarely pays any attention. And, I must say, after a slightly rocky start, you have made a good impression on me as well. I'm prepared to give you a chance, Daisy, if you're interested. I should warn you, though, that the work here will be hard and the hours long - I expect to get my money's worth out of you!" As she said this, she pressed a button on the desk.

"Yes, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress!" I burbled excitedly, overjoyed at having been accepted. At that moment, the door opened again and Mrs McManus came in. I was quietly proud of myself that I didn't duck and cover this time, despite the sudden flash of fear which had assailed me at the sound of the door knob turning.

"Agnes, I've decided to take young Daisy here into my employment. Please measure her up for her uniform. Daisy, you will start at 9 AM sharp on Wednesday. I will see you then." Sensing that this was my dismissal, I grabbed my clothes and followed the housekeeper into the hall and down to the kitchens.

"Don't bother getting dressed yet, dear," Mrs McManus said, "it'll make measuring you easier if you ain't got no clothes on." Putting my clothes on the side, I stood with my arms outstretched while she retrieved a tape measure and a pad and pencil.

I was surprised that, as well as the obvious measurements such as height, bust, waist, hips and leg length, she also measured and noted down the circumference of my wrists, ankles, thighs, calves, biceps and even my head!

"Why do you need all these measurements, Mrs McManus?" I asked, mystified.

"Oh, don't worry your pretty head about it, my dear," she replied with a smile and a pat on my bottom, "it's just in case. You can put your clothes on now." Shrugging my shoulders, I got dressed and, with a cheery wave to the housekeeper, left on a cloud of euphoria, almost skipping down the street with pleasure.

* * * * *

I was back at 12, Grosvenor Place bright and early on Wednesday morning, ready and eager to start work. I had brought all my worldly goods in a steamer trunk, which Mrs McManus helped me manhandle up the stairs and into a bedroom - my bedroom!

There was a single bed, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a dressing table, with several artistic prints on the walls for decoration. The window looked out into the street below. I was ecstatic - this was far more space and furniture than I had been afforded at home where, until recently, I had had to share a single room with my sisters. By comparison, this was luxury!

"Good morning, Daisy, and welcome," I heard, and turned to see Mrs Chesterton, or my Mistress as I now thought of her, enter the room.

"Thank you, Mistress," I said excitedly, "this is beautiful!"

"I'm glad you like it," she replied, "now, let's get you into your uniform. Take off those street clothes, please." I didn't hesitate this time, and felt far less embarrassed as I stood before the two women, naked once more.

"Let's start with the undergarments," the Mistress said, "you certainly can't wear what you've got now! Put on the girdle."

I pulled the elasticated garment up my legs and, with a little difficulty, over my hips until it was correctly positioned, covering my abdomen up to my belly button, with the suspender straps hanging down in the right places. It felt very strange to be squeezed by such a confining item of clothing, it was certainly the tightest, and most uncomfortable, thing I had ever worn!

Mrs McManus handed me the sheer black stockings next, and I sat on the edge of the bed to put them on, straightening the thick black seam so that it ran unerringly up the back of my leg. I found the suspenders awkward to clip in place, especially the ones for which I had to reach behind me, but I eventually got everything in place to Mistress' satisfaction.

"And now the shoes," Mistress ordered, handing me a pair of black patent leather high heels. I goggled at the height of those heels, which seemed even taller than those which Mistress was wearing with total confidence. I, on the other hand, having never worn anything other than flat shoes, felt as if I was standing on tiptoe at the edge of a high building, likely to fall off at any moment.

"I can see you're not used to heels," Mistress mused, "I think you need to spend a little time getting comfortable in them. Walk across the room for me." As I took a tentative step forward, I felt I could fall and twist my ankle at any moment, and I held my hands out at each side, trying to maintain my balance like a tightrope walker. I managed to reach the chest of drawers, which I grabbed on to gratefully for support, but Mistress immediately told me to turn and walk back. The whole performance was slow and ungainly, the exact opposite of what Mistress achieved as she strutted elegantly around.

"Dear, dear, this won't do," she scowled, "stop, Daisy, stand straight, feet together, legs straight, back a little arched so that you are leaning back slightly rather than forward. Place your weight directly over the heels, not over your toes." I did as I was told, and immediately fell more confident although, of course, I was no longer moving!

"This will help you keep your arms down by your sides, so you don't look as if you're trying to flap your wings and fly away." As she said this, Mistress walked over to me, pulling out the ribbon which was holding her hair in a ponytail.

"Put your hands behind you, Daisy," she ordered. When I complied, I felt her wind the ribbon around my wrists, before pulling it tight and knotting it. "Now try again. Put your lifted foot directly in front of your standing foot and then transfer your weight. Remember to lean back very slightly."

I spent the next ten minutes promenading back and forth across the room, slowly gaining confidence that, if I did exactly as I was told, I wouldn't fall. At first, I kept trying to put out my arm to regain my balance, but the fact that my hands were tied together eventually taught me to keep my balance through minor adjustments of my body weight over the shoes. It occurred to me how strange this would look to an outsider – a woman wearing nothing but girdle, stockings and heels walking backwards and forwards with her hands tied behind her back! What we girls do for fashion!

"Very good, Daisy, you're definitely getting the hang of it," Mistress smiled, and it made me feel good that my improvement was pleasing her. "The next step is to make this way of walking unconscious - at the moment, you are staring very intently at your feet and the ground just in front of you, whereas you should be holding your head up confidently. Let's try it with this."

She picked up a silk scarf from the dressing table and approached me. To my surprise and consternation, she tied it across my eyes, completely blindfolding me! Suddenly, my new-found confidence deserted me, but Mistress took my arm and guided me across the room and back again.

"Once more," she commanded, "this time on your own." Fearing the worst, I stepped forward into the unknown and, to my immense relief, did not trip and fall. Mistress told me when to turn and walk back, and I managed it without incident. This continued for another ten minutes, before there was a change to the routine. Mistress called for me to turn to the right and then walk forward. As I did so, my heels started to click on the floor as I moved from the carpeted bedroom onto the bare wooden flooring of the landing! I suddenly felt fearful again, but I realised I must trust Mistress to guide me, to ensure that I didn't fall down the stairs. I began to wonder if this training was about more than just how to walk in heels.

"Good to see you're knocking the new girl into shape, Rosie," I heard, recognising Sir Robert's voice. At that moment, the blindfold was removed, and I found him standing only a foot or so in front of me, a broad smile on his face. "Daisy, isn't it? Welcome! Follow my wife's instructions and you will fit in well here, my girl. Very well!" As he said this last, I saw his eyes roam over my body, focusing on my bare breasts and the thatch of dark hair between my legs. With a small chuckle, he turned and went downstairs, and I let out a long breath, realising that I had been holding it the whole time. I wondered when I would get to meet the master of the house whilst actually wearing some clothes! Mistress led me back into the bedroom, this phase of my training clearly complete.

"Right, I think you can get dressed now," Mistress said, turning to leave but then stopping as she glanced at me. "Oh, Agnes, could you just tidy that up first, please."

"Yes, milady," Mrs McManus replied whilst Mistress left us to get on with her day. The housekeeper turned to the dressing table and picked up a pair of scissors and bent down in front of me.

"Open your legs a bit, dear, and push your hips towards me," she said, "now keep still, this will only take a minute or two." As I stood there pushing my groin forwards, rather lewdly I thought, I felt her pulling on my pubic hair and heard snipping. When she stood up a couple of minutes later, I gazed in some horror at the handful of curly black hair she was holding. I looked down and saw that my mound was now virtually bald, with just a thin strip left from what had been a luxuriant, glossy thatch of curls!

Mrs McManus untied the ribbon holding my wrists, and I put on the rather fetching salmon pink silky panties she handed me. Next was the matching brassiere, which was like nothing I'd ever seen before. It had cone-shaped cups which jutted out from my chest while at the same time pushing my breasts together to create a deep cleavage. It contained so much wiring - under, over, around - that my breasts felt as if they were in a cage! This certainly rivalled the girdle for discomfort.

At last, we reached the point where I could put on the dress. It was black and sleeveless, made out of a woollen jersey-type material, so that I had to struggle into it, and it clung to every part of my body, making me grateful for the control panel of the girdle, which ensured that my tummy was completely flat. The neckline of the dress was wide open, only just covering the shoulder straps and cups of the brassiere, and leaving my impressive cleavage on show. The conical construction of the brassiere gave me the perfect, angular silhouette which was the height of fashion at that time. I pulled down on the hem of the dress, but could not make it stretch any further than just barely covering my stocking tops, leaving an awful lot of stocking-clad leg on display. Initially, I felt deeply uncomfortable in the clothes, both physically and psychologically, but when I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror, I looked sensational. I could see that my body was rather wantonly on display, but… what a display!

The uniform was completed by a few accessories - a black velvet choker, a small white lace apron, a hairband with lace trimming, and a pair of white gloves with lace edging around the wrists. After that, the old housekeeper showed me how Mistress expected me to do my make up - just glossy lipstick and some mascara - and hair, with my black hair tied back in a tight bun.

"My, you do look a picture, dear," Mrs McManus chuckled, "now it's high time we put you to some real work!"

The rest of the day was spent at various menial tasks, the bread-and-butter of the maid's job - changing and making beds, cleaning, dusting, polishing, scrubbing floors, which was challenging in stockings, high heels and gloves! I helped Mrs McManus with the cooking, before serving the Master and Mistress lunch and dinner, then doing the washing up.

The housekeeper and I ate our meals in the kitchen, and we talked through our life stories, getting to know each other and striking up a relationship rather more like grandmother and granddaughter than friends and equals. The house was wired so that each room had a buzzer which connected to a bell in the kitchen, so that I always knew when and where I was needed. I delivered evening drinks to the withdrawing room - whiskey and soda for Sir Robert, Campari and lemonade for Mistress - before returning to the kitchen.

"Time I was turning in," Mrs McManus said with a yawn at about 9 o'clock, "you need to stay here and be available in case the master or mistress needs you."

"Really?" I said, stifling a yawn of my own, "how long do I have to stay up?"

"Until they go to bed, my dear," she explained, "it's usually about midnight on a normal night, later if they have guests." I groaned inside - I wasn't used to quite this level of physical activity, and I didn't know if I could stay awake till midnight! However, knowing I didn't really have a choice, I didn't complain, I just wished 'granny' good night.

I woke with a start at the sound of a bell, and realised I must have nodded off. A quick glance told me that it was 10.30, and I was required in the main bathroom. Checking I hadn't drooled, I dashed upstairs and, after knocking and waiting for permission, entered the bathroom. Mistress was in a long silk dressing gown, sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair out.

"Run me a hot bath, would you, Daisy, not too deep? And add some of those bath crystals." I took off my gloves and filled the bath about a foot or so, making sure that the water was pleasantly but not scaldingly hot. The crystals gave off a beautiful scent and foamed up to create a covering of bubbles.

"Your bath is ready, Mistress," I announced, a little self-importantly. Mistress put down the brush, stood up, and walked over to me in what I thought was quite a sexy way, swinging her hips.

"Perfect," she said, and slipped her shoulders out of the dressing gown, allowing it to slide to the floor. She was naked, and I was not surprised to see that her body was as beautiful as I had expected, her full, curvy hips cocked slightly, her breasts pert, her stomach flat. She brushed past me and climbed into the bath sitting down and lying back against the side, one leg lifted onto the rim of the bath at the other end, the toes pointed.

"Mmm, just right," she purred, looking up at me with half-lidded eyes, "wash me, Daisy… I'm such a dirty girl tonight. Oh… I think you should take off your dress, you don't want to get soap on it, do you?" I looked at the half-smile on her face and wondered if there was just a hint of lust in it. She seems to be going out of her way to get me in a state of undress, I thought, does she have designs on me? But, as I stripped out of the figure-hugging dress, I dismissed the thought - this was a happily married woman, after all. I picked up the sponge and began to work up a lather on it.

"Please don't use that thing on me, Daisy," she protested, "it's so scratchy, and so… impersonal. Just use your hands." The half-smile was still there, and I wondered again, but then thought better of it - I'm here to do as my Mistress desires, I thought, the reasons aren't really that important. I put down the sponge and began massaging the soap against her shoulders and neck. She gave a groan of contentment in response, her smile broadening as her eyes closed.

As I washed her arms and then began on her chest, she arched her back, thrusting her breasts out and forwards as if offering them to me. After a moment's hesitation, I began to soap them, feeling the soft, plump globes slide under my fingers. Her head went back and her lips parted as her breathing became ragged, while her nipples became firm under my touch.

I moved down, gliding my hands across her stomach and, in urgent response, she raised her hips out of the water, spreading her thighs as wide apart as the sides of the bath would allow. Her eyes opened and fixed me with a desperate look, almost pleading with me to continue downwards to her openly proffered sex.

My experience of sex up until this point was entirely restricted to self-exploration, something in which I had indulged myself liberally over the past few years, unable to control my lustful yearnings or satisfy them in any other way. So, although I had no real life experience, I knew intimately how to pleasure a woman, and I now employed this knowledge on my Mistress.

My fingers slipped easily into her, while my thumb manoeuvred between the lips of her sex and played with her little nubbin which I knew, from personal experience, to be the quintessential pleasure centre for any woman. Almost immediately, she was moaning loudly and writhing, making the bath water slosh from side to side as if we were rolling in a heavy sea. Her hand reached up and grabbed me around the back of the neck, pulling me down until our lips met and her tongue darted into my mouth in a wet kiss.

She now had her feet on the bottom of the bath and, with her hands gripping the sides tightly, she levered herself up until her whole body was glistening wetly above the surface of the water as I thrust my fingers deeper inside her, curling them around to stimulate her most sensitive inner crevices.

"Oh God, yes, Daisy! Please, more! I beg you! Yes! Yes!" she cried, any sense of sangfroid or superiority lost in her all-consuming excitement. Taking a chance on something that I have found strangely stimulating myself, I thrust a finger into her bottom, wriggling it around just inside her anus. I was rewarded by her scream and, as her whole body became rigid with tension, I knew that she had reached the point of ultimate pleasure. I simultaneously felt pride at having brought my Mistress such satisfaction, and envy that I was not enjoying it myself!

I helped Mistress shakily out of the bath and wrapped her in a large fluffy towel, before leading her into her bedroom. As I tucked her under the covers and made to leave, she took my hand and looked into my eyes.

"Oh my God, thank you, Daisy, that was incredible!" she smiled dreamily before closing her eyes and seeming to go to sleep.

I crept out of the room and went downstairs to make sure everything was cleared away and the doors all locked. As I went back up to my own bed, I couldn't help but smile to myself. Not bad for my first day, I thought, I can hardly wait for tomorrow!