By Jane Johnson

Illustrations by Tarsis

Originally Published in Bondage Life No.  30, November 1987

Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46w

Story Codes: F/f, bondage, reluct, cons, maid, training, rope, chain, shackles, gags, uniform, leather, rubber, boots, heels, X

CHAPTER SIX

Cecile served Madame Bothewell lunch in the small dining room, being careful to speak only when expected to reply

“You walk more gracefully already.  Cecile, I’m pleased to see that.  Your figure also deserves to be adorned and admired more frequently.  I appreciate the beauty of the female form properly attired.  Visit me in the small dressing room at three o’clock and we’ll see what else would suit you.”

Cecile was strangely pleased by Madame Bothewell’s flattery; she felt admiration for this unusual woman and thought she began to understand her somewhat.  Only a woman with time, resources and exposure to international customs and personalities could afford to indulge creativity and explore femininity as she did.  Cecile admired these qualities too and had stopped marveling at each new event and had begun simply to follow the orders she was given, as much out of curiosity as out of awe for Madame Bothewell.

Her visit to the dressing room that afternoon was an exploration in unusual fashions.  One undergarment particularly intrigued her.  It was a body corset of shiny, black latex rubber, which she slid into very carefully, with Madame’s help.  It contracted coolly at her waist, pressed snugly around her ribs, and squeezed her breasts so that they bulged over the molded cups.  The top of the corset and the cups were stiffened with wire; the lace which edged the top and bottom of the garment was fine white latex.  Two garters on either leg supported a legging, also of black latex rubber, which lay against Cecile’s legs like a cool skin.  She put on short black latex gloves, then viewed herself in the full-length mirror.  She was enthralled with the way her legs and body were outlined; the effect was dramatic and sensual.

Madame watched from her chair at the dressing table.  “You seem proud of your appearance, Cecile.”

“Yes, Madame, I’m thrilled.”

“Indeed.  I prefer a maid to be demurer.  There are a few other pieces in the outfit.  Would you like to try them on?”

“Oh yes, Madame!”

“Very well.  Come here and kneel with your back to me.”

Curious, Cecile did so, and immediately felt strong hands pull her right wrist to her right ankle and strap them together with a small belt.  The same thing happened to her left wrist and ankle, before she could say more than two protesting words.

Anything further was cut short by a large, crescent shaped rubber plug, which filled her mouth, and was held there by a latex rubber harness that slid over her head, preventing the wearer from expelling the device with her tongue.  A narrow leather strap was fastened around poor Cecile’s waist, and to it was attached a large ‘D’ ring; a lock was then slid through the buckles of the wrist/ankle straps, and the ‘D’ ring, pulling Cecile’s high heels up against her inner thighs.  She balanced on her knees, while Madame’s silk clad legs supported her now bowed back.

“Hardly a position of pride, is it, little maid?  Still you have a certain appeal.”  Madame ran her leather sheathed fingertips over the swell of Cecile’s molded breast-cup, and sought out the erect nipple, encased in its rubber wrapping, squeezing it firmly.  Cecile could not see Madame Bothewell’s face to decipher the caress, the touch of Madame’s fingers through the tightly stretched rubber was delightful, even though Cecile’s position was rather uncomfortable.  Suddenly she felt herself lifted off the floor and before she could fully appreciate the sensation of Madame’s breasts and firmly corseted abdomen against her back, was set down and pivoted so that her shoulders came to rest against the side of a heavy wardrobe.

“Don’t move, Cecile, I shall return shortly.”

For several long minutes Cecile attempted to remain very still, since almost any movement of head, hands or feet threatened to topple her forward onto the carpet.  She began to concentrate on breathing evenly, every breath pushed her ribs and breasts against the strong rubber membrane, and it pushed crushingly back.  Her thighs began to strain against her rubber leggings, as they continued their moist, cloying embrace.

At that point, Madame reappeared, carrying a box, which she laid on the dressing table.  She unfastened Cecile’s wrists and ankles and allowed her to recline on the leather upholstered couch, still gagged.  Cecile closed her eyes and felt a belt being pulled tightly around her waist, securing her to the couch.  Just as quickly, her wrists were encircled with locking cuffs attached to the couch so that her arms lay against her sides; straps at her ankles pulled her legs down into the luxurious leather upholstery.

“I thought you might need a rest after today’s activities Cecile.”  Madame’s tone was much softer than usual.  Cecile felt a soft rubber blindfold being stretched over her eyes.  She felt comfortable, almost accustomed to the sensuous coating of rubber, sealing her body and legs in its powerful grip, and she remembered again the image of herself in the full-length mirror; exaggerated beasts, tiny waist, full hips and thighs, shiny, shapely legs.

She scented expensive perfume and felt Madame’s warm presence over her; then she felt strong gloved hands massaging her taut thigh muscles, until she relaxed them.  Her arms were stroked gently and she felt a strange delight in this attention.  The sensitive touch moved on across her shoulders and neck, coming eventually to her bulging breasts.

The probing fingers played delicately around her aureole, arousing the imprisoned nipples into straining mounds, until Cecile longed or them to be handled.  Her stomach, gleaming in subdued highlight beneath the tightly stretched rubber, was next to be stimulated and pressed and finally her inner thighs, from the knee right up to the lace-edged rubber strip between.

She trembled and blushed, breathing rapidly and forgetting herself in the pleasure of the sensation.  Long before she could tire of so much attention, she realized that she was alone.  For several minutes she continued to move her bound body against the straps, her hips moving rhythmically against the leather cushion, willing the pleasure to remain a little longer, until Madame’s contralto voice reached her.

“You are a very attractive young lady, Cecile, especially in certain attire, and under certain circumstances.”

Cecile’s body was tensed against her bonds, and she quietly longed for the touch that would continue her pleasure which, though still tingling through her, was beginning to subside.

“Rest here for a little while, my dear; I will be gone long enough for you to have your afternoon beauty sleep.  I shall release you when I return.”

Cecile heard a soft swish as the door of the dressing room opened and clicked shut again; the sound of a key turning in the lock was followed by the fading click-click of Madame’s high heels, leaving Cecile bound, gagged and blindfolded to await her mistress’ return.

By degrees she became aware of madam’s perfume, and realized that her arms and legs lay free, although she still wore the latex corset and hose.

“You may sit up Cecile.”

Cecile complied immediately with the command and was helped off with her blindfold and gag.  Before her was Madame Bothewell in what seemed to be an “apre’s riding” outfit, a loose, low cut, off-shoulder white blouse was tucked into a wide, waist-cinching leather belt which connected with a shiny black leather piece that lay flat against Madame’s abdomen, passed tightly between her legs and connected with a buckle to the belt in the back.  A pair of leather shorts were skimpy enough to display Madame’s legs and thighs which were encased in shiny, black silk seamed stockings.  These were stretched tightly to her legs by long garters, appearing from beneath the leathers shorts.

Spike heeled black riding boots, obviously, by their extreme height, only marginally intended for walking, were molded tightly enough to her legs to have been hand-painted there, by long and intricate leather side laces.  What startled Cecile somewhat was the leather riding crop Madame carried in one of her black gloved hands.

“How was your rest, Cecile?”

For once Cecile was at a loss for words.  The recent bombardment of her senses, and this new vision of Madame… it seemed to her like a different woman, although the strong, dominating manner and voice, and the large rounded hips and breasts were familiar.  Wasn’t Madame’s hair short and wavy?  This woman had dark, long hair fashioned into a bun at the back of her head.

“if you have no civil reply, at least have the courtesy to stop gaping.”  So saying, Madame snapped a wide piece of adhesive tape over Cecile’s mouth and crisscrossed it with another piece.  Unable to speak, Cecile raised her hands in apology.  Madame took the opportunity to hand her a shiny black, latex rubber garment, saying, “Put this on.”

Cecile turned it over in her hands, not knowing where to begin.

Madame snatched it back and snapped, “Perhaps you are not as bright as I had thought.  In this household you earn the right to be treated leniently and work hard to earn it!”

Cecile was surprised at her own embarrassment and her eagerness to get back on the good side of her strict mistress.  She complied willingly as Madame pulled and stretched the clinging garment over her arms and legs; it snapped and stung, clawing at every hair on her body, as it was forced over her naked curves and mounds.

Madame certainly wasn’t trying to spare her discomfort this time.  Finally, Cecile was sealed in a totally skin-tight dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves which were attached to the bodice at the side seams imprisoning her upper arms to her ribs.  The neckline met and hid the top edge of the rubber dress.  The back of the tight skirt was cut out from the top of her buttocks to just above the knees, which were prevented from moving apart more than about an inch by an inside strap attached to the bottom edge of the latex garment.

“Your apron, little maid,” said Madame, as she buckled a wide belt around Cecile’s already tightly cinched waist.  Connected to the bracelet were two thick rubber straps, with another of the bracelets attached to the other ends.  Cecile’s right hand was soon encased also, one rubber strap stretching beneath her buttocks, lifting them, the other across her front neatly tucked beneath her apron, firmly holding her useless hands to her sides.

“During this afternoon’s walking exercise, we will concentrate on improving the grace of your gait.  You will wear these shoes.”

Madame Bothewell motioned to Cecile to sit on the couch, then removed the maid’s shoes, replacing them with some daintily styled sandals.  The ankle straps of even these were equipped with little locks, and when they were secured to Madame’s satisfaction, Cecile was helped to her feet.  The shoes were built around a much higher heel than the previous pair, and with her hands and arms restrained and incapable of breaking a fall, Cecile was afraid to move at all.  She stood rigidly erect while Madame tied a rubber bow tightly around her neck and placed a blonde wig with a maid’s cap attached to her head.

Madame Bothewell told Cecile to walk slowly across the room; when Cecile hesitated, looking down at what seemed a long way to fall, an intimidating pose with the riding crop was all that was necessary to persuade Cecile to take the first steps.  Watching her maid swing and ‘sashay’ across the floor seemed to please Madame, and she made Cecile stand to attention while heavy eye make-up and long black false eyelashes were applied.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Cecile was struck by her unusual appearance.  Her eyes were larger and more alluring than she had ever seen them.  Her eyes widened as she surveyed her full figure; breasts squeezed by the tight, oily latex, and lifted to the point where they threatened to burst over the top in two tight, swollen mounds; thighs accentuated by the snug fit of the rubber skirt; arms tight at her sides.  Had the adhesive tape not clamped her lips firmly together, her mouth would have gaped open.  She found it difficult to identify the images in the mirror with herself.  She felt as if she was a different person, visiting a world she had not even dreamed of before.  Reality has assumed a new dimension for her, everything that was happening to her was new, exciting, bizarre.  Why, she'd even had to learn to walk all over again.

As if Madame Bothewell had been reading her mind, she said, “Now Cecile we’ll continue with your walking lesson.  Watch me.”

Madame Bothewell took several graceful strides across the carpet in her highly polished spike heeled boots.

She was obviously well accustomed to the extreme height of the heels, showing not a trace of discomfort.  Her strong thigh muscles rippled under their black silk stockings, and the muscles of her calves showed their form even through the tightly laced leather of her boots.  At each step, her firm derriere tensed and rounded, strong shoulders thrust back in a curious, fluid rigidity; large cunningly supported, securely bra’d breasts preceded her in her passage, a graceful, breath-quickening, sexual dance…  Yes, thought Cecile, only the Madame would take the simple act of walking and turn it into this ultimate portrayal of alluring femininity.  She twirled to face Cecile.

“Walk this way, Cecile.”

Cecile took a tentative step forward, suddenly aware, once more, of the strain of the rubber material around her knees and legs, and the immobility of her hands and arms held tightly against her sides by the rubber restraints.  She was unable even to gasp; but with a quick intake of air through her nose, she regained her precarious balance, and steadied herself.  Madame Bothewell, clicking her tongue impatiently, placed her hands on her large hips and said with some derision, “You’ll have to do a lot better than that, young lady, or you’ll feel my crop across that helpless backside!”

Cecile drew herself up, took another deep breath, and trying to use the pressure of her unusually tight clothing for support, stepped forward again.  She proceeded slowly, concentrating on her footing.  She had never felt so tall, never so conscious of being watched for any error, never more a woman.  With what Cecile considered a fairly good emulation of Madame’s grace, under the highly unfavorable circumstances, she finally arrived before her demanding Mistress and proud of herself, looked for approval.

Madame’s mouth twitched briefly, and her dark eyes flashed.  Patting the palm of her left hand with her riding crop she walked around Cecile, striking suddenly and unexpectedly.  Before the sting had left her unprotected buttocks, Cecile heard Madame’s stern voice:

“Humility is an essential quality in a maid.  You are expected to do exactly as you are told, no more, no less, and to do it in a manner befitting and appropriate to a maid.  Do I make myself quite clear?”

Cecile nodded, dropping her head, disappointed.  For the remainder of the afternoon, as she strove to improve upon the grace of her high heeled movement, she was very careful to appear as humble as possible.  Although she was very uncomfortable in the tight confines of her restrictive clothing, she was fascinated by the sensations the costume aroused in her body.  After a while, she became less aware of individual pressures, and felt, instead, an overall snug feeling, which contrasted with the open, exposed feeling of her bare backside.  She seemed to float on her heels, becoming less and less aware of specifics, simply following Madame’s orders to negotiate stairs and hallways.

Finally, they returned to the dressing room and Cecile’s garments were removed by Madame in what seemed to Cecile a kind of ritual.  She heard no more harsh rebukes, but was sent to her room to clean up prior to serving dinner.

Cecile served dinner to Madame in the dining room; she automatically now paid attention to details in her own appearance and bearing, as well as in the performance of her serving duties.  She had the impression that the former was far more important to Madame, and she was beginning to feel much more comfortable in her tight uniform and high heels.  There was a definite sense of playing a role, although she was never quite certain of the script.

Madame Bothewell said little during the course of the meal but Cecile felt her appraising eyes throughout.  Madame, as usual, was strikingly attired in another of her countless tailored outfits; a black clinging dress with a plunging neckline, long diamond earrings which brazenly reflected light from the crystal chandelier, perfectly manicured hands that gracefully lifted her wine flute or her porcelain coffee cop, she would be fatally attractive even to me thought Cecile, but for those cold, flashing eyes.

Cecile could hardly take her eyes off Madame but curtailed her overt examination when threatened with being made to wear blinkers while serving meals.  Forcing herself to cast her eyes elsewhere, Cecile noticed just how many reflective surfaces there were in the room.  She caught Madame’s reflected image in the mirrors, occupying three walls, in the highly polished walnut tabletop, even in the silver flatware and cutlery; she continued, unobtrusively to admire the extraordinary beauty she saw.

“You’ve had a busy day, Cecile.  You’ll go to your room for the duration of this evening, after you have cleared the dinner things away.  I will see you in the morning when you serve tea in the library; make sure your uniform is in order and that you get a good rest.”

So saying, Madame rose smoothly and strode gracefully across the hardwood floor.  Cecile’s eyes followed the shape and movement of Madame’s legs, shimmering in seamed in seamed hose and ultra-high heels.  Could she ever convey the same sense of confident, sexual femininity that her Mistress embodied?

At the door, Madame Bothewell paused and turned slightly, casting a glance at Cecile that sent little messages of excitement up and down her spine; then Madame passed through the door and was gone.

Cecile gaped at the empty doorway and tried to interpret that last look.  She was sure she knew what it meant, but somehow couldn’t seem to put it in context, couldn’t relate it to the situation.  As in a dream approaching its climax only to be shattered by an untimely awakening, she soon lost the current of meaning that arranges mental images into understandable thought; with a feeling of chances missed, frustrated attempts to remember, she resigned herself to clearing the table.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Morning found Cecile strangely excited as she checked her appearance in the full-length mirror.  Her black satin uniform pressed tightly against the strictly brassiere’d breasts so that her cleavage and the swell of her bosom above the neckline was accentuated and delicately framed by a row of white lace trim.  She was pleased by the demure, yet feminine, contrast of the black satin and white lace trim at neck, wrists, apron and cap.  The skirt extended stiffly just over her stocking tops, and as she walked to and fro before the mirror in her black patent heels, she was aware that casual or sloppy movement was not only inappropriate in her present garb, it was uncomfortable and indecent.

She must hold herself erect and walk smoothly.  Her uniform allowed no other posture or movement.  She made a final adjustment to the lace trim in her hair and touched up her makeup.  She had outlined her eyes more distinctly than usual, ala Madame’s lesson, and had shaded her eyelids in iridescent green.  Her cheekbones were accented with a touch of tawny rouge, giving her face a dramatic glow.

The glossy coral lipstick she wore drew attention to an already sensuous mouth.  She backed up and turned to see if the seams in her silk stockings were straight and satisfied, she glanced once more at the unaccustomed image in the mirror, curtsied quickly, and went to prepare the tray.

Madame was wearing her riding clothes when, at length, Cecile entered the library.  A loose, cream blouse, clinging to the contours of madam’s ample breasts, was tucked into a wide, tight, brown leather belt, with a large gold buckle.  Beige wool jodhpurs sheathed her legs before disappearing into knee-length, shiny brown boots, with spurs at the ankle.  In one gloved hand she held the now familiar stiff black leather riding crop.

She was pacing the floor in an agitated fashion when Cecile entered the library.  She whirled about to face the maid and stood with her legs apart, slapping the palm of her left hand with the crop.  The sound of the leather on leather made an ominous ‘shhiiickk’!

“You are late this morning, Cecile!”

Taken aback, Cecile tried to come up with some reply that would appease her obviously irate Mistress.  “I’m sorry, Madame, I… I… apologize.”

Considering her past experience with excuses and explanations, Cecile felt it best to keep it short and sweet, and as humble as possible.  She lowered her head.

“Put the tray on the table, Cecile, and stand there facing the wall.”

Cecile did as she was told and heard Madame opening the drawer behind her she wondered what would happen now and just what exactly she had done to deserve whatever it was that was coming.  Knowing better than to whine though, she stood quietly facing her appointed section of wall.

“Turn around, Cecile, and take these things to your room.  I want you back her in record time with the rubber ball inside our mouth and taped in place with the tape hidden.  Do you understand?”

Cecile nodded, dumbfounded and at madam’s gesture, hastened from the room.  She hurried back to her quarters with the items Madame had given her; a translucent red rubber ball, a roll of sticky white vinyl tape, and a pair of scissors.  She wondered how she was going to hid the tape but imagined that Madame wanted makeup applied over the top of it.  Reaching her room, she went straight over to the dressing table and opened her makeup bag; eyeing herself in the mirror, she paused briefly, wondering why she was doing this ridiculous thing, but remembering the unpredictability of Madame’s moods, she decided to continue to obey orders, thus avoiding further consequences.

She pushed the rubber ball completely inside her mouth and closed it as far as she could, then she cut a six-inch-wide strip of adhesive tape and held it in front of her face.  In an effort to avoid further embarrassment resulting from doing a sloppy job of gagging herself, she pursed her lips as if to kiss her reflection in the mirror and stretching the tape firmly as she could, pulled it first over her top lip then, with her left hand, she pushed her bottom lip up to meet the top.  She stretched the tape tightly over her mouth, pulling it around her cheeks, before pressing it smoothly against her skin.  She realized she had stretched the vinyl tape too tightly, as it tended to resume its former shape pulling her bulging mouth tightly shut, and exerting stress on her skin, but it was too late to try again.

She hurriedly smoothed makeup on the tape, the same color as her face, and as a final touch drew a pair of lips on the same glossy coral she had applied earlier to her won.  Hoping this would be what Madame had in mind, she dashed out the door and in the direction of the library, her high heels threatening to deposit her on her derriere at any moment.

Approaching the door of the library, Cecile stopped and taking several deep breaths to calm herself, the air whistling through her flaring nostrils, she entered.

Madame set her still half-filled tea cup on the table and looked up at the maid.  “While I’m out, I want you to think about the importance of punctuality, Cecile.  Such tardiness is not acceptable, my girl.”

Madame rose smoothly to her feet, and smoothing out her jodhpurs, walked gracefully over to the chest of drawers from which she had produced Cecile’s do-it-yourself gag.

Removing several coils of white rope, Madame Bothewell grasped Cecile’s arms and pulled them back behind her until the elbows almost touched.  After encircling them several times, she cinched the restraint with two more turns at right angles to the main rope.  The same thing happened to Cecile’s wrists, locking her arms into a single immobile limb.  The effect of this, apart from rendering Cecile’s hands useless and preventing any possibility of her removing the gag she had so efficiently taped in her mouth, was to pull her shoulders tightly back and to force her already stringently restrained breasts so tightly against the shimmering fabric of her uniform that they threatened to explode at any moment from their imprisoning cups in one eye-opening debut.

Cecile was still adjusting to the pressure when Madame pulled her legs together and secured them just as tightly as her arms, at the ankles and above the knees.  Cecile fell the few inches forward that brought her into contact with a wall, glad of its nearness, since she had no longer anything with which to balance, her whole body one rigid, straining mannequin.

Madame, however, was not yet finished, not until she had taken Cecile’s hair and braided it into a length of rope which she then pulled down and tied to the rope at Cecile’s elbows, pulling the maid’s head far back and forcing her to examine the ceiling.

Cecile felt Madame’s hands leave her, and she heard her Mistress walk back to her chair and pour another cup of tea.  She dared not move a fraction of an inch; the slightest motion, combined with her one-piece body, even her head held tightly in one position and her high heels, would have meant an uncontrolled fall to the hardwood floor.

Cecile stood like this for several minutes, the ball locked in her tightly taped mouth, bringing saliva to the top of her throat, while the rope that was braided into her hair pulled her head back so far that it was very difficult for her to swallow.  At length, Madame finished her cup of tea, and grasping Cecile just below her pressurized breasts, effortlessly picked her up and laid her face down on the goatskin rug.

As Cecile was recovering from this new disorientation, her legs were doubled over and another rope tied from her bound ankles to her wrists.  Her head, ironically, was at just the right height for her to be able to see the clock.

Her handiwork complete, Madame Bothewell looked down at her tightly bound young maid.  Her face softened, and she knelt down to whisper in Cecile’s ear, “I’ve been watching you, Cecile,” she said.  “You have a real aptitude for this sort of service, a natural submissiveness that I don’t think you are aware of.  You are the first maid I have ever had that showed any real potential.”

“When my husband and his associates arrive on Monday, you will be well trained.  If you serve them well, with all the docility and eagerness to please that you’ve shown me, there could be a future in this for you.  I’m not talking about the sort of service you’re used to doing.  If you could learn to be the sort of maid I’m talking about, you could be paid many times what you are getting now.  We have friends who would enjoy such service.  You could be very rich in a very short time.”

With a gentle hand, Madame caressed Cecile’s captive cheek.  “Of course, I may not want to share you with them!  I may just keep you for myself… at least until you’re rich enough to afford your own maid!”

Madame rose and stood over her.  “I’ll be back in about an hour.  I shall require your services then.”

Madame whirled upon her high heeled boots and walked through the door, turning the key in the lock, and leaving Cecile unable to move any part of her body and unable to make a sound.

Cecile heard the ticking of the clock as an extension of Madame’s boot heels clicking into the distance.  She was left alone with her thoughts and with the sensation of being overpowered by the strength and beauty of the most fascinating woman she had ever encountered, a woman who epitomized sensual, female power in every aspect of her being and in every movement of her body.

Cecile felt herself absorbed into a new world, as if reborn to a life of serving her Mistress, earning the right to her Mistress’s care and love, learning to obey as a child does a mother, devoting herself to living the challenge presented by the elegance, grace and sensitivity of this world suspended in time.

Cecile flexed her shoulders in the minute movement available to her and managed to rock slightly on the rug, setting up a rhythmic wave of pressure over her already compressed breasts and abdomen.  She repeated the motion and savored the sensation, willing it to spread throughout her chest and pelvis and into her thighs.  Her body and mind melted into a dream like state, focusing on the new being she was discovering in herself, the role for which she had been chosen, to be the humble servant to a virtual goddess.

She seemed, even at this moment, to be serving her Mistress, waiting and preparing herself for the moment when Madame returned and made use of her time, her services, her body.  She swallowed and felt tears come to her eyes, as she waited…

Continues in Part Three