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Skirted Slave

skirted slave

It was just like many other large charity-run thrift or re-sale shops. Furniture re-upholstered in cheap, bright material, the wood glaringly varnished. Counters cluttered with the discards of hundreds of homes. Rows of racks and tables on which were displayed the cast-off clothing of the many who cleaned out attics and closets and contributed to charities at the same time.

The woman who ran the place had long, gray hair combed in a neat page boy fashion and she stood tall and there was an aristocratic appearance to her despite this setting. Now she was watching a customer narrowly.

He was an unobtrusive-looking young man, neatly dressed. Quietly he rummaged among the racks of dresses, looking for those with wider waists, longer lengths, silkier fabrics than most. An intent look of the searcher was on his face. Then he checked the lingerie table, holding up gleaming slips and full skirted silken nightgowns, corsets and panties and petticoats, searching.

He was the only customer in the shop, since it was near closing time. Quietly the woman went to the front door and pulled down the shade. She locked the door and turned out the lights in front.

The young man asked, “Oh, is it closing time?”

“Not quite,” the woman replied, “but I was watching you. I want you to know that I understand. I have a few things in the back room I’d like for you to try on – and don’t tell me you’re looking for things for an invalid sister or anything like that.”

The man flushed scarlet, but then he saw the garments she brought out for him. There wae a large, full-skirted red dress of Thai silk in a paisley pattern with a tremendous bow at the neck. His fingers itched to touch the fabric.

There was a housecoat of black satin with wide blue satin lapels and a wonderfully wide pale blue satin sash that flowed almost to panel proportions. A pair of big, high-heeled shoes with ribboned ankle straps.

“M-may I put these things on here – in front of a mirror? Is it alright?” he asked, excitedly.

Her look was direct, her voice soothing. “Of course you may,” she said, “and I’ll be very pleased to help you.”

Thereupon she pulled some of the racks so that they concealed the entrance to the dressing room from anyone passing by outside, produced a pink silk foundation garment, and said, “Here, slip into this first and then I’ll get you a nice, waist-nipping corset.”

The man closed the door and undressed, put on the sleek-fitting garment she gave him and then she handed him the housecoat around the door. “Put this on and come to the other dressing room; the light is much better there,” she said.
He obeyed her and was thrilled to see that she even had a pair of big satin mules for him to wear with the housecoat. She gave him a long black corset with the laces out and told him to lace himself into it.

While he was thus engaged, she gathered up all of his men’s clothing in a big paper bag and locked them in the store safe. He was so involved with the laces, he had no idea What she was doing.

“Got it on?” she called over the dressing room door.

“Almost,” he called back.

“These dark gray nylons go on next,” she said, handing them in.

His voice seemed choked with emotion when he called back, “Thanks.”

A red taffeta slip with wide shoulder straps and a full, ruffled skirt was next. “Now let me see how you look,” she said.

The expression on his face was ecstatic when she opened the door. He was looking at himself in the mirror, his hands caressing the sleek, rustly taffeta fabric that was against his body.

She helped force his feet into the high-heeled shoes and tied the ribbons securely around his ankles, then asked him to hold his hands behind himself while she put eye liner and mascara, eye shadow and lipstick on him, then a heavy, dangling pair of green glass earrings.

“I’m going to call you Girlie, you look so much like a girl,” she said. “And you may call me Trainer.” “Miss or Mrs. Trainer?” he asked politely.

“Just Trainer -your trainer,” she repeated.

“Yes, my Trainer,” he said.

“We’ll do the nail polish later, but now I want to see that red dress on you,” Trainer said.

He held his arms up eagerly and a tingle of excitement shot through him as he felt the silken fabric slither down his body. Expertly she zipped up the placket on the side and fastened the belt snugly around his waist. He held out the full skirts and whirled in front of the mirror.

“Let me fasten that big bow, Girlie,” she said.

“Here, hold your wrists in the two loops to make them stand out and be full, like this,” she said.

His wrists were in the loop and she slowly drew the ends of the big, double-thickness bow together, then she drew them still tighter and knotted them together in a firm square knot.

“I can’t get my wrists out if you make it that tight, Trainer,” he said.

“Exactly,” she replied, the ring of triumph in her voice sending chills through him.

There was fear in hie voice. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“You will. Here, let me load you with some of these clothes first, though.” Around his neck and through the crooks of his elbows she strung an assortment of silken feminine garments of all sorts, blouses, skirts, nightgowns, robes, slips, hose, panties, evening gowns, dresses, scarves and others. Then she stood behind him. “March,” she said, goading him with the butt of a braided whip she suddenly picked up.

The man moved forward away from her prodding, stopped before a door in the rear corner of the store while she opened it, went up the stairs in the dim light, waited while she opened another door there, and then almost fell forward on the unaccustomed high heels he was wearing when she pushed him in.

“Now I’ll explain,” she said. “This is my apartment. It’s part of the compensation I get for running this store, a final humiliation to the last surviving member of a family that once had great wealth.

“I was raised with a staff of servants to do my every bidding. I knew nothing about working or earning money. That, I’d been trained to believe, was for peasants. Then, when industrial changes made the sources of my family’s income obsolete, there was a panicky grabbing by the members, a final wild spree of extravagance as we tried to cling to our old way of life, and I wound up here with nothing but this degrading job and my memories.”

A crafty look came over her face. “But then I made a discovery. I found that you transvestites have no stronger urge in your entire beings than the desire to wear women’s clothing and that, to some, its an added thrill if you’re forced to wear it. And so I found new servants. When suitable garments came in, I set them aside to have them ready.”

As she spoke, she took the garments with which he’d been laden off of Girlie and hung them up on padded taffeta hangers in what he realized was an exceedingly’ feminine maid’s room. He also noted that, despite the wild look in her eyes, she was an extremely attractive woman.

“My family,” he said, “my job…”

“Forget them and they will soon forget you,” the woman said, blandly. “Oh, I suspect there’ll be some sort of search, but you didn’t tell anyone you came here. Unless you escape and find them, they’ll not find you here.” She smiled at the mingled emotions showing on his face as he stood so ridiculously bound with his wrists caught in the red paisley Thai silk bow tie.

Skirted Slave“One did escape a while back. He tried to come back to me later, but I wouldn’t even let him shop in the store. The pictures I had of him insured his silence.”

“And … the … others?” Girlie asked.

“I married one of them off to a big, gorgeous man-hating girl I knew. He was just the husband she wanted. I sold another to an older woman, a real big one who wore corsets, wanted something to train and coddle. They were made for each other.”
Then she was through talking. Taking out a bundle of a dozen leather belts with a ribbon wound around their buckles to make a handle, she began hitting Girlie hard across the rump. This, she explained, was to soften him up and remind him that his obedience was to be instant and complete. He danced around and tried to escape her savage blows, but she tied him to the foot of his bed with a sash and settled that.

She brought out a pair of what looked like stretch satin golf club covers and forced them over his fists, then untied his bow long enough to free his wrists and tied it meatly again so that it just tickled him under the chin.

His chores were everything domestic that was needed such as dusting, cleaning, cooking and bed making, laundry and ironing. She made him run the water for her bath, trained him to brush, comb and set her hair and do her finger and toenails, forced him to keep his own nails long, red and well manicured so that he could hand launder her dainties without snagging them, and made him change costumes at least three times a day, always into silken, highly feminine fabrics, using different perfumes and changing his make-up to match his costume.

If he balked, there’d be a spanking with the belts, by hand or, in severe cases, with a whip.

She brought a sewing machine into his maid’s room and compelled him to repair the garments the charity received. One day, while he was sewing, she had an inspiration and made him sew wide bands of double fabric to the sleeves of one of his black silk dresses at the wrist and the elbow. When he needed punishment, she made him put on this dress and bound his arms helplessly behind his back with the silk bands.

This was the first of his punishment garments. Others included a full-length, lace up red faille sheath that went from his neck to his ankles. Trainer enjoyed putting Girlie into this, lacing him into it with his arms tightly at his sides and, with nothing to protect him except the lingerie he wore underneath it, tickle him and watch him squirm over a green satin spread while a color motion picture was made of the activity.

To prevent his escaping while dressed as a girl, Trainer refused to let Girlie have access to anything that might remove his beard. She would enjoy tying him to a chair and perfuming and setting his beard and tying bright-colored ribbons in it, but he was not allowed to shave or cut his hair.

Once she caught him using his dressmaking scissors in an attempt to cut off part of his beard. She then made him create a set of punishment garments of leather. The outfit consisted of an extremely confining kid leather corset reinforced with strips of stout sole leather rivetted in place, a high-necked blouse with a sole-leather core to the kid collar forcing him to hold his head uncomfortably high, lead breasts with sponge rubber padding underneath to protect his body and shoulder straps to keep him from sagging under the weight.

With this, she required him to wear knee-height boots that had fully five-inch spike heels and a short, very full skirt that exposed his real kid leather bloomers underneath.

He was forced to wear this costume every day for a week and, at nights, when he took it off and put on his pink baby doll pajamas, he dropped off to sleep completely exhausted. After that, as a reminder, she made him keep the terrible costume in full view in his room at all times and to wear it on the first day of each month as a reminder of what might happen if he disobeyed her in any way.

Girlie’s tasks became increasingly arduous. He was required now to launder all of the incoming garments for the store and to dye those that seemed faded. His care in repairing them and putting them in saleable condition soon resulted in this store being the most profitable in the entire group run by the charity and Trainer was offered a better position with the organization, which she refused.

One evening she was watching Girlie at work in his room. He was wearing a full-sleeved white blouse and a bright red taffeta jumper, a matching red bow in his hair. His make-up was on smoothly and his eyes were beautifully lined with blue shadow and black pencil. His graceful feminine gestures, the shapely, smoothly-shaved legs the dark gray nylons, the smooth-fitting springolator shoes with high heels – all struck a disturbingly responsive chord in Trainer.

She stood behind her slave and began to stroke his cheeks, then she kissed him.

“Girlie,” she said, “one of my customers for the clothing you repair so nicely is a justice of the peace.”

Girlie turned scarlet. He sat there, stiffly, waiting for what was to come, his long, mascara-coated lashes downcast.

“I believe he’d understand were he to come here and – cement our relationship. Would you be interested in my inviting him here to do that?”

Girlie looked up at Trainer, a misty expression in his beautiful eyes. “Could I still be your subject, your slave, like this after we were married?” he asked.

Her face hardened. “I should insist in it.”

A broad smile came to his face then. “Oh I’d love it! Will you, my Trainer, marry me and permit me to be your wife?”

Girlie was busy the next few days on a double trousseau, sewing beautiful white peau de soie wedding gowns and two illusions, exquisite lingerie and particularly pretty nightgowns of white chiffon and lace and satin.

Then came the strange wedding with two brides, two dainty gold bands being exchanged and the bearded bride having his beautiful white veil lifted while the smooth-cheeked one kissed him.

They have a dress shop now and an eager clientele often asks Madame Trainer who designs her fashions. She smiles and looks mysteriously toward the back room where an exquisitely-gowned creature nobody but she ever sees does his sewing, but she keeps her designer her secret.

The End

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