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Madame Genoux’s promise was fulfilled in a matter of days. I had specified three garments, all had been delivered a specified. The first a simple cincher in a heavy black fabric was designed to constrict the waist severely. The second, in rose pink satin – a fabric I considered to look well against Nicola’s dark hued skin – stretched from just above her sex to her upper torso where it supported, but did not cover, her breasts. The final garment, a more substantial affair in heavy cloth was designed to provide a sculpting of her entire upper body. Reaching to below the hips it accentuated her buttocks, pressed in her waist, pushed her forward and then presented her breasts as if on a platform allowing a dress to show a rounded bosom parted with a dark cleft between the breasts.
I introduced Nicola to the cincher first, placing it around her waist while she stood hooded with her wrist chained over her head in the cellar. At first confused by the touch of cloth on her skin after such a long period naked she then realised that she was being dressed in the results of her visit to Madame Genoux. She found her waist being drawn in by the lacing and boning of the cincher as I pulled it tighter.
It proved to be a curiously sensual experience for her. As the lacing was pulled tighter, so Nicola flexed her body twisting in response to the pressure on her belly and the pull of the chains on her arms. It was clear that she was becoming as aroused as when she used the stimulator. This was not my purpose.
A series of carefully placed crop strokes to each thigh, brought her attention back to my intentions. “Why are we doing this Nicola?” I asked, adding another wheal to each side.
She gasped with pain but then spoke slowly and clearly. “To produce a form pleasing to my husband and to those he wishes to impress.”
“Very good. So are your own erotic indulgences relevant here?”
“No, Sir. Unless of course they are of interest or amusement as well. Could that not be the case?”
It impressed me that, despite the hard crop blows, the discomfort of being strung up by her wrists and the imposition of the cincher, she was still considering the purpose of her training. “Very good,” I responded with encouragement. “That is indeed the case. I think, though, that we will explore that in a more controlled manner than simply as a by-product of your other studies.”
Nicola had evidently not considered that this was included in my plans for her submission. Her answering “Oh!” suggested that she found this revelation disturbing.
The corset was followed by an outfit in the style familiar to those of the late Victorian era. Undergarments that, as I had promised, failed to cover her sex were followed by a bustled skirt that contrived to fit tightly to her legs all the way down to her ankles but with a false panel of cloth that gave the illusion of a skirt that was draped from the bustle behind. Her blouse, fastened at the back, was of fine cotton. The sleeves were embroidered at the bottom of the long seven buttoned cuffs that extended beyond the puffed fabric covering her upper arms. The collar, high around her throat, ingeniously concealed a boned, rigid band that held her neck as tightly as the cincher held her waist. Her breasts were naked beneath the blouse, free and visibly aroused. The final effect was exactly as I had desired, at one time proper and promiscuous, at once modest and yet alluring. I was pleased although Nicola, I felt, exuded embarrassment as I viewed her carefully in forming my judgement.
However, the appraising stares of men were probably the least of the things Mrs James needed to become comfortable with.
© Freddie Clegg 2011
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