Slave Wife

Chapter One-3

Shyly, Karen reached behind and unzipped her dress, then, under Emeline’s intent and disconcerting gaze, slowly lowered it and stepped out. At once the bits of padding at her waist, her behind, her thighs, overwhelmed her awareness.

But the so slim woman didn’t comment. Instead she said, “Oh my dear, where did you get those awful stockings and that underwear?”

Once again – so many times now – colour rushed into Karen’s cheeks. That her lacy pink polyester underwear was inadequate had never occurred to her. In fact, she didn’t understand why it was. She’d thought it was pretty when she’d bought it at Wal-Mart, the giant store that supplied everything from food to hunting supplies to small towns throughout the U.S. And stockings, pantyhose actually, were stockings, weren’t they?

Emeline sadly shook her head. Her hair swung like a heavy velvet curtain as she plied her long legs to a lovely arched armoire adjacent to the four poster bed. “Fortunately I came prepared.” When she returned to Karen, she held several gauzy cream items in her fingers. “I think you’ll find these much more pleasurable.”

Karen saw that Emeline expected her to strip right then and there. The woman’s aggressive intention exerted tremendous pressure on Karen to do so. Karen began to unhook her bra, still facing Emeline. She paused. No. She just couldn’t do it. She turned her back, removed the pink bra and replaced it with soft cream lace. It was a little tight. Her small C-cup breasts bulged over the low cups and she could feel the band cutting into the flesh at back and shoulders.

With excruciating self-consciousness she pulled off the pantyhose – which Emeline immediately removed from her view, into the trash Karen was certain – and lowered her panties. The cream lace panties were definitely too small, she discovered when she pulled them up. She could wear them but they cut into her behind and her belly bulged over the top. Far worse, her pubic hair escaped their high cut leg openings. She tried to push it in but it wouldn’t stay.

When Karen lifted the stockings, she realized with dismay that they were real stockings and that a garter belt was with them. She’d never worn a garter belt and had no idea how one worked. What should she do? She stared at them in her hands for an interminable period. Finally she didn’t think she could wait longer. She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know how to put these on,” she said, feeling totally uncultured and ashamed.

Thankfully, Emeline was kind. “Let me help you.” Karen had previously been too nervous to notice Emeline’s perfume. Now its subtle fragrance struck and captivated her as the woman came close behind. What was different about it? She tried unsuccessfully to define its distinction from the scents her mother and her friends bought – only knew she’d never smelled perfume so gently intoxicating.

Then Emeline’s fingers reached around and took the garter belt. Karen was disoriented, uncomfortably yet at the same time enticingly aware of the warm, dazzling femininity encircling her body like the stretchy lace.

The garment pulled tightly at her waist as Emeline hooked it around her. The woman smoothed the lace, giving the bulges at her waist a little pinch in the process. Karen felt the long nails delicately graze her skin as they tugged the panties over her round bottom.

For a moment, Emeline’s palm lingered on the fleshy swell in an incipient semblance of a pat. Karen heard her sigh. “I’m afraid, Cherie, we’re going to have to work hard to rid you of this fat.” Her tone became reproving, like Karen’s father’s when he thought she wasn’t listening, “You will work with me on this, won’t you? You know Michael will not tolerate any less.”

The humiliation once again surging through Karen quickly turned to anxiety. Was Michael trying to control her life? What did he want from her? She felt like running – she looked down at her body – but she was almost naked and had very little money. Would they let her get her clothes? Another blush of chagrin rose up as she remembered her shoes in the trash. How would she get home? Shame filled her. She’d have to call her parents. What would they think of her?

Emeline seemed to sense her distress. “Don’t worry, dear, we’ll make it fun. Think how wonderful Michael’s generosity is. You’ll have beautiful new clothes,” she touched Karen’s hair, “a new hairstyle, everything new and tres elegantes, tres belles. Now, why don’t you put on the stockings and we’ll find you a dress and some exquisite shoes.”

Karen knew she should be thrilled but instead felt utterly helpless. She yearned to escape and didn’t know how … or why for that matter. So she simply complied.

Emeline prodded her to sit on the bed. “The stocking are pulled on like pantyhose, only one at a time.” She watched as Karen struggled not to tear the fragile mesh. “Very good. Now the other. Now we hook them like this.” Emeline demonstrated how to slip one cloth covered dimple through its metal loop and slide it into place.

She took Karen’s hands in hers, helped her to her feet and led her to a mirror. “Now let’s look at you.”

Karen looked at her skin, which she’d always thought so nice and smooth, bulging over the too-tight edges of the lingerie. Emeline’s perfect slimness floated next to her bulk in her vision’s periphery. Though Emeline made no comment, Karen could feel her disapproval. The girl yearned to protest, “I’m not fat! I’m just healthy! Everyone says so. Everyone says how pretty I am … and I’m a cheerleader! I couldn’t be a cheerleader if I was fat!”

At last, Emeline raised her slim shoulders and tossed her head in an elegant shrug that Karen knew represented defeat. “Well, let’s find you a dress.” The woman strode to the closet and began sorting through a dozen hanging garments all, even the few patterned outfits, in unobtrusive though lush colours. Again the shrug as she separated one padded hanger. “This will have to do.”

Karen hesitantly touched the fabric. The insubstantial black wool was as soft as clouds under her fingertips. In an instant, her upset vanished under the dress’ magic spell. Blissfully, eagerly, she looked into Emeline’s face. “I can really put this on?”

Emeline smiled benevolently down from her heels’ height. “Cherie, it’s for you.” She waved her arm in a ballerina’s gesture. “These are all for you.”

Karen stepped into the dress and Emeline helped – struggled – with the rear zipper. Karen’s joy dissolved and then disappeared entirely. Her voice was almost inaudible. “Won’t it go up?”

“Breathe in,” was Emeline’s reply. Karen sucked in her stomach and, at last, the zipper closed. The dress was so tight around her waist and back she was afraid to let her breath out for fear of bursting the zipper. Again she heard Emeline’s sigh but her only comment was, “Now shoes.”

Karen looked dubiously at the proffered black pumps. They were beautiful but the heels were so high she didn’t know if she could walk in them. She also couldn’t bend to put them on so Emeline had to help. She tottered to the mirror and looked at herself. Despite the dress’ tightness she thought she looked so ladylike.

She turned to find Emeline but the woman had slipped from the bedroom. Karen started toward the glass doors but stopped when she heard the accented voice. “I’m sorry, Michael. It’s the best I can do in this little time. I think you should eat in the suite tonight.”

Then Michael’s curt reply. “I’ve already ordered.”

Karen wanted to shed the beautiful clothes and run. Too late. Emeline opened wide the glass doors, Michael at her side.

He did not try to hide his dissatisfaction. She surprised herself by being angry, until he smiled warmly at her and she was overwhelmed by the desire to please him. He took her hand and she peered helplessly up at him. “Don’t worry, my dear. By the time Emeline is finished you will be exquisite.”

“Yes,” she thought, “I want to be exquisite … for him.” She almost didn’t mind his criticisms over dinner.