Maid to Measure

by Sarah Forth

  B - So easy

  That first session was a great success. He was so frightened by just the little thing of being dressed in women’s underclothes. Getting the skirt and slip on him made him even more co-operative for a time. He got so flustered and angry when we teased him about how he looked, pretended to look up his skirt, told him what smashing legs he had. And he got really animated when Wilf started cuddling him, squeezing his bra’ or stroking his stockings, feeling up under the skirt. He started to bluster, to show how clever he was by bragging about how much he knew, how much damage he could do. And he couldn’t really do that convincingly without letting slip some of what he knew. It didn’t last too long however and then he started to resist us again and I needed time to check on the details of his stories. So I gave them the nod and they untied his wrists before leaving him there. Somehow, at least for a time, I felt sure that he would not make any attempt to escape; but I left Henry outside the window, just in case. We had made more progress in just six hours than we had for the previous six days. I just had to find the way to turn the screw a little more each time.

  A - Regrets

  As soon as they had gone, I tore those things off. I went into the bathroom and showered, trying to wash away the traces, scrubbing at my shoulders to get rid of the marks where those bra’ straps had been. I deliberately used Sandra’s bathrobe as a towel again, leaving it soaked and screwed up on the floor of the bathroom. My feet were sore from those awful shoes and my legs ached from standing in them. I was tired from resisting them and from the effects of their drugs, dispirited because I had already told them so much more than I had intended. I was determined that they would not succeed as easily again but as I lay on the bed, I couldn’t blot out his voice. It seemed to be coming from speakers near the ceiling and he was telling me what a good girl I had been. Now that I was behaving so well, I ought to be rewarded. He was going to arrange a special treat for me tomorrow. Soon I would get some more food and then I could sleep so that I would be fresh for that special day. Perhaps I would like to tell him what else I knew, so that I would really deserve my treat. Perhaps I would get an even better treat if I didn’t.

  The food came in, on the trolley again, and I ate it, drank the fruit juice, enjoyed a last cup of coffee before I began to feel drowsy. And then I realised that something had been drugged as I fought unsuccessfully to stay awake.

  When I woke the next time, my surroundings were quite different. I was lying on a comfortable bed in a well-furnished, bright room but not where I had fallen asleep. I thought I could hear traffic noises and so I tried to sit up and get off the bed. Having both arms tied behind me did make it difficult and my efforts made everything else they had done obvious as well. My feet were encased in a pair of high heeled boots, shiny patent leather which zipped up almost to my knees. I was dressed in a very short black leather skirt, a pink, frilled long sleeved blouse and I could see that I had sheer dark stockings on my legs - the skirt had ridden up as I had struggled to sit up so that the suspenders were clearly visible. I could feel that they had fitted me with a padded bra’ as well. I wanted to get the whole thing off before anyone could see me, to deny them more of the pleasure which they had so obviously taken from humiliating me previously. But with my wrists held behind me I was incapable of unzipping those boots or getting the blouse or any other garment off. I guessed that the strange taste meant that they had smeared lipstick over my face and at least I was able to lick that off.

  The two who had first treated me like this came in while I was still sucking at my lips, still sitting on the edge of the bed with that short skirt hiked up to the tops of the stockings. And the next stage began.

  B - The new beginning

  I had briefed them carefully and we had taken a lot of care to get everything just right. He probably didn’t realise that he had been sedated for two days while we got him ready and moved him to the town apartment. I felt sure that he would make every effort to get the clothes off if we gave him the opportunity and so everything had been chosen with care. The boots for example zipped tightly up his legs and the little tag to move the zip had been removed before the tops were stitched together. He wouldn’t get them off without a great deal of time and effort. The leather skirt had a similar zip at the back and had been treated in the same way. Even his bra’ was leather and had been sewn on him. But the other clothes were more difficult - the blouse could probably be torn even if we managed to prevent him from undoing the buttons. The bright red lacy underslip contrasting with the white satin knickers were both held only loosely in place by the slight pressure of the skirt, although he couldn’t know that. That was for later. But I had found an even more secure way of keeping him dressed.

  Editor’s insertion.

  He had been taken well away from the country estate, back to a town. He had been dressed provocatively for a particular purpose. That purpose was essentially humiliation, to play on the feelings of distaste he had clearly shown during that first successful interrogation. B is, as I have already said, resourceful and intelligent. He has achieved his success by exploiting the weaknesses of others, sometimes their ignorance, their lack of brains or power. But more often their greed, their fears and their secrets. And he has become convinced that for most of us, our weaknesses are often just our strengths taken a bit too far. A’s strengths lay in his personal courage, his ability to withstand pain and physical degradation, in his self-esteem and sense of his maleness. And that was just what B was going to turn into weakness. B planned to destroy A by denying him access to everything which would allow him to reconstruct his masculinity, by reinforcing the weakness of the female and by associating him with that female state.

  ‘Oh you sexy minx, showing us your knees like that. Can we see a bit higher?’ One of B’s interrogators had arrived to continue the questioning, to B’s script. He pushed the skirt higher, well above the tops of the stockings, revealing the lacy underslip and the white knickers. ‘Ooh, look at her lovely knickers. Doesn’t it give you a thrill to see a girl showing off her underwear? Sarah, you really are a saucy little minx.’ He made A aware of the fact that they had shaved his legs, sliding his hands provocatively up his calves and thighs. Despite the fact that his arms were tied behind him, A struggled to his feet, trying to get his balance in those high heeled boots. Standing upright meant at least that the hem of the skirt fell to cover the top half of his thighs but they were determined to make him see what they had done. They half carried him across the room and stood him in front of a wardrobe mirror. Their teasing began again. ‘Look at yourself, Sarah. Don’t you look pretty? Those boots are just perfect with that little skirt. Isn’t Sarah a nice name? You needn’t bother to waste your time trying to suck the lipstick off - its a stain not a paint. Barbara has given you a complete facial, very expensive. Do you like it? Your make-up has been done by one of the world’s experts so don’t spoil it. Look at your pretty eyebrows. Aren’t they a lovely shape now? That eye shadow is definitely you. A man could really fancy you, Sarah. I bet you’ve done this before. Have you ever had a man? Did he enjoy it? Looking like you do, it’s obvious that you did. Give us a kiss, you’re irresistible.’ They played with him, grabbing at his make believe breasts, holding him round the waist and laughing as he shook his head to avoid letting them kiss him. The heavy earrings on his ears sparkled in the sunlight as they moved. He had indeed been almost completely feminised. His clothes were on the tarty side of sexy and his make-up was extravagant - vivid eye colouring, his eyebrows shaved to a fine line which arched in apparent surprise, bright red lips and rouged cheeks. Only his short hair remained and they soon produced a long blonde wig which they threatened to put on his head. When he resisted their efforts, they revealed B’s plan for the day. ‘Today’s the day for your special treat, Sarah. You were such a good girl when you told us those secrets. B has insisted that we give you a reward. Don’t you want to know what it is? We’ve been told to let you go outsid
e. The boss thinks that you have been kept indoors too long, you’re beginning to get pale. So let’s put this wig on you, so that you don’t look too much like a man dressed up. Then you can go out for a walk in the sunshine. Perhaps you’d like to come shopping. We could take you to some of the lovely dress shops in the town centre. Or perhaps you’d like to look at the knickers and other underwear in Marks and Spencers. That would be nice for you, wouldn’t it Sarah? It will make such a change, won’t it, to look at lovely underclothes in the shop rather than as you strip them off one of your conquests? But first, to get you used to the open air, we’re going to let you spend the morning on the balcony. You’ll like that, being out in the open air, feeling the breeze round your knees. Not a lot, perhaps and certainly not as much as the boys over the road.’ A was taken across to the sliding window and shown the balcony. Just across the road from the flat they had taken him to was a large boys’ school, four storeys high. Once out on the balcony, two floors above the ground, he would be visible and, looking like a rather tarty woman, would be studied. ‘The boys will be starting their morning break in a few minutes. Just let us get this wig on and you can go outside and show yourself off to them. You can show them your legs or perhaps you’d like to take off the blouse so that they can see your chest. Sorry Sarah, I meant your tits. But a lady like you wouldn’t use such language. Or perhaps you’d like to take all of these pretty clothes off when you get out there. The boys won’t mind. I think they’ll really enjoy it. What fun they’ll have when they find out that you’re only pretending to be a woman. Or perhaps they’ll spot you straight away. Poofters like you who dress up as women are always saying that children can spot them quickest. Now come on, put this wig on or they’ll spot you as soon as you go out there. Unless you’d rather answer a few more of our questions. And don’t try to lie this time or you’ll spend all day out there - and tomorrow as well, until they do know what you are. You know that all those young boys will be just itching to see a young lady’s body or her underclothes. They would be even more interested in watching a man pretending to be a woman - just imagine how they’ll watch when they find out you’re not real. And without a wig, you’re so obvious. Now, it’s nearly time for their morning break so let’s get you out there for them. ‘Cause you’re going out there, with or without the wig.’

  But you can read A’s account

  A - Degradation

  They dragged me across to the window to confirm what they were saying. The sliding window opened on to a large balcony and, as they had said a grey building which seemed to be a school was clearly visible on the other side of the road, not more than thirty feet away. ‘Now, do you want the wig or would you rather face them as you are? Or would you like to tell us everything we want to know and save yourself all this?’ He was fitting the wig on my head, taking advantage of my indecision as I struggled to overcome the panic. I had seen from the reflection that I did look rather like a tarty sort of woman, the sort who would perhaps show herself off to the boys. If they put me out there dressed as I was, I would be a centre of attention almost immediately. But without the wig, I could also see that I looked like a man who would dress like this to show himself off, an exhibitionist transvestite. I wondered how long it would be before the morning break. Could I keep them talking at least until after then? I was still unwilling to give any more information than they had got from me already but what sort of choice were they offering me? Perhaps just a show of co-operation would be enough until I could screw up the courage to face the ordeal which they had prepared for me. I had to give them something to distract them, reveal and conceal, as I had before. And if it had to be the balcony, wouldn’t it be better to look as complete as possible rather than a freak?

  So they got just a bit more from me. I kept them interested with another little tit-bit or two until the boys, hundreds of them, all between 12 and 18, had gone back into the building. I could see some of them sitting at desks at the windows at the same level. But B’s thugs were getting tired of my prevarications and without giving away a lot more than I could afford, I would have to suffer the degradation of going out on that balcony.

  It was horrible - the worst thing they had done to me until then. They did release my wrists before they took me out there and they let me see how effective the disguise was. At least I might deceive the boys from that distance, provided that my private parts did not show under those skimpy knickers. They did let me try to hide myself away inside the knickers but it was obvious immediately that too much movement would return me to my original condition. And when they had got me outside, one of them told me that the woman who usually lived in the flat quite often showed herself off to the boys so that many of the older ones were in the habit of taking binoculars and telescopes to school with them. Then they left me there and locked the windows on me.

  The balcony was about six feet deep and twenty feet long. They had locked both sets of windows but there was a small chair and a little coffee table with a jug of orange flavoured drink. As the morning passed, it got brighter and brighter on the balcony and, with the room behind me curtained and dark, the patio style sliding windows became mirrors. The first thing that I tried was to remove those boots so that I could walk more freely but the zips seemed to have been welded together. I did reach behind me to feel the fastenings of the skirt but even if I could have moved them, there was absolutely no sense in undoing it there. I could imagine the response from the boys just thirty feet away if I had removed any of these awful clothes while they were watching.

  The balcony had a rail about waist high but only very light metal supports and no window boxes or anything else between the school windows and me. It was very difficult to walk at all in those extremely high heeled boots but sitting on the little chair was almost as bad. As I sat, that tiny skirt rode up my thighs. The chair was fixed to the wall behind it so that I had to sit facing the school windows. The table was even lower and fixed right in front of one of the sliding windows. Dressed as I was, with my private parts poised ready to fall out of the tiny knickers they had given me I was in danger of revealing the pretence with almost every movement. Sitting facing the school windows, I was aware of the need to keep my knees very firmly together to keep my secret. I did try sitting on the edge of the table but it was so low that the skirt went even higher up my thighs, revealing even more. And with the reflecting window, I couldn’t even risk sitting facing inwards.

  I was still there when I heard the school bells ringing for lunch. Immediately there was a clamour as the boys burst out of their lessons. And almost immediately after that I was aware of the groups collecting at the windows in the rooms level with and above my balcony prison. I saw the glint of light reflecting from the glass of binoculars as they watched me, more and more of them with each passing minute. And when I stood up and walked to try the sliding doors, there was a shout of apparent disappointment followed by an even louder indication of their appreciation as I turned back after finding the windows still firmly closed against me. Their windows were opened and their voices were clearly audible, and not only to me, although I was obviously the target. When I sat down, there were oohs and invitations to show a bit more leg; when I stood up they cheered every step. And soon the balconies above me and to one side were also occupied - not by women who might have provided some distraction, but by large men in tee shirts and jeans, similarly enjoying their chance to study me. There was nowhere I could hide and they were so close. Although I hated to think of them looking at me as a woman, I was constantly expecting some indication that they suspected something else. I tried to make myself small, to keep my head down so that the hair of the wig covered my face. Sitting with my knees pressed tightly together and my ankles crossed was the only way that I could believe that they were not able to see up under my skirt. I tried to force myself to keep still, to blot out the surroundings, just as I had when they had been beating me about. That had seemed so much easier. Then the pain itself had been a
sort of distraction. I had been able to focus my mind on one part of my body, to concentrate on overcoming the pain I felt there and then withdraw from their blows and questions. But now, all the time, there was the clamour from the boys. And to make sure that I didn’t just sit there, the fiends inside kept fiddling with the locks of the windows, letting me think that they were open so that I would have to get up and try them again, desperately seeking a way out of the humiliation they had forced on me. And of course, every movement was cheered appreciatively. I did not know how to get up from the chair without letting my legs open and revealing my knickers, with their contents balanced so precariously. With those unfamiliar heels it was very difficult to get up without jolting myself with the added risk of everything spilling out. I could only get off the balcony through the sliding windows and I wanted to get off so badly that I felt obliged to respond every time I heard them fiddling with the locks. So, inevitably, the knickers gave up the unequal struggle!

  After about half an hour, I heard a change in their shouts. I thought that one of them must have suspected something about me because the shouts seemed to become questions rather than just invitations - ‘What’s in your knickers then? Why won’t you show us your chest? Where does your boyfriend put it?’ And I couldn’t really hear whether they were calling me Jenny or Jimmy. But I feared the worst and stood by the windows, begging to be let back inside. The boys’ shouts included phrases like ‘shut that door’ and I felt sure that they had worked out my secret. I wanted to get off that balcony and in the end I promised to tell them more if only they would let me back inside.