I can't quite stop a wince and feel my cheeks flush as the maid tightens the silk laces once more.
The corset holds me tight, giving me an hourglass figure, pushing the flesh of my chest up into a hint of cleavage.
I feel a little dizzy, sore and breathless. She assures me "you will soon be used to it" and I blush all the more. Knowing that I will.
I already wear a chemise, bloomers, stockings and high heeled boots... I already look alarmingly like a woman... what more does she plan to do to me?
I catch glimpses of the gleaming white satin of the gown as she works around me... fitting me into petticoats that swish as they brush the floor. Somehow this is more feminising than anything else, being skirted. But apparently not enough, as she fastens a padded bustle over my derriere, adds a corset cover...
She pauses to lay out pearl and silver jewellery, rouge and perfume, and satin opera gloves... it seems that her employer plans for me to be fully dressed in this manner.
Finally she brings out the gown.
It is so lovely that, to my deep embarrassment, I cannot deny my desire to be dressed in it...
Oooh, I so agree! Wearing tight skirts and a corset, but especially the skirt/s, makes you both empowered (or grounded) in/for yourself - and half powerless, especially in the eyes of the gents. We would need to explore this more, I figure... ;)
ReplyDeleteIn this case the skirts would be full and heavy instead... still impractical and helping to make me helpless...
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