Chapter 21: Formal Instruction

After her day off, Marie slept curled up in a basket at the foot of the bed. She was curled up largely because she was ball-tied with soft black rope.

She slept well, although Angie cried out once, in the middle of the night. Marie wished at that moment that she could climb onto the bed and comfort the woman she cared for so dearly. All memory of the torments she had suffered at Angelica's hands seemed unimportant as she imagined the two of them slithering between the latex bedsheets.

The next morning, Angelica fussed around the bedroom and bath for an hour or so getting ready before untying Marie. After a five-minute automated shower, Marie punched up her assigned outfit. When it arrived, she looked at Angelica, puzzled.

Marie felt terrible. The tee shirt scratched her back. The cotton bra was uncomfortable on her breasts. The inner fabric of the fluffy sweat shirt seemed to burn her naked arms. The soft cotton panties itched terribly in crotch. The blue jeans felt rough and scratchy against her smooth hairless legs. Her hands felt naked without gloves or cuffs, and the wool scarf seemed to strangle her.

Exposing the skin of her face to the fresh November air seemed to turn it all raw, reddish and sore. Marie felt like a well protected child or a house pet suddenly released to a rough and hostile environment.

"Why have I been ordered to go out in everyday street clothes?" Marie muttered to herself, suddenly aware of the absence of any gag, "I feel so much better now in latex and leather, silk and kink!"

The red real-hair wig felt warm and clinging in comparison to the latex masks and hoods she had worn. The flat penny-loafers gave her the feeling that she waddled clumsily like a duck on oversized feet.

Marie caught her reflection in some store window and saw nothing but a very normal, casually clothed woman in her twenties, similar to the woman she had been only weeks ago: perhaps slightly slimmer, but somehow out of tune with herself. She sensed that she was neglecting her real nature; and that made her feel conspicuous, as though she were parading naked in the middle of the road.

Marie quickened her pace, eager to reach to the Agency. She longed for it as a sailor in a storm yearns for safe harbour. She was cold through to her heart.

As she waited for a walk signal, a good looking young man asked for directions to the nearest post office, but Marie simply cast her eyes down as if she hadn't understood a word.

Thrusting her hand into the depths of her pocket and fishing for her subway fare seemed somehow suggestive and obscene, without being at all erotic. Repulsed by this combination, Marie slipped into the very last car of her train, feeling just as shameful as she had when riding to the locksmith in her slutty clothes only a few days ago.

Were all of the passengers staring at her?

Old Miss Applebee sat there at the other end of the car with a satisfied expression on her face. "Serves you well, slut! You are lost to this world now!" the old teacher's eyes seemed to say.

And just then, did the panties and bra shrink against her body?

Marie felt a cold sweat break, trickling from her brow. She pressed her forehead against the cool metal pole by to the door. Why were there no shackles attached to it, holding her tight and safe? Why was she all on her own with the responsibility to find her way back to the Agency?

Marie was happy and relieved to finally arrive at the beaux-artes red brick building, its firm pillars projecting strength and confidence to its visitors. She rang the doorbell and was soon allowed to enter The Agency.

Out of breath, Marie arrived at the reception desk and asked for her school uniform. With a warm smile the middle-aged receptionist gestured toward an elegant leather chair opposite her desk, and then returned her attention to what Marie realized was a blank sheet of paper.

Marie waited. And waited.

She knew better than to ask when or how or why, but her fidgeting and fussing would have betrayed her impatience to anybody who passed. Of course, nobody did pass. There was just an elegant receptionist behind a large mahogany desk and a casually clothed young woman wringing her hands and rubbing her buttocks on a waiting lounge chair.

Marie started to study the receptionist more closely. Did she hear a buzz, like a cell phone in silent mode, or was that just the lights? It seemed as though the receptionist stiffened, her posture more upright. Her jaw seemed to clench with a punctuated yet irregular rhythm, and her eyes searched the air as though she were listening to something no one else could hear.

After a minute of this, the woman suddenly relaxed, her face softening and her shoulders dropping slightly. She looked over at Marie and smiled warmly, taking a box out of one of the desk drawers and holding it out.

Marie stood up, her gaze following the receptionist's gesture to a dressing room door just down the hall. "Undress and dress carefully, slave Marie! It will be beneficial for your standing in this organization if you make a good impression!"

Puzzled, Marie took the box and walked down to the marked door. Her confusion evaporated when she stepped inside. It was equipped like a full studio, with cameras and microphones in all corners, two walls fully mirrored. Marie quickly understood that this was a stage. The moment the door closed behind her, soft diffused lightboxes flickered on and little red lights all over indicated the cameras that would capture her performance.

Marie smiled as she set the box down on a high wooden stool, and started to strip. Oh how wonderful it felt to get rid of those itchy "normal" clothes again! She took off the scarf and slowly pulled the old Vienna University sweat shirt over her head, allowing the spectators a lingering shot of her exposed belly. She giggled as the fabric snapped past her small breasts, causing them to jiggle slightly.

Marie then removed flat shoes that she now found so ugly. She sat on the corner of the only chair in the room and pulled the jeans down over her slender legs, giving playful kicks in the air as she flung the rough denim across the room. She traced a high arc with one foot and sat with her legs spread wide, knees high, feet en-pointe and touching the floor only with the knuckles of her toes. She felt sexy and electric, shedding the mundane skin of a dowdy loser to reveal the succulent flesh of the slave beneath.

A minute later she sighed with relief as she finally stood bare from head to toe. After a moment of hesitation she reached back and took off the wig. Not a single hair remained on her body but eyelashes. Satisfied, she opened the box to put on her uniform.

Marie flipped through the contents so that she could put on her underwear first. There were shoes, stockings, a skirt and a blouse -- but no underwear. She shrugged, and then giggled again. It hardly surprised her at all.

Reaching into the box, she decided to try on the skirt first. At a first glance it looked like your everyday, powder blue plaid school uniform skirt. It was slightly shorter, perhaps, and normal pupils probably don't go to school in A-line PVC skirts. And of course they would wear panties underneath.

It was not hard for Marie to imagine the views she would provide when bending forward. Eyeing the blinking cameras, she tried it. First tentatively, then, remembering the receptionist's advice, more wantonly. Still wearing nothing but the skirt, Marie turned her back to the cameras, crossed her legs and bent forward at the waist to grab her ankles with both hands. She moaned slightly as she imagined herself held in this peculiar yoga pose by wooden stocks.

Still mindful of her invisible spectators, she picked up the short white latex stockings. Remembering her lesson from the weekend, she pointed her toes into them daintily and smoothed them gently over her calf. They came to just below her knees, with a light blue satin ribbon tied in a bow around her upper calves.

The blouse was white as well, and made of very sheer synthetic fabric. Marie tugged it around her torso to discover that it was at least one size too small. After closing its black buttons it was obvious that this was not by accident but intended to squeeze her breasts up into a noticeable cleavage. The strained buttons made little gaps through which one could easily see skin. Marie tied the loose front tails in a quick knot above her stomach and reached for the accessories at the bottom of the box.