Interlude: Margaret's Story
She woke at 4:58 a.m., as the training had taught her. This was important she knew now. Her Husband, and for an instant, she felt a moment's guilt, she could remember when she thought of Him without the capital letter, her Husband needed to be up at 7:00 and she needed those two hours to make sure she looked her best for him, as a proper wife should.
She eased out of bed, very carefully, to make sure she didn't disturb Him. He needed His sleep after all.
On tiptoes, barefoot and naked, silent, she made her way to the guest bathroom so she wouldn't bother him as she got ready.
She sat on the toilet, for her morning business. As she peed and pooped she thought, "at least part of the Finishing School training is that I'm regular." Finished, she folded the toilet paper into a pad and carefully wiped, Then she went to the bathroom vanity, took one of the washcloths from the drawer there, ran the water until it was warm, soaked and wrung out the washcloth, and then carefully washed between her legs. She paid particular attention to her gluteal cleft
, her asscrack, and her anus. It didn't matter that she would be stepping into the shower next. The Finishing School training was powerful and a proper wife always kept herself clean down there for Him.
She showered then, very carefully and thoroughly. She scrubbed her face until the skin was pink, then shampooed her hair, the expensive shampoo from the Salon she visited every Thursday making her scalp tingle, and then followed with the conditioner with its faint scent of strawberries. She did her body then, the scented soap adding to the soft pleasant aroma of the steam. The loofah sponge abraided away any dead skin leaving her skin pink and fresh.
Finally, she hooked the douche hose to the little adapter He had installed for her. She slipped the syringe deep into her vagina and opened the little valve. As she carefully cleansed her Husband's special property she smiled, thinking how lucky she was.
She stepped out of the shower, dried quickly, used the baby powder liberally, and then started getting ready for the day.
Her hair took almost fifteen minutes, standing in front of the mirror with the blow dryer and hair pick, arranging her dark hair, not quite black, and shot through liberally with grey, into the perfect curly cap He liked. She thought, as she did every morning, that she wished He would let her have Race, her delightfully homosexual hairdresser, color away the grey but that, of course, was not her decision.
She sat, then, in front of her mirror at her little makeup desk, and invested the next half-hour in making her face look good for Him. A light base, a bit of blush to highlight her cheeks, a light blue eyeshadow and delicate lines of mascara. The false eyelashes he liked, and the scarlet lipstick.
She put in the little diamond stud earrings He liked.
In the closet she used in the morning she found her bra, a heavy torpedo bra that cut the skin to hold its shape so well. Then it was her girdle, an old-fashioned open-bottom girdle with heavy stretch nylon panels and whalebone (or maybe it was plastic these days) inserts to shape her waist.
She sat and put on her nylons, hooking them to the girdle, and turned to look over her shoulder to make sure the seams were ruler-straight.
She went back into the bathroom then and sprayed her armpits, three times each, with her antiperspirant. He had once seen sweat stains and that had been very painful for her.
Back in the spare bedroom, she stepped into the high-heeled pumps put on the petticoat, and then shrugged into the patterned dress with its notched collar and A-line skirt. She did up the 22 buttons. The last touch was the wide copper belt He had purchased, sucking in her breath to tighten the belt and give her a 22" waist.
Satisfied, she went into the kitchen, started, set the oven to preheat to make the biscuits He liked for breakfast, and made a pot of coffee.
At 7:00 on the dot she went back into the bedroom she shared with Him, a cup of coffee in her hand, and woke him by tickling his back very gently.
Chapter Two
I enjoyed watching Margaret get ready. The conversion from Margaret, who had given us both such pleasure the night before, to Mrs. O'Neil, the head teacher, took the best part of an hour. We started with a shower, washing each other's backs. I enjoyed using the douche syringe on her, something I had never done before although, of course, I understood the theory behind it.
Mostly, though, it was a matter of watching her.
She spent ten minutes on her hair, converting it from a lovely set of curls to a severe cap. Then her face, doing the same thing, the crow's feet around her eyes and mouth disappearing. As I watched the 54-year-old matron became a 40-something teacher.
Her torpedo bra, girdle, and nylons followed. The petticoat, crinoline was the word that came to mind, would hold the A-line shape of the dress. And then the dress itself, navy blue with a very fine print in the material. I watched as she shrugged it on and then did the thousand buttons, well, okay, 22 buttons. Her black high-heeled pumps with three-inch heels added height, bringing her to almost my own 5'10". A simple strand of pearls and her delicate lady's watch finished the outfit. Finally, she drew the 4" wide wide belt tight, giving her a dramatic wasp-waisted appearance.
I whistled and she giggled.
"Okay then," I said, smiling in anticipation, "let's go start the delightful Tiffany on her new life."
She smiled.
"You're going to enjoy this one, aren't you?" she asked.
"Actually, yes," I said, "I get so worn out with these chicks that think their looks make them special."
"Side bet?" she asked.
"Sure, whatcha got?" I replied.
"I'm saying she says 'fuck' at LEAST four times before she gets the idea," she said.
I thought about it for a moment and said, "you're on. Three tops."
She spit into her palm so I did the same and we shook.
"By the way," I said, "what's the stake?"
She grinned. "Our mouths. Loser does whatever the winner wants."
I laughed and said, "fair enough."
At Tiffany's door Mrs. O'Neil, she was Mrs. O'Neil now, no longer Margaret, swiped her master key card and entered without knocking.
"What the fuck," the lovely Tiffany said, jumping out of her bed and almost charging Mrs. O'Neil.
Well, until she started screaming and fell to the floor, hugging herself where the Training Aid was sending high voltage, low amperage jolts directly to that complex nerve ganglia at her clitoris.
