Reluctant Diva 19
Inspired by Lipstick Discipline
Chapter 19 – My assets
Still dazed by the speed of events, I waved my mom goodbye somewhat anxiously and followed Maria into the house. Madeleine told the maid to take my things up. “You know which room is Miss Jennifer’s. Now, dear, some refreshments before bed?”
It was already late so I was about to decline but my hostess was insistent. “Just have a milky drink before you sleep. I’ll send it up with Maria when she comes to help you get ready for bed.”

Help me?! Getting changed for bed was not something that I needed help with, or indeed wanted. As ever, the thought of Maria’s attendance on me was unsettling and I would be much happier if she kept her distance. I was too tired to object and decided on the path of least resistance. I would merely to go up and get undressed by myself. When I had done so and was searching in my case for a nightdress or p-j’s to put on, the maid appeared. Although she had seen me naked before, I still couldn’t help colouring up at her entrance.

“Oh Maria. Have you unpacked my night things?” There had been no sign of any night attire in my case and neither in the closet or the drawers.

“Little miss has lots to do before bed. She has to get in shape for beautiful dress. First is exercise.”

Used as I was to complying with my mother’s continually strange demands I found it difficult to protest at this new departure. Besides it’s hard to raise objections effectively when you haven’t a stitch on! Resignedly I followed her to the bathroom where there was a flat couch against one wall. There I was put through a rigorous work-out. I had to perform wall presses, push-ups and chest press extensions. I was not to do many repetitions but instead to hold each position for several seconds, finally adopting something called the cobra pose for what seemed an eternity. I learned later that this type of routine was intended to build body tissue.

After the exercises Maria led me over to the tub and bathed me. She was thorough. I have to confess it felt so good to be pampered that I didn’t mind too much, even when she made sure I was clean absolutely everywhere! She then dried me and massaged my unprotesting body vigorously with a perfumed lotion. I soon got used to this level of intimacy. Perhaps it was less of a big deal because she was so well versed in her role as attendant. That made it all seem perfectly natural.

Back in my room the maid prepared me for bed, by helping me into a short chemise. It was in a fine cotton lawn material that felt wonderfully soft. That was heaven. Not so what was to follow. My assistant grinned at my consternation as she looped a steel-boned corset around my waist as if this was completely normal. What?! Before I could object, she expertly clipped the front together. It gripped my torso from just under my bust to just above my crotch.

“But… but… I can’t sleep in this!”

My feeble protest was brushed aside. “Yes, yes!” Maria chided airily as if I was talking nonsense, while tightening the laces. “You see. We start like so. Not too much.”

That reassurance was of a kind I had grown to have little faith in, but I didn’t seem to be given any choice. Once the laces were secured I was handed a tall glass of some kind of creamy nightcap. It was vaguely like a milkshake and she watched me to make sure I drank it all down before she left. Exhausted after such an unusual day, I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.

Next thing I knew it was morning and Maria was throwing back the drapes to let in the daylight. She helped me out of my night attire and then we followed a ritual to get ready for the day that was an exact repetition of the previous night’s preparation. After exercise and massage, I was attired in bra and panties, a fresh chemise and then the corset. Inevitably and as I had feared, it was laced tighter this time. A shirt-waist dress which buttoned down my back went on over the top. Feeling like a child in a nursery, I had to ask Maria to fasten it. I was allowed to do my own make-up and arrange my own hair before joining Madeleine at the breakfast table. Doing so made me feel a little less helpless, though not much.

As we ate my hostess explained the purpose of all this rigmarole to which I was being subjected. “It’s to ensure the success of your preparation for womanhood. Physical assets are so important because used to advantage they can give women much of what little power they have over men. The discipline you are being introduced to will certainly help you make the most of your looks. You will discover that, as a woman, if you are to be successful you must neglect no opportunity. At your coming of age party where you will be the centre of attention this will be absolutely vital.”

None of this was what I wanted to hear.

“So you see. By taking a few simple steps, you are going to be able to, shall we say, fill out your dress to the best advantage.”

As her meaning dawned on me I blushed deeply. I’d never thought of my growing chest as one of my assets! Being one of the most developed of any of the ‘girls’ in my school-year, up to now I’d looked on it as something to hide as much as possible.

She went on to elaborate “While it isn’t possible to enlarge your bust directly by exercise or massage, this regime should be very effective in building the pectoral muscles underneath your breasts; also those of your back and shoulders. This support will make your bosom firmer and appear larger.”
Her argument seemed unanswerable.

However, “I can understand that, but why must I wear a corset?” I interjected. That was the part that was bothering me most.

“A well-designed corset will gently but firmly compress your waist. Any excess tissue will tend to settle above and below it. That will have the effect of accentuating your figure forming the true hourglass shape which is so attractive in a woman. After a period of continual wear, these bodily changes will be retained for some time. Trust me, I know this from experience. Take my word for it, your bosom is going to look stunning when you wear that party dress.”
Though the desirability of these changes was what I found hard to accept, I couldn’t disagree. Besides, I was occupied by the thought that the shape of my body must be something of an obsession for my hostess, and unnaturally so. However, what really struck me from this conversation were the lengths that Madeleine seemed prepared to take in moulding me into something I was not. Strange!

Oblivious of my conclusions, she continued serenely, “Now, being tight-laced may restrict your appetite a little so you may prefer to eat smaller meals. I’d advise four or five smaller ones each day instead of the usual three. After your party you can decide how much you will continue with this regime. You will then of course be a woman and such things will be entirely up to you.”

I wished I could believe that last declaration. Would my mother see it that way? Doubtful! More worryingly, her last sentence implied a permanent change in my life. There was no way I was wishing for that to happen.

Following our breakfast together, I spent a pleasant day with my hostess before I was taken home. Sophisticated, clever and funny, she could be very good company. So when Mom let me know that she had arranged for me to spend each of the remaining weekends before my birthday there, I was fairly relaxed about it, though less so when I next learned that I would be subjected to my new corseting regime full time. There was a small concession that I wouldn’t be faced with this degree of constriction while I was at school or at work. There I might wear a waist cincher instead so at least I would be able to bend in the middle! The rest of the time I was to be laced as tight as either Maria or my parent chose. That really was a scary thought!

During the following weeks my mother spent much of her time on the seemingly endless arrangements for my birthday party. For myself, I had precious little opportunity for worrying about what was ahead of me, what with school, homework, my jobs and my chores. That was just as well, as the mere contemplation of the role I would be expected to play made my stomach turn somersaults.

When it came to deciding the invitations, the number who were going to be there terrified me. Apparently I needed a court of ten attendants. There weren’t so many friends I could choose from. Rachel, naturally, would be my principal maid of honour and Chris the leading male. My first thought had been Marty but when my mother pointed out how unpleasant that might be for the Bennett family, I had to agree that he shouldn’t be asked to take that role. Was life complicated or what? With my school-friends and their respective parents and siblings and with Mom’s social circle, it promised to be quite a gathering; way too much of one for my comfort. Where would my much sought anonymity go? I didn’t like to think how many people were going to witness my “transition to womanhood”.

A set of elegant little cards had been printed and sent around bearing the wording, Mrs Dorothy Cartwright invites you to the “fiesta de quince años” of her daughter Jennifer etc etc. Inserted in each envelope was a sheet of hand-pressed paper. It described the programme for the day for the benefit of those who were unfamiliar with such events. That was just about everybody, including me! Fortunately all the principal invitees accepted. One last invitation had been sent to my Dad and step-mother. I raised my eye-brows in surprise on hearing this but my mother, who generally hated to have anything to do with either her ex or his new wife, was adamant.

“Oh, yes! The father has a special part to play at your coming of age celebration. There’s no way that man is going to slide out of his responsibilities again if I have anything to do with it. Don’t you worry, he’s going to be the star of the show!” I wished that were true, but reckoned the likelihood was that that role would be filled by myself!

With just two weeks to go before the event itself, Mom dropped another bombshell. From now on I was to stay with Madeleine full time. Nothing I might say in protest was even heard, let alone considered. Though I felt sure I would have the perfect hostess while I was there, I looked on the prospect of Maria’s constant attendance as an ordeal I could do without.

As it happened there was an up-side. I quickly got used to being waited on and it made a welcome change from the myriad chores which usually fell to my lot. Other aspects weren’t so good. The constant tight-lacing seemed to be having its predicted effect with the unlooked for consequence that my bras were now too small. Also, though the diameter of my waist was decreasing, extra inches had gone on my butt, hips and thighs. I was loaned some of Madeleine’s exotic lingerie which fitted me better. I have to admit that the knowledge that I was sharing intimate items of clothing with her gave me quite a thrill, but I began to worry that I was starting to become just as obsessive over my bodily attributes as my hostess and her maid evidently were.

Together with my respite from my cleaning jobs came the luxury of evenings free from chores. While I had supposed that my hostess’s time would be taken up with her social life, in fact she seemed to want to involve me in it. That came as a novel though daunting departure. I found that she devoted lots of attention to me and it was flattering to be made so much of by this elegant woman. Before our evening meals we would dress formally, in my case borrowing one of her daughter’s gowns, of which my closet held an extensive variety. Madeleine herself was effortlessly stylish usually wearing smart evening trousers teamed with an ornate top. With expensive jewellery and skilfully applied make-up, her looks were always bound to make an impact.

Each evening just before going down to dinner, she would stand before me to be admired. She liked me to critique her outfit and it really seemed as if my opinion was important to her. At the table she was affectionate and would sit close to me, often resting her hand on my arm or touching my thigh. Conscious of her wonderful perfume I enjoyed her proximity.

My introduction to her social circle took place one evening when I accompanied Madeleine to see a play. There were cocktails beforehand and we entered the bar to mingle with a throng of well-heeled theatre-goers. Drink was flowing and the buzz of voices was almost deafening. For the occasion I had been lent an elaborate evening dress in palest pink. The neckline wasn’t low but I was conscious that its filmy material was draped across my breasts in a way that drew attention to them.

My companion introduced me to several of her friends. There was a broad-chested bearded guy called Roddy and a younger man called Tam who seemed to be couple. While the latter prattled away in a rather high-pitched voice, the other couldn’t take his eyes off me, or embarrassingly, my ‘assets’. I felt self-conscious and ill at ease. I just didn’t know how to deal with such overt attention. The rest of her friends were women and equally as disconcerting. All were strikingly dressed. There was Joan, a high-bosomed female with improbable bleached blonde hair and a permanently disdainful expression. A tiny woman by the name of Greta smoked black cigarettes in a long holder. Neither seemed to have a partner and while busily chatting to Madeleine, they continually eyed me with an appraising look. It was a little like being a specimen under the microscope. I couldn’t relax.

My companion herself was possessed of effortless poise. She was the queen of the evening, wearing a black jumpsuit with diamante trim and a short tuxedo over it. Her hair was dragged tightly back into a bun, giving her a profile that was quite regal. On her arm I felt like some kind of little bauble that was being displayed to her admiring circle. Perhaps it ought to have been demeaning to be so treated, but actually I found being her protégé affirming. I was in the company of self-assured people with whom I was expected to socialise, so to be under the protection of someone with such composure made me feel much more comfortable, especially as she was being so kind and attentive to my wants. This way I thought I could enjoy the high life; well almost!

In the interval before the third act of the drama we congregated in the bar. I remained rather tongue-tied amid all the sophisticated talk, but I could enjoy observing the interactions among the group. Initially I would have summed up her friends as artistic types, but I saw that there was more to it than that. I came away with the impression that they were all trying to prove themselves to be ‘different’. They clearly were on familiar terms with Madeleine but any curiosity they showed about me she deigned to deflect. When the evening ended, knowing glances were exchanged among them all as we took our leave. A disturbing idea occurred to me that I was being carried away like some kind of trophy, which was unsettling. However, once we were on our own, relaxing in her company quickly soothed my ruffled nerves.

The day before my party, I was treated to another trip to the salon and came away with dramatically extended nails and elaborate hair. Much longer extensions to the latter had been fixed in place to allow more scope for styling it. While Delia was busy with me, she was full of questions about the forthcoming celebration and it was hard to satisfy her curiosity over what being a quinceañera entailed. It was difficult with my own understanding of the role being still quite sketchy.

On my return from the salon I had to face another unnerving experience, the final fitting of my gown. I had been eagerly waiting to try on this wonderful creation for so long that the anticipation had become scarcely bearable. My mom was present to judge the result and that added to the tension. Having removed everything except my panties, I allowed myself to be helped into it. It felt amazing! While final adjustments were debated, I gazed down at the layers of delicate material. The bodice was so close fitting that it seemed to be part of me, or I of it, I wasn’t sure which. Below that were sensuous tiers upon tiers of slippery satin. Suffice it to say I was lost in wonder. I tentatively twirled around and the skirts and petticoats followed my every movement. Their silken folds caressed my thighs in the most sensuous manner and I was enthralled again. I remained in that moment for I don’t know how long.

When I was stood before the mirror to take in the overall effect, I first noticed that the narrowness of my waist was accentuated by the skin-tightness of the bodice. It was totally feminine and literally took my breath away. My gaze travelled upwards and what was reflected there hit me between the eyes and riveted my attention to the exclusion of all else! The sight made me wonder if the mirror was of the distorting kind found at fairgrounds!

The mounds on my chest which admittedly had been developing over the preceding weeks were pushed impossibly upwards and forwards by the gown, which supported and framed them. To my fevered mind my reflected image was all about only one thing. Sex! I looked like a complete nymphette. Aghast, I turned to my mother in panic. Did she really expect me to appear in public like this?

Actually, I was startled to see that she seemed to be equally moved. Sadly however, it appeared that her emotions weren’t in sympathy with mine. She expressed how she was feeling with words I could hardly believe I was hearing. “That is just the look I was hoping for!!!”
Then noticing the expression on my face “Don’t worry. No-one will be able to take their eyes off you.” Then, seeing that my anxiety was still unrelieved, “Well just remember, in the church you will be wearing a veil over everything!

Gee thanks! I tried to take comfort in that thought, but without any success.

For the last two weeks, apart from at school, I’d spent all of my time at Madeleine’s and of course, that meant that Marty and I didn’t get to have our little meetings. Not only that, he wasn’t to be invited to my party. When it came to it I’d had the perfect excuse for not seeing him until afterwards. I really would be staying with friends! I did feel sorry about it and particularly so on his account. I liked him too much to want him to suffer.

Also, I was concerned over whether our relationship would survive this setback? While to my inexperienced mind he seemed genuinely smitten, the probability of losing him loomed large in my thoughts. There was quite an age difference between us and it seemed very likely that such a desirable boyfriend would have no trouble in finding someone else, whenever he chose. On reflection however, I found that this idea wasn’t too upsetting. Though I enjoyed our ‘dates’ and wasn’t ready for us to break up any time soon, it began to dawn on me that I wasn’t really romantically attached to him after all. Phew! For some reason it was a relief to know that.

Over the preceding weeks, seeing him had continued as regular as clockwork. Without my mother’s permission more adventurous meetings weren’t possible but every Monday we had our ‘date’ that wasn’t a date! Sometimes we’d talk but in general it was more physical than that and each night I came away with unfulfilled yearnings. In my head I couldn’t reconcile these with how I thought of myself. Deep down I was still a boy and I liked girls, right? Right!

Anyway, our make-out sessions grew lengthier as the weeks went by and my returns home became tardier. Surprisingly my parent made only a token objection.
“Late again, Jennifer!” she would tut, but her sly smile belied the severity of the mock scolding.

The second Monday had been a pattern of the first but as our relationship progressed so did our degree of intimacy. Suffice it to say that the following week I’d had occasion to be more forceful to fend off my professed lover. After the fourth week I found myself wondering how I was going to continue to keep control and at the same time retain Marty’s interest. A request for parental guidance didn’t provide much in the way of assistance. My mother’s response when asked how to handle his advances was vague and unhelpful. “I’m sure a resourceful girl like you can come up with something.”

In desperation I took a path reportedly trodden by many before me – the next time we met I pretended I was ill! I told him he needed to be gentle with me as my head ached so, and unbidden I put my arms around his neck and rested my head against his shoulder with a pitiful. “Just hold me, please.”

Amazingly, it worked and my boyfriend was induced to care for my pretended needs. He was all consideration and I could relax and enjoy his soothing attentions, even if they weren’t strictly necessary! I remembered that his mother had been telling Mum how much more considerate he had become recently. Perhaps I could flatter myself that some of this improvement might be down to my influence. I’d have liked to think so, but who knows? Now that I’d bought myself some breathing space, it wasn’t too hard to retrace the steps the degree of our physical intimacy had been taking. Over the next few weeks I managed to keep my amorous admirer in check, even if at times my inclinations were in the other direction.
What was I thinking?!