Zippers

PART 6

 

 

 

Trisha’s two-seater Mercedes slowly crunched up the gravel driveway. I was hungry, thirsty and nervous. She had commanded silence from me from the moment we had left her house some two hours ago. I had quickly lost track of where I was, no doubt at her instructions. She sang along to the radio for most of the way swapping between stations to avoid hearing the same breakfast news stories over and over. She had a large plastic cup of strong smelling coffee in the holder next to her seat. She had not offered me a cup. Similarly, she had made me sit at her breakfast table while she had eaten toast, without allowing me any. She had then made me do the washing up while she put on her makeup.

 

She had given me a soft pink tracksuit to put on after I had showered. Under this, at her instruction, I had put on a thickly padded, push-up bra. It had made my little breasts look much, much bigger while at the same time pushed them together enough to actually generate some cleavage. After I had put on the tracksuit top and zipped it up, she had adjusted the zip downwards so as much of my breasts as possible were on show. I didn’t feel at all comfortable like that and she’d made a point of calling me ‘Busty’ or ‘Tits’ after that as a kind of unilateral joke. She had been so kind to me the first day I had met her. Now I was a source of amusement for her. She had turned into a school bully, taking delight in mocking and belittling me.

 

‘Come on hot cakes, lets sort out your nails’, she had said signalling pointedly to a chair opposite her.

 

I sat myself down and surrendered my hands. I controlled the frown on my brow. She said nothing but proceeded to take all my nail varnish off and scrubbed my finger nails so that they were clean. It was obvious that there were artificial extensions glued on when they were in their naked state.

 

‘We’ll keep this one clean’, she said pointing to my left forefinger, ’but there’s no reason we can’t let you tart the others up a bit’

 

At that she took out some bright pink varnish. She positioned my hands on the table and then started to paint my nails with it. I didn’t understand why she was doing this.

 

‘It’s so much more convincing if you look the part a little today’, she had explained as she finished my left hand and moved over to the right.

 

My left finger nails were drying with a loud, plastic, bubble-gum pink; lacquered thickly on. Unlike my usual deep, velvety looking, tones it looked awful.

 

‘Nice colour isn’t it’, she said raising her eyebrows as she started on my penultimate finger.

 

I didn’t answer. I was trying to sulk although I was wary of making that too obvious. I was still frightened. Not anywhere near as much as I had been the night before but a long way from feeling comfortable. While Vivienne had seemed like evil incarnate, Trisha merely seemed like a malicious bully. She wasn’t freezing me and violating my very being, she was just making me look tasteless; by comparison it was very little. I still hated it though.

 

‘Put your feet on here’, she said. I obeyed. Then she started to quickly paint my toenails too.

 

‘There now’, she said as the last nail lay there starting to dry.

 

‘Lets quickly do your face’, she said grabbing a bright pink make-up bag, ‘Look forward’

 

It took her only a couple of minutes to cover my face in a multitude of products, such was her expertise. I felt thick foundation and caught the sight of a pink lipstick that matched my nails. I didn’t see anything else of what she was doing as I obediently faced straight ahead.

 

‘Put these on now’, she said.

 

From the bag, she took out a pair of large gold rings, about three inches in diameter with a thick twisted ribbon design on. I had never worn big earrings like that before because I hated them; but did as I was told; pushing the little bars through the piercings in my ears and hooking the backs of the rings over the bars so they hung on securely. They reminded me a little of the ones that Melanie would wear, only these were even more eye catching and more tarty.

 

Trisha was grinning at me. She roughed up my hair and adjusted it to a fashion that she approved of. Then she walked out into the bedroom I had been in and returned with a white faux-leather overnight bag stuffed full and zipped tightly shut. Her other hand was obscured.

 

‘Here are the things you’ll need for your stay’, she said, ‘Now it’s time to leave, so put your shoes on’

 

She handed me a pair of white patent leather sandals with high stiletto heels. They were really tasteless. I took them, the straps hanging from my fingers as I looked at them in disapproval. What on earth was I going to be looking like? I know I used to look drab but I had never looked cheap.

 

She gestured at my feet. I was not being commanded here but I knew I had no choice as I put the shoes on the floor and slipped my feet into them. In my heart I wanted to kick them across the room, screaming at Trisha, running out into the courtyard outside.

 

The heels must have been five inches high. As I buckled the straps on I wondered if I would be able to stand properly in them, let alone walk. I looked down nervously at my bright pink toes peeping out from the knotty white straps and hoped that this would not be the day that I snapped an ankle.

 

‘Stop staring at yourself, Hot Buns, we’ve got places to be’

 

She stood me up and drew a wide white plastic belt around my waist fastening it with the large gold horse-shoe shaped buckle it had. It constricted my waist in the tracksuit making me catch my breath. I wanted to loosen it a little and went to touch it. She froze me with a disapproving stare and I took my hands away again. She’d then grabbed her own bag and made for the door.

 

‘Come along now, Titsy’

 

I had teetered out after her clutching the white bag. I caught a look at myself in her mirror. I looked so common; too much bright pink and blue makeup and dressed like a bimbo. The shoes, belt and earrings looked crass, slutty and demeaning. I was about to protest but I heard a click of fingers and was immediately fixed at her heel once more.

 

‘Sway your hips more when you walk in heels, Anita’, she sounded like a friend now; ‘try to capture how you felt at the pole dancing class last week.’

 

I filled up with shame. I knew I had no choice so I started the feeblest saunter that I could manage. I felt like such a slut, I was praying that nobody would see me. Before we even got to the car, some few yards down the drive, my feet were rubbing painfully on the plastic straps and the balls of my feet were aching in the cheap sandals. I was glad to get out of sight. I said nothing about my painful feet but didn’t feel in any way refined about my silence.

 

She had then told me I was to remain silent and only answer direct questions until further notice. There was no way for me to protest to this.

 

 

 

 

 

Her car pulled up outside the main door of the building. I didn’t know where I was and was start to fret.

 

‘No tears till afterwards now’, she said in an almost sympathetic tone, realising my fear.

 

My eyes remained dry.

 

She handed me a blank brown paper envelope and shooed me out of the car. I shut the door and she lowered the electric window.

 

‘Now I’ll be back to pick you up afterwards and take you back. Off you go, you have about ten minutes so you’re fine. Enjoy!’

 

The window went back up and she waved at me before speeding the car round and driving away. I felt like I was in a dream, it was all so unreal; partly because my stomach was empty but mainly because the place was all so alien.  It was a very modern looking building – all polished stone and angular chrome metalwork. The architecture looked like it was devised by someone who prized appearance far above function. For all the decorative false roof-canopies and unnecessary glass panes, it looked like there was only a relatively small part that people could actually use.

 

I turned round and looked at the door. It had the word ‘Entrance’ written on it rather non-specifically. Walking unsteadily on the last of the gravel before the stairs up to the reception I wondered where on earth I was and what I was doing here. In spite of the difficult shoes and the outfit I was glad to finally be rid of my tormentors and on my own terms a little more. If only I could forget how I had been made to dress.

 

I walked in through the door. The receptionist looked at me and, thankfully, did not betray any response as to how I looked. She took only a brief interest in me. I immediately handed her the envelope as a ploy to distract her. She examined the paper inside, looked up, smiled and said,

 

‘Bottom of the corridor, please take a seat by the statue’

 

She gave me back the letter and I tottered off down the corridor. I passed a couple of very well dressed men in smart suits. I felt like a cheap whore showing off her breasts and avoided eye contact with either of them. I was forced to strut to make any headway on my white stilettos. I cursed Trisha over and over again as I was sure I was stripping the skin from the backs of my heels. I gradually carted the weighty bag down to the bottom of the corridor and saw the statue. It was of a luxuriantly robed Geisha, a tight black bow wrapping her waist like a fine gift, her pale face looking down in deference but betraying a wry smile. As I admired her I momentarily forgot that I looked like a prostitute. There was another girl sat there. She smiled at me and moved her bag from the only other chair.

 

‘Hi.’, she said.

 

I smiled back. I was not to talk unnecessarily.

 

‘You being done today too?’ she asked.

 

‘Yes’, I replied without really knowing what she meant. She made a friendly gesture of pretend nervousness.

 

At that moment the door opened and a tall man in a well cut black pin-stripe came out.

 

‘Miss Janine Rothwell?’ he looked at us both. The girl put her hand up. He smiled slightly.

 

‘Please come in’, he gestured inside.

 

‘And you must be Miss Anita Durrant?’ he asked.

 

I nodded.

 

‘I’m very sorry but we seem to be running just a little late this morning. I shouldn‘t be too long. Please try and bear with me’

 

At that he turned around and shut the door. He was tall, broad shouldered and extremely good looking. He had short dark hair and a sharp, well-cut beard. He was the kind of man that I’d have stared at in the street. Ordinarily, even with my recent confidence, I’d have been quaking and nervous talking to such an extraordinarily attractive man. Today, though, I felt like a tramp. I must have turned bright red as he had addressed me. I had turned quickly to look at him, my earrings knocking against my neck, reminding me of how dreadful I looked; a showy tart with her breasts rammed up and out for the men to see.

 

I sat there for the next ten minutes wriggling my feet and ankles trying to find a comfortable position, dreading that I would have to face him again. I wanted to go and clean myself up. I wanted to go in looking like I had when I had worn my black dress and Vivienne’s jewels.

 

Janine soon opened the door and walked out, off and up the corridor. The door opened a second time and the man was there again.

 

‘Anita’, he said gesturing inside.

 

I made a weak attempt to smile at him, the best I could do under the circumstances. I felt fully humiliated as I picked up my budget-store matching bag and, in as dignified a way as I could muster, walked past him into the room. I felt the warmth in my face as I heard the door close behind me while I clicked to my seat. He must have noticed how I looked as I strutted past him.

 

I sat down in a chair and he sat behind his desk. He looked at me. I wanted to shrink away. I remembered the letter and my ploy. I gave it to him thinking that at least while he read that he would not be looking at me. After scanning it briefly he laid it on the table and once more set his gaze on me.

 

‘Well, firstly, congratulations on your new job’, he said, ‘I know the business is getting more and more competitive by the day now’

 

‘Thank you’, I smiled like an idiot. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

 

‘I specialise in this kind of work and want you to know that I’ve had a lot of experience in dealing with exactly what you have asked for. Because of its success it’s now becoming very, very popular indeed. I do this full time and have been doing so for five years now’

 

I nodded; he was putting my mind at ease about his experience. I was still totally lost. I had wondered what the new job meant. I remember feeling a moment of panic wondering if Vivienne and Trisha had lined up me up for something.

 

‘I just need to go over a few things, Ok?’ he said.

 

I nodded again

 

‘You’ve already selected styles from the on-line image suit, so that’s not a problem. I have all your choices right here’, he held up a dossier.

 

‘And I have an excellent letter from your psychotherapist explaining that you are very much of sound mind, understand everything fully and stand to benefit from this’, he looked up and smiled,’ I don’t doubt this for a minute Miss Durrant but you’d be amazed at the amount of hoops we have to jump through these days. Dr. Black is, I have to say, a superb therapist and we have built up an excellent business relationship now with....oh.....at least two dozen very satisfied ladies. If she is sponsoring your application then I have no doubt that it will be a complete success ’

 

I smiled politely

 

‘Now. I can do all the work today with the exception of one item. A two stage procedure is going to be necessary, with the conclusion performed in several weeks; that’s accepting the fast-track plan that you have already selected’

 

I nodded so he would continue, still completely fazed. He looked up again from the dossier.

 

‘If you could take off your top and bra now for me please’

 

‘I’m sorry!!!’

 

I had wanted to say. Instead, I went bright red, fumbled for a minute and then unfastened the belt and unzipped my top.

 

He stood up and signalled that I did the same. I rose, bashfully dropping my top onto the chair. The thick padded bra was now very much on display. He waited. I could pause no longer. I put my hands behind me and unfastened the bra. I slipped it over my shoulders and, keeping them together with my arms narrowed and up at my sides, I put the bra down on the chair.

 

‘Please Anita, there’s no need to be embarrassed’, he was very kindly and was smiling sympathetically at me. He seemed a little surprised by my reaction but was obviously very experienced in having a girl strip in front of him. He projected complete control and infinite time and patience. He was a professional.  I relaxed a little. I was blushing from head to toe.

 

A man had seen my breasts for about five seconds once - that was it. It had been the man whom I had slept with. I had never liked to expose myself, we’d had sex with the light off because I was too embarrassed to be seen naked. It was bad enough showing myself to him but the padded bra made it look like I had major psychological issues about the size of my breasts - I didn’t, they were small but they were me. I didn’t feel comfortable showing myself to a man; even with my new found confidence. Had I taken my date into my flat after the party I would possibly have let him see me topless I think - but only him; certainly not a complete stranger. While I fantasised about being found beautiful or, at my most daring, a sexy, glamorous dancer on the stage it was always in the context of being dressed. Being stripped by Vivienne had been terrible but it was not so much the nakedness in front of another woman that had troubled me. Rather, it was what she had done to me when I was naked. Being seen naked by a man, on the other hand, was a big issue. The cleavage I had flaunted had been bad enough but to be fully exposed like this before in front of a man was unthinkable. What’s more, I found him incredibly and disturbingly attractive which made it all the more difficult.

 

‘Just relax and stand up straight with your arms by your side’

 

I complied, not looking at him.

 

‘What I will do Anita, is put some tissue expanders in through small scars here’, he made a line with his finger on the underside of my breasts to demonstrate where the scars would be. I felt waves of arousal and nausea at the same time. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my mouth went dry again. He was feeling my breasts…………..He was going to operate on them.

 

My mouth choked up. I wanted to shout, ’No!’

 

I tried to whisper it even but could do nothing.

 

He started to touch the bridge of my nose too, clearly examining that.

 

‘If you could just take your bottoms and panties off now please, Miss Durrant’

 

I wanted to curl up and cry but I knew I had been forbidden. I dropped my pants kicking them off my hot eighties porno shoes. I felt fully like a prostitute as I dropped my panties for him. I was a deep, deep shade of red. Were I not under the strict control of Vivienne there is absolutely no way I could have done that.

 

He turned me away from him and knelt down behind me. He started to feel my calves and tendons.

 

‘Just go up onto tiptoes for me please’

 

I did so. I was glad he was so clinical, it helped me get through. He examined my lower legs as I stood on tiptoes. Even there, the tips of my heels probably were not much off the ground.

 

‘And if you come down again, just separate you legs and bend forward for me’

 

I did so. I was glad to hide my face behind my body but was very acutely aware that I was showing my sex to him. I was so glad that Trisha had waxed me that weekend and that my legs were newly shaved. I was almost holding my breath with shame.

 

‘Please just take your bottom cheeks and pull them apart for me’

 

I turned a pale beetroot colour as I pull my bottom cheeks firmly aside for him.

 

‘Looks like there’s been a little recent trauma here’, he commented.  I almost died.

 

‘I’ll be able to take that into account though so don’t worry about it. Please put your things back on and sit down’

 

I dressed myself again quickly. When I got to the belt I made sure to try and leave it a little looser than Trisha had. I was unable to fasten it any other way. I conceded to have it tight so that I was not scrabbling in front of the man. I sat down and pulled my bag a little closer to the chair.