Chapter Twenty One: Formal Instruction
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:Author: Gospodin

.. meta::
   :shs-title: The Enslavement of Marie
   :shs-author: Gospodin
   :shs-part: 21
   :shs-keywords: f, latex, mc

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.

What looked like the mockery of a black necktie turned out to be an inch
wide dog collar. The wide end threaded through a ring at the bottom of
the narrow end, providing a simple leash. A pull on this leash would
quickly convince the collared girl to follow, as it was more like a
choking collar with a tartan painted on it than anything else. Marie did
her best to cover the buttons of her blouse with the leash-tie, and
moved on.

The shoes were patent high-heeled mary janes, similar to the ones she
had worn with her maid uniform, but these did not lock on. The final
item in the box was her wig. It was girlish black hair, two pigtails
hanging down left and right -- but these were braided and had metal
rings attached to the ends of the braids. Marie carefully covered her
bald head again and soon had the two rings of the braids dangling on
either side of her breasts.

She smiled to her invisible audience and made a slight curtsey, flashing
her sparkling silver clit-ring as she lifted her glossy abbreviated
skirt. Folding her old clothes into the box, she left the dressing room
imagining applause and catcalls. Marie was a proud little girl on her
first day of school.

Marie followed directions and realized that she was uncharacteristically
early.  The classroom was still empty, giving her time to inspect it
closely. It was an old fashioned classroom, probably the same age as the
building itself, with two rows of wooden desks with attached benches.
Each row was held together by one long steel pole running horizontally
from the back of the room to the front plate of the first desk. Three
sets of bench-desk combinations were bolted together like that, one
behind another, the front plate of the desk serving as back rest for the
pupil in front. Each bench seated two pupils, with the pole dividing the
bench between them. Once they were seated, the poles would be at about
waist height.

One pole at the left, one at the right. Six places at the left, six at
the right: a class of 12. The legs of the benches and desks were bolted
to the floor. This was not a friendly discussion-circle classroom, and
all attention was focused on the instructor. Marie smelled discipline in
the air. Strict obedience. Rulers on the fingers and canes on the
buttocks of cheeky pupils. It had probably been this way for a century
at least, and only now were the students afforded the honesty of
outright sexual slavery.

Where the pole ran through, separating the pupils' seats from one
another, there were holes and eyebolts, ready for all sorts of
attachments. In the middle of each of the 12 seats were two holes, one
behind the other. The teacher's desk was on a platform with two steps on
one side, making it about one foot higher than the rest of the
classroom. The students would be forced to look up to their instructor
and tormentor.

Playfully, Marie took a seat in the back row, discovering an elaborate
system of metal rings, bolts and chains. She could not figure out the
mechanism behind all of the cuffs and chains but it was obvious that
there would be no running around in the classroom.

Marie felt the two inch-wide holes under her crotch in the middle of the
seat.  The seat next to her, on the other side of the pole, was fully
equipped: two fat black rubber dildos mounted through the holes. The
very thought of feeling them inside her during class warmed her loins.

She reached across the pole and took the cunt intruder into her hand. So
nice and sqeezy, so soft... It was coated with some slimy jelly, and
Marie stroked it as if she were giving a hand job to a young man. She
giggled at how silly she was acting, but admitted quietly to herself
that everything she saw and touched in this room made her feel horny.

Exploring all the bindings and attachments on the desk, Marie kicked
against something under the seat, discovering a pair of high-heeled
steel shoes bolted into the floor. She gently touched them with the tip
of her own black leather shoe, watching the swinging hinge mechanism
that would automatically lock if she slipped her foot into it.

As she began wondering where the other pupils were, Marie heard a faint
conversation outside the building. The voices grew louder as she
listened.  Turning her head, she saw that the windows to her left opened
onto a square inner courtyard, surrounded on all sides by the red brick
of The Agency's building.

Peering out at an office directly opposite the classroom, Marie realized
that she could make out the chair she had sat in when she first came to
The Agency and discovered Angie's betrayal. Seeing the room from the
outside, and re-living the whole ordeal, Marie understood that she was
no longer mad at her friend, and almost found herself grateful for the
life of excitement that she now led.

As the voices grew still nearer, Marie looked down to see a glossy black
statue strapped to a hand-truck. The female figure was quite realistic
but for the lack of arms and the gleaming white bulb where the head
should be. The cart was being pushed by one of the orderlies, and was
accompanied by a man in his late 40s who carried himself with an air of
old Europe and old money. An agent from the organization, clad in
knee-high heeled boots and a very seductive bright red leather dress,
strutted behind the Gentleman, hanging on his every word. As they passed
beneath the classroom window, Marie was finally able to make out bits of
their conversation.

The agent, in her late twenties and sporting long blonde ringletted
curls too beautiful to be true, sounded very eager to please. "Yes, Mr.
KC, we can assure you that your wife will be in perfect shape once she
has undergone our refresher course! It will be an enduring and rewarding
experience: exercising her endurance so you can reap the rewards!"

"Well hello there!"  Marie jumped, startled, as a voice came from behind
her.  She turned around to find a tall voluptuous blonde woman wearing
an identical school uniform to hers, the short cut of the shiny material
showing off her slender legs and round hips.

"H-hello...  I'm Marie!" Marie stuttered, still somewhat ashamed at
being caught eavesdropping on the courtyard below.  "I'm--"

"--the *new girl*..." the tall blonde interrupted, her face in a
condescending smirk.  "Yes, well I'm sure you're here to learn how to be
a good little slave.  I'm sure you have a powerful Mistress who will
flog anyone who comes near you, but in this school you will learn to
serve *me*."

Marie stopped and stared, her jaw working slightly as she tried to find
words to answer.  

"Cat got your tongue?  Well let's see what you can do, *new girl*." the
blonde said the words as though she were spitting out a bad meal.  She
grabbed Marie's necktie-leash and led her over to the teacher's desk.
Hopping up on the wide slab, she hiked her skirt up to reveal a
perfectly smooth shaven pussy.

Marie clutched mutely at the base of her leash, resisting out of
confusion even as her submissive reflexes made her follow the blonde
girl's tugs toward her snatch.

"Get to work, new girl.  We've only got three minutes before class, and
you'd better give me a double orgasm or I can make your life here a
living hell."

Marie hesitantly obeyed, jerking her face and taking tentative flicks at
the blonde's slit.

"You can do better than that!" the blonde laughed, and pushed Marie's
head in deep.  Soon Marie was slurping and manipulating the girl's twat
with a fervor, and the blonde moaned in response.

"*What is the meaning of this?*" a shrill voice called from the doorway.
Marie's head was pushed back and she blinked in the light, squinting at
a dark-haired woman in a black pencil skirt and pewter blouse.  The
woman wore fishnets over pewter latex tights, and towering stillettos.

The blonde instantly straightened her skirt and hopped to attention,
mumbling "nothing, Ma'am...".  Marie fumbled to her feet, the taste of
the blonde's pussy still on her lips, and stared like a deer caught in
headlights.

The schoolmarm strode over to the desk with sexy hip-swaying confident
strides and looked down over her cat-eyed glasses at the two girls.
"That's one hour detention for *both* of you!"

The blonde turned to Marie and growled under her breath, "You'll pay for
this, slut!"

----

`Next Chapter <marie22.html>`__ 


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