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The Apprentice     by: Paula Mortenson

 

I know that many of you out there are into tight fitting corsetry, if only to shape your figures to a more feminine style and equally there are many who long to find a woman who will help, encourage and even use a little coercion to get you into one. But when the twin mistresses of a strict woman and an even stricter corset are combined, there is a price to pay. For me, the price of losing control of my own destiny and having my body altered by the demanding rigours of corset training is that I cannot and do not want to escape.

In my early teens I found my sisters’ underwear irresistible. I was fascinated and spellbound by the array of flimsy prettiness that appeared so fleetingly on washing day. My father had left several years before so I was a lone male in a household of my mother and two elder sisters. As I became older, I learned to conceal my interests from school friends and to choose carefully the items to borrow from my sisters’ underwear draw. From my mid teens I always slept in a bra and knickers without (I imagined) ever being discovered.

Nothing would have gone beyond that, I suppose, but for an old Victorian magazine I spotted in a junk shop not long after my eighteenth birthday. The women portrayed were unlike the modern females of scanty tops and skirts (or trousers) with even skimpier underwear. These were ample women but obviously controlled by their corsets. The references in the magazine were to an intriguing battle between the desire for ever-tinier waists and the domineering embrace of the corset. There was talk of fainting and of training, of shaping permanently and the need to wear the corset every moment of the day. There was mention of the styles, full length, from armpit to thigh, the waspie that stung at the waist and training and sleeping styles that were beyond my youthful innocence.

My father had briefly reappeared around my eighteenth birthday to offer me congratulations, take me out to get me drunk ("that’s what fathers are for." He had explained to my startled mother as he had pushed a very drunk me through our front door, before once again disappearing) and to give me a cheque for an amount which my mother would have insisted I return. It was a surprise to me that I had resisted confiding in her about the cheque but even in a drunken state I had begun to wonder about the pleasures that money might bring.

In those days there were no shops catering for men who wanted femininity, no magazines, no discreet advertisements and the thought of mentioning such a thing to a girl would probably have brought blank incomprehension if I had been able to overcome my reluctant embarrassment. In the end it was the Scouts and Guides that started me on the great adventure or down the slippery slope, depending on your point of view. We were a scouting family and our annual holiday was the joint Scout and Guide camp, normally on some wind swept headland overlooking the North Sea. That year the Scout camp was cancelled due to an outbreak of mumps and my mother decided I should be packed off, at the age of nineteen to stay with an aunt in London.

"You’re too thin."

"At least you haven’t got that revolting acne."

"It’s a shame you aren’t taller."

Aunt May was a great one for the put down but I sensed as soon as I arrived that my opportunity might come as she was in the middle of a great passion. Her passions were legendary and the subject of much gossip. A widow, she had few of the inhibitions of her generation and had gentlemen friends on a regular basis. So I was left on the top floor of her house to fend for myself for everything except meals.

I had brought my Post Office Savings book and I, in my innocence, had assumed that having the money meant that my fantasies (though I was not exactly clear what they were) could be fulfilled. I managed to escape to the nearby tube station on my first two days and travel into the centre of London but I found that I was neither knowledgeable enough to find what I only half understood I wanted nor confident enough to ask.

On the third day things moved with a speed that left me little time to think. I had arrived home late for the evening meal after my second expedition into town and I had assumed I had been the cause of my aunt’s ill temper but it became apparent that her latest passion had wilted.

The bombshell dropped at breakfast, next morning. She had been in my room, the previous afternoon, to tidy up and had discovered not only a bra and knickers I had brought away with me but also that Victorian magazine, opened at the pages that fascinated me. I coloured up and stuttered she sternly cross-examined me, determined to get answers. And answers she got as I shamed facedly admitted to my fascinations and fantasies. But as I got over my initial embarrassment I began to realise that her questioning was now far from adult indignation at a child who had been caught out. Her interrogation had turned into a conversation, a common interest between us and I was being subtly invited to extend my own understanding and knowledge. It marked my entry into two new worlds, the world of tight lacing and the world of adulthood as I discovered a grown-up who was prepared to treat me equally.

"I have had gentlemen friends who found it exciting to see me in a corset and there was one who found that wearing something of mine, er…helped him." Our intimacy had not extended to dealing with sex but my Aunt went on," I wonder whether you would like to try one on? Really you need one made for you but I’ve still got the one I wore for my wedding and you are very slim, like I was when I was younger."

Whether either of us understood what we were getting into, I very much doubt. There was only interest in helping me on her part and I now realize that it was her way to have passions and enthusiasms that occupied her. She had just lost one passion in the form of a gentleman friend and now she had a nephew who she was helping to explore his own enthusiasm. It was as innocent as that. I am grateful to her as she was gentle, understanding and willingly devoted the next few days to me entirely.

The corset was white, beautifully decorated with pearls and extended from just beneath my armpits but without the cups of a bra to the top of my hips. Eight equally delicately decorated suspenders hung from the sides.

"Now. Do you really want to try this on?"

I nodded hesitantly.

"I want you to understand. If you want to wear it then you have to accept it is worn for a purpose and I’ll not help unless we do it properly. If it’s worth doing, its worth doing well."

I didn’t understand what she was saying but my dream was within my grasp and I would have agreed to anything at that moment in time. In order that neither of us be embarrassed by nudity my aunt sent me to my bedroom to undress and instructed me to come to her bedroom in one of her robes and wearing the knickers I had brought from home. They were actually an old pair of control knickers and I was grateful for their restraint, as I felt sure that my youthful exuberance would embarrass both my Aunt and me.

I was surprised by the firmness of the corset as the front was clipped together and shocked by it’s grip as my Aunt pulled gently at first and then hauled at the laces.

"That’s enough for the moment, dear. You’ve gone quite red in the face. Three inches is plenty for the first time and there’s more to go."

My slight breathlessness was a major surprise and the grip at my waist and my ribs was uncomfortable but not painful. My Aunt enquired how I felt and when I told her she smiled and waved me to sit on the bed. For the first time she used an old pair of her own stockings to attach to the suspenders and then there was another new sensation, the taut pull as she helped me to my feet. She noted that her dainty size three shoes would not fit me but that first time she helped me struggle my size five feet into a pair of pink fluffy heeled bedroom mules. A silky scarlet kimono was produced and slipped around me and that is how I spent the next three hours, walking between her bedroom and mine, practising moving in the unfamiliar clothes.

Aunt May was never far from me, observing and encouraging me to keep moving. She showed me how to stand, how to sit elegantly, how to walk in the unfamiliar heels. There was never any question of removing the garments for her new passion had to be a success. As lunchtime approached she explained that I could not eat the substantial meal to which I was accustomed as she was proposing the take the corset in another inch or so shortly and so I made do with soup which was taken off me once when I did not follow her instruction how it should be consumed.

After my waist was reduced another inch or so my Aunt began to ask whether I wanted a repeat the next day. My sides and back ached, my ankles were sore but my initial breathlessness had abated and my Aunt’s explanation that if I declined her offer there would be no opportunity to repeat the exercise led me to agree. It was something of a surprise when she began to talk about what other things I would need until she explained that she had decided to give me the opportunity to experience life as a corseted girl, if that was what I wanted. In that case I would need underwear, modern clothing suitable for someone of my age, shoes and what my Aunt described as being "Other bits and pieces." Was I prepared to spend all that my father had given me? She explained that though it was substantial she would have to contribute, as she was not prepared to compromise.

There was another shock as it came to bedtime that first night. Though I was released from the corset temporarily it was only to take a bath, under supervision as my aunt now seemed to disregard my masculinity and having been thoroughly dried, powdered and had creams smoothed into my face body and hands I was recorseted more severely than before. The suspenders were removed and a simple white cotton shift placed over my head. The seriousness of what had started out as a pleasant fantasy game became apparent when I walked into the bathroom to go to the toilet and in no uncertain terms I was instructed how a young lady should conduct herself. As I lay in bed that night I heard the telephone and listened to my mother being told that my Aunt and I were getting on famously and that she wanted me to stay another week. What I learned the next morning was that my Aunt had claimed she was finding me a job in London and that there was a possibility that I might not go home, at all.

In the two days waiting time before I could withdraw my cash from the Post Office my life changed. The corset was progressively tightened until it could close no more, creating a figure that drew words of admiration from Aunt May and kept me for hours in front of the mirror wondering how I could improve on the figure I saw before me. Those two days passed slowly but I now realise that that for the first time in my life I was enthusiastic and that I had someone who encouraged me. My attitude to myself and to my body changed. I wanted to be clean, I longed for clothes that were stylish (or fashionable). I longed, secretly, for longer hair and a shape for my chest and I chattered about it incessantly. I wanted to know when the corset was to be drawn in another inch, when I could have my own shoes, whether I could use make up, wear proper underwear and how would I fill it, would a longer hairstyle suit me and so many other things. My Aunt answered, encouraged and asked her own questions, in turn. I had never talked so much in my life, unwittingly each question, each answer led both of us on in our passion, and finally my Aunt went shopping one morning to get my heart’s desires.

I was in such a state by the time my Aunt returned from her shopping expedition I was shocked when I could see only three small bags. The disappointment showed on my face, for my Aunt muttered softly, " There is more to come but these are the most important things."

Without another word, she motioned me upstairs and indicated I should strip. There was no embarrassment on her part now as my eyebrows were plucked to the merest hints, my legs waxed, my underarms stripped of the light fuzz there and finally my pubic hair shaved, to leave my body as smooth as a baby’s bottom. By the time I had returned from a bath the contents of the parcels were spread over the bed, except for one eight inch square box which was still firmly sealed. There were 4" black court shoes, a pair of black seamed stockings and a matching wisp of lace which proved to be a g string which was far stronger than it appeared as it suppressed any sign of my masculinity.

The final item was a black leather calf length pencil skirt that was at least one full size less than I could hope to slide into. I was near to tears as I longed for what I knew would be an experience of a lifetime with the soft leather gently gripping at my thighs and legs, forcing me to walk with tiny steps.

"Would you like to wear it?" I nodded. " Come on, let me help you with your make up and then we’ll get you ready for your interview."

"Interview?" But my Aunt was not going to be drawn as she worked steadily, not only on my make up but allowing me the luxury of body lotion and ensuring the my toe and finger nails were beautifully varnished. Just as she finished, the door bell interrupted us and as she descended the stairs I was told to borrow her silk robe after I had carefully drawn on the stockings and used her old fashioned garters to hold them up. I assumed that a tradesman had called my Aunt to the door but the first inkling that something was going on came when the doorbell rang again and a second person was admitted. I sneaked to the top of the stairs and could hear three females softly chatting.

Aunt May reappeared at the bedroom door just after I had rushed back and smiled sweetly. I then became aware of a petite figure behind her, dressed all in black. She was tiny, even in her extraordinarily high heels she was not much more than 5ft. But everything about her was perfect, from her raven pageboy hairstyle to the black high necked top that was seemingly shinily sprayed from her throat to her tiny waist. The leather jacket, cut into her waist and matching pencil skirt were reminiscent of the skirt that lay on the bed behind me.

Her eyes gazed hypnotically into mine and then took in my whole body before she tugged the tie on my robe and pulled out a tape measure and checked on my statistics. While she examined me in detail she never spoke a word and Aunt May hovered in the background watching apparently for signs of approval or disapproval. There was a nod to my Aunt from the tiny figure and she then turned to me.

"I understand you like wearing a corset?" I nodded, hardly daring to speak.

"Why?" I mumbled on about shaping and support and wanting to be admired and she nodded.

"I am prepared to offer you an apprenticeship. Take my offer and work hard, learn the business and you will have a job for life."

I looked back at her, blankly and Aunt May intervened.

"Madame Sable is a corsetiere. She is prepared to offer you a job, an apprenticeship for seven years."

My brain simply refused to take in what was being said.

The tiny figure spoke again. "Would you like to see some of my work? In fact I’ve brought one along for you to try. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" Again, I barely nodded.

She produced a dream of dreams, in a black shiny material, obviously designed to be seen as it had bra cups but no shoulder straps. As it was wrapped around me it not only encompassed my waist and chest but also my hips where six suspenders hung seductively. The fitting was not an easy task as the laces were loosened and then the fastenings at the front unclipped. The contents of the mysterious package remaining on my aunt’s bed were revealed as being silicon breasts that were fitted in place before the corset was drawn into position over my body. The boning was cold and hard against me and I gasped as the laces were hauled tight. That first draw gripped my body like a vice from hips to chest and I could barely breath. There was a respite as the tiny figure ensured the corset matched and contoured my figure and that the laces were balanced.

"Very good, my dear. Now I just need to take it in a little more , so breath in." As the control increased I, for the first but not the last time in my life, came close to fainting. Madame whipped out her tape measure, grunted in satisfaction and patted my hand in congratulation before kneeling to attach the suspenders to my stockings and with a smile handed me the leather skirt. If that skirt looked and felt sensuous on the outside the sensations as it passed over my hips and was fastened by my Aunt were beyond adequate description. It sat on the top of my hips, just below my now tiny waist, the body of the skirt gently caressing my thighs and legs and as I stepped forward I discovered it restricted my stride to 6 inches or less.

After a brief lesson in walking and a tidy up of my make up I was escorted to the stairs and instructed how to descend, safely. Through all this the skirt was sensuously caressing my thighs and legs while the corset commanded my body in its iron grip. The sensations bombarded me and I was barely aware of what was going on around me. I was in seventh heaven and beyond.

As I walked into the living room I became aware of a second visitor and my complacency was dashed when I realised it was my mother sitting. I just longed for the floor to open up and swallow me and I felt the flush of embarrassment colouring my cheeks.

"Well, May, I suppose this explains why the girl’s and my underwear kept on disappearing but I never thought it would lead to this. He.." she giggled to my increased discomfort," I suppose I should really say She, does look absolutely ravishing and that figure. Both of the girls will be jealous."

She stood and stepped towards me, " Are you going to give your mother a kiss and say hello?" Dressed as I was, her hug wasn’t as awkward as it had been as her son and her gushing compliments about my figure, hair and clothes brought a glow of self satisfaction. As my mother went on, Madame Sablier interrupted to explain in a businesslike manner the requirements and benefits of an apprenticeship. The early years were to be spent watching and learning and acting as both a model and a stand in for clients at fittings. Apparently there were both lady and gentlemen corsetieres but there was little contact between them and customers either preferred one sex or the other. Madame had had great difficulty in finding an apprentice as ‘modern girls’ (as she described them) were not prepared to commit themselves to seven years training nor were the prepared to corset themselves to the limit. Aunt May’s enquiries and her description of my keenness had led Madame to come to inspect me and now make me an offer. There were discussions between the three women and finally my opinion was sought. It was a foregone conclusion. I was to live over Madame’s shop (she did too), there was a living allowance and a dress allowance and that was it. My mother signed the articles of apprenticeship as well as me at Madame’s insistence and I walked out of Aunt May’s house into a new job and a new life.

Life as an apprentice was at first strange. Madame, though strict was kind and encouraged me to extend my education beyond the world of corsetry. Since I was on call as her (female) model and assistant six days a week it was never really convenient to wear male clothes. As the other days I was ever more tightly corseted my male clothes never fitted properly on my day off but there were three other events in my first year that meant I have never worn male clothes since.

Madame was invited to attend an important exhibition at the end of my first year. She approached me about six months before then as she was concerned I could not carry off my female role using the silicon breasts, magnificent as they were. I began taking, temporarily at first, Madame’s ‘little pills’ that restricted my facial and body hair and ultimately have given me a 38C bust (of which I might say I am very proud, especially when I am corseted down to a 19 inch waist).

In the very early days I used to take my day off to visit my mother and sisters as their son/brother but during some visits I became very self conscious about the stares of fellow passengers as they gawped at a boy/girl. There were unpleasant remarks and once or twice I felt in danger. Madame was very understanding and after pleas from me helped design and make a corset to be worn with skin tight jeans and boots in a more modern style. From then on all my visits home were as a girl, with very few problems other than the occasional leer or approach from a young man which I very quickly learned to cope with.

Finally, I enjoyed my job. I loved the grip of the corset mistress as my waist and figure improved. I longed to go lower but Madame has insisted on a limit so I could, theoretically return to a male life. I now never go without a corset for more than an hour, usually while I bathe or exercise. Madame and I have taken to helping each other out of our morning and evening corsets and then into our sleeping ones. I live for their vice like grip and I have a collection of a dozen mistresses all just longing to clamp and compress my figure.

My apprenticeship ends next week. Madame has made me a very attractive offer. However, what do I want? For seven years I have lived as a girl. I have been propositioned by both lady customers (nothing vulgar just a hint or suggestion that Madame had warned me about) and gentlemen who were not quite as discreet but polite when they were rebuffed. Both had assumed I was female but what am I? Whether Madame’s ‘little pills’ have taken toll of my masculinity or whether I cannot face giving up my dozen corset mistresses I do not want to be what I am not. Madame knows a very good and understanding doctor.

That Victorian magazine I found all those years ago set my destiny and now I will never escape but now I don’t want to!

 

Paula Mortenson

May 2001

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Paula Mortenson. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.