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Vicki Sanchez My name was Victor Sanchez. My mother is Polish and my father was from Mexico. He was never around much as I was growing up, preferring to avoid our Chicago winters by going back to Mexico. I was about ten years old the last time I saw him. He just stopped coming back North. Mother had her own problems, mostly of a mental nature and when I was eleven I was placed in the first of a series of foster homes. In Illinois when you turn eighteen the state stops paying for foster care. The family I was with was nice enough, but I knew they couldn't afford to continue to support me once the state checks stopped coming. It was the spring of my senior year of high school. This jock football player called me a queer. I was only five foot five inches tall and weighed about 125 pounds, so to him I suppose I was not very masculine looking, but I sure as hell was not gay. So I took a swing at him, and of course he hit me back. A brief fight ensued which I took the worst of since he was like twice my size. A teacher broke it up. Witnesses said that I took the first swing, which I couldn't deny. The jock was suspended for three days and graduated with the rest of my class. I was expelled and never got my high school diploma. I knew I needed to find a job; to start supporting myself. I had just celebrated my eighteenth birthday, and knew that my foster family would not be getting anymore checks for my care. But what could I do? There were lots of Mexican landscape jobs, but I knew I was too small for that kind of physically demanding work besides I don't even speak Spanish. Same with factory work. I thought about fast food, but that would just pay the minimum wage. I needed to get an apartment and I knew I could never afford that on a minimum wage job. I thought about joining the military. I went to an army recruiting station and talked to the sergeant. Not having a diploma was a problem but he thought I could test out of that ok. The biggest problem was when he asked for my height and weight. When I said I weighed 125 pounds he sort of shook his head and said sorry, but I would never pass the army physical. I bought a newspaper and read all the help wanted ads. Of course most of them were for jobs I didn't qualify for. I mean what jobs are there for an eighteen year old half breed without any experience and no high school diploma? I called several numbers from ads that I thought I might qualify for, but none of them went anywhere. Finally there was one ad that caught my eye. "Housekeeper. Live In. Meals furnished. $200 per week. xxx-xxxx." I called the number and spoke to a Mrs. Whitman and told her my background. She was interested and invited me to come to her home for an interview that afternoon. I took a shower and shaved and put on my best clothes; a pair of slacks and a white dress shirt and loafers. I had to take a bus to the loop and then a train to the North Shore which is where the rich white people live. I walked the three blocks to the address and rang the front doorbell. A woman in her forties opened the door. "Hello, I am Victor. Victor Sanchez." "Hello Victor. Please come in. I am Mrs. Whitman." "It is very nice to meet you Mrs. Whitman." The Whitman home was one of these big old brick and stone mansions with a slate roof and a three car garage. Everything about the place spoke money. The house was elegantly furnished. The rooms were full of paintings and some sculptures and even a grand piano. I followed her into a sitting room. She was taller than me, and was wearing an expensive looking grey wool suit. She sat in an upholstered leather chair and motioned for me to sit opposite her on a straight back wooden chair. "From what you told me over the phone, I know that you don't have any work experience yet Victor, but if you're the right person for the job, I'll see that you get the training you need to be successful." "That sounds good Mrs. Whitman. Can you please tell me what kind of work I will be doing?" "The work should be fairly easy Victor. I need someone to keep my home clean and organized; someone who can vacuum, dust, and that sort of thing." "I can do those things Mrs. Whitman. I helped around the house a lot as I was growing up." "That's excellent Victor. There is also the laundry and ironing." "I know how to run a washing machine and dryer Mrs. Whitman. That's easy. I have done a little ironing, but not much. But with practice I'm sure I could learn that too." "Oh and for meals, you would give Cook a hand in the kitchen and serve in the dining room." "Yes Ma'am. I worked as a busboy in a restaurant last summer, so I know about how to serve food and clean up after." "That's very good to hear Victor. I am rather particular about how meals should be served." "Mrs. Whitman, your ad said that it was a live in job. So then I would be staying here; sleeping here?" "Yes, I want someone who can be available whenever I need them, so it is essential that they live on premises. Is that going to be a problem?" "Oh no Ma'am; just the opposite. I need a place to stay. And I can't afford my own apartment." "There is a servant's room off the back side of the kitchen which I hope you will find adequate. Of course your meals will be provided at no cost to you. You will eat in the kitchen with Cook. You'll also be given a full set of uniforms at no cost to you." "Uniforms Ma'am?" "Yes, you must wear a maid's uniform while on duty. Is that a problem?" "No Mrs. Whitman. I'll wear whatever uniform you want." "How tall are you Victor?" "I am about five foot six Ma'am." "And what is your current weight?" "Last time I got on a scale I was about 125 pounds Ma'am." "I see. That seems a little heavy for a person of your height and build, but I am sure with a proper diet we can correct that. Do you have any other questions about the job?" "You said the salary is $200 a week, right?" "Yes, $200 a week, plus room and board and your uniforms." "What about the work hours Mrs. Whitman?" "As I said you will be on call around the clock, but normally your work day will start with serving breakfast about 8:00 and end after you clear the supper table. So your evenings will be free." "Yes Ma'am. That sounds fine." "Do you have any other questions Victor?" "No Ma'am. I can't think of anything else. Do you have any more questions for me?" "No, I think I know enough about you to give you a shot at this. Before I offer you the job, you will need to pass a pre-employment physical. But assuming you check out alright you may consider yourself hired Victor." Victor broke into a big smile. "Oh thank you so much Mrs. Whitman. I really appreciate you giving me a chance to prove myself. I really do. I will work really hard too, I promise." Mrs. Whitman made a phone call to schedule me for a physical exam which I took the next day. The doctor took blood and urine samples and did a real complete exam of my body, even putting on a rubber glove and sticking it up my behind. He said the lab work would take a couple days and then I would hear from Mrs. Whitman. I got the call from Mrs. Whitman two days after my physical. She said there were a couple of minor issues and that the doctor had written two prescriptions for me, but that otherwise I passed the test fine. She gave me the address of a uniform company and told me I had an appointment for 1 pm to be measured for my new maid's uniforms. She said that it would take a couple days for the uniforms to be made and that I should report for work the following Monday morning at 10 am. I took a bus to the address she gave me. The store had some dusty mannequins in the window wearing different kinds of uniforms such as for a nurse or a security guard. I went inside and introduced myself to the woman behind the counter. She took me in back to a sort of dressing room and told me to get undressed so she could measure me. She had a tape measure and a clipboard with a form on it. I stood and she began at my neck and measured my circumference every couple of inches from neck to knees. She measured my waist as I stood relaxed and then told me to suck it in as far as I could and measured it again. Then she told me to sit and she measured my feet, like they do at a shoe store. She measured my arms, my wrists and even the length of my fingers. Everything was noted on her clipboard. After nearly an hour, I was told to get dressed. I caught a bus back to my foster home, anxiously waiting for Monday when my new job would finally begin. Monday morning I packed a suitcase. I packed what clean underwear I had, a couple shirts, a pair of jeans and some toiletries. I figured since I would be wearing uniforms most of the time, I wouldn't need a lot of my own clothes. I got off the train about 9:15 and hung around the station for a while before walking over to the Whitman home carrying my little suitcase. I rang the front doorbell right at 10 am and Mrs. Whitman was there to greet me. She told me to put my bag down in the foyer and I once more followed her to the sitting room. She sat in her leather chair, and I sat on the front edge of the wooden chair. She handed me some papers. "Victor, I don't know if I mentioned this before, but you will need to sign an employment contract. Take your time and read it now please." I sat rather nervously and started to read the document which ran to three pages single spaced. It must have been written by a lawyer because there were all these phrases like "whereas" and "house servant" and "Mistress of the House" sprinkled through the document. I did see the part where my $200 per week salary was spelled out so that was good. It talked about wearing uniforms while on duty, and how the cost of uniforms would be paid by the "Mistress of the House" and about my getting a room and my food etc. Everything seemed pretty straightforward as best I could understand the flowery language. At the end it said the "contract would run from _______to a date six months hence". The current date was hand written in the blank space. "Mrs. Whitman if I read this right my contract says I have to work here for six months?" "Yes Victor. That is correct." "But what if things don't work out? What if I want to quit before the six months is up?" "I believe that is covered in paragraph 14, Victor." I found paragraph 14 which said that if the house servant quit before the end of the contract she would be obligated to pay for her uniforms. While the gender of the language was wrong, the meaning was clear enough. "So really I can leave the job anytime but if it is within the first six months, I have to pay back for the cost of the uniforms?" "Yes Victor, you see your uniforms are all custom made to your measurements, and will be of no value to me or anyone else, so this just protects my investment in your uniforms if you decided to leave prematurely." "Yes Ma'am. That seems fair and reasonable to me. I'm not a quitter so I don't think it will be an issue anyway. I'm ready to sign. Do you have a pen I can use Mrs. Whitman?" She handed me a fancy fountain pen and I was about to sign on the line above my name. "Mrs. Whitman, the name were I am supposed to sign is wrong. It says 'Victoria Sanchez', not Victor." "Oh it must be that silly girl who works for my attorney! Just because it is a contract for a maid's job she must have assumed you were a female and used the feminine version of your name. Don't worry about it. Just sign your name as Victoria rather than Victor like you normally do. That will be fine." "Yes Ma'am." And I signed my contract, adding an 'ia' to the end of Victor. Mrs. Whitman handed me a second copy which I also signed. She then signed both copies, kept one and handed me one. "Now Vicki, why don't you get your bag and I will show you to your room so you can begin to get settled in." "Yes Ma'am." I followed Mrs. Whitman back to the front foyer where I grabbed my suitcase. She led me toward the back of the house, through the big dining room, and into the kitchen. She stopped there to introduce me to Cook, who was an older woman with a thick eastern European accent. Cook, which was the only name I ever heard her called, seemed friendly enough as she smiled and gave me a welcoming hug. Beyond the kitchen was a darker hallway that in contrast to the rest of the home was unadorned with any art or carpets or any of the finery that characterized Mrs. Whitman's living spaces. She opened a door off the hallway and entered a small bedroom. It was spartanly furnished with a single sized bed on a plain steel frame, a wooden chest of drawers and a vanity table with a mirror. To one side of the bedroom was a fairly large closet and to the other side, a modest bathroom with a shower stall, sink and toilet. There were no windows in what was to become my new bedroom. The bed was stacked with packages. I correctly guessed that the packages contained my new uniforms. Upon Mrs. Whitman's instruction, I began to open the packages. The largest package contained four maid's uniforms all in a tan colored cotton fabric. When I held up one of the uniforms to examine it I was startled to say the least. "Mrs. Whitman. These are dresses. These uniforms are made for a girl. There must be some mistake." "There is no mistake Vicki. I told you that you were being hired as a maid. I told you that you would have to wear maid's uniforms. You signed a contract agreeing to wear maid's uniforms. This is the only kind of maid's uniform they make. Maids wear dresses when they work. They don't wear pants, they wear dresses. Do you have a problem with that?" "But I'm a guy. I am not a girl. I can't wear dresses Mrs. Whitman. It would be wrong." "Violating your contract would be wrong Vicki. Refusing to wear the uniforms which I have selected for you would be wrong under the terms of your contract. Do you realize that I have spent well over a thousand dollars on your new uniforms? That is a thousand dollars which you will owe me if you refuse to abide by the terms of your contract." I started to cry. I sure didn't want to wear a dress, but there was no way I could ever come up with that kind of money either. "I'm sorry Mrs. Whitman. I just wasn't expecting that my uniforms would be like this is all. If that is really what I have to wear, then I guess I can give it a try. If that is what you want." "That is exactly what I want Vicki." "Ma'am, why are you calling me Vicki? My name is Victor." "Vicki is short for Victor. It's like a nickname. It is a little less formal, and since I like you and want you to stay, I feel it's better to call you Vicki." "Yes Ma'am." "Now Vicki, lets see what else the uniform shop has sent us." The next package contained four shoe boxes. Each box contained an identical pair of plain dark brown girl's high heeled shoes. The shoes were pumps with a narrow pointed toe and about a three inch high heel. I looked at Mrs. Whitman. "Is this a part of my uniform too Ma'am?" "Yes Vicki. You are required to wear these heels when on duty." The next package held ten pair of nylon stockings. Not pantyhose, but individual stockings. I hung my head down in shame, but continued to open packages. There were four white bras with fully padded cups. I looked up at her with a questioning expression on my face. "Your dresses are cut for a girl with breasts Vicki. They won't fit right or look right unless you have something to fill them out. You will need to wear a bra when on duty in order to give the uniform proper shape." There was a package of girl's panties. I got six identical pair of white nylon panties, each with a little lace trim. The final package was quite a bit heavier. It contained two rather formidable looking corsets. They were also white, and were constructed with thick steel stays which accounted for the weight. "Today I will assist you in getting into your uniform Vicki. Please pay close attention because from now on, I expect you to be able to properly dress yourself without my help." She began by telling me to undress. I got down to my jockey shorts and stopped. "Go on Vicki. You don't have anything I haven't seen before." I quickly pulled my shorts down to my ankles and stood holding my hands in front of my genitals. "Put your hands at your side Vicki." I did as directed, exposing my rather small penis to her inspection. She slowly walked around me, examining me carefully. "You will find an epilator in your bathroom Vicki. Go in there now and remove the hair from your legs and underarms please." I was sorely tempted to refuse at that point. I wanted to put my clothes back on, pick up my suitcase and walk out. But I really had nothing to walk out to. I was about to loose my foster home, to be replaced by a younger kid who needed a home more than I did. I had no place to live; no other job and not much in the way of prospects. I swallowed my masculine pride and slowly walked into the bathroom. I saw what I thought was an electric razor on the shelf. It turned out that this device did not cut hair; it pulled it out by the roots. There are these little discs that spin inside and when the get hold of a hair they simply rip it out by the roots. If you think that sounds painful, you are absolutely right. Thankfully I never had than much body hair so it was not really that awful. I did my legs first, then my underarms. Looking in the mirror I could see a handful chest hairs which had only recently started to come in. I got rid of them as well. Then, still naked, I returned to my bedroom. Mrs. Whitman was sitting on the edge of my bed, surrounded by all of my new garments. "That's much better. You would certainly not want to wear stockings over hairy legs would you Vicki?" "No Ma'am. I guess leg hair and nylon stockings don't go well together." I sort of smiled when I said that. While I still thought it was insane to ask a boy to wear nylon stockings and a dress, I suppose if he is going to wear those things, then he best keep his legs smooth. "Now that you have gotten rid of all that awful hair, let's see how your new uniform fits." "Yes Ma'am." She started with a corset liner. This was a thin spandex tube which covers me from just below my nipples to my hip bones. It was silky smooth and clung to me like a second skin. Then she selected one of the corsets. It had metal closures in front and laces in back. Mrs. Whitman showed me how to pull out the laces first, wrap the two halves around my waist from back to front and then close the front busk. The corset felt snug at this point but not really tight. Then she took my hands and pulled them back behind me, showing me where the loops of the corset lace came out at the midpoint between the top and bottom of the corset. She helped me to pull out about a foot of lacing. I could feel the corset start to constrict my waist. Slowly we worked more and more lace out and the corset began getting tighter. I was starting to perspire a little. I had never felt anything like this before. The corset hugged me tightly as it compressed my stomach. It wasn't a really bad feeling; just very different from anything I had experienced before. Finally when I thought it couldn't be laced any tighter, Mrs. Whitman tied the laces into a bow at the center of my back. Next she handed me a pair of nylon stockings. They were a dark brown shade and were rather heavier than I was expecting. She showed me how to roll up a stocking and starting at my toes, to unroll it up my leg and thigh. The corset had eight built in garter straps which fastened to the stocking tops with little metal and rubber clips. It took a bit to get the hang of how to fasten them, particularly the ones in back that I couldn't see. Panties were next. They felt so different than my boy's underwear. The panties were nylon and spandex. They fit tight and held my penis and balls up snuggly against my body. They were not uncomfortable, but sure felt different than the underpants I was used to wearing. Then she handed me a padded bra. She showed me how to wrap it around my chest with the back hooks and eyes in front. When the hooks and eyes were fastened I rotated the bra 180 degrees so the cups were in front. Then she showed me how to put my arms through the shoulder straps and get everything it its proper place. Suddenly, I had breasts, or at least the appearance of them. It was strange. The weight of the foam filled bra cups pulled at my shoulder straps. The bra fit tightly. When I turned, it turned. The false breasts seem to become a part of me. The high heeled shoes were next. I sat and slid them on my feet. They fit perfectly, although they were pretty tight in the toes due to the narrow pointed styling of them. "Stand up. Walk around. Let's see how you do in your pretty new heels." I know my face must have been red with embarrassment, but I did as instructed. When I first stood, my ankle turned out. I felt like I was being tipped forward due to the height of the heels. I tried to compensate by leaning back a little with my upper body and that seemed to help. Slowly I started to walk around in my small bedroom. It turned out not to be that difficult, and after a lap or two, I felt like I was doing alright. "Take smaller steps. You are walking like a boy. I want my maid to walk in a more delicate feminine manner." Of course I walk like a boy. I am a boy. What do you fucking expect? I said nothing and concentrated on taking smaller steps. "That's much better Vicki; much better." "Thank you Ma'am." "Before we put on your dress, I want to retighten your corset Vicki. After you have worn it for a while it settles in and needs to be tightened." I stood passively, as she untied the bow and pulled out another several inches of corset lacing before tying a new bow. The corset seemed noticeably tighter. "Your dresses were tailored to fit snuggly Vicki, so it is essential that you lace down properly or you will not be able to get your dress zipped." Mrs. Whitman showed me how to raise the dress over my head and lower it over my body. There was a single long zipper in back which ran from almost my butt up to the built in collar at my neck. When I tried zipping the dress up it got tight at my waist and would go no further. She was right about that. We wound up taking the dress off and once more tightening my corset. That was sufficient and finally I was able to zip the dress closed. The maid's uniform had long sleeves with three small buttons at each wrist. The hem of the dress came to just above my knees. The skirt part was cut narrow so that I was forced to take smaller steps when I walked. It fit snug around my butt and very tight at my now constricted waist. The bra cups filled the front of my dress nicely so there were no wrinkles. I stood and looked at Mrs. Whitman. This uniform was so different from anything I had ever worn. Everything was so tight; so restrictive. In boy's clothes I could jump and run and had great freedom of movement. In my maid's uniform I was forced to be much more restrained. The corset was so tight. It pressed in on my rib cage. It held my back stiff and straight. I could no longer take a deep breath. I had to take shorter more shallow breaths. I thought about the job, about how I would be on duty for the full day from breakfast to after supper. I would be wearing this uniform all day. A tear ran down my cheek. Mrs. Whitman came to me. She put her arms around me and gave me a hug. Then she gently wiped the tear from my cheek. "There, now Vicki. Everything is going to be fine. You look so pretty in your new uniform. I'm really pleased with you. I'm so glad you decided to stay and to wear your uniform. I know in time you will come to appreciate the importance of dressing properly. I know it takes time for you to adjust to new things. Now, it's almost lunch time; time for you to start working!" "Yes Ma'am." Mrs. Whitman led me back out of my room and into the kitchen. "Vicki, stay in the kitchen and give Cook a hand. Lunch is served at noon in the dining room." "Yes Ma'am." Cook instructed me to set the dining room table for one. She pointed out the proper dishes and silverware, which I carried into the dining room. She told me how to arrange things and which fork and spoon went where. We returned to the kitchen and she showed me where the water pitcher was kept. I filled the pitcher with ice cubes and tap water; then took it to the dining room and placed the pitcher on the side table. I tried to focus on the task at hand but was constantly aware of my uniform. Walking back and forth in high heels was tiring. The tight dress forced me to take smaller steps and slowed me down. My feet began to hurt. I seemed to always be a little short of breath due to the constriction of the corset. As I walked I could feel the nylon stockings brushing back and forth between my thighs. My false breasts seemed to get in the way as I reached for dishes and such. At precisely noon Cook handed me a tureen of soup and a ladle. I carefully carried it to the dining room. Mrs. Whitman was already seated. I approached her from the left side and ladled the soup into her soup bowl. Then I put the tureen on the side table and got the pitcher of water and poured ice water into her glass. I returned to the kitchen with the remaining soup and Cook gave me a plate of sandwiches which I carried to the dining room and served. Cook told me that after serving a meal, I was to stand at the side table and wait for any requests. I did so. Mrs. Whitman ate in silence and said nothing to me during her light lunch. I stood and waited. I became increasingly uncomfortable standing in one spot wearing my new high heels. Walking in them didn't seem that difficult, but standing still was hard. I kept shifting my weight from one foot to the other, trying not to be conspicuous in my motions. At one point I noticed her water glass was getting empty so I took the pitcher and refilled it. She said nothing. Finally Mrs. Whitman rose from the table, turned to me and said "You may clear." I cleared the table, making three trips to the kitchen. Cook showed me how to load the dishwasher and run it. It was well past noon and I was getting hungry. I asked Cook if I could have something to eat but she said there was no time for that, as I had a Doctor's appointment that afternoon. She handed me a rag and towel and told me to wipe the dining room table. When that simple task was completed Cook gave me a feather duster and told me to dust the dining room and foyer. I was working in the foyer when Mrs. Whitman approached me. "You can put your duster away now Vicki. You have a doctor's appointment." "Yes Ma'am, but why do I need to see a doctor?" "Oh it is just a follow-up from your physical. Nothing you need to worry about." "Yes Ma'am, I'll just go change clothes then." "You will do no such thing. You are still on duty and you will stay in your uniform. Is that understood?" "Yes Mrs. Whitman. I understand." I followed Mrs. Whitman out the back and into the attached garage. She got in the drivers seat of a BMW sedan, and I attempted to get into the passenger seat. I quickly discovered that getting in and out of cars in a tight dress and high heels is not a simple task, but I did manage it. She drove me back to the office where I had my pre-employment physical. Here I was, a boy in a girl's dress; a maid's uniform, getting out of the car in public. There weren't many people around and thankfully none seemed to pay much attention to me. I suppose that from a distance people just assumed I was a girl, what with my small waist and breasts and obviously feminine clothing. The doctor greeted me warmly and we sat in his office while he went over the information in my medical file. He said nothing about my appearance; nothing about the fact that I was a boy wearing a dress and high heels. He discussed the results of my blood and urine tests, complimenting me on the fact that no drugs were detected. I assured both the doctor and Mrs. Whitman that I have never used drugs and hopefully never will. He commented on my height, weight and body fat ratio. At the physical I had weighed 126 pounds. He said that for my 5'5" height and small frame my ideal weight would be in the range of 110 to 115 pounds. I thought I was closer to 5'6", but I guess I'm shorter than I thought. I had always felt that I was underweight, but according to the doctor I needed to loose at least ten or preferably fifteen pounds. The doctor wrote me a prescription for some diet drug which he said would suppress my appetite and help me get my weight down. The only other issue raised by the doctor was what he called a hormonal imbalance for which he wrote me two more prescriptions. Mrs. Whitman thanked him for doing my workup and assured the doctor that she would make sure I lost weight and took the pills he prescribed. We stopped at a drugstore and had all three prescriptions filled. Mrs. Whitman paid for the medicines out of her own pocket, which I thought was very generous. As she drove us back home I opened the pharmacy bag and looked at the pill bottles. One was for something called Spironolactone, one was Taranabant and the other was Estradil. I had never heard of any of these drugs before but obviously it was something I needed. In each case the directions called for me to take one pill twice a day, so it would not be anything difficult. When we got back home Mrs. Whitman watched as I took the first pills and then showed me the storage closet where cleaning supplies are kept. My job for the afternoon was to make her bed and then clean her bathroom. I worked very diligently, even getting down on my hands and knees to scrub the bathroom floor. It hurt my knees to kneel on the hard tile floor, but that was really the only way to get it sparkling clean. I wanted to take my heels off as it was awkward wearing them while kneeling, but I thought I better not, as Mrs. Whitman was quite explicit about me always being in uniform when on duty. I finished the bathroom about 5 pm and after her inspection Mrs. Whitman directed me to go to the kitchen and help Cook. Cook told me to set the table for one as Mrs. Whitman would be dining alone tonight. Cook had a roast beef in the oven which smelled delicious and reminded me that I had not eaten a thing since breakfast. I was sent to the basement where there was a wine cellar. There must have been a thousand bottles of wine in the cellar. It took a while to find the one Cook told me to get, but I eventually spotted it and brought a bottle back up to the kitchen. I carefully wiped the dust off the bottle. It was a French wine and the vintage was 1982. Cook handed me a corkscrew and told me to open the bottle to "let it breathe". The only wine I had ever seen before came in screw top bottles and I had no idea how to open a corked bottle. Cook kindly demonstrated the use of the corkscrew. I was pleased that even on my first day on the job I was learning new things which would help me to become a more valued employee. At the appointed hour I carried the wine bottle and a wine glass into the dining room and placed them on the side table. I stood and waited for Mrs. Whitman to arrive. Mrs. Whitman entered the dining room. She had changed from her suit into a rather fancy looking dress. "You may pour the wine now Vicki." "Yes Ma'am." I started to pour her a glass of the red wine. "Stop." I stopped pouring with the glass about half full. "Vicki, whenever you serve a newly opened bottle of wine, you must first pour a small sample for the host to taste. If the wine is satisfactory then you may fill the glass. If by chance the wine has gone bad, you will need to remove it and serve another bottle in a clean glass. Do you understand?" "Yes Ma'am. I'm sorry I never served wine like this before. I'll remember that next time." "Good girl. The wine is fine and you may fill my glass now." I did as instructed and then returned to the kitchen, bringing out each course of the meal and serving it onto her plate. There was the roast beef with broccoli and mashed potatoes and gravy. I then stood at the side table to await her needs. Mrs. Whitman emptied her wine glass fairly quickly. I refilled her glass wine glass twice, almost emptying the bottle. When she was done eating the main course Mrs. Whitman nodded in my direction and I cleared her plate, returning from the kitchen with a dish of fruit and resuming my position at the side table. By this time my legs were cramping and my feet felt awful from being in high heels all day. Finally she rose and left the table. I cleared the table taking everything to the kitchen and loading the dishwasher. Cook was already gone for the day. She lives elsewhere, not in the maid's quarters like me. I cleaned up the dining room and the kitchen. There was some left over roast and broccoli. I fixed a plate for myself and stood at the kitchen counter as there are no chairs in the kitchen. As hungry as I was, it took very little food to fill me up. It was almost 9 pm by the time I finished. At last, I was off duty. I walked into my bedroom. All of my new uniform items were still piled on my bed. I packed everything away in my closet. I removed my heels and rubbed my sore feet. I reached behind and unzipped my dress, pulling it up and off. I unfastened my nylons and let them fall to my ankles. I fumbled behind trying to undo my corset laces. It was hard, having to work only by feel behind my back, but I managed to untie the bow and slowly pull out the laces. When the laces were loose enough, I was able to unfasten the metal closure in front and remove this thing which had held me in a vice grip for the past twelve hours. I left all my clothes in a pile on the floor and collapsed on my bed. I was asleep in no time. I was awakened by an alarm clock at 6 am. I hadn't set it, but I assumed Mrs. Whitman did to make sure I would get up on time. I picked up my clothing from yesterday and placed everything in a laundry hamper. I went into the bathroom and took a long hot shower, which refreshed me. I brushed my teeth and combed my longish black hair, tying it in back in a pony tail. I felt a little stubble on my face so I ran the epilator over it. It hurt as the device ripped hairs from my face. Thankfully I have a very light beard so there weren't that many hairs to deal with. I wished that I could just use a regular razor and cut the hair instead of pulling it, but I suppose Mrs. Whitman thought this was better. From the closet I got out a set of garments identical to what I had worn on my first day here. Corset liner, corset, stockings, padded bra, high heels and the maid's dress. On my first attempt I couldn't get the dress zipped at my waist, and had to start over after lacing the corset much tighter. On the second try the dress zipped and I was ready to go on duty. Cook worked from 10 am to 6 pm, so I was responsible for breakfast on my own. I made a pot of coffee and served coffee, orange juice and cereal with cream in the dining room. After serving and clearing her breakfast I ate a small bowl of cereal while standing at the kitchen counter. The only table in the kitchen was for food preparation, and there were no chairs. After clearing breakfast, Mrs. Whitman introduced me to the laundry room. She showed me how to use the washer and dryer. She had me pick up and sort her laundry. Her directions were quite specific as to what can be washed with what, separating whites from coloreds, etc. There was a sink next to the laundry machines where I was to hand-wash certain items. Her dirty stockings, her panties and bras all had to be washed by hand. She reminded me that I was responsible for my own laundry as well. It took me the whole morning to finish all the laundry including my own. After serving lunch, Mrs. Whitman gave me a lesson in ironing. That is something I had not done before, but I quickly got the hang of it. I also discovered that ironing is not easy work. It's hot and my arms got tired. Standing in heels at the ironing board was also taxing. I did manage to finish ironing in time to make her bed before going to the kitchen to help Cook with the evening meal. Dinner was much like the prior night. I served wine. Mrs. had three glasses with her meal. There was only a bit left in the bottle when she finished. The main course was baked chicken. Mrs. Whitman certainly did live well. As I stood in silence at the side table, I wondered if somehow some day I would be sitting at a fine table like this being served by a maid. I know it was a silly daydream, but they say anything is possible. By the time I cleaned the dining room and kitchen of the evening meal it was after 9 pm. I ate a bit of left over chicken and some salad. There were a couple of swallows of red wine left in the bottle which I drank. I took my pills and undressed, quickly falling asleep That pattern continued through Friday of my first week. Weekends were different. Cook only worked Monday through Friday. Cook had prepared lunch courses for both Saturday and Sunday with directions for me on how to reheat things etc. Saturday and Sunday evenings Cook indicated that Mrs. Whitman would either dine out or order something to be delivered. Monday was my first week anniversary of employment as a maid. As I looked back on it, I realized that I had been working about 15 hours a day, seven days a week. I hadn't read a newspaper or watched television or listened to music since my arrival at the Whitman estate. I did the math and realized that for the long hours I was working I was only making about $2 per hour. But then, I didn't have to spend any money on housing or food or clothing, and she even paid for my medicine. Although $2 an hour doesn't seem like much, my living expenses are basically zero, so my salary is all "gravy". In fact that morning after clearing breakfast Mrs. Whitman handed me an envelope with two crisp $100 bills inside; my first week's pay. She said she had some banking to do that morning and suggested that I should open a savings account. I thought that would be a good idea since you don't earn any interest on paper money under your pillow. Before leaving the house Mrs. Whitman gave me one of her old purses and suggested that I put my social security card and identification in it since there were no pockets in my uniform. She drove us to a nearby bank and parked in the lot. We got out and walked into the bank. She was wearing a smart suit, and I was in my maid's uniform. Strangely, after a week of wearing nothing else, I wasn't particularly self conscious about being seen in public dressed as a girl. I guess I was getting so used to the idea that it was beginning to feel normal. No one at the bank paid much attention to me. I opened a new savings account for Victoria Sanchez. Although my identification said Victor, the bank clerk made no mention of the inconsistency. After finishing at the bank Mrs. Whitman said that she had a hair appointment. She took me along to her beauty parlor. While she acted like it was a spur of the moment idea, thinking back, I believe that this was all planned on her part. At any rate, once we got into the parlor she looked at my hands. "Vicki, your finger nails are a mess. While I am getting my hair done, I am going to treat you to a manicure. And I think you could use a haircut as well." "Yes Ma'am, I guess my nails are pretty messy, and I know my hair is pretty ragged too." Mrs. Whitman spoke to the nail girl and then I took a seat while she went to a hair station. I had never had a manicure before in my life. It's not something foster kids do. She soaked my fingers and worked on my cuticles and then got out a set of what looked like plastic fake fingernails. These were cemented over my own nails. When she was done I had a set of fingernails that extended about a half inch beyond my fingertips. She finished my nails in three coats of nail polish. The color was a deep red. I was amazed at the transformation. I swear my hands looked like they belonged to a girl now. Then I was moved to a hair station and the stylist washed my hair before giving me a trim. Mrs. Whitman was finished with her appointment first and then spoke to my hair stylist about what she wanted for me. I wound up with what I thought was a very feminine style of haircut, with bangs over my forehead. When Mrs. Whitman was finished she paid for everything and we got back into her car. "I love your hair, and your new nails are perfect. How do you like them?" "I guess my nails would look great on a girl Mrs. Whitman. They really are pretty I suppose. But they're awfully long. I think it will be difficult to work with long nails; difficult to do my chores." "I know, long nails do make some tasks harder, but I think that's a small price to pay for having such pretty hands." "Yes Ma'am, I suppose I can learn to do my work with long nails." "I have one more stop before we go home. I hope you don't mind." "Oh I don't mind at all Ma'am. It is kind of nice to get out of the house for a change, although I do have quite a bit of laundry to do today." "I have to pick up a new ring at my jewelers. It will only take a few minutes." Once more I was walking in a public place where people could see me wearing girl's clothes. And once more I really didn't feel very self conscious about it. After a week of dressing like this all day every day, it was hard to imagine wearing my old boy's clothes. It was hard to imagine not wearing a tight corset to give me a small waist and having breasts and now having the fingernails of a girl too. As we waited for Mrs. Whitman's ring to be cleaned she started looking at earrings. "Are your ears pierced Vicki?" "No Ma'am. A lot of the guys did that but I never quite had the nerve to have mine pierced." "How would you like to have them done now?" "I don't know Ma'am. I suppose it would be ok. Lots of guys my age are wearing earrings now. How expensive is it Mrs. Whitman?" "Oh you don't need to worry about that. My treat! I know you will look really pretty wearing pierced earrings." "Yes Ma'am if that's what you want." With that, I was seated in a chair and the jeweler wiped down my earlobes with alcohol, inserted a silver ball stud into a piercing gun and snapped the sharp pointed stud through my left earlobe. Before I could count to ten she repeated the process two more times, giving me three ear studs in my left ear. She then turned to my right ear and repeated the process. When we left the jewelers I had six ear piercings and wore six identical stainless steel ball studs. It stung quite a bit when I was pierced, but it wasn't really that painful. On the ride home my ears felt different obviously but there was not really any great discomfort. I had noticed there was a mirror in the purse Mrs. Whitman had given me. I took it out and held it so that I could see my ears. The three studs were equally spaced starting at my lobe and running about one forth of the distance up my ear. I liked the way the shiny balls reflected the light. I liked how I looked with earrings. "Thank you very much for the new earrings Mrs. Whitman. I really do like them. It was very nice of you to get them for me." "You are most welcome. I know you have been working very hard this past week, and I just wanted to give you a little treat." "Thanks again Ma'am. You are very generous." Once back home I resumed work. I fell back into my routine. There never seemed to be quite enough hours in the day to get everything done. It is a really big house and keeping that clean, plus doing our laundry and helping Cook and serving meals seemed to fill my days. The good news is that when you are busy, time passes more quickly. The only slow times in the day were during meals when I had to stand still at the side table and wait. That half hour seemed to drag on interminably. But when I was scrubbing floors or ironing or dusting the time passed quickly. By my third week of work I was getting better at my job. I guess the old saying "practice makes perfect" really does apply. Most days it was just me and Mrs. Whitman and Cook in the huge house, although occasionally there would be guests for dinner. Mrs. Whitman scheduled me for a manicure and hair styling once a week so that I could keep looking nice. I found that some tasks were much harder to do in long nails, but with practice I managed alright. When I was in high school I never really dated girls much. I was self conscious because I was so small and girls seemed more attracted to the athletes than to a kid with no looks, no money, no clothes and no prospects. I guess technically I was still a virgin. I did masturbate a lot, especially the last couple years of school. But at the Whitman's I had been so busy with working long hours and so tired at the end of the day that I would fall asleep, and had not masturbated since starting my new job. One evening I was off duty by 8 pm and didn't feel that tired. I went into my room and took off my dress and panties and went into the bathroom just wearing my corset, bra, stockings and high heels. I started to play with my little thing. Usually I was able to get off pretty quickly but this time I had difficulty. My penis never really seemed to get very hard. I kept at it until my arm got tired, and then switched hands. Finally I felt a little something and a dribble of semen came out of the end of my penis. I was disappointed. All that jerking had not really given me any pleasure to speak of. I wiped myself and stood and looked at myself in the mirror. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I looked different that before. Certainly the earrings and haircut were part of it, but my face looked softer; rounder somehow. With regular use of the epilator, I had no sign of a beard anymore, and I suppose that was part of it. Of course standing before the mirror in a corset and bra was a changed image as well. I remember some saying about how clothes make the man. Is the inverse true? Does wearing girl's clothing all the time somehow make me a girl? I know I still have a penis and balls, but when I look at myself in the mirror now, I really don't see a boy looking back; I see a girl; a girl with a rather nice figure thanks to my undergarments; a girl with pretty nails and pierced ears and no body hair. Sometimes I imagine that I really am a girl; a girl named Vicki, and not a boy named Victor. It's almost like Victor died or went away, and now there is only Vicki. I have been dressing full time as Vicki for three weeks. Everyone I have contact with calls me Vicki. Even my savings account says I am Vicki. Mrs. Whitman bought a new digital scale which she put in my bathroom. She instructed me to weigh myself each morning and write the weights down on a form. She wanted to monitor my weight, since the doctor had said I needed to loose those 15 extra pounds. She told me to weigh myself each morning after I got dressed in my full uniform. The first day I weighed 128 pounds. Minus the weight of my shoes and corset and clothes I was probably still around the 125 pounds that I weighed at my physical exam. I was a little discouraged because I really hadn't been eating that much, but resolved to be even more careful in the future. Two more weeks passed. Every Monday morning Mrs. Whitman gave me an envelope with $200 in it. And every week I went with her to the bank and deposited it all into my savings account. I had literally not spent a nickel of my own money since I started my job. One afternoon Mrs. Whitman summoned me to her sitting room where she spent a lot of time reading. "You sent for me Ma'am?" "Yes Vicki, I need to check your corset. Turn around please." I turned my back to her, and she unzipped my dress, pulling it up and off. She put her hands at my waist and ran them around from back to front. "Your waist is coming along nicely Vicki. I want to see if we can take in your corset a bit more. Stand still and suck in your stomach please." I did as instructed and she untied the laces and began to pull them tighter. For her size Mrs. Whitman is surprisingly strong. I could feel more lace being taken out as the two halves of the corset were pulled closer together in back. "That is awful tight Ma'am." "It's supposed to be tight. You're not going to get a smaller waist running around in a loose corset now are you?" "No Ma'am, I suppose not." I felt like I was being cut in half as she continued to pull on the laces. When she was finished and had retied the laces I felt in back and for the first time the two sides of my corset were touching. It was physically impossible to get it any tighter. Next she took a tape measure to my waist. "Twenty two inches. We're making good progress. I am so pleased." I could barely breathe as the much tighter corset further compressed my rib cage. "Yes Ma'am." I had found that there was no point in questioning Mrs. Whitman when her mind was set on something. The easiest course of action was simply to go along with her; to just say 'yes ma'am'. "It seems that we will have to send your maid's dresses out to be altered. We can take in the waists another inch or so now. With your corset fully closed, your dresses fit too loose and will look sloppy." I realized that this meant I would need to lace the corsets fully closed from then on in order to get my dresses zipped. It meant that I would be suffering in this terribly tight corset all day every day from now forward. She was of course true to her word and over the next two days, all of my uniforms were sent out and altered at the waist so that they were impossible to wear without first lacing my corsets fully closed. "Oh and another thing Vicki, you need to start sleeping in your corsets. You should really only be unlaced once a day for your morning shower. I want you laced tight at all other times. Do you understand?" "No Ma'am, I really don't understand. Why do I need to sleep in a corset?" "By lacing full time you will make much faster progress with your waist training. As things stand now, most of what you gain from daily lacing is lost when you sleep without proper support. You see the corset will provide you with the support which you now rely on various stomach and back muscles for. By lacing full time, those muscles will no longer have any work to do and they will gradually shrink and weaken, thus giving you an even smaller waist." "But do I really need to have a smaller waist Mrs. Whitman? Twenty two inches seems pretty small already." "As I said, you are making progress, but you have a long way to go achieve a proper waist line." "May I ask you what a proper waist line is please Ma'am?" "The ideal feminine form would be a waist which is one half the diameter of your bust. What size are your bras?" "The label says 34C Ma'am." "So if you are 34 inches at your bust line, then your ideal waist measurement would be half of that; seventeen inches to be precise." "That seems impossibly small Mrs. Whitman." "Nonsense girl. With proper corset training and weight loss I am confident that within a year or two you can be laced down to 17 inches. That is only 5 inches less than where you are today." "But I am not a girl Mrs. Whitman." "Really? You certainly seem to be developing the body of a girl Vicki. How many boys do you know that are your height or weight? How many boys do you know who wear a dress and stockings and high heels? Do boys wear a bra and corset and panties? Do boys wear six earrings? Do boys have long red fingernails? Do they wear their hair like you?" "No Ma'am, boys don't dress like this, but this is how you wanted me to dress. When I started working here I told you I didn't want to wear a dress, but you insisted. It's like you want your maid to be a girl, even if she has a penis and balls." "Yes Vicki dear; that is precisely what I want. I want my pretty maid to be a girl, even if she still has her penis and balls. I want her to be obedient and to dress as I wish. Can you do that Vicki? Can you obey me in all things? Can you accept the changes I desire for you?" "What can I say Mrs. Whitman. You've been really good to me paying for everything and all. And I honestly do like working as a maid. It's clean and the house is air conditioned and I have my own room and I eat good food. I know I don't have a lot of options in the job market. I guess I'm really lucky that you took a chance and hired me even though I don't have a diploma or much work experience. I've learned a lot already, like how to set a table properly and how to serve wine and washing and ironing and all my other duties." "When I look in the mirror now I guess I really don't see the reflection of a boy anymore; I see a girl, just like what you want Ma'am. Maybe with my body and face I do make a better girl than a boy. I know growing up as a boy was pretty awful at times. I would get bullied and picked on and called names. Now when I go out with you to the bank or the salon people are nice to me. I guess in a way I am happier now living as a girl maid than I ever was as a boy." "Darling Vicki, I'm so pleased to hear you say that. I am so glad you are accepting your new role in life. I will do everything I can to help you transition to the feminine side. You'll need to learn to wear makeup, and I must give you some new jewelry. And aside from your uniforms you have nothing appropriate to wear. I must buy you some pretty new clothes to wear so I can take you out dining or perhaps to the theater or symphony. Would you like that Vicki?" "Yes. Yes Ma'am that would be great. It is kind of boring wearing the same uniform day after day. It would be nice to have some "street" clothes that I could wear out in public, when I am not on duty of course." "Good girl. Come to your Mistress. Let me give you a hug for being so sweet." The next day she took me shopping again. She took me to a specialty shoe store in the city. I got several new pair of stockings as my supply was running low from the wear and tear of being on my knees scrubbing and occasionally snagging and running a stocking. Next she began looking at women's shoes. I assumed she was shopping for herself, but that was not the case. I was seated and the shoe sales girl brought out several boxes of shoes for me to try. They were dark brown pumps rather like the ones I wore every day except the heels looked much higher. Mrs. Whitman selected a pair for me to try. I stood in them and started walking. I was reminded of my first time in high heels on my first day of work. The heels were so high that I was wobbly and unsteady. I did manage to walk around without falling over but barely. These shoes were much more challenging than my old three inch heels. Mrs. Whitman pronounced them perfect, and told the clerk I would wear them home. She left my old heels there and told the girl to dispose of them. On the way back to her car I said, "How high are these heels Ma'am?" "I believe they are 16 centimeters." "They seem impossibly high Mrs. Whitman. I feel so unsteady in them, and my feet are bent down so much more." "Yes Vicki, I'm sure it will take a while for you to adapt to them, but in no time at all you will be running around in them like they were a pair of sneakers." "Yes Ma'am." On the ride home I tried to remember the metric conversion. I was pretty sure it was about 2.5 centimeters per inch. I struggled with the math, trying unsuccessfully to divide 16 by 2.5 in my head. Going the other way I computed that a four inch heel would be about 10 cm. Five inch heels would be 12.5 cm, and six inch heels would come out 15 cm. Since my heels were 16 cm, they had to be a little over six inches high; that's twice as high as what I had been wearing. I wore nothing but 16 cm high heels from that day forward. Mrs. Whitman ordered two more pair and threw out all of my original heels. She also got me a pair of plastic mules of a similar height to wear in the shower. It was pretty awful the first few days in my new heels. My feet hurt constantly. The worst part was when I stood in the dining room during meals. But over time I guess my feet adapted to the new height. I managed to get around and get my work done. My foot pain diminished and in a few weeks walking in 16 cm heels became the norm. I did notice that when I was in my room and took my heels off, I was very uncomfortable walking barefoot. I began to just leave them on all the time I was awake, as it felt better to be in heels than to try walking flat footed. About a month passed from the time my dresses were altered and my corsets had to be worn fully closed. They seemed a little less tight as time went on. Perhaps my waist was actually getting smaller. One day a package was a delivered with my name on it. When I opened it, I found two new corsets. They looked like the same design as my old ones, although when I tried one on, I found that it was considerably smaller. I laced myself to what I judged to be my normal degree of compression and noted that there was still a good two inches of gap between the two halves in back. As a test, I put on my maid's dress, and was able to zip it closed without difficulty. Mrs. Whitman disposed of my old corsets and began the slow gradual task of getting me to the point where the new corsets could be laced fully closed. At that point I would have a twenty inch waist! While the changes in my body were slow and gradual, I became aware that something was going on. My maid's dresses got tighter in the butt even as my waist was getting smaller. I seemed to be loosing muscle tone, but then I was dieting pretty seriously and had lost about 6 pounds so far. Also my breasts, my real ones, not my fake ones, seemed sort of tender and a little puffy at times. But my biggest concern was that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get my penis hard, and could no longer masturbate. I swear my penis and balls, which were never that large to begin with, seemed to be shrinking. I kept these things to myself for a while but I worried that these changes could be symptomatic of something medically amiss. I continued to faithfully take my three pills twice a day, but thought I better discuss this with Mrs. Whitman, and see if she thought I should see the doctor again. I felt very awkward talking about my penis with my employer, but finally summoned the courage to say something. "Ma'am, I'm beginning to worry and wonder if I should see your doctor again." "What's the problem?" "Well Ma'am, my breasts; they are always sort of tender now and seem swollen to me. And another thing Ma'am, my ... my penis ..." "What about your penis?" "Ma'am I don't know how to say this, but it ... it doesn't get hard like it used to." "That is excellent news. I am very pleased to hear that." "Pleased Ma'am?" "Yes pleased. You certainly wouldn't want to be getting erections while wearing your uniform and on duty. A lump at the front of your dress would be most inappropriate." "Yes Ma'am, I guess it would look pretty bad for me to have a ... an erection while on duty. But it's not normal for a boy my age to be unable to you know; to get an erection." "Do you consider yourself a normal boy?" "What do you mean Ma'am?" "Do normal boys work as maids; do they wear maid's uniforms and high heels and long fingernails? Do normal boys have their ears pierced six times?" "No Ma'am most boys don't have jobs like mine or dress like me." "That is right Vicki. You are certainly not 'normal'. You should think of yourself as a very special person. You are not like those ruffians you used to go to school with. You are a very special girl now and special girls do not walk around with erections. Now, if you have no more questions please get back to work Vicki." "Yes Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am." My first six months in domestic service passed rather quickly. My weight was down to 110 pounds which was the target the doctor had established for me. I was now on my third set of corsets and my waist was being laced down to 19 inches. My dresses were altered to fit my wasp waist and it was necessary to lace to this dimension before I could get my uniforms zipped closed. My own breasts were growing and I was now wearing smaller pads in my bras in order to fill out to the C cups which my dresses were cut for. Mrs. Whitman had installed a new security system in the house and there were now cameras and microphones in every room which connected to a computerized monitoring setup. I realized that my every movement could be tracked and followed by the security system so I was extra diligent about my work, and about not being idle during my time on duty each day. It was on the six month anniversary of my employment that I was summoned by Mrs. Whitman. "You wanted to see me Ma'am?" "Yes. As you may know, today completes your sixth month of employment in my household." "Yes Ma'am it has been six months. Time sure flies by when you keep busy." "I want to let you know how very pleased I am with your progress. You are performing your duties admirably. I am also pleased with your figure training, and with the way you present yourself." "Thank you Ma'am. I really am glad you are pleased with my work, and my looks." "You have fulfilled all the terms of your employment contract. You are free to leave and seek employment elsewhere. You are under no further financial obligation to me." "But I don't want to leave Ma'am. I like it here very much. I like being a special girl and a maid for you. I want to stay here." "I am delighted to hear you say that. Of course I want you to stay. I want you to be my obedient maid. I'll have my attorney draw up a new employment contract so that the new arrangements can be formalized. I have some additional duties in mind for you. Of course there will be an increase in your salary to compensate for your new responsibilities." "Yes Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am." "You are very welcome Vicki. I also have a gift for you. Think of it as an anniversary present." Mrs. Whitman handed me a gift wrapped box which I nervously opened. Inside was a pair of bracelets and a choker necklace. They were highly polished stainless steel bands each about 1.5 inches wide. Both the necklace and the bracelets hinged to open. Mrs. Whitman opened one of the bracelets and closed it around my left wrist. It fit snuggly as if it had been made to measure. The bracelet was held closed with a small padlock which Mrs. Whitman closed and locked, linking the two halves of the bracelet. She fastened an identical bracelet to my right wrist before placing the necklace around my neck. When all three pieces were locked she handed me a mirror. "How do you like your new jewelry Vicki?" "They are very nice Ma'am. Rather heavy and tight but I think they look nice. The metal finish sort of goes with my earrings I think." "Yes dear. Your new steel does match your earrings. All of your jewelry will be of this style. It is the only jewelry I will allow you to wear." "Yes Ma'am, I guess it is important that stuff matches and doesn't clash; like wearing brown heels with my brown dresses Ma'am." "Precisely. You may serve my lunch now. After lunch I you have an appointment to get some more new jewelry." "Yes Ma'am. You're being very generous today Ma'am." Lunch was served and Mrs. Whit