Soubrette Chapter 4 Nick was happy playing the system,unemployed and unemployable but it had to end some time.

By the time I neared the high street the roads had grown quite busy, and the pavements bustled with other pedestrians on their way to work. Yet I didn’t feel part of the crowd.

It didn’t help that I was intensely aware of my underclothes. With every step I took I felt my stockings tug at my girdle, and my nyloned feet felt lost within my shoes.

Ostensibly I was dressed as a woman, but I do not think one woman in a thousand would have dressed quite like I had. For a moment I imagined every woman around me, walking along girdled; an army of calves clad in fully fashioned hosiery.

There was also a sense of anticlimax. On one hand, I was more than glad that I appeared to be passing as female, but part of me wished that those around me would recognise what a good job I was doing of not looking like a man.

More than anything my thoughts kept returning to Kirsty. In my experience girls didn’t turn up at your door to confess their attraction; especially those whose smile felt like an underwire for my soul. That she should find me cross-dressed, living in a museum, and insist that it made no difference, seemed doubly improbable.

My preoccupation almost carried me past Soubrette without noticing. Only a glimpse of the Jobcentre in the distance brought me to a halt.

The shutters were rolled up to waist height and the lights turned on. I ducked under them, but found the door locked. Someone was moving around inside so I tapped lightly on the glass.

Janice appeared, held up her watch and mouthed, ‘we’re closed’. I knocked again and did my best to mime ‘it’s me’ until she warily unlocked the shop.

‘Can I help you, Miss?’ Janice asked.

‘It’s me, Janice,’ I said, ‘you interviewed me on Friday. You said to come at eight thirty, remember?’

‘Mr. Parsons?’ Janice asked.

‘Verity,’ I said, extending my hand.

‘You’re early,’ Janice said, ‘that’s a good sign.’ I glanced at my watch; it was only eight fifteen, so much for walking femininely.

‘I doubt we’ll see Isabel much before ten,’ Janice said, leading me through the shop and into the back room, ‘I’ll show you where to hang your coat, the ladies‘, and where we make the tea; milk and no sugar please.’

‘I found the pattern in a 1938 copy of “Woman’s Weekly”,’ I said, twirling gently to lift the skirt a little.

‘It’s lovely,’ Janice said, ‘now pop it off, and I’ll find you a uniform. What bust are you?’

’34B,’ I replied, and she disappeared off into the racks of costumes.

‘a small should fit you,’ she said, returning five minutes later with a uniform in one hand, and what looked like a cloud of lace looped around her arm.

‘You’ve got no hips,’ Janice said, and as I was shivering in my undies, I was in no mood to argue. ‘Three petticoats should fix that. Slip into these first, while I unwrap the dress.’

I kicked off my shoes and tentatively began sliding the layered net hoops over my head and down my body. I felt like a mermaid emerging from a wave of lace.

‘These take a little getting used to,’ said Janice, fussing with the petticoats, ‘now lift up your arms.’ The dress was a near perfect fit, but the skirt resting on that mass of net, failed to reach even my stocking tops. I suddenly felt quite exposed, and a tiny bit thrilled.’

‘What shoe size are you, sweetie?’

‘I take a five,’ I replied.

‘Hold on, I’ll find you a spare pair of Felicity’s.’ Janice said, patted my bottom and disappeared into the racks again.

She returned holding a pair with impossibly high heels. My disbelief must have shown on my face as Janice said, ‘they’re only five inch heels. Don’t you think you can take five inches?’

‘I think I can walk in them, but don’t ask me to run,’ I said, ignoring the double entendre.

‘Maids don’t run, honey, except from a spanking,’ Janice laughed, ‘we’d better put on your cap and apron before you get into them though.’

Janice ushered me back to the shop, and stood me in front of at full length mirror.

”Hmm,” she said, standing behind me. “I’m not sure about the hair; it’s very “Cabaret”, but a bit too tomboyish. Tomorrow wear something longer and a little lighter.’

While she stepped outside to open the shutters, I stared at my mirror image. The dress wasn’t bad, a black satin mini with short sleeves. White lace edged the hem, sleeves and the neckline; plunging as I had imagined.

Of course, I looked absurd though kind of sexy in a cheesy pin up way, but mostly felt silly. Turning round at few times, I looked at myself from various angles. The petticoats kept my knickers covered, but only if I stood very straight; the slightest bend forward revealed why panties to the world. Still, it’s only a bit of fun, I thought, after all who’d see me in Soubrette. As it turned out quite a lot of people)

‘Monday’s our busiest day, so don’t expect Isabel in any time soon.’ Janice was flipping the sign from “closed” to “open”, when she jerked open the door. ‘Hello, what are you doing in so early?’

‘who‘s that?’ Isabel asked, stepping into the shop. Janice introduced me as “the new girl, Verity”. ‘What a shame,’ sniffed Isabel, ‘I was so looking forward to working with Nicholas Parsons.’ It was an old joke, and one I’d long tired of. The man hadn’t been on television for decades, and yet everyone still remembered his name.

‘Be nice,’ said Janice to her brother, before disappearing into the back room.

‘First things first,’ Isabel said, advancing towards me. She pushed her hands up inside my petticoats and lifted them several inches higher on my body. Glancing at the mirror, I could see that they no longer protected my panties, which were in plain sight.

Isabel was on her knees at my feet, taking something from her handbag, and tying it around my ankles.

‘A maid’s first lesson,’ Isobel said, as she stood, ‘is to take very small steps. Go ahead dear, try walking.’ Very cautiously I moved one foot in front of the other, and felt it arrested after only three or four inches. Worse still, the petticoats prevented my seeing my feet.

Isabel then threw her car keys on the floor in front of me, and told me pick them up. I started to bend at the knees when she stopped me, saying, ‘no!’

‘Let me show you how to bend like a maid,’ she said, while slipping both hands under my petticoats, and grasping my body through my panties. ‘You bend at the hips, sweetie,’ Isobel said, ‘so that everybody gets the chance to look at your pretty, pantied arse. Go ahead and try it.’

Very slowly I followed her instructions, feeling when petticoats ride up, and cooler air on my bottom. Cooler that is, where Isabel’s hands were not pressed against my panties.

‘I can’t teach you how to curtsy properly when your ankles are tied, so we’ll try a little dip. Keep your knees together, take hold of the hem of your skirt, and bend your knees a few inches.’ Isobel said, both hands still buried in my petticoats and clutching me tightly.

‘Good girl, Verity,’ she cooed, as I successfully completed my first dip, ‘now do it again.’

‘Your final maid skill, sweet Verity,’ Isabel purred, ‘is to speak with a French accent.’ That didn’t sound at all unreasonable except as Isabel spoke, her right hand snaked into the V of my crotch. Instinctively I tensed, pressing my thighs tightly together.

‘Naughty girl,’ Isabel said, smacking my bottom with her left hand, as the right continued to try parting my legs. ‘Do my hands make you feel uncomfortable, little one?’

‘I’m sorry, but they do, Isabel,’ I said, trying to speak levelly, despite the revulsion I felt at being clutched by a man in so intimate an area.

‘Ask me nicely in a French accent, and I’ll let you go.’

‘Pleez stop touching my panteez, Mademoiselle Isabel,’ I simpered, trying my best to bat my eyelids as I spoke.

‘Very good, Verity we’ll make it maid of you yet,’ Isabel smiled, condescendingly, ‘now kiss me, and say thank you.’

‘Merci Mademoiselle Isabel,’ I said, bobbing forward to plant a kiss on her cheek.

‘No you stupid girl,’ Isabel cried, ‘on my lips.’

‘Oh for god’s sake Isabel,’ Janice snapped angrily from the doorway, ‘leave the poor girl alone.’

‘She has to learn,’ Isobel said, ‘what’ll she be like when she has to snog a birthday boy?’

‘It won’t happen,’ Janice said, in a resigned tone, ‘you insist on doing all the kissagram, you tart.’

‘Why don’t you make the tea, Verity,’ she said.

Customers streamed steadily through the door all morning, and Isabel had me greet everyone in my faux French. Most dropped off costumes they’d hired for the weekend. Isabel showed me how to inspect the garments for damage, describing with relish the type of stains to expect.

Whenever Janice wasn’t watching, she continued to touch me under my skirt, stroking my bottom, and attempting to place her hand between my legs.

When the shop was quieter she had me try walking with my hobbled feet, and bending to display my derriere. Shortly before lunch, while I was practicing the latter, the door opened and she hissed at me, ‘stay where you are.’

‘Isabel darling,’ a very camp male voice exclaimed, ‘I’ve opened a seam on my uniform, and you know I’m no hand with a needle. Oh my, who is that?’ I had a good view of nothing except the carpet, but I knew that he was standing directly behind me.

‘Nice view isn’t it?’ Isobel said, ‘that’s our latest recruit, Verity. ’

‘It looks like a black tulip amid a bed of lilies,’ he said.

He gave my bottom a tap saying, ‘why don’t you stand up dear, and say hello.’

‘Verity, meet Patience - a sister maid.’ Isobel rolled her eyes, ‘Verity, swears she’s straight, but I think it’s virginity'

‘Bon jour Mademoiselle,’ I managed, before Patience wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me close.

‘You are gorgeous, Verity,’ he enthused, and then, kissing my cheek added quietly, ‘don’t let Isabel get to you, she’s a bitch.’

I ate my packed lunch with Janice in the back room, and we chatted while Isabel watched the shop. Janice was a bit of an enigma, she didn’t reveal anything about herself, but she did share some choice comments about Isabel. They were obviously close but there seemed little love lost between them.

‘I’m sorry about Isabel,’ Janice said confidentially, ‘she tries it on with all the girls. It’s a game to her. The other maids simply play along until she gets bored.

When I returned to the counter a few minutes later, Isabel almost immediately moved beside me, slipping a hand under my petticoats. Feeling ashamed, and hating Isabel for what I was about to do, I smiled at her.

‘Merci Mademoiselle Isabel,’ I said still smiling, but screaming inside.

‘Are you going to be a good girl?’ Isabel asked, as her other hand found the v of my crotch once more. I could not answer, simply letting my thighs part at her touch. ‘Good girl,’ Isabel said softly, as her fingers explored me.

‘Oui Mademoiselle,’ I murmured, trying to ignore what was happening.

‘Do you have a kiss for me?’ Isabel whispered in my ear. I nodded, resigned to feeling her lips on mine.

‘I don’t kiss tramps like you,’ she spat, and released me, moving to the other end of the counter.

Only a few customers came into the shop during the afternoon. Even without Isabel’s prompting I met everyone with a curtsy, and a French greeting. At times it almost felt like I was having fun, and without a predatory Isabel hounding my every step, it was.

‘Grab your coat and bag,’ Janice said, a few minutes before five, ‘I’ll give you a lift home, but be quick, or Isabel won’t stop moaning about being left to lock up.’