Soubrette Chapter 6 Nick was happy playing the system,unemployed and unemployable but it had to end some time.

As a working girl I realised I would no longer be able to follow the same leisurely morning routine that I had when unemployed. The time I spent on my own ablutions could not be reduced without having an impact on my appearance. Therefore, to make time up I prepared my morning tea in a two cup, hotel-ware pot. Although appropriate to my period, its functional silver-plated design lacked the charm of my Charlotte Rhead service, and I was disinclined to linger over breakfast.

Dressing was also less involved. I would go to work in the same uniform I had worn home the evening before. A second pair of new panties from the pack of seven I had bought, was the only change in my underwear.

Remembering Janice’s critique of my hair, I substituted a shoulder-length brunette wig. I have to admit it gave me a more obviously feminine appearance, if at odds with my desire to follow antique fashion.

Of course, nothing goes entirely to plan; my borrowed shoes’ 5 inch heels cost me a few valuable minutes. Luckily Maureen at the newsagents, one of the back for me by having the papers ready by the time I arrived. Also noticing my difficulties the day before, she had them in a paperboy’s bag, which I could carry more easily.

All of which meant, I found 15 minutes to take coffee with Mr. Blum. I had visited him the evening before, but not having had the chance to catch up on the day’s events, and still somewhat dazed by Kirsty‘s behaviour, our conversation was rather one sided.

Kirsty dominated my thoughts on the way to work. Not only was I now her appointed boyfriend, but to prove my true gender, she had removed my panties with what can only be called rapacity.

Her interpretation of Isabel’s actions, however, was more troubling still. The more I thought about them, the more I believed I owed my employer a heartfelt apology. I only hoped that I had not irreparably damaged my relationship with Isabel.

At work I found Janice alone, and so set about tying my ankles with the long shoelace Isabel had used, and lifting my petticoats to reveal the approved amount of panties. Then as my employer directed I’m ran the vacuum cleaner over the shop’s carpets.

Isabel arrived shortly before nine, by which time I had moved on to dusting. She looked particularly glamorous, in a claret top, calf length black pencil skirt, and towering heels.

I set my duster aside to look admiringly at her, whatever my feelings about the events of the previous day, there was no denying she looked stunning. ‘Bon jour Mademoiselle Isabel,’ I said, my mouth instantly dry.

Isabel turned as if suddenly seeing me, she slowly looked me up and down, saying, ‘tres bien, ma petite Verity.’

‘Mademoiselle Isabel,’ I blurted out, ‘I am sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. It was unforgivable.’ I hoped she would not mind that I had forgotten my French accent.

Isabel closed the short distance between us, and softly touched my cheek with the backs of her fingers. ‘The fault was all mine, honey,’ she said, stroking my face, ‘I took you too far and too fast. If you would like to try again I will take into account your inexperience.’

‘Merci Mademoiselle,’ I cried, leaning close to kiss her on the lips.

Isabel opened her handbag and produced a pair of fishnet stockings. ‘These are traditional for French maids dear; let me put them on you.’

At Isabel’s request I brought the spare chair from Janice’s desk into the shop, and sat upon it. She then removed my shoes, unfastened or six of my suspenders, and rolled down my fully-fashioned stockings. All of which was done in a deliberate, sensual manner.

‘Am I making you uncomfortable, little one?’ Isabel asked, and when I shook my head she reversed the process, rolling a fishnet stocking up each of my legs.

When she had finished fastening my suspenders, she traced the seams with her finger, and led me to the shop’s full-length mirror so that I could admire her handiwork.

While standing at the mirror I realised that Isabel had a hand beneath my petticoats, and was gently stroking my bottom. I smiled to show her my appreciation. Unlike the previous day, her movements were very slow, and not threatening.

Isabel remarked how much more relaxed I was, and I told her about my conversation with Kirsty. ‘Perhaps we could try holding a kiss for a little longer,’ Isabel suggested, ‘a minute maybe, and if you’re counting the seconds in your head is well take your mind off what you’re doing.’

She turned me so that we were facing each other. While she continued to stroke my bottom, Isabel moved her other hand to the small of my back, and placed one of mine on her behind. ‘See if you can trace my panty line, Kirsty will be so proud of you,’ she said, bringing her lips to mine.

I cannot honestly claim to have overcome my inhibitions about kissing a man, even one so immaculately presenting as a woman. Instead I concentrated on the most important points in my universe.

Isabel’s lips although closed moved against mine, and the hand on my bottom kept up its slow movement. I searched in vain it seemed for Isabel’s pantie-line, until I met its waistband; she was wearing a thong, and I traced its string until I realised where it was leading. In my head I kept up the constantly changing seconds count, and my only anchor was her hand in the small of my back.

I felt a pinch on my bottom, and heard Isabel ask if I had lost count. ‘I was Mississippi counting,’ I said.

‘Kirsty’s got an eyes closed kisser.’ Isabel laughed, ‘so what did you think?’

‘You have very soft lips,’ I said, blushing myself to silence.

‘If you two have finished I’d like my seamstress back.’ Janice was laying costumes on the counter, each of which she informed me was in need of repair.