A Day in the Life: Her Evening

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

Part 5: Her Evening

Her preparations for the evening soiree were almost as manifold as those in the morning but she minded not one jot such was the reward at the end. The biggest challenge was the corset which needed to be laced down in stages. Once she was in her room, undressed and had attended to her toilet, she was fastened to the lacing bar, the day stays removed and the fearsome ball stays fastened in their place. These were both longer and tighter and needed to be laced to their utmost for the evening dress to fit but she minded not the discomfort. After all, for a few hours she would be free of both her mask and her monoglove and what is more, there was the prospect of some delightful company to look forward to as well. However, as Woakes fitted the ball stays and started to lace them down, she felt a wave of horror pass through her. Mr. Cavendish had complimented her on her beauty and appearance in the garden – and that had caused her to swell with pride – but what would be say when he saw her real face and not the false mask? Would it please him or repulse him? She hoped and prayed that it would be the former and reassured herself that, whatever her face may or may not be, at least her waist and gait were suitably feminine and elegant.

The stays were soon tightened down to 16½ inches – her usual size – at which point her breasts swelled up and down and she began to feel faint and so they were tied off, she was released and allowed to relax on the bed for half an hour before the next session which got them down to 15 inches at which point she passed out from the tightness. Whilst she was brought round with smelling salts and her breathing calmed again, silk stockings, boots suitable for dancing (i.e. only five inch heels) and silken underwear were fitted. There was no slip today of course, because her evening dress was off the shoulder.

Once that was done, Woakes started on her hairstyle in-between short bursts on the laces, reducing by around a quarter of an inch a time. Beautifully decorated with flowers and jewels and curled with a chignon, it was then time for the petticoats and her crinoline. This crinoline was much larger than the usual one which could not be so large that others could not assist her. Now though, on comparatively low heels, no mask and with free arms, she could be independent and so size was no object and indeed, the bigger the better since the contrast with the minute waist was all the more.

Finally, after one last burst and another fainting, the waist was down to 14 inches and could be tied off. Then her evening dress in the finest sky blue satin was lifted over her head and fitted. It was tight around the middle and showed off her bosom to the best advantage, a bosom that was surging up and down in the fight to get sufficient oxygen.

Now the dress was on she was seated and her evening kid gloves, which had been in stretchers all day, were smoothed onto her hands. Much tighter than her day gloves. She could hardly move her fingers in them and the extremities were starved of blood but they looked supremely feminine and elegant.

Then came her make up: powder to accentuate the already deathly paleness of her face and shoulders and then some rouge on the lips and work on her rarely-seen eyebrows and lashes. Finally a soupçon of perfume, the fitting of all the fine jewellery that her uncle had bought her and her jewelled fan placed in her hand and she was ready to be presented, a vision of loveliness.

She descended the stairs delicately and carefully and walked into the room, uncovered and untrammelled. The whole party stood up and bowed and she curtseyed in reply. Mr. Cavendish’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “You are… enchanting!” he said, quite overcome.

That evening, with no sun to harm her delicate complexion, she danced to the music of the string quartet, partnering many of the men of whom there were around ten attending. But never was she so happy as when Mr. Cavendish encircled her waist with his two hands and waltzed her around the room before then escorting her onto the terrace, helping her to sit and kissing her, this time for real! It was like a dream come true!

But the dream really did come true an hour later when the music stopped, her uncle clapped his hands and said, “My dear friend Arthur Cavendish has an announcement to make!”

Mr. Cavendish took to the floor and said, “When I first heard that my old friend had taken in and adopted poor orphaned girls, I was full of admiration for his kindness and generosity. But before I came here today, I never realised just what a thorough and fine job he does in turning them out for society. Before I met his ward here today, I had been searching for a perfect woman, one who is graceful, elegant, obedient and demure. Today I have found her. Tonight you all see her face in a very rare occurrence for it is usually covered with a delightful china mask whilst her arms are becomingly bound. It is because of the way he has kept her and the fashion in which she has adapted to that lifestyle that I asked him a few minutes ago for his permission to wed her. He has agreed on the proviso that she is kept after marriage just as she is now. That, of course, goes without saying. Indeed, I intend to protect this precious jewel even more so than at present and so tonight may indeed be the last time that darling face is seen in public and her joyful voice heard. That is the proper way for I shall make her my elegant and feminine doll and so please, ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses for our impending marriage!”

And thus they all did raise their glasses. Well, all except one. For the bride to be had fainted clean away.

FINIS

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

The story is continued in A Day in the Life Revisited and A Day in the Life: Dolly and Molly.

A Day in the Life: Her Afternoon

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

Part 4: Her Afternoon

Back in her room, she was seated and her pot mask was removed revealing her sweat-drenched and pale face which was immediately wiped and freshened with a warm flannel whilst she flexed her jaw with pleasure after hours of it being held open by the large gag of the mask.

Then it was lunchtime. Woakes fed her a ham sandwich with the crusts delicately cut off and a cup of tea. Then, for dessert, there was a rather delicious cream cake. All of this put her in a much better mood, especially since her lessons were over and her governess had sent message that today she hadn’t made a single mistake. No punishments and no lessons till Monday! And that mood was even further improved when Woakes announced that there were some visitors who wanted to meet her and were waiting with her uncle downstairs. They were the first of the guests for the soiree tonight, a small and most refined event in honour of her uncle’s birthday that she was most looking forward to as evening events with dancing meant time free of both her mask and monoglove. These three were Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood, close friends of her uncle whom she had met many times before and a Mr. Cavendish, a nephew of her uncle on his sister’s side who was twenty-three years of age and had just returned from a posting in Her Majesty’s Indian Empire.

To prepare her for the afternoon, a new dress was required. As the day was sunny, a light cotton one in white was chosen. After Woakes had removed her morning dressed, she tightened up the stays, reducing her waist by half an inch or so, partially to account for any “settling” which may have taken place during the morning but also to help accustom her to her ball stays which she would be wearing that evening and which were to be laced to an excruciating – yet supremely elegant – 14 inches.

Once the new dress was fitted her monoglove was replaced and a new cover – which complimented the gown – fitted over it before then the replacement of the mask with its attached gag. Thus, elegantly trammelled and completely incommunicado, she was helped to her feet and escorted downstairs.

The three guests were seated in the drawing room along with her uncle. The men rose to greet her when she entered the room supported by Woakes although Mrs. Greenwood stayed seated and still. Like her – and what she was told, all fashionable ladies – Mrs. Greenwood lived her life behind a pot mask to protect her flawless complexion and her arms were usually ensconced in a monoglove to ensure elegant posture. Thus it was that, although they had met countless times, she had rarely been able to converse with Mrs. Greenwood, although from what she had learned at soirees and the like when both women had been unmasked, it seemed that Mrs. Greenwood, prior to her marriage, had lived with her uncle for several years just as she did, her uncle rescuing her from the orphanage too after her parents had died. Many people remarked on how noble and charitable he was, taking in orphaned girls and treating them as his own until they were old enough to be married. Indeed, she had to admit that her own life would have been very different without his interventions although at times she wondered if, whilst she would have doubtless ended up poorer and less elegant, the freedom of a common girl may not have been more pleasant. With wealth and status comes duty and restriction.

Mr. Greenwood commented on how pretty she was looking, and that was echoed by her uncle who then introduced the fourth visitor, Mr. Cavendish. Through the pinholes of her mask, she had to admit that he did look rather a handsome young man and under the pottery she blushed when he congratulated her on being a “vision of feminine perfection”. Several years ago she would have considered such comments ridiculous as he could not see her, only her corseted middle and doll mask but her training and mode of life had by now knocked such thoughts out of her head: she was her corseted waist and her identity was the blank china doll that everyone saw.

After she was seated, tea was served – for the men only of course – who discussed matters of politics and the forthcoming soiree whilst the women sat still and silent as, of course, elegant women of fashion always do. Then, to her surprise, Mr. Cavendish stood up and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the day is glorious and yet we are sitting in here in the gloom. Why don’t we relocate ourselves into the garden which is glorious and sip our tea out there?”

“That is a capital suggestion, sir,” said her uncle, “but it presents a problem as the ladies are not attired suitably for the garden. Wearing their armbinders, they may trip and fall.”

“Then, and ladies, please forgive my imposition, may I suggest that they are removed and then you sir, can assist your lady wife whilst either our host or I can support the charming young lady here.”

“Well, it is a break in their training which could adversely affect their posture and so I am sure both ladies will be angry at me for saying this as they have dedicated their entire lives to being as feminine and elegant as possible, but I say, as it is my birthday, we make an exception today and remove the armbinders in order that we may all enjoy the delights of the garden.”

Hidden beneath her mask, she almost cried with joy and the handsome Mr. Cavendish was now seen to her as a veritable knight in shining armour!

Woakes stood her up and unlaced the armbinder. Thankfully the tight kid gloves from the morning had been left on her hands so they were protected from the sun’s harsh glare. Then a huge, wide-brimmed sun hat with a large red ribbon was affixed to her head. And then, to her delight, Mr. Cavendish put one of his hand around her corseted waist and took a gloved hand in the other to support and steady her as she minced outside on her en pointe boots with their spindle heels.

“I say chaps,” said her uncle when they had reached the terrace, “what say you to taking the ladies for a stroll around the grounds whilst I make sure the servants prepare us a new pot of tea and perhaps a small cake or two?”

“Capital plan!” replied Greenwood and so, to her delight, she now walked further with Mr. Cavendish only this time they were alone and out of earshot of the others. He guided her through the rhododendron bushes as they walked he said, “Forgive me for saying this Miss Witcombe, but I find you absolutely charming, I really do. Over the years I have met many young ladies of distinction and breeding yet none have reached the levels of feminine perfection that you have. When you sat there, so demure and still in the room, I was entranced by your beauty and walking here, my arm around your delightfully small waist, I long to know you better and learn about your life. Now, I know that you are securely gagged as all ladies of society should be, but if I ask you some questions, can you answer me yes or no by raising your right or left hand. Let us sit on this bench and do so?”

Beneath her gown her chest surged up and down, partly through the exertion of the walk but more from what he was saying. So, this was what it was like to be wooed and courted by a handsome young man! How glorious! Could Mr. Cavdenish be the one to take her away from her and make her a wife? Even though she had not heard a thousand words of his tongue’s uttering, she dearly hoped so.

He helped her to sit on the bench and waited as her breathing calmed a little. Then he asked questions like, ‘Do you prefer cats or dogs?’ or ‘Is blue your favourite colour?’ and she answered with her hands. Although non-threatening and superficial, such human conversation with a man thrilled her and her heart gave a flutter as he took her gloved hands in his and squeezed them. This was heaven, it was…

Then her reverie was broken by a shout. “Tea’s up! Can you make your way back to the terrace please!” It was her uncle’s voice.

“We can’t stay here now,” said Mr. Cavendish, “much as I would like to do. But before we return, I am going to be forward and improper.” And then, leaning towards her, her encircled her corseted middle with his manly hands and then kissed the pottery lips of her mask with his real ones.

“And tonight who knows, perhaps I shall kiss the real lips behind those painted ones?” he whispered after the kiss had ended. She didn’t hear though, as she had swooned right away.

---

The rest of the afternoon was spent on the terrace with the others. Although they were not alone and no conversation was directed towards her, Mr. Cavendish sat by her side and glanced towards her regularly whilst she returned those glances, drinking in his manly features through the tiny pinholes that her mask allowed.

Not everything was so pleasant though. The afternoon sun was hot and, despite her sun hat, her face under its pottery covering was getting overheated and streamed with sweat. What is more, she was feeling full down below as the tea which she had drunk at lunchtime had made its way through her. Consequently, whilst it meant being parted from Mr. Cavendish, she was actually glad when, at four Woakes came to take her away to begin her preparations for the evening soiree.

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

A Day in the Life: Her Morning

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

Part 3: Her Morning

Ready for the outside world, she leaves her bedroom, mincing slowly out of the room with Woakes continually by her side for support. When she first started to live in this way she hated it; she’d always enjoyed her own company and freedoms – playing or reading a book alone and walking in the hills beyond the town – but now she always had to have someone by her side because, dressed in this way, she was totally, utterly dependent, helpless and reliant on others. Ascending or descending stairs was unthinkable without her maid nearby but even just walking along was a trial. The ballet boots made her so unsteady and in the early days she was constantly tripping and needing Woakes to catch her. It would be easier if she could use her arms to break her fall but pinioned behind her in the monoglove, that was an impossibility.

Of course she understood why things had to be this way, for it was drilled into her every morning during her lessons:

• A lady must be elegant
• A lady must be silent
• A lady must be helpless
• A lady must be beautiful
• A lady must be fragile
• A lady must be obedient

At first she’d resisted it. She’d seen and knew ladies who were none of those things and yet who had still found husbands and lived happy lives. But day after day, year after year and her defences were weakened and then breached. She began to doubt that those people that she thought she’d met in her old life were really and started to believe that everyone was a beautiful, elegant, obedient, fragile, silent and helpless china doll like her. And believing that made things easier.

It was time for her lessons now, as it is every morning except Sunday when she goes to church, so she minced into her private classroom and let Woakes sit her at the desk. Five minutes later Miss Stelling, her governess entered. “Good morning!” she said. She did not reply as she could not and besides, a lady must be silent. And then the lesson began.

She knew what it would be. She knew it off by heart. For the past five years she had received only six lessons, a set one for each day of the week. Today was Saturday and so it would be the one about obedience; obedience to her uncle and to her future husband. Even so, she listened intently. Each time it was delivered Miss Stelling changed bits, only slightly, but then later, when she had to write down, word for word, what her tutor had said, and she got it wrong, then she would incur a punishment and that she did not want. For punishments ate into the very few freedoms that she had left to her as a living china doll. For example, one mistake may mean that a blindfold is put over her for an hour in the evening meaning that she cannot read, her favourite pastime of all. Or two might mean that as well as the blindfold, she receives ten paddles on her bottom before bedtime. And, God forbid, three could mean that the regular entertainment planned for the Saturday evening is either cancelled or she is forced to miss out and spend the evening locked in the cupboard by the boiler, getting overheated and faint. No, she could not risk that and so she listened: “‘Your parent or guardian will have chosen your spouse for his suitability, endeavour to be satisfied with him as he is, rather than imagine him what he can never be. It will save you a world of disappointment; your role is not to imagine but to obey, to…”

---

After an hour, as always, when the clock struck ten, the lesson ended and it was time for her daily constitutional. Woakes returned, helped her to rise and then removed her monoglove before buttoning her tight kid gloves onto her hands. She knew of course, the importance of her monoglove, much as she hated wearing it at times, as it was really quite strenuous and rendered her totally helpless. How many times had she heard – and been forced to repeat – the Monoglove Mantra?

‘My monoglove, although difficult, does me much good and should be seen as close friend. It corrects my posture defects and enables me to deport myself like a lady. But I must wear it for long periods for it is the last hours that do the good. The third hour does more good than the first and second taken together. The fourth hour does more for the habits than all three earlier ones. The fifth hour provides a more persuasive remedy than all four previous ones, and the sixth hour is the most curative of all those which have gone before. That is why I must wear my precious monoglove for at least six hours each day for it is my close friend and close friends must always be together.’

But whilst a close friend a monoglove must be, for her constitutional it was not appropriate for during her walk she could easily stumble or trip on the steps or rough ground and so the degree of balance provided by unbound arms is necessary. That is why, for this short period only, the monoglove was removed and she was able to flex her aching shoulders and let some blood rush back into her trammelled arms.

After the removal of the monoglove and fitting of her gloves, Woakes then fitted her walking bonnet and cape. The bonnet had a thin gauze veil attached to the front. Theoretically, this was to protect the skin from the sun’s harsh glare but as her pot mask already did that far more effectively, this veil was, in reality, more for appearances sake. One advantage of it, (although this had never been outlined to its wearer who, naturally, believed that all young ladies of breeding wore pot masks to protect their skin as this is what she was repeatedly told), was that, should they meet someone on their constitutional, the fact that there was a mask and not a real face underneath would not be immediately apparent. It is for that reason that she wore a much thicker, almost blinding, veil for church every Sunday. This veil was not blinding at all, although with her already pinhole vision, the grey blur that it threw over everything could be rather disconcerting and countless were the times when she wished for untrammelled vision and smell so that she could stand on the moor and see everything unobstructed, feel the wind on her cheeks and smell the grass. Oh well, when she was married…

And thus properly attired, they were off, walking through the garden, down some steps and onto the lane. They generally walked the same route, up the challenging hill to the top of the moor from where she could look down upon the mill town in the valley below before returning home, a distance in total of some two and half miles, but always tiring for her covered and restricted as completely as she was by the dictates of high fashion, her poor feet, perched on their steeple heels on fire at the end. Nonetheless, for her the constitutional was always the highlight of her day for the workout felt good and it was so nice to get out of the house and enjoy the sin of unbound arms and on the days when the rain was too heavy or the snow lay too thickly, then she was most morose when she was made to sit in the drawing room wearing her monoglove instead.

Upon returning from her walk, the bonnet and cape were removed and she was led back to her classroom where she could, blissfully, take the weight off her tortured feet and contemplate the second part of her lesson.

This consisted of her being given her leger and a pen and writing down, word-for-word, the lecture that her governess had imparted to her previously. As I mentioned earlier, this was not so hard as one might imagine as she had received the same lecture every Saturday for the past four years and so she knew it off by heart but she still had to be careful not to make any mistakes whilst also keeping her writing neat, no easy feat with her hands ensconced in tight kid gloves.

This continued until, as every day, the clock struck twelve at which point she rose and made her way back to her quarters for lunch and then to prepare herself for the afternoon.

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

A Day in the Life: Her Preparations

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

Part 2: Her Preparations

Her eyes adjusted from total darkness to the meagre amount of sunlight allowed in through the cracks in the curtains and the fabric of the material: enough to enable the maids to work and navigate but not too much to damage her precious, pale skin.

Woakes brought a glass of iced water to her parched lips as she did every morning. Her jaws still ached from being forced open all night but she said nothing as she knew now that ladies do not complain of such things. It had been drilled into her along with many other things.

After her morning drink, the covers were removed and Woakes unlaced her leg binders, helping her to flex out her aching joints as the blood rushed back before then moving onto her arms. Once she had been released in this way, she gingerly put her feet on the floor and, using the maid as support, minced towards the lacing bar in the corner of the room where her wrists were fastened to the bar and it was raised, thus taking the weight off her tortured feet. Then, her night stays were slowly unlaced and replaced with the short, looser, rubber ones for bathing, these being necessary since her stomach muscles were now so atrophied that she couldn’t survive without stays. Her bedroom boots were also removed and her feet allowed to adjust before she was then lowered again, unfastened and supported as she walked over to the steaming hot bath in the adjacent room, into which she sank with gladness whilst her hands were securely cuffed to the sides, again to prevent any sinful “fiddling”. And there, in total relaxation, she was allowed to lie for ten minutes whilst Woakes busied herself preparing for the next stages.

When Woakes returned she set about cleaning her mistress completely. Soaping all her body and scrubbing hard. Then, when she was done, she uncuffed her, helped her to rise and exit the bath, led her back over to the lacing bar and then, once she was cuffed again, towelled her dry before applying powder and oils. Then she was unfastened again, led over to the rubber mat laid out on the bathroom, helped to bend over and rest her upper body on the wooden chest adjacent to which her hands were then cuffed.

Then came one of the most important rituals of the day: her daily enema. When this was first introduced into her routine, the morning after her arrival at the house, she had been both horrified and humiliated at the same time. To think that something should be inserted… there! Over the years though, denied the use of a standard WC, she has grown used to it and the humiliation has all but disappeared. Indeed, she does not even think twice about it when Woakes performs the act although, on the occasions when her usual maid is absent through leave or illness, and another takes her place, her self-consciousness does return a little. The enormous soap anal plug was removed, any wastes allowed to drain out and then a hose inserted through which water and cleaning fluids were forced, causing her tiny stomach to distend as much as possible under the bathing corset, before then being emptied and a new plug inserted. She was now clean both inside and out and ready to be dressed.

But before that she needed, of course, to eat, for it would be impossible to do so once arraigned in her full regalia. So, after her cotton slip was placed over her head to protect her modesty, she was supported to a chair and fed her breakfast, the same as everyday: a small piece of toast thickly spread with butter and then a glass of tea. After this minuscule meal she was quite full, for the years of tightlacing had reduced her stomach to almost nothing, yet the meal with its fatty spread, meant that there was some excess fat which, with nowhere else to go, was slowly depositing itself on her breasts and bottom, making her figure more feminine and less girl-like.

Thus cleaned and fed, she returned to the lacing bar for the final time that morning and when securely fastened and hoisted up again, her dressing commenced. First there were the stockings that reached her thighs and were held up by tight garters and then her cotton drawers.  Then came the main item, the one that surpassed all else. Her fearsome day stays were brought out and fastened around her middle, reaching up and over her breasts. Woakes started the lacing and within seconds inches had been reduced. After that it got harder but the tugging continued until the breasts surged up and down above the stays and the breathing became more laboured. Now the reductions came very slowly but they continued nonetheless until, with a slight gasp, her head sagged and she passed out. Nodding, Woakes brought some smelling salts out to bring her round and then, as she gasped for air and her body adjusted to the tightness, she started fitting the next items: knee-high boots with their unusual design that held her legs in a position like those of a ballet dancer so that the toes were the only part touching the floor. Like the stays, these had to be laced, a full five minutes for each boot, and when completed the feet were compressed mercilessly.

These fitted, attentions now turned to her neck which was fitted with what looked like a smaller version of the stays around her middle. This neck corset was laced firmly until she gasped for air and it was fully closed at which point it was tied off and the corset lacing attacked once again, a full inch more being reduced in excruciating tugs until, fully closed, Woakes tied that off also and her breasts surged up and down.

Once her breathing had settled again, now came the item that defined her life more than any other; the one thing that distressed her more than anything else and the one thing that she still is not used to, even if she now understands its necessity. From out of its box, her new face was removed and brought up to cover her original visage. Like her bedtime mask, this too is made out of white porcelain and depicts a beauty almost like a china doll. This time though, she is awake, with a pair of large, vacant, piercing blue eyes.

Woakes smeared cream on her natural face and then lifted this artificial one over it, before fastening it securely with leather straps at the back. Unlike the night mask, this one reaches down below her chin and covers the neck as well, in two parts, and once the front is fitted, the back piece is attached. She now has the appearance of a totally artificial doll and can see only through two tiny pinholes. This is all the sight that she has ever been allowed during daylight during her years in her uncle’s house and is, she has been told repeatedly by her governess, the only sight that any fine lady of society is allowed. This confused her at first as she was sure, in her former life, she saw fine ladies without masks walking in the park, but she has no such opportunity to compare now and besides, why would they lie to her? The mask is necessary, she knows that, to preserve her almost transluscent skin, yet whilst she has adapted to all the other things, even the excruciatingly tight stays, this she still longs to tear off in order to see clearly for once and feel the precious wind on her cheeks. But it is not a possibility. Not now. When she is married though and in charge of her own toilette… then it shall be different, whatever fine ladies usually do.

She was then released from the lacing bar and held steady by Woakes as her feet adjusted in agony to the weight now placed upon them. As this happened, cotton gloves were fitted on her hands and a cotton blouse over her upper body whilst a huge crinoline, easily seven feet across was brought out which she stepped into and was fastened around her corseted waist. Then came an underskirt and after that, her morning dress, a rather pretty affair in blue tartan which was lowered over her head and buttoned up tightly before she then minced over to a high chair where sat and Woakes began on her hair, combing out the long strands, removing any split ends and then burning it into a series of corkscrew ringlets with a chignon at the back so that the doll-like effect was complete and the only part of her head left free was the doll-mask, beautifully framed. That done, and it was time for the final item. The leather monoglove was brought out and she obediently put her hands behind her so that they could be laced inside and then, when the elbows were touching and they were fully immobilised, the monoglove cover in matching tartan was fitted completing the outfit. Helped up by Woakes she was now ready to be presented to the world beyond her quarters.

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

A Day in the Life: Her Awakening

A Day in the Life

 May 24^th, 1865

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening

Part 1: Her Awakening

She awoke just as she did every morning. Once upon a time, not that many years ago, it made her angry, she fought it and she cursed her uncle for making her life like this. Now however, she accepted. Fighting was futile and the education that she had received ever since she came to live at Highfields had taught her that she was blessed, not cursed to live in such a way. Indeed, she is sure that, if she were to revert to her old way of life, then she would perhaps miss some aspects of it… well, perhaps.

She opened her eyes but saw nothing. That was because of the mask that was placed over her face every night as she was prepared for bed. Made of delicate white porcelain, it portrayed the sleeping face of a virginal china doll. That was her face now. And it was beautiful. But as the eyes of the doll were closed in sleep, then even when she opened her real eyes, it made no difference; there was still only darkness. And the large rubber-coated wooden protrusion behind the mask filled her mouth and ensured her silence. At first all this had upset her, caused her to shift and squirm, eager to move the mask. But she never did and now, like everything else, she accepted it even if she hadn’t reached the point of loving it.

Her long chestnut hair which fell to her thighs now if it was combed out, was bunched up atop her head and covered with a lacy bonnet. Its weight was considerable but one must suffer to be beautiful. That is what her governess kept telling her, every day for the past four and a half years. She’d had to write it as lines as well in the earlier years although now, naturally, that was rarely possible. Besides, the message had got through.

Her hair though was the least of her worries. The rest of her body was more concerning. There was her neck, forced into a narrow, rigid tube by an almost strangling neck corset which was laced to the utmost every night by her maid and which forced her to stare straight ahead at all times, unable to turn her head or bow it. And her arms too, strapped tightly, wrist to shoulder in two tightly-laced sheaths of leather. That was not for beauty but for her own good, to prevent what her maid called “nocturnal fiddling”. Apparently many girls of her age, tempted by the devil, use their hands to stimulate their most private areas. She had never even thought of doing so before entering under her uncle’s roof, but now she thought of it often although was unable to satisfy those urges. Perhaps that was because they had been pointed out to her or perhaps because of what they had done to her. Ever since arriving her, her maid had kept her scrupulously shaved and waxed down below, giving her a full treatment that left her as smooth as a baby every Friday night for “health reasons”. Furthermore, several months after arriving, a doctor had come and, whilst she was strapped to the bed and blindfolded, he had stimulated her most precious nub, tied some cotton around it so that it became red and engorged and then pierced her there with a small ring topped with a small dangling diamond. This most intimate of jewellery, a present from her uncle and, apparently, necessary for all grown ladies, caused her to never truly be able to forget that place and the warmth and tension emanating from there. A tension that she could never relieve due to her costume and restrictions.

Her legs were similarly strapped, her feet against her bottom, though those feet were first encased in her bedroom boots, which forced them rigid and straight in a line from toe to shin. This was for beauty, as it helped her adapt to her en pointe day boots, but the leather sheaths were again for her health… her spiritual health. Wearing them she could not use her feet to sin nor could she wander. And so she lay there, as still as a statue, blind as a bat, waiting, the ultimate example of feminine passivity and obedience.

But these restrictions were not all. No, the last two were the ones that most affected her. The first was in her bottom hole, that awful, dirty place that she had never given any thought to when she was a child. Now though it was permanently filled and dilated by a large plug of soap, put there for “health reasons” – her other restrictions could cause the passage to become blocked and collapse the doctor had told her the day that he had first maneuvered the small, original plug that she had been made to endure – but also for “hygiene purposes” as the block of solid soap shaped a little like a Christmas tree, always made that dirtiest of all her orifices smell sweet. “Your future husband shall thank you for it,” her maid had said cryptically once. She would have liked to have asked for an explanation, but firmly gagged as she was, that was of course out of the question. Instead it now constantly reminded her, as the ring and diamond did of that other place, of that most unthinkable part of her, it stimulated her and, on the few occasions when it was removed, the hole ached and pulsed and longed to be filled again.

But even this was nothing compared to the final restriction. Around her middle, laced to the utmost, was her night corset. True, it was shorter and a full inch larger than her day stays – and two inches bigger than her party stays – but compressed so, to a breath-taking 16 inches, sleep did not come easily and, coupled with the mask which only had two tiny holes at the nostrils, her breasts rose and fell as she laboured for every breath. At first she had passed out when they were fitted, and for weeks she could not sleep properly. Even now her sleep was different; she dreamt of the compression and the tightness and when she awoke, those dreams were real.

But none of this was apparent to the outside world, for those fearsome stays, binders and other items of restriction, were all hidden by her beautiful nightgown of white silk and lace and then, atop that, her pristine white sheets and embroidered blankets. And to any passer-by, all that could be seen above those blankets was the peaceful, sleeping face of a living doll, framed by a lace bonnet. Knowing that, she did not struggle but just lay and waited, preserving her breath as best she could and feeling her breasts rise and fall, pressing against the sheets and then descending again.

Then she heard a noise, the same noise that she heard every morning. It was Woakes, her maid, She felt an unseen hand caress her and help lift her up and she was propped up against the pillows. Then, as every morning, that hand reached behind her and she opened her mouth even wider than it was already to allow the mask to be removed and the morning sunlight to stream into her life.

Links to all parts of the story:

Her Awakening

Her Preparations

Her Morning

Her Afternoon

Her Evening