Community Service (Pt. 3)

Content warnings for this story (click here for guide):

Non-consent, corporal punishment, spanking, dress-up humiliation, captivity, bondage

Rosaline braced herself against the wardrobe as Mr Carlson pulled tight the laces.

“GNNNNNHH!” she grunted, as the ribs of the corset forced her waist to shrink.

“How much tighter must this go?” she wailed.

It was hard for the girl to keep her balance, especially as Carlson’s girls had brought her the most diabolically high black heeled shoes and tied their ribbons in criss-crosses up her calves. Unused to such pin-thin heels, Rosaline wobbled about like a dinghy on the ocean.

“Hush, my dear,” said Carlson, giving another brutish tug on the laces. “It’s not yet closed and we do have to make you nice and presentable for the gentlemen, don’t we?”

Rosaline turned around and fixed him with a glare. Without missing a beat or dropping the laces, Carlson landed a stinging slap on Rosaline’s bottom. She yelped and turned back around.

“That’s more like it,” said Carlson serenely, yanking the corset in still further. “I can’t have my girls looking like scruffy little sluts. You might not believe me but we have standards here… “

He pulled again, and grimaced, then let the laces slacken a little – much to Rosaline’s relief – and wiped his brow.

“Dear me, I may need a little assistance. I’ve not tight-laced a girl in some time.”

He rang a bell hanging from the ceiling three times, and in a couple of minutes, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he called, and to Rosaline’s mortification, Polly and two of her acolytes strutted in. Rosaline opened her mouth to protest, but Carlson spanked her right cheek again, to a peal of laughter from the girls, and she turned back around.

“Thank you for coming, dear girls,” said Carlson. “I’m afraid I’m a little out of practice in the art of corsetry. Would you mind… ?”

Polly smirked as she stepped forward. “Oh, it’ll be a pleasure. I think a nice tight corset will bring some shape to this… ironing board. Lily, Ruby, would you do the honours, please?”

“How dare you?” roared Rosaline. “There are many respectable men who quite like a modest figure!”

“Aye, but not the kind you’ll be meeting,” chuckled one of the other girls. “They like a nice cinched waist, shoved-up tits and a bulging bottom, and that’s exactly what you’re going to get!”

She grabbed Rosaline’s right arm and shoulder and held her still, while the third girl did the same on her left side.

“No!” screeched Rosaline, but her whining was cut off by Polly’s powerful pull.

“Good grief, even her body likes to kick up a fuss!” laughed Polly. “Doesn’t want to go in, does it? But we’ll make a buxom little tramp of her yet! If I can do up a cincher on Major Thompson and his hairy belly, I can do it up on this shrew! Hold on, girls! Another couple of heave-hos and it’ll close!”

She put a boot on Rosaline’s back and threw her whole weight into the pull.

“Nearly!” she gasped.

Once more, fingers burning from the laces, she heaved against the resistance, and the corset was whole once more. She made a tight series of loops and bows at the back, as Rosaline – freed at last from the grip of the other two girls – leaned breathlessly against the wardrobe.

“Now then!” said Carlson, “Let’s turn our little showpony about and see what good the corset has done her!”

Rosaline grabbed onto the wardrobe and kicked her vicious heels.

“No! You shan’t parade me about!”

“Oh, I rather think we will,” said Carlson. “And you can say thank you to Polly, Lily and Ruby for their hard work.”

“I will NOT thank anyone for this outrage! I’m a respectable woman, and should not be subject to this –HUAGHHH!“

Rosaline felt her feet leave the floor, as Carlson picked her up and turned her to face the others. She kicked and wriggled and screamed blue murder at being manhandled. Carlson let her feet touch the floor, while keeping a tight grip on her arms. Rosaline wobbled a bit on the spike heels, then took in the sound of laughter.

“Hahaaa! That’s done wonders, hasn’t it?”

“Proper little rack she’s got on her now, hasn’t she?”

Lily prodded the shameless cleavage that now sprang from the top of Rosaline’s corset.

Rosaline was so livid she tried to bite the hand, but couldn’t quite reach.

“Cor!” said Lily. “The things a girl nice keeps under a mousey cardigan! What a waste, eh?”

“After the tantrums she’s been throwing, I’m not so sure she is a nice girl,” said Mr Carlson, causing Rosaline to gape in fury.

“Stick her in the window, Mr Carlson!” said Ruby. “You’ll get plenty of gents wanting to play with those knockers!”

“The WINDOW?” said Rosaline, her blood running cold.

“Oh yes,” said Polly. “We always have a girl stand in the window to bring in trade. Perhaps that will be you, if you’re objectionable. What do think? Jiggling your arse for the gents?”

“Turn her about, Mr Carlson,” said Ruby. “Let’s see the other side!”

Carlson nodded, directing the girls to bring across a full-length mirror. Setting Rosaline down once more, he turned her so she could view her profile in the mirror.

Rosaline turned beetroot-red. Stood in front of her was a cheap little tart, with breasts thrust upward from her whore’s corset and a ballooning white bottom, kissed with a single hand-mark. The heels made her stick out her arse even more, in an attempt to balance.

The girls were in stitches. Polly hooted with delight and prodded the blushing girl.

“Ooh, she doesn’t like that one bit, does she? Little Miss Rosaline Bannister, crusader for local morals, with her bubs and buttocks all bulging out. Every inch the cheap little whore!”

“Now, Polly,” warned Carlson. “Less of the ‘cheap’. That corset was actually rather pricey.”

Rosaline flushed and wobbled on her ridiculous heels once more.

“I think Miss Bannister may be a little unsteady on her feet. Rosaline, dear, I won’t have drinking in my establishment…”

Rosaline found her voice. “I have not been drinking! How dare you?”

“…because if I suspect you’ve been on the sauce, I might have to take a belt to your perky little bottom. And I would want to make an example of you, so the other girls would be invited to watch and keep count…”

“I have not been drinking!” squeaked Rosaline, picturing herself being belted in front of the Velvet Chamber’s entire company. She steadied herself on the door handle, unused to such footwear.

“Well then, prove it!” said Polly. She unrolled a length of silk cord on the floor. “Walk along this line, like a policeman was watching you.”

“I will not be questioned by you!” spat Rosaline.

“Oh, I think that’s an excellent idea,” said Carlson, tapping his belt buckle as a threat. “Come along, my dear. If you can walk straight down the line, we’ll say you’ve proven your sobriety.”

Rosaline huffed and inwardly raged, but gulped at the thought of the leather belt biting her naked arse, turning it red as the girls cackled all around her.

“Easy!” she declared, and began to step along the line of black cord. But her ankles, unused to guiding a corseted girl on her tiptoes, faltered and shook. Rosaline, her corseted middle unable to bend, flailed around to stay on her feet, before tumbling to the ground on all fours, her bottom in the air.

Polly laughed her head off.

“Oopsy-daisy! Someone had a tipple before she came?”

Mr Carlson chuckled as well.

Rosaline, livid at her fall, staggered to her feet.

“For the last time, I am NOT drunk, you idiotic slut!”

Polly made a mock-shocked face. “Gracious! Such language from a lady! Then how’d you explain not being able to walk along a tiny straight line?”

“I – I am unused to wearing THIS!” stammered Rosaline. “I don’t see how any self-respecting woman could walk in this get-up!”

“Well, self-respecting women have been wearing corsets for some time now,” commented Carlson. “It’s only young girls who’ve traditionally gone without.”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” said Polly. “Knew it reminded me of something, watching her totter along. My little niece, trying on her mother’s shoes! Aww, Little Rosy doesn’t know how to walk in heels and corsets yet…”

“You may be right there, Polly dear,” said Carlson. “Our new apprentice has been rather mollycoddled. Perhaps she’s throwing a tantrum because this is a bit too grown-up for her. What did you call her again?”

“Little Rosy!” beamed Polly. “Here, that’s not a bad house name for her, is it? And if that’s her gimmick, she wouldn’t even have to wear corsets…”

“Very good thinking!” said Carlson. “Oh yes, that would fill a gap we have on the menu…”

“If what’s my gimmick?” demanded Rosaline. “What space?”

“Shush, Little Rosy,” teased Carlson. “Don’t fuss. We’re going to get you out of these ladylike corsets and into something much more your style.”

Rosaline was relieved to be set free from the grip of the steel bones, groaning with relief as the strings were loosened and the busk unclasped. Donning a dressing gown, she kicked off the agonising shoes and sat down, sulking as her spanked bottom ached.

Carlson and Polly vanished into another room for a few minutes, then returned, wearing delighted smiles. Rosaline’s pulse began to climb, as she saw them carrying a carpet bag.

“Now then, Rosy, come over here please,” said Carlson in a horribly sweet voice. Rosaline scowled and walked across, hugging her arms around her body.

Carlson pulled out a tissue-wrapped bundle and asked Polly to open it.

“I think this will be much more your style,” he said. “And yes Polly dear, I agree that Little Rosy is the perfect name for our newest girl. Now, let’s have that gown off, and some much more suitable clothes on…”

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