Cassia's New Uniform

Angélique smiled and clapped her hands together. "Dolly! Chérie, bring the box. The one on the top shelf."

From somewhere deeper in the shop, Dolly's sweet voice replied. "Yes, Mistress."

They waited in silence, Cassia standing rigid beside the velvet chair, Angélique watching her with that same assessing gaze from their first meeting. The clock ticked. The porcelain dolls stared. And then Dolly appeared, carrying a large white box tied with a pink ribbon.

She was dressed in the same frilly pink dress as before, her frilled headdress framing her painted face, her enormous eyes bright with something that might have been excitement.

"The new uniform, Mistress," Dolly said, setting the box on the counter. "Fresh from the workroom."

"Good Dolly." Angélique untied the ribbon and lifted the lid, and Cassia felt her stomach drop as she caught a glimpse of what lay inside.

"It can't be," she said.

"Oh, but it can, chérie." Angélique lifted the garment from the box, holding it up for Cassia to see. "And it is. Your new uniform. For your shifts at the Lady's Lance."

The uniform was a bright pink, frilly dress, with white lace trim. The bodice was cut low, scandalously low, and looked like it would frame the wearer's breasts rather than concealing them. The sleeves were puffed at the shoulders and ended at the upper arm. The skirt was short, barely long enough to cover the tops of the thighs, and layered with ruffles and flounces and more of that white lace.

And in addition, Angélique revealed a collection of undergarments that made Cassia's face flame, a corset designed to narrow her waist, thigh-high stockings with garters to match, a tiny pair of bloomers, and a pair of heeled shoes that would **** her to tip toe.

"It is not as... elaborate as Dolly's uniform," Angélique said, glancing at her assistant with something that might have been pride. "You are not yet ready for such things. But it is still quite charming, I think. The customers will appreciate it."

"You cannot make me wear that." Cassia's voice was steady, but only just. "I agreed to work here, not to... not to dress like a-"

"Like a what, chérie?" Angélique's emerald eyes narrowed. "Like a shop assistant? Because that is what you are. And shop assistants wear uniforms. It is expected. It is professional." She held the dress out toward Cassia. "You agreed to follow my lawful directions. This is a lawful direction. Put on the uniform."

The words pressed against Cassia's will, insistent and undeniable. She felt her body begin to move or else she would lose her will. Her hands reached for the dress.

"This isn't right. This isn't what we discussed." Cassia pleaded.

"We discussed that you would work here," Angélique said calmly. "We did not discuss the specifics of your uniform because I did not know then what would suit you. Now, I know. Now, I am directing you to wear it. This is required of you chérie."

Dolly had been watching the exchange with her head tilted, her painted smile fixed in place. She spoke, her voice high and sweet. "The uniform is very pretty, mistress Cassia. I helped choose the lace."

Cassia wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to find the nearest magistrate and report Angélique for fraud, for ****, for everything that was wrong with this situation.

"The changing rooms are in the back," Angélique said, gesturing toward a curtained alcove. "You may use the one on the left. Dolly will assist you with the corset, if you need help. It can be difficult to manage alone."

"I don't need help," Cassia said through clenched teeth.

"As you wish." Angélique handed her the uniform. "Take your time, chérie. I want you to look perfect for your first shift."

Cassia took the uniform and walked toward the changing rooms, her legs stiff, her jaw tight. She pushed through the curtain into the alcove and found herself in a small, mirrored space, every surface reflecting her own face back at her, flushed and furious and utterly defeated.

She set the uniform on a small bench and stared at it. The frilly ensemble seemed to taunt her in the lamplight, garish, ridiculous, and utterly inappropriate for any situation that did not involve a bedchamber or a brothel.

Cassia undressed slowly. She had been naked in this shop before. She had stood on the fitting platform while Angélique measured every inch of her. But that had been different. That had been her choice, or close enough to it. This was compulsion dressed as cooperation, and the distinction made her want to weep.

The uniform went on piece by piece, the stockings first, sliding up her legs and attaching to the garters; then the tight bloomers; then the corset, which she managed to lace herself through sheer stubbornness, pulling it tight until her waist was cinched and her breasts were pushed up into prominent mounds. The dress went over everything, the silk underlining felt cool against her skin, the neckline plunged so low that the tops of her breasts were visible, the skirt was so short that her bloomers threatened to peek out beneath it every time that she bent over.

And finally, the shoes. Heeled shoes that **** her onto her tip toes, that changed the angle of her hips and the curve of her spine, that made her feel like she was perpetually off-balance.

Cassia looked at herself in the mirrors and was horrified at her reflection staring back. She looked like Dolly's less-painted sister.

"You look beautiful, chérie."

Angélique's voice came from beyond the curtain, and Cassia realized she had been standing in the changing room for far longer than necessary. She pushed through the curtain and emerged into the main shop, and the look on Angélique's face made her stomach clench.

The seamstress's emerald eyes widened, then softened with something that looked almost like genuine appreciation. She circled Cassia slowly, examining the fit of the dress, the way the silk draped across her hips, the way the neckline framed her breasts.

"Magnifique," Angélique breathed. "I knew this color would suit you. I knew the cut would enhance your natural gifts. But seeing you in it, chérie... you are exquisite. Truly."

Dolly, who had been arranging ribbons at a nearby table, looked up and clapped her hands with delight. "Mistress Cassia looks so pretty! Like Dolly."

Cassia's jaw tightened. "I'm not a doll."

"No," Angélique agreed. "You are an employee. And employees must learn to move in their uniforms. Walk for me, chérie. To the front of the shop and back."

The words pressed against Cassia's will, and she walked. Or tried to. The heels made every step uncertain, and the short skirt rode up with each stride, exposing even more of her thighs. She felt ridiculous, exposed, like an adult playing dress-up.

"Your posture," Angélique said as Cassia reached the front of the shop and turned. "Shoulders back. Chest out. Chin up. You are not sneaking, chérie. You are presenting yourself. You want to be seen."

Cassia adjusted her posture, forcing her shoulders back, her chin up, her chest forward. The neckline plunged even lower with the change, and she felt her cheeks flush as she realized how much of her breasts were now visible.

"Better," Angélique said. "But your hips. You aren’t swinging them enough. Your walk should be confident and sensual. Let me show you."

She glided over to Cassia and positioned herself behind her, her hands settling on Cassia's hips. The touch was warm, firm, professional, and yet Cassia felt her heart rate increase at the contact, her body responding to Angélique's proximity despite her mind's resistance.

"Step with me," Angélique murmured. "One, two, three. One, two, three. Your weight should transfer smoothly. The heels will click against the floor. That is good. That helps announce your presence.”

They walked together, Angélique guiding Cassia's hips through the motion, her body pressed close behind the younger futa. Cassia could feel the warmth of Angélique's breasts against her back, could smell that floral scent, could sense the alpha power that thrummed beneath the seamstress's charming exterior.

"Now turn," Angélique directed. "Slowly. Let the skirt flare."

Cassia turned, and the skirt flared, and she caught a glimpse of her ass in one of the shop's many mirrors.

"Good," Angélique said. "Again. To the front and back. And this time, smile. You are not being marched to your execution, chérie. You are greeting customers. You want them to feel welcome."

Cassia walked again, and this time she tried to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. The contract hummed with disapproval, and she **** herself to appear more genuine. She hated it, all of it, the dress, the heels, the feeling of her will responding to Angélique's commands like a trained dog responding to its master.

But she walked. She turned. She smiled. And Angélique watched with those emerald eyes, critiquing every movement, every expression, every slight imperfection in Cassia’s posture.

Hours passed. Or perhaps it was only minutes. Time had become slippery, uncertain, measured not by dial but by Angélique's instructions. Walk. Stand. Sit. Rise. Each command pressed against Cassia's will, and each time she complied, her contract's resonance stayed in harmony.

"The posture must become second nature," Angélique explained during one of the breaks, when Cassia was permitted to stand still and catch her breath. "You should not have to think about holding your shoulders back, or keeping your chin up. It should simply be how you stand. How you move. How you exist in this space."

"I don't want it to be natural," Cassia said. I want to go back to the Academy and forget this place exists.

Angélique smiled. "You will learn. You will adapt. And in time, you may even find that you enjoy it."

"I will never enjoy this."

"Never is a long time, chérie." Angélique stepped closer and adjusted the neckline of Cassia's dress, pulling it slightly lower, exposing even more of her breasts. "But we shall see. The human spirit is remarkably... flexible. Given the right incentives."

The shift continued. Cassia learned to walk in the heels without wobbling. She learned to stand with her shoulders back and her chin up without consciously adjusting. She learned to smile even when she wanted to scream, to speak in a pleasant tone even when she wanted to curse.

And through it all, Angélique watched. Directed. Shaped.

Dolly assisted where needed, fetching refreshments, offering observations in her sweet, vacant voice. "Mistress Cassia’s mincing is improving. Mistress Cassia’s smile is still a little stiff, Mistress Cassia has very pretty legs."

Cassia hated Dolly. She hated her painted face and her lace bonnet and her tiny caged cock and her complete, utter submission to Angélique's will. But she also pitied her, because looking at Dolly was looking at a possible future, a glimpse of what she might become if she was not careful.

She would not become Dolly. She would find a way out of this contract. She would tell someone, consequences be damned. She would-

The shop's door opened, and Cassia's heart stopped.

A customer. A real customer, a futa in expensive-looking robes who swept into the shop with the confidence of someone who had never doubted her welcome anywhere. She was tall, with light hair and sharp features, and her eyes immediately found Cassia standing in the middle of the floor.

"Angélique," the customer said, her voice warm with recognition. "And who is this? A new addition to your collection?"

Angélique glided forward, her smile bright, her posture welcoming. "My new assistant. She is still in training, so you must forgive any awkwardness." She turned to Cassia, her emerald eyes sharp with meaning. "Say hello to the customer, chérie. And curtsy. Our customers appreciate proper manners."

The words pressed against Cassia's will, and she couldn't help but comply, lifting the skirt of her dress the way she had seen Dolly do, exposing her bloomers and the tops of her stockings. The customer's eyes widened with appreciation, and Cassia felt her face flame.

"Hello," she managed, her voice steady despite her embarrassment. "Welcome to the Lady's Lance."

The customer smiled. Angélique beamed. Dolly clapped her hands with quiet delight.

Cassia stood in her frilly pink dress and her heeled shoes, curtsying to a stranger, and wondered how her life had come to this.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur. More customers arrived, each one greeted with Cassia's curtsy and Cassia's smile and Cassia's carefully measured walk. She fetched bolts of fabric for Angélique to show clients. She organized ribbons and laces. She swept the floor and dusted the shelves and did all the small, menial tasks that Dolly usually handled alone.

Cassia was learning to hate herself for how easily she adapted.

Finally, finally, the last customer left. Cassia stood near the counter, exhausted, her feet aching from the heels, her shoulders sore from the posture.

"You did well today, chérie." Angélique emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on a cloth. "Better than I expected, for your first shift. The customers were impressed."

"I don't care about the customers." Cassia's voice came out flat, drained of emotion. "Is my shift over?"

"Yes." Angélique reached into a drawer beneath the counter and produced a small leather pouch. "Twenty denarii, as promised. You may change back into your own clothes."

Cassia took the pouch, not bothering to count the coins. The weight felt wrong in her hand, like blood money, like payment for something she had never intended to sell.

She walked toward the changing rooms, her feet carrying her in the heels without conscious thought, and she hated that too. The training had worked. Her body remembered the posture, the walk, the careful, measured steps. Even when she was not thinking about it, she moved like Angélique had taught her.

As soon as she entered the changing room, Cassia stripped off the uniform and undergarments, pulling on her own tunic and sandals and loincloth. The familiar fabric felt strange against her skin, rougher somehow, as if her body had already begun to adjust to the silk and lace.

She emerged from the changing room dressed in her own clothes, and Angélique nodded with approval.

"Hmmm," the seamstress contemplated. "I think your uniform suits you better, chérie. In time, you will come to prefer it."

"Never," Cassia muttered.

Angélique just smiled. "Come back for your next shift soon, chérie. You have much more to learn."

The words pressed against Cassia's will and she felt the contract accept Angélique's new direction. Come back soon. A lawful order, vague but binding. She would have to return. She could feel it.

Cassia walked out the door wanting to cry. The brass bell chimed as she opened it, and a breeze washed over her, cool and refreshing, and utterly indifferent to her suffering.

She stepped out into the street and did not look back.