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He sent his personal assistant. He introduced himself as Will. \nThere was a knock at the door and Miss Bailey answered it. I watched from the top of the staircase. Standing outside was a wiry aardwolf. He had blue eyes and shoulder length black hair, which he’d tied back with what looked like a leather cord. He was shorter than Miss Bailie but taller than me. He had dressed in a black suit and wore a black cap. He tipped his cap to Miss Bailie and said, “Good morning, how are you today, Miss?” \nHe received no reply from Miss Bailie. I could only see the back of her head but I was sure she was scowling at the young male. He seemed unfazed. \n“I was told to give this to a Miss Camille Dane,” Will said, and held up an envelope. \n“I am Miss Camille Dane,” Miss Bailie, holding out her hand. \nObviously Will didn’t believe her. He looked her up and down, and then smiled and said, “Funny, Mr. Bridshaw described Miss Dane as young and pretty, and much shorter, with a softer voice.” \nI covered my mouth to hide a high pitched giggle. \n“Well maybe Mr. Bridshaw needs his eyes checked, I assure you I am Miss Camille Dane,” Miss Bailie said. \n“May I come in?” Will asked. \n“No you may not! Just give the letter to me,” Miss Bailie said. \nShe reached for the envelope and I quickly hurried down the stairs to the door. I squeezed around Miss Bailie and stood in front of her. \n“I’m Camille Dane,” I said. \nI smiled innocently up at Miss Bailie. \n“I have a letter from Mr. Bridshaw to you,” Will said. \nI accepted the envelope and thanked him. \t\n“Mr. Bridshaw told me to stay and make sure you got his letter,” Will said. \nI inspected the envelope. It was so pretty, creamy yellow in color with a scarlet seal. I slowly opened the envelope – I didn’t want to rip it - and unfolded the envelope. \n\n[i]Dear Miss Dane, \nI’d like for you to come to tea tomorrow afternoon, November 30th, around four o’clock at my home, Atwell Manor. I’d greatly appreciate your company. \n\nSincerely yours, \nMr. Richard Bridshaw[/i]\n\nTomorrow? That was so soon! \n I looked back at the letter. \n\n[i]P.S. \nYou may choose to bring a guest if you like. [/i]\n\n“Thank you again,” I said. \nWill smiled and tipped his hat to me, then Miss Bailie pulled me back inside and slammed the door in Will’s face. \n“You’re not going,” Miss Bailie said. \n“Yes I am, Mr. Bridshaw expects me,” I said. \nMiss Bailie reached for the letter but I backed away from her and put the letter behind my back. \n“Give that to me!” Miss Bailie hissed. \n“No! It’s mine,” I said. \nMiss Bailie grabbed my arm and reached for the letter again but I kicked her and she let me go. \n“You horrible child!” she shouted, holding her knee. \nI hurried upstairs to my room and locked my door. A few moments later I heard Miss Bailie’s footsteps. I hid the letter in a copy of Pride and Prejudice. \n“Open this door!” she screamed. \n“No,” I said. \nMiss Bailie pounded the door with her fists. \n“Open this door! Oh wait till your father hears of this!” She shouted. \n\n“Absolutely not!” Daddy shouted. \n“Please Daddy,” I said. \n“I forbid it,” Daddy shouted. \n“Nanny could go with me,” I said. \n“No! You’ll tell him you’re sick and can’t leave the house,” Daddy said. \n“He’ll likely pay us a visit, besides he may tell everyone about me. What will everyone say, especially the constable,” I said. \nDaddy’s lip twitched. \n“Please Daddy? You can send Nanny with me,” I said. \n\nDaddy gave me his consent. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone leaking that he had a daughter. Assuming Uncle Atlas hadn’t told anyone during of his drinking escapades. I sent a letter to Mr. Bridshaw and he wrote back that he would send his chauffeur, Mr. Wilson, at three in the afternoon. Daddy sent Miss Bailie with me, of course. She took so long with her hair. She must have some other wigs in her room because this new wig had more hair. It had been arranged into a pompadour hairstyle but looked more like something Marie Antoinette would have worn. \n“Miss Bailie, please hurry! Mr. Wilson is waiting. Mr. Bridshaw will be offended if we are late,” I pleaded with her. \nOur progress was further hindered when Mammy insisted I wear a corset. Miss Bailie laced it up so tightly I could barely breathe let alone move. I dropped my purse while walking down the stairs and the maid had to pick it up for me because the corset made it impossible for me to bend over or even kneel. \n“Come on then, we’ll be late,” Miss Bailie said. \nI resisted the urge to respond.\nWhile in the car Miss Bailie snapped at me several times. \n“Sit up straight!” she hissed one moment. \n“Stop making that sound, it’s frightful!” she hissed another time. \n“Stop crying, ladies do not cry in public!” she barked, adding a slap to my leg at the end. \nI couldn’t help it. Each time the car went over a bump I would feel the corset dig into my skin and I’d wince. I wanted so badly to take the corset off. Mr. Wilson stopped a couple of times to allow me time to rest. He told me he would try to drive gently but when he had to drive over a dirt road, that proved a difficult task. \n“You’ll get used to it,” Miss Bailie said. \n\nMr. Bridshaw’s home was beautiful. It was a pale, old stone manor built in the Baroque style with lots of windows and dark green vines creeping up its walls. The grass was emerald green and the grounds were surrounded by a wide bronze fence. I took a moment to catch my breath, both from taking in the sight of Atwell Manor and from the tightness of the corset. My fur was wet. I worried I was bleeding and it would show through my dress. Miss Bailie said nothing, and so I assumed all was well. At the door was a stout, old striped hyena. He was asleep in a chair that looked a tad too frail for him to be sitting on and he was snoring. Miss Bailie cleared her throat and the old hyena awoke with a loud snort. \n“Oh, good afternoon Madam,” he said. \n“We’ve an invitation from Mr. Bridshaw for tea,” Miss Bailie said. \n“Oh splendid!” the old striped hyena said. \nThen he stood up, making the chair creak a little, and gave the door three hard knocks. A few moments later Will answered the door. \nHe was dressed in a dark blue suit this time and wore no hat. \n“Well, hello again Miss Dane,” Will said. “So nice to see you again.” \n“Hello again,” I said. \nWill smiled and stepped aside to let Miss Bailie and I enter. \n“Mr. Bridshaw is in the parlor,” Will said. \nThen he turned to Miss Bailie and said, “Mr. Bridshaw has set up a special place for you in the dining room.” \nI saw Miss Bailie’s face turn red and she started to huff. Will’s words lit a small light inside me, and as he led me down the hall to the parlor I could not help smiling broadly. I waved to Miss Bailie over my shoulder. The hall was wide and a dark red carpet had been laid out on the wood floor. The walls were adorned with portraits. I wondered if any of them were Mr. Bridshaw’s relatives. Will stopped in front of a large mahogany door and knocked three times. \n“Come in,” came Mr. Bridshaw’s voice, and Will opened the door. Mr. Bridshaw was seated in a large red chair. Across from him was another large red chair. In between was a small table. The rest of the room was colored in different shades of brown and white. Two large windows filled the room with sunlight. \n“Good afternoon,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \n“Good afternoon,” I said. \n“How was your trip?” Mr. Bridshaw asked. \n“It was nice,” I lied. \nI sat down in the chair across from Mr. Bridshaw. \n“Your home is lovely,” I said. \n“I hate it. It belonged to my mother, she left it to me, along with a few other things, when she died,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \n“I’m sorry,” I said. \n“I’m not, she was a horrible woman. Not a kind bone in her body or a kind word to say,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \n“Oh,” I said. “Then why not sell your home?” \n“Convenience,” Mr. Bridshaw said. “It’s a home and I’m not in the mood to look for others.”\nThere was a knock at the door and a young brown hyena poked her head in. \n“Sir, your tea is ready,” she said. \n“Thank you, Milly,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \nThen he turned to me and asked, “Milk or sugar?” \n“None thank you,” I said. \n“Just tea for Miss Dane, and milk for me,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \n“Yes sir,” the maid said.\nMr. Bridshaw looked at me silently for a few moments. \n“I don’t know if it’s the lighting, but one of your eyes appears to be lighter than the other,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \nI blushed. My eyes are green but one is a little lighter than the other and has some brown around the iris near the pupil. \n“My parents don’t like it,” I said. \n“I think it’s lovely,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \nMy blush deepened. \nThe maid, Milly, brought our tea and a plate of small sandwiches and fruit. Mr. Bridshaw took a sip from his cup and then turned to me again. \n“I would like to paint you,” he said. \nI had just taken a sip from my cup. His words caught me off guard and I quickly swallowed my tea before I got the urge to spit it out. My cup shook a little in my hands and I set it down on the table to avoid spilling it. I fingered a lock of my hair and looked down at my knees. \n“I don’t know if Mammy and Daddy would approve,” I said, twirling the lock around my fingers. \n“Don’t worry about them,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \n“I don’t know,” I said softly. \nI looked up at him. \n“I won’t have to take my clothes off will I?” I asked. \n“Not unless you want to,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \n“I don’t want to,” I said. \n“Then you don’t have to,” Mr. Bridshaw said gently. \nHe stood up. \n“Excuse me for a bit,” he said, and then disappeared through a hidden door by the fireplace. \nHe returned a few moments later with a black book and a long wooden box. He took out a pencil and a small knife, and began to sharpen the pencil. \nI chewed on my lip for a moment. \n“Did you paint any of those portraits in the hall?” I asked. \n“A few of them,” Mr. Bridshaw replied. \n\"They're beautiful,\" I said. \n\"Thank you,\" he said. \nHe looked the pencil over, checking to make sure it was sharp enough, and then stood up and walked over to me. He put his hand under my chin and his other hand on my shoulder, gently lifted my head and turned it to the side. \nI was a little hesitant to let him move me, but I didn’t protest. \n“What are you doing?” I asked. \n“Just making sure everything is right,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \nHe put his hand under my thigh and turned me slightly to the right. He moved me so easily but he was tender. He then sat back down and picked up his book and pencil. \n“Now hold still, look just above the fireplace” he said. \nI nodded. \nFor the next half hour everything was silent but for the sound of the clock ticking and Mr. Bridshaw’s pencil scratching on the paper. Every few minutes he’d look up at me and smile. Part of me wished he wouldn’t. Every time he looked at me I would blush and shake a little, but I resisted the urge to turn away.\n“I’m sorry Ma’am but you can’t go in there,” the muffled voice of the maid said. \n“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Mr. Dane’s put me in charge of her,” came the screechy voice of Miss Bailie. \nShe pushed the door open. Startled, I looked to the side. Miss Bailie frowned at me and walked toward me. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me up. The corset dug into me again and I winced silently. \n“Come, your father wanted you to be home before nightfall,” Miss Bailie said. \n“It’s still light out,” I protested. “You are being rude, Nanny.” \n“Don’t argue,” Miss Bailie said. \nShe dragged me out into the hall and out the door. \n“Nanny stop, You’re hurting me!” I said. \n“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just walk on your own,” Miss Bailie said. \n“We’ve only been here less than an hour,” I said. \n“Plenty of time for tea and chat,” Miss Bailie said. \nShe pushed me into the car and then we were gone. \n\nThe water was boiling. The corset had left deep, painful welts in my skin. Some of them looked close to bleeding, and lying in the hot bath made them burn. It felt like someone had taken a hot poker and pressed it to my skin. I started to cry, mostly from my wounds being burned. I closed my eyes to try and block out the pain and hoped no one could hear me. Then- “Camille hurry up and get dressed!” screeched Miss Bailie’s voice, making me jump. Water splashed everywhere. I wrapped a towel around myself – I had left my robe in my room - and headed down the hall to my bedroom. Miss Bailie was waiting for me in my room, and so was Josh. Before I could speak, Miss Bailie yanked my towel off me and wrapped the corset around me again. \n“Nanny no!” I said. \nBut she’d already started lacing me up. I felt my ribs bend as laced me from bottom to top. In the mirror I could see my waist narrowing. The only good thing about the corset was that it made my breasts stand out more, not that they needed any assistance, but I imagined they didn’t like the corset much either. \nJosh was sitting on my bed, watching me with that cruel grin of his. In his arms he was holding his gray tabby, George, and stroking the cat’s ears. I hated that cat. He was always harassing the birds in the garden. He even killed a few just for sport. I swear that cat was the devil in disguise. \n“I assume you can dress yourself,” Miss Bailie said, and then turned on her heel and left. \nI glared at the back of her head. The towel was on the floor and I couldn’t pick it up with the corset on. I turned to Josh. \n“What are you doing here? Get out!” I said to him. \n“I just thought you might need some help getting ready. Father’s coming over for tea,” Josh said. \n“I can dress myself,” I said. \n “Like you could pick something suitable,” Josh laughed. \n“And you’re such an expert?” I snapped at him. \nI walked over to my armoire. It was torture. With each step I took, the corset would dig into my welts and threaten to cut them open. I opened the armoire and pulled out a dress. I didn’t often wear it. It was a cream chiffon shift, underneath it was a powder blue shift. It had short, fluttering sleeves and a slight hourglass figure, and on the skirt white and blue flowers had been embroidered. \n“That one makes you look like a child,” Josh said. \n“I am still somewhat a child,” I said. \n“Wear the green one,” Josh said. \n“No, it’s too mature, and I don’t believe I asked for your opinion,” I said to him. \n“Suit yourself,” Josh shrugged. \nGeorge meowed loudly. \nI tried to ignore the unwanted presence. I decided to leave my hair down, mainly because I couldn’t make a bun and my hair kept getting tangled so I just brushed it and left it alone. I didn’t wear any earrings or powder my face, but I did wear my pearl choker. My grandfather had given it to me for my thirteenth birthday. It was one of the only really nice things I’d ever been given. In a way, the pearls gave me a small sense of security. My grandfather had gone on a trip to China and asked me if I wanted him to bring me anything. I told him I just wanted him to be safe, and he brought home a pink pearl choker for me. I remember my mother scolding him for giving me something so expensive. He was the only member of my family who was ever kind to me. He passed away a year ago. \n\nDownstairs Mammy and Daddy were waiting. \n“Oh Camille, why didn’t you wear the green one?” Mammy groaned. \nIt was too late to change. Uncle Atlas had arrived. He was unusually cheerful and dressed in a deep purple suit. Clearly he was drunk, because he wasn’t cheerful any other time. My suspicions were confirmed when he hugged me and I smelled the whisky on his breath. It was hard to tell he and Josh were related. Josh was tall and wiry, while Uncle Atlas was tall and grossly overweight. Their personalities and smiles, besides their blood, were evidence of their kinship. \nOver tea Uncle Atlas seemed to sober up a little, then he looked down at himself and said, “Good lord when the hell did I buy this piece of shit?” \nHe then downed his tea and announced he and Josh would be staying over for the next few weeks. \nI felt my heart stop beating. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Josh staring at me over his tea cup. It wasn’t noticeable, but I knew he was grinning. \n“May I be excused?” I said. \n“You may,” Mammy said, in an almost relieved tone of voice. \nI hurried up to my room and locked the door. A few weeks with Josh, why didn’t someone just kill me now? I locked the door to my room that night. I didn’t feel safe enough to leave it unlocked or open. \n\nI received another letter from Mr. Bridshaw the next morning. This time I got to the door first before Miss Bailie. She’d been moving a little slow since I kicked her. The poor dear. Mr. Bridshaw invited me to tea again, only it wasn’t tea he was in the mood for, and he requested I come alone. It took me a while to convince Daddy to let me go. A week later I got him to say yes, forcibly, when I slipped brandy into his morning tea. After two cups Daddy lazily nodded and moaned, “Yes.” This time I took Mrs. Crew with me, the maid. She’s old but she’s ever so sweet. She told she would just go off to a little café and return a few hours later. \n\nMr. Bridshaw took me to one of his more private rooms. It was of moderate size, but there were no windows. There were two chairs, one with red cushions and the other with blue cushions, and a red sofa. On the wall was an emerald green curtain with gold tassles. The floors were oak, with an elaborate rug that separated the chairs and sofa from the floor. The walls were deep red and the ceiling was the color of white wine. The room was lit by ornate stain glass lamps, giving it the look that it was littered with brightly colored jewels. \nI wore my blue dress and pearls, again. I felt comfortable in it. \n“We won’t be bothered here, unless I wish it,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \nHe went to sharpen his pencils. I watched him silently. \n“Will you draw me with just my pearls?” I asked him. \nHe looked up from his pencils. I was a little shocked at my own request. This was a man - a man nearly old enough to be my father - I had known barely more than a few days and I was asking him to draw me naked.\n“Just your pearls?” he echoed, his eyes widening a little. \nI nodded. \nAfter a few moments he stood up and came over to me, but first he went to a little chest in the corner and took out a white sheet. I think it was because he didn’t want to risk anything, because I was still a girl. \nGetting my dress off was the easy part, but my corset proved to be a hassle. Miss Bailie had laced and knotted it so tightly that Mr. Bridshaw eventually gave up on trying to untie the knots and called one of the maids for a pair of scissors. With each snip I’d take in a breath of air, counting down the moments untill I was free of the corset. \n“I never understood, and I still don’t understand, why women insist on suffocating themselves just to fit into a dress,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \n“I’ve never understood it either,” I said breathlessly. \nHe finally reached the last row and with one last snip I was free! Then I remembered my welts and quickly covered myself with the sheet. \n“They look awful,” I said. \n“I imagine they must feel awful,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \nHe laid me on the couch and put a pillow under my head, then he began to arrange the sheet. He draped the sheet so it covered my crotch and patted it down so it curved beneath my belly. As he fluffed the sheet, his paws brushed my breasts and I couldn’t help but shudder. I felt my nipples stiffen. I think he saw. I hoped he hadn’t. He arranged the sheet so that it covered one breast but left the other partially exposed. He left my shoulders bare. He lifted my head and placed one of my paws under the pillow and the other holding the sheet to my breasts. \nHe sat across from me in one of the chairs and picked up his book and pencil. Again the sound of his pencil scratching on the paper filled the room. It was easier to stay still lying down, but I think my body and mind got the impression it was nighttime and my eyelids became very heavy. Mr. Bridshaw just smiled and said, “Why don’t we take a short break?” \nDespite my protests, he marked my pose with colored strips of fabric, then helped me up. He wrapped the sheet around me and called the maids to bring us some tea, but I urged him to let me get back to my pose so we could finish. He told me to be patient, because great art takes patience and must never be rushed. \n“You said your parents were ashamed of you,” Mr. Bridshaw said. “Why would you think that?” \nI looked at my reflection in my tea. I didn’t answer right away. \n“I think if I had been a boy, they would love me and want me to be seen,” I answered. \n“Well, if you were my daughter I would want everyone to see you and know who you are,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \nI small smile curled on my lips. I think he was trying to be kind. Maybe all the abuse I’ve suffered over the years has turned me into a pessimist. \n“I want to love them, but I can’t,” I said. “I feel awful.” \n“You are not obligated to love your parents, Camille,” Mr. Bridshaw said. \nI said nothing at first. I could feel tears welling in my eyes, my cheeks growing hot. I didn’t want to cry in front of Mr. Bridshaw\n“I’d just like an answer,” I managed to say. “I want to know what it was I did.” \nAnd that was it. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I quickly set my tea cup and saucer down. I tried to speak but Mr. Bridshaw was beside me. He put his arms around me and held me close to him. His lips pressed to my forehead and his hand stroked up and down my arm. His hands held my face and he gently brushed my tears away with his thumbs, then he reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief. He carefully dried my eyes and let me blow my nose. He held me in his arms until I calmed down. The tea sat forgotten and became cold, and Mr. Bridshaw later called the maids for a fresh pot. After a brief tea break, and after I had calmed myself, we got back to work. As Mr. Bridshaw adjusted my leg, his eyes met mine and then his hand started to travel up my thigh. ", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "The next morning I received a letter from Mr. Bridshaw.  He sent his personal assistant.  He introduced himself as Will.  
There was a knock at the door and Miss Bailey answered it.  I watched from the top of the staircase.  Standing outside was a wiry aardwolf.  He had blue eyes and shoulder length black hair, which he’d tied back with what looked like a leather cord.  He was shorter than Miss Bailie but taller than me.  He had dressed in a black suit and wore a black cap.  He tipped his cap to Miss Bailie and said, “Good morning, how are you today, Miss?”
He received no reply from Miss Bailie.  I could only see the back of her head but I was sure she was scowling at the young male.  He seemed unfazed.
“I was told to give this to a Miss Camille Dane,” Will said, and held up an envelope.
“I am Miss Camille Dane,” Miss Bailie, holding out her hand.
Obviously Will didn’t believe her.  He looked her up and down, and then smiled and said, “Funny, Mr. Bridshaw described Miss Dane as young and pretty, and much shorter, with a softer voice.”
I covered my mouth to hide a high pitched giggle.  
“Well maybe Mr. Bridshaw needs his eyes checked, I assure you I am Miss Camille Dane,” Miss Bailie said.
“May I come in?” Will asked.
“No you may not! Just give the letter to me,” Miss Bailie said.
She reached for the envelope and I quickly hurried down the stairs to the door.  I squeezed around Miss Bailie and stood in front of her.
“I’m Camille Dane,” I said.
I smiled innocently up at Miss Bailie.
“I have a letter from Mr. Bridshaw to you,” Will said.
I accepted the envelope and thanked him. \t
“Mr. Bridshaw told me to stay and make sure you got his letter,” Will said.
I inspected the envelope.  It was so pretty, creamy yellow in color with a scarlet seal.  I slowly opened the envelope – I didn’t want to rip it - and unfolded the envelope.

Dear Miss Dane,
I’d like for you to come to tea tomorrow afternoon, November 30th, around four o’clock at my home, Atwell Manor.  I’d greatly appreciate your company.

Sincerely yours,
Mr. Richard Bridshaw

Tomorrow? That was so soon!
 I looked back at the letter.

P.S.
You may choose to bring a guest if you like.

“Thank you again,” I said.
Will smiled and tipped his hat to me, then Miss Bailie pulled me back inside and slammed the door in Will’s face.
“You’re not going,” Miss Bailie said.
“Yes I am, Mr. Bridshaw expects me,” I said.
Miss Bailie reached for the letter but I backed away from her and put the letter behind my back.
“Give that to me!” Miss Bailie hissed.
“No! It’s mine,” I said.
Miss Bailie grabbed my arm and reached for the letter again but I kicked her and she let me go.  
“You horrible child!” she shouted, holding her knee.
I hurried upstairs to my room and locked my door. A few moments later I heard Miss Bailie’s footsteps. I hid the letter in a copy of Pride and Prejudice.
“Open this door!” she screamed.
“No,” I said.
Miss Bailie pounded the door with her fists.
“Open this door!  Oh wait till your father hears of this!” She shouted.

“Absolutely not!” Daddy shouted.
“Please Daddy,” I said.
“I forbid it,” Daddy shouted.
“Nanny could go with me,” I said.
“No! You’ll tell him you’re sick and can’t leave the house,” Daddy said.
“He’ll likely pay us a visit, besides he may tell everyone about me.  What will everyone say, especially the constable,” I said.
Daddy’s lip twitched.
“Please Daddy? You can send Nanny with me,” I said.

Daddy gave me his consent.  He couldn’t bear the thought of someone leaking that he had a daughter.  Assuming Uncle Atlas hadn’t told anyone during of his drinking escapades.  I sent a letter to Mr. Bridshaw and he wrote back that he would send his chauffeur, Mr. Wilson, at three in the afternoon.  Daddy sent Miss Bailie with me, of course.  She took so long with her hair.  She must have some other wigs in her room because this new wig had more hair.  It had been arranged into a pompadour hairstyle but looked more like something Marie Antoinette would have worn.  
“Miss Bailie, please hurry!  Mr. Wilson is waiting.  Mr. Bridshaw will be offended if we are late,” I pleaded with her.
Our progress was further hindered when Mammy insisted I wear a corset.  Miss Bailie laced it up so tightly I could barely breathe let alone move.  I dropped my purse while walking down the stairs and the maid had to pick it up for me because the corset made it impossible for me to bend over or even kneel.
“Come on then, we’ll be late,” Miss Bailie said.
I resisted the urge to respond.
While in the car Miss Bailie snapped at me several times.
“Sit up straight!” she hissed one moment.
“Stop making that sound, it’s frightful!” she hissed another time.  
“Stop crying, ladies do not cry in public!” she barked, adding a slap to my leg at the end.  
I couldn’t help it.  Each time the car went over a bump I would feel the corset dig into my skin and I’d wince.  I wanted so badly to take the corset off.  Mr. Wilson stopped a couple of times to allow me time to rest.  He told me he would try to drive gently but when he had to drive over a dirt road, that proved a difficult task.  
“You’ll get used to it,” Miss Bailie said.

Mr. Bridshaw’s home was beautiful.  It was a pale, old stone manor built in the Baroque style with lots of windows and dark green vines creeping up its walls. The grass was emerald green and the grounds were surrounded by a wide bronze fence.  I took a moment to catch my breath, both from taking in the sight of Atwell Manor and from the tightness of the corset.  My fur was wet.  I worried I was bleeding and it would show through my dress.  Miss Bailie said nothing, and so I assumed all was well.  At the door was a stout, old striped hyena.  He was asleep in a chair that looked a tad too frail for him to be sitting on and he was snoring.  Miss Bailie cleared her throat and the old hyena awoke with a loud snort.
“Oh, good afternoon Madam,” he said.
“We’ve an invitation from Mr. Bridshaw for tea,” Miss Bailie said.
“Oh splendid!” the old striped hyena said.
Then he stood up, making the chair creak a little, and gave the door three hard knocks.  A few moments later Will answered the door.
He was dressed in a dark blue suit this time and wore no hat.
“Well, hello again Miss Dane,” Will said.  “So nice to see you again.”
“Hello again,” I said.
Will smiled and stepped aside to let Miss Bailie and I enter.
“Mr. Bridshaw is in the parlor,” Will said.
Then he turned to Miss Bailie and said, “Mr. Bridshaw has set up a special place for you in the dining room.”
I saw Miss Bailie’s face turn red and she started to huff.  Will’s words lit a small light inside me, and as he led me down the hall to the parlor I could not help smiling broadly.  I waved to Miss Bailie over my shoulder.  The hall was wide and a dark red carpet had been laid out on the wood floor.  The walls were adorned with portraits.  I wondered if any of them were Mr. Bridshaw’s relatives.  Will stopped in front of a large mahogany door and knocked three times.  
“Come in,” came Mr. Bridshaw’s voice, and Will opened the door.  Mr. Bridshaw was seated in a large red chair.  Across from him was another large red chair.  In between was a small table.  The rest of the room was colored in different shades of brown and white.  Two large windows filled the room with sunlight.
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
“Good afternoon,” I said.
“How was your trip?” Mr. Bridshaw asked.
“It was nice,” I lied.
I sat down in the chair across from Mr. Bridshaw.
“Your home is lovely,” I said.
“I hate it.  It belonged to my mother, she left it to me, along with a few other things, when she died,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I’m not, she was a horrible woman.  Not a kind bone in her body or a kind word to say,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
“Oh,” I said. “Then why not sell your home?”
“Convenience,” Mr. Bridshaw said. “It’s a home and I’m not in the mood to look for others.”
There was a knock at the door and a young brown hyena poked her head in.
“Sir, your tea is ready,” she said.
“Thank you, Milly,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
Then he turned to me and asked, “Milk or sugar?”
“None thank you,” I said.
“Just tea for Miss Dane, and milk for me,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
“Yes sir,” the maid said.
Mr. Bridshaw looked at me silently for a few moments.  
“I don’t know if it’s the lighting, but one of your eyes appears to be lighter than the other,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
I blushed.  My eyes are green but one is a little lighter than the other and has some brown around the iris near the pupil.  
“My parents don’t like it,” I said.
“I think it’s lovely,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
My blush deepened.
The maid, Milly, brought our tea and a plate of small sandwiches and fruit.  Mr. Bridshaw took a sip from his cup and then turned to me again.
“I would like to paint you,” he said.  
I had just taken a sip from my cup.  His words caught me off guard and I quickly swallowed my tea before I got the urge to spit it out.  My cup shook a little in my hands and I set it down on the table to avoid spilling it.  I fingered a lock of my hair and looked down at my knees.  
“I don’t know if Mammy and Daddy would approve,” I said, twirling the lock around my fingers.
“Don’t worry about them,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
“I don’t know,” I said softly.
I looked up at him.
“I won’t have to take my clothes off will I?” I asked.
“Not unless you want to,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“Then you don’t have to,” Mr. Bridshaw said gently.
He stood up.
“Excuse me for a bit,” he said, and then disappeared through a hidden door by the fireplace.
He returned a few moments later with a black book and a long wooden box. He took out a pencil and a small knife, and began to sharpen the pencil.  
I chewed on my lip for a moment.
“Did you paint any of those portraits in the hall?” I asked.
“A few of them,” Mr. Bridshaw replied.  
"They're beautiful," I said.
"Thank you," he said.
He looked the pencil over, checking to make sure it was sharp enough, and then stood up and walked over to me.  He put his hand under my chin and his other hand on my shoulder, gently lifted my head and turned it to the side.
I was a little hesitant to let him move me, but I didn’t protest.  
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just making sure everything is right,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
He put his hand under my thigh and turned me slightly to the right.  He moved me so easily but he was tender.  He then sat back down and picked up his book and pencil.
“Now hold still, look just above the fireplace” he said.
I nodded.
For the next half hour everything was silent but for the sound of the clock ticking and Mr. Bridshaw’s pencil scratching on the paper.  Every few minutes he’d look up at me and smile.  Part of me wished he wouldn’t.  Every time he looked at me I would blush and shake a little, but I resisted the urge to turn away.
“I’m sorry Ma’am but you can’t go in there,” the muffled voice of the maid said.
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Mr. Dane’s put me in charge of her,” came the screechy voice of Miss Bailie.
She pushed the door open.  Startled, I looked to the side.  Miss Bailie frowned at me and walked toward me. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me up.  The corset dug into me again and I winced silently.  
“Come, your father wanted you to be home before nightfall,” Miss Bailie said.
“It’s still light out,” I protested.  “You are being rude, Nanny.”
“Don’t argue,” Miss Bailie said.
She dragged me out into the hall and out the door.
“Nanny stop, You’re hurting me!” I said.
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just walk on your own,” Miss Bailie said.
“We’ve only been here less than an hour,” I said.
“Plenty of time for tea and chat,” Miss Bailie said.
She pushed me into the car and then we were gone.

The water was boiling.  The corset had left deep, painful welts in my skin.  Some of them looked close to bleeding, and lying in the hot bath made them burn.  It felt like someone had taken a hot poker and pressed it to my skin.  I started to cry, mostly from my wounds being burned.  I closed my eyes to try and block out the pain and hoped no one could hear me.  Then- “Camille hurry up and get dressed!” screeched Miss Bailie’s voice, making me jump.  Water splashed everywhere.  I wrapped a towel around myself – I had left my robe in my room - and headed down the hall to my bedroom.  Miss Bailie was waiting for me in my room, and so was Josh.  Before I could speak, Miss Bailie yanked my towel off me and wrapped the corset around me again.
“Nanny no!” I said.
But she’d already started lacing me up.  I felt my ribs bend as laced me from bottom to top.  In the mirror I could see my waist narrowing.  The only good thing about the corset was that it made my breasts stand out more, not that they needed any assistance, but I imagined they didn’t like the corset much either.  
Josh was sitting on my bed, watching me with that cruel grin of his. In his arms he was holding his gray tabby, George, and stroking the cat’s ears.  I hated that cat.  He was always harassing the birds in the garden.  He even killed a few just for sport.  I swear that cat was the devil in disguise.  
“I assume you can dress yourself,” Miss Bailie said, and then turned on her heel and left.
I glared at the back of her head.  The towel was on the floor and I couldn’t pick it up with the corset on.  I turned to Josh.  
“What are you doing here? Get out!” I said to him.
“I just thought you might need some help getting ready. Father’s coming over for tea,” Josh said.
“I can dress myself,” I said.
 “Like you could pick something suitable,” Josh laughed.
“And you’re such an expert?” I snapped at him.
I walked over to my armoire.  It was torture.  With each step I took, the corset would dig into my welts and threaten to cut them open.  I opened the armoire and pulled out a dress.  I didn’t often wear it.  It was a cream chiffon shift, underneath it was a powder blue shift.  It had short, fluttering sleeves and a slight hourglass figure, and on the skirt white and blue flowers had been embroidered.
“That one makes you look like a child,” Josh said.
“I am still somewhat a child,” I said.
“Wear the green one,” Josh said.
“No, it’s too mature, and I don’t believe I asked for your opinion,” I said to him.
“Suit yourself,” Josh shrugged.
George meowed loudly.
I tried to ignore the unwanted presence. I decided to leave my hair down, mainly because I couldn’t make a bun and my hair kept getting tangled so I just brushed it and left it alone.  I didn’t wear any earrings or powder my face, but I did wear my pearl choker.  My grandfather had given it to me for my thirteenth birthday.  It was one of the only really nice things I’d ever been given.  In a way, the pearls gave me a small sense of security.  My grandfather had gone on a trip to China and asked me if I wanted him to bring me anything. I told him I just wanted him to be safe, and he brought home a pink pearl choker for me.  I remember my mother scolding him for giving me something so expensive.  He was the only member of my family who was ever kind to me. He passed away a year ago.  

Downstairs Mammy and Daddy were waiting.  
“Oh Camille, why didn’t you wear the green one?” Mammy groaned.
It was too late to change.  Uncle Atlas had arrived.  He was unusually cheerful and dressed in a deep purple suit.  Clearly he was drunk, because he wasn’t cheerful any other time.  My suspicions were confirmed when he hugged me and I smelled the whisky on his breath.  It was hard to tell he and Josh were related.  Josh was tall and wiry, while Uncle Atlas was tall and grossly overweight.  Their personalities and smiles, besides their blood, were evidence of their kinship.
Over tea Uncle Atlas seemed to sober up a little, then he looked down at himself and said, “Good lord when the hell did I buy this piece of shit?”
He then downed his tea and announced he and Josh would be staying over for the next few weeks.
I felt my heart stop beating.  Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Josh staring at me over his tea cup.  It wasn’t noticeable, but I knew he was grinning.  
“May I be excused?” I said.
“You may,” Mammy said, in an almost relieved tone of voice.
I hurried up to my room and locked the door.  A few weeks with Josh, why didn’t someone just kill me now?  I locked the door to my room that night.  I didn’t feel safe enough to leave it unlocked or open.

I received another letter from Mr. Bridshaw the next morning.  This time I got to the door first before Miss Bailie.  She’d been moving a little slow since I kicked her. The poor dear.  Mr. Bridshaw invited me to tea again, only it wasn’t tea he was in the mood for, and he requested I come alone. It took me a while to convince Daddy to let me go.  A week later I got him to say yes, forcibly, when I slipped brandy into his morning tea.  After two cups Daddy lazily nodded and moaned, “Yes.”  This time I took Mrs. Crew with me, the maid.  She’s old but she’s ever so sweet.  She told she would just go off to a little café and return a few hours later.  

Mr. Bridshaw took me to one of his more private rooms.  It was of moderate size, but there were no windows.  There were two chairs, one with red cushions and the other with blue cushions, and a red sofa.  On the wall was an emerald green curtain with gold tassles.  The floors were oak, with an elaborate rug that separated the chairs and sofa from the floor.  The walls were deep red and the ceiling was the color of white wine.  The room was lit by ornate stain glass lamps, giving it the look that it was littered with brightly colored jewels.
I wore my blue dress and pearls, again.  I felt comfortable in it.
“We won’t be bothered here, unless I wish it,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
He went to sharpen his pencils. I watched him silently.
“Will you draw me with just my pearls?” I asked him.
He looked up from his pencils. I was a little shocked at my own request.  This was a man - a man nearly old enough to be my father - I had known barely more than a few days and I was asking him to draw me naked.
“Just your pearls?” he echoed, his eyes widening a little.
I nodded.
After a few moments he stood up and came over to me, but first he went to a little chest in the corner and took out a white sheet.  I think it was because he didn’t want to risk anything, because I was still a girl.
Getting my dress off was the easy part, but my corset proved to be a hassle.  Miss Bailie had laced and knotted it so tightly that Mr. Bridshaw eventually gave up on trying to untie the knots and called one of the maids for a pair of scissors.  With each snip I’d take in a breath of air, counting down the moments untill I was free of the corset.
“I never understood, and I still don’t understand, why women insist on suffocating themselves just to fit into a dress,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
“I’ve never understood it either,” I said breathlessly.  
He finally reached the last row and with one last snip I was free!  Then I remembered my welts and quickly covered myself with the sheet.
“They look awful,” I said.
“I imagine they must feel awful,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
He laid me on the couch and put a pillow under my head, then he began to arrange the sheet.  He draped the sheet so it covered my crotch and patted it down so it curved beneath my belly.  As he fluffed the sheet, his paws brushed my breasts and I couldn’t help but shudder.  I felt my nipples stiffen.  I think he saw.  I hoped he hadn’t.  He arranged the sheet so that it covered one breast but left the other partially exposed.  He left my shoulders bare.  He lifted my head and placed one of my paws under the pillow and the other holding the sheet to my breasts.  
He sat across from me in one of the chairs and picked up his book and pencil.  Again the sound of his pencil scratching on the paper filled the room.  It was easier to stay still lying down, but I think my body and mind got the impression it was nighttime and my eyelids became very heavy.  Mr. Bridshaw just smiled and said, “Why don’t we take a short break?”
Despite my protests, he marked my pose with colored strips of fabric, then helped me up.  He wrapped the sheet around me and called the maids to bring us some tea, but I urged him to let me get back to my pose so we could finish.  He told me to be patient, because great art takes patience and must never be rushed.
“You said your parents were ashamed of you,” Mr. Bridshaw said. “Why would you think that?”
I looked at my reflection in my tea.  I didn’t answer right away.
“I think if I had been a boy, they would love me and want me to be seen,” I answered.
“Well, if you were my daughter I would want everyone to see you and know who you are,” Mr. Bridshaw said.
I small smile curled on my lips.  I think he was trying to be kind.  Maybe all the abuse I’ve suffered over the years has turned me into a pessimist.
“I want to love them, but I can’t,” I said.  “I feel awful.”
“You are not obligated to love your parents, Camille,” Mr. Bridshaw said.  
I said nothing at first. I could feel tears welling in my eyes, my cheeks growing hot. I didn’t want to cry in front of Mr. Bridshaw
“I’d just like an answer,” I managed to say. “I want to know what it was I did.”
And that was it.  Tears rolled down my cheeks.  I quickly set my tea cup and saucer down.  I tried to speak but Mr. Bridshaw was beside me.  He put his arms around me and held me close to him.  His lips pressed to my forehead and his hand stroked up and down my arm.  His hands held my face and he gently brushed my tears away with his thumbs, then he reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief.  He carefully dried my eyes and let me blow my nose.  He held me in his arms until I calmed down.  The tea sat forgotten and became cold, and Mr. Bridshaw later called the maids for a fresh pot.  After a brief tea break, and after I had calmed myself, we got back to work.  As Mr. Bridshaw adjusted my leg, his eyes met mine and then his hand started to travel up my thigh. ", "pools_count": 0, "title": "La Jeune fille Torturée - Chapter Two", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "image/jpeg", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "2", "name": "Nudity", "description": "Nonsexual nudity exposing breasts or genitals (must not show arousal)", "rating_id": "1" }, { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "45" }