109. Deflated
Amy decides to go for it. “How much more complete could this outfit be?” She dons the pink thong and garter belt, then rolls on the stockings and snaps them into place. With some difficulty she manages to get the corset on, then struggles into the boots. Her underclothes thoroughly taken care of, she puts on the burgundy dress and opera gloves. Finally, she attaches the brooch pin to her chest.
She admires herself in the mirror, primping a bit and comparing herself to the portrait of Claire Stephenson over the stairs. At last, Amy is satisfied that she is the spitting image of the house's former mistress.
Amy adopts a regal posture and walks up the stairs. Boswell's jaw drops at the sight of her. He stumbles forward to greet Amy and stutters his words.
“M-m-my lady! You have returned to us! Most of us thought you gone for good! I always held out hope, of course, that you would return, and now you have! I shall take you to see the master at once!”
Amy tries not to overplay her hand. Maintaining an emotionless visage, she replies with a simple. “But of course.”
Boswell reaches out and takes Amy's right hand, leading her down the hallway. As he does he glances at her fingers. Then he turns his gaze up to stare, quizzically, into her eyes.
“But... But my lady! Where is your signet ring?”
“My what?”
Boswell's mood does a one-hundred-eighty degree turn. “The signet ring of the House of Stephenson, that all who bear the name wear from the moment they become party to that illustrious lineage until the moment they die, and beyond! The signet ring that none may wear but the Lady Stephenson herself, and that Lady Stephenson would never have be seen without! THAT signet ring!”
Amy grows sheepish, caught in her lie. “Oh, right, that ring.”
Boswell is furious. He has turned beet red from head to toe. “Ms. Shaw, by donning my lady's brooch, by impersonating her in such a brazen manner, you have earned the most undignified demise I can imagine!” He steps back and snaps his fingers. Amy is violently thrown into the air, where she is suspended spread-eagle, like a fly caught in a spider's web. Her clothes fly off of her, leaving her, once again, naked.
“You present yourself as a lady, but deep down you are nothing but... but... but... a harlot! A vile strumpet! Unsuited for anything but the satisfaction of the basest pleasures, and to that fate I now consign you!”
He snaps his fingers again and Amy feels empty inside. Amy's body takes on the sheen of cheap plastic. Her mouth opens into an O of surprise, her hair turns frizzy and fake, like it's become synthetic. Her skin turns a sickly yellow. The delicate folds of her labia reform into a large, round hole. Her bones, her internal organs, everything inside of her simply disappears. They are replaced with a large amount of hot air, and Amy feels bloated. Finally, a hard plastic nozzle forms on her right butt cheek. The nozzle opens, and Amy is sent flying around the room as the air inside of her is violently expelled. At last the air runs out and she drifts, defeated, to the ground, landing inside a cardboard box that snaps resolutely shut. The box is labeled “Easy Amy” and has Amy's new catchphrase on it, “Treat me like the whore that I am!”
With a snap of his fingers, Boswell transports Amy in her box to a sleazy sex store on Ninth Avenue in Manhattan. After a few weeks Amy is sold to a not-particularly-savory gentleman, who proceeds, on multiple occasions, to show her a pretty miserable time.
Amy is in no condition to continue this adventure.