Enduring Company

By DX

Copyright, 10/2025, all rights reserved.

Having no where to sit, I stood by the window in the drably, tiny apartment.  From my advantage point I could just about see the alley below and the bored constable left to guard it.

The rest of the view was a dilapidated brick wall.

Above, I could hear the distant chug of steam engines on the Airship Goliath as it sailed high over the city, and in my own tedium I calculated its speed and arrival to the air-station against my watch.  It was a half minute late, but factoring current weather, no surprise.

Chastity Bates; however, was a full minute early.

She burst frantically into the room, her skirt fluttering, and dove under the bed.  She retrieved her case, flung it open on the bed, and immediately began scooping out her clothes from the dresser and piled them in.

“Ahem,”  I said.

Her eyes flashed with surprise.  They were stunningly huge and warm like chocolate morsels.  Her hair was blonde and filled with soft curls tucked neatly beneath her pinned hat.  She had a sweet, button nose, pinch-able crab apple checks and round, puffy lips in a startled gape.  She was petite, and elegantly dressed in silk and satin.  Her bustled skirt was just high enough to show off her buttoned boots, and her Spanish leather corset served up her pendulous breasts, distractingly large on her small frame, which her short bolero jacket couldn’t hide.

She was sweet, innocent, and disarmingly beautiful; excellent traits for a viperous villain.

“I am a private inquiry agent…”  I began.

In a practiced move she slipped her hand into the hidden pocket of her corset, retrieved a pistol, cocked it, and raised to fire, her face tightening as she pulled back the trigger.

Mrs. Velt sprang from behind the door.  She seized Bates’ wrist in her iron grip and pointed the gun down to the bed.  Bates struggled fruitlessly against Mrs. Velt’s Amazon strength, but yielded when Mrs. Velt prized the gun from her hand.

Mrs. Velt handed me the gun.  It was a fully pressurized Lucan Mk IV short barrel, capable of launching three, five millimeter iron balls at nine hundred feet per second in quick fire.  It was a tiny pistol, and very deadly at the short range we were at.

Continuing, Mrs. Velt spun Bates to face her, then without leave shoved her hand into the exposed valley of Bates’ bosom, and ignoring the woman’s squeak of surprise and indignation, retrieved the Eastern fist dagger we already suspected to be there.  

Spinning Bates again, her face now crimson from the intrusion, Mrs. Velt burrowed her way under the woman’s skirt and bustle and retrieved a Spenkat trench scatter gun and handed it off to Miss Pett who had been waiting in the corner of the room.  Finishing her task, Mrs. Velt ran her hands over Bates’ body, then arms, and located a flex knife disguised as a humble promise ring; an excellent tool for cutting the ropes or picking locks one finds on one’s wrists.

Gathering up all the weapons and tools, Mrs. Velt stepped back and took a post blocking the door.

Recovering from her assault, Bates casually glanced around the room to see if there was anyone else she failed to notice when she ran in.  Regaining her decorum, she slowly rolled her shoulders back, and let her soft eyes challenge me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,”  She said, her voice like syrup.  “or the details of the warrant signed by a Magistrate that allows this intrusion to my private domicile.”

“My name is of no consequence.”  I proclaimed defiantly.  “As for a warrant, admittance was legally attained when I paid the landlord your back rent.”  I explained, slipping the pistol into my pocket.  “You will get a receipt for any confiscated items at the conclusion of our talk.”

“Quite forward of you to think I want to talk to you.”  She said, her pillowy lips firm.

I glanced out the window.  “If you would like, you can spy on the constable in the alley, then check on his comrades now guarding all the egress points of this fine establishment.”  I mentioned, offhandedly.  “You might want to go speak with them in regard to strange intruders in your apartment.”

Her cool demeanor was betrayed by the slight pallor on her cheeks.

“No?”  I queried, my eyes hardening.  “Then allow me to continue.  I have been hired by a Lord, his name to remain anonymous, to observe you and report my findings to the Service.  I suspect the reason you seem keen to rapidly change abodes is your street contacts have already warned you of their newly inspired investigation into your recent accounts.”

She tilted her head and laughed lightly.  “You’ve seem to have mistaken me for some scoundrel.  I’m merely an actress.  My agent has procured a new gig for me out of country.  My booked airship leaves momentarily.”

“I’m not stopping you.”  I said cooly, and fished out my note pad.  “A moment, please, while I write out the receipt I promised you.  For reasons of personal safety, your weapons will be handed over to the Service.  You can reclaim them there.”

Her eyes stabbed me brutally in the chest, but the flicker of her gaze softened like a cloud passing by.  “You’ve gone to all this trouble to see me, it would be rude not to hear you out.”

I feigned surprise.  “Oh, I thought you were in a hurry.”  I continued scribbling.  “Well, if you insist, I’ll keep it brief.  You are an intelligent woman.  You know what you’ve done.”

She put up her hands defensively.  “I’ve done nothing.  I’m a simple actress.”

I flipped a few pages in my book.  “Lady Gantry, Lord Michael, Lady Velma…”  I looked up.  “Shall I go on?”

Her lip quivered as she gave a slight smile, but ice wouldn’t melt on her tongue.  “Whatever you’ve heard, I promise is hearsay and inadmissible in court.”

I flipped another page.  “Bank of Mann.  Bank of Ledshire, Fellows at Harbor.  I imagine their records are admissible in court, and support the testimony of your victims.”

“Enough.”  Her face darkened as she tried to hide her simmering rage.  “State your proposal.”

I let her wait as I finished writing out her receipt.  I then ripped it from my book and dropped it into her open suitcase.  “To be clear, all of my information has been reported to Service.  To be curt, you’re facing the gallows.  Fortunately, you are pretty, and the magistrate is loathed to send a beautiful woman to endure the short drop.”  I winced at the thought.  “Leaving you to dangle, kicking, gasping for air… for such a long time.  As long as twenty minutes or more, so I’m told.  It must feel like an eternity.”  I shuddered.  “Ghastly!”

I watched her swallow nervously as the image of the creaking, tightening rope around her neck flashed before her eyes.  “Is gloating part of your assignment?”  She said, her will shaken.

I nodded an apology.  “Please overlook my self-righteous air.  I just want to lay out all of facts.  In regard to your case, and a good solicitor, life imprisonment at Brentmore is a possible sentence.”

The color ran away from her face and Miss Pett stepped forward ready to catch her should she faint, but she recovered.

“Forgive me for distressing you.”  I flipped through my note pad.  “I see Brentmore is familiar to you.”

“Four years.”  She said, her voice raspy.  “Turning the crank.”

I was curious.  “I’m unfamiliar with that term.”

“It isn’t a term.”  She explained.  “I was sentenced to four years turning a crank.”  Darkness swelled under her delicate eyes.  “Every day, for fifteen hours a day, I turned the crank.”  The weight of her tone was heavy and distressed.

“And what did the crank operate?”  I asked.

“Nothing.”  She said darkly.  “It wasn’t connected to anything.  I just had to turn it, with a trustee standing there to watch me… to make sure I did it.”  She blinked away the memory.  “Two of us: me turning the crank, the trustee watching me turn the crank.  For four years.”

I decided to press on.  “A life sentence, if you’re lucky; however, Banishment to the Colony is also an option.”

The horror on her face flashed as if I had slapped her, but I went on.  “And based on the list of your victims, I wouldn’t be surprised that Banishment is the preferred sentence.  You wouldn’t be around as a continual reminder to the victims.  Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.”  My eyes were cutting.  “It’s not that you never imagined being caught, you’re too clever for that.  It’s just that you thought your victims would never subject themselves to the public embarrassment of a trial, and you would have been right, but you got too greedy, and the list too long.  Now the names shrink on the page, lost in the grand scope of it.”  I flipped through my book.  “You gambled the stolen fortunes in the casinos, or on expensive wines and sex slaves from the Continent.”  My lip twisted at the foul thought.  “The debauchery!”  I didn’t relent.  “I imagine the public will demand your Banishment!”

She shook her head to scatter the specters filling her eyes.  “So I take it you’re here to offer… an alternative?”

I gave a slight nod.  “I am, but it may not be preferable.”

“Anything!”  She said too quickly.

I put up a hand to stop her.  “Know it will be most uncomfortable, and quite humiliating.”

She gave a half smile of relief.  “Don’t be over-concerned with my public standing.”  Her smile became curious, and she glanced back at the two women behind her.  “Are you…?”  She motioned.  “All four of us?”

It took several seconds to figure out what she was suggesting, and my face sagged, abashed.  “No!  Nothing of the sort!”

She nodded.  “That did seem to be a little too easy.”  She peered at me through lidded eyes.  “We could you know.  Maybe as a little…”  She licked her lips as she chose her words.  “warm up to this task of yours.”

My face tightened and I felt the heat on my cheeks.  “No!  Forgive my candor, but there is no coitus copulatio, or actus venereus involved.”  I calmed myself.  

She waited a moment, then asked.  “I’m sorry, did you mean no sex?”

“Yes!  No sex!”  I admonished, nodding to the two other women in the room.  “Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett are chaperones to insure there are no solicitous shenanigans.”

“Solicitous shenanigans?”  She mocked.  “Mr. My Name’s Not Important, you’ve already established I have no money, so what else is there?”

I took a breath to calm the rattle of my nerves.  “Endure the company of my Lordship for a time until he is done with you.  You’ll be chaperoned at all times during.  Once he is done with your company, we will see you to the border and discharged, where I’m sure your wiles and cleverness will see you through customs and out of the country.  If you maintain discretion, you might evade capture and expedition back here.  If anything, you’ll have a fair head start.”

She squinted.  “Endure his Lordship’s company?”  She was expectedly skeptical.  “No sex?”

“No sex.”

“For how long?”

“I can’t say.”

“And what is it I do?”  She pressed.

“Nothing.”  I replied.  “You endure his company until he discharges you.”

She glanced back and Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett, then back at me.  “And then you take me to the border…”  Her eyes studied me.  “and let me go?”

“That is the proposal.”  I said, nodding.  “I will provide you with pocket money for small occurrences to ease your travel.”  I put forth dismissively.

Her head dipped as she tried to hide a slight smile.  She then looked up, her poker face fully entrenched.  “A hundred Crowner… for traveling expenses.”  She put out her hand to shake on the deal.

This was a test.  The amount was clearly absurd.  If I agreed she would know it was all a lie and the plan was to release her into the waiting arms of the Service, or just straight to a shallow, unmarked grave.  

Instead of shaking her hand, I almost spat up a laugh.  “Don’t be silly!”  I barked.  “I had meant to offer a little ease to your task, but if you wish, p’raps you could make a deal with the constable downstairs and see if he has a hundred Crowner to give you.”  I let my anger show.  “No?  Then let us be serious.”  I reached into my pocket and retrieved my purse.  I pulled out some coins and shifted them in my hand to line them up.  “Five Fipen.  Enough to book steerage on a train, a humble meal, and a canteen of tea.”  I slid the coins into her open suitcase.

She tried to dismiss the offer, but her desperation was clear.  “Ten Crowner and I’ll be so far gone you’ll forget I existed.”

I turned my purse over and dropped the last coin into my palm.  “A half Crowner.”

She nodded to her case, and I dropped it in.  A brilliant smile flashed on her face.  “Now, let’s go see this Lordship of yours!”

I held up my hand to stop her.  “His Lordship will have you dressed appropriately.”  I motioned to Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett.  “The ladies will assist you.  I will have my back turned, of course, to protect your honor while you are prepared.”

Her smile dimmed.  “Then we are to do this now?”  She signed.  “Fine, the sooner the better.”  She slid off her jacket and began to undo the buttons on her blouse.

Quickly, I turned my back.  To my unexpected surprise I could see Bates’ ghostly reflection in the dirty window.  I watched Mrs. Velt slip out of the room as Miss Pett helped Bates’ unlace her corset and step out of the ring of her skirt.  By the time Bates was down to her shift, Mrs. Velt returned carrying a wooden casket, manhandling the large, awkward thing with ease.

It was six feet long, two feet wide, and eighteen inches deep.  It was made of stout, heavy oak, stained and polished, with shinning brass caps protecting the corners and edges.  In Mrs. Velt’s powerful arms it looked light, but the sound it made as she set it down in the corner of the room demonstrated its solidity.

Astounded, Bates could only openly gawk as Mrs. Velt removed the lid.

It was an audacious, bordering on gaudy, frilly purple, grey, and pink dress filled with an excessive amount of lace, bustles, and pleats.  Black patent leather button boots rose to mid thigh, ending at the hem of the swelling skirt.  The shiny leather corset would display Bates’ lovely curves, while serving up her copious breasts admirably, with a hole at center mass to focus stares at her cleavage, before slipping up to a lace edged collar.

At the top was the doll’s head.  It had big, perfect bow lips in mild surprise, and expansive safire eyes.  The surface was perfectly smooth and polished, like ceramic.  It was coifed with a scarlet wig that flashed iridescently.  At its crown was a tiny purple top hat with a trailing ribbon for a hat band.

It was almost comical.

Transfixed, Bates took down the head and examined it.  “You want me to wear this?”  She found it opened into two halves and she noted the interior was completely smooth and austere.  She looked at me.  “How do I see?  Or breathe for that matter?”

“All that will be seen to.”  I said.

She weighed it in her hands and found it only slightly heavier than air.  “What is this made from?”

“Ah!  That is a newly discovered material harvested from the ocean; woven seaweed fibers we call Sea Silk.  It looks like silk, feels like silk, but far stronger than silk, and a little more expensive than silk, so it won’t take the fashion world by storm.  It also has no elasticity, so it doesn’t stretch in the least, so its wearability is very specific, but when layered together with an epoxy harvested from oyster shells, a hard version is made.  Less than a quarter inch will stop a bullet.”

She held up the mask to her face and found it would fit her entire head perfectly from crown to chin.  She tried to open her mouth but found it impossible.  She then handed it to Miss Pett.  “Whatever conversation his Lordship wishes to have will be one sided.  I won’t be able to speak or hear a thing in that doll’s head.”

“Which will suit his Lordship.”  I finished.  “Shall we begin, Miss Bates?”

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Copyrighted 10/2025, all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without written author consent.

Magic Fashion

By DX

Copyrighted, 4/2015, 2018, 12/2023 all rights reserved.

Eva’s eyes lit up as she held her breath.  Nervously, she watched the men raise the sign with her name boldly, delicately, emblazoned, above the wide and expensive window of her new storefront.  

Loans and debt allowed her to buy the old boutique and she wasted no time clearing it out.  Her cheeks dimpled as she set her lips and hauled crate after crate of dry-rotted fabric from the basement and tossed them out.  She found several sewing machines, embossers and embroidery, and pulled them apart.  She smelled of oil and age as she he gently chased out the spiders and dust, and refurbished the machines to go back into loyal service. 

She spackled, painted walls, waxed floors, and installed new light fixtures to be ready for her approaching opening day.

With the last of her funds she ordered some mannequins; nouveau, sleek and blank, they would be perfect for her high-tech fashions.  Faceless, shapeless, they were merely fancy hangers to show off her talent.

With one day to go, she stood at the door with a crumpled letter in her hand.

Her mannequins were on back-order.

Still defiant, she looked around slowly.  Finished outfits, haberdashery, and accessories surrounded her with nothing but boring shelves to display them on.  Her big, brown eyes blinked back a budding tear as she again descended into the basement. 

In the back corner, piled unceremoniously in an aged crate, were a collection of old mannequins.  She had dismissed them before for not being the cutting edge look she wanted, but as she pulled them out and tried to assemble a whole one, she figured she could paint them, a flat black perhaps, and they would do in a pinch.

They were busted, and cracked.  Their paint was peeling away, and mice nests filled their hollow spaces, but Eva bit back her frustration and dug into the pile.  Her hopes shrank as she only found more broken arms, legs and bodies.

Determined, she cleared the pile away.

Eyes peered back at her, green and wet, like a jungle leaf in the rain.  Shrouded in plastic, Eva lifted up the head and torso and found the arms and legs beneath.  The word, Lynnette, was embossed on the shoulder.  Her make up was from the 50’s.  Her lipstick was a coppery red, which highlighted her full lips.  Her eyes peered seductively beneath long, long black lashes, her eye-shadow was a deep burgundy.

She was bald.  Eva couldn’t find the wig, but she didn’t care as she carried the parts upstairs and assembled her.  With a sponge and soapy water, Eva bathed Lynnette and cleaned off the oily residue of dirty mouse prints to get the mannequin ready for paint.

As the sponge washed her face, Lynnette’s eyes flashed at her prettily, and Eva’s plan of spray-painting her into an anonymous model flittered out of her head.

Lynnette was beautiful.

Eva set her in the window and then spent the rest of the night putting together her paramilitary ensemble: slick midnight grey with epaulets and pocket flaps, and a nipped waist short coat that enhanced Lynnette’s perfect breasts, a revealing short skirt with cargo-pockets, and high heeled, knee length, military boots.  

As the night sky tinted with morning blue, Eva dressed Lynnette and gently slid the garments on.  Then, she laced the boots up on the mannequin’s incredibly small feet.  Last, she clasped a cargo-belt around Lynnette’s hips, slung at an angle like a gunslinger, and finished with a small leather pouch with brass enclosure, perfect for a phone and keys. 

Her eyes blinked swollen and tired as she beheld Lynnette.  Being bald, only added to her sharp, military presence.  

Eva put Lynnette’s cap on the doll’s head and the outfit was done.

She tried to stifle a yawn and failed.  As she made her way upstairs she glanced back.  Lynnette’s eyes twinkled in the early morning light.

Eva dismissed it as tiredness.

When she awoke she saw the shadows had slid across her room.  The clock told her she still had four hours to go before the opening, so she plopped back down.

And the knock came again.

She roused quickly and went down stairs.  There was a woman at the door peering through the glass, rapping incessantly.

“I’m sorry,”  Eva answered sleepily,  “we’re not open yet.”

The woman pointed at Lynnette.  “How much?  I’ll take it!”

Eva blinked.  She was still asleep, she must be.  She blearily opened the door and the woman marched in and peered at Lynnette from another angle.  She flicked her fingers and her credit card magically appeared.  “You do alterations?  I’d have the bosom let out.”

Eva hadn’t even considered a price, and as her mouth sagged open to speak, another woman blew into the shop.  “Twelve hundred!”  She brandished her credit card like a cross against vampires.

“She was first.”  Eva replied, astonished.

“Then when can I have one made?”  The second insisted.

Eva feebly pointed to a clear area.  “I’ll get your measurements.”  She then looked to the first.  “Give me a few moments and I’ll have you try it on.”

While the women discussed where they would be wearing their outfit to avoid being at the same event, Eva, still foggy from lack of sleep, stepped up into the window and undressed Lynnette.  As she did, she noted the tiny flecks of white paint in the mannequin’s eyes that gave the illusion of a bit of glint, a bit of life.  She wondered how she didn’t notice them before.

Once the women were gone, Eva quickly put together one of her designs and dressed Lynnette in time for the opening.  Local politicians, some freelance reporters, and a handful of movers and shakers showed up to get their picture taken at a ribbon cutting ceremony of a young girl and her new shop full of ambition.

And the dress Lynnette wore sold for two thousand dollars.

The sewing machine clattered like a machine gun as Eva put together another dress, a deep blue formal gown, so Lynnette wasn’t naked.  Sliding it up over Lynnette’s hips, Eva felt the hard plastic press against her as she braced the mannequin to keep it steady.

Zipping it up, Eva brushed her hand against Lynnette’s midriff to smooth out the dress and check the fit.  Satisfied, she patted Lynnette’s butt and dashed out of the store to buy a wig.  When she came back, a woman was outside the shop waiting to buy Lynnette’s dress.

Dress after dress, everything sold on Lynnette.  Even when Eva’s blank mannequins arrived, Lynnette, and her new copper red hair, sold and sold and sold.

One night, as Eva put the final touches on Lynnette’s outfit, a safari one piece with rolled up sleeves and trousers made from sweat-wicking micro-fiber, she leaned in to adjust Eva’s copper wire hair.

Lynnette’s head turned and kissed her.

Soft, warm, wet, Eva was stunned paralyzed, surely dreaming.  She must have fallen asleep at her sewing machine.  She didn’t fight as she felt Lynnette’s arms sweep up and embrace her, and pull her into a wonderful kiss.

Lynnette kissed her again.  As they parted, she flashed mirthful eyes at Eva and winked.  Eva watched her step away and look around in wonder.  She watched Lynnette touching herself, poking her soft, real flesh, cupping her boobs and jiggling them, amazed at the movement.

Shocked, Eva watched her in stunned silence.  She was so beautiful, and… alive!  Sparking to action, Eva decided to go to her and show her around the shop…

She couldn’t move!

Panic seeped into her consciousness as she tried to imagine what was going on.  She felt her skin had become plastic and her body as still as stone.

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Copyrighted 3/2024, all rights reserved. May not be reproduced without author permission.
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