Dressing Agnes

Madeline entered Agnes’ bedroom carrying a breakfast tray.  It was 7:40 AM on Monday morning.  The sun was well above the horizon, providing enough light in the windows for Madeline to see.  She carefully sat the tray on a mahogany dresser with a gentle clinking of China.  She turned on a Tiffany lamp.

Agnes slept in the middle of her huge canopy bed.  She always slept in the middle.  She was sole mistress of the household after all.  Her antique bed was quite stately with a massive mahogany headboard.  Its ornately spiraled bedposts were draped with linens.

Agnes’ head rested on two thick, puffy pillows.  She lay on her back, covered to her chest in layers of silk sheets.  It was difficult to make out the outline of her slim figure beneath her plush, richly embroidered bedspread.

Madeline could not help but pause for a moment to marvel at her mistress.  Agnes existed with such extraordinary grace that she really was beyond belief sometimes.  Even the most celebrated beauty looked a bit bedraggled first thing in the morning.  Not Agnes.  The woman even slept elegantly.

Her hair cascaded over her pillow in a golden wave.  The most blissful, serene calm found repose on her smooth visage.  Her breath passed silently between her parted lips.  One hand lay on the pillow beside her cheek, her tapered fingers curled to beckon for more pleasant dreams.  Her breasts rose and fell gently in the gleaming folds of her silk nightgown.  She could be modeling for a Pre-Raphaelite painting of Sleeping Beauty.

Madeline switched on a beautifully restored gramophone with a polished brass horn.  She quietly placed a record on the turntable and set the needle on it.  The quiet strings of Dmitri Shostakovich’s Youth from “The Gadfly” gently disturbed the silence of the room.  Agnes loved classical music and this was how she liked to be awakened in the morning.

Agnes stirred and inhaled deeply as Madeline drew the heavy window curtains back to let in more light.  Agnes’ lids fluttered open.  She rolled over and gazed into the sunlight without wincing.  Her sapphire eyes were as bright and clear as ever.  Agnes’ eyes were never bloodshot, even after the latest night of drinking and partying.

“Good morning Miss Charnock,” Madeline said cheerfully.  

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.  It saddens me to interrupt such Elysian dreams,” she sighed.  

“But the sun is shining and I do have a lovely day ahead of me!”  

“Would you care for some tea and breakfast,” Madeline asked.

“Of course,” Agnes answered.

Agnes sat up and stretched.  Madeline fluffed two pillows and propped them behind her back.  As Agnes leaned back and nestled herself comfortably, Madeline brought the breakfast tray to her and carefully placed it over her lap.

Madeline poured Agnes a cup of hot tea, added a dash of milk and four lumps of sugar.  Her Ladyship did have a sweet tooth.  Agnes stirred the tea herself.

“Mmm…  It all smells scrumptious, Madeline!”  Agnes complimented her.

“Thank you, Miss Charnock.  I made everything just the way you like.  I hope you enjoy it,” Madeline smiled.

Agnes’ breakfast consisted of two coddled eggs, a thick slab of bacon, a big juicy mushroom, and three biscuits slathered with clotted cream and strawberry jam.  Each egg was served individually in a lovely porcelain cup with a silver lid that Madeline had already loosened.

Agnes handled her tableware with such decorum that it disguised how greedily she gobbled up her food.  Her eggs were so runny that she had to spoon them out.  Her bacon dripped with grease and her biscuits were overflowing with jam.  She never slurped or dribbled, though, and not a morsel fell from her lips.

Agnes always did have a voracious appetite.  She loved to eat immensely and consumed more food than most men.  There was nothing too rich for her taste.  Puddings, pies, and cakes delighted her.  The woman truly could eat chocolate by the pound.

How Agnes could be so gluttonous and remain so thin was something Madeline would never understand.  Madeline wished she had the same kind of metabolism.  She tried to eat healthy and still struggled not to gain weight.   

As Agnes ate, Madeline prepared a hot bubble bath for her in the master bathroom.  Agnes showered only if there was no other option.  She liked to take baths much better.  More accurately, she preferred to be bathed while enjoying a leisurely soak.   

Agnes’ bathroom was finished in Italian marble, trimmed in gold, and warmly lit.  Bright sunlight shined through the large stained glass window on the east wall this morning.  The Victorian claw tub Madeline filled was original to the house.  There was not a chip in its white enamel and Madeline kept its brass faucets and feet polished to mirror brightness.

Madeline unbuttoned the cuffs of her shirt and rolled them up to her elbows.  She left her white apron on in case of any splashes.  She placed a step stool beside the tub.

The bathwater steadily rose, covered with a thick layer of scented bubbles.  The fragrance of cucumber, jasmine, and honeydew filled the air.  When the tub was about two-thirds full, Madeline turned the water off.   

Madeline stepped back into the bedroom.  Agnes had devoured the huge breakfast completely.  There was hardly any sauce or crumbs left on her dishes.  She placed her empty teacup on its saucer and wiped her lips with her napkin.

“That was delicious.  I am quite finished now, thank you,” she announced.  

She dropped the napkin on her plate and sat with her hands held up.

Acting on cue, Madeline removed the tray and placed it back on the dresser.   

“Your bath is ready Madam,” Madeline said.

Agnes’ luxurious sheets rustled loudly as she rose from her bed.  Without the slightest compunction, she shrugged her shoulders out of her nightgown.  The silk whispered down her curvaceous body to the floor.

It was small wonder that Agnes displayed no shame to be nude.  Her statuesque figure was as perfectly proportioned as ever.  Agnes stood five-feet-nine-inches tall with dimensions of 36C-24-36.  She wore the ideal American dress size 6.  Madeline learned Agnes’ measurements years ago.  They were simple to remember because they never changed.

Agnes still boasted the proud, high bosom of an eighteen-year-old girl.  Her symmetrically round breasts were amazingly plump for her slim figure.  Her nipples stuck straight out from small pink areolas.  No plastic surgeon could do better.  Agnes’ splendid bust was just one of the countless blessings that Mother Nature bestowed upon her.

She had only just enough body fat on her to fill out her fine bone structure with stunning curves.  Her sleek hourglass torso swept in at a supple wasp waist.  Her hips were voluptuous while her bum couldn’t be any firmer.  No dancer ever glided across a ballroom floor on such long, shapely legs.  Her dainty feet barely seemed to touch the ground as she walked.

Agnes stepped in front of her full-length mirror to perform her morning ritual.  At the start of each day, she carefully inspected herself from head to toe, as if obsessed with the need to know that she was still perfect.  A smile of sublime contentment would spread across her lips once she satisfied her conceit.

Women joked about remaining twenty-nine forever as they got older.  This was no wistful fantasy for Agnes.  She literally hadn’t aged a day since the first time Madeline bathed her twenty-five years ago.

Madeline was fifty-eight now and had the wrinkles, sagging boobs, and flabby bum to prove it.  She was still thin and tried to live a healthy lifestyle.  People frequently told Madeline she looked at least ten years younger than she actually was.  She didn’t even come close to looking as well preserved as Agnes did, though.

Madeline always assumed that she and Agnes were of similar age.  She had since begun to think that she must have been mistaken.

Nobody knew how old Agnes was.  Agnes made it known that it was quite improper to ask her age.  She would react with demure indignation if anyone was impertinent enough to inquire.  If pressed on the matter she would glibly answer twenty-eight, but otherwise remained tightlipped.  Those around her simply came to accept that age was irrelevant for her.

Agnes’ passport and driver’s license were of no use in solving the mystery.  Madeline had inspected both many times and the birth date on them changed each year to always show her as twenty-eight years old.  Agnes wielded enough influence among the elite to accomplish this illicit little vanity quite easily.

People who didn’t know Agnes well assumed that her unfading beauty was the product of high-priced cosmetic surgery.  Madeline was certain that was not the case, though.

Agnes was completely terrified of needles.  Getting a shot was one of the few things that actually scared the woman.  She avoided seeing physicians altogether, and she would never willingly allow a surgeon to touch her.  

Madeline herself attributed Agnes’ robust youthfulness simply to extraordinary genetics.  Madeline presumed quite reasonably that Agnes was descended from many, many generations of exquisite, highbred women.  The centuries-old portraits of golden-haired beauties hanging in her manor house would certainly indicate so.  Surely, coming from a superior lineage had to lend her some physical advantages over the average person.  

Whatever the reason, there was definitely something special about Agnes that separated her from all other women in the world.

It sometimes seemed as if Agnes could gaze at herself forever.  She tore herself away from the mirror quicker than usual this morning, though, and flitted into the bathroom ahead of Madeline.  Apparently, she was anxious to start her day.

Agnes stopped in front of the sink.  She smiled hugely at herself in the mirror to look at her perfectly aligned, pearly white teeth.  Madeline dampened the bristles of an ornate, gold-handled toothbrush under the faucet and applied a generous bit of toothpaste onto it.

Agnes took it and quickly brushed her own teeth as Madeline filled a gold cup of water for her.  Agnes swished the water in her mouth and spit neatly into the sink.  She dropped the brush wet with saliva on the counter.  Madeline would rinse it off later.

Madeline piled Agnes’ long hair on top of her head and slipped a bouffant satin shower cap over top of it.  Agnes’ daily habits incorporated much old-fashioned glamour.

Ignoring the stool, Agnes stepped easily into the high-sided tub with lithe, feline grace.  She sank to her shoulders in the steaming water and reclined back against the tub.  With her eyes closed and lips parted, she luxuriated in the warm, foaming bath for several minutes before extending her hand for Madeline to begin.

Madeline had bathed Agnes a thousand times.  The routine was as familiar to her as bathing herself.  She sat down on the stool, lathered a fluffy sea sponge liberally with sweet-smelling body wash, and went to work.

Agnes’ soft skin was satin smooth.  Her spotless ivory coloring was tinged with subtle shades of gold and bloomed rosy pink in the steaming water.

As thin as Agnes was, she was a warm-natured person who never complained of being cold.  Madeline had known her to walk barefoot in snow wrapped only in a leather coat.  That being so, Agnes’ nose, lips, and fingers were often chill to touch.   

The slow, sumptuous notes of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Air on a G String played in the bedroom and seemed quite appropriate as Madeline stroked along Agnes’ lissome arms.  Agnes had the small, delicate hands of a fairy tale princess.  She wore size 6 gloves.  Her wrists and hands were so petite that her tapered fingers still appeared quite long and elegant.

Agnes leaned forward so that Madeline could wash her back and shoulders.  As she straightened, soapsuds streamed through her grand cleavage.  Her breasts jiggled buoyantly as Madeline gently sponged around them.  Her abdominal muscles were not visible on her flat stomach, but Madeline could feel them ripple just under the surface as Agnes flexed at the waist.  Everything on Agnes’ body was as tight as it could be.

Agnes’ round breasts bounced up and down in front of Madeline’s face, impossible to ignore.  Her areolas were pink domes that rose well above the surrounding skin.  They were the diameter of an American fifty-cent piece and there was no slack skin or bumpiness to them at all.

The youthful appearance of Agnes’ breasts was nothing short of miraculous to Madeline, considering that she had to be near fifty.  Madeline’s breasts were quite baggy in comparison.  Of course, her breasts had never been so firm or buxom, even when she was a teenager.

Agnes’ nipples hardened to thimble size and protruded as Madeline passed the sponge over them.  They projected straight out, aimed ever so slightly upwards.  It was a natural reaction to stimulation, but Madeline still felt herself blush modestly.  Agnes never noticed.

“Is it true that this body wash you use is distilled from rose petals in Morocco?” Madeline asked, breaking the silence that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for her.

“Indeed it is,” Agnes answered, opening her eyes.  

“I’ve been to the place in Morocco where it is made.  Would you believe that the workers truly collect the rose petals at dawn?  I watched them do this myself once when the owner of the company invited me to tour his facility.”

Lounging back against the tub again, Agnes extended each of her long legs from the water.  Her thighs were strong and lean.  Her sculpted calves tapered to delicately boned ankles.  No varicose veins bulged and no cellulite ever dimpled on Agnes legs.

In keeping with the rest of her doll-like proportions, Agnes’ feet were relatively small for her height as well.  She wore size 6 shoes.  Her pretty feet were gracefully arched with straight little toes.  Cinderella’s glass slippers would suit them just as well as shiny leather boots.  Her soles were as tender and pink as a baby’s behind.

“What do you wish to do today, Madam?” Madeline asked.  

Agnes hadn’t informed her of any specific plans yet.  Madeline hoped she didn’t have anything too extravagant in mind.

“I want to go for a stroll around the city,” Agnes answered.  

“New York is so lovely in autumn!”

“Shall I accompany you?” Madeline asked, dreading the prospect of a long walk.  

Her feet still hurt from the day before and she was a bit exhausted.  She got up at 5 AM again that morning to have breakfast ready for Agnes. 

“No.  I wish to go by myself,” Agnes said. 

“Are you certain?” Madeline asked, secretly breathing a sigh of relief.

“Yes I am certain.  I wish to be alone with my thoughts and it will be a splendid day to go for a stroll,” Agnes answered.  

Agnes stood so that Madeline could rinse the soap from her with cupfuls of water.  Her glorious figure glistened wetly.  She stepped from the tub.  

Agnes raised her arms and legs as necessary while Madeline dried her off with a big, soft towel.  Madeline gingerly cupped each of Agnes’ breasts with the towel and brushed along her sleek torso.

A small triangular patch of fiery golden hair crowned Agnes’ private parts.  Before she met Agnes, Madeline never knew that pubic hair could match the hair on a woman’s head except in the rare case of redheads.  Agnes’ curly bush blazed like a yellow flame, though.  Its color was undeniably natural and was the most intimate expression of her blossoming spring coloration.  Madeline quickly patted it dry.

Apart from the hair atop her head, this was the only other hair on Agnes’ body.  Agnes never needed to shave.  Madeline knew this from years past because she would have been the person to do it.  There was not a single hair under Agnes’ arms.  Her limbs were bald as well.  She was as smooth as a marble statue.  Madeline always figured there must be a medical reason for this and mused that she would be happy to suffer from such a condition.

Similarly, Madeline had never seen Agnes sweat.  Her forehead and bosom might glisten after an evening of vigorous dancing, but nothing more.  If she developed any body odor at all, it was a unique musky amber fragrance was actually quite pleasant to smell.  Agnes only bothered to put on an antiperspirant if she desired the scent of it.     

Agnes truly embodied sensual delight.  Madeline knew that Agnes had no appreciation of all the physical blessings she enjoyed.  Agnes simply took her health and beauty for granted.  She had never known anything else.    

Madeline belted a satin dressing robe around her before Agnes seated herself in front of her vanity.  Agnes’ gaze fixed happily on her own reflection as Madeline tended to her.

Agnes required minimal cosmetics.  She had no blemishes or wrinkles to conceal.  She was quite proud of her delicate porcelain complexion and carefully maintained it by avoiding too much sun exposure.  The fresh creamy radiance of her skin naturally defined her high cheekbones and feminine jaw line.

At Agnes instruction, Madeline brushed mascara onto her long, thick eyelashes and applied glossy red lipstick to her plump, rosy lips.  Agnes usually preferred classic red lipstick above all other colors.  Her lipstick today was a bold primary red that matched the polish on her perfectly manicured fingernails and toenails.

Madeline removed the shower cap from Agnes’ head.  Her hair fell in a wave over her shoulders.  Extraordinary in every way, Agnes had the thickest head of hair that Madeline had ever seen as well.  If her hair was parted, one still had to spread the two halves and search to find the white line of her scalp. As thick as it was, Agnes’ hair was also as smooth and lustrous as silk.  

According to Agnes' request, Madeline coiled her hair close to her head in tight French braids.

Agnes chose a pair of pearl earrings from her jewelry box.  She also picked out a pearl necklace featuring a shell cameo.  The oval pendant was carved with the image of a beautiful woman.  Madeline’s experienced eye recognized that the necklace dated from the Victorian era.  It was definitely not a replica.  Agnes had a large collection of antique jewelry.

The cameo bore a striking resemblance to Agnes herself.  Madeline recalled noticing this before.  If it weren’t clearly a vintage antique, she would swear it had to be a portrait of Agnes.  

“The woman on this cameo looks just like you Agnes!” Madeline commented as she clasped the necklace around Agnes’ slender neck.

“Indeed,” Agnes acknowledged, brushing her fingers lightly over the pendant.

“She would have to be your great-great-grandmother, though, as old as this necklace is,” Madeline continued.

“I imagine so,” Agnes replied.  

She smiled in her knowing, self-satisfied way and commented no further.

During her time working at Agnes’ house years ago, Madeline noticed that several of the grand portraits there bore a strong likeness to Agnes as well.  One spectacular eighteenth century portrait in particular looked like Agnes herself could have modeled for it.  Agnes seemed to take much pleasure if anyone noticed the phenomenon.

“Beauty is such a marvelous inheritance because it never loses its worth!” Agnes would laugh.  

Then she would launch into a quaint story about her ancestor.  Apparently, she took much pride in her family history because her accounts were often quite detailed.

Agnes rose and slid out of the robe.  Her French designer bra and panties were made of pure silk, as were the sheer black stockings that Madeline pulled up to the tops of her firm thighs.  Nothing but silk would do for Agnes’ undergarments.

Madeline laid out the clothes Agnes wanted to wear the night before.  Her outfit consisted of a classic white shirt, a long black leather skirt, and tall black leather boots.

A button-front blouse was a wardrobe essential for Agnes.  She was a woman who could afford the most extravagant designer fashions and yet it was unusual to see her wearing any other kind of top.  From starched Oxford shirts to luxurious satin blouses, the formality of the buttoned-up look always appealed to her taste in clothing.

For today, she picked a pristine white blouse made of pure cotton poplin.  According to the tag, it was Egyptian cotton.  The silky smooth fabric crinkled and crackled like it had just been pressed as Madeline slipped it onto Agnes.

“Do you want to wear your necklace inside your blouse?” Madeline asked.  

“Nobody will be able to see it.”

“Button me up properly and leave the necklace be,” Agnes answered.  

“It will be my private bit of vanity for today.”

Madeline nimbly worked her way down seven Mother-of-pearl buttons, leaving only the collar open.  She closed the shirtsleeves that were adorned with three-button cuffs and two-button plackets.

The tailored blouse cut a crisp silhouette on Agnes, creasing sharply about her prominent bosom and flattering her hourglass figure.  Its broad collar hovered stiffly around her neck.  Its buttons glistened like points of light down the front of her.

Agnes’ calf-length skirt was made of glossy, top grain lambskin that was supple as glove leather and lined in satin.  It buttoned twice at the waistband and all the way down the front as well.  It was an A-line and flared with such a full cut that it needed no back slit for walking.  It was quite roomy and practical with side seam pockets.  It swirled and rustled dramatically as Agnes stepped away.

Agnes seated herself on her vanity chair once more and stuck her feet out one at a time.  Madeline zipped a pair of shiny black leather boots up to Agnes’ knees.  The designer boots were very stylish with leather soles and three-inch heels.

Agnes’ boots today were rather practical by her standards with rounded toes and wide, stacked heels.  The leather was creased across the top of the foot and the soles showed evidence of previous wear.  Evidently, these were good walking boots for Agnes.  Madeline had never known a woman who was more comfortable and agile in heels.  She had no doubt that Agnes could run in them all day.  Madeline’s feet would be killing her before noon.

Agnes stood and smoothed her blouse and leather skirt with her hands.  Her look was simple, classy, and feminine.  She admired herself for a moment in her mirror again.

“Splendid!” she said smiling at her pretty reflection.

Hands splayed outward, she sashayed out of the room and glided down the staircase.  Madeline followed behind.  Agnes’ blouse and skirt rustled loudly on her.  Her heels knocked on the hardwood floor as she crossed the hallway.

Agnes found her purse in the front parlor and began searching through it.  

“I’m not taking a purse with me today.  I don’t wish to be troubled with one,” she explained aloud.  

She instructed Madeline to fetch a pair of gloves for her as she withdrew a few necessary items and slipped them into her skirt pockets.

“Which ones Madam?” Madeline asked since there were several to choose from.

”Oh, the black four-button length ones,” Agnes replied.

Madeline went to the antique mahogany console in the foyer and found the gloves in the top drawer.  They closed by four buttons along the back and were made of glossy, butter-soft lambskin lined with cashmere.

Agnes thrust her hands into the gloves as Madeline held them open for her.  The leather encased her fingers like a second skin.  Carefully tucking Agnes’ blouse cuffs inside, Madeline fastened each glove shut around her wrists.  The gloves extended halfway up her forearms.  Agnes didn’t like to get cold drafts up her coat sleeves.

It was not unusual for Agnes to wear long gloves.  How she functioned in them was beyond Madeline, though.  Madeline had to take her own gloves off to do almost anything apart from gripping a steering wheel or opening a door.  Long gloves were nearly impossible to take off and put back on while still wearing a coat, so it would be a waste of time for Madeline to even wear them.

Gloves posed no difficulty to Agnes, though.  It was highly likely that she would not remove them the entire time she was out.  Madeline had never met anyone with greater manual dexterity in gloves than Agnes.  She could do practically anything in them.  She could manipulate jewelry, flip through glossy magazine pages, and probably even thread a sewing needle in leather gloves.  The woman’s sense of touch had to be superhuman.  

Agnes handed a gleaming silver watch to Madeline and held out her left wrist.  Madeline clasped the slender watchband on the outside of the leather glove, as Agnes wanted.

“Which coat do you wish to wear today Madam?”  Madeline asked.  

It was superfluous to ask if Agnes wanted to wear a leather coat.  It was merely a question of which one.

“My single-breaster.  The one with the notched lapels,” Agnes said stepping over to her parlor window with her hands clasped in front of her hips.  

Her hair glowed like gold fire and her blouse blazed blinding white in the sunlight.  Her shapely bum gleamed in her leather skirt as she leaned forward to look out the bay window.

She clapped her gloved hands and bounced on her heels.  She was just going for a walk and yet she seemed to be near bursting with excitement.  Madeline wished she could tap into just an ounce of the perky energy that constantly bubbled inside Agnes.

 

Madeline returned to the foyer.  The smell of leather perfumed the air as Madeline opened the coat closet.  Spreading the garments apart and withdrawing the coat Agnes’ wanted produced a symphony of creaking.  The leather coat peeled away from the one behind it with a sticky rustling before flowing out with a dramatic swish.

There actually were two long wool coats, a classic beige trench coat, and a slick, black mac in the closet as well.  It was rare that Agnes ever wore them, though.  European through and through, Agnes thought little of wearing a leather coat in the pouring rain.  The anxiety wearing leather in the rain caused Americans puzzled her.

Madeline stopped for a moment to admire Agnes’ coat.  The brilliant way it shined in the morning sunlight caught her attention.  Madeline wondered if she had seen it before because it didn’t look familiar.  Agnes owned so many leather coats, though, that it was difficult to remember the exact details of each one.  This coat was truly a masterpiece, even among Agnes’ exclusive wardrobe.

The leather was cool, buttery pleasure to touch.  Fifty-six-inches of the smoothest grain lambskin ran over Madeline’s hands with liquid suppleness.  The vastness of all the leather gave the coat a palpable weight to match its quality.  The leather was so well broken in that it melted in her grasp.  Her fingers sank into the heavenly softness, eliciting a low, continuous creaking similar to the purring of a petted cat.

The coat obviously wasn’t new.  Long wear had burnished the black lambskin with a unique, incomparable aura.  It gleamed with the lustrous patina that the finest leather assumes with age.  Friction had weathered the cuffs, buttonholes, and the inside of the collar to a waxy, charcoal finish.

Pliable as it was, the empty leather retained imprints of Agnes’ figure where it stretched over her breasts and hips.  The sleeves were bowed forward slightly with shallow creases embedded in the grain of the leather below the bends of her elbows.

Being short, Madeline had some difficulty keeping the long, heavy coat from dragging the ground while holding it up by the hanger.  It was practically as tall as she was!  If the weight of it partially settled on the floor, the leather naturally assumed a vague silhouette of Agnes’ shape.  The way a leather coat conformed to its owner only magnified the extreme sensuality of it in Madeline’s opinion.

Agnes designed the coat herself no doubt.  The extreme length and vintage styling of it were precisely to her taste.  In particular, the collar and lapels were a bit wide.  Similar to coats from the 1970s, the rear vent was set within a deep gusseted pleat and closed with four buttons.

Agnes did like buttons.  The coat glittered with more buttons than a Burberry trench.  The collar buttoned down at the back of the neck.  A button detailed both corners and the center of the back yoke.  An adjustable back belt buttoned to each side of the waist.  Both ends of the diagonal slash pockets were finished with a button.  The turn-back cuffs fastened down with four buttons.

Madeline didn’t bother to count the buttons on the front placket.  All of the coat buttons were made of thick, highly polished black horn with a flat face and a raised round rim.  They dangled on heavy threads and were secured to tabs inside.  The top two buttons were fastened to maintain the coat’s shape while it hung in the closet.  Madeline undid them and removed the hanger.

She was right!  The coat was indeed custom made for Agnes.  A rectangular leather label inside the collar was embroidered in gold thread with three letters.

A C C

Not a brand name, they were the initials of Agnes Claire Charnock monogrammed by her personal leather tailor onto her one-of-a-kind coat.  Madeline wouldn’t be surprised if Agnes handpicked each piece of lambskin used for the coat herself.  

The interior of the coat shimmered with gold satin, woven from genuine silk of course.  A button-in lining of quilted cashmere wool provided the coat with sumptuous warmth without adding bulk.  It was the finishing touch to the most deluxe coat Madeline had ever seen.

Perhaps Agnes was excited simply because she was going to spend the day wrapped inside the spectacular coat!  Madeline would certainly be thrilled if she could wear it.  She imagined that it must be sheer luxury!  A woman could be quite content to venture outdoors any day in a coat like this, and she knew that was exactly what Agnes did.

“It’s such a beautiful day, Madeline!  I don’t want to miss another moment of it!  Stop dilly-dallying and button me up in my coat so I can be on my way!” Agnes exclaimed with cheerful impatience from the parlor.

“Pardon me, Miss Charnock,” Madeline apologized as she hurried into the room and presented the coat to her.  

“I was just admiring this coat.  It’s fabulous.  How long have you had it?”

“Twelve years I believe,” Agnes said extending her arms backwards, fingers splayed.  

Madeline held the coat open and drew it onto her.  Agnes’ arms hissed into the satin lined sleeves.  Madeline helped settle the coat evenly on her shoulders, brushing it smooth along her back.  She tugged the cuffs down.  The creaking of leather mingled in harmony with the sharp rustling of Agnes’ blouse.

“It seems like only yesterday that Gaston finished this coat for me,” Agnes continued as she turned to face Madeline.  

“I commissioned him to tailor this design for me in 1995.  I wanted a stylish new coat with all of my favorite details from the 1970s.  He did such a splendid job!”

Madeline arranged the collar of Agnes’ blouse neatly around her neck.  Agnes plucked it even higher around her throat for an ultra-posh look.  The fluid, crinkling white fabric complemented the rippling, liquid leather seamlessly.  Madeline pulled the coat closed about Agnes.  It covered her to the ankles.   

“It certainly wears well.  I would daresay that it probably looks better now than when it was new,” Madeline said as she quickly fastened the multiplicity of buttons from Agnes’ knees to her throat.  

Each button popped easily through its hole and settled into place with a snug creak.  The rippling grain of the leather seemed to encircle and grip at the familiar buttons.   

“Indeed.  It wears better with time, as any well-tanned leather should,” Agnes agreed.  

“This coat is at its best right now.  The leather is seasoned to a perfect feel and finish.  It moves and breaths on me like a second skin.”  

“It must feel positively decadent!” Madeline exclaimed.

“Like having warm melted chocolate running over my body.  Simply splendid!” Agnes said smiling contently.  

She ran her fingers up the button placket as if to verify that she was completely sealed, and then slid her hands down over her gleaming curves.  Her gloved fingertips swished over the slick lambskin, tracing shiny white streaks behind them.   

Containing Agnes’ vibrant energy caused the leather to creak continuously.  It was a low, sensual purring that would be nearly imperceptible outdoors or in a crowd.  In the quiet room, though, it murmured as steadily as her pulse.  Agnes would have to stand completely still and hold her breath to silence the leather completely.

Agnes was the very icon of a lady in a leather coat.   

Agnes stood six feet tall in her boots.  She clearly relished her lofty stature.  She never hesitated to hold her chin high and thrust her grand bosom forward proudly.  Madeline had no doubt that Agnes took some pleasure in looking down at people.  Agnes was a supreme woman and she knew it.   

“Are you certain you want to go out alone, Agnes?” Madeline felt obligated to ask on last time.

“I will have it no other way,” Agnes answered firmly.

“The streets of New York aren’t the safest place for an attractive woman to walk alone.  Just last month a woman was raped in Central Park during the daytime!” Madeline cautioned.  

“Oh Madeline!  You are a dear!  You worry about me too much!” Agnes laughed, patting her on the shoulder.  

“Rest assured I am quite safe.  My leather coat will see me safely through any adventure,” Agnes said in her carefree way.  

She was always fearless.

Madeline produced a cell phone with a black leather casing from her pocket and offered it to Agnes.

“Madeline!  You know that I never carry one of those silly things.  I don’t even know how to use it,” Agnes sighed.

“Please take it with you Miss Charnock, for my sake.

“Oh very well!” Agnes sighed.  

Madeline placed the phone in her hand and she slipped it into her coat pocket.

“Now fetch my hat and scarf so that I may go!” Agnes exclaimed.