Chapter Text
Majiima shifted in place, unable to mask his discomfort and embarrassment. Standing upright and walking normally would be a feat on its own, given his current condition. Doing those while clad in steep, constricting high heels set the difficulty to impossible. The rest of his getup wasn’t any less reassuring to him - an extremely sexualized maid outfit. His shirtless torso, still bearing cuts and bruises, remained exposed. The only halfway decent thing he’d been afforded was a white medical eyepatch to cover his left eye. Frilly arm warmers, a maid headdress, an all too short miniskirt, and the aforementioned heels were the only clothes he’d been permitted to wear. That, and another strange contraption.
Chains pulled on the hook attached to his collar. Each side of the twin chains were affixed to the underside of a slab of wood, a tray Majima had to hold up himself if he wanted to alleviate the strain on his neck. Not only that, he had to ensure any objects placed on it would stay there. A servant who couldn’t do so much as hold up a tray wouldn’t get anywhere, so Michelle had said.
Majima’s treatment had eased up for a while. He wasn’t sure of how long he’d been allowed to recover but the beatings and violence had mostly ceased for a significant stretch of time. Unfortunately, in its place came something infinitely more dehumanizing: Customer service. He’d been “training” under Queen Michelle’s watchful eye for a while to prime him for tending to the whims of the Madlantis clientele.
Majima’s forced labor wasn’t free from the shameful emasculation he’d come to expect. He just had to be in a humiliating costume. He just had to be an object for the patrons to ogle and mistreat. Through all of it, he couldn’t say or do a thing against it. The only safe space he could protest was within his own mind.
“Ugh, stop letting it slip.” Michelle tersely forced his hands back to the even holding position. “You don’t want to spill anything, do you?”
Majima didn’t answer. What could he even say at this point? He only hung his head, staring into the wood he feebly held.
“Hey, look alive, will you?” Michelle hooked her forefinger and thumb under his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You have to be polite when serving customers. You can’t do that without at least a smile, can you?
Majima’s lips remained in his default frown. “Come on, now,” Michelle encouraged.
Against his own will, Majima did his best to force a convincing smile. His face reddened somehow even more than it already was. Though the smile didn’t reach his eye, it seemed to satisfy Michelle well enough. “I think you’re ready to go out there..~” The woman grinned as she gave Majima’s cheek a reassuring pinch. All Majima could think about was how badly he wished they’d just go back to regular forms of torture for this cruel vacation.
