A Party To Remember

By Miss Vicky

The phone rang and I picked it up. I nearly dropped it again as a voice that I had never expected to hear again boomed out: "Hello Vicky, it's Clara. How are you?"

Clara had not spoken to me since a series of actions on my part had cost her her boyfriend and a huge sum of money. Really, it wasn't malice on my part - I was just doing my job. Anyway, she was so wealthy that she'd hardly miss the money, and I thought that she'd be better off without that boyfriend. Still, she had been awfully angry with me at the time, and I'd always thought that she was the sort of person to hold a grudge forever.

I stammered something in reply, and after a few pleasantries she explained that she was having a cocktail party that evening at her house, and she was terribly sorry but she'd only just remembered that I ought to be invited. I assumed that she'd torn my name out of her address book and hadn't restored it when she calmed down.

My first reaction was relief that Clara had forgiven me - and surprise. But I didn't say that to her. I was anxious to attend, because I was sure that there would be loads of good business contacts, but I had nothing to wear and could scarcely get anything at such short notice.

"Clara, really I'm most truly grateful," I began. "I'd love to come, but it's no cliche to say that I don't have anything to wear."

Clara's voice boomed back at me. "Don't you worry about that, Vicky, I've got loads of stuff here that I'm sure will fit you perfectly. Just come round early and we'll get you all fitted out." Put like that, I could scarcely refuse.

My car was being serviced, so I went round by bus. No doubt the party would go on so late that I'd need a taxi home. Clara had a very substantial house with large gardens. I felt slightly intimidated as I rang the doorbell next to the big double front door. The door was opened by a maid, but Clara was right behind her. "So good to see you Vicky," she said, giving me a bear hug that forced all the breath out of me. Grabbing my arm, she marched me up the sweeping stairs and into a bedroom. I felt more like a prisoner being escorted than an honoured guest.

The bedroom was pretty spacious, with a double bed and lots of other furniture, including two armchairs. There was another door; it was ajar, and I could see a bathroom next door.

"Go and take a bath, then put these on," Clara said, waving at a pile of clothes on the bed. I had showered before I came, but Clara insisted. It was a very pleasant experience to use that magnificent bathroom with its marble tiles and thickly carpeted floor, and Clara had the softest towels I had ever used.

Emerging from the bathroom, I saw that my own clothes and handbag had disappeared. "Oh, they're quite safe; the maid's tidied them away," laughed Clara. I turned my attention to my new clothes.

Everything was black. I put on the strapless bra, which did a very good job of enhancing my cleavage. There was a suspender belt, and seamed stockings. Clara helped me to ensure that the seams were straight. The shoes were so shiny that I could see my face in them. They had very high stiletto heels and ankle straps. Clara helped me to tighten the buckles. I stood uneasily in those shoes. I often wore high heels, but was not used to such high ones. Anyway, the shoes were too tight, and quite painful to walk in. However, it seemed ungracious to complain to Clara about them, and I wasn't expecting to leave the house in them.

Clara helped me to put a tube dress over my head. It was made of extremely stretchy material, and once on, it clung to my every curve. Though I say so myself, I do have plenty of them, and they were all very clearly visible. Clara adjusted the top so that it covered my bra but left my enhanced cleavage prominently on display. Looking in the mirror, I saw that the dress was only just long enough to cover my stocking tops. When I tried to pull the hem down a little lower, my breasts popped out and I hastily pulled up the dress again. Well, my legs might be very prominently on display but I had no reason to try and hide them - they looked magnificent in those lovely sheer stockings - and maybe it would help me to gain favour with some of the people I'd like to talk to.

The only things remaining on the bed were a pair of black leather gloves. They had separate compartments for my thumbs, but not for the other fingers. I pulled them on, and they came up to my armpits. Clara had to help me to do up the buttons at the wrists. The gloves were very tight, and I doubted that I could remove them unaided, especially as they made my fingers so stiff that I could hardly move them.

Clara did my make-up, as I could scarcely do it myself with those gloves on. She was very good at it, and I was extremely pleased at how glamorous she made me look.

Much to my surprise, there was no jewellery, but I did not feel that I could ask Clara for any. Still, looking at myself in the mirror, I decided that I looked good enough without any.

Somehow, Clara had managed to get herself ready while she was helping me. She looked very elegant in a floor-length gown and make-up every bit as glamorous as mine.

We were ready just in time. As I was admiring myself, the maid came in to say that the guests had started to arrive.

Clara escorted me downstairs. Just before we entered the room where several people were already milling, I said to her nervously, "Clara, are you sure that my dress won't ride up and expose my knickers?"

"Let's have a look," said Clara. She fiddled with my hem and my gloves. I was shocked to realise that she had joined the wrists of my gloves to the hem of my dress with safety pins.

"Clara, what have you done? If I raise my hands, my dress will go up and my knickers will be exposed!"

Clara laughed. "Better keep your hands exactly where they are then, Vicky. But you don't have to worry about people seeing your knickers. You aren't wearing any, are you?"

I was shocked to realise that I wasn't. I turned to run upstairs again, when someone I particularly wanted to talk to caught sight of me and came over. I was trapped.

The party was a nightmare. It lasted a couple of hours, but it seemed vastly longer. I couldn't think what I was saying, being too concerned about what I was and wasn't wearing, and though I met everyone I wanted to, I must have made completely the wrong impression. Nor could I eat or drink anything with my hands literally pinned to my sides. It wasn't safe to sit down, either, and my feet were soon killing me. Clara wouldn't let me leave the room, and it would have been far too embarrassing to make a fuss.

Finally, the party was over. Everyone had gone except two brothers, George and Bill. "The brothers will take you home, Vicky," said Clara. I really didn't like them; they had both often propositioned me to have sex, and I had grown tired of rebuffing them. I could do without their company even for the journey home, However, I tried to seem grateful.

"Right, I'll just nip up and change," I said.

"Oh no, they've got to leave now. Don't worry; I'll bring over your things tomorrow, all nicely laundered" said Clara.

I wasn't terribly keen to go anywhere dressed as I was, but Clara and the brothers bundled me out of the back of the house and into the front seat of their car. I wondered why they had parked at the back and not the front. Bill got in the rear while George did up my seat belt.

"Aren't you going to remove these wretched safety pins ..." I started to say to Clara, but George suddenly pressed something against my mouth. My head was forced back against the headrest as he pressed what seemed to be an enormous rubber pear into my mouth. I was helpless to stop him forcing it farther and farther in. It pushed my mouth wider and wider open. Just when I thought that my jaw would dislocate, my teeth snapped shut over its end. It was well and truly wedged in and would be nearly impossible for me to take out. Never had my mouth felt so crammed full. There was a wide leather strap attached to the rubber pear. George pulled my head forward and buckled it tightly round my head; it covered my cheeks.

While this was happening, Bill had wrapped a wide belt round me and the seat back and fastened it tightly, holding me firmly in place in the seat.

I looked round for Clara to help, but she had disappeared.

"Clara realised that if we took you back to your flat, you wouldn't be able to get in because she's got all your keys," explained Bill, who had moved to the driver's seat. "So she asked us to take you home with us." I tried to protest, but the gag silenced me completely. I tried to struggle, but it was futile. I kicked my legs wildly, but George and Bill just grabbed an ankle each and forced them down, securing them to a pair of handcuffs attached to the rail under the seat. I was now utterly helpless. Then Bill slipped a padded leather blindfold over my eyes and all went dark.

I heard George get in behind me. The car started off, with me their totally helpless prisoner - completely immobilised, gagged and blindfolded. It was dark by then, and the car had tinted windows, so nobody could have seen that the front seat passenger was gagged and blindfolded.

After a while, the car slowed down and I heard the scrunch of gravel beneath the tyres. We must have reached their house. I knew that it, like Clara's, was detached in its own large grounds. We stopped, and I heard the creaking sound of a garage door opening. We drove into the garage.

George got out and I heard him open my door. I felt him touching my ankles, and heard the rattle of a chain. He had put fetters on my ankles. The brothers removed the handcuffs holding my ankles to the seat rail, then undid the belt holding me to the seat back and helped me out of the car.

I frantically lifted my hands to try to remove my gag and blindfold. This lifted my dress, completely exposing my lack of knickers. "Great stuff," roared George. "That's what we like to see!"

It was a futile gesture on my part. The brothers grabbed my arms, twisted them behind my back and handcuffed them. They undid the safety pins and removed my dress and bra. Bound, gagged and blindfolded, I could do nothing to resist them. I stood in the garage completely naked except for my gloves, stockings, suspenders and high heels.

Each brother grabbed one of my arms, and they forced me to walk along with them. It was difficult walking in leg fetters, and those wretchedly uncomfortable shoes did not help, but the brothers gripped me firmly and made me walk as fast as I could.

"You should be grateful to us, Vicky," said George. "We're going to give you the chance to make up for all times you've been nasty to us." If that meant the times I'd rejected their attempts to proposition me, I didn't like the sound of it. I tried to escape, but there was no chance.

"Step up Vicky," said Bill. I felt carpet under my feet; we were in their house.

Eventually, we stopped. Without warning, I felt my elbows being pressed together and ropes being wound round them. This put a strain on my shoulders. It was quite a struggle for them, but eventually they got my elbows to touch, and they held them together with tight ropes. For good measure, they bound my wrists too, but left the handcuffs. I felt them fasten something tightly round my neck, maybe a dog collar.

They pushed me forward a few steps, and I felt my chest touch something. "It's the back of a wooden garden bench," said Bill helpfully. Someone grabbed the back of my neck and bent me forwards. I felt a tug on my collar. They must have fixed a rope from my collar to the front of the bench, to keep me bent over. They removed my leg manacles, but bound my ankles to the bottom of the bench. My legs were held wider apart than I would have thought possible, and the strain on the inside of my thighs was acute.

Suddenly, I screamed into my gag as a terrible pain shot through my left nipple. So effective was that awful gag that barely a whimper emerged. "That's a crocodile clip," said Bill, as if explaining something to a toddler. An equally great pain went through my right nipple. The pain grew worse. "We've just put some weights on the clips," said Bill in the same tone. "Don't make any sudden moves, or the weights will swing and be more painful."

I found out the truth of his words moments later. A sudden swishing sound was followed by a streak of fire across my bare bottom. I had been caned! I leapt as much as my bonds would allow, and indeed the pain im my nipples grew worse, bad enough to distract me from the pain in my bottom.

Five more searing strokes followed, and I did my utmost to stay still. "Six of the best," said George in a tone of smug satisfaction. I started to relax, and was completely taken off guard by the next stroke. Bill was giving me six as well.

As the searing pain started to die away, a new agony started. I felt something press against my bottom; it started to penetrate me. They were inserting a butt plug! I was in no position to resist, tied as I was with my legs spread wide. More and more the plug went into me, until I felt that I would be split asunder. Suddenly, I felt my sphincter close round the narrow end. The whole of that monstrous object was inside me and would not come out in a hurry.

The torment continued. I felt ropes going round the base of my breasts and being pulled tight. The ends of the ropes went behind me and were fixed to my elbow bonds. "Breast bondage," explained Bill in his 'you're a toddler' tone. It help to ensure that the elbow ropes don't come off. It makes your breasts really bulge. And it makes your nipples more sensitive, so you'll appreciate the crocodile clips more." That was all I needed!

Finally, the brothers undid the ropes holding me to the bench. But I was to get no relief from the bondage. They tied my ankles tightly together, the ropes biting into my legs through the thin stockings. Lying me on my back, they ran a rope through the front of my collar and the ankle bonds. With a combination of pulling on the rope and pressure on my legs, they forced my knees up until the front of my thighs pressed against my swollen breasts and the back pressed against the back of my legs. They turned me on my front and ran the free end of the rope through my crotch, tying it off to my wrist bonds. Then more ropes went round my bound arms and legs, squeezing me into a really tight ball and increasing the pressure on my breasts.

As a finishing touch, they put a rope round my thumbs and the stiletto heels of my shoes, forcing my feet into an en pointe position like a ballerina.

There was nothing at all that I could do to ease my contorted position. I was tied into utter immobility. I could not reach any of the knots, and anyway with those wretched gloves I probably couldn't have undone them.

"Don't worry, Vicky" soothed Bill. You won't be sleeping with us tonight." My relief on hearing that was short-lived. "We'll leave you overnight and see you in the morning, after breakfast," he continued. "Of course, you won't be able to see us."

It was not a comfortable night.


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