The Fan Club free porn video

THE FAN CLUB by C.C. My name is Arnold Stanton, but most people know me as "c.c.", the author of a series of Transvestite stories for various internet sites. Over the years, I have turned out all sorts of stories, mostly with an S/M slant, although I'm not really into that myself. Oh, I like Dressing Up -- in fact, I'm a fairly accomplished TV myself -- and I do go in for a bit of self-bondage from time to time, but in general, I'm just too used to having things my own way to really get, into the "slave" scene, so I keep those ideas mostly just for my stories. I don't make a lot of money writing them, but since I have a comfortable private income from a Trust Fund, and no family to support, I manage just fine. Also over the years, I have corresponded with quite a few people whose ideas have appeared in my stories. As a writer, there's nothing I like better than getting new perspectives from an intelligent reader, finding out what he thinks of my stories, and picking up new bits of information on bondage techniques, feminization processes, and what-have-you. It was one of these readers who started off the events that were to... well, let me tell you about it. Richard Raymond lived in an affluent suburb of Dallas and had been writing me for many years. In fact, many of his letters had served as the basis for some of the best episodes in my stories, as he had an enormous knowledge of Bondage Techniques and an extensive library of older TV material, those charming old booklets and paperbacks written by authors like Mayo and Astin, illustrated by Stanton or Eneg. I really love that old stuff and pick it up whenever I come across any in old bookstores or... but I'm getting off the subject. Well, Richard had been bugging me for years to come visit him in Dallas, but I've always been quite comfortable here in The Big Apple, and besides, there was something in Richard's letters that always made me a little uneasy: When most people send me a fantasy, it's full of humiliating incidents happening to someone named "me" or "I"; But Richard always called his central character "he" or even "you"! Now this might sound like a small thing, but to a careful reader like myself, it indicated that perhaps Richard was more interested in Dominating than in Being Dominated: he was possibly that rare type of person who delights in seeing someone else get trapped and embarrassed in female attire and bondage, and this made me a little bit leery of actually meeting him, although I always enjoyed his letters quite a lot. Some people get the mistaken impression that just because I write about Transvestite Slaves I'd like to be one myself. Actually, nothing could be further from the truth, and I didn't want to give Richard the opportunity to act on such a misapprehension. So I politely discouraged all his invitations until the day he called to tell me that he had discovered a huge cache of older Bondage and TV books in a kinky boutique in Dallas! The owner, he explained, was a big fan of mine and had agreed to hold them all for a few weeks if I could come down and look them over. As Richard described some of the items over the phone to me, I felt myself tremble with that anticipation that only the True Collector can appreciate: There were (he said) several issues of John Willie's BIZARRE; a complete run of the old BOUND magazine, illustrated by Stanton and Eneg (including their unique collaboration cover) as well as other Satellite and Nutrix publications; there were some of the old First Niter paperbacks with those wonderful covers, as well as other paperbacks with titles like NIGHTLAND SPELL, THE SLAVE COMPULSION, SADIST IN SATIN, YOU FETISHIST.... The more Richard talked, the more hooked I became, and by the time he hung up, I had made a definite commitment to meet him in Dallas the next week on a two-or-three-day visit. The next few days were filled with preparations, airline and Hotel reservations, and arrangements with my bank to provide me with ready access to as much of my cash as I needed. Since my trust fund is paid directly into my checking account each month, it was fairly easy, but as I boarded the jet to Dallas, it was nice to know that I could get my hands on as much of my money as I'd ever need, and that I could afford to live in Style for as long as I wanted to stay there. I got into my Hotel late on a Sunday night, called Richard, and arranged for him to pick me up in the lobby the next morning. He was quite excited to hear from me, and wanted me to come straight over to his place for a visit, but I pleaded Jet-lag from the long journey. He was also somewhat put out when I told him I wouldn't be staying with him, but gently insisted that I would be more comfortable in this Hotel, and after awhile he got the hint and said Goodnight. As I prepared for bed that evening, I paused for a moment in front of the full-length bathroom mirror, admiring my own narrow waist and shapely legs. I tentatively cupped my hands under my slightly flabby, hairless chest (like many TVs, I shave my legs, arms, in fact all my body hair except for a triangular patch between my legs) and lifted, wondering for the umpteenth time how I'd look with breasts. But that, as I well knew, was strictly for Fantasy, and I've been a writer too long to confuse any idle day-dream with something I'd actually want; imagine the inconvenience of actually having breasts! It'd make it damned hard for me to get around anywhere that I might be recognized! With a shrug, I slipped into my silken oriental pajamas and went to bed. It was about Ten the next morning when Richard showed up in the Lobby and took me out to his car. We were both quite excited as he drove me to the boutique, Richard at actually meeting me for the first time and me at the chance to look over all these treasures. It seemed we chattered like schoolgirls about our favorite writers, artists, films, and everything else until he finally pulled up outside a small shop. It was one of those parts of town that has been allowed to go to seed, then gotten "discovered" and refurbished by the Artists and Bohemian crowd, and finally drastically renovated by a tourist-minded Chamber of Commerce. All up and down the street there were new parking lots where buildings once stood, and newly-cleaned tenements with brand-new skylights, balconies and terraces built onto them. There were the rows of overpriced Art Galleries and Gift Shops, and plenty of the upscale collections of rubbish that pass for Antique Stores. And amidst all this, there was a place called GRANT'S CARNIVALE. Richard ushered me inside, and I looked about at the array of loud dresses, scandalous underwear, wigs, makeup and leather gear that seem to fill every TV boutique everywhere. There were the Maid's outfits, the Cheerleader costumes, the Harem Girl collection.., the high heels, stockings, chains and leather hoods... I mentally compared it to similar places in New York and felt at home almost at once! "Oh, hello Richard!" A tall, attractive looking woman came walking up from the back of the shop, and I knew at once that she must be a transvestite -- and a damn good one! Despite her height, she managed to look very dainty, almost petite, with a quietly stylish mid-calf-length dress, flesh-tone pantyhose, very elegant sandals with just a hint of Heel on them, and a couple of large rings (large but not flashy, that is) to hide the size of her hands. In contrast to most TVs, who try to look outlandishly feminine and thus call attention to their deficiencies, she looked naturally, quietly -- and convincingly -- female! This, I might add, was in distinct contrast to Richard, who was one of those unfortunates who just can't help looking completely male. Although somewhat short, and not overly stocky, he simply had that masculine cast to his face, neck, legs and shoulders that nothing will ever erase. You could pile him in lace and paint his face an inch thick, and he'd still look just like a man in drag. "Hi, Grant," Richard was saying, "I know you're surprised to see me on a weekday, but I took a little time off from the lab to introduce you to one of my friends: Meet 'c.c.'!" Grant's mascaraed eyes widened, and her gently-rouged face lit up with pleasure. "Not THE 'c.c.'!" she exclaimed. "'Fraid so," I said sheepishly. I'm always a bit shy and withdrawn around my readers. "Uhm, Richard said you have a very nice -er- collection..." "I have everything you could want," she gushed, "Oh, I'm just the biggest fan of yours! A bunch of us around here have a sort of informal club, and we often discuss your stories! Oh, they'll be so thrilled to meet you!" "Well actually," I said, "I'm not sure how long I'll be in town. I pretty much just wanted to see.." "Oh, but I've got just the most devilish items to show you!" She insisted, "Take a look at this rubber full-torso foundation suit with the breast-and bottom cut-outs, the adjustable face-mask, collar and elbow restraints! Can't you imagine how one of your characters would feel in this? I designed it myself!" "Very nice," I said politely, 'But actually, Richard said something about some books..." "Oh!" she seemed to use that sound a lot, perhaps because she knew it gave an extra-feminine shape to her mouth, "Yes! the books! You know I found those things in here when I rented this place! It used to be a newsstand or something and there were just stacks of the most risqu? publications you could imagine! Most of it was just the "Girlie" magazine variety, of course, but there were quite a few that were rather more interesting! They're back in the back here...." The next three hours flew by in a dizzying whirl of unpacking and repacking old boxes, sorting and stacking paperbacks, magazines and booklets, and even rearranging a series of illustrated loose pages! But at the end of that time, hands grimy with dirt and old ink, I had picked out a small but impressive collection of items I had been seeking for years. There was HAMPERED HERCULES, parts One and Two, with the original color covers; SEX SWITCH, an intriguing cartoon story by Stanton; REDHEADS ARE TROUBLE, an elusive old title by Dallas Mayo, that prolific author of so many of the old Midwood books; two interesting titles by "Astin" that elusive author of those booklets illustrated by Stanton and Eneg.... and a lot of other things too numerous to mention. Then there followed the dickering with the lovely Grant for a price on all this. I quickly rejected her initial price of Five Humdred, offered a more realistic Hundred myself, and finally settled on Two Hundred plus a mention of her store and a description of her bondage apparatus in my stories. "I just know you'll want to recommend this to your readers once you've tried it yourself," She said, loading an assortment of flesh-colored latex apparel into a box, "It can be completely self-applied -- for self-bondagers, you know -- and it's wonderfully formfitting and seductive! Let's see, you're about a size...." and she went on for several minutes loading my box with creations of her own. It was about two in the afternoon by the time we left , and I finally got rid of Richard by pleading weariness and promising to call him that night or the next day. I got back to my Hotel room and began sorting through my treasures. At first, I thought I would simply relax on the bed, perhaps in a bit of feminine apparel, and read over these long- sought volumes. But as I unpacked the devices that Grant had lent me, thy interest was caught by their strangeness and, on further examination, their potential. Wouldn't it be fascinating (I asked myself) to read over these classics for the first time, bound and feminized? Of course it would! Quickly, I stripped to the buff, applied some makeup (lipstick, eyeshadow, mascara a bit of blush at the cheeks and a light dusting of powder) and began costuming myself in Grant's apparatus and some items of my own: Thigh-length stockings, black silk and sexy as all get out, held up by white lace garters high on my thighs that added a perfect touch of frothy lightness to the heavy, sleek texture of my stockings. Next, the shoes: Shiny black leather, with five-inch spike heels and locks at the ankles, joined with a twelve-inch length of chain that clipped neatly onto each ankle-cuff. Then knee-hobbles, joined with a six-inch length of chain, the difference in lengths giving me a nice, sexy, hip-swinging gait as I walked. Thus far, everything I had put on was from my own wardrobe. But now I started getting into Grant's creation: It was a bizarre apparatus, cunningly designed and painstakingly crafted, and as I slipped into it, I gained a whole new respect for this person's genius. First a collar and shoulder harness, made of thin, tough nylon straps, the collar covered with a durable coating of flesh-colored latex. At the back of the harness, right at the shoulder blades, were two strong plasti-cuffs, with tiny snap-locks built into them. I experimented with these carefully before I went any further and found that with both wrists locked into place, the right hand could easily stretch over and unlock the left cuff and vice- versa. Having assured myself of this, I set the keys carefully atop the dresser, leaving my hands free for now, and proceeded to slip into the next garment. It consisted of two layers, joined at the hip. The inner layer was a tight nylon corset that I cinched in to a fare-thee-well, nipping my waist in tightly, giving a swish to my hips and an exaggerated jiggle to my bosom. Oh yes, there was definitely the illusion of a bosom on my chest now! The top of the corset was scooped out into two round, breast-cupping grooves, and in combination with the shoulder harness, it served to push my small chest out very nicely indeed. It wasn't much of a bosom, but the idea was there, anyway. At the bottom of this corset there was a latex-coated jock-strap attached. Crushingly tight, it squeezed my genitals back between my legs into near-invisibility, and the flesh-colored bands around my thighs -- just above my lacey garters and practically invisible -- served to push my bottom up and out very nicely indeed. As I said, this was the inner layer. The outer layer, attached right at the top of the jock-strap, was a flesh-tone latex torso, armless, that snapped together just under my latex collar and zipped snugly up the back. It also had clever cut-outs for my tiny breasts! That is, it would have if I could get it on! As I said, it had no holes for arms, being designed to fit snugly over the upper body and conceal the arms altogether. But it was so tight that I could only zip it part- way up from the inside. Somehow, I was going to have to find a way to zip it up after I had locked my arms in the wrist-cuffs at the shoulder- blades. The answer was simple. A coat-hanger hung from a door-knob proved to be perfect for the job. After making sure it would work, I pulled the zipper as high up as I could from the inside, locked my wrists securely in the cuffs, then, sitting carefully down in front of the door, I hooked the bent end of the coat hanger through the large hole in the wide, flat zipper-tab, and slid down, pulling it snugly all the way up to my neck. How thrilling! It was like being in some strange, feminine cocoon! I got to my feet and went in to look at myself in the double bathroom mirrors. Wild! Snugged in by the tight latex torso, my arms had practically disappeared, and the way it molded itself to the tight contours of my corseted waist was like a second skin! The openings in the front, where my vestigial breasts stuck out, blended perfectly with my skin. I had an almost hour-glass shape (a bit narrow on top, perhaps, but nice all the same) and the way the flesh-tone latex contrasted with my dark stockings was positively sinful! In the mirror at my back, however, I could see a problem: That zipper was going to work its way down after awhile, and besides, the metal tab sticking out at the top spoiled the whole thing. Wasn't there some way to hide it? I backed up to the mirror and studied it closely. Yes there was! At the bottom of my collar, there was a small slot, obviously designed for the zipper-tab to slide into. It was a cinch. By leaning back against the vanity in the bathroom, I was able to slide downwards, catch the bottom of the zipper on the edge of the marble counter, snug it all the way up, and slide the whole tab up into that slot in the collar, where it held perfectly! So now I was a very fetching sight indeed, with my armless torso, small breasts, and rounded bottom, my waist nipped in breathtakingly and my genitals held tightly in that latex-covered nylon jock-strap (perforated at the front, I noted, so that the wearer could go to the bathroom without taking the whole thing off. How thoughtful!) All this, together with my made-up face (my hair curled into a subtly feminine style) and those dishy dark stockings and heels -accentuated even more by the knee- and-ankle-hobbles -- made me look like a truly bizarre confection of hampered effeminacy! "This just has to go in one of my stories," I told myself as I minced back into the bedroom and sat down on a comfy chair next to the nightstand where a cold drink and a steady book-holder (I like to think of everything) were awaiting me. I must have spent about an hour there, leafing through those wonderful booklets with my tongue, enjoying the rare combination of Stanton's art and Astin's writing, when I felt I could stand it no longer; my arms were getting tired , my neck ached in the collar, and worst of all, my swelling cock was pressing painfully against my balls in the tight rubber jockstrap, straining for release! With a shivering sigh, I got up and prepared to release myself. I couldn't get loose! It started with trying to tug down the zipper in the back: The tab was stuck too far up in the collar for me to push it down the way I had pushed it up. After several uncomfortable tries, I gave up on that course, wedged a hanger into a dresser-drawer, and managed to stick the hook end into the minute space where the top of the torso-garment met the collar, just under the zipper. Then, walking across the room with this hanger dangling down my back, I leaned against the bathroom door, slid downwards, and looped the body of the coat hanger on a doorknob. There! Now it should be an easy matter to straighten up and pull the zipper down and the tab out of that slot in the collar. Only it didn't work! There was some kind of catch up there that locked the tab into the collar! Writhing around, I managed to disentangle the hanger from the back of my neck and marched in my heels back into the bathroom to have a closer look. Yes... there it was... on the top of the collar, a little key-hole where you could unlock the zipper, open the back of the torso-garment, get the keys off the dresser and free your hands..... Only in my present condition, a keyhole in the back of my collar was completely useless! I tried brute force, lowering myself to the carpeted bedroom floor and twisting and jerking my body this way and that, kicking as best I could with my hobbled legs. My big bottom and small breasts grew red with rubbing on the soft carpet, but nothing worked; I was stuck! Don't panic, I told myself as I caught my breath, lying there on the floor, feeling the sweat running down my sides inside the tight rubber torso, sensing the tired ache spreading from my arms into my shoulders, legs and back; You can always call the Hotel Security to come and free you. Sure, it'll be embarrassing, but that's better than starving to death herein a luxury hotel room! Okay, I went on, now that we know there's no real need for panic, let's relax and see if there isn't some other way out of this. First things first: I needed to go to the bathroom. Forcing myself to relax and take a deep breath, I wriggled over to a corner and squirmed up. Then, on my feet again, I minced in my high heels to the bathroom. OH! How I thanked Grant for thoughtfully providing those holes in the front of that tight jockstrap! And how I cursed her for not warning me about the lock-catch in the collar! I thought at first that cleaning up might be a problem, but a long-handled sponge brush, held daintily between my teeth, proved perfect for mopping up between my thighs. It was as I was just finishing this that the phone rang. Who could that be? I considered not answering it, but then I remembered reading about Hotel Thieves who call rooms ahead of time to see if anyone's in. Wouldn't it be just ducky to have some crook break in and find me like this!! As quickly as I could, I sashayed over to the phone in my rump- wiggling bondage, lifted the receiver off with my mouth, and answered. "H-Hello?" "Sissie?" It was Richard on the other end. "Is that you?" "Uh-" what to do? Should I trust him? "Yes, Richard, it's me." "You sound different," He mused, "Well, anyway, I've got some things that go with that get-up Grant loaned you today, and I thought if you'd like to try them on... if you're not too tired, that is, I might bring them over and..." "Actually, Richard," I stammered hesitantly, "I'm -uh- glad you called. I'd -er- like to see you -uh- about s-something." "Great!" He was like a dog lapping at crumbs or attention, "Why don't you get a taxi and come on over? You've never seen my place and I can fix us Dinner!" "Well -ah- " How could I put this? "I was -uh- really hoping you could come over to the Hotel here," "But you've never seen my place," He interrupted, "I've got all kinds of equipment and stuff that I know you'd love to write about! And there's this stuff we've been working on at the lab that... well, wait till you see how it works!" "I -uh- I can't cone over there, Richard," I admitted at last, "I'm in sort of a-a problem, and I was really hoping that-that you could... that you would come over and help me!" "Really?" His voice changed suddenly, from whining hopefulness to a rather ominously fascinated tone. "That does sound interesting! I'll be right up!" "Right up!" I squeaked, "You mean you--" "I'm in the Lobby," He said shortly, "I'd planned on surprising you. Now, well, we'll see!" It was a very anxious few minutes that followed, as I waited for Richard's knock on the door. Could I really trust this man who was going to come up here and find me bound and feminized? Did I have any choice? Like most TVs, I'm not Gay, and Richard had told me repeatedly in the past that he wasn't either... but still, I wondered (looking miserably at my seductively touseled reflection in' the mirror) just what his reaction would be! The knock came on the door. "It's me, Sissie; Open up!" "I can't," I wailed helplessly, "You'll have to open it from the outside!" "Well I can't do that without a key," Richard sounded vaguely impatient, "Are you sure you can't turn the knob in there some way?" He had guessed I was in Bondage! Well, he would have found out sooner or later, I guess. Right now, I had to figure out how to let him in! I tried turning the knob with my mouth, but it was just too big for me to get my lips around. Then Richard suggested I try to push the key-card under the door to him, but it was in my pants pocket! I had to hobble over to the bed where they lay neatly folded (Oh, how my arms, pinioned up at my shoulders, were beginning to ache!) pick them up by the cuffs in my lipsticked mouth (Yecch! The awful taste of pants-cuffs!) and shake them until the card fell out. Then it was back down on my knees, picking the key up between my teeth and shuffling over to the door with it, only to discover that some sort of sill under the door kept it from sliding through! Finally, though, I did manage to get the doorknob turned - but in such a shameful way! I had to back up to the door, make little jumps until my rounded buttocks were over the knob, then, with the knob between my cheeks, wriggle this way and that until I at last felt the latch disengage from the door. "Push, Richard!" I cried quickly. He did, and I had to mince forward quickly to keep from being thrown on my face! Then, as soon as he was in, I backed up just as quickly to keep anyone from seeing me. Richard looked at me, jiggling and prancing around with my butt on that doorknob and grinned nvoluntarily. "You stuck on that thing?" He kidded. "No!" I pouted, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge my bottom from around the cold knob, "I just... Help me!" Still smiling, Richard put his hands on my waist and lifted, pulling my bottom away from the door with a lewd "plop!" "There!" He said. "Now get the key from on top of the dresser," I said quickly, "The keyhole's at the top of my collar." Richard went over to the Dresser and picked up the key. Then he walked back over to me, holding it between his fingers. "Right at the top here?" He asked, standing close behind me. I shifted, uncomfortably aware of my bare bottom, my long, stockinged legs, and my tight latex torso, with the arms hidden and the breasts protruding. "Right there," I replied, my voice quivering just a little in spite of myself, "Then just pull the zipper down. "How did you ever get into this?" He asked, still standing behind me. "How do you think?" I snapped, turning my head pettishly in his direction, "Now come on, unlock me!" "No seriously now," There was laughter in his voice as he stepped away from me and sat down in the comfortable armchair where I had been perched a short time ago. "How did you do it? Tell me everything!" "Richard!" I spun on my heels as best I could with my knees and ankles hobbled and no arms, "I'll tell you later! Now come over here and unlock me! Please!" "Not until I've heard the whole story, young lady," His smile widened as be saw me blush, "So get started!" Furious with embarrassment, I told him the whole thing: How I had decided to try a little self-bondage, the way my wrists were locked to my shoulder blades under my flesh-latex torso, and how I hadn't realized that the zipper-tab would lock into the collar. Richard made me describe in detail every aspect of my costume and bondage, and what its purpose was Cheeks burning, I told him all about the tight nylon corset, my black silk stockings, the crushing latex jock strap, the humiliating breast cut-outs in the front of my torso, the position of my arms behind me... finally, when I had finished, I asked "Now will you release me?" "Well, I could," He said grudgingly, not stirring from his chair, "But I think it'd be just a shame for you to stop now, when you've only got half the costume on!" "Come on, Richard!" I pleaded, "Please, Please unlock this thing! I'm getting cold!" "That's because you're only half-dressed," He replied easily, "And as I say, I think it's just a shame that you don't want to go all the way and get into the rest of it." "RICHARD!" "Don't raise your voice, Dear," He smiled again as I reddened under the feminine appellation, "After all, you don't want people to come running in here, do you? I thought not! Tell you what: You let me put the rest of the outfit on you and try it out, and then l'll release you. Think how much better you'll be able to write about situations like this after you've actually lived through one!" I just stood there, sulky and silent. "I won't argue, Beautiful," He said, rising to go, "And I won't force you into it either, although I easily could. You can either let me dress you all the way in the things I brought over--" He indicated a large briefcase on the floor that he'd brought with him, "--or I'll just go and you can get someone else to help you.... Well?" "Do you promise to let me go after you're through dressing me up?" I asked. "Scout's Honor!" I sighed. The choice I had was really no choice at all, and we both knew it. "All right," I said, "Go ahead with it!" "Excellent'!" To my consternation, he tucked the keys that would release me carefully in his pocket, then picked up my fallen trousers from the floor and folded them carefully into my suitcase, tucking away all my other clothing in there as well! "Richard, what are you doing?" I asked, "What's that for?" "Just tidying up," He explained, "I want to have a clear space to work in, and I can't do that with distracting male attire lying all about." "But you don't have to empty out the closet for that!" I protested, for that's just what he was doing, packing my entire wardrobe back into my suitcases! "You never know," He replied, "And that reminds me, I want to start with the most important part of your accessories..." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out an oddly-shaped tangle of thin nylon straps, then stepped behind me with it. "Open wide, now!" It was an elaborate gag, almost a bridle, really, with a leather plug that went into my mouth and nylon straps that secured it not just around my head, but under my chin as well, pulling my mouth tightly closed around it as Richard pulled the strap tight and buckled it over the top of my head. When he was finished, I couldn't utter a word or even open my mouth! "That should cut down on the Annoying Questions," He said, "And now I want to show you something we've been working on in the Phamaceutical Lab where I work!" He pulled a wide-mouthed jar of some kind of cream out of his briefcase, rolled up his sleeves, and began donning a long pair of rubber gloves. My eyes widened in concern as I watched him. "Not to worry," He smiled, "This stuff is completely safe. It's just going to take a few more years of testing before we can get it on the market. Hold still now." And he approached me and began rubbing the heavy cream from the jar over the exposed circles on my chest! How strange it felt! I mean, not just the disorienting sensation of having my small breasts fondled by male hands -- although that was certainly upsetting enough - but also the odd, warm, tingling sensation that spread through my breasts as the cream was absorbed into them. Around and around Richard's hands went, as he kneaded and stroked until my chest (or at least the portions uncovered by the latex torso) was positively caked with the rapidly-disappearing stuff. And then, to my further consternation, he put a slightly smaller amount on my bottom! Oooo! I blushed a vivid red as I felt those hands all over my exposed ass. How mortifying! But I couldn't even utter a word of protest! At last he was through, and I watched with wide-eyed relief as he took off the gloves (being careful not to touch them, I noted, and wrapping them thoroughly in a plastic bag before setting them carefully in his briefcase, along with the jar) and turned to inspect me. "Not bad," He said mysteriously, "I think it's going to work," He studied my gagged face for a moment, then went on: "I don't care what the Bondage Enthusiasts say," He mused, "A gag just doesn't do a thing for a pretty girl's face! The strain in the jaw muscles just ruins those soft contours you've worked so hard to achieve. Wouldn't you agree, my Dear? What's that?" I gurgled uselessly into the gag, nodding my head as best I could, which wasn't much in my collar and head-harness, hoping he'd take the damn things off me. "Fortunately," Richard smiled, "I have the perfect solution for that right here!" To my mounting despair, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a full rubber over-the-head mask! A sinking, helpless chill swept through the pit of my stomach as Richard sat me down on the edge of the bed and began slipping the thing over my head. It was tight--damned tight!-- and as I felt its feminine, smiling, features being tugged and snapped into place over my own, it was as if I was somehow being cut off from the outside world, from everything familiar to me, and being locked into some strange new identity. Richard cheerfully produced a curly blonde wig, flowing and shoulder- length, and clipped it onto special catches on the crown of the face mask, arranging it so that it fell naturally. "Wonderful!" He beamed, "Get up and take a look at yourself, Sissie!" With an effort, I heaved myself up off the bed and into a standing position, dancing a little as I shifted my hobbled, stockinged legs to keep my high-heeled feet beneath me. Steady at last, I minced in my restricted, swishing gait into the bathroom where the two facing full- length mirrors were. And blinked in disbelief! The face smiling back at me from the mirror was happy and feminine, smiling pleasantly, her eyebrows arched in an expression of cheerful curiosity (My own eyebrows were covered by the wig, although my mascaraed eyes, blending in perfectly, showed through the eye holes.) Long blonde hair, in wild curls, swept down to the top of my back. I was expecting all that, bad as it was. But what I wasn't expecting was that my armless latex torso was now sporting a pair of breasts! My long-lashed eyes widened in disbelief as I stared, first in the mirror, then down at the swollen beauties on my chest. Breasts! A thirty-four or maybe even a thirty-six C! And above my shapely stockinged legs, it looked like my pale, smooth bottom had grown as well! "That's right," Richard spoke from behind me and I hobbled around, arms straining at the shoulders, to face him. Oh, how I wished I could get my wrists free and scratch his eyes out! But my hands remained uselessly trapped up at my shoulders as I stood there, blushing furiously (although no one could have known it!) under his frank stare on my exposed curves. "It's a product that swells the fat tissues in the skin," He went on blithely, "And we think there'll be a lot of applications for it once we know more about how well it works and how long it lasts. Generally the growth is anywhere from One-Fifty to Two Hundred Per Cent, and it seems to last from a few weeks to a few months. But it varies widely depending on the body chemistry of the user. People with more fatty tissue seem, to grow more and last longer. How do you like it?" I stamped my foot in impotent rage as I remembered how flabby my chest was naturally. And now look at it! Why these things might still be growing, and there was no telling how long I'd be stuck with them! Miserably, I forced myself to look back in the mirror at the smiling, blonde, bosomy, black-stockinged, high-heeled, armless thing that was now me. And she smiled maddeningly back. "I don't know about you, Sissie," Richard said, "But I'm getting a bit hungry. Care to join me in a little Dinner? Blink once for Yes, twice for No.... No? Well, I'm sure you won't mind if I have something! I'll just call Room Service." And as I stood there, helplessly dis-armed, my stockinged legs hobbled so that I couldn't kick, incapable of saying a word or of even looking displeased, he proceeded to order a lavish Dinner and charge it to my room! As he hung up the phone, I stamped my feet in displeasure. "What's that?" He asked innocently, "Oh, I understand: You'd like to dance for me! Well, we have some time before Dinner arrives, so why not?" He switched the television on to the Music Channel and turned to me, "That's a snappy tune, eh? Go ahead, Girl. Dance!" I stood stubbornly rooted to the spot. "Ah," He smiled, "I think you want me to beat out the time for you. All right!" My defiance melted into butterflies as I 8aw him take a riding crop from that voluminous briefcase and swish it in the air. "And...One--And... Two... And.One.. SMACK! The whip landed on my big, round, unprotected bottom and I gave a little jump (all my hobbles would allow)forward. "And... Two!" SWACK! Another blow, this one across the other side of my bottom, and I jerked unsteadily forward again, arching my back to escape the pain. "I think you've got it!" Richard laughed, "Dance, Girl!" And dance I did! Rhythmically raising my knees as high as I could in their bondage, kicking my tethered feet daintily forward, wiggling my pretty bottom and thrusting my splendid breasts out, I danced for this awful man until at last he told me to stop. I was panting as best I could with that gag in my mouth, dizzy from lack of air and dripping with sweat inside my latex torso and face mask (My breasts and bottom, in contrast, cold and goose-bumpily.) as Richard led me into the bathroom and seated me considerately on the toilet, then went out to wait for room service. I just sat there, leaning back helplessly on the toilet-tank, barely feeling the cold porcelain against my numbed arms as I fought to control my breathing and clear my head. What was happening to me? I had written about this sort of thing often enough, happening to some unwilling and unfortunate wimp, but to actually see myself like this: Armless, hobbled, breasted and practically nude, smothered in that smiling rubber mask... It brought a chill to me that had nothing to do with my unclad condition! At last Richard opened the door, helped me to my feet and led me out to the bedroom where his Dinner was laid out. I had to sit there on the edge of the bed, feeling the unusual cushiness of my big bottom beneath me and watch him enjoy his leisurely repast. I remembered that I hadn't had anything to eat for hours now, and my corseted tummy rumbled in protest. "Hungry after all?" Richard smiled, "I thought you might be, so I ordered you some soup. Here, let me fix you up." As I sat there helpless, he put his fingers to the lips of my smiling mask and gently pulled them open. "Clever, eh?" He asked, "These lips seal like the mouths of those zip-closed plastic bags. And the plug in your gag here... I felt him turn a tiny lever in the front of my gag. And then, to my surprise, what I thought was a solid leather mouth-plug turned out to be hollow as he pulled out the center, transforming it into a mouth- filling tube! "Just let me get this here," Richard said, fixing a flexible rubber straw about a foot long into the front of the tube, "And you're all set! Eat hearty, Sissie!" As I sucked Chicken Soup greedily through the straw, I wondered how long it would take Richard to tire of this awful game and let me loose. Surely he knew he'd have to finish this thing soon! And now that I'd put on the rest of the apparatus he'd requested and even danced for him in it, he was honor-bound to release me. "Well, Sissie," He said, wiping his mouth, then re-plugging and re- sealing my own, "Are you all refreshed and ready for the rest of your outfit?" The rest!?! You mean there's more? I looked daggers at him, but if he could even tell it under my mask, he chose to ignore it. "Blink once for Yes," He went on, "Otherwise, you can dance for me again." I blinked, once, as emphatically as I could. I had no idea what the rest of this costume would consist of, but anything had to be better than that awful butt-jiggling, tit-waving dance! Little did I know! As Richard pulled the costume he had picked out for me from the briefcase and put it on me, I grew more and more concerned. It started with a tiny G-string, that tied around my waist and between my legs. It was of lacy white silk, so skimpy and frothy-looking that, far from offering any concealment, it actually drew attention to my naked-looking loins and swollen creamy bottom! Next came a gossamer-thin camisole of semi-transparent white silk. It clung to my narrow waist and enlarged bosom shamelessly, the dark aureoles of my breasts clearly visible, even as my thrusting nipples showed up like little buttons at the front. This was tucked into a tiny black satin mini-skirt that just barely covered my bottom and was slit up both side clear to the hip! As I walked around in this thing, the tops of my stockings, with their lacey white garters were clearly visible, as was a generous portion of the sides of my ass! "Notice the weather outside?" Richard asked, "It rains cats and dogs here this time of year, and that's just perfect for us!" So saying, he brought out a thin raincoat of purple plastic, hip-length, belted at the waist and with a hood on top. He spent some time fussing with this to get it just right, flattening out wire coat hangers, wrapping them with towels or pillow cases, then putting them up the sleeves to look like arms. Satisfied with the effect, he put the open ends of my sleeves in the coat pockets and safety-pinned them in. Then he worked on tying my belt and arranging my hood until he at last stood back and pronounced me Finished. "Take a look, Sissie," He beamed, "You're splendid!" I minced over to the full-length mirror, heart sinking as my reflection came into view. I looked like a slut! With my short skirt, skimpy top, heavily made-up mask and that cheap raincoat, I gave every appearance of having just tarted myself up for a busy night out on the Streets! Now Richard produced the inevitable camera and began snapping away, ordering me turn this way and that as I strutted about under his commands, posing and pirouetting. It was galling, but there was nothing I could do about it, and I reflected that anyway, no one could recognize me in this get-up! Maybe that's how I let myself be lulled into a sort of nervous complacency. Richard had me in so many parts of the room, scampering about so quickly, that I barely noticed when he put a hand on my shoulder, opened the door and shoved me out into the hallway! I was outside! Feminized and in hobbles! I looked quickly up and down the mercifully deserted hallway, thankful that at least no one else was seeing me like this, and then Richard came out of the room, carrying his coat and briefcase. "Okay, Gorgeous," He said coolly as I looked desperately up at him, trying to convey all my panic with my eyes, "Now for the last part of the Deal: I want to take you out for a short walk with me. I'd like to do it without those leg restraints on you, but that's up to you. You don't even have to go with me at all! After all, I can always just go away and leave you out here like this. Someone's bound. to notice you after awhile and call the Police if you stand out here like that much longer! So what'll it be: A little walk with me, at the end of which I promise to let you out of that get-up, or shall I just go now and leave you here like this? Blink one if you want to go with me!" I blinked. It was a totally nerve-wracking, completely bizarre journey that followed. Richard considerately removed the knee-and-ankle-hobbles that I had worn for so long and put them neatly in his briefcase. Then he buttoned his coat, put his hand on my waist, and guided me to the Elevator! All the way down, by tummy fluttered with nervousness. Where would I have to go with Richard before he brought this ordeal to an end and released me from this awful armless rubber torso and smothering face- mask? As we entered the lobby of the hotel I got another shock. Richard walked me calmly from the elevator to the big glass doors, then told me to wait for him there a minute while he took care of some business. Helplessly, I stood by those huge windows, showing off generous portions of my legs and bosom to anyone who happened to pass, as I watched Richard walk over to the Desk, -sign a form, then signal to the Bell-boy to carry his luggage out to his waiting car. Wait a minute-- His luggage?! That was My luggage!! All my suitcases were being brazenly loaded into Richard's car right in front of me, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it! But those were my clothes.., my money... my credit cards and plane tickets back home.., all now securely locked into the trunk of Richard's expensive car as he guided me out the door and helped me into the front seat. "Thoughtful of me, wouldn't you say?" He asked as he buckled my seat belt and started the car, "I had the Boy bring them down while you were hiding in the bathroom!" Great! Now this overbearing fan of my bizarre writings had his clutches on everything I owned! I remembered, with a sinking feeling, howl had arranged for unlimited access to all my accounts while I was down here. He didn't know it, of course, but Richard could now keep me indefinitely and, worst of all, make me foot the bills! This and other worries were swimming through my head as Richard drove us across town and to a spot just a few blocks away from GRANT'S CARNIVALE. Here he took me from the car and led me a short,-fearful distance down the sidewalk to a bar called THE FAN CLUB. Inside, it was brighter and cheerier than I had expected, with a small, darkened stage in the back, several tables and booths, and a long, old- fashioned mahogany bar running half the length of the room. It was to this bar that Richard led me, perched my butt on a stool, and ordered drinks. No one paid us much attention at first, but when Richard removed my raincoat, showing off more of my brief skirt, tight, transparent blouse, armless condition and abundant curves, quite a few patrons seemed to find more and more frequent excuses to pass our way. And a rather unusual lot they were! This bar seemed to cater to an odd assortment of bohemian types, artists, writers and hangers-on of Society, and a group from the fringes of the Velvet Underground. There was a woman clad in a long dress of tight black leather that looked somewhat uncomfortable but undeniably forceful; there were two persons in billowing smocks and tight leotards whose sex I never did know for certain; a few obvious transvestites, a lesbian couple, and some others whose sexual orientation was uncertain rounded out the crowd. Quite a House for a Monday Night, I thought nervously. Then I wondered what they must be thinking of me! In this light, without my raincoat, my mask was rather obvious, as was my dependency on Richard's wishes. The smiling oriental girl behind the bar winked mischievously at me as she served our drinks (Martini for Richard; Diet Cola for me) and as she returned Richard's change, her hand "accidentally" grazed my stiff nipple, making me jump with wide-eyed shock that set her laughing merrily. "Who's your new girlfriend, Richard?" She asked. "I thought you'd never ask," He replied, raising his voice a little. There were quite a few patrons standing around now in frank curiosity, and I felt myself blushing from the roots of my hair right down to my toenails under their stares as Richard went on: "This gorgeous creature is none other than the famous Underground Author 'c.c.': Sissie for short!" "No kidding!" came a voice from behind me, "Not the author of 'TV for a Week'? Why I've read that book a hundred times!" "c.c.?" Asked someone else, "Didn't he write 'TV Nudist? I wrote him a letter once!" I wished fervently that I'd paid more attention to my fan mail, or that I was a million miles away, as the more bold and the simply curious began to gather round me. Richard made me get up and walk around for them while he told them all that I was acting out one of my most cherished fantasies and that tonight would probably be the basis for another one of my stories. I simply paraded obediently back and forth, raising my knees higher when Richard told me to, hoping he would soon decide he'd had enough of this and release me. And after awhile, it seemed he had. He politely asked to excuse us and directed me down a short, winding corridor the bar to a closet-sized room fitted out with a chair and a makeup table. Here, at last, he pulled off that awful smiling mask, removed the gag from my aching jaws, unlocked the zipper-tab (that had started all my troubles!) from the collar, unzipped me and -- thank Heavens! -unlocked my wrist-to-shoulder cuffs. I just sat there in relief, unable to move my numbed arms, as Richard uncinched and removed the crushingly tight girdle and jock-strap, combed out my crushed hair into an acceptable short feminine style, and freshened my makeup. So glad was I to have my hands free at last that I barely noticed as he gathered up my skirt and blouse (he'd had to remove them to get the other things off, of course) along with the mask, collar, and torso apparatus, and put them all in a neat bag. "Well Sissie," He said cheerfully, "I've some things to take care of at my place, so I probably won't be back for a few hours. While I'm gone, I'm sure you can amuse yourself with all your fans out there, so whenever you feel like just step out and greet them all. Then, when I get back, you can make up your mind whether or not you want to take me up on my offer of a few days' hospitality at my place. Adios!" And he walked out, leaving me sitting back there, feminized, big- breasted (They must be almost a 40-D by now, I thought miserably!) round-bottomed, and clad in only my shoes, stockings and garters! I knew at once that I had to get out of there before Richard got back. Now that he had all my money and male clothing, there was no way I could refuse any request of his in my present state. But surely, I thought, someone out there in the bar would be glad to help me out of this awful predicament once I'd explained everything to them. All I had to do was go out and talk to them. Like this! I shivered as I looked in the mirror at my delicately made-up face and carefully-styled hair. And at the smooth, feminine skin that flowed in an unclothed stream right down over my bounteous bosom and curvaceous bottom right to my stocking-tops! My poor genitals, after hours of crushing confinement, seemed shrunk to a tiny fraction of their normal size but still all too noticeable as I got shakily to my high-heeled feet and padded nervously out into the darkened corridor. Now which way did I come? From Right or Left? I headed, quivering, to the left, and saw a patch of brighter light ahead, rounded a corner and stepped out though a doorway. Onto the stage! Cheers, whistles and hoots greeted me as someone switched on a spotlight and I froze for a moment in its glare, knees bent, hugging my-chest desperately with one forearm while the other hand dove desperately down to cover my crotch. It was several seconds before I even had presence of mind enough to scamper down from the stage and mince over to the smiling oriental barmaid who waved me over to the bar. "Help me!" I squeaked, "I need clothes!" "I'll say you do!" She grinned, "Honestly, Hon; I know how you TVs like to strut your stuff, and in your case--" Her eyes roved significantly over my curves, "--I certainly can't blame you. But the local Blue-Noses are very insistent about Full Frontal Nudity, and I'd hate to lose my Liquor License, so try to cover up, will you?" "I'd love to!" I protested, "But I haven't got anything! Haven't you got a dress or an apron or something that I can put on?" "Well, I could give you one of our Waitress outfits, but I have a strict rule that anyone wearing it has to serve the customers... and I do mean serve! Of course, that'd probably fit your fantasy to a T. So what do you say? Wanna play Waitress for a few hours?" "No!" I squealed, "You don't understand! This isn't my scene at all! I'm not into D&S!" "You're not?" It was one of the creatures in the billowing smocks who had spoken earlier, "The gal who wrote 'TV Eye' and you claim you're not into this?" "And what about that outfit you came in with?" Someone else asked, "Didn't you put that on yourself, like Richard said?" "Well yes, I did," I stammered, "Or most of it, anyway. But that's not what--" "Oh, I get it," The Oriental girl winked at the others, "Our little Sissie enjoys protesting! Even when it means talking herself out of my offer of clothing! Okay, Hon; Stay that way if it turns you on. Just tuck that equipment between your legs," She pushed my male organs between my stockinged thighs and I clamped them together to hold myself out of sight. "Long as you keep those stems tightly together, you shouldn't have too much trouble!" And she stepped behind me and swatted my rear! "Perhaps I can help you, Honey!" I turned to see the tall, leather-clad lady standing to one side of me. "Step over and have a seat at the Bar and we'll discuss your problem," She said. Her voice was somehow familiar, despite her heavy accent. I glanced nervously at her long dark hair and heavily made-up features; I was sure I'd never seen her before, but I followed her anyway, awkwardly shuffling with my thighs tightly together, feeling my shrunken genitals squeezed out of sight between them, o and somehow managed to put my big bare butt up on one of those awful bar stools, my arms tightly crossed over my bouncing breasts as the Lady in Leather spoke: "You don't recognize me, do you?" She asked. I searched her face carefully, studying the strong features beneath the softened contours of her bold makeup. "Grant!" I said, "It's you!" "Right!" He smiled, "Richard called and told me he was bringing you here, so I called a lot of my steady customers -- you know, the ones who buy all your stuff the first chance they get -- and they'll be here just any time now!" "But I've got to get out of here!" I whined, "I can't stay here like--" I started to gesture down at myself, thought better of unfolding my arms, and just shrugged my bare shoulders helplessly, "--like this!" She laughed. "I love the way you Masies protest!" She tittered, "I mean honestly! Now did you or did you not get into that apparatus I sold you all by yourself? I'll know if you're lying now, so tell the Truth!" "I did," I admitted, "But..." "And did you or did you not ask Richard up to your room after you'd made yourself all feminine and helpless?" "Yes-- but..." "It's just lucky for you he's not Gay!" She interrupted. "Or maybe not, depending on what you really wanted to happen tonight! After all, you're surely not going to try and tell me that Richard dragged you kicking and screaming all the way over here! And the way you strutted around for everyone -- in my torso-corset and face-mask -- certainly looked willing enough!" "But you don't understand!" I pleaded, "He tricked me! I had no idea I was going to end up here, paraded around for everybody to stare at! And Richard took all my clothes when he left! All I've got left is my shoes and stockings and garters!" "Pooooor thing!" Grant teased, "Well, if you really want me to help, I do happen to know some nice tricks you can use to make yourself decent again. Interested?" Of course I was! I quickly agreed to do whatever she said and in no time, she she had me back in a darkened booth, handing over my shoes. Stockings and garters to her as she sat beside me "How yummy you look like that!" She eyed my feminine nudity and grinned, "The perfect Eve for our Adam/Richard! Tell you what: While I'm fixing up your costume, why don't you take this Dollar over to the bar and get me another drink!" "But I can't go over there like this!" I protested, "I haven't a stitch of clothing on!" "No," Grant agreed, "And you won't have, not ever, if you don't hustle your ass right over there and get me a drink! Now do you want to start hustling, or shall I begin ripping and knotting these rags until they're useless?" The look in her eyes told me she wasn't joking. Swiftly, I swallowed my pounding heart, got shakily to my bare feet, tucked my goodies back in between my legs, and, on her instructions, bent obediently forward, arms crossed over my breasts, and let her place the bill she was holding between my painted lips. "And bring my drink back that way, too," Grant said, "In your mouth! Otherwise, No Clothes!" Tummy fluttering, I minced over to the bar, knees together and arms crossed, and put the bill carefully on the bar, trying not to hear the appreciative whistles at my lushly-displayed bottom as I did so. "One Carnivale Special, coming right up!" The oriental barmaid giggled. She put a splash of cognac in an oversized snifter, then set it on a flat plastic tray, which she pushed to the edge of the bar. "This is always fun to watch!" She said, "Careful on the way back, Hon; Those snifters are expensive, and you don't look like you're carrying much cash!" Everyone laughed as, trembling, I crouched down and took the edge of the plastic tray firmly between my teeth, sliding it well back into my mouth to get a good grip on it. It seemed to take forever! Finally, I had it. Slowly, I straightened, holding my neck stiffly erect, knees together, arms hugging my oversized breasts, and began mincing back to the booth. It was awful! With every step I took, I could feel my bare tush swishing sinuously towards the onlookers and I blushed dizzyingly under the torrent of their jeering comments. Meanwhile, my eyes crossed and uncrossed comically as I tried to look ahead of me and still keep an eye on the brandy snifter, feeling goose bumps race up and down my naked spine until I was at last back at the booth and the drink (after a humiliatingly low crouch, wildly applauded by all) was safely on the table. "Excellent work!" Smiled Grant, "Although I must admit that you took so long about it that I almost got up and snuck out with your clothes while your back was to me! Wouldn't that have been a fantasy for you? Finding yourself big-breasted, feminine and completely nude in a bar full of strangers! But since you did get back in time, here's the outfit I fixed up for you. Turn your back to me now while I put it on you." It was basically still just my stockings and garters, but what Grant had done with these garments truly showed here genius as a designer of female apparel. My lacey white garters were of the kind that look like elastic ribbons but hook together to form a loop. Grant had simply hooked both of them together to form a single band wide enough to fit around my narrow waist. Then she took one of my black silk stockings and draped it over the front of this lacey waist-band and tied it so that the stocking-top hung down over the front like a tiny loin-cloth. The rest of the stocking she passed between my legs, pulled up tightly -- very tightly - - between my bottom cheeks, and tied in a big bow in back. As I looked down at this, I saw that my garters and this stocking had been transformed into a lacey confection of white lace and black silk (I had to admit that the tug of the smooth stocking over my genitals and bum had an oddly thrilling sensation despite my nervous embarrassment) with the stocking-top hanging like some super-abbreviated micro-skirt in front and the stocking toe curled into a big trailing bow that trailed gaily over my big pale ass. Now Grant took my remaining stocking and tied it in a tight bandeau across my bountiful breasts, squeezing them into an even rounder, bouncier package. When she had finished, I looked at myself in the mirror behind the bar and saw to my dismay that although technically "dressed" now, I looked so bizarrely captivating in these scraps of black silk and white lace as to appear more sensuously sexy than I had nude! As I slipped into my high heels, the door opened and Grant called out to the group entering: "Terry! Dana! Lynn! Over here! She's here!" I could have melted with embarrassment as the group of strangely-dressed men came hurrying over to our table. They were all garbed so as to look outwardly masculine to the casual observer, but a closer look revealed unmistakable feminine garb; There were the trench coats, quiet-looking but with the buttons on the left side; Shirts that were not shirts but blouses; pants without pockets or flies... and between their pants-cuffs and shiny black loafers, I saw that they wore stockings instead of socks! "Is this really her?" "Oh, but she looks positively thrilling!" "Sissie! Just think of it! I'm such a fan of yours! And seeing you here.., like this! It's like one of your stories come to life!" "Well,Sissie," The oriental barmaid approached us again, "I see you've found an interesting use for those stockings and garters you were wearing! Too bad you don't want to serve drinks for the customers tonight though; you'd look great in one of my Waitress Outfits!" "That does sound cute!" Grant put in, "Why don't you do it, Sissie? No one here would make you do anything you didn't really want to do, and Ushi here-" She indicated the barmaid, "Has just the most darling outfits!" I thought about it quickly. This did seem like it might be a way to get some extra clothing -and Lord knew I could use some, I reflected as I shifted uncomfortably in my high heels, feeling the tickle of silk over my cock and balls, the light swish of the bow wafting across my exposed bottom, and the heavy jiggle of my barely-contained breasts! "Let me understand this," I said, "If I agree to serve drinks here, that's all I have to serve?" "If you insist, Dear," Ushi said, "After all, it'll bring in extra business just having you here for the evening!" "And I get to wear a uniform?" "I'll insist on that," She replied, "All my serving girls must be suitably uniformed." "Can I keep the uniform afterwards?" I pushed on, "To get home in, I mean?" "If you wish," Ushi said, looking at me a little strangely, "But let's get one thing straight before we start: Once you agree to this deal, you wear the Uniform and serve the drinks until Closing! I don't have time to dress you up and then undress you again the minute you think you've worked enough. So when you agree to this arrangement Honey, you'll stick to it! And my friends here will see that you do--Understood?" I hesitated. Serving drinks all night seemed like a steep price to pay for clothing. But then I told myself that it would be worth it just to be decently covered again. Maybe I could even slip out the door once I was dressed! Hell, anything had to be better than standing around like this! "I'll do it," I said. "Fine!" Ushi smiled, then turned to Grant. "I've some empty glasses to take care of, Dear. Would you mind taking Sissie back to the Dressing Room and Suiting her up?" "I'd be delighted!" Grant gushed, then turned to her friends. "Girls, would you like to help me?" And I'm afraid they did. The four of them practically hustled me back to a big cold storage room behind the bar, plunked me down on a chair, and began dressing me. Off came my shoes. On went a pair of bad black-net stockings, thigh-length, with elastic tops. Black satin elbow-length gloves went on my hands, fastened securely with buttons. A lacey white Maid's Cap was pinned in my hair. Then, to my surprise, a leather collar with a D-ring in front was locked around my neck! "What's this for?" I asked, slightly alarmed. "Just part of the Uniform, Sissie," Grant replied easily, "Now hold still while we put the finishing touches on you!" Grant leaned over me, obscuring my view for a moment. I felt hands on my wrists and ankles, then heard an ominous jingling. Grant moved to one side and I looked down at myself. I was shackled! Strong leather cuffs were attached to my wrists and ankles! I looked closer and saw now that my ankles were joined by a chain only a foot long, which would permit me only the smallest of steps, while the chain joining my wrists must have been a yard long. This must be to give me freedom to use my hands, I figured. I was wrong, though. For as I sat there staring stupidly down at my bondage, Grant took the middle of my wrist chain, where a tiny lock was attached, raised it to my neck and snapped it onto my collar! This was a fix! Now I could only move each hand about eighteen inches from my neck! I looked up helplessly at Grant. "That's all the movement you'll need here, Sweet," She smiled, "Now let's take you out and show you to everyone!" Oh no,I thought. But Oh Yes! the four of them hauled me to my high- heeled feet and all but carried me out into the main room. This was awful! I wasn't a bit better covered than before, and now I was in bondage as well! As I made my mincing way over to the waiting Ushi, I felt her eyes racing up and down my scantily covered curves almost like a physical touch. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrors again, the black silk and white lace of my skimpy outfit, now made even more exciting by my black net stockings and dark gloves... the awkward way I carried my hands