“It’s that Halloween time of the year Annette, so you had best get all the spooky stuff and dressing up nonsense out of the cupboard. It is all in the one out the back”
I nodded to the shop's sole salaried member of staff and turned to go, but she had more to stay.
“You would not believe how much we get donated through the year, I don’t think it has even all been unpacked. We just go and have a rummage round if anyone asks.”
I located the battered metal cupboard where what the manager described as the ‘dressing up nonsense’ was located and hauled on the seldom opened door. There was a horrific screeching of neglected hinges and the door creaked open.
The cupboard smelled of damp and dust, but piled inside were the packages I was looking for, many indeed apparently unopened. I picked up the plastic packages one by one. All the usual costumes were there. The pirate, the cowboy, and a most fetching French maid that looked as if it might be in my size. That one I slipped back inside for a closer look later. It had been too long since my lover and I had had some alternative fun. I recalled a feather duster somewhere on the shelves to complete the look.
Gathering up and armful I took them back into the shop and set about displaying them to their most enticing and expensive looking advantage.
The window was soon full and a selection arranged on a store table before I had run exhausted my armful. I could see the manager did not approve from the look on her face but we both knew they would make good money for the charity.
Having filled the spaces I went back to close the cupboard. I slipped the maid’s outfit under a few others (there was still plenty of stock in the cupboard) and was about to close the door when I could not resist taking another peek at the untouched stock.
I ran my hands quickly through the packages getting a strange guilty thrill from doing it. Down at the bottom of the cupboard were a few plastic bags with costumes folded up within and I peered into them. Unlike the others these seemed better quality, not the cheap Chinese mass produced stuff I had already unpacked. There was another maids outfit that actually looked as if it was tailored, a Japanese schoolgirl outfit with a wildly flared skirt, and a mass of thin yellow cloth I could not make out. I pulled it from the bag and held it up. I caught my breath at the unexpected beauty of it. It was a classic Sultan's harem slave girl outfit, with see through cutouts in all the right places, definitely well made and not a cheap item. I held it up to myself and I reckoned it was about my size. Certainly close enough to be worth trying on, but not here. At home. I quickly folded it and slipped it into my bag. This was coming home with me.
Spurred on I dug a little deeper and found a few boxes in the very bottom of the cupboard. Lifting a couple of lids I found nothing interesting until I tried the last box. There was an Aladdin’s lamp and a pile of chains that rattled deliciously in the box. Clearly someone had donated what looked like the full slave-girl fantasy kit to the shop and it had lain undiscovered since. Moving very slowly to keep the box's contents silent, it joined the costume in my backpack to be examined more closely at home.
Once home I unpacked my bag and lovingly unfolded the slave girl outfit again. It was a thing of beauty, carefully finished of quality cloth and gauze. I quickly slipped out of my clothes and started working out how to put on the costume. With so many holes and edges it was not easy, but I soon got my head around it. Ankle cuffs were buttoned about the ankles then the elastic waistband was pulled up over the hips until it settled around my slender waist. The trousers, if they could be called that, were see-through yellow gauze that revealed every curve of my legs. They were good legs and I knew it. Before adding the other parts of the costume I slipped on my highest heels and turned back and forth in front of my full length mirror. Damn but they were good legs.
The top buttoned at the back between my shoulder blades, the built in bra thrusting my breasts up and out as it squeezed them together. The sleeves were transparent like the trousers, tapering to buttoned cuffs at me wrists.
The top left my midriff bare showing off my gym toned abs, and as I swirled in front of the mirror the materials of the costume wrapped about me and caressed my frame and I realised just how sexy I looked. My long dark hair and brown eyes suited the costume perfectly. I could imagine myself wearing this costume and looking perfect in the part.
I slipped out of the costume, pulled on a housecoat and went about my evening’s business before something dragged me back to the now lovingly folded costume. Only this time I opened the second box.
I set the battered tin lamp on one side and lifted out the chains. I had thought them lighter when I had first picked them up, but running them through my hands in my flat they felt heavier and far more genuine than I had imagined.
There were several strands to the chains and it took me a few moments to figure out exactly how they worked. Finally I had them up the right way. The large ring could only be a collar designed to go about the neck, a single chain hanging down from what I assumed was the front. At the far end of the chain were a pair of manacles I presumed were for the ankles, and half way between a small pair that could only be for the wrists.
Just like the costume they appeared lovingly made. All the edges were finely finished; the collar and manacles had smooth and comfortable looking insides, each with a simple looking latch.
Feeling a treacherous passion rising inside me I lifted the collar and slipped it about my throat. I felt a chill run down my spine as I snapped the latch closed and it rested heavily on my shoulders. The tugging weight of the chain at the front pressed it against my flesh and made sure I always knew it was there.
Slipping off my housecoat I bent over and snapped the manacles about my ankles. They were cold, pressed down on my feet with their weight. I stood and moved towards my long mirror, shuffling as I realised the chain between the ankle manacles was deceptively short. No slave was going to be running away wearing these I thought, and I wondered exactly what sort of party this costume had been designed for.
For the second time that evening I stood before my long mirror thinking how sexy I looked. The final set of cuffs rested against my thighs and I watched the reflection reach out to them and snap them silently about my wrists.
Whoever had designed these chains had a wicked mind. Once fastened the chains would not allow your wrists to relax against your thighs, the chain was mounted high on the central chain so if you relaxed your arms they pulled at your neck, so you had to keep your elbows bent and your arms raised in supplication to be anything like comfortable.
I looked at my naked body in the mirror and gently shook my arms. The chain rattled and swayed gently, and as the long chain swayed it brushed my body coldly. I could not decide which had looked sexier, the swirling slave girl in her revealing outfit or the naked slave in her cold chains. I walked back and forth taking the short steps the chains forced upon me and I had never felt so submissive in my life. A terrible dark part of me wondered what it would be like if the chains were permanent or padlocked in place by some dominant soul.
Glancing at the clock I was amazed to see how much time I had wasted playing with my chains and quickly slipped them off. Part of me wanted to keep them on, to maybe sleep in them and wake up to the fantasy of being a slave girl, but the adult part scolded me, put them back in the box and stowed them away before putting on my housecoat.
When I managed a quiet moment at work I opened the fancy dress cupboard again and made a thorough search of what remained in the hope I might have missed something else to offer me some more kinky fun, but I was disappointed. The manageress made no comment on my quiet theft of stock and I assumed I had got away with it. Before she realised the slave girl outfit was missing I would have returned it I was sure, and the cupboard would probably not be opened again before next years dressing up season.
Back home I took a long shower after work and found myself sitting alongside the harem girls costume on my bed fingering it almost lovingly. The material was quite exquisite in its texture, and almost unbidden I watched my hands lift it and suddenly I was wearing it again.
In front of my full length mirror I swirled, turned and spun, my thick dark hair flying out behind me before settling against my shoulders. I did not even recall slipping my feet into my highest heels, but I found I was wearing them as I was dancing for my own enjoyment. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I could hear harem music and I wanted there to be bells on my fingers.
There was a faint gleam of sweat all over my body, and I found myself staring down at the box of slave chains as I rested. The lid had slipped to one side and I could see them gleaming within. I reached out and caressed them with my fingertips, running them over the shimmering coldness before I picked them up and weighed them in my palms. I turned my hand and watched, entranced, as they slithered noisily onto the bed.
I came quickly to my feet and lifted the heavy chains, closing the collar about my throat, shivering at the snap of the lock and the weight against resting on me. I walked in front of the tall mirror and watched enthralled as I allowed the chains to fall to the floor in a loud rattle, coldly brushing my bare flesh as they fell.
I bent and snapped the ankle cuffs about my ankles, effectively removing any hope the slave I was turning myself into had of running away. I stood upright and shook my ankles. The short chain between them felt even shorter than it had before, but I shook that off as a foolish thought.
Watching the shamefully submissive image I presented in the mirror, I silently closed the final cuffs about my wrists. I watched my mouth open in a silent gasp at the image I had created. Keeping my hands in the terrible position of submission the chains forced on me for comfort, I started to swirl and spin in front of the mirror again; the rattle of the chains accompanying the music in my mind as I awkwardly danced with my feet confined.
A sound brought me to an abrupt halt. A faint rattling sound as if someone was shaking a stone in a tin can. I turned back to face the bed and I saw the battered old lamp trembling where I had left it on the shelf. Before my eyes it grew suddenly shiny and smoke billowed from the spout. As it cleared a tall, willowy woman stood before me wearing a costume very much like mine, but in blue.
“Well, well,” she purred, “what do we have here?”
I tried to back away but the chain between my ankles seemed to have grown even shorter and it was all I could do to stop myself falling over.
“I see you are our newest recruit,” I looked at her blankly and tried to desperately slip out of the wrist cuffs but the latches would not open. “It’s all in the outfit and chain,” she said, “separately they are quite harmless, but once you put them on together you summon me.” She smiled at me. “They only make themselves known and visible to suitable girls, and they have chosen you. Whether you like it or not.”
“Who are you?” I blurted out, my fingers still struggling with the suddenly obstinate catches on the wrist manacles.
“I am the head servant of the Genie,” she said, waving her hand towards the mirror.
I turned and watched as the glass surface shimmered and changed before my eyes. The reflection of the glorious yellow clad and thoroughly chained slave faded to that of a clichéd image of large cushions and tall windows in another place. I looked confused and yelped when her palm landed between my shoulder blades and gave me a solid shove. I pitched towards the mirror. As my face hit what should have been a hard surface I found myself falling through a rippling surface and pitching forward onto a large, soft cushion.
I turned round as quickly as I could, jerked my neck with the chains and found myself on my hands and knees. I could imagine the image I presented to any onlooker. The woman in the blue costume was standing over me with her hands on her hips. There was thick carpet everywhere serving as the floor, and when I looked up the ceiling was lost in clouds.
“Welcome to the Genie’s lamp,” she said, “she is kept prisoner in here for years at a time between the lamp being rubbed, and our task is to keep her both sane and amused.”
“Her?” I heard myself asking.
“Yes, her,” said the head servant. “She is a wild one, but we do our best to keep her entertained.”
I was helped to my feet and allowed to shuffle my chained form across the room and round the corner. The sight before me brought my hand to my mouth in shock.
In the middle of the room was a raised bed covered in a soft, textured sheet of what looked like the finest fur. Upon it lay a gorgeous naked redhead, her long hair spread around her head. She was tightly spread-eagled on the bed, each wrist and ankle firmly grasped by a disembodied hand that appeared to have risen from the bed beneath the covering sheet. They had clearly made her their prisoner then moved apart, now holding her tightly in place.
Another girl, in a red version of my slave costume, knelt between her tightly spread thighs licking attentively at the restrained genie’s womanhood. Lying in the halo of red hair the genie’s head rolled back and forth as she cried out in passion. Sweat rolled off every delectable curve of her body as her orgasms tortured her. Away to one side I could see gleaming metal poles that ran from carpet up into the clouds, manacles set in the place where wrists and ankles would be, if someone were spread helpless between them.
“Time does not pass here,” said the girl at my side, “so when you earn your freedom, no time will have passed for you or the world outside.” She smiled at me. “Welcome to the world of the genie’s bottle.”
