Garden Party by Cynthia Trusscot

This story was an entry into the 2010 Winter Fetish Story Contest

“No one attends a garden party in a shiny black dress!” exclaimed Darla.

“Rules like that are made to be broken”, said Jeffery. “You’ll look fabulous. Now pour that gorgeous body of yours into this!” Darla had to admit that the garment he held was very sexy. A long sleeved, high necked, floor length dress in shiny black.

“This is quite an item. Where did you get it?”

“From Winter Fetish. It’ll look great on you, and you’ll look great in it. Now get dressed, please.”

Bemused, she stripped and began putting the dress on. The bottom of the skirt encased her legs snugly, leaving little room to move them. She wriggled the dress up her body and slid her arms into the sleeves. Jeffery zipped her up. The sensation of the stretchy fabric flowing smoothly over her breasts and hips was delicious. She put on high heeled black patent pumps, a wide gold necklace that set off the black material exquisitely, and a couple of rings. Pausing , she looked at herself in her mirror. The Winter Fetish dress clung to her every curve. She looked like she had been dipped into sexy black oil. Picking up a white garden-party hat, she was ready to go.

“I can barely walk in this,” she complained as they headed to the limo. The dress felt wonderful on her naked skin, but the skirt was so tight she could take steps of only half a foot at a time.

“Well, that will keep you from getting too far from me, won’t it?” he said with satisfaction. He waited while she maneuvered herself awkwardly into the back seat, then walked around and joined her.

It was a beautiful afternoon. They were driven across the floating bridge on Lake Washington to where the fashionable estates overlooked the city and Puget Sound. Jeffery occasionally reached across and caressed her thigh through the slick, sleek PVC Spandex fabric. They pulled into the circular drive of one of the estates, and an attendant opened her door. Darla made to get out—only to be stymied by the tight skirt. She had to swing both legs out together, while the attendant helped her to stand. She hopped a few steps to clear the door, then waited for Jeffry’s arm. They walked – slowly – through the gate and into the garden of the massive house. The grounds, overlooking the Sound, were well maintained and beautiful, with flowers, a fountain, and terraces. Gentlemen in sport jackets and pretty women in frocks (none of them black) were already wandering about in small conversational groups while waitresses circulated with trays of food and drink. Darla took it all in – for about ten seconds.

“One more thing,” Jeffery said, working a piece of fabric between his hands.

“What’s that? She asked.

“It’s a Winter Fetish spandex hood,” he replied shortly as he yanked it down over her head. Suddenly she couldn’t see! “It goes with the dress,” he added.

“Just what am I supposed to do in a skintight dress that I can barely walk in and a hood that covers everything but my mouth?” she hissed.

“Hang on my arm – and smile. Keep smiling,” he told her. He looped her arm through his, and led her down the path, greeting friends, laughing, and introducing her: “This is my current companion, Darla. Darla, this is Leslie….” She could only smile, not knowing if ‘Leslie’ was tall, old, young, or good looking. She did know when they were male, however – she could feel their eyes, admiring her figure in the tight shiny spandex. At one point, her abbreviated steps took her off the hard walk. She felt grass underfoot, then suddenly lost her balance as her heel sank into the soft earth. She tried to recover her balance, but, hobbled by her slinky skirt, she began to fall.

“Woah, there, darlin’!” said a booming voice behind her. Big hands grabbed her and kept her from going all the way down.

“Rule one is: do not wear spike heels to a garden party, no matter how sexy they are!” he added in a Texas accent. One of the big hands ran down her back and cupped her derriere in a highly suggestive manner.

“Thank you,” she said, then added, “If you would like to keep your hand there, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Thank y’all, darlin’” he replied, his hand passing around her waist and back over her fanny. “Don’t mind if I do. That is one outlaw dress, and a lovely lady inside it. You really ought to watch where you’re goin’.”

“I can’t very well, with this hoodwink on.”

“Oh --I’d only seen you from the back, before you assayed your backflip.” Jeffery had apparently abandoned her.

“I appear to be in your debt, sir,” she said to her rescuer. She looped her arm through his and, steadied by his strong arm, they walked on, talking and laughing.

“Now darlin’” he said after awhile, “I wouldn’t normally leave a damsel in distress, but there’s an old battle ax staring daggers at me for flirtin’ with a girl in a hood who caint tell how ugly I am.”

“I ain’t staring daggers, nor at you, you old stud,” another voice chimed in. It might have been female. Once. “I was admiring this young lady’s outfit and wonderin’ where it came from.”

“The place is called Winter Fetish,” said Darla. “They have lots of great clothes like this: Dresses, hoods,–“

“That’s what I should get this old goat,” said the woman. “Do they make hoods like you’ve got for men?” Assured that they did, they excused themselves and moved off, debating what kind of outfit they should get and for whom. Darla turned carefully and moved ahead, half-step by half-step, hoping that she wasn’t about to walk off a cliff or tumble down a flight of stairs. She was wondering where Jeffery had gotten to when someone nudged her. Then again. And again.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

“Uhh-huh” came a muffled answer.

“I’m hoodwinked and can’t see you. Who are you?” There was no answer. Reaching out, Darla’s hand encountered warm flesh encased in slippery fabric similar to her own dress. She felt around, her hand sliding over the sleek material. She discovered an arm, folded across the front and held by a vertical strap. Other straps ran from the end of the sleeves to a buckle behind the person’s back.

“Oh! You’re wearing one of those Winter Fetish straitjacket dresses!”

“Unh-Huh!” Darla reached up – way up.

“And a spandex hood – but you’re gagged. Oh, you have eye holes. I’m glad there are two of us. Do you mind if I feel you up some more?” She paused, then smiled at herself. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.” There came a gag-muffled giggle, and Darla felt the other’s head nod affirmatively. She ran her hand around, discovering a cascade of long hair from a ponytail opening in the top of the hood, a collar with rough stones on it, and a set of spectacular breasts encased in sleek spandex, almost at her head level. Her new friend was a big girl, but Winter Fetish made their outfits in a variety of sizes, and even did custom work. Via a series of questions and gag-muffled replies, Darla and the other girl became great friends.

“I told you not to run off,” It was Jeffery, at last.

“You know perfectly well that I can’t run -- you left me,” she replied with mock indignity.

“True enough,” he acknowledged, “You’re not going anywhere in that dress. Like it?”

“It’s great,” she replied. “Wearing this is like being in bondage, only in public and much sexier. Too bad my hands aren’t tied to complete the picture.”

“We can take care of that,” he said. He went off, then returned a moment later. Darla’s arms were drawn back behind her, and a slick piece of fabric was slipped up over them. In a moment, her arms were pinned behind her. “It’s a Winter Fetish arm-binder,” Jeffery said as he slipped the straps over her shoulders.

“Hey! Not fair!”

“Bound girls don’t get to complain. Why isn’t it fair?”

“With my arms free, I could reach out to where I was going and steady myself! At least let me see!” Immediately, the hoodwink was removed. She glanced around. She realized that she was the center of attention. Most of the people at the party were looking at her – the men hungrily, the women envious.

She turned to Jeffery, and gave him a smoky look. “I am so frustrated, I can’t stand it,” she purred, so that only he could hear. Smiling, he guided her towards the French doors leading into the house. Moving as quickly as she could in the tight spandex, she allowed herself to be directed to a small hidden door.

“An Elevator! Great – I couldn’t manage stairs.” They emerged into a short hall. Jeffery opened a door at the end.

“Wow,” said Darla. “This is either a very erotic bedroom or –“

“ -- Or a restful dungeon. I know, I helped design it. Sit down,” he ordered. She settled herself as he opened the champagne, then disappeared for a moment. She wriggled. In the arm binder and the tight dress, she was quite helpless to resist anything he might wish to do to her – not that she was planning resistance.

Jeffery re-emerged wearing a satin robe and a cocky expression. “Do you know what the second-best thing about putting on a Winter Fetish erotic outfit is?” he said as he stood over her.

“No – what?”

“Taking it off.” Helping her to her feet, he easily removed the arm binder. She threw her newly-freed arms around his neck and kissed him, hard. He reached behind her and pulled down the zipper, allowing her to peel out of the tight sexy spandex. They tumbled bedward, the erotic fashions a rumpled heap on the bedroom floor – until the next time.

The End

06.04.10