|by Cynthia Trusscot|
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|© Copyright 2017 - Cynthia Trusscot - Used by permission|
|Halloweentie Cynthia Trusscot F/m, Halloween; cd; wig; heels; fem; bond; cuffs; gag; alcove; hide; camera; pictures; cons; X|
“Ah, Halloween,” I said to my Significant Other as I helped decorate the house. “The holiday most enamoured by transvestites. I think I’ll be Cynthia tonight,”
Her eyes grew wide. “You can’t! A guy in a dress is silly fun, but you'll be trying to look like a real woman!”
“What do you mean, 'trying?'”
“You're not that convincing, dear. Those little kids might not get it, but their parents will, and they’ll think you’re some kind of pervert!” She had a point, but I wasn’t ready to give up.
“How are you going to stop me,” I asked, “Tie me up?”
“What? No!” then she paused. “Unless you want me to...”
I smiled. “How about this,” I said. “I’ll change, you can tie me up, and I’ll be a Damsel in Distress, hidden, helpless, while all those people come by.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said,
“Imagine it: Innocent kids at the door, while only inches away is your helpless captive...”
'Might be exciting, at that. Okay, you're on, Cynthia dear.”
That evening, I changed into my female alter-ego, Cynthia: Latex breasts in a slinky black dress, blonde wig, fishnet tights, long black gloves, black high heeled pumps, makeup, and jewelry. As I came downstairs, the sounds of costumed revellers could already be heard coming along our street.
“You look great!” said my S.O.
“Good enough to hand out candy?” I asked coyly.
“Don't push it, dear. But we’d better get a move on.” She picked up leather handcuffs, pulled my hands up behind me and cuffed my wrists. There was a small alcove behind our front door, and she shoved me into it while I pretended to fight. There she knelt and strapped my ankles together. Finally she added a leather gag.
I was no sooner concealed there when the doorbell rang. “TRICK OR TREEET!” chorused a group of kids.
“What have we here? A pirate, a princess, and two sports players! How cute!” I squirmed in my bonds and grunted, very softly, through my gag. Then she shut the door on my potential rescuers. “Lucky for me they didn’t hear you,” she said with a superior air.
This went on all evening. The doorbell would ring, My S.O., wearing her Evil Queen costume, would dole out candy to the little ones while I lay, tightly tied up and gagged, only a door’s thickness away. I would sit quite still while the door was open, then struggle madly, screaming through my gag when it was too late. In the interludes, she added straps to my torso and knees, tying me even tighter and more elaborately. A few times, she called greetings to the parents we knew as they escorted their kids around.
“That’s macabre,” commented one of them, indicating our yard decoration. I was secretly proud of it: A plastic skeleton, a black bra draped around its ribcage, one of my wigs on its skull, its foot bones thrust into high heels; draped in loose ropes with a bandana gag through its jaw.
“Where’s your other half?” she was asked once or twice.
“Oh, tied up with some other things,” she replied airily. That made me struggle even harder against my bondage. I mean, really!
By nine o’clock, the doorbell had pretty much stopped. She got out the camera and took some pictures of me, tied up in the alcove, my made-up eyes wide over my gag. Then she untied my ankles and legs and helped me to my feet. Instead of releasing me, though, she took me outside and sat me next to the display in the yard. Quickly, before any late trick-or-treaters came, she took a picture of me sitting there, tied up just like the skeleton. It was easy to imagine that there would be two skeletons there next year.
Then, just for the fun of it, I strutted down the driveway, high heels clicking, my still-bound hands bouncing over my swinging ass, feeling as female as I could. I posed for a moment at the street, a lingerie-clad Halloween captive, then strutted back to be punished by my evil Queen for my effrontery. I winked at the skeletal lady in my yard display as I went past. Could’ve swore she winked back.
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