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Bound in Leather - Book Two


Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 2, Episodes 1-5 (11 illustrations) - 10 tokens

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Episode 1 (2 images)

Of course, I called my Bride-to-be early the morning after our engagement took place, assuming, of course, that now, at any rate, she would be ready to talk to me and let me see what she looked like. I was very disappointed when Fifi's lilting French accent told me, "Fifi ees sorree, monsieur, but mam'selle ees out. Zere are so many arrangements to be made now. But she asks you to come to dinnaire tonight at 'alf past seven."

You can be sure I rang the bell of the house on Sutton Place at exactly seven thirty. As the door swung open, I believe my mouth did, too. Instead of Fifi's flirtatious smile and boldly displayed figure, I found myself looking at the strangest maid I had ever dreamed of. She had one body and two arms in the usual manner, but she had two heads and three legs. Further, the two heads which arose from the twin collars of the skin-fitting, black tunic, were smoothly covered by black kid discipline helmets, with very narrow eye-slits, and a perky cap of crisp, white lace on top of each gleaming head. The two outer, single legs were laced into conventional black kid thigh-boots, but the inner double leg was laced into a matching boot of the same leather, but made wide enough to contain two legs. Around the ankle of this special boot was a wide steel cuff, from each side of which extended an eight-inch length of chain to matching cuffs about the free legs, thus keeping the stride smartly regulated-not that it would have been very long in any case since these boots were ballet-style, that is, they held the foot stiffly vertical, without a heel-as-such, at all. A similar chain about two feet long joined matching cuffs about the two wrists.

It was startling to watch this double being move as though regulated by a single brain. She-or should I say "they"?-closed the door, then, placing the double leg prettily forward and holding the very brief skirt out to the sides, bowed stiffly from the hips. (It was obvious what must have been a single corset was so stiff that any movement from the waist was impossible.) Then she gestured for me to give her my hat, placed it on a table and preceded me to the living room. She moved with stilted grace, but perfect ease on the tips of her toes, in the usual three-legged race manner, the double leg moving forward first, then the two free outer legs taking the next pace. At each pace the ankle chains clinked musically. Opening the living room door, the double maid gestured me in. Dick was waiting for me inside, grinning at my amazement like a Cheshire cat.

"What-what on earth's the idea of that?" I asked, gesturing toward the door. "This is Thursday, old boy. Maid's night out. Fifi's off, so Nicki and Vicki have pooled their resources to try and replace her. Cute, don't you think?"

"Darn right," I agreed, but continued, "You know, now that we're engaged and all, I was looking forward to seeing what my prospective bride looks like." "Umm-hmm. We thought you'd feel that way. But Nicki has other ideas. You're not to see her face until the ceremonies are over and the honeymoon has begun." "But... "No buts about it. Nicki's very obstinate in some ways. Still want to go through with it?" "Of course I do." At this point, the double maid returned with cocktails. As they bent forward to offer me the tray, Dick said, "Let's see if you can spot your future wife. Which half is Nicki?"

It was quite a problem. The pair stood impassive and expressionless as I stared from one half to the other. The two figures were identical in height and in every other way. Suddenly, I got a brain wave. Getting to my feet, I kissed the one on the left, full on her gagged mouth. I could feel the hard ball that stretched her jaws wide open. She trembled, but returned the pressure on her already severe gag. "The one on the left is Nicki," I said, "No doubt of it." "Is he right, girls?" Dick had to ask them. "I'm darned if I can tell." They nodded. "Good. Now let's go and have dinner," he remarked. Until I left, almost at midnight, the double maid continued on her pretty toes, mincing about ,waiting on us; or standing rigid, double leg thrust forward, skirt gathered at the sides, where we could admire her.

Episode 2 (2 images)

Nothing important happened the next couple of days, .while I was getting the license. Dick acted as spokesman for his masked and silent daughter, and when I inquired about which church the wedding was to take place in-assuming that, like all girls, she would want a church wedding, even if a very small one-he said, "No church. Justice of the Peace; special one I know. Very old and almost blind. He'll be ideal. The wedding itself will be the smallest part of this marriage. The big ceremonies come later." "Ceremonies?" I asked, bewildered. "Some sort of reception?" "A reception is part of it. You'll just have to wait and see, Ted. Nicki's going to nin this thing her way. It will be fun, though." On Saturday, we were to drive out to the Justice of the Peace. I arrived, prompt to time, at noon. Fifi opened the door for me; for once, she was not restrained in any way. She was dressed for the street. Vicki came downstairs, also dressed to go out. Her skirt was tighter and shorter than is usually worn, and she wore a short fur cape. In addition, she had on a small hat and a black, mesh veil.

A few moments later Nicki came down, accompanied by her father. She was dressed almost exactly like her mother, in a short, very tight skirt-so tight, Dick had to help her down the stairs. At first glance, she looked quite normal. But a longer look showed that beneath the veil, which hid more than it seemed to, she wore the flesh-coloured kid mask and adhesive features I had seen before. Further, she carried her arms very stiffly by her sides. I found that this was because a wide band of black leather was laced, corset-like, around her upper arms and body, just below the bosom. The fur cape concealed the fact that to her elbows her arms were pinned to her sides.

We went out and got into the car. Fifi had a little difficulty because of her tight skirt; Vicki had to raise hers quite a bit, while Nicki had to have me slip hers up almost half way up her thighs before she could make it. On the way up to the country, we stopped at a drive-in for a little lunch. Dick and I ate well; Fifi ate a little, because of the tight corset under her easy-fitting dress; Nicki, of course, had nothing, nor her mother, oddly enough. That was because her veil was part of an elastic stocking, anchored to her corset. We arrived at the Justice of the Peace. Dick went in first to "make the last-minute arrangements"-in other words, to fluster the old boy by a lot of loud talk, a very generous fee and finally, by knocking his glasses to the floor and "accidentally" stepping on them.

When the girls and I walked in, poor Mr. Nathaniel N. Nivins didn't know if he was coming or going. But he knew the ceremony by heart and raced through it. When the time came for Nicki to say "I do," her mother, who was right behind her, whispered it for he and the old gentleman never knew the difference. Getting back into the car again, I was feeling pretty possessive, so I pulled my wife's skirt up. Dick, who was driving, produced a pair of straps from somewhere and handed them to me. They were just the right length to anchor her wrists to her thighs. The other three all rode in the front seat. Very considerate.

Back at the house, Dick and I were shooed into the library and told to wait while Vicki and Fifi "turned Nicki into a puppet for the ceremony."

I looked at Dick; he looked at me and shrugged. "Search me. Let's go get a drink."

Episode 3 (2 images)

Dick and I had time for more than one drink. It was well over an hour before Fifi tapped at the library door and opened it to announce,

"M'sieur Ted, your puppet ees waiting for you."

Fifi was most attractively dressed as a musical-comedy `artist' with black patent, ultra high-heeled pumps, black mesh tights and a powdered blue linen smock, which was cut very full, tightly belted around her wasp-waist and came just to the tops of her legs. On her dark curling hair was a blue velvet artist's cap. All in all, a delightful picture-especially as she preceded us up the stairs, her lovely betighted hips swaying arrogantly at each step.

Vicki was waiting for us at the top, dressed in a similar outfit, save that her smock was pink and her beret black.

"What's the idea of the artists' outfits?" I asked, as they led us along the upper half to what I knew was called the "dressing room".

"We've been very busy making Nicki into something usually only seen in an artist's studio," Vicki explained. "There-isn't she cute?"

Again, I felt my jaw sagging foolishly. In the dressing room, leaning lightly against the dressing table, was what looked exactly like a life-sized artist's figure-save that it had no arms. Aside from a pair of high-heeled, gold kid mules that arched her insteps part the vertical, her figure in a light-coloured latex "skin" that covered her completely from head to toe, but which, by its very perfection of fit, managed to display her figure.

Probably the most startling single feature was her lack of arms. I assumed, for a second, they were fastened behind her in some way, perhaps with her hands between her shoulder-blades as I had once strapped them. But as soon as I entered the room, the figure began moving toward me, taking the tiniest of paces, turning to display herself from all angles. There was no sign, whatever, of her arms; she looked a little broad in the shoulders and her waist was no smaller than a girl's uncorseted waist. The implication of utter defence-lessness was delightful. "Allright, what have you done with 'em? Her arms, I mean," I asked.

"She's wearing a Venus-corset," her mother explained proudly. "It goes from just above her shoulder-blades to a little way below her waist. It holds her upper arms squeezed against her sides and her forearms folded against the soft part of her body in front, just under the ribs. Lace a Venus corset tight enough and the arms just have to disappear." "So I see," I murmured. "She's gagged, of course?" "So tight, I don't see how she can stand it. I couldn't." "Can she see?" "A little-through the meshes of the material. Enough to keep from walking into a closed door; but not enough to, say, recognise faces." "She looks absolutely delightful. But what can I do to help?"

"Fifi and I thought you might care to dress her a little. Here, put these stockings on for her," and she handed me a pair of black nylons.

"Black? For a bride?" I asked, setting happily, as my wife leaned against a table and held out one shapely leg. "For this one, anyway. Black's the colour of love and surrender. If all wives wore long, black stockings and displayed them for their husbands, there would be far fewer divorces. Besides, these are the "something old" that brides have to wear. They were my first pair of nylon operas, Dick liked them so much I saved them for my daughter to be married in." By this time, I had the stockings on and smoothed into place, seams exactly straight and centred. Fifi handed me a pair of eight-inch heeled black patent leather sandals, saying, "These are mine, M'sieur. They are for the "somesing borrowed."

As I stood up, after pulling the ankle-straps as tight as I could, Vicki put on Nicki a black elastic, opera-hose supporter with three short suspenders for each stocking. As she hooked the belt around the rigidly corseted figure and adjusted the suspenders as short as possible to pull the stockings really tight, I noticed each of the clips was decorated with a tiny rosette of blue satin. This was "something blue." As I stepped back to admire the effect, the two dainty `artists' came forward with a pair of loosely stuffed `arms,' ending in gloved `hands' with wide-spread fingers. Holding them against the armless shoulders, they asked me: "Do you think the imitation arms add to the artificial effect?"

"They certainly do," I agreed. "That flexible rag-doll look they give her is most attractive." So they began sewing them directly to the `skin' of her shoulders.

At this point, Dick remarked, "Okay, Ted. It's about time for you to go change your clothes. The guests will be arriving soon." "Guests?" I exclaimed, "what kind of guests?" "You'l1 see," he grinned.

Episode 4 (2 images)

Fifi led me to the Guest Room to change my clothes.

It was several minutes before I could persuade her to leave . . . and to do that I had to tie her hands behind her and gag her with a guest towel so that her mouth was so wide open she couldn't kiss any more. Fifi takes her job as the French maid so seriously-and gets so much simple pleasure out of it.

As I was dressing, I heard sounds of voices downstairs as the guests arrived and Dick let them in-had had to, since both Vicki and Fn fi were busy elsewhere.

I noticed, more or less subconsciously as I listened, the voices all seemed to be masculine. "Why no girls' voices?" I wondered idly as I tied my tie.

The solution was obvious, as soon as I came downstairs and saw the twenty-five or thirty guests who had assembled. All the girls were gagged into silence and had their arms helplessly bound; mostly, they had enough leg room to move around on their super high heels. That was lucky, because it gave them full opportunity to show off their tiny waists, bosoms, and lavishly displayed legs.

One girl, for instance, had on black, patent knee-boots, buttoned to the tops, black stockings which disappeared under the edge of her very short, full, black velvet skirt; this fitted in the typical "princess" line, skin tight over the body and up to a collar that was so high it came right to the base of her nose, covering her mouth completely. Her arms were doubled at the elbows and laced into "short-arm" gloves that held them in that position.

Another one was in a sort of harem outfit, of very high-heeled Eastern slippers with turned-up toes, transparent baggy pants (under which could be seen tightly suspendered dark stockings), a short coatee that hugged the wasp-like waist which was open at the top to display a cloth-of-gold brassiere. Her wrists were circled by gold cuffs which were attached to short chains which went under her body and up to a gold belt around her waist. Her Eastern veil, which half concealed her face below the eyes, was thin enough to allow a pair of smiling lips to be seen. Only on second glance did you see that the lips were actually painted on; the entire lower part of her face being tightly but smoothly covered with adhesive tape.

"Wow!" I said to Dick, as he prepared to take me around and introduce me. `Who are all these charmingly helpless creatures?"

"Oh Members of the Society "he answered airily.

"Social Register Society?" I acquired doubtfully.

"Oh no. Another kind of society altogether where a tiny waist counts for more than family history, pretty legs take the social place position, and a tight gag is the passport to complete acceptance."

At this moment somewhere, a piano started to play "The Wedding March."

Episode 5 (2 images)

As the music began, Dick took my elbow and hurried me over to one side of the big hall, where a low dais, banked with flowers, had been prepared. Hearing a masculine murmur of appreciation behind me, I turned to see the bridal procession slowly descending the stairs. First, by herself, came my human puppet. She was quite a sight. Instead of a conventional wedding gown, she wore a skirt and halter bra arrangement. But the skirt, of pale grey satin, while very full, was less than ten inches long, so that it came near the tops of her pink latex legs and allowed a startling display of her black stockings. The halter was made of strings of large imitation pearls in a wheel design over each breast. You might say it was an unusual bra. Her head and face were covered, at the moment, by a rather heavy veil in white, kept on by a chaplet of orange blossoms. The dark wig beneath could be seen, but that was about all. Her artificial arms were pinned up in such a manner that they seemed to be holding a bouquet of obviously artificial roses, with grey satin blossoms. (A rather subtle piece of symbolism, I though.)

Behind her came a page, dressed from high, rigid collar to toes in one-piece tights of a deep wine colour which were made to look like a uniform by a row of gold buttons all the way down the front and gold piping sewn on to indicate the edge of the jacket, pockets etc. Her feet were in high-heeled, black kid pumps and a matching discipline helmet enclosed the head. A round pill-box hat was perched rakishly over one narrow eye-slit. The arms were secured with the straps at the elbows and wrists. In front of the page was a little tray, suspended from straps around the neck. This, I realised, must be Fifi.

Back of her, came four bridesmaids, two by two. They were all alike in a form of Maid's costume, in pale pink. From the bosoms down to the severely corseted waists, the satin fitted like it was sprayed on. Below this, the skirts which were just long enough to reach the tops of the legs when the wearers stood still, sprang out till they were a good three feet across. The hems were stiffened with wire hoops and so swayed interestingly at each tiny step, so that the super tight stockings were frequently displayed. The stockings, rather less than full "opera" in length, were of a pale beige tint and, in spite of very tight light blue suspenders, allowed an intriguing band of pale thigh to show.

The feet were in pale blue suede pumps with seven inch heels while matching shoulder-length gloves covered the arms. The hands were pulled as high up the back as the wearers could stand and anchored by straps which ran up to high, stiff, suede collars about the; necks. The four pretty "maids" wore little white aprons, which were now pinned up in such a manner as to hold the bouquet of artificial blue roses that the girls couldn't carry in their arms in the usual manner. To keep them fashionably silent, each girl's mouth was stretched wide open, probably by a choke-pear, then covered by a wide, smooth band of flesh-coloured suede, right around the head. A pair of full smiling lips was stuck in the proper position, but the happy expression was belied by the staring eyes, wide open in the smart "gag look."

As I watched this lovely procession approach, I found myself wondering, "But where is Vicki?"


Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 2, Episodes 6-10 (8 illustrations) - 10 tokens

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Episode 6 (2 images)

The procession slowly crossed the hall to where Dick and I were waiting by the dais. As my bride arrived beside me, I turned, so we were both facing the flower-banked platform. At this moment a figure appeared from behind the flowers at one side and minced slowly to the centre, where she turned to face us.

>From her toes to about half way between knee and thigh, she wore black, patent knee-boots, with eight-inch heels. Her legs were covered, apparently up to the waist by the mistiest of black nylon tights. The corseted body was covered to just below the bust by a brief, skin-fitting leotard which was a solid mass of silver sequins; the legs were cut so high at the sides as almost to reach the waist. From the bosom, right up to a high neck, she wore the same black nylon which covered her legs, the centre of each bosom being decorated with a rosette of rhinestones. The head was covered by a sort of helmet of black patent, which came down in front to form a domino eye-mask, and also covered the neck and ears, though it left the mouth uncovered. From the shoulders hung a long cape-like garment of black lace which was caught around the waist by a narrow rhinestone belt, but arranged to hang so far open in front that neither the bosom or legs were concealed. Perhaps the strangest part of the costume was the huge, black lace collar, in the form of a scallop shell; the wearer's black-gloved arms were made of part of the lower frame, so subtly, you didn't realise she was helpless, or indeed what had been done to get rid of them. Obviously, this was Vicki. You couldn't tell directly, but it could not be anyone else.

Glancing over the assemblage, then down to her daughter, she began:

"Subjects and gentlemen, we are gathered here this evening to witness the formal acceptance of this Human Puppet before me by the young man beside her."

Speaking to me, she asked solemnly: "Do you, Edward Walk, take this puppet to be your property, to lace and to corset, to gag and to bind, in satin and in silk, in leather and in steel, from this day forth?"

"I do," I answered, my heart pounding with excitement. "Very well. Remove her veil and signify your acceptance by making her a face."

Eagerly, I swept the concealing vefi7 back from Nicki's long, black curling wig and blank face. At the same time the page stepped forward; on the tray hung from her neck were some various coloured grease-pencils. I'll admit I'm a pretty fair amateur artist; and in a very few minutes I had drawn her a very pretty cartoon-style face; the expression was one of pleased surprise, with big, wide-open eyes, arching brows and a full, smiling mouth.

The job complete, the page melted away and Nicki and I turned once more to the High Priestess.

"Do you, Puppet Nicole," she asked in measured tones, "give yourself, wholeheartedly and completely ,to this man, with no thought but to make him happy?"

The rigid figure nodded her silent head.

"And do you further promise to love him implicitly, honour him completely, and obey him abjectly?"

Another nod.

"And do you further promise to accept the most stringent bondage and severest of silencers to make yourself more desirable to him?"

Again a nod.

"Very well. Accept from your owner the symbol of his domination."

There was a faint sound from behind me. I turned to see the page had returned On her tray was a pair of gold-plated ankle cuffs, joined by a short chain, Kneeling, I snapped the cuffs about the trim ankles as the pretty legs moved far enough apart to draw the chain tight. The Priestess spoke again.

"By the authority vested in me by this Society, I now declare you Owner and Property. '

Nicki turned toward me and I locked her in a crushing embrace. From somewhere I heard the Priestess say:

"Let the celebration commence."

Episode 7 (1 image)

Under Dick's guidance, my wife made a move across the room she taking very small strides by reason of the short chain between her ankles-and formed part of a Reception Line, together with the four helpless bridesmaids. (The page seemed to have vanished.) In a few moments the Priestess joined us and Dick stood beside her.

There was a special etiquette observed by all the delightfully helpless girls. When a girl guest greeted a bridesmaid, or the bride, they bowed slightly from the hips. But when a girl greeted a man, she curtsies-not a full, deep court curtsey, which most of them were too stiffly restrained to manage anyway, but a very definite curtsey, just the same. Even Nicki, as Guest of Honour, curtsied to the gentlemen with the rest. Vicki, however, did not. I found out this was because she was not gagged and so could greet them verbally.

When the actual receiving was over and it took quite a long time, since all the men had to compliment Nicki on her delightful costume and the charming arrogance with which she wore it. The bridesmaids, at a signal from Vicki, filed out.

Shortly afterward they returned, without their pinned-on bouquets, with their aprons smoothed down in front. On the shoulders each had an arrangement similar to an old-fashioned milkmaid's yoke. But instead of a pail hanging from each side, there was a round tray. On some of the trays were glasses of champagne; on others, little plates of sandwiches, etc. With practised ease, the pretty maids slipped among the guests, supplying the men with refreshments. The poor bound and gagged girls, of course, got nothing-except for Vicki; when the Bride's health was proposed, Dick did hold his glass to her lips so she could take a sip of champagne in her daughter's honour.

I was beginning to wonder about the wedding cake when it arrived, under its own power. It was a huge one, about two and a half feet in height, and almost as much in diameter. It was generally in the form of a cone, since the individual layers got smaller as they got higher. It was very elaborately iced and decorated, with a delightful little piece of sugar sculpture on top, representing a man-obviously me-in a light rickshaw, driving a very smartly harnessed human pony, which was, presumably Nicki, but her entire head was enclosed in a gleaming black helmet. The oddest part of the cake, however, was the fact that it had legs. Pretty high-heeled legs in black mesh stockings, legs I recognised at once as Fifi's. The cake was largely hollow inside and was arranged to fit over her like that giant pack of cigarettes fits over the dancer on television.

It's quite surprising, but very pleasant to have a wedding cake come strutting up to you. Somebody thrust a cake knife into my hand. I unfastened one of my wife's limp, artificial arms from her bouquet and, holding the gloved "hand" in mine, began cutting the cake. Dick had a stack of plates on a rolling table and the bridesmaids cued up so he could put the filled plates on the trays that swung from their rigid shoulders. In a very short time all the men were served, then the girls went back to serving champagne.

As I replaced her arm, I asked my helpless, silent wife: "Happy, sweetheart?"

She nodded and nestled up against me as well as her unyielding corset would permit. Her dark wigged head went back and she offered her dumb-painted lips for a kiss. "Hey!" called a voice from across the room, "How about some dancing? Ted, will you and your bride lead us off?"

Episode 8 (2 images)

I was wondering how Nicki could manage to dance with her ankles so closely hobbled, when Dick slipped me a key, murmuring:

"For dancing, the bride's legs may be released."

In a second, I had one cuff removed and was about to take the other off, when I had an idea. I snapped the first one on again, so both cuffs were on the left leg, as a sort of symbol that the chain was removed only temporarily.

Then, I unpinned her limp arms and took off the bouquet of artificial roses as well. I put one floppy arm on my shoulder and took the hand of the other in my left and as somebody started a waltz on the phonograph, my puppet bride and I took the floor.

The others stood and watched for a while, but they slowly joined in. Soon the floor was full of dancing couples. Obviously, some such fairly slow number as a waltz was necessary; the girls were alt so tightly laced and gagged that any sort of exertion was out of the question.

There is a great thrill to dancing with anyone as helpless as Nicki; from the hips up she was as rigid as a poker and though she pressed as close to me as she could, her movements were still very stiff; then, too, the height of her heels made her balance a matter of great delicacy and I found it easier to clasp her very tightly around the waist, taking a good deal of her weight myself. You grow so accustomed, in dancing, to feel the girl's left arm around you and to do a good deal of your leading through your left and her right arms that it feels very odd when they are not there. But you get a tremendous sense of utter helplessness.

Toward the end of the number, I could feel her knees weakening and could sense she was almost collapsing, so I steered her over to her mother and murmured, "I think Nicki's about had it. She'd better rest a while."

Vicki nodded and agreed:

"It's not surprising. She insisted on being laced in until she fainted. Then she made us gag her so tightly she could hardly breathe. But she ought to be changing into her going-away outfit soon anyway. Oh, here comes Dick. He'll take Nicki around through the kitchen and up the back stairs. Then, with the puppet skin off and the gag loosened a little, she can rest a while before it's time to get dressed again."

But even though she was swaying on her feet from exhaustion, my wife wouldn't leave until I had put her ankle-chain back again.

For the next hour or more I had a fine time, cutting in and dancing with all the charmingly helpless girls. Many of them managed to be quite flirtatious, in spite of their rigid bondage and enforced silence. It's amazing how eloquent a pair of made-up eyes can be when the mouth below is gagged.

Several times I looked for Fifi, but the Walking Wedding Cake had vanished.

Finally, Nicki reappeared at the head of the stairs in her going-away costume and slowly descended. She still wore her Venus corset but no imitation arms. Instead, she had on a tight-fitting, armless, green velvet jacket, with a little round collar and a puff of yellow silk scarf around the neck. Two cut outs in front of the jacket allowed her to thrust forward beneath a yellow blouse. Below the waist, just to the tops of her very long brown kid, eight-inch heeled thigh-boots, she wore an ultra light, brown velvet skirt. Her head was covered with a discipline helmet of the same leather as the boots, though it seemed to be in two parts, the area over the mouth and lower face being strapped on over the crown of the head. Final touches were supplied by a green velvet beret on the smooth leather head, and a narrow spray of pink orchids on the left shoulder.

So easily and surely had she managed the stairs, that it was not until she stood uncertainly at the bottom that we all realised her helmet had no eye-holes and she was blind.

I didn't feel quite ready to go, so, with assistance, I stood her precariously on four champagne bottles for forty-five minutes. She didn't dare move a muscle, or she would have fallen and probably hurt herself.

Episode 9 (2 images)

When I was good and ready to leave, I lifted my charmingly defence-less bride down off the bottles, and, guided by Dick and Vicki, led her through the back of the house to the garage. Yes, this must be one fo the few houses left in the city with a private garage, formerly coach-house, attached. Made it very handy for getting tightly bound and strikingly costumed girls into and out of cars without exciting interest in the wrong quarters.

Dick had the station wagon ready for us. It was packed with numerous suitcases of Nicki's (and mine, which I had brought over earlier). There was a queer arrangement like a folding door frame, whose use I couldn't guess. But, oddest of all, was a large, vaguely pear-shaped leather bag, hung from a special hook in the roof of the wagon. I couldn't figure it at all.

Right back of the front seat, convenient to hand, was a large chest of bondage material. From it I took a long, fairly heavy cord and tied one end of it as tightly around my wife's rigid waist as I could pull it. I helped her seat herself on the front seat. Then I brought the rope up behind her and around the bar on the back of the seat and pulled it so tight before knotting it, that nearly all her weight rested on the rope. To keep her from leaning forward, I ran another short rope around her leather neck and to the back of the seat. I figured this arrangement would give her something to think about-especially going over any bumps. As a final touch to complete her helplessness, I corded her legs together as tightly as possible at ankles, insteps and above and below her booted knees. Vicki gave me a warm kiss and Dick slipped an envelope into my pocket as we shook hands, saying:

"Open it after you're out of the city. .. The best of luck, my boy and remember, in marriage there's nothing that can't be settled by a smaller corset, a higher heel, a tighter restraint or a more severe gag. So long."

I slipped behind the wheel as he opened the garage doors and away we went.

Naturally, we kept to the darker streets, but I still had ample light to admire the lovely figure at my side. Silent, bound and corseted to utter helplessness, Nicki was, to me, the acme of feminine desirability. For her part, I could feel, from the faint but definite responses to my kisses that she, too, was more than content with her condition. When we were some miles out in the country, I stopped the car, turned on the map-fight and read the letter. It said:

Dear Ted:

Of course you'll want to spend your honeymoon at your cottage, but don't forget that our place is just up the road. Make yourselves at home there. You'l1 have space, apparatus and privacy Vicki and I are sending Fifi along to help you. She can do all the things, like housework that I'm sure you'l1 keep Nicki too firmly restrained to do. When you want privacy, just add a blindfold to her gag. Handle her just as strictly as you do Nicki; they both thrive on severity. Oh, be sure and set up the portable lacing frame I let you have; neither girl is strong enough to pull herself in without it. Happy honeymoon.


So Fifi was with us! That was very generous of Vicki and Dick, but where was she? Suddenly I realised what the contents of that swinging leather bag must be. What a delightful way to pack her for shipment!

Soon we were pulling up outside the cottage. Of course, brides always have to be carried over the threshold for the first time, so I lowered the tail of the wagon and carried Nicki around to fix her properly. I secured a rope several times around her armless shoulders and ran a cord from it back to the one around her ankles, pulling it tight until she was bent backwards like a strung bow. Then I took the cord that still retained its position under her body, up the back and tied it to the lace of her helmet, drawing her head back to the utmost. She was now in a beautiful Crapaudine position and utterly without the power of movement. It was thus that I carried my bride into her new home. I left her in that position while I went out, leisurely, to unpack the station wagon.

Episode 10 (2 images)

Naturally, I emptied the baggage and so forth out of the wagon first, including the lacing-frame. I set that up in a little utility room behind the bedroom. (How it works you'll see in a future chapter.)

Then I was ready for that interesting-looking leather bag which still hung from the roof of the automobile. A little examination showed the bag was nothing but a cover-that is, it took no weight. That part of it was handled by a metal loop that emerged from the tied neck of the bag. Untying hte cord, I removed the bag, disclosing Fifi, bound in a manner I had never se seen before. Since, owing to the deep curve her body had been forced into, she could not wear a conventional stiff corset, her sole clothing, aside from the usual stockings. was a super-tight fitting, heavy, dark, rubber garment like a one-piece bathing suit.

To get her into the necessary position, she must have been made to sit, flat on the ground, then her head and arms were forced forward and down, while her knees were brought up until a bar, with securing straps at the ends, could be passed under her knees and across the back of the shoulders. Her arms, which were now on the underside of her thighs, were brought around the outside of them and forced as far back as possible by means of cords from wrist to wrist across the small of her back. Later I found out, when the subject is left in this position, it is called "The Grasshopper," from the raised position of the knees. But in Fifi's case, her feet were laced into soft boottees, without heels, the toes of which were sewn to the ring by which she was suspended. Thus, the least movement was impossible and escape, or even modification of the position, was out of the question. Her discomfort was greatly increased and silence assured by a huge pad of sponge rubber crammed into the gaping mouth and held in place by a narrow strap, buckled as tightly as possible around her head.

Fifi's tear-filled eyes gazed at me in mute appeal as I slipped the bag off. Knowing that release form a cramped position such as this can be very painful unless done slowly, I carried her, still bound, into the utility room, placed her gently on the floor, and removed her bonds. Then I left her to untangle herself as fast as her stiffness allowed. Nearby I placed one of the suitcases on which was stencilled her name. Then I went back to the living room and my helpless bride.

I released her, too, at least as far as her bonds went. Then I led her to the couch seating myself at one end and settling her so that her armless ,trunk rested against me and her attractively booted legs extended along the seat. Even though I couldn't hear it, I could feel her sigh and relax at least as much as her rigid costume allowed.

I took off her beret and then unbuckled the lower part of her helmet, the part over the lower face and jaw. This disclosed the obviously wide open mouth and cheeks were covered by a smooth-fitting three-inch band of leather, which turned out to be laced down the back of her head, over the helmet. This actually had a triple function, to jam the mouthpiece of the gag all the way back in the mouth, to seal the mouth completely, to present a smooth surface, so the part of the helmet over the mouth could fit without the least crease or bulge. Under this wide band when I unlaced it, I found the mouth packed wide open by the largest possible leather egg which was held in place by a strap through fit and around the back of the head, pulling the corners of the mouth far back.

At first, Nicki's mouth was so dry and stiff and cramped, she could say nothing. Finally, she managed to ask for some water, which I gave her I was just beginning to unlace the rest of the helmet when she begged:

"Please, master, not yet I want to look my best when you see my face. I've got no makeup on and my face will be full of pressure-marks from the mask Let Fifi fix me up as pretty as possible, then I'll be glad to show my face to you. I hope you like me," she murmured anxiously.


Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 2, Episodes 11-15 (9 illustrations) - 10 tokens

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Episode 11 (2 images)

It was more than an hour later I suppose (after all, who keeps track of minutes at a time like that?) when Fifi knocked on the door of the living room.

Fifi was her usual dark Parisian self, from the crisp white cap on her dark hair to the tips of her high-heeled, black patent toes. Her first words were:

"Fifi weeshes to thank Monsieur for putting up ze lacing frame. Wizzout eet, she could not have lace' her corset. You theenk she looks nice, oui?"

She pirouetted for my approval. As a change from the usual black, she wore a steel grey, satin uniform. It had a very high, stiff tight collar, which came up in a fan of lace behind, almost to the top of her head. Over the shoulders, bosom and hips, it fit like the skin on a frankfurter. It continued down, still ultra tight, to about a few inches above her knees-far longer than her usual skirts. Her stockings of ordinary length, were dark beige, and in spite of the pull of the four tight suspenders to each leg, there was a band of bare flesh between stocking top and skirt hem. Finishing touches were the white apron, edged with lace and the wide lace cuffs on the full-length, tight sleeves.

"Very nice, Fifi," I told her, "but tell me, why no black stockings? I thought French maids always wore them."

"Oui, monsieur, for ordinary occasions. But zees ees no ordinary occasion. Zee only black stockings worn tonight will be on Mam'selle. Fifi would not dream of offering, what you call, competeetion . . . Eef Monsieur weel permit, Fifi will take ze bride, an' dress her in a pretty negligee, for ze bridal supper an' prepare her face for ze great unveilfing."

I helped Nicki to her feet, and after a final kiss, she minced out, followed by Fifi, who gave me one of her inviting smiles before closing the door.

There was quite a lengthy wait part of which I filled by getting out a bottle of champagne and putting it in an ice-bucket.

Finally, I heard Nicki's slightly husky voice, outside the door, asking,

"Will you let me in please, boss?"

My first reaction was to tell her to open the door herself, since it wasn't locked. Then I realised, happily, she was probably incapable of doing so. In two strides, I was across the room and had the door open. My wife took two or three tiny steps into the room and posed, awaiting my approval.

She was well worth approving. Her feet were shod in very low cut, black patent pumps with the slimmest of seven-inch heels; her legs were displayed as Fifi promised, in the finest gauge, black nylon operas, stretched as taut as possible and beyond the tops of the legs at the sides by a single, wide, black suspenders which were attached to the lower edge of the Venus corset which still enclosed her trunk, compressing her arms into invisibility. Her undergarment was of black lace, with a matching brassiere. The negligee which Fifi mentioned was made without arms to fit over the corset, was of black tulle, buttoned closely down the front to the waist; then it was steeply cut away to leave the legs fully displayed. The most surprising part of the outfit was the thin, but opaque, black satin hood, which was tied bag-like around her neck, completely concealing her head and face. Eagerly, I led her to the couch and as I reached for the knot of the draw-string, she cautioned me:

"Are you sure you want to see my face? I-I may not be at all what you expect."

"I'm not worried," I assured her, "though I'll admit to certain nagging doubts. I'm sure you're lovely-and anyway, I can always keep you masked and gagged if I feel like it." I undid the knot and slipped off the concealing hood.

Episode 12 (2 images)

There was a long silence after I slipped the hood off Nicki's head, disclosing her face. Finally, she murmured anxiously:

"What-what's the matter? Don't you like me?"

"Like you!" I exclaimed. "You're so lovely, you left me speechless."

Her resemblance to her beautiful mother was striking, with the same attractive, wide-set eyes under carefully plucked, high arching, dark brows, a little similar, slightly tip-tilted nose over the generous, beautifully shaped lips, slightly parted to disclose the white, even teeth. Perhaps the most striking difference was her hair, which instead of being dark, was so blonde, it was almost white. She wore it in a sort of angel cut, a mass of short curls that would have looked quite boyish if her features had not been so feminine. I found out she wore it in this style because it was so practical with the wigs and helmets she wore so much.

Her features were brilliantly made up, as though for a stage appearance, with ultra long, artificial eyelashes, deep eye-shadow, pale skin with a touch of rouge high on her cheek-bones and her pretty mouth outlined in the brightest possible red lipstick.

As soon as I had reassured her, she glanced up at me flirtatiously through her long lashes and murmured:

"How about a kiss?"

Eagerly I pulled her to me, wrapping my arms crushingly about her armless trunk; as my mouth approached hers, her eyes closed langorously. Finally, while we were taking a sort of breather, and I was trying to tell Nicki how much I loved her and how delightful she looked, there was a gentle knock on the door. "Come in," I said, and Fifi minced in, murmuring:

"Eef Monsieur weel fix Fifi like ze Bridal Soubrette, she weel serve ze Bridal Supper."

"What on earth is a Bridal Soubrette?" I asked. My wife explained, "She's sort of a couple of steps beyond a French maid. Her job is to wait on a bride and groom without interfering with their privacy. That means she cannot see, speak, or release herself from her restraint. Bring the things in, Fifi, I'm sure my husband is more than willing to fix you."

Fifi curtsied, minced out and returned with a tray on which were the necessary materials. The first items were a pair of arm corsets, which were like shoulder-length gloves, except that the; arm parts were heavily boned and laced up like a corset, so that once on, Fifi could not bend her elbows. That means she could use her hands, but could not get them near her face.

I laced these as tightly as I could, then put on the leather branks, which was an arrangement of many bridle-like straps which went over her head and around her face. The function of this, aside from its attractive appearance, was to hold a padded leather patch over each eye, blinding her, and the biggest possible leather pear as far back as possible in her gaping mouth, gagging her completely. My helpless bride stood by my side, supervising the adjustment of the straps and laces, insisting that everything be pulled as tightly as possible without regard to the victim's feelings. Poor Fifi writhed and waved her stiffened arms uselessly, as under Nicki's guidance I pulled the blindfold strap a hole tighter or took up two more on the gag-strap. As a final perfecting touch I buckled a narrow belt around her waist and ran a strap from the back of it to a ring on the top of her branks. As Fifi couldn't see anyway, Nicki made me pull this check rein up until I was afraid the wretched maid's neck would be dislocated; but Nicki knew what she was doing. At last she said smiling sweetly,

"All right Fifi you may serve supper. And if you spill a drop of anything, you'll spend the night pulled up like that."

Episode 13 (1 image)

The supper table was already laid out on a little glass-enclosed porch which is nice and warm, even in the cool of the evening. The table is one of those wrought-iron, glass-topped jobs, but only one place was set, since my armless bride would have to be fed.

Arrived at the table I made her stand astride the chair, and with some cord I had brought, I tied her trunk to the back of it. Then I doubled her legs at the knees, cording her ankles to the side members of the chair, opposite her hips. When I was through all she could move was her head. As I took my place beside her, she smiled.

"It's always fun to be tied up, but it's especially delightful to be tied by your husband."

Naturally, I kissed her. Several times. Then Fifi began serving the meal. Incredibly, she managed the whole deal without spilling a drop of anything. She was slow, yes-but who was in a hurry? She seemed to know almost by instinct where the kitchen door was and how many steps she had to take from the door to the table and so on. At one point, as she took a tray-load of dishes back to the kitchen, walking through the door without even crashing it, her slow, stiff movements reminding me of a mechanical figure, I asked Nicki how she managed it.

"Easy," I was told. "She does it by sound. She and mother and I, have all learned to move around blindfolded by listening to the sounds we make being reflected by walls and even big pieces of furniture." "Could you move around blindfolded, as easily as she does?"

"Certainly. Even better. I've had more practice," Nicki asserted.

Well, that was a nice bit of information to file away for the future.

When the time came to serve the champagne, I got it out of the ice bucket, loosened the cork and shook the bottle before making Fifi turn around. I flatter myself that I scored a very good hit right where it would do the most good. Her stiff arms flew back uselessly and I'm sure she tried to cry out, but no sound penetrated the super-tight gag.

Filling one glass, I made Nicki take a sip for herself, then one for me which I took from her lips. So we slowly killed most of the bottle-and I may say champagne never tasted better than it did from my lovely wife's ruby lips. Though Nicki drank her share of the wine, she ate almost nothing, explaining the corset she was going to wear later wouldn't allow her to take more than couple of mouthfuls. I didn't argue.

Supper over I carried my bride, her ankles still bound to her thighs, back to the living room where we had coffee. She was warmed and relaxed by the champagne, obviously glorying in her helpless attractiveness.

Along toward midnight she suggested:

"If you'd like to take Fifi's blindfold off, she could help me out of this Venus corset and into the other one I mentioned. Then I could get ready for bed and we could get rid of Fifi." "Sounds like a fine idea," I agreed heartily.

Episode 14 (2 images)

Nicki and Fifi, her sight now restored, were out of the room for so long, I had begun to worry about what had happened to them, and was just going to go looking for them when the door opened. Fifi entered first, looking much the same as before, save that her leather branks seemed to have been pulled even tighter, the blindfold replaced and her relatively long, tight skirt had been pulled up slightly at the sides so the wrists of her rigid arms could be strapped to her thighs making her arms useless. Just behind, and urging her along came my bride, wearing a night-gown of sheerest, black nylon The night-gown was enclosed at the waist by a very short, stiff, black patent corset, which pulled Nicki's wasp waist into sixteen inches, smaller than I had ever seen it. The corset was unusual in another way. It closed at the back and laced at the front-it was now standing open about two inches. The night-gown, which reached the floor at the sides was slit at back and front. There were two narrow straps in front of the corset, fastened to the lower edge about six inches apart' they went down and up to fasten to the corset in back. I found, they were called "Martingale" straps and were intended to hold a short corset like this one from riding up uncomfortably; they helped the figure in other ways, too. Her black opera hose were held up by being rolled down a couple of inches to meet a fancy black lace garter on each lovely leg. Finishing touches were supplied by ultra tight black gloves, reaching to above the elbow and seven-inch heeled, black patent sandals.

"How do I look?" she smiled, posing for my pleasure.

"Without doubt, you are the most lovely and desirable creature the world has ever seen," I declared firmly. She flashed me a teasing smile and then made quite a production out of pulling up one sheer stocking and then the other. I noticed her hands were so tightly gloved, she had quite a little difficulty in closing her fingers. i "Tell me," I asked, "why the front lacing corset?"

"Well, I assume you're going to strap my arms up behind meat least, I hope you are. And if the corset lace was at the back, under my arms how could you get it closed?" "You mean you could stand being laced even smaller?" I gasped "Oh, yes. I've had this corset closed to within one inch. But with my arms anchored behind my back and maybe a nice tight gag in my mouth, I couldn't very well stop if you decided to close it all the way, could I? Now," she said briskly, "how about getting rid of Fifi for the night?" and she gestured toward Fifi, who was standing stiff and still as a post beside her.

I got a heavy travelling rug and a long length of rope and some straps.

"Bring her out on the porch," I ordered. As she pushed her victim along, Nicki explained:

"I've plugged her ears, so she's deaf as well as blind and dumb. That's why I have to move her around this way." On the porch, I spread the rug, laid Fifi down on it, strapped her legs together in several places and rolled her tightly in the rug. Then I laced the cord around and around the silent, helpless bundle.

Episode 15 (2 images)

Nicki looked at me and smiled, "Would you strap my arms up, please?"

"It will be a pleasure," I assured her wholeheartedly, "if you will get the straps."

Gracefully, she rose from the couch, and before going on her errand, she pulled up her garters and smoothed out her black stockings.

In a few minutes, she was beside me on the couch again, wrists strapped together between her shoulder-blades and elbows tightly in contact in the small of her back. She sighed happily.

"Oh, if you only knew how wonderful and exciting it is to be dressed like this and helpless in the bargain," she said.

Later on, I suggested, "Let's begin tightening your corset. I want to see it closed all the way down the front."

"So do I," Nicki nodded, continuing, "Maybe you'd better gag me. Otherwise, after about an inch, I might be trying to get you to stop pulling me in, instead of leaving the decision up to you, the way it should be." "What kind of a gag do you want, a choke-pear?" "Anything you please, master. Of course, a choke-pear is a good silencer and it's nice and severe as well."

A moment or so later, my bride was mute, her jaws fully distended by the strong spring of the leather-covered pear. Her eyes were also wide open in the pretty "gag-look."

I undid the long lace that was wrapped around her corseted wrist and began pulling. For three quarters of an inch it wasn't too tough. The next quarter was a real fight. Nicki's lovely legs squirmed and she shook her head in a vain attempt to make me stop. Obviously, the gag was a fine idea. I tied the lace and let her rest a few minutes, while I told her all over again how lovely she looked and how much I loved her.

Then I stood her up, fastened one end of the lace to a doorknob, and began pulling at the other. As the lace slowly slipped through the holes, I had to keep tying it and then working the lace down from the top and up from the bottom of the corset. Then I would let her rest some more. It took over an hour before the gap was closed from top to bottom. As I was knotting the lace, Nicki's knees buckled and she started to fall. I picked her up and put her on the couch. I think she fainted, but I knew enough not to loosen the lace and in a few minutes her eyes were opened.

I let her rest, while her body adjusted itself to the strain, for about half an hour. Then I asked if she wanted to have the gag taken out of her mouth. She nodded. In a few minutes, she was able to whisper,

"You've got me laced to fourteen inches. I never thought I'd make it. I feel like I'm cut in half. It's delicious. It's uncomfortable and wonderful at the same time. Now if you'd strap a flirtation bit in my mouth, you can go to bed."

"I'll go to bed, but I've got something better than a flirtation bit to go in your mouth. It's a copy of an old Spanish bridal bridle."

"A bridal bridle! It sounds interesting but exciting. What is it?"

"It's what many a high-born Spanish bride had to wear on her wedding night to impress her with her new condition. I'll get it."


Continues with full size illustrations by famed artist Eric Stanton
Book 2, Episodes 16-20 (9 illustrations) - 10 tokens

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Episode 16 (2/3 images)

I went down into my workshop and was up in a moment with the Spanish bridal bridle. I showed it to my interested bride. It combined the finer points of a branks, a human pony bit and a choke-pear. It was designed to hold the mouth wide open, with the jaws at their fullest stretch, so that the wearer was in the same condition as if she was wearing a flirtation bit, but much more so. In addition, a plug hung from a short chain, so that if her owner desired silence, he had but to insert the plug and the subject was tightly gagged.

"Well," said Nicki, "it certainly looks uncomfortable, but it looks exciting, too. I won't give you any trouble with that in my mouth. Let's try it," and she opened her mouth as wide as she could.

It was quite a tussle to get the bridle between her teeth, and she couldn't restrain an "Aaaaoooh!" of protest, as I tightened the fastening behind her head, forcing the device deeply into place. Experimentally, I put the plug in place and her protests were silenced as though by magic.

Later, on the night-table, I saw a note leaning against the lamp I opened it and read:

"When the time comes, please take off my high heels and put on my training-boots to sleep in. You'l1 find them under the edge of the bed."

Your proud, helpless wife

I sat her down on the edge of the bed and fished for the boots. I found them and put them on. Basically, they were like ballet toe slippers, save they had no padded toe; in addition, a heavy steel strip ran backward from the toe, shaped the arch of the foot very steeply and then straight back for about a foot. At the end of it was a strap.

Obviously, this strap went around her leg, just below the knee and from the mark where the buckle went, it was pulled very tight. The effect was to make her arch her instep so far downward that the sole of her foot, her heel, and the calf of her leg were in a straight line. I didn't see how she could even wear such an arrangement, let alone sleep that way. But that was what she wanted, and I certainly didn't think it my place to argue.

The boots in place, I lifted her carefully, because she was so severely restrained, she was on the verge of fainting, and made her kneel in the middle of the bed. Then I strapped her ankles to her things. I gave her a push and she fell backward.

She was in a perfect "trussed chicken" attitude. Laced as tightly as she was, she couldn't pull herself upright again, and with her arms and legs doubled up and bound behind her, she was unable to even turn on her side.

Episode 17 (2 images)

Of course, I relaxed the severity of my bride's bondage to a great extent. But she still retained her training boots and while her hands came down from between her shoulder-blades, I did keep her wrists strapped together behind her back. Likewise, the bridal bridle came out, and was replaced by the far more comfortable flirtation bit.

In the morning, the bridle went back and the bondage became more stringent for a while.

After breakfast-which my bride had to make for me, since Fifi was still wrapped up like a cocoon on the front porch-I went in to the nearby town to buy a Ping-Pong ball and some coloured drawing inks. I had had an idea.

On my retum, I was met at the door of the cottage by two delightful-looking maids in uniforms. These consisted of stiffly starched, blue linen tunics, very tight-fitting from the ultra-high, stiff collars down to the wasp-waists. Below this, the skirts sprang out very full and stiff, but were short, with narrow lace ruffles around the tops of the legs. The stockings, of a champagne tint, came right up under these skirts (I found out later that Nicki and the others did not go in for the Can-Can style of a flash of bare thigh above the stockings until late in the afternoon, ore more usually, early evening) and the shoes were plain black pumps with six inch heels. To finish off the girls wore plain caps and matching simple aprons and cuffs in white.

Perhaps the most striking thing about the outfits was the way the girls stuck out in back. At first I thought they were wearing bustles, in the Gay Nineties manner. Then I saw they were being forced, in some way, to bend their backs so steeply that the upper spine and lower spine made almost a right-angle bend at waist level. The effect was to make them thrust their bosoms forward in front and rearward in back.

"Hi, boss! How do you think we look?" Nicki greeted me, turning in profile, to give me the full effect.

"Like a couple of pretty pouter pigeons," I grinned, and asked, "How on earth do you get that effect?"

My wife explained and demonstrated that they were wearing what she called "German spine-benders," which were strips of steel an inch wide and a quarter of an inch thick which ran from the top of the collar down the back, under the body and up in front; where the steel emerged in front, it forked, and the two arms of the fork continued up in front, following the line where the thigh joined the body, almost to the waist. Since the steel was curved to fit against the body all the way, and to force the spine into the curve desired, the wearer had no choice but to conform to the exaggerated curve required. The steel was worn next to the body, beneath the underclothing and corset, so that it was invisible. Only the effect could be seen.

After the demonstration was complete, my wife smiled and said:

"Now if you'l1 limit our freedom and silence us, we'l1 get along with the house-work."

The silencers came first. These were in the form of ball-gags of a special type split in the middle with a hinge at the back of the mouth. After the ball was forced into the mouth-a matter of some difficulty, because of its size-a metal bar was passed, bit-wise, between the teeth, forcing the two halves of the ball apart and the jaws wide open.

Most gags are secured as high behind the head as possible, as the wearer is usually required to carry her head high. These ball-gags were different. The bars were held in place by chains, the ends of which were locked together behind the head, but as low around the base of the neck as possible. This, dragged the lower jaw back and down and made the wearer tilt her head steeply forward, enforcing a look of shyness that was most delightful.

an interesting refinement was the fact that a steel eye, attached to the spine bender, emerged from the collar at the back, and the bit-chains were padlocked to this. As a result, the victim was unable to turn or move her head in the slightest, but was required to look at the ground in front of her feet, like a shy school-girl.

Episode 18 (2 images)

To permit my pretty maids' freedom, yet allow them to do some work, they each wore a separate cuff on each wrist. From each cuff, a long chain went back, under the body and up to fasten to the ends of the bit that held the ball-gag in place. The chains were of such a length that the wearer had a good deal of freedom at waist height and below, but if she tried to get her hands to her mouth the chains drew tight and applied pressure to the bit and hence to the gag. Since their heels were only six inches high, I made each girl wear ankle-cuffs, joined by about ten inches of chain, to keep her stride within modest, feminine limits.

Their restraint complete, the two silent maids curtsied prettily started to work. They emptied ash-trays, straightened magazines, one got the dust mop and the other the floor-sweeper. They went to it with a will and as much speed as their limited freedom permitted. But every move was planned to catch my eye.

As Nicki leaned forward to fluff up a sofa cushion, (and the steeply arched rigidity of her spine forced her to do all the bending from the hips), she would face away from me and place her legs tightly together, so that I would get the full benefit of the dark seams of her stockings, running straight as a die up the back of her lovely legs.

Both girls made the most of every opportunity of demonstrating the fact that the neat short paces their ankle chains enforced should as they walked.

Fnally, when the rest of the place was straightened, the two maids headed for the bedroom, and I chased Fifi into the kitchen and told her to start getting lunch ready.

Nicki had to make the bed by herself. Then I released her hands and removed her gag and told her she could rest a while before changing her clothes for lunch.

While she was resting, I strolled out to the kitchen to see how Fifi was coming along with the lunch.

Episode 19 (2 images)

Just before lunch was ready, Nicki came swaying gracefully into the living room, her carefully cultivated figure shown off in all its arrogant artificiality by her costume. She still wore the same super-long stockings, but everything else had changed. Her pretty feet were propped up by brilliantly polished, brown kid pumps, with slim, seven inch heels and ankle straps to hold them snugly in place. Above the stockings she wore shorts of brown rubber. Never have I seen such snug-fitting pants; her stocking tops, the four short, ultra tight suspenders to each leg everything beneath them showed through quite clearly. The tiny stiff corseted waist was accented by a narrow brown leather belt, pulled in as tightly as possible. Above the waist for contrast she wore a very full-fitting, off the-shoulder blouse of heavy, white satin. The long sleeves ended in tight cuffs, which showed that, for once Nicki wore no gloves.

"I don't think you've ever seen me in shorts have you boss?" Hands on slim hips, she turned to display her figure from every angle.

While I told her how lovely she looked, she looked up at me and murmured:

"I don't know how you feel about it, chief, but I feel more attractive when I'm helpless."

"Of course," I answered, "any girl is more attractive when she is helpless and that seems to go double for you, since you get so much enjoyment out of it."

"That's what I hoped you'd say," she smiled. "Just a second," and she bustled out with a charming air of importance.

In a moment, she returned carrying an odd-looking garment in soft, brown leather. She handed it to me, saying:

"'This is a new kind of straitjacket I just had made up. I haven't even tried it on yet. Let's see how it fits."

Basically, it was cut like an Eton jacket, extending from a low collar to an inch or two below the waist. It opened down the back and I held it while Nicki slipped into it. Settling it around her figure, I pulled up the lace fastening that ran down the back; it fit perfectly. The sleeves were about a foot longer than her arms and tapered down into long straps, one of which ended in a buckle.

"How do these work?" I inquired, "cross the arms in front and then buckle the ends of the straps in back?"

"What! That will make me hunch my shoulders forward awkwardly. Just the opposite, chief. Cross the arms in back and buckle the strap in front."

Quickly, I placed her arms as required and pulled the strap tight.

"There! Isn't that better? Doesn't it make me hold myself nicely?" she inquired, admiring herself in a nearby mirror.

"I'll say it does," I answered sincerely, then asked, `What is this strap hanging down in front for?"

"Oh that goes underneath and up to a buckle at the back. Will you pull fit up, please?"

I did, and Nicki looked adorable.

Episode 20 (2 images)

Nicki and I were just enjoying her straitjacketed helplessness when Fifi came mincing in with a pre-lunch cocktail. As she came toward us, she looked like the typical Victorian domestic; with her German spine-bender and ball-gag still in place. Her head was tilted shyly forward, while she was forced to move with a swaying of the hips. Her steel grey satin uniform extended from a high collar, right down to the floor and the big leg-of mutton sleeves concealed the arm-corsets which obviously made her elbows rigid. Her big apron, of white was stiffly starched and crackled crisply as she moved.

"There!" she smiled proudly, "didn't I fix her up to look every inch the modest servant of the 1890's?"

"You sure did."

"Umm-mm. Don't be too sure, boss," she grinned. "Turn around, Fifi."

Fifi revolved on her high heels and I got quite a shock, because those same seven-inch heels, her dark opera-length hose and short skirt were displayed. The skirt, while full-length in front, was cut to the knees at the back. The contrast between the conservative front view and piquant rear view was quite amazing.

In a moment, she turned to face me again, leaning forward stiffly from the hips as she offered her tray. On it, in addition to a very large Manhattan cocktail, was the blind-fold part of her leather branks.

"We thought you might care to be served lunch by a blind maid-especially as I'm so helpless," Nicki explained.

"Good idea," I agreed, then inquired, "but why the blindfold? Why not one of those leather discipline helmets?"

"Oh, because it's impossible to move around blindfolded if you have anything over your ears. It's hard enough to hear echoes from furniture and things, but it's out of the question with your ears stopped, even lightly."

"I get it, " I nodded, standing up. "Come here, Fifi, let us fix you."

With an air of shy unwillingness, the French girl came closer. In a very short while, I had the straps and pads in place and pulled up to the point where my silent victim squirmed uncomfortably. She had to be careful, however, as she still held the cocktail tray and full glass.

When her blindfold was adjusted to my taste, I sat down again and made Fifi stand beside me with her tray, so I could reach the glass easily.

The drink finished, I told Fifi to serve lunch, and my bride and I went out to the glassed-in porch, where the table was prepared for us. On the way, I picked up a length of rope and explained to Nicki I thought I would tie her to her chair.

"Thank you," she smiled. "I was hoping you would. Of course, I knew you'd tie me if I asked you to. But it's nicer not to have to ask."


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Book 2, Episodes 21-25 (10 illustrations) - 10 tokens

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Episode 21 (2 images)

A short while after finishing my drink, as my wife was tightly corded to her chair, I took two more turns of the rope around her slender waist, then brought the ends back under her body, around a bar in the chair-back, just at waist level and up and around her back arched shoulders and the upper part of the chair-back. Cutting off two shorter pieces of rope, I brought her legs back along the outside of the chair and bound each slim ankle to the back legs of the chair. As a result, she sat stiff and upright as a ramrod.

As our blind and silent maid served the soup, I asked:

"Nicki, darling, when you brought that straitjacket for me to put on you, you remarked that you had just had it made up and never tried it on."

"Umm-hmm, that's right. It was only finished the day before we got married."

"That brings up a point that's been worrying me. You and your mother seem to have an endless supply of boots, shoes, corsets, clothes, and so on. Where on earth do they all come from?"

"Well, you see Dad and Mother have been going in for bondage, high heels, and so on, ever since they were married. Over the years they've built up quite an establishment-though, of course, since I've been old enough to have a share in it, it has grown even more."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you've met Fifi; but Dad's payroll also includes an English dresser, a French corsetiere, a French dressmaker, an Italian boot-maker, and an old, German surgical instrument maker, who looks after things like spine-benders, ankle-cuffs, harem belts, etc. Oh, I nearly forgot our Belgian glove maker, who also does discipline helmets, this straitjacket, and the like."

"Sounds like the United Nations."

"Very much so-but they get along better. You see, nobody can make a shoe, or a boot like a good Italian shoemaker. Same with the other items. So the result is, no matter what Dad, Mother, or I-and now you-may think up, we can have it made in a week at the very outside; usually less."

"The cost of all that must be staggering."

"It is. But Dad manages to get by-and have a little left over, as he puts it. Then, as he says, it doesn't cost any more than running a yacht."

So the conversation ran while Fifi served us and I fed my pretty wife. Toward the end of the meal she exclaimed:

"Say, boss, I've got an idea. Why don't we go up to our place I mean Dad's place-this afternoon? Lots of interesting things there and plenty of room to try them out on me."

"Sounds fine to me. Maybe you ought to show me how well you can get around there blindfolded."

"Nothing easier. I'll be proud to demonstrate."

"Okay. I'll start by blindfolding you now. But after my own method."

I sent Fifi into the bedroom with orders to bring out a whole tray of cosmetic material, a bottle of spirit gum and some adhesive tape. I also told her to bring the Ping-Pong ball and coloured inks I had bought.

"What on earth is the Ping-Pong ball for?" asked Nicki, eagerly.

"You'll see-or rather you won't see, since you'll be blind," I; grinned.

When the maid brought the supplies, I started off by taping Nicki's eyes shut with little strips of adhesive tape.

"Oh, this feels wonderful!" Nicki sighed happily. "What happens now? It's so exciting wondering what you're going to do next and not being able to see."

Episode 22 (2 images)

My next step was to take the Ping-Pong ball and a sharp knife and cut two elliptical pieces out of the ball, each about an inch wide. I coated the inside of each, and the closed eyelids of my wife with spirit gum, and when the adhesive was nearly dry, I pressed the pieces of celluloid into place over Nicki's closed eyes. Then, with the coloured inks and a fine brush, I painted a black "pupil" and a bright blue "iris" on each one; then I added exaggeratedly long "lashes" in black to her eye-sockets above and below the celluloid. The effect, of course, was to give her face a mask-like expression, with huge staring eyes. As I went along, I explained to my bride what I was doing. When I was through she asked, "How do I look?" "Like Surprise personified," I told her, quite pleased with my work. "I wish I could see myself," she pouted, then decided, "Well, maybe it's more fun this way. The mystery makes it exciting."

I released her from the chair she was bound to, and we were starting out on the terrace for coffee when Nicki suggested, "I know! Let me call up Ching, at Dad's place, and tell him we'll be over this afternoon to look around, and that we'll stay for dinner." "Who's Ching?" "He's Dad's Chauffeur-Butler-Caretaker who looks after us while we're there, and keeps the place up while we're not. His brother Kai is gardener, and his daughter Anna acts as maid when we need her." "Chinese?" "Chinese American. Dad likes them because they keep their mouths shut about our business."

"Going up there sounds like a fine idea to me." I assented. "How about Fifi? Do we take her or leave her here, maybe tied up in a closet?" Whatever pleases you, boss. But I suggest we take her. I think she'll come in useful later. Besides, we can keep her gagged and bound till we need her."

That made sense to me, so I placed the phone call, then held the phone to Nicki's ear while she talked to Ching. Then we went out and waited while Fifi served the coffee. At that point, I removed her arm-corsets and undid the padlock that held the chain of the ball-gag in place. From that point on she could release herself. Nicki told her to put on a "Gamine" costume and wait for us in the car. She was to have a ball-gag, a leather helmet and plenty of cord with her.

Coffee and kisses on the terrace was quite delightful. Deciding that her leather straitjacket must have eased quite a bit by now, I tightened it quite a bit. Her useless protests made the task even more pleasant. When we went out to the car, Nicki strolling as casually by my side as though she could see perfectly, Fifi was waiting. The "Gamine" costume turned out to be a skin-tight black sweater, equally tight, very brief black shots, dark stockings and high heeled sandals. Both the sweater and shorts were tom ornamentally in a couple of places. It took only a second to tie her hands behind her. Then I forced the big ball into her mouth and settled down to the always enjoyable task of lacing the discipline helmet as tightly as possible.

Episode 23 (2 images)

The following move was to tie Fifi's hands with her wrists crossed about her corseted waist, with the knot in the front and the ends trailing down. Taking these ends back under her body I brought them up and made her put her bound wrists over her head and as far down her back as she could. I took the ends of the rope in my hand through the rope around her wrists and began pulling. Slowly her back arched more and more steeply, slowly her wrists were pulled further and further down her back. I took longer than I really had to; but my wife couldn't see what I was doing, and I wanted each rope to be adjusted exactly right. I had had enough experience with rope now to know when to stop pulling. Then I knotted the rope.

Opening the tailboard of the station wagon, I bundled my silent and helpless victim in on the floor. Tying her ankles together, I brought the rope from them up to the one around her wrists and pulled until her ankles and wrists were touching. She was now in a perfect "reverse hoop," a position I had seen described, but had never seen in use before. It is supposed to be even more trying than the Crepaudine. Then I closed the back of the wagon and helped my sightless wife into the front seat beside me and we were off.

As we bowled along, I told her just how Fifi was secured. "Sounds like an excellent arrangement," she smiled" an hour or two of that will do her a lot of good. Take a lot of starch out of her. She needs it too. We haven't kept after her enough." "Does that go for you?" I asked, "Do you need a little de-starching as well?" "That's up to you, boss. During our recent ceremony I was an armless and silent puppet who gave herself to you to do with as you please. The decisions are up to you. I make suggestions and offer ideas. But how I'm dressed, restrained and silenced is up to you. I'm your property, your proud and willing victim."

When we got the car going again, Nicki proceeded to prove that she knew how to navigate blindfold by describing just how to get to her parents' house.

She had me pull up outside the big garage (room I later found out, for six cars), suggesting, "First maybe you'd like to have me show you around the garden. Then we could have a game of golf." "Golf!" I exclaimed. "Surely you don't have a private golf course here?" "Well," she dimpled, "not a full sized one. But a chip-and-putt course, laid out through the garden designed to let girls in high heels and tight corsets show their form. ' "Tell you what,' I grinned eagerly, "Let's skip the guided tour and get right to the golf game. Oh how about Fifi? Do we leave her?" "Oh, no. We need her to caddie."

Episode 24 (2 images)

Nicki suggested, "Tell you what, chief. I'll have to go up to the house and have Anna put on my golfing costume for me. While we're doing that, you could be taking Fifi into the -well, we call it the "Pro's Shop," because we keep all the clubs and things in there-and fix her up as caddie, with the golf bag and so on." "I'll be glad to, but I don't know what she's supposed to wear." "Oh, that's easy. I took a picture of her one day last year. It's tacked up on the wall in there."

That made it simple enough. While my wife minced off along the winding path to the house, following each turn with an ease and certainty that belied her lack of sight, I was heading for the station wagon and Fifi.

I freed her from the "Reverse Hoop" slowly, of course; release from a strained position is always painful unless slow. I left her helmet on and led her to the Pro Shop by a rope through her wrists, which I left bound in front of her.

The photograph made everything simple. There was a golf bag full of clubs leaning against the wall and some straps nearby; I placed the bag across the arching small of her back, brought her arms around and under it, and ran a strap from one wrist to the other across her waist in front. Thus she carried the bag at a convenient height for putting clubs in and taking them out again. A huge imitation golf ball, split in two halves was waiting on a bench. This I placed over her head there was an opening for her neck-and joined the halves, as I did so I noticed it was heavily padded inside to deaden sound. A deaf, dumb and blind caddie, with a golf ball for a head is a very interesting sight.

While waiting for Nicki, I idly examined the clubs; about half of them were oddly short, with head and shaft, but no grip, just a short screw thread.

I heard feminine footsteps behind me and turned to see Nicki entering the shop. She had the use of her eyes again and was wearing a very interesting golfing outfit, consisting of a very soft suede shirt, with half length sleeves and a low-cut front. She also wore a matching skirt of suede, to about six inches below the tops of her legs, but so tight that it pulled at every tiny step. Her feet were poised on seven-inch heels attached to brown kid oxfords, and she had a matching belt of the same leather about her wasp waist. Her hands were in special brown kid gloves which reached almost to the elbows, and which fused into one at the hands, holding them curled into fists, her right hand ahead of her left. Then I realised what the short-shafted clubs were for. They screwed into a fitting on the end of the glove-arrangement, which obviously communicated with a club grip permanently held in her gloved fists. Under one arm she carried what looked like an overgrown version of the mitten like bag that serious golfers use to protect the heads of their wooden clubs.

"Ready?" she smiled, "I'll explain the local rules on the way to the first tee." "Just a minute. How do I guide our blind caddie? She's too deaf to follow us by sound, and can't see anything, either." "Easy. Take a club, hook it between her legs, and lead her. When you stop, she stops, and stands still till you hook on again." Away we went.

Episode 25 (2 images)

As we walked, Nicki explained that the girl players on this particular course, in addition to being unable to use their hands for anything except using whatever club their partners attached for them were also blind and preferably gagged as well. It was up to the man to pick the right club for her, attach it, then line her up with the ball for her shot and tell her how to stroke it. She was allowed four times as many strokes as he. If she lost, and she nearly always did, she had to pay whatever forfeit her partner required

We were at the first tee by now. I had guessed the function of the soft leather bag beneath her arm and took it from her. Inside I found a big piece of red sponge rubber, which I forced into her willing mouth. It was held in place by an imitation golf ball on a thin strap, which I buckled so tightly behind her head that the ball was forced all the way into her mouth, in spite of the bulky packing already in place. She squirmed, tried to protest in pantomime but to no avail. Then I took the bulky but soft leather bag and pulled it down over her head, pulling the draw-string very tightly around her neck.

The golf game was delightful. The fact hat she could play at all was astonishing' but, provided I lined up her club-head properly her stokes were amazingly accurate in direction but variable in distance. And always as we moved around the short nine hole course, we were followed by our silent, deaf and blind caddie who moved obediently at the end of my club or stood still as a rock.

It's not surprising that I won the game. But then that was the idea. Before going into the house for a pre-dinner drink I took the two girls onto a nice patch of lawn released their hands, but left their gags fin place, and tied them for a cock-fight. I made them squat down, passed a short-shafted club behind their knees, crooked their elbows around it, outside the knees, and then bound their wrists together. With their feet free, yet unable to rise higher than a crouch, they could only move with a duck like waddle. On the word "go," each was to try to knock the other over.

I allowed three falls, and Nicki won all of them, quickly barging her slower opponent off balance. Once on her ride or back, of course, Fifi was as helpless as a turtle that has been turned over, quite unable to regain her feet. "Okay," I stated on the third fall, "Nicki owes me a forfeit, Fifi owes Nicki a forfeit." Then I released them and we headed for the house and a drink.


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Book 2, Episodes 26-30 (8 illustrations) - 10 tokens

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Episode 26 (2 images)

As we came around the front of the house and up to the front door, my wife remarked:

"You haven't met Anna, have you?"

"Not yet," I answered, "but I'm looking forward to what I am sure will be a pleasure."

As we reached the top of the steps, the front door opened, seemingly of its own accord, and the little Chinese maid stepped forward to welcome us.

Like many Oriental girls, she was tiny, but with an arrestingly full figure, truly beautiful legs and amazingly small feet. All these points of interest were displayed by her Chinese-style outfit.

Her feet were poised right up on tiptoe by a variation of the block-toed, ballet slipper, instead of coming up, slipper-like, to the heel and being held in place by ribbons wound tightly about the ankle. These shoes came up only as far as the ball of the foot, leaving the instep, sole of the foot, and ankle uncovered, save for her long, mistily black stockings, which covered her lovely legs for their full length, the tops disappearing under the hem of her extremely short, ultra-tight, high-necked black satin tunic. This latter, which was decorated by a brilliantly embroidered dragon, both back and front, displayed her stiffly corseted wasp-waist and obviously artificially raised, but very full bosom. So high was the stiff collar, she was forced to carry her chin very high, with a charming air of arrogance. Her arms, in long, full sleeves that almost touched the ground, were secured wrist to elbow behind her back. As I had come to expect, she was gagged, her mouth filled and forced wide open by an ivory egg, split length-wise and hinged at the back; the two halves were held wide apart in front by an adjustable brace.

She minced back across the hall and pressed a small pedal or button in the floor. The door closed again.

"I've got an idea, chief, " Nicki volunteered, "Suppose you release Anna's arms for a while. Then she could help me get harnessed up as a `Parlour Pony' for the rest of the evening. Okay?"

I was going to ask what a Parlour Pony was, but realised I was shortly going to be shown. So I simply nodded and signalled to Anna to come and let me un-strap her arms. As the three girls left, I told them to fix Fifi up nicely, too.

In about an hour, which had passed very pleasantly, thanks to a tray of drinks by my side, Anna came strutting back for me to refasten her arms. (It was interesting to note that in spite of the fact that her gag was obviously extremely severe, she made no attempt to remove or even touch it when her hands were free.) Helpless once more, she went and stood by the door, as though waiting.

A moment or so later, my Parlour Pony minced proudly into the room. From waist to toes she was poured into wrinkle-less gleaming black satin latex tights, while her feet were propped up as high as possible in very tight, round-toed, low-cut black patent pumps, with slim eight inch heels. From the waist up she wore a flesh-coloured, Venus corset, concealing her arms completely and a black brassiere, which showed quite distinctly through a very tight, black elastic-lace blouse. Around her waist was a wide, red leather belt, with Martingale straps, and a check rein ran up to the elaborate red leather bridle strapped around her pretty head. A bit, consisting of a metal cylinder about two and a half inches in diameter and four inches long, hung loosely by one of the bit rings. Kneeling in front of me, she murmured enticingly:

"Will you bit your pony, please, and then tighten her harness and check-rein to your pleasure?"

She was really tightly harnessed and bitted before I was satisfied too.

Then Anna indicated my dinner was ready. I followed her followed in turn by my defenseless Parlour Pony.

The dining table, charmingly enough, turned out to be Fifi.

Episode 27 (1 image)

Nicki looked so lovely without arms, I decided she could remain that way until further notice.

The following morning, after the corset came off long enough for a shower and so on, it went back, tighter than ever, now that her body had had a chance to adjust itself. The costume was completed by opera-length hose, seven inch heeled sandals, a skin-fitting, no-sleeved sweater and a very tight knee-length skirt in supple brown suede that kept riding up delightfully, especially when she was sitting down.

We were sitting on the front porch of my place, and the conversation ranged from Parlour Ponies to Work Ponies and Nicki remarked her father's coach-house had two or three pony-carts. I expressed surprise, as I thought both she and her mother refused to be a work-pony because the hard pulling and consequent deep breathing would ruin a trained waist. Nicki, smilingly pointed out that there was always Fifi. That was all I needed.

Early that afternoon a very light pony trap stood outside the coach-house, ready to go. Fifi was harnessed between the shafts. From head to toe she was enclosed in a one-piece "Pony-Skin" of satin latex, dappled in grey and black; her arms were high up behind her back, elbows anchored tightly together. Around her slim waist was a wide belt of gleaming black leather, pulled very tight and held in place by straps up over her shoulders and Margingale straps underneath; at either side a metal fitting engaged the shafts of the cart. Her feet were poised tip-toe in special "hoof-boots" that held her insteps vertical. Her head was enclosed in a helmet arrangement, complete with ears that were part of the skin; there were generous openings for the mouth and eyes. These latter were made useless by wide blinder strap buckled very tightly to the black leather bridle, which also held the severe bit designed to hold her jaws wide open, jammed as far back as possible in her mouth. A check-rein ran from the top of the bridle down under her body and up to a buckle on the front of the belt. It was pulled up very tightly, to force her to arch her back, thrust her bosom forward arrogantly and carry her head extremely high.

The trap, instead of a conventional seat, had a very narrow saddle, to which I was strapping my wife. She wore her Venus-corset, a high-necked, no-sleeve sweater in yellow, skin-fitting green rubber tights and eight inch heeled brown knee boots. On her head was a brown leather, discipline helmet, with a very narrow eye-hole for each eye and a green jockey cap cocked over one eye.

When I had her strapped to the saddle I placed a bar from one shaft to the other, just behind her knees, so her booted legs hung free. Then I attached to driving reins, one to each arching instep.

Thus, the driver, without arms, without voice and unable to leave her seat, was almost as helpless as her blind, tightly harnessed pony. But she could control her with the reins. Pulling back on both meant "go ahead," pulling one or the other meant "turn to right or left" and slacking off meant "stop."

I told my two victims I was going to hide somewhere in the huge gardens As they couldn't get loose until they found me, they better keep looking.

It took them three hours. Of course, I actually had them in sight virtually all the time and only let myself be found when it was obvious that Fifi had really "had it."

But they both said it was one of the most exciting afternoons they had ever had.

Episode 28 (2 images)

The next few days passed as pleasantly as the earlier ones, and our honeymoon was drawing to a close. My wife, I noticed, had picked up a phrase from somewhere that annoyed me. Everybody she approved of was a "living doll." When Fifi looked particularly smart, Nicki called her a living doll; when I did something that pleased her, I was a living doll.

On the morning of the day we were to go back to New York, I announced, "All nght, since you're so fond of living dolls, you can turn into one yourself."

"How do you mean?" inquired Nicki, looking startled.

"You'll see," I assured her. "First, we need a really severe corset. How about it, do you have one we haven't used yet?"

"Well uh-yes " she admitted hesitantly. "But it's meant to go with a pretty extreme costume, and besides, it's so severe, I've never been able to stand it adjusted really tight. It doesn't look right any other way."

"Sounds like just what we need. Now you go and tell Fifi to put it on and fasten you to the lacing frame. When she has pulled you in to the point where you need a gag, she's to call me. In the meantime I'm going to the village. I'l1 be back by the time you're ready."

As a matter of fact, I had time to go and do my shopping-which was for a length of black velvet, some plaster of Paris and some dry colour in red and yellow-and have a drink after I got back, before Fifi came for me.

In the utility room, where the lacing frame had been set up, my wife presented quite a sight. She was spread-eagled in the frame with her wrists strapped to the upper corners and her ankles to the lower corners, her legs pulled wide apart.

The corset, of gleaming black kid, was unusually long, extending from down over the hip-bones at the sides up the armpits; in back it reached right up the neck, which ended in a high, stiff collar and in front it came down well over the abdomen, while the top was shaped into two half cups and was so high it raised the bosom higher than I had ever seen it. The lacing stood open a good three inches)at the waist and more above.

"How far is she laced in, Fifi?" I asked as I went in.

"Sixteen inches, M'sieur," she told me.

"This corset is supposed to get her down to thirteen inches? Good." Nicki tried to interrupt me, but I went on, as though I hadn't heard her. "Living doll as are famous for their small waists and high bosoms."

Then I sent Fifi for a rubber bathing cap, lots of absorbent cotton, water to wet it, adhesive tape and a pool-ball. When she returned, I packed my subject's mouth as full of cotton as I could, especially her cheeks, with the ball between her jaws to hold her mouth as wide open as it would go. When I was through, the stuffing was so tight she was unable to eject any of it, even though I was using no tape to hold it in place. She was, of course, utterly silent.

Next, I turned my attention to the corset lace, started up the lacing capstain and closed the gap to about one inch. The smelling salts became necessary at this time, and to give her a rest, I had Fifi put the rubber cap on and smooth the edges where the rubber joined her face with strips of adhesive tape.

Another half-inch more rest, more smelling salts. An hour later the lace was closed. When we released Nicki, she began to collapse like a torn balloon. But an hour's rest on the bed while her body adjusted itself was enough. Then I really went to work.

Episode 29 (2 images)

While Nicki was still resting, I had Fifi put on a pair of the thinnest black nylon operas, very tightly pulled up by the short suspenders on the corset, on Nicki. On my instructions, she also added eight inch heeled, black patent pumps, very low cut, with ankle straps (to make sure she couldn't get them off).

During that time, I was mixing a supply of dry plaster of Paris with the red and yellow colours I had bought until I had a very good flesh-colour. Putting that aside for a moment, I called Fiffi to assist me, and after doubling Nicki's arms at the elbows, we taped them very tightly in that position. We also taped her hands to the tops of her shoulders; the final effect was quite smooth and neat, with Nicki's arms simply stopping at the elbow. The helplessness implicit in the short-armed look was most attractive.

Then I went to work on her face with the adhesive tape. Using a great many narrow pieces, I began by pulling her lips forward and together over the ball in her wide-stretched mouth. When I was through her lips were held firmly pursed, as through she were puckering for a kiss. By way of contrast, by the use of narrow strips of tape radiating outward all around her eyes, I made her eyes stretch wide open, in a fixed expression of ultra surprise.

As a final touch, I ran a strip of tape up the length of her nose, her forehead, almost to the top of her head, pulling it very tight. When I had smoothed it into place with some transverse strips, the tip of her nose was pulled up in an extreme effect.

Mixing the plaster I had already prepared with water, I began smoothing it all over her head and face. I worked it continuously, filling every wrinkle caused by the pressure of the tape, as well as hiding the tape itself When it began to set, I put Fifi to work on it with a hair-drier. In an hour it was not only hard, but dry.

Then I went to work with the make-up. When I was through, my wife's head looked exactly like an old-fashioned china doll's, with a tiny, brilliant red, rose-bud mouth; full, puffed-out cheeks with plenty of rouge; tip-tilted nose and huge, staring eyes, fringed with ultra long, artificial lashes under the thinnest of high, arching black eyebrows, far above the normal line. Then, with Fifi helping, I started to drape the black velvet "dress."

Episode 30 (1 image)

I'd never tried draping a costume on a figure before. But I flatter myself, the effect wasn't half bad. I pinned the folds in place as I went, with Fifi following behind with needle and thread, literally sewing the gown on the wearer.

The top was in a cape-like effect, which allowed just the tips of her "amputated" arms to show, while a fold of material around the neck concealed the high, stiff collar of the corset. The bust line was very low, with the material draped revealingly around the artificially raised and out-thrust bosom. Naturally, the material was as tight around the tiny waist as I could pull it, while below the skirt, in deep folds, came just to the top of the legs. It was looped up at each side, almost to the waist, to show the tightly drawn suspenders on the outside of the legs, pulling the tops of the ultra long stockings into points.

The finishing touch was provided by a brassy, blonde wig, with long, old-fashioned corkscrew curls. The final effect was most satisfactory.

Nicki looked exactly like an old-style, toy doll brought up to date. The high-piled, blonde curls, huge staring eyes and pouting little mouth, typical of the China doll of yesteryear, contrasted delightfully with the nicely displayed legs and sophisticated high heels. The tiny waist and high raised, out-thrust bosom between formed a sort of connecting link, while the shortened, useless arms trumpeted Nicki's helplessness.

When I let her see herself in a full-length mirror, Nicki managed to show her pleasure in her appearance, in spite of her lack of power of expression, of speech and her very limited power of movement.

We returned to New York that night and had dinner with Dick and Vicki. As we went into the library after dinner, my father-in-law made me happy by remarking, "You know, Ted, my wife and I often wondered if we could ever find a husband for Nicki, who would handle her the way she should be handled. I am glad to say you've exceeded our fondest expectations."

Vicki could only nod because, out of compliment to me, her husband had dressed her in the same all-leather outfit Nicki had worn the first time we met.



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