Chapter 77 – Costumed

As I’m being guided down the hallway, I notice what I assume are several other guests. Most of them are dressed similarly to Art. Expensive clothes, but relaxed. Some are actually dressed up and there’s even one couple wearing a tuxedo and a cocktail dress. My internal question of if anybody is going to notice my office wear is answered by my guide’s backhanded compliment, “I really like your fetish outfit miss. Does your client specifically like office style fantasy? If so, we might find a way to include that in tonight’s festivities.”

Over the past six months I’ve heard people say so many shocking things that my reactions have gotten better and better. There was a time that I’d have stopped in my tracks and dropped my mouth open in shock at this guy, who is just wearing a grass skirt by the way, insinuating that I’m a whore and wearing fetishized secretarial clothes. As is I barely slow down as I try to figure out how to respond, “Umm… I’m not sure what you’re getting at. These are the clothes I wear at work every day.”

The man doesn’t miss a beat and pats my arm just as we’re turning into another room, “Ah, so you specialize in this fantasy. Your client must be very happy with you!”

Before I can try and clear up this overt misunderstanding the man stops inside a small room that has been transformed into a mini beauty studio and changing room with mirrors, clothing racks, hair and makeup stations, and three more women. He addresses the women while presenting me to them, “Ladies, this is Miss Paris Beaufort. She is… um… with Mr. Arthur Cromwell. She’s used to dressing up for him as you can see, so you should all have fun. Please take good care of her for him.”

This time I can’t stop my initial reaction as my head spins and I glare at grass skirt boy, “Hey, I just said…”

The man doesn’t pay any attention to my outburst as he disengages my arm from his and turns to leave. At the same time one of the women comes up and takes my hand in both of hers saying in a fun filled voice, “May I call you Paris? I’m Patty your personal designer. These are Carrie and Sophia and they’ll be helping out.”

I turn to look at Patty and see that she either didn’t get what the man said, inferring my call girl status, or she was so professional that it didn’t mean a thing to her. Either way her calm happy demeanor had an infectious effect, and I let the man’s attitude slip away. Patty pulled me further into the room as the door closed behind me, “Now this is a luxury process Paris. I want you to simply relax and let us do the work. We may occasionally need you to lift a foot or move an arm, but otherwise we’ll be doing everything for you.”

I finally look around the room and my eyes immediately land on my costume. With all the clothes in the room they could make many different costumes but the key pieces to my outfit were unique. A 1960s style form fitting red dress, dark pantyhose, and knee-high polished leather boots.

As I wonder how they just happened to have a costume that perfectly fits Art’s Star Trek fantasy, Carrie and Sophia start undressing me. I have a moment’s fear of them finding out my real gender, but that passes quickly enough once I remember all the surgeries are hiding me under more than mere clothes. Once they have my white silk blouse and pink leather skirt off and have me down to my lacy bra and panties and my stay up nude stockings, I’m getting into the pampered treatment. I don’t think anything of it when they unhook my bra and start sliding it off until I hear one of them suck in a shocked breath and realize what they’ve probably seen. The nipple stimulators that I never got off.

All three girls step off to the side, circle around each other, and start talking amongst themselves. They’re very discrete and quiet, but the room is small and they can’t get far enough away from me, so I hear the occasional whispered word or phrase. ‘Professional’, ‘fetish’, ‘paid for the deluxe’, ‘dystopian’. And finally, ‘Need his permission’.

Carrie and Sophia return to me and continue undressing me while Patty quietly steps out of the room. Once I’m down to my birthday suit Carrie holds out a very sexy set of lingerie all done in red. Thong panties, a waist cincher with built-in garters, and bra all in complex beautiful lace. They’ll display more than hide away, but they’ll match the Star Trek uniform nicely. Once they help me slip into everything, murmuring to each other at how narrow my waist is in comparison to my bust and hips, Patty steps back into the dressing room.

All three of us turn to her expectantly and she just nods with a big smile. Carrie and Sophia move away from me and start hanging up the Star Trek red dress while Patty calls my attention back to her, “Paris, I went and talked to Art and as I suspected he was completely in favor of changing the costumes. Especially once he understood that we could fully work with your already heightened sense of kinkiness.

I’m about to question what she means by my ‘heightened sense of kinkiness’ when I feel Carrie and Sophia behind me, grabbing and pulling my arms together. As I try to look over my shoulder to see what they’re doing, Patty continues, “With your fetish secretary outfit, your sex toys, and with how well you’ve made your body, we recognize a high-end call girl when we see one. Art was excited when we said we could incorporate that and even add a little bondage.”

I start to try and pull out of Carrie’s and Sophia’s surprisingly strong grips as they put leather cuffs around my wrists and elbows. The result of the bindings pulls my shoulders back and pushes my breasts even further out. Turning back to Patty I open my mouth to say… something, anything… but am shocked when she reaches up and clicks her fingernails along the flower shaped nipple stimulators, “Oh, and we’ll leave these on just in case he has the remote for them!”

Before I can get myself together to say something I feel Carrie or Sophia reach around from behind and work something into my mouth. While she’s pushing the odd piece of metal in… fuck me, is this a bit!?... she’s also gripping my jaw in a way that makes me open my mouth wide. Wider than is comfortable. When my teeth click in place though, I get why I had to open so side. It’s not a bit they’ve pushed into my mouth. It’s a gag. A ring gag that’s forcing my mouth to stay wide open.

I make another effort to voice my displeasure, knowing full well that I won’t be able to form words, but even that attempt is useless as Patty holds up the ‘other’ part of the gag. A penis insert. I try pushing my tongue up against it as she slides it between my jacked open jaws but it’s useless and my tongue is soon flattened in my mouth, silencing me.

I struggle against the women one more time, but with my arms behind me and my mouth silenced, there really isn’t any point. Knowing that Art isn’t cruel or an animal makes me realize this is just another embarrassment that I’ll have to get through. Once he sees me I’ll be able to convince him that I don’t want to be tied up like this, and he’ll get me out of it. So, with that in mind, I stop struggling and watch as the ladies finish up my costume.

First, red fishnet stockings are drawn up my legs and attached to the garters, perfectly matching the rest of the lingerie. Next come a pair of brown calfskin ballet boots. It takes Carrie and Sophia both to balance me between them while Patty works the boots on. Once they’re both on they all step back and make sure I can maintain my balance in the over-the-top fetish boots. Surprisingly, I’m able to not fall down although that feels like it will be a struggle until I get them off. The heels must be at least seven inches high.

The cuffs are removed from my arms, giving me temporary hope that they’ll at least be bound in a more comfortable position. Instead, the cuffs are replaced with a single shiny red leather arm binder. With all its hooks and straps my arms are pulled even closer together behind me, making me wonder in fear what I’d do if I were to get an muscle cramp in my arm or shoulder.

They certainly take ‘fetish’ to an ****. Patty brings over a highbacked chair and pulls me over the back of it so that I’m bent forward. Then, without being cruel about it, Sophia pushes my legs out wide as Carrie holds up a very well lubricated chrome butt plug for me to see. She even smiles as she shows me the red jewel at the end of it and says, “We know you won’t get much stimulation so this will at least give you a little fun!”

Me shaking my head no didn’t seem to even register with any of the ladies. Neither did my low grunt as the plug was relentlessly pushed inside of me. I absolutely hate the way it feels so full and know that this plug is the same size as the smallest of the plugs I’d had delivered earlier today.

Next up is a hobble strap attached to the ankles of the boots. With my precarious balance I can barely look down as they put it on, but I’d suspect it was about five inches in length. Not that running away would have been an option in these ridiculous heels but now I can’t even take normal steps.

I grow suspicious at the next piece of the outfit. A red cloth face covering that’s attached to a posture collar. The face covering comes all the way up to just over the tip of my nose, letting my eyes be the only part of my face visible. When the posture collar is snapped into place, it holds my neck tight. I give a try to look down, up, left and right, but can’t move my neck in any direction. I’m limited to my peripheral vision and looking straight ahead. And if my suspicions are right, I won’t have my peripheral vision soon enough.

A floor length red dress is then wrapped around me. Beyond fitting nicely around my breasts, which are still pushed out quite far because of the arm binder, it’s not particularly sexy or form fitting. But it certainly makes the outfit. They even think of having the arms of the dress stiff enough to look like my arms are in them and that I simply have my hands clasped together inside the folds of the long sleeves. Unless someone touches my back and feels my arms harnessed up, they won’t even know that my arms are behind me.

The final pièce de resistance is the stiff white bonnet with wings that extend well past my face. It all but obscures my vision once it’s strapped on and leaves me with only a narrow view of what is directly ahead of me.

The ladies are nice enough to bring the mirror over to me instead of walking me to the mirror as I’m not sure I could have made it in the heels. When I look, I see exactly what I feared they were dressing me as. It most certainly matches the whole ‘dystopian future’ and I’m sure that Art will have an amazing and amazingly comfortable costume. Because in the world of ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ the men are all comfortable while the women are all property.

I realize just how insidious this costume is. First, it’s very nature of being from The Handmaid’s Tale means people would expect me to ‘act the part’. Be quiet, be demure, not look around, follow the man I’m with. And it hides all the facts that it’s forcing me to do those things. The facial covering over the posture collar hides the fact that I can’t move my neck. It also hides the penis and ring gag which are what’s keeping me respectful and quiet. With the dress long enough to touch the floor they’ll never suspect I’m in fetish seven-inch heeled ballet boots. Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t think of adding a hobble to keep me walking slowly with very small steps.

The last thing the ladies add is a very thin and loose gold chain leash around my neck. The neck space in the leash is large enough that it could easily be pulled off over the bonnet, but of course that would take use of my hands. It adds so much to the costume as people can now drag me after them, fully thinking that I’m voluntarily allowing them to do so.

With a light slap to my behind, reminding me fully of the plug back there, the ladies wish me a good time while Sophia takes the leash in hand and starts slowly guiding me out. She must be aware of how difficult it is to walk in these heels as she’s walking far slower than a normal person would. Even so, I still feel I may be at the limit of my ability to walk and remain balanced.

I’m led to another room where I see that I’m not the only person wearing a Handmaid’s Tale costume. I have to slowly spin in place to ‘look around’ but I count at least seven other handmaids. All with their ‘hands’ clasped in front of them, all with red facial coverings up to their nose, all standing quietly. Waiting.

I must have been the last one as it only took a few moments for a woman dressed up in a decidedly sexy version of the ‘Aunt’ handmaid outfit to start lining all of us up. Except for the first handmaid, all our leashes are attached to the girl in front of us, making us one long line of leashed bound handmaids. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m fairly sure I can see on the handmaid in front of me her arms bound behind her. And that’s with me knowing to look for it. No… no one is going to guess our arms are bound as they are.

The ‘Aunt’ steps up front and addresses all of us, “Girls, thank you for agreeing to this. For the past few years this has been the biggest part of our charity event. Last year we raised three hundred thousand on the handmaid guessing game alone. Now please, as much as I know you want your boyfriends or husbands to ‘win’ the guessing game, the more they have to guess, the more they pay, and the more we all win. So don’t try to get your man to pick you! Okay… here we go!”

And with that she grabs the first girl’s leash and starts leading us forward.