The Garment Bag                                                                
by Gospodin                                                                    
gospodin@cluemail.com                                                          
storycodes: M/f; slave; reluc; X                                                
                                                                               
The Garment Bag                                                                
by Gospodin                                                                    
Copyright (C) 2003 Gospodin. Permission to modify and/or distribute for any    
purpose is granted freely provided this notice remains intact.                 
                                                                               
I was on my way back from a small island nation known for its beaches and lush 
vegetation. I had just brought my two slavegirls to a bondage retreat in the   
jungle there, and sold them at auction. I still get a woody when I remember the
looks on their gagged faces when they realized that the auction was genuine,   
and that they'd never see me or their country again.                           
                                                                               
So I had a lot of disposable cash and a good deal of spare equipment on me as I
boarded the 747 home. I took the opportunity to upgrade to the upper deck of   
the plane, hoping to get a little privacy for the trip.  Part of me was        
considering retiring, and getting out of the dominant business, but the other  
part of me was still fiercely poking at the front of my trousers.              
                                                                               
When I boarded the plane, the upper deck was mercifully spacious. The plane was
configured so that the top deck was all first class, and there were few people 
up there. I took my seat, looking across the aisle to see a delicious little   
beauty in the window drinking champagne and eating strawberries. By the looks  
of things, she was four sheets to the wind, and the berries had stained her    
lips a luscious red. I couldn't tell for sure, but her doey eyes may have been 
a little puffy from having cried a little in the recent past.                  
                                                                               
Her crossed legs displayed one foot, clad in a high-heeled strappy sandal with 
a thong binding that cris-crossed its way up her supple calf, ending just under
her knee. She wore a knee-length red skirt that tapered in to hug her curves,  
and her gauzy white blouse was unbuttoned enough that when she leaned (perhaps 
swayed?) forward, I could just catch a glimpse of her taut cleavage. I hadn't  
been staring long enough to draw comment from most people, but she quickly     
caught my eye and cast a seductive smile.                                      
                                                                               
This woman radiated sex like an iron radiates heat. Perhaps it was the bubbly  
releasing her inhibitions, but she had an effect on me that was making it      
difficult to sit straight. All thoughts of retirement vanished as my dominant  
side surfaced. I had to get the best of her, or I'd be under her spell with no 
consequences for her.                                                          
                                                                               
After the plane reached cruising altitude, I got up and stretched in the aisle.
I was about to make my opening gambit when she spoke up.                       
                                                                               
"Have a seat? There's plenty of champagne for two!"                            
                                                                               
Her syllables were gently slurred, her mouth over enunciating around them,     
compensating for her lowered muscular control. I beamed a powerful grin down at
her and slipped silently into the seat next to hers.                           
                                                                               
"Well, what are we drinking, here?" I picked up her glass and sniffed it       
suggestively, keeping my eyes fixed on hers.                                   
                                                                               
"Just airplane champaaagne! Stewardess! Could we have more, please?"           
She began compulsively punching the call stewardess button, making a series of 
bonging noises echo throughout the cabin. I expertly shot my hand out and      
grasped her by the wrist, encircling it in my grasp and pulling her arm back   
from the button.                                                               
                                                                               
"Ooh!" she cooed, "Must be the strong silent type, eh?" She punctuated her     
question with a dainty hiccup, a little squeak in the back of her throat. She  
tested my grip with her arm, grinning with delight at her own immobility.      
                                                                               
"I think she got the message, sweetie. They only need--"                       
                                                                               
"Oh, you should try one!" she interrupted my soothing talk in her              
drunk-speaking-over-engine-noise voice, and quickly grabbed a strawberry with  
her free hand and pushed it into my mouth, greens and all. I paused for a      
moment, then chewed and swallowed it whole, glaring at her sternly as she      
giggled with glee.                                                             
                                                                               
"Oh my, yoou ARE quite an animal, aren't you?" I remained silent, keeping her  
wrist in my grasp.                                                             
                                                                               
Fortunately, the moment was broken by a beleaguered flight attendant bringing  
more champagne and strawberries.                                               
                                                                               
"Madam, I'm afraid that I can't give you any more alcohol on this flight. It   
has a stronger effect at high altitudes, and you have had enough already." She 
set the glass in front of me, along with a fresh bowl of strawberries. I       
apologized to the attendant and promised to keep an eye on my inebriated       
companion, passing a $20 bill into her hand.                                   
                                                                               
"Oh, now you're not gunna drink ALL of that, are you?" She was pouting her big 
lips at me and batting her eyelashes unconsciously.                            
                                                                               
"Well sweetie, you heard what she said. I'm going to be doing the drinking for 
both of us until I've caught up."                                              
                                                                               
She took a strawberry in her hand and brought it to her lips, kissing it and   
sucking a little nibble off with the daintiest of gestures. She curled her hand
inward and down, and began tracing the fruit up and down the exposed chin of   
her upper chest, down toward her cleavage.                                     
                                                                               
"Aw, but surely I could do SOMETHING to get a drink out of you!" Her pout      
slowly spread into a mischievous grin, and her eyes sparkled with sexual       
energy. She sat with her back arched, so that her breasts were thrust toward   
me, and she uncrossed and recrossed her legs as she leaned in.                 
                                                                               
"Well now, you'd best be careful, sweetie. Someone might think you're being a  
tease." I left it open, gave her a chance to laugh it off, confess, or push the
game forward.                                                                  
                                                                               
"Oh big boy, you don't KNOW how big of a tease I am!" She was leading into a   
story, giving her more of the upper ground. I didn't like it, but I figured I'd
play along for a little while longer.                                          
                                                                               
"Oh? Well maybe you could tell me." I realized too late that she had used my   
distraction to move her grasped arm down into my lap. I still held onto it,    
making it look to any outsider like I was bringing her hand to my crotch. Any  
sudden move would have been an act of weakness on my part, so I let her move up
my thigh.                                                                      
                                                                               
She giggled again, stifling a cute hiccup with the back of her                 
strawberry-holding hand, "I just strung a billionaire along for three years,   
and then left him at the altar! I milked that fat fuck for bank, but he was a  
useless whale in the bedroom!" She was laughing at her clumsy tale, almost     
cackling with glee.                                                            
                                                                               
So, a gold digger, eh? A cocktease of the top degree. This little bitch needed 
owning, now. And I was in just the right place for it.                         
                                                                               
"Oh my, you are a little tramp, aren't you?" I could feel her fingers fumbling 
at my crotch, trying to set up a soothing rhythm.                              
                                                                               
"Mmmm, yes I ammmm..." she cooed, half-closing her eyes and letting her lips   
part gently, "But what about you..."                                           
                                                                               
I began to focus, center myself, ready for the pounce. She'd taken her inch,   
taken her mile, and now it was time to reel in the big one.                    
                                                                               
"When you were on the island, did you by any chance see a fashion show?"       
                                                                               
She began to look interested, if a little puzzled, "No. What sort? Swimsuits?" 
                                                                               
"Oh no! Costuming for fantasy shows. Exotic, gorgeous clothing.  That's the    
business I'm in."                                                              
                                                                               
"Ah, I see!" She smiled, knowingly, out of one side of her mouth, "real Xena,  
warrior princess stuff, is it?"                                                
                                                                               
"You've got the idea," I encouraged. "I've got several outfits that I exhibited
at the event this past week. That's what's in the garment bag." I gestured over
to the seat next to my original one, breaking the spell she held with her      
posture and gaze as she leaned and peered out over the aisle.                  
                                                                               
"Oooooh!" she cooed, distracted and eager, "I'd love to see some! Did you win  
any prizes?"                                                                   
                                                                               
I grinned, "I walked away with a substantial amount of money. I could probably 
show it to you, but I think I have a better idea that you might like."         
                                                                               
She was in MY spell now, her boozed attention now swung over to MY topic of    
conversation. This was going smoothly so far, but I had to work to hold her in 
her current state. Her attention span was woefully short.                      
                                                                               
"Oh, tell me! What's the plan?" She had a hopeful look on her face. Her        
curiosity was getting the better of her, and I had to struggle not to grow     
stiff thinking of her in cat ears and collar licking cream from my balls.      
                                                                               
"Well, I'm sure it would fit you. We could dress you up in the stuff and take a
few photos. You know, taunt your ex-fiance a little."                          
                                                                               
She moaned in what I feared might be dismay, "Ooooooooooo! That's PERFECT! Let 
me see it!"                                                                    
                                                                               
"Well, not here sweetie. It's not exactly pret-a-porter, you know. It takes two
people to get you into it. Most of those Xena folks have costuming assistants  
to help them, you know."                                                       
                                                                               
Had she put the pieces together, she probably would have shot me another sly   
grin, trying to push my sexual buttons. As it was, she just focused on the     
silvery garment bag and struggled with the arm that was still in my grasp.     
                                                                               
"Well?" She demanded impatiently, "Come on and help me try it on!"             
                                                                               
A moment later I was walking down the airplane aisle, holding the garment bag  
high with one hand, and dragging the little tease along by her upper arm. I    
pushed her into the one large lavatory on the whole plane, and was about to    
step in when I met the gaze of a rather nonplussed flight attendant.           
                                                                               
"er, I'm just going to help her sober up a bit." I explained weakly.           
                                                                               
"Whatever it takes, just don't be gentle." The attendant smirked, knowing that 
this bitch would get her comeuppance. Relieved, I smilled and stepped into the 
lavatory, locking the door behind me.                                          
                                                                               
"Let me see, let me see!" I hadn't even hung the bag up before she was pawing  
at the zipper, trying to get a look at the promised costume.                   
                                                                               
"In time, girl! Patience!" I snapped, standing between her and the bag. I      
reached over and pulled down the diaper changing table, patting its surface.   
"Strip and hop up."                                                            
                                                                               
She didn't seem at all fazed by this request. No doubt she had just spent a    
week lounging on nude beaches and moseying through street markets in a thin    
cheongsam. She was soon topless, and her skirt fell to the floor, her sense of 
balance too disturbed for her to bend over and pick it up to fold. She likewise
left her panties and sandals on. Fumbling, she slipped her thong-split ass up  
onto the table, grasping at the edges to keep balance.                         
                                                                               
I worked quickly and silently, not giving her a chance to see what was inside  
the bag, or giving her a chance to react to her environment. I pulled a pair of
handcuffs from a pocket of the bag and soon had her hands cuffed behind her,   
bound to a handle that formed part of the changing table. Before she had let   
out more than a curious "oooo", I had untied her sandals down to her ankles and
used the rest of the thong straps to tie her legs to either side of her,       
spreading for me.                                                              
                                                                               
"Wha, why are you..." Her question was abruptly interrupted as I tore her      
underwear at the sides, yanking the flimsy garment off permanently.            
                                                                               
"Oh don't worry girl, this is all part of the costuming. You'll see." I took   
out my camera and quickly snapped a few shots for good measure, the silvery    
garment bag diffusing the light onto her evenly-tanned flesh.                  
                                                                               
Her look of horror was only slowly arriving, "what did you...."                
                                                                               
"You remember, we're going to send photos to your fiance!"                     
                                                                               
"no no no no no, not this way... no, no that's... I don't want... this isn't   
working right, no, nonono" She began a half-hearted litany of disagreement as I
reached into my bag and pulled out a tube of depilatory cream, putting on a    
rubber glove before massaging it into her snatch.                              
                                                                               
"oooh, it burns!" she moaned gently as I began to wipe the cream away, along   
with a large patch of curly red hairs. I immediately began rubbing the second  
ointment over it, cooling her pain for the moment, and working the stuff into  
her pussy lips.                                                                
                                                                               
"mmmmmmmm" she groaned softly, her blood-engorged clit relishing the attention.
I worked a good deal of the substance into her, and then stopped as suddenly as
I had begin.                                                                   
                                                                               
"oh, don't stop..."                                                            
                                                                               
"Ah but this is what you came for!" I dramatically peeled open the zipper,     
revealing the contents of the garment bag: an array of leather, latex, and     
chrome, with the occasional wire here and there. She was speechless. She didn't
know what she was looking at. I used her stunned moment to readjust her        
bindings and stand her upright, wrists cuffed over her head. I snapped a few   
photos and began to place the outfit around her waist.                         
                                                                               
The basic structure was that of a black patent leather corset with stainless   
steel boning. The breast cups were highly polished latex, with the form of     
erect nipples showing on the outside. The breast cups and corset were separated
by a stiff band of chrome, and the front bottom continued into a stiff leather 
thong panel with bizarre chrome attachments. I fastened the corset portion in  
its most basic position, but directed my attentions to her breasts before      
tightening it.                                                                 
                                                                               
I reached forward and rubbed some of the cool cream on her breasts, teasing her
nipples to attention. Ignoring her moans for more, I adjusted the nipple-forms 
of the breast cups so that they surrounded her erect nubs, forming a vacuum    
seal and squeezing tightly.                                                    
                                                                               
"Ohhhhhhhh," she moaned, looking at herself in the mirror. "What sort of       
costume IS this?" She was lost, in another world. She had stopped her protests 
and was watching on in fascination and mild horror.                            
                                                                               
"Slavegirl." I replied neatly, locking the brassiere strap behind her and      
turning the crank on the corset.                                               
                                                                               
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she let out a wail as the corset tightened around her waist, 
the boning forming a spoon shape in her stomach, and forcing all the air out of
her diaphragm. Her curves were enhanced by the corset in a way I'd only seen on
a few women. This girl was born to wear one, her every line making my tool ache
and throb with need.                                                           
                                                                               
I brought the thong up and pulled it tight between her legs, making sure to    
keep her pussy lips inside the thing. Finally, the metal strap that formed the 
chastity device ended in a black rubber plug. I lubricated the tip and began   
pushing it against her anus.                                                   
                                                                               
"Oh, wait. Wait, what is this? No! no no no no. How do.. Why would you? Why    
would this? Oh god no...." SHe began to moan and drool in her confusion and    
shame.                                                                         
                                                                               
"Just relax.... just relax, and it will all be over soon. That's it, just      
loosen your muscles, hang like a rag doll... There you go...." I coached her,  
soothing her buttock muscles with my hand, waiting for the muscle cream in the 
lubricant to have its effect, "Haven't you ever taken it in the ass before?"   
She hung her head in shame and shook it no.                                    
                                                                               
"My my my, you've got a lot to experience, sweetie. Some slut you turned out to
be!" I finally pushed it home, sealing her humiliation. Cleaning up any excess 
goo, I turned the base of the plug and pulled out the back. The plug is        
designed so that when the key is removed, the head expands to fill the slave's 
cavity, sealing the belt onto her. Unless she can remove the plug, the suit is 
locked on, immobile. I stepped back as far as I could in the lavvy and took a  
few more photos of her terrified face and her bombshell body. The outfit held  
her in my spell completely now, and I had no more need for pretense.           
                                                                               
I quickly locked a chrome collar about her neck and released the handcuffs,    
letting her hands drop to her side. She almost immediately began rubbing her   
belted crotch, trying in frustration to bring herself off. The cream was       
beginning to take effect, and it was stimulating her to a sexual frenzy.       
                                                                               
"Oh god ogodogodogod fuckmefuckmefuckme!" She was no longer the stuck up       
cocktease. She was now a wanton slut slave getting what she deserved. Without a
word I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed down, forcing her to kneel. She
needed no further prompting, and began to unzip my trousers and bring out my   
cock.                                                                          
                                                                               
She gave my tool every bit of attention that she had given those strawberries. 
Her lush pouty lips played it like a flute, and her tongue never stopped       
twirling and swirling. She sucked my cock like her life depended on it. It WAS 
her life, now, and she knew that she had better please me if she ever wanted to
orgasm again.                                                                  
                                                                               
I spasmed, twitched, and unloaded wave after wave of hot creamy fluid into her 
mouth, which she swirled around, savoring, before swallowing like honey. She   
licked me clean and then tenderly repositioned me and zipped me back up again. 
                                                                               
"hands on your knees, palms up, and head down!" I snapped, and she immediately 
assumed the position, trembling with arousal. I placed a pair of knee-high     
shiny black leather boots with impossibly high heels in front of her, and began
to tear up her brassiere and sandals. I wrapped them in a disposable diaper and
shoved them into the wastebin. Without a word I cleaned up my kit, left the    
lavvy and returned to my original seat, taking a moment to search her purse and
carry-on for personal information.                                             
                                                                               
About fifteen minutes later she walked out of the bathroom, her skirt showing  
off her new curves, and the nipple forms poking against her white blouse (now  
buttoned over the telltale chrome of the suit's breast cups). She seemed       
somehow sobered by the experience, her gaze never leaving the floor. I savored 
the delicious clinking noises the ring in her collar and the locks on the knees
of her boots made as she walked. The flight went without incident for the next 
few hours, save for a knowing wink and a grin from the flight attendants.      
                                                                               
After the plane landed, she just sat there, her hands in her lap, staring at   
the floor. I handed her a shopping bag with a card clipped to it. On one side  
was my business card, just a disposable cell phone number bought with cash. On 
the other side was a note: "You'll need these about once a day now that you're 
all plugged up. By the way, I'll send you the photos soon, and probably send   
them to your fiance in a week or so as well. Give me a call soon!" She read the
note, puzzled, and then opened the bag, revealing a few enema kits. Her eyes   
widened in horror, and she looked at me pleadingly as I waved and stepped out  
of the plane.                                                                  
                                                                               
She must have been the last one off, and I didn't see her at the baggage check.
But a few days later I got a call.                                             
                                                                               
"I need your help." I knew the voice, however sober.                           
                                                                               
"well, how have you been getting on, dearie?"                                  
                                                                               
"I can't live a normal life any more. Oh god, I had to buy more of those kits  
today... I can't wear turtleneck sweaters all year! Oh please, I got the       
photos. Please, I can't keep doing this. Please don't tell him where I am.     
Don't show him the photos."                                                    
                                                                               
"Well," I said, calmly, "I was actually thinking of mailing him the key to the 
outfit."                                                                       
                                                                               
I could hear her gasp, not wanting to say anything for fear of saying the wrong
thing and actually setting those events in motion.                             
                                                                               
"I tell you what," I cut in, the threat remaining in the phone line between us.
"Come to my house tonight, and we'll discuss it over dinner."                  
                                                                               
She gulped, mumbled agreement, and we settled on a time and directions before  
hanging up.                                                                    
                                                                               
That night the door rang and I was greeted by her, a long leather overcoat     
hiding her clothing save for those perilously high boots, visible from the calf
down. I took her coat and was presented with my new slave, her silvery collar  
gleaming and clinking, her suit uncovered beneath the coat. I smiled and served
her dinner, eating wordlessly as she pleaded with me all night, complaining of 
her shortened breath in the corset, her balance on the heels, her near-constant
state of unsatisfied arousal, and her discomfort in using the plug's enema hole
to evacuate her bowels.                                                        
                                                                               
After the meal, I attached a thin leash chain to her collar and lead her to the
living room, where we sat on my wide leather couch and she continued to plead  
and cry on my shoulder. I let her do so for a few minutes, and then began      
pulling on the leash, bringing her swollen pouty lips from my shoulder down    
toward my lap...                                                               
