It was the night of the presentation of our tenth couture show in Paris. Our company NIARTSER FASHION was not a big one, but we had grown steadily little by little and the number of the special kind of people that appreciated our art had grown and now people were coming from all over the world to see our presentations, which -- like at the big couturiers and the "pret-a-porter"-houses -- were held twice yearly. Actually we were more in accord with the timing of the "pret-a-porter"-houses, because our clientele liked to have their orders made to measure. Showing the fall/winter fashions in the spring and the spring/summer collection in the fall gave us the time necessary to fill all orders before the season started without having to employ a large work-force. We were a very well organized little group and -- I believe -- a unique one.
For the celebration of the tenth collection or our fifth anniversary we had prepared a big party and sent out invitations to all of our customers. In contrast to all the other Paris fashion presentations there was no press allowed -- our customers preferred to remain among themselves. The whole affair had more or less the atmosphere of a private party. Even the models themselves were customers.
As the co-owner of the company you would expect me to act as the master of ceremonies or in a similar position -- however, here I was immovably posted as a mannequin upon a pedestal among a row of very natural looking dummies all displaying in a retrospective the most popular models of our previous collections. I was wearing a very elegant evening ensemble, a gown with a high-waisted, skin tight skirt of black taffeta and a top in the form of a sphere starting at the lower ribs, leaving the shoulders bare, made of a sparkling, silvery, metallic looking material. My hair was swept up into a delicate arrangement of ribbons and curls, long dangling rhinestone pendants almost touching my shoulders were inserted into my ears and sparkled in competition with a flashing rhinestone choker just over 3 inches wide that tightly circled my throat and made me hold my head very high. Just below the knees the skirt seemed to merge into a bouffant wealth of the same silvery material that encased my upper torso.
I projected the picture of an exquisitely coiffed and extravagantly dressed lady about to enter an elegant ballroom, pausing for a moment in front of a mirror to check her appearance before making her great entrance at the arm of her escort.
However, the outward appearance belied the truth: the skin tight taffeta skirt continued underneath to below my ankles and prevented any movement of my legs. There actually were two zippers which -- when opened -- would have allowed me to take small, mincing steps, but now they were closed and my legs were securely tied by the skirt.
Oh and, of course, my arms: they were tightly folded on my back, hands facing outward close to my neck and the elbows laced into special pockets at the upper end of my corset which tightly encased me from breasts to thighs. The choker, the corset, the tight skirt, and the extremely high heels on my shoes really made all movements impossible. My makeup reflected and continued the static theme: it had a waxy texture and looked absolutely artificial in its glamorous perfection. The whole picture was that of an elaborate life-sized doll, like a display at a wax museum.
This ensemble precisely portrayed our specialty: High fashion that restrained the wearer to the utmost without being directly noticeable. Actually the company name spelled this out quite clearly if you read it backwards. We had a lot of male (and lesbian female) clients who bought our dresses and other items for their girlfriends and wives who liked this kind of bondage, but we also had an almost equal number of women (and men) who liked to cross-dress and enslave their male partners in our finery just as I had been ensnared and subsequently enslaved by Sylvia, my wife and partner in the business.
Just before the first guests arrived, Sylvia had observed, that I tended to follow the actions in the room with my eyes and what little movements of my head were allowed by the Rhinestone choker. Of course, I could not comment on them, as my mouth was kept shut by the intricate little mechanism which Sylvia had had our dentist install on my back teeth and which locked my teeth tightly together over a plastic gag that exactly filled the cavity of my mouth and held my tongue down. But the movement of my eyes and my head in her opinion disturbed the picture of the motionless doll that I was to portray because it made my pendants swing a little and send sparkles through the room. To end this, she inserted a pair of lenses into my eyes with blackened pupils which effectively blinded me without being noticeable by any onlooker. And not being one for half measures, she inserted little wax- balls into my ears which almost completely cut off my hearing.
As you can see, she had the power to give me freedom as and when she deemed fit. She could open the restricting zippers in my skirt and lead me around with my vision and hearing still severely checked, or ungag me and let me have a drink and again restrain my legs with the skirt wherever she wanted to leave me. She could unplug my ears and let me hear the conversation around -- and probably about -- me while not being able to see who was talking and not being able to take part because of the invisible gag. There was no way however that I could sit down because of the long corset and my arms could not be released until the corset was taken off. I was completely dependent on Sylvia or whomever she might appoint as my mistress or master for the night.
You think the situation I was in would make me feel terrible or humiliated? To tell you the truth: I cherished it, my mind danced in bliss. Waves of delight raced through my mind and body and I was incredibly excited. From time to time somebody (was it Sylvia?) stroked my legs and my behind and each time I came close to an orgasm.
Well, what had brought me here and to this? What had caused me, a grown man of 25 years, rich by most standards, contrary to everything one should expect of me under normal circumstances, to be immovably stationed on a pedestal, dressed in exquisite feminine finery and looking like the epitome of femininity, and be a willing subject to the whims and caprices of a beautiful, but strong willed woman? Let me explain and tell you how everything happened from the very beginning.
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