The Ladies of Hetherington Hall: Part 3

Part 2

Chapter 5

The moment she opened her eyes, she knew instinctively that something was wrong. To start with, there was her sight. She could see… but it was different. Like gazing through a pair of binoculars backwards, Lucy was left with two small pinpricks rather than all-around vision. Anything peripheral was gone.

And there was a feeling of enclosure. Around her head. Her head felt covered and compressed. And her mouth felt full. She tried to speak but nothing happened. Not a sound. Her mouth wouldn’t even open. She put her hand to her face, but it didn’t touch. She couldn’t feel anything… well, not properly. As the fog of sleep cleared she realised that this was due to the rubber coating her fingers, but it was more than that. Her fingers couldn’t feel, but then neither could her cheek. And that was surely not right. She tried to sit up but in the corset it was hard. Eventually she managed, disorientated with every turn as she could only see straight ahead. She could hear nothing too. It was like she had been mummified. And like a mummy, she was warm, very warm, all over. Eventually she sat up, her legs dangling off the bed. She tried to stand but when she attempted to take a step she stumbled and fell back onto the bed. Then she recalled her bedroom boots without heels. Of course she couldn’t walk in them! She shuffled towards the post at the corner of the bed and stood gingerly, holding on for support. Then she turned to face the full-length bedroom mirror. What she saw caused her to faint instantly in shock.


She came to with Meakes standing over her wafting some smelling salts beneath her nose. “Good morning, Miss Parkinson,” she said, smiling. “I trust you slept well.”

Lucy tried to answer but, of course, she could not, so she waved her rubberised arms about in protest.

“Ah, I assume that you are referring to your new head, Miss Parkinson? Well, Miss Unsworth did tell you about her fascination with rubber I believe, and it would not have been correct for us to only cover the lower part of you, now would it?”

Lucy had been referring to her “new head”. What she had seen in the mirror had been a life-size rubber doll. The body – arms, legs, everything up to the neck – she had expected, but it was what was now above that had caused her to pass out. Staring back at her was a totally rubberised head. It had the face of a doll, with large, vacant eyes staring back at her, and long chestnut hair that cascaded all the way down to the floor. What was most off-putting however, was that it was, unmistakably, her. It was a rubber doll’s face but a face modelling closely and accurately on her own, like as if someone had wanted to produce a life size Lucy Parkinson Barbie. As if reading her thoughts, Meakes said, “Yes, I know, the dollmaker has done a wonderful job with it, truly exquisite.” She paused and stood back to admire that “wonderful job” and then said, “I shall go and inform Miss Unsworth that you have awoken.”

While Lucy waited for the maid to return with her friend and lesbian lover, she explored her new reality. The strange vision was explained: she was now peering through two pinholes in the centre of the large fake doll eyes on the face. What was more, she had noticed that her hearing seemed dimmed and somewhat indistinct, but of course it would be with rubber now coating her hears and their canals. Similarly, her mouth seemed to be filled with something. Using a rubberised finger, she found that she could open the mask’s lips and insert it, but only a narrow channel remained. There were no teeth and everything else was packed with some sort of rubber filling. Her tongue was nowhere to be found. At first she wondered it if had been removed, but then realised that such a notion was ridiculous considering that this was only a temporary thing and the whole rubber ensemble would be removed at the end of the week ready for her to return to uni. This had all been done to prove herself to her lover, a lover who had already proven her devotion back through the exploits of the night before.

That lover then burst through the door and ran towards her friend. She threw her arms around her and declared, “Lucy darling, you look so wonderful! I never thought it could be but you are truly exquisite, like a living and breathing rubber doll!” Lucy tried to reciprocate the embrace but with a rubberised face, a filled mouth and lips that no longer obeyed her commands, she found herself unable to do so, like a passive participant in the whole affair.

“My darling, what a marvellous job they have done! I watched the early stages of course, but not the rest. I kept it a secret as I so wanted to surprise you; I could see how much you had embraced the bondage and rubber before and I thought how much you would love this complete enclosure. You must be wondering what happened, though?”

Lucy did her best to nod.

“They shaved your head, rubbed in the lotion and then sprayed it all with the rubber until only the face remained. Then they sprayed the interior of your mouth before adding the pre-formed mouth filler before it had dried so that it merged into the liquid rubber and filled you so well whilst still leaving a channel for food and other activities. And then came the face plate, premanufactured of course and affixed with great care with spray rubber being used to seal it in place and smooth the seams which are now indistinguishable. Then finally came the wig; do you like it? I’ll let you into a secret: I let them use some of my hair in it so that you will always have a piece of me with you!”

Jane’s words had soothed her shock and fear somewhat. Her friend obviously thought that her embracing of all the rubber and bondage was a show of love for it: what a misunderstanding! Still, she obviously had her best interests at heart! Years later they would laugh about it. The only thing that concerned her slightly was the phrase “always have a piece of me with you”. What was “always” about an outfit she would only be wearing for a few more days at most? Then she realised: Jane said “always” because she intended to keep the costume once discarded and perhaps reuse it for their sexual games on later occasions. Oh well, she would consent to that!

“I must go now as Meakes needs to get you ready for the big day. I too have to get changed of course, but we’ll see each other soon! Love you forever!” And then, with a peck on her unfeeling, rubberised lips, she was gone and Lucy was left alone and wondering, what big day?


Meakes did not explain and Lucy could not ask. She was immediately led to the bath where, despite her rubberised form, she was washed thoroughly. It was weird having water all around her and yet remaining dry. She also wondered what the point was, but again, as if reading her mind, Meakes commented, “This rubber is a new technology developed by the US military in fact. It is a unique compound created by blending conventional commercial butyl rubber and polymerizable liquid crystal. What that means is that, while it keeps elements out – like germs and disease – it also allows the skin to breathe and sweat to seep out so that it can be worn, if wanted, permanently.”

Lucy, of course, could think of nothing worse than being encased in rubber permanently, but it was interesting to learn what modern technology could now do and it explained the purpose of the bath.

After being towelled dry, she was led to the lacing bar and her dressing began. Today there was no shift and instead a new corset was brought out. It was a beautiful creation of white silk and lace but heavily boned. As it was fastened around her and the laces drawn in, Lucy first felt security, then constriction, then faintness. Soon she blacked out for the second time that morning.

When she came to, the pressure around her waist was unbelievable, like nothing she had ever experienced before. Her head spun and her rubberised breasts heaved up and down and, with each rise, there was a painful tug on the rings still adorning each nipple. As she hung there, Meakes worked down below, fitting stockings attached to suspender clips dangling from the bottom of the stays, and then thigh-length en pointe boots. All was in in white. Then came the petticoats and the crinoline, enormous in its dimensions.

After this the suffering girl was released and, after getting over the initial shock of weight being put onto her legs and her waist expanding, she minced over to a chair. Then came the styling of her much-longer hair. It took over an hour, an exquisite creation of ringlets and curls with jewels and ribbons affixed within. Again, all was white.

That done, there came a pair of tight white silk gloves and then the dress itself. A glorious monument to the dressmaker’s art in white silk, dripping with jewels, lace and false flowers, it was lowered over her head and laced formly. Off-the-shoulder, it left that bit of her rubber skin free. Around her neck was a white lace choker that indeed lived up to it’s name.

And then, finally, an item most unexpected: an elaborate veil of netting with several layers that, when lowered, obscured what little vision she had left. And, thus completed, Meakes held her hand as she minced out of the room.

She walked blind down corridors and then they stopped. Meakes let go and another hand took hers. “You look wonderful,” whispered Jane. “Being knocked out for three days while we fitted that rubber head was definitely worthwhile!”

Three days? What did she mean? She had been out for that long! But three days, that meant… it meant the wedding, Mr. Unsworth’s wedding, was today!

The organ struck up a chord and Jane started to lead her friend forward and, with horror, Lucy realised that the wedding was now.

And she was the bride!

Chapter 6

Her wedding. Where to start?

The day would remain engraved on her mind forever. In that instant when the organ began to play the wedding march and the woman she had hitherto considered to be both friend and lover guided her forward, in that single instant her life changed irrevocably. It was, as with St. Paul, like the scales fell from her eyes.

Metaphorically at least. Literally, imprisoned behind doll eyes and then covered by several layers of veils, she saw nothing at all beyond a white blur.

But metaphorically, all became clear. Or, at least, the illusion was smashed. If Jane was her lover, why was she marrying her off to her father? And if Jane was her friend, then why had she deceived her in such a manner? And if Jane was neither a lover nor a friend, then what exactly was she?

Stunned and dazed, she minced forward. Then, she stopped – or was stopped by Jane – who bent over and lifted the veils. What she saw shocked her.

On one side was the man who was soon to be her husband. Mr. John Unsworth, the slightly-leery father of Jane. His none-too-subtle ogling and constant compliments now made sense. He had never seen her as a friend of his daughter, but instead as his future life partner, no, possession.

But on the other side…

Who was that standing next to her, giving her away?

Well, it was Jane of course, but a Jane transfigured. Gone was the casual uni student and gone too was the Victorian maiden. And in their place stood a confident, dominant and extremely sexy woman. Yes, she was wearing a male suit and top hat as befits the father of the bride. But this was a suit specially tailored. The trousers were tight, highlighting her perfect arse which strained against them, whilst the jacket tucked in the middle to similarly highlight her corseted waist, while above, her breasts strained against the material. It was a lesbian reworking of the classic outfit. Even betrayed as Lucy felt, the infatuation left in her made her ogle. She was gorgeous!

“Who gives this woman away?” intoned the priest.

“I do,” replied the new Jane.

And thus the service continued, a blur of words and emotions as Lucy struggled to stay conscious and continually shifted from one foot to the other to relieve the pressure. At one point the priest say, “Do you, Lucy Annabel Parkinson, take this John Humphrey Unsworth, to be your lawful wedded husband?” How could she answer. What should she do?

“She does,” replied Jane confidently.

Then came rings and the kiss and, before she knew it, she was joined to John Unsworth for all eternity. Jane let go and he took her arm in his, turned her round and marched her down the aisle.

Which is when she got another shock.

The congregation.

The men were all in Victorian dress. She recognised several from the ball the previous… nay, four nights ago. The women were also in period costume, a fantasia of corsets and crinolines. But what struck her attention more than that was their faces. Each and every one was a rubber doll just like her. The only non-rubberised female present was Jane.

What the fuck was going on?!

In the reception held in the dining room, she found out. Oh my God, did she find out!

Prior to entering, her husband had lovingly laced a single glove over her arms. They all sat there eating the wedding meal. All the other women – save for Jane – were similarly restrained. Or at least, the men ate. And Jane. The women though, rubber dolls all, were instead presented with a kind of mush in tubes which the maids squeezed slowly down their throats. All had mouths modified like hers. All were incapable of consuming solid food. Not only were they as helpless as babies, but they also ate like them. And then, when everybody was full and the wine had begun to flow for the men – and Jane – there came the speeches.

Jane spoke first. As “the father of the bride”, that was only correct and traditional. What she said was neither.

“You all know me,” she began, “for this is the fourteenth time I have played this role. Indeed, looking around the room, I recall acting as the father for many of the dolls here. I have enjoyed each and every one, although I am sad to say that this may possibly be the last wedding I arrange. After all, I will be twenty-five next January and it is getting increasingly difficult to pass myself off as a first-year undergraduate. However, if Jenny Simpson does retire today, fear not; her successor has already been groomed. Indeed, she is out working on a case today. The future of our esteemed Society is assured!”

At these words the entire room – or at least, the male half of it – clapped and cheered. Lucy, on the other hand, was confused. Jane had acted in this role fourteen times already? Jane was actually twenty-four?! Jane was actually called Jenny?! And who were the Society?!

“However, my final assignment Lucy Unsworth may well turn out to be, I can say in all honesty that she has also been among the best. When the Society told me that the girl they had selected was Miss Parkinson, I did not know what to expect. Over the course of the last few months however, I have come to know a caring, charming, compassionate young lady whom, I have no doubt, will make a marvellous wife for my friend, John Unsworth here. I told Lucy that I loved her and I genuinely do. Indeed, and this is not always the case in this job, it actually hurt me to lie to her about my name and motives. I am in fact rather jealous that it is John and not I who will be sharing her bed tonight for, if this is not too crude to say, she has a lovely pert little arse, fantastic tits and, well, John, let me just say this: you’re getting a fantastic shag!”

At these words the room erupted into cheers and applause again. Lucy however, merely felt mortified.

Jane – or should I say Jenny Simpson’s – speech was followed by that of her husband. His was a bland and stale affair and revealed far less. He thanked Jane for her work, also Meakes for preparing his bride and the Society for making his dream possible. He spoke of his fixation with dolls from an early age and his youthful explorations of the fetish scene when he lived in Germany as a young financier in Frankfurt. He then spoke about his first marriage and how his wife had cheated on him and was interested only in his money. Then he went on to the second which, in his words, was no better. “Finally though, I am sure I have found a wife who will remain faithful – well, until Jenny comes round to visit” (cue raucous laughter) – “and will fulfil all my requirements for a spouse admirably. And so, thank you darling Lucy for making an old man very happy again!”

The final speech was made by a man sitting at the top table who was obviously the best man. He was of a similar age to her husband and Lucy recognised him from the ball a few days before. He stood up and announced himself as Jacob Huntley-Smith, Chairman of the Society of Doll Aficionados United Kingdom Chapter. What he said revealed so much to Lucy but also chilled her to the bone.

“As a child, I, like so many others, was fascinated by dolls. We are naturally drawn to them with their perfect faces, gorgeous costumes and elegant poses. Girls, in particular, naturally feel an affinity towards them. The simple truth that the child can see, the adult often misses. A girl can recognise in a doll what it is that she should aim to be: beautiful, submissive, passive. A boy can recognise what he should be looking for in a bride for a bride becomes a life partner. A man’s natural role is a leader, and a woman’s is as his accessory. Sadly, with the dragons of feminism, cultural Marxism and political correctness so prevalent in our depraved world today, what is good is seen as evil and what is evil is seen as a virtue.

“It is a full thirty-two years today since I founded the UK chapter of the Society of Doll Aficionados. You all know this story, but, like John here, I too have had painful experiences with marriage. I married young and I married for love. I gave that woman my trust and in turn I was betrayed and rejected. Society outside these walls was on her side. Unlike many men though, I learned from that painful experience. I worked out what the ideal in a woman should be: the doll ideal. Then I sought such a woman and, when I found none forthcoming, I created her. I did not marry afresh but, instead, had my existing wife abducted from her Bahamas beach house, transported to Loch Leerie Castle and transformed into what she should have been all along. Sadly, she is no longer with me, but in the twelve years that she lived by my side as a doll, I believe she learned the error of her ways.

“When I think back to those early days, I almost laugh. How primitive we were! Remember the porcelain masks that our first dolls wore? Or those pioneering rubber suits that were zipped at the back and had to be changed regularly. Technology has helped us no end, particularly through the conduit of our American cousin Hank Peterson III – Hank, are you there? Yes, give us all a wave! Hank here, with his position in the military, helped to fund development of the rubber compound we use today; a compound that is sprayed on, that allows the skin to breath, that bonds with that skin so that it may never be removed for, to remove the rubber is to remove the skin itself. A second skin that is permanent. Gentlemen, is that not the very fulfillment of the doll ideal? The doll identity so fused with the original that the two are inseparable? Once encased, our dolls will never become base humans ever again. What an achievement! Instead they remain as silent and enchanting as young Lucy here, still youthful even as the decades roll by.

“Gentlemen, I have spoken too long. You all have your own dolls to attend to and John here has his to enjoy for the very first time. However, before I go, I must pay, on behalf of the Society, our huge debt of gratitude, to Miss Jenny Simpson here. It was an inspired idea all those years ago to use our connections in data analysis to scour university and college student lists for young females without familial ties like Mrs. Unsworth here, and then to use talented lesbians – Jenny, I’ve always seen you as an honorary male – to lure them in. How you do it, I do not know. That you have sneaked into so many lectures in so many educational establishments with no one ever questioning your right to be there is breathtaking. The confidence of a man, I see it in you. And you say that, at twenty-four, it is getting hard to pass as a nineteen-year old? Jenny, I’m sure if you wanted to, you have a good few years yet.”

This elicited some cheers and ‘Hear! Hear!’s from the crowd.

“However, to show the Society’s gratitude to you for your services, on behalf of all of us here at the Society, I would like to present you with a gift. Do you recall, all those years ago, young Emma Houghton whom you lured in from Exeter University and who became Mrs. James Draycott of Draycott Hall?”

“Of course, she was my second assignment, Jacob.”

“Well, sadly, James died of a heart attack two months ago, leaving Mrs. Draycott a widow. More than that, he also left to the Society, his house and all his wealth on the proviso that we care for his beloved. And so, in appreciation of your sterling work, Jenny, may I hand you the keys to your new home and present to you a gorgeous companion for your bed!”

And with those words a rubber doll with platinum blonde ringlets, her arms in a single glove, was led into the room by a maid on the end of a silver leash. The whole (male half of the) room stood up and clapped as she tottered over to the top table and the leash was handed over to the lesbian deceiver whom Lucy had loved as Jane. And, as glasses were raised to the bride and groom and the band struck up, Lucy fainted clean away.

Epilogue

Silence reigns in the room save for the ticking of the clock and the beating of the raindrops against the window panes. Mrs. Unsworth sits there motionless, her arms pinnioned behind her in a monoglove, her crinoline dress ordered and pristine, her eyes staring vacantly forwards.

Beneath that rubber face though, there is turmoil. It is a full six months since Lucy was wed to John Unsworth. They have not been the happiest months of her life.

In addition to the shock of betrayal, there was that wedding night. As per Society custom, she was stripped naked, lain on the bed, her wrists and ankles fastened to the four posts by silver chains. Then she was taken, entirely passive and accommodating. Subsequently, it has been different. John has at times allowed her more freedom – he enjoys the struggle – on other occasions less – he loves the look of a monoglove. One constant remains though: his lack of concern for her pleasure. She worked out on that very first night why his first two wives left him.

Beyond the sex there is boredom. Day after silent day as an anonymous rubber doll, clad in the most beautiful of costumes, sitting silent and restrained in the drawing room. Anger boils over in her heart some days. She thinks of the life that she should be leading, the fun-filled, hedonistic and carefree existence of a university student in the prime of her life, experiencing life in all its fullness. Instead she is now naught more than a doll, a pretty accessory to the man who rapes her every night. Nothing breaks the monotony.

Well, almost nothing.

She shudders slightly. The dildo in her love channel has started up again. Its long, low vibrations, always enough to excite her, never enough to bring her to completion. On their first morning together John produced the two plugs that would become a permanent part of her attire from then on. She is used to a full bottom and vagina these days. At the start though, they humiliated her.

But not nearly so much as when the bottom plug was removed and something else stuck in there.

The buzzing continues and she fidgets again, excited. For today the monotony will be broken.

When Jenny Simpson first turned up, a month after the wedding, she wanted to rip her eyes out, to beat her to a pulp for her cruel and callous betrayal. She did nothing of the sort, of course; she physically could not, but the hateful desire was there. But then, when the lesbian handed her “toy” over to John to play with and she led Lucy to the bedroom, something changed. She still hated Jenny, but this fellow woman understood her needs and was willing to accommodate them. After the stale, desultory sex with her husband, bound and needy as she was, the session with the woman who had tricked her was heavenly. And so, despite the anger still burning, she desired her.

The line between love and hate is thin.

‘Today is March 15th. I don’t usually know the date, days bleed into each other, but I know that today is March 15th because on March 15th, in the afternoon, Miss Jennifer Simpson and Mrs. Emma Draycott are coming to stay for a night. When though, I cannot say. No one includes me in anything these days, no one asks my opinion or thinks I should be informed. That’s because they don’t really see me as a human being anymore. I am no longer the vibrant, lively, happy uni student that I was but six months ago. No. Today I am only a doll. A silent, passive, cute and willing rubber doll. And it is all my own fault. No one else is to blame. I befriended Jane. I chose to come here. I accepted the bondage. I signed the documents. I stood by passively as they covered me in rubber. I never saw the signs.

Perhaps I was destined to be a doll all along. After all, a normal girl would have done something, would have said no…’

Her thoughts drift off into nothingness. She sits there unmoving, waiting, waiting, waiting. The clock ticks and the raindrops continue to patter against the windows. But the buzzing has stopped. It never lasts long, but then it never stays off long either. Behind those glass eyes, she starts to feel drowsy. Sleep starts to come.

She hears the doorbell ring and she jerks open again. They are here! Lucy the rubber doll can’t help but squirm in anticipation.

FINIS

Written December 8th – 13th, 2018

Copyright © 2018, Dave Potter

The Ladies of Hetherington Hall: Part 2

Part 1

Chapter 3

Lucy awoke the next morning in her four-poster still wearing the tight corset. As she adjusted herself away from the realm of dreams, she recalled the night before and her mind entered turmoil. What had happened and what was she to do?

In short, what had happened is that the passion that had been brewing for weeks, nay months, between her and her friend Jane had finally boiled over and burst into the open. She had told Jane how she felt about her and, to her surprise and delight, the feelings were reciprocal.

Well, almost.

You see, that passion wasn’t all. Jane had also revealed to her friend another passion that was foremost in her mind.

Bondage.

What even was it? She knew vaguely about tying people up and cheap porn videos or sex clubs where one person submits to a “Master” or “Mistress” and then is whipped and wears leather or something. But those ideas were vague and unformed and it was not something that she had ever personally considered. But Jane had said to her, in no uncertain terms that, if they wanted their intimacy to increase, she would have to agree to trying out some of this bondage.

And Lucy, overcome by the moment, had agreed.

But did she want to be dressed in leather, tied up and whipped? Her gut reaction was ‘No way!’ but then if it were Jane doing it… perhaps. After all, she had never considered wearing Victorian costume before and, despite the difficulty of the corset and wide skirts, she had sort-of become used to that and even enjoyed it in a way. But was that enjoyment because she was restricted or was it because she was living history?

She didn’t know.

Should she go back to her friend and tell her that she had changed her mind?

She could, but then Jane would undoubtedly feel let down. Was it not a good thing that she had been so honest and besides, if they were to have some sort of future together, then was it not but right and proper that they shared one another’s passions?

Even if those passions did involve being tied up?

But then again, did they? Jane had asked her to try out some bondage and restriction but hadn’t really specified what. She thought back to that strange essay. The girls in there wore collars around their necks and were attached together on a chain when they attended finishing school. They also had their arms bound and wore masks which preserved their anonymity. None of that sounded much fun but then, well… don’t knock something until you’ve tried it.

That’s what her mother used to say, God bless her memory.

No, she would try it. For Jane’s sake. It would demonstrate that Lucy’s devotion was real. And besides, it was only for a few weeks until after the holidays had finished. She could put up with anything for that long.

And besides, if she did, then Jane might go further than she had been willing to the previous evening when, after a lot of kissing and cuddling, she had broken away and made her friend make the promise.


“Lucy here has decided to embrace the Victorian ideal more than before. Although she has become competent at wearing her corset and crinoline, she has recognised, through reading accounts from the time, that in terms of discipline, mindset and posture, she is far from the Victorian ideal. Therefore, she would like you to take over the matter and act as her guardian in this way.”

Jane was talking to Meakes. The two girls had enjoyed their breakfast as usual with Mr. Unsworth and had then returned to their rooms. Lucy smiled inwardly at how her friend was explaining it all to the maid. She really was entering into the role play element of it all and Lucy guessed this was turning Jane on. Perhaps Meakes too if she liked similar things although the strait-laced (literally!) maid never betrayed any emotions.

“Is this true Miss Parkinson?”

“Yes, Meakes.”

“That is fine. However, I am afraid to say that since we currently live in the 21st century and not the 19th, I am not prepared to implement any disciplinary, posture reformation or restrictive measures without your signed consent. I do apologise but I am sure you understand that I cannot leave myself open to any legal claims.”

“Lucy would never do anything like that, Meakes, she…”

“I must insist, Miss Unsworth, as I insisted with you.”

“No, no, I quite understand,” butted in Lucy. And she did. It was yet another case of health and safety gone mad.

“Then I shall print off a copy of the form that we developed for Miss Unsworth and you can sign that.”

The maid disappeared and then returned several minutes later carrying the “form”. Except that it was more like a book, with page after page, each in very small script. Lucy started to read and, despite the legalistic language, it looked pretty kosher. Jane started tapping her feet though to indicate her boredom so Lucy skimmed over the next forty or so pages and then signed her name at the bottom. Once this was done, then Meakes nodded, took the document and turned to her “charge”.

“Right Miss Parkinson, since you have given me these new responsibilities, then I feel it is my place to state some truths that I have kept to myself unto now. Firstly, although you have made admirable progress with your corsetting, you still have a ways to go until you are presentable in society and, with Mr. Unsworth’s wedding not far off, I feel that the progress should be accelerated. To do that, I shall be introducing a lacing bar to your morning routine. Now, I appreciate that there is no such piece of apparatus in the room that you now occupy and so I propose moving you to the late Mrs. Unsworth’s room, so please, come with me.”

Lucy followed the maid through several corridors into the West Wing where Mr. Unsworth slept, into a room far grander than even Jane’s, which had once been occupied by her mother. As they walked, Lucy wondered just what a lacing bar was exactly, but when they got to the room, she got her answer straight away. It was a bar hanging from the ceiling like a trapeze with two cuffs hanging from it. Lucy was stripped of all her clothing save for the shift and then directed towards the bar which she was then ordered to hold. She did so and then the maid fastened the cuffs around her wrists. Wondering what their purpose was, she soon found out when Meakes turned a handle by the wall and the bar slowly rose, taking her with it. Eventually it got to the point where she could only reach the floor with her tiptoes. Then Meakes stopped and brought out a corset.

But not the one that she had previously been wearing.

“This arrived today, Miss Parkinson, direct from the corsetiere’s. The one that you wore before was Miss Unsworth’s and it never fitted properly. This is specially tailored to your body.”

Specially tailored it may have been, but Lucy was not quite sure that she wanted to wear it. It looked considerably longer than the previous one with a busk and smaller in the waist too. Curiously, there was also a strap hanging down from it.

She started to fit it and immediately Lucy could feel that it would constrain her more. Even lightly laced, it seemed to restrict her breathing to a greater degree than her old stays. When Meakes seriously started to pull, Lucy felt most uncomfortable indeed. However, she knew better than to ask her to stop and so she kept quiet, yet still Meakes kept tugging and tugging until her breath became ragged and she began to lose consciousness. “Stop… please… I’m… feeling… faint…” But Meakes did not stop and, before she knew it, Lucy faded away.

She was brought around by an acrid smell in her nostrils. Immediately she tried gasping for air but the corset would not allow it. “You are at nineteen inches now, Miss Unsworth, which is progress, but the corset is still a full three inches off closing. You shall wear it closed for the wedding.”

Sixteen inches! But how could she ever?!

“The lacing bar has made a great difference. It stretches your body allowing for greater reductions,” continued the maid.

As Lucy’s body was recovering from the lacing, Meakes was working elsewhere on her. She went down below, taking the strap that was hanging from the bottom of the corset and fastening it between her charge’s legs, attaching it to the back. It now covered both her sex and her bottom hole although, disconcertingly, it seemed to be covered with what felt like rubber nubs that rubbed against her and excited her. Meakes then fitted a new pair of white silk stockings onto her legs and then brought out a new pair of boots. Lucy was not pleased to discover that these had an extra inch or more on the heels.

“These will do for now until you work up to suitable heels,” said the maid.

The obligatory petticoats and crinoline now followed and then the bar was lowered and Lucy put her feet properly on the ground.

Or at least, the tiptoes of them.

Immediately she noticed a difference. Without the stretching caused by the bar, her waist tried to expand and the pressure around her middle grew exponentially. She felt herself growing faint again but, thankfully, this time she stayed conscious, barely.

Unfastened from the bar, she was led to the middle of the room and her blouse and gown fitted over her head. Today she was dressed in a beautiful creation in blue silk but the beauty was offset by the ferocity of the undergarments that made wearing it possible. Lucy was then led over to the bed and bade to sit down. “Your posture really is a problem and so we must do something to remedy that,” remarked Meakes. She refitted her charge’s kid leather gloves and then took her hands and, to her astonishment, guided them behind her back where they were fastened using a sort of sleeve, a little like a muff, that kept them secured wrist-to-elbow. This extreme position not only rendered her hands useless but also forced her to thrust out her breasts lewdly. “What are you doing? How can I do anything like this?” she asked.

“A lady need not do anything, Miss Parkinson. That is why you have me to assist you.”

And she was not finished with that “assistance” either. Another item was brought out, a high leather collar with a golden ring on the front and lace trimmings was fastened around her neck. This forced Lucy to keep her head erect and made turning it difficult. Finally, restrained and squeezed almost to fainting, she was allowed to mince out of the room with her maid’s support to join her friend.


Jane, to Lucy’s surprise, seemed to be wearing more or less what she had before. She was, however, enthusiastic about the changes in her friend’s attire, complimenting her on the narrower waist and improved posture. And, after that, the day went much as before except that now Lucy needed everything doing for her and she was constantly out-of-breath. Indeed, when it came to a walk around the grounds, she could only manage around twenty steps before having to stop and catch her breath, her breasts heaving up and down for around a minute until she could continue. None of this was helped by the fact that, whenever she moved, the nubs on the corset strap rubbed her down below causing great excitement in a place where, restrained as she was, that excitement could not be relieved.

The loss of the use of her arms irked Lucy the most, as it really rendered her helpless. She looked forward to lunchtime as she knew that then they would need to be released but, to her surprise and dismay, Meakes instead decided to feed her the sandwiches that had been prepared as if she were a baby, dabbing her lips delicately after each bite.

Not that she took many bites. With her waist so compressed, she was full after only three or four of the dainty little snacks.

She also expected release soon afterwards when she revealed that she needed to use the toilet, but again, Meakes attended to her as a baby, wiping her bottom so that she felt quite embarrassed and ashamed.

Finally though, after an evening meal during which Jane’s father was most enthusiastic about the changes and seemed to drink in her new figure to a degree slightly off putting, it was announced that she should prepare for bed. She was led upstairs and divested of her arm sleeve and the gown and then taken to the lacing bar where, to her delight, the crushing stays were removed.

The relief was only temporary of course. The reason that the stays were taken off was so that a shorter night corset could be fitted. This left her breasts free though, which was bliss after having them compressed all day. On several occasions, they had even threatened to pop out of the corset altogether making her secretly glad that she wasn’t wearing a low-cut dress, but being rid of the culprit now was even better.

Her boots were also removed but, to her dismay, once released from the lacing bar she was led to the bed and some unexpected items were fitted onto her.

The first were a pair of mittens that went over her cream-filled gloves. These were in white silk and decorated with pretty sky blue laces, but what irked Lucy was that they were padded and thumbless, so once wearing them, her hands were as useless as they had been during the day. “This is to stop any naughty behaviour in the night,” explained Meakes, “such as trying to undo corset laces or crotch straps.” Lucy blushed. Whilst she had more or less given up on trying to take off her corset, she had been planning on undoing the simple button on the strap and releasing the tension that had built up during the day.

The second new item was another pair of boots. These were most peculiar indeed as they stretched to her thighs and were laced for their entire length. Fitting them took a full ten minutes each and, once on, Lucy’s ability to bend her legs was severely hampered. Worse than that though, the boots forced her feet down vertically like those of a ballet dancer, and they had no heels so moving around in them without holding onto someone else for support was impossible. “They prevent nocturnal wandering,” Meakes explained.

Horrified at what her guardian called nightwear, she just sat in silence as the maid fitted a dressing gown over her head and then tucked her in bed. Jane came around soon after, which was a pleasure, particularly as she used her free hands to explore Lucy’s body (although, annoyingly, she refused to undo the crotch strap), and her lips to explore her friend’s willing mouth. However, she left all too soon and Lucy found herself alone and almost entirely helpless.

And so things continued for a week without much change. On the second day in this new outfit, it was decreed that the girls should join Lucy’s father in the drawing room for a music recital and so they changed into evening dresses which were off-the-shoulder. Lucy found hers, a glorious creation in pink, to be beautiful indeed, but it presented a new problem: that of her breasts which had escaped the corset cups on more than one occasion already. Meakes remedied this by adding clips to her nipples which were then fastened to the corset. This worked, but the pain was intense, causing her to complain bitterly. Meakes nodded in agreement, then took her charge’s right nipple, examined the metal stud in pierced through it and then said, “Perhaps something can be done with this instead?” Thus, the following day, just before bed, the maid carefully unscrewed and removed the studs and replaced them with metal rings. This was all well and good, but what surprised Lucy a little was that, once she had carefully (and painfully – for the rings were much thicker in diameter than the purely decorative studs had been and so stretched the pierced holes somewhat) threaded the ring on, Meakes then used a heated implement to quickly braize them shut. “What was that for?” she asked in shock, the ring stinging a bit from the heat. “Because otherwise, Miss Parkinson, the rings would be too weak to bear the stress. As they are now, we can attach them onto these clips here within the corset busk and they will keep your lovely firm breasts safely ensconced within their homes.” This arrangement was certainly less painful than the clips, although they did drag and tug on the nipples when she next wore an off-the-shoulder number the following evening, but they also had the effect of continually reminding her of those delicate nubs which, added to the almost intolerable tension caused by the crotch strap, was now sending her almost over the edge.

For the first time in her life she understood why many Victorians viewed women as being naturally hysterical.

 

Chapter 4

Lucy stood naked in the room, shivering all over. It was not the cold however that was causing her to react that way, but the fear. What she was about to do was something she wasn’t sure she wanted to go through with. An argument was raging in her head:

One Lucy Parkinson was saying, ‘Go ahead! Yes, it’s been difficult so far, but you must admit it has also been exciting and besides, think of the prize at the end!’

The other Lucy Parkinson shouted, ‘Stop! This is weird! It’s freaky! It’s wrong! Have you really enjoyed spending most of your time tied up, squeezed and silenced? All that and now this? Yes, there is a prize at the end, but is that prize even worth it? If she really loved you then she wouldn’t ask such a thing!’

The two clashed and fought in her head, first one gaining the upper hand and then the other. Finally, the Lucy of caution won over. ‘I shall just tell her no,’ she told herself.

And at that moment Jane opened the door, walked in, threw her arms around her friend and kissed her passionately on the lips. “I love you so much!” she whispered in her ear. “I can’t believe you are prepared to do this for me!”

And in that moment all her doubts had disappeared.


A month passed. It was now the start of September and they were due to return to university. But Jane convinced Lucy to delay it for a week and stay on at Hetherington Hall until her father’s wedding had taken place. “It will be soooo special and, besides, what does it matter if we miss a week or two of lectures; we hardly turn up to them anyway!”

That though, was only part of the story.

The month that had passed had been one of the most intense of Lucy’s life, for it had been a month spent in Victorian costume and bondage with the eternal prize of Jane’s love forever dangled before her but never quite in reach. And the bondage she had been living in was not that which we last left her with.

It all happened so gradually. A bit here and a bit there. The corset reductions were constant and now she sported a seventeen inch waist as a matter of course. Nor was that the only lacing that she endured. Her boots had changed too. The daytime ones now also reached up to her thighs and, like those she wore in bed, forced her to walk continually on tip-toes like a ballet dancer. Jane called them en pointe. Lucy felt constantly unsteady and even the shortest journey was a trial. Thus, she had started to move far less, spending most of the day sitting. But when she did take her (now mandatory) “constitutional” around the grounds, it was an awesome task. The pressure on her feet was immense and to move any distance took an age for the boots forced her to take mincing steps, one foot directly in front of the other, hips swaying lewdly as she moved. And, to further enforce that “ladylike gait,” a short chain of ten inches linked the two boots. The gym bunny now moved like a geriatric.

Her neck was also laced. The high collar was replaced by another a week later that, laced at the back, functioned as a mini corset for her neck, causing her already-laboured breath to become even more ragged. Covered in silk and lace, it looked pretty but beneath the frippery, she was held in a vice and could hardly turn her head, let alone nod up or down.

That though was not the most debilitating of her laced accessories. Instead, that honour must go to her armbinder or monoglove, a fearsome single glove that held her arms together, immobile and useless, for most of her waking hours.

Of course, when we last saw her, those arms were already bound, behind back, elbow to wrist. But the single glove, introduced a fortnight after that initial binder, was another thing entirely. It was the same item as those described in Trelawney’s ‘Corsets, Collars and Chains’, a fearsome construction of leather with loops over her shoulders, that held the arms as one, palm-to-palm, fingers against each other in individual pockets, behind her and then laced to above the elbows, slowly tightened further each day until, that morning, for the first time ever, those elbows actually touched.

The discomfort cannot be adequately described. The pain in her arms when it was first fitted was immense and it only lessened when they went numb from the constriction. But that created a new problem: when unlaced it took time for any feeling to come back into them and, by then, they had been restrained in another manner, either to the lacing bar or in the original binder which had now become de rigueur in bed. Until three days ago that is. Then it was decreed that she would trial the single sleeve for a night.

It was all about posture apparently. Using that infernal essay as inspiration, Meakes lectured to her that, “Your arms should be bound thus for at least six hours each day. Understand, Miss Parkinson, it is the last hours that do the good. The third hour does more good than the first and second taken together. The fourth hour does more for the habits than all three earlier ones. The fifth hour provides a more persuasive remedy than all four previous ones, and the sixth hour is the most curative of all those which have gone before.”

Six hours a day! If only! On that first painful morning, her darling Jane had suggested that, instead, for the purposes of historical research, Lucy should follow the regime of Yelinda Ardmore in the essay. Thus, Meakes insisted on lacing her charge’s arms in a single glove each morning, and she refused to undo her arms until bedtime. Thus her arms were rigorously restrained all day long, every day.

And in the essay it was revealed that this Yelinda’s arms were also, on the orders of her husband, bound at night in bed. “But that shall be too hard for my dear Lucy,” declared Jane. “Let us only implement that when she has grown accustomed to daytime restriction.”

And three days ago, it was decided that her arms had become accustomed. The result: a night of little sleep as, unable to lie on her back as she preferred, she tossed and turned relentlessly.

But at no point did she raise an objection. Why not? Because of another addition to the bondage. A gag consisting of an intrusion and panel strapped behind her head was also worn for most of her waking hours. “Ladies should be seen and not heard,” decreed Meakes the day she first fitted it. Her arms bound, she could do nothing to stop it and so now, except on the occasions when Jane or Mr. Parkinson wished to converse with her, she lived in an enforced silence.

And because she was silent, people changed how they acted around her. They talked about her when she was present and spoke of her as if she were a small child or pet animal in need of care. It was humiliating.

And it was all extremely boring as well. Sitting there compressed and restrained, a vision of restricted beauty, unable to say or do anything, merely waiting for… for what?

At no point had she ever wanted such a thing, asked for it, sought after it. Yet there she was. And now… now she was doing something else entirely.

It had happened yesterday. After dinner, she had retired to her room and been stripped to her bedclothes. Then Jane had come and they had played with one another. Her friend removed her gag (though not the armbinder or crotch strap) and had kissed passionately whilst her hands explored her friend’s passive body. With no sexual release for an entire month, Lucy was bursting with desire and tension. Then Jane said it:

“My darling, you know we have only a few days left and the last of those will be taken up with the wedding and its preparations. I know that this may come as a shock to you, the idea may even appall you, but what I feel for you, I cannot control it any longer. I want us to love each other fully as women, to become one in body and spirit. Do you wish the same?”

“Appall me? Not at all! I long for it too! Please, release my crotch strap and we can…”

“No, not like that. I am a virgin… at least with a girl, and I want the first time to be special. Very special. I want it to be memorable.”

“Me too, so…”

“Shhh, my love. I have another passion, another fantasy. You have been so marvellous in helping me realise so much already, but there is one thing that we haven’t tried and, with you I want to do it, together, tomorrow night.”

“What is it?”

“Rubber. I dream of being covered in rubber, a second skin, smooth and tight, between me and the world. I want to wear it and then join with you in that way, like two dolls almost, two Victorian dolls of course. I even want to do it without armbinders although if you prefer…”

“No, I am happy without armbinders!”

“I want your rubber-covered hands exploring my rubber covered body and your rubber-sheathed hole sharing the same toy as mine whilst our lips meet and…”

“Our rubber-covered lips?”

“Oh no, not the lips.”

And because the image of having free arms and using them to hold her love tight as they coupled was so intense and heavenly she agreed on the spot.

Agreed to this.

She had expected to be given some sort of shiny catsuit like she had seen fetishists wear in 18-rated films set in seedy nightlife venues. Indeed, Jane had shown her the catsuit that she would be wearing for their special night. However, now she was naked in the room with Meakes who was holding what looked liked a spray gun used for staining a fence.

“This is a new technology, Miss Parkinson. Whereas Jane has opted for the more traditional rubber suit as it is cheaper, she stipulated that you should have only the very best, no matter what the cost. I spray the rubber onto you and it cools within seconds creating a much more realistic, flexible and sensitive second skin. You are truly lucky to be granted such an honour.”

Somehow though, Lucy did not feel all that lucky. Kinky as Jane was, Lucy would’ve preferred to be unbound, naked, her skin as receptive to touch as it possibly could be. She wasn’t looking forward to this.

The process however, was easier than expected. The gun was turned on and the liquid rubber, in a realistic flesh tone, hit her. It was warm rather than hot and did not burn. Plus, as Meakes had promised, it dried almost immediately. If anything it had a tickling sensation to it that excited her.

It took a long time though. It was completed, with a large plastic sheet on the floor, under the lacing bar. After so long spent on tiptoes, Lucy found to her horror that her feet were quite uncomfortable lying flat on the floor. Plus, uncorseted as she was, she felt weaker and unsupported around the middle, and so held onto the bar for stability and to keep her feet raised. Indeed, the feet and legs were done first, Meakes carefully ensuring that every crevice and joint was evenly covered. Then came her private parts. It was good to have these uncovered at long last and Lucy longed to bring her fingers down to relieve the tension, but instead the maid, using her own hands clad in latex gloves, carefully dried her petals and fingered them open so that the rubber penetrated within and she was completely covered there too. This was exciting beyond measure and, when the front was done and the maid turned her attentions to the bottom hole, she gasped as Meakes’ fingers entered her bum and the warm rubber jetted in like some invading seed.

The bottom half done and dry, Meakes took a break and bade Lucy sit down on a chair. Then she refitted the stockings and en pointe boots to relieve the pressure on her charge’s feet. That done, it was time for Round 2. The maid worked slowly and methodically up the girl’s torso, carefully fondling her breasts and, when she got to the nipples, using a cloth to wipe the rubber off the rings before it dried so that they shone through, two beacons of gold in a sea of rubber. She worked up to the neck around which she fitted a steel ring. This provided a clear line for where the rubber was to end and the real skin begin. When done, a collar was placed over to hide it, not laced or overly high this time, instead more like a pretty lace choker that hid the join. It looked seamless.

She was then fitted with her corset again, to help her waist cope, but this time the crotch strap had been removed, a surer sign than any of what joys were to come. Finally came the arms, each covered meticulously, each finger separated. After over an hour she was deemed complete.

Lucy admired herself in the mirror. The rubber made her skin smooth and flawless like that of a doll. Under it she felt warm, hot even. What was most remarkable though was how it pressed in on her everywhere, the completeness of it all, and how all her touch now was secondhand and dimmed. It was unsettling but she had to admit that she looked good.

Meakes dressed her in a gorgeous evening dress of white with yellow ribbons and trim, off the shoulder ending in lace and decorated with pink carnations. She looked more of a princess than even Belle in Beauty and the Beast and felt freer than she had done in weeks.

Her heart aflutter, she made her way downstairs to see her friend. Jane was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs dressed in a gorgeous rose pink ball gown. She kissed her and then took her by the hand and they entered the ballroom. Lucy gasped as it was full of people, almost all men, dressed in period costume. They clapped in admiration as the two girls entered and the music began. A ball was being held that she had not been told about and, to the sound of a string quartet, they danced the night away.


Around ten Meakes came to prepare her for bed. Both she and Jane left and ascended the staircase hand-in-hand. Jane whispered, “I shall see you soon!” and then she went with her maid to the room where she was divested of her entire costume leaving only the choker and her rubberised body. Meakes left and within minutes Jane arrived.

Her love looked stunning in a black shiny catsuit up to the neck, whilst her long hair was left flowing and free. Eyes of fiery passion were framed between those long locks and Jane made her way over to Lucy on the bed, straddled on top of her, and nearly dove at Lucy, their mouths fixed together, finally without hesitation or excuse. They explored each others tongues for an eternity whilst their hands explored their rubberised bodies. Then Jane broke off the embrace and turned around on the bed, straddling backwards before lowering her face to Lucy’s pussy, brushing her tongue to a place where no tongue had ever graced before and, with an expert succession of flicks and licks, started to unlock sensations in her beloved’s body that Lucy never even knew existed. As Jane slowly escorted her to heaven, Lucy was overcome with confidence and dragged Jane’s rubberclad hips down so that her own tongue could perform its duties on Jane’s delicate nub, left bare by the gap in her latex suit. Both women brought themselves up to the brink of climax, trying to concentrate on the other’s pleasure even as they were overrun by their own, but then Jane suddenly wrenched herself away and leaned over to her bag. ‘What?’ Lucy asked wordlessly.

With a smile, Jane pulled out a long pink rod. Silicone, flexible, vibrating? This toy was unlike Lucy had ever seen, but indeed she wasn’t very familiar with the paraphernalia involved in this kind of lovemaking. Jane refused to break eye contact, even as she sensually plunged one end into her mouth, took it out still dripping with saliva and inserted it into her exposed hole. Lucy needed no lubrication and she merely gasped as Jane returned to the bed and bent the firm phallus, moaning as it undoubtedly shifted inside her, and maneuvered the other end of the rod into the desperate love channel of her devoted friend and now lover.

After a few awkward thrusts, the heat was back, and the pussy juices left on their lips were intermingling as the first waves overran their intertwined bodies.


Hours later they lay side-by-side in bed recovering from their exertions. Jane had rung for tea which now stood in a steaming pot on the bedside table. She got up, poured a cup and handed it to her lover. “Lucy darling, it’s been a wonderful ride!” she said, handing her the cup. Lucy smiled in bliss and took a sip.

The drowsiness overtook her immediately. Within seconds she had passed out completely.

Part 3

The Ladies of Hetherington Hall: Part 1

The Ladies of Hetherington Hall

Copyright © 2018, Dave Potter

This story was written by me, Dave Potter, but thanks must go to Cafter Homme for the editing and corrections which have made it a better tale than it was originally.

 

Chapter 1

Lucy couldn’t believe how well things were going. Of course, she’d long looked forward to the day when she would go to uni to study history, her main passion in life, but even so, she had never believed it would be so much fun! She loved the parties and the nightlife, the new friends she had made. Why, she even liked the lectures! And it was about to get a whole lot better. Her new friend Jane whom she had met during Freshers’ Week (and whom, she struggled to admit, even to herself, she found rather cute) had just made her an incredible offer. “Why not spend the summer holidays with me?”

Why not indeed. Ever since her parents had died in a tragic motor accident two years’ before, Lucy had hated going home for those occasions which the world deems as “family”. She was an only child and her grandma was in a home, what was the point anymore? Before the accident things had been so very different. She recalled the love and the warmth, the days out and holidays at the beach. But after the initial rush of relatives surrounding the funeral, she was left alone and, essentially, uncared for. She was surplus to requirements, a reminder to aunts and uncles of just what they had lost. And that house, those relatives, merely brought that emptiness back to her. That was why she had leapt into uni life with such eagerness. There she was a new person, a blank canvas without teenage trauma and dark memories. She could now live! And how lucky she had been; she loved the campus and the vibrancy of life there. But most of all, she could not believe how fortunate she had been in meeting Jane Unsworth.

It had happened in her very first week of lectures. This strange girl had come into the lecture theatre a few minutes late and so slipped onto the back row. “Is this seat free?” she had whispered. And that was how it had started. They had gelled immediately and were soon meeting up every other day, then more often than not. Jane wasn’t in halls but instead had a room in a private rented house on her own. It was hard to believe that she was a first-year too, for she seemed so independent in her lifestyle and attitude. Although they were both nineteen, she felt almost like a big sister. A rather sexy big sister too; all the boys liked her and when they went out clubbing guys were always hitting on her, but she brushed them all away and instead stuck with her friend. At the weekends they would go out to cool places together and Jane would encourage her to try new experiences, some of which Lucy would never have dared to go through on her own. Her heart missed a beat when she remembered whizzing down that zipline in a quarry in Wales and then she blushed when she recalled the day they both went to get their nipples pierced. She fondled the little stud in her left nipple through her blouse and smiled. Yes, Jane had definitely changed her life.

And so, although many of their friends were thinking of backpacking in South-East Asia, and although Aunt Sarah had offered for her to stay at their place in Bournemouth, neither appealed. Indeed, only one destination did appeal to her, so when her cool new friend offered for Lucy to join in on her family’s festivities deep in the countryside, she couldn’t say no. It didn’t hurt that Jane was loaded. Lucy usually didn’t think much about such things but Jane had an unconscious flashiness that gave her the feeling those stories of a 17th century mansion all to herself wasn’t a fantasy story. She had heard so much about the old house, so full of character and history, that she simply couldn’t wait to see it, and besides hoping for more with her new schoolmate, it was an opportunity Lucy just couldn’t pass up!

On the final day of the academic year, with many of their friends off on travel experiences or doing some work experience to prepare them for the harsh realities of life after study, the two girls packed up their bags and then made their way to the train. It took two changes before the local stopping service arrived at the isolated halt of Hetherington, where Jane assured Lucy there would be a car waiting. Which indeed there was, but what her friend had not warned her of was just what kind of car it would be. A 1960s Silver Shadow! Wow! She had never known such luxury! A uniformed chauffeur got out, bowed to Jane and said, “Welcome home Miss Unsworth, and to you as well, Miss. Please get in.”

They drove for several miles through beautiful yet isolated countryside before turning down a long gravel drive bound by woodland on either side. The car tyres crunched as they rolled along and then the trees opened up and the house came into view. Lucy gasped. “Welcome to Hetherington Hall,” said Jane. And it truly was a hall, like something out of a BBC costume drama… well, without the costumes of course.

They came to a halt at the front door and the chauffeur opened the car door for them. Jane jumped out and threw herself into the arms of the man waiting at the door. “Papa, I’m home!” she cried. The man, who looked to be in his fifties and very well-dressed, greeted his daughter warmly and then turned to the newcomer. “This is my friend Lucy Parkinson whom I told you so much about,” said Jane. The man eyed her up and down and then smiled. “Miss Parkinson, I am charmed,” he said. “I hope you will enjoy your stay here at Hetherington Hall.”

“I’m sure I will, sir,” she replied, still wide-eyed, struggling to take it all in.

The girls went inside, through a huge hallway and up a grand staircase to the bedrooms. Jane’s room was huge and Lucy was to occupy a smaller one next to it, though even that one was occupied by a four-poster bed. They showered and changed out of their traveling clothes, and then went down for dinner. Lucy found Mr. Unsworth polite and friendly, if not a trifle reserved. She also noticed how he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, which Lucy found slightly disconcerting but she brushed it to the back of her mind as nothing to worry about. He was her friend’s dad after all.

Following dinner the girls went upstairs together. They sat in Jane’s room in front of a roaring log fire and hugged each other tight. After a moment in the embrace, Lucy felt warm, and not just from the burning wood. She moved closer to her friend and put her head on her lap. Jane bent down and kissed her on the lips. Lucy wondered if more would follow but then the other girl withdrew and smiled. “So, how do you like Hetherington Hall?” she asked.

“It is truly marvellous, I cannot believe it. I keep thinking of all the people who must have lived here in the past and find myself imagining what it would have been like, living as a fine lady in that era with a beautiful gown, perhaps waiting for my Mr. D’Arcy to call.”

“You imagine such things?”

“I know it’s silly, but it’s hard not to in such a place.”

“No, it is not so silly at all. I do the same. Would you like to have lived back then?”

“I don’t know if I would full-time, but some aspects, yes. I’d love to wear one of those wide dresses, you know the type, a bit like Belle in Beauty and the Beast, and go to a ball with the local nobility.”

“But why imagine when it can be real?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I never told you before, but I… well, Papa and I, have a little hobby. We have a passion for history as do you, but we especially like period dress. In fact we regularly have events where we don costumes from the Victorian Era – that is our favourite, particularly the 1850s and 60s – and pretend that we are here over a century before. There is no event planned this summer, but if you’d like to, I can arrange for us to dress as Victorian maidens tomorrow.”

“Could you really?”

“If you’d like it.”

“I’d love it.”

“Then we’ll do it.” And with those words she gave her friend another light kiss on the lips.

 

Chapter 2

The following morning Lucy awoke, swaddled in the huge four-poster bed she had been granted at Hetherington Hall. She smiled at the realisation that this was not a dream, that she was actually staying in a place that was both old and big enough to star in one of those television adaptations of a Dickens or Austen novel. She drank it in happily as she considered what her friend had said the night before. Not only would Lucy be staying in a costume drama house, but she was also going to be wearing one of the costumes! She imagined herself striding down the wide corridors in a huge, flouncy gown and felt excited all over. Then she thought of her friend Jane dressed in a similar fashion and, without her realising it, her hand strayed down below.

Lucy was not a lesbian. Or at least, she had never thought of herself that way before. But there was something about Jane that she found unbelievably sexy. She was a pretty girl of course, with her shining hazel eyes and gorgeous long chestnut hair, but it was more than that. She was sassy, cool and wonderfully eccentric. She would’ve made a good lead for a Disney film and she was already in the correct setting. Jane looked great now, but in a huge Victorian gown she would look amazing, like a real-life princess or something.

Before she knew it, her fiddling was not so absent-minded, and Lucy had reached a shattering climax.


At breakfast Jane spoke to her father. “Pappa, Lucy and I were speaking last night and I told her all about our hobby. She wants to give it a go.”

Mr. Parkinson smiled and looked across at Lucy. “You would like to dress up in period costume, Miss Parkinson?” he asked.

“Well, if it’s not too much trouble, sir.”

“It’s no trouble at all and, please, call me John. We’re closely acquainted now so we don’t need the formality.”

She smiled. She was warming to this man whom she had found slightly creepy the day before.

“We do have a number of outfits that I believe may fit you. Our family have been costume aficionados for many years now and, I am afraid to say, we have spent a considerable amount of money on having some accurate reproductions of period dress items made by expert dressmakers, milliners, corsetieres and the like. Jane here has been donning costumes from a very early age and she loves it, don’t you, Dear? However Lucy, I must warn you: wearing Victorian costume is not easy. We do not just throw things on here, we do it properly as they would have done and dressing in those times, particularly for a lady, was a time-consuming and sometimes difficult process. However, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m sure it won’t be too arduous… John, and besides, when in Rome.”

“That’s the spirit. I shall arrange for Meakes to attend to you this morning in order that you may be ready for lunch. Jane, would you like to dress-up as well?”

“Of course, pappa!”

“Then it shall be arranged. Off you two go and enjoy the grounds while the costumes are sorted and be back in your rooms for, shall we say ten, to get ready.”


At ten the girls did return to their chambers. Jane went to her own, of course, and so Lucy was left alone with Meakes who turned out to be a maid dressed in a small black and white period uniform. Sizing her up, Lucy reckoned that if she ended up looking half as good, it would be worth it.

“Right Miss Parkinson,” said Meakes, “let’s get you ready. To start with you need to strip completely, even your underwear. I believe that Mr. Unsworth has informed you that we do things properly here at Hetherington Hall and back in them days there were no bras and panties.”

A trifle embarrassed, Lucy did as she was bid until she was standing naked in the middle of the floor. Then Meakes produced a white cotton shift which she lowered over the girl’s head which at least reinstated her modesty. Then she picked up a garment which was most unexpected.

“This is a corset, miss. Have you ever worn one before?”

“Err, no, I haven’t.” And it was true. Lucy knew all about corsets of course, as a student of history, they were mentioned as being de rigueur for ladies back in Victorian times, but she had never thought about wearing one even though some of her friends occasionally donned one for a night out clubbing.

The corset was fitted around her middle. It was a beautiful creation made of white silk and strengthened with metal. It sat on her hips, diving down in a V shape towards her private parts, whilst it stretched up to cover her breasts, ending with trimming of fine lace and a pretty ribbon. Meakes did it up using a series of clasps at the front and then ordered Lucy to turn around in order that it could be laced.

And that was when things began to get difficult. At first it was all fine, but then the laces started to squeeze and restrict her to a degree that felt uncomfortable. She began to worry about getting her breath and so said, “Please, stop, that is enough. I shall suffocate if you lace me any further.”

The response from the maid though, was not what she had anticipated. “I’m sorry Miss, but I cannot. As it is, none of the dresses will fit as your waist is too broad. And besides, we wouldn’t let you suffocate. You can be laced down a couple of inches more and be fine.”

And so she suffered a few more tugs but then, her breathing very short indeed, she spoke again: “Please, stop now! This is ridiculous! It is killing me!”

Meakes however, merely replied sternly, “Then we may as well take it off and tell Mr. Unsworth that, after requesting to wear Victorian costume and putting us all to the trouble of getting them out and preparing them, you have now changed your mind. As it is, the dress will not fit and you were warned that dressing was not an easy process back then!”

Lucy felt chastised and silly, so she meekly replied, “Please, continue, I’m sorry.” Meakes went on pulling and, when Lucy was genuinely beginning to feel faint, the maid tied off the laces and got out a tape measure. “Twenty-three inches. That will suffice for the broadest dresses although, to wear the nicer ones, you’ll need to reduce significantly. Now for the rest; please sit down on the bed.”

Glad that she ordeal was over but panting at the restriction, her breasts heaving up and down just below her eye line, she made her way over to the bed. There though, she found a new problem. Sitting made her waist want to expand which increased the pressure even more. Worse than that though, the corset seriously affected how she could bend and so she found herself lowering down rigidly towards the sheets.

Once she had sat down, Meakes brought out the next items: a pair of fine white silk stockings that were drawn onto her legs and held in place by tight garters which cut into her thighs. After this came a pair of boots. These were in white leather and reached up to her ankles. What was disconcerting though, was that they had heels of several centimetres. Lucy never wore heels, being a bit of a gym bunny who liked shoes that enhanced her physical performance and she felt unsteady on these. “Do you not have anything lower?” she asked. Meakes looked surprised at the question. “Miss, these are the lowest available!” she replied sternly.

Then came a series of petticoats, five in all, which caused the volume and weight of her outfit to increase considerably. And after this was a pretty white corset cover, then a blouse and then another unexpected item.

It looked like a cage, a series of hoops linked by ribbons. It went around her waist where it was tied tightly. Meakes explained it was called a crinoline and necessary to give the skirt its shape. Lucy now realised how those costumes were so big.

Then came the dress itself, a gorgeous creation in pink satin line with black geometric designs along the hem and at the sleeves and with black buttons up the front.

Lucy thought that she was now dressed but Meakes was adamant that she was not. “Your hair, miss, is unacceptable. As an unmarried lady it should be styled in ringlets but I fear that it is cut too short.” This comment surprised Lucy as she had always worn her hair long, down to the shoulders in fact, but Meakes continued saying that it was the norm in Victorian times for a girl’s hair to reach her bottom. Now it made sense why Jane’s hair was so long. “We shall be able to remedy yours with time, miss, but for now I shall braid it and style it like that of a married lady.”

This took some time as the hair was combed, parted down the middle, carefully braided and then pinned up. At last, Lucy thought she was finished, but there was one final item to add: a pair of white kid leather gloves. Meakes explained that Victorian girls were never ungloved in public. That as may be, but these were exceptionally tight and, when buttoned at the wrist, considerably reduced her motor control. ‘Oh well, one must suffer for fashion,’ she thought to herself in an affected, Elizabeth Bennett type voice.

Leaving the bedroom, she found moving and walking in this costume a whole new experience. The width was the first thing. She had to be careful not to bump into things whilst her high heels made her unsteady. The wide skirts also blocked her vision which presented a real problem when descending stairs, but most of all, the tight corset caused her to be constantly short of breath and her middle to feel quite rigid and inflexible. She moved slowly and in a stately manner which befitted the role she was subconsciously getting into. This would not be for long but she was determined to enjoy it.

Downstairs she found Jane in a dress of similar size but in blue. She noticed that her friend now had her hair in sausage curls which looked cute in a kind of Elegant Gothic Lolita steampunk Victorian way, whilst she also noted that the other girl’s waist was considerably narrower – and sexier – than her own. Jane jumped up to greet her and hugged her warmly. “You look great!” she exclaimed. “Give us a twirl!” Lucy obliged and Jane clapped her gloved hands before taking that of her friend and leading her to a couch with a rigid back. They sat together holding hands and talking whilst Meakes and another maid brought tea and Lucy felt like she truly were in a fairy tale.

They ate lunch with John who was most enthusiastic about the change in Lucy’s attire and encouraged her to try and wear some of the “more elaborate” dresses whilst also commenting that he would “arrange a solution to the hair issue”. Then they returned to the drawing room, but, since the weather was clear (though a trifle chilly) Jane suggested they go for a walk around the grounds. Lucy agreed and so Meakes was summoned. She returned bearing even more clothing, namely a fur-lined cloak in deep royal purple, a matching muff and a poke bonnet. Now even more encumbered, the girls set off and spent a wonderful hour strolling around the gardens, although Lucy found her tight corset kept her continually out of breath and, despite the sedate pace, they had to stop several times to regain their composure. This was a real shock to the system to the girl who was used to running 5km minimum during every gym session.

That night they were stripped of their garments save for the shift and, to Lucy’s surprise, the corset. Jane explained that it was usual for Victorian girls to wear their stays (another name, apparently, for corsets) 23 hours a day as otherwise they could never reduce enough to fit into fashionable dresses. This all sounded rather strange to Lucy but Jane said she understood completely and would provide her with some historical books that explained it all and which would also help with her degree. Since Lucy was studying twentieth century ideology and conflict as her major, she doubted this, but was happy to learn nonetheless and the two girls spent a pleasant evening cuddling on Lucy’s big bed whilst pretending to be real Victorian maidens who were about to marry a handsome lord like Mr. D’Arcy. When she returned to her own room though, Lucy found the corset a real impediment to sleeping and tried to undo it but, wearing the tight gloves (which had been replaced by Meakes after washing and filled with some sort of cream which would be good for the skin) she couldn’t undo the tight knot. Of course, the solution to that would be to remove the gloves, but that too proved impossible because of the tightness of the fastening at the wrists and so, in the end, she fell into an uneasy sleep still corsetted.

And so the days continued. Every morning Lucy awoke in the wonderful bedroom dressed like a girl from over a century ago. She was then prepared by Meakes, had breakfast with her friend, and then spent the day in “feminine pursuits” such as needlework and embroidery (difficult in the tight gloves), “promenades” around the grounds when dry, reading or just drinking tea and chatting. The clothes were difficult to wear. They weighed her down and restricted her and whenever the corset seemed to get a trifle easier to bear, Meakes would promptly tighten it further, but they looked incredible and she loved the fact that she was actually living out history.

And doing so in the presence of Jane.

Some things did change though. On the second day of Victorian wear, she found, to her surprise, that a hairdresser had been summoned to the hall and she was led to her bedroom and her braids undone. Then, the stylist attended to her, adding significant hair extensions so that, like Jane, her hair now reached all the way to her bottom. This meant, of course, that she could also sport elaborate and time-consuming styles involving sausage curls or other ringlets, but the added weight was another trial to bear. With a heavy head, constricted waist, wide and weighty skirts and high heels (these seemed to increase as the waist decreased) she found that she could only move slowly and in a ladylike fashion. Oh well, it was only for a couple of weeks.

On the fourth day though, she found herself again summoned to the bedroom where a number of strangers were waiting. They were revealed to be a dressmaker, a corsetiere and a bootmaker and all were there to measure her for new outfits, in particular for the wedding. Slightly confused, Lucy later talked to Jane about this.

“Well, the clothes that you’re wearing now are mine really, so they don’t quite fit. Victorian maidens of a certain class always wore specially-tailored outfits to match their precise proportions so why not you as well?”

“Yes, but we only have a few weeks and then we have to return to uni!”

“We do but then there will be the Christmas holidays and the Easter break. I’d love it for you to come here again and live as we do now although, of course, if you’re finding it boring…”

“Oh no, not at all. Wearing this stuff is difficult, that I do admit, but it is marvellous too. I really feel transported back in time and I do like being with you as well.” They looked at one another and winked. Most nights now they had enjoyed more than a quick peck on the lips although neither had openly said anything.

“Besides, there is the wedding and you must look your best for that!”

“But what is this wedding that I have heard mentioned several times?”

“Pappa is remarrying. Mamma died years ago and he has been so lonely since. However, he has managed to find a girl who shares the same hobby as we do and so has decided to take the plunge. The wedding is in mid-September and it will be amazing. The gowns that will be on show you cannot believe, as everyone will be dressed in period costume.”

“What is she like, his fiancee?”

“Oh, she’s lovely. I really get on with her and she will be the perfect wife for pappa.”

“I should like to meet her.”

“You shall, do not worry about that.”


As the days passed though, there was one aspect of her new life that Lucy began to feel a little, well, uneasy about. It was the reading material. Jane had promised to educate on how Victorian maidens lived by providing her with suitable reading material on the era and so, every afternoon, an hour or more was dedicated to reading in the drawing room. At first these writings were innocuous, like diaries of young maidens or some romantic novels from the period, but then they began to get a little stranger. The first was a series of accounts from a magazine entitled ‘London Life’ which seemed to be focussed very much on corseting of an extreme nature named “tightlacing” where girls tried to get their waists down to impossible dimensions. This seemed to be connected to a sexual theme with bondage elements like skirts that hobbled them and excessively high collars or tight sleeves. Then came an essay entitled ‘Victorian Yearnings: Enforcement of Disciplined Formality’ which went even further, referring to women repeatedly as “the weaker sex” and recommending spankings for breaches in costume decorum. Finally though, came another essay, ‘Corsets, Collars and Chains: European Practices of Yesteryear’ by one John Francis Trelawney. This was a survey of all the methods used to “enforce discipline” on young ladies in Victorian times, from tightlacing to masks and even pouches that bound their arms. Rather shocked, that evening in bed, Lucy spoke to her friend about it.

“Jane, have you read that ‘Corsets, Collars and Chains’ thing that you gave me?”

“I have. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s rather… extreme, don’t you think?”

“It is, but it is also rather exciting, don’t you think?”

“Exciting?”

“Yes. Imagine being tightlaced like that, or disciplined with spanking or even wearing one of those single glove armbinders like Lady Ardmore?”

Lady Ardmore was discussed in the essay. She sometimes wore an armbinder that kept her arms together behind her back in a single sleeve, palm to palm, elbows touching, tightly.

“I don’t know… maybe.”

Jane snuggled up to her and kissed her on the lips. Her tongue lingered longer than it should and her gloved hand slipped down to stroke her friend’s bottom. “I really like you,” she said.

“And I really like you…”

The stroke became a caress and the hand moved towards a more intimate place. “We’re being a bit naughty…”

“We are.”

“But before we go further, I must tell you something. It’s not just the costume. I have another passion. You mentioned extreme and maybe it is, but I like things that restrain and confine me. Like the corset. I also have a single glove like Lady Ardmore… and other things. If we are to become naughtier together, then I would like to share this passion of mine as well. Are you game?”

With her friend’s gloved hands on her breasts and a hot feeling down below, Lucy did not feel that it was in her power to say no.

 

Part 2