Disclaimer: Thanks to Feline and JD, without whose help the story would not have come out as smoothly as you see it.
All websites referenced in the story are imaginary URLs based on real websites.
Chapter 4: The Party
It’s been two weeks since my operation. Dave already has me staying in his guest bedroom, and I’ll be moved out of my apartment at the end of the month. Dave used the power of attorney. I didn’t sign a thing. I’m nervous and comforted at the same time. My large cleavage pokes out a lot, making gaps in button down blouses and always being prominently displayed. Like a lot of guys, Dave loves to stare at my boobs longingly. Linda did take me out bra shopping. All of my other bras simply can’t contain my cleavage any longer.
As soon as I had moved in, Linda slipped me her cell phone number, telling me, “If he ever so much as touches you, give me a call.” That explained why Dave was so cautious at the bottom of the stairs – Linda lets him look all he wants, but drew the line and banned him from any physical contact. Linda seemed to accept that Dave was a fetish photographer before they met, and that he would continue. She put clear limits on his activities, and would raise holy hell if he crossed them. Dave could oogle all he wanted at other women and get excited, but at the end of the day, Linda would be the only woman he slept with.
As the days went on, there were many times I could see Dave’s gaze drift down to my boobs before bouncing back up to my face to start the drifting process over again. He was so male. He wanted to say things and do things. I could see his brain was suffering from testosterone poisoning, but Linda’s line in the sand kept him in check.
I still can’t walk; I have a large bright screaming yellow cast holding my left leg rigid. It encircles my foot starting just above my toes, holds my ankle bent, rises up my leg, holds my knee bent at about 60 degrees, and ends around my thigh just below my crotch. It will be on for another 2 weeks before the checkup, and 4 weeks after that. No walking for two months, then I will slowly be weaned out of it and able to get off these damn crutches.
Dave seems to enjoy my casted leg, viewing it as publicly acceptable bondage. It shows off that I’m hobbled. Both Linda and Dave have been graciously taking care of me. Tonight they will introduce me to some of their friends in the fetish business by hosing a party, and I will even be paid for the experience. They really are nice friends to have in these desperate times.
It was time to get ready. After I’d bathed as best as I could in this damn cast, I hobbled out to the bedroom. Linda held up my outfit – a few large rolls of clear Saran Wrap. She carefully started at each hand, spiraling layers up each arm. She started again at the ankle of my good leg, winding a few layers thick up the entire length. She nestled a small vibrator in my labia, letting the cord dangle. I would have loved for her touch to linger, but sadly she was all business. Her wrapping continued, making sure to cover the device in my crotch and overlap my cast, then continued spiraling up my torso. She specifically wound the clear wrap to avoid my bulging breasts, but otherwise covered everything else from my neck to my ankles.
At Dave’s direction, I struggled to get up on top of a small desk that he placed against the round pillar separating his kitchen from his living room. I knelt on the desk, and put my back against this pillar, with one leg extending behind me on either side. Linda held up large rolls of duct tape. I put my hands against the pillar, and the mummification began. Linda started at my ankles and worked up, covering me, the pole, and I think everything else in her wake in the sticky silver tape. She heavily covered my crotch. I didn’t know if it is for my protection, to make sure the vibrator didn’t escape, or for my support. I’m glad the clear wrap is underneath it all – I wouldn’t want to tear the tape off my bare skin. Just as with the clear tape, only my boobs are spared before she stopped over my shoulders. Dave then slowly removed the desk from underneath me. I remained suspended in mid air, helplessly taped to the pole. I feel like one of those silent wooden carvings of a maiden, carved into the prow of a ship.
Dave offered me a drink sipped though a straw. Once I’m done, a few more strips of duct tape seal my mouth.
Dave took out a thick black marker, and started writing on my stomach, reading as the words are written. “Please fondle me.”
I stare at him in amazed disbelief, but the words are already written; the scene is complete. I’m just a silent model in this script.
After about a half hour, guests start to arrive. Dave plugged in the vibrator. It limped to life, surprisingly weak. Listening in, I find that some of the guests are casting agents for fetish movie companies. Others are other website owners. I get the feeling other guests are makers or sellers of fetish gear. Almost all are male.
As the night goes on, the vibrator is feeling quite good, like a slow tease keeping me aroused. I’m watching the two women present with some interest. Sadly, they don’t seem to return such interest. I don’t know if the guests can smell me, but I sure do self-lubricate down there. True to his word, Dave introduces me to many of the guests, almost all who enjoy the proffered free fondling of my forcibly over-sized boobs, right at their eye level. Many of them also tap or caress my splayed crotch, amused by the vibrations coming from my crotch, and my squirmed response.
Most of the time I am eye candy, but a few of the guys start conversations with me – I can only nod my head “yes” or “no”. Some ask if I would model for them – “yes”, some ask quite intimate questions, “So, have you ever done a three-way?” I can’t guide them away from their line of questions, so I wind up nodding the appropriate answer “no”.
One guy just seems so sleazy. He walks up and starts flicking my crotch with his finger, telling me how excited he’s getting me. I don’t understand why he’s trying to convince me I’m excited. Actually, I’m thankful for the duct tape armor protecting me from his touch. At this point, I realize just how helpless I am. I can’t slap his hand away, walk away, or even tell him that he’s so slimy, oozing arms everywhere! He just goes on and on! I’m still taped to the post in front of him, boobs jutting out like a porn model, right at his at eye level. Despite the vibrator, I’m so not interested in him! Help!
After what seems like hours, he finally leaves to get a drink. While I wanted a few stiff ones too, I would gladly forgo them to be rid of him.
Most of the guys are better. One of them realizes that my feet are sticking out of the tape. One is covered in plexiglass. The other is just dangling there. He starts lightly ticking, and I try to squirm away. I think all I accomplished was slightly twisting the layer of tape holding me to the post and jiggling my dangling boobs. He continues, sending me into a giggle fit. My muffled cries of hysteria cause a few more people to look. Dave realizes that I might bang my head against the hard post, so thankfully puts a stop to the ticking.
Dave props a pillow between my head and the post, wraps a few layers of tape from around the post, across my forehead and back to the post, firmly holding my head in place against the pillow. He finally tells the tickler “OK. Go ahead.”
The tickling resumes without mercy as what would be screams of giggling laughter are reduced to “mmfff!! mfff!!!” and my attempts at thrashing are constrained to jiggling oversized breasts, much to the amusement of the men still at the party.
Despite not moving, squirming in bondage can be exhausting! When he finally decides to stop, I’m panting, nostrils flaring. He smiles at Dave. “Yeah. I want her for the photo shoot.” That was the most memorable interview I ever had; I didn’t say a word though the whole thing, but got the job anyway.
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23.10.08
story continues in Trisha – Finding My Way Chapter 5: Suburban Health Care
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