The Dream Life (?)
One month had passed. The three women were meeting again at
the summer house. Layin on their stomach on the floor, they were
browsing the newly redesigned Leather Unlimited Magazine, as well
as Denim Living Style.
Karen was wearing a shiny red lycra bodysuit with type 4 jeans
and red pumps.
« Hey, Karen. We haven't seen you around for the past week
and a half. What were you doing » asked Lynda, who was also
wearing type 4 jeans, with a stretch denim bodysuit and black
platform boots.
« Tying ends at out new acquisition. Do you know that the
actions tripled values over the past week? »
« Looks like you put the magazine back on it's track »
said Lynda, who was wearing one of her own design, blending the
two magazines at the same time. It was a catsuit, half of it made
of denim, and the other half made of black leather. There was
the choice as front leather or back, and vice-versa for the denim
side. She had on a front shiny black leather, with light blue
denim on the back. It would fit type 3.
« Exatcly. Give the people what they want. They want to
see girls wearing tight leather, well, give it to them. They don't
want to hear how demin looks awful, they don't care. They want
to see leather. If they don't like denim, well, that's their choice.
So, you have to give them what they want. »
« And what abour Melinda » asked Sandy. « We
haven't heard of her for the past three weeks. Is she in jail
or something? »
Karen smiled, repressing a laugh.
« Well, kind of... »
« Please, don't let us waiting. Tell us. »
« Okay. I went to see a judge, along with Melinda. I presented
my case, and asked him, if we were to go to court, what would
be her sentence. He answered 5 years in jail. So, still in front
of the judge, I offered a contract to Melinda. The judge said
that it was legal and fair, and that Melinda had to decide. She
singned my proposal. That's it. »
« That's it? Heck! What is that darn proposal? What did
you do? What happened ot her? »
Karen couldn't repress a laugh at Sandy's anxiety.
« Relax, everything in good times. I'm thursty. Anyone care
for some champagne? Okay then. THREE GLASSES OF CHAMPAGNE »
she said out loud.
Sandy and Lynda looked at each others, wondering why that order
in the air until they heard the clinging of glasses, and heard
heels clicking in the kitchen, and finally coming toward them.
They remained spellbound in amazement. There was Melinda, wearing
a awfully tight denim tight suit, and the highest platform heels
they had ever say. As she got closer, it seemed obvious that awfully
tight, to describe the suit, was an understatement.
« What she's wearing » began Karen « is my prison.
It's denim reinforced with kevlar, with a built-in corset, and
an added neck corset. I don't want her to look down too much.
I wanted her to have a higher opinion of her situation. Of course,
walking with heels that high with your head up, is tricky, which
makes it more fun, don't you think? »
Upon closer inspection, the suit had built-in gloves that looked
way too shiny. When Melinda got close enough, Lynda had another
look.
« It's latex covered denim » said Karen. « That
way, she can do the household chores without risking of spoiling
the denim. »
Sandy was all over the suit.
« Wow. This look really tight. It must be hard to walk without
being turn on a each step. How can she put something that tight
on? »
« If you look carefully, you'll notice that there's no zipper,
except for some personnal releif. The fact is that the suit was
sewn on her, a process I developped at the same time. That's how
it was possible to make the suit that tight."
And tight it was. Melinda was barely able to bend to put the tray
with the three glasses of champagne on the table. She was breathing
with small gasps. Her buns were tightly molded, and were compressed
with each step. The chest, waist and hips were almost welded together.
They had to move as one.
Melinda looked at them, almost begging to be let out. Sandy could
see the moisture on her crotch, but with arms restrained like
that with the thick, kevlar reinforced denim, she was even unable
to reach there to satisfy herself.
« So » said Lynda « how much time she has to
spend in this? »
« In this suit? It's all a matter of when I'll be tired
of looking at her in it. As for having her under my custidy, it's
a little bit longer. »
« Five years, I suppose? »
« In fact, no. Since she was not in jail, and didn't had
to suffer the criminal record, the judge extended her custody
time to 8 years. So, she'll be my maid for the next 8 years. »
« But it's not a prison, and I don't think you'll put bars
in windows to keep her in. »
« Bars? No. Of course not. There was one little paragraph
in the contract that will ensure that she will do all her time.
For the time I will decide to keep her in my custody, with a maximum
of 8 years, I have the sole control over her assets. If, for some
reason, she decides to leave of her own or escape, she won't have
a penny because she won't have completed her time and i will keep
all of her assets, which adds up to... 5 millions. In short, in
8 years, she's free, no criminal record and with 5 millions to
spend. If not, she's broke, and will have a criminal record as
a fugitive. »
« Wow. So the choice was all hers from the start. And all
this is legal? »
« Signed and approved by a judge. »
They looked at Melinda, who was probably only begining to ask
herself if, after all, 5 years in jail and a criminal record were
not that bad after all, as she walked with small steps, her butts
and hips twisting in the tight denim catsuit, her prison for the
time being. She walked back to the kitchen and leaned on a stool.
That's all she could do. There was no way she was able to sit
in this. She took breath as big as she could, trying to calm down.
She wanted so much to releive herself, she was so hot, and each
step was making her even hotter. She tried to reach her crotch
with her gloved hands, but it just excited her more, without being
able to come. The crotch zipper was locked at the back, and only
Karen had the key.
« Only 2911 days to go... » she said to herself, just
before hearing Karen calling her, asking to bring some potato
chips...
The end.
Finished writing on October 18 1999
(c) Pete
