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The Crash

This story features tight jeans, tight spandex, corset, high heels, and a life/death situation. Enjoy.

PART I

The storm was severe, and surprised everybody on the small plane. The pilot did the best he could, but a lightning bolt finally hit the battered plane. The engine died. They were going to crash land. The pilot flew the plane through the heavy rain, and spotted a small open area amidst the trees of the vast mountains. He directed the plane, nothing more than a glider at that point, to the ground. The plane hit the treetop, and quickly dropped down. On impact, the plane broke into pieces and spread on the ground. When it comes to a stop, the only passenger shook her head, trying to regain full consciousness. She looked at her left, to the pilot, who was laying, unconscious, a big bruise of his forehead. There was a strong smell of gasoline. She quickly unbuckled, and almost at the same time, the fire broke up, and engulfed the plane into flames. She struggled to unbuckle the pilot seatbelt, and dragged him out. Her clothes catch fire, and she was quick to remove her thin sundress. The sole of her running shoes melted in the process, but the pilot was saved. She checked for life signs and was relieved that everything seemed okay, but she also noticed a broken leg, so even if he regained consciousness, he would be unable to walk. She would have to take care of him. First order of business: survival. She looked around for any survival equipment. The heavy rain had put out the fire of the plane. She approached the tail section, and opened the luggage compartment. A big puff of smoke welcomed her. All the suitcases but two were badly burned. One of the intact ones was the rescue kit, located at the tail end of the compartment, and a big suitcase, which had been barely touched by the flames. With disappointment, she realized that it was not hers, nor the pilot's, unless his name was Sandy, the name written on the handle. She took out the suitcases, and first took care of the pilot with the emergency kit. She used all her skills, and was glad to have taken a course of first aid a few years ago. She immobilized the pilot's leg, and did her best to stop the blood pouring out, but he needed more. He needed a hospital. She wiped off the rain from her face. She had to build at least some kind of shelter. She managed to build something very primitive, using branches and parts of the plane fuselage. She installed the injured pilot of a fortune mattress made of plane seats, and covered him with one of the rescue kit blankets. She sat on the ground, her back leaning against a big tree. The rain was still falling heavily, but she could see some thinning of the clouds on the horizon. She closed her eyes, and tried to calm down. She was so exhausted that she fell asleep.
She awoke when the sun, peaking through an opening of the fortune shelter, shined on her face. The air was hot and humid. The sky was clearing. She checked the life signs of the pilot, and was glad to see that he seemed stable. She had to get help. She remembered flying over a small village a few minutes before crashing. To her estimates, it should be a 3 to 4 hours walk, depending on the terrain. She was sure by now that rescue crews were already taking into the air to search for them. She realized that she was only on underwear, having removed her sundress in a hurry when it caught fire. She remembered the other suitcase, and hoped for the best.
The suitcase was big and heavy, and made out of some kind of plastic. The fire softened only one of the corner, but the rest was fine, and hopefully dry. She had a shock when she opened it. She browses through its content, and leaned back, on the tree.
"Who the hell travel with all this?" she said to herself. "Who is she? A stripper or something like that?" she said, turning to the pilot, who did not answer, still unconscious. She browsed again the suitcase, hoping to find something suitable, but all she could find was 5 pairs of high heels shoes, a leather bodysuit, an awful lot of skimpy lycra and lace dresses, a whip, something that looked like a vinyl catsuit with crotch and breast holes, two corsets, and finally, at the bottom, a pair of faded blue Levi's jeans. With a little fear, she unfolded them.
"Geesh. What size are these?" she said, trying to find the label. "Shit. Two sizes smaller than mine. What am I going to do now?" She looked at the rest of the garments, but there was only more Lycra stuff. She was shocked when she came across a vibrating dildo, which she happened to flip the power switch. She had a hopeful look at the pilot. His pants were torn out, and with his fractured leg, there was now way she could remove them. She had removed his T-shirt who had caught fire back in the plane. As for his shoes, one was missing, and the other so badly beat-up, that it was impossible to wear. With despair, she put on one of the dress that was in the suitcase, a neon green Lycra dress, barely covering her butt. She wrapped around her feet pantyhose to be used as shoes and went in the surrounding forest to find some wood to make a fire. After 20 minutes, when she came out close to the plane, she had only a couple of branches, and her legs were scorched badly. Her left feet had lost its shoe and the other was barely holding on. She sat besides the pilot, tired and frustrated. The forest was much too dense to go in with nothing on her legs and arms, and her ideas of shoe didn't worked. With a sigh, she picked the jeans and started to put them on. It was going to be a very tight fit. Getting the jeans up to the lower thigh was rather easy, but higher, proved almost impossible. She pulled up the back, then up the sides, then from the front. Each time, the jeans got higher by a fraction of an inch. After half an hour, she was exhausted, but she finally got the crotch seam as high as it would go.
"No way I'm going to wear these" she said. "First of all, I won't be able to close them."
She laid on the ground, on her back, and took the two sides of the zipper and pulled them toward each other, held them there with one hand, while she worked the zipper with the other. After a dozen of tries, she managed to get the zipper half way up. There was no way it was going to go any higher, even less at fastening the waist button. With a scream of frustration, she let go of everything, and let her shoulders hit the ground. With despair, she turned her head toward the suitcase. Her eyes widened.
"No. No way. I'm not going to add torture to this already difficult situation." She was looking at a corset.
She had tried almost everything. She used a rope as a belt to keep the jeans up, but the half way up zipper, would go down, and the tight jeans legs would pull down on the jeans, making the waist rope/belt bit cruelly into her waist. She also found out that, once the jeans would have been fastened, she would have been incapable to put on any shoes. She had browse the shoe collection of the suitcase, and decided on a red platform shoe. She felt that the sole and heel being somewhat thicker, would provide better support than the thin leather soles of the rest of the high heels shoes in the suitcase. So she was trying to walk on 6 inches heels platform shoes, with tight jeans, held by a rope belt. Every few steps, she had to pull the jeans up, because the long legs, obviously cut long to go with the high heels, would go down so much that they would impair her walking. Rolling them didn't help, as they would unroll slowly, and after 10 minutes of walking, thew were all down, and she was stepping on them.
The day was ending, and she had to make a decision.
"I don't have much to lose" she said "At this time, they'll stop the search anyway, so there's not much chance that I would be found trying one of these things." she said while looking at the choices she was offered. There was a black leather one, and a light blue satin one. She felt that the leather would be much too heavy and hot, so she took the blue satin corset. She fondled with it a few minutes, figuring out how to put it on. She unfastened the front busk and wrapped it around her waist. She had to loosen the laces 3 times to get it loose enough to fit, then started to pull on the draw strings. The first pulls went easy, and then it became more difficult. After long minutes of effort, she had to admit that it was not going to go much tighter. She felt with her fingers the back of the garment, to find that she still had an inch and a half to go. She tied the laces, and tried the jeans once again. It wasn't enough. The zipper wouldn't go higher than 2/3 of the way, there was still about 1.5 inches to close the front button. By then, darkness had settled in. She checked the vital signs of the pilot, who was going worse, with high fever, took another blanked from the rescue kit, and tried to find sleep. She assumed that, in the morning, they would either have found them, or she would come up with a great idea. Little did she knew that the plane disappeared from the radar as soon as it entered the thunderstorm, and that the rescue teams were looking for them 60km east of their real position, the emergency beacon having been destroyed by the fire.

PART II

Birds were signing, and the sun was shining. Karen opened her eyes, and took a few moments to realize that the plane crash was not a dream, but a very true reality. She checked on the pilot who had slipped into a coma. She had to find a way to reach the village she saw from the air. When she tried to get up, the corset gave her a reality check. To her surprise, she had completely forgot about it, although she was still wearing it, and rather tightly. But for now, she had to go. With the jeans dangling on her ankles, she went a few meters away to relieve herself. When she walked back, she was surprised to feel that the corset was somewhat lose. She checked the back and found that it hadn't move. Maybe the stress had inflated her the day before, or the lack of food was making her waist somewhat thinner. She undid the knot, and pulled on the laces again. The corset got closer, but still not enough to put the jeans. On last resort, she tied each draw strings to a tree branch, and walked in the opposite direction until the laces were tensed. She then lifted her arms in the air, and with all her weight, she pulled, while exhaling all the air that was in her lungs. With a scream, the corset ends met. She quickly grabbed the laces and tied them. She was breathing with short gasps. The corset was compressing her waist heavily, and, although it was stopping just below her breasts, it was compressing her lungs, giving her less space to breathe. She sat on the ground, leaned on her elbows and started to pull on the jeans. This time, the zipper went all the way up, and she was able to close the waist button. She let go and stayed on her back for a few minutes, resting, and enjoying the fact that she finally did it. When she tried to get up, she had a surprise. She was unable. The corset and tight jeans prevented her to bend from the lower chest almost to the knees. There was a small bending possible at the waist and hips, but not enough to allow her to even sit. She turned on her stomach and crawled to the tree, which she used to get up. She had second thoughts about her dressing ideas. She made a few tentative steps. She walked almost like a robot. She was unsteady on the soft ground with her high heel shoes, and the tight jeans and corset made things difficult to lift her legs to walk over fallen trees and branches. But what surprised her the most was the fact that the tight and high crotch was actually simulating her sex. She was not at all in the mood for this kind of activity, and found it rather disturbing, yet interesting. She knelt next to the suitcase. She had to wear some kind of top. She found another strange piece of clothing: a turtleneck blue spandex shirt, with long sleeves. "A turtle neck spandex shirt? That woman is really weird." she said to herself. She put it on. It was made of rather very thick spandex, something similar to the spandex jeans worn back in the disco years. As she expected, it was a very tight fit, and she almost had to fight with it to get it on, but it was the only long sleeves garment she could find, apart from the vinyl catsuit, which wouldn't have covered her breast anyway. The spandex shirt had breasts molded into the fabric, and it's length made it stop just at the waist level of the jeans, like it was made to be worn with them. She found the high and tight turtleneck collar a little disturbing, and the tight arms a draw back, but it was the best she could do. It felt like she had put on a body girdle.
She catches a glimpse of herself in one of the plane's window, and was amazed at her looks. She was slim, slender, the corset was pushing her breasts upward, and the tight shirt was making them appeared even bigger and firmer. It molded her waist to perfection, and the tight jeans, combined with the high heels, elongated her legs. She smiled to the thought that there were not many men who would resist a sight like that. She rubber her hand along the side of her jeans, feeling the tensed-to-the-breaking-point fabric. The soft and sleek spandex felt strangely sexy, and she almost found herself drawing her hand to her crotch. Moans from the pilot bring her back to reality. She had to find help. She walked back to the rescue kit, trying to ignore the impulses that the tight jeans were giving her sex. Her breasts rubbed against the tight Lycra, tickling her tits. With short breaths, she took the compass and a map of the area. There was a big mountain peak to her right, which happened to be one of the highest of the area. She looked at the map and estimated her position. She had been right. There was a village at about 3 hours walk, due south from where they were. She tried to put the compass to her back pocked, but found out that nothing would go in there. She grabbed a water bottle from the rescue kit a plastic bag from the wreckage and put everything in it. She wrote a small note stating where she was heading, and left it besides the sick pilot. A last look at the compass, and she was off.
Negotiating the uneven terrain proved difficult. The restraint that the jeans put on her legs made that she had to crawl under fallen trees, or go over them by sitting, and pulling her legs on the other side. Both options were exhausting, and time consuming. By then, her sex was burning, and every step made things worse. Her heels were sinking into the soft ground, when not getting caught in roots or small branches. More than once she found herself face first in the dirt. Although it was not hers, and she didn't really care about it, she was glad that the sleek Lycra was not easily stainable. There, another fell tree in her path. She can't go around. A big rock blocks her left, and a mud hole blocks the right. She turned to her side, sit on the tree trunk, put her hands in her back, on the trunk and lift her right leg. The stiffness of her clothing made that she had to lean on her back, supported by her arms to achieve the simple task. She pushed herself up. She was now in balance on a tree trunk, feet inches from the ground, her only support was the tight denim of her crotch leaning against the hard wood. The rubbing jolted her, and she couldn't hold it longer. With slow movements, she rocked slowly and gently front and back, and side to side, until she finally exploded. She was surprised to even just doing it. She never did something like that. She was rather reserved, so having an orgasm in the present situation shocked her.
"These clothes are possessed!" she said to herself, trying to cool off. With all her will, she pulled her left leg to the other side, and continued her walk.
An hour, she came across an old logging road. It hasn't been ran for years, but the tire tracks, compacted by all the heavy traffic, provided a firmer ground, and helped her with her heels. Even though it was going to be a little longer as a distance to reach the village, she chose to stay on this way, instead of cutting again into deep woods. Perhaps she was more afraid of the fact that she would have to cross another dead tree somewhere.
She walked for close to an hour on that road, before arriving at a main road. To her estimates, she was at less than 5km form the village. With all her courage, she went on. Her feet, her hips, her waist, her lungs, everything was aching. Suddenly, she heard the noise of a vehicle from behind her. A pick-up truck! She waved at him. The old man stopped, and had eyes only for the beautiful body in front of him, barely listening to what she was saying. He finally came back from the world of dreams, and had her get in. He drove her to the general store. It was too small to have a police station. Needless to say that she attracted much more attention that she had hoped. The storeowner quickly phoned authorities to tell them they were searching in the wrong direction. Quickly, rescuers arrived, and they were quite impressed to see how she was dressed. She tried to explain that it was all she had to wear, but they barely believe her. Who would wear something like that in this kind of situation, even if it were the last thing available she heard a nurse say. One thing was for sure. Although she was now out of them, she was sure going to keep them. She would wear them again.

END