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Archive name: hallow18.txt (MF, bbw, bd, no sex)
Authors name: Felix Dartmouth (felix.dartmouth@archw.com)
Story title : Halloween Costume Party

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This work is copyrighted to Felix Dartmouth © 2001. The
author retains all rights to this work.

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The Costume Party (MF, bbw, bd)
Felix Dartmouth (felix.dartmouth@archw.com)

***

C) Felix Dartmouth
August 3, 1996
Archives BBS WWW Site
http://www.archw.com/

The Costume Party

The phone rang. 

"Hi lover, wait 'till you see the costume I got for you!" 

When my new boyfriend asked me to his firm's costume 
party, I was kind of surprised. He seemed real insistent 
on his getting the costumes. 

We had dated a few times, but things did not seem to be 
progressing real well between us, in fact we hadn't even 
slept together. 

It seem to me that he overdid the "gentleman" bit, and on 
our last date, he took me up to a fever pitch making out 
on the couch before quickly saying goodbye. I felt like I 
was in high school again! 

I knew he was really working hard at his law firm, like 
all the associates in their 20's. I had met him at an 
accounting/lawyer get-together, and we talked almost the 
whole party. 

I thought he would never ask for my phone number, but he 
finally did, and called the next day. Since this was our 
third date, I was starting to feel comfortable around 
him, and was really looking forward to it.

"Well, what are we going to the party as?" I asked.

"I thought it would be fun if we went as a cop and a 
prisoner. I went to the costume store and they had a 
great prisoner outfit for you, really sexy, and a real 
authentic looking policeman's outfit for me." 

"That sounds fun - but how come I am going as the 
prisoner?"

"Because I got the costumes, that's why!

"Well, OK, but I warn you, turn-about's fair play."

"Always, love - but I have to go - see you at 6:30 
that'll give us plenty of time to get dressed, and get 
you done up. Bye-bye."

Quickly, he was off the phone, and I was left wondering 
what he meant by "done up".

I took the afternoon to relax and get ready. I took a 
dreamy warm bath, and washed and curled my long brown 
hair. I wore white lace bra and panties, and a dark silk 
garter and stockings. 

I had just finished my makeup and perfume when the 
doorbell rang. Quickly slinging on a short silk robe and 
putting on my black patent pumps, I went to answer the 
door.

My heart leapt to my throat when I saw him. His costume 
was great! He wore a dark blue policeman's uniform. It 
was perfectly pressed, and was fitted exactly to him.

I have never been the type to go for a man in a uniform, 
but seeing him in the authoritative outfit did have a 
powerful effect on me.

He was holding a box in one hand, and a small briefcase 
in the other. "Here is your costume," he said, "and here 
are some accessories."

I took the costume, and said, "I'll go put it on. Make 
yourself at home."

I closed the door to my room, and opened the box. The 
costume was a sexy version of a prisoner's outfit. It had 
wide black and white stripes, but was a short dress, and 
sheer long sleeves. Unusual were the heavy leather cuffs 
and collar. Also, there was a thick belt at the waist. 
These leather fastenings did not buckle, but there were 
hasps that rings fit through. I closed them as best that 
I could, but I could see that locks were supposed to be 
placed through them.

Most surprising was a leather strap that I found that was 
dangling down the back on the skirt. It took me a while 
to figure out where the other end went, but it appeared 
that it fit through my crotch and up to the back of the 
thick leather belt about my waist! 

It took me a while to get everything on, and to get all 
the metal D-rings into the slots provided for them in the 
leather. The crotch strap was pretty tight, and it pulled 
down the belt at my waist in a way that exaggerated my 
cleavage. I checked myself out in the mirror. 

I presented quite a sight! My long curly brown hair hung 
down about my shoulders, but the thick cowhide collar 
about my throat with the metal link under my chin was 
plainly visible. The push-up-bra was doing its work, and 
by breasts fairly strained to escape the tight black & 
white striped material of the costume.

The sheer sleeves, and puffy shoulders of the prisoner's 
top seemed ridiculously feminine, and the tight mini-
skirt was inches above what was decent. 

Invisible, but very much on my mind, was the tight strap 
bisecting my puss and sending shivers up my spine almost 
with every step that I took. 

I chose my highest black heels, with a thick ankle-strap, 
and carefully stepped out, knowing that I would make 
quite an impression. 

I was greeted with a warm hug and a kiss. "You look 
beautiful," he said. "Lets get you into the rest of your 
costume."

"The rest?" I asked, and looked over at the table, where 
there was a practical mound of metal chains, locks, and 
restraints.

"Since you are my prisoner, you have to properly chained 
up, and I got this stuff from a friend who works at the 
police station. He lets start out with these handcuffs, 
behind you back."

Before I really had a chance to object, my wrists were 
tightly clasped in implacable nickel shackles, with my 
palms facing out in opposite directions.

"There, that's a good start," with my arms pulled behind 
my back, my breasts fairly spilled over my low-cut 
bodice. I made a few tentative tugs on the handcuffs. If 
I didn't pull, they didn't hurt at all, but it was quite 
painful if I did pull on them.

He began untangling a set of chains as I took a few steps 
to and fro testing the restraint on my wrists.

It seemed that the bondage of handcuffs was all 
encompassing. There is really not much that you can do in 
handcuffs, particularly when they are locked behind your 
back. It sort of puts you into a different state of mind. 
I became more aware of the leather strap that ran through 
my crotch, and at the same time became aware that now, 
with my wrists pinioned as they were, I would be unable 
to adjust it. 

"Just how authentic are we going to be here?" I laughed 
as he approached me with a set of leg irons.

"Very authentic," he said. "We might win the prize for 
the best couple costume."

"Really, what do we get if we win?" I asked.

"First prize is $250," he said.

"Wow! I've never heard of a $250 prize for a costume 
party!"

"Well, the boss really likes to have a good time, and 
this is one of the biggest company parties of the year. I 
think in the total budget, the prize is just a small 
percentage and it tends to bring out some great 
costumes," he explained as he carefully locked the leg-
irons over my strap-on patent high-heels. 

"So, do we split the prize if we win?" I asked, knowing 
I'd better make a deal up front.

"Sure, but the competition is going to be pretty tough!" 
he laughed.

"I think WE are the tough competition. Are those leg 
irons on tight enough?" she asked. 

-_-_-_-_-_

After we walked to the car, it was apparent that it would 
be impossible for me to get in, in my chains, so I was 
helped in and tightly seat-belted.

He came around and got in the driver's seat, and gave me 
a quick kiss. This quite quickly inflamed to passionate 
making out as I struggled in my bondage to hold him. His 
hands were like fire on my breasts and belly.

If I pulled too hard on my handcuffs, which were locked 
behind my back, it hurt my wrists, and I knew it would be 
a long night.

He stopped kissing me, leaving me breathless, and with my 
heart pounding.

-_-_-_-_-_

All eyes were on us as we entered the party. All the 
costumes were great. There was a Mummy, a Frankenstein, a 
formless monster that looked a bit like an amoeba, 
various harem girls (none of whom were chained), the 
usual Devils, and Angels, but I was the only Woman in 
Chains.

In keeping with our respective roles, my date held my arm 
either on my wrist above my locked handcuffs, or just 
above my elbow as we circulated and talked with the other 
guests. I think that he liked the feel of my sheer 
sleeves against my skin.

I got a jealous reaction from all the women, as though I 
had used a cheap trick, appearing in chains. From the 
men, I got longing stares. 

My leg irons were really not too much of a bother, and I 
rapidly learned how to walk in them and my strappy heels.

We circulated around the party, and my date got me a 
drink. With my wrists handcuffed behind me, I could 
hardly drink it myself, so he held the glass to my lips.

Soon, one of his friends came over, and he asked me if I 
wanted help with my drink. My date had someone to see, so 
he went off and left me with his friend, who was giving 
me a sip of wine every so often. For a while, we talked, 
and it seemed as if I really didn't have handcuffs on as 
we talked about work, and our families and other things.

My date came back and asked if I wanted to dance. I said 
"Sure," and we took to the floor.

My date held me with one hand at the small of my back, 
and the other at the nape of my neck. We did a type of 
waltz. The way he pressed me against him, I could tell 
that he was having a good time!

My hands were right next to his, handcuffed behind me. He 
even squeezed them, once in a while. There were a lot of 
people on the floor, but I could feel that most of the 
men's eyes were on me as we danced around the floor with 
me in handcuffs.

Later, we went and got something to eat. He had to feed 
me, of course, and then we went over and sat down on the 
couch next to a couple who were is friends. The guy was 
dressed like Clint Eastwood from the "Few Dollars More" 
films. His date was dressed as a French Maid. I'd seen 
French Maid outfits before, but never any that were made 
of rubber!

"I just love your outfit!" she said. "And those 
handcuffs, they are the perfect touch!" 

"Thanks," I said, sheepishly. "I like your outfit, too."

"Yessiree, those handcuffs really do the trick," said her 
date.

"You know," said my date. "I have an extra pair, but they 
are in the car."

"You have them in the car?" she said. "Will you get 
them?"

The man in the Clint Eastwood outfit said, "Yeah, let's 
slap her in 'cuffs."

He and my date went out to his car to get the handcuffs, 
and I was left talking to the pretty brunette in the 
French Maid outfit.

She held out her hand. "I'm Janine," she said. "Oh, I see 
you can't shake right now."

I leaned back, and relaxed my wrists against the back of 
the couch. "Not right now."

"Does he ever take you out of those?" she asked. 

"Well, it doesn't look like he's going to tonight."

"It will be fun to wear them. I hope I get 'cuffed behind 
my back, like yours." 

"I think that they're a little tight." Just as I said 
that, them men came back. I remembered all the chains and 
straps that he had at my apartment, and he brought them 
all.

But first, they seemed intent on handcuffing Janine. She 
stood up in her high heels, her rubber French Maid 
outfit, and her seamless stockings.

Her rich black hair cascaded over the white frill that 
bordered the bodice of her low-cut outfit.

"Ohhh," she said. "What are you going to do?"

"Cuff you up," said the Clint Eastwood guy. He took her 
wrists, and twisted them behind her back. She stumbled 
forward slightly, but caught herself. Her other wrists 
was taken behind her, and the ratchets slung shut about 
her wrists. He carefully examined the way they were 
situated about her wrists, then tightened them. 

"They are so tight!" she gasped.

He pulled out the key, and double-locked them, pushing in 
the small cylinder to prevent them from tightening 
further.

I was next. He helped me to stand, and placed a wide 
leather belt about my waist and buckled it rightly so 
that it was almost like a corset.

There was a chain that came from the belt at my belly. He 
took that down through my crotch, and attached it to the 
link of my handcuffs.

Next, he took two straps and wrapped them about my 
elbows, and buckled them tightly together. Then he re-
tightened the chain that bisected my crotch. 

"Let's go back to the floor," he said, inviting me to 
dance. 

Shuffling in my bondage, I gasped, "I can't dance like 
this!"

Taking me by the hair, he gently pulled me to the dance 
floor, and pressed his hips against mine with his right 
hand, and the nape of by neck with his left. 
He led strongly, and we danced for two dances.

"And now," broke in an announcer on the stage. "It's time 
for the "best costume" contest!"

"We have four finalists! As they are called, will they 
please come forward to the stage."

He called two couples up to the stage.

The first couple wore harem and sheik outfits, the next 
was the amoeba costume with his date, the Mummy.

My date and I were called next. We received a scattered 
applause as we went out on the podium. Next Janine and 
here date were called. She still was in handcuffs as well 
as her French Maid outfit. 

We won! We got the $250. I was so excited that I 
practically screamed.

His boss came over and gave us the check. He gave me a 
big kiss on the mouth for winning. There wasn't s a whole 
lot I could do about that. 

Well, since we won, I didn't see any reason why I needed 
to be handcuffed and leg-ironed any more. The party was 
still going on, and I knew that I looked good, but hey! 
Crotch-chain and everything?

I brought that up to my date, and before I knew it, a red 
ball-gag was twisted between my teeth and tightly buckled 
and locked under my shiny brown curls. We stayed another 
couple of hours, and I stayed in bondage.

He took me out to the car, and took me home, unstrapped 
the ball-gag, and gave me a goodnight kiss. You know, I 
could have thought of a different ending for that date, 
but I really am looking forward to the next one. 

He says he has another idea for a costume. I know it's 
probably a year until the next costume party, but why not 
try it out? 

(C) Felix Dartmouth
August 3, 1996
Archives BBS WWW Site
http://www.archw.com/

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the
hands of children. They should be outside playing in the 
sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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