Changing Rooms FF/FF

[Dustysmate]

Chapter 1
Shopping, breakfast of heroines…
It all changed during a shopping trip. I was out looking for a few essentials; maybe some Prada, a Gucci or Hermes scarf, perhaps a Chanel bag, the simple things in life.
Over the road from Fayed's little shop was a maze of streets with a constant turn over of interesting bijoux places which I was constantly trawling for that certain something to set me out from the crowd. I found it in the biggest way.
The day had turned blustery, grey and cool as I plunged into the labyrinthine warren off Cromwell Road, and I drew my trench-coat closer about me, skipping off in search of the boutique I had noticed from the taxi the previous day. For a brief moment my needle heels slipped on the York stone paving and momentarily I considered the wisdom of stilettos in the icy London winter, but my mission drew me on, driving such practical considerations from my mind. Actually, for me, the choice of clothes was surprisingly practical, if not conservative; I had a short, almost schoolgirl skirt, teamed with a tailored gold satin blouse, a Jaeger signature scarf in heavy chocolate brown and white silk at my throat, and seamed stockings (Though the Burberry Trench fell to my calves). Let us just say that I wasn't wearing thermal underwear.
As I pottered along, trying to remember exactly where the sight of the must-have slinky little grey satin dress had interrupted my daydream in the back of the cab, the weather worsened again, heavy drops of rain platting against the canvas of my coat. I drew the rich Jaeger silk about my head, wrapping the ends about my neck and knotting them at the back. The opulent silk creaked in my ears as I pulled it tight, the raindrops drumming against the taut material. Combined with my shades it felt almost like a caricature of a showbiz glamour puss.
I actually walked past the shop at first (the satin dress had gone from the window) but my sixth sense, "retail orientation", pulled me back and I retraced my steps until I was staring in the window at the garish display that had so misled me. Through the mish-mash of bright Pucci colours that indicated we were about to revisit the sixties yet again, I could see a small room, squeezed full of expensive names and labels, with interesting little side passages and maybe stairs to a second floor. I pushed the door open and as I did so my hand closed on top of another- a woman walking from behind me had gone for the door at the same time.
Blushing, I stammered my apologies and stood back to allow the woman, and another who was behind her, to step through; both were about fifteen years older than me (my agent says 25, though my mother says 28), and not dissimilarly dressed to me, though perhaps more "county" or "Sloane". Both wore unusually high heels, one with well-cut trousers, her friend with a calf length pencil skirt; oddly, both were also wearing heavy Hermes headscarves, knotted under their chins, the expensive silk glistening with beads of London's rain. One had read the day well and was wrapped in a warm black coat, the other (in the skirt) was not so well prepared, and her thin white silk blouse was semi-transparent with the morning's damp. I pushed my assessment of her firm breasts, straining obviously against the flimsy wet material, to the back of my mind, and followed them into the shop.
As I grew accustomed to the unfashionable darkness within, the layout of he shop became more apparent. The owners had apparently sacrificed minimalist chic to the altar of quantity, and it was crammed with fine haute couture and expensive pret-a-porter. The woman behind the counter was a statuesque figure of about 40, in a well cut Chanel suit, the skirt tight above her knees. She allowed us to wander around without bothering us and I soon had a small handful of items I wanted to try on. She recognised my aimless drifting, and indicated a communal changing room at the back of the shop.
Beyond the curtain it was a wall of mirrors, built about the old, iron structure of the building, great painted pillars reflected back on themselves with clothes hooks in glittering chrome scattered around the glass and ironwork. I threw the curtain closed behind me and had divested myself of the raincoat when I was joined by the woman in the skirt who had entered with me. She gave me a pleasant smile, which I returned, all the while assessing her expensive outfit. The wet, white silk still clung to her substantial breasts, and the curve of her brassiere was clearly visible beneath, the white lace raising a pattern in her blouse. Her black, pinstriped pencil skirt embraced her long legs, flaunting her curves. In her hand she had a couple of pairs of La Perla French knickers, which, to my tutored eye, were clearly too large for her svelte figure; I smiled at this obvious mistake, while vaguely wondering why she had not removed her headscarf (mine hung with my coat on a pillar-hook).
I dropped my skirt, noticing as I did so that the other woman had come to stand, leaning in the doorway, allowing the curtain to drape about her. Her friend carefully placed the luxurious panties upon a chair and, reaching into her bag (an unusually large Vuitton, almost a small case), drew out another heavy silk scarf which my label-conscious mind recognised as a Gucci, dazzling in red and blue. I watched with curiosity out of the corner of my eye as she rolled it, then tied a large knot in the centre. I was obviously about to learn something, I thought, maybe a fashion tip, or some odd form of shoplifting…
I bent, turned away and pulled the tight, stretch satin skirt up my thighs, wriggling my arse as it slid over and snugly fitted to my hips, only noticing as I completed this that the second woman was now fully in the changing room and her friend had the knickers in her hand again.
I thought the woman in the coat was going to walk behind me, and shuffled to give her room, but, as I did so, I felt my elbows grabbed and pulled back, tightening my blouse over my chest. I gasped, about to protest, and heard a cold metallic "KLIK!"
I pulled on one arm and there was a jangle of metal. Twisting, I looked back in time to see the other wrist being imprisoned in a pair of handcuffs. Bewildered I looked up into the eyes of the woman who had just captured me.
My mind was a whirl, I was bewildered, were these undercover police officers? "What are you doing," I whispered, embarrassed and confused, but not yet frightened, "You can't mmmphhggnn!!".
Her friend had crammed the panties, in one huge wad of silk, into my mouth and, as I tried to protest, forced the taut knot of the scarf between my lips. It had been so easy for them, and now I was almost entirely helpless.
Oh now I struggled, tried to shake my head, to refute the obvious fact of my foolish capture; but I felt the luxuriant headscarf being knotted tightly at the back of my head, tugging on the small fine hairs on the nape of my neck and pulling the gag more cruelly between my lips. The colossal pad of panties forced my jaws painfully wide and trapped my tongue flat and silent, my famous eloquence no help. In the mirrors I could see the women gently smiling at me. In the mirrors a hundred images showed that my crimson, glossy lipstick was smeared onto the expensive silk; a rich perfume indicated that the heavy scarf had recently been worn, probably by one of these women.
A voice outside, the proprietress, asked, "Are you alright in there ladies?" I shook my head, and, from behind, a hand, elegantly manicured pinched my nostrils shut while my captor's body weight pinned me against one of the cold metal columns. My attempt at a scream was reduced to helpless thrashing, my lungs silently begging for air as the coat-clad woman smoothly stepped out and I could hear her leading the saleswoman away. The fingers were removed, and I gratefully took in a huge lungful of air, my ears ringing and lights dancing behind my oxygen-starved eyes. I moaned, my voice a pathetic whimper in my throat, my eyes filled with tears.
The woman smiled, but, keeping me pinned to the post, her breasts rubbing my back, produced a broad collar of thick leather. My eyes must have widened, showing my fear and incomprehension, because the woman gently touched my cheek, before buckling the heavy contraption at my throat. A thin chain dangled from a D-ring; this she wound about the coat hook on the column, pulling me upright, and forcing my chin up. A narrow leather belt wrapped about my ankles rendered me finally impotent, but that didn't prevent her adding another at my knees and strapping my waist to the pillar with a third. Her eyes flitted furtively to the curtain, before coming back to rest on my breasts, bulging against the blouse as the pillar was forced between them.
The position of my chin made it hard to see what was going on as she bent before me, and all I could see in the mirror was her back, the rear of her headscarf, and my frightened eyes over the huge and expensive silken gag. I could feel her fingers though, nails running over the thick satin, seeking out the soft nubs of my nipples. I shook my head, eyes wider than ever, negative little whimpers oozing past the thick wad filling my mouth. She smiled gently again, and her finger and thumb squeezed my nostrils shut again. I danced on her chain, limbs spasming in marionette panic. "Don't fuck about with me my dear, I'm calling the shots now; I don't care if you are the president's wife, let alone a little weather girl, I've got you tied now and I'm in control."
Ah, so she knew, I thought, my eyes swimming with the blackness encroaching on my vision as she released my lungs again, and I started to slump before the chain tugged on my throat pulling me up. As my vision cleared her invasive fingers were back at my nipples, squeezing the growing flesh through the soft blouse. "Got it all on display? Half-cup bra eh? Nipples available to all and sundry dear?" She punctuated each comment by tweaking the rapidly firming nipples. I stood, my legs shaking, mutely accepting her rapine ministrations, fearful of the terrible reprisals for any resistance I might make. She stepped behind me, her hands cupping my tender boobs, fingers and thumbs working the tips like a cows teats, her body pressed hard up against mine, breath hot and ragged in my ear. "Enjoying it now are you my dear?" I whimpered, shaking my head in denial, the silken gag starting to become sodden with my saliva. "Bet you thought that a woman's touch would be more gentle?" I groaned, shutting my eyes as hot shame flooded to my burning cheeks.
A hand left its cruel attention to my breast and my skirt was abruptly hiked over my hips, exposing the transparent nylon of my panties. I peered down, past my tits whose soft, golden satin curve was crowned by two erect nipples standing to attention behind the shimmering cloth, but couldn't see what she was doing. I felt it though, as she massaged my arse through the thin material. She allowed me small squeaks of protest as her fingers squeezed and pulped the cheeks of my bottom, while her other hand did the same to my breasts. My head shaking was almost silent as I prayed for the shop assistant to burst in and save me from my shame.
It got worse.
I could hear a well spoken voice, raised in ire; "How dare you, take your hands off me. What do you think that you're doing?"
My captor smiled, ironically at me and straightened up, brushing herself down and undoing the thick knot on her chin before slipping the Hermes scarf from her head. Through the curtain burst the proprietress, her elbows pulled back by the other woman who was propelling her into the changing room. Her angry eyes darted to mine, helpless and pleading over the thick silk gag, and widened as she took in the spectacle of my captivity.
"What the hell? What are you? HELMMMGNNNPHHH!!!" Her cry for help was quicker than mine but was as quickly stifled by my captor cramming her open mouth with the balled up mass of Hermes silk. "Chanel's" eyes opened wide, her struggles intensifying as she was held fast from behind while the woman in front forced every square centimetre of fine silk behind her teeth. Finally, her victim's cheeks bulging, my captor reached into her colleague's coat pocket and drew out another scarf, pre-rolled into a band, binding it round and around her head before knotting it tightly between the mewling woman's lips. The older woman was then forced, protesting feebly, to her knees, and her Chanel jacket stripped from her revealing a wired basque supporting magnificent breasts. Her face was crimson as a pair of tiny metal cuffs were applied to her thumbs, joining them cruelly behind her back.
Our captors stood back from "Chanel" appraising the struggling woman who looked back up at them from her knees, shouting protests into the stifling silk of her all-muffling gag, her cheeks flushed hot with anger. I am ashamed to say I whimpered in fear, the ease of our joint capture graphically illustrating to me that these women were experienced in trapping others.
Chapter 2
On the changing room wall there was a clock, barely visible out of the corner of my eye. A mere 15 minutes had passed since I had passed through the shop doorway, but my life had fundamentally changed.
I stood, my heels lifting out of the back of my stilettos, my chin held unnaturally high by the collar chained to the coat hook above me. My captors’ silk scarf held a substantial mass of expensive panties crammed between my teeth and was stating to darken at the edges of my mouth. My jaws ached. I was strapped at ankle, knee and waist. My skirt had been pulled up to my waist, revealing my panties. My nipples bulged against the opulent satin of my blouse….
That worried me. I had been humiliatingly gagged, bound in concert by two women, half-suffocated, and then furtively abused by one of them before witnessing my one hope of salvation rendered equally helpless in front of me, and my nipples were hard as pebbles beneath the rich, golden sheen. I tried to swallow, gazing down at "Chanel".
She was on her tummy now, her stocking clad legs curled up behind her, ankles crossed and strapped with a Gucci belt. The trouser-clad woman had pushed her face down while she was on her knees trying to scream through her gag, and she had landed with an audible grunt. Her cries were muted for a minute and her struggles subdued, seemingly she had been winded, and our captors had used her lack of resistance to remove the thumb-cuffs and strap her wrists before applying the belt to her legs. They had then joined them with a third belt, pulling ankles and wrists close together until she moaned with the discomfort.
In one of the many mirrors I could see her face, cheeks scarlet above the thick silk of her gag; below it her heavy breasts had spilled from the support of her basque and were flattened beneath her body. Her cries had subsided and she was now groaning as she tested the strength of her bonds; I could see the muscles in her upper arms tensing beneath her smooth honey-coloured flesh. Soon even those struggles subsided as she realised the potency of her bondage, and I could hear her heavy breathing as she came to terms with her captivity.
The two women had said little in the entire episode and had now gone into the main body of the shop. Their voices carried through the curtain, small snippets of conversation indicating that they were on a shopping spree of mammoth proportions and I guessed that they must have locked up the shop to prevent any one else disturbing them. I shifted, eyes closed, my position uncomfortable after a mere 20 minutes, and, looking up, was surprised to find that the one in the skirt was standing beside me. I must have looked shocked, or frightened, because she reached out and squeezed my shoulder wordlessly, before looking down at my feet as I twisted on my toes.
"Getting difficult?"
I was frightened to agree after the way she had treated me earlier, my eyes wide in trepidation, but she persisted, "Need to move a little dear?"
I nodded, a tiny movement, restricted as I was by the huge collar, and my own apprehension. She touched me again, her eyes warm, and reached up to the chain wound about the coat hook, loosening it and releasing the tension on my neck. I mumbled thanks into my gag as my heels settled back into my shoes. She reached down to my ankles, freeing the strap so I could get better balance and then stood, her face close to mine, eyes calm.
"If I unstrap your knees will you kick me?"
I shook my head, no thought necessary; she’d so frightened me with her casual, ruthless cruelty earlier that the thought of resisting her physically frightened me and I felt a visceral twist in my stomach. I think she knew this, and casually squatted, her skirt tight over her fine haunches as she unbuckled the strap, her left hand sliding up the inside of my stockinged thighs as I widened my stance.
I stood, trembling, transfixed, not daring to close my legs as she explored the soft skin at my stocking tops, blushing humiliation flushing my face and chest while that same terror of her reaction precluded more than the small whimpers of protest that struggled to ooze past my overwhelming gag. Her elegantly manicured fingers were now tender on my skin, her cruelty having apparently evaporated with the completion of our capture, and they danced lightly up my thighs and across the bottom of my arse, below the line of my thin briefs. Her fingers slid under the flimsy material, twisted and touched lightly on my lips.
She leant into me, her breasts pressing against my back, her breath hot and heavy at my ear. My legs were wobbly, as she held me tight against the post, my hands tight between my bottom and her pelvis. I didn’t dare move. Two fingers slowly, so slowly, advanced along my puffy lips, every nerve ending screaming about the violation, the intrusion. I tried to protest, my fear of retribution outweighed by the indignity of the abuse, my calf muscles screaming as I raised myself on tip-toe once more, legs rigid, spasming, as I tried to lift my cunt away from her damned insidious fingers. Her voice was sonorous and soft in my ear, "Go on, beg, my dear, but what for? What for?"
"Vicki, not now!" The other woman was standing in the doorway her hands on her hips, a tolerant grin on her face. The fingers slid away, brushing deep as they went, an involuntary shudder in their wake sending tingling signals back to my nipples. I sagged back down my eyes falling to those of the woman bound on the floor. Her expression was unreadable, but she held my eyes in a steady gaze and, as I stared back, frozen by the intensity of her stare I realised that her nipples were swollen and pink.
The skirted woman, Vicki, unbound "Chanel’s" ankles, allowing her legs to unbend and causing her an involuntary groan of relief. The two women dragged her upright and stood her on the opposite side of the post from me, her magnificent breasts sagging only slightly above the basque which had once held them. She still tried to pull away, staggering on unsteady legs until the woman who still wore her Hermes scarf whipped a belt across her arse. Her gag successfully stifled her squeal of indignation, and her struggles quickly subsided to sulky acquiescence as "Hermes" belted her waist to the pillar, moving the buckle in front of her, out of reach of her hands.
Suddenly it all went dark and I could feel something bound about my eyes. A whiff of perfume told me that it was my own scarf, knotted tight at the back of my head. I whimpered again, feeling more helpless than before. There was a sudden squeal from the woman opposite me and I stiffened in panic, straining at the obdurate metal encasing my wrists, twisting and turning to try to see from beneath the silken Jaeger blindfold. I could hear a struggle, my fears reinforced by occasional bumps from the three participants, the other captive’s protests rising in volubility if not volume. It reached a crescendo then stopped and I could here her panting despite the silk tight over my ears.
Fingers fumbled at the buttons of my blouse, the hands coming around me from behind. I could smell her perfume, it was the woman called Vicki; I didn’t struggle. She unbuttoned the blouse, then pulled it from my shoulders and I heard a soft gasp. The half-cup brassiere matched my powder blue panties and offered my breasts up, exposing the nipples. Her hands flattened against the top of my breasts then slowly slid down. Agonised anticipation preceded their contact with my nipples which I am ashamed to say were so hard they must have scraped her palm. I groaned, trying to twist away and she seized them both between finger and thumb, rolling them slowly, but firmly. There was another sensation, I couldn’t place, a sort of cold tightness, at the base of the right one while she continued to pinch. It got tighter, squashing it. I moaned in protest and she laughed, a throaty chuckle.
"Oh, my dear, you will like these" Her lips brushed my ear.
I squirmed, as a swollen sensation started to throb it my right nipple. She stopped squeezing and soon the same feeling was developing in my left. The blindfold was pulled from my eyes and I looked down…
Some sort of tiny vice-like clamp had been fastened onto each nipple, crushing the base and causing them to swell, engorged with blood. A delicate chain about 10 inches long ran from each to the other captive’s opposite nipple which had been similarly treated. Her eyes were filmy, but defiant, and fixed on my unwanted jewellery. My natural reaction was to pull back, but a sharp tug on my distended nipples and a stifled scream from my co-captive brought me up short. A hand sneaked around from behind me and a finger rubbed ever-so-gently across one of the the swollen nubs. I could feel every ridge on her finger, as though it was a washboard and groaned.
There was a flash of blinding light- "Hermes" had used a pocket camera to take a photo. I tried to hide my face, my career flashing (!) before my eyes, but the cruel collar kept my chin up and my features visible. Soon she had run off about 30 shots, from a variety of angles usually preferred by the more gynaecological men’s magazines, and all of which seemed to feature me more than "Chanel".
The two women wordlessly walked through the curtained doorway and I heard the outer door bell chime. I looked at "Chanel" and she stared back for a full minute, both of us crimson over our gags. She shifted, her weight leaning back slightly, and I felt the smallest tug on my nipples, though her eyes remained locked on mine. I swallowed, my mouth full of sodden silk and lace, my jaws aching. I leant my face forward and tried to move closer to hers. She looked puzzled until a light went on in her eyes and she rubbed her cheek against mine trying to pull the gag off me. As she did her breasts swung and I closed my eyes as the wave of sensation pulsed through me. I leant back and heard a groan from her that matched the tension in my breasts. A pressure at my cunt snapped my eyes open and I found Vicki standing beside me, her fingers slipping once more beneath the material of my panties. My arse pushed back involuntarily, cunt rubbing on her pressing fingers which slid across the slippery flesh.
"You dirty bitch! You’re so wet!" she gasped, her other hand rubbing its palm across my left nipple.
I moaned and she left off to reach up and ungag "Chanel", unclipping her nipples before burying her hand in the hair at the back of the older woman’s neck and pulling her head down to my breasts. Her lips were soft on my inflamed nipples, and Vicki gently unfastened them, allowing "Chanel" to suck and lick each in turn as they returned to a normal size.
I screamed, no longer fearful of Vicki’s reprisals, coming long and violently. When I recovered, "Chanel" had been gagged again but, more importantly, her wrists had been loosened and the key to my handcuffs was left on the floor.
She freed her wrists, then removed the sodden silk mouth-packing, before unfastening her waist from the pillar. Reaching up she unchained my collar from the coat hook and led me to a chair.
Which she forced me to my knees before.
Sitting in the chair she hiked up the expensive Chanel skirt, and pulling the collar chain down, fastened it to a leg of the chair so my head was almost in her lap. Her translucent knickers were damp and a strong scent of arousal came to my nostrils. She kept her powerful eyes on mine, wide at the unexpected continuation of my bondage.
"You got yours, I think you owe me one" she hissed, her trembling fingers fumbling with the cruel knot of my gag, before pulling the stifling panties from my lips. I tried, wearily to protest, my world in turmoil, from captive to a promise of freedom snatched from me, but she seized my hair and pulled me to her, burying my face in her molten cunt.
Instinctively, knowing what a variety of boyfriends hadn’t, I went to work, my tongue dipping and rasping, eyes watching her fingers as they massaged her own huge tits. Like mine, it wasn’t a long time coming, and her thighs crushed down on my skull as she grunted her satisfaction. I slumped to the floor.
She dressed quickly, scooping her breasts back into their containment, before asking brusquely "Cup of tea." I must have nodded as I found myself sipping from a scalding cup as I put myself back together again. My coat had gone, with my wallet and car keys, only my flat key, detached from the ring remained.
We didn’t know what to say, an awkward silence indicating an unspoken desire not to tell anyone, both for our own, professional reasons. I slipped the Jaeger scarf about my hair and replaced my sunglasses. My nipples still stood hard against the fine gold blouse…I set out for my flat.

[Caesar73]

Quite the roller coaster!

[LunaDog]

Intriguing!

[RopeBunny]

Wow.

Quite the read. Loved the twist at the end. Unexpected but great.

Thank you.

[Dustysmate]

Intriguing!

Thank you

[Dustysmate]

Wow.

Quite the read. Loved the twist at the end. Unexpected but great.

Thank you.

Thank you RB - feedback is always appreciated (especially when it's good)