Part 4
Without delay, I tore the reins free of the bush, leapt aboard, and
urged the gelding into a canter. Big mistake. I pulled him back into a
walk and panted for a while, gathering my far-flung wits and letting the
clenching of my sex relax again. I was having the devil of a time staying
mounted too, since the tight hobble skirt left me no way to get a grip on
the horns of the side-saddle.
At least I wouldn't have to suffer being stared at. My unconventional
position (not to mention my unconventional garb) was adequately concealed
beneath the gown I had appropriated. I realized then that I had left my
own boots, my corset, indeed all of the clothes I had worn that morning,
back inside the house.
Needless to say, I did not even consider going back for them. I relaxed
into the rhythm of my mount, and would have spent the rest of the ride to
town in confused contemplation of the events of the day but for one more
startling revelation. Something bumped against my knee, and thinking that
some piece of my horse's tack had come loose, I reached for it. What I
found in my hand wrested a strangled cry from my throat, and once again I
felt my heart pound within my breast.
It was a black and white cameo necklace, beautifully wrought, fastened
to the saddle's pommel by a red satin cord. The design was of a woman's
face, surrounded by an oval ring of chain. That I should find it hanging
from my saddle was unreasonable enough, but that it should carry the face
that it did was impossible. The face upon the amulet was unquestionably
my own.
I stared at it in horror, as if I held some particularly disgusting piece
of vermin in my hand, before letting it fall from my nerveless fingers.
(I was fortunate that it was still tied to the pommel!)
What... how... How could it possibly have gotten there, unless... My
rational mind refused to accept the possibility, but what other
explanation was there?
I had, without realizing it, come in contact with the revenant of
Hargreaves Manor.
I left the horse at the stables, making my apologies to the stable boy
for the lateness of the hour. I had, I told him, ridden too far and
stayed too late, without an appreciation for how quickly sunset could
approach in this generally overcast and cloudy country. He dismissed my
apologies with a smile and a wave, and I realized that he was quite taken
with me. He was an attractive lad, and had he been a few years older, I
might very well have made his dreams come true.
If he noticed my change of dress, he did not comment. Removing the
amulet from the saddle, I fastened it about my neck. While it might be a
gift from a ghost, it was a gift nevertheless, and I had decided I liked
having a secret admirer.
I had to spend several minutes reassuring Mrs. Robson that nothing was
amiss, nor was that task altogether easy. She wanted to know what had
become of my riding habit. I told her I had come back in the middle of
the day and changed into cooler clothes, hadn't she seen me? She looked
skeptical, but did not pursue that issue. She wanted to know why I had
returned so late. I gave her the same excuse I had given the stable hand.
Mollified, she finally permitted me to retreat to the safety of my room
but not before casting a thoughtful look at my unusual gloves. I hoped
she thought them made from patent leather.
Safe within my chambers, I divested myself of the mundane frock, and then
stood frustrated, as I realized I would have to ruin these beautiful
things in order to remove them. I didn't want to cut them but I didn't
care to stay in them forever either. And I admit, the discovery that they
had somehow changed themselves so as not to be casually removed had
frightened me. As much as I had enjoyed wearing these things, it would be
a relief to be out of them- I was sopping with perspiration and the usual
evidence of my passionate exertions earlier in the day. I made one last,
half-hearted tug at the skirt and to my surprise, it now felt pliant and
elastic again.
I turned and looked behind me in the mirror. Sure enough, the corset
laces were dangling behind me, as accessible as when I had first tied
them. My first instinct of course was to take advantage of this turn of
events and get undressed as quickly as possible, but I was overcome by
curiosity.
How was it possible for these changes to take place, and what had caused
them? I had to assume there was some purpose behind these strange events,
and that this was not mere random phenomena. Why had I been "allowed" to
put the garments on in that bedroom at Hargreaves Manor, and yet had them
literally secured upon my person later? And why was I now able to take
them off again? The only thing that had changed since I discovered my
predicament was...
I stared at the reflection of the amulet. Moving slowly, as one
possessed, I took it off and set it upon the vanity. As soon as it left
my neck, I could FEEL something squirming at my back, and I detected a
subtle change in the feel of the suit's collar, and of the waistband of
the skirt. I picked up the amulet and looked in the mirror. As I put it
on, I saw the ends of the laces simply drop out from between the others.
As I took it off again, they slithered up out of sight. The sight was
fascinating and disturbing at the same time. Was this magic, or some new
marvel of science? It was obvious I would not find out on my own. It was
equally obvious that someone (or something) knew I had been at the manse,
had perhaps even observed me while I was there. Yet this person or
persons seemed to have my better interests at heart, since they had gifted
me with this amulet. The whole thing was a pretty little puzzle, and I
knew I would find answers in only one place.
But I had reached the limits of my analytical powers for the day- I was
exhausted. Right then, I needed one thing: rest. And by the grace of
some still-unknown benefactor, I could at least get out of the costume
which had made my day so enjoyably fatiguing.
Reluctantly then, I peeled off the decadent clothes, making a
considerable amount of rustling, snapping, and squeaking sounds, the
unusual nature of which I feared would bring the ever-suspicious Mrs.
Robson running. I paused for a few minutes, breathing slightly harder
from my exertions. When no one inquired after the unique sounds coming
from my room, I unlaced the corset and struggled out of the suit.
Removing the bloomers gave me another thrill, and for a moment I
considered wearing them to bed, although they were literally dripping with
lubricant, my own perspiration, and... other sorts of moisture. I hung
the amulet next to the vanity mirror.
In the end, I spent some considerable time cleaning and drying all the
garments at the wash-stand before finally collapsing on the bed.
Exhausted as I was, I fell almost immediately into a deep sleep. If I
dreamt that night, I have no memory of my dreams.
-=*=-
In the morning, I might have thought the entire experience a pleasant
dream but for the strange gutta percha clothes festooning the room and the
undeniable presence of the amulet hanging from the vanity mirror. For a
long time, I lay in bed, listening to the chirping of the birds outside my
window and thinking about the week before. It was obvious that someone was
in fact living in Hargreaves Manor. Further, it was evident that this
person was as perverse as I in his (or her) interests, and took great
delight in frightening (and playing with) the occasional visitor so
foolish as to explore the place.
I set aside for the moment the puzzle of how a cameo amulet had been
carved in my exact likeness in a matter of hours. Perhaps it had been
made for someone who looked like me, and it was pure coincidence that I
had happened by when I did. Perhaps I had been singled out for the
treatment I had received, because I resembled a lost lover (a pathetic
idea that frightened me, although I had certainly not been mistreated).
There were many possibilities.
Throughout my ruminations however, I could not shake the vague notion
that I was somehow predestined to have found the place. How to explain
the clothes which fit me so well? How to explain that an entire household
had existed for years, which not only indulged in every secret fantasy I
had ever entertained, but which embraced delights of which I had never
dreamed? After all these years, I had found that I was not alone in my
strange desires, but when I achieved my paradise, my holy grail, I found
it long since deserted. Or was it? Could any one person have worked all
of the mysterious coincidences and events that had awaited me at the
mansion? Was there perhaps an entire host of fellow perverts, that for
some reason (and through uncanny skill) managed to remain hidden in the
place? And what of the "magical" (or at the very least, mystifying)
properties of the clothes I had taken?
I had nothing but questions, and the only way I was going to get answers
would be to return to Hargreaves Manor.
I was not at all sure that I was ready for that. I decided to bide a
while, to relax and see a little of the country, before committing to a
course of action with ramifications impossible to predict.
I think even then I knew that returning to the house would be a
momentous decision- a turning point. Even then, I felt that it was
important to be absolutely certain in my mind (even if my body had already
decided) that a return was what I really wanted.
So I wandered the streets for a few days, stopping in once to visit my
new friend the cobbler, more often haunting the library, finding various
quaint and picturesque shops to purchase curios from, and in general
making a nuisance of myself about town.
On more than one occasion, I took a solitary picnic into the fields
surrounding the town. These fields were of such surpassing beauty that it
is worth mentioning here, although they have no real bearing on my story
of themselves. There are dozens of these small glens and meadows in and
around the woods which surround Harrowgate, and all are filled (at least
at that time of year) with fragrant wildflowers, softly humming insects
and a sense of quiet, brooding expectation that is almost supernatural.
Even if Hargreaves Manor had turned out to be a hoax, or even
non-existant, those days spent lying in the sunlit grass with only a bottle
of wine and various books of romantic poetry or erotic prose for company,
were worth the tedious trip across the Atlantic all by themselves.
I stopped in at the cobbler's, in hopes that my order might be ready. He
had said it would only take two days after he had the leather, but the
last time I had checked, the shipment had been delayed. When I got there,
he beamed at me, and disappeared into the back of the shop without a word.
He returned with both pairs of boots, which he displayed on the counter
with pride.
"They're beautiful!" I exclaimed, and I was sincere. The man was indeed
a craftsman. We exchanged very few words as he showed my how to lace the
high boots up (the operation reminded me of the lacing of a corset). We
had no need of words. There was a feeling of reverence in the shop as we
shared briefly in this secret vice, devotees of the same fetish but from
opposite viewpoints. I admit that I preened a bit as he crouched at my
feet, the added height of those amazing heels giving me a sense of power
and superiority. They fit quite well and very tightly, and just as I had
promised myself, I wore them out of the shop, the other pair in a box
under my arm. If Mrs. Robson noticed anything unusual about my gait as
I returned to my room, she said nothing of it.
I think that I had actually made up my mind that first day, and that
after that, I was just delaying the inevitable. After some four or five
days had passed in this fashion, I felt a deep restlessness stir within
me, a sort of subterranean quaking of the senses. Some part of me,
hitherto unacknowledged, was demanding a resolution of the mystery I had
tried to deny. I knew then that it was time to return to that disturbing
house, regardless of whether I would end up confronting personal demons or
merely banishing imagined spirits.
That very day, I cut short the pointless outing I was already engaged in
and returning to town, set about preparing for a more serious journey. I
stopped into the common room of the house where I was staying and chatted
with Mrs. Robson for a bit, intimating that I was leaving town the next
day. I told her that I was on a kind of independent tour of the world,
and implied that certain unwanted suitors might inquire after me. I said
that I would appreciate her discouraging any inquiries, and paid her not
only the rent due for the rooms I had rented, but a handsome bonus as
well. She seemed a bit saddened, and I had the distinct impression that
she saw right through my subterfuge, yet was unwilling to dissuade me from
my chosen path.
I went up to my rooms confident that no one would learn of where I had
gone, at least not from her. I packed up my trunks and by noon, had
arranged for them to be shipped to Newcastle which was, I had told various
people, my next destination. I fully intended to go there too, once I
had finished my exploration of Hargreaves Manor. Yet somehow I had the
nagging suspicion that in returning to that place, I was embarking on a
different kind of journey, one which might just change my travel plans
drastically, not to mention the course of my life.
I didn't know it, but I lay down that evening for the last time in the
mortal world I had known.
I awoke in the middle of the night, feverish with dreams of twisted
erotic games and animated intimate apparel. I had no idea what time it
was, for there was no clock in the room. The restless feeling had
returned, and I knew I would sleep no more that night. While I lay there,
I thought about how I should dress in the morning for my return to the
house.
I was convinced now that there was something (or more likely someone),
living on the property. Whatever was going on there, however mysterious
and disturbing, was very, very exciting to me, and I wanted to be a part
of it. I had to assume that I had been allowed out of there with those
clothes for a reason. It seemed appropriate that I not only return them,
but wear them upon my return. That thought led to another: how did the
amulet work? I was not prepared (yet) to believe in magic, but I knew of
no science or engineering which could account for the unlikely behavior
of the garments. Nor am I ignorant of such matters. Unlike my many
female acquaintances back in the States, I was well-read and more than a
little self-educated in matter scientific.
I got out of bed and walked over to the vanity. The amulet hung where
I had left it, glowing in the shadows by virtue of a stray moonbeam that
sliced in between the curtains. I picked it up and examined it in the
dim light. I glanced at my own face in the mirror. The likeness was
startling!
I looked from it to the clothes, and an almost palpable wave of longing
and desire washed over me. Good grief! Had I not sated myself enough
the day before? I felt more lust for these garments than I had felt for
any flesh and blood lover I had had before! What was wrong with me? I
lit the lamps about the room with a lucifer match and picked up the
nearest item, the skirt. The cool material warmed to my touch quickly,
and gave off it's characteristic liquid rustling sound as I handled it.
The odd scent filled my nostrils and to my surprise, I felt my nipples
harden. What was it about that smell? I knew that I had developed such
a strong affinity for leather that the smell alone could arouse me. And
I had read of the recent work by the Russian physiologist Pavlov. Had I
become conditioned to this new and strange smell so soon, so easily?
True, the circumstances had been intense...
I knew where this train of thought was headed, and I fought with my urges
briefly for some reason, perhaps out of a sense of moderation. It seemed
I was indulging myself in wretched excess. But, my libido rationalized, I
had already decided to wear the clothes upon my return to the mansion, why
not dress a little early?
So for the second time, I donned the bizarre garments I had liberated
from Hargreaves Manor. It was fortunate that I had had the foresight to
bring the slippery goo with me from the house, else I might never have
gotten them back on. The process was no less laborious than it had been
the first time however, and I was quite warmed up before the task was
done.
Somehow, the proximity of the amulet brought about the changes in my
garments. How was that possible? I turned it in my hands, examining it
closely for any sign of clockwork or mechanism. It was quite thick, and
felt unusually heavy for a mere cameo. It was also quite cool to the
touch, despite having been held in my hand for some time. The back, which
I had at first thought to be bare, had a faint but discernable design
carved in it. It was a pair of concentric circles with unusual runic
characters distributed between the two. Absently, I traced around the
circle with a fingertip.
Instantly, I was startled by a dramatic change in my raiment. The corset
had become noticeably tighter around me, and I felt a tightness slide down
over my hips and higher on my chest. I stared at myself in the mirror.
The corset had somehow lengthened as well as tightened, and now extended
down over my hips right to the knees, and reached right up to my bust and
even higher in back. Amazing! In a flash of insight, I traced the design
again, in the opposite direction, that is, counter-clockwise. Just as
quickly as it had constricted, the corset relaxed to it's former shape. I
was surprised to note that I hadn't felt any appreciable discomfort.
These stays had been rather too tight when I had laced them up that
morning, and I hadn't worn them nearly enough to grow accustomed to their
smaller measure. Fascinated, I stroked the runes again, slowly, in a
clockwise direction, making two circuits.
Once again the corset tightened it's friendly grip upon my waist. Never
had I been so tightly corsetted. The effect upon my figure was
incredible! On the other hand, I was now becoming a bit uncomfortable and
out of breath. I changed my breathing to the chest heaving style which is
stereotypical of tight-lacers, panting as well as I could under the
circumstances, admiring my tiny waist, and attempting a flirtatious turn
before the glass.
Only then did I note that it had become quite difficult to move my feet.
To be sure, my legs were now compressed by the corset from hip to knee,
but my ankles seemed restricted as well. Looking down in surprise, I saw
that the hobble skirt had become even longer, and now reached right down
to the insteps of my booted feet. Not only that, but it was if possible,
even tighter. This was incredible!
Whoever had designed these things had been not only a genius, but a
mischievous pervert, I decided. Either that, or an accomplished magician.
It occurred to me that had I been a Christian, I might have had second
thoughts about the origin of the power I now toyed with.
I wondered how far the effects could be taken. Eagerly, I traced the
circle again, wondering how much more my poor tortured waist could take
before I fainted or began to suffer real pain.
The corset did indeed tighten further, and was accompanied this time by
yet another startling change. My boots literally squirmed around my feet,
bending forward while the heels lengthened until I found myself up on the
tips of my toes. I was immediately off balance, and had to grasp the
mirror frame to keep from teetering over. Peering down at the boots
peeking from under the hem of my now ankle-length skirt, I found I had
acquired heels over seven inches in height, and my feet had been forced
into a dramatic arch right in line with my shins. Surprisingly, I felt no
pain other than a strong sense of stretching and confinement.
I wanted to experiment a bit. I knew that the amulet was what enabled me
to don these things, and that they had changed when I had left the room or
at least, the mansion. Tentatively, I dangled the amulet by the cord and
held it away from me. Once again I felt the faint slithering of the laces
disappearing behind me. But that effect was insignificant in the face of
a host of other sensations which accompanied it. It seemed that
everything I wore suddenly became much firmer, thicker, even my gloves. I
felt a distinct tightening around my arms, legs, indeed, over my entire
body, which increased the further away I held the amulet. I held it close,
and the the all-encompassing pressure relented.
Surprisingly, I seemed to be adjusting to the intense compression of my
waist quite quickly, since I no longer felt anything other than the
powerful restriction, and no actual pain. I essayed another turn of the
fingertip.
The corset tightened another notch. Impossible, I thought, can the
leather itself be contracting? Again, an additional change came with my
newly shrunken waist. The collar of my suit stretched up, slithering
around the base of my skull, my jaw, even up to my ears on the sides. It
had gone quite stiff and rigid too, such that I could no longer turn my
head, or nod, or do much of anything at all above the shoulders. I had to
turn my entire torso to look around. This was a thrilling effect, but a
bit frightening, and I stroked the amulet in the opposite direction. To
my relief, the effects reversed immediately, one step at a time, and after
a few moments, my entire wardrobe was back to normal, if the word can be
applied at all to an outfit with such sorcerous capabilities.
Through all of this, I was becoming increasingly aroused. This was like
being in bondage, and every bit as exciting to me, but here it was my
clothes themselves restricting me. It occurred to me that with a cloak
and a veil, I could even venture out into the town for a nocturnal walk
in this delightful situation, with no one the wiser.
In moments, I had unpacked a suitable cloak, and with the addition of a
large hat and veil, had an effective disguise. Now, no one would suspect
anything out of the ordinary, or so I fervently hoped.
But just in case, I again put on the innocent white linen dress before
donning my cape and hat.
I thought it best however, to leave the amulet around my neck so that
the other side effects would not overcome me or give me away. For one
thing, it was difficult at best to walk in this outfit as it was, without
the additional tension and stiffness induced when the amulet was absent.
Moreover, the restriction was more than a little arousing, and since I tend
to lose consciousness when the delicious paroxysm arrives, it would hardly
do to be discovered passed out in the streets of Harrowgate or worse,
grunting and groaning like a mare in heat.
On my way to the door, I discovered to my horror that the hostel was an
old and shaky building, replete with every kind of creak and groan one can
imagine, each one of which I seemed to be letting loose with my careless
feet. By the time I gained the foyer I was amazed that I hadn't awakened
Mrs. Robson. I paused for a breath then, listening to the quiet sounds of
the old house settling on it's foundations, then let myself out and into
the night.
