The Game 17 Antic Attic

[Kay]

The Attic


One day he was transferring clothes form the laundry basket to the washing machine when a business card fell out of a pocket. He picked it up and read

Antic Attic
Trash and Treasures
and an address.
After a moment he realized that he had found the holy grail, the shop where the dreaded tutu came from, the magical place where she had found Fifi. Though he had asked several times she had refused to divulge its identity. He looked at the address. He knew the area, had probably even passed it without noticing. It was just a block west of the trendy art gallery and boutique street. A logical place for an emporium of the strange and eldritch. In his imagination he had built up a picture of a mysterious dimly lit cave run by a shadowy owner of indeterminate gender, age, and possibly species. One of those shops that is mysteriously not there when you realize, too late, the awful Truth and you try to go back to get the Curse lifted...

He knew, of course, that it was probably more likely one of those places stocked with stuff that no yard sale would want and possessing that curious smell that thrift stores all seemed to share, as if they bought it bottled from the same supplier.
But what kind of fantasy would that make?

*****************

He led her out to the playground and then said, “If madam would be so good as to strip?”
She peeled off her shirt, no bra today, and pulled down shorts and panties in one.
“Now the restraints...”
“Ah, we're going back to the classics.” She slipped them on and he clipped them to the beam.
“And now your blindfold...”


*****************

When he found the Attic it wasn't quite The Stuff that Dreams Are Made Of. As he expected from its location it was one of those small shops with a slightly art deco front that wasn't quite good enough to attract the interest of preservationists, and that wasn't in quite a desirable enough neighborhood to warrant knocking it down and building apartments. It survived, as so many places of that sort did, in quiet shabby anonymity. It looked so normal and boring in fact that he wondered if the spelling of the name had been intended to be clever after all. They just might not know how to spell 'antique'. When he entered he saw that it was nothing special there either. A woman behind the counter nodded and smiled at him. Her gender and age seemed fairly definite, and if her species wasn't human her people had got really good at hiding.

*****************
He lightly touched her ribs.
“No! No fair! No tickling!” It was a rule they both followed because both were very susceptible and, at times, vulnerable.
“Sorry, couldn't resist. And I'm going to be putting some things on you and I want you to get used to being touched.”
“All right, but nothing light.”
“Agreed. Now first, lift your right leg.” She did so and felt a stocking going on. It was repeated on the other side.
“Now lift your foot...and the other...”
“Oh, I get panties! I must have been a good girl!”
He pulled them on and gave her a pat, lingering slightly longer than was strictly necessary.
Then she felt shoes going on and once more she was standing in the high heels. She tried to figure out where this was going. Shoes, stockings, panties... was he just going to make her stand topless in heels for a period? Possibly, but it seemed too tame somehow...

*****************

He wandered the aisles. It wasn't quite a thrift shop, but it certainly wasn't an antique emporium either. There was the usual stuff. Glassware, electronics, a couple of pieces of furniture, some oil paintings of the sort that one always found in such places (and thankfully, nowhere else). No garage sale Rembrandts here, unfortunately. Aisles of broken, abandoned toys. Tools. Dead computers. Finally he found a couple of racks of clothing at the back Again the usual. A bunch of blue jeans. Some paisley. There's always paisley in these places for some reason, he thought, yet you never see anyone actually wearing it. Probably for the best...
A couple of prom dresses caught his eye. They looked sad now that their night of romance was over and done.
He briefly considered one. It was very full, an improbable shade of yellow. It might be kind of fun. He could take her out on a date wearing that.
And nothing underneath of course...
All in all it was one of those shops that made you wonder how it survived. He was the only customer. How do they afford to keep the lights on? He was beginning to wonder if this really was the Magic Shop after all.
And then he saw It.

*****************

She felt him putting something around her waist and then he started tightening it into place.
Ah, we know what this is don't we? said Conscience.
Yes we do, precious. This is getting interesting...
She felt him tightening the laces at the back, first from the waist down,and when that was secured he returned to the waist and tightened the top ones. Then he went back for a final adjustment.
“Is that ok?” he asked.
“Oh yes, it's fine,” she gasped. “breathing is overrated...”

*****************

What the hell was this place? Did down on their luck hookers drop off their unneeded things here as a matter of course? There was a small theatre a few blocks away. Did old costumes end up here? He examined it closely. No, this was no costume. Like Fifi this was the real thing. Whatever that was.
He looked at the price. It wasn't cheap, but he was pretty sure that retail on something like this would be more. Probably far more. He pictured her wearing it and decided that it really wasn't too expensive after all.

*****************

Then she heard the mirror being dragged into place. The big reveal was always an event. In the Mirror's depths she had seen herself kneeling nude, the red gash of her open mouth waiting to be be filled with his penis. She had seen herself sitting, legs spread with a dildo impaling her. She had been frog tied, spread even wider, and made to watch herself masturbate, and once she had regarded herself respectably dressed in shorts and a top made of nothing but paint.

But this reveal was special. She had half expected what she saw but it was still a powerful image. A tall woman stood in black high heels, sheer black stockings, and tiny black lace panties. Her breasts were pushed up and accented nicely by the corset, her waist thinner than she could remember. With all that it felt quite comfortable. She felt safe, almost armored. It was mostly black as well with touches of red. There was some lace, some satin and some leather, and altogether it concentrated more sex appeal than she would have thought possible in one small garment. She could see how men might like this sort of thing, objectively absurd though it was. Hell, she thought, I fancy me...
And immediately after that thought came another.
I can't wait to get him in this...

“So what do you think?,” he asked.
“I think you found Rosa's.”
“Rosa?”
“The Antic Attic. I actually had my eye on this. But you realize you may be in trouble?”
“How so?”
“Well this is pretty classic dominatrix gear. I just need a riding crop or similar. What if it's as powerful as Fifi? Shall I make you grovel at my feet and beg for mercy? I've never actually had someone grovel...”
He looked startled.
“Ah, I hadn't thought of that...”

“No, I thought not... Well let's see.” Her expression became stern, and she said in an imperious tone,
“I want you to take your clothes off, unclip my arms, and kneel before me. Do it now, worm!”
He started in surprise, his eyes glazed over and for a moment he froze. Then his hands slowly moved to his waistband and paused there.
“Well? What are you waiting for? Are you going to obey?” she asked.
Another moment passed and then he dropped his hands.
“No, sorry, I don't think I am. No magic today I'm afraid.”
“Ah, well,” she said in her usual voice, “it was worth a try. So what now?”
“I think we'll proceed as I originally planned. I thought we'd start with a little spanking, maybe a little sucking... We'll just play it by ear.”

And then, what with one thing and another, the afternoon drifted by. She lost her panties at some point, but it didn't really matter. Dressed as she was there was no way she could be described as anything approaching a “good girl.”

*****************

A thought occurred to him as he stood in the shop pondering whether to buy it. As delicious as he knew she was going to look in the corset, he had to face the fact that if he got it the likelihood was very high that at some point he would be wearing it himself...
Actually it wasn't a likelihood at all, he reflected. It was a certainty. And she'd go all the way too. Shoes, stockings, panties (well, if he was lucky) breasts, makeup...
And probably, based on past experience, a lock. Though a well laced corset was pretty much locked to start with.
He thought for a few moments. Ok, how did he feel about being laced, and possibly locked into weapons grade hooker wear? Was he prepared for that? Was it worth the risk?
Well, was it a risk?
He considered it for a few moments. He found it didn't cause the same reaction that he still had when he even thought about the tutu. Wearing bra and panties, even quite fancy ones, held no fears for him now, though it was still fun. Stockings likewise. But being laced into a corset? Particularly this corset...? For an indefinite period of time...?
He tried to imagine the process as the cords tightened...
A vote from his nether regions suggested that it might be... actually...
interesting...

*****************


She gave a last pull and tied the cords off in a bow.
“All right?”
“Oh, yes...”
It hadn't happened immediately. It took a few weeks, but one afternoon she had won the game and as he had expected she reached into the box and pulled out...
He looked at himself in the mirror. Shoes, check. Stockings, corset, check. Breasts, surprisingly no, at least not yet.
And for some reason, pearls. Panties?
She always made him wait until the end and then ask.
“Please may I have panties?”
Sometimes the answer was yes.
Sometimes it was no.
But she always liked to make him ask.
“Poor baby. Of course you can.”
She handed them to him and he put them on. Which, with the corset, wasn't as easy as it should have been.
Seeing his struggles she commented, “That's why girls who wear this sort of thing put their shoes on first. So what do you think?”
“It's amazing.” She had taken more time on his makeup this time. His eyes were painted, slathered with blue and black.
“I have raccoon eyes.”
“Very pretty ones.”
His lipstick was the Fuck Me Red shade, quite a bit of it. Lipstick had lately become one of their major consumables. They were always running out. She had even found a black wig. She had been merciful with the lacing. He wouldn't be needing a fainting couch nor winning the Miss 12 Inch Waist title. But the design of the thing meant that with even a little lacing he certainly had the suggestion of curves.
The overall result was that he had been transformed into a surprisingly glamorous, if still androgynous figure.
And a somehow naggingly familiar one...
“Do I get breasts?”
“Not tonight, you won't need them.”
“So...what do we do now...?” He was expecting at least to be photographed.
And then there were the things he had made her do.
There was that... and that... and...oh, yeah there was that as well. He hoped against hope that she might forget a few. His makeup was probably not going to stay quite so perfect for very long.

But she said, “You just sit there and be pretty. Don't get mussed. I have to go get ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Well, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to be Magenta or Riffraff. I decided on Riffraff because it's the easiest and I don't want to upstage you.”
Of course. That's why it looked familiar. But that meant...
“Yes, “ she answered his unasked question. “We're going to the Rocky Horror Midnight show tonight. Oh, you're going to be such a hit!”

*****************

He made his decision and took it up to the counter and paid. If the woman thought anything about it she made no comment. With the small bundle discreetly resting in a plastic bag he went out to his car, thinking about likely futures, one of which probably included him wearing a sexy corset.
Sure, why not? It would be fun.
Most things they did were.
Sort of.
Eventually.
And anyway it was their private game.
It wasn't like anyone else would see...

Epilogue

“Hello, Rosa””
“Ah, hello mija! How are you? Did you find something today?”
“Yes, ah si...quiero lo comprar...”
She put the dress on the counter.
“Very good! Oh, that pretty prom dress! I'm so glad! I always think they look so sad hanging there. Here, we'll put it in a box, it's too good for a plastic bag.”
She began folding it up and carefully wrapped it in tissue paper.
So,” she added with a twinkle, “You're going to a prom?”
“Oh, no it's not for me. I think my prom days are past. This is a present for someone very close to me.”
“Oh, that's nice. What a lucky young lady.”
“Things seem to be going well for you. I see that fancy corset is gone.”
Rosa put her hand to her mouth and giggled.
“Yes, I sold it a couple of weeks ago. To a young man!” Rosa leaned closer and whispered, “ I think he wanted it for himself!”
“No, really?” she laughed.
“Oh, si. Good looking boy. Nice body. It'll look good on him.”
“Rosa! You're terrible!”
“Oh, perhaps mija, pero hay gente extraña, ¿entiendes?” Rosa liked to test her occasionally.
“Ah... there are strange people?”
Si, mija, very good. But I say nothing, it's no business of mine.”
Rosa handed her the box and said, “Here you are. I hope your young lady likes her dress.”
“Oh, she will, Rosa, I'm sure she will. Thank you. Adios.”

[ryanchew3]

Nice story and a fun read, hope to see the next sooooon!