Not Drunk - Plastered

I was to marry on Saturday week and didn't want a stag night. The very idea of getting blindingly drunk with a loud, raucous bunch of mates unpalatable. I told my best man it wasn't required and to say nothing to my fiancé, Lily.

Over the years I made many girlfriends and still secretly saw them on a platonic basis. I preferred their company to guys. One night I confided in Clare, a local nurse, how I disliked the idea of a wild stag night. Sympathetically she understood, suggesting I have a hen night with all my girlfriends instead. She even offered to organise it for me.

Clare was my best mate. I had know her for years. She was my first love. When young she used to drag me into cupboards and give me Chinese burns and butterfly kisses and all the things you do before you realise you're being horny. We were never very physical. Our love was a different thing: a mental thing; a spiritual thing. We wrote love letters, stroked each others hair, had private play words and even gave each other cat names. Barmy? maybe but we where close.

I worried that Clare would be jealous of my wedding so it seemed the least I could do. Of course she was a little upset when I initially told her that she wasn't invited to the actual wedding day but Lily and her never saw eye-to-eye. I hope she understood... I think so.

A secret hen night. It seemed perfect; I was off the leash. Lily expected me to go wild on a boozy stag do so I had the ideal excuse to party with the girls.

Clare was a star, she organised everything and told me to be at her house on Friday at seven sharp, the week before my wedding.

What I didn't expect was for her and her girlfriends to dress me as a pretty Hen. Under normal circumstances I may have refused but Clare had this amazing control over me that made it impossible to refuse. She cutely called my outfit, fancy dress and I consequently couldn't see the harm. It didn't take much persuading, I liked the idea of dressing up and surrounded by my closest girlfriends I soon found myself shaved, washed and dressed in sumptuous silky lingerie, tantalisingly sheer stockings, a daring mini dress that clung to every curve and towering high heels. I was oblivious to the consequences. My outfit seemed over elaborate for a simple fancy dress and looked rather too convincing. I surprisingly didn't look like a guy dressed in drag on a spoof hen night as expected. No, Sir I looked like an innocent, pretty young girl out celebrating her forthcoming marriage.

I studied myself in her full length mirror as Clare applies the final touches of make-up and showers me with clouds of hairspray.

'We're going for a few drinks, a meal then clubbing.' Clare says gleefully as she smears a bright pink gloss on my lips. 'and you look so good, you'll have trouble keeping the boys at bay.' She laughs. 'I don't like to admit it but I do believe I'm jealous.'

'I'm not so sure,' I say tugging apprehensively at the hem of my dress I look too...' my voice trails off nervously, terrified to admit any more secrets.

'Too pretty?' Adds Zoe, also a nurse from the same hospital and a close friend of Clare's.

I nod, my long hair shimmering and flutter my eyelashes.

'You can never look too pretty, even if a guy.' Clare adds smoothing the seat of my dress with the palm of her hand. 'You had the option: Stag or Hen. You chose Hen, you now can't have the best of both worlds. ' Her gentle hand lingers over my firm peachy bum and her long fingers slid easily between my cheeks and the silk panties. 'So cheer up darling, you look incredible and you've taken to those towering high heels as if you've worn them all your life.'

It was true I did look good. I stare down at my long slender legs, the sheer stockings over my smooth skin and the beautiful red jewelled heels. The tiny ankle straps kept them firmly on my feet but their high heel made me totter uncomfortably as I walk, forcing my hips to swing ceremoniously from side to side in an exaggerated fashion. I flutter my long painted lashes and cross my legs allowing the nylon to rasp alluringly. They felt sumptuous if a little perverse.

Clare saw my enjoyment. 'So, my darling, you obviously like your sexy outfit' she asks. 'The short skirt really shows your long legs off beautifully.'

I nod, slightly embarrassed but as if on cue my cock began to harden and I bit my lip trying to ignore my obvious pleasure.

'Yes, of course you do my, pretty.' She flicks an imaginary speck of dust from my skirt and smiles. 'You like this dress because it makes you look...' She pauses, leans towards me, her ear alongside my painted lips as if waiting for me to complete her sentence. 'Sexy... she gasps. 'It makes you look incredibly sexy.' She turns and kisses me gently on my soft lips careful not to smudge my gloss. ' It also make you feel special and...desirable.'

I gingerly nod and shake my curvaceous hips as if on cue and my skirt flutters playfully around my thighs like a butterfly in summer.

'I'm right aren't I?'

I nod cautiously and twirl on the spot so that my skirt flickers like a candle flashing my stockings and a brief glimpse of panty.

Clare winks. 'You look so hot. I only hope you can move as well as you look.'

I hoped so too, especially after all the effort Clare had taken.

I was lucky, there was a magical quality about the sexy dress that hung so delicately from my shoulders and the sheer stockings that clung to my every curve and the heels that sparkled like diamonds with every step. I felt as light as a feather, my joints supple as if well oiled machinery and my muscles as taut as a gymnast. Tonight, I thought, I will be the 'Belle-of-the-Ball.'

I trusted Clare implicitly, perhaps more than Lily, yet stepping into the taxi, that night I began to feel rather vulnerable and defenceless. My skirt, was after all barely skimming my bottom, my suspenders and stocking tops clearly visible and my heels so high my legs look as if they would reach the sky.

'At least no-one will recognise you in your sexy outfit,' Clare says patting my peachy rump yet again. 'You've absolutely no worry of Lily finding out.'

This was true but my uncomfortable feeling didn't abate.

We picked up Mary on the way then drove straight to the pub. Here we met up with nine other past girlfriends. Clare hadn't told them I was to be a Hen so when they clapped eyes on me, my stockings, long slender legs, sexy dress and stunning wig. I was a complete surprise. After the initial gasps of 'Oh my God' and the expected titter of laughter they all thought I looked amazing.

We drank too many bottles of wine and spent the whole time being chatted up by fellas. My fancy dress fooled all the guys and they all thought I was easy game. Remember my outfit looked very promiscuous and as a virgin bride to be supposedly easy pickings. I couldn't decide if I should be flattered or humiliated. What was I to do? I didn't want anyone to know my true identity so I flirted like the other girls and decided to act the part of a soon to be bride. My girlfriends roared with laughter and helped me maintain the deception teasing the guys and making rude suggestions.

The short dress made decent walking difficult but this was nothing compared to the heels which caused a greater challenge but acted as a constant reminder as to how I looked.

The meal in the restaurant was delicious and at the club downstairs Clare had reserved a private table. We had such fun. We talked and danced and drunk ourselves silly. I was bought loads of drinks and had to fight one particular young man off after he bought me a strange cocktail. The time flew by and I can't remember much more until...

I awake as if out of a stupor to the sound of frantic commotion and the feel of fresh make-up being applied to my face. Flat on my back, one leg seemingly higher than the other. I prise my eyes open apprehensively. Through blurry eyes I see rows of bright fluorescent tubes above me.

'He's waking,' a familiar female voice sounds.

I shift awkwardly in the soft bed my head pounding as a reminder of the previous nights over indulgence.

Clare beams down at me reassuringly with a smile that threatens to split her face in two.

'You gave us quite a scare.' She says soothingly. 'You had a terrible fall.'

Confused, my mind tries to retrace the last few hours at the club.

'You drunk far too much.' Clare says touching my forehead gently.

I groan and shift clumsily, strangely restricted. My mind a blur I don't yet understand.

Club, dance, lights, hot, guys, cocktail... My vision returns like slowly clearing morning mist but my head throbs with the mother of all hangovers.

Every limb is still and heavy. I look around my new surroundings in a dazed state. I frown. My bed is fenced by a pattern curtain. Claire is fussing with my sheets and wearing her sexy nurses uniform. As I wake she briskly walks the curtain open and I see seven other beds around me, their female occupants all sitting up, their eyes firmly fixed on me.

I'm surprised to see they all have plaster casts on various parts of their body. Arms, ankles, legs. I nervously wiggle my own legs and one heavy leg remains motionless. In horror I look down at my own body. My right leg is hot and bulky, supported on a large cushion, covered in a smooth white plaster cast. I groan.

Clare steps alongside my bed and leans over me, her hair tickling my face, remnants of last nights party make-up still on her, her full breast pressing against my false bosom. 'It's still a little wet,' she chimes seemingly unaffected after last night session.

It's then I smell the cast and all becomes crystal clear, I remember the club, my hen night, the alcohol, my dancing and what I wore. I quickly look down again at the cast poking from under my pretty short skirt and feel my face burn with embarrassment.

'As predicted you where a sexy mover on the dance floor last night.' Clare says brightly, ignoring the fact that I was still dressed in drag. She strokes the long wig off my face, 'but you tripped on your handbag, fell and broke your leg. You blacked out and have been unconscious for hours.'

I groan again, glance at my watch and struggle to see the time in the delicate ladies dress watch Zoe had lent me. I try to sit. I couldn't remember any more.

Mary joins us with an equally large grin and stuffs another pillow behind my back. 'Unfortunately you needed traction. It was a bad fracture to your tibia and fibula but don't worry you're OK to go now,' she whispers.

Clare smiles reassuringly. 'Unfortunately you'll need the cast on for six months to align the bones. But don't worry It should heal well and prevent any deformity.'

'Great,' I say sarcastically. 'Six months?'

Mary shrugs and runs her hands softly along my hard cast as if she had never seen a fractured leg before. 'It could have been worse. You may have needed screws and a plate so count yourself lucky.'

I didn't feel lucky and suddenly my pretty dress made me look rather conspicuous.

Mary continues to caress my leg oblivious to my discomfort resting her nimble fingers just as the cast reaches my panties. She tickles the delicate lace and twangs the knicker elastic so they snap back sharply against my hip stinging my smooth skin. 'Some people love casts,' she says gazing at my casts white smooth finish. 'It's a piece of art, the technician the artist and inside each work lies a limb that's very much alive.'

Bemused, I look at Clare is gazing at my stiff leg doey-eyed too. 'Yes,', she nods almost salivating. 'Watching a slender woman walk restricted in a cast is like watching poetry in motion.'

The two sexy girls wander around the bed, their eyes firmly fixed on my cast as if in a dream.

Clare stops at the bottom of my bed and tickles the toe of my bad foot but I don't feel like laughing. 'Don't be such a sour puss,' she says then to my amazement stoops down and kisses my big toe. I raise myself off the bed and watch as she licks each digit with her hot tongue.

'Too bad I'm not coming to the wedding. I think you might need the medical help.'

I want to reply but she's now breathing over my toes her soft pouting lips a mere centimetre away from them. I feel her breath caress my toes in sharp waves and before I can say a word she has them in her painted mouth and is gently nibbling them as if a chocolate bar.

'Clare was so disappointed you didn't invite her,' Mary says soothingly whilst holding my trembling right hand and looking at the watch on her tunic to take my pulse. 'Clare was your best friend for so many years. It's such a shame that you have ignored her. I can quite understand her feeling rejected.'

'I'm sorry too,' I say my cock stiffening as Clare continues to slather over my toes. 'but I didn't ignore her, she's not rejected you both must understand. Clare and I have a considerable past and Lily can't easily forget. You know how awkward it would be.'

My panties struggle to contain my excitement and my body rocks with a succession of rapidly changing sensations.

Clare looks up and spat out my toes. I could tell by her frown that she was annoyed. 'Tell the truth darling - Your precious Lily wouldn't let you invite me.'

'W...w... well,' I stammer fully aware that's the case. 'It's not easy. Anyhow,' I say keen to move the subject on. 'What about Lily? Does she know I'm here?'

Mary grins, 'She doesn't know yet we thought it wise not to bother her since it was so late last night when you fell and had your little accident.'

I groan and imagine her reaction.

My leg begins to itch and I feel my face burn like a hot plate. 'Who did put my leg in plaster? Didn't they want to know why I was in a dress? I ask.

'The plaster technician and us.' Claire giggles. 'I'm sure at the time I was still a bit tipsy but considering the amount I drank I think we did a great job. Your wrist however was a bit tricky but we managed.'

Wrist! I lift my arms as loud alarm bells clang inside my head and realise for the first time that my left arm is in a sling. I gaze in dismay at another cast stretching from mid arm to my fingers.

'What!' I cry.

'You put your arm out as you fell and injured your wrist. Sadly it's your left and being left handed you'll struggle to write.'

'And wank' Claire adds cheerfully.

'Just be thankful that you're getting married Saturday week. You'll soon have sex on tap. I'm sure your Lily will be accommodating.' She smirks in a disbelieving way and I feel a twinge of anger.

I groan having temporarily forgotten about my forthcoming wedding.

'Lilly's going to kill me,' I whimper.

Zoe squeezes my pink painted toes that poke from the cast and I wiggle them to check they moved. 'Your other stocking is in your handbag.' She flips up my skirt like a bed sheet so I, and the whole ward can see the top of my cast, snowy white panties and my empty suspender. My rigid cock is clearly visible behind the delicate lace detail.

I groan and my face burns even hotter with humiliation.

'Don't worry it's a walking cast and we have seen worse - you're not bed ridden. We need the bed this morning and as much as we would like to have you, you've got to go.' Both girls giggle and Claire hands me a crutch. Zoe holds my cast firmly with both hands as I attempt to swing my heavy leg off the bed. It sticks out awkwardly like a flagpole on the side of a building.

'You'll need to sleep with your cast on a pillow to elevate it above the level of your heart.' Claire says rolling my stocking and stretching it over my bare toes like a sock. She slips my high heel back on my good foot and taps the sole as if praising a job well done.

'Should I be wearing this?' I say struggling to stand. The two nurses glance at each other, grin and nod simultaneously. 'Absolutely,' Claire says helping me balance on my crutch. 'That's right put your crutch in your right hand, weight on your left foot. It will take some getting used to but you'll be fine.'

I grip the plastic handle of the crutch as if the rip cord of a parachute.

'My leg doesn't hurt,' I say nervously. 'It's just heavy and difficult to move. Is the break that bad?'

'No, not that bad.' Clare says with a dismissive air.

The nurses giggle again (rather unsympathetically) and watch me hobble across the ward, my skirt flapping round my crutch, the cast peeking cheekily from under the hem.

'You where very lucky our Marsha was on call. She's our best plaster technician - she truly loves her work. She's an artist and did a superb job. ' Clare's smile suddenly turns to a frown and she barks out a command as I go to put my bad foot on the floor, 'Keep your weight off your bad leg,' she screams.

I immediately correct myself and wobble for a moment as I try to regain my balance. 'But what about the wedding and my honeymoon? I say miserably.

Claire giggles again. 'I guess you should have thought about that before you did your Britney Spears impression.'

I groan, imagining myself gyrating across the dance floor flashing thigh, pantie and boobs.

'Very good it was too. You had many fans. Oh! And talking of fans, Marsha adored your lace panties. She thought this pretty dress really suited you. She wanted to know if you dressed like this regularly and wondered if you where wearing the wedding dress on the day.'

'No,' I spit then groan again, realising she must have see my raging cock. Suddenly the night of fun was turning into a nightmare. Leg in cast, wedding ruined. Wife unaware of frolics and now I'm being branded a transvestite.

Later the two girls helped me out the ward and into the corridor. I swing my cast as if a bag of cement pressing my weight onto my crutch. It wasn't easy.

'We managed to get you a lift home in an ambulance. ' Clare says, 'It's not normal but we know the paramedic. He's easy to persuade and we said you'd show him your knickers and give him a kiss.' They laugh. I wasn't amused.

Sure enough as I hobble into A&E, the girls introduce me to the lecherous paramedic, Kirk who points me towards a waiting ambulance.

'Good-bye,' I say to the girls and twenty minutes later Kirk is guiding me like an elderly invalid up our drive.

My mind races ahead desperately. What was I to say to Lily? How can I explain my sexy dress, heels, lingerie and my leg and wrist in plaster?

Kirk rings the doorbell and like a flash of lighting slips his inquisitive hand up my skimpy skirt like a blast of wind. I feel his large fingers spread across my lace panties and he gives me a playful slap. Shocked I totter precariously on my crutch unable to escape, my poor leg swinging like a pendulum, my skirt flapping gently in the breeze.

'Stop it,' I cry as I try unsuccessfully try to steady myself on the rubber stopper on the bottom of my cast.

'Nice, sexy panties,' he growls with a dribble and is about to kiss me when the front door swings open saving me from an almost certain grope. Lilly stands agog. There is a brief moment while she struggles to recognise me.

'Oh my goodness,' Lily eventually cry's staring at me in disbelief. 'What happened to you last night and why are you wearing make-up, high heels, and that...amazing dress?' She smirks and shakes her head in disbelief, 'And what happened to your leg and wrist?'

I grin sheepishly as I hobble ungainly inside and Kirk ambles dejectedly back up the drive.

Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps Lily will be understanding. I'm wrong.

Our front door slams and the ambulance sped off.

Lily made me stand in the hall like a naughty boy outside a classroom as she waits for an explanation.

Her initial amusement quickly turns to anger as she learnt that I had a Hen party with old girlfriends and not a Stag party with my mates.

'Let me get this right.' She screams her eyes still focused on my cast peeking from under my skirt. 'You spent a night clubbing with your tarty girlfriends rather than drinking with the lads.'