Snow on Marcellus

Marcellus Tvaris was a tailor. He was the very best of tailors. He could fit a dinner jacket with such precision, he fit his dresses with such delicacy, that he was able to keep his shop open in a suburb on the west side of Detroit for twenty five years. He had an exacting and accurate eye for detail. He would take notice of the particular way a man's waistline might bulge, of all a client's proportions, of how a man walks in his pants and use this information in his tailoring. He took special notice of some of the female clients he had. Some had near perfect proportions. He noticed how they walked. He noticed the curvatures of their thighs, their spines. He measured them almost maniacally, breathing heavily and brushing aside what little hair he had left.

Mr. Marcellus Tvaris was in his early fifties. He was relatively short for a man. He was very near bald save for a strand of hair that circled about his head. He had a well defined pot belly from eating seconds at dinner every night but still had muscular shoulders and thick forearms. He wore slacks and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. That's how a tailor should dress, he thought. Marcellus spent twenty five years building up a reputable business. Working hard. Charging honest prices. Putting in the best work he could. But Marcellus had an underground business as well. For some of his wealthier clients he worked as a designer. He designed custom corsets and occasionally formal skirts to match them. He designed the new Mrs. Buckingham's wedding dress, though she had to promise not to tell where she'd gotten it.

Marcellus reveled in his corset making. He loved the idea of these women willfully walking into the restraints of corsetry for him. He enjoyed listening to them talk about what kind of fabric they were looking for, what they wanted done with their waists, their breasts, what they wanted the overall effect to be. He enjoyed measuring them, around the waist, from nipple to navel, from navel to groin. He most enjoyed presenting them with the final product, lacing them in, pulling them tight as they grasped a column in the fitting room, gasping for air, eyeing their own reflections.

Marcellus so enjoyed his corset making that he began to make a few corsets on the side, his own designs. These corsets were more extravagant than the ladies of his suburb could rationalize. They didn't sell. They became part of Marcellus's private collection. One was made entirely of layers of purple crinoline. Save for the strategically placed boning it was quite see through. One had the boning extended quite a ways down from the bottom. Marcellus was able to twist the boning in its black casing using pliers into spirals and sew red silk gauze across all of it along the bottom. Yet another, a dull pink leather corset with brown trim was sewn with pockets, a belt and buttons down the front to look like a sleeveless jacket.

Marcellus lived a simple life. His alarm rang at six in the morning. He showered, shaved his entire rounded face, coiffed his hair carefully, meticulously with disdain and a tinge of shame, trying to cover up every inch of scalp with what little hair he had left. Finally he sat down for breakfast. He lived alone above his shop. He ate eggs and bacon. A hearty meal for a hard day's work, he thought. He worked from eight until eight at his shop and usually made a dinner of meat and potatoes.

He did his tailoring in the back room of his shop. A bell rang in the back room when the front door opened. It was in this manner that Marcellus was able to work on clients' orders and sneak away time to work on his private collection of corsets. The bell rang. Mr. Tvaris straightened his hair and walked out front, self assuredly with his right hand sticking out far too soon.

"Mr. Buckingham! It's wonderful to see you. What can I do for you today?" Marcellus asked.

"How are you, Mr. Tvaris? I wanted to thank you," said Mr. Buckingham.

"Thank me. Whatever for?"

"My wife made me swear not to tell. But she told me her wedding dress was made by you. She looked stunning. You are a real talent. You should market your design skills. Really. I think more women would like to look like that," urged Mr. Buckingham.

"Oh that's just the fun stuff. I save that for my most discriminating clients," flattered Mr. Tvaris. Really he secretly found corset making seedy, repugnant, disreputable. Not at all like tailoring suits or hemming dresses.

"Well she felt very special, very beautiful. She was glowing all over that day. I'd like to say it was because of me, but I think the dress had something to do with it." said Mr. Buckingham. Very restricted, thought Mr. Tvaris. He had made a white overbust corset a size too small so one could see the lacing up the back. Mr. Tvaris had fashioned a voluptuous skirt, floor length in the front and with a train in the back. He continued the lacing of the corset all the way down the back of the skirt to accentuate Mrs. Buckingham's hourglass figure. The lacing stopped just at the back of her knees, folds of raw silk bursting from beneath the restraints of the lacing. The fabric fluttered as she walked as a result of this effect and gave her the appearance of floating.

"I'm glad she enjoyed the dress. Now what is it I can do for you, dear Sir?" asked Mr. Tvaris.

"Well. I bought the spectacular slacks that fit perfectly in the waist but are too long. Do you think you could..."

"Consider it done. I have your measurements on file. Your waistline hasn't grown in the last month, Mr. Buckingham?" asked Mr. Tvaris looking at Mr. Buckingham over the rims of his reading glasses. Mr. Buckingham laughed.

"No, it hasn't. Still trim."

"Good. Your measurements should still apply. I'll have these ready for you in two days," said Mr. Tvaris.

"You're the best tailor, Mr. Tvaris. Thank you. I'll pay at pick up?"

"As always."

"Thanks then," said Mr. Buckingham on his way out. "See you Wednesday. What time is a good time?"

"They'll be ready in the morning," said Mr. Tvaris. "See you then." And Marcellus took the two pairs of slacks into the back room. He set aside his current corset and got to work on the slacks. They took him a very short while. Two days was an overstatement. The fact was that after twenty five years of steady business, business was now slow. Sure, Marcellus had his usual clients, the usual men and women who needed things altered regularly. But there was little walk in business. Marcellus wracked his brain about how to get more walk in business. Maybe business from the city. Maybe he should advertise. Maybe that was too ostentatious. Advertising. He had always relied on good word from his clients to get around. But it seemed, in these rough economic times, that wasn't enough, though it used to be.

As Marcellus was removing the cuffs from Mr. Buckingham's pants the door rang again. It was a busy day, he thought. When he walked up front the nearly stopped dead in his tracks. There stood a beautiful freakish creature. She had soft locks in her hair which were died a purplish black. Her skin was very fair, almost white. She wore high heeled boots and hip hugger leather pants. She wore layers of multicolored mesh tops of varying sleeve lengths. Her makeup was elaborate. Her skin, powdered. Her eyes covered in black shadow with an accent of red at the tips. She wore red lipstick with purple liner and no rouge. She was just closing her black umbrella from the rain as Marcellus walked in from the back room. She was fussing with it. She was colorful. She was outrageous. She was dressed in a way most of the women in this town would not be able to rationalize. She was like a living, breathing personification of one of Marcellus's own personal corsets. She had long shapely legs, full breasts, and an already corseted waist. He could see that through her mesh tops. The strings of her corset hung beneath her tops onto her rear. They tapped her rear as she walked. She was holding a garment bag under her arm and having significant trouble juggling it with the umbrella.

Marcellus was also appalled by this new customer. She was a scallywag. A low life. He didn't want another customer to walk in and see them together. The Great Mr. Tvaris and this sordid character. He wanted to get her out of his store as soon as possible. He'd tell her he didn't work with her fabric. He'd tell her he didn't accept her form of payment.

"I'm sorry. We're swamped," he said, noting the garment bag. "I wouldn't be able to get to whatever you have for a month."

"That's okay," she said in a high pitched voice. "I live in Ferndale and I've tried all the tailors in town and none of them can do this for me. Or want to. But you have such high reviews online and-"

"Wait a minute. I'm reviewed on the internet?" Marcellus didn't own a computer. The girl giggled.

"Yes. Very highly. And I was hoping you'd take a look at a costume dress of mine. I've recently lost weight and it doesn't fit quite right anymore." Marcellus sighed.

"Okay, let's have a look."

"I warn you. This dress is a bit eccentric," said the girl.

"My girl," said Marcellus, thinking of his private stash of corsets, "You don't even know what eccentric is."

"Well, okay. You're all right, old man," said the girl as they walked back to the second room of the shop. The second room was a small octagonal shaped fitting room lined in mirrors save for one wall which served as a doorway into the third room, the back room, where Marcellus did all his work. Marcellus showed her into the fitting room and instructed her to put on the costume so he could pin it. He disappeared into the back room and moments later shouted.

"Let me know when you're ready."

"I'm ready now," the girl shouted back. When Marcellus returned he was stunned. The girl looked magnificent. Her dress was of tight satin material. It had a high collar and a neckline so low it went down to her stomach. It was tight across the hips but loosened severely around the knees. It was too big for her. This was going to take careful precision for the dress to fit just right. Marcellus could feel himself rising to the challenge. The heightened collar framed her face. It was just like the panache Marcellus added to his corsets. No, this girl wouldn't have to wait a month.

"Might I ask your name," Marcellus said as he was pinning the girl's hem.

"Snow. And yours?" she asked

"Marcellus Tvaris, at your service," he said feigning a slight bow. Snow put one hand over her mouth and giggled. "You know. This is a lovely dress. But it would look even finer with a corset over it. I have just the one. Would you like to try it on?"

"Oh no. I can't afford a corset. It's best I don't even try it on," she said.

"No you could just borrow it. For this special event you're going to. I'm never going to sell it in this town. The neckline matches your dress perfectly." Marcellus was being pushy. Marcellus was being pushy because he found himself drawn to her. He wanted the experience of binding her into a corset. He wanted to put the purple crinoline corset to use. She agreed. He wrapped it around her tiny body and began laboriously lacing it into place as she held it up with both hands in front, over her breasts. Marcellus began to loose his breath. He began to break into a sweat.

When he was done he asked her, "What do you think?" She ran her fingers along the front and sides of the corset. She ran her hands down the back of her dress and examined herself from the side. The necklines matched up perfectly. The corset pressed her breasts upwards and outwards. She looked like a caricature of herself. A sexy caricature.

"I'll take it," she said. Marcellus looked at her quizzically. "I'll take the corset. How much?"

"Well it hasn't been for sale. I haven't set a price," Marcellus stuttered. "Twelve hundred," he finally said.

"Sold." And Snow left Marcellus with her information and left his shop for the first time. Marcellus finished Mr. Buckingham's pants hurriedly and got to work on the dress. With every inch he took in it was as if he was caressing Snow's curves. The fabric was fine. It slid between his fingers as he ran it through the sewing machine. He imagined it was Snow's skin. He'd felt it as he'd measured her. It was terribly soft. Like satin.

Over the course of the next week, Marcellus Tvaris got to know each and every part of Snow's body through her dress. He showered and shaved especially fastidiously before work. He combed his hairs ever so delicately. He prepared his meals particularly precisely. There was a kick in his step. One day, he fell in love with the curvature of Snow's thighs and hips, sewing them at a bias. On another day he was captivated by the protrusions of her breasts. Each day taking scheduled breaks to eat. Each day meeting walk in customers with a bit of annoyance at having torn him away from his task of the week. Normally such an alteration would take a day, but with her, with Snow, he wanted to get it perfect. Finally, he was done. He called Snow. She was to come in tomorrow.

And she did. She wore a black dress with flared sleeves with torn hems. The bottom of the very short dress had torn hems. Marcellus shuddered and then had an idea for a corset. "Ah. Miss Snow! How lovely to see you!" he said. Snow giggled again. Marcellus found this giggling intoxicating. He led her into the middle room by her fingers. He had a bottle of champagne there, already opened. "I'm celebrating! Would you like to celebrate with me?"

"I dunno. It's only 3:30 in the afternoon," Snow said.

"It's a business celebration. There's no time limit on that," Marcellus said. He got her a glass and filled it with champagne. Snow took the glass from him. She was wearing that frayed mini dress and knee high chunky boots.

"And what exactly are we celebrating?" she asked.

"New target populations," said Marcellus.

"And what target population might that be?" Snow asked.

"Your population," said Marcellus shaking his head in Snow's face. "Come with me here," he said, leading her into the back room. Snow followed. She saw on display, corset after corset, each unique, each completely different from the last, each with its own personality. Snow let out a, "Wow." Marcellus looked at her awestruck face and smiled.

"I think you do have a new target population. I could help you get a website together. These are amazing," said Snow. The ends of the laces of her corset hung just below the frayed ends of her dress. Marcellus was overwhelmed with an urge to grab her by that knot he knew would be at her back and push her towards the wall by it. Face down. He did. Snow giggled, her hands up on the wall. He pulled an extra length of corset tie from a table nearby and tied her wrists. He just had to tie her wrists. That stopped her from giggling. He pulled her aside and bent her over a table, spreading her booted legs apart, feeling up her dress. All the while Snow was obedient. Snow must have liked something about Marcellus. Maybe his exacting mannerisms. Maybe his good manners. Maybe his generosity, he thought. She wanted to mess his silly hair. She wanted to run her hands along his pot belly. She wanted to bury her face in his chest hair. But she had her back to him and had her wrists bound. She could feel the buttons of his shirt on her ass.

"Are you okay with this?" he asked. Snow nodded and smiled back at him. He pulled her dress up over her waist. He ran his fingers along her slit, letting them stray inwards as he passed that point. Snow let out a small exhale. Marcellus carefully arched Snow's back with his hands. He positioned her. He arched it severely. Marcellus squatted down to observe Snow, to look at her in the most private of places. Both her inner and outer labia were small, her inner labia being a light pink on the outside, and a brilliant pink on the inside. She had no hair and no stubble. She must have waxed. He carefully placed each labia in the open position. He then licked those insides hungrily, but without messing their positioning. Snow let out a breath and slouched her back one bit. Marcellus immediately slapped her ass and then was taken aback by this, by his own actions.

"Oh my! You'll have to forgive me," he said. "I don't know where my manners are."

Snow turned her head around and said, "It's okay. I deserved it."

"No you didn't. You were merely having a pleasure response," he said.

"One I should have restrained," she said, "if I were going to be a good girl."

"I think you were doing just fine," said Marcellus trying to ignore his persistent hard on.

"But I was a bad girl," she said, leaning into him, with her upper body turned around now.

"No. No you weren't."

"I was a very bad girl. Admit it. You liked it. I was bad." Snow turned around again and rubbed her ass into Marcellus's groin. He cannot explain it but he slapped her ass again, and Snow moaned out in pleasure. He slapped her ass again, and Snow yelped out in pain, but urged him to go on. He slapped her over again and over again, until her ass was nearly purple, until he could sense she'd had enough. Any customer could have walked in and Snow and Marcellus wouldn't have heard the chime over the slapping, but the customer would have heard the slapping. Then Marcellus squatted back down and made sure both inner labia were open, exactingly and stood up and pressed his cock against her pussy. He ran his hands along the outsides of her ass, the parts he hadn't spanked. Her skin was fair. It was like porcelain. But unlike porcelain, it gave to his touch and all he wanted to do was touch her, watch her skin give way to him, look at the contrast between her slapped rear and that which was not slapped, gaze upon her perfectly open labia. He wanted to see her, feel her, and these sensations were overpowering, overwhelming to the point that Marcellus came all over Snow's ass without entering her. He could feel the excitement building in him as he touched her and felt her. He felt the weight get heavier in his cock and balls and he came.

"Oh, my. Oh my! Let me get that for you." and Marcellus scrambled for a towel. He found one and wiped Snow clean. Snow straightened herself out while watching Marcellus. She walked right past him, while watching Marcellus. And she walked out the door, grabbing her dress and her corset with her, smoothly leaving a cash payment behind. It was in this manner that Snow walked out Marcellus's door for the second time.

For the next week Marcellus thought about whether to call her or not. At times he thought he mustn't, not after what he'd done to her. And then, there were times when he thought he must, after what he had done to her. He finally decided not to call her. He thought she would initiate contact if she wanted to see him. But three weeks passed, and he hadn't heard from her. He missed her, so he called. She forced him to do it. To call. Her voice sounded excited. His sounded apologetic. He invited her back. He told her he'd have something very nice for her, that he was sorry for the way he'd treated her. She bashfully accepted the invitation. They were to meet at Marcellus's place, two weeks from then.

Marcellus went into a fury designing a dress. It had to be perfect. It had to drape across her body and caress her curves just as Marcellus wanted to do. It had to confine her and restrain her severely, just as Marcellus wanted to do. He had already forgotten why he had been apologizing to Snow in the first place. All he wanted was to tie her up. He couldn't explain why, but that was his only urge. He just kept thinking about her bound wrists in his back room. He worked on nothing but the dress for two weeks. It was made of a silk satin that was a burgundy wine color that shone black. The skirt was basically cut on a bias but had this multiple fold train in the back. The waist was cinched by a corset made of the same fabric and laced with black satin. The corset was an underbust, but it had a full back and straps that came over to the front and pressed the breasts inward. A loose twisted amount of fabric draped across the top front, covering the bust. The boning of the corset was encased in thin, soft, fine black leather. From the back, from the spine of the corset were affixed two massive butterfly wings in an intricate network of boning, silk satin, and black leather. Light shone through the silk satin pieces.