Femdom Clothing Ch. 01: Jumble Sale

Copyright Oggbashan March 2010/September 2019

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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Our newly-formed amateur drama group had no money for costumes. We had asked our friends and acquaintances. Our local Church had offered us the leftover clothing from their next jumble sale. The drama group's committee had agreed because they knew that the Church's volunteers selected the clothing, discarded the rubbish and washed all of the items put in the sale.

At our next meeting the committee asked for volunteers to collect the clothing on Saturday afternoon. When Margaret wrote her name on the list of volunteers I waited until a few others had signed before adding my name. I didn't want to be too obvious.

I was surprised when she approached me after the meeting. Surprised but delighted. I liked what I knew about Margaret. I enjoyed watching her particularly when she dressed for a period drama with large dramatic dresses or skirts that suited her large frame. I would like to know more and perhaps ask for a date but I was reluctant. Her relationship with Dave had only recently ended in tears.

"Alan?"

"Yes, Margaret."

"Why did you volunteer?"

I thought fast.

"To help the group."

"Is that all?"

"Well..."

"Did you volunteer because I had?"

"Er... Yes."

I'd said it now. She might slap my face or...

She kissed me. We are almost the same height, or she might be an inch taller and certainly taller when wearing heels, as she was.

"Thank you, Alan. It is nice to know that someone fancies this 'fat cow'."

"Dave's words?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then he is blind or stupid."

Margaret kissed me again, properly this time. My arms flapped helplessly as her hands closed around my head and tilted it back. Then I got the message. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close while I returned her kiss. When we parted she threaded her arm through mine as we walked to the car park.

"Alan, do you realise that we are likely to be the only ones there?"

"Why? There are at least half-a-dozen names on that list."

"There are, but most of them sign up for work and never turn up. You must have noticed that you, I and a couple of others do all the work. You know that the Chairman, Secretary and Treasurer will be at a Drama Festival watching how others do it. With them away the others are unlikely to come."

"Well... perhaps I hadn't thought that far."

"Perhaps you were only looking at me?"

"Perhaps I was."

"Even when Dave and I were an item?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I thought you were happy with Dave. You seemed to be."

"I thought I was. I didn't realise Dave was married."

"He isn't!"

"He is. He has three children and goes back to his wife each weekend. He told me he was visiting his parents. He was only here on a contract that ended two weeks ago. So he dumped me. He told me he was married, had had his fun with me, and was off to pastures new."

"That's despicable."

"It is. I may have spoilt his next affair. I found his home address on a bill he left behind and I wrote to his wife. She rang me a week ago. She hadn't known what Dave, who is actually called Derek, had been doing and is furious with him, not me. Sheila knows someone here, I don't know who, but that someone told her that Dave hadn't told anyone he was married."

"I think that would have been me."

"YOU!"

"Yes, Margaret, me. Sheila rang me. She was at school with my elder sister, Joanne. She was a family friend as well. When she asked me about Dave, I told her all I knew. I didn't know that 'Dave' was her husband. As far as I knew she'd married a Derek. She had. He used the name 'Dave' while he was here. Since his surname is Smith he had kept it. Sheila didn't react when I told her about Dave and you, even when I said he'd dumped you.

I thought she was making a casual enquiry about someone she knew. She didn't give the impression of a wronged wife. The rest of the phone call was catching up on family news. I've met her and her children at my sister's but I'd never met her husband Derek. He was always away on business. Joanne would have known him straight away because she was one of Sheila's bridesmaids. I didn't go to the wedding because I was in my last term at University. Had I been at home I would have. In my second year vacation I'd had a crush on Sheila. For a slightly older woman she treated my infatuation very sympathetically, letting me down gently, and leaving me aware, looking back, that she had been very kind to me."

"How old is she? And Derek?"

"I'd have to work it out. My sister Joanne is six years older than I am. Sheila was the same class as her when they were at school but I think she is six months older. Joanne is thirty-four and her birthday is a couple of months away - so Sheila must be thirty-five. Derek, whom you knew as Dave, was a couple of years older than Sheila so he'd be thirty-seven or eight."

We had reached the car park.

"Thank you, Alan," Margaret said.

"For what?"

"For wanting me, for telling Sheila about 'Dave' and just for being you."

She kissed me again. This was getting to be a habit. I kissed back and kept hold of her.

"Margaret?"

"Yes, Alan." She was smiling at me.

"Do we have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to see each other again?"

"No."

"Would you go out with me? Now?"

"Certainly. Where do want to go?"

I said "Where?" as she did. We laughed.

"Not far, Alan."

"How far?"

"Would the back seat of your car do?"

"Yes."

I had my car open as fast as I could. We climbed in. Margaret sat on my lap. She kissed me hard.

"I need to take some precautions," she announced as we paused for breath.

"Precautions?" I was puzzled. I hadn't expected to go so far that precautions were necessary. I wasn't prepared. I hadn't been with a woman for months.

"I don't want you to go too far."

"I won't, Margaret."

"I'm still not sure about trusting any man's word. Not after Dave/Derek."

"I can understand your reluctance after him. There's nothing I can say because all I can offer are words."

"You can give me your hands," Margaret said.

"My hands?"

"Yes. If you can't use your hands I'll feel reasonably safe."

"OK."

"OK? Just like that?"

"I trust you, Margaret, even if you don't trust me."

She kissed me again.

"Turn round, with your hands behind your back. No. Stop. Take your jacket and shirt off first."

That was a struggle. The back seat of my car isn't spacious. Once I had bared my chest she took my hands behind my back. She tied my wrists together with a stocking she had taken from her handbag.

"Don't worry. I laddered it earlier today. You can't damage it."

"That isn't my worry."

"Afraid that I might do something to you?"

"I AM helpless."

"So you are."

Margaret took her jacket off, revealing a silk wrap-over blouse with a black bra outlined underneath.

"I'm going to give you a sample, Alan. We haven't got long because I have to get up early tomorrow morning. So..."

She unfastened the side ties of her wrap-over blouse. I looked straight at her cleavage. She certainly isn't a fat cow but her breasts are heavy in proportion to the rest of her. I only regretted the lack of light in the car park. I could see but not well. She solved that for me. She pulled my head on to her breasts. I couldn't see at all as she squashed her bra covered breasts over my face.

"Mmm!" I said.

"Mmm?" Margaret asked. "Is that all you can say?"

I pulled my head back slightly.

"It's all your breasts let me say..."

She smothered me again. Her warm skin had a gentle perfume that was delicious. She wriggled so that she bent my head back and under her breasts. She retied her wrap-over blouse with me inside. I was short of breath. Her smothering was part of the cause. Excitement did the rest.

Her arms held me close. Her head dropped on top of mine. Margaret had wrapped herself around me.

After a few minutes of cuddling she relaxed her hold, unfastened her blouse again and sat back. She fixed her clothing.

"That's all tonight, Alan. Enjoy it?"

"Yes. Thank you."

She kissed me as if her mind was on other things.

"I'll leave you now, Alan. See you after the jumble sale."

She started to get out of the car.

"Margaret!" I protested.

"What?"

"You can't leave me tied up."

"Can't I? No, I suppose I can't if I'm going to see you tomorrow."

She loosened the stocking around my wrists.

"You should be able to do the rest. See you."

She was gone. Even though she had loosened the stocking it was another five minutes before I could free myself. She had driven off. I dressed and drove home, thinking hard. Why had she tied me up? Surely she knew I wouldn't go too far?

In bed that night I slept with her stocking on my pillow. It still carried her faint scent. I pressed it against my face when I woke up. The perfume was fading but it was a tangible reminder that last night had actually happened.

After breakfast I tidied my small house and cleaned it thoroughly. It wasn't messy or dirty but I made the effort to put away the few inessential items that caused a little clutter. I showered and changed before going to the Church Hall. Margaret had been right. There were just the two of us. We went into the hall and were surprised to see that everything had been cleared away.

"There you are," said one of the helpers. "We were hoping you would be on time. There's another group due in half an hour. Do you need help loading?"

"Loading?" I asked.

"Yes. Loading. Didn't your Chairman tell you? We have packed all the clothes that were left over. You take them away. What you do with them then is up to you. Do you need help?"

"How much is there?" asked Margaret.

"About twenty-five black bin bags full. We were disappointed that we didn't sell much clothing. We made enough, more than enough, on books, bric-a-brac and other things but I'm pleased that at least some of the clothing will be used. Don't worry. All the clothes are clean. Our volunteers washed everything before we put it in the jumble sale."

I looked at Margaret aghast. How would we shift twenty-five bags?

"We need both cars," she said. "Yours is outside. If we are helped we might get it all in both cars. I'll be back in five minutes."

While Margaret was collecting her car, Mary, the organiser of the jumble sale, pointed out a small heap of black sacks that had been kept separate.

"Alan, we couldn't put those out at the jumble sale."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?" Mary continued. "They are all ladies nightwear but not intended for sleeping in..."

I got the message.

"I suppose we might be able to use the material?"

"Yes, you probably could. There's lots of material in every piece."

I was intrigued but I had so many other bags. Each bag was carefully labelled with the type of clothing. The bags Mary had pointed out were all labelled "Do not display" and numbered "one of six" etc.

Before she returned I had stuffed my car full of bags. I could just about see to drive. When Margaret drove up we filled her car. We had collected and loaded twenty five black sacks into our cars, completely filling them except for the driving seats. I tied the six "Do Not Display" bags to my roof rack. They would survive the short journey to my house.

The volunteers retreated back into the hall with our thanks.

"What do we do now, Margaret? We can't contact anybody. The club doesn't have a store yet. What do we do with all this?"

"Take it home."

"Home? You have a studio flat."

"You have more space, Alan."

"But..."

"We need to sort it. Most of this will be useless. If we can sort out the unusable items they can go in the clothes recycling today or tomorrow. The committee will be back on Monday. If we have got this lot down to five bags then they might be able to find a home for them."

"That will take a long time, Margaret."

"It will. Not what I hoped for this weekend, but at least we'll be working together most of the time."

"OK."

I didn't really mean it. I didn't want my clean and tidy house filled with twenty-five black sacks but I couldn't see any other option.

At my house I unloaded my roof rack first. I piled the six "Do not display" bags on the landing. I would put them in the loft to examine when we had time.

When Margaret and I unloaded the other bags into my house, we found that all the bags were carefully labelled with their contents - 'men's suits' etc. When we had unloaded most of the bags from her car I noticed that the next bag was labelled 'children's'.

"Hold it," I said. "This bag is no use to us. It can go straight to recycling."

Margaret backed out of her car holding two bags.

"Why?"

"These are children's clothes. I can't see we would use them. Can you?"

"No. We might if we have a pantomime but then the kids are likely to be dancers and have their own costumes."

"Exactly. So any bags marked 'Children' can be dumped now."

Margaret looked at the bags in her hands.

"These are children's too."

She dropped them on the pavement and reached in her car for two more bags.

"So are these."

"And these," I said pulling the last two bags out.

"Why don't you make some coffee while I take these to the recycling bin?" She said.

"I'll just check that we haven't already taken some children's clothes inside."

"OK." Margaret stuffed the five bags back into her car as I checked the heap we had already unloaded. I found three more bags and took them out to her.

"That's all the children's bags from your car. There may be some in mine but they can wait. Eight bags gone out of twenty-five is a good start."

I had forgotten the six bags on the landing.

"It is. Make sure that coffee's ready, Alan. I'll be about ten minutes."

Margaret drove off. I made the coffee and started unloading my car. It was a good half hour before Margaret returned.

"I forgot it was Saturday. Everyone was unloading recycling. The queue was enormous."

"Never mind. The coffee's ready and my car is empty."

"Good."

We went inside. We had to sit on stools in the kitchen because we had cluttered my living/dining room with black sacks. Margaret sighed as she sat down.

"I hadn't expected so much work. I want to help the group but I thought we'd have time for each other as well."

"We will have, Margaret. We have got rid of nearly a third of the pile already. We can be ruthless. No one in the group knows how much we collected. The committee won't want a massive pile of clothes. They will have a problem storing anything until they have found a building to rent. They have been looking for months already."

"So how will we do it, Alan? Any ideas?"

"I think we sort the bags as they are labelled and start with the men's clothing. Much of that will be useless. Men don't throw clothes away until they are worn out. If we need men in suits for a play - the men have suits. We are unlikely to find anything suitable for period drama except perhaps any leather items. So we should reduce the heap quickly. Men's underwear, if any, can be thrown straight away."

"Women's underwear?"

"Depends. We might need some bedroom scenes. Panties and bras could go. Ditto pantyhose. Nightwear could be used or the material made into something else..."

"Not if it's skimpy, Alan."

"Perhaps not. But a nylon Baby Doll set would be very Sixties."

"I'm not wearing anything like that on stage!"

"You probably wouldn't have to. Be a great prop for a Whitehall farce though. Just the thing for a man to find in his briefcase."

"A sexy bra would do for that."

"Maybe. We don't know what we've got. Ready to start?"

"Yes."

As I thought, we sorted the men's clothing easily. We kept a couple of 1950s suits and a few ties that were obviously period but we bagged the rest of the men's clothes and dumped them in my car. There had been only four bags but even so we had now reduced the original twenty-five to thirteen.

We looked at the labels. Two bags were labelled 'women's coats'. We opened the first. It was short outdoor jackets or well worn raincoats. We kept two shiny and colourful PVC macs. We stuffed the rest back into the bag.

Margaret opened the second bag and produced a very long white padded coat with fur-trimmed hood that filled most of the bag.

"This is nice," She said. I wonder why no one bought it."

She looked inside for the label. Her face fell. She held it up. It was huge and long.

"It's too large for me, and for a very tall woman. It might fit you."

"Me? You're taller than me."

"You. Try it on."

"It's a woman's coat."

"So? We are a drama group. If you try it on I can look for any flaws. Go on."

I shrugged my shoulders but stood up. Margaret helped me into the coat. It fell to my feet and splayed out on the floor. My hands couldn't reach the end of the sleeves. It swamped me. She threaded the base of the zip together and pulled it up. As the zip rose the first slider closed the coat and the second slider opened it again.

"It's a two way zip, Margaret," I said.

"I know that now!" she snapped, pulling the lower slider back down.

"I was only trying to help."

She hauled the upper slider right up. The padded collar turned up over my chin and mouth.

"Hey!" I spluttered.

Margaret flipped the hood up over my head. She stood back.

"Turn round, please."

I turned. Her hands came round me and re-threaded the padded belt through its loops. I flapped the sleeves and accidentally caught her face.

"Stop that!" she snorted.

"Sorry. I'm lost in this."

"So you are. Hold still."

There were cords with positive lock sliders on the cuffs. She tightened them as far as they would go. She nearly trapped the tips of my fingers before I pulled my hands up the sleeves. She pushed my arms by my sides, threaded the belt through the cuff loops, pushed my arms to my sides and tightened the belt around them.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Exploring the possibilities."

She dropped to my feet, lifted the hem of the coat to my ankles and heaved on the draw cord. Why should there be a draw cord on the hem? I didn't know but now she had tied my ankles together. Margaret pulled down the padded collar and kissed me.

"What was that for?" I asked.

"A farewell kiss before..."

She pushed the padded collar over my mouth and pulled the draw cord on the hood. It tightened around my head until she pulled it forward. As she continued to drag on the cord the hood's opening contracted, forcing the padded collar against my mouth and into my mouth as I tried to speak. When she had finished I could just see out of a small circle of fur.

"There!" she announced. "I'm done... and so are you. Can you get out?"

I struggled. I couldn't move my arms. I couldn't get my fingers out past the corded wrists. I couldn't even speak. Each time I tried to, the collar filled my mouth. I shook my head and the opening moved. Now she had blindfolded me as well. She guided me across the room and lowered me to my settee.

She lifted my feet up to the armrest, removed my shoes, loosened the lower draw card then pulled at the coat. The coat covered my feet before she tightened the cord again bagging my legs inside.

Margaret moved the hood so that I could just see out. Her face moved away. The next thing I saw was a bare nipple descending on the opening and her breast cut off the light. She loosened the hood slightly and her bare breast covered my nose and eyes. Her hands pulled my hooded head tight against her breast, cutting off almost any air except for that I could get into my mouth around the padded collar. She withdrew her breast and tightened the hood again, plunging me back into darkness.