Inadvertent Wish

Within a couple of minutes, I was wearing it. But Sandra had made it fit on me as a bondage garment. My arms were inside it with my hands pressed against my thighs inside the short legs.

"It was a nuisance," Sandra said. "As you can see it has closed bottom, without even any poppers on the gusset. To go to the toilet, I had to strip completely,"

She pulled up the front zip, stuffed panties back into the cups and adjusted the shoulder straps.

"But now you are bound in a single garment. You can't get at me; I can't get at you. But..."

She went back to the chest of drawers.

"I bought this in a sale. It was too large even for the large me but now..."

It was a voluminous Victorian style white cotton nightdress. When she put it on the folds spread around her.

"Now, we get into bed, and you disappear inside my nightie. You'll be my cross-dressed prisoner again but all we can do is sleep."

It took a lot of heaving and wriggling but eventually I was inside her nightdress with my mouth against Sandra's naked breasts. I was hidden inside yards of white cotton. Sandra hugged my head against her breasts as we went to sleep...

+++

I woke up in the morning when it was still dark. I was still held inside Sandra's nightdress. She moved until my mouth was partly full of a breast. As I stirred, Sandra's arm clamped around my head and forced her breast further in. I sucked. She moaned.

I thrashed my legs around inside the folds of her nightdress. I couldn't do anything because my arms were trapped in her corselette. I couldn't say anything because my mouth was stuffed with breast.

"I think my corselette was well worth what I paid for it," Sandra said. "One pull on the zip and Alan is my cross-dressed prisoner. Another pull and he can get himself free. Efficient."

I couldn't comment. My mouth was still stuffed with a breast.

"But now we need to get up to deal with the cows. Out you come and I'll pull that zip down."

She pulled the nightdress up until I was lying on the bed beside her.

"I'm going to the bathroom to get myself ready, Alan. Should I leave you trapped in my corselette? Perhaps not. That would be unfair. I'll pull the zip down and leave you to work out your own freedom."

Sandra stood up beside the bed. She reached over and pulled the front zip on the corselette open. She walked away. My hands were still trapped in the legs. It took me at least five minutes to get one hand out and a few seconds for the other. I pulled the corselette down and off. That was a relief. It had been pleasant to be bound by Sandra and inside her nightdress but a whole night was perhaps too long.

I tried to analyse how I felt about the cross-dressed bondage Saturday evening and last night. I had expressed a fleeting wish to find out what it would feel like. Sandra had made sure that my wish was fulfilled. Yesterday evening had been mind-blowing and a shattering sexual experience. Last night, trussed it her corselette, had been a gentler warm feeling that I was owned and possessed by Sandra. I had been bound and surrounded by her love and unable to escape from it. I didn't really want to. It was as if she had hugged me tight all night even if it was her control garment that was doing it. She, and it, had controlled me. I liked being controlled by someone who loved me.

+++

It took about half an hour to sort out the cows and was just becoming light as we had breakfast.

"Alan? You're here again next weekend?"

"Of course. You and I are going to my parents' anniversary party. It's in the village hall."

"And you're staying here?"

"Yes. My parents haven't got room."

My parents had owned a large four bedroomed house when I was a child. They had downsized to a three-bedroom bungalow and the difference had helped with the deposit on my London flat. But they didn't live in the bungalow yet. They were living in the small flat above their shop and the bungalow was rented out. When they finally retired, they would move into the bungalow but until then they didn't even have a spare bedroom. Before Sandra, I had slept on a settee in the small living room. Sandra's parents had a massive Victorian farmhouse with ten bedrooms, five living rooms and an enormous country kitchen.

"And after that I'm spending two weekends with you in London?"

"Yes, Sandra. We had arranged that."

"OK, Alan. I think I should have some spare clothes in your flat. You've got room?"

"You know I have. Plenty of room."

When I had been looking for somewhere to buy in London, I had thought my price limit meant a smaller flat in a location further from work. But the proceeds from my parents' old house had been far more than they expected, about twenty thousand above their asking price because of a bidding war between three potential buyers. With a much larger deposit available I had been able to buy an Edwardian ground floor flat that needed modernising which I could do mostly by myself.

I had four double bed-sized bedrooms, three living rooms and a large kitchen. I had parking off road for three cars, invaluable this close to Central London. My parents and other friends and relations often stayed with me if they wanted some time in London.

"OK, Alan. By next weekend I will have sorted out a suitcase you could take back to London because I'll travel by train. OK?"

"No problem. But we won't be able to do much next weekend."

"With my parents around? No, not unless we were engaged and had a wedding date set. It's still a bit soon for that, isn't it?"

Sandra was looking at me as if she expected a reply.

"Possibly, Sandra. Not for me. I've known you for ever. But I'm not sure you are ready for commitment after Greg. Are you?"

"You're possibly right, Alan. I love you but Greg made a real dent in my confidence."

She giggled.

"But perhaps binding a cross-dressed Alan will show me I have nothing to fear from you."

"I can't do anything to you when I am."

"And you only do what I want you to do when you're not restrained, Alan. You allow me to choose whatever I want. That's love."

Sandra kissed me.

"And now, I ought to run the washing machine for the things I used on you. I don't want my mother asking awkward questions. Once the machine is running, we have more farm tasks to do. My parents should be back this afternoon."

+++

By lunchtime the farmhands had told us to go away. They were doing quite well without amateur help. The wash load had gone through the tumble drier and was now folded on Sandra's bed.

"I think it will be TWO suitcases next weekend, Alan. One for my normal clothes; the other for bondage items to use on a cross-dressed you. But don't try them when I'm not around. You might get into a predicament you can't escape from. Wait for me. But..."

Sandra picked up the massive nightdress and the two silk scarves.

"You can get into this and gag and blindfold yourself with the scarves. If you do, you can 'dream' of me."

She laughed.

"I'll be dreaming of you as a cross-dressed bound victim ready for whatever I want to do to you."

+++

During the week from Sunday night until Thursday night I was gagged and blindfolded with Sandra's silk scarves and totally inside her Victorian night dress. My arms were inside because the short sleeves were too narrow to get my wrists through. Apart from washing and drying them she must have added some of her perfume. I was smelling Sandra through the scarves and on the nightdress. On Friday morning I put them into a washing machine load.

+++

The following weekend was pleasant. but nothing happened between us except some hugs and kisses. The wider families seemed to accept that Alan and Sandra were an item. We were both excited at the prospect of the next weekend in London. I took Sandra's two suitcases. She gave me two more silk scarves and a large black bin bag tied at the top. I was told NOT to open that until I was back in my flat.

On Sunday evening I waited until I was ready for bed before I opened the bin bag. There was an envelope with a note from Sandra immediately inside on top of a black satin bag tied with a drawstring. I opened the envelope.

"Dear Alan,

This is a petticoat bag. It dates back to my first year at college when I was part of a formation Old Tyme dancing team. I had been given the dress and petticoats by a final year student when she left. It matched the other seven members but even then, our dresses were dated. The next year we had new less puffy dresses. The dress and its petticoats were obsolete. I don't know why I kept the dress and petticoats, but I thought of you.

The petticoats are massive, splaying the dress to about six feet in diameter. Some layers are taffeta. The outer layers are stiff net, hundreds of metres of them. The inner lining is white silk with some lycra to make it stretchy. If you were to put your head and shoulders inside the inner layer and pull the rest down your body you might be inside my petticoats from your waist to the top of your head. You would be in the dark, surrounded by rustling taffeta and net, smelling my perfume.

Whatever you do, do not try to fasten the bag's drawstring. You might find yourself trapped, unable to get out until I arrive on Saturday.

See you then,

Love, Sandra."

Of course, I had to try the petticoats. I pulled the satin bag out of the plastic bin bag. As soon as I did, the black satin bag seemed to be blown up like a balloon. It was massive. I loosened the drawstring completely and felt inside until my hands were in the inner lining.

I pulled the petticoats over my head. It was a stretch to get the lining past my shoulders. It wanted to contract. As I pulled it down my chest, the lining was really holding me tight. I kept pulling. Sandra was wrong. It didn't stop at my waist. When my head reached the end of the bag the elasticated waist was clamped around my thighs.

The inner lining was much wider at what would be its lower end, presumably to allow the dancer to move. The lining might have been tight around the wearer's thighs, but I suspected from the depth to which I had gone, that the lining went up to just below the bust line. The extra width in the lining didn't help me. The masses of petticoats, held in the bag, meant that my head and face were tightly covered inside layer after layer of petticoats. I had to bring both hands up to make enough room for me to breathe. Unable to see, I shuffled to the edge of my bed and lay down. I was breathing Sandra's perfume but how long I could endure the restricted air passing through the layers around me? I wasn't sure.

I was drowning in Sandra's petticoats. She had warned me not to tighten the drawstring. She hadn't warned me that the petticoats by themselves would be so constricting.

For ten minutes, getting more desperate as my breathing became laboured, I tried to bring my arms down so I could escape from the petticoats. As soon as I moved my arms. my mouth and nose were squashed by petticoats, and I couldn't breathe, so I had to bring my hands back up. I tried rolling on the bed or sliding to try to get the waistband around my thighs to move up but none of that worked.

I relaxed, let my breathing go back to normal, and just enjoyed my captivity.

Even though I was in real danger of being trapped for hours or days, I found my captivity arousing. If Sandra's petticoats had captured me, it was as if Sandra had too, but she was sixty miles away.

I was in a reverie of arousal, feeling warm, caressed, tightly held and loved by Sandra, even though she wasn't here. I had to remind myself that I couldn't stay trapped in a petticoat bag for days or even hours. Somehow, I had to get myself out and soon.

Eventually I mentally slapped myself. If I used one hand to provide an airway to breathe and used the other hand to slide the petticoat off me? It was hard to keep an airspace with one hand, and even harder to slide the other hand and arm down inside the tight lining. After about five minutes of writhing and wriggling, I had a hand on the waistband.

It took me another five minutes to extricate myself from the petticoats and petticoat bag. I slumped back on the bed, shattered. I pushed the bag off the bed onto the floor.

As I lay there I thought. I had considered making my way to the kitchen to get a knife from the knife block to cut myself out, but until I had got a hand out, that would have been pointless. Once I had one hand free, escape was possible. Without that, I would have been trapped for how long? If I put my head in again, not so far next time, it would be in the tighter part of the lining and possibly my breathing would have been impossible. I decided NOT to try headfirst again until Sandra was with me to get me out if I was in distress.

It was a shame. I had enjoyed my captivity until I thought I was completely trapped and couldn't get out. I looked at the petticoat bag. Perhaps feet first?

I put my feet into the petticoat bag. I slid my legs inside until my feet were at the bottom of the bag. I stood up, gingerly, propped against the side of the bed and pulled at the lining's waistband and the bag's top. As I had thought, the waistband came all the way up to under my armpits.

I gagged myself with one of Sandra's silk scarves and completely hooded myself with the other. The hood was only one thickness of material so I could breathe fairly well, aroused by Sandra's perfume. The mass of petticoats around my legs meant they were lifted off the bed.

I eased my arms inside the inner lining of the petticoats. But, again, I had miscalculated. The petticoats dated back to Sandra's first year, long before Greg, when she had been slim. It was a real struggle to get my arms inside. As soon as I had, the waistband contracted around my neck and over the scarf hooding me. I had trapped myself in Sandra's petticoats again and still couldn't see.

This time wasn't life threatening. I could breathe through one layer of silk unlike dozens of layers of petticoats. I just stayed there thinking Sandra had tied me up again and enjoying the sensation. I thought that getting myself free would be easier than before when and if I decided I had had enough.

I was wrong. The tight lining was even more constricting than it had been when I was headfirst in the petticoat bag. It took me half an hour even to get a couple of fingers out and I was sweating profusely. Even with two fingers free it was another ten minutes before I could get the first arm out. I took the hood off, removed the gag, and then struggled to free my other arm.

Once out, now I had a problem. I had sweated so much when trapped in the petticoats that they should be washed. But how? I had no idea and there was no wash label. They had probably been hand made.

I would have to send an email to Sandra tomorrow night. I couldn't do it from work. My employers were very strict about using their computers for anything private or even using mobiles at work. My mobile was useless for contacting Sandra. Her parents' farm was in a valley that was a dead spot. Ringing their landline could be awkward too. It was in the hall of a very large house and people could take minutes to answer it.

I went back to bed inside Sandra's big nightdress. The petticoats could wait until tomorrow or even until Sandra came. I wasn't going to risk being trapped in them again without her around to rescue me.

As I went to sleep, I felt as if Sandra was hugging me. That was pleasant.

Sometime later I had a nightmare. I was back, headfirst, inside the petticoats and bag but this was different. Sandra was knotting the drawcord around my thighs. She straddled my chest and then her hands pressed the petticoats across my face. She was smothering me. My hands and arms were down beside me and trapped between her legs.

I moved my legs up and down to give the safe signal. To my horror Sandra's response was to press harder across my face.

"Too bad, Greg," she said. "You didn't take any notice of my safe signals so I'm ignoring yours. I'm drowning you in my petticoats until you pass out or die. Whichever you do, I'm going to walk away soon and leave you trapped inside with no hope of escape. Enjoy!"

I tried to protest that I wasn't Greg. I couldn't. As soon as I opened my mouth it was stuffed with layers of petticoat, pressed down by Sandra's hands.

I woke up in a sweat, relieved that it was only a nightmare. Eventually I went back to sleep.

The next morning, I wasn't sure if I was having a nightmare again. My head was inside Sandra's nightdress which was tight across my face. The folds of the nightdress had tangled around my legs tying them together. My hands and arms were also held by the nightdress. I rolled over a few times, and everything became loose except that I had to push my head out of the neckline. I hadn't known that my head would slip inside. There were three buttons closing the top of the bodice. Once done up, the nightdress collar was just snug around my neck. Somehow one or two buttons had come undone, and my wriggling had moved my head inside.

+++

After breakfast I put the nightdress in the washing machine set to come on in the afternoon. When I came home, I would put it in the tumble drier.

+++

That evening I wrote a long email to Sandra. I described being trapped in her petticoats, first headfirst and then feet first, and my nightmare. I asked how the petticoats should be washed because they were too large for my washing machine.

She replied within the hour.

She was amused by my experiences of being trapped but said:

"I should have remembered that the petticoats and dress dated back to when I was slim. I could wear them now. I'm not surprised they were tight around you. As for the nightmare? At the time, if I had trapped Greg like that, I might have tried to smother him, but not now. He's not worth the effort. Don't use the petticoats again until I come. Washing? My parents' washing machine is just about large enough, but I suggest you take them to a laundrette. Their machines should cope. There's one near you."

+++

The next morning on the way to work I took the bagged petticoats to the laundrette. I said they were my girlfriend's. They weren't bothered. They would be ready if I dropped in on the way back from work. They were, not only washed but starched and ironed. The cost was reasonable. Back in my flat I hung the bag up in a wardrobe and would leave them there until Sandra came on Saturday.

+++

The rest of the week was quiet. Each night I slept in Sandra's nightdress, but I really wanted Sandra herself.

+++

On Saturday Sandra arrived by taxi at my flat at about ten am. She wanted to do the touristy thing. We went to the Victoria and Albert Museum, had lunch there and went across the road to the Science Museum. We had our evening meal in a Chinese restaurant in Soho, arriving back at my flat about 10 pm. Tomorrow we would go to the Tower of London and perhaps Tower Bridge.

We had half a bottle of sparkling wine sitting in front of an open fire.

"Alan? Will you bring my black suitcase? That's the one with clothes for dressing you up."

"No dressing up for Sandra? I'd like some revenge."

"Maybe. Most of it is clothes from when I was fat. I ditched the jeans and slacks. I had thought I might adjust the other things, but I have neither the skills, nor time to acquire the dressmaking skills."

The first item out of the suitcase was Sandra's ballroom dress. I persuaded her to show me what it looked like.

The washed, starched, and ironed petticoats were far larger than when I had got them out of the bin bag. The inner lining went up to Sandra's bust line. The dress, of salmon pink satin, was strapless and fitted the slim Sandra like a second skin. Above the waist, Sandra looked spectacular. The moulded cups made her breasts look larger. Below the waist her dress and petticoats seemed impossibly wide as if she was wearing a giant puffball, or a pink meringue.