Just Look at Me Now Ch. 05

Needless to say I had plenty to ponder on my drive home that day, and in the three weeks before I returned to the apartment, which brings us to...

ACT TWO: THE HALLOWEEN PARTY

"Welcome! I'm Nicole—I'm helping out Jude and Becky tonight. [Curtsy.] Let me take your coat. Love your costume! There's wine and beer in the kitchen, or I can bring you a martini or cosmo."

This was the rough script I was to follow as I met guests at the door, so all twenty-three of them got a very good look at me the moment they arrived. And what was I wearing? My French maid's uniform, rented as a costume but, considering my duties for the evening, simply the proper attire. It was the traditional black and white dress, very short, with a lacy apron. I wore fishnet stockings, held up by a garter belt, and black heels. Locked around my neck was my pink collar, around my genitals was my pink cage, and in my ass was my state-of-the art butt plug, ready to vibrate on command.

I was of course in full makeup and wig. Finishing touches for this special occasion included false eyelashes, false nails, and just a whiff of perfume.

The party was scheduled from 8:30 to 11:30, but I had come much earlier to clean the apartment thoroughly, help prepare food, and set up the bar. Ironically, I did not wear my uniform during all that work, only my pink cock cage and collar. In fact, I did not even see my "costume" until Jude and Becky dressed me up at eight.

As for the guests' costumes, many of the likely suspects were on display—hippies, disco dancers, a sexy nurse, an astronaut, a land shark, a ballerina, and so on. One couple came as Donald and Ivanka in their prison garb—a cliché, to be sure, but one that always brings a smile to my face. There were also two women dressed as men, one as a lumberjack and one as Harry Potter. Like me they were crossdressed, but their gender-switching seemed trivial compared to mine—a bit of make-believe that didn't really challenge their femininity.

On the other hand, I did have a boatload of compassion for a particular man about my age. His partner—tall, handsome, and meticulously groomed—wore a perfectly fitted tuxedo. In the nineteenth century he would have been called "dashing." The man I identified with wore only an old-fashioned diaper of white cloth, held together with oversized safety pins. In his mouth was a pacifier; he carried a teddy bear. Like me, he was wearing an outfit specifically and expertly designed to embarrass.

Becky was the only one giving us a run for the money in the humiliation department. Jude, dressed as a green and wicked witch, had assembled a boxer's outfit for Becky. She wore baggy black & white Everlast shorts and black high-top Converse sneakers not unlike real boxers' shoes. On her head was the leather protective gear of an amateur pugilist, in her mouth was a bulging tooth guard, and on her hands were lace-up gloves. Around her neck was a black leather collar studded with rhinestones. She was not permitted any makeup, nor any covering for her upper body and its voluptuous breasts.

Another costume I'll never forget was a black latex cat number, worn skin-tight over a curvaceous woman. Her face was mostly covered with a black mask, and she held her tail in one hand and her phone in the other when I greeted her at the door. I remember how she looked, but I especially remember what she said: "Hi Nicole. I know you're wearing your cage. What about your vibrating plug? Jude gave me the code, by the way. I'm glad you gave them such a positive report about your shopping trip, but you probably shouldn't have mentioned my name—it made it too easy for them to find me and invite me." I literally could not speak—this was Felicia, the saleswoman who had helped me purchase my cage and plugs. "Cat got your tongue? Ha-ha!"

She paid me little attention as I stammered expressions of surprise and welcome, concentrating instead on her phone. After a moment she whispered in my ear, "Whenever you feel this pattern of alternating short and long vibrations, you'll know it's me." She started my plug vibrating, then shut it off after about 30 seconds—plenty long enough for me to recognize the pattern. "Anything else will be Jude or, who knows, maybe anyone else with a phone here? I didn't ask about that. And yes, I'd love a martini, please... very dry, shaken, olives."

By the time I brought her cocktail, my shock and surprise had modulated to excitement and gratitude. She was going to have some fun with me, and I was going to enjoy it. There was a sexual freedom and generosity of spirit among this crowd that I could not have imagined a year earlier. A near-stranger held in her hand the power to stimulate my anus, and though I remained undeniably self-conscious, I loved that Felicia embraced a mind-boggling array of erotic proclivities with curiosity, not judgment. She was happy, she made me happy, and I began that night to think of her as "felino felice," the happy feline.

Opening the apartment door more than a dozen times to meet the arriving guests had made me feel extremely vulnerable, but the high level of tension subsided somewhat as I focused on crafting cocktails, tidying up tables, and serving hot hors d'oeuvres on a tray. The guests got used to having a sissy servant, and once I'd been seen by everyone the intensity of my embarrassment faded.

This equanimity was interrupted, of course, by occasional vibrations in my ass, some clearly triggered by Felicia but others from Jude and perhaps—I could not entirely rule this out—other guests. However realistic or fantastical people's costumes were, everyone still had their cell phone, and my plug could be controlled by anyone who had the app and the code.

I also had a couple of fraught introductions. The first was initiated by a woman in a sparkly flapper dress. (I think it was a high-quality reproduction, not true vintage, though the hat and feather looked faded and worn enough to be a century old.) She followed me into the kitchen after I'd served a tray of hors d'oeuvres and said "Hi, Nicole. You look lovely! We haven't been introduced, but I'm pretty sure we shared an elevator ride back in chapter three. My name is Sandy."

"Oh—I didn't recognize you, but you're right. You and your boyfriend had been playing tennis."

"Ex-boyfriend, for better or worse. OK, for better. I've been keeping an eye out for you since then, but without even catching a glimpse."

"Well, I always use the stairs now. I'm curious... did you know at the time I was a crossdressed guy?"

"Not as sure as I am now," she laughed, "but I was fairly confident. You're pretty tall, and you have a visible Adam's apple, and come to think of it you didn't say a word. But the makeup and outfit were quite convincing. Anyway, I just wanted to say hi, but if you ever want to make a few extra bucks cleaning apartments, I know just about everyone in the building."

That was precisely the fear that had been rising in me as we talked. Sandy knew that Jude and Becky had a sissy friend, and what Sandy knew, anyone in the building might soon know. As Mark Twain said, three people can keep a secret—if two of them are dead.

The other embarrassing introduction had been carefully orchestrated. About half an hour after I had met Sandy, Jude approached me with leash in hand. She clipped it to my collar and led me on a circuitous route among all the guests until we finally approached Becky and the woman costumed as Harry Potter.

"Nicole, may I present Harry Pot... I mean Melinda. Melinda manages the lingerie shop on Burlingame Avenue. Melinda, this is our special friend Nicole."

"I'm pleased to meet you, but do call me 'Harry' tonight—I like to stay in character," she said with a wink. "By the way you make a great cosmo," she added, holding up her almost-empty martini glass. "I'll have another after our chat."

"I guess we all know where this is headed," said Becky. Indeed. "Harry, Nicole needs at least a couple of new bras. We want to bring her in for a fitting and some shopping, and it will be most fun if the store is busy. Can you suggest a good time to come?"

"Geez, Becky, it seems to me that you're the one who most needs a bra right now, but as for a good time to shop, that's easy. November is always slow, but if you can wait until December we kick off our big holiday sale on the first Saturday. Twenty percent off everything, so there's always a good crowd. The boutique has eight dressing rooms, and last year that wasn't always enough."

Harry must have seen the look on my face at the prospect (certainty?) of shopping publicly for bras in a crowded store. "Don't worry, Nicole," she said. "All our staff are LGBTQ-friendly, and I'm always in the shop myself. We are quite accustomed to serving trans, gay, and crossdressing clients as discretely, or as indiscretely, as they like." Clearly I was destined for the indiscrete treatment.

"Are you wearing breast forms," she asked, staring at my bust, "or have you been taking hormones?"

"These are D-cup breast forms," I replied.

"Be sure to bring them, along with your most comfortable bra. If you don't dress up to come in, you can still bring along a dress or blouse to see how things look en femme. The D's look natural for your size, but if you want to 'go big or go home' we have lots of options up to F/DDD and at least half a dozen beautiful G bras. Beyond that you might get a bit top-heavy, but I'd love to see you in a DDD bullet bra. You'd need to bring your own forms, though." Is there a word to describe a man who collects different-sized artificial breasts? [Hey, be nice!]

"That Saturday will be perfect!" Jude told Harry. "We can pick up a few things at the yarn and bead and cosmetics stores in the morning, have a bite to eat at a sidewalk cafe if it's warm enough, and then we're all yours for the afternoon."

The alarm I'd felt when talking to Sandy was now growing exponentially. I felt somewhat shielded by living miles away from Burlingame, but I was worried about being exposed not just to Sandy's friends in the building, but also the staff and customers at the lingerie shop. I had most likely been surreptitiously photographed already by at least a few of tonight's party guests, and I would have no control over people's phones in the boutique—or, holy crap, security footage. Pictures of me might end up on social media. Hell, they could be spreading across Instagram right this second!

I reined in that paranoia fairly well throughout the remainder of the party, despite the occasional panicky suspicion that I might be the subject of a social media post or a TikTok video. I told myself that for tonight, at least, I was safe, since I could barely recognize myself beneath the makeup and wig. In any case there was no way to hide, so I just concentrated on my work—cleaning up used plates and napkins, passing out finger food, pouring wine, and making the occasional martini or cosmo. Later in the evening I brought Harry her third cocktail; I hoped she was at least eating something too.

By eleven I was so desensitized to my costume that my main concern was how sore my calf muscles were getting. I'd been getting in a lot of practice wearing heels at home, but this was by far my longest stint wearing them. I made three or four extra trips to the bathroom not to pee, but just to get off my feet for a couple of minutes and massage my legs. By 11:30, the announced end time for the party, most people were saying their goodbyes, thanking Jude and Becky and sometimes me as well. Sing along with the bouncing ball: "And later on as the crowd thinned out, I was just about to do the same...."

Yet the crowd did not thin out entirely, and the few who remained until midnight were not just random hangers-on. Can you guess their names? Right you are—Felicia, Sandy, and Harry, aka Melinda. This did not bode well.

ACT THREE: THE POST-PARTY

"Thank you all for staying up late with us," said Jude to our guests. "I trust we will make it worth your time, for it's not every day that you can watch three people released from their chastity devices at the same time. Plus, audience participation will be encouraged. At the very least you will see each of us in, and then out of, our restraints."

"As I told your earlier this evening," she continued, "we have worn our belts and cage for three weeks, having learned about Locktober a bit late. What you don't know is that I joined Beck and Nicole in forced celibacy only because I took a gamble and lost. So this is a once in a lifetime occasion. Next year I will lock up my pets for the full month while I remain free and sexually active. Tonight, though, I will demonstrate how to make an unlocking more interesting than opening a can of soup."

Jude had me unlace and remove Becky's boxing gloves, and then directed us to move the table which morphs into a spanking bench into the center of the room—not for spanking or buggery, but as a small stage of sorts. She then asked Becky to help with her disrobing.

Becky removed Jude's witch's cap and tossed it to the floor, then knelt at Jude's feet, removed her shoes, and set them aside. She undid the long zipper at the back of Jude's green gown and let it fall to the floor. Jude stepped out of the pooled fabric and directed Becky to remove her chain of keys. She then stepped onto the low platform wearing just three things—a delicate black bra, a matching thong, and her industrial strength chastity belt.

She removed her bra, tossed it aside, and gently caressed her small breasts and their aroused nipples. The thong soon followed, and I knew that before long my cage and I would be similarly on display.

"Now for some of the promised audience participation," said Jude. "You may inspect my chastity belt, check its fit, feel its warm leather and its cool metal locks. Then if Beck can find the right key—I'm counting on you, girl—you three guests may each unlock one lock before Beck finishes the job. Take your time."

"Harry" and Sandy had never seen a chastity belt actually being worn, and even Felicia, with her sex-shop experience, had not encountered this elaborate four-lock design. For a moment I think we were all in awe of the belt itself, of Jude's beauty, and of her poise, for she stood quite calmly as we silently gazed at her. Of course I kept thinking "That's going to be me, that's going to be me"—a thought that intensified when the tableaux sprang back to life and our guests began their very handsy examination of Jude's belt. This lasted perhaps four or five minutes, punctuated by Becky or Felicia's occasional comment on how the straps were adjusted, how soft the leather was, how clever and visually powerful those extra leg straps were.

Then each guest unlocked one lock and handed it to Jude. Becky had the honor of removing the last lock and separating all the pieces, leaving Jude unfettered but naked. She turned around briefly to show us the rear view, then bowed to her admiring audience and stepped down from the platform as we applauded. "I hope you were paying attention," she said to Becky and me. "Your turn, Beck."

Becky had certainly been paying attention; she followed Jude's example closely. With her hands now freed from the boxing gloves, she was able to remove her headgear, take out her mouthguard, and unlace and pry off her black shoes. She stepped up onto the table and asked me to remove her Everlast shorts—easily accomplished given the elastic waistband. She still wore her collar, and of course her breasts were uncovered, as they had been all evening. Now we could see her elegant full-coverage silk panties, a shimmering sky blue with white lace trim. Not quite full-coverage after all, however—her chastity belt, though mostly covered, was unmistakably present.

Becky turned slowly to give us all a front and rear view, then removed her panties and repeated her slow-motion twirl. She invited our guests to inspect the belt and compare it to Jude's—its slimmer design, its tighter fit, its single but formidable lock. Jude then unlocked and removed the belt, said "welcome back" to Becky's genitals, and told her to take her bow.

As the applause for Becky faded away, all eyes turned to me. I was allowed to remove my heels—a huge relief—and Becky untied my lacy white apron, folded it carefully, unzipped my maid's dress, and steadied me as I stepped out of it. Jude clipped my leash to my collar, put a couple of loops in it, and had me hold it in my mouth. I then ascended to the platform wearing my bra, panties, garter belt, and fishnets. My panties, which I'd been told to put on over my garter belt, covered my cage but revealed its shape.

"Melinda, I mean Harry, you're the bra expert," said Jude. "What do you think of Nicole's?"

"It's quite nice," Harry said, taking a close look. "We actually carry this model. But when you visit I can show you some French and Italian bras with more fanciful designs and exquisite detail. I keep thinking about the breast forms, too. The ones you're using suit you well enough, Nicole, but you could go much, much bigger."

"Thanks for that advice," said Jude. "We will certainly give that careful consideration. And now, Beck, please relieve Nicole of her panties."

I learned later that Becky improvised the next bit, though at the time it seemed scripted. She did a kind of strip tease with my panties, running her finger along inside the waistband, or pulling them down an inch or two for just a moment. She had me turn around, back to my audience, and flashed my ass and its plug. I'm pretty sure it was Sandy who exclaimed "Oh my god" when she saw that.

"Want another look?" asked Becky, exposing my ass again and giving me ten hard spanks, alternating cheeks. (By now I counted automatically.) She turned me back to face the crowd and ever so slowly pulled my panties down to my ankles, revealing my pink cage and my bulging pink balls. She steadied me as I stepped out of the panties. "OK, everyone, have a close look, touch what you like, listen to the sound the lock makes when it clicks against the plastic. Felicia, maybe you can explain how the cage goes on, and what it was like when Nicole came into your shop to buy it."

Felicia did so in excruciating detail. You know all about that already, so I'll just mention the points she emphasized. First, that the cage absolutely could not be wriggled out of once locked. Second, that this was a small model—so yes indeed, my entire penis was inside that short shaft. Third, that the cage does not just prevent intercourse, masturbation, and orgasms, but any erection at all, such as a routine erection during REM sleep.

Once everyone had had a chance to tap on my cage and jiggle my balls, Becky said, "You saw that Nicole has a plug in her butt. Felicia helped her buy that too, and there's something you should know about it—it vibrates! And it vibrates however we tell it to using this app. She showed them her phone, which indicated my plug had 30% battery remaining and was currently Off. Felicia had been intermittently controlling the plug all evening, but Sandy and Harry had not, so they each took a couple of minutes to play with the app. I feigned stoicism rather successfully as Sandy took me for a gentle test drive. When it was Harry's turn, however, she floored it, setting the intensity to "10" and then switching patterns. I gasped, made funny faces, and got weak in the knees. Harry might have played with me indefinitely—she clearly loved toying with me—but Becky came to my rescue, suggesting we move along with the program. She set the vibration to a rhythmic pulsing of modest intensity—probably the "3" setting, I judged.

Finally the moment came for Jude to unlock me. She had me kiss my key, then removed the lock and handed it to Becky. Disassembly of the cage simply reverses the steps that lock it on, and everything went smoothly, although I must say Jude took her sweet time about it. When the final pin was out, Jude gently pulled the cage's shaft off my cock and deftly freed my balls from the ring that had held them for three weeks.