Party Invite

Copyright Oggbashan February 2020

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 friends John and Gloria organise great parties that we enjoy attending. The last one was for New Year. As usual there was a costume theme. We could attend dressed as any personality in the news for the previous year. We had gone as Worsel Gummidge and Aunt Sally because there had been a new series started last year.

The party before that had been for Halloween and the theme had been cross-dressed Guys and Dolls. I had worn a large strapless gown Sheila had bought from a charity shop and she had worn an evening suit from the same shop. Both were now hanging in the wardrobe in the spare bedroom.

So, when a letter dropped through the door with a printed address that I recognised as the font John and Gloria use, I wasn't surprised or suspicious. Sheila opened it and showed me the printed invitation card which was the same as the cards John and Gloria use. It was an invitation to attend a Femdom Brides' party on 1st April, 7.30 for 8, about three weeks away, with the usual RSVP. The women should attend as grooms; the men as brides with the addition of a collar and leash. That didn't seem too humiliating so I was happy for Sheila to reply, on our behalf, accepting the invitation. I saw her write the acceptance and put it in an envelope that she addressed.

"I'm short of stamps. Alan," Sheila said. "I'll buy some at lunchtime and then post this."

She put the envelope in her handbag. That was the last I saw of it. I assumed she had posted it because she had a new book of stamps that evening when she wrote to an aunt.

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Two weeks before the party Sheila asked me to try on a wedding dress. It wasn't hers. I am too tall and too large to fit into her dress. Sheila had found one that might fit. It had been remaindered in a charity shop's bridal department. It hadn't sold presumably because there were very few brides large and tall enough for it. Unlike most recent wedding gowns that are sleeveless with a low neckline, this one was high necked with full length satin sleeves. Sheila had also bought a hooped petticoat that was made for the dress's former wearer and elbow length white satin gloves from the internet.

Sheila already had a suitable suit for a bridegroom, bought some years ago for yet another of John and Gloria's parties. She had formal black shoes that could pass as suitable for a small man. Shoes for me to wear with a wedding gown would be more difficult to find. For the trial I wore white trainers. Most of the time they would be hidden under the skirts of the gown.

In the spare bedroom's wardrobe there was a bra that I had worn with the strapless gown. It had large moulded cups and Sheila had added padding to give me a massive bust. But it had been a nuisance. Even on its narrowest setting it was too loose. I had kept hauling it back into position until Sheila had used safety pins to tighten it and pin it to the bust of the gown. It had come with removable straps. Since Halloween Sheila had shortened the back strap and replaced the shoulder straps. This time it fitted perfectly and even though the padding made my breasts look enormous, they filled out the bodice of the wedding gown without looking ridiculous.

"I think the bride must have been your height, Alan," Sheila said, "and probably taller wearing heels."

I agreed. When I was wearing that wedding gown the lower hem was on the floor and splayed a couple of inches around.

"But I don't know how to walk in heels even if we could find some large enough for me." I said.

"Um," Sheila said. "I have an idea. We'll have to go back to that charity shop on Saturday morning."

I had no idea what she meant. I could walk in the wedding gown because the large hooped petticoat held the gown's skirt away from the legs but the material brushed over the floor. If I wore it for any length of time the hem would get dirty. But Sheila and I were pleased with the effect. Although I am tall and substantially built I looked like a bride. If Sheila had added make-up, a wig and a veil, I would look much better. The only thing missing was the effect of higher heels.

Sheila was unhappy with the large bow on the back of the dress.

"It looks tired," she said.

She tried using spray starch. That didn't work. The bow was too large and heavy.

"I'll have to think about that. Maybe I could tack it to the back of the dress."

She had even bought a pink dog-collar and lead. The dog collar was just large enough to buckle around my neck without strangling me. As soon as she had checked it was large enough, Sheila took the dog collar off. I thought I could wear it for the whole party without discomfort.

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On the Saturday morning we went to the charity shop where Sheila had bought the wedding dress. As I thought, they didn't have any white bridal shoes large enough for me or even any up to three sizes smaller. The largest women's high-heeled shoes of any colour were all too small. I was relieved. I didn't think I could wear high heels for the length of a party, or even to walk from the car park to John and Gloria's house.

Sheila had noticed a selection of male glam-rock stage boots. She had dismissed them because she had thought I would be tall enough to wear the wedding gown without heels. They all had platform soles and heels varying from three inches to six inches. The heels were only slightly more, about half an inch higher.

They were silver, gold or multi-coloured. They were expensive for a charity shop at twenty pounds a pair. Sheila insisted I try some on. I was dubious. Even for men's shoes I doubted they would be large enough, but the silver pair were. I felt foolish walking up and down the shop wearing them but they fitted and more importantly I could walk in them. The platforms were the smallest at three inches but that should be enough. They were the wrong colour and slightly scuffed. That didn't seem to bother Sheila who insisted that I bought them.

The next day I had spread old newspapers on the kitchen table and was applying the whitener I use on my trainers to the boots. I had to leave them to dry between coats but by the end of the day I was satisfied they would stay white at least for the length of an evening party.

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On 1st April, the day of the party. we had our evening meal earlier than usual. By a quarter to seven I was standing in our bedroom just wearing my boxers. Sheila was wearing a flared skating skirt and a skin tight white top with her breasts straining against it. She could change in minutes. I would take much longer. The wedding dress and other items were spread on the bed. Sheila pointed to a heap of white stockings and tights. Unlike her usual tidiness they were piled together.

"I don't think you will need to wear them, Alan," She said. "I think the boots are long enough so that no one will see your bare legs."

So why had she got them out?

She went on.

"I'll check when you are dressed, Alan, but as long as you don't tip the hooped petticoat you won't need them. If you do, I'll take the boots off and roll a pair of stockings up your legs."

After she had put the bra on and adjusted it, I expected her to pick up the hooped petticoat first. Instead she pulled the elbow length gloves up my arms. She tied the hooped petticoat around my waist. It was too long. She sat me on the edge of the bed while she eased the boots on. They buckled at the top but she left the buckles loose.

"I'll tighten them at the end," Sheila said, "They might be too tight to wear for hours."

I struggled into the dress. Gloved hands meant I needed Sheila's help. The long slim sleeves had a zip for the last few inches. The gloves would have looked odd outside the sleeves but once those zips were closed there was no way I could unfasten them with gloved hands. Sheila closed the long back zip of the dress. My padded bra filled the bodice without straining it. The original owner must have had large breasts exactly replicated by the padding in the bra.

Sheila asked me to sit on the end of the bed while she applied make-up. I could see the transformation in the dressing table mirror across the room. I looked odd with my short hair until Sheila produced a blonde shoulder-length wig. She used double sided tape to fix it to my forehead, the nape of my neck and down the side of my face, covering my ears. I had expected a more formal hair do as a bride but the wig was very effective.

Sheila put the bridal veil on my head. At the front, before my face, it was one layer ending a few inches below my chin. At the back it was three layers almost to my waist. She held it in place with a tiara clipped to the wig.

"I'll fasten the boots now, Alan. Shift your backside up the bed."

Sheila had to help me to shuffle backwards. The hooped skirt and gown's skirts were a nuisance. I was sitting on the large floppy bow.

"Blast!" Sheila exclaimed. "I had forgotten that bow. Can you stand up again, please, Alan?"

It wasn't easy but I managed it.

"Turn around to face the bed, please."

I did.

Sheila fiddled with the bow.

"I think I can tack it up so it looks better but while I do, you'll have to hold it for me."

She took my wrists, one by one, and fed them into the loops of the bow.

"Spread it out. Perfect, thank you, Alan. Hold still while I tack."

The bow was so wide my hands were beside my hips, not behind my back. I felt the bow tighten as she sewed. I kept my hands and wrists still as she worked.

"OK, Alan. Don't move your hands yet. I think I'll have to use some spray starch as well, but before I do I'll fasten the boots. They are too loose now. Turn around and feet together, please."

She lifted the lower hem of the dress and hooped petticoat before I felt her hands on the boots. As I looked down she stretched a hand to the heap of white stockings and tights. Why? She couldn't put them on while I was wearing the boots. Suddenly I knew why. She tied a stocking around my thighs above my knees, forcing them together.

She stood up before pushing me backwards on to the bed. I tried to stop myself with my arms. I couldn't. Sheila had sewn the gown's sleeves into the bow and the bow itself to the wedding gown. She had also buckled the boots together. My arms and legs were restrained. I couldn't resist as she pulled off the tiara and flipped the three layers of the veil over my face. All I could see was a white blur but the veil was scented with Sheila's perfume. I opened my mouth to object. That was a mistake. Sheila forced a ball gag in taking the four layers of veil into my mouth. I was breathing her scent through my nose.

Sheila straddled my bound body. She buckled the pink dog collar around my neck. Even without the ball gag I would be unable to escape the veil hooding and blindfolding me.

"Alan?" she said in a conversational voice, "What is the date today?"

I grunted into the ball gag.

"Don't try to answer. You can't. It was a rhetorical question. Today is 1st April. We aren't going to a John and Gloria party. There isn't one. The invitation was a fake I made at work using their previous invitations as an example. You are now my bridal April Fool but you might enjoy what I do next..."

She lifted herself off me. She moved down to the foot of the bed and burrowed under the hooped petticoat. She pulled my boxers down until they met the stocking tying my thighs together. She had a thought and came back out.

"You might need to pant for the next bit, Alan, so..."

She removed the ball gag but the veil layers were still inside my mouth. The dog collar had tightened the veil's grip around my head.

She crawled back under the skirt and petticoat. Her fingers gently stroked me to an erection before her mouth swallowed it. Her mouth and lips gave me the best blow job I have ever had. I was groaning into my gag as Sheila brought me to the edge of an ejaculation again and again.

It was at least half an hour of ecstasy before I came into her mouth. She wriggled out from under the skirt and petticoat before pulling my veiled head against her clothed breasts.

"It might have been over-elaborate and expensive," Sheila said, "but I have enjoyed making you my April Fool as a bound and gagged bride. This might be April 1st but I think we can do this again and again, Next time I'll ask you first but if your reward is a blow job I doubt you would object, Alan."

She knows me too well. I was enjoying being her prisoner as a bound bride even without the incredible blow job. She kept me restrained for another hour before flipping up the skirt and petticoat and riding me until I had come into her. Afterwards she cuddled my head against her breasts for another twenty minutes before she relented and gradually released me from inside that wedding gown.

Later that night I rode her until she was squealing in delight. The next morning I found she had wrapped my head loosely with the veil and added the dog collar, so I woke up breathing her perfume. My hands were free so I was able to remove the collar and veil. Almost as soon as I stared stirring she rode my morning erection. I was asleep again as she wrapped the veil back around my head and covered my body with the wedding dress.

When I woke again and struggled out of bed I could smell a cooked breakfast from the kitchen. If that is how an evening and night as Sheila's April Fool ends -- then I will happily be her bound fool of a bride whenever she wants me to be.

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