The Pitch

When she was stable again, she forced her arms into the sleeves, reaching down to button the jacket. With some pulling and straining, she managed to get the three buttons up from the waist to meet, but they seemed under a tremendous pressure as the jacket stretched across the hard corset; the buttons around her bosom were easier because, as she pulled, she just forced the soft flesh of her breasts higher. Taking little notice of how much flesh was forced up and out, she reached for the sleeve zippers and found she had to pull with far too much force to close them down to her wrists. Her arms now felt very rigid as well from shoulder to wrist.

She tottered back to the mirror and examined herself. She tried to fool herself into believing she did not look to bad; her figure was now superb, the tight skirt smoothing and shaping her thighs and hips. Her waist was now wasp-like and she thought that her breasts looked good, even though they were rising up and down at an astonishing rate, she striving for air against the constriction of the corset. She noticed also, with a bit of dread, that her nipples on the rise only just stayed under cover of the jacket.

PART THREE

All in all she thought, "I don't look that bad, a bit tarty perhaps, but I have got to carry it off. I also have to ignore that my feet are killing me, my hips are held in a PVC vice, my waist is being crushed by an instrument of torture, and my arms feel like they have been squeezed into sausage skins."

The only problem she could see now with her outfit was the collar, which was flapping around her neck like a pair of bat's wings, it certainly was not meant to be worn open. She reached up against the resistance of the overly-tight sleeves and found she had to strain to make the three hooks on the collar close. The collar itself must have been more than an inch too small for her and was very high and stiff; she had to keep her head up to stop it from digging into the soft flesh of her throat - it left her shorter of breath than ever.

"Never mind that - got to get going." She turned back to bed and minced erectly across to it, dipping carefully again, she grabbed her briefcase and purse, and stood back up unsteadily under the change of weight. She took a pair of sunglasses out of her purse and put them on to give her a little anonymity, and minced unsteadily to door, into the hall and down to the lobby. As she got to the lobby, she reached the short flight of stairs that would take her down to street level. She put one hand on the rail and put a foot forward, but the hobble skirt and the high heels held her back and her balance was lost, her ankle giving way, and she went over on the remaining high heel and ended up going down the six stairs in one go, hanging on to rail with her all her strength. She pulled herself with difficulty as she tried to get her legs underneath with no help from the skirt and the unfamiliar high heels. She was sure she heard another seam tearing a little.

The man on the desk watched this performance with a lot of interest, and his gaze stayed on Annabelle as she eventually regained her feet and tottered over the tiled floor at the desk, te needle sharp heels clicking on the floor with sharp sound, echoing around the empty lobby.

"Could, you call me a cab please?" she asked in a slightly nervous voice. Annabelle had intended to drive to the meeting, but knew that there was no way she to drive in this skirt and high heels.

"Yes, Madame," he replied, with a big smile, and reached for the phone. Annabelle moved away to other side of the lobby to wait. She would have liked to have sat down to take some of the pressure off her aching feet and toes in the too-tight boots, but the lobby had arm chairs, which were very low, and she feared she would not be able to stand again.

The cab arrived and she walked towards the door, the man quickly coming from behind the desk to open the door for her and see her out with another big smile, which she tried to ignore. She minced slowly towards the cab and she could see the cabby's eyes come out on stalks as he caught sight of her outfit. She tried to ignore his stares as well, and opened the cab door, put in her purse and briefcase, and then came the problem. How would she get into the cab? She could not move her legs apart more than an inch, and the corset and skirt did not like her bending much.

The only way she found to get in was to turn backwards and force herself down with her hands against the upwards pressure of the corset until her head was below the door. This was made even more difficult, as she was six inches higher than usual. When she was low enough, she fell backwards into the cab, the corset straightening her out again, and swung her legs in.

The cabby never took his eyes off her. "And never offered to help," thought Annabelle. Settling herself as best she could in the tight confines of the cab, she gave him the address. He set off, and Annabelle dipped into her purse and used the journey to comb out her hair and repair her makeup as best she could.

The cab stopped in front of an office block, and the cab driver jumped out and came round to help her out. "Allow me Madame," he said, grinning. Annabelle was a bit embarrassed at all this, but she was not sure she could get out of the cab without his help.

She had swung her legs out and then, pulled by his hand, she had to bend again. She groaned as the corset increased its pressure and its top dug into her ribs. When she was out, she quickly gave him $20 and tried to get into office building as fast as she could, but her outfit would not let her, and all she ended up doing was giving a parade to all people on the sidewalk, most of whom stopped to watch her hip-swaying, mincing, tottering slow walk across the sidewalk.

In the building, she entered the lifts, selected the floor and tried to calm herself and be ready for the 'pitch'. The lift opened and she walked over to the desk, watched by the wide-eyed receptionist. She gave her name and she was shown to the conference room. The receptionist opened the door and Annabelle was confronted by twenty men - all staring at her. She took as deep a breath as she was able, which in the corset was not very deep, and walked into the room. The twenty pairs of eyes followed her all the way with not a word said. Annabelle began to find a little hope.

"Look at them, they cannot take their eyes of me, maybe I can pull this off."

As she got to the spare place at the table, she was looking at the men and miss-stepped and dropped her purse, and, completely forgetting about the tightness of skirt and the corset and her unsteadiness on the heels, bent down to pick it up.

There was a great ripping as the skirt split from the waist as it released under the tremendous pressure of her hips and a popping sound as the jacket buttons flew off.

Epilogue:

Annabelle now lives in Slough, where she is an assistant at the Montessori School and is married to Roger.

FINIS