 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 63 : Fetish Un-Fair
As it happened things worked out very well on timing for Brad. It allowed us to collect the present for the Emir just in time and without any of that difficult business of trying to cover up what you are doing. It’s not often you can abduct a woman in broad daylight to the applause of a surrounding crowd.
Harry’s team set things up. We found out that Hettie Van Voom was featuring at a forthcoming fetish fair, helping launch a new range of corsetry by compéring their catwalk show at the event. I put my “PR expert” hat on. We convinced the company that they’d get extra attention if a Hettie was “arrested” at the end of the show and taken away by a group of corset clad dominas. They thought it was an excellent plan. Hettie, they assured us, was a game girl; she’d be happy to go along with it. We said we could supply the ideal girls to do it. They agreed to let us have the costumes.
Tricia, Eva and a couple of others from Harry’s team weren’t so easy to convince. “We’re going to be wearing WHAT?” said Tricia, when the idea was first mooted. “This is just some way you and Harry can get your rocks off, isn’t it?”
I tried to reassure her but she didn’t sound as though she really believed me. It was only after Harry had run through the whole plan and the background to Hettie, the target, that she agreed to do it.
I got to the fair in plenty of time. After my encounters with Kelly it was interesting to see what an industry had sprung up around the needs and wants of the fetish crowd. I was looking on one stand at a selection of bondage toys that showed every bit as much ingenuity as some of the things in Rick’s Prep Centre when I saw her. Kelly was talking animatedly with a couple of other girls, all three dressed in black PVC Basques, high heels and stockings as they wandered between the stands. I didn’t think it was smart to get spotted, given what we had planned for later, so I slipped away behind the stand, backing into the one place where I could be confident she wouldn’t find me; the gents washroom. I gave her a few minutes to get clear and then emerged. Luckily she’d gone.
I joined the throng of people around the stage as the corsetry fashion show was about to start. The company’s sales manager was doing his initial chat but after only a few moments he said, “And now ladies, gentlemen, slaves and masters or mistresses, devotees of the bizarre and fetish enthusiasts, please welcome the sensational Hettie Van Voom!”
The crowd applauded wildly. Hettie walked out Dressed in a 1950’s style shirt waister dress with a widely flared skirt. It was yellow with black polka dots. So were the high heeled shoes she wore with it. Her sunglasses were perched atop a platinum blonde head of hair set rigid in a lacquered bouffant style. She stepped confidently down the catwalk. Waved to the audience. Looked thoughtful for a moment and said, “Oh, it’s so hot in here.” The audience cheered.
With that she stripped off her dress to even more enthusiastic applause revealing a corset, bra and pants beneath in the same yellow and black polka dot fabric. Thick suspenders held up fully fashioned stockings. Her bra was boned and wired to produce both an extravagant cleavage and an unnaturally conical breast line. She smiled and waved again and took her place at the podium.
“Hello everybody,” she called. “It’s so lovely to see you!”
The audience called back as one. “Lovely to see you too, Miss Van Voom.”
Hettie giggled and began her presentation. “A marvellous selection of corsetry, lingerie and playwear,” she said. “Let’s see the first model….”
The show began to the sounds of a series of fifties pop tracks, the models stepping forward, and showing a range of exciting corsets in every fabric imaginable. The crowd seemed impressed with what they saw. Hettie was doing a good job of keeping the enthusiasm going.
Finally the show concluded. All six models were lined up on the catwalk. Hettie was applauding them and the crowd, proclaiming that she couldn’t wait to try some of the items modelled for herself.
It was then that Tricia, Eva and the team made their appearance. The crowd parted as four masked women clad in black vinyl cat suits, corsets and stilt heel boots approached the stage. “Hold it there, please,” called Eva, holding up her hand as she stepped up onto the platform. The other three took up positions alongside her, legs apart, hands on hips, confronting the audience. “Are you Miss Hettie Van Voom?”
“Why yes,” replied Hettie feigning shock at the interruption.
“I am afraid you are under arrest for investigations relating to crimes against fashion,” Eva responded.
Hettie, who had been primed about the ‘arrest’, milked the part for all it was worth. “Surely not officer. How can it be? I mean, you only have to look at me.” She flung her arms wide. The crowd cheered, enjoying the addition to the show.
“That’s enough Miss Van Voom. We have reason to believe that the polka dots on your underwear are two millimetres too large in contravention of the European Union convention on fashion print design.” The crowd gave a horrified “Oooh!!”
“Oh no!” exclaimed Hettie, holding her hands to her mouth.
“You’ll have to come with us,” said Eva. Hettie tried to run but her high heeled, platform soled shoes encumbered her even more than the heels on the boots our girls were wearing. She was seized by Tricia and brought back to the front of the stage. “Well,” said Eva, “If you won’t come quietly.” On cue, Tricia popped a ball gag into her mouth. The crowd cheered as she buckled it in place. Hettie was wriggling in a theatrical manner. “And you’ll have to be restrained.” The crowd cheered again as cuffs were locked around her wrists. “Ladies,” said Eva to the others, “bring on The Transporter!”
A trolley was wheeled forward. Hettie was strapped to it. Eva and the others wheeled her back along the catwalk to cheers and applause. They stood at the curtains through which the models had appeared and waved to the crowd. Hettie gave an impressive display of gagged protest. They turned and wheeled her out through the curtains.
It was quite some time before anyone realised that they hadn’t stopped behind the stage but had taken her straight through the back of the exhibition hall and out onto a truck and even then it was assumed to be some sort of publicity stunt. By then she was already well on her way to the Prep Centre, still locked in handcuffs, gagged and strapped to her trolley.
Tricia had done a pretty good job, I thought and I told her so when we got back to the flat. Sometimes giving her a compliment is a mistake. “It’s a pity Harry doesn’t seem to notice. After all this time he still won’t let me take a lead role. I’ve been pestering him about it but all he says is more experience, more experience.”
I tried to let the subject drop but Tricia wasn’t having any of it. “You work with him. Why aren’t you telling him I’m ready to take a lead.”
“Tricia, he knows I haven’t the first idea. You know how effective I am at operations. He only lets me get as involved as I do if there’s plenty of cover. There’s no chance he’s going to take any notice of me.”
“Well, I still think you could ask him.” It was the nearest I’d seen her come to sulking.
“Look,” I said, keen to move on, “I’ll raise it with him but you should be asking him what you need to do in order for him to let you lead. That’s more likely to have an effect.”
She gave a hmmphing noise that didn’t communicate much enthusiasm. It didn’t make for much of an evening.
© 2006
Freddie Clegg
Download
PDF copies of my other stories at my Yahoo Group :
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
|
|
|