The Wedding
by Lord-Storm,
Laura Gifford wished she was anywhere else. This could not be happening, thought the stunning 26 year old brunette wedding planner, but never the less it was, as one of her two hooded assailants finished binding the slender woman's, light colour, sheer, contrast seamed nylon stocking ankles together and slid off her expensive Leboutin heel's, Whilst she lay face down, in her dark blue pinstriped skirt suit, hands tied at the wrist, side by side and resting on her tight butt, all protest muffled by the cleave gag pulled between her red lips and behind gleaming white teeth. She was sure that one of the two people who had jumped her in the apartment was a woman, an assumption that was about to be proven in a rather embarrassing way.
Laura suddenly felt the clasp on her skirt undone and the zipper that ran halfway, drawn down, "Hey " she thought,but it came out as a muffled protest, emitting from her gagged mouth. Two feminine thumb's pulled the waistband of the silky half slip and skirt from her full hips, then Laura felt both garments being tugged down over those hips, her firm ass and shapely stocking clad legs, the soft rustle of the slip against the satin panels of her underwear. The brunette wedding planner closed her grey eyes, cheeks flushing with colour, as she regretted briefly, her penchant for retro lingerie. "Wow" came the excited exclamation from the woman, who was now stripping young Miss Gifford of her dignity "nice underwear." Laura now lay exposing the tight white O/B Girdle hugging her derriere, the floral print cotton panties beneath and the multiple garter straps on each thigh, tugging the dark welt of the sheer nude contrast seamed stockings.
With the skirt off, along with the slip, Laura was surprised when her wrist were untied, she was sat up and brunette Laura began to rub some circulation back into them, but the respite was short lived. "OK lady take off the rest of your clothes," the woman in the hood ordered and Laura unbuttoned the matching tailored jacket, placing it with the skirt and shoes, then she pulled one end of the ribbon tie at her neck, removing it, before unfastening the cuffs of the pale blue blouse and finally undoing every button, from collar to waist before sliding it off, to reveal the curvy body and 36 DD chest, in a lace trimmed floral print bra. She reached both arms across her chest to maintain some modesty, but both arms were yanked behind her back and ropes were soon looped and cinched around her wrist and above her elbows, as the woman's male accomplice set about completing the female captives bondage. Her slender fit body was looped with ropes below and above the bust, so she was now tied around her upper body completely helpless. Now she watched as the woman removed her hood revealing herself to be a short haired young brunette, who smiled salaciously and stripped to her own underwear, before re-dressing in the still warm blouse, skirt and jacket, belonging to the captive bound and gagged real wedding planner. "I wonder how the others are fairing with the catering staff" the female impostor said out loud.
Phil Spence leaned against the taxi van and smoked a cigarette, whilst he looked up and down the road. A woman with a dark plaited pony tail appeared, wearing a black mid thigh skirt, white cotton L/S blouse, with thin red pinstripes and a black waistcoat and tie, low 2" black heels and nude hosed legs. The newcomer climbed into the taxi, swiftly joined by 4 more girls similarly attired and finally a curvy brunette, in a dark skirt, tailed coat, top hat, white cotton gloves and polished black knee length boots,with just a hint of nearly black fishnets pantyhose visible.
"We ready to go now," inquired Phil "everything OK"
"Perfect" replied the brunette, dressed in the female Master of Ceremonies attire.
The taxi van pulled away and continued on it's journey. Nearby another Vehicle, a small white box van, headed in the opposite direction. Inside Lydia Naylor sat in her silky red camisole and black fishnet pantyhose. The real dark haired, curvy, Master of Ceremonies long hair cascaded onto her shoulders, the plastic Zip ties biting into her shapely hosed legs, around her ankles, calves and above the knee's, both arms pinned painfully together above the elbows, so they touched and another strapped her wrist together, so both hands were palm to palm. Silver duct tape wrapped several times around her head covered soft grey eyes, impeding vision.
What tasted like cotton panties filled her mouth, with more of the tape rolled around her head to cover the entire lower jaw and muffle any sound.
She could not see, but could hear the soft mewling and struggling noises emitting from her fellow captives. In the van's rear, 5 nubile young women of various ages, a red head, two blondes and two brunettes, sat struggling. Three sat in lingerie, garters and sheer nude stockings, whilst two more wore nude control top pantyhose and tight bra's and panties, all that they had been left wearing, after Phil had delivered them into the hands of their rather rough and armed female assailants.
They had been forced to walk into the woods, away from the road, then forced to strip off their clothes at gunpoint, before being zip tied, gagged, blindfolded, now clad only in their silky sheer hosiery and underwear, then loaded into the box van, whilst the impostors, now with the stolen waitress and MC uniforms along with passes made their way to the wedding.
Glenda watched as the four young women in sleeveless, figure hugging, short gold lam me dress's, unpacked their instruments and headed in her direction, nearly black shapely nylon hosed legs, bought the click clack of black high heels echoing off the asphalt. Their was a pony tailed red head, a brunette whose long ringlets were pinned up, a mousey blonde with a neat bob cut and finally a tall, leggy, long haired ash blonde, who now approached carrying her instrument case.
"Excuse me" she asked in quite a posh lilting voice, "but we're looking for the library so we can set up to practice," She asked Glenda, who was dressed in the french maids style uniform of black dress, white apron and cap, dark nylons coupled with black court shoes.
Glenda looked into the woman's soft brown eyes, then directed them to their destination. She watched as these four curvaceous young female musicians headed off, appreciating the dress's clinging to tight butts and firm bust wondering if any of them wore underwear beneath such tight clothes. Sadly she had not directed them to the library, on account that the real maid was gagged and bound in coffee colour stockings, white cotton panties and garter belt, with no bra, as it now filled her cleave gagged mouth. Glenda had left her hog tied in the wine cellar, but she would soon have company, a quartet in fact, once the four pretty musicians discovered that they would not be performing later.
The security had been quite tight for such a big society wedding, but never the less the cleaning crew had been able to get in and take up positions for when the rest of the group arrived . Everything was in place and no-one would question the credentials of anyone entering, on account that the 2 female police guards were now tied up back to back, with a combination of zip ties and cotton rope, securing their scantly clad bodies in lingerie and dark nylon issue control top pantyhose, legs bound tightly and the futile calls for help we're muffled by the cleave gags and warm moist women's under apparel, that filled their mouths fully. The ropes bit harder into the soft flesh, underwear and silky nylon, but would not give, so eventually the two pretty constables gave up. As the pretty blonde officer, her hair pinned in a tidy bun and big brown eyes, sat in a figure hugging pale blue camisole, that clung to her shapely hot sweaty body, realized that she and her grey eyed, pony tailed, raven haired colleague, sat in pink satin bra and black lacy briefs concluded that their struggles were futile, it was decided that it would be best to await rescue. However both would have a long wait as they were blissfully unaware, that at this precise moment their female sergeant and the 3 other WPC's in the their attachment, were already chewing on panties and cleave gags, stripped at gunpoint and to their underwear and hosiery. This meant their attractive 42 year old fit female Sergeant,with her grey blonde collar length hair, was now tied up in white long line girdle and bra and black pantyhose, whilst a stunning green eyed, red head young constable along with another beautiful, slender blonde woman officer, sat somewhat helpless and embarrassed, wearing just stockings, tight skimpy bra's, panties and garter belts and finally a stunning blue eyed brunette, in a black and red floral print bra with matching panties, legs clad in sheer dark control top pantyhose, now devoid of the uniforms,they had been forced to divest themselves of, which had consisted of serge tunics and knee length skirts, white cotton gloves, cravats and crisp white shirts and bowler style hats. Stripped they all wriggled and squirmed helplessly, watching as the armed impostors who had ambushed them and taken them captive began dressing the stolen uniforms, taking their radios, equipment belts along with their protective body vest. Placing duct tape over the officer's eyes to deprive them of vision, they were sprayed with a fine chloroform mist, before being locked in the small ante room, out of the way, a well shaped plan now taking place and the police security was now replaced and rendered impotent, meanwhile elsewhere..............
The Wedding
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esercito sconfitto
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Re: The Wedding
currently ( from a day ) this story by LM is in the process of being rewritten and assumably completed by Pornwriter at Deviantart. Here the first part
The Wedding
by pornwriter,
Laura Gifford wishes she were anywhere else. This can’t be happening! she thinks. But the stunning 26-year-old brunette wedding planner lies face-down on her bed, dressed in a dark blue pinstriped skirt suit; her hands are bound behind, tied at the wrist with thin white rope just above her tight butt, all her protests and cries muffled to a murmur by the thick cleave gag pulled between her red lips and behind gleaming white teeth. One of her two hooded assailants is binding similar white rope about her ankles, the cord biting into her sheer light colour contrast seemed nylon stockings. He wraps the rope tight and ties it off. Finished, he takes hold of her expensive Leboutin heels and slides them off.
Laura moans and twists her head around to stare up at her two attackers with wide grey eyes, her brunette hair hanging around her face in a tumble of curls. She whimpers in fear, staring up at the two masked, faceless people who attacked her in her own apartment. One of them she is sure is a woman, but otherwise they are nothing but dark shadows staring down at her with menace.
One of them reaches down to her and Laura feels the clasp on her skirt being undone. “Mhmm!” she cries out in muffled protest as her zipper is drawn down, halfway down the length of her skirt. Two feminine thumbs pull the waistband of the silky half slip and skirt from her full hips, then Laura feels both garments being tugged down over those hips, her firm ass and shapely-stocking clad legs. She holds her breath, listening to the soft rustle of the slip against the satin panels of her underwear. The brunette wedding planner closed her grey eyes, cheeks flushing with colour, as she regrets briefly, her penchant for retro lingerie.
"Wow!" the woman exclaims excitedly, now stripping young Miss Gifford of her dignity "Nice underwear!"
Laura presses her face against her bed, feeling naked and exposed, feeling her captor’s gazes on her tight white O/B Girdle hugging her derriere, the floral print cotton panties beneath and the multiple garter straps on each thigh, tugging the dark welt of her sheer nude contrast seamed stockings. She squeezes her knees together, satin sighing as her lingerie thighs slide over each other, her tight little ass squirming under the tight layers of cloth. Laura looks up in surprise, feeling the rope around her wrists being loosened. They sit her up, her feet still bound, and she rubs her sore wrists, looking up at them anxiously.
"OK, lady,” the woman in the hood says. “Take off the rest of your clothes."
Frightened, Laura obeys without question. She unbuttons her matching tailored jacket, placing it with the skirt and shoes, her curvy body pressing against the pale blue blouse she put on that morning. reaching up, she pulls one end of the ribbon tie at her neck, removing it, before unfastening the cuffs of her blouse. reaching down, she undoes the bottom button, then the next, working her way up to her collar, baring the crotch of her floral print panties, then a widening wedge of her taut belly. She slides the blouse off, revealing every line of her curvy body, her pert 36 DD breasts tightly held in a lace-trimmed floral print bra. Staring up at her captors, Laura reaches both arms across her chest, trying to maintain some modesty, but the man grabs both her arms and yanks them behind her back. He wastes no time re-binding her wrists, making Laura moan as the rope digs into her soft skin, then he produces another coil of rope and wraps it around her elbows, forcing them close, then binding them off tightly. Not finished, he pulls more rope across her chest, just below her breasts, then wraps it around her arms, pinning them to her back. He wraps the rope above her breasts now, then again below, wrapping her lace-covered bosom in a tight harness of rope.
Laura watches helplessly as the woman removes her hood, revealing a narrow face framed by short brunette hair. She smiles salaciously at Laura, then grabs at her dark clothes and strips them off, down to her own underwear. She grabs up Laura’s clothes, pulling on the still-warm blouse, skirt and jacket, belonging to the bound and gagged captive wedding planner. "I wonder how the others are fairing with the catering staff?" the female impostor wonders aloud as she checks herself in a mirror before Laura’s horrified gaze..
#
Phil Spence leans against his taxi van and smoked a cigarette, looking up and down the road. A woman with a dark plaited pony tail appears, wearing a black mid thigh skirt, a white cotton L/S blouse with thin red pinstripes, and a black waistcoat and tie. She has low 2" black heels and nude hosed legs. The newcomer climbs into the taxi, swiftly joined by 4 more girls similarly attired, and finally a curvy brunette in a dark skirt, tailed coat, top hat, white cotton gloves and polished black knee length boots,with just a hint of nearly black fishnets pantyhose visible.
"We ready to go now?" Phil inquires. "Everything OK?"
"Perfect," replies the brunette, dressed in attire of the female Master of Ceremonies, with a smug smile.
As the taxi van pulls away and continues on its journey, another vehicle, a small white box van, rolls onto the road and drives away in the opposite direction. Inside the van sits Lydia Naylor in a silky red camisole and black fishnet pantyhose. The real Master of Ceremonies’ long dark hair cascades onto her bare shoulders, plastic Zip ties biting into her shapely hosed legs, around her ankles, calves and above the knees, both her arms pinned her, bound painfully together above the elbows so they touch, and another straps her wrist together, so both hands are palm to palm. Silver duct tape is wrapped several times around her head, covering soft green eyes. What tastes like cotton panties fills her mouth, with more tape wound around her head to cover her entire lower jaw and muffle any sound to a terrified whimper.
She can’t see, but she can hear the soft mewling and struggling of her fellow captives. In the van's rear, 5 nubile young women sit struggling in pantihose and lingerie, all that they had been left wearing after Phil delivered them into the rough hands of their armed female assailants.
Lydia looked up in surprise when Phil pulled to a stop in the middle of an empty road, thick forest on either hand. “What is it, is there something wrong?” she asked, glancing at the driver.
Wordlessly, he turned off the engine, then engaged the parking brake, not looking at her.
Lydia’s door was torn open, and she turned about in surprise to look down the barrel of a gun. “Get out!” the gun’s masked wielder snapped, grabbing Lydia by the arm and jerking her out of the car.
More gun-wielding masked women tore open the rear door, and dragged out the waitresses, dressed in the uniform of black mid thigh skirt, a white cotton L/S blouse with thin red pinstripes, and a black waistcoat and tie. Helplessly, they held their arms up, staring in fear at their masked captors.
“Don’t make a sound!” the first attacker said, waving her gun threateningly. “Now, move!” she added, waving them toward the forest.
Hands up, the frightened captives walked into the woods, away from the road. Out of sight behind a stretch of greenery, they found a large sheet laid out on the ground beside a white box van parked out of sight. The attackers stopped them there. “Take off your clothes!” the leader ordered with another threatening wave of her gun.
For a moment they stood still, torn between fear and disbelief, then Lydia reluctantly slipped out of her black tailed coat, and laid it down on the sheet. Slipping her top hat off her elegantly-arranged brown hair, she set it down too, then her white cotton gloves. In just her white blouse and dark skirt, Lydia hesitated, glancing at the masked woman holding her at gunpoint.
Beside her, Pattie, the bright redhead, followed Lydia’s example, she stripped off her waistcoat, blouse and tie, baring her strapless black bra, then stood frozen, her hands clasping the waistband of her mid-thigh skirt. She looked up at the masked woman threatening her, her green eyes narrowed. “Ye’ll ne’er get away with this. . .” she growled through her Irish brogue.
Lara, the youngest of them all at barely eighteen, bent over, too frightened to even look at the gun held on her, and pulled her skirt off, then straightened up, stripped down to nothing more than her lacy lingerie - a pale yellow bustiere, boyshorts, garters and sheer nude stockings. A thin gold ring gleamed on her finger as she raised her hands again, her eyes down, her bosom heaving as she breathed.
Eve, her dark brown hair cut short in a welter of curls, slips out of her her blouse, sliding the sleeves down her arms. She crosses her legs, sheathed in nude control top pantihose, pressing her left hand over the crotch of her dark blue panties, and she pressed her right arm across her breasts to try to cover the matching dark blue bra.
Greta muttered in her native German. Her golden-blonde curls shaking around her pale round face as she pulls her skirt down, baring her slim legs encased in sheer nude stockings, her plain garter belt, and dark-red thong. She straightened up, clasping her hands over her dark brown bra cups, and staring at the armed woman before her with mingled anger and fear.
Kirstin held herself stiffly, her hands by her sides. The shapely middle-aged Scot’s burnt umber hair hung about her shoulders. She wore a black garter belt holding up sheer nude stockings, a plain white bra, and panties two sizes too small covered with cartoon bears. She blushed a deep scarlet as the woman holding a weapon on her laughed, pointing at her crotch, every line of her pussy outlined through the thin cloth beside the cartoon bears.
At the gun’s threatening gesture, Pattie pulled her skirt down, over her wide hips and around the curve of her ass, then down her legs, baring her matching black panties and her nude control top pantihose.
Lydia opened up her white blouse, jerking the buttons open, then threw her shoulders back, sliding the sleeves down her arms, her breasts pressed out against her silky red camisole. She blushed, feeling her captor’s gaze on her curvy body as she set her blouse down, then reached down to the waist of her dark skirt and pushed it down over he black fishnet pantihose.
“Very nice!” the leader said, her eyes running over the slim bodies clad only in silky sheer hosiery and tight lingerie in a way that made them feel violated. “Now, get down on the ground!” she ordered. “On your bellies!” They obeyed. “Put your hands behind your backs!”
Frightened, humiliated, they obeyed, dropping onto their bellies on the sheet, putting their hands behind their backs.
Each masked woman took one of their captives, crouching beside their prone bodies, reaching into a pocket to take out a handful of plastic cable ties.
Lydia whimpered as the stiff plastic loop closed around her wrists and was drawn tight with a loud ‘Zi-i-ip!’
The masked woman wrapped another tie around her elbows. ‘Zi-i-ip!’ She squealed as her elbows were pulled close together, jerking her shoulders back. “Please! It’s too tight!” Eve pleaded as a cable tie closed around her own elbows.
More cable ties came out, locked around ankles and knees, binding the half-naked women helplessly tight. Lydia shivered with fright as the masked woman crouched beside her and grabbed her dark hair. “Ow!” Lydia cried as the woman pulled her head back. “Pleas-Mhmph!” a thick folded cloth was stuffed in her open mouth. Before Lydia could spit it out, a piece of tape was plastered across her lips. “Mhmm!” she moans, shaking her head helplessly, but she couldn’t stop the woman wrapping the tape around her head, pulling it tighter with every turn. “Mhmm. . .” Lydia sobbed, tears welling in her eyes. Her vision goes black, and she feels more tape put over her eyes.
Beside her, Pattie growled into her gag, chewing on her gag, tasting the panties in her mouth. She shook her head blindly, kicking her bound legs, twisting her arms from side to side. Her black pantie-covered butt twisted from side to side, her full cheeks pressing out against the sheer material.
“Hey, watch it!” the woman crouched over her snapped, then reached down and spanked Pattie on her ass.
“Mhmfgh!" Pattie growled, redoubling her struggles.
The masked woman just laughed at her, and spanked her again, then again, whacking her hand down until Patties’ ass glows pink through the sheer material. Pattie gave up long before then; she hung her head, whimpering with every strike until the woman gave up, satisfied.
“All right!” the leader said. “Let’s get dressed.”
The masked women quickly undressed, stripping down to their own lingerie and hosiery, then dressed again in the stolen clothing.
Lara lay still, just praying this would all be over soon. She clenched her hands behind her, her ring gleaming in a stray shot of sunlight.
The woman wearing her clothes glanced down and saw the gleam of gold. She dropped to one knee beside Lara, then grabbed her hand.
“Mhmm!” Lara cried out, feeling the woman’s fingers jerking at her ring. “Mhmm! MHMMM!” she screamed, struggling wildly, clenching her hand into a fist to keep the woman from taking it away. But bound and blind, the woman tore her ring away out of her hand. “MHMMM!”
“Come on,” the leader said. “We have a wedding to get to!”
Lara cried out after them as they turned and walked away, leaving the helpless women to wait for whatever was planned for them.
They didn’t have long to wait: the door of the van slammed open, and a heavy man’s tread approached the blind trembling captives. “Well now, wha’ a lovely soight!” he said through a thick accent, a large heavy voice.
A thick meaty hand grabbed Lara and lifted her in the air. “Whmmm!” she howled, still struggling wildly as she fell across a broad shoulder, thick cabled muscles playing as he clapped his hand on her boyshorts.
“Stops it!” he snapped as he carried her away toward the van.
“Mhaw!” LAra cried, flailing her legs blindly.
“I said stop it!” he snapped again, then slapped his hand hard on her ass.
“Mhmm!” L:ara cried, jerking in shock at the strike.
He brought his hand on her ass again.
“Mhmm!”
He spanked her again and again, ten times. By the time he was finished, Lara hung limply over his shoulder, her hair hanging down his back, whimpering softly through her gag. “Are you done?” he asked.
“Mhmm,” Lara moaned.
He carried her to the van, and slid her into the back seat, buckling the seat belt around her to keep her in place. None of them gave him any trouble as he carried them, one by one, into the van. Mewling voices pleaded through gags, muffled offers of anything he wanted were ignored as he calmly locked them in place.
Lydia was the last in.
Now, as the van rolls back onto the road, he reaches over and puts a hand on her breast. “Mhmm!” she moans, shrinking blindly away from him. Behind her, in the back seat, the other captives mewl into their gags
“Relax,” he says lightly. “We’re just going to keep you out of the way for a little while. Of course,” he adds, kneading her breast between his fingers. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun. . .”
Lydia utters a muffled sob, whilst the impostors with the stolen waitress and MC uniforms, bearing their stolen passes make their way to the wedding.
#
Glenda stands by the entrance of the mansion, watching the musicians approach. She wears a French maid’s style uniform of a short tight black dress, white apron and cap, dark nylons running down her lean legs coupled with black court shoes.
The first of the four young women is a tall, leggy, long haired ash blonde. She is dressed in a sleeveless gold lamme dress that hugs her figure like a second skin, the short hem revealing more of her shapely nylon hosed legs than it conceals; black high heel click-clack on the asphalt as she walks up to the maid, carrying her instrument case. "Excuse me" she asks, her voice a sweet upper-class lilt. "We are looking for the library so we may set up to practice."
Glenda look into the woman's soft brown eyes. “Of course,” she says with a smile, and directs them to their destination.
The blonde leader gives her a smile and a dignified nod, then trustingly leads her fellows into the mansion. Following her are a tall ginger, her pale face speckled with freckles, her fiery hair tumbling down her back in a ponytail like a waterfall, a short brunette, her long ringlets pinned up in a high bun, and a mousey blonde with a neat bob cut.
Glenda watches as they pass her, then turns to follow the four curvaceous young female musicians with her eyes, appreciating the dresses clinging to tight butts and firm bust, and the slim bodies beneath. Glenda wonders if any of them wear underwear beneath such tight clothes.
In the wine cellar, a woman lies on her belly, wrapped up in rope in nothing but her coffee-coloured stockings, white cotton panties and garter belt, her naked breasts pressed into the cold floor; her bra is in her mouth, filling her mouth until her cheeks bulge out, held in by a thin cloth bound tightly between her teeth. A tight rope stretches from her bound arms to her ankles, forcing her slim body to bend in tight bow.
She struggles against her bonds and moans, alone in the dark. but the real maid will soon have company; a quartet in fact, once the four pretty musicians discovered that they would not be performing later.
#
The security is quite tight for such a big society wedding: two Woman Police Constables stand on duty to check the credentials of anyone entering. The first is Sammie, a pretty blonde with her hair pinned in a tidy bun and big brown eyes; her partner is grey-eyed Dana, her raven hair bound in a ponytail. They both wear uniforms of serge tunics and knee length skirts, white cotton gloves, cravats and crisp white shirts and bowler style hats.
The two pretty female constables are about to go on duty when one of the cleaning staff walks into their room. "Hello," she says with a wide smile. "Can you do something for me?"
"Of course, what?” Sammie asks.
The 'maid' slips a pistol out from her apron and holds it on the two policewoman. "Shut your mouths!" she says with a wide grin.
Both WPCs open their mouths to cry out to the other police there, but the false maid gestures threateningly with the pistol. "I said shut it!" she snaps. When she sees them both close their mouths and raise their hands, she relaxes slightly, and gives them a smile. "Good. Now, take your clothes off."
Sammie opens her mouth to protest; beside her, Dana’s eyes flash wide with outrage, but the false maid gestures threateningly with the gun. “Do it!” she snaps, her voice low and dangerous.. Reluctantly, they both start to undress, slipping out of their serge tunics and knee length skirts.
The woman grinned as Sammie slips her skirt off, down her legs clad in dark nylon control top pantihose, leaving her in only a figure-hugging blue camisole. Beside her, Dana stands in a pink satin bra and black lacy briefs, her hands raised, glaring at the false maid in helpless anger.
Under her ruthless directions, they sit back-to-back and she binds them with zip ties, wrapping the plastic ties around their wrists and elbows, ignoring their quiet protests she pulls the ties tight until they dig into the WPCs' scantily-clad bodies. taking a length of white rope, she wraps it around them both to keep them together back-to-back. She grabs a pair of panties, balling them up in her hand, and turns back to them.
“Don’t you dare put those in my mouth!” Dana snaps. “Don’t you dare-Mhmmph!” her protests end in a muffle cry as the false maid forces the panties in her mouth, then forces a tight cleave gag between her lips, tying it too tight to ever force the panties out.
She turns to Sammie, but the blonde policewoman surrenders, knowing there is no point in resisting; she opens her mouth wide, letting the impostor slide another pair of panties into her mouth, then bind it in place.
“Stay out of trouble, now!” she calls mockingly, leaving them there, taking their uniforms with her.
Left alone, Sammie and Dana kick their bound legs, screaming out through their gagged mouths, trying to attract attention, to get someone to hear them. But the soft carpet swallows the blows of their hosed heels, and their futile calls for help are swallowed by the cleave gags and warm moist women's under apparel that fill their mouths completely. They struggle, wiggling their sexy bodies against each other, grunts and moans rising as they gasp for air, growing hot and sweaty. But the ropes and ties bite harder into their soft flesh, underwear and silky nylon, and will not give. Gasping for breath, the two pretty constables give up their futile struggles, and sit, waiting for a rescue.
However, they would have a long wait: in a small out-of-the-way anteroom, at that precise moment, their female sergeant and the three other WPCs in the their detachment are already chewing on panties and cleave gags, stripped at gunpoint to their underwear and hosiery.
Sandra, their 42-year-old Sergeant, sits on the floor, stripped to her white long line girdle and bra and black pantyhose, loops of tight rope encircling her, binding her arms and legs, wrapped across her breasts. She blonde hair streaked with gray cut to collar length, and brown eyes glaring up at their captors.
Beside her is Henrietta; the helpless young constable has stunning green eyes, curly red hair bound in a tail: the rest of her is bound like her sergeant; she is stripped to plain white bra and panties, black stockings and a tight garter belt.
WPC Fara is slender, with long blonde hair in tangles across her shoulders and pale blue eyes. She struggles uselessly in her lacy black bra and thong, black garters and stocking, and yards upon yards of tight white rope that digs into her pale skin.
Last of them is Patrice, a blue-eyed brunette, she is in a black and red floral print bra with matching panties, legs clad in sheer dark control top pantyhose.
The helpless officers wriggle and squirm uselessly, watching as the armed impostors who ambushed them and taken them captive dress in the stolen uniforms. They slide on equipment belts with radios and protective vests, ready for their job.
They turn back to the struggling policewomen. “Just one more thing. . .” one of them, their leader, says with a grin.
Struggling is useless, and in moments all four policewomen are blindfolded with duct tape; they still struggle and cry out, hoping that someone will hear them and find them.
The impostors file out of the small room, but the last in line turns back, a small spray bottle raised. She holds her breath, spraying them with a fine chloroform mist that settles over their naked skin and lingerie.
The door slides shut with a click, and the lock rattles, closing them and their muffled cries within.
The captive officers' helpless cries grow quieter, their struggles slowing as the mist takes its affect, then silence reigns as they slump to the floor.
The police security is now replaced and rendered impotent: a well shaped plan is now taking place.
Meanwhile, elsewhere. . .
The Wedding
by pornwriter,
Laura Gifford wishes she were anywhere else. This can’t be happening! she thinks. But the stunning 26-year-old brunette wedding planner lies face-down on her bed, dressed in a dark blue pinstriped skirt suit; her hands are bound behind, tied at the wrist with thin white rope just above her tight butt, all her protests and cries muffled to a murmur by the thick cleave gag pulled between her red lips and behind gleaming white teeth. One of her two hooded assailants is binding similar white rope about her ankles, the cord biting into her sheer light colour contrast seemed nylon stockings. He wraps the rope tight and ties it off. Finished, he takes hold of her expensive Leboutin heels and slides them off.
Laura moans and twists her head around to stare up at her two attackers with wide grey eyes, her brunette hair hanging around her face in a tumble of curls. She whimpers in fear, staring up at the two masked, faceless people who attacked her in her own apartment. One of them she is sure is a woman, but otherwise they are nothing but dark shadows staring down at her with menace.
One of them reaches down to her and Laura feels the clasp on her skirt being undone. “Mhmm!” she cries out in muffled protest as her zipper is drawn down, halfway down the length of her skirt. Two feminine thumbs pull the waistband of the silky half slip and skirt from her full hips, then Laura feels both garments being tugged down over those hips, her firm ass and shapely-stocking clad legs. She holds her breath, listening to the soft rustle of the slip against the satin panels of her underwear. The brunette wedding planner closed her grey eyes, cheeks flushing with colour, as she regrets briefly, her penchant for retro lingerie.
"Wow!" the woman exclaims excitedly, now stripping young Miss Gifford of her dignity "Nice underwear!"
Laura presses her face against her bed, feeling naked and exposed, feeling her captor’s gazes on her tight white O/B Girdle hugging her derriere, the floral print cotton panties beneath and the multiple garter straps on each thigh, tugging the dark welt of her sheer nude contrast seamed stockings. She squeezes her knees together, satin sighing as her lingerie thighs slide over each other, her tight little ass squirming under the tight layers of cloth. Laura looks up in surprise, feeling the rope around her wrists being loosened. They sit her up, her feet still bound, and she rubs her sore wrists, looking up at them anxiously.
"OK, lady,” the woman in the hood says. “Take off the rest of your clothes."
Frightened, Laura obeys without question. She unbuttons her matching tailored jacket, placing it with the skirt and shoes, her curvy body pressing against the pale blue blouse she put on that morning. reaching up, she pulls one end of the ribbon tie at her neck, removing it, before unfastening the cuffs of her blouse. reaching down, she undoes the bottom button, then the next, working her way up to her collar, baring the crotch of her floral print panties, then a widening wedge of her taut belly. She slides the blouse off, revealing every line of her curvy body, her pert 36 DD breasts tightly held in a lace-trimmed floral print bra. Staring up at her captors, Laura reaches both arms across her chest, trying to maintain some modesty, but the man grabs both her arms and yanks them behind her back. He wastes no time re-binding her wrists, making Laura moan as the rope digs into her soft skin, then he produces another coil of rope and wraps it around her elbows, forcing them close, then binding them off tightly. Not finished, he pulls more rope across her chest, just below her breasts, then wraps it around her arms, pinning them to her back. He wraps the rope above her breasts now, then again below, wrapping her lace-covered bosom in a tight harness of rope.
Laura watches helplessly as the woman removes her hood, revealing a narrow face framed by short brunette hair. She smiles salaciously at Laura, then grabs at her dark clothes and strips them off, down to her own underwear. She grabs up Laura’s clothes, pulling on the still-warm blouse, skirt and jacket, belonging to the bound and gagged captive wedding planner. "I wonder how the others are fairing with the catering staff?" the female impostor wonders aloud as she checks herself in a mirror before Laura’s horrified gaze..
#
Phil Spence leans against his taxi van and smoked a cigarette, looking up and down the road. A woman with a dark plaited pony tail appears, wearing a black mid thigh skirt, a white cotton L/S blouse with thin red pinstripes, and a black waistcoat and tie. She has low 2" black heels and nude hosed legs. The newcomer climbs into the taxi, swiftly joined by 4 more girls similarly attired, and finally a curvy brunette in a dark skirt, tailed coat, top hat, white cotton gloves and polished black knee length boots,with just a hint of nearly black fishnets pantyhose visible.
"We ready to go now?" Phil inquires. "Everything OK?"
"Perfect," replies the brunette, dressed in attire of the female Master of Ceremonies, with a smug smile.
As the taxi van pulls away and continues on its journey, another vehicle, a small white box van, rolls onto the road and drives away in the opposite direction. Inside the van sits Lydia Naylor in a silky red camisole and black fishnet pantyhose. The real Master of Ceremonies’ long dark hair cascades onto her bare shoulders, plastic Zip ties biting into her shapely hosed legs, around her ankles, calves and above the knees, both her arms pinned her, bound painfully together above the elbows so they touch, and another straps her wrist together, so both hands are palm to palm. Silver duct tape is wrapped several times around her head, covering soft green eyes. What tastes like cotton panties fills her mouth, with more tape wound around her head to cover her entire lower jaw and muffle any sound to a terrified whimper.
She can’t see, but she can hear the soft mewling and struggling of her fellow captives. In the van's rear, 5 nubile young women sit struggling in pantihose and lingerie, all that they had been left wearing after Phil delivered them into the rough hands of their armed female assailants.
Lydia looked up in surprise when Phil pulled to a stop in the middle of an empty road, thick forest on either hand. “What is it, is there something wrong?” she asked, glancing at the driver.
Wordlessly, he turned off the engine, then engaged the parking brake, not looking at her.
Lydia’s door was torn open, and she turned about in surprise to look down the barrel of a gun. “Get out!” the gun’s masked wielder snapped, grabbing Lydia by the arm and jerking her out of the car.
More gun-wielding masked women tore open the rear door, and dragged out the waitresses, dressed in the uniform of black mid thigh skirt, a white cotton L/S blouse with thin red pinstripes, and a black waistcoat and tie. Helplessly, they held their arms up, staring in fear at their masked captors.
“Don’t make a sound!” the first attacker said, waving her gun threateningly. “Now, move!” she added, waving them toward the forest.
Hands up, the frightened captives walked into the woods, away from the road. Out of sight behind a stretch of greenery, they found a large sheet laid out on the ground beside a white box van parked out of sight. The attackers stopped them there. “Take off your clothes!” the leader ordered with another threatening wave of her gun.
For a moment they stood still, torn between fear and disbelief, then Lydia reluctantly slipped out of her black tailed coat, and laid it down on the sheet. Slipping her top hat off her elegantly-arranged brown hair, she set it down too, then her white cotton gloves. In just her white blouse and dark skirt, Lydia hesitated, glancing at the masked woman holding her at gunpoint.
Beside her, Pattie, the bright redhead, followed Lydia’s example, she stripped off her waistcoat, blouse and tie, baring her strapless black bra, then stood frozen, her hands clasping the waistband of her mid-thigh skirt. She looked up at the masked woman threatening her, her green eyes narrowed. “Ye’ll ne’er get away with this. . .” she growled through her Irish brogue.
Lara, the youngest of them all at barely eighteen, bent over, too frightened to even look at the gun held on her, and pulled her skirt off, then straightened up, stripped down to nothing more than her lacy lingerie - a pale yellow bustiere, boyshorts, garters and sheer nude stockings. A thin gold ring gleamed on her finger as she raised her hands again, her eyes down, her bosom heaving as she breathed.
Eve, her dark brown hair cut short in a welter of curls, slips out of her her blouse, sliding the sleeves down her arms. She crosses her legs, sheathed in nude control top pantihose, pressing her left hand over the crotch of her dark blue panties, and she pressed her right arm across her breasts to try to cover the matching dark blue bra.
Greta muttered in her native German. Her golden-blonde curls shaking around her pale round face as she pulls her skirt down, baring her slim legs encased in sheer nude stockings, her plain garter belt, and dark-red thong. She straightened up, clasping her hands over her dark brown bra cups, and staring at the armed woman before her with mingled anger and fear.
Kirstin held herself stiffly, her hands by her sides. The shapely middle-aged Scot’s burnt umber hair hung about her shoulders. She wore a black garter belt holding up sheer nude stockings, a plain white bra, and panties two sizes too small covered with cartoon bears. She blushed a deep scarlet as the woman holding a weapon on her laughed, pointing at her crotch, every line of her pussy outlined through the thin cloth beside the cartoon bears.
At the gun’s threatening gesture, Pattie pulled her skirt down, over her wide hips and around the curve of her ass, then down her legs, baring her matching black panties and her nude control top pantihose.
Lydia opened up her white blouse, jerking the buttons open, then threw her shoulders back, sliding the sleeves down her arms, her breasts pressed out against her silky red camisole. She blushed, feeling her captor’s gaze on her curvy body as she set her blouse down, then reached down to the waist of her dark skirt and pushed it down over he black fishnet pantihose.
“Very nice!” the leader said, her eyes running over the slim bodies clad only in silky sheer hosiery and tight lingerie in a way that made them feel violated. “Now, get down on the ground!” she ordered. “On your bellies!” They obeyed. “Put your hands behind your backs!”
Frightened, humiliated, they obeyed, dropping onto their bellies on the sheet, putting their hands behind their backs.
Each masked woman took one of their captives, crouching beside their prone bodies, reaching into a pocket to take out a handful of plastic cable ties.
Lydia whimpered as the stiff plastic loop closed around her wrists and was drawn tight with a loud ‘Zi-i-ip!’
The masked woman wrapped another tie around her elbows. ‘Zi-i-ip!’ She squealed as her elbows were pulled close together, jerking her shoulders back. “Please! It’s too tight!” Eve pleaded as a cable tie closed around her own elbows.
More cable ties came out, locked around ankles and knees, binding the half-naked women helplessly tight. Lydia shivered with fright as the masked woman crouched beside her and grabbed her dark hair. “Ow!” Lydia cried as the woman pulled her head back. “Pleas-Mhmph!” a thick folded cloth was stuffed in her open mouth. Before Lydia could spit it out, a piece of tape was plastered across her lips. “Mhmm!” she moans, shaking her head helplessly, but she couldn’t stop the woman wrapping the tape around her head, pulling it tighter with every turn. “Mhmm. . .” Lydia sobbed, tears welling in her eyes. Her vision goes black, and she feels more tape put over her eyes.
Beside her, Pattie growled into her gag, chewing on her gag, tasting the panties in her mouth. She shook her head blindly, kicking her bound legs, twisting her arms from side to side. Her black pantie-covered butt twisted from side to side, her full cheeks pressing out against the sheer material.
“Hey, watch it!” the woman crouched over her snapped, then reached down and spanked Pattie on her ass.
“Mhmfgh!" Pattie growled, redoubling her struggles.
The masked woman just laughed at her, and spanked her again, then again, whacking her hand down until Patties’ ass glows pink through the sheer material. Pattie gave up long before then; she hung her head, whimpering with every strike until the woman gave up, satisfied.
“All right!” the leader said. “Let’s get dressed.”
The masked women quickly undressed, stripping down to their own lingerie and hosiery, then dressed again in the stolen clothing.
Lara lay still, just praying this would all be over soon. She clenched her hands behind her, her ring gleaming in a stray shot of sunlight.
The woman wearing her clothes glanced down and saw the gleam of gold. She dropped to one knee beside Lara, then grabbed her hand.
“Mhmm!” Lara cried out, feeling the woman’s fingers jerking at her ring. “Mhmm! MHMMM!” she screamed, struggling wildly, clenching her hand into a fist to keep the woman from taking it away. But bound and blind, the woman tore her ring away out of her hand. “MHMMM!”
“Come on,” the leader said. “We have a wedding to get to!”
Lara cried out after them as they turned and walked away, leaving the helpless women to wait for whatever was planned for them.
They didn’t have long to wait: the door of the van slammed open, and a heavy man’s tread approached the blind trembling captives. “Well now, wha’ a lovely soight!” he said through a thick accent, a large heavy voice.
A thick meaty hand grabbed Lara and lifted her in the air. “Whmmm!” she howled, still struggling wildly as she fell across a broad shoulder, thick cabled muscles playing as he clapped his hand on her boyshorts.
“Stops it!” he snapped as he carried her away toward the van.
“Mhaw!” LAra cried, flailing her legs blindly.
“I said stop it!” he snapped again, then slapped his hand hard on her ass.
“Mhmm!” L:ara cried, jerking in shock at the strike.
He brought his hand on her ass again.
“Mhmm!”
He spanked her again and again, ten times. By the time he was finished, Lara hung limply over his shoulder, her hair hanging down his back, whimpering softly through her gag. “Are you done?” he asked.
“Mhmm,” Lara moaned.
He carried her to the van, and slid her into the back seat, buckling the seat belt around her to keep her in place. None of them gave him any trouble as he carried them, one by one, into the van. Mewling voices pleaded through gags, muffled offers of anything he wanted were ignored as he calmly locked them in place.
Lydia was the last in.
Now, as the van rolls back onto the road, he reaches over and puts a hand on her breast. “Mhmm!” she moans, shrinking blindly away from him. Behind her, in the back seat, the other captives mewl into their gags
“Relax,” he says lightly. “We’re just going to keep you out of the way for a little while. Of course,” he adds, kneading her breast between his fingers. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun. . .”
Lydia utters a muffled sob, whilst the impostors with the stolen waitress and MC uniforms, bearing their stolen passes make their way to the wedding.
#
Glenda stands by the entrance of the mansion, watching the musicians approach. She wears a French maid’s style uniform of a short tight black dress, white apron and cap, dark nylons running down her lean legs coupled with black court shoes.
The first of the four young women is a tall, leggy, long haired ash blonde. She is dressed in a sleeveless gold lamme dress that hugs her figure like a second skin, the short hem revealing more of her shapely nylon hosed legs than it conceals; black high heel click-clack on the asphalt as she walks up to the maid, carrying her instrument case. "Excuse me" she asks, her voice a sweet upper-class lilt. "We are looking for the library so we may set up to practice."
Glenda look into the woman's soft brown eyes. “Of course,” she says with a smile, and directs them to their destination.
The blonde leader gives her a smile and a dignified nod, then trustingly leads her fellows into the mansion. Following her are a tall ginger, her pale face speckled with freckles, her fiery hair tumbling down her back in a ponytail like a waterfall, a short brunette, her long ringlets pinned up in a high bun, and a mousey blonde with a neat bob cut.
Glenda watches as they pass her, then turns to follow the four curvaceous young female musicians with her eyes, appreciating the dresses clinging to tight butts and firm bust, and the slim bodies beneath. Glenda wonders if any of them wear underwear beneath such tight clothes.
In the wine cellar, a woman lies on her belly, wrapped up in rope in nothing but her coffee-coloured stockings, white cotton panties and garter belt, her naked breasts pressed into the cold floor; her bra is in her mouth, filling her mouth until her cheeks bulge out, held in by a thin cloth bound tightly between her teeth. A tight rope stretches from her bound arms to her ankles, forcing her slim body to bend in tight bow.
She struggles against her bonds and moans, alone in the dark. but the real maid will soon have company; a quartet in fact, once the four pretty musicians discovered that they would not be performing later.
#
The security is quite tight for such a big society wedding: two Woman Police Constables stand on duty to check the credentials of anyone entering. The first is Sammie, a pretty blonde with her hair pinned in a tidy bun and big brown eyes; her partner is grey-eyed Dana, her raven hair bound in a ponytail. They both wear uniforms of serge tunics and knee length skirts, white cotton gloves, cravats and crisp white shirts and bowler style hats.
The two pretty female constables are about to go on duty when one of the cleaning staff walks into their room. "Hello," she says with a wide smile. "Can you do something for me?"
"Of course, what?” Sammie asks.
The 'maid' slips a pistol out from her apron and holds it on the two policewoman. "Shut your mouths!" she says with a wide grin.
Both WPCs open their mouths to cry out to the other police there, but the false maid gestures threateningly with the pistol. "I said shut it!" she snaps. When she sees them both close their mouths and raise their hands, she relaxes slightly, and gives them a smile. "Good. Now, take your clothes off."
Sammie opens her mouth to protest; beside her, Dana’s eyes flash wide with outrage, but the false maid gestures threateningly with the gun. “Do it!” she snaps, her voice low and dangerous.. Reluctantly, they both start to undress, slipping out of their serge tunics and knee length skirts.
The woman grinned as Sammie slips her skirt off, down her legs clad in dark nylon control top pantihose, leaving her in only a figure-hugging blue camisole. Beside her, Dana stands in a pink satin bra and black lacy briefs, her hands raised, glaring at the false maid in helpless anger.
Under her ruthless directions, they sit back-to-back and she binds them with zip ties, wrapping the plastic ties around their wrists and elbows, ignoring their quiet protests she pulls the ties tight until they dig into the WPCs' scantily-clad bodies. taking a length of white rope, she wraps it around them both to keep them together back-to-back. She grabs a pair of panties, balling them up in her hand, and turns back to them.
“Don’t you dare put those in my mouth!” Dana snaps. “Don’t you dare-Mhmmph!” her protests end in a muffle cry as the false maid forces the panties in her mouth, then forces a tight cleave gag between her lips, tying it too tight to ever force the panties out.
She turns to Sammie, but the blonde policewoman surrenders, knowing there is no point in resisting; she opens her mouth wide, letting the impostor slide another pair of panties into her mouth, then bind it in place.
“Stay out of trouble, now!” she calls mockingly, leaving them there, taking their uniforms with her.
Left alone, Sammie and Dana kick their bound legs, screaming out through their gagged mouths, trying to attract attention, to get someone to hear them. But the soft carpet swallows the blows of their hosed heels, and their futile calls for help are swallowed by the cleave gags and warm moist women's under apparel that fill their mouths completely. They struggle, wiggling their sexy bodies against each other, grunts and moans rising as they gasp for air, growing hot and sweaty. But the ropes and ties bite harder into their soft flesh, underwear and silky nylon, and will not give. Gasping for breath, the two pretty constables give up their futile struggles, and sit, waiting for a rescue.
However, they would have a long wait: in a small out-of-the-way anteroom, at that precise moment, their female sergeant and the three other WPCs in the their detachment are already chewing on panties and cleave gags, stripped at gunpoint to their underwear and hosiery.
Sandra, their 42-year-old Sergeant, sits on the floor, stripped to her white long line girdle and bra and black pantyhose, loops of tight rope encircling her, binding her arms and legs, wrapped across her breasts. She blonde hair streaked with gray cut to collar length, and brown eyes glaring up at their captors.
Beside her is Henrietta; the helpless young constable has stunning green eyes, curly red hair bound in a tail: the rest of her is bound like her sergeant; she is stripped to plain white bra and panties, black stockings and a tight garter belt.
WPC Fara is slender, with long blonde hair in tangles across her shoulders and pale blue eyes. She struggles uselessly in her lacy black bra and thong, black garters and stocking, and yards upon yards of tight white rope that digs into her pale skin.
Last of them is Patrice, a blue-eyed brunette, she is in a black and red floral print bra with matching panties, legs clad in sheer dark control top pantyhose.
The helpless officers wriggle and squirm uselessly, watching as the armed impostors who ambushed them and taken them captive dress in the stolen uniforms. They slide on equipment belts with radios and protective vests, ready for their job.
They turn back to the struggling policewomen. “Just one more thing. . .” one of them, their leader, says with a grin.
Struggling is useless, and in moments all four policewomen are blindfolded with duct tape; they still struggle and cry out, hoping that someone will hear them and find them.
The impostors file out of the small room, but the last in line turns back, a small spray bottle raised. She holds her breath, spraying them with a fine chloroform mist that settles over their naked skin and lingerie.
The door slides shut with a click, and the lock rattles, closing them and their muffled cries within.
The captive officers' helpless cries grow quieter, their struggles slowing as the mist takes its affect, then silence reigns as they slump to the floor.
The police security is now replaced and rendered impotent: a well shaped plan is now taking place.
Meanwhile, elsewhere. . .
