Fur Coat No Knickers

by C. B. Martin

  I should whip and tease that gorgeous fecker into place. I could dominate him for a change. My mind flashed to images of Travis tied to a bed, unable to move. This was somewhat appealing on more levels than one.

  That’s what you get for being a gorgeous, inconsistent pig, I giggled to myself. On second thoughts, he would probably love that. Okay, well so far, that’s the favorite scenario for tomorrow night. I made a mental note of this scene, but couldn’t stop myself wondering what the Big-Man upstairs would think of me.

  As my eyes then traced over to the next section, my softer, more feminine side came out. My eyes dreamily gazed upon a row of soft, feathery boas in a spectrum of beautiful pale pinks and whites, laid out beside matching frilly bras and lacy knickers. Walking down the row, I slowly caressed and ran my hand gently across the array of fluffy fabrics, imagining what they may feel like on.

  What to choose? I was awful at making decisions lately. Far too loved-up for my own good. Completely baffled, I stood back, feeling dizzy with the choices in front of me. I really needed some advice. Do I go hardcore (with a few Hail Mary’s for my sins)? Or girly? Gosh, where would he take me this time? I had to be prepared for anything.

  I sighed deeply as I tried to organise my muddled thoughts. Then, just as I decided the only thing for it was to try everything on that Travis might like, I was distracted by a noisy customer.

  ‘Well,’ continued the tall, tanned, blonde, tattooed, mid-thirties hunk, ‘she’s kind of this big.’ Without a trace of embarrassment he was cupping his hands on his own chest in an effort to show his girlfriend/wife’s breast size, which was apparently considerable.

  ‘What do you mean, her back size?’ he asked, confused; clearly in answer to the questions of the bored-looking assistant. ‘I don’t have a clue, does it really matter? She’s… well, err… her size, over there.’

  He pointed frantically at a girl the size of a toothpick.

  ‘Is the underwear for your wife?’ asked a nosey woman standing in the queue. ‘Because if it is… you really don’t want to get that wrong,’ she smirked.

  Men really don’t have a clue, I thought, shaking my head as I wandered back to the front of the shop and started my search all over again. But bless him (I turned back around for another sneaky look), at least he’s trying.

  Right, time to focus. Time is of the essence. Let’s see. To give myself some momentum, I grabbed a couple of items and tried out the colour next to my skin. Black balconnette bra, or a red? Side-tied, bowed, or crotch-less undies? Commando was so much easier, but never, ever, would I be doing that again.

  Then, barely thinking about what I was doing, I marched over and picked up the black, PVC catsuit. I’d barely laid hands on it before an assistant popped out, as if from nowhere, making me jump.

  ‘Madame, would you like to try the catsuit on?’ she asked, with a sweet smile. Then, before I could answer, she prattled on. ‘Because of the rubbery texture of this item, we do recommend a small sprinkling of talc on the inside. They can be quite tricky. Would you like me to fetch some talc for you?’

  ‘Erm… not to worry,’ I insisted, feeling a little embarrassed. It felt like I was advertising to the world I was about to have a steamy session of S&M sex. ‘I don’t have that much time. I’m not actually going to try it on.’

  ‘Would you like me to put the catsuit to one side for you then?’ she asked, completely unfazed.

  ‘I’m just going to hold it up against myself, if that’s okay?’ I said, clutching the suit closer to me in case she tried to walk off with it. ‘I'll just try on the other bits I’ve got here real quick.’

  Apart from the fact I really didn’t want to admit to liking such an outrageously raunchy outfit, I was afraid the shopkeeper’s white talc would have an adverse effect on my newly applied spray tan. I only had a few hours to get body-perfect. I couldn’t afford any fuck-ups.

  I disappeared into the tiny changing room and wrestled my way out of my clothes. I’d hung the catsuit on the hook behind the door and did my best to ignore it, as I tried on the other, safer garments. After trying on endless sexy pieces, the devil knocked at my door. I turned to look at the slinky PVC suit and swore quietly to myself. Lord, I will seek forgiveness after I’ve worn it, I thought, biting my lip hard and blessing myself.

  I’d better just quickly slip it on though. I can’t afford to waste any money. I took the catsuit off its hanger. It felt surprisingly cold and slippery. I slipped a foot in each leg hole and I heaved and pulled. She certainly wasn't kidding about the talc, I thought, as I yanked the catsuit up just past my hips. I paused briefly to see what it looked like so far. Hmmm… not bad. Not bad at all, I thought as I swiveled around to take a look at the back view in the mirror. Still, I did have to see the whole thing on to be sure.

  The further I pulled the catsuit up my body the more complicated it seemed to be. I simply couldn't figure it out. There were definitely no zips or buttons. Meanwhile, there was a large opening around the chest, yet a small neck collar. Completely thrown, I lifted up one component after the other of the outfit that flopped around my waist.

  Determined not to be beaten, I challenged the seemingly indestructible material. I pulled it back down to waist level and put my arms through the only two holes I could find - which then automatically pulled the back of the outfit up. I winced as the crotch piece nearly fractured my lady-garden. Straightening up and surveying myself in the mirror, I could see the neckpiece was still flapping. What the…?

  Scratching my head, I wondered how the hell I would ever get the rest of it on. I pulled it back down to waist level and started again. Okay, this time I would put my arms and head in at the same time. It’s about co-ordination, I told myself. With another supreme effort, I tugged the suit so hard that for a moment I thought I dislocated my arm. It really hurt. The collar was now stuck around my nose, I was seriously losing my temper.

  ‘There must be a fault on this one,’ I cursed, sweating profusely.

  But then, with one final yank, the bastard was on. Ahh, no one messes with Tara; the Sex Goddess.

  Feeling not unlike a lump of jelly in a vice grip, I stood back and squinted into the mirror. I forced myself to visualise the ‘sexy’ me, with bright red, glossy lipstick and come-to-me eyes. To complete the effect, I stood on my tippy toes and ruffled my hair. I roared like a tigress under my breath and pouted at my reflection.

  Hmmm. After all that, I really wasn’t sure. In fact, if I was honest, I looked like a she-devil gone wrong. This outfit probably looks better on a twenty-year old. Feeling turned off, it slowly dawned on me that the catsuit was probably even more difficult to get off than it was to get on. Good job I didn't need the loo. Sod’s law though, the moment the thought entered my head, I realised I was actually busting for a pee.

  Oh my God. How on earth am I going to get out of it? It was that hard to get into, I would probably have to be cut out. Oh the shame of it. My bladder was now feckin’ bursting. Crossing my legs, I grabbed hold of my lady-garden, mumbling frantically at my poor, constricted bladder to hold on, hold on.

  Pulling desperately at any loose fabric I could find, I started to jump up and down, frantically wriggling this way and that. But every time I pulled it back over my head, the body of the catsuit shortened and pulled itself even tighter. Oh God, I was going to pee myself for the first time in thirty years. (My orgasm with Travis doesn't count, I Googled it. And I was asleep when I did that other one last year, so it doesn't count either). No matter how much I pulled my butt cheeks and pelvis in, it was a no-go. By now I was in a serious flap.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Tara, for feck's sake!’ I admonished, realising with a start I’d actually said it out loud. Hoping no one heard, I began a frantic conversation in my head. Think! Think! Come on, brain - please start working. After a moment’s deliberation, I decided to try and catch the catsuit off guard. To surprise it, I closed my eyes and meditated briefly while I planned a sneak attack on the costume. This was wa
r! However, as I quickly found, fighting a battle in the dark with my eyes closed against the rubbery predator was probably the worst idea I’d ever had. My assault was immediately repelled and I was thrown back against the changing room door.

  Defeated, I slid down the length of the door in to a panting mess. I’d lost.

  But what now? I was too ashamed to ask the assistant for help, they had warned me about the talc. Hysteria began to kick in. I needed to make an SOS call.

  Then a thought hit me. Maybe I could rip it off? Damn it, that should’ve been Travis’ job, but it was too late now. I began to hunt for a good place to start picking at a seam with my tweezers.

  Then, like a godsend, a voice from heaven filled my ears. It was James. I knew that voice anywhere.

  ‘James?’ I hissed over the top of the changing room door. ‘Is that you?’

  Easing the door open, just enough to pop my head out, I could see the back of his highlighted hair.

  ‘James!’ I snarled. ‘Come here!’

  Looking confused, James leaned back away from a shelf full of sex toys and pouted his heavily glossed lips. His eyes and head darted in every direction before he finally spotted my torso-less head, peeking around the changing room door.

  ‘Come in here,’ I demanded through gritted teeth. ‘I’m stuck.’

  I watched his eyes light up and his mouth open wide. God, he can be a bitch at times.

  ‘Oh my god. So this is where you dashed off to in such a rush tonight. We all decided to abandon the dance class because you wouldn't come with us. Never mind, we can all go next week. At least you can now meet my new boyfriend - I’ll bring him over…’

  ‘No! Listen to me,’ I said, unable to disguise how desperate I felt as I opened the changing room door fully. ‘I can’t get out of this, I’m stuck.’

  As I revealed the full extent of my humiliation, I dropped my arms to my side in exhaustion. I already couldn't stand what was inevitably coming next.

  ‘But, you look fabulous, Tara,’ James announced theatrically, gasping through his fingers which he’s raised to his mouth in mock admiration. ‘Christian, sweetie, come quick! Come see what my boss is wearing. We have just got to get us one of these!’

  ‘Please… I’ve been like this for half an hour. Just come in and help me out of it,’ I wheedled, my feeling of horror and shame growing each second.

  I saw Christian hurrying over, noting he was James’ usual type; about 19-years old, athletic and achingly good-looking.

  ‘Christian, be a love and hold this butt plug, Tara needs me,’ James declared melodramatically as he swept into the changing room, slamming the door behind him. ‘Wow,’ he gasped, this time in apparent genuine admiration. ‘It looks like it has been sprayed on. It’s fabulously raunchy. I hope you’re going to buy it? If you’re not, I certainly will. Does it feel good on? Do you think it would fit me?’

  ‘Shut up!’ I brutally interrupted, puffing with the exertion of trying to get out of the feckin’ catsuit. ‘Just get me out of it!’

  ‘Oh Tara, look at me - I look like boiled shit,’ said James swiveling around, distracted by the wall-to-wall mirrors. ‘All this wind is doing no favours for my hair… and, oh my God, my arse is so massive in this mirror!’

  ‘Hey, Christian… Christian!’ he began yelling over the top of the door. ‘Does my arse look big today? Looks like I’ll need an extra large butt plug after all,’ he laughed.

  ‘James, please stop poncing around,’ I begged, desperately.

  ‘Sorry,’ said James. Then, tilting his head to one side, he said, ‘It just doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it? I can see all the weeds in your lady-garden.’

  ‘I’m going to bloody wet myself in a second and I will hold you fully responsible!’ I spat, giving James the evil eye. ‘Now please just hold the collar and stretch it apart as far you can.’

  I spun around to give him better access and waited for him to do what he needed to do to help release me from the clutches of this evil black suit. I tried to ignore the feeling of his fingertips vibrating as he held back deep shudders of laughter.

  ‘Christian,’ cried James, again, snorting heavily with the effort of it all. ‘We need all hands on deck here. There is a big black rubber to deal with. Come on in and help.’

  Then, looking conspiratorially, he whispered to me, ‘It’s okay. He’s seen far worse.’

  It didn't matter. I didn’t care anymore. I’d gone past that point. Christian hurried in and then, after the briefest of introductions, the gay brigade set to, pulling and pushing me this way and that. It seemed to take forever. Meanwhile, my eyes were rolling into the back of my head with the pain of it all - I had to constantly bite my lip to prevent myself from pissing everywhere.

  ‘Tara… have you tried undoing the Velcro on the back of the collar?’ James asked, still trying not to laugh.

  ‘What?’ I spat in horror, swinging around to look at him.

  ‘You mean you got that on with the VELCRO done up?’ he said in amazement. ‘Wow, get you. I bet you’re a right minx in the bedroom!’

  By now, both he and Christian could no longer hold back the hysterics and both were howling with laughter; tears rolling down their faces.

  ‘James, I implore you – DO NOT mention this to anyone,’ I instructed, as he finally released me from my bonds. It was such a relief as I rolled the hot PVC prison off each leg. ‘I’ll give you a bonus at the end of the week. And Christian - you can come and have a couple of sun beds - but both of you please just keep shtoom!’

  ‘I swear on my huge bonus and Christian’s twenty free tanning sessions; we won’t tell a soul,’ chanted James, placing his right on his chest (around about where his heart would be, if he had one).

  I flopped down into the chair and both James and Christian held the catsuit by the ankles and pulled and heaved. To help ease things along I peeled the rest away from my now chaffed, sweaty skin. Then, voila, it was off! The feeling of freedom was immense.

  I shoved both my saviours out of the dressing room, got dressed at lightning speed and raced towards an assistant whilst cupping my lady-garden, jumping desperately from one foot to the other.

  ‘Please,’ I winced, ‘where are the loos in here, please?’

  ‘They’re staff only toilets,’ she replied snootily, returning her gaze to her notebook.

  That was it. I had had enough. I told her in no uncertain terms that unless she let me use the loo, she was going to have a fine mess to clear up. For good measure, I added that I had eaten a mean curry for dinner last night. The assistant’s face said it all. She hastily asked me to follow her.

  My pride and reputation emptied down that toilet. After the most gratifying wee of my life, I composed myself and left the shop without looking at anyone, not even James. I just wanted to go home.

  Still, at least I had tomorrow to look forward to. Hearing a ping from my phone, I dug it out of my handbag excitedly. It’ll be Travis, making last minute arrangements, I’m sure.

  [Text from Jayde]

  Just fort I wud let u no, James has sent every1 a picture of u trapt in a gimp outfit, in a sex shop. Is it tru or is it photo shopped?

  The following day, I decided to close the Salon slightly earlier than I should’ve but, hey, it’s not every day you get to see your man live on TV, or that you have the second hottest date of your life. I instructed Siobhan to come over with enough alcoholic provisions to last her the night. No doubt she would end up crashed out somewhere completely arse-faced, but the deal was that we’d all watch the match together on the Salon TV and that when the match was over, she’d be in charge of getting everyone out of the Salon so I would be alone when Travis came. In a brief text exchange that morning, Travis had said he expected to be away from the stadium by 6pm and would meet me at the Salon as soon as he could. I’d bombarded him with questions about where we’d go once he got to the Salon, but as always, his text messages abruptly dried up. I didn’t care. This was already shaping
up to be one of the best days of my life.

  James walked - or should I say limped - in, around 30 minutes before kick-off, making his usual dramatic entrance.

  ‘Fuck me sideways and call me Samantha, I’ve only gone and pulled my groin!’ he grimaced as he tenderly walked through the door with a frozen bag of peas over his manly-hood. ‘I’ve spent my whole day off in Accident and Emergency! Five hours I was sitting there. But worse than that, the only Vogue magazine they had was three years out of date. All they did in the end was tell me to go home and take some paracetamol. Well, I said to them, ‘only if you can give me a suppository’. I don’t think the doctor had any idea how much danger my moneymaker was in. Mind you, I did get him to have a cup of the plums before I left - just to make sure I hadn’t pulled them as well.’

  ‘Oh poor James,’ I replied, sarcastically eyeballing him. ‘Could that have been Karma… as a result of his gossiping? Or perhaps from sending crude pictures of a helpless victim trapped in a catsuit?’

  ‘Don’t ya be worryin’ about screamin’ queenie over there,’ interrupted Jayde. ‘He just wants even more attention than normal. Oh and by the way, Jackie text me on me way over and she ain’t feeling great. So she’s gonna stay home tonight.’

  ‘Oh that’s a shame,’ I replied, feeling rather disappointed. This was my big night after all. ‘I wonder what’s up with her lately. She never seems to want to come out anymore. Anyway you two, help yourselves to drink and nibbles over there.’

  Just as I turned to follow James into the staffroom to give him an ear bashing, I heard a crashing thud against the front door. It was then flung open by Siobhan accompanied by her usual manic grin.