RetroXotique - Pinky

Pinky checked everything was laid out on the dining table in the correct order, getting dressed was going to be hard enough without struggling to find any parts of the outfit. Her boyfriend Jerry, correction, her Master (she would really have to get used to thinking of him as such) was relaxing in an armchair with a little smile on face.

The reason that he was smiling, was that tonight Pinky would have to prove to the world (or at least the High St., Fulham part of it) that she was his ‘sub’ . That she was totally subservient to his wishes and would do anything he requested.

It had all started a when she had met Jerry two years ago, they had been living together on and off for just over a year. Over that time Jerry, shit sorry, “Her Master” had slowly introduced her to bondage and then mild pain. At first she had resisted, when the levels of bondage and pain had increased and, twice now, she had tried to leave him. The first time she had stayed away for two weeks before begging him to let her come back. The second time, a month ago, she had only managed three days before she again begged him to let her come back.

This time though he made conditions: If she came back she must obey him unconditionally inside and outside the flat. She would have to be his sub in public and in private.

For the last month she had been preparing for her first public outing. Her Master had laid out the rules; there would be no halfway measures - she would wear the outfit of his choice.

Her Master had planned it so that everything about her outfit would embarrass her and make her stand out from the crowd. His first decision had been the colour. Pink. She hated pink, she had always hated pink, it was a girlie colour. Before she had met him, Pinky had been a goth. All black, black doc martens, black tights, short black skirt, ripped black top, black makeup and jet black hair. Jerry (damn), her Master had slowly teased her into more feminine clothes and different colours. But she had steadfastly refused to wear anything of any shade of pink.

On her last return, her Master had decided to change her name from ‘Tommy’ (Jane Tomkins) to Pinky. She could not fight him, she could not leave him again. She needed the bondage / the pain / the control. So she became Pinky. Early on her Master had decreed that from then on she would wear mostly pink, not just any pink but blush pink, Barbie pink, girlie pink. He knew she detested the colour, that’s why he made her wear it. He also ordered her to dye her hair blonde and wear it in a high Barbie, bouffant style. Her makeup, which was previously, all dark colours, was now pinks and reds and light blue’s. Pinky hated herself every time she looked in the mirror, but knew she had no choice if she wanted to stay.

The last month she had spent all her spare time preparing her outfit. Her Master had asked that she wear her normal ‘bedroom’ gear covered with extra clothes to preserve her modesty and stop her being arrested. Pinky had sewn an ornate hobble skirt and a short jacket and covered a long line bra, all these items were in blush pink.

She had been wearing a waist cincher night and day and had reduced her waist six inches from her normal 29” to a breathless 23”. This made her figure stunning, as she was a big girl 5’ 10” , 168lbs, 40” D and 38” hips. She hated the corset - it was so restricting, she could not bend or breath and it dug in under her ribs. She had also being wearing high 6” heels, although she had not seen the shoes or the corset for tonight’s outing as Jerry (……. Master) had handled those.

Pinky went back upstairs and sat down at her dressing table, sitting down at the low stool, uncomfortable in the tight cincher and the high-heeled boots. First she undid the high collar of the frilly pink massively be frilled floor length peignoir, that her Master insisted she now wear in the bedroom and around the house while not dressed; it was a totally over the top, with a high frilly neck and dripping with lace at wrists and the edge. It was buttoned all the way down the front to about mid-thigh with multitude of small buttons, and woe betides Pinky if her master found any of them undone.

There were two reasons for this:

1) She could not close the buttons at the waist without the cincher being fully laced and, as such, if she was wearing the peignoir, the cincher had to be tight laced.

2) The collar was high tight and filled with bones and, as such, Pinky had to go round the house with her head held high to stop the bones from digging in.

Pinky absolutely detested the peignoir and, as such, he was most strict and made her wear it every morning and night.

First, she trowelled on a heavy pink-tinted foundation; next, she drew on eyebrows much higher than her normal, and then several shades of pink and light blue eye shadow. Next she glued on an enormous set of false eyelashes and then layered them in heavy black mascara; the false lashes felt so cumbersome and she had trouble seeing past them.

Then came the bight pink lipstick that stood out from the foundation like a beacon. Earlier on, she had teased the blonde hair up into a bouffant and set it hard with a full can of hairspray. Pinky picked up a deep stiffened pink ribbon with a large 6” wide pink bow attached to it. She carefully wrapped it around her bouffant hair; she pinned it at the back and then hair gripped it in eight places around the bouffant. Using a hand mirror to judge, at the back she pinned several smaller pink bows from crown down to neck. The last touch was the large earrings, which had 3” wide pink bows attached, especially picked out by her Master.

Finished at last, she viewed herself in the mirror, grimaced, and thought, “Was Jane Tompkins really still under there somewhere?”

She struggled to her feet, the low stool, the high heels, the tight cincher and the frilled peignoir all causing her problem. Slowly, she unbuttoned all the little buttons of the peignoir and then loosened the waist cincher and rubbed her sore ribs. This morning he had made sure it was fully tightened before he left for work.

Pinky then bent down and unlaced the 6” heeled ankle boots, that he made sure she wore in the house, the reason being that she could not just slip them off the way she had being doing with pumps. She was not really happy in high heels, competent but prior to moving in Jerry (ooops … Master), she had worn flat shoes or Doc Marten boots.

Now naked, Pinky visited the toilet before going back downstairs; she had a feeling that it would be many hours before she had the opportunity again. Lastly, she sprayed herself all over in a pungent cloying flowery perfumed body spray - it smelt like something her grandmother would wear on bad day. Back downstairs, two new items had been added to the table: a large butt plug, and some small nipple clamps. Next to her Master’s chair was a large zipped holdall, which Pinky assumed contained the missing parts of her outfit. With a sigh, Pinky went back upstairs and fetched the lubricant. The butt plug was the largest she had so far used, and inserting it caused her a great deal of discomfort and left her feeling bloated. Back downstairs, she then picked up the high waisted, long legged extra firm control panty briefs - in effect, a girdle. It was very stiff and, to make matters worse, it was two sizes to small.

Pinky inserted her legs and dragged them up to her thighs, and there they stuck. She grasped the top and slowly jerked and twisted them up to her waist. Jerry stood, and indicating to Pinky that she should pull the front, he stood behind and jerked up the back. Pinky gasped as the gusset was pushed upwards, driving the butt plug deeper. The briefs were really tight, and they crushed Pinky’s minimal belly to nothing. Jerry resumed his seat, and Pinky moved back to the table, feeling the butt plug even more intensely due to the tightness of the panty briefs. She then picked up the stay-up stockings and, with some difficulty, sat down and smoothed each one onto her legs.

Standing with even more difficulty, Pinky returned to the table and picked up the pink long-line bra. There came a short cough from her Master, and she quickly put down the bra and picked up the nipple clamps. Pinky had deliberately avoided them as, although they were small, she knew they were very uncomfortable if worn for any length of time. She grimaced as she carefully attached them to her large nipples.

Moving even more deliberately now, Pinky picked up the long-line pink bra - It was an original fifties cone bra. She had carefully covered it in the blush pink material and had even had to pad the cups as they were to big even for her 40”D breasts.

She pushed her arms through the wide straps, hoisted her breasts high into cups the and strained to fasten the 7 hooks at the back, wincing as she put pressure on the nipple clamps. Her bosom was now about 4” higher and 6” bigger, due to the padded cups and the much shortened straps. Her view of the floor was now severely restricted by the two missile nose cones thrusting out from her chest.

The sound of the zip on the holdall made her turn, and her Master drew out a long pair of pink boots; when the heels appeared, Pinky gasped they were full 7” stiletto heel, with a ballet toe. Pinky started to say something, something like she could not wear them, she could not walk in them, they would show below the skirt, people would see her.

Her Master held up his hand to stay her outburst, “We agreed that it would be bedroom wear.”

Pinky could not really argue - even before she left the last time, her Master had made her wear ballet boots most nights - a short pair of ankle boots, but still with ballet heels. She had eventually managed OK on them, except for the stairs, which she had to take on her knees. These boots though were something else - they were thigh high with double lacing and blush pink patent leather.

Her Master held them out and Pinky walked over and took them; she walked back and sat on a dining chair and placed her feet into one of them. The lacing was out except for the last few holes and Pinky began to slowly lace it. The holes were close and double with two laces one pink and one white. As she progressed up the ankle, she felt her calf muscles being pulled taut and thought that these might be slightly steeper than the ones upstairs. She had to keep moving her head from side to side to see downwards through the long thick false lashes. After ten minutes, she had managed to get up to her knee.

"Make sure they’re tight, or there won't be enough lace to get to the top.”

Pinky reached down and started from the bottom, pulling each loop tight. After half an hour she had nearly reached the top, which covered the leg of the panty briefs and came within an inch of the gusset. She then realised that she was still short of lace, so she reached down again and started tightening from the bottom; she found that the sides had to meet and the tightness at the knees was making her leg rigid.

At last she finished and they were so tight that a roll of flesh was forced at the top. She then started on the second boot. After another twenty minutes she had finished, and using the back of the chair as support, levered herself upwards. Although she was used to ballet heels, the tightness of the thigh high boots gave her little movement at the knees and she had to move this way and that to keep her balance.

Her Master indicated that she should parade around the room, and Pinky made a slow stuttering tour, making straight-legged short 6” strides and struggling on the turns. When she got back to the table she picked up the hobble skirt. This was no ordinary hobble skirt, i.e., just a tight tube of material, and it had stretched her sewing skills to limit with plenty of mistakes and restarts.

The basis was a tight skirt of heavily lined pink satin with flat pleats all the way down the front that would hold legs clamped together from hip to knee. The pleats were held flat by lacing all the way down; to each of the lace crossovers was attached a small pink bow. At the bottom was an enormous flounce of pink netting, which stuck out 18” all the way round. Just above the flounce was a tight 4” pink band, with a massive 18” wide bow at the back. The bows continued all the way up the back of the skirt, starting small at from 4” wide, until the one at bottom level was as wide as her hips.

Her hips would be extra wide at this point as she had carefully sewn in 2” of extra padding on either side to accentuate them. Into the bottom was sewn even more padding, which Pinky thought was a definite overkill, as she thought her bottom was enormous as it was. She hated the skirt, not the hobble - she was use to them, as all her skirts, (she was now never allowed to wear trousers) were very long and very tight. No, it was the prettiness, the girlishness, the sweetness, the frilliness and, above all, the pink-ness.

She unsteadily let herself down onto the chair, and tried to reach down, to put the skirt on but could not reach, the ballet heels were to long. So she scrunched up her knees tight to her stomach forcing the butt plug even further upwards and touching the bra with her knees and disturbing the nipple clamps, grimacing with pain, she struggled to guide the skirt over the stiletto heels of the ballet boots. With some difficulty she managed, and thrust her legs into the tight skirt, thus taking the pressure off her breasts and her anus. She drew it up and ruched it until the heels appeared, and then stood up, using the table for support, and reached down and eased the skirt up and over her hips. The skirt was intended to stop at her hips so that it would not add any inches to her waist. Balancing unsteadily on the skyscraper heels, she reached behind and fastened the numerous hooks and eyes that closed the skirt. She reached across and found the large bow and stretched it across her padded bottom to hide the hooks, and attached it to another set of hooks.

She turned around for approval, and her Master again signalled for her to parade around the room. She thought she managed quite well, even though her legs were now pinioned together from hips to knee by the pink skirt and she could only manage tiny steps - the ballet heels would not have allowed her much more anyway. She slowly moved around the room with wide flounce swinging dramatically with every tiny stride.