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I had just completed my examination of all of them, when I heard Vicki's voice in the hall, calling:  "Will you open the door please?"  "Sure, ' I answered, hastening to oblige, wondering, as I did, why she could not open it for herself; after all, it wasn't locked or anything, just closed. I opened it and she minced past me into the room, holding herself very upright and taking very small steps, even allowing for her high heels. As she passed, I saw the reason for the upright pose. Her arms were held behind her back in a "Y" shaped glove of black kid. It reached almost to the armpits and the two separate arms joined into one at the elbows, which were held in actual contact in the small of her back. From there, down to the tips of her fingers, it was a single glove, holding her forearms, hands, and even fingers rigidly together.  Arrived in the middle of the room she turned and faced me.  "Well?" she smiled, "how do I look?"
	From a very low-cut bustline almost down to her toes, she was wearing a skin-tight gown of what I took to be raspberry red velvet. It was quite plain, save for a crisp white edging around the sleeveless top and outlining a small slit in the front of the skirt. It fitted, literally, like a skin. The bones of her corset, the tops and lacing of her boots were all clearly outlined. The area from the bottom of the corset to the tops of the boots was especially clearly shown. The skirt could not have been more revealing had it been pasted to her body; not a line, not a muscle of her pretty hips and curving bottom was concealed. Suddenly I realised her bosom, incredibly high and full, must tape well over forty inches, while her wasp waist could not have been any more than eighteen inches.  "Well?" she pouted.  "Aren't you going to say anything'?"
"So that's what you meant by the figure you wear in public!" I exclaimed.  "What? Oh. Oh, yes. I can hardly show my real figure when I'm outside. It really would stop traffic, don't you think?"  "I'll say!" I agreed heartily, "Just what do you do when you go out?"  "Well, for one thing, I wear a sort of padded vest around my waist, that adds a few inches. I like to look slim, you understand, but no slimmer than a girl with a naturally small waist; about twenty-three, twenty-four inches."  "But how about the-umm-upper works? The way you stand out now, compared to-"  "Different brassiered," she explained, "they anchor to the top of my corset, of course. When I want to go out, I wear one that sort of minimises things. But here at home I wear one that is really designed to make the most of a naturally full bust, aided by a very tight corset."  "Sounds kind of complicated. Wouldn't it be easier simply to leave your corset off when you go out?"  "What?" she exclaimed, "For one thing, after years of corset wearing, I feel like I'm going to fall apart if I take it off even for a few minutes. For another, I've been training for a small waist for too many years to let it expand even for a matter of hours."  Turning away from me, she strutted over to a straight chair or rather I should say an upright chair with arms and back of plain wood no upholstery. As she moved, her hips, thanks to the stiff corset above and high heels below, undulated most enticingly. Arrived at the chair, she turned to stand with her body in profile, smiling at me over her shoulder, as she asked  "Aren't you going to say that I look pretty? After all, it isn't every day that a girl gets herself up in a costume like this, and then has her arms so rigidly restrained, just so as to look appealing."  "Well, frankly," I replied, "I've never seen anybody like you before. I've heard that there were girls who liked to corset and wear high heels and thigh boots; I'd even read of some that enjoyed bondage. But I never expected to meet one, especially one who obviously gets such whole hearted pleasure out of it. Believe me, you are the loveliest, most desirable creature I've ever seen."  "Thank you," she smiled. "That's what my husband tells me. But I like hearing it from somebody else, too."  "There's just one thing. . " I murmured.  "What's that?" she asked, in obvious concern. "Your legs. It's a pity to hide them under that long skirt."  "Well?" she challenged.  "Huh?" I gasped.  "Well, with my arms behind me like this, I can't very well stop you. After all, that's what a skirt like this is for-to be pulled up."  In a second, I was beside her and had grasped the material to begin raising it, when I said,  "Hey, what goes on? This stuff feels like rubber."  "That's what it is, red sheet rubber, cut and draped into a gown. That's what makes it cling so wonderfully."  In a second I had the skirt gathered and looped up to her hips. Gracefully, she sank into the chair, sitting far enough back in the seat so that her gloved hands, which hung so rigidly over her bottom, slipped over the back of the seat, so that she could sat upright.  Then, as I stepped back to look at her, she crossed her booted legs in the approved pin-up manner and smiled,  "Well?" The picture she presented, the beautifully fitting, skin-tight, high heeled boots, the red rubber gown, suggestively gathered about the hips and hugging the tiny waist and incredible bust, the back-arched shoulders and back-gloved, helpless arms, and finally the pretty, warmly smiling face made me admire her immensely.  "Great God in Heaven!" was all I could say. Then I stared some more, while she obviously basked in my pop eyed admiration. Finally, I managed to murmur, "How do you get this dress off?" I asked, "It doesn't seem to have any fastening."  It doesn't. It's rubber, remember? It just rolls down like a stocking."  It took me a second to get the roll started around the close-fitting top; but after that it was almost like peeling a banana. In a very brief time the dress was just a red doughnut on the floor, and she was stepping away from it. I tossed it on a chair and turned to inspect my lovely companion.
	From heels to the tops of her legs she wore, as I had seen, the most perfectly fitting thigh-high boots imaginable. They were of black kid, highly polished and seemingly almost buttery in softness. At the top of each leg, on the outside, a tightly drawn strap ran up to the leather corset that stretched from rather below the hip-bones, up past the tiny waist, to the base of the jutting bust. Above this and fastened to the corset in some way, was the brassiere that had started the discussion. This was shaped into two half cups, obviously shaped and boned rigidly to hold the proper shape. The breasts rested in and welled out of these supports.
Then, my eye caught something else that I had more or less skipped over before. Her pants. Not that much showed between them and the bottom of the corset and the top of the boots, but what did was black and fitted like a skin, literally like a skin. Following the direction of my eye, Vicki rolled her hips slowly and asked,  "Admiring the pants?"  "Darn right. How can you get them to fit that way?"  "Feel," she invited, turning in profile.  "I get it. Rubber?" "Why the rubber pants-especially when everything else is leather?' I asked. "Because in this house the pants have to fit perfectly, if they are worn at all. Of course, Nicki and I often wear matching leather pants, to go with the rest of whatever costume we may be wearing. But when they're put on, laced to fit properly, we cant sit down. So, since I could hardly go to the theatre without sitting, I wore rubber."  "Sounds like a delightful idea. But tell me, how long can you go without sitting down?"  "Oh, all day. All evening too, if Dick decides he wants us to. For instance, if I had a pair of leather pants on now, I'd just have to keep standing up till somebody decided to take them off. I certainly couldn't do it for myself, could I?" she asked, moving her bound arms slightly.  "I guess not," I admitted, rather startled. "But couldn't you ask for help, or a little rest?"  "When we're dressed in that sort of a formal rig, we don't ask for anything," she assured me, firmly.  Then strolling back to the same chair she had sat in before, she perched on it prettily, with one leg resting along the arm, the other resting on the floor. Putting her head attractively on one side, she asked,  "Will you do me a favour?"  "Sure. Anything you want."  "Will you tie me up?"  "But-but-" I sputtered,  "You are tied up already."  "Oh, only my arms. I want to feel really helpless."  "You bet I'll tie you up. I'll tie you right into that chair. But what can I tie you with?"  "Just pull the bell," she nodded to a bell-pull by the fireplace. "Pull it three times. Fifi will understand."
It was only a matter of seconds after I pulled it that Fifi was opening the door and remarking, "Mon dieu! Fifi was beginning to think that madame would never ring."  In her hands she carried a big silver tray. On it was coiled a selection of ropes, numerous straps of various lengths and widths, as well as a couple of pairs of handcuffs, an ankle-chain, and some other things I was too interested to notice at the moment. She put the tray down on an end table, then moved the table over near the chair where we were standing, being careful to face away from me, so that as she leaned over and moved the table, she gave me a very interesting view. Then she straightened up, faced around and, putting her hands behind her, asked,  "Would you care to have me help you, monsieur?"  "Why no, I don't think so, thank you, Fifi," I answered, smiling at her.
"Fifi is very good at tying up, monsieur-or being tied up,"  she added hopefully. "Well, maybe some day soon I'll have the pleasure of tying you."  "Fifi hopes so, monsieur Ted. Any time at all. But I must warn you. Fifi struggles and must be tied very tightly."  "All right, Fifi break it up."  There was a distinct edge to Vicki's voice Obviously, she was the one who was going to be tied and she didn't want the maid horning in on it. Slightly abashed the pretty maid started to mince out, when her mistress stopped her with,  "Fifi, where's Miss Nicki?"  "She spent most of the day in the darkroom, madame, working on those last pictures. But then, about five, she came out and told me that she had been very clumsy. Her high heel had turned and she had spilled some solution. She wanted to be punished."  Vicki nodded as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world. Then she asked,  "How did you punish her?"  "I lock her in the trunk, madame."  "Good. Well, in about ten minutes, bring her up here. I want her to meet Mr. Walk."  "Oui, madame. Still in the trunk?"  "I don't see why not. Maybe Mr. Walk would like taking her out."  This was all Greek to me; but I resolved not to say anything. If they wanted to regard this punishing of girls by putting them in trunks as a natural thing to do, I wasn't going to be different. Instead, I stepped up to the tray and picked out a long piece of rather heavy rope. With a final glance at us to see if there was anything else, Fifi minced over to the door and departed. From the way she switched her hips and closed the door rather firmly behind her, I got the impression that she was annoyed with me for not letting her help. Well, that was too bad. But I didn't get a chance like this every day, and I wasn't going to share it with anybody.
	I beckoned my willing victim over; passed the rope once around her pretty little waist and tied it firmly at the back, with two long ends equal and trailing almost to the floor. Then I helped her to sit in the chair, well back in the seat, with her gloved arms over the back. Bringing the two ends of the rope forward, one around each side. Then I passed them back under her body, not without some smothered protest on her part, as I handled her in the process. Next I tied a shorter rope, figure of eight wise, several times around her upper arms, just above the elbows. Then I brought the two ends of the rope from under her body up, through the arm rope and pulled it as tight as I could. Then I knotted it. The result was to pull her shoulders back and down, make her arch her back as much as her stiff corset would allow, and apply some very interesting tension to the tendons at the tops of her legs.
"Ooh!" she gasped softly, as the rope drew tight, "That feels wonderful, I can see I'm going to enjoy this, I love it."  I had considered tying her legs together, but decided I could make her more helpless and more uncomfortable by securing them another way. I tied a short rope to each pretty ankle, passed the ropes outside the front legs of the chair and back underneath to her gloved wrists. Pulling these short ropes very tight, I forced her legs wide apart in front then, bent steeply at the knees, with the toes well clear of the floor, back under the seat. Then I secured the ropes around her wrists.  "Have you ever done this sort of thing before?" asked Vicki.
"Well, once or twice and only in fun." I admitted.  "I must say you seem to have a natural knack for it, then. I feel delightfully helpless and of course escape is out of the question."  Feeling highly complimented, I continued securing her. I passed a long strap, figure of eight wise around her upper body and the back of the chair and pulled it extremely tight across her chest, above and below her bosom.  "Umm " she sighed, "you're even making it hard to breathe."  Two more shorter straps went around each knee, anchoring them securely to the front legs of the chair.  "All right," I said, "now wriggle." She tried, but aside from a little writhing, she couldn't move at all, except for her hair, of course, which I hadn't planned to do anything to.  "You know your business, boy. I feel like a trussed chicken," she smiled "Oooh! Ummm!" she sighed "that feels so wonderful."  "More wonderful than if I were doing it, say, in the back seat of a car on a dark road somewhere?" I asked curiously.  "Oh, yes, yes! A tight, stiff corset makes any experience much more exciting; then being tied up and unable to do anything to stop you makes it still more thrilling."  I continued my ministrations for several minutes, while she sighed and moaned her appreciation.

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