Segments - 05 - New Year

01 - Meeting Her

02 - The Services

03 - Exeter Hotel

04 - Christmas

05 - New Year

06 - The Old Man

07 - Why He Started

08 - Cambridge

09 - Norwich

10 - The Party

11 - Millau

12 - Heading East

13 - Nice in Nice

14 - Making Progress

15 - Revelations

16 - Doubts

17 - The Connection

18 - Levelling

19 - Space

20 - Finale

On the day of New Year's Eve the morning is spent cleaning his gear. He makes as much use of her washing machine, sink and cleaning products as he can. All his clothes are washed and tumble dried as it's raining quite hard outside. He sponges the tent down inside and out. She doesn't have any cotton thread in the house which is a pain, he was hoping to stitch up a tiny corner of the tent material that has come loose. She in the meantime is doing domestic chores dressed in her tight jeans and yet another big sloppy t-shirt. That's her comfortable style. She looks OK like that, but he's been spoiled with the sissy dress and her feminine skirt, the PVC outfit and the satin night dress. Perhaps you can have too much of a good thing.

She promises to take him out that evening, he doesn't want to go. A bar full of drunk people all declaring "Happy New Year", yelling "I love you" then fighting because they're too pissed to understand a cheeky comment, it's not for him. She considers this. He considers her consideration, she hadn't realised he might not want to do that, which means she does not know everything about him, just some parts. It's a relief to know she can't read his mind and this makes her seem more human. She comes up with an idea and makes a few phone calls. There's a Soroptimist meal in St Helens which should prove more "restrained" and dignified. He's not so sure about this either, she gives him a dirty look. That's that sorted then.

This being a Soroptimist event she needs a frock and much to his shock he apparently needs at least a shirt and pants if not a tuxedo. Urgh, his stomach turns, he hates dressing up. More phone calls and more texts and it seems she's happy. All this time he just plonks himself in front of the TV and watches a kids movie. This is different yet again. All their previous meetings have been fleeting, passing affairs. This, this feels like a relationship, these are the sort of things you do as a couple. He'd never thought of this as a relationship. That, this, it bothers him now. He much prefers the spontaneous meetings. Aha!, they were spontaneous for him, but if she's been tracking him and planning all this it wasn't spontaneous for her. He confuses himself, he decides to worry about looking like a pillock dressed in a suit instead.

At 6pm that evening there's a knock at the door. He's been asleep on the settee in front of the TV that's now showing some awful game show so he presses the remote to switch it off. He tries to listen as she answers the doors. There's enthusiastic thank you's, a man's voice sounding humble and then it goes quiet. He's curiosity is tweeked now, what is she doing? He stands and tries to walk silently to the door to hear better. All he can make out is 2 hushed voices but no words apart from "soon". That scares him...soon? What, the evil deed will be soon, he'll be dead soon? Goddam it man pull yourself together, you've not been thinking like this for a while now.

There's a whole lot of rustling noise then the door closes. He waits what seems an appropriate length of time then walks into the hallway. She's standing there admiring an expensive and exquisite ball gown. Wow! She'll look like gorgeous in that. Then his heart sinks when he sees a tuxedo in a plastic wrapper hung over the door frame behind her. Why? Why is it that these events have annoying dress codes? Oh shut up Clem, shut up. Stop being so narrow minded and scruffy. Maybe you can indulge her.

She holds the golden gown against her, smiles then waltzes down the hall towards him "Tonight, Clem, I'm going to be a princess and you my handsome prince!"
"Oh....right..."
"Oh come on now, it's going to be great fun. Awwww, does my wittle man not want to wook nice and is sulking?" He controls his desire to kick the wall, cheeky cow.
"I know I know I know" and he sighs "Yes, yes, it's not my thing but lets just see what happens OK"
"I promise it will be fun, on many levels." She winks at him "It's a beautiful dress don't you think?"
"Yes, it surely is, how the hell do you organise a ball gown and a tuxedo this late on a New Years Eve?
"Oh...I have ways, a lady has to have her ways you know" Evasive, as ever.

She disappears upstairs with the dress, presumably to get ready. He looks at the tuxedo again and tries to imagine what it will be like to wear it. The only way he can get his head around it is to imagine himself as a James Bond type character. He preys that the other men at the meal are similarly dressed otherwise he'll just die of embarrassment. He's a little cross actually. She's being bossy again, controlling him and telling him what to do. Why? Why is it she's been the perfect sexual partner so far does she have to have this bloody mean streak, the selfish cow. Life's not perfect. He knows that. It'll never stop him wishing it was though.

He forgets his woes and his distaste of her when she stands at the top of the stairs shouting "Come! Look see". Up there above him all is forgiven. Her hair has curls that fall to her shoulders yet is tightly wound at the back into a bun. Her make up is soft and smooth. Her shoulders are bare as the dress sleeves rest at bust height. A tight bodice supports a dress that comes out sharply at the waist then falls in layers of netting and lace. He just looks at her, she is very pretty and every part the princess. "Now, your turn Mr Willows, smarten yourself!" Perhaps it's worth it. Perhaps. It best had be.

Some time later he stands in the hall as she tugs and pulls at his outfit. "You'll do, in fact you look gorgeous but you have a natural ability to look scruffy in anything I guess." He's kind of pleased with that thought. They'll never make him just how they want him to be. Who is they, them? Argh, who cares, whoever them is will never make him smart.

"You drive" she says.
"I can't, I'm not insured"
"You are, the car is covered for anyone who works for me"
"I don't work for you"
"You do now, I've put you on the books"
"HA! Fine, when do I get paid and how much?"
"I think we can sort some remuneration for you Mr Willows, some of it may be paid in kind though" and she winks at him.
"Your love won't pay my rent"
"You don't pay any sodding rent, now get in and drive"

He's rusty to say the least. It's been at least 2 years since he drove a car and about a year since he last rode a bike. The car is automatic which makes things a little easier but it's big and cumbersome on the road. After a few miles to settle in he starts to appreciate it's power and performance, handling and grip. It's probably the first large sporty executive car he's ever driven, he's marginally impressed.

What's more impressive is when he hits the motorway and he looks at her. Her long thick voluminous skirts fill the seat and foot well, her tight bodice and shoulders look tiny in comparison. It makes her look vulnerable and feminine, she looks so pretty. The stirring in his pants feels unusual against the smart trousers rather than jeans or work pants. The crisp shirt, the damn jacket, it's all different. He hates it, but then there's something new and fresh in being so different. He still can't make his mind up. He places his spare hand into the folds and ruffles of her dress in search of a thigh to rub, no chance, there's too much material.

He's driving a flash car dressed like James Bond. He's hoping for valet parking and a red carpet. Instead he finds himself with an umbrella that's flapping in the wind while she tries to get her dress out of the car in a dignified manner. It's the car park of the rugby stadium and while it's smart and tarmac there's no valet and no red carpet. Inside the foyer they're greeted by a receptionist, She looks at the receptionist expectantly, the receptionist asks if she can help. Did she expect the receptionist to be a mind reader or did she expect to be recognised? Curious.

They're directed to a dining hall, dimly lit with tables laid out and a small floor for dancing. He looks around and immediately he panics. While everyone is indeed smartly dressed it appears only himself and one particularly rotund gentleman is wearing a full tuxedo. He immediately wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. To make matters worse it's painfully obvious she is completely overdressed too. The ladies look good in their party frocks and demure dresses but no-one at all is wearing the full ball gown complete with layers, bodice and underskirts.

"Shit..." she whispers.
"Yeah..." he replies quietly. She looks at him, pulls an "eeek!" face.
"Well Clem, are you up for some pretence, some fun, do ya wanna play?"
"I think I've shit me pants, what ya got in mind"
"Ham it up boy, follow my lead!"

She stands straight, flicks her hair back, grabs his arm for her to grasp and boldly walks into the middle of the room, he tries his best to do the same. Everyone is staring. Everyone is looking at them. The conversation noise drops gradually. He wants to die. He can see her looking around casually. "Good evening!" she proclaims "I'm looking for Marie Thompson?" There's a pregnant pause before a timid little voice replies
"I'm Marie"
"Aaahhh, Marie, I'm Tabitha Goodier, I believe Anton De-Tiere contacted you about our arrival earlier. I hope everything's OK" The room is silent now. She's speaking her best given English.
"Er..er...yes, yes he did. Er...Hello Tabitha and welcome to our event" The room visibly relaxes but Marie still looks bemused and terrified.
"Splendid, please show my partner, Clement and I to our table" She's wearing a veil of authority and Marie looks around with a veil of panic, there's a little bead of sweat on the the little pudgy woman in the ridiculously tight cotton dress. Her bulges are all in the wrong places. After another moment they're guided to what anyone would know is the "top" table and asked to choose any seats.

Clem smiles at Marie and this helps her relax it seems. He can see what's going on. She has manipulated this poor woman with authority and presence into giving them a seat at the top table. He wonders if she'd even booked to come let alone get on the top table. He wonders if there really is an Anton De-Tiere. Marie scurries off, presumably to apologise to whoever's seats they've acquired. He feels guilty, she certainly does not look it as she grabs a wine glass from the table and pours herself a big one. "What the fuck?" he whispers.
"Shut up, smile and enjoy" She winks at him. That bloody wink.
"I'm off to the bar then to get a drink,"
"Talk posh, we're from down south, London, if anyone asks."
"Why, wh.."
"Just play along, it'll be fun!" He walks off to the bar and orders a coke.

He stands against the bar and takes a moment to think. Whoa! She's just conned her way into this party, or at least onto the top table. She's drinking their wine and she'll be eating their food and she's no business here at all. She did it by pretending. She completely took the whole room. She's dressed like a princess, so that adds credence and impact. He's dressed like a plonker, but an incredibly posh plonker at that and so they both fit the bill. He admires her then a terrible thought crosses his mind again. Has he been so easily manipulated? Is he being conned? What mind tricks and games has she played on him. Damn. And blast.

"Sorry sir, what's your name again?" His thoughts are interrupted by a tall, firm chap, a few years senior to him with a military stance.
"Clem" he catches himself, stands straight "Clement Willows." he pauses again, authority boy, authority and presence "And you sir?"
"David Thompson, you've met my wife"
"Aaahh" Damn, he's sure to be upset with them "Indeed. I do hope our presence isn't an intrusion to you good people" He's impressed with himself with that answer, polite but not apologetic or pathetic. He waits with baited breath, half expecting to be punched.
"No, no no sir" Phew... "The Soroptimists ladies like to welcome fellow members from around the world. I'm sure they'll make you welcome here."
"We are most definitely grateful Mr Thompson. We didn't fancy a drunken brawl or a night doing nothing"
"I do understand, what line of business are you in." Oh crap, think boy think
"Travel. Travel. I...I visit and research locations and accommodation and report my findings" Not bad, off the cuff.
"Ah! Excellent, I'm in travel too, My wife and I run a travel company"
"What, Thompson's Holiday!?"
"I wish, no, no. No it's not as big as that, we offer executive classy holidays for the more discerning and affluent clients, such as yourselves." This man is falling for it, but he will know his trade. Help! Keep him on everyone's favourite subject, themselves.
"So what places do you offer and what kind of packages?" He spends the next 10 minutes listening to David enthusing about places he can only dream of and holidays that real rich people must take, not pretenders like him.

He relaxes as best he can into the rest of the evening. The meal is acceptable and she still looks stunning although there's a lady with an aged man in tow who keeps on looking at him, a damn fine looking woman too. She notices and teases him about her, threatening to introduce him and leave them to it. There's a few speeches from the ladies, mostly verbal back-slapping about how well they've done in the year and all the charity work they've made themselves feel good about. There's even a mention for their "distinguished" guests, she has the audacity to stand up and take a delicate curtsey in response.

"Clem...I need a wee" she whispers as the final applauds fade.
"So, go and have one"
"I...I need your help". It's his turn to tease her.
"You're a big girl now, you can do it on your own"
"Not in this great big dress I can't" Oh dear, yes of course. Oh dear, why does this turn him on? There's something erotic about helpless women.
"So...er...what can I do?"
"Come with me to the ladies"
"No way!"
"You have to, pweese" and she give him that cute look again. He's falling for it, he knows, he knows and he is still falling for it
"Oh god..."

He stands outside the ladies until the coast is clear then ducks inside. The toilets are tiled white and crisply clean, she's stood in all her glory by a mirror hopping from one leg to another. "Hurry, pweese" she's teasing him. My my, this is erotic now and the fear of being caught in the ladies makes it both scary and exciting.
"Get into the sodding cubicle, quick!" They squeeze in, it's not that small it's just her dress is so big.

He lifts her skirts and ducks down under them. It takes more fighting and fumbling to finally find her stockinged legs and work his way up to her panties. Another pair of smooth satin panties this time in white greets him. He's aching. He slips them down and admires her smooth pubic mound and the edge of her vagina. Rather than leave the panties low he fumbles more to completely remove them. He briefly kisses her mound then takes in the proscenium arch of her suspender belt that frames the stage of her femininity supported on her lacy stocking tops. He struggles free, holding the white panties like a trophy.

"Sit" he demands in a whisper
"I can't yet, help me get my dress out of the way" He lifts and heaves the layers, underlayers and petticoats till they're all above her waist. Her head and shoulders stick out above all the ruffles and folds, her legs poke out below. She sits. The relief on her face is obvious, not sexual. She sits. Surrounded by a fantasia of materials in delicate forms around her. She's helpless. He is horny. He conjurers a devious plan, but is he brave enough to execute it?

"I've finished" she says, matter of fact, expecting more help
"I've not". He leaves her sat there, trapped, exposed, helpless and beautiful. He unzips his pants, she gasps in genuine shock.
"Not here, there's not enough room!"
"There is for me, you'll have to wait."
"But what about your cum?"
"Watch..." He plays. Ha can see she's starting to understand. He plays some more.
"You're so mean" she speaks in her girly voice "Are you teasing your little girl?"
"Hell yeah" She breaths a little harder. He clears an area of top layers to reveal some petticoat layers. It takes him a few minutes but her cute faces, her little whimpers and her deepening breath get him there. He cums all over the petticoats, one tiny bit lands in the outer layer.

"Take me home, now!" she demands as they scarper out of the toilets.
"The hell I won't!" He's enjoying this. If she really does like cum and it's not a con to trap him then the sticky juices under her dress ought to be driving her mad by now. Just that thought alone excites him.
"Take me home, pweese? I'll make it worth your while"
"There's nothing you can do that will improve on your torment and my pleasure of it now. Patience young lady." They welcome in the new year with a hug and a kiss followed by endless handshakes with the men and pretend hugs with the ladies. The fine looking woman squeezes him a little more firmly than is polite, he winks at her then he's shocked at his flagrant flirting and cheek. All the while she keeps on looking at him wantonly. Each time he looks deliberately at the dress, about where his cum must be drying, then back at her. It's killing her, he knows it and that is pleasing. Her silk panties are still in his pocket, they feel nice when he puts his hand in there.

He drives her home. She tries and tries to lift up enough material to get to her pussy but each time she gets close he reaches over and pulls as much back down as he can. It's a game and at one point he veers across a couple of lanes as they fight. Luckily it's quiet. By the time he parks at her place she's almost sulking. Inside he says "My turn to be bossy, stay where you are and do not move" She stands in the hallway. He runs upstairs and reaches into his rucksack.

Back in the hall he grabs her arms and folds them as any surly old woman might, but behind her back. She looks on quizzically. He stands behind and uses two zip ties around each wrist to the opposite elbow to ensure they stay folded behind her back. "Bastard!" she cries. He ignores her and drags her into the living room.
"Frustrated?"
"Fucking right I am, now you've done this to me too!"
"Seriously, are you OK with this?" She looks at him, drops her head and makes cute eyes at him.
"Yeah, silly, of course. Just..."
"What?"
"No...no sex...ok?"
"OK...that's not what I had in mind anyhow" and he grins at her.

He scoots off to the kitchen and returns, holding something behind his back. She looks nervous, she's actually shaking too. He walks up to her and pulls the white panties from his pocket. "Open" and he stuffs them into her mouth, she looks terrified. From behind his back he produces a roll of sticky tape and uses it to wrap around her mouth and whole head. She's silent at last. Bound, helpless, beautiful, sexy, gagged, pretty, cute and all his.

He lifts the skirts and petticoats at the back and lays her down, gently. He then lifts the layers at the front above her head. All that lays before him is fluffy skirts and pretty materials with a pair of stockinged legs poking out from them. That and her lady parts, exposed and unprotected. She's as vulnerable as a woman can be. He could do anything and while he may want to she's also in his care, his charge. Whatever else he is he is still a gentle man. He starts by stroking her thighs and her stomach, missing the sexual parts for a few minutes. When her breathing seems right he moves to her bottom and her pubic mound. Later her slides his fingers through her vagina.

Her moans are muffled. He touches her again and she responds. He remains gentle, so gentle as to frustrate than satisfy. She's trying to wriggle on to his hand. He allows a little more pressure and she pushes back, harder still. He finds the clitoris and her entrance and takes turns to tease each. She is starting to get closer and closer and he's allowing it. As her breathing gets deep and her muffled moans loud he stops. She waits a moment than kicks her legs and lets out a scream, as best she can. He crawls past the thick dress and at the top he pulls back some material to see her face. He pulls away some stray hairs and looks at her, She's sweating.

"Does my wittle guwl want more?" She nods vigorously in affirmation "Well she'll have to be a good girl. Do you pwomise to let me cum on your bottom later if I let you cum?" She nods firmly again. He likes to think if he asked her for her house and car she'd give them to him right now. He'd also like to ask what the hell is going on with them, him and all this, but that would spoil things. He covers her back up and returns to her exposed lower half. He returns to teasing, then stroking, then being firmer and firmer. He stops for another moment and she screams again, almost kicking his head. This time he carries on and soon enough her stifled grunts and twitches tell him she's a happy little girl.

As they lie in bed and she rubs her sore wrists and elbows she says "I told you it would be an interesting night!"
"Yep. I did shit myself a bit though. You weren't ready for that either were you? Or were you?"
"A bit...a bit of both."
"Which bits...which were you ready for an which were you not?"
"I, I shall keep you guessing."
"Oh for gods sake, just friggin tell me!"
"No...now, if you want to cum on my bum, how do you want to go about it?" That shut him up. There's an order of priority and cuming on her bum is much more fun.