Norwegian Apron

Copyright Oggbashan June 2016 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

This story is a sequel to my 2003 fetish femdom story "Norwegian Petticoat" in my Silverbridge series of stories although it can be read on its own.

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I've recorded these events from information given to me by Lisa, Brigitta and the others. During most of the early part I was making sandwiches in Lisa's kitchen while Brigitta's costume was being fitted and adjusted. I'm Thomas, Lisa's current boyfriend and slave.

Brigitta is a Norwegian woman who had been coming to Silverbridge for years and was a valued member of the Silver Vixens Ladies Football Team. Originally she had been staying in short-term apartments while on secondment to the UK Branch of the Norwegian company that employed her.

A little longer than a year ago she had applied for and been accepted for promotion to a permanent post in Silverbridge. She had asked her friends to help her to find and furnish a small house in Silverbridge. Her employers had helped with the mortgage and removal costs. Her friends had repaired, renovated, and helped to furnish Brigitta's two-bedroom bungalow.

She had moved in a year ago today and had hosted a house warming party with Norwegian food. Sven, the man she was replacing in the UK, would be returning to Norway and marrying his fiancée. Sven had helped with the food preparation but had been remarkably subdued during the party, leaving early. That was a surprise for most of the Vixens. Usually Sven would have kissed every available woman several times. Sven was a handsome blond Norwegian and popular. Most of the Vixens were very willing to be kissed by, and to kiss Sven. But that evening all he had done was kiss Brigitta on the cheek as he left. Why?

What made Sven's behaviour at Brigitta's party even more odd was that he had returned to Silverbridge for two short visits since that party, and behaved with the Vixens as normal, even though he was newly married.

This year Brigitta would be hosting a small party for some of the Silver Vixens and the Glossies to celebrate her year as a local resident, and to say thank you to those who had helped her during the year. Like last year, she wanted to wear her Norwegian folk costume, not her choir costume but the real regional dress. This evening she was having the final fitting of a modern copy in Lisa's workshop.

Last year she had been worried that her dress might be damaged at the party. It was a family heirloom and irreplaceable. She had worn a tight bodice over a white balloon-sleeved blouse, and a wide and long woollen skirt almost completely covered by an elaborately embroidered white apron a couple of inches shorter than the skirt. Now she was wearing an almost identical outfit made by Lisa and friends that was made of modern, washable materials.

She was showing off the newly created costume. She and her friends were delighted that the copy appeared to be an individual interpretation of the traditional dress.

Jane brought coffee through from the kitchen and all four women sat down, celebrating their achievement. I, Thomas, would bring sandwiches when I had finished making them.

"Brigitta, what was wrong with Sven last year?" Lisa asked.

"Sven? Last year?" Brigitta said. She looked embarrassed

"Yes. Sven at the party last year," Lisa repeated. "What was up with him?"

"I think a better question, Lisa, would be 'What did Brigitta DO to him last year?'," Sandra suggested. "He wasn't his normal self. He seemed scared of Brigitta."

"You're right, Sandra," Lisa said. "Out with it, Brigitta. What happened?"

"Must I?" Brigitta asked.

"Yes!" They chorused.

"That's unanimous," Lisa stated. "We want to know. Why was Sven so subdued? We know it must have been something to do with you, Brigitta. What did you do? Why? And what he had done?"

Brigitta stood up with her back to the fire. She twirled, spreading her apron-covered skirt wide. The women had to look up at her because she is so tall. Her blonde hair splayed out as she spun.

"I was wearing the original regional dress last year. I didn't wear it often because it is really an heirloom and too precious. The dress and bodice were made by my grandmother, for herself..."

"Your grandmother was as tall as you are?" Jane queried.

"Yes. Both grandmothers, and my mother, and my aunts. They were all over six feet tall in their bare feet. We're a tall family, unlike Sven's. Even the men in his family are rarely taller than five feet eight inches. Sven is only five feet five inches, the same height as his mother."

"But that didn't stop him from kissing us," Sandra said, "until that party. Even if he sometimes ended up with his face between our tits, we enjoyed him. But not then."

"Do you really want to know why?" Brigitta asked again. "It's embarrassing for me. I behaved impetuously, and badly. So had Sven, but he didn't deserve my reaction."

"Please, Brigitta," Sandra said. "We know there must have been a reason. It has puzzled us all year."

"OK. I'll tell. Sven was engaged to one of my friends, Gerda. Gerda and I went to school together, were in the choir together, and when older sometimes kissed the same local men. Both of us enjoyed the Englishmen we met in Silverbridge when we came here as adults. But last year Sven was engaged, and due to marry Gerda within a month. My friend Gerda. She wasn't and isn't my best female friend. She couldn't be. My best female friends are in this room. But Gerda was and is a friend.

Sven offered to help me to prepare the food for the party, a smorgasbord. As a fellow Norwegian he knew what went with what, how it should be presented, and was a great help. But he and I had been sampling the Norwegian alcohol. We knew it wouldn't be to our English friends' taste so we weren't worried about drinking it ourselves. I should have been. Sven doesn't normally drink much, certainly not several glasses of strong spirit. We had finished preparing the food and had covered it to wait for the guests to arrive.

We sat down on the kitchen stools, poured a last glass of spirit and toasted each other for a job well done."

Brigitta paused.

"And?" Lisa prompted.

"And? Sven started complaining about getting married, and that he couldn't kiss all the women anymore. At first I thought he was joking. He wasn't. He was actually saying that once he was married to Gerda she would make sure he didn't kiss anyone else.

Sven was really complaining that marriage would be the end of his relationships with any other women, even as friends. That wasn't the Gerda I knew. I listened to Sven for a while until he said that he would be tied to Gerda's apron strings. I retorted that Gerda wasn't like that, she was a great woman who loved him. He burbled something more about apron strings. At that point I lost my temper. I knew he loved Gerda, and Gerda loved him, and that she wouldn't be the dragon he was suggesting she would be.

I should have thought... I didn't. It might have been the alcohol but I should have been a sympathetic listener. I wasn't.

I wasn't wearing the original of this apron..." Brigitta splayed it out, "...because it is for formal occasions and a pain to iron. I had one of Lisa's massive white Victorian aprons on, the sort that is a complete coverall from throat to feet. We all have them for very messy cooking. Thank you, Lisa. You might have made them originally for re-enactments but they are wonderful protection.

I suppose I was feeling the effect of the Norwegian spirit on an empty stomach. I whipped the apron off, threw it over Sven's head and tied it tight around him. Somehow his elbows and wrists became entangled in the streamers..."

"That could easily happen," Lisa laughed.

"Particularly when I was annoyed with Sven. He sat there stunned as I went to a kitchen drawer and grabbed some more aprons. 'You have no idea what being tied to a woman's apron strings is like,' I told him as I lashed his legs together with a small waist apron. He opened his mouth to object, so I gagged him with another apron. He was wrapped from head to foot in white aprons. I picked him up, slung him over my shoulder and carried him to my spare room. I threw him down on the single bed before securing him to it with ropes that just happened to be attached to the bed legs."

"I suppose they were a normal feature of Brigitta's spare bed?" Jane asked.

"Of course. I never knew when they might be useful." Brigitta replied. "Sven was a wriggling, helpless white bundle with unintelligible sounds coming past his apron gag. I told him that Gerda deserved better than a reluctant husband. Unless Sven behaved himself at the party, I would tell her what he had been saying. If he didn't agree to behave himself, I would leave him tied as he was in the room that the women would use to leave their coats. I could see from his eyes and frantically shaking head that he didn't want to be discovered tied with Brigitta's aprons. I left him for a few minutes to think about his predicament."

"What happened then?" Sandra asked.

"I made myself some black coffee and sat back on a kitchen stool. I was already regretting what I had done. As I sipped the coffee I began to think, as I should have thought before I reacted. Gerda was and is my friend and I had been upset that Sven thought so little of the woman he was going to marry. But Sven was and is also my friend. What if it had been Gerda saying those things about Sven, instead of the other way around? I would have been more sympathetic and diagnosed a case of pre-wedding nerves that meant nothing. Sven was worried. He had been away from Gerda for weeks and had been missing her. And all I had done was tie him up as a parcel on my spare bed. I wouldn't have done that to Gerda. I shouldn't have done it to Sven.

I poured another two cups of black coffee and went back to the spare bedroom. I untied Sven from the bed and removed the apron gagging him. I kissed his forehead and said 'Sorry, Sven'.

That puzzled him. I started to unwrap him, and as I did I was saying what I have just told you, that he had a case of pre-wedding nerves, and I should have understood, not over-reacted. I might even have been crying..."

"Crying? You, Brigitta?" Jane queried. "It must have been the strong spirits. You never cry."

"I think I was. Sven certainly was as I sat him on my lap and hugged him. After several cups of black coffee we had got our composure back and had apologised to each other. Sven said that he wouldn't stay long at the party because he had already drunk too much, but while he was there, he would 'behave' as I had put it. A soon-to-be married man shouldn't be kissing everything female in sight.

As you know, he didn't. We kissed and hugged as he left, but he hadn't kissed anyone else. Was it what I had said? Not wholly. I think he was seriously drunk and not feeling very well. So that's why Sven was different at my party, but..."

"...but?" Sandra prompted.

"I had a problem. My wedding present to Gerda was an apron..."

Laughter from all the women.

"Not a Lisa style massive one, but a new Norwegian folk apron. It had been embroidered by one of our best needlewomen and had taken weeks of work. When Sven saw it, what would he think? A couple of days later I had another chance to talk to Sven before he went off to Norway. He understood that Gerda's wedding apron must have been ordered months ago, and that it wasn't a reminder of what I had done to him before the party. We apologised to each other again, and he went happily to see Gerda."

"Is that it?" Jane asked, "or..."

"There's more," Brigitta admitted. "I went to Norway for Sven and Gerda's wedding, arriving a week before the event so I could see friends and relations. I, and most of the women attending the wedding, would be wearing our regional costumes - the original of this."

Brigitta twirled again in front of the fireplace.

"My present of an apron to Gerda had to be delivered before the wedding because she would change from her wedding dress into her regional costume for the reception. Her old apron was too worn to be used any more. It would be carefully preserved as an heirloom, too fragile for use. I collected the apron from the needlewoman, paid for it, and Gerda came to my parents' house to collect it. We sat down in my mother's kitchen for a chat.

I was surprised that Sven had told Gerda about what I had done to him. She forgave me. She understood that Sven and I had been drunk and that I had been annoyed with Sven. She might have acted as I did if a friend's fiancé had been expressing doubts, but she didn't think she could have tied up a man like that unless he was a dwarf.

But apparently Sven had been excited by being overpowered and tied up. He had been too drunk to become erect but he had told Gerda he had enjoyed being a woman's victim. Until then Gerda had no idea Sven might like bondage games. Since he had returned she had tied him to her bed a couple of times, more a symbolic than real bondage, and with his consent. What Gerda wanted was to try one of Lisa's large aprons. Could I ask Lisa to make one for Gerda?

Of course I could. But did Gerda want one to fit her? Or a massive one, large enough for me, and large enough to wrap Sven in? Gerda was embarrassed. She wanted the massive one.

'Wait there' I said.

I opened one of the high kitchen cupboards and pulled out a cardboard box. Inside were two of Lisa's aprons in my size. I used them when I helped my mother to cook, one for wearing, and one to be in the wash. Both were clean because I hadn't helped my mother to cook yet on this visit. I put one into Gerda's hands.

'There you are, Gerda,' I said, 'a Brigitta-size apron.'

Gerda had blushed.

'Are you sure, Brigitta?' she had asked.

'Of course," I replied. 'I can ask Lisa for another one when I'm back in Silverbridge, but you need a large apron now for the honeymoon. Just one thing. Make sure it has your perfume on it before you wrap Sven. At present it smells of nothing but clean apron. If he is hooded and blindfolded breathing YOUR scent he'll be swamped by you, and forget that this was a Brigitta apron.'

That might have worked, but Gerda was naughty. Perhaps she wanted to remind Sven that he had doubted the wisdom of marrying her. At the reception she made a point of thanking me for the embroidered apron she was wearing. But she had put the large apron among the wedding presents with a label stating that it was from Brigitta. Sven's face paled when he saw it. Gerda looked at him ever so innocently, with a faint smile.

She didn't tell anyone what it was for, not in public, but I know she told her bridesmaids, and the story got around. They expected that sort of behaviour from me after the stories about my petticoat, but not from Gerda."

"And I had an order from Norway for over a dozen large aprons," Lisa interrupted. "They wanted the full re-enactment versions, frilled cap sleeves, frilled shoulder straps, the lot - all in the largest size. I wondered why. I suspected Brigitta's involvement but I was grateful for the export business."

"Most of the orders from married women," Brigitta said, "but some weren't. And they had a slight modification, didn't they, Lisa?"

"Yes. The bodice and skirt had Velcro strips to fasten them securely. You've got one of the altered ones, haven't you, Brigitta?"

"Yes. I haven't used it. Do you want to see it?"

Jane and Sandra said they did.

"You'll have to wait until we're in my house," Brigitta replied, "unless..."

She looked at Lisa.

"Yes, Brigitta," Lisa answered the unspoken question, "I've got one here. I've been modifying it for its other use. When Thomas comes in, I'll demonstrate it."

Cue for my entry bringing the sandwiches. I sat down as we all started eating. Even the Silver Vixens can't say much with their mouths full. I could sense that they were waiting for something. Knowing Lisa, I expected that would be embarrassing for me.

It was. Lisa asked me to demonstrate the apron. It was too long for me. Lisa made a knot in the neck loop so that the top of the bib was just under my chin. She tied the streamers behind me. I was surprised that she hadn't tied them around my elbows and wrists. She usually did that when I was wearing one of her large aprons.

"Turn around, Thomas," Lisa ordered.

I turned slowly so that the four women could see the apron around my body.

"There are few modifications in this version," Lisa said. "The original was for re-enactments and is just a large Victorian style apron to go over a spreading hoop skirt. But this one is like some of the ones I sent to Norway for bondage."

Lisa stood beside me. She pointed to what looked like decorative strips below the bust line.

"Those are attached with Velcro. If I lift them..."

There was a ripping sound as she pulled one of the strips away.

"...And wrap them around Thomas' elbows..."

Those strips, once reattached to the Velcro sewn to the sides of the bodice, held my elbows close by my sides. I could flap my lower arms and hands but I couldn't lift my arms very far.

"But that's really the last part. As you can see the apron is far too large for Thomas to wear normally. There are adjustments."

Lisa moved behind me. She pulled at the back edges of the bodice. It tightened around me and was fastened in place. I could feel that she could have made it skin tight. She didn't. It just held my chest firmly.

"The bodice can be fastened as tight as you want. The wearer's arms could be inside the bodice and trapped but that isn't necessary. The skirt is too long and too wide unless a hoop skirt is worn. Thomas isn't wearing a skirt, so..."

Lisa dropped to her knees behind me. She wrapped the back of the apron's skirt around my legs, so narrow that I was hobbled. Velcro strips held the skirt in that thin tube. She yanked hard so that I nearly fell over. I was very unstable with my legs lashed together from hips to ankles.

"Notice what has happened to the pockets," she said.

I looked down. The two pockets that had been in the front of the apron's skirt were now at my hips or slightly back from them.

"Thomas? Please put your hands in the pockets."

I did. The trim at the top of the pockets also had Velcro. Lisa tightened them. I might have been able to wriggle my hands out until she went back to fasten my elbows again. Finally there were more, almost invisible, Velcro strips on the waistband. They tied my lower arms. I couldn't get my hands out of the pockets nor do more than slightly wriggle. My arms were as tightly held as if they were in an arm binder.

Lisa picked me up and placed me on the settee.

"Thomas can't use his arms. His legs are tightly wrapped. If that isn't enough, the apron's skirt is beyond his feet. That can be looped up..."

Lisa demonstrated. My feet were bagged in the hem of the apron.

"...and secured."

She unfastened the lowest Velcro strip, pushed the bundled hem of the apron under it and fixed it again, pulling it tight.

"Of course, a Victorian maid would wear a mob cap," Lisa continued.

She picked up a large white mob cap and hooded my head totally inside it. It had elastic in a tunnel. It could frame the face or, as it was now, be pulled down to circle the neck loosely. The mob cap became a blindfolding hood.

"Under that there could be a gag if necessary but for this demonstration I don't need to do that to Thomas."

I heard her move away from the settee.

"Thomas, please try to get free," Lisa asked.

I knew I couldn't. Lisa had tried the apron on me before. I thrashed my legs and pulled my arms while shaking my head. I was still helplessly bound.