Pinky Bowing Out

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 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 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 managed only 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.

This evening Pinky was to be in her public outfit as 'Pinky'.

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 blues. 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 added covering to 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″, 168 lbs, 40″ D and 38″ hips. She hated the corset—it was so restricting, she could not bend or breathe, and it dug in under her ribs. She had also been 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 pink, massively befrilled, floor-length peignoir that her Master insisted she now wear in the bedroom and around the house while not dressed; it was 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, thus, if she was wearing the peignoir, the cincher had to be tight laced.

2) The collar was high, tight, and filled with bones and, thus, 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 towelled 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 were cumbersome and she had trouble seeing past them. Then came the bright pink lipstick that stood out from the foundation like a beacon. Earlier on, she had teased her 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 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 problems. 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, which 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 too 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 blush pink material and had even had to pad the cups, as the cups were too big even for her 40″ D breasts.

She pushed her arms through the wide straps, hoisted her breasts high into the cups 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 foot into one of them. The boot was unlaced except for the last few holes, and Pinky began to slowly lace it up. 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 over the top. She then started on the second boot. After another twenty minutes she had finished, and using the back of the chair for 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, 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 making it had stretched her sewing skills to the 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 the 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 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 used 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 pinkness she disliked.

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 too long. So she scrunched up her knees tight to her stomach, forcing the butt plug even further upwards, 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 manage only tiny steps—the ballet heels would not have allowed her much more anyway. She slowly moved around the room, with the wide flounce swinging dramatically with every tiny stride. As she completed the circuit, she heard the zip again and looked over to see a rolled corset being extracted from the holdall. As expected it was pink, but the length surprised Pinky, as it looked twice as long as her current waist cincher.

He held it out, and Pinky slowly tottered over reached for the corset—she was surprised at the weight and the stiffness. Her Master made no attempt to help her into it, and so, leaning against the table for balance, she unrolled it and the heavily boned, pink satin corset came into view. With some difficulty, Pinky wrapped it around her torso and adjusted it so that the waistline seemed correct. The bottom sat just on her hips, just above the large bow on her bottom; the top sat just below her raised bosom, She started to clip the busk together, but soon found that the laces were not opened wide enough. She swore under her breath and undid the lower clips, removed the corset and pulled the laces wide, and was surprised to see that there was now at least an 8″ gap at the waist. She re-balanced herself, fitted the corset again and started fastening the clips once more - she got slightly worried at the waist, thinking of the 8″ gap at the back as she struggled to fasten the clips. At last she had the 10 clips fastened, and straightened up. Even loose the corset felt much more restricting than the waist cincher.

Seeing that no help would be forthcoming, she leaned heavily on the table, reached behind, and started pulling the loops tight from the top and the bottom towards the middle with one hand, pulling out the excess lace out from the middle with her other hand. Eventually she could pull it no tighter with just one hand and she looked over her shoulder for some help. Her Master did not move, just pointed to the fireplace, and said, "A master should not have to help his sub., that's not part of the deal."

Pinky knew what he wanted: Next to the fireplace was a large hook - she had used it before to help lace the waist cincher when her master was out. Holding the surplus lace taut, she struggled to the vertical and, holding the other hand out for balance, teetered over to the fireplace and backed up to the hook, looping the surplus lace over the hook. She then moved slowly forwards until she had taken up the tension, rolling forward on the minuscule toes of the pink ballet boots. Looking over her shoulder and using the mirror beside the hook to guide her hands, she resumed pulling the loops through again, leaning forward to keep the lace in tension. Soon she was becoming breathless, and the corset became unbelievably tight. Not just at the waist, like the cincher, but also at the hips and ribs as well.

She eyed up the gap left at the waist. She thought, "A two-inch gap. That leaves another about one inch to go, but this thing feels as tight as or even tighter than my cincher." She thought good thoughts about what she had previously considered a torture.

"Master, are you sure this is a 22″ waist, because it already feels very tight?"

"I don't remember saying it was a 22″ waist - it is actually a 21″ waist, and if you are to wear this..." Master then pulled a wide leather pink belt out the holdall..."It must be fully closed at the waist."

"But I have never been below 23 inches. I can't jump 2 inches in one go."

"Oh, I think you can. We have plenty of time - our table is not for another two hours yet."

Pinky looked at the clock and saw it was still early; she tied off the laces and tottered over to the sideboard to get the tape measure from her sewing box. It slipped out her hands and she automatically reached down to pick it up. The corset had other thoughts and refused to let her bend. She turned round to ask for help, but he deliberately avoided her eyes. Taking a firm hold on the sideboard, she forced the tight ballet boots to bend at the knee—the corset forced her to keep her back perfectly straight and, thus, she had to pivot unsteadily on the tiny points of the rigid ballet boots. The act of bending reminded her of the butt plug's presence, and she quickly snatched at tape measure and picked it up; the tension built up in hobble skirt, boots and the corset forced her back up too quickly and she stumbled heavily against the sideboard, struggling against the unfamiliar compression of her ribs to get her breath back. Panting heavily, she looked daggers at her Master, who seemed to be enjoying every second of her discomfort.

When Pinky had gotten her breath back, she tried to measure her waist, but there was no way she was going to be able to read it directly. She could not bend forward due to the rigid corset and, anyway, she could not see downwards past the two mountains that now resided on her chest. Not to be beaten, Pinky moved slowly back to the mirror, her Master's eyes following her as her skirt shimmied below her sharply indented waist. In front of the mirror, she held the tape measure tight and read off "twenty three and a half inches." That meant two and half inches to go.

Slowly she turned, throwing the tape on the table and nearly losing her balance in the process. Tottering wildly, she grabbed the mantelpiece to steady herself. Her Master made no effort to help her, and this made Pinky angry. She pushed off back to the hook, unknotted the laces, and hung them over the hook. Walking quickly forward, she tugged at the laces and, spreading her legs as wide as the skirt would allow, she tipped forward on the ballet boot toes to increase the tension; the laces jerked through eyelets and Pinky gasped as the corset crushed her waist. Not giving up, she reached behind her and pulled the loops through above and below her waist. Finally, Pinky could take no more, and, gripping the free lace tight, she inched her inclined toes forwards, until she got back on the heels of the ballet boots. Panting rapidly, her massive bra cups rising and falling, she tied off the laces and turned to him.