This story is dedicated to all of us who are tired of everyone transforming into young buxom beauties. We old-timers who think a 26 inch waist is mission impossible. And want to watch Roseanne Barr snap Pamela Anderson Lee in half on prime-time TV.
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Copyright 2000 by Samantha Michelle. Permission given to post on FictionMania and C.Sprite's Story Site.

Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If you are one of them, why are your reading this? Protect your kids. If you are worried about them reading this sort of material, please censor free speech and use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn they from bad experiences.

Constructive comments appreciated. I have a delete button and I'm not afraid to use it! Please send comments to sam@pobox.alaska.net
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Antique Store             by: Samantha Michelle

All I did was try to help a couple of older, oddly-dressed ladies get their shop door closed in a cloudburst. The wind had caught it and sprung the hinges, and rain was blowing inside. I had just dropped in at a neighboring shop-and-rob to pick up a candy bar, not like I really needed the calories. I was the only one in the parking lot.

When I saw them fighting with the door and wind, I realized that at nine on a Saturday evening, and this being a three-day holiday, they’d probably never find a repairman before they were flooded. So I grabbed some of the ever-present tools out of my truck, and ignoring the cold driving rain, slowly managed to bend things back into some semblance of their original form. I was checking the fit, with them pulling it closed from the inside, when there was a really strong gust of wind, and a metallic ripping sound from above me.

A deluge of foul-smelling water and goo knocked me to my knees. Shaking the stuff off my face, I realized the building’s antique down-spout system had failed, and nailed me with gallons of dead leaves, bugs, and probably pigeon droppings. I managed to find a clean rivulet coming off a canopy, and when I could see, noticed my glasses had been washed off. I rinsed and rinsed and finally started to peel off as much clothing as was socially acceptable trying to clean myself off when I found I was shivering. Hard. One of the ladies called through he rain telling me to come inside. When I made it inside the door I was immediately wrapped in a large towel, and pushed towards the rear of their shop.

"We’ve a shower in the back of the shop." She looked at me. "My goodness, you are going to catch your death of cold…" I both shook and nodded my head, because my teeth were chattering too hard to say anything. They shoved me, clothes, towel, and all, into the warm shower. I managed to slowly peel off what was left of my reeking clothes and set them and the towel outside the shower. Several washings with a bar of perfumed soap and some type of weird shampoo, and I was both clean and no longer shivering. Or at least not shivering as much.

An "Oh good, you're finished," from right outside the shower curtain reminded me that I was now both sans culottes and without a towel. I almost screamed when the curtain was pulled back and one of the women handed me another towel.

"Hey!" was all I managed as I tried to grab the towel while covering myself. My somewhat overweight, 40’s something body wasn’t that good anyway.

"Don’t sweat it dearie, I’ve been through two husbands and six kids. If I haven’t seen it or washed it, you haven’t got it." That did not help a lot as I pulled the curtain closed and quickly dried off. Wrapping the towel around me, I opened the curtain to find all three of them standing there. The tallest of the three handed me a mug of hot cocoa. That did help. What surprised me was they were all dressed like something out of the turn of the century. The nineteenth century.

I tried to remember what type of store this was, but it didn’t register. They sat me down in a big, padded chair at a table in a back room, pulled up chairs for themselves, and profusely thanked me for fixing their door. They also apologized repeatedly for my getting doused in what one of them described as smelling like old chicken guts in a hog wallow. Suddenly my brain restarted, and I asked about my clothes.

"Made sure there weren’t nothin left in the pockets and tossed them, braces and all, in the trash bin. Ain't nothin that’ll ever get ‘em clean, short ‘a burnin." The smallest lady, who looked a bit like granny Clampett off the TV show, was speaking. "’Sides, ain't none of us going nowhere nohow, least for a while, ‘cause while you was clean’n up the firemen came by and told us both bridges o’r Delany Creek’s been washed out."

It took a minute to sink in. At least I knew we were on high ground. And I realized with a start that without my glasses I couldn’t drive anyway. I stared at them. Then the lights flickered and went out. When the emergency lights kicked on, I could see they were smiling. "Don’t worry about a thing. We’ve got plenty of food and candles and such-like." This from the tall one who found a flashlight, and soon returned with a small candelabra and matches.

The smallest one spoke up again "Darn it, Fergot my manners. I’m Maybel, the pretty gal on my right is Jesse, and the big’n that found the candles is Nellie." Both smiled at me. Maybel looked at me, and winked. "Since we been a bit closer than ladies and gents should afore introducing, what’s yer name?"

"Sam, Sam Michaels." I wondered if I had accidentally found a halfway house of some kind. I started to shiver again, and realized that the damp towel was not keeping me warm.

Nellie broke in. Her "I think we need to find Sam here some clothes before he catches cold" sent Jessie off with a flashlight. Instead of clothes, she returned with a tape measure. I stared at it, and her.

"This is a clothing store, among other things, and I can’t tell what size you are without taking measurements." When I told her my sizes, she shrugged, saying they wouldn’t help her at all. I wound up being measured like a dressmakers dummy. I started to feel like one. A dummy, that is.

The three of them were looking over the measurements and mumbling to themselves. Nellie asked me to stand back up and examined my pudgy chest and waist. Although I was still shivering, I started to feel embarrassingly warm. They conferred again, and Jessie headed off with the flashlight. Nelly broke out more candles, and showed me to a dressing room. She put the candles and their holders on a shelf and told me to wait. I was left staring at myself and the towel in one of the corner mirrors. I realized that I had not brushed out my hair, and cringed at the thought of trying to keep what little I had while removing the tangles.

Two knocks on the door, and Maybel handed me a neatly folded pile of clothes. I could hear giggling and a faint "he’s gonna need help" as I closed the door. When I checked quickly through the clothes, I knew why they were giggling. It was a complete women’s outfit, from the skin out, circa the eighteen-ninety’s.

My "Ahh, nice joke, but how about something that will fit me?" got an unexpected response.

"Those are your size."

"You know what I mean."

"Sorry, dearie, but this is a women’s boutique, and well, those are the least frilly we could find in your size." There was a pause "And it’s those, a towel, or your birthday suit. And they're a lot warmer than a towel."

I looked the clothes over again. The long bloomers, or pantaloons, at least that’s what I think they were, and the several long slips seemed innocuous enough, and I was surprised how soft they felt. The dress and under-dress were of a soft, very heavy cotton, but there was no way I was going to get them around my middle. Then a little birdie told me why there was a long, heavy item I had not unrolled. When I unwrapped it, I was staring at a corset. A very large corset.

This did not look good at all. I was certain that I had fallen into a loony bin, and was trapped with some of their inmates. Nellie’s chuckling "Let me guess, you can’t get dressed by yourself" didn’t help. Escape did not seem likely either. Not in this weather, dressed in a towel.

I pulled on the bloomers, and found they had a hook-and-eye inner panel that held my privates close to my body. I was surprised at how comfortable they were. I was not used to soft cotton all the way to the ankles. Deciding that I had better humor them before they became violent, I swallowed and opened the door. "I seem to be unable put these on in the proper manner…" They all giggled, and motioned me out of the room.

I felt like a bloomered idiot. I never realized how many layers of clothes women used to wear. Realizing the three of them were probably dressed the same way was no consolation. Nellie's "Well, he got the first piece right," sounded bad.

Shortly I was wearing one of the slips, and they had wrapped the corset around me, hooking it in the front, laces at the back. It covered me from armpits to crotch. When they said "Take a deep breath, and grab the bar over the door" I was afraid it might be my last. Nellie had taken three sets of laces and was puling from one side, and Jessie had done the same, pulling from the other. I felt many years of good living being squeezed up, down, and in. Several long tugs later, I realized that I was standing very, very straight, and was surprised I could still breathe. I felt ridiculous.

Jessie measured me with the tape, grinned, and said "just two more inches.." I gaped at her like a fish, and she signaled the other two to start again. It took then quite a while, pulling in a little at a time, until Jessie told them to stop. I wanted to scream that I was being squashed, but I could not get that much air. Her tape must have been happy, because they wrapped the many feet of lacing around me, and tied it off in the back. They then fastened two wide straps over my shoulders to some clips in front, and moment later my shoulders were drawn straight back, until I had the posture of a British palace guard. Their "You can let go now," caused me to lower my arms slowly.

I had never felt anything like it. I thought it would hurt. Rather, it felt kind of good, sort of like a tight full-body hug. When I looked at myself in the mirror by candle-light, I had to make sure it was me that I was watching. What I saw looked just like one of the many pictures in my history books of a matronly woman dressed in her corset. What surprised me was that I seemed to have grown breasts. I reached down, and found that between the corset and my pudgy chest, which had always gotten me teased, I now had a formidable bosom. I strutted for a moment, and then realized what I was doing. I crossed my arms across my protruding chest. They had started to laugh.

"Seems Samantha likes the way she looks." I tried to sit in nearby chair, and found that in a corset, one does it carefully. The bottom of the corset had jabbed me painfully in a most-sensitive area.

Once seated, I started shaking my head. "I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me." Then it dawned that they had called me Samantha. "Hey, I’m not a woman. Samantha’s a woman’s name…"

"At this point you look a lot more like a Samantha, so quit complaining and let’s finish getting you dressed." All I could do was nod. Even if I had planned on trying to escape, the corset didn’t leave me enough air.

Adding a second slip, they pulled the under-dress on, and buttoned it down the back. It had a hidden, stiff collar that forced my head up. Then came the dress itself. Five minutes later it was buttoned in place. I had been getting more used to the corset, and realized that for the first time in years my back wasn’t giving me grief. I tried to walk, and almost tripped over the hem, which was dragging on the floor. Maybel’s "Oops, fergot shoes" broke the silence. They carefully sat me back down, and I only got a little jab.

I felt them pull up the legs of the pantaloons, and pull some thin socks over my feet. Then they made me stand on one of those little measuring gadgets. Finally, they sat me down, this time on a tall stool. My eyes bugged out when I saw what Maybel was expecting me to wear. They were calf-high boots. I managed a breathless "Hey, wait a minute, those things have three-inch heels," was not ignored.

"They’re four inches, and the only pair we got that’ll fit yer gunboats, ‘lessen you want these." She pulled out a pair of bright pink spikes that made my stomach curdle.

Soon I was standing really tall, trying to balance in the very tight, stiff boots. I realized that twisting an ankle was unlikely. The boots had metal reinforcements.

Nellie went and got several more candles, and when they had managed a reasonable level of illumination, Jessie got a brush, sat be down on the stool, and started working slowly on my hair. It felt really good, and I quit worrying about losing more to tangles. When they told me to close my eyes, I complied, as I had run low on energy and figured that whatever they did, as long as I lived though it, really didn’t matter any more.

That was before Maybel loosened the upper part of the dress, the corset straps and underdress, and pulled the slip down over the top of the corset. Several towels were tucked into the clothes. Her "hold still, I’ve ne’re done this by candlelight. And keep yer mouth shut" made me stiffen. I felt a thick cream being carefully smeared over most of my face, neck, shoulders, and upper back and chest. A few minutes later it started to itch, and she told me that I needed at least a few more minutes. When I started trying to wriggle because it was beginning to burn, someone took damp cloths and wiped every bit of it off, rinsing me several times.

This was followed by some sort of soothing lotion. It had been a long time since someone massaged my face like this, and I started to make happy noises. That got a giggle or two, but they continued.

My skin felt cool, and sort of funny. They pulled and buttoned everything back into place. Reminding me too keep my eyes and mouth closed, and hold very still, I felt someone pulling out individual eyebrow hairs.

"Wait just a minute. I know what you are doing this time." I felt whoever was doing it back off.

‘Sorry dearie, but ya need some work. It won’t make ya look funny, so quit worryin’." I put my hands up to protect my face and looked at Maybel.

My "Unh unh, no way…" caused Nelly to shrug, and she went to get something. Jessie was behind me, still working on my hair. Maybel seemed to be amused by my actions. Nellie returned and joined Jessie. A sharp swat on my bottom with the brush made me reach around behind me with both hands. I was unable to respond fast enough when she handcuffed me. With the corset on I could barely move my arms at all.

"Now you sit there and close yer eyes, ‘cause I want to do this right." Not like I had much choice anymore. I wondered if the police checked this place regularly. At least I was warm and dry. It was not much of a consolation. Just before it seemed I would have nothing left, she finished, and began putting makeup on. I felt her carefully remove my earrings, something I had done years back, and had kept in because I loved the feeling of them swinging as I walked. They were replaced by really big, heavy, dangly ones that jingled. They felt really nice, almost erotic. It was the first thing I didn’t mind.

I began to wonder if I could afford to disappear for a while ‘till things grew back. If I lived through it. I hoped they were finished, They weren’t. I felt them put a long, soft wig on my head, and secure it all over by weaving my hair into it, and adding hairpins at the edges.

When they stood me back up, I was wondering of there was a noose waiting. They turned me around, and told me if I would behave they would take off the handcuffs. In the heels I was about as maneuverable as a packing box, so they were not giving up much. I nodded, and soon was rubbing my wrists.

"Now open yer eyes, dearie."

I blinked, but the candlelight was low enough that it did not affect my sight. They were standing in front of me. Nellie was twirling the handcuffs like she had done this before. Her "turn around" caused me to face the mirrors.

They had to rush and grab me before I collapsed to the floor. I had expected to look like a clown, or a guy in a dress, one of those weirdos that were sometimes found on TV talk shows. Instead, staring back at me was a stout, buxom, middle-aged woman with long graying hair. A proud woman who would have been perfectly at home in a horse-drawn carriage or manor house a hundred years ago. It was when I realized there was no sign of the dumpy, middle-aged professor I had been a couple of hours before that I got dizzy.

With their smiling help I managed to stagger to the stool. "Easy, dearie, it takes a bit ‘o time to get used to breathing right, and to walk in them shoes." I nodded, but my mind was still spinning. "And yer look so much better than yer did earlier." I nodded again. I didn’t want to admit it, but I actually liked the way I looked and felt. I slowly got back up, and started to walk back and forth in front of the mirror. I found that by letting my hips roll and swing with each step, I moved easily, and the swishing of the skirts was sensuous. So were the earrings and continuous hug of the corset. I reached up and fondled my breasts, which were full and more sensitive than I had ever felt, then blushed when I realized they were watching.

Nellie spoke up "Well, Samantha, I think you like dressing like a lady." I tried to deny it, but wound up grinning shyly.

"It, it’s like I’m a different person." The corset made me speak in a breathless voice that was almost feminine. I swished the long skirts around me. "But I’m not supposed to like it. And, dammit, it’s getting me aroused…" That got a peal of laughter started.

Shortly we were sitting, stiffly, around the table in the back room, sipping on sodas, and nibbling on some delicious imported chocolates. Jessie remarked that they could be written off to storm damage. The others agreed. I was still skittish, but felt like I belonged the way I was, at least for the moment. I knew it wasn’t hypoxia, as I could still breathe reasonably well. A battery operated clock said it was four AM, and the wind was still howling. Nellie pulled several large comforters and a pile of blankets off a shelf, and by piling cushions on the floor soon had a sleeping area.

When they started to undress each other, I stood to the side. "Hey, join in, it goes faster." I wound up helping Jessie. Soon we were all down to corsets and undergarments. I found myself staring hungrily at them. Each had a small, firmly corseted waist and proudly displayed breasts. The display got better when they removed their slips. They looked soft and womanly, not virginal. And all of them had hard, aroused nipples. They were chuckling. I looked down and saw why. Even in the slip and pantaloons I was creating quite a bulge. Something I had done little of in recent years. I tried to cover myself, and Nellie reached over and waived the handcuffs at me. I quit trying.

Maybel and Jessie pulled off their bloomers from under their slips, and when Nellie handed one of them the handcuffs, she did the same. They motioned to me to do likewise. I think we didn’t need the candles. My blush was probably brighter. I discovered I couldn’t reach them. The corset would not let me bend enough. So I had to stand there while they pulled them off. I was very sure that they brushed me intentionally. The thin slip now resembled a tent. I hurt.

It took two of them to lower me onto the cushions. When they rolled me on my back, they had to pull the slip down. Nellie and Jessie took a flashlight and went to get something. Maybel told me to stretch my arms out to the sides, and relax, and began to massage my feet. It felt so good I was afraid I was going to make a mess of the slip before the others returned. On of them lifted my head and massaged my neck, and I felt something hard and padded slipped behind me. Maybel moved up to my knees, and I forgot about the other two, which was a bad move.

A moment later my wrists were secured wide apart to some kind of wooden bar they had put under me, and when I started to protest a big, soft leather plug was pushed into my mouth. They then put a wide, padded strap around my neck, securing me to whatever was holding my arms, and I felt them connect the leather thing to it also. In the corset I couldn’t sit up, and the bar prevented me from rolling over. One they were certain I was breathing properly, I lay there watching them whispering to each other, and pointing at me. Although I couldn’t look down, I knew the tent was wiggling. Which made it worse.

They covered me with a comforter and a blanket, then disappeared out of my view. I wasn’t uncomfortable at all, just immobile. They had tucked the bar down into the cushions, so unless I pulled at it, there was no pressure of any kind. I closed my eyes and tried to consciously relax. It worked too well.

I barely heard them return. When they pulled my legs wide apart, and fastened them to something similar to what was holding my arms I got hard again. I felt like a Christmas turkey. I looked at them, and almost swallowed the plug. Maybel and Jessie were strapping Nellie’s arms together behind her in what looked like a huge glove with shoulder straps. When they were finished, her arms touched from wrist to elbow, and her shoulders were drawn sharply back. They turned her around, and I saw she was blindfolded and had a wide leather strap across her mouth. Putting one and one together, I figured she was gagged the way I was.

I watched, fascinated, as her heavy breasts, thrust out by having her shoulders drawn back, swung with every move. Maybel brought over an overstuffed chair, positioning it where I could see the back. A moment later they had bent Nellie over the back, and had tied her feet to the rear legs. Then they seemed to be tying her hands to something. This left her more than ample bottom fully exposed, with her body held rigidly horizontal by the corset and glove. Out came the hairbrushes, and up went the slip. Although I really needed my glasses, there was no question she was aroused. I was surprised she could walk as swollen as she was.

They began with light swats, and occasional caresses that made her quiver. When they really began to swing, her bottom was turning bright red and bouncing rhythmically. She seemed to be trying to force her thighs together, and they would stop, caress her a bit, then continue. When they stopped she was moaning and grinding herself against the chair. She was so wet she glistened.

They untied her, and she stood unsteadily. When she tried to get her legs together, a really sharp swat stopped her. Maybel came over to me, and patted the tent. I arched up. She and Jessie then lifted my hips and shoved a thick cushion under my butt. This began to look familiar, but I was so aroused I think I would have cooperated with anything. Not that I had any choice. Shortly I found myself with Nellie on her knees straddling me, just above my penis. When she tried to lower herself, she got another swat. She had an amazing bottom, and thick, curly bush that quivered. A dripping wet bush.

I watched out of the corner of my eyes as Jessie put Maybel into a similar contraption, and reached beneath her slip to massage her. A blindfold and plug that looked too big to fit her mouth were added and secured. The next maneuver was weird. Jessie lay her, face down, with her feet by my head. Then she lifted the bar, moved some cushions, and pulled Maybel’s feet under the bar to my shoulders. She then motioned me to be quiet, and slowly removed my gag. I saw it was much smaller than Maybel’s With a grunt, she lifted Maybel by the glove, and sat her up, which planted her bush firmly on my mouth. This I understood. A moment later I felt Nellie being impaled on my penis. She was heavy, but amazingly tight.

The next couple of hours were something out of an under-the counter novel. For an old guy who could rarely get it up, I was playing superman. I don’t think Maybel was multi-orgasmic. Continuously orgasmic, maybe. The gag had left me with a dry mouth. Maybel sure didn’t. Nellie had really talented muscles, managing to make me come twice to her innumerable times. The first took five minutes. The second took an hour. As Jessie was pulling them limply off me, I fell asleep.

I woke up warm and unfettered except for the corset, sandwiched between two corseted, sleeping women. My jaw and tongue ached. My hips ached. And I felt better than I had in a long time. I wrapped my arms around the one in front, and went back to sleep. I woke the second time alone under the covers. I could smell hot cocoa, and noticed the lights were back on. The clock said 2:30. That meant it was already afternoon.

A "Glad t’see yer decided to join us" caused me to try and sit up. Not in a corset. I had to roll over and lift myself, tucking my legs under me. They were all dressed, and sitting at the table. I managed to stand. Maybel’s "I think yer need to brush yer teeth," caused them to giggle. I just smiled and headed for the washroom. After more pressing matters were settled, I noticed there was a new toothbrush waiting for me.

I managed to scrub the smudged makeup off, and carefully remove the evidence of last night’s activities from my face, teeth, and nether regions. When I emerged, they helped me put on the pantaloons, and in a little while I was dressed and made up like before. But this time I helped. I guess the guy that ran the stop-and-rob was marooned also, because they had tracked down some bread and lunchmeat. I was starved, but one large sandwich and I was full. "Corset" clicked.

Someone banged on the front door, and a minute later Maybel escorted a harried looking trooper to the back. I was scared silly, but he seemed not to notice me. When he told us that it looked like it would be at least until Wednesday before they would have one of the bridges repaired. I groaned. The others giggled. When he asked if we needed to be evacuated, they loudly declined, saying they had plenty of food, and were going to have a washout party. I started to say something when one of them kicked me hard in the shin. I winced, and he gave me a funny look. Maybel escorted him out, and I heard her lock the door.

By Wednesday I was totally worn out. I didn’t know there were that many ways to make love. Or resurrect the dead. Maybel was part vacuum cleaner. With an attitude. And it wasn’t just kinky stuff. Corrugated, weird, and insane, probably. I loved it. I felt like a hormone-soaked teenager again. But I had never had this much fun back then.

It turned out Maybel was a widow, Nellie was divorced, and Jessie was a lesbian, which made for some interesting pairings. It took being tied up, gagged, and gloved, with her legs spread, but Jessie finally admitted that I had a talented tongue. She didn’t have much option. Her quivering grunts told the whole story. It was not my choice. I was as trussed up as she was. And Maybel had a hairbrush to make sure I didn’t stop.

Nellie drove me home dressed in a skirt and sweater. And the corset. Once inside, we spent several hours in bed. God, I loved fondling her breasts. And she loved for me to fondle them. We returned with me dressed in my own clothes, wearing glasses. I realized I looked rather strange with the high, thin eyebrows. Another part of me wanted to put a skirt on. And I missed the corset.

That was almost a year ago. These days I wear a corset, much tighter than the first one, all the time. I’ve lost almost fifty pounds, and feel like I’m thirty again. I’m also just as likely to be found as Samantha rather than Sam. Nine months ago at Nellie’s urging, I started on a low dose of hormones, and the remaining fat has re-distributed itself, probably with the help of the corsets, to my chest, hips, and butt. I quickly developed big, sensitive nipples, which the Doc said would probably be all I would grow at my age. And they feel so, well, feminine as they jiggle.

Nellie and I tied the knot, almost literally, last month. She was shackled under her gown. When she saw my present to her, it kept us busy for a full week. A complete set of leather and steel shackles, several other toys, and our "new" antique, heavy four-poster bed are always finding new uses. Maybel and Jessie are "renting" a spare bedroom while their place is renovated. Thanks to them, I’ve become all-too-well acquainted with the toys and shackles.

-- Finis

 

© 2000
The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission.