Tales of the Season - Ken's Barbie

by Tigger
Copyright 2002

 

Chapter 25: Impressions of the Past

Still in her robe, Ruth slid a steaming omelet onto a plate, added large helpings of fat in the form of bacon and sausage, plus a heaping side of buttery home-fried potatoes - and prepared to enjoy watching her child eat. She set the plate in front of a grinning Barbie and almost managed a disgusted frown. "You'll pay for that when you're my age," she huffed as she spooned up oatmeal for her own breakfast. "What's your cholesterol level?"

"One forty-five," Barbie answered as she savored the first bite of cheese-dripping egg. "Not even Marie cooks like you do, Momma-Ruth. Where's Skipper?"

"On the phone. Her office called just as she came down. Ah, and here she comes now." Ruth watched Barbie and Skipper watching each other and trying not to show it. *Guess Jane was right. They're already intensely aware of each other, and that's not too far from being in lust, at the very least. I sure hope Jane knows what she's doing here. If Miss Braithwaite feels she has to take Seasons House down, it could really hurt Kenneth. He loves Jane and he's halfway in love with this girl.* "What can I get you for breakfast? There's oatmeal, and I might still have an egg or two after cooking for that one."

"Oh, the oatmeal sounds fine, if you don't mind."

"Who was on the phone?" Barbie asked.

An unhappy look clouded Anne's face. "My boss, Mr. Madden."

"Donald?" Ruth asked. "What did he want? Are you needed back at work?"

Anne shook her head. "No, nothing like that. Adrian called him yesterday, looking for me. Per my instructions, he was told I wouldn't accept his call."

"I'd say that means Jane has given Adrienne your letter."

"The letter she dictated!" Anne flashed back and then just as quickly subsided. "Sorry."

"Are you regretting doing that?" Barbie asked softly, putting out a hand to rub Skipper's arm soothingly.

"Yes. . .no. . oh blast, maybe. Look, I know you trust Ms. Thompson, and you believe in what she does, but. . ."

"But Adrian is your brother," Ruth said quietly. "What did you write?" Quickly, Anne summarized the letter she'd written at Jane's behest, and explained about the voicemail message she'd recorded at the same time. "Well, I can see how you'd be uncertain about that, given my error in not fully disclosing what you were agreeing to when you signed those papers. You do understand what Jane is trying to do with that letter, don't you?"

"She's making him feel alone, isolated, without anyone to help him," Anne said with some heat.

Ruth put a bowl of steaming oatmeal in front of Skipper, then sat down. "No one to help him but himself," she corrected the girl. "At least, that's how she wants him to see things. What she's really doing, Anne, is trying to restore the dynamics to the time before Adrian called you. She needs him to feel that way, needs him to see how that isolation would exacerbate any failure on his part to play the role Jane has assigned to him. As long as he thought he had an ally, he had no motivation to work at her lessons, and without work, he cannot learn."

"It. . .it seems so cold."

"Sometimes it has to be that way. Military boot camps isolate their recruits from the outside world, from their previous experiences, even from their personal vision of themselves as people. Jane does the same thing."

"I've heard that argument before," Anne muttered, casting a dire look at Barbie.

"Then, I won't repeat those arguments. Instead, I shall merely content myself by pointing out that, based on your agreement with Jane, your brother need only suffer those conditions for three more weeks following your return to Kingston. Assuming, of course, that he is suffering, and that you still insist that he leave Jane's keeping at the end of those weeks."

"What makes you think I won't?"

"My faith in Jane," Ruth said equably, "And my assessment of you, as an intelligent young woman who will recognize the value of what my friend does with boys such as your brother. Now, eat, before your oatmeal gets cold. You two will need your fuel for you have a difficult day before you."

"Oh?" Barbie asked, brows raised.

"I spoke with a colleague of mine - the judge who will sign the probate papers on your mother's estate. He's agreed to let you go through her place and see what's there while he expedites the process. I can handle most of the legalities for you, but you need to see if there's anything you really want, or if all of it can be sold."

"Okay," Barbie replied, but in a tone that told Ruth it was anything but okay for the tall blonde. "Are you going to be there, too?" she asked, hopefully.

"Sorry, dear. Full docket, especially since I had to juggle cases to be off the past couple of days. I might manage a couple of hours, but you will need more time than that anyway."

"Damn."

~-~

Brenda ('Betty-to-my-Friends') Franson walked into her office, a slight frown on her face as she walked over to sit down and face the woman seated on the sofa. "Problems?" Jane asked before Brenda could say anything. "Is Adrienne acting up again?"

"No," Betty replied thoughtfully, "But I'm not comfortable about this, nonetheless. She's, well, she's trying TOO hard, Janey. Everything - her responses, her giggles, even her smiles for goodness sake - they're all just so exaggerated. It's almost like watching one of those 1930's comedic movie shorts, except it's in living color. My best shop-girl, you remember Sally, don't you? She's starting to give Adrienne funny looks."

"Blast! Do you think it's intentional? A sort of malicious compliance? 'You told me to be happy, and look how happy I can be' type of thing?"

Betty shook her head firmly. "No way. I took a real close look at that child, Jane. When Sally isn't looking, she practically hyperventilates to calm herself. When I gave her a friendly pat, she literally flinched. She knows I'm in on the game, but I've told her often enough that I'd unmask her in a heartbeat if she didn't do exactly as I ordered."

"So she's keeping her word, but. . ."

"No buts, Jane. She's doing the best she knows how, but just now? That's not good enough for soloing."

"Then I'll have to pull her out of there. Give me a minute to think of an excuse that will do the job, but won't ruin my image as the school-mistress-from-hell."

"There might be another way, Jane. . . "

"Oh? What?"

"Well, you did say she was to act like she was having fun? Well, suppose she didn't have to act?"

~-~

"What a strange setup," Skipper murmured as she drove Barbie's car into the alleyway behind Sheila's townhouse. "She actually owned two houses? On exactly opposite sides of this alley?"

"Momma-Ruth said that she used the one on the residential street as her living space and the other, the one with the storefront, as her. . .umm, place of business."

Skipper giggled at seeing her tall friend blush. "You mean her dungeon, don't you? I'm actually rather excited. Nice girls from Indiana don't usually get to see dungeons, you know."

"Right. Glad to help broaden your experiences. Come on, let's get going. The sooner we start, the sooner we get done."

The first surprise was that the storefront was just that, a front. They raised the grill and opened the door and found a small reception area. The only other door in the room led to a dark, narrow stairway to yet another door, this one opening onto a second-story covered walkway connecting the two townhouses.

"How odd," Skipper observed as she looked out a window onto the alley below. "Didn't she like walking outdoors?"

"Odder than that," Barbie said thoughtfully. "Did you notice that there isn't any way into the rest of the storefront house? If you go in the front door, you can only go back out that door, or end up here."

"Maybe there's a back door in the alley?"

"Only door I saw when we drove through there was ten feet off the ground without any stairs. Like one of those track houses designed with a deck-option that the buyer decided not to install. Come on, let's see what's on the other side of this."

There, they found their second surprise, in the form of a second 'reception area' nothing like the first one. Flickering wall sconce lights, designed to look like gaslights, did little to dispel the darkness of the small antechamber. Opposite where they'd entered, heavy, velvet-like curtains hung from floor to the cathedral ceiling, their weight almost swallowing what little light might dare escape from whatever lay beyond them. The floor was uncarpeted, a fact that escaped the pair until the sound of their high heeled shoes clicking off the hard surface alerted them.

Without thought, two hands reached out and found one another, both seeking and offering comfort and mutual support. Then, they pushed aside the curtain and entered the room beyond.

"Oh my god," Skipper breathed when she saw what awaited them.

~-~

All the pair could do was gape. The room was perfectly octagonal in shape. More of the flickering wall sconces, one on each side of the octagon, cast their disconcerting light on walls textured to look as if they had been hewn from raw granite. Dark wood doors occupied the center of each wall, except for the one through which they'd entered. Other than that, the room was devoid of furniture or furnishing. Only dancing shadows thrown by the barely adequate lights decorated the empty space. "It's like something out of a Saturday late night horror picture," Barbie breathed.

"Isn't it GREAT?!" Skipper enthused, and then blushed at her friend's shocked look. "Well, I always did love those old movies. It's like the House of Horrors at the fair. Wonder what's on the other side of those doors?"

"You're starting to scare me, Braithwaite," the taller blonde teased. "Let's go find out."

~-~

"Sally?" Betty called to her assistant fashion consultant as she entered The Style Shoppe's dressing area.

"Yes, Ms. Franson?"

"You're overdue for your break, dear. I'll help Adrienne for a bit. You've been on your feet since we opened. Go get some tea and relax for a bit."

"It's no trouble to finish up here first, Ma'am," the pretty young woman demurred, although Betty could tell that the thought of a bit of rest greatly appealed.

"Scoot!" the shop owner ordered with a teasing smile, "Before I find something for you to do!"

The girl did not need to be told twice and was out the door before Adrienne quite knew what was happening. Then, she realized she was alone with 'one of them'. A frisson of near panic slid down her spine, but she fought it back, and somehow managed to force her lips back up into a visage that was, unfortunately, more grimace than grin. A promise was a promise, and Adrienne had decided that Adrian's word was about the only thing she had left of him. "Isn't this dress marvelous, Ms. Franson," she offered with a twirl, as she tried to sound cheery. Unfortunately, her voice cracked on the final syllable.

If she had been distinctly uncomfortable being around the very pretty Sally, and distressed to find herself suddenly alone with Ms. Franson, Adrienne nearly lost control of herself when the older woman put a gently firm hand on her upper arm and moved her into a chair. "Sit down, child," Betty ordered softly. "Take a deep breath - that's right, now another. Close your eyes for just a moment."

Betty watched as a more normal color suffused Adrienne's chalk-white cheeks. "Better, now?" she asked.

"Ye.. Yes, Ma'am. Umm, thank you."

"Good. Now, I know what you promised Jane, because she told me."

The fear came back into the lingerie-clad teen's eyes, and Betty hastened to reassure her. "You've done fine. Don't worry about it."

"I.. . I have? That girl, Sally? She was, well, looking at me awfully closely there at the end."

"Well, perhaps you were trying a little too hard. Smiling when the seamstress fitting you accidently sticks you in the fanny with a pin is a bit much, but I give you full points for trying to keep your word. Now, why don't you relax, and let's have a little fun for a change."

"Fun?" Adrienne repeated, a wealth of suspicion dripping from the word.

"Let's just try. All right, so there's no getting around the fact that you do have to have a new dress to satisfy Jane, but the search doesn't have to be quite so much of a trial. I know, let's pretend you're looking for a costume. No one else will come in here, and I already know your secret, so you're safe for the time being. It'll have to be a girlish costume because - oh, I don't know - it's for the Sadie Hawkins Day Ball and girls have to be boys and boys have to be girls. How's that for a concept?"

"But. . .but, I'm not a girl," Adrienne whispered, "not really."

"And none of the other people wearing skirts to the Sadie Hawkins Day Ball will be really girls, either," Betty said, a teasing smile on her lips. "You wouldn't want to let any of those other guys win the prize for prettiest outfit, would you?"

In spite of herself, Adrienne smiled back. "Depends on the prize, I guess."

"How about a fifty dollar gift certificate at Milady's Closet?"

"That's your lingerie store," Adrienne snorted in obvious disappointment.

"Oh, and a date with the cutest girl at your school, so you can give her the certificate," Betty offered.

"You can't promise that."

"Ah, but we can pretend, can't we? And who knows, you might just have the chance to go to that Sadie Hawkins Ball on your own later, or date the cutest girl at school. Provided you continue to do your best for Jane, that is." A sad look crossed the girlish face which she tried to cover with a smile. "What's the matter now?" she prodded the teen.

"Oh, nothing," Adrienne said, trying to sound cheerful, only to stop at the sight of an imperiously demanding cocked-feminine brow. "Oh, all right. It's just that, well, I've never had much luck with girls before this. . . this . . . this place, you know? And now, Ms. Thompson's making more me girly than THEY are - so how am I going to appeal to a girl? IF I ever get out of here without going to jail, that is."

The boy-girl was so sincere and so distressed that humor and sympathy warred momentarily in Betty's breast, but somehow she managed to keep the incipient laugh in check. "Tell me something. If _you_ were trying to be friends with someone, who would you rather hang with? Someone who didn't know or appreciate what you had to deal with every day, or someone who understood you better than the other guys around you?"

"Ummm. . . someone who understood?" Adrienne asked, wondering where the trap was hidden.

"Right! So, assuming you learn how to behave like a girl, appreciate what it is to live like a girl, don't you think you'll maybe understand that really cute girl better than the big macho guy? Maybe appreciate what she does to BE that cute just a little better, too?" At the teen's quick nod, Betty smiled. "Exactly, and you think that girl - that 'really nice-to-be-around' kind of girl - isn't going to notice those things and like hanging with you better than your less sensitive brethren?"

"Maybe. . ."

"Only one way to find out, cutie. So, what catches your eye? Looks like Sally emptied a couple of racks from all the stuff in here."

"My eye? You mean on me?"

This time Betty did laugh, but not unpleasantly. "Okay, Adrienne, let's try it this way. Know any girls who look like Adrienne? A really cute blonde whom Adrian would really like to impress?" She watched the wheels turn inside that fluffy, blond head, and knew the instant just such a girl came to mind. *Gotcha,* she thought happily. "I can see that you do. So, suppose you were looking for a present - a really nice dress - for this girl with your coloring and, ah, attributes. Out of all this, which would you pick out for her?"

For a moment, Adrienne still hesitated, afraid this was another game, another trick at her expense, but then decided if it was, she might as well, indeed, try to find some real fun in it. After all, didn't the saying go something about laughing and letting the world laugh with you? "I, well, I thought that red skirt with the short black suit jacket was kinda. . .well, sort of pretty."

"Ah yes, the red peasant skirt with the black bolero jacket. An excellent first choice, I think, and it can be worn with or without the jacket depending on how dressy you want, I mean, your very cute girlfriend-who-looks-like-Adrienne wants to be. All right, then, let's see if we can find some accessories to go with that ensemble, shall we?"

~-~

Giggling nervously, Anne and Barbie approached the next to the last door. Neither of them had ever seen, in real life, anything like the equipment installed in the five previous thematically designed rooms. There'd been a doctor's office, a nursery, and an elegant lady's sitting room, although in each case the furniture had seemed to include an unusual and disproportionate number of very heavy leather pieces. Then there'd been the space that could only have been a stable; an assessment that had been difficult for Skipper to accept, given that the complete complement of tack and stalls were clearly sized with human-sized horses in mind. The fifth door had revealed a dungeon that would have suited Torquemada's Inquisition in all respects.

So, it was with a certain degree of caution mixed with excited anticipation that they opened the sixth door.

"Well, I guess it's pretty obvious what she did here," Anne said, striding into the richly appointed executive office. "Here's where she kept track of her business. Funny, wonder why she kept that chair?" she added reflectively.

Barbie looked at the chair, and saw that the minimal seat cushion had a two-to-three inch diameter hole in its center. She put her hands on the chair's back while she watched Anne slip around behind the desk. She wasn't surprised when she couldn't move the chair an inch.

"Nice desk," Anne said running a finger along with deeply polished wood before sitting down in the leather executive chair, "Nicer seat."

"Comfie, is it?" Barbie asked, a strange smile curving her lips.

"Oh yeah. A little short-seated, though. Hey, you know what? I bet you she kept her files here - you know, like her inventory and insurance records." Skipper was already reaching for the desk's file drawer. "Those would really save us a lot of time if we could find them."

"Wait!" Barbie called out, but it was too late. Skipper's eyes were wide again, her mouth hanging comically open. Slowly, she reached down and brought out a long, cylindrical object about two inches in diameter and nearly a foot long, at which point, the taller blonde lost it and fell apart laughing. "Oh, god, Anne, the look on your FACE!"

The sex toy barely missed Barbie's head as Anne pinned her nearly hysterical companion with a steely glare. She reached down again and brought out a leather-tipped riding crop which she slashed loudly against the cherry-toned desktop. "I don't think it's THAT funny," she retorted.

"Oh, but it is! As if MY Mother would ever bother with anything so mundane as an office, or keeping re. . re . .records." At Skipper's threatening growl, Barbie put her hands up in surrender, but couldn't restrain the laughter. "I DID try to warn you."

"I see," she responded, not quite seeing. "Then just what is this place for? And THAT thing?" She pointed to the realistically molded silicone dildo on the floor.

"What does it look like?" Barbie asked rhetorically. "And I'd say the base of 'THAT thing' is designed to fit the hole in this chair perfectly. Guess one of Sheila's customers had fantasies about being teased and tormented by an evil lady boss."

"She had women customers, too?" Skipper voice cracked, too astounded by that notion not to pry further.

"Sweetie," the tall blonde said in a very soft and gentle voice, "I suspect the customers who came into this playroom were mostly male."

"But, that thing on the floor? And that chair? MEN??!?"

"Anne, think about it for a minute," Barbie ordered.

She did, and Barbie knew the exact moment when her friend realized precisely how such a chair and accessories would be used with a male. Skipper blushed clear to the roots of her blond hair. "Oh."

And then she stormed out of the room, her face flaming in a combination of embarrassment and fury.

~-~

"Well, she came out of it with a great dress, Aunt Jane. I'm almost jealous." Jessica sat with perfect Victorian posture, her hands clasped in her lap, on one of Jane's almost painfully uncomfortable period chairs.

"It is a lovely outfit, isn't it? Not the normal thing for one of my students, but I think I rather like her as a blond Flamenco dancer."

"I'm still having a hard time seeing Ms. Franson as a guardian angel instead of a tormentress, Aunt Jane. I can't say it is something that occurs to me when I think of that very formidable lady."

"Well, she did it quite well - saved the day, actually, because Adrienne evidently came as close to blowing the masquerade as any student I've ever had."

"Because she was trying too hard to keep her promise. She was working so hard at being happy-looking it was clear she was miserable. Wow, talk about a backlash. Close call."

"Just so. I think either Darla, you or I will have to accompany her from now on, or at least until she gets a better handle on the subtleties of the game. Fortunately, no one can try THAT hard for long."

"Darla did, as I understand it," Jessica teased.

"I don't think this one is a Darla, dear. Thank heavens."

"Well, I hope she gets out of this mode soon. I have to tell you, Aunt Jane, that I think you're as close to cruel and unusual punishment as anything I've seen or heard about here with this one."

"Whaaat??!" Jane yelped.

"I mean, REEAAALLY," Jessica cooed in perfect mimicry of Edith White at her absolute worst, "Smiling when she was told to clear the table and do the dishes? Feigning to ENJOY such plebeian tasks? Mean, Aunt Jane, very, very mean."

The Mistress of Seasons House permitted herself a small, tight smile. "Just so, darling. Just so."

 

 

Chapter 26 - The Fight of the Valkyries

"I said I'm sorry, Anne," Barbie wheedled.

"You laughed at me," the still furious blonde accused for the fourth or fifth time, fire shooting from her narrowed eyes. She stood in the center of the octagonal room, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, her posture rigid. "I absolutely HATE it when people laugh at me. I have had more than enough of that in my life, thanks to my brother's adolescent sense of humor, thank-you-very-much. I had thought better of you."

The hurt in that last sentence stopped Barbie in mid-justification. Sighing, she stepped back, giving the angry young woman some space. "You're right, I shouldn't have done it. I was about to use that old saw about not laughing at you as much as laughing with you, but you weren't laughing, were you? I am sorry, and this time I not only mean it, but I understand better why I'm apologizing."

Something in the taller girl's tone reached Anne, and she softened a bit. "I guess you did try to warn me," she said, offering up an olive branch. Then her brows furrowed, as the significance of that warning came to her. "You KNEW," she accused again. "How did you know?!?"

"I didn't know, not really, but it was a fair assumption, based on the data to hand."

"Huh? How so? What data?"

Repressing a smile, Barbie began ticking off points on her fingers. "One, we know what Sheila did for a living, and two, it's pretty clear she did it here in this building - on this floor. Three, all the other rooms on this floor are, well, shall we call them designed for very specific and kinky types of games? Four, that chair and it's hole in the seat, combined with the fact that it is bolted to the floor. Apparently Sheila didn't want her 'victim' able to move it around or perhaps fall over while restrained in it. Finally, there wasn't a phone or any other electronic office equipment in the place. If Sheila did have a business office, I figure it will be somewhere else in one of these two buildings."

"But you warned me about the drawers?" Anne persisted.

"That was a guess, too. Unlike the other rooms, this one had no other obvious storage spaces. Don't know much about how a person contracts a lady for those games, but I suspect Sheila got paid by the hour. I really doubt that her customers would have liked it much if she kept walking in and out of the room to get her paraphernalia. She'd need her equipment close to hand regardless of which room she was using at the time."

"Oh, I see," she said more softly now.

"Forgive me?" Barbie wheedled, earning a small smile.

"For the moment, but understand that payback is owed, Blondie. Trust me on this one, okay?" The smile grew, larger and more mischievous. "I will get mine back for this, and you won't see it coming, either."

"Okay," Barbie agreed readily. "I'll live in fear till that moment, but let's say we finish our reconnoitering, eh? We still have door number seven, right?"

"Right. And this time? You go first."

"Just follow me."

~-~

They were almost disappointed when the final door opened onto a corridor that led to two sets of stairs - one up and one down. The down-stairway ended on the first floor which was laid out as a social area, complete with kitchen, dining room, sitting room, television room and an entry foyer for the townhouse's main entrance. "I don't think she really used this space, except as a blind," Barbie mused. "It's too perfect - cleaning service perfect, and the fridge was empty."

"Maybe she used it as a place to meet and interview clients prior to taking them. . . upstairs? Or maybe when she had to have, umm, non-paying guests come to call?"

They agreed that those were possibilities, and headed back up the stairs, this time climbing to the third floor. The top floor mirrored the second floor's layout except for the dramatic lighting and wall treatments were missing. And unlike the first floor, this space had a lived in, almost used look to it. Not quite untidy, but not neat either.

The octagonal room was furnished as a lounge, with comfortable furniture, a sophisticated entertainment center and a wet-bar. The rooms off the main space were also somewhat different. The first really was an office, complete with a multi-line telephone, a fax machine and a basic-yet-functional computer. "There's where your files would be, Anne," Barbie had teased, eliciting another furious blush from the shorter girl.

One the same side of the building as the office, they found a store room filled with cleaning equipment and various tools, all jumbled in disarray indicating the haphazard nature of their use. The final room was filled with racks of electronic equipment, a fact that surprised Barbie. After some exploration, she realized that "It's surveillance system."

"Whatever for?" Anne asked, perking up. "Was she worried about break-ins? This is a pretty high class neighborhood. The police patrol around here regularly."

"I think," Barbie replied, "that if we played with that TV out there, we'd find that we could tune into each of the rooms on the second floor. My guess is that Sheila might have left them alone down there, from time-to-time, to play with their heads. She liked doing that kind of crap," and there was suddenly a world of bitterness in the tall blonde's tone, "but she had to make sure they weren't panicking or worse, suffocating. Bad for business. Tends to lose customers and involve cops. So, she'd slip up here, pour herself a glass of the bubbly from her wet bar, and watch her client squirm on the wide-screen TV."

"Oh. I can see it, in my mind's eye when you describe it that way, but somehow, it would never occur to me that's how it would be used. I mean, like having two separate houses."

"Security again. Gives her more control over what people knew and didn't know. Gave her a place to hide if things went sour, too. C'mon, let's check out the rooms on the other side of this place."

~-~

"Oh . . . my. . . goodness," Skipper breathed, her eyes fixed on the contents of the first room they opened. It was a large walk-in closet, and it was filled with glossy leather garments in a variety of bright colors.

"What have you got?" the taller blonde asked. Coming up behind her and seeing, she coughed out. "Oh." The scent was almost overwhelming - leather oddly mingled with leather polish, preservative and metallic pong of human sweat. "Guess she stored her working clothes up here and dressed up here - the room next door is a combination dressing room and bathroom. Guess even bitch-goddesses have to pee at inconvenient times. Anyway, I wondered about how she handled the costume-part of all this, because I didn't remember her having much of a clothing fetish when I lived with her. I suspect these were for business only."

Eyes wide, Anne reached in and pulled out a leather corset in black with red highlights including laces. "Wow."

"That would look good on you," Barbie said without thinking.

"Dream on," she said, holding the garment up against her waist and moving to a mirror. "No way that would fit me, anyway."

"Sure it would. I'll help you if you want to try it."

"I'm NOT undressing in front of you, Blondie, no matter how feminine you look or behave, okay?"

Barbie shrugged. "So, put it on over your dress. Madonna used to do that all the time. At least you'd see what it looks like, and you'd get an appreciation of what it feels like for the next time Adrienne calls to complain about Jane's treatment."

The look in Anne's reflected eyes were a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Curiosity won out. "Okay, but if I do one, you do one, too. And just to make sure you don't get any cute ideas? I'll lace you up AFTER you lace me."

"But I'm already wearing a corset, and a damned stiff one at that. It won't do anything for my shape."

"Oh really?" Feeling brave - and perhaps just a bit wicked - Skipper made a show of looking through the closet, but she already knew what she wanted. With a flourish, she reached up and pulled down another heavily-weighted hanger which she offered to Barbie. "Okay, then, wear this," she challenged.

"Don't be silly. No dress that fit my mother would fit me."

A mischievous smile brightened the shorter girl's face. "Sure it would, see," she said, turning the dress around so that Barbie could see the garment's back, "It laces like a corset, all the way from the hem to the back of the neck. One size fits all - even your size, Barbie."

"It won't fit over the dress I'm wearing." Barbie retorted weakly. "And it won't cover my bottom because you won't be able to close the laces far enough."

*Gotcha!* Skipper mentally gloated. "Then take your dress off. We're all girls here, right? Besides, remember I saw those darling little white-lace panties you're wearing when you got in the car. Not very graceful, dear. Anyway, they'll, ahem, protect your modesty. Sort of."

"I . . . don't know."

Skipper shrugged that off and started to put both hangers back onto the closet bar. "Have it your way, then. Like I said, Stretch, I will if you will, but I won't if you won't."

~-~

"HEY, take it ::grunt:: EASY, Skipper! That's tight E-nough!"

"Oh, quit whining. I needed to get a little more lacing to work with. You ARE just a bit broader through the shoulders than your mother was."

"Next time, cutie, I lace YOU ::ooomph:: last. And I still don't know why I had to skin out of MY dress, when you put yours on over your blouse and skirt!"

"Oh, come on, if you'd taken off the corset you were already wearing, this wouldn't have been a problem at all. And don't give me that modesty nonsense again. It's not like you don't wear far less than that to the beach."

"Ken wears less. Barbie is more. . . ladylike. And this thing is, well, drafty!"

"Wimp," Anne giggled. "Although next time you wear a dress that leaves your fanny only half-covered, you should wear coordinating panties. I can see the white through the lower laces. Now, stand up and let me have a look at you - and me, since you wouldn't let me use the mirror until you were outfitted."

~-~

"That's amazing," Anne murmured as she gazed at her own reflection. The three-sided floor-to-ceiling mirrors in Sheila's dressing room allowed her to see herself from any angle, and she wasn't sure what she saw was really Barbara Anne Braithwaite. Her eyes still fixed on the picture before her, she reached out hesitant fingers to touch the woman looking back at her from the silvered glass.

After several lace-tightenings, the corset fit her like a shimmering black-and-red second skin. The red edging around the top of the bodice, above her hips, and up the center where front catches were seemed to emphasize both her bosom and her bottom to an unreal extent. She looked, well, positively wasp-waisted, yet centerfold-voluptuous. "Was your mother vain enough to have trick mirrors?"

"What? Trick mirrors?" Barbie looked up from her attempt to tug downward a critical few more millimeters of the drum-tight dress' disconcertingly short skirt.

"Like in a circus fun house. . .so that she'd look, well, more hour-glassed in it."

The taller girl would have laughed if her double-corsetting would have permitted, but on second consideration, she decided it was probably just as well that she couldn't get that deep a breath. "Skip? That's YOU in that mirror - what YOU look like. All five-foot-ten of gorgeous, sexy-shaped woman. That's really what you look like . . .from my unbiased perspective, at least."

"Gorgeous?" she muttered, looking down in evident embarrassment. Part of her wanted to believe her friend, wanted desperately to believe her. She knew she was attractive, in a long, lanky sort of way, but sexy? It was not how she thought of herself. "Help me out of this thing, will you?"

"Maybe I shouldn't," Barbie teased, trying to coax away the sadness that had just come into Anne's eyes. When the other girl simply stared at her, she huffed. "Oh, all right, if you insist. But then you help me out of mine. Two corsets are at least one too many!"

~-~

Skipper returned the leather corset to the closet. She came out to help Barbie out of her outfit, only to find her in the other storage space. Curious, she walked to the door and saw what appeared to be relatively ordinary if brightly colored clothing. She was about to call Barbie to order, when something flashed at her from the corner of her eye. Turning toward it, she looked at the source for several moments before reaching up to take down the hanger from which a narrow tube of electric blue latex suspended. "What IS this?"

"Off hand," Barbie said as she reached behind her to try to pull the rear hem of the leather skirt down further, "I'd say it's a dress. Latex, I think. Very expensive."

"A dress? Good grief, Barbie, how big was your mother? I mean, you did manage, if only barely, to get into that killer leather dress you're wearing now."

Barbie considered her reflection and the question for a moment. "Hmmm, not as tall as you, but, well, a little bigger around in the hips, bust and waist. Not unattractive, just voluptuous for her height."

"Then she must have had a height-challenged anorexic assistant. No way could someone built like you say your mother was could have worn this little number."

"Wanna bet? Trust me, my mom would never allow someone ELSE'S clothes to be in HER space."

"You just want to see me try and get into that," Skipper retorted. "I'd split out the seams on it and end up naked in front of you."

"The stuff is rugged, and it WILL fit you. No guts, Braithwaite." The taller girl returned to the closet and returned with a shorter garment. "Tell you what - if I can get this tube-top on over this dress, you try on THAT dress."

"There is no way you could get your left pinkie into that thing so there's no point in the bet."

"Chicken!"

"I am not! Okay, smartie, what do I get when you CAN'T squeeze into that rubber sausage casing?"

"Whatever you want," Barbie offered magnanimously, "So long as it is just between you and me - I can't make any promises for Aunt Jane and Adrienne."

"You don't mean that," the shorter girl snapped.

"As long as it's legal, I do mean it," was the solemn reply. "And my word is good - you should know that by now."

A surprised look came across Anne's face. It was, she realized, the first time she'd thought of her brother's fate at the hands of Barbie's Aunt in a very long time. And she'd had to reminded of it at that. "Anne?" Barbie called gently, her face now concerned.

"You really want to see me wearing that dress, don't you?" Skipper said in soft wonder. Barbie's face turned a fiery red, but she gave her shorter companion a single curt nod before looking away embarrassed. Somehow, that little slip by her friend helped. Skipper felt her inner imp come out of it's hiding place and take charge. "You're on, Blondie. You're gonna look SO cute walking to the car in that dress, too."

"Car? THIS dress?!? NOW? In DAYlight? That's two blocks from the doorway!" Barbie's voice cracked on each question, as she stared at her friend in stunned disbelief. "But, Anne, My butt is hanging out back there! I WILL be arrested!"

"Not if you walk quickly enough, and besides, your panties have you covered up well enough not to be really indecent. You did say anything that's legal, didn't you?"

"You sure you're not related to Aunt Jane? Hand me that talcum powder over there in the closet, will you? I read somewhere that getting into this stuff requires some dry lubricant - otherwise perspiration makes it stick like glue."

~-~

"There!" Barbie declared, her voice triumphant if a little strained.

"I don't believe it! Let me look and make sure you didn't split a seam somewhere!" Skipper ordered as she strode back from the electronic surveillance room where she'd been inspecting the various components.

"Oh. . my . . goodness," she stuttered when she laid eyes on the taller girl, before dissolving into giggles for Barbie was indeed a sight.

The pink short-sleeved, low cut crop-top was so tightly stretched that it was transparent. The extremely well-filled black leather bodice of the corset dress clearly visible beneath the latex. Twin shell-pink cannonballs threatened to explode at any second. Additionally, there was talcum powder everywhere - on Barbie's face, in her hair, on her arms and all over the black dress.

"Goodness, Barbie. . .you look like you tried to bake bread and fell in the flour bin," Skipper giggled.

With dignified self-possession, Barbie drew herself up to her full, imposing height and looked haughtily down her nose at the laughing girl. "I look forward to being similarly amused," she huffed and then slapped a latex-covered hanger into Skipper's hands. "I believe we had a bet, cutie. Oh, and don't forget the talc! I'm going to check out that last door while you're getting into THAT!"

With that, Barbie swept from the room leaving a goggle-eyed Anne, the latex dress clutched in her hands.

 

 

 

*********************************************
© 2002 by Tigger. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.