Jane, a known turtleneck wearer in July, a woman of self-hiding hands-squeezed-between-knees posture on even an empty subway car, a homebody just-short-of-actually allergic to attention from others, paced narrow ellipses in her small dorm room. Her roommate Stephanie would return soon from the campus fashion lab. Jane wore jeans and an oversized hoodie. As she often did when ruminating, in some symbolic attempt to shield herself from any more interactions with others that could themselves become cause for further rumination, she pulled the laces of the hoodie’s face opening to shut it, and watched her steps with only the pinhole view out of what little of the opening could simply not be closed. The focus of her elevated heart rate, racing thoughts, and circular internal narratives on this occasion was on the optimal string of words to use when telling Stephanie she had decided not to follow through on her promise to wear the slutty Halloween costume Stephanie made for her to this party.
Even if she went in a tactical canine bite suit, attending a party at all would expand her horizons plenty. Stephanie and her other friends attributed her modesty to the controlling impulses of her recent ex Mark, but it took root long before she met him. Jane once wore a sleeveless top, in an attempt to step outside of her comfort zone, to her British literature study group before an exam on The Hobbit, and even though she could paraphrase basically every scene in the novel, had inspired opinions about the meaning of choosing a physically small protagonist, and was apparently the only one in the group to notice that the novel had no women in it, she found herself in an aphasiac stupor during their discussion, unable to think about both her statements and what others might be thinking about her shoulders. This disposition affected more than clothing choice. Just to speak she subjected herself to a vetting and re-vetting process of her staged words that often took so long her conversations starved for language and halted entirely. It was this self-paralytic way of thinking, the effects of which outside the bedroom preemptively eliminated her from the candidate pools of journalism internships and robbed her of opportunities to make friends, and the effects of which inside the bedroom foiled her dreams of marrying Mark, from which she so desperately longed for an un-self-aware freedom. Socializing at a party in comfortable attire was an appropriate step forward. She had been too eager when she agreed to take it on all at once, and wear to the party a revealing outfit of Stephanie’s design.
Valerie sat on the edge of Jane’s bed with her legs crossed. As Jane paced back-and-forth, she swiveled her head, watching. Stephanie appointed Valerie, their neighbor from the adjacent dorm, to assuage Jane’s doubts, which was a solid casting choice because Valerie never spoke over Stephanie, even though she tended to dominate group conversations, and when Valerie came over with Stephanie’s other friends, and Jane was sitting on her bed on the opposite side of the room on her laptop or reading, quiet and un-included, Valerie made a point to ask about her day, or for her opinion on their topic of conversation. Jane replied shortly to these inquiries, never volunteering un-requested information, but only because of Stephanie and the others present. If Valerie asked her about her day one on one, Jane imagined she would share at length, and Jane paid keen attention when Valerie told a story to the gang on the other side of the room. Her stories involved parties, men, sometimes multiple men, and drugs, which Jane knew too little about to follow along, but what struck Jane about the stories was Valerie’s reasonable narration, including asides about safety concerns when going places with strangers, and the methods by which she tested and measured the drugs she ingested. Valerie exercised a freedom to indulge in adventure and a total comfort in herself that Jane envied, and demonstrated that Jane’s fear of going off the rails if she loosened her vice grip on herself may be unfounded. To others Jane had no trouble declining suggestions to try something new, but when Valerie asked, Jane couldn’t escape the feeling that Valerie would see through her rationalization, see it for the fear that it was, and it got Jane wound up and flustered.
“You gotta chill. Watching you turn these tight circles is making me dizzy.”
“I think I will just go to the party in this.”
“And what would you be going as, in that outfit?”
It just killed her that Valerie could do this, see the obvious. “I could probably make a ghost mask out of my white pillowcase.”
“So, on this night where you’re trying to get out of your shell, you want to conceal your face? I say let’s just see what Stephanie made, and then decide.”
As a costume, Valerie wore a light blue-and-white cheerleader’s outfit, with sneakers, white socks taller than her knees, a skirt falling down to a few inches above the socks, and a top piece covering just more of her torso than a sports bra would. She never looked down at herself, like Jane would while so exposed. Valerie held her head up and other-directed at all times, but Jane suspected she sensed when someone was looking at her and made a choice not to acknowledge it.
The bolt lock on the door switched. Stephanie rushed in and pointed a double-handed finger gun at Jane. “Freeze! You’re under arrest!” She was dressed in a custom-made police uniform. The short shorts and button-down shirt showing midriff matched the cap with the fake badge, all navy.
Jane adjusted her hoodie so Stephanie could see her face.
“Geez, you look stressed.” Stephanie placed her backpack on Jane’s bed and rummaged through it for something. “Don’t worry. This costume comes with a great-night guarantee. Forgive me, I lost that sheet with your measurements, so I might need to tailor it a bit before we go. Go ahead and slip out of that.”
Valerie read from her phone, “John says he’ll pick us up in 15 minutes.”
“Sounds good,” Stephanie said.
Jane stood still, knowing what Stephanie had meant, not wanting to draw attention to the request. Without any reason to expect it, she hoped Valerie would object on her behalf, but Valerie was replying to John. “Slip out of what? ”
Stephanie found the costume, wrapped up in a towel, and when she straightened up while holding it, something inside the towel made a metal-on-metal clank. “The clothes. Your clothes, duh. The costume can’t go on over them.”
“Can’t I — can’t I just take it to the restroom?”
“Not if you want to make sure it stays on! We don’t have time to do dressing room sessions. I’ll have to put it on you and adjust it while you wear it.”
“But I — I, well —”
Valerie was watching Jane again. “Are you doing this or not, Jane?”
Her simple question made Jane feel ridiculous. Jane wanted to apologize for waffling, but she also wanted to waffle more. She could feel both Valerie’s and Stephanie’s eyes on her. The moment to translate her wishing-to-be-different into action had arrived, and her heart beat fast, and her skin perspired, and she had a subtle tingling sensation in her hands. Thoughts had to stop to make room for action. Without a word in her head, she pulled her hoodie and shirt over her head together, and threw them on the bed. She unbuckled and drew her jeans down. They bunched up around her ankles, and when she tried shake one foot free of them, she fell into Valerie.
Stephanie knelt down to free her feet. “Just sit next to Valerie. I’ll get them.” She yanked off the jeans but left Jane’s sneakers on, then stood up. “Those too, the bra and underwear.”
Jane already felt naked, wearing only her underwear and bra in front of her friends. “Wh – what?”
“I made you underwear for the costume.”
Jane lowered her face into her hands. This had been a mistake. She lunged for the duvet to cover herself with it. But Valerie placed a soft hand on Jane’s waist, and a sort of warmth expanded in her, starting from Valerie’s hand. It made her feel calm, almost limp, weak. Jane…admired Valerie.
Valerie said, “It’s just us, Jane. You can do it.”
“Ok.” In a pulse of bravery Jane unclasped and dropped her bra, and slid off her underwear, but once she had no clothes at all, the bravery faded and she put both her hands between her legs, trying to hide her breasts with her arms.
Valerie put her hand on Jane’s thigh, to comfort her. Jane shuddered at the sensation of Valerie’s steady hand on her sweating, trembling body. Next to Valerie’s self-assuredness, Jane felt helpless.
Stephanie pointed at the floor in front of Valerie. “Stand here and I can work on you.”
When Jane stood covering herself, naked except for sneakers, facing Valerie, seen by Valerie, watching Valerie’s gaze roam up and down her body, she did not mind, and that surprised her. Stephanie grabbed Jane’s wrists and pulled them behind her back, and Valerie then seeing her full body did not scare her, at least not at first. At first it thrilled her. She wanted Valerie to see her, to approve of her. The fear came after that, and shame, embarassment at ever having felt, well, whatever she was feeling, with Valerie, but when she tried to yank her arms back in front of her, Stephanie restrained them, and she heard a metal-on-metal click. Jane’s arms were cuffed together behind her back.
“This is the first part of your costume, my sexy little prisoner. Our costumes go together!” Stephanie put her arm around Jane and asked Valerie, “What do you think of my craftsmanship?”
Valerie winked at Jane. “She’s ready for the cover-fold, I think.”
“There’s – tell me there’s a lot more to it.”
“You think I’d do you like that? Of course there’s more.” Stephanie knelt in front of Jane, and lifted her feet one by one into a pair of orange underwear. It had a tag sewn in that read, “#84892, Jane”. She lifted them up to Jane’s waist, where their waistline weaved toward and away from Jane’s skin because they fit so loose. Jane could see the floor looking through the waistline in one spot. Stephanie pulled at them from the side and when they didn’t fall down, she said “Actually I don’t need to adjust these.”
“Wait, no. These need to be tighter.”
“It’s not elastic. If I make the waist tighter you’ll need me to get them off.” The bra piece, also orange, had no straps, and Stephanie had sewn it with a yarn-like thread, so it had visible holes. She hugged Jane to tie it on behind her back, but tied it so loose that Jane’s breasts tilted the bra down in the front, and it felt like the bra could be flipped over just by bumping into someone wrong.
“Stephanie please tell me there is more.”
“One more thing!”
When Stephanie went back to retrieve what Jane assumed would be a shirt, she relaxed. But then Valerie tilted to see around Jane and raised an eyebrow.
A thin ring of metal clicked around Jane’s neck. Stephanie took a seat beside Valerie holding a small remote and a leash…a leash which lead to…Jane’s collar. She handed the remote to Valerie.
“Uh, ok no. No, Stephanie. This is too mu – ”
Shock, about double the shock from one of those prank gum packs, lit up Jane’s whole body. Valerie had pressed the button, and she was smiling at Jane, nodding her head, impressed. The desire returned, stronger, an urge to feel weak and surrender to Valerie. The warmth this time was between her legs. Her shame hadn’t left. It was worse, and the shame about feeling this…arousal, in front of her friends, exposed in her flesh and her desire, somehow strengthened her desire to be handled, as if the way to purge the shame was through acting in a way consistent with it.
Honking from outside. Valerie turned to look out the window. “John’s here!”
“Hell yeah. Inmate Jane, you’re coming with me. We’ll get you right out of that shell of yours.”
Stephanie led Jane out of their dorm room by her leash. Jane stared at Valerie on the walk out, who was paying Jane no attention and texting John on her phone. Jane wanted Valerie to put a hand on her again, to look at her body again, to shock, to…own her, and Jane was…was wet.
—
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/j1rh4e/shy_girl_agrees_to_wear_slutty_halloween_costume
This might be the hottest girl I’ve ever seen
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