Chained Virtue

Chapter 1 - "Danger, Will Robinson"

Parents can be cruel, even when they aren't trying to be. Even when there is no way to tell at the time that they are creating a major problem for their only child. William Victor Robinson was named after his grandfathers. The name, when it was bestowed on him, seemed innocuous enough. There was a family tradition to use heritage names, usually skipping a generation to keep from being too confusing. Thus, William's father, Daniel Edward, was named after his grandfathers. There wasn't any trouble with juniors or numerals because the combination of grandfather names kept things from repeating.

Since Grampa Bill was still alive and kicking when young William was growing up, the younger became Will, which even at an early age he fought to keep from becoming "Willy" - something his grandfather heartily endorsed. So Will Robinson was unique enough for family purposes and normal enough for school purposes and his parents felt they had met their parental duty to give the kid a chance. At least he wasn't saddled with a name that was essentially a target pinned on his forehead.

And then the movie came out. Will's father can probably be forgiven for not seeing the 'danger.' His own name hadn't caused any problems when the TV show was running, and who knew they'd make a movie?

But they did, and as soon as "Danger, Will Robinson" entered the public consciousness again, Will was tagged.

He was only ten at the time. That's a tough enough age anyway. But the movie made getting into danger almost a requirement. His friends would dare him to do something stupid, just so they could call out, "Danger, Will Robinson" when he did it.

Will did have one thing going for him. He was smarter than most of his contemporaries. After the first (unfortunately, only 'the first' and not 'the only') time he broke his arm on a dare, he met the challenges with a standard, "You first." That stopped the worst of the challenges. But only the worst.

The downside of being the smartest of his group was that the others could be pretty stupid sometimes. And once a challenge had been offered and accepted - with the only caveat that the challenger had to go first . . . well, there were times when there were two kids with broken arms or the occasional stitch or three. After all, even having one of his friends get hurt didn't stop the dare. Besides, Will learned that pain passes. Embarrassment passes (eventually). Courage endures.

Nonetheless, when one day an opportunity arose to alter the situation, he took it.

"Will, come in here," his father called. "We need to talk."

"Uh, oh," Will thought, trying to remember why he might be in trouble . . . at least, which thing his parents might know about.

When he arrived in the family room, his parents were sitting in their typical chairs. Dan Robinson would have made a good sitcom dad. He was average everything; about six feet tall, dark hair and eyes, medium build - the perfect serial killer disguise. Rebecca Robinson was an appropriate counterbalance. Appropriate in nearly every way, in fact. She was just this side of prim, with hair she self-described as 'mousy' brown and a housewife-doing-errands style that trended toward ordinary jeans, cotton shirts, and 'sensible' shoes. Between them, they expected their only son to be the same sort of fine, upstanding people they considered themselves to be. At least they weren't hypocrites about it.

Will carefully examined their expressions and let out at least a partial sigh of relief. They weren't wearing Parental Disapproval Frown #1- really bad news. They weren't even wearing Parental Disapproval Frown #2 - fairly bad news. He looked even closer for traces of Parental Disapproval Frown #3 - "We're so disappointed in you," but he couldn't see that either.

"Will, we need to tell you about something," Mr. Robinson began.

*Oh, hell, they're getting a divorce,* Will thought.

That wasn't it.

"I've been offered a job, and it's a good one, but we'll have to move."

The explanation was so much more benign than Will had been expecting that he felt a big smile break out on his face.

"You don't mind?" his mother asked in surprise when he didn't look like he was going to complain.

*Think quick,* Will told himself. Offering up explanations that implied a guilty conscience was not a good idea, and he felt guilty about thinking his parents might be breaking up so that was no better.

"Um, not really," said. "I will be starting high school next year, so this is as good a time as any."

"It's a really good job," his father offered.

"I'm glad," Will said. Then the idea came to him; the way to remove a figurative thorn in his side that all too often had resulted in literal pain. And yes, he did know what those meant.

"There is one thing . . ," he began.

At his parents expectant glances, he continued, "Being, um, 'Will Robinson' . . . after the movie and all . . . sometimes it's . . ."

"Sometimes it leads you to do stupid things," his father completed with Parental Disapproval Frown #4 - remembered disapproval.

"Well, maybe," Will said. "But mostly it's just . . . too corny, I guess. I mean, if I've heard, 'Danger, Will Robinson' once, it's been a million times."

"So what are you asking?" prodded his mother.

"Well, could you just call me, 'Vic' instead? For Victor?"

His mother smiled at that, since it was her father who had contributed the middle name. Daniel Robinson was smart enough to recognize the odds and surrendered with reasonably good grace.

And so it was that Will Robinson became Vic Robinson.

That did not, however, end the dares, nor his response to them. Apparently his name hadn't been the primary driver for that. It was probably a combination of enough intelligence to determine what was truly dangerous even if someone else was willing, enough courage to take any practical dare, and probably a bit of compensation for some of the things that didn't change with his name. Things like his build, or his features.

He continued, even as he entered into high school, to wait for the more outward signs of puberty. And wait. He got a bit taller, though never reaching the magic six-foot threshold. And he remained slender - definitely more long-distance runner than football hero, though in fact he never really competed at sports. But being slim and a bit bookish made him the target for challenges in the new high school just as it had in middle school and grade school. And he reacted much the same way - taking any dare that another would do first. He added the additional caveat that it couldn't be illegal. At least, not very.

The Robinsons were not surprised the next summer when a moving van accompanied by two cars pulled up next door one warm Saturday. Mr. Joseph Carson was starting work in the same company as Dan Robinson. They had met at Carson's employment interview and discovered that they shared a common interest in restoring old cars. From there it was natural to discuss neighborhoods and almost inevitable that a house would go up for sale nearby. So Mr. Robinson had been looking forward to the new family's arrival.

Rebecca Robinson frowned when people started getting out of the second car. "It looks like they've got a daughter . . . I think."

Vic looked to see what had caused her frown, finding cause for one of his own.

"She doesn't look very happy to be here," he observed carefully.

"No, I think you're right," Mrs. Robinson observed. "She doesn't look very happy about a lot of things."

The girl who appeared from the car had very short red hair in a decidedly boyish cut over a loose, shapeless sweatshirt and ragged cutoff shorts. She frowned at the new house, frowned at the movers, and frowned at the family that she saw watching from next door. Still, they didn't think she was a boy - not even a girl trying to look like a boy. It wasn't any one thing, but the overall impression was as immediate as the reason was subtle. And despite somewhat careless clothes selections, she looked basically tidy. A spray of freckles on blemish-free cheeks shouted a message of healthy innocence uncluttered with ostentatious makeup. In fact, it wasn't clear she was wearing any makeup at all.

"Go help your father, dear," Vic's mother ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied dutifully. His father had already shaken hands with the new neighbor. The neighbor was a fairly big man, not overly tall but solidly muscular. At the top was a shaved head and as Vic approached he saw a long-healed scar that just demanded it be accompanied by a monocle and a German accent - neither of which were present. The two men started in on small packages that had been loaded in the cars while the movers took care of the big items.

"Hi," Vic said to the distracted-looking woman as he walked up. The obvious wife/mother was slender and sharply stylish, as though it were a very important thing to achieve the look of a proper, attractive woman, even in trying circumstances. Perfect auburn hair, flawless makeup, designer jeans, and a carefully selected array of accessories including a colorful scarf and tasteful jewelry didn't seem exactly out of place for a Saturday, but it did indicate an unyielding commitment to style. "I'm Vic Robinson. How can I help?'

"Thank you," she replied. "I'm Lisa Carson, and this is Courtney, um, Cassandra."

"Pleased to meet you," Vic said politely. He thought about repeating his question, but Mrs. Carson seemed stressed enough without having more decisions to make so he just grabbed a box and started heading toward the house. It was only as he was entering the doorway that he noticed his box was labeled, 'Cassie's room'. Stopping in the doorway to ask where that was, he was bumped by another box.

"Keep moving," the girl said.

"Glad to," Vic replied. "As soon as you tell me where your room is."

"Sure," the girl said casually. "You can help me set up my computer."

Vic followed her up a flight of stairs and into a nicely spacious bedroom.

*My first time in a girl's bedroom,* he though, then sighed. *Another fantasy shot all to hell.*

"You do know how to set up a computer, don't you?" Cassie challenged. "You're not one of those stupid jocks, are you?"

"Yes, no, and no," Vic replied. "I do know something about computers. I don't think I'm stupid. And I'm certainly not a jock."

"Good," she said. "I get so tired of jocks sniffing around. There is more to me than boobs and a butt."

"I'm sure there is," he agreed easily, trying hard not to look at the surprisingly shapely 'butt' that waved in the air as she bent to put down her package.

[When those shorts pull up tight, there's no damn doubt at all that she's a girl,] he observed . . . silently.

About then the movers arrived with the first of several items of Cassandra's bedroom furniture. They were all in the same style, though Vic didn't know what style it was. At least it wasn't some poofy white stuff that would break if you looked at crosswise. But it wasn't heavy or old-looking, except that the bed had cannonball posts on the corners. One surprise was a largish desk-like thing that had a three-part mirror on it.

"Oh, good," Cassandra said. "Put that against that wall."

"Now we can get started," she said, opening the packages that the two teens had carried to the room to reveal computer components.

She had a fairly typical setup, nothing too fancy. Vic was interested to see that it wasn't a gaming-optimized system like an Xbox or even a Wii. It was a basic computer, with an oversized - if there could be such a thing - monitor. The "human interface devices" included a standard keyboard, mouse, and a couple of game controllers.

"Let's see if this thing made the transition," she said. "Daddy, um, Father said that the cable was already hooked up."

She plugged into a local jack and was quickly opening a Facebook page.

"Wow," Vic said reflexively, then wanted to bite his tongue.

"Thanks for your help," Cassandra said tersely. Dismissively.

What had caused Vic's comment was a photo of Cassandra - or maybe Courtney - on her Facebook home page. It showed a truly beautiful girl with long, lustrous hair, a brightly colored, somewhat frilly dress, and an even brighter smile.

"That's not me," Cassandra said when Vic didn't immediately move away. "Not any more, anyway. Don't get your hopes up."

Vic shrugged. "Look, um, Cassandra. You can dress any way you want . . ."

"Damn straight," she interrupted.

Vic plowed on, " . . . but that's a really pretty picture of you. You should be proud of it."

"Meaning I shouldn't be proud of the way I look right now?" she challenged.

"I didn't say that," Vic countered. "Hell, I look scruffy on weekends, even if I'm not moving to a new house. So yeah, if you want to take it that I appreciate it when someone takes the time to look their best - even though I don't expect it on a moving day - then fine. But I was more . . . surprised because you seem to have changed more than just clothes."

"Damn straight," she repeated. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Geez, chill. I'm not judging. And you still look better than a lot of the guys I hang with so there's no reason for me to be disappointed in my new neighbor. I mean, you don't look like a druggy, or a skank, or, well, whatever. You just look like you don't want to be too . . . girly right now. I can hardly complain about that."

He grinned at her and added, "I don't either, so I can't say that there's anything wrong with that, can I?"

She shrugged, but the firm look of challenge left her eyes and she sagged a little.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just . . . sensitive about it."

She moved over to plop on her bare mattress. "I just got tired of being 'Courtney' all the time. For years Mom dressed me in the prettiest little girl styles, curled my hair, whatever. I felt like I was a doll or something. She even entered me in kiddie beauty pageants!"

"Did you win?" Vic asked. That brought the fire back into Cassandra's eyes, but she deflated when she saw the tease in his own expression.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But, with the new school and all, I made them agree to call me by my middle name instead of Courtney just to make the point that I'm not that little doll girl any more. Although Cassandra is just as bad, so I want to be Cassie. And I'm not going to wear girly dresses anymore."

"Me, too," Vic said in surprise.

"You quit wearing dresses when you went to high school?" she asked, eyes widening

"No, I mean . . ."

"So you still wear dresses?" she interrupted.

"No, damn it, I mean . . ."

Then he blushed as he realized she had gotten back at his earlier tease. "No, I mean I changed to use my middle name when I got to high school, too."

"What were you before?"

"Will," he answered shortly.

"Will . . . Robinson? Oh, yeah, 'Danger, Will Robinson!' 'Danger, Will Robinson!'" she said, laughing.

"And that's why I go by my middle name," Vic said. "God, I hate that movie."

"So, do you build robots in your garage?" she challenged again.

"Nah, that's Dad's thing," he said. "Actually, I do a bit of gaming."

"What game?"

"Oh, it's an online role playing game. Not too sophisticated, but you can form teams. It's sort of like DnD, with the computer playing the GM, and some mid-level graphics."

"Not Warcraft?"

"Nah, that's too . . . combat oriented. I like to solve puzzles, disarm traps, that sort of thing."

"Oh, okay," she said. "I never did anything like that. I was thinking about looking into something different, though. Mostly I was doing Facebook, chatting, you know."

"That's okay, I guess," Vic said, though it was clear that he didn't really agree.

"Well, maybe you can show me your game sometime," she offered.

"Great," Vic replied, but there was a hint of formalism in his response - more polite than actually enthusiastic.

"Kids, get down here and help!" the call came from below.

"Oops," Cassie said, smiling. She stood and held out her hand. "Well, not-'Danger Will,' I'm please to meet you."

"Pleased you meet you too, not-Courtney," he replied. They shook hands and headed off to the unending chores that came with moving to a new home.

Despite what seemed like an inauspicious beginning, they became friends. It was probably inevitable because Mr. Robinson and Mr. Carson started on shared restoration projects almost as soon as the movers left. It turned out that Carson was more into metal-working and finishes, while Robinson was meticulous at upholstery and mechanical systems. With most evenings and weekends spent working together, the families ended up sharing a lot of meals and that could only end up with the kids hating each other, or enjoying each other's company.

Luckily for Vic - and for CeeCee (as her name evolved) - they found themselves enjoying each other's company.

They never went on any dates or anything. CeeCee wasn't really into that boy-girl thing and Vic was not so clueless he didn't pick up on that. They just spent some time together. It was no big deal - just buds - if they decided to go see a movie together. Their homes backed up on a large wooded area with a meandering creek and a couple of grassy places and sometimes they'd walk together through the paths in the woods, just getting some distance from their parents.

At least, that's all it was to CeeCee. And for that reason, that was all it could be to Vic.

One evening after dinner, in the summer before Vic's junior year (and her sophomore), they were sitting in the back yard of the Robinson home after dinner while the fathers worked on yet another restoration project and the mothers talked on things of no interest to teens.

CeeCee looked at the latest shiner that adorned Vic's face and asked, "Why do you let them do that to you?"

"I just bumped it. My foot slipped."

"Yeah, and now you can hardly walk. That lump by your eye is the small part of what's hurting you, isn't it?"

"It's no big deal. I've had worse," he replied.

"That's the point," she said. "Why do you let them do that to you? Why don't you just tell them to take a flying ffff . . . . fling at a rolling doughnut when they dare you to do something stupid?"

Vic didn't reply for a while. Then he sighed, and still didn't really reply. "You just wouldn't understand."

"Try me," she pushed.

He looked at her, but instead of replying he counter-attacked. "Why don't you let your hair grow out? You're so pretty that it's a shame not to . . . . I don't know . . . celebrate it. Why do you deny what you look like?"

"This *is* what I look like," she said sharply.

"Sorry, CeeCee, I didn't say that well. I'm not complaining. Not really. I mean, it just seems that you're limiting yourself. I guess I don't understand. Why don't you want to do what, well, what most girls want to do?"

"It's a lot of bother," she replied.

"Not for most girls," he countered.

"It is for me," she said. "Besides, how did we get on my case? I was asking why you let other guys have the sort of control over you that they do. 'Dare' is not a magic word that forces you to do something stupid. It's just letting that word have power over you that's stupid."

"Probably," he agreed, surprising her. He looked off across the yard for a while, watching a couple of squirrels doing whatever it is that squirrels do. After a few moments, he looked back at CeeCee. "Actually, the way you feel about your hair is kinda related, I think. When I was growing up - the movie came out when I was ten - I got a lot of dares. When you're a kid - a guy, anyway - you just can't turn down dares. You just can't get a reputation for being chicken. So the challenge *does* have power over you."

He looked at his friend again, openly assessing her appearance from head to toe. She was wearing shorts and a shirt - or top or blouse or whatever they called it - and sandals. They were in darker colors than a lot of girls wore, but not all goth or anything. And he already knew that she did some girly things like shaving her legs and pits. It was less that she refused to be a girl, and more that she refused to be 'pretty' in some way that showed any effort. Besides, the last year had been kind to her and with the way her body had turned out, she couldn't fake being a boy if she wanted to.

"Like you, now. What your mom made you do, for those kiddie pageant things, still has power over you. You still do some girly things. You grew up that way, and though you may have burned out on the overly frilly things, you're still clearly a girl."

"Thanks, I guess," she said.

"Well, for me . . . I guess it's the thrill. I grew up as an adrenaline junky. I like feeling a bit scared. It makes me feel alive."

Vic leaned back in his seat and looked up at the sky this time. "Some of the time, the challenge is on figuring out how to do something that would be dangerous in a way that keeps the risk acceptable."

He laughed and held his arm like he was going to make a muscle of his biceps, but he didn't tense it so nothing showed. "After all, I'm not gonna be the big football hero. I need to use my mind, not my muscles."

CeeCee smiled at him, but she was thoughtful, too. "So, you like to be dared to do risky things?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, pointing at his swollen eye.

"And your parents don't care?"

"Oh, they hate it," he said. "But it's my pain, and I haven't even broken a bone for, well, two or three years now, so they sorta gave up on lectures and just wince when I show up with a limp or a black eye."

"You need to find some dares that don't get you beat up," CeeCee observed.

"What did you have in mind?" Vic replied, smiling.

"I'll have to think of something," she said.

His smile widened a bit, and he explained the rest of the challenge. "Anything you dare me to do, you have to do first."

"What?"

"That's been the rule since the first time I broke my arm. It's to keep jerks from going crazy on me. Nothing illegal," Vic said, though he looked away and CeeCee got the message on that caveat, "and nothing that the challenger won't do, too."

"Where's the fun in that?" she said. "That must keep things pretty tame."

"Hardly," he said with a laugh, pointing once again to his eye. "The challenger doesn't have to succeed at the dare, just try it. And some of the doofuses that come after me truly are stupid. But it keeps out the suicidal."

"I should hope so," CeeCee said, but it seemed to have become her time to watch the squirrels or something, because her tone was thoughtful and the words had seemed to make their way out of her mouth without any conscious intent.

"So, if I dared you to do something, would you do it?" she asked.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. I don't want to get hurt, so it couldn't be anything like that."

Vic laughed, but nodded. "Yeah, a black eye on your face would be a sin and a shame."

"Gee, Vic, I didn't know you cared."

"Gee, CeeCee, I didn't know you cared whether I cared or not."

She laughed at his comment, but her eyes were thoughtful, too.

"What if it wasn't dangerous - like, I mean, physically dangerous - just . . . like, potentially embarrassing? Or maybe . . . uncomfortable but not to the point of injury. Just . . . uncomfortable?"

"Hell, if it's a dare, then I'm in," he said. "But it would have to be something where the risk of embarrassment was, um, balanced or something. Like, if you dared me to put on a dress and walk through the mall, that wouldn't be any challenge for you at all."

"Yeah, I can see that," she said.

Vic decided there was something in her tone and in her expression that said this was not a casual conversation. It had all been part of a plan.

"Out with it, CeeCee," he said. "I know you have something in mind."

"Not something I'm going to tell you about right now," she said, standing to move back into the house. But even in the gathering gloom Vic could see the blush on her face.

More than that, he could see little points of interest on the front of her shirt - ones that were very interesting to him, too.

Chapter 2 - "I've Got A Secret"

A few days later the two families shared another dinner - this time at the Carsons'. After they ate, when Vic and CeeCee were alone together she started walking directly for the path through the woods without a word. He followed, but was surprised when CeeCee stopped to sit on a fallen log when they were barely out of sight of their homes.

"What's up?" he asked.

She didn't meet his eyes for a while, but when she did turn toward him Vic could see resolve in her expression, as though she were determined to follow through on some decision.

"You may be an adrenaline junky, but I've got a kink of my own," she declared.

"What?"

"I'm . . . weird," she said. "Sick, maybe. As in crazy."

"I don't believe it."

"Well, it's true," she insisted. She sighed and looked away. It wasn't a change of subject. She was clearly trying to get her thoughts in order and Vic let her have some time to work it out.

"Most girls - teen girls - have a tight little group of friends, and a special, best-of-all friend," she began. Their world is all about makeup, and clothes . . . . and boys. They try to be as feminine as possible."

She looked to Vic to see if he understood, but she recognized that his nod only meant he was listening. It was enough, so she continued.

"Growing up as a little princess was kinda strange. I was so involved with pageants that I didn't have any close friends. The only girls I really knew were other contestants and that whole scene is way too competitive for real friendships."

CeeCee ran her hand through her short hair. "And since then . . . well, like you said, most girls do more to be feminine than I do, but I've done more with makeup and pretty clothes than any half a dozen of them put together. It's not a new, exciting thing for me. It makes them uncomfortable to be with someone who doesn't seem interested in the things they think are most important in all the world."

She looked off at nothing for a while, then a surprising little smile lifted her lips. Turning her eyes back to Vic she said, "Today is an anniversary day for me of . . . something, and I was just, y'know, thinking about what my life is like. I realized that I'm weird in several ways - don't agree so fast, jerk - and one of them is that you're my best friend."

Vic put an artificially hurt expression on his face and said, "That makes you weird?"

"Yeah, it does," she said, but she was still smiling. Then she got serious. Her voice took on a wistful tone, but with a guarded, somehow guilty tone as well. "One of the things that girls with a BFF get is someone to tell all their secrets to."

"Someone to whom they can tell all their secrets," Vic corrected, grinning to show that he was trying to lighten the mood.

CeeCee laughed and punched him in the shoulder. "Yeah, whatever. Anyway, you're my best friend . . ."

"Glad to hear it," interrupted Vic.

She slapped his shoulder again but plowed on, " . . . and there is something that is bugging me so much that I just have to . . . tell someone, I guess." Her face changed again and she looked at him with an expression that was right on the edge of angry - but in a way that promised her anger was on hold, waiting to be applied if he didn't do something right. "I'm going to tell you something that - if you ever, ever repeat it - I will do my best to hurt you as bad as I can, any way I can. Do you hear me?"

"Geez, CeeCee, what is this about?"

"Do you understand?" she asked again. "I mean it. It's not my secret - except it is, partly - and if you tell anyone I'll . . . . I'll make up lies about you and tell them around school. Hell, I'll lie and say you tried to attack me or something. Even if I don't have any proof, people will believe there's some truth in it."

Vic tried to laugh it off. "Look, CeeCee, I'll certainly agree you're weird. This conversation is proof of that. But you ought to know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

"It's not just about me," she said quietly, but the anger in her eyes died down and she looked away again.

Finally she looked back and asked, "Promise?"

"Yes, CeeCee, I promise. I'll keep your secret. Cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die-stick-a-needle-in-my-eye."

"We're not kids, Vic, and I'm serious."

"So am I," he said, letting his own voice become quiet and firm enough to show he respected the importance of his commitment. "I'll keep your secret."

CeeCee looked guiltily in the direction of their homes, as if to confirm that they were truly out of sight. "When I was in the kiddie pageants, I used to wear makeup. A lot . . . I mean, not a lot of makeup, like thick or something, but often. I was good enough to do my own by the time I was 12. Good enough, in fact, that Mom let me practice on my own when she was busy or something."

"Okay . . . ?" Vic said, not sure where this was leading.

"And I'd been wearing very feminine clothes that were not 'age-appropriate' as they say since I was 6. By the time I was 12 I had worn corsets, and, um, padding . . ," she arched her back to show what she meant, though to Vic's eyes she no longer needed an enhancement for those shapes, ". . . and heels."

"One time, when I was about 14 - not too long before we came here - I had been playing around with my own makeup for a while but I was getting bored so I decided to see if Mom had anything else I could try."

She looked at Vic like this was supposed to mean something to him, but he was still just confused.

"So I went into her bedroom to check her stuff. Their bedroom, I mean."

"Okay . . ," he said hesitantly.

"I started looking through her drawers for, um, well for lingerie. You know that my mother dresses very stylishly. Well, it's not just on the outside. Anyway I found . . . something."

Now Vic did show a response, which was to blush bright red, and twitch a little.

"Like . . . what?" he croaked out.

For some reason this caused CeeCee to laugh again. "What? You're thinking I found some kind of a sex toy - a vibrator - aren't you?"

"Um. . . . maybe," he said, but it was clear she had guessed correctly.

"Geez, dude, you are so out of it. I didn't need to look for *her* vibrator!"

"Um . . . . you didn't?" he said, voice croaking again.

That caused CeeCee to laugh even harder, but after a moment she blushed and looked away. She looked at nothing and everything in the surrounding trees for so long that Vic was afraid he had gone over some line that he didn't even know existed and that she was done talking for the evening. But the story - the secret - that was bothering her was too much to keep private. Talking as much to herself as to him, she had to continue.

"Yeah, she got me a vibrator right about the time I started to . . . y'know . . . develop. That was part of the problem . . . the whole, screwed-up mess. The whole, 'too sexy for my age' thing. Mama's pretty liberal, you know, and thinks that sexuality is something that needs to be celebrated."

"Yeah?" Vic questioned, but his voice was distracted and it was clear his mind was whirling off into another side spiral.

"Dude, with my mother? Seriously?" CeeCee asked in shock when she heard the tone in his voice. But the idea of . . . inappropriate fantasies seemed to set her own mind off into a distracted fugue and Vic was spared the need to admit to his thoughts.

When CeeCee surfaced from her mental side track, she hit Vic with a wild non sequitur that had him blinking for a minute.

"You up for a dare?" she challenged.

"What? Um . . . well, I guess so?" he replied.

"I dare you to kiss me," CeeCee declared.

"Kiss you?" he parroted, feeling impossibly stupid even as he said it.

"Yeah," she said defiantly. "When the girls - the other girls - get to talking about makeup and clothes, I pretty much tune them out. But not when they talk about boys. And I wondered why you've never tried to kiss me. Am I that . . . undesirable?"

Without giving him a chance to answer, she took his face in her hands and kissed him firmly. Maybe a bit too firmly, in fact, because in a moment it changed to something softer, but much, much better.

"Wow," he whispered a moment later when one or the other of them - he didn't know for sure - leaned back.

CeeCee swallowed rather visibly, then shook herself a little and whispered. "Why didn't you ever do that?"

It took Vic a little while to get his brain on track again. Finally, he said, "I didn't know if you . . . y'know . . . like me. Like that, I mean."

"You never seemed to care," she challenged.

Vic seemed to need to look anywhere but at her for a moment, then he said, "Okay, CeeCee, since you're, um, sharing secrets, I'll tell you one of mine."

Looking back at her he said, "I've wanted to do that since the very first day we met, when I helped you carry some of your stuff into your room. But you didn't . . . I mean, you were so . . . um . . . tomboy, I guess. I wasn't sure you even . . . liked boys."

"You mean you thought I was into girls?" she said, eyes widening.

"I don't know. Maybe," he said. "You were sending out this, 'Don't think of me as a girl,' vibe so hard that. . . well, what was I supposed to think?"

"But it wasn't that you didn't find me attractive? Even though I didn't wear makeup and like, short skirts?"

Vic was finally getting his act together again and he was able to find some humor in their situation. He looked up and down her slender teen body with all the new, grown-up curves and smirked. "Well, if you're offering . . ."

Before CeeCee could answer, he pushed on. "Look, CeeCee, I like you. A lot. I like you as a friend even more than I like you as in, y'know . . . like you. I didn't want to take the chance to lose you as a friend by pushing too hard on things you didn't seem to want to, um, do."

"And you thought I didn't want to, 'um, do' anything boy-girl because I didn't want to be a girly girl."

"I guess," he said.

The she threw him another curve ball when she said, "You may be right. Or at least, you may have been."

"Right?"

"Yeah, maybe," she said. Taking a deep breath she returned to her earlier narrative. "Anyway, the real kill-you-if-you-breathe-a-word-of-it secret is that when I was looking through my mother's things, what I found was . . . a pair of handcuffs."

"Handcuffs?" Vic repeated, hating once again to find himself acting like a stupid parrot, but unable to contain it.

"Now remember," she said. "You promised that you will never, ever tell anyone about this."

"No, of course not," Vic said, but he was distracted again and couldn't look at her. Or perhaps, what he was watching behind his eyes was too compelling to ignore.

CeeCee shivered, but to Vic it didn't seem like she was shivering from fear. Or maybe it was, but . . . different, too.

"It shocked me," she said. "They were funny handcuffs, with fuzzy fake fur on them, and I knew they were for . . . sex games. And, I mean, parents? Who wants parents that are into sex games?"

"Eeeuw, TMI!"

"Exactly," she agreed. "All of the sudden I seemed to be caught in a trap where I was being trained to grow up to be a good little princess and let men . . . control me. It scared me. A lot."

"I can understand that, I think," Vic said, but there were questions in his eyes again. "So that's when you decided not to be Courtney, the teen princess, anymore?"

CeeCee nodded. "I just had to get out of that trap. I just couldn't go into a life of being somebody's sex slave. The makeup and long hair and . . . y'know, a lot of stuff that makes you vulnerable. It's hard to run in a skirt and heels, believe me."

"Oh, I'll take your word for it," Vic said quickly.

CeeCee seemed to have run down for a moment. Then, though she was looking away, Vic could see that she had a thought that was reflected in a bright blush.

Vic pushed gently. "Is that the, um, secret you just had to share?"

"Not all of it," CeeCee admitted. "Look, when I found those . . . things I just freaked. I didn't tell Mama why. I just insisted on getting my hair cut and I stopped wearing anything that was so girly."

She ran her hands through her short hair again, but then she ran them down her sides as well. "I've, um, changed since then."

"I'll say," Vic agreed, a little too enthusiastically.

CeeCee couldn't hide a smile at his admiration, even as she was slapping his shoulder and blushing.

Then she sighed and said, "I miss it. I miss being pretty, I guess. I was never gonna be Miss Universe, but it was nice to have lot of people say that I was pretty. Prettier than most girls."

"You are, you know," Vic said loyally. "Don't get me wrong. I'd love for you to do all the girly things. I like pretty girls as much as the next guy - probably more - and there is something intensely flattering about a girl going to some trouble to look attractive to guys. But I like your smile. A lot. Even when you're just being you. I like your freckles . . ."

At that comment CeeCee blushed and ducked her head, but Vic reached out and gently pulled her chin up so that she had to look at him.

"I think you're beautiful, no matter what you wear," he said. Then an idea lit his eyes and he said. "I owe you one."

"What?"

"The deal. The dare. The rules are, anything that you dare me to do, if you do it first, then I have to do the dare as well. Right?"

Before she could answer, he kissed her.

This kiss started out soft, which was great, but in a moment it was moving into something a lot more than just great. This time it was definitely CeeCee that pushed him back, but it wasn't a rejection.

She was frowning, though. "Wait, there's more," she said. "I'm feeling things - urges - that are so damn strong that. . . well, there have been a lot of times when I was grateful that you're such a nice guy. And a lot of times that I was so mad you were a nice guy that I thought I would scream!"

"You don't want me to be a nice guy?" Vic asked.

"No! You really, really *have* to be a nice guy," she said. "Because I'm not sure I want to be a nice girl."

"Okkayyy . . ," he said slowly.

"There's more," CeeCee said, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear her. "I can't stop thinking about . . . the handcuffs. It was two years ago today that I found them. Two years ago today that I stopped being girly. But you can't believe how often lately . . . in the middle of the night . . . I wake up just . . . intense with need. And I know in my dreams that I'm . . . wearing the handcuffs."

"Handcuffs?" Vic parroted once again.

"Yes," she whispered. Looking back up at the houses she said, "I . . . looked for them again. About a week ago. They're not there anymore."

"What would you do with handcuffs?"

"I don't know," she said. "I guess . . . try them on."

"On yourself?"

"Yes," she whispered, shivering as she said it.

CeeCee stood up abruptly. "So, you're an adrenaline junky, and I'm some sort of pervert. We make a good pair."

"Yes, we do," Vic said. He took CeeCee in his arms and just hugged her for a moment. When he let her go, he said softly, "I'll . . . see what I can do."

"Do?" CeeCee repeated.

"I'll see if I can find you some handcuffs, or something."

"Oh, god, Vic, I don't know if I could actually do that."

He smiled at her because that was suddenly familiar ground. "Oh, hell, we should try lots of things that we're not sure we can do."

"You mean, like a dare?" she said, catching on.

"Sure," he said easily. "I dare you to wear handcuffs."

"That means you'll have to wear them, too."

"If it makes you happy," he said.

CeeCee leaned up to kiss him again, lightly, but with a casual confidence that made it seem like the most natural thing in the world.

"Deal," she said, looking back up the path toward their homes.

Vic didn't let her move off immediately. "Um, there's something else I think you should do, but I can't make a dare out of it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have an equivalent for me," he said. "CeeCee, I think you should let yourself be as feminine - as girly - as you want to be. I won't let you become a sex slave even if, somehow, you, um, lose control of your own . . . urges. Even if you, um, even if the handcuffs are as interesting as you think. You don't have to fight off those urges, and you don't have to worry about someone taking advantage of them. At least, you don't have to fight alone."

CeeCee wrapped Vic in a tight hug and found herself crying into his shoulder. "Oh, god, Vic, you don't know. Sometimes I hate myself because I have built this little wall of rejection for feminine things around myself, but it scares me to wake up from a dream all . . . aroused, and know that my dreams included kinky, perverted things."

"Oh, god, tell me more," Vic demanded, but his voice was laughing and she used that humor to get her tears under control. She slapped him lightly, but hugged him one more time then started toward the houses.

Vic caught up and took her hand as they walked.

"You realize, don't you, that you're officially my girlfriend now, as well as my best friend who happens to be a girl."

"I am, am I?" CeeCee said, arching a brow.

"Yep. It's a done deal," he said.

"Then I guess there's nothing I can do about it," she said, smiling.

"Oh, hell no," Vic countered. "There are lots of things we're going to do about it."

"God, you are such a guy," she said.

"Yep," he agreed unrepentantly. "And you are such a beautiful girl that I'm the luckiest guy who ever was."

That earned him a smile that he'd never seen before, and one that CeeCee had not found within herself for a very long time.

Chapter 3 - "Dare Escalation"

One of the dubious advantages of doing a lot of things that - at least in hindsight - were stupid was that Vic had worn out most of his embarrassment sensitivity. However, when he boldly walked into a sex shop to get a pair of handcuffs, they threw his less-than-18 tail out the door before he even found that part of the displays. The police supply store was a bit less rude, but no less insistent that he was not going to get what he wanted there. When those approaches to people he didn't know proved fruitless, he took the even-more embarrassing step of calling on friends. At least he had grudging respect for his courage, if not his common sense, from a few older guys who could go where he couldn't. So he pinged a couple of acquaintances and arranged for two pairs of regular police handcuffs and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs that didn't look nearly as effective. Or as safe, for that matter. Of course, in addition to several dollars of his hard-earned spending money, there was a price in the form of a lot of razzing from his friends but that was just part of the deal.

It still took enough time that the next school year had started. Vic was trying to walk a tightrope with CeeCee's feelings. On the one hand, he was proud that she was his girlfriend. On the other . . . he wasn't entirely sure that she was proud to have a boyfriend, let alone him. She still looked like she was rejecting the whole boy-girl thing, and a few evenings spent kissing in the woods behind their house - while a very nice thing indeed - just didn't seem to be as fulfilling as a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship should be. Especially since CeeCee made him promise not to tell anyone - including their parents.

Still, everyone knew they were neighbors and friends so he got to walk her to the bus stop every day and ride with her to school. After that their schedules didn't provide a lot of overlap until the reciprocal trip in the afternoon.

It was in the afternoon about a week after classes started that Vic noticed an important change.

"Wow, CeeCee, you look great!" he said when he saw his friend approaching. His voice was loud enough that a few others had turned to look at her, and she heard one nicely chauvinistic whistle to go with Vic's praise.

"Um, thanks," she said, blushing.

The reason for Vic's exuberance was that CeeCee had changed from her morning appearance. The ride to school had been pretty much typical, but in the afternoon . . .

CeeCee had replaced her oversized navy-blue hoody with a snug top that was cut low enough to do more than hint at the woman within. It was in a pastel green color that set off her hair nicely, and it wasn't the only change. CeeCee had also put on some makeup and the skill of her application made her look fresh and alert without the heavy-handed drama of most of her contemporaries. The combination of figure-conscious top and subtle enhancement added a few years to her apparent age and more than a few points to her hotness score.

Her blush continued as they made their way onto their bus and as soon as they were seated she explained. "I couldn't change from tomboy to girly right away after we talked. I had to get a few things - find a top that would still fit and get some fresh makeup - before I could, y'know, change. But I couldn't leave the house this way this morning. My mother would have demanded an explanation - she'd have been happy, but she would have insisted I explain - and I didn't want to spend the time."

"What will she say when you get home?"

"She'll probably flip out, but she'll be happy. She . . . well, you know. Just look at her and her own style. She likes this stuff. A lot. She pushed me too hard and knows it, but she still wants her little princess. She'll be happy with anything I do to look more girly. The only thing is: She'll want me to explain why I changed."

"Why did you change?" Vic asked, and she snickered at his transparent hopefulness.

"Because of you, silly," she confirmed.

"So, you're willing to tell your mom that we're, um, going together?" he asked.

"If you still want to," she said cautiously.

"Oh, hell yeah!" he said, again loud enough that people looked. "Do you want me to go in with you?'

"No," she replied quickly. "I mean, thanks for the offer, but this will take a while. I'm still not ready to become teen-queen again, just . . . some sort of compromise. We'll have to work that out."

"Okay, but if you need me, even if just for moral support . . ," Vic offered.

"Thanks, but I can handle her."

Vic nodded, but since it was now more or less official that she was moving out of her tomboy phase, he reached out and took her hand. The response was a grasp so tight that he knew CeeCee was worried, but also a smile of gratitude that meant he wouldn't let go of her hand no matter how tight she squeezed. Even if his fingers were going to be numb for a week.

When she called him later that evening, it was a good news/bad news story. "Mother is pleased that I'm wearing makeup again, and if anything I'll have to get her to back off on clothes because she wants me to wear a short skirt and heels tomorrow."

"That's good, right?" Vic asked.

"Yes, and no," CeeCee said unhelpfully. "She wanted to know if I was doing it for a boy, and one thing led to another so that she knows we're going together."

"That's good, right?" Vic asked again.

CeeCee laughed, a light little giggle that was another thing she hadn't done in a long time. "Yes, and no," she repeated. "My mother is all 'sex is good' when it's just a tease, but now that there's a real boyfriend and a real chance for . . . more than teasing, she's all paranoid about letting the two of us alone together."

"Oh," Vic said. "Damn."

"Yeah, tell me about it," CeeCee agreed. "But there may be a way."

"Yes?" Vic asked, the hope in his voice so obvious that CeeCee giggled again.

"Okay," she began, "this is another death-level secret, but we talked about why I stopped being girly and I told her I had found her handcuffs. It turns out, that's not all she had."

Vic's mind was spinning off too far out of control for anything more than a grunt in response, but at least it showed the line hadn't gone dead.

CeeCee blurted out the next like the words had to be close together or they wouldn't all come out. "Before she'll let me be alone with you, she wants to get me a chastity belt."

"A what?"

"A chastity belt, so that nothing can, y'know, 'happen.'"

"I never heard of something like that, I mean, not outside something medieval. That's . . . awful!"

CeeCee was silent for a long time. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and tentative, as though she were afraid that Vic would react in a bad way. "Maybe . . . not. When Mama brought it up . . . oh, god, Vic, I was so . . . hot. I almost lost it just from the thought."

"You what?"

"I almost had the, y'know, the, um, the 'big O' just from thinking about it," she stammered, and her voice had taken on another note. Something urgent. Something . . . sensual. She was practically panting when she said, "Mama showed me the one that she used to wear."

"She used to wear one?!"

"Yes," CeeCee said. "Oh, god, Vic, it's like the handcuffs. Something in me just wants . . . needs that sense of helplessness, even though it scares the piss out of me at the same time."

"You're an adrenaline junky, too," Vic accused.

"I think you're right," she whispered. "Not for physical danger, but for a sense of . . . helplessness. Oh, god, I'm such a freak."

"No, you're not," Vic said sharply. "In the first place, I won't have you or anyone else saying that about you. In the second place, if she has a . . . thing like that, a modern one, I presume . . ?"

"Yeah, it's pretty awesome, all chrome and neoprene, and . . ."

Vic interrupted her, "So anyway, that means that there are people out there now - modern people - who do that sort of thing. So it's not freakish or anything, just, y'know, unusual."

"Unusual? I guess so!" CeeCee said with a giggle. Then she calmed down and said, "But it would mean, that we couldn't, I mean . . . you and me."

"We couldn't what?" Vic asked, but before CeeCee could respond, he quickly answered his own question to show it was rhetorical. "We couldn't have sex while you wear it. So okay. I enjoyed your company even when we didn't do *any* boy-girl things. If all we do is kiss, well, kissing you is awesome and I'll just force myself to learn to live with it. A lot."

"Oh, Vic, you're . . ," CeeCee began, then stopped an in a moment Vic hear sobs over the phone.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

In a moment, CeeCee's voice came back on. "Nothing, you big jerk. You're just too wonderful for words."

"What?" he asked, not entirely sure why being wonderful made her cry, but then, CeeCee was certainly not the girl he thought he knew, and he had already learned that understanding girls was beyond his ability anyway.

"So, when does this . . .I mean, when do you . . ?"

"Well, this is where it gets really weird . . ," she began.

"It wasn't weird already?" Vic asked with shock in his voice, followed by a laugh.

CeeCee giggled, but plowed on. "Daddy's going to make it! Apparently, the one Mama got online didn't fit her quite right - and there was something about the lock being too bulky - so Daddy made a better one after he found out about hers. Apparently this was before they were married, so they had some explaining to do to Granddad about how Daddy even knew about it. Maybe that's why Mama is more interested in locking me up than in trying to talk me out of . . . experimenting. She didn't have enough will power - or maybe 'won't' power - so she doesn't think I'll have enough either."

She giggled again over the phone, and added, "She's probably right."

"Oh, god, CeeCee, that's . . . You better not be just teasing!"
"Oh, Vic, If I do this, I don't think I'll be able to do anything but tease for a long time, but I meant what I said about not having enough willpower. Oh, god, when we kissed . . ."

"Yeah," Vic seconded with a heavy sigh. He sighed again, and said, "I think I'm going to be taking a *lot* of cold showers."

"Oh, god, me, too," CeeCee said. There was something funny in her voice that Vic wanted to ask about, but there was a more pressing question.

"So, how long?"

"Daddy already started making it. He said it would be like, a week or so before he's done. Until then I'm grounded anyway, for a lot of reasons including thing like, y'know, snooping through Mama's stuff. But after that . . ."

"Um, I may have some plans for after that, too," Vic said. "My friend says that he'll have the handcuffs - the ones I ordered - for me about then, too."

"Oh, god, I have to go," CeeCee gasped, panting again. Vic heard the connection click off, and sat there looking at his own phone, shaking his head.

The next morning, CeeCee showed a fresh, cheerful look that sparked immediate feelings of protectiveness from Vic. He was hardly an alpha male, but he took her hand as soon as they met at the sidewalk from her house. However, he still had to tease her a little.

"What, no skirt and heels?"

"Not yet," she said, blushing a little. "I, um, none of mine fit. I've grown a bit in the last year."

"I noticed," Vic confirmed, letting his eyes glance down.

"I'm up here, jerk," she said, but she giggled.

As they walked toward the bus stop, Vic said, "I talked with my parents, too."

"Not about my belt!" CeeCee gasped.

"Oh, god, no," Vic said quickly. "Just about us going together. They're pleased, but I got 'The Lecture' from Dad on being responsible and what nice guys do with nice girls and . . . man, with his ideas it's a wonder I was even born."

"Do you think he really meant it?" CeeCee asked, snickering again.

"Maybe he does - now, as a father - but I'll bet he wasn't always nice when they were going together," Vic said. "I mean, they look all Joe and Jane Whitebread now, but I've seen some pictures from when he was in high school and he looked like something out of like, 'Grease' or something. Leather jacket, skin tight jeans. And Mom . . . man, she wore skirts that would get her kicked out of school for a month."

"I think it's always that way," CeeCee said. "Parents always want their kids to be more moral and nicer and all that stuff than they were. Guilty conscience, I'll bet."

"Probably," Vic agreed.

"Not my parents, though," CeeCee said. "Or at least, they aren't hypocrites about it. They know that kids push limits. They're just going to take some of those choices away from me . . . whether I want it or not."

"Do you?" Vic asked. "Want it, I mean?"

"If that's the price to be with you, then yes," she said firmly, enjoying the look of pride that showed on Vic's face. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper and added, "But I really think I, um, want it anyway. I can't wait."

"Oh, god, that's not going to make my classes any easier today," Vic complained.

"Tell me about it," CeeCee whispered with a wince of her own.

The terms of CeeCee's grounding meant she could only go directly to school and back, but there wasn't any additional rule about how fast she walked. The whole path from bus drop-off corner to door was observable from CeeCee's house so there wasn't a lot they could do, but they weren't exactly hurrying home that afternoon.

"So, tell me about the handcuffs you're getting," CeeCee whispered after they stepped down from the bus.

"Just handcuffs," Vic explained. "They're supposed to be like the ones the police use. Except I found some that have, y'know, 'fuzzy' wraps on them."

"Ooh, cool," she breathed.

"I wouldn't want you to hurt your wrists," Vic declared.

"No, that wouldn't really be cool," she agreed. Thinking about the handcuffs was clearly exciting her. Vic found himself staring at her wide eyes - mostly so that he didn't stare at other . . . signs of interest. Especially since the other signs were moving rather noticeably as CeeCee's breathing became more agitated.

"So what's the dare?" she asked.

"You mean, just putting them on isn't enough?" Vic asked.

"Hardly," she said. "The whole point is that they're restricting you from doing something you want to do. Just sitting somewhere with your hands in your lap isn't enough."

"Okay," Vic said, "then we'll do them behind your back."

"You, too?"

"Well, not at the same time. Not unless we practiced first to make sure we could get them off, and if the point of the dare is to do it at all, then practicing sort of takes the challenge away."

"So, maybe it's not just getting them off. Maybe it's, y'know, some sort of . . . trial before you can undo them."

Vic was starting to get into this, too. The handcuffs weren't as much of a turnon for him as for CeeCee - that was obvious - but the challenge of a good dare was right up his alley.

"How about . . ," he mused, "we have to wear them on a walk through the woods behind our place? Y'know, lock them on at one place and leave the keys at another."

"Ooh, that would be awesome," CeeCee agreed, panting even heavier.

That was just too much for Vic's concentration and he had to look down at the movement within her form-fitting top. He might not have been a Neanderthal jock, but he was a teen-age boy and finding out what girls were like - the special parts that made them so different from guys - was just as much of a drive for him as for any hormone-driven football player. His mouth started to raise the challenge level before his mind even considered the risks.

"So, how about doing it . . . naked?" he asked.

At that, CeeCee just stopped right in her tracks. Vic could see her shudder for a long moment, then stagger as though she were about to fall. He caught her until she was steady again.

"Oh, god . . . I can't wait. We *have* to do that!" she gasped. "But now I have to get home!"

She picked up the pace, nearly trotting to her door. With a quick wave, she disappeared inside.

Vic spent the next few days while CeeCee was grounded working out a path through the woods. It needed to be out of sight - at least mostly - of any of the other homes. And it had to be free enough of nastiness like briars. That was too horrible to imagine. It took him a couple of trips with some clippers and a hatchet to make a path that looked doable. Then he needed to work out the 'challenge' part; where they would take off their clothes, where the keys would be, what would keep them from 'cheating' by taking a short cut or something. In the course of that he found a few extra challenges that he wasn't going to tell CeeCee about, at least, not ahead of time.

CeeCee was going through an adventure of her own.

The first parts where done with her mother. Mrs. Carson had the dubious - but important - distinction of direct experience with wearing a chastity belt full-time for an extended period. On the basis of that experience she insisted that CeeCee change her personal grooming in a few important ways - ways that wouldn't show, especially after she had her belt, but which she would really appreciate later.

Then it was time for her first fittings. It was really strange having her own father customize the shape because despite the intimacy of the task, it didn't seem like there was any personal involvement at all on his part. He was so caught up in the craftsmanship of his creation that he could have been making it fit on a store manikin. Other than a few, "does that pinch?" questions, he hardly said a word. The pieces were fitted into place over a pair of panties and CeeCee had the strangest impression that this wasn't the first time he'd done that - even aside from fitting one to her mother.

The last two fittings were done by her mother, with her father in another room entirely. CeeCee didn't wear panties for those fittings, and that wasn't the most . . . intimate part of the experience.

When her mother brought the pieces out of the box, CeeCee saw that something additional had been added. Something that she now remembered on the belt her mother had worn, but hadn't been there for the fittings.

"What's . . . um . . . that?" she asked. On the main cover plate, pointing in a direction where there was only one possible place for it to go, was a protrusion that she hadn't expected.

"That, my dear, is going to make your life a lot easier," Mrs. Carson claimed. "One of the most difficult things with a chastity belt is keeping it clean."

"Eeuww," CeeCee groaned. "But . . . I thought that was about the, y'know, the rear part - where it splits into two chains."

"Well, that's important, too, but - to be blunt - you need to be able to wash things out. Inside and out. This little, ah, 'fountain', plus the spray hose in your shower, will take care of that."

Mr. Carson leaned over to whisper in her daughter's ear, even though they were the only two in the room. "And it will keep you from going crazy. With a little practice, a good rinse will take care of more than your cleanliness needs. This is not about keeping you from having a little fun. This is about keeping you from having babies."

"Oh, god, Mother, I'm not sure I can . . ."

"Believe me, daughter, you can and you will, and you'll be glad of it. This is one of the things that made the one your father designed for me so much better than the one *my* father got through mail order."

CeeCee's eyes glazed over and she was about to tell her mother that she needed a break when Mrs. Carson started putting the pieces away again. "I'll tell your father what he needs to do for final adjustments, but it shouldn't take too long."

"Um, good," CeeCee said, the glazed look still in her eyes. Mrs. Carson smiled and let herself out of the room.

Two days later - a Friday, which meant that CeeCee would have the weekend to get used to the belt before she had to spend a whole day away at school - it was time for the final step.

Once again, the parts were arranged into position with only CeeCee and her mother in the room. When the key cover plate was placed where it needed to be - complete with the extra nub that had surprised her before - CeeCee took a big gulp of air and had to steady herself with a hand against her vanity table.

"Are you going to be all right?" her mother asked.

"It's . . . strange," CeeCee said, panting.

"That's one word for it," Mrs. Carson said, smirking. "Dear, I think you're going to enjoy that even more than I did."

"You enjoyed it?" CeeCee asked.

"Oh, yeah," her mother said, remembered pleasure causing her own breathing to pick up. "Not always, of course. God, I wanted your daddy sssooo bad when we were going together. But it was worth the wait. Trust me."

"It looks like I won't have any choice," CeeCee said wryly, but her eyes were still showing more excitement than fear. A lot of excitement, in fact.

Mrs. Carson used temporary plastic ties to hold key parts of the belt together, then led her daughter to the garage where Mr. Carson was waiting.

"Is it okay?" he asked, still in his craftsman mode where he might have been talking about the way a clock kept time.

"It's fine," Mrs. Carson said. CeeCee was still trying hard to contain her breathing, but she managed a nod.

Then she saw her father bring out what looked like a huge pair of pliers.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's what makes your belt fit so well, with no bulges for a thick, ugly lock mechanism."

CeeCee looked confused. "I don't understand."

The craftsman finally let a little emotion into his voice, but it was pride at his invention. "There is no key! I just fasten the links together with a few flush rivets - smooth as can be. You can wear this under any clothes and you won't show more than you would if you were just wearing normal underwear."

"No key?" CeeCee repeated.

Mrs. Carson confirmed the situation. "Yes, dear. There is no key. Your father can open it, or you can cut it off, of course, but there isn't any need for a key. At least, not until you get married. After that will be up to your husband."

"Oh, god," CeeCee whispered, panting audibly now. "No key."

While she was trying to understand what she had agreed to do, her father had been placing and setting the final connections.

"There," he said with satisfaction. "All done. If there isn't any trouble - and if you keep it clean - then we'll only need to take it apart if you change shape. Since you're through your growth spurt that should only be because you gained weight. Your mother never had that problem so you shouldn't either."

"No, I, um . . . I'll be good."

"With that, you'll have to be nice, instead," her father said, finally looking at the girl in front of him as his daughter instead of some sort of client. "I expect you'll cope. There's a lot of your mother in you, and she did pretty well."

"Good enough to catch you," Mrs. Carson said smugly.

CeeCee's eyes were taking on a glaze again, and she looked toward her room. "I, um, may I be excused?"

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Carson said. The smile she showed was an interesting combination of smirk and sympathy.

It was no surprise at all to hear CeeCee's bathroom shower come on.

Chapter 4 - "A Walk In The Dark"

It was not really surprising that CeeCee had to show off her new adornment to her best friend. Of course, that wouldn't have been very 'proper' considering the intimate nature of her adornment and the fact her best friend was a boy, but that was sort of the point. The teens interpreted the chastity belt as the next best thing to consent for the two of them to become more 'intimate', at least up to the limits the belt provided. Besides, it was time for them to take their mutual dare. In fact, it was less than 24 hours after CeeCee's belt was in place before they moved out on their adventure.

It started out innocuously enough. After dinner on Saturday - another shared meal between the Carsons and the Robinsons - the husbands adjourned immediately to the Robinson garage to work on their latest restoration. Mr. Carson had been busy on some other task all week, so Mr. Robinson was anxious to get back on track.

As soon as they left, Vic took CeeCee's hand and looked at his girlfriend's mother. "Would you mind if CeeCee and I went to a movie tonight?

"That's up to CeeCee," Mrs. Carson said, though of course they all knew what that answer would be.

"Great!" Vic said. "Mom, it's okay with you, too, right?"

"I guess so," she said with less confidence. She looked at Mrs. Carson, "I know you're okay with them going together, but . . . up till now they've made it clear they were 'just friends.' Now that they're dating for real, don't you think CeeCee is just a bit young for boy-girl, non-group dating? I mean, she's barely 16."

"Oh, I think she'll be okay," Mrs. Carson said easily. "After all, Vic is a nice boy and I trust them."

Mrs. Robinson looked at her son and sighed. "Vic, you know I respect you, and I trust your good intentions, but . . . It's not that long ago that I was a teen, and well, to be honest, there were a few times when I could have . . . made a mistake. I expect teen hormones have kept the species going so that's a good thing, but it's still a challenge - and one that I might not always have met very well myself."

Mrs. Carson headed off any response Vic might have tried to make. "Oh, Becky, let them go. I'm sure they'll be okay. Besides, there's something I've been meaning to talk with you about."

"Mother!" CeeCee said sharply.

"You two go on," Mrs. Carson said blandly. "Don't worry about it. It will be okay."

CeeCee gave her mother another sharp look, but Vic squeezed her hand and sent a message of urgency with his eyes. The mothers caught it too, of course, but they didn't know the real reason for his message. It wasn't only sex-based hormones that were singing in his veins. Adrenaline is a hormone, too.

CeeCee caught on as well and it was a good thing that this was to be their first 'official' date because they needed that excuse for why they were being so nervous.

Vic had his driver's license, but it took another stop in the garage to get permission to take his dad's car - actually, an old pickup truck. It had long ago quit bothering Vic that his dad did amazing restorations on other cars yet drove something that seemed held together with wishful thinking and bondo. On the other hand, it wasn't too hard to get his dad to agree to let him drive the old beast. Mr. Carson sent CeeCee on her way with a smirk that made her think that he had been more . . . engaged with what he was doing when he put his daughter into a chastity belt than she had thought at the time.

"Why are we taking the truck?" CeeCee asked as they pulled from the drive. "Why not start from behind our houses?"

"Because what I have in mind will take a bit longer than we usually spend by ourselves after dinner," he explained. "I didn't want them to come check on us."

"Oh, god, no," CeeCee said, but she giggled at the idea. "Ohmigod, I just had this image of Mama finding us in handcuffs, and offering some of her own things for us to try."

"Oh, man, that is weird," Vic said with a laugh . . . a bit uncomfortably.

He drove to where a few parking places eased access to a bike path that ran past the far side of the wooded area from their homes. Altogether the near-forest covered a bit less than 15 acres and there was still open pasture on one side. One day a developer would come through and bulldoze the whole area, but for now it was a haven for small kids to build forts, small rodents and their hunters to build lives, and at least two teenagers to carry out a nicely naughty dare.

It was starting to get dark when Vic reached up and pulled the little bulb out of the dome light.

"That way the light won't go on when we get out," he explained.

"So, what's the plan?" CeeCee asked, licking her lips and realizing that her breathing was starting to get shallow.

Vic licked his own lips, struggling to keep his eyes on his girlfriend's face. Not that looking at her pretty face - particularly since she had resumed enhancing it a little - was much of a hardship. But in a few minutes, if they really went through with it, he'd be seeing a lot more than her face.

A lot more.

"Well, part of the challenge is to make a real incentive to complete," he began.

"What do you mean, incentive?"

"It's like this," he said. "I know where to go to get the keys and things, but you don't. I won't tell you where to go, and if you don't figure it out, well, we're stuck."

"Oh, you'll tell me, if we really need it," she claimed.

"Sure," he said. "But there needs to be a price for that. Another dare."

"What dare?"

"If you can't find them, then I get to pick your costume for Halloween. Anything I want."

CeeCee blushed, but grinned. "Okay, but if I do find the keys, I get to pick your Halloween costume. Anything *I* want."

"Hey, that's not the deal," Vic said. "Look, CeeCee, I want this to work. I didn't make it too hard."

"That's the dare," she said firmly.

Vic looked at her for a moment, wishing now that he'd made completed the trek a bit more challenging. But . . . a dare was a dare.

"Okay, but there have to be some rules. I'll wear anything you want as long as nothing carries over past the Halloween party - no shaved head or skin dye that won't wash out."

"Deal . . .," she said quickly, trying to get an immediate agreement.

"That's not all," he said. "Nothing that gets me any more screwed up with the jerks in school than I already am. I'm not wearing a pink tutu down main street or anything like that."

"Ah, you're no fun," CeeCee said, pouting prettily. Then she grinned. "I'll agree, but on one condition. I won't make you wear anything that gives the jerks in school ammo to use against you, but if they can't tell it's you . . ."

"Oh crap, I think I'm going to regret this, but . . . okay," he said, holding out his hand for a shake. CeeCee didn't think that was an adequate way to seal their deal, but Vic decided he wouldn't complain about her way . . . not unless she used that method with other guys.

"Okay, so what do we need to do?" she asked again when they had caught their breaths.

"Man, you are going to get me into so much trouble," Vic moaned. "I can see right now that I'm going to have a very . . . hard time telling you no on anything."

"Poor baby," she crooned, then giggled. "Are you stalling?"

"No, just trying to remember how to breathe," he said.

Vic took a needed deep breath, then started explaining. "Right over there is a break in the trees. That's the start of a path. Somewhere on that path is the spare key to the truck."

He looked at CeeCee, then deliberately looked down from her face to the rest of her body. "The, um, plan is that we take our clothes off, and leave them in the truck with the keys to the handcuffs. Then we lock the truck, lock the cuffs on ourselves, and have to walk through the woods to get the truck key, then back here to unlock the truck and get the handcuff keys. And our clothes."

"Wow," CeeCee said, eyes wide and breathing getting quicker. "That's totally awesome. What if someone like, parks here to use the bike path?"

"Then I guess we just have to wait," Vic replied.

"How clear is the path? How long is it? Will I get lost? In the dark?"

Vic shrugged, but the light of his own challenge was in his eyes. "I guess we'll just have to see. Are you up for it?"

"Ohmigod, yes!" CeeCee said quickly. "It's . . . awesome."

Then she froze and looked down at her clothes. Vic could see her blush in the gathering gloom. Illumination from a street light a block away made it clear that he would be able to see more than just a faint blush if CeeCee really did take off her clothes.

For that matter, she'd be able to see more than his blush, too.

"Let's do it," CeeCee said, and quickly pulled off her top. Under it she wore a lacy bra and at the sight of it Vic gasped.

CeeCee started to respond, then grinned and gave Vic a saucy look that was guaranteed to make it hard - pun intended - for him to concentrate. "Your turn," she said.

Vic grinned and pulled his own shirt off. "Now you."

CeeCee smirked at his anticipation, then reached down to take her shoes off. Vic nearly moaned with disappointment, but he soon followed suit.

The first real magic occurred when she reached behind herself to take off her bra.

"Ohmigod," he whispered reverently. "You are so . . . beautiful."

"Yeah, well, keep your hands to yourself," she said, grinning. "You shoulda put your handcuffs on before I got undressed."

"Probably," he grinned wryly in response.

Vic had no way of knowing - not really, since a few stolen Playboys didn't really do a teenage bosom justice - that CeeCee was only average even after her last growth spurt. To him, the high, proud globes revealed in the dim light were truly magical - a holy grail of desire that brought sweat to his forehead when she took an unnecessarily deep breath.

"Oh, god, you are such a tease," he complained mournfully.

"Oh, god, you are such a guy," she countered with a giggle. Despite the fact she had been the last one to remove an item of clothes, she quickly wriggled out of her shorts as well.

"Ohmigod," Vic said, unconsciously repeating himself.

This time the magic was the shine of a curved triangular plate held in place by flat chains that sat low on the sleek swell of her hips.

"Like it?" she asked proudly, arching her hips forward.

"It's . . . y'know, it actually is beautiful," Vic said. "There is a sort of . . . flow that looks . . . graceful somehow."

"Thanks," she said. "I kinda like it myself. Except . . ."

She took her fingers and tapped them on the cover sheet, as though knocking on a door. "Thunk, thunk," she said. "No entrance."

Vic's eyes were showing a light that even the dim illumination captured. If his breathing were any indication of what his heart was doing, it was a good thing that he was a reasonably fit teenager or he'd be in the dangerous region for pulse rate.

"C'mon, slowpoke," CeeCee said. She looked down the street to make sure no one was coming, then pushed her door open and ran for the break in the trees.

Vic watched her graceful flow toward the dark entrance, realizing as he did that the rear of that device was a lot less concealing than the front. A few glints flowing around the taut curves of her bottom revealed additional chains, none of which hid the dark crevice that winked at him with each step.

When his eyes - and mind - reset he scrambled from the car, shucked his own shorts, and took the little bag that had only the handcuffs in it. Then with a big breath and another look at the entrance to the trail into which CeeCee had vanished, he locked the truck door.

Vic wasn't quite ready to run toward the break in the trees. He was more than a little uncomfortable himself at being naked, but the idea of swinging back and forth - he was certainly not relaxed enough for anything to hang down - was too crude for his self image. Instead, he just walked toward the entrance, coincidentally holding the little bag in both hands in a strategic location.

"Cheater," CeeCee's voice snickered from the darkness. "You didn't give me a little bag."

"You're wearing something that covers more than this little thing," he countered.

"Yeah, I guess it does," she said, giggling and tapping on her cover plate again.

Vic chuckled at her point, then opened the bag. The first thing he took out was a pair of cuffs with fuzzy white fake fur around the enclosures.

As they appeared, CeeCee took a deep breath and gasped, "Ohmigod, we're really gonna do this."

"Well, we could just walk to the truck key, unless you're sure . . ," Vic said.

"Oh, no, we have to do it," CeeCee said, her deeper breathing giving way to rapid pants. She spun around and offered her wrists to her companion.

"Do it, do it, do it," she chanted in a tight little whisper in time with her rapid breaths.

The click of the steel closing around her wrists caused her to moan, and then begin to shudder. Vic caught her before she fell, reaching forward to wrap his arms around her from where he stood behind her. Unfortunately - or perhaps, fortunately - that pushed his rampant erection right into her close-linked hands.

"Are you okay?" he asked, all too aware of the soft fingers touching his all-too-proud manhood.

CeeCee didn't move for a long moment, then she shook herself and stepped away. "Yeah, I'm okay. But ohmigod, that was intense."

"Did you . . ?"

"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "Mama said this thing is not about keeping me from having fun; it's about keeping me from having babies."

"Um, yeah, I guess," Vic said, his eyes losing track for a moment with a thought train that he couldn’t begin to absorb.

"Your turn," CeeCee panted, turning around to show signs of arousal that Vic found enormous . . . ly interesting.

"Um, yeah, right," Vic said. He pulled the other pair of handcuffs out of the bag - a plain dark metal pair.

"What, no fur for yours?" she teased.

"I put that stuff on yours to protect your wrists," he explained. He fastened one cuff on his wrist, making sure the key hole was on the lower side. Then he gulped in some air of his own and put his arms behind his back. When the last ratchet clicked into place, CeeCee's eyes squeezed shut and her breathing started accelerating again.

"CeeCee, are you gonna be okay? I can go get the key myself."

"No way," she said. "I wouldn't miss this for the world. But I may have to . . . take it easy. At some point."

"Right," Vic said, his voice tight in a not-too-successful attempt to hide his own arousal. As though the visual indication weren't enough. "Well, we better get started."

"So, Vic, do you want to just . . . point the way?" she teased, looking down smugly.

"Oh, man, that's cold," he groaned. Then he let his eyes drift below her face as well. "Besides, you're pointing, too. In two different directions.

"That's because it *is* cold," she claimed with a giggle - and a little hop that did nothing to make it easier for him to look back at her face.

"Oh, god, you're evil," he moaned.

"And don't you forget it," she said. "So, are you gonna tell me which way to go, if you're not gonna point?"

"Hell, no," Vic replied with a smile of his own. "If you think I'm in a hurry to get you back into your clothes, then you've got another think coming."

"Like you can do anything about it," she snipped. But she turned around and looked into the darkened woods. There was about a half moon, and as long as the clouds stayed away she could see well enough to walk. In fact, she could see a path - more because of openings in the brush than anything on the ground, but a direction to try.

She started making her way deeper into the trees, gaining confidence when Vic didn't offer any corrections. In fact, the way was fairly obvious. In some places it was wide enough for them to walk side by side and it might have been a nice, romantic stroll if it weren't for the outrageous circumstances of being naked and in handcuffs.

Vic's sign of amorous interest had even begun to droop a little . . . until the path narrowed and he had to follow CeeCee for a while. Seeing the dark cleft between her tight little buns, and the flattened chains leading up to the low belt of yet more chain - well, that resurrected any lost energy.

"Are you looking at my ass?" CeeCee challenged.

Vic just laughed. "What are you gonna do if I am?"

"Wait'll I get my hands on you," she warned, letting her fingers wave at him. The fact they were caught in fuzzy handcuffs did nothing to reduce his ardor.

"Promises, promises," he replied.

CeeCee giggled and waved her fingers again, but then she stopped. The path she had been following seemed to vanish into a wall of prickly looking brush.

"No way I'm going through there," she said.

"Gee, then I guess we're stuck," Vic said blandly.

"So, is the key here?" CeeCee asked.

"Maybe," Vic replied unhelpfully. But his tone was so carefully neutral that she knew it was close.

At first, she looked around on the ground. Since she couldn't use her hands, she just bent over at the waist to get a closer look at the piles of fallen leaves and tangled roots at the base of trees and bushes. That let her pert young breasts sway as she moved and Vic had no more chance of looking away than of flying away into the air. The way the shapes changed as she moved, different and yet the same as when she walked, made him wonder what they would feel like. How soft were they, really? Were they all the same, or were there firmer and more . . . squishy parts?

It took him a minute to realize that CeeCee had been saying something.

"Where's the damn key?" she asked.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Vic replied with a deliberately childish taunt.

However, he had moved just a bit as he spoke. His words drew CeeCee's eyes to his face and from there she saw a glint in the lowest branch of a small tree.

"There it is," she announced.

"Looks like," Vic agreed, not even turning around to check.

CeeCee moved over to get it, turning around so her bound hands could pluck it from the tree.

"I can't reach," she complained after a moment. Vic was distracted again, and this time she reached out with her bare foot and thumped his arch with her heel.

"Hey, jerk, I'm up here. What's up with putting it so high in the tree?"

Vic managed to get his eyes back up to her face, and said, "That's so you can see it when you take it."

"See it?" she repeated, then laughed. "Okay, I get it."

She turned around and reached out to take the key, hanging from a small chain, in her mouth. With a bit of a tug, it came free from the branch.

"Okay, so now what?" she said, keeping the key clenched in her teeth.

"Now we go back," Vic offered, stepping aside.

CeeCee giggled, her humor restored by her success, and stepped past him. It was, of course, just an accident that her hip brushed against his still-rampant arousal meter as she did.

They made their way back toward the truck, moving a bit faster now that CeeCee knew the way. However, just before they moved out of the trees, she stopped.

Looking at Vic, she said through her still-clenched teeth, "Turn around and make a cup of your hands. I'm going to give you the key."

"Why?" he asked, but he turned to do as she directed.

Once he had the key, she let him turn back, and then stepped up to him. The burning points of energy on her breasts trailed lines of fire across his chest as she wiggled them back and forth for a moment. Then she stepped even closer and lifted her lips to meet his. Even without the ability to use their hands - maybe *because* of their inability to use their hands - their kiss was as intense as any they had ever shared. CeeCee panted into his mouth and tried to push their hips together.

"Damn, I hate this thing right now," she moaned, twisting her hips to rub the plate that guarded her into the intruder that they both wanted in someplace out of reach. "And I love it. God, I'm such a freak."

"Don't say that," Vic whispered, but his voice was tight and it was clear that he wasn't particularly fond of that little plate himself.

"I just had to kiss you before we get our hands loose," she said. "I'm so hot that if I didn't have this thing on, I'd do you . . . somehow. I know I would."

"Oh, god, I know," he whispered hoarsely. He kissed her again, his hands pulling against the handcuffs so hard he knew he'd have bruises the next day, but he couldn't help it.

The pain got his attention though, and he looked out into the little parking area. "There's no one here. Let me go get the key, and our clothes."

"I'll come with you," CeeCee said.

"You don't have to," Vic said.

"I want to," she claimed. "It makes me hot to think about being out in public naked, bound, wearing this tin panty."

"Well, far be it from me to say I don't think you're hot," he replied gallantly. Bowing formally despite the restriction to his arms, he allowed CeeCee to lead him to the truck. The lock was low enough - he'd checked - to allow him to open the door. Inside, carefully placed on top of his clothes, was the handcuff key.

It was surprisingly difficult to get the cuffs off his hands. He couldn't see what he was doing and he couldn't twist his wrists enough to get a good hold on the key while it was aligned with the lock. In the end, they had to do it together. CeeCee couldn't work behind her back any better, but she could see what his fingers were doing and was able to coach him enough to get the first cuff undone.

After that it was easy, of course.

At least for him.

Once he had the cuffs off both his wrists, CeeCee turned and presented her own bound hands to him.

"Not so fast," he growled. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her back to face him. "You shouldn't tease a guy," he said. "He might just decide to get even."

Taking her face in his hands he kissed her softly, yet implacably. Demanding she surrender her lips to his caress. Demanding she admit in her soul how much she wanted his touch.

It wasn't much of a battle.

CeeCee was panting and moaning and twitching with need, right up until he took his real price from her. Without releasing her lips, Vic let his hands drop until they were tugging at the little bullets that had been shooting at him for their entire adventure. At the touch of his fingers, CeeCee arched her back so far it was hard for Vic to stay fastened to her lips. He let one hand - but only one hand - stop its delicate torment to steady her. By now, he had a pretty good idea what her orgasms were like. CeeCee shuddered like she was being jolted with a zillion volts of electricity. Her breathing stopped altogether for a long, long moment.

When her diaphragm relaxed enough she could breathe, the rest of her muscles relaxed as well and if Vic hadn't had a good hold on her, she would have dropped to the pavement. But he did have her, and he gently lifted her back to an upright stance where she could manage to stand - at least as long as she leaned against the truck. Vic carefully turned her so that she could lean to the side, leaving her wrists exposed. In a moment he had her cuffs off as well and by the time he had that done she was blinking her eyes and looking around in confusion.

"Wow, was that real?" she whispered.

"I guess you're the one who knows," Vic said smugly.

"I guess," she said softly. "Wow."

As she managed to get her thoughts back into a more rational order, she giggled and looked at her escort. "You know, if that's how you're going to 'punish' me for teasing you . . ."

"Uh, oh," Vic said, but he grinned back at her.

He expected her to move quickly to her clothes, but before she did she reached her own arms out and wrapped herself around him so tightly that they could both tell how thick her chastity plate was - to about the nearest millimeter. That wasn't all they did, of course. Their kiss was at least as torrid, even if it did not quite have the same effect, as when Vic had kissed her while she still wore her cuffs.




Before she unwound herself from him, CeeCee giggled and whispered into his ear. "Your beautiful ass is mine now, you know. I get to decide on your Halloween costume, and I have some really, really wild ideas."

"Oh, god," he moaned. But with a gorgeous teenage girl wrapped around him there was no way he could tell her no.

CeeCee laughed again, then slid onto the truck seat and over to her side. They quickly started to dress and it didn't take much longer before they were headed back toward their homes. Vic parked the truck in his own driveway, but he politely walked CeeCee back to the Carson home.

"Did you enjoy the movie?" Mrs. Carson asked.

"Oh, um, yeah," CeeCee said, unable to hide a blush.

Mrs. Carson's smile took on a decidedly teasing quality as she asked, "What movie did you go see?"

If CeeCee's mother had any remaining doubt about what the teens had *really* done - at least that they hadn't really gone to see a movie - it would have been resolved by the look of helpless confusion on CeeCees' face. Vic rose to the challenge though and blandly claimed they had attended a recent sexy-vampire movie that the teens had, in fact, already seen. Mrs. Carson's eyes gave him credit for thinking quickly, but a twinkle made it clear that she wasn't buying his claim. It also made it clear that she didn't mind.

"Well, get your stories together before you tell Becky," she advised.

Vic nodded with a wry smile and headed home.

Chapter 5 - "Reciprocal Dares"

CeeCee's plot against her boyfriends comfort zone started the next day - and with a very unusual point of attack. She waited until she knew that Vic had gone off on an errand and visited his mother.

"Miss Becky," she began, "I need to ask you a favor."

"What do you need, dear?"

"Well, Vic and I have this sort of dare . . ."

"I don't really like those dares he does," Mrs. Robinson interrupted.

"Oh, this isn't like one of those," CeeCee quickly assured her. "It's not like, dangerous or anything. I just dared him to let me choose his Halloween costume."

"He doesn't usually dress up for Halloween," Mrs. Robinson said, but a grin was replacing the frown that had appeared at the dreaded 'dare' word. "Does he get to choose your costume? That's how his silly dares usually work. If he accepts the dare, you have to do it, too."

"Oh, um, yeah, it does," CeeCee said, not willing to explain the real nature of the control she had over Vic's Halloween appearance. "In any event, it's like this: The school encourages costumes on the last Friday before Halloween - for school spirit and all - and it's okay to have costumes with a mask. No one takes attendance on that one day so you can sit in on classes you don't usually take in order to keep your real identity secret. Stuff like that."

"Okay," Mrs. Robinson said carefully. "Why do you need my help?"

"Because I want to dress Vic up in an outfit that he probably won't like, but it will include a mask so no one will know it's him if he does a good job of acting like his character."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I think it will, um . . . take him out of his comfort zone. Miss Becky, I think you know that Vic really gets off on being excited - and a little afraid. He's an adrenaline junky. This way I can show him how to get that, um, 'thrill' without doing anything that is actually dangerous."

"Just how far outside his comfort zone are you intending to go?" Mrs. Robinson asked suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"

CeeCee giggled and said, "I want to dress him up as Catwoman!"

"Catwoman? You mean, as a girl?"

"Yeah, it will be great!" CeeCee assured her. Her face was lit with happiness, but with no apparent reason a shadow passed over her joy. She frowned, then looked at her boyfriend's mother with a serious expression.

"I should explain something," the teen said. "I used to be really into girly things - makeup, heels, fancy clothes, the whole thing. I sort of, um, 'burned out' on that for a while, but . . . well, I just want to make Vic happy. Happy to be with me. And he's 'guy' enough that he likes the things that girls do to attract guys. I want to do that for him so I'm sort of, y'know, dressing nicer and things . . ."

Mrs. Robinson interrupted her again, but with encouragement. "Yes, I've noticed, and I'm so glad you're through your tomboy stage. You can be very pretty if you try."

"Thanks," CeeCee said. "Anyway, I do want to look nice for Vic, but I also want him to . . . appreciate what I do. I figured one way to do that is to have him dress as a girl for Halloween. After that, he'll appreciate it even more when I do dress up for him, but - I hope, anyway - not complain too much if there are times when I say it's just too much work."

Her enthusiasm was on a roll again, so she wrapped up her argument. "So, it's like this. I give him a challenge that will get his adrenaline going, but not be dangerous. Maybe I can even find more things like that so that he can get his fill of 'dares' without getting hurt. And I can show him how much I appreciate him by showing him how much trouble I go to in order to look good for him."

She giggled and finished, "And I get to yank his chain a bit."

"It sounds like you've got this all thought out," Mrs. Robinson said, but she was smiling and CeeCee knew she'd made her point.

At least in general. Now it was time for the specifics.

"Okay, so here's the plan," she said. "My agreement with Vic on his costume is that nothing can last - he said, no shaved head or anything like that - and it can't be a reason for other guys to, y'know, pick on him or anything."

Mrs. Robinson frowned again, "And dressing like girl, like Catwoman, is not going to be a reason for guys to tease him?"

"Not if they don't know about it," CeeCee insisted. "But for that to work, he has to pass as a girl so well that everyone thinks it's a girl in a Catwoman costume, not a guy in a girl's costume."

Mrs. Robinson nodded her understanding, and CeeCee used that as a reason to continue. "So, I need you to get him excused from PE for a while so that I can work on him. He'll need to like, get rid of his body hair. And some practice at like, walking in heels, picking up things with nails, that sort of thing."

"And you think that he'll, um, practice these things?"

"Well, it was a dare," CeeCee said.

"Those darn dares," Mrs. Robinson sighed, but then she smiled. "But I have to agree, he's not likely to get a broken arm from your dare - at least, not if he doesn’t fall off his high heels."

"So you'll help?" CeeCee pressed.

"Yes, I suppose I will," Mrs. Robinson said, but there was a frown in her eyes. CeeCee was a bit worried, because she had been hoping for - even counting on - more enthusiasm from her boyfriend's mother.

Mrs. Robinson looked carefully at CeeCee's face for a minute, then said, "Um, CeeCee, your mother and I had a little talk the other night . . ."

She waited for the teen to say something, but other than a wince CeeCee didn't respond.

Mrs. Robinson pushed on, "Is it true that you're wearing a, ah, chastity belt?"

CeeCee blushed, but she nodded.

"I've never heard of such a thing in this day and age," Mrs. Robinson said. "I think it's barbaric. Are you okay? I don't want to interfere, but if you're being abused . . ."

"No, ma'am," CeeCee said quickly. "I guess you could say that it's my own choice. I really, really like Vic. But there are times that I get so . . . needy that I just don't think I could help myself. And I don't think Vic is much better. I guess I'm glad that I can, y'know, excite him like that, but . . . we don't want to do anything that we're not like, ready for yet. This is one way to help with that."

"And you don't mind?" pushed Mrs. Robinson.

"Not really," she sighed. "I mean, when - someday - we can, um, do what we want, I'll be glad not to wear it. But for now . . ."

CeeCee looked away for a moment, then looked back. "It's like this. Now that I know I can't, y'know, 'get in trouble' I can relax. I don't have to always be thinking about holding back, about watching for signs that Vic is getting too, um, demanding. I can tease him without worrying about either of us losing control. I can just have fun."

She grinned wryly and said, "Not all the fun in the world, of course, but that's sorta the point. This thing draws a line in the sand that I can't go over even if I want to. Neither can Vic."

Mrs. Robinson was still frowning, but she was nodding as well. Nonetheless, she still wasn't convinced. "Most girls don't seem to need that level of control."

"Maybe not," CeeCee agreed cautiously, but the message in her eyes was far from convinced. "But I really think that I do. I guess I get that from my mother."

"Your mother?"

"Oops," CeeCee said blushing. "I don't think I was supposed to say that."

"Did your mother put you up to this?"

"I suppose you could say that," CeeCee replied. "Look, I hope you won't tell her I said anything, but . . . she told me that she had to wear a chastity belt when she was a teenager, too."

"She did?" gasped Mrs. Robinson.

"Yes," CeeCee said. "I guess that's why she suggested it. She didn't have to find out if she had the willpower to resist her own, um, needs."

"Yes," Mrs. Robinson said quietly, clearing remembering times from her own adolescent years. "I'm not sure I agree with doing this to you, but I can, ah, understand the challenge."

She looked CeeCee directly in the eyes and asked, "So, you're really all right with this? I can help you if you're feeling trapped."

CeeCee relaxed and giggled at the play on words. "I guess I really am trapped in this thing, at least for now. But I think it's a good thing."

Mrs. Robinson sighed, but nodded. "I don't think I really understand, but I won't interfere if you don't want me to."

"Thanks," CeeCee said. "So, about helping me with Vic's costume?"

"You know, I don't think you said anything specific about what you need from me beyond getting him out of PE for a while. Is there something else?"

"Yes, I think so," CeeCee said. "I need him to practice - here, in your home, or maybe in mine - and that might . . . I mean, what will Mr. Dan say?"

"I can take care of that," Mrs. Robinson assured her.

CeeCee grinned, then said, "Okay, here's the plan . . ."

CeeCee's plans didn't move into an active stage immediately. While she was assembling her nefarious tools of transformation, the two families continued with other activities. This included another dinner and evening teen escape.

"Guess what!" CeeCee said after a few minutes spent making out on 'their' fallen log.

"What?" Vic replied.

"That's not a guess," she snickered, slapping his shoulder. But she didn't really want him to guess so she answered her own challenge. "I think Mama is wearing her chastity belt again."

"What?" Vic repeated, eyes widening.

"I saw Daddy carrying this tool thing he uses to fasten the chains on the belt, and I think I saw the trace of the hip chains under a slip Mama was wearing yesterday - before she put on her skirt."

"Why would she do that?" Vic asked.

"I think it excites them - both of them," CeeCee said, giggling. "She was asking me if I had any plans for a sleepover with friends any time soon. I think they want me out of the house."

"Man, that's TMI," Vic groaned.

"I think it's fun," CeeCee giggled. "They're 'denying' themselves for a while so that when they do, y'know, get together it can be more intense."

"Way over into TMI," Vic said.

"Oh, shoot, you're no fun," CeeCee said. "Don't your parents ever, um, get amorous?"

"If they do, I don't want to know about it," Vic said.

"Wow, I may have to do some serious re-education of you," she said. "I think the fact my parents are nuts about each other is great."

Vic shrugged. "My parents are fine."

"Listen mister," CeeCee scolded. "If we're going to continue this relationship, we're not going to settle for just 'fine.'"

"Okay, okay, you're right," Vic surrendered.

CeeCee used her teen girl prerogative to change subjects without warning. "I have a dare for you."

"Oh?" Vic said, grinning in anticipation.

"Yeah. I 'dare' you to take all your clothes off and let me handcuff you to something you can't move, then tease you until *I* decide to let you go."

Vic's eyes widened at her dare, but to her surprise he started to laugh. "Hell, CeeCee, if you want me to put handcuffs on you, just ask."

"But it's a dare! For you!"

"Yeah, right. You know the 'you first' rule on dares. You just want me to do it to you."

"Well, aren't you going to take the dare? I mean, you were obviously, um, excited when we did the dare the other night."

"Oh, I was excited," he agreed. "But I was excited to see you naked. And to see your belt, and I'll admit it was a major turnon to see you in handcuffs."

"So . . ?" CeeCee prompted.

"But wearing handcuffs myself was just an annoyance. And now that we've done the naked-and-handcuffs dare, repeating it just wouldn't be the same. At least, not for me."

Vic looked at her with comically active eyebrows followed by an ostentatiously lip-licking leer. "But I'll be glad to cuff you up again, and even without that I *love* seeing you without clothes. You are just insanely hot . . . and your body is awesome, too."

CeeCee blushed, but she smiled at his compliment. However, her smile was a response to his comment not a sign of continuing pleasure. A frown soon replaced it. For her, part of the pleasure - she was just realizing that it was a large part of the pleasure - was feeling like she *had* to do it. That she had no more choice in *whether* she would be naked and cuffed than in what she could do *after* she was naked and cuffed. Just 'asking' for it wasn't the same.

And idea came to her and she decided to try it out. "Do you always have to do the *same* dare as the one asking you?"

"Sure," Vic replied. "That's the rule."

"But you made that rule, right?" she asked.

"I guess so," he agreed. "So what? It's a good rule. It's probably kept me from getting killed a few times."

"Yeah, but that's not the sort of dares that I'm interested in - dangerous ones, I mean. Suppose I could find something that you'd find thrilling - maybe a bit scary, but not really dangerous. If we each had a dare like that, only whatever each of us finds thrilling, would that work?"

"CeeCee, why does it matter? Like I said, if you want me to cuff you, and to tease you, and whatever else you want . . . believe me, I'm *more* than happy to oblige."

"It's just not the same," she said. "I want it to be something that *isn't* just because I ask for it. I mean, what about you? You could go do something dangerous any time you want. But you waited for a dare. Why didn't you just go do the scary things on your own?"

Vic opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it without saying anything, He looked at her for a long moment, absorbing what she had said. "I guess you're right. Knowing that someone else was setting the boundaries made it more intense. I never thought about that."

"So, will you do my dare, then?"

Vic shook his head out of reflex, then shook it again when he realized that he had disappointed CeeCee. "Sorry, beautiful, but that still doesn't make it a good dare. I mean, if you want us to take turns or something, then I'll do what you want, but it won't . . . well, it won't get my adrenaline pumping."

CeeCee sighed, her disappointment pulling at him.

He frowned, then remembered her earlier comment. "So I guess we'll just have to find, um, reciprocal dares. I'll find something to challenge you - something that will get your adrenaline going - and you'll find something for me. I can even cheat, because I have the first dare all lined up."

"What's that?"

"What you asked for, silly," he said. "Only when we do it, it will be because you're meeting your half of the dare."

"Oh, that would be great," she agreed. "Only, what will you do?"

"I guess that's up to you," replied Vic. "You come up with something that'll get my heart pumping - from the dare, not just from being near you - and we'll each do something."

All of the sudden an idea came to him - he'd been surfing some sites that his parents wouldn't really approve - and so he changed his mind.

"No, I have something else in mind. Not exactly what you asked for, but I think it will, um, work for you."

"What?" she asked.

"I'm not telling," he said teasingly. "You'll just have to wonder until I have it set up."

"Oh, you. That's not fair!"

"Yes it is," he said blandly. "And in any event, fair or not, I'm not telling."

"Oh, god, you are such a beast," CeeCee said, but her eyes were gleaming and Vic wasn't nearly chivalrous enough to ignore the signs of interest poking from her shirt.

It was as good an excuse as any to return to the other pleasurable reason for being alone together. After what they had done on their nighttime walk adventure there wasn't much body shyness between them and as Mrs. Carson had said, the chastity belt wasn't intended to keep CeeCee from having *any* fun. It did, however, keep them from doing anything that might get her pregnant. That turned out to be a surprisingly unimportant restriction.

A bit later Vic was carrying CeeCee back toward her house.

"Is something wrong," Mr. Carson said, coming out to meet them.

"No, sir," Vic assured him. "We were just, um, talking, and CeeCee, um, fell asleep."

"Indeed?" Mr. Carson said, smile crinkles near the corners of his eyes letting Vic know that the father wasn't being fooled at all - but since he was the one who had designed and placed the chastity belt on his daughter, he also knew that they couldn't get into too much trouble.

By this time, CeeCee was waking up - or coming to - again. She looked first up into Vic's face, then realized that her father was observing them. "Oh, hi, Daddy."

"Hello," Mr. Carson said wryly. "I assume you're about ready for bed. Alone."

"Yes, Daddy," she said meekly, blushing fiercely enough that Vic was sure he could feel the heat.

He set her down carefully and - looking first at her father in a confused sort of visual request for permission and claim that he had the right, permission or not - he kissed her one more time. It was a very chaste kiss by the standards of their prior activity, but it was a kiss nonetheless, and in front of her father as well.

Mr. Carson grinned with amused respect at his daughter's suitor and then waved as they went back into his house.

Chapter 6 - "First Steps"

CeeCee had also recruited her mother into her plot against Vic. Well, not really a plot *against* Vic because she thought he'd enjoy it. Or at least, someday he'd look back on it as fun. In any event, the next time that the family patriarchs had retired to the garage to work on their latest restoration, CeeCee invited Vic back to her house, with Mrs. Carson as official chaperone.

CeeCee started on her plan as soon as they were inside. "Vic, would you do something for me?"

"I suppose," he replied, looking at Mrs. Carson out of the corner of his eye. Some of the things that CeeCee had requested in the path were definitely not to be discussed in front of the parent. For that matter, writing the pretty girl a blank check for anything she might request could be dangerous ground.

"I'll leave you two to your, ah, 'work,'" Mrs. Carson said with a smirk that let Vic know he was the only one in the dark about CeeCee's request.

CeeCee pulled her boyfriend by the hand into her bedroom. Vic had a flashback to the first time he'd ever been invited there, and to some of the times since then. This was the first time since they had started being more than 'just friends' and he got a snarky grin on his face thinking about the sort of 'something' that CeeCee might want him to do for her. He had never figured out whether CeeCee's sensitivity to 'other' forms of stimulation was a result of the chastity belt's deprivation of direct contact, or whether she was just highly sensual. It didn't really matter. They had discovered a few very effective ways to send her over the edge. In fact, Vic thought he was getting pretty good at it. And CeeCee was definitely getting good - make that great - at reciprocal . . . opportunities.

But that wasn't what CeeCee had in mind.

"You need to use this - all over below your hairline," she said, offering him some tubes filled with some sort of lotion.

Vic looked at it and immediately declined. "No way. That stuff is hair remover!"

"Yep," she said smugly. "And it's required for your Halloween costume."

"Oh, hell, no," he said. "I'm not dressing up as a girl. We agreed: nothing that gives the jerks ammunition to make my life even worse than it is."

"And we won't," she said. "But you *are* dressing up as a girl. I promise you, if you do what I say, no one will know it's you. So no trouble with the jackholes."

She put her fists on her hips and looked about as stern as a freckle-faced, 16 year-old-girl can look. "And I also promise you that if you don't let me pick your Halloween costume, I'll let it slip at school that you wimped out on a dare."

"It won't matter, and I won't wimp out. If I go to PE with smooth legs, I'll be killed."

"You're out of PE until after Halloween," CeeCee said. "I cleared it with your mother already."

"Man, who all knows about this?"

"So far, just your mom and mine. If it's necessary, they'll tell our fathers. But other than them, no one has to know so the dare is still on."

"Oh, god, that is *so* not fair," he complained.

"Too bad. You lost, now you have to pay the price," she said smugly. "Everything below the hairline. I'll check. Use my shower."

"With your mother in the house?"

"She'll keep out. Besides, she already knows."

"Oh, crap," Vic said. He looked at the tubes of depilatory cream as though they were something a dog left in the yard. CeeCee laughed, but she took pity on him and leaned up to give him one of her soon-to-be-patented thermonuclear kisses.

"I'll make it up to you," she promised, her voice sending harmonics that started resonant vibrations in Vic's nerves.

Like millions of men throughout thousands of generations, CeeCee's 'arguments' were highly effective. The next thing Vic knew he was standing in the shower trying to reach awkward - in more ways than one - places with the cream. As he was about to give up on reaching anyplace else, the door to CeeCee's shower opened and she held up another tube.

"I'll get the rest," she offered.

Apparently she didn't want to get any of the cream on her clothes.

"Your mother is in the house!" Vic hissed.

"Yep," CeeCee said. "So you better be quiet and let me finish."

She stepped out after applying the cream, then stood by to make sure that Vic left the depilatory on for long enough to be effective. When he stepped from the shower they were both surprised, but a part of the surprise was how little difference it made - and how much. Vic hadn't been that hairy to begin with and the straggly hairs that did cover his legs and arms weren't that obtrusive. But seeing the sleekly shining lines of leg and arm made them seem much smoother despite no change in the actual contours.

"You look good," CeeCee observed, then followed her comment by rubbing a lotion-slicked hand down Vic's leg. That created a few responses that were quite predictable, including CeeCee's giggle.

"Down boy," she said, but her talented fingers and the slick lotion were having effects that made her words irrelevant. However, soon those same factors made her words unnecessary as well.

"Here, put this on," CeeCee commanded next. 'This' was a tight little thong shape that would have generated another complaint from Vic . . . except that thanks to her lotion-aided 'assistance' he wasn't complaining about much of anything just then.

By the time he was ready to claim a little more control over his own fate, she had him wearing thin, slick panties over the thong that was apparently called a 'gaff.' He reached for his jeans but she stopped him.

"This next," she ordered. This time the 'this' was a pair of pantyhose. With a bit of instruction, more than a bit of struggle, and some muttered complaints that CeeCee carefully did not hear, he finally had them smoothed up and in place.

"Oh, crap," CeeCee said.

"I told you this was stupid," Vic said.

"Hardly," she said. "Your damn legs just look so good that I'm jealous."

"What?" Vic said, looking around. It was obvious what he wanted to see so CeeCee took him to her floor-length mirror.

"Crap doesn't begin to describe it," Vic whispered. "That's just . . . oh, damn."

"You do have great legs," CeeCee said, regaining enough of her own composure to laugh. "But now way in hell I'm letting you have better legs than me."

"Good, let's just stop this whole stupid idea," Vic replied. Then he realized what he had implied. "Not that my legs look anything like as good as yours."

"Of course not," CeeCee said, giggling at his confusion. "I'm just gonna have to put on some pantyhose of my own."

True to her word, she grabbed another package and put them on with a lot more skill than Vic had demonstrated. Before she went to the mirror though, she grabbed a couple of pairs of short shorts.

"Here," she said, offering Vic one of the pairs of shorts. "You can put your t-shirt on, too."

Vic scowled at the way-too-small shorts in a way-too-bright blue. At least they weren't pink.

In a moment the two teens stood together in front of CeeCee's mirror and it was not a sight that pleased Vic. CeeCee, on the other hand, was thrilled. "Oh, man, this is gonna be so great!"

"Oh, god, kill me know," Vic moaned, but CeeCee had another opportunity to carefully-not-notice something - his own smile of satisfaction.

"Now the shoes," she claimed. "That's actually why I had you come over today. In fact, that's why the pantyhose, and in turn that's why you had to get rid of your body hair. It's all part of the package," CeeCee claimed. "You'll see."

With that, she brought out a literal package, not wrapped in anything fancy, but showing the name up an upscale department store.

However, Vic's package did not contain shoes.

"Oh, hell no," he repeated. "There is no way that I'm going to wear those."

'Those' were some knee-high black boots with the highest heels he'd ever seen.

"Yes, you are," insisted CeeCee.

"Only if you do, too," Vic said, figuring that she didn't have any. "I think it's time to go back to the basic rules of a dare. I won't wear anything unless you wear it first."

"Deal," CeeCee said, going back into her closet to pull out another package.

Vic tried another tactic. "Geez, CeeCee, these are expensive boots. I can't afford all this. If we take them back before they're worn, you can get your money back."

"No problem," CeeCee said lightly. "Mama's been giving me a clothing allowance since I was like, 10. And I haven't used hardly any of it in the last couple of years. I can spend a bit on your Halloween costume. It's like . . . fate or something."

"Yeah, fate," Vic said, contemplating his doom.

Once he had the tall boots on, his first few tentative steps were perhaps more graceful than the first steps of a toddling infant. Perhaps. He didn't fall, mostly because there were pieces of sturdy furniture to grab for support. It didn't help a bit that CeeCee started an immediate model strut that looked like she were gliding rather than walking. Well, except for a hip oscillation that Vic couldn't have matched even if he were barefoot.

But in the face of a dare, Vic was determined to do his best. Though it was not particularly graceful, after a few minutes he was able to make his way around the room with some reliability. He was surprised how much weight he could put on the spindly heels, once CeeCee urged him to try that.

"Not bad," CeeCee said.

"Not bad?" he repeated incredulously. "I'm about to fall over. And my feet are killing me!"

"Oh, baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet," CeeCee said. "Let me show you my torture chamber."

Linking arms with her boyfriend, she pulled him from her room and headed toward the stairs. Vic seriously considered sitting down on the steps and easing his way - slowly, but safely - to the lower floor, but CeeCee was not letting him off that easily. She practically danced up and down the stairs, forcing him to choose between taking the chance and accepting that he was a total wimp.

Taking the chance won out - after all, this was a dare. With the help of the handrail, he made it to the bottom - in one piece, and it occurred to him that he had arrived at the bottom of stairs in worse shape on prior dares. He even found that angling his feet slightly to the side made it easier. He was almost proud of himself for working that out on his own. But there was a mirror in the living room and seeing himself - again - with gleaming legs and fetish boots made it seem like small discoveries related to foot placement were pretty meaningless.

"Keep coming," CeeCee said. "One more set of stairs."

The Carson's had partially finished out their basement, placing exercise equipment in one area along with yet more mirrors.

"This was my torture chamber," CeeCee explained. "Well, in the old house it was. Anyway, this is where I learned to walk like a model. You will, too."

"Why? I'm not gonna be a model. No one's gonna see me wearing these boots, let alone anything else."

Surprisingly, CeeCee agreed. "You're right. No one is gonna see *you* in those boots. They're going to see a hot woman who walks like she was born in them."

"Hell, I can't even walk in them at all," Vic complained. "I think my toes went numb halfway down the *first* set of stairs, and I'm sure my ankles caught fire coming down here."

"Oh, we'll work the kinks out," CeeCee claimed, then giggled. "Kinks is right, or at least kinky. You do look hot."

"I think . . . right now . . . that 'thanks' are not in order for that comment."

"They will be," she promised. "You'll see."

She led him on a tour of what she called her torture chamber. The main threat was a treadmill and she was quick to point out one of the 'special' features. "Daddy modified this one so that the tread belt is only six inches wide."

"Why?"

"Because models walk with their feet in a narrow line, like on a tightrope," she explained. "They don't lumber along like a bowlegged gorilla."

"Oogah, boogah," Vic replied. "Gorilla my dreams, I'm happy being Tarzan if you'll be my Jane."

"Not today," she said, though she granted him the giggle his silliness requested. "C'mon, um, 'Vickie,' up and at 'em."

"No," Vic said, stopping in his tracks. "I'm not gonna be Vickie. That's a no-go point. I wouldn't be 'Willy' when I was growing up, and I won't be Vickie now. Besides, if you start calling me 'Vickie' then you'll either do it when I'm, um, in disguise and someone will figure it out, or you'll call me Vickie when I'm *not* in disguise and that will really make the crap hit the fan."

"Oh, shoot," she said, pouting so prettily that Vic nearly relented. "Okay, not Vickie. How about . . . Victoria?"

"Sounds like some old English prude with a prune face and crossed eyes."

CeeCee giggled at that, but had to nod. "How about . . . let's see . . . oh, I got it. 'Tori.'"

Vic's reflexive rejection died on his lips. One of his online friends had provided a link to a movie with a Tori-something in it and she was just impossibly hot. Even with the prospect of being named after a woman who did things - on film - that he would never, ever, ever under any circumstances do, he couldn't stop a smile of remembered interest from touching his face. CeeCee misinterpreted his smile, but he wasn't going to be able to explain to his *girlfriend* about watching a porn movie with some other woman in it. So he decided he'd better just accept yet another inevitable step toward his impending doom.

CeeCee was pulling him again and he let himself be led to the treadmill.

"CeeCee, you gotta give me a break. I can hardly *walk* in these things, let alone run!"

"You won't have to run," she explained. "This is for learning to walk in heels, like a model. We'll start out slow and with no ramp."

"Start out?" Vic repeated weakly.

"Just get on the belt," CeeCee ordered.

She manipulated the controls and true to her promise it only required a slow walk. It did, however, require Vic to put his feet in a narrow line.

"I feel like I'm gonna fall over," He complained, grabbing for the hand rails.

"None of that," CeeCee said, reaching out with a light, flexible rod to sting at his fingers. "That's part of this. You need to learn to move your hands to balance yourself. And let your knees come straight. You're walking like a duck!"

The exercise room had large mirrors in several places, one of which was set directly ahead of the treadmill. It also had a few cameras that played into screens that the walker could see. CeeCee was clearly experienced at this sort of challenge. She pointed out flaws in his walk - even switching places with him to show a better way to manage the hip/arm/leg/waist symphony that turned a 'clump' into a glide.

Vic had to admit that her training was effective. In only 15 minutes, the reflected and recorded images showed competence. In 30 it was approaching grace. However, from there is started to degrade.

CeeCee was watching for that. She eased the treadmill to a stop and helped Vic step down.

"Not bad," CeeCee praised. Well, praised faintly, anyway. "You're starting to get it down. But I know you're getting tired."

"I'll say," Vic confirmed. "I'm sorry, but I need a break."

"Nothing to be sorry about," CeeCee said. "You really did do pretty well. Better than I did the first time I tried to walk in heels."

She giggled and poked at Vic's arm. "Of course, I was 8 at the time."

"Can I take these boots off now?"

"Not yet," CeeCee replied. "But no more walking for a while. Now you can sit."

"Thank you, thank you," He said so mournfully that CeeCee giggled again.

It didn't turn out to be that much of an improvement. CeeCee did indeed let Vic sit, but only to stand up again, and then sit again, and stand up. Seemingly innocuous chairs in the exercise area were really a spectrum of challenges. Heights were different. Some were cushioned so softly that getting out would be a challenge for Vic in his own shoes. CeeCee had to explain how his feet needed to be placed both in sitting and in standing, and she wouldn't let her protégé's legs flop ungracefully - or perhaps indiscreetly in a skirt - at any point in the evolution.

"I'm sorry, CeeCee," Vic said. "But I'm really hurting. My legs are cramping all the way to my ears."

"I know, love, but we don't have a lot of time," CeeCee replied. "However, one more thing and you can be done for the night."

"What's that?"

"Just walk home," CeeCee explained.

Vic realized that this was not a simple as the words might imply. "Why do I have the feeling that means, 'before I change out of these boots' - or the pantyhose and shorts?"

"Because you know me," CeeCee said, giggling.

She helped him to stand, then leaned up for a kiss. "You really did well, and I know you're really doing this for me, not just for the dare."

Vic blushed, but nodded.

CeeCee led the way to the door. "From here, just walk home."

"By myself?"

"Yes," CeeCee confirmed. "Your mother knows you're coming. I want to watch from here."

She giggled, then added, "Because I want to see what you look like from a bit of distance, but mostly because I think your legs are hot and want to watch you wiggle."

Vic's voice took on a comically dark tone. "Someday, somehow, when you least expect it, I'll get even."

"Not on your best day and my worst," CeeCee claimed, but she gave him another kiss, followed by a gentle push toward the Robinson home.




There was a low retaining wall between the two houses so the only real choice was to walk down to the sidewalk, then over. At least, that was the only real choice for someone wearing steeple-high, needle-sharp heels. Delicate taps sounded off the pavement as he walked, changing to a sharper echo when Vic entered the garage. It was clear that Mrs. Robinson had been warned because she opened the door just as he reached it.

"Oh, my," she said, eyes wide with a combination of confusion and humor and . . . appreciation. "I never would have believed it."

"Well, I still don't," Vic said.

"Do you need any help?" Mrs. Robinson asked.

"I think I got it," Vic replied. "As soon as I get to my room I'll get out of these boots and the . . . other things. Then I'm going to soak my feet for a week."

"I'll bring a foot tub and some soothing bath beads. How long have you been wearing those boots?"

"I don't know. Is it Tuesday yet? I think it's been at least three days."

Mrs. Robinson laughed, but she nodded her understanding.

Unfortunately for Vic's peace of mind, when Mrs. Robinson returned she found him admiring the look of long, shiny legs in highly stylized boots, doing the Betty Grable pose. She laughed again, causing Vic to lose a lot of coolness points even in his own mind. There wasn't much he could do about that but blush as he moved to his bed. He managed to work the hidden zipper down on his boots, then paused to rub his feet through the taut material of the pantyhose.

"I watched as you walked over," Mrs. Robinson said. "You were really moving well in those boots. I'm surprised. I don't think I could do that well myself. Those are very high heels."

"Tell me about it," Vic groaned. "CeeCee is a slave driver."

"What did she have you do?"

"You know that she used to do the kiddie/teen beauty pageants, right?"

Mrs. Robinson nodded and Vic continued, "Well, to teach her how to walk, they have a treadmill. I think I've earned the right to complain about heels, because I've definitely walked a mile in those shoes."

"Really? A mile in *those* heels?"

Vic shrugged. "Well, maybe not. But it sure seemed like it."

Mrs. Robinson sat down next to her son. "Obviously CeeCee talked with me about this. I agreed, but only because I know you like your dares - and because I know it doesn't do any good for me to try to talk you out of them. But if you want out of this one, I'll just tell CeeCee that I won't allow it."

"Thanks, mom, but I'm going to try to see it through," Vic said. "The funny thing is, it's kinda cool to look . . . good, I guess. CeeCee said my legs look good, and they kinda do, don't they?"

"Actually, they look very good," Mrs. Robinson confirmed. "Of course, with those heels . . ."

"Don't remind me," Vic groaned again, but he smiled. "So, what's next?"

"Didn't CeeCee tell you?"

Vic shook his head, prompting another smile from his mother. "Then I won't either," she said. "You'll just have to wait and see."

"Lucky me," Vic said, returning to rubbing his feet.

Chapter 7 - "It Touches Me"

CeeCee started to question Vic as soon as he was within whisper distance while he walked her to the bus stop the next morning. "So, did you like it?"

Before he could answer, she followed up with more questions and comments. "I mean, did it 'thrill' you to walk outside, wearing pantyhose and high-heeled boots? I figured that would get your adrenaline fix for sure."

Vic just looked at her for a moment, eyes widening at the revelation of her ploy. "You mean that last bit was just to get my heart pumping?"

"Well, not just for that," she admitted, blushing. "I really did like the way you looked wearing those boots. It was crazy hot. But I thought you'd enjoy it, too."

Vic was thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head ruefully. "You know, that might have worked, except my feet were hurting so bad that's all I was thinking about. Well, that and not falling over."

Then he had a question of his own. "You really liked seeing me in those boots?"

That re-ignited CeeCee's blush, but she had to nod. "Yeah, I did." She shrugged and added, "I mean, look at me . . ."

Vic interrupted with a, "Glad to."

She giggled and slapped his arm at the interruption, but she continued, "I mean, I'm wearing a freaking chastity belt - and I like it! I was so hot when we were naked in the woods wearing only handcuffs that I could hardly walk! I guess if I like the fact my boyfriend looks great in heels, well, that's hardly the worst of my weirdness."

"You liked it?" Vic had to confirm again.

"Oh, totally. After your mom let you into your house, I had to go up to my shower and . . . well, you know."

Vic moaned, and twitched at a sudden discomfort that he couldn’t really do anything about - at least not in public. "Oh, god, CeeCee, you are so bad . . . which is so damn good I can't think straight."

"Glad to know it," she smirked. "You're not so bad yourself. I mean, I let Daddy put this belt on me because I knew I couldn't keep my hands off you . . ." She giggled and shrugged, "So okay, I can't keep my hands off you anyway. But I knew I wouldn't be able to say no to . . . you know. But now that I'm wearing it, I think it's . . . I mean, it's not all bad, y'know?"

"No, I don't know," Vic said with his own grin. "Tell me more."

"Oh, god, you are such a guy," she said, slapping his arm again.

"Hey, guys, get a room," one of their fellow students said. The pair had not noticed that a few more of their neighbors had assembled to catch the bus.

"Jealous," Vic said, grinning at the guy while placing his arm around CeeCee's waist.

She leaned into Vic and whispered into his ear, "If they only knew . . ."

She was rewarded with another low groan from Vic, mostly drowned out by the sound of brakes on the arriving bus.

As usual, they hardly saw each other during the day so their conversation resumed on the ride home. Vic decided to get back at CeeCee for her morning teases by whispering suggestions into her ear on ways he might use the handcuffs on her. He decided his little payback worked . . . but maybe too well. Once they were off the bus CeeCee practically ran home. She left him standing at the head of her sidewalk with little more than quick good-bye and an even quicker kiss. It was clear she was headed for another . . . task that just couldn't wait any longer.

So clear, in fact, that even thinking about it meant Vic was paying a price of his own for his teasing. Thankfully, by the time he got to his own house the outward signs had subsided enough he could greet his mother with an open, innocent face.

"What have you been up to?" she challenged immediately.

[Well, so much for the innocent look,] he thought.

"Just walking CeeCee home," he claimed.

Mrs. Robinson muttered under her breath, "I'm beginning to think it's a good thing that girl has the belt on."

"What?" Vic asked, then smirked at the blush that showed on his mother's face.

His smile lasted only a second though. There was something that he needed to talk about - with someone - and none of the other options would do.

"Mom, can we talk for a minute?"

"Of course, dear. What do you need?"

"What did you think when I came home wearing those boots the other night?"

She frowned, and moved to refill her coffee cup. It was so clearly a stall that Vic let her have the time, moving to get a coke for himself.

"I'm more interested in what you thought of it," she finally said.

"Yeah, that's the problem," Vic sighed.

This time Mrs. Robinson let Vic have the time to gather his thoughts.

"I've never been Joe Studly," he began. "CeeCee is my first real girlfriend, and she's so beautiful that I wonder why shy picked me . . ."

"Dear, you're a very good-looking young man. I can see why she's attracted to you."

"Yeah, thanks, but . . . well, she could have just about any guy in school, especially now that she's, y'know, dressing a little better. Why me?"

Mrs. Robinson thought about his question for a moment. "Perhaps it's because you were friends with her even before she started 'dressing a little better.' It shows you're not so shallow that you only care about how a girl looks."

"CeeCee always looks good," Vic defended her. "She did even when she was in her tomboy stage."

"I'm glad you think so, and actually I agree," Mrs. Robinson said. "But don't discount the fact she knows you liked her before she changed. I think that's important."

"Okay," Vic said, "but . . . is that the only thing?"

"Well, clearly I don't think so," Mrs. Robinson said. "I think there are a lot of good things about you, and that CeeCee is lucky to have you." She smiled and added, "Of course, I may be a bit biased."

Vic gave her the grin her comment requested. "Mom, I just need to talk about this with someone, but you have to promise that you won't tell anyone else. Most especially not CeeCee's parents."

She shook her head immediately. "I'm not making a blank promise like that. I'm sorry, but if I think it's necessary for CeeCee's safety, or if I think whatever is bothering you is likely to get either of you in serious trouble . . ."

"It's nothing like that," Vic said. He sighed, then shrugged. "Okay, here goes anyway. CeeCee told me she really liked the way I looked wearing those boots."

"So?" Mrs. Robinson said.

"No, I mean, *really* liked it. She said it, um . . . excited her."

"Oh," Mrs. Robinson said.

Vic looked away from his mother for a moment, finding something outside that was apparently fascinating. When he spoke, he was still looking away. "And, um, it sorta . . . excited me, too."

"Like when you were looking at your legs in the mirror?" his mother prompted.

"Yeah," he admitted. "It's not like a regular dare. You know, hopping a bike over a fence or something. That's, like, physically risky . . ."

"I think I've been trying to tell you that for a long time," she interrupted again.

"Yeah, I know, but that's sorta the point. The risk of getting hurt is exciting. CeeCee says I'm an adrenaline junky, and she's probably right. This wasn't like that. But . . . I liked the feeling."

Mrs. Robinson frowned again. "So what do you want to do about that?"

"I don't know," Vic said. "That's the problem."

Now it was Mrs. Robinson's time to look out the window for a few minutes. When she looked back, she said, "Well, first off, no matter what, you know your father and I love you."

"Yeah, mom, and thanks. But if the 'no matter what' is supposed to mean even if I'm gay . . . well, don't worry about it. I like girls, and only girls. And I like them - particularly CeeCee - a lot."

Mrs. Robinson nodded, but also disagreed, "Actually, I had that pretty much figured out on my own. No, I was thinking more about other . . . unusual interests." She thought for a moment, then asked, "Like, does it excite you that she's wearing her chastity belt?"

Vic blushed, but after a moment he nodded.

Mrs. Robinson nodded again, then said, "Well, this is something we need to think about a little. I'd like to talk with your father about it."

That brought a wince to Vic's face, but after a moment he nodded. "Yeah, I guess we need to talk."

"He's due back in town tomorrow night," Mrs. Robinson said. "Let me talk to him first. In the meantime, I expect you have some homework . . ?"

Vic nodded and picked up his books.

As he left the room, his mother called after him. "Vic, don't worry about it. We'll work something out."

He looked back and smiled, but it wasn't clear that his heart agreed with the expression he had placed on his face.

He used his homework to distract himself for a while, but his thoughts kept coming back to one of his mother's questions. He *did* get excited at the thought that CeeCee was wearing a chastity belt - wearing a belt held on with chains that she couldn't get out of. He was uncomfortable about the way he had felt when he saw his shining legs in high-heeled boots and it was a lot easier to think about another topic that most people would think was weird, but less challenging to his own self image.

He started thinking about another weekend 'movie' date and what he might do to CeeCee to 'excite' her - and maybe give himself a charge as well. They had worked out the plan for the weekend dates, of course, though not quite the dates that most of their peers were planning. One night CeeCee got to choose the activity, and the other was Vic's to choose. CeeCee made it clear that her choice needed to be on Saturday - starting in the afternoon. That left Friday for their 'movie night.'

They did not, of course, go to see a movie. Instead, they parked the pickup in 'their' spot near the far side of the wooded area.

"Are we going to take another naked, handcuffed, stroll?" CeeCee asked with a grin, and a few other indications of interested anticipation.

"No," Vic said. "We're not going to be naked, handcuffed, and strolling. At least, not all three at the same time."

"Ooh, that's interesting. Tell me more."

"Nope," Vic said smugly.

He opened his door to get out, but when CeeCee did the same, he stopped her.

"Stay in the truck. But you can start taking all your clothes off. I like that part."

CeeCee blushed, but the light in her eyes showed that her excitement was building and she started to do as she was told. By the time she got to the 'interesting' part, Vic was around to her side of the truck cab. He reached behind the seat and pulled out the little bag that held the handcuffs.

He also pulled out a roll of cloth tape.

"Hold out your hands," he ordered once CeeCee was undressed. Well, almost as soon as she finished. He couldn't help looking at her taut teen body - and especially at the shining plate that she couldn't remove.

He used the cloth tape to wrap her wrists - not tightly, but building up layers until they were moderately stiff. Then he did the same to her ankles. Only then did he pull out the handcuffs.

"Okay, step down," he ordered. His body shielded her from sight - mostly - and there wasn't anyone else around anyway, but the idea of leaving the protection of the truck obviously excited her. Her little tattletales were not hidden by their own metal covers.

Vic spun her around and placed the fuzzy handcuffs on her wrists. She could tell what the tape was for immediately because it protected her wrists even more than the fake fur did. And that implied . . .

In another moment her ankles were also linked together. Her slender ankles - even wrapped - were small enough to fit within the normal police-style cuffs.

Then Vic pulled something else from the bag - a blindfold.

"Don't go away," he said with a snicker after she was blindfolded and bound hand and foot.

CeeCee could feel him move away and knew that now she was possibly exposed to . . . well, anyone who happened along. It was impossibly thrilling to stand there, naked and exposed, helpless and . . . exposed. She could hear Vic doing something in the back of the pickup, but it wasn't clear enough for her to make out what.

A few minutes later - it seemed longer, but it must have been only a few minutes - she heard a foot crunch on the ground and told herself it had to be Vic. I had to be.

Then she stifled the back half of a scream as she was picked up and carried off. It had to be Vic. In her mind she knew it was Vic, but the fact that she was helpless, blindfolded, and exposed meant it was at least possible it was someone else, and that possibility - no matter how remote - sent her nerves into a song of excitement so bad - or so good - that she could hardly breathe.

It was only a few steps before her position changed again. The person carrying her - who had still not said a word - rolled her off his shoulder and she squeaked again as she started to fall. But the fall was short and she landed softly on what she quickly realized was an inflated air mattress.

Still silently, her . . . controller positioned her with her legs bent, then released one of the cuffs from her wrists. Pulling slowly, irresistibly, her wrists were moved to her ankles and the cuff replaced, now holding her in an immovable hog tie.

There wasn't any reason she couldn't have spoken while she was being carried, but somehow the darkness within her blindfold made it seem like she needed to be silent as well. Until now. "No, Vic, you can't do this to me. You see, there's this . . . part, on the inside of my . . . belt . . . on the inside, and it . . . it . . . touches me. I won't be able to . . . I won't . . ."

Her voice trailed off into increasingly frantic pants, but as she opened her mouth to gather in the air for an echoing scream, she felt a soft shape fill the space. That didn't stop her scream, but she could tell the sound didn't get very far.

A couple of strips of tape crossed over her lips and held the shape in place. She squirmed within her bonds as she tried to catch her breath, feeling the intensity build again as her bent body pressed the plate into her. She started to shake her head, but stopped when - finally - she heard Vic's voice.

"Okay, CeeCee, here's the deal. I'm putting a remote control - a clicker - in your hand. In fact, I'm taping it in place so that you can't drop it. That's your 'okay' and also your 'stop now' signal. Every now and then click it. It triggers a buzzer that I can hear in the truck. If you just can't take it anymore, then start clicking it a lot, over and over. I'll stop. If I don't hear a click for several minutes, then I'll stop to see why. Okay? Click it if you're okay."

She relaxed a little at his words. Somehow, knowing that she *could* make it stop meant that she didn't *have* to make it stop. At least, not immediately. So she clicked the remote once.

Vic's words, and the concentration to absorb them, had distracted her from her inner sensations enough that she was sliding down from her peak rather than building to another one.

"Whhh nnuuuh?" she said. Or tried to say.

"What now?" Vic repeated. At her nod, he said - in a lilting, casual voice - "Oh, I think I'm going to go for a little drive. Down Main Street, I expect."

CeeCee clicked the button at his words and her agitation made it clear this was the first of a stop-now signal, but he caught her hand before she could do more than a single pulse. "Oh, by the way, if you use the stop signal, then you don't get to choose my Halloween costume any more. Click once if you understand."

After a moment, CeeCee clicked the remote - just once.

Her fear of being driven naked though the middle of town was put to rest . . . partially . . . when she felt Vic draw a blanket or tarp over her and tie it down. At least she wasn't going to be exposed.

But the little knob in her chastity belt was reclaiming her attention.

And when Vic started the truck, her excitement rose again.

And when they had driven a few blocks to reach a busier road - she could hear the traffic - her excitement rose again.

She didn't actually remember to click the remote, but her fists were clenching with the effort to put off her internal explosion and the pressure tripped the button. She felt the click, even through her arousal, and after a few panting breaths she clicked it again. It became a link to the world outside her body. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Click. Breathebreathebreathe . . . breathe. Click.

CeeCee didn't know how many clicks she actually managed before she just couldn't hold off any more. Her body arched even more than her hogtie required, but when it tried to bend the other way the chains locked her into a frozen, timeless position. She knew she was screaming into her gag but no one seemed to hear. And then her internal bomb went off again. And again. And . . .

The next thing she knew, Vic was patting lightly on her cheeks. The gag was out and the blindfold off, and though she was still chained into her arched position, it was a relief to be able to see.

Wait . . . she could see. That meant the cover was pulled back, which meant that others could see her . . .

It took a few minutes of frantically rolling eyes to realize that the tailgate was down on the pickup and that Vic had parked where no one could actually see under the tarp.

"You stopped clicking," Vic said. "I was worried, and when I found a place to check on you, you were unconscious."

"I'm okay," she whispered hoarsely.

"I was so worried," Vic said. "I was afraid that the nerf ball had suffocated you or something."

"Nerf ball?" she repeated slowly, licking her lips to moisten them.

"That's what I used for the gag," Vic explained.

"Do you have any water?" CeeCee croaked.

"Let me get you loose first," Vic offered.

CeeCee shook her head and repeated, "Water?"

Her boyfriend took a look around to make sure that no one could see into the back of the pickup, then hurried to the cab to get a water bottle. He let CeeCee have a few sips, then a few more when she nodded.

"Ohmigod, Vic, that was intense!" she whispered when she had recovered a bit. "I was just on fire! But it was awesome. Oh, god, I want you so bad right now."

"Man, that's not going to make the drive home any easier," Vic said, smiling even as he complained. "Let me let you loose, but we'll have to drive somewhere more private - by the woods, I guess - before I can let you out."

"No," she said quickly, then added, "I mean, we can go back to the park, but . . . don't let me loose yet. Let me ride back this way."

"Geez, CeeCee you're insatiable," Vic said, but his grin was genuine now that she made it clear she was not unhappy with his little adventure.

"Don't you forget it, stud," she whispered, sagging a bit in her chains. She was tired, but also smug about being able to stand her position. She 'happened' to notice that the tailgate on the pickup was low enough that she could see Vic's jeans. At least the important part of them. Her position was having an effect on him, too.

"Man, what I am going to do to you tomorrow night," she promised, smirking at his instant distress. And at a pulse that showed the idea was interesting to him, too.

Vic managed a laugh, though after a long enough pause that they both knew her promise had struck home. Along with the laugh he pulled up the tailgate. In a few minutes - accompanied by periodic clicks on her remote - the truck pulled to a stop. This time the cover came off before the tailgate came down. Vic jumped into the bed, released the cuffs, and CeeCee started to sit up - then quickly flopped back down.

"Is anyone around?"

"Just a few thousand horny guys and the Marine Corps marching band," Vic said.

She blushed, but sat up anyway. "Well, if that's all."

Of course they were alone again, in 'their' parking spot. Vic gallantly offered his hand to help her down and then continued to hold it as they walked around to her passenger door. Vic pulled a pair of bandage scissors out of the little bag and proceeded to cut the tape off her wrists and ankles. CeeCee could have reached for her clothes - her bra at least - as soon as he was done with her wrists - sooner if she wanted to pull from his hands. Instead, she sat there wearing only her chastity belt until Vic was finished with all the tape. Only then, smugly holding his eyes with her motion, did she pick up her bra. In a few more minutes she had finished dressing, followed by her reaching out to flick lightly at Vic's nose.

"You can breathe now, if you want to," she purred.

"Oh, man, you are so insanely hot," he moaned.

"Glad you noticed, you brute," she said. "What you did to me . . ."

"Brute?" he repeated. "I thought you liked it!"

"Ohmigod, I *loved* it," she said. "But that doesn’t mean you weren't a brute. It just means that I happen to like brutes."

She slid down off the seat to bestow one of her stellar nova kisses on him. After they both caught their breath she said, "I don't care about any more dares, or reciprocal dares, or anything like that. I just want you to do whatever you want with me. Whenever you want."

She reached down to tap lightly on her hidden guard. "Well, anything you *can* do, of course."

She giggled as she saw ideas start to churn behind Vic's eyes.

"Oh, man, you are not nice," he panted. "Not nice at all."

"Don't you forget it," she said, purring again. "Just because you're a big, strong brute who chains me to the bed - a pickup bed, at least - doesn't mean I can't get back at you."

He laughed, but nodded her point.

Then she giggled again, reaching out to touch him lightly on the nose with her finger. "And tomorrow night, your ass is mine."

Chapter 8 - "I'd Like You To Meet Tori"

Despite their torrid romance, both teens had chores to do on Saturday so they couldn't get together until later in the afternoon. Well, the fact they slept until almost noon had something to do with it, too. A text trail started the final arrangements (translated from the shorthand).

CC: When are you gonna be free?
V: Never, probably, but I can be rented for a reasonable fee.
CC: Dork. So, when?
V: Maybe 30 minutes.
CC: K. Put on your pantyhose and boots and walk over.
V: Not gonna happen. Not in the daylight.
CC: Chicken??
V: Laughing out loud. I've done things that would turn your hair white and we both know it. That won't work with me.
CC: Whatever. At least bring them, and the other things. So, 30 minutes?
V: About.

True to his word, half an hour later Vic was knocking on the Carson front door. CeeCee met him like she had been waiting for his signal. Well, someone who might have been CeeCee. The girl who welcomed him into her house, and then into her room, was even hotter than his already-phenomenal girlfriend.

Actually, there wasn't any doubt in Vic's mind that this was CeeCee, but he knew his mouth was hanging open anyway. She was wearing her own near-fetish boots and had a pantyhose shimmer on her sleek legs. Those improvements he had seen before. But she also had long, dark-red hair and was wearing dramatic, smoky makeup. In short, she was the very teen goddess that he dreamed would move in next door - that CeeCee could become if she only tried. Except . . . now she showed him that even his dreams were too limited.

"My parents are out for a while," she reported, then giggled at the glazed look in Vic's eyes. "They're on a date of their own, I think. But they didn't take the chastity belt tool so I expect they'll be home in a few hours."

"Maybe we ought to hide that tool . . . or steal it," Vic suggested with a smirk, finally managing to get his mind working again.

"Ohmigod! That would be *too* much fun," CeeCee said. "I can just see them hurrying into the house . . . then go nuts looking for the thing."

They looked at each other and cracked up with laughter, but even as she was giggling CeeCee was urging Vic to her shower.

"You need to clean up again. The hair remover is already in the shower. I'll help you with some of the, um, hard-to-reach spots."

She helped him with another problem as well, and after that he was able to get dressed in his gaff and pantyhose without damage to essential parts of his young body. However, she stopped him when he started to put on his spike-heeled boots.

"Not yet, my lovely," CeeCee said, though the way she rubbed her hand over his sleekly smooth, shining leg made some of her earlier assistance moot.

"Tonight we fix you up right," she promised - or threatened.

It seemed like a threat when she brought out another medieval torture garment. This time a no-kidding, laces-and-stays corset. He had been expecting something like this - though that expectation was far short of the reality, too. Vic learned a lot about corsets that night, not the least of which was that no matter how bad it seemed when she first tied off the laces, a half hour later there was room to shrink his waist some more. He was also surprised that the thing was actually padded over the hips, but since all he had *not* known about corsets would fill a lot more books than what he knew, it was just part of the overall strangeness.

CeeCee used that half hour between corset tortures for another part of his plan for the evening.

"Makeup?" Vic protested. "I thought I was gonna be wearing a mask."

"You are," CeeCee promised. "And it will be enough to keep your identity secret - as long as you pull off the basic girl masquerade well enough. Remember, you can't be a guy in a girl costume or someone might figure something out. Everyone has to think that you're a girl in a Halloween costume. Tonight is about making that part work."

She didn't start applying makeup, however. Her first attack used another instrument of torture.

Tweezers.

"I can't go to school with no eyebrows!" Vic protested.

"I'm only going to clean them up a little," CeeCee said. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not on a bet," Vic said, then he had to chuckle a little. "Not even this one."

"Wimp," she said, but she moved closer and reached out for the first tug. Vic decided it was probably no accident that her position allowed him to see a long, fascinating way down the front of her shirt. But he also realized that he was willing to pay the price for that view.

True once again to her word, CeeCee plucked for a longish time, but when she finally let Vic see his face he realized that he could get away with it at school. He had never had particularly thick eyebrows - or worse yet, a unibrow - and the shaping wasn't that obvious. As CeeCee had said, it was more cleaning up stragglers than building porn-queen arches. He sighed and resigned himself to whatever else CeeCee had in mind, though when the first part of that was to cover the mirrors in her room he lifted one of his newly-shaped brows at her. Not that it did any good. CeeCee was working to a plan and rolling over any and all obstacles in her way. It didn't seem important at the time anyway. After all, when a gorgeous teen angel asks you into her bedroom, with her parents out of the house, guys don't spend a lot of time thinking about mirrors.

It was kind of fun, actually. CeeCee was certainly having fun with it. She 'accidentally' let him catch glimpses down her blouse, or brushed one of her high, proud breasts against him, or straddled one of his legs so that he could feel the metal guardian within her shorts . . . and so could she. It was distracting enough that Vic's biggest problem was keeping himself from grabbing her for another stellar core kiss and it didn't seem to matter what else was going on.

But, with the same skill that had kept boys dancing to their tune since Oogah chased Boogah, CeeCee's command of feminine leverage allowed her to finish her task even as it prevented Vic from noticing what that task entailed. When she finally stepped back, he re-entered the real world and realized what had been happening to him.

"What did you do?"

"What do you think, dork?" she asked, snickering at him. "I made you beautiful."

"I gotta see," he said, looking around.

"Not yet," she said. "We need to do just a few more things."

Those included placing a long, dark wig on his head and styling it - something that did not reduce Vic's desire to see what he looked like - and placing a couple of all-too-obvious shapes inside the cups of his corset.

"Geez, these things are huge!"

CeeCee giggled, then reached out to 'honk' one. "Quit bragging. They're just right for your costume. You will be popular, though - at least with the guys."

She cut off his protest at *that* unacceptable situation with another pull on his already tight laces. After that session of waist attack, she finally let - or made - him put on his boots. The last steps were a simple top and another pair of shorts. CeeCee insisted that the hip pads gave him a lot better shape, but between the boobs he couldn't see over and the waist he couldn't bend, that didn't seem like a critical benefit. At least, not like a critical addition to an already-overwhelming package.

"I just gotta see what I look like," he demanded.

CeeCee grinned at him. "You're gonna be shocked. You look hot!"

That didn't help a bit . . . but the Fates had other plans in store for one confused teen.

Vic was moving to uncover her bedroom mirror when they heard the garage door opening.

"Oh, god, it's my parents," CeeCee said.

"I need to hide," Vic said.

"No way," CeeCee disagreed. She grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him toward the stairs. "Just speak softly, and let me do most of the talking."

It was unfair - lots of things were unfair, Vic knew, but this definitely was getting added to the list - that she was so much better at walking in heels than he was. She could pull him along and his balance was precarious (SAT word) enough that his choices were follow or fall.

They arrived at the bottom of the stairs about the time that CeeCee's mother was getting to the same place.

Which was about the time that Vic saw himself in the mirror at the foot of the stairs.




There wasn't any contest on who was the most surprised - Vic had that hands down. But his response was to lock down in a frozen daze so his shock didn't really show. And the fact Mrs. Carson surprise was so muted was almost as important as the intensity of Vic's.

"Mama, I'd like you to meet Tori," CeeCee offered.

"One of your friends from school?" Mrs. Carson asked, holding out her hand to shake the newcomer's hand.

"Oh, sure," CeeCee said breezily. "We've known each other for a while."

Tori's hand moved to meet *her* neighbor's with a reflex that didn't require a fully rebooted mind, but working the digit rendezvous pulled her eyes from the mirror enough that she could meet Mrs. Carson's gaze. That actually helped.

CeeCee's mother had a glazed look to her eyes that had little to do with meeting one of CeeCee's classmates. It was clear that she was on an autopilot of her own, and the reason was made abundantly clear when Mr. Carson entered . . . carrying the chastity belt link tool.

"Is that for me?" CeeCee teased.

Mrs. Carson blushed. Mr. Carson merely smiled, but shook his head. For an insane moment Tori had this image of a blush on his Teutonic visage and that was almost enough to get her mind off her own appearance.

Almost.

Mr. Carson's introduction to "Tori" was even more distracted than his wife's. After a barely civil, "Nice to meet you," both parents were on their way up to an interest that they were past even trying to hide.

"Ohmigod," Tori whispered. "That is *way* too TMI."

"I think it's sweet," CeeCee said. She pulled Tori over so that they could stand side by side in front of the mirror. "And did you notice?"

"Notice what?" Tori asked, her voice not showing any real interest in the question. She was lost in the image in the mirror again.

"Neither of them thought you were anything but one of my friends from school," CeeCee said. "One of my *girl* friends from school."

As much as she might want to argue, Tori could understand. The two teen girls she saw in the mirror both had the fresh, effervescent look of young ladies on the verge of becoming women. And they were both way up into the cheerleader-cute range. In a funny way, Tori thought she looked better than CeeCee because the dramatic makeup that had so captivated Vic was a bit over the top for the bouncy energy of teenage girls. CeeCee looked someone trying too hard to be sexy, while Tori looked more like the real thing - at least, the 17-year-old version of the real thing. At one level, Tori knew that was just wrong. What self-respecting teenage boy would want to look that good as s girl?

And yet . . . and yet . . .

How many teenage boys could look that good even if they *did* want to? It made Vic someone . . . special.

In their average high school of a thousand or so students, there were a few really good football players and a couple of dozen not-so-bad ones. In an area where Vic might have had a better chance of being 'special' there were two or three really good computer wizards and a couple of dozen not-so-bad, which was about the best that Vic could claim for himself. But was there another boy who could look that good as a girl in the whole city? In the whole state? Did Vic have a sort of one-in-a-million distinction in this one area? Something to take him from his seriously average appearance in his seriously average home with seriously average parents to become someone special?

"Earth to Tori," CeeCee's voice chimed in his ear. "Don't get lost in there, lover."

"Ohmigod," Tori whispered again.

CeeCee's delighted giggle rang around them while the redhead pulled the brunette toward the Carson kitchen. "This calls for a celebration."

"This calls for the men in white coats carrying jackets with really long sleeves," Tori said. "This is just crazy."

"Yeah, but it works," CeeCee said. "And the rule is: if it's crazy but works, it's not crazy."

"I think that's supposed to be about stupid," Tori said.

"Same thing," CeeCee insisted. She started pulling bowls, ice cream, and chocolate - lots of chocolate - out of various places in their kitchen and soon had Tori learning yet another set of skills. Like how to eat without getting long hair in her mouth, and how to place her bowl so that she could see it past her still-very-large-seeming bosom. Then she had to wait for CeeCee to run up to her room to get makeup repair supplies. This time during the redhead's magic show she made Tori pay better attention. On the day of the Halloween costumes, she was going to have to do her own maintenance, even if CeeCee could help with the original application.

After that it was another session on the narrow-track treadmill and varied-height seats. Even Tori had to admit that she was getting fairly good at walking with the carefully structured gait of glamorous models.

CeeCee had been drilling Tori on speaking from the time her parents had disappeared upstairs, but that wasn't coming along as well as the walking. For some reason, CeeCee wanted a very specific tone from Tori. It wasn't much higher than Vic's natural voice - which was a tenor so there was plenty of overlap with girls' voices. What CeeCee insisted on though was a certain breathy quality, with a bit of throatiness, and - for some reason - a roll to the r sounds. She promised that it was the best way to disguise Vic's real voice, even from friends, and since the last thing that Tori wanted was to be found out, she went along.

"Okay, I think you're ready," CeeCee declared.

"Ready for what?" Tori asked suspiciously.

"Your debut, of course," CeeCee blandly.

"What, like . . . going out in public? No way!"

CeeCee was undeterred. "Yes way. I'll get you a purse."

"Not gonna happen," Tori said with equal determination. At least, she felt she was equally determined. Silly girl.

However, instead of going first to find a purse for the newly created dark-haired girl, CeeCee got out her phone.

"It's time," she said, not letting Tori see who she was calling. The redhead listened for a moment, then giggled. "No, they're a bit, um, tied up right now. Or at least Mama is. It will just be us three . . . . great, thanks."

"Just enough time to touch up your lipstick again," CeeCee said. "This time you have to do it yourself."

"Who's coming?"

"Lipstick," CeeCee said in reply, pointing at the mirror.

Tori knew she should have refused to go along. She should have backed out of the whole deal, but even the dare had only been about a Halloween costume. With a mask to hide behind. This was real. This was way beyond what it took to meet the dare.

Yet this was . . . fun. Tori knew she was supposed to be reluctant, but the image in the mirror as she repaired her makeup was a really, really cute girl. A girl in CeeCee's class. A girl who could be seen in public with one of the most attractive girls in school and not look like a pity date.

A girl who had passed in front of adults who already knew the person inside the clothes but didn't recognize who it was.

Could she continue with that level of success? Did she really have that one-in-a-million ability, a distinction that lifted her from forgettable average to special?

CeeCee kept bustling around, arriving with a purse that she made Tori place on her shoulder. But the high-energy redhead pulled up at that point and looked seriously at her introspective friend.

"Are you gonna be okay?" she asked. "We don't really have to do this."

"CeeCee, I have a really, really important question and I want you to be totally honest with me. Okay?"

"Okay," CeeCee said immediately, still looking serious so that Tori knew her agreement was real.

"I don't want to do anything - not anything - that might lose you as a friend," she began.

CeeCee interrupted her, "Not gonna happen. Not possible. No way."

Tori smiled, but it was a weak, tentative twitch that showed no real humor. "I'm serious."

CeeCee nodded, but her lips were set in a firm line that said she was not accepting Tori's premise that anything could come between them.

Tori took a deep breath, too worried to be distracted by what that heaving motion did to the shapes in front of her, and said, "I think that . . . maybe . . . I like this."

Additional words kept flowing from her mouth before CeeCee had a chance to respond. "I'll stop if you want. Right now. Because I don't want it nearly enough for it to come between us. But I just thought you should . . ."

Whatever she might have thought that CeeCee should do was lost as CeeCee interrupted her stumbling explanation . . .

. . . with a kiss that proved more than any words could ever do that CeeCee was not unhappy with Tori's revelation.

After a moment- neither cared how long - CeeCee pulled back and snickered at her friend. "You need to fix your lipstick again."

"What? Huh?" Tori stammered, and CeeCee giggled at the power her 'answer' - to a question that had never actually been asked - had over Tori's mental state.

"Oh, Tori, you are just too perfect for words," CeeCee said. "I told you that I'm weird. I guess this is just one more way. But the idea of having a boyfriend who is also my best girlfriend is just perfect! And it will be so much fun to have people appreciate us as cute high school girls while only we know how totally amazing it really is."

She leaned close to whisper in Tori's ear, "And I guess I may be a bit of a lesbian. Does that bother you?"

For just a moment Vic was resurrected - or at least part of him was. Tori winced at a sudden, hidden pain, but then she smiled ruefully. "Damn, girl, you are just evil."

'Don't ever forget it," CeeCee said with fake firmness. She giggled and pointed at Tori's lips and the mirror again, then playfully fought with the brunette for space in front of the mirror so that she could do her own repairs.

"C'mon, we gotta go," CeeCee said, pulling Tori up the stairs. Her parents were still "busy" with their own interests so CeeCee breezed quickly out the door, continuing to tow Tori in her wake. That nearly led to a disastrous pratfall as Tori saw who was waiting for them at the curb in front of the Carson home.

Tori was beginning to demonstrate a personality quirk that no one had ever noticed with Vic. When she was shocked, she froze. When Tori saw her mother - Mrs. Robinson - sitting in her car waiting for them, even CeeCee's tugging couldn't get her to move.

Perhaps it was an inherited trait because Mrs. Robinson's first reaction was apparently nothing at all either. She just sat there and stared at the pair of (apparently) pretty girls coming out of the Carson's front door.

"Vic?" she finally said tentatively.

"Mrs. Robinson," CeeCee said formally, not giving Tori a chance to answer, "I'd like you to meet my best friend, Tori."

"Tori?" Mrs. Robinson repeated with little additional confidence.

"I guess . . ," Tori began.

CeeCee interrupted her with a hissed whisper, "Remember your voice."

Tori cleared her throat, then repeated, "I guess so."

"Ohmigod," Mrs. Robinson said, then she visibly shook herself and pointed at the car door. "You better get in."

CeeCee made a point of opening Tori's door so she could ride shotgun, then dropped quickly into a back seat herself.

They didn't start off immediately. Tori got the seat belt so confused trying to get it around or between or under or over her new figure that their nervousness transitioned through impatience into mirth before she was done. The girls - all three of them - were laughing so hard by the time Tori was situated that there didn't seem to be any need for words as Mrs. Robinson started driving off.

"I think we're going to have to change our plans a little," Mrs. Robinson said after a few minutes.

Tori looked confused - something that was becoming all too common - but CeeCee apparently knew enough to contribute.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

Mrs. Robinson looked out of the corner of her eye at the young, dark-haired woman sitting next to her. "Well, to begin with I thought we'd have to travel a couple of towns over to make sure that we wouldn't meet anyone that we knew, but I don't think that will be a problem."

"Why are we going anywhere?" Tori asked. "I thought CeeCee and I were just going to walk back over to our house like I did the other night."

CeeCee giggled from the back seat. "No way, beautiful. When I saw how cute you were I just knew we had to get you out in public."

"No way yourself," Tori shot back. "I'm not . . ."

She was interrupted by her mother. "Why not? I didn't expect how good you'd look, but you do. Why not go out for a little girl-time together with your BFF and mother?"

"Because, I mean, I'm not . . ."

This time CeeCee interrupted her. "You're not in any danger of anyone thinking you're anything but a pretty girl, unless you do something stupid like, y'know, singing bass or scratching your, y'know . . . guy things."

Tori blushed at that description, but she looked thoughtful.

After a moment, Mrs. Robinson continued with her earlier point. "In any event, instead of traveling somewhere else for, um, secrecy I think we can stay closer to home. And we need to shop for different clothes."

"Why? I mean, what sort of difference?" asked Tori.

"Well, no daughter of mine is going to go around with boots like those and short shorts. If you want to wear those boots, you need at least a nice skirt. Or leggings. I'm thinking, ah . . . how about Nordstrom's?"

"Cool," CeeCee offered from the back seat. "But I'm telling you now, I think Tori has gorgeous legs so I'm holding out for short skirts."

"Oh, god," Tori moaned.

Unfortunately, her mother and BFF were not at all sympathetic. They laughed at her distress. The discussion was essentially moot anyway, because Mrs. Robinson had been heading for Nordstrom's the whole time. She quickly found a place to park, and the high-energy redhead in the back seat was out and tugging on Tori's hand while the car was still shutting down.

Before CeeCee pulled her from between the cars though, she paused and waved Mrs. Robinson over. "Look, Tori, I'm *sure* you can do this. But you need to be okay with it, too. We can go home if you're too worried about this."

For some reason Tori got a very curious look on her face when CeeCee said this. It was her mother who recognized that expression.

"Oh, my, I've seen that look before."

"What?" asked CeeCee.

"That look on, um, Tori's face. That's the expression I saw on Vic's face when he was about to go do some silly dare."

"Ohmigod," CeeCee said. "That's right. So, Tori, are you up for a dare? Are you getting your adrenaline fix?"

Tori blushed, but then she nodded. "Okay, so I have to admit it. I'm so scared I can hardly stand up, but . . . I like it. It makes me feel so alive."

"But you're not likely to get a broken arm out of this," CeeCee said, looking more at Mrs. Robinson than at Tori.

Mrs. Robinson had frowned when Tori admitted that this was exciting - and a bit frightening to her because she had seen that turn out painfully for her child so many times. But the frown turned to amazement when CeeCee explained how this situation achieved the excitement that Vic craved without the risk.

Tori didn't necessarily see it that way. "Yeah, right up until some neanderthal figures out what I really am and pounds me into dust. A broken arm will be the least of my problems."

"Who's gonna know?" CeeCee asked. "You'll do fine."

Tori looked at her mother, to find a small smile playing at the older woman's lips.

Mrs. Robinson said, "I find I'm forced to agree. I'm not worried about anyone seeing through your, um, disguise. Let's go shopping."

With that, CeeCee took one of Tori's arms and Mrs. Robinson laughed while she took the other. Together they escorted the newly discovered girl into the mysteries and magic of shopping for girl clothes.

Chapter 9 - "Two Of A Kind"

To her amazement - even in the context of the rest of the shocks to her self-awareness - Tori enjoyed shopping with CeeCee and her mother. A part of that, of course, was that she wasted no time in resurrecting the 'I will if you will' part of dares. Anything that CeeCee wanted Tori to try on had to be something that CeeCee would model as well, and seeing CeeCee in a host of cute fashions made the time enjoyable regardless of anything else that was going on.

One mystery was resolved when CeeCee tried on a tight, short skirt. It wasn't anything special as skirts go, just a casual denim mini that was actually longer than her shorts. But Tori was reminded how much hotter a short skirt was than any pair of shorts as soon as CeeCee did a twirl in front of them. That wasn't actually the resolution of the mystery, though. Tori already knew that the threat that something secret would be revealed was part of the allure of a short skirt. But it was when Tori found herself in a similar skirt that she really realized what made it so hot. The threat that was enticing to guys' eyes was consuming from the inside. She was suddenly aware of every move she made in a new, intense way that made her move more sensuously. The fact she constantly had to think about the barely hidden, ultimate evidence of her own femininity (whether she actually had that evidence or not) made her more feminine. It made her more aware of what made girls different from boys - both the power of attraction and the vulnerability. The combination was, literally, saturating to the senses in a sexual way - the ultimate sensuality.

"Okay, that you gotta get," CeeCee demanded.

"What? No way!" Tori denied, but even as she said it her eyes were watching in the mirror as she turned and swayed her hips.

"I think you should, dear," Mrs. Robinson said. "It really suits you."

"Really?" Tori repeated, her eyes begging for validation. For permission.

"Really," Mrs. Robinson repeated in turn.

Tori blushed, but then she giggled and pointed at her mother. "Well, if you want to get me to do something, um, scary, you know the rules."

"Rules?" Mrs. Robinson repeated.

"Sure, Miss Becky," CeeCee said. "You get to - I mean, have to - try one on, too."

"Oh, not, I couldn't."

"You must," Tori said, giggling again. She pulled her mother to the rack and started looking for one in her size . . . not that she had a clue what size her mother wore, but the intent was clear.

"No," Mrs. Robinson said, "not teen fashions, but if you want I will try on a few things."

In the end, they didn't buy out the store though they might have tried on everything in it. Their original purpose was to get Tori some casual shoes that weren't quite so blatant as her tall, black boots. CeeCee was okay with that idea as long as any replacements had heels that were just as tall. So Tori ended up with a pair of neutral gray pumps and a pair of white sandals that worked better with the shorts but still forced her to walk with model grace.

And the denim mini, of course.

Mrs. Robinson surprised them all - most especially including herself - by getting a pair of black slings with almost as much heel, and a blouse that was daring even by CeeCee's standards. Only CeeCee walked away empty handed, claiming that her closet already had something similar to everything she tried on.

The young and young-feeling ladies laughed their way back to the car, and then to the Robinson home, recounting increasingly exaggerated stories about what each had looked like in their various outfits.

And what the men who just happened to be hanging around were really thinking as they oh-so-casually looked-without-looking at the trio. Tori surprised herself by getting into that discussion as well, though in her mind it was merely self defense, deflecting claims that the lurkers had been interested in her instead of the vivacious redhead. And the still attractive woman who escorted them.

It was an intense lesson in girldom that was most shocking when she realized that for most of the time she hadn't been 'acting' at all. She was just . . . being Tori.

When Mrs. Robinson pulled into the garage, Mr. Robinson was cleaning up from one of his restoration projects. He smiled at his wife, then frowned at the brunette sitting next to her.

"Ohmigod," Tori whispered.

"Don't worry about it, dear," Mrs. Robinson said. "Just go inside and I'll talk to him."

"But . . ."

"Just go inside," she repeated, opening her car door.

Tori did as she was told, ducking her head so that the long waves of dark hair hid her face from her father. She fled upstairs and Vic returned as soon as he could manage it. The hardest thing was to get the corset off, followed by the need to eradicate every spec of makeup. By the time Vic went back downstairs, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that hid the smoothness of legs and arms, his parents were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. Vic squared his shoulders in an unconsciously masculine gesture, then moved without speaking to get a coke for himself.

"Sit down, son," Mr. Robinson ordered.

Vic nodded, though he looked at his mother for reassurance. Her smile said that it would be okay, but that wasn't quite the same as proof. Vic had a reasonably good relationship with his parents. The positives were that he got good grades and did his chores on time. And never got into any real trouble. The negatives were the dares that had resulted in physical injury often enough, and minor embarrassments of the neighborly sort when a dare resulted in a broken window or something. Vic figured that his father's biggest disappointment in him was that he had never shared an interest in restoring cars, losing an opportunity for bonding that might have made them closer.

But working on cars was almost stereotypically masculine, and now Dan Robinson's son was doing something that was intensely feminine. That could open an even greater void between them.

When Vic had settled in, Mr. Robinson smiled in a way that didn't fool any of them, and said, "I understand the, um, outfit that I saw you wearing was part of one of your dares?"

"Well, sort of," Vic said. "Maybe it's more of a bet, but the bottom line is that CeeCee gets to pick my Halloween costume."

"And that explains why - a week before Halloween - you're dressing like a girl and going shopping?" Mr. Robinson asked.

"Yes, sir," Vic said. "At least, mostly."

Mr. Robinson frowned at the qualifier, waiting for Vic to continue.

Vic looked at his mother, asking for her to explain. She just shook her head, smiling encouragement but not adding anything more.

"You know about the school costume day, right?" Vic explained. At his father's nod he continued. "Well, CeeCee hasn't told me what my costume will be yet . . ." He looked at his mother again with no better result, then continued, " . . . but it's gonna be some sort of girl costume. In order to keep anyone from giving me a hard time about it later, she said I have to be good enough at looking and acting like a girl that everyone thinks I'm a girl in whatever costume she provides, not a guy masquerading as a girl."

"So this was practice on the first part of that?" offered Mr. Robinson.

Vic nodded. Mr. Robinson sighed, then said, "Well, considering all the foolish things you've done, I suppose this isn't too bad. And it will be over in a week."

Mr. Robinson relaxed and took a sip at his coffee, but his tension soon returned.

Vic said, "Maybe . . . not."

"What?" his father asked.

Vic looked away from both of them, considering the darkness beyond the window for a minute. When he looked back, he asked his father, "Do you think that CeeCee is pretty?"

Mr. Robinson's face didn't flush, but he looked at his wife, then down, then around, and it was clear that he was uncomfortable with the question. It's not acceptable for a middle-aged man to show too much interest - or attraction - to a teen-aged girl. After a moment he found an answer. With a shrug, he said, "I suppose so. Or perhaps I should say that she has the potential to be pretty when she grows up."

Vic wasn't satisfied. "No, I mean right now. Do you think she's, um, pretty enough to be a high-school cheerleader?"

"I suppose so," his father said.

Vic followed up with another question. "What sort of guys do high school cheerleaders go with?"

Mr. Robinson frowned and shook his head. "What does that have to do with anything?

"Please? I think this is important," Vic said.

Mr. Robinson thought for a moment, then said, "I suppose it's, ah, typical for cheerleader girls to go with football players or some other athletes."

"Exactly," Vic pounced. "I think CeeCee is the prettiest girl in school, and she could have any guy she wants. Why is she going with me?"

He stood up and waved his hand over his body. "I'm a geek, Dad. I do okay in school, but I am just not in her class."

Mrs. Robinson interjected herself into the conversation at this claim. Loyally defending her son she said, "I think you're very handsome, Vic. And you are a good friend for CeeCee, which is the most important thing anyway."

"Thanks, Mom, but it's not enough. I mean, the 'we can just be friends' line is the classic brushoff when a girl wants to go with someone else. I don't want that to happen."

"I'm still not getting where this is going," Mr. Robinson said.

Vic sighed, then nodded. "What I found out - today, when she finished doing the wig and makeup and things - is that if I dress as Tori . . ."

"Tori?" Mr. Robinson interrupted.

"That's my girl name," Vic explained. "Anyway, when I dress as Tori, I'm . . . . I'm as pretty as CeeCee. When I'm Tori, it doesn't look like CeeCee is on a mercy date with someone."

"You're not that bad," Mrs. Robinson said.

Vic shrugged. "I'm glad you think so. But I don't. Today, for the first time since CeeCee started coming out of her tomboy stage, I felt . . . comfortable to be with her. Not on edge, waiting for the dreaded, 'Let's just be friends' line. I want to be her friend. Always. But I want more than that, if I can get it."

He frowned, then sat down again and started twirling his coke can in the ring of condensed water that showed on the table. Finally, he looked up at his father. "Right now, she likes me as Tori, and Tori *is* in her class for attractiveness. If being Tori is what it takes to make her want to spend time with me, then . . . well, it may not stop at Halloween."

Mr. Robinson frowned, but he was clearly thinking about what his son had said. His frown deepened when Vic continued.

"That's not all of it. Even if CeeCee didn't want me to be Tori . . . maybe I do."

With another subconscious squaring of his shoulders, Vic explained. "I'm just a blah average guy as Vic. Or as Will. Or as any guy. But today, when I was trying on clothes, I really felt . . . special. I felt good about myself. I may be a nobody geek as a guy, but people notice Tori. Notice in a good way."

"So you're saying you want to, um, continue to dress up?

"Maybe," Vic said softly.

They all sat silently for a while. Finally, Mr. Robinson spoke. "Well, that does give us something to think about."

He stood and walked around to his son. Reaching down with an unusual gesture, he put his arm around Vic's shoulders. "Regardless of what happens, we love you. We'll work something out."

Vic looked up, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Thanks, Dad. That means a lot."

Mr. Robinson's eyes took on a shine of their own, and all he managed was a nod, but his hug tightened. After a moment he patted Vic on the shoulder and returned to his seat.

After a moment of contemplation of his coffee cup, Mr. Robinson said, "Actually, I understand. At least, I may understand part of it."

He waved his hand over his own body in a copy of Vic's earlier gesture. "I've been pretty average my whole life, too."

He looked at his wife and smiled, "And every single day I am amazed that a truly beautiful girl would want to spend time with me."

With a rueful grin he said, "I can't say that I ever considered *your* option as a way to stop being just another average person, but I can certainly understand the desire. What do you want to do?"

Vic shrugged. "I don't really know. I guess in the near term I'll just get ready for whatever costume CeeCee has in mind for Halloween. After that . . . I don't know."

"I guess that's a plan," Mr. Robinson said.

Later that evening Vic called CeeCee and recounted the discussion.

"So, you're still good to go on your costume?" she asked.

"That depends on the costume," Vic said. "But my parents won't get in the way."

"Oh, you'll love it," CeeCee said, then she dropped her voice into a husky promise and added, "And you'll really love the one I'm going to wear."

"Oh, man, you are so bad . . . and I love it so much!" Vic groaned. Then he decided on a counter-attack. "By the way, I got something for your next 'adventure.'"

"Really, what?"

"What's my costume?" he countered.

"I'm not telling until it's too late for you to back out," she said, laughing.

"Exactly," he replied.

"Oh, god, I am so weird," CeeCee moaned. "But not knowing is *so* hot. I can't wait."

"You think *you're* weird?" Vic said. "I'm the one who spent the afternoon looking like a hot chick."

"Yes, you did," she snickered. "Really, really hot."

"Not as hot as you . . ," he replied. What followed after was predictable, and probably trite, but it worked as well as it had worked for generations in providing a pair of lovebirds with something to say to each other.

Unfortunately for CeeCee - and therefore for Vic - she had two incompatible desires for his costume's final fitting. On the one hand, she could do it earlier in the week, therefore ruining her surprise. On the other hand, she could just assume it would all fit and let him see it only on Friday morning. She chose a compromise that pleased neither of them. Thursday night she had him depilate his body again and shaped his eyebrows a bit more. The rest would have to wait.

At 5:00AM on costume day at school, Mrs. Robinson flipped on the bright lights in Vic's room. CeeCee followed her in.

"Up and at 'em, beautiful," CeeCee called cheerfully. She was already wearing her long wig and dramatic makeup, but her clothes were simple sweats and if that were her costume Vic was going to put up a major squawk.

CeeCee, backed by Mrs. Robinson's authority, hustled Vic through his morning routine, then started in on additional tasks for that specific morning.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Vic complained to his mother while she tightened his corset.

"Why yes, yes I am," she said blandly. She couldn't keep her neutral expression when she handed him the shapes that would fill the top of his corset, though. When that time came she first laughed out loud, then - still laughing - suggested she might want to borrow them later.

"Oh, god, Mom, that's TMI!"

That seemed to provide her with a reward for her comment, which in turn provided incentive for still more suggestions on things she might do to enhance her own glamour. None of which made Vic less self-conscious about the idea of his parents having . . . interests. On the other hand, CeeCee found it hilarious and started making additional suggestions of her own.

Vic had noticed that the pads that reached down from the bottom of the corset were a little longer than they had been, but it didn't really register with him what that would mean. In a moment, he found out.

"This is why we’re up so early," CeeCee explained. "This has to fit just right."

'This' was a full-body suit in a shiny material that Vic first thought was leather. When it was being slid up his legs and down his arms it seemed to have a bit more stretch than he expected from leather, though. And it had some sort of slick liner that felt like pantyhose material. He was thinking about the feel of that liner sliding over his smooth body when his hands reached the end of built-in gloves. At the end of his fingers were inch-long claws that were somehow both dangerous and sexy.

The body suit had a zipper that ran up the back and it was a good thing that CeeCee had allowed plenty of time for a final fitting. It took some careful work by both CeeCee and Mrs. Robinson on her sewing machine to adjust the zipper so that the suit was literally skin tight yet could - barely - still close the zipper.

Before they would let Vic look in the mirror, CeeCee carefully arranged the long, dark wig and Tori was reborn.

"Dam . . . darn, that's hot," Tori admitted.

"Do the rest," CeeCee ordered, handing him a spike-heeled boot. While Tori was donning the familiar boots- and learning to cope with the claws at the end of her fingers - CeeCee was arranging an additional, and important, part of the costume.

"Well, I'm an idiot," Tori said, finally catching on. CeeCee was holding a mask - which he was expecting - but it was as much a cowl as a mask, and there were cat ears attached. It certainly made the intent of the outfit clear.

"Prrrr," Catwoman growled, allowing CeeCee to arrange the mask and then to fuss with her hair so that it came out of the cowl in a graceful cascade.

"Do you think anyone will recognize Vic under there?" CeeCee asked.

"No," Tori admitted. "I'm not sure that even *I* can believe there is a guy under all this."

"Good" she said.

"I want pictures," Mrs. Robinson said.

"Fine," CeeCee answered for Tori. "But if you wait just a minute, I can put on my costume, too."

"Who are you gonna be?" Tori asked.

"You'll see. We'll be a pair that people will be talking about all over school," she promised.

Mindful that they hadn't really told their parents quite how . . . familiar they had become with each other's bodies, CeeCee took another bag and ducked into the bathroom. In not much more than the promised minute, she reappeared.

"Ohmigod," gasped Tori. "That is *insanely* hot!"

'That' was a similar, yet distinct costume of another woman in a skin-tight dark catsuit. This time the character was Black Widow, complete with low-slung utility belt and widow's-bite cylinders around her wrists. They were indeed a pair, in no way copies of each other but similar enough to make each magnify the other's sensual presence.




"Not as hot as you, Catwoman," the Black Widow claimed, but she smiled at the enthusiasm of the compliment.

"I think I better give you two a ride to school today," Mrs. Robinson suggested. "The final adjustments to Catwoman's costume took longer than we allowed for and there's no way you can walk very far in those heels."

"Thanks, Mom," Tori said. "This is probably more stupid than any stunt I have ever done, but it is gonna be so much fun . . . and so dam . . darn scary that I'll have my adrenaline buzz for a month."

"Just don't go trying to steal jewels from some high-rise penthouse," Mrs. Robinson said, shaking her finger at her child's amazingly realistic appearance.

She did get her pictures, of course. She had to take another couple when Catwoman realized that there was a real whip in a holster on her sleek leg. Well, almost a real whip, when she pulled it out it didn't crack at all well because the last foot was soft silk instead of weighted leather. The Black Widow costume features were similarly de-militarized - without even pretend guns because of school restrictions. But the two looked like their comic book counterparts and it would be sensational, at least, when they made their entrance.

In fact, they asked Mrs. Robinson to drop them off on a side street a couple of blocks from the high-school campus. Getting out of a mom-driven car in front of the school didn't quite fit with the superhero image.

Chapter 10 - "RRrhhaaAh'll Neverrrr Tell"

It was more force of circumstance than deliberate plan, but they arrived at the steps to the school just as the bell was ringing to find a homeroom. CeeCee did have a deliberate plan on whose homeroom they would attend. Ms. Polly Hymnia was the drama teacher when she wasn't running a homeroom and CeeCee figured she'd be the most likely to go along with their costume personae.

It turned out to be a really good thing they were almost late as the two black-clad comic heroines (well, not really a heroine in the case of Catwoman) took their seats. The cacophony of whistles and animal noises from the boys in the room indicated they'd have had a real gauntlet to pass if their admirers hadn't already been confined to seats.

CeeCee had deviated from the 'official' Black Widow costume with the addition of a tight domino mask. In conjunction with the long wig and her intensely feminine outfit, it distanced the hot woman from CeeCee's normal emerging-from-tomboy look so even the small mask was enough to make her identity uncertain. And no one had a clue who the sinuously graceful Catwoman was. The guys were almost desperate to know, and even the girls were more than curious who the two gorgeous catsuited women were. That included the teacher who was apparently not quite as versed in comic characters as the rest of the class.

"Who do we have here?" she asked, starting with the one wearing the domino mask.

"I'm the Black Widow," the girl said, flashing little strobe lights from the cylinders around her wrists. "Beware my bite."

Ms. Hymnia smiled and nodded her appreciation. Then she turned to the one whose costume she recognized. "So, are you really Catwoman?"

The cowled girl paused for a moment, then smirked below her mask. With the throaty growl that CeeCee had insisted she learn, she purred, "RRrhhaaAh'll neverrrr tell."

That set off a not-so-minor explosion through the classroom. Even Ms. Hymnia had to laugh at the purrrfectly in character response. Then an idea came to her. "You have got to try out for the spring play."

"I'm not surrre I'll still be frrreee then," Catwoman said languidly.

"Ms. Hymnia?" one of the guys asked, trying to get the teacher's attention. "I, um, want to change my costume. Do you have a Batman costume in the prop room?"

Since he was dressed as an Imperial Storm Trooper, he had obviously put some effort into his costume - if not much imagination. But at his suggestion, a lot of the guys were ready to change into the costume of the character who was famously enamored of Catwoman. All except for one guy who was doing a Heath Ledger-style Joker. Suddenly, he had an excuse to talk to the tall feline goddess, and he came over with a smug saunter.

"I have a caper in mind that just cries out for someone with your talent," he suggested.

"Oh, I have many talents," Catwoman countered. "And I have plenty of capers to occupy my time."

"Back to your seat, Joker," Ms. Hymnia ordered, though she smiled at the interplay. "But I'll expect to see you for spring play tryouts as well."

She moved back to the front of the room and smiled generally at the class. "I'm impressed with the creativity of some of your portrayals, and even more impressed with those who have made the character more than just a costume." With that she looked directly at Catwoman. "I understand the 'rules' about not prying into 'secret' identities today, but if any of you show up claiming to be Catwoman, I'll be sure to give you a good chance to read for the play."

She laughed once more, as much to herself as to the class. "In fact, I may have to change the play we do to take advantage of all that talent."

While the class was buzzing about the hot pair of mysterious girls, Ms. Hymnia started in on the announcements for the day - most of which were merely to acknowledge the rules of Costume Day. Of course, it wouldn't be politically correct to acknowledge a Christian element to the origin of the holiday, and it didn't happen to fall on Halloween anyway which was on a Saturday that year. But she did establish that roll would not be taken in any classes, and that no tests or absolutely critical-to-know information would be part of the day's lessons.

It took about as much time as there was left in class. She was finishing up just as the bell sounded to move to the next class.

Black Widow and Catwoman lifted themselves to their towering heels and sauntered to another class - in this case a senior class in Physics that neither was really qualified to attend. But that was part of their disguise. Mr. Hartsell, the Physics teacher, was famous for interesting demonstrations and he had something going with a bewildering array of pulleys, weights, cables, and bracing scaffolding. Of course, since it was a Physics course he had to explain the whole array first, but when the time came to do the demonstration - in which a lone weight hung motionless in the middle of chaos until all the other weights hit the floor, then fell like a stone - it was worth the class time.

When the pair left that class though, they were met by an array of admirers . . . who were also would-be suitors.

"Oh, Babe, where have you been all my life?" asked one guy, a lumbering wall of muscle that Catwoman knew was an all-State defensive lineman named Jeff 'Brad' Bradford. He was dressed, in a self-parody that she had to admit was funny, as a wall.

"Spending my time with gentlemen who know better than to call a woman, 'Babe,'" she replied curtly. Her eyes flicked to Black Widow for help.

That only made things worse because Black Widow was enjoying - emphasis, to Catwoman's dismay, on 'enjoying' - the attentions of Nick Joshua, the equally all-star quarterback who was dressed with typical lack of humility as Superman.

"Oh, c'mon, um, Catwoman," Brad pleaded. "Give me a chance."

Catwoman tore her eyes away from the amorous image of her girlfriend and apparent rival to look back at the wall in front of her. An idea came to her, and while it was terrifying on one level, she felt the adrenaline surge that had addicted her for so long. Instead of sneering at the wall's attention, she let her eyelids droop and slowly licked her lips.

Leaning forward so that she could whisper into his ear - and so that the Black Widow could see her getting close to someone else, she purred, "A chance to do what?"

That shocked Bradford so much that he leaned back. Catwoman was gratified to see beads of sweat pop out on his forehead as he tried to frame a response. She took that moment to draw out her whip. Turning toward the other black-clad beauty she flicked the whip so the tail looped around Black Widow's arm.

"C'mon, Natalia," she said, still using the throaty purr that she'd been taught. "We need to get to class."

They ducked into a nearby room to find seats just as the bell rang. Only then did they realize it was a math class that was also too advanced for either one of them. Still, the teacher kept it from being too boring by showing practical applications for the techniques being discussed. Catwoman made a note to take that class when she was qualified, and even Black Widow was tempted.

After that it was lunch. And after that . . .

"You need to do your lipstick again, and fix a few more things," Black Widow told her companion.

"Okay," Catwoman said. She started to reach into her utility belt when Black Widow stopped her.

"Not here, dummy," the redhead whispered. "We need to go to the bathroom."

"I can't do that," Catwoman hissed back.

"You better," Black Widow insisted. "I have to go and if we don't go together - after hanging out all morning - people will wonder why."

"And we can't have that," Catwoman finished for her.

Faced with that logic Catwoman followed the Black Widow into forbidden territory. She couldn't have taken advantage of the facilities if she wanted to with all the layers that comprised her costume. So when Black Widow was hidden in a stall, Catwoman pulled a few necessities from her utility belt to return her face to flawless glamour - or at least the parts that showed under her cowl.

While she was busy with her repairs, Supergirl came into the restroom. Catwoman knew who she really was of course. Amber Eddington was head cheerleader and the main accessory usually sported by Nick Joshua - not coincidentally Superman for the day.

Supergirl attacked immediately. "You keep your girlfriend away from my boyfriend."




Catwoman looked at her with languid confidence. "And why should I do that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll scratch her eyes out," Supergirl promised.

The not-coincidental feature of claws protruding from the tips of Catwoman’s skin-tight gloves turned out to be convenient as well. The sometimes-villainess growled a throaty, wordless warning, then reached out to tap one claw on the blonde girl's cheek. "Touch my frrrriend, and you won't have to worrrrry about a handsome boyfrrriend. You'll be lucky to get a pity date with yourrr youngerrr brrrotherrrr - and that only if you wearrrr a bag over yourrr head."

"What? You can't threaten me!" Supergirl squawked.

"I believe I just did," Catwoman purred. Then she chuckled with a purr that sounded a lot like her previous growl, but she lightened up on the deliberate over play of the r's in her words. "Lighten up, blondie. Black Widow is not a threat to you. Just don't bother her and we'll all get along fine. She's not interested in . . . boys, anyway."

"You mean?" Supergirl gasped, her eyes widening with a new possibility. "Then why was she hanging on Nick's arm earlier?"

"You need to check your sources," Catwoman advised. "The interest was all on Superman's side. Black Widow and I had a good laugh about it later."

"I'll see about that," Supergirl promised, leaving abruptly and taking a small entourage with her that resulted in Catwoman alone by the sinks.

"I heard that," Black Widow said, slapping Catwoman on the arm as she emerged from her stall. "What did you mean I don't like boys? I *love* boys - or at least one specific boy."

"Glad to hear it," Catwoman purred, taking the redhead in her arms and igniting a nuclear blast with a too-long delayed kiss. When she could breathe again, the dark-haired girl said, "Wow, that is always just awesome. In any event, I'd be pleased if you'd interpret that to say that you are interested in men, not boys. And that you know someone who qualifies."

Black Widow giggled and credited a point to Catwoman with a gloved finger. "Fix your face . . . again."

Catwoman complied, but as she touched up her lips to shining perfection, she said, "Oh, god, CeeCee, that was awesome. When she threatened you, I just . . . became Catwoman. I think I really would have scratched her face if she ever touched you. It was such a rush! You picked the best possible costume for me. Catwoman is always edgy - and I feel like I'm dancing on that edge."

"Yeah, but don't forget, I'm Black Widow. And I'm one of the good guys. I'm here to keep those cruel, catlike instincts under control."

Catwoman's eyes lowered in a heavy-lidded suggestion. "You may find that to be a challenge. I know I do."

Black Widow grinned. "Yep, but we both like challenges, don't we?"

"Oh, god, that's not going to make this afternoon go any easier."

"Poor baby," Black Widow crooned, though her indication of sympathy was undermined by the giggle that followed her words.

The warning bell resonated in the restroom and forced them to find another class. It didn't really matter what it was. What mattered a bit later was the interim between that class and the last formal class of the day. Once again Catwoman was approached by Supergirl in the hallway. But since Catwoman and Black Widow were essentially joined at the hip for the day, that meant she saw both black-clad beauties.

"I owe you an apology," Supergirl told Black Widow. "I was informed - apparently incorrectly - that you had been putting some moves on Nick."

"And now. . ?" Black Widow replied, leaving an opening for Supergirl to continue.

"And now . . . well, he's not getting any tonight, and not for a while longer if his attitude doesn't improve," the blonde said, then she giggled. "Of course, I may let him make it up to me."

"Then we're okay?" Catwoman asked.

"Absolutely," Supergirl replied. "In fact, we're having a party tonight. You're both welcome."

"A cheerleader party?" Black Widow asked, smirking.

Supergirl misinterpreted her interest. If she really knew whom she was inviting, she'd realize that CeeCee Carson had little interest in overly fashionable girls dishing anyone not up to their standards. But Catwoman's earlier implication made her think that Black Widow might be *very* interested in a party with lots of pretty girls.

And then she remembered Catwoman's all-too-believable threat of what she'd do to anyone who got too close to her obviously more-than-just-friends girlfriend. She looked worried for a moment, her eyes uncontrollably glancing down at Catwoman's claws, which the tall, dark-haired woman was idly clicking together.

"Well, there will be, y'know, others there. Most of the football team, a few alumni back from college, that sort of thing," Supergirl explained quickly.

Black Widow's grin widened, which triggered a confused frown on Supergirl's face. The pretty blonde tried to recover by moving to another topic. "Just who are you two, anyway? I don't recognize either of you."

"RrrrhhhaaA'll neverrrr tell," Catwoman purred again. Her eyebrows were actually hidden under her cowl and raising one might not have had much effect. But something about the smile that did show let Supergirl know not to push.

The less-than-super cheerleader blushed and ducked her head in an almost feline submission gesture. After a moment when the two black-clad girls said nothing, she tried to recover a little of her typical alpha status by completing the invitation. "My place. Anytime you want. We're planning on munchies, and most of the guys on the team will only get there after practice so . . . maybe 7:00."

"Great," Black Widow said, accepting for them both. Catwoman only then realized that she had never really agreed to go to the party. And that if they did go, she'd have to remain in her costume - in a room full of horny guys - for several hours. Knowing Amber's parties (at least from secondhand reports), there wasn't likely to be much adult supervision so the boys were going to be as aggressive as they could get away with.

Catwoman let the head cheerleader go on her way before she pulled Black Widow to the side. "We can't go to a boy-girl party?"

"Why not?" Black Widow replied innocently. Well, if she weren't wearing a skin-tight black leather catsuit that she had unzipped enough to show a burro-tour worthy canyon of cleavage, it might have seemed innocent. As it was, that was pretty much a lost cause.

Catwoman's purr disappeared into a desperate hiss of whisper, "Because I look like a hot girl!"

"Yep," Black Widow agreed, switching to smug.

"But I'm not even a girl at all," Catwoman hissed. "And those guys are expert at . . . hunting for treasure."

"Don't worry," Black Widow replied. "In that outfit, you might as well be wearing a chastity belt. Believe me, I know."

"There are a lot of things that a boy and girl can do - even when the girl is in a chastity belt," Catwoman said.

"Yeahhh," Black Widow said dreamily.

"You tramp," Catwoman said, but she couldn't help giggling at her girlfriend's sensual expression.

"Don't worry," Black Widow said again. "We can handle them. It'll be fun to tease them right out of their socks, but at the end of the evening you and I are going to be going home together."

"Fun," Catwoman repeated. "You have a 'funny' idea of what fun is."

"You'll love it," Black Widow claimed. "Or else, tell me right now that you're not getting an adrenaline buzz from the idea."

Catwoman's full, dark lips opened to make that claim . . . then closed. Enough of her cheeks showed below the cowl to make it clear that she knew she had been caught - which only caused Black Widow to laugh harder.

The bell caught them again, and the only class close enough to make before they would be tardy happened to be the journalism classroom. That was like putting blood in shark-infested waters. To have two such beautiful, outrageously attired mysteries arrive in the presence of would-be reporters and budding photographers guaranteed the content of the next hour. Mr. Kellogg, the class instructor, only required that the subjects of the interview consent - which they pretty much had to do or explain why the entered the journalism classroom in the first place. He did allow the two black-clad women to retain their masks and decline to provide real identities. That just made the mystery more enticing so Catwoman and Black Widow received a fire-hose intense lesson in aggressive, in-your-face questioning. Catwoman had to rely on her signature, "RrrrhhhaaA'll neverrrr tell" line to a host of questions, and Black Widow fell back into what no one could prove was not Russian when she didn't want to ask a question.

Mr. Kellogg did have one further input to the session. About 20 minutes before the end of the class he delivered the two mysteries into the hands of the photographers. There was a neutral background and only the presence of a responsible adult kept the photographers from posing the sinuous pair in poses that would *not* have belonged in a high school newspaper or yearbook. Of course, the photographers would have been happy to have the photos for their own private collections - which would have inevitably meant Facebook - even if the school wouldn't use them. Mr. Kellogg did allow some 'action' poses where Catwoman chased Black Widow with her whip, while Black Widow shot bursts of LED light at the exotic villainess.

The good thing was that all participants knew it was really a game and they were all laughing when the bell ended class.

If they thought that they had escaped when the journalism class was over, they were mistaken. Four first-string football players - conspicuously excluding Nick Joshua - caught them after class.

Their first admirer was still doing an excellent impersonation of a wall - complete with costume. When Catwoman tried to step around him, he moved laterally to keep his 'wall' between her and her path.

"Let me by, Brad," she said.

"On one condition," he replied. "Come to a party with me tonight."

"With you?" Catwoman repeated in surprise. Her eyes flicked to Black Widow for help, but the other comic-book character was just smirking as she backed off to let Catwoman meet her own challenge.

"Sure," Brad replied. "It'll be fun. And I promise not to bite if you won't scratch."

Catwoman's blush showed even below her cowl - and through the curtain of her hair as she ducked her head. But then she remembered who she 'was' for the day, and her head came back up and one hip slid out to create a graceful line from toe to tiny waist. One clawed finger reached out to scritch lightly at some of the makeup that Brad had used to make his wall disguise. Her nail flicked lightly at a bit of fake rock, and she let her voice drop into a purr. "Oh, no prrromisses from me. I like to scrrratch."

Despite the implied threat, the widening of Brad's eyes did not really show fear. His mouth dropped a bit and he twitched as though something was nibbling somewhere inside his costume. Then he shook himself and tried to recover his 'coolness' factor.

"Oh, ba . . I mean, my lady, you must allow me to accompany you to the evening's festivities."

"I must?" she repeated, and her grin had a definitely feral look. "Rrrrwwrr . . . there is verrry little that I *must* do. And verrrry few people who can tell me what they arrrRRe."

Brad twitched again, and his eyes were starting to glaze over. Despite his macho approach, he found himself pleading. "C'mon, you'll have a good time. I promise."

Catwoman purred with amusement at his desperation, pausing long enough to make the point that it was her choice. Then she slowly slid her hips to the other side, drawing one nail lightly up her side to reach her mouth. Her tongue reached out to lick at her claw, which she then used to preen an eyebrow (despite the fact all she could actually touch was her cowl) and smiled. "I've hearrrd about this parrrty. Rich young kids with prrretty baubles. Perrrhaps I'll find myself out that way this evening . . . if I don't find anything more amusing to do."

"Great!" Brad said, ignoring the implied threat. "Where can I pick you up?"

"I'll find my own way therrre," Catwoman replied, a feral grin showing again. "I may be making a . . . fast exit."

Brad nodded and looked at Black Widow. The redhead nodded as well, and he turned with his hangers-on to leave. Catwoman's hearing was good enough to hear a few comments as they left.

"Man, that chick is smokin! I'd let her steal my watch and cellphone for a chance to dance with her."

"Dancing is not what you had in mind, but you're not man enough for that babe."

"Hell, all of us together are not man enough for that babe . . . but what a way to go!"

Neither Catwoman nor Black Widow were naïve enough to think that the boys didn't know they were overheard. But it was part of the pre-mating dance of over-the-top compliments, delivered in a way that didn't force an immediate acceptance - or rejection - of the suitor. The two girls looked at each other and giggled.

"Well, I guess we have to go to the party now," Black Widow said.

"Oh, god, what have I done?" Catwoman moaned. "It's just . . . when I'm 'in character' I just . . . react."

"Well, whatever it is, you really are smokin' hot. I can hardly keep myself from jumping your bones right here and now."

"Don't tease me," Catwoman whispered, but she grinned with pride. It was fun to see the naked desire in the eyes of boys who would not have given the unadorned CeeCee a second glance, and were likely to stuff the undisguised Vic in a locker or something. Well, the last wasn't going to happen because Vic had a reputation for fearlessness that meant the price would have been too high. But 'accidentally' bumping a slender nerd into a wall of lockers was all too common for any students who didn't get out of the jocks' way fast enough.

In fact, it would have been a good idea for them to have spent a bit more time watching Catwoman's eyes and a bit less time ogling her figure. Or falling into Black Widow's cleavage. Remembered insults were reflected in the eyes of the dark-haired, sometime villainess, but what really made it worth noting was that the expression was not one of anger. It was one of amusement . . . and promise.

"We are gonna have a good time tonight," Catwoman whispered to Black Widow as they made their way out of the building. It had taken a few fake whipcracks to keep followers at bay, but they still faced quite a hike in their sky-high heels to get to where a cellphone-alerted Mrs. Robinson waited.

"Really?" Black Widow asked. "I mean, I expect it to be a good party, but what makes *you* think it will be fun?"

"Because I am going to tie a few of those jerks into knots tonight - whatever it takes," Catwoman whispered. "As you said, in this outfit I'm almost as well armored as you. That means that anything short of a full-out assault won't penetrate my disguise. And in the meantime, I'm going to teach those guys how a cat plays with her prey."

Chapter 11 - "I Never Imagined . . ."

Catwoman was more than ready to get out of her outfit when they finally reached the Robinson residence. But Mrs. Robinson was surprised when Tori only undressed enough to visit the bathroom.

"Don't you want to take your corset off?" Mrs. Robinson asked when Tori reappeared with her laces still tied and waist still drum-taut.

"Oh, yeah, more than you would believe," Tori sighed. "But I have to go to a party tonight, as Catwoman."

"A party? As a girl?" Mrs. Robinson asked, needing confirmation.

"Yes," Tori sighed again. "It's a long story, but CeeCee and I got invited to a party, and since no one knows who we really are . . ."

"What sort of a party?" Mrs. Robinsons asked cautiously.

"A cheerleader party," Tori said, snickering. She had taken her cowl off, leaving the wig in place, and proceeded to remove all of her makeup. As she talked, she started to restore it to the glamour level that CeeCee had defined for Catwoman. Even the parts of her face that didn't show received a full application. CeeCee had convinced her that an important part of being credible as a woman was 'feeling' like a woman right down to the details like not having a shiny forehead or nose. "Oh, Mom, you wouldn't believe what it was like today at school. We had guys walking around behind us drooling. And the head cheerleader came up and complained because CeeCee - she didn't know it was CeeCee, of course - was putting moves on her jerk . . that is, 'jock' boyfriend."

"Was she?" Mrs. Robinson asked, concerned that her child might be hurt by a fickle girlfriend.

"No," Tori assured her. "It was the other way around. Anyway, when Amber - that's the head cheerleader - found out that 'Black Widow' was innocent, she invited us to a party tonight."

"And you want to go?"

Tori blushed, but then she nodded. "I'll never get invited to an alpha-clique party on my own, and even though CeeCee is pretty enough, she won't go without me. This is the only chance we'll have to see how 'the other half' live."

"But you'll be going as a girl," Tori's mother said.

"Not really," Tori said. "I'll be going as Catwoman, and I'll be locked in my suit so that no one can like, find out what's 'inside.' And more than that, I'll be going in character."

"In character?"

"Yes. Look, Mom, when I'm, um, 'on' as Catwoman, I'm . . . intense. I won't take any crap from anyone." Tori looked at her mother and sighed again. "There's something else. When Amber accused Black Widow of trying to steal her boyfriend, I told her that Black Widow - this one - doesn't like boys."

"You said CeeCee was a lesbian?"

"Not quite," Tori said. "In the first place, it wasn't CeeCee we were talking about. It was this hot chick in a kickass Black Widow costume. If we don't let anyone know who we are, then none of that will get back to CeeCee. In the second, I said she didn't like boys. We can always say that means she likes men – it’s all part of the sensual hotness thing."

Tori finished rebuilding her face and stood to move to her bed where the catsuit was still laid out. "Look, Mom, we're not going to do anything. I mean, we're both going to be in full-body suits and CeeCee is wearing her . . . you know. And for sure I'm not going to do anything with some guy. But if we tease the guys a bit, and then . . . imply that we're only interested in each other . . . Well, some of those jocks are jerks, and I have to admit I like the idea of yanking their chains a bit."

"That might get out of hand," Mrs. Robinson warned.

"Not likely," Tori insisted. She picked up the catsuit and pointed at the claws on the tips of the integral gloves. "I'm not looking for a fight, but if some guy gets rough . . . he'll regret it."

Mrs. Robinson sighed, but nodded. "I think this is not going to be as good a prank as you think, but it's not the worst - the stupidest - thing you've ever done."

Tori laughed, but nodded. "Wow, Mom, that's harsh . . . but fair."

"So, how are you getting there and when are you coming home?"

"Well, I wouldn't turn down another ride to within a block or so," Tori said, toeing at one of the impossible heels on her boots. "And it's not so far away that we couldn't walk if we can't find a ride."

"How late will you be?"

"Not too late. It's really just a big prank so as soon as we have their attention, then show that we're only interested in each other, we'll probably leave. I expect we'll be home by about . . . midnight?"

The question was for consent as well as information, and Mrs. Robinson nodded. "I'll be up. If you can't get a ride, call me. Even Catwoman and Black Widow shouldn't be out alone late at night."

"Thanks, Mom," Tori said.

She reached for her catsuit but her mother interrupted her. "Wait a moment."

Mrs. Robinson went to the master bathroom and brought back a powder box. "If you've worn that all day, you can use a little help."

She dusted Tori down with powder, which made the sleek outfit slide more easily up her legs and down her arms. They struggled again with the zipper in the back, then Mrs. Robinson laughed.

Holding up a hand in an indication she needed another moment of patience from Tori, she vanished. When she returned, she had a small padlock.

"I forgot," she explained, "but the way CeeCee made this suit, it really does have a locking feature. It's mostly just a way to keep the zipper tab from showing, but it can serve the purpose."

She slipped the padlock through the base of the zipper tab, then held up the key. "I'm keeping this, young lady, so don't get any ideas."

"Oh, god, this is as bad as CeeCee's chastity belt," Tori complained.

"And don't you forget it," Mrs. Robinson said, laughing at the combination of distress and excitement on Tori's face.

The doorbell announced that CeeCee had arrived.

"Could you let her in, please?" Tori asked her mother. "I need to gather up my makeup and things."

She started to put cosmetic items in the pouches of her utility belt, leaving Mrs. Robinson to shake her head ruefully as she went downstairs. CeeCee was already wearing her own skin-tight costume, lacking only the domino mask. In a few minutes they were joined by Catwoman in full regalia. She cracked her whip - as much as the soft end could crack - and flowed down the stairs like a sleek hunting feline.

"Ohmigod, that is *ssooo* hot," CeeCee said breathlessly.

"Yes, it is," Mrs. Robinson agreed, but the frown on her face made it clear she wasn't particularly happy to be so impressed. She was still holding the key to Catwoman's costume and she shook it at her child.

"Yes, Mother, I know," Tori said. She moved to the downstairs mirror to check her appearance, calling on CeeCee to help her place her cowl back in position. In a moment, Black Widow had her mask in place as well. Mrs. Robinson picked up her purse and looked at Catwoman.

"Are you ready? We're going out through the garage."

The superchicks dutifully followed behind her . . . to find unexpected observers.

"Oh my God," a man's voice said. Another voice - deep enough to be distinct - just grunted.

"Hi, Daddy," CeeCee said lightly to her father.

Mr. Robinson was staring at the other sinuous vision that had appeared. "I never imagined . . ."

"Hello, Dad," Catwoman said - a bit out of character, but with unconscious grace she stopped with hips swayed to the side, one hand lightly on her waist, and the other hanging by her whip handle. Only a slight clicking sound as she repeatedly flicked clawlike nails together betrayed her nervousness.

"Is that the outfit you wore to school today?" he asked.

Catwoman nodded, then stood with her head high.

After a moment, Mr. Robinson said, "Well, you never were one to do things halfway."

With a start, he realized that his neighbor and best friend was also seeing his teenage son looking like a much-too-mature, much-too-shapely, much-too-sensuous young woman. He frowned and his mouth opened to say something as he turned to Joe Carson.

Who was not looking at Catwoman at all.

He asked the other young woman in a skin-tight black outfit, "Has your mother seen that outfit?"

CeeCee nodded. "She helped me make it."

Mr. Carson got a snarky grin on his face as he confirmed, "Oh, she did, did she?"

CeeCee nodded, but she shared her father's grin. "She thought it was . . . interesting."

"Then I better not complain about it," Mr. Carson observed. Something in his grin said it wasn't just because he didn't want to seem to contradict his wife. Some other message was lurking behind his eyes.

It would have been impossible to imagine a real blush on Mr. Carson's Teutonic features, but he probably came as close as he could. When he looked back at Dan Robinson, and at Catwoman, he seemed to feel like he didn't have any room to criticize.

Mrs. Robinson noticed and she frowned, then as clear as sunrise an idea came to her. The idea made her blush, but it also pulled her lips up into a secret little grin of her own. "C'mon, girls, let's get you to that party. When did you say you'd be home?"

Mr. Robinson was not quite that ready to let things go. "Are you sure about this? I mean, what if someone finds out. They're likely to be embarrassed - particularly young men who were fooled. And they will be fooled. And . . . attracted. Is that what you want?"

"To attract boys?" Catwoman repeated. "Not at all. In fact, my intention is to yank their chains about as much as I can. With, um, Black Widow."

Mr. Robinson's eyes widened at what Catwoman implied, then realized it was intended to be more than just an implication. Despite his concerns, he had to grin at the audaciousness of the idea.

Black Widow said, "Actually, Mr. Robinson, we'll be fine. My, um, costume has some added . . . features."

She pointed at a pair of the cylinders on her left wrist. "The real Black Widow - well, you know what I mean - has what she calls a 'Widow's Bite.' My version is a Taser. If anyone gets out of line, I'll put him down."

She flashed the harmless lights on her other wrist. "It just looks like part of the costume, but that part is close enough to real."

"Indeed?" Mr. Robinson said. Turning back to his friend and neighbor, he asked, "What do you think?"

Mr. Carson walked over to put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. Then, to Catwoman's surprise he put an arm around her, too. "Well, Dan, it's like this. I learned some time ago that trying to talk my daughter out of something she has her mind set on is closer to stupid than I need to be. But more than that . . ."

He smiled and fluffed at the hair of her wig, then leaned down to kiss her forehead. "My Courtney was an unhappy girl when we came here. I'd like to think that we'd have worked our way through that without Vic's help, but that's speculation. What I know is that *with* Vic's attention our CeeCee has blossomed into a beautiful young woman. If they like to play a few games as they find out who they are . . . well, I'll take it. It brought me back my happy daughter, and that's worth just about anything."

Mr. Robinson frowned, but then he squared his shoulders in a gesture that he didn't realize his son had adopted, and said, "Well, to be blunt. Those two are an incitement to riot. They're way too inviting for a boy-girl party without a *lot* of adult supervision, and my understanding is that this party won't have that. Aren't you worried - despite her Taser - that things might get out of hand?"

Catwoman grinned, and shook her long, dark hair so that it swished over the back of her collar. She looked at Mrs. Robinson, but spoke to her father. “With all the layers or armor that I’m wearing, it would take a cutting torch for me to get into trouble, even if I wanted to.”

Mrs. Robinson laughed, but she nodded. "Her 'catsuit' has some features that will guarantee no one gets that close to her."

Mr. Robinson nodded at that point, but he looked at the other girl. "Is CeeCee as . . . armored in that outfit?"

"Close enough," Mr. Carson said, laughing. "If that's your worry, don't worry. Trust me."

Mr. Robinson's face showed his decision before a formal sign of agreement, but he finally nodded. "I still don't think I like this, but I won't stand in the way."

"Thanks, Dad," Catwoman said, too lost in her own thoughts to change her voice from the sultry sound she had learned.

Mrs. Robinson moved toward her car door, waving at the others. "C'mon, kids . . . well, that doesn't seem quite appropriate, does it? Come on, ladies, your chariot awaits."

They arranged to be dropped off around the corner from the Eddington house. It wasn't quite a mansion, but it was definitely on the large side. Thankfully for the girls' feet, most of the lot was behind the house and it wasn't that far to the front door. However, as soon as Mrs. Robinson pulled away, Catwoman pulled Black Widow to a halt.

"Wait up a second," the dark-haired adventurer said. She reached into one of the pouches on her utility belt. Then, with no warning, her hand flashed out and Black Widow found her right wrist captured in one of the white-furred cuffs. In the next second, Catwoman's hand flashed again. Only this time is was her own left wrist that was bound.

"We're staying together tonight," Catwoman declared.

"Oh, god, that is so hot!" Black Widow moaned. "What you do to me is just evil."

"Glad to hear it," Catwoman said, smirking at her girlfriend's reaction. "So here is the deal. 'Officially' since you are Natalia Romanova, Agent of Shield - in other words, a good guy - I am your prisoner tonight. But the game is to make it seem like being cuffed together is all a ploy on my part, and that you are *my* prey. By the way, the key is back at my house."

"Oh, yeahhh," Black Widow whispered. "That is gonna be *ssoo* much fun. And . . ."

Whatever else she might have intended to say was lost when Catwoman used a sharp little nail to pull down the zipper of Black Widow's catsuit to a dangerously low level, then used that same nail to reach inside and flick at a hard, hot button of interest that was all too obvious.

"ohhhhmmmmiiiigggoddd," Black Widow moaned, then started to quiver. Her eyes rolled back in her head and Catwoman was forced - it wasn't that much of a bother, really - to hold her upright. In a few minutes, Black Widow's eyes fluttered open and she started breathing again.

"Ohmigod, you are *way* bad."

She worked to catch her breath as Catwoman urged her toward the door. Two hard claw points pinched at the rehead's curvy derriere, but Black Widow's slapping hand waved ineffectively as Catwoman danced away so that it was stretched by the cuff.

Black Widow shivered again, then whispered, "Oh, man, are you gonna be like that all night?"

"Goodness, no," Catwoman promised. "I'm just getting started."

Any further antics were put on hold as they rang the bell. Supergirl answered the door, smiling at the pair then noticing the flamboyant white cuffs that showed so prominently against their dark gloves. That raised a questioning eyebrow on the blonde's cute features.

"She's my prisoner," Black Widow announced, loud enough for all those near the door to hear - mostly because the epicenter of the music was somewhere further back in the house because the throbbing beat was clearly muted by distance.

Before Supergirl could say anything, Catwoman reached out to run a claw through the white fur that surrounded Black Widow's wrist and purred, "You say the most amuusssing things, darling."

That replaced Supergirl's elevated eyebrow with a blush, but after a moment she laughed - not quite light-hearted enough to be a giggle, but showing that most of her composure had been recovered. "I think you two are going to have a *good* time tonight."

As the hostess led them further into the house, she leaned close to whisper - well, speak, but not so loudly that anyone else could hear - over the increasing music volume. "By the way, we have three or four Hawkeyes, and at least ten Batmen here tonight, and I don't remember any of those costumes at school today."

Catwoman let her voice rumble with throaty laughter. "Imagine that."

Black Widow laughed, too. She pulled at the cuff to lead Catwoman toward the refreshments. They giggled together as they arranged plates while still keeping their cuffed wrists close.

"Allow me, milady," a familiar voice offered. Turning, the linked pair saw Batman - but the voice belonged to Brad Bradford.

Catwoman looked at him and smiled. It was actually a quite devastating smile that managed to combine the amusement of a beautiful woman for an earnest suitor . . . with the hungry smile of a predator about to pounce. The easy grace with which she stood in her towering heels and the flowing lines revealed so dramatically by her sleek catsuit added to the overall impact of someone a bit out of the supplicant's class.

"Well, at least you're past the 'Babe' stage," she observed.

"And let me help you," another voice said from the other side of Black Widow. That supplicant - dressed as Hawkeye from the recent movies though also wearing a domino mask - reached out to take Black Widow's plate, almost dumping both plates as a result. By the time they got things sorted out the linkage between the two girls had been revealed.

"Well," Batman said. "That's interesting."

"Indeed. I find it verrrry interrresting," Catwoman said, letting a purr of mocking laughter wander from her throat. She reached out to put her arm around Black Widow's waist, forcing Natalia's arm to follow.

Black Widow laughed at the interchange. "Hey, don't forget that you're *my* prisoner."

"Am I?" Catwoman asked.

"Absolutely," Black Widow insisted. She turned back to Hawkeye and said, "Are you going to eat that yourself, or give it back?"

Batman took Catwoman's plate and then her arm. When he pulled her toward another room, Black Widow - and therefore Hawkeye - were compelled to follow. He led them to a table that was already loaded with plates, but it took only a moment to clear a space. Then he arranged two chairs - making it look casually easy to move them into place with one hand - so that the linked girls could sit.

"What would you like to drink?" he asked.

"Oh, a coke will do, for both of us," Catwoman answered without consulting with Black Widow.

"Coming right up," Batman promised, but instead of moving off, he looked at Hawkeye. "Go get us some, will you Kev?"

The other would-be hero frowned, but moved off. Batman pulled up another chair and slid it into position next to Catwoman.

"Okay, I gotta admit, that is hot," he said, looking at their furry cuffs. "But that shouldn't be surprising. Today in school you were just off the freakin' scale . . ."

While he went on about their attractiveness the girls picked at their snacks, smiling innocently as though captivated by his charm. It was so much of a contrast from their earlier urbane manner that even he caught on after a moment that they were teasing.

"Okay, okay, so I'm a jock and you're too sophisticated for the muscle-bound types, I get it," he said, smiling ruefully. About then Hawkeye showed up with their drinks, but Batman wasn't giving up.

Pulling at Catwoman's free hand, he said, "C'mon, let's dance."

Something came over her. There wasn't any conscious thought, and she wasn't even angry. One instant she was sitting there with Black Widow and Batman having a nicely edgy conversation, then Batman grabbed her and . . .

The pointed nails that extended from her gloves were actually attached to thimble-like sockets that held her actual fingers. That gave her almost as much control as if they were really part of her hands. She snatched her hand out of his grip and used that control to stick a set of prickly points into Batman's throat below his own cowl.

"Not without permission," she growled, the rumble of her throaty purr now the snarl of a predatory feline.

"Geez, okay, I'm sorry," Batman said, holding up his own hands in surrender. "I just wanted to dance."

Catwoman pulled back her fingers from his throat and slowly licked each one as though savoring the drops of blood on the tips. In fact, she hadn't really pushed hard enough to break the skin, but the implication was there. The sight of that sensual goddess slowly licking her fingers was enough to cause two other Batmen to walk into each other, and one angry Supergirl (not Amber) to pull on her Superman's cape. Sharply.

And it was enough for Catwoman's own Batman to groan and twitch uncomfortably. "Oh, damn, you are so freakin' hot that I *know* I'm gonna get in trouble. But it might be worth it."

"It might," Catwoman allowed, ostentatiously preening her ears (the ones on the top of her head) with her licked fingers. She smiled that exotic combination of amusement and predation, then let her purr rumble in a bit more friendly tone. "What sorrrrtt of trrrouble did you have in mind?"

Batman grinned again, ruefully again, and bowed from the waist. Sweeping is cape around, he asked, "Milady Catwoman, could I have the honor of this dance?"

"Perrrhaapppss," she drawled. Turning to her attached captor/captive, she asked, "Would you like to dance?"

"Perhaps," Black Widow echoed - clipping the tone just a bit to make the contrast with Catwoman's tone greater. She looked at her Hawkeye, who grinned and bowed himself. Together with their escorts the two girls went out to the back yard where a patio had been cleared for dancing.

It was definitely strange to be dancing while cuffed to another luscious woman, but as teens usually do, they managed. It helped that Catwoman had learned her sybaritic moves from Black Widow so there was a common reaction to the changes in the music that made it look almost practiced. The story of Catwoman's reaction to being grabbed had circulated through the party almost too fast for mere words, and the four dancers had gathered a bit of an audience before they were done with one song.

Someone decided to up the challenge a bit, and the next song was a slow, easy ballad. Batman bowed to his famous paramour and smiled a request to continue. Catwoman wasn't sure just how this would work out, but the challenge amused her so she nodded. He put his hands around her waist and it seemed only natural for her free hand to move to his shoulder. Her bound hand stretched a bit to the side as Black Widow made the same arrangements with her own partner, and with a bit of care not to get too twisted, they managed to make it work.

After the earlier lesson in manners, Batman was a pretty nice guy. He held her warmly, but not too tightly and he didn't make any attempt to force their hips together. "You know, lady, I don't even know your real name."

"Selina Kyle?" she offered.

"If you insist," he said, "but I prefer to know the woman behind the woman behind the mask."

"Wow, can you say that again three times real fast?"

"Thatagainthatagainthatagain," he said.

Catwoman giggled at his response, then shrugged.

"Who would you like me to be?" she asked.

"You look like Anne Hathaway," he offered. "Only hotter."

"Thank you," she purred, "but that life is taken."

"Not gonna tell me, huh?" Batman said. At her noncommittal smile he continued, "Well, you already know that I'm a football player."

"Is that supposed to impress me?"

"Not really, but I play defensive line, and as a result I've had, oh, half a dozen cuts that required stitches."

"Still looking for the part where I get impressed," Catwoman said, and her voice was taking on a bored tone that she didn't have to fake.

"It means - since you're not going to give me your name so that I can get this chance later when you're, um, 'unarmed' - that I'm just going to damn the consequences and take my chance with your claws now," he said.

Then he kissed her. He had his arms around her and one slid up to gather a handfull of her lush, dark hair. With that as a control, he captured her lips with his own and bent her over backward. As he bent her, Catwoman's free hand clutched at his shoulder in fear of falling, and he took that as permission to raise the passion of his kiss.




To his credit - at some insane level Catwoman was taking notes - he didn't try to use brute force to crush her lips. He just merged their mouths together, making her accept him yet at the same time giving himself to her.

Clapping interrupted them. It was a funny one-hand clapping which was actually Black Widow slapping her thigh with her free hand while she stood tethered to Catwoman.

Batman carefully lifted Catwoman back to her feet, and if she felt the thick evidence of his interest as they slid apart, there probably wasn't much he could do about it. In fact, once he released her he pulled his cape around to provide a bit of cover for something that was a more than a bit too obvious.

"You can kill me now," he murmured, not breathing too well. "It was worth it."

Catwoman was blinking, trying to get her eyes to focus. It took long enough that she knew it was past any excuse to take any retaliation, unless she wanted to retaliate in kind.

And though that kiss left her wanting more, it wasn't more of Batman's gruff that she craved.

"C'mon," she said abruptly to Black Widow. "Excuse us. I need to, um, make a stop," she called over her shoulder as she fled down a hallway that she hoped held a restroom. In this, at least, she was lucky and in a moment she had pulled Black Widow with her into that haven of privacy.

Chapter 12 - "Thanks For The Lesson"

It was actually Black Widow who spoke first . . . or at least, tried to.

"Man, that was . . ."

She was interrupted by a kiss from Catwoman that left no doubt how aroused the dark-haired feline was. Claw-tipped fingers slid through the lowered zipper to pinch at buttons connected directly to Black Widow's reflexes, and in moment neither was breathing well enough to stand. They slumped against a counter in the bathroom and inhaled each other for some time that didn't matter.

"Wow," Black Widow whispered when her partner finally let them up for air. Then she giggled, "So, kissing a guy got you hot, huh?"

"Oh, man, don't *even* go there," Catwoman moaned. "I don't even want to think about it."

"But I do," said Black Widow, with a giggle. "Damn, I wish I had a picture."

"Oh, god, do you think anyone took one?"

"I'll bet a few tried," Black Widow said, "but it probably melted their cameras."

"God, I hope so," Catwoman said. "That was weird."

"Weird because you liked it?"

Catwoman frowned and it was clear she was going to deny that, but then her expression became carefully neutral. After a moment, she sighed and dropped her head. "Maybe."

Black Widow smiled at her friend and put a comforting arm around her. "Y'know, I envy you."

"Because Brad kissed me?"

"No. Well, not really, but I guess that is part of it."

Catwoman's frown showed she didn't understand, but Black Widow expected that so she smiled and continued. "I remember the night we did our walk through the woods . . ."

"I would hope so!" Catwoman interrupted her.

"Hush," Black Widow said. "Afterwards, when you kissed me before you took the handcuffs off of me, when I was naked . . . it was awesome."

"I would hope so," Catwoman murmured, smiling with her own memory.

Black Widow leaned into the taller brunette and rested her head on Catwoman's shoulder. "I felt totally helpless, yet totally protected, and infinitely precious."

She looked up at Catwoman and asked, "Did you feel that way when Brad kissed you?"

Catwoman's face showed a blush, and after a moment she said, "Maybe." Which they both knew meant yes. Then she sighed. "I wish I could be more . . . protective for you."

Black Widow laughed and slapped at her friend. "You dork! Man, I've seen your body. I've *felt* your body - your real body with none of those tricks hiding it. You make fun of yourself for not having puffed-up muscles like the football jocks, but you're lean, and you're tight, and you're impossibly fast, and you're totally fearless. When you flashed your claws at Brad, I thought I was gonna lose it right there. You can be my protector any time."

Catwoman's eyes widened at the litany of praise. "But I've always felt . . . I mean, the only reason I agreed to go out shopping with you - when I was Tori - was because for the first time it didn't look like you were on a mercy date with your cousin or something. I mean, Tori is in your class, maybe, but not Vic."

Black Widow wouldn't accept that, either. She punched Catwoman in the ribs - fairly hard, though the corset protected her. "Don't ever put yourself down. Geez, when I was into what my parent thought was a tomboy stage, I felt it was the other way around! You're handsome, and . . . well, tight. You move like a hunting cat even when you're not pretending to be Catwoman. Why do you think I picked this costume for you?"

"Because you're weird?" Catwoman offered, but a grin of genuine humor was showing for the first time since her panicked flight into the bathroom.

"Well, that's true," Black Widow giggled. "But like I said, I envy you. You can feel that sense of being infinitely precious when a guy holds you and kisses you. You can *share* passion with me where each of us is the same, yet different. And you can be my protector when I'm helpless - which for me is best of all. You're the best of all worlds . . . and you're mine."

"You got that right," Catwoman said. This time their kiss was less desperate, but even more loving.

When the managed to return to the real world, Black Widow laughed at Catwoman's face. "Fix your lipstick. Then we better get back out there."

"You need it, too," Catwoman said. They had a silly little giggle fight when each tried to reach for their own utility belts to recover the needed supplies and their joined hands came up short. But in a few minutes they were back to perfection and ready to rejoin the party.

Catwoman strode out in her confident predator mode, and she moved through the crowd with sinuous grace to find the tall Batman who had kissed her.

He was sipping on a beer, but he put it down and moved toward her as soon as he saw her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Rrrwaaaour. I like to think I'm a lot betterrrr than just okay," she purred. It happened that they were in a corner where the music wasn't too loud for more-or-less normal tones so her voice could play its tune of promise.

Batman's rugged face showed a blush below the cowl, but Catwoman wasn't done.

"I'd say I owed you an apology," she said, "but we both know we both enjoyed it, so you're not getting one."

"An apology?" Batman repeated.

"For teasing you," Catwoman explained. "Because, well, I'm already taken."

"You have a boyfriend?" he asked.

"No," Catwoman said bluntly. Then she explained. She put one hand around Black Widow's waist, pulling their linked hands behind the shorter girl, and then put her other hand behind the redhead's mane of hair. Bending the shorter girl backward, she kissed her with a deliberate copy of Batman's earlier pose . . . but that didn't make it look at all similar, and in a moment it was clear it didn't have the same effect.




Black Widow started to quiver, and the motion intensified until she was shuddering so fiercely that only Catwoman's support kept her on her feet. When the quakes died down Catwoman lifted her head.

"oooohhhhhh," Black Widow cooed. At her sound a dozen moans resonated through the room - so perfectly simultaneous and perfectly heartfelt that it was perfectly silly. Everyone seemed to reach that same awareness in another simultaneous communion and the room exploded with laughter.

When the noise had died down enough for her words to carry, Catwoman looked at Batman and said, "Thanks for the lesson. I took notes."

That set the room off again, perhaps with more hoots of appreciation than simple laughter, but it didn't leave any room for words. Catwoman looked up at Batman with an echo of her earlier smile - part amusement and a bit of hunger. He smiled back. If there were any residual feelings of hurt for having been teased, they were banished beyond memory by the compliment on his kissing style - and that bit of hunger in Catwoman's eyes that only he could see.

"Anytime," his lips said.

"I may take you up on that," Catwoman replied, not really loud enough to hear but clear enough on her ripe lips anyway.

The joined girls knew that anything else that happened at the party could only diminish the magic of that moment, so they started to make their way to the door. Supergirl - this time their actual hostess and with the right Superman in tow - met them on their way.

Catwoman smiled and said, "Thanks for inviting us. This has been . . . memorable."

"Memorable?" Supergirl repeated. "This has been historic. This has been epic. This has been - Nick, what's another good SAT word? This has been eternal. And I still don't know your real names."

"No, you don't," Catwoman said blandly.

Supergirl grinned at them, but nodded. "Do you need a ride home? I can get one of the squad to take you so none of these horny guys will know where you went. I won't be able to take you myself because we're going to have to spend the rest of the night gathering up loose eyeballs and tongues from where they hit the floor after your kiss. Including his." She slapped at her date's massive shoulder, but she giggled. "Thanks for coming."

Black Widow's domino mask didn't cover nearly enough of her face to hide her blush at the double meaning in that comment, which triggered another giggle from Supergirl and a not-quite-suppressed moan from her Superman.

"Down boy," Supergirl said, slapping her date's shoulder again. This time a bit harder. But she smiled at her mysterious guests. By this time they were at the door and soon waving good-bye. As they walked off they heard Amber tell Nick to watch to make sure no one tried to follow the black-clad girls.

Even before they were out of sight of the door, Catwoman was fishing out a cellphone. A rendezvous was arranged out of sight of the house. Then Black Widow frowned.

"Ohmigod, how are we gonna explain these?" she asked, holding up their wrists linked in the fuzzy handcuffs.

"Explain what?" Catwoman said easily. She reached into a pouch at her belt and pulled out the key.

"I thought you said you left that key at home."

Catwoman smirked. "I lied."

That earned her a shoulder slap of her own, but Black Widow grinned at the success of her little deception. By the time Mrs. Robinson arrived they were demurely standing under a light pole, waiting patiently. Well, as demure as two impossibly hot girls in skin-tight black costumes and insanely high heels can be.

"Did you have a good time?" Mrs. Robinson asked as they climbed in the car.

"Oh, yeahh," Black Widow said brightly.

That brought a frown to her face that Catwoman hadn't seen before. She labeled it, Parental Disapproval Frown #5 - Envious displeasure. It caused her to giggle, which did nothing to reduce the intensity of Mrs. Robinson's frown.

But her mother just sighed and continued the drive home. The girls offered appropriately sanitized accounts of the evening. Yes, they did have something to eat (even if only a few nibbles). No, they did not have anything to drink - not even possibly spiked punch. Yes, they did dance a little (bringing an inquisitive look to Mrs. Robinsons' face that Catwoman blithely ignored). By the time their report was delivered, they were back home.

And then they had to go through it again with Mr. Robinson. However, Black Widow removed her mask and Catwoman removed her cowl. The purring roll of Catwoman's voice seemed to leave with the cowl so the second telling wasn't quite as outrageously sensual as it might have been, though even Tori's tones were well into the feminine. They could probably have said anything - recited nursery rhymes if they wanted - because Mr. Robinson was so conflicted at seeing and hearing his child - his son - looking and sounding like such a beautiful young woman that he wasn't paying much attention to the actual words. But he did his daddy duty and they reported as truthfully - though as incompletely - as they had done the first time.

Tori made a point of walking CeeCee home. It was after dark and the firehose immersion in femininity had saturated her fear of discovery. And besides, that gave them a chance for another multi-megaton kiss. If Tori's walk back to her own home was a bit unsteady after that, well, she was wearing very, very high heels.

Mrs. Robinson hadn't lost the key to her collar - and wasn't cruel enough to pretend that she had - so it wasn't long before the boots had quit torturing her feet and the corset had quit torturing her ribs. Actually, Tori had spent enough time in those devices that they didn't bother her all that much. In fact, her ribs hurt worse after the corset was loosened than when it was tight.

And despite all the shocks to her self-awareness, she was a bit sad to take off her wig and makeup and become Vic again. Mrs. Robinson picked up on that.

"Are you okay, dear?" she asked.

"Sure, Mom," he said, but his voice didn't have much confidence.

"Want to talk about it?"

Vic looked at his mother and sighed. It wasn't a sigh of exasperation at being interrogated. He knew it was his choice to speak or not. He just didn't know what to say.

His mother prompted just a bit. "Did you have a good time at the party? Really?"

"Yeah," Vic admitted. "That's the problem, I think."

She waited patiently, and finally he started to find the words. "We fit in, Mom. Really well. We fit with the 'beautiful,' popular people. We were right up there in looks, and . . . well, we were confident. We *knew* we belonged at the best parties with the coolest kids. We were head high and struttin.'" He grinned and interrupted himself. "Well, with those heels that was probably gonna happen anyway. It's just . . . I've never felt that way before. It was almost as though I actually *became* Catwoman. Or at least, a hot, dangerous, total babe."

He started to pace a little, moving back and forth through his room. The parts of the Catwoman costume was still strewn about, so he started to pick them up. His mother silently helped him, smiling as she took the catsuit from him with a quiet 'dry cleaning' explanation. She smiled another silent message as she put the corset into one of his drawers. Vic blushed, but nodded and put the boots away in his closet.

"Y'know," he continued, "at one point CeeCee and I were talking. And she said that she felt like she wasn't in *my* class! *Me!* I mean, she's just incredibly beautiful, and smart, and fun. And I'm just . . . me."

"I've always told you were special," his mother reminded him. "Foolish sometimes, with your dares, but that was also a sign of courage and integrity. And surviving them meant you were agile, and stronger than you look. And you are handsome. Perhaps that's what CeeCee sees in you."

"Yeah, she said something like that. But I just don't see it. I mean, she's cheerleader cute and cheerleaders go with football players, not with nerds - even stupidly brave ones."

"Perhaps you're underestimating CeeCee. She's not a cheerleader, and since she's cute enough maybe it's because she values other things. I know I do. Your father was never a football player either, but I wouldn't trade him for the whole NFL lined up in a row."

Vic surprised her by pulling up from his pacing to look at her, then he obviously thought of something - by implication, something distinctive that CeeCee valued - and blushed fiercely. Mrs. Robinson wanted to pull on that thread but decided this wasn't the time.

Vic sighed and sat down on his bed. "There's more."

His mother sat beside him and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. But she didn't say anything, and so told him that she would be as patient as he needed her to be.

Vic's voice was almost too soft to be heard. More than that, it had a lilt and breathy cheerfulness that she recognized immediately.

"I liked it," he said, using a voice that was at least as close to Tori as his regular tones. "I liked being pretty. I liked being feminine, yet at the same time strong."

He looked earnestly at his mother as if he were trying to convince her, "Women can be strong, even if they don't have huge muscles. Strong in character, but also tough and . . . dangerous. I mean, I was playing a part as Catwoman, but it was still *me* under that, or at least, a 'real' woman - and I recognize the irony in that - not some comic book superhero. But I made a lumbering jock back down when he tried to grab me."

"Grab you?" she repeated, no longer smiling.

He grinned, "Chill. He just grabbed my wrist. He wanted me to dance with him. But I made him back off, apologize, and ask nice. And he probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds."

"Did you dance with him - after he asked nicely, I mean?" she asked, smiling again.

Vic ducked his head. "Yeah. CeeCee was right there with me - I mean, Black Widow - dancing with another guy so it wasn't like he took me off somewhere alone. Anyway, we danced for a bit. It was fun. I always feel too stupid to dance, but as Catwoman I was . . . well, I was hot, and hot girls can dance. It never looks stupid if a hot girl is moving around, and with those heels . . ."

He blushed again. "But it wasn't just because I was hiding in a costume. I just *felt* more graceful. I liked feeling like a girl."

"Do you think you really *are* a girl? Only in the wrong body?"

Vic shook his head. "No. Not at all, and I'm not attracted to boys, either. I just liked being . . . free to be sensual, and knowing that I was truly beautiful in a way that guys just can't be. I'm not sure . . . I want to give it up."

"Dressing like a girl? Acting like a girl? But not . . . anything else?" she asked to confirm.

"I guess so. But not all the time."

He stood up and walked to a shelf holding assorted items that had been interesting enough to keep close. They showed his gaming characters, plus a few models and books. "I like guy things, too. And just like I want to be able to move like a woman when I'm dressed like one, if I want to play a combat game, I want to . . . to have my 'Vic' head on."

He frowned and let his fingers wander around the mementoes a bit. It was clear he wanted to say something further so his mother waited with yet more parental patience.

"I guess I'm confused about CeeCee, too. I mean, she likes me as Vic, but she likes me as Tori, too. I guess I want to make her happy in whatever way I can. That's really important to me."

He blushed and looked at the wall that was on the side toward the Carson house as though he could see through it to where CeeCee was right then. "I guess I should have brought that up sooner. Maybe that says something about where my head is at - that I was thinking how much I liked being Tori even before I thought about how CeeCee likes it, too. But - honestly - I would dress as Tori for her even if I didn't like it, as long as I could do it well enough that no one caught on and, y'know, made trouble."

"That sounds like what your father would call a 'win-win,'" his mother observed. Vic smiled at her, but he was still thinking about a lot of changes in his life and his frown soon returned.

"So what am I gonna do?" Vic asked.

"I don't know," Mrs. Robinson said, but she continued to smile and it was clear that didn't seem like a problem. "Finding solutions is a 'guy' thing. I just listen and try to understand. But I figure you'll work something out. Your father and I will support you in whatever you feel you need to do."

"Thanks, Mom. That means a lot."

"It means a lot to us, too," she said. Then she started briskly straightening the last few items of disarray. "It's late. Go to bed, and we'll talk about it more in the morning."

As she moved to the door to leave, she said, "And I think you should talk with your father about . . . well, some of the things we discussed anyway. I think you'll find him to be understanding. It's one of the many things I love about him."

She sighed and concluded, "And if Tori is going to be around much, well, we'll have to talk about that, too."

Vic nodded and smiled a not-too-confident smile as she closed the door behind her.

Before he got to sleep, his cellphone pinged.

"We're famous," CeeCee said, hardly giving Vic time to say hello.

"What?"

"Somebody did get photos - even video," she said. "Both times."

Vic hadn't been asleep and he wasn't particularly disoriented as the call came in. Nonetheless, it took him a moment to catch up.

"Video, from the party?" he guessed.

"Yep," CeeCee confirmed. "There are at least 4 Facebook sites that have our kiss, and the one of you and Batman is on youtube already. Apparently *our* kiss was too hot for youtube . . . which is true, of course. Man, if they only knew just how hot you are . . ."

"Oh, god, kill me now," he moaned.

"No way," she giggled. "You're totally hot. I'll bet that Catwoman could get a movie star offer if they only knew who she was. Somebody got the neck pinch, too. That's totally awesome."

"I presume you'll tell me where to find this stuff," he said, awakening his laptop from slumber mode.

At first Vic was cussing the perverts who had filmed him without permission, but after a moment to reflect he saw the humor in it. And a moment after that he was laughing so hard tears were spraying on his computer screen. The images really were pretty hot. Apparently, the two black-clad girls were magnets for attention from the moment they stepped in the door - being cuffed together might have had something to do with that.

"Ohmigod," Vic groaned. "What if my parents see this?"

"I guess it's a good thing you were in a costume."

"Yeah, but they know what my costume was," he said.

"Yeah, but they can hardly tell anyone," she countered. "Besides, you didn't do anything wrong."

"We were wearing handcuffs!" Vic said.

"Whose idea was that?" CeeCee countered with another giggle. "Besides, my parents will probably think it was cute."

Vic pulled his voice down to a whisper, "But . . . the videos show me being kissed . . . by a guy!"

"Yep, exactly," she said unhelpfully. Then she did offer some help. "He kissed you. You didn't initiate it. And as soon as he let you go you ran away. Then you kissed me." Her voice took on a pedantic tone. "Your honor, may it please the court, we offer this video in evidence that the aforementioned cat burglar definitely prefers kissing girls to kissing boys."

Then her giggle erupted again and she said, "Though . . . if you only look at what's on youtube, you sure look like you were giving as good as you were getting with Batman!!"

"Oh, god, I am so dead," Vic moaned again.

CeeCee was not letting him off. "When you go on Leno, can you get me some tickets for the show?"

"Drop dead," Vic said, but he couldn't help laughing. "Besides, you're in most of those videos, too. And *you're* the one who had a big O from being kissed. A *very* big O. As hotness coefficients go, yours tops mine by light years."

"Yes, yes it does," she said with regal disdain. Which of course she ruined by giggling again.

"Ohmigod, we have got to go out again," she said.

"As Catwoman and Black Widow?"

"No," CeeCee replied. "Maybe at a convention or something . . . I'll have to look into that. But I meant as Tori and long-haired CeeCee."

Vic let his voice drop to a more seductive tone and offered, "How about as naked CeeCee, in chains, in public but not quite visible?"

"ooohhhh gggooodddd," CeeCee moaned. "That is sssooo hot. I can't . . . oh, god. Did I tell you . . tell you, that . . . that Mama . . . got me a . . . a . . . an attachment for the shower sprayer . . . and . . . my . . . little . . . little tin panty? I gotta go!"

With that the phone line went abruptly dead.

"Well, there goes any possibility of sleep for a while," Vic groaned, but he couldn't stop a snarky grin from playing on his lips as he turned out the light.

Chapter 13 - "Fair's Fair"

The next day, even as he did it, Vic knew he was overcompensating. Other than personal things like keeping his room picked up, most of his household chores tended toward the stereotypical masculine types and he didn't particularly enjoy them But on the day after the Halloween party he jumped into them without being nagged. He raked several bags of leaves and changed the oil on the mower. Then he spent some unusual time working with his father and Mr. Carson on their latest car restoration. The men - the adult men - had a pretty good idea what was going on, but they also had the sensitivity not to give him a hard time about it; accepting his help with no comment beyond direction on what to do.

The women of the two households were much the same. CeeCee came over to say hi at one point, but when she saw Vic hard at work on a nicely greasy car task, she just smiled and went back to her own home. Mrs. Robinson even fixed them sandwiches they could eat 'on the job' with nothing more than a quick hand wash.

By suppertime though, CeeCee's curiosity was just not going to be denied. As soon as they were all finished, the teens retired to 'their' log bench in the woods behind the homes. Of course, their first order of business was not to talk. But after they had succeeded in burning of their excess hormones - again, and with such intensity that even they knew it was a good thing CeeCee had her tin panty - she demanded an explanation.

"So, what's this plan you have for me?"

"What plan would that be?" Vic asked innocently.

That got him a punch in the ribs, no longer armored by corset. It wasn't that hard, but it made the point.

Though his response was not quite what CeeCee expected. Vic stood up so that he could defend himself better - laughing as he did so - then said, "Do your worst. I'll never talk."

CeeCee scowled artificially at him. Her freckles were never going to let her have a really good scowl. When that didn't work, she tried a pout. That just made him laugh harder.

"You bastard," she hissed, but she couldn't help smiling even as she said it. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Because we both know the anticipation is going to be about half of your enjoyment of the whole thing," he replied. "The other half, well, that's up to me."

She pouted again, then her face transformed into a grin with an evil intent that even her inherent cuteness couldn't hide. "Okay, then you have to do something, too."

"The sort of things I have in mind are exciting to you, not me. No adrenaline rush means no dare."

"Oh, I can give you that rush," she promised. "What you said was that I would be naked, chained, and in public . . . but not visible, is that right?"

"Something like that," Vic agreed. "Not just another trip under a blanket in the truck, of course, but some of the same elements."

"Well, then," CeeCee declared, "you need to be dressed, free, and publicly visible . . . as Tori."

"Wait, that isn't part of this. It won't work right if I'm Tori."

"Well, figure out something that is," she said. "That's the deal. Something that pushes my buttons, balanced by something that pushes your buttons. Fair's fair."

Vic was prepared to argue the point, but logic or actual 'fairness' aside, he was already thinking of ways to modify the plan he was preparing to incorporate these additional conditions.

"It might take longer," he said. "To make that work, I'd need something . . . well, maybe I have something that would work, but I'd have to . . ."

CeeCee grinned. "Man, this is gonna be fun! Now, just to be clear, you need to be Tori, and you can't be part of a group, like when the three of us went shopping. And I get to pick your outfit."

"Wait, where'd that come from? I'm not going somewhere as Catwoman again."

"Oh, no, of course not," she promised. "You'll be Tori, but you're not going with the anti-feminine tomboy look I used to wear. You need to be stylish, proud, and very, very hot."

Vic might have wanted to complain some more, but as CeeCee had pointed out, this was pushing some of his buttons and they both knew it. When he nodded, CeeCee threw herself into his arms for another air-ionizing kiss that threatened to set the woods on fire. Vic would have been willing - more than willing - to explore the things they could do even while CeeCee wore her chastity belt, but after an exuberantly cheerful kiss, CeeCee pulled back.

"I need to get started on your outfit," she declared. "I have just the idea. Since you'll be in public, as a sensual, feminine woman, you'll be wearing heels and a skirt. Figure out your side of this accordingly."

"Wait, that won't . . . well . . . maybe I can . . . okay," Vic said, planning rapidly as well. They laughed as they made their way back up to the houses, plotting against each other in a way that they both wanted to be highly pleasing as well.

But that plan had to wait until at least another week had gone by. They had homework to do on Sunday, and Monday came so soon that they hadn't really had a chance to talk before they were walking into the school building. Then they had plenty to talk about, though it wasn't connected with a new, highly private, adventure.

The school building bulletin boards, display cases, and most of the walls themselves were plastered with, "Have you seen this girl?" posters modeled on the lost child displays. Only this time the girls being sought were two nova-hot babes in black catsuits and masks. Despite an echo of inner guilt, Vic couldn't help feeling a bit smug that posters looking for Catwoman outnumbered those looking for Black Widow by about 3 or 4 to 1.

While they were standing there looking at the posters, Brandon Lister walked up. He and Vic were sometimes friends, mostly through online gaming.

"Man, did you see her on Friday?" he asked as he reached them, also nodding at CeeCee to acknowledge her presence.

"Catwoman?" Vic said.

"No, doof, the Queen of England," Brandon sniped.

Vic said, "Yeah, I saw her. Her and that other babe, too." He didn't bother to tell Brandon that the only way he had seen Catwoman was in a mirror.

CeeCee laughed and slapped at her boyfriend. "Down boy. Are you trying to say I'm not good enough for you?"

He laughed and shrugged. "I don't know. What do you look like in a cowl?"

"Why you . . ," CeeCee spluttered, then laughed at the effectiveness of his jab. She also realized that by comparing her to Catwoman, not Black Widow, Vic was avoiding the chance that someone would make the connection to her real costume.

Brandon laughed at her irritation, knowing it was for show. "Oh, give me a break. You two are joined at the hip. If Catwoman herself made a play for Vic, he'd just tell her that he was taken."

"Say, that's just like what Catwoman said about Black Widow," he remembered. "So, Vic, what was your costume?"

"You think I was Catwoman?"

"Hell, no, dork," Brandon said, then he laughed. "Besides, that's what I said you'd say, not what you said."

"What?" Vic said, crossing his eyes in apparent confusion. They both laughed, but Brandon repeated his question.

"What'd you wear on Friday?"

"Oh, zombie," Vic said dismissively. Since zombies outnumbered any other costume by about 2 to 1 - many of which had enough of a mask that the student inside couldn't be identified - it was a safe bet.

In fact, Brandon replied, "Yeah, me, too." Then he laughed again and swayed his hips out to the side. "Hey, maybe next year I'll come as Catwoman myself."

Since Brandon was pushing - from the wrong side - 250 pounds, Vic and CeeCee winced and put a hand in front of their eyes. Vic groaned, "Oh, man, I do not need that image."

Brandon's chuckle said he wasn't distressed at his own body challenges. He turned back to the poster and sighed. "Man, I wish I knew who they were. They were just insanely hot. Both of them, but what Catwoman did at that party . . ."

"Party?" Vic repeated, careful to keep his tone mildly curious.

"Yeah, didn't you see the youtube?" Brandon asked. When Vic didn't indicate any awareness, Brandon launched into an explanation of the party, the kisses, and the cyber record of it.

"Man, I wish I'd have seen that," Vic said. "Gimme that site. I'll check later, if the videos are still up."

Brandon gave him the links, and promised to ask a couple of the Facebook page owners to friend Vic so that he could have access to the even-hotter second kiss video.

CeeCee had been quietly listening to the boys do their testosterone-fueled aria of appreciation. Part of her wanted to complain about their crude objectification of the characters she and Tori had played, but part of her was gratified by the appreciation. Brandon was a good enough representative of the 'average' student at their high school that she couldn't help being flattered by his attitude, even if he didn't know he was standing next to the two people he was drooling over. Or maybe because he didn't know. That certainly added some spice.

She decided to add a comment to see how Brandon reacted. "From what you say, it sounds like this Black Widow character was at least as hot as Catwoman. I mean, she's the one who, um . . . . who was 'overcome' right there in front of everyone."

Brandon snickered, "'Overcome,' yeah, right, coming over and over, from the look of it."

"Hey, dude," Vic said, punching his shoulder. "There's a lady present. Don't be so crude."

"Oh, hey, sorry CeeCee," Brandon said. "I guess I was just thinking of you like, y'know, one of the guys."

"That's even worse," Vic said, now really getting irritated.

"Chill, Vic," CeeCee said, but her own tone had dropped in temperature by several degrees.

"Sorry," Brandon repeated. "Hey, gotta get to class. See you later."

"Right," Vic said. It was nearly time for class so he gave CeeCee a brief school-tolerated kiss and they moved to their classrooms.

The story was much the same through the day, with the notable addition that about mid-morning the posters started showing the higher-quality images of Catwoman and Black Widow from the journalism class photos. Then things got really strange.

The PA system started up with its traditional squeal, then crackled with the Principal's voice. "Students and faculty of Edison High School: I appreciate the school spirit shown on Friday's costume contest, and share your interest in the mysterious students whose identities were so well concealed. However, we can't have our entire school inundated with unapproved messages. Please assist the staff in cleaning up the posters that have cluttered up our hallways."

There was a pause, as though the Principal was not sure whether to continue. After a moment, the voice said, "However, if there is anyone with knowledge of the two students who are the subject of the posters, please stop by the office and let us know. There have been inquiries from . . . outside sources who would like to offer them an opportunity."

That was not the best way to phrase that. Additional offers for a wide - but definitely not school approved - variety of opportunities were heard in every classroom, most of the halls, and all of the boys' rest rooms. In fact, written offers were being scrubbed off the rest room walls for the rest of the school year.

Neither Vic nor CeeCee took the Principal up on his offer, of course. They did put their heads together on the bus ride home and whisper speculations on who the 'outside sources' were and what they had offered. But they weren't alone in that activity.

It didn't get any better when they found out they had made the news. Well, maybe the speculation did because the news reporter indicated that agents and promoters were looking for the girls to offer them acting or modeling contracts. What did not get better was that the TV also had the youtube video. When Vic's parents saw Catwoman get kissed by a tall Dark Knight, they got very quiet.

After a painfully long silence, Mr. Robinson looked at his returned son. "Is there something you want to tell us?"

"Not really," Vic said ruefully. "But I don't think that's an option."

"Not a good one," his father replied. Then he surprised his son by smiling. "Before you start, let me tell you a story. . ."

"When I was young and even more foolish than I am now - say, about your age - I took a summer job on a sheep ranch. One night, a stupid sheep - they're all stupid, but this one didn't have two brain cells to rub together - got her head stuck in a fence. I went over to pull her free, but she was stuck pretty good. So I got around behind her . . ."

When he got to that point, he paused with a wry grin on his face.

"Just about then the ranch foreman came by and yelled - loud enough they heard him back in the bunkhouse - 'Robinson, what the hell are you doing to that sheep?!!'"

Mr. Robinson smiled and said, "So let us take it as a given that I know, ah, circumstances can arise that give a, um, misleading impression."

Vic's face flushed at the thought of the 'misleading impression' the video created, but he smiled his thanks at his dad for showing a sense of real understanding.

"Well," he said, "I guess what CeeCee said later is about right. I didn't kiss him. He kissed me. And as soon as he let me up, I ran to the bathroom in a panic."

He paused, then couldn't keep a little twitch of humor from tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And after I came out of the bathroom, I kissed CeeCee - well, Catwoman kissed Black Widow - and made it clear I didn't want a repeat of Batman's attentions."

"You kissed CeeCee, when you both looked like girls?" Mrs. Robinson repeated. For some reason Mr. Robinson was having a hard time speaking - like he was holding his breath or something.

"Oh, yeah," Vic said, igniting a memory that was so special his smile became positively angelic.

"I'm surprised that didn't make the video," she observed dryly.

Vic was about to tell he about the other videos, but some guardian angel kept him from blurting that out.

It was too much for Mr. Robinson. He let out a blast of laughter, then just keep snickering, trying to hold his breath but not succeeding even though with every breath more laughter spilled out.

"Are you okay, dear?" Mrs. Robinson said, still maintaining a very dry, unsympathetic tone. However, Vic noted the twinkle in her eyes and he suspected his father was even better at spotting it than he was.

"I'll . . . manage," Mr. Robinson finally managed to say.

Vic's mother was still the 'parental' figure in their little conclave, so she took it upon herself to move the issue forward. "Did you enjoy being kissed by that boy?"

If she expected a quick denial from Vic, she didn't get it. His face got serious again and it was enough for his father to get serious as well.

After a moment, he began with a somewhat oblique comment. "After he, um, finished and let me up, I ran to the bathroom. CeeCee came with me. [Like she had any choice.] We talked a bit before we came back out."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "She told me that being kissed when the guy is just overpowering makes you feel so vulnerable and helpless, but also so protected that you feel infinitely precious."

Vic looked at his parents to see if they could understand. "So, yeah, I felt that. And yeah, I liked it."

"But it's not really who I am. It's like . . . being made of crystal that could shatter at a crooked look. That's just not my image of myself, I guess. I won't say I'm the 'Man of Steel' or some other extreme, but as much as feeling that precious was amazing, it was also limiting."

He frowned and added, "And the thought of going any further . . . with a guy? That's just . . ," he shivered like a chill had run down his back, " . . . gross. Nor for me. Not at all."

He paused for a moment to look for a reaction from his parents, but all they showed was attention. Shaking his shoulders deliberately, as though he were shrugging off a dark blanket of emotion, he grinned. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course."

With the slight release of tension, Mr. Robinson nodded; relief clear on his face despite an obvious attempt to remain neutral. On the other hand, Mrs. Robinson was frowning.

"In your impossible heels, you're quite tall, yet this boy, this Batman was still quite a bit bigger than you. Is that going to be a problem? Did he feel, ah, embarrassed or cheated or tricked or something?"

Vic's face flushed - an all too common sensation lately - but he shook his head and felt a wry smile pull at his face again. "No, not a chance. When I kissed CeeCee - well, Black Widow - people, um, noticed. After the noise died down a bit, I told him, 'Thanks for the lesson. I took notes.' He didn't seem angry after that."

"You told a guy who kissed you that his technique was so good you took notes?" his father said, starting to laugh again.

Vic nodded.

"I, um, suppose that would have, ah, worked with me," Mr. Robinson said judiciously, then he broke up into laughter again.

This time it was his face that did a recovery to a more serious expression. "If you really were my daughter, I wouldn't have let you out of the house in that outfit - not unless it were locked on or something . . ."

He was interrupted by a strangled cough from Mrs. Robinson, but she just waved her hand for him to continue.

"Anyway, do you want to do that again? If so, we may have to set some rules."

Vic shook his head, then hesitated, "Well, CeeCee was talking about a convention or something. And it was fun to pretend to be such a dangerous, no rules kind of person, but that's not me either.

"What about this modeling thing?" his mother asked.

"Oh he . . . ck no. That's not me either, and I for sure don't need those kinds of complications in my life. On the other hand . . ."

They didn't take the bait. They just waited for him to continue.

Vic needed a change, something to let his mind get around some other ideas. So he stood up and started pacing a bit. After about three round trips of the side of the room, he looked back at his parents. "If I really were a girl, I'd probably be more tomboy than CeeCee ever was. I'd be in jeans and sneakers and short hair, the whole bit. But every now and then, I'd like to dress up just to feel that sense of precious delicacy. Did you ever feel that way, Mom?"

She nodded, but a second nod told him to continue.

"So mostly I'm just me. I like being with CeeCee - a whole lot - and I really like being her protector a lot more than being the protectee. But . . . well, sometimes I may want to be Tori for a while. And I kinda think CeeCee likes it, too. If it's okay with you."

"How do you see that happening?" his father asked.

"I don't know," Vic admitted. "It may be because of some special occasion, but it may be that some day I get home from school and go to my room, then Tori comes down for dinner."

Mr. Robinson nodded - more a sign of understanding the words than acceptance - but after a moment he shrugged. "Well, I can't say that I understand, but if dressing like a girl is something you want to do . . . I guess it's better than jumping off a bridge and breaking your arm. Or your head."

Vic grinned sheepishly, but smiled at the acceptance even if it were bit grudging. Mr. Robinson looked at his wife and with the telepathy of a shared lifetime, she nodded at whatever his glance was intended to convey.

Looking back at Vic, he said, "Okay, but there will be some rules. First off, when you're dressed as Tori, you are a lady, not a tramp. You will behave as properly as I would expect my daughter to be. That means you can dress stylishly, but you're not going around in a catsuit with a mask, okay?"

Before Vic could answer Mr. Robinson added, "Well, except for things like Halloween or some other costume party - and then only with permission."

Vic nodded, grinning at the added criterion.

Mr. Robinson continued to lay down the new and improvised law. "And if you're going to be Tori sometimes just because you want to, there will be times when you're going to be Tori because *we* want you to."

"What?" Vic said, surprised.

"I'm going to want to see you 'in action' as it were," Mr. Robinson explained. "I'm going to want to watch you in public, see that you act as a well-mannered young woman . . . . see how you react to boys."

"Eeuww," Vic said, wrinkling up his nose.

"That doesn't have to mean you encourage them, but as pretty as Tori is they'll be flocking around. I want to know you can handle them without provoking them somehow. It's all part of being a lady."

Vic nodded again, more thoughtful.

His father smiled to relieve the tension, then looked with a special smile at his wife. "Besides, I'll want plenty of time with the two most beautiful girls in the world at my side."

"Can CeeCee come?" Vic asked.

"Probably," his father said. "But I'm not going to have you demonstrating your, um, lessons when we're in public."

"Lessons?" Vic repeated.

"What you learned from Batman, dear," Mrs. Robinson said dryly.

"Oh, yeah," Vic said, blushing fiercely, but showing a bit of pride as well.

[Now I just gotta hope they don't see the other video. Ohmigod, and the handcuffs!]

Vic's overcompensation for being so intensely female on the previous weekend continued through the week. He wanted to tell himself he was satisfied to be just an ordinary guy, but in his heart he knew it wasn't true. On the other hand, CeeCee was certainly no ordinary girl so he had compensating interests - interests where being a guy, ordinary or otherwise, were just fine.

However, things weren't going to stay ordinary for long.

On their Wednesday afternoon bus ride, CeeCee whispered plans into Vic's ear.

"Friday is an in-service day. We don't have classes."

"Yeah, so?" Vic said, not showing much interest.

"Well, the dads are going to be working, and my mother has some sort of art society thing all day. And your mother is going to be out too, right?"

Vic nodded, still not showing much interest.

"Well, doof, that's our chance!" she said. "I have Tori's new outfit ready. We can spend the day shopping!"

"I already have plans," Vic said.

"What sort of plans?" she asked, irritated at his lack of reaction.

Vic pounced. Well, his grin was smug with triumph and his attitude changed from bored to intense between one heartbeat and the next. The other bus riders might not have noticed, but CeeCee saw the change immediately.

"Plans to take you through the regional airport, naked and in chains."

"Ohhhh . . . . gggoddd," she moaned, trying to keep her voice under control. "Really? Friday?"

"Really. Friday," he replied blandly.

She sagged back into her seat, squirming a bit as though she had an itch that she couldn't scratch in public. Or in her case, couldn't scratch at all.

Chapter 14 - "Let Me Help"

Vic had continued being excused from PE - he already had enough PE credits anyway - and as a result he had kept his body porcelain smooth. His high-intensity bath in femininity as Tori/Catwoman had also provided quite adequate skills with hair and makeup - at least to the standards of high school girls. Of course, it helped that his wig could be styled even when he wasn't wearing it. Mrs. Robinson had helped with that, 'just in case,' Tori wanted to join them some evening.

As a result, when CeeCee arrived on Friday morning after the parents were all safely off about their adult-type duties, Tori was ready except for a few minor things like . . .

. . . Getting the corset tight enough.
"Oh, god, that's way too tight," Tori complained.

"It's not as tight as Catwoman wore," CeeCee declared.

"Which is fine. I'm not going to be Catwoman today," countered Tori.

"No, but you are going to be a hot babe," CeeCee said. "So suck it in, sister."

Despite Tori's comments, she wanted to look as good as she could. Besides, she was pretty sure that the clothes CeeCee had picked out for her to wear were going to be both flattering, and tight.

When she had that thought, she couldn't contain a giggle. CeeCee's 'outfit' was going to be pretty tight as well, even without a corset.

"What are you laughing about?" CeeCee asked. Tori just gave her a smug little smile that held a promise of payback.

Another session with the Catwoman boots was a bit repetitious, so CeeCee had already decided on the just-as-high gray pumps for Tori to wear. With that as a starting point, she had picked out a very proper charcoal gray skirt that was actually just past knee length. It was as tight as Tori expected, but she was both surprised and relieved it wasn't the tiny little mini she feared. CeeCee paired it with a soft burgundy sweater that resulted in a look that would suit a prim secretary. Of course, with Tori, 'prim' wasn't exactly the word that came to mind. However, the contrast between conservative clothes - well, except for the heels - and inherently sultry face and hair worked to be both noticeable and believable. Tori would get a lot of second glances, but none of them would penetrate her disguise. In fact, she was giving herself second glances in the mirror. And third glances, and . . .

"Earth to Tori," CeeCee said, snapping her fingers in Tori's face. "Don't get lost in there."

"What, huh . . . oh, yeah," Tori said, feeling the heat in her cheeks rise.

She gave a cute little shiver to get her mind back on track, and in that motion she also set herself on her own planned path forward.

"Your turn, gorgeous," Tori said. "You know the drill."

CeeCee's face flushed as well, but she licked her lips and her eyes were bright as she took her clothes off.

"So, you like this, do you?" Tori teased as she tweaked one of CeeCee's telltale buttons. The redhead started to duck her head, but that didn't work very well with her still-short hair. So she decided to brazen it through instead. She arched her back into Tori's touch proudly. Of course, it felt pretty good, too.

The next task was to wrap her wrists and ankles in tape to protect them. By the time Tori was done, which of course required extensive smoothing of tape and in turn stroking of CeeCee's calves, the redheaded girl was panting and having a hard time keeping her eyes from rolling back.

"Ohmigod, you are evil," she whispered.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, girl," Tori warned her. She didn't put the cuffs on her girlfriend immediately. Instead, Tori went to her closet.

When CeeCee saw what she was bringing out, she gasped. "Ohmigod, you can't be serious."

Tori didn't say anything. She just pulled a suitcase into the middle of the bedroom and opened the zipper.

"I'll never fit," CeeCee protested.

"I can do the gag first, if you'd like," Tori said sweetly.

"Um, no, I'll um . . . I'll be quiet," CeeCee promised.

She lied, but it wasn't entirely her fault. Little gasps, and then whimpers, and then moans built in intensity as Tori's plan became clear. When Tori had her lie down in the suitcase, she actually could fit, but only by pulling her knees up to her chin. Tori put one set of handcuffs around CeeCee's ankles, then had her put her arms around her own legs, leaving her wrists near her feet. That provide a convenient place to intertwine the short chains before locking her hands in place. The addition of the nerf ball gag had her as helpless as before, though quite a bit more compactly arranged. Once again, CeeCee's hand held a taped-in-place remote control.

"Same rules as before," Tori said. "You need to click the button every now and then. If I don't hear from you for a while, I'll open the bag to check on you. And if you just can't stand it any more, then click it a lot."

She giggled, and added, "Of course, if you do that - and there are people around - well, you are naked . . . except for your little tin panty."

CeeCee moaned, but her nose was flaring with panting breaths and her tattletale nipples were showing a lot more interest than distress. Her moans increased despite the gag when Tori started to zip the bag shut.

"You better be quiet in there, or I'll get arrested and you'll make the evening news," Tori warned. That didn't actually help - at least, not right away. CeeCee began to shake and pull against her cuffs, tossing her head and grunting an ever-faster wordless litany of helpless arousal. Tori thought about stopping until CeeCee finished, but a snarky little grin lifted her lips and she slowly continued to close the zipper. That set CeeCee off into a new frequency of shudders, but by the time the zipper was fully closed, she was subsiding into aftershocks that - at least in contrast - were minor.

That didn't stop another moan when Tori made an audible point of locking the two-way zipper together so that it couldn't be opened.

Tori gathered up her purse and checked it for all the necessary items, some of which didn't really apply to her but were still 'necessary' according to CeeCee. She also checked her appearance one last time in the mirror and smiled with pleasure.

That pleasure faded when she bent down to lift the suitcase to its wheels. "Damn, CeeCee, this skirt is so tight I can hardly move. Is that why you picked such a long one? I was expecting some nearly indecent little mini, but this thing is as bad as your leg chains."

Of course, CeeCee couldn't really reply, but Tori thought she detected a muffled giggle from inside the case. That changed to an equally stifled 'eeep' as Tori stood the suitcase on its end. It wasn't too bad moving it to the head of the stairs, but Tori decided that she wasn't going to try to negotiate that obstacle while wearing the sky-high pumps. Thankfully, unlike the Catwoman boots, it was easy to slip the pumps off her feet. She was careful not to let her sleek stockings slip on the carpeted steps, but she got CeeCee down safely - one bump at a time. Then she had to work her way back up the stairs in that narrow skirt to pick up her purse and shoes.

"You are going to pay for putting me in such a tight skirt," she warned her hidden friend when she was finally organized again. Not that she could think of anything right off hand that would be better payback than putting CeeCee naked and chained in a suitcase. Thankfully, the bed on the pickup wasn't too high for a single bend and lift. Though CeeCee was trim and petite, the suitcase with her in it had to weigh more than a hundred pounds, which was a bit much for a normal lift by someone as slender as Tori. She managed to get it up without - quite - splitting the seams on her skirt. Once she had it in the back, she made a point of tying it down thoroughly, providing a running commentary to, ah, anyone who happened to be close enough to hear her soft voice.

"Are you okay in there?" she whispered as she was finishing.

Tori actually heard the click of CeeCee's remote as well as the buzz of the receiver in her purse. With that assurance she walked around to the driver's door . . . and cursed again at the tight skirt that required her to turn her back to the seat and use her arms to 'hop' up since she couldn’t lift one foot onto the floorboard while the other was still on the ground. [At least I don't need to worry about flashing anyone,] she thought. [There's no way I can get my legs far enough apart to show anything.]

Tori's plan was both simple and complex. The simple part was that she was taking CeeCee to the regional airport. She could walk through the airport pulling a rolling bag with no one thinking it was suspicious. On the other hand, there were any number of things she could do at the airport. Picking a spot to park was easy and if she struggled with her bag, well, a young woman would be expected to overpack, right?

Then she was strolling toward the main concourse. She had actually walked about half way there through the parking garage when she realized that the combination of tight skirt and high-heel training that CeeCee demanded was causing a just-short-of-brazen sway to her hips. Which was important mostly because the resulting symphony of motion was causing her to swing the handle on the suitcase back and forth with each step.

She giggled and found a place to pause. Bending her knees to one side for a moment, she pretended to get something out of one of the side pockets of the suitcase. While she was low enough for a whisper to be heard, she asked, "You doin' okay? Click once if you're still in there."

She heard the click and the buzzer. Then she asked, "Do you like the way I have to swing the handle when I walk? It's your fault, you know."

There was a pause, then Tori heard another click. Laughing she stood up and proceeded on her ambulatory excursion. When she got into the terminal, she found another complication that actually simplified her plan. While the local weather was fine, storms in Atlanta and Chicago had caused delays throughout the system. As a result, she could use the excuse of a delayed flight to explain why she was wandering through the airport - outside the security checkpoints of course.




It wasn't long before another problem made itself known.

"Man, my feet are killing me," Tori said, supposedly to a matronly woman who was sitting by one of the luggage carousels. Of course, only Tori - and CeeCee - knew the real target of the comment.

"I can't understand why you girls wear those shoes," the matron said a bit snippily.

A much deeper voice interjected itself into the conversation. "I can. You look awesome."

Tori turned to see a tall - taller than her even in the heels - college-age guy in a neat blazer and slacks. There was an emblem on his jacket that took Tori a moment to decipher.

"You play for the U?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "I've got a layover for a while and was looking for a way to pass the time."

"Oh," Tori said, smiling at the obvious invitation.

The matronly woman couldn't hide a smile at the young couple and their flirting. She caught Tori's eyes and a message of encouragement replaced her earlier disdain. With that message Tori could hardly blow the guy off, so she turned back and smiled.

"Well, I could probably use a coke or something," she said. "And it would give me a chance to rest my feet."

"So, you on a layover, too?" the boy asked. Then he added, "By the way, I'm Matt Williamson."

"Flight delay," she said simply, "and Tori."

"Just Tori?" Matt asked with amusement, but he didn't push. Instead, he reached for the handle of her suitcase and started dragging it along with him. "I think the food court is this way."

Tori stifled a giggle at the thought of what he would think if he knew what was in the case. And at what CeeCee must be thinking. It was clear in an instant that it wasn't Tori pulling on the case. For one, Matt was even taller which changed the angle, and for a second, he moved on a much more direct line.

"Wait up," she called, laughing. "These are not track shoes."

"Oh, sorry," Matt said, but his smile said that he was not a bit sorry that she had on such feminine shoes.

He pulled his pace back to an easy stroll, allowing Tori to catch up. It was only about a hundred yards to the entrance to a better-than-fast-food chain restaurant. Matt maneuvered the suitcase to an appropriate place, then quickly moved to hold Tori's chair.

"Goodness, what manners," she said with a smile.

"Goodness, what beauty," he countered with his own smile. "A lady as elegant as you is going to get attention from any guy who's not blind. I was just making my own claim clear."

"Claim?" Tori repeated, a bit of frost coloring her tone.

"Only that I am already attending to you," he said quickly.

She let a frown hold him for a moment, then she smiled. "Just so you don't get ahead of yourself."

"Hmm, if I parse that sentence, it might imply that the time will come when I get to where that's no longer ahead of me."

"That's likely," she said. "Of course, depending on which direction you go, it might soon be behind you."

"Ouch," Matt said, wincing. He bowed his head in apology, then tried to change the subject. "So, what's in your case? It's a lot heavier than I thought it would be."

Tori had to think for a moment, taking advantage of the waiter's appearance to request a diet soda. When that task was complete, she had an idea for a story.

"It's actually a sculpture," she said. "It's packed in pretty tightly. And of course I have some personal things as well."

"A sculpture? Of what?"




The suitcase was sitting so that Matt couldn't see it through the table. But Tori noticed that it was starting to move just a little. She had felt an occasional buzz from her purse to show that CeeCee was still okay, but apparently the thrill of being described was starting to get to her. Tori 'accidentally' kicked her suitcase to get CeeCee to be still but she wasn't sure the captive girl would be able to comply.

"Well, it's called, 'Chained Virtue.' It's a girl with, um, well, a nude. And she's, um, chained."

"Wow, kinky," Matt said. "Some sort of statement about how limiting virtue is?"

"More on how hard it is to stay virtuous in today's society," Tori countered.

"Are you the sculptor? Why do you have the piece?"

"No, the sculptor is, um, Charles Cromwell. Most people call him CC," Tori said blandly.

Matt nodded, but returned to his question, "And you have it because . . ?"

Before Tori could answer, he laughed out loud and answered his own question, "You're the model! Aren't you?"

Tori blushed at the idea of posing nude, but before she corrected his guess she decided to use that blush to her advantage. She just ducked her head and didn't actually reply - lying by implication. However, turning her head let her eyes fall on the suitcase again, and it was definitely moving. She wondered if it were her imagination, but she thought she was hearing panting as well.

[I better get her out of here,] she decided.

Tori stood up, smiling at her companion. "Would you mind waiting for me for a few minutes? I need to, um, powder my nose."

"It looks fine to me," he replied gallantly, "but I'll stay until . . . oh, about Tuesday. Is that okay?"

Tori laughed and nodded. "That should be fine."

She reached for the handle on her suitcase, but Matt covered it. "I'll watch this for you."

"Thanks, but I'll need to get at something inside it," she said. [Damn, I should have left her here with a stranger, but that would have set her off for sure.]

She swayed her way to a nearby restroom, thanking her lucky stars that one of the oversized handicapped stalls was free. Once she was inside she carefully sat the suitcase down on its back and undid the zipper lock. The instant she started to pull on the zipper the bag started rocking. Tori could hear CeeCee's pants turn into low moans that were only kept within the confines of the stall by the big nerf ball.

When CeeCee finally stopped shaking, Tori reached for the tape covering her mouth. "Are you okay?" she asked as soon as she had the spongy ball free.

"Oh, god, that was *ssooo* intense," CeeCee whispered. "When he offered to keep me out there, I thought I was gonna die. And then when the zipper started to open, and I didn't know who would be able to see . . . .ohmigod, that was *so* awesome."

"Glad you liked it," Tori said. "Are you okay, though? Not hurting anywhere."

"Ohhh, yeah," CeeCee said, but she smiled. "I'm cramping a little, but that just makes it more intense. It's all part of the . . . excuse the pun . . . package. Except . . ."

"Except what?" Tori asked.
"Well, if I keep going over the top that hard, I'm gonna be too swollen to walk. I may have to get Daddy to let me out of my tin panty when we get home."

"Don't tease me," Tori said, giggling.

She took a plastic bottle of water out of one of the suitcase pockets. First she offered it to CeeCee's mouth, which sucked at the little flow-through cap like a baby at her mother's breast. After a few swallows Tori pulled it gently away so that the captive redhead wouldn't take too much too fast. While the bound girl was wetting her lips, Tori used some more water to rinse out the nerf ball. CeeCee got another few swallows of water, then opened her mouth for the gag. Smiling at Tori as the tape was replaced, CeeCee clicked the remote a long, slow click to show her satisfaction with the situation. That didn't stop a low moan as Tori resealed and relocked the zipper.

When she returned to the table, Matt was watching her approach with a huge smile. She looked curiously at him, and his expression segued into a smirk that he didn't really try to disguise.

"Oh," he said, "I was just thinking that I had never considered a suitcase to be a fashion accessory before."

"Fashion accessory?" Tori repeated.

"When *you* walk with it, it is," he said. "I couldn't walk with that many interesting motions if my life depended on it, and the suitcase swing accentuates them nicely."

He chuckled and said, "Well, maybe not 'nicely.' Would you accept that it accentuates them very well?"

Tori sipped at her soda, trying to decide how to respond to his increasingly blatant flirting. It was flattering and she knew that part of her liked it. But how much of that was just the sense of danger at what would happen if her secret came out? Was it just another adrenaline high? Or was there something else? She felt her own heart start to beat harder as images - forbidden images - came to her of what it might be like to . . . respond to his flirting. Memories of what it had felt like to be kissed by Batman flooded back to her and she felt a flush on her cheeks that wasn't helped by the way the tight corset made her breathing so obvious.

[This is getting too deep,] she decided. [How do I escape from this . . . trap that I've created?]

A gate change announcement played over the PA system gave her an out. She looked beyond Matt's shoulder at a schedule board and found that the weather had led to several cancelled flights. Picking one almost at random in case she needed specifics, she very carefully placed a pout on her face and sighed.

"Oh, hell," she said - letting a less-than-ladylike word accent her pout.

"What?" asked Matt.

"My flight just got cancelled entirely," she answered, pointing vaguely at the schedule board. "I might as well go home."

"Go home? So you live locally?"

"Yes," she said, not figuring that was too much of a clue. After all, he only had her first name and that was fake. "I never checked the bag because I didn't want to take the chance of losing the sculpture with all the screwed up flights. [That's totally true!] I was supposed to display it at a show this evening, but I won't be able to make it now."

"That's too bad," Matt said. "Can I see you home? I'll get a cab."

Tori let another little pout form on her carefully drawn lips. "I don't think we can do that. My parents are out of town - that's part of the reason they agreed to let me go to the show. I don't think I can bring a guy I just met back to my house when they're not there."

"Oh, okay," he said, smiling sadly. "I can hardly argue with that. At least, not with a girl as nice as you."

Tori smiled her thanks at the compliment, then reached for her purse. Before she could get any money out to pay for her soda, Matt touched her hand. "My treat," he said.

She smiled another blessing of thanks, then started to gather up her things. Matt reached for the handle of the suitcase automatically. "I'll walk you to the cab stand at least."

"I actually have a car . . . well, a truck," she said.

"You drive a truck?" he asked, laughing.

"And why shouldn't a girl drive a truck?" she asked archly. Her challenge was spoiled by a giggle that followed too soon on her words for them to have any real censure. "Actually, it's my dad's truck. So I suppose you're right. It isn't what I would have picked for myself."

He nodded, then looked at the exits from the concourse. She picked one and led them to the right parking area. She had noticed that he fell a bit behind but thought it was just so that he could make his way with the suitcase through the little obstacles along the way. In fact, when she turned to check on him, the direction of his gaze told him he had another objective.

"I'm up here," she said tartly.

"Sorry," he said, but his smile showed little real remorse. "I guess you don't need a suitcase as a fashion accessory after all."

She pantomimed slapping him, but her own smile made it clear she wasn't unhappy. They were soon at the truck and Matt took on the job of securing the suitcase in the bed. It might have thumped a bit harder than when Tori placed it there, but if there were any strange noises - something like a grunt, for instance - they were lost in the rest of the sound of sliding the case into position.

Tori moved around to the driver's door and faced the same challenge of getting to the too-high seat with her legs held so tightly by the narrow skirt. She was turning around to do the hop-up thing again when suddenly Matt was standing there.

"Let me help," he said, putting his large hands around her small waist and lifting her into position. "Oh, wow, I didn't . . . sorry, but . . . that's hot!"

"What?"

"I didn't know girls wore corsets any more. Damn, I'd rather go to hell for trying than let someone like you get away. Can I please have your number? Pleasepleaseplease?"

Tori's eyes widened at the intensity of his request. Her head shake was automatic, but she was flattered and a part of her wanted to play along just a little longer. "No, but if you give me yours . . ."

He smiled and waited patiently while she got out her cell phone. In a moment, she had a new number in her directory, though she had no idea whether she would keep it or flush it the minute this insanity passed.

"Um, whose name should I look for . . . so I don't just blow off the call?" Matt said, smiling as coyly as a big football player can look.

She laughed - a full-bodied laugh not a silly giggle - but she had to admire his tenacity. "Tori Vickers," she said, thinking to herself that two fake names was no worse than one.

"Tori Vickers," Matt repeated, then his eyes widened. "Tori for Victoria? Victoria Vickers? Vickie Vickers?" By the time he reached that point, he was laughing out loud between syllables.

"Only if you don't value your manhood," Tori warned, shaking an elegant finger at him.

"Oh, but it's so good," he protested . . . as he backed away with his hands up defensively. That didn't diminish his amusement.

When Tori dropped her threatening finger, he moved quickly back to stand close to her. "I didn't need a truly memorable name to remember you, but it's sure icing on the cake."

"Man, that sounds like a line. Do you use it often?"

Matt grinned. "I'll never tell."

"Which means yes," she countered. "I'd ask if it works well for you, but then we'd be into that Topgun scene and I don't have blonde hair."

"Right. Way too smart for a blonde," he agreed.

"Flattery won't get you back on my good side," she said, but she was struggling to keep a smile off her face. "At least, not right away."

Matt's face showed a comic-opera pout, and she relented just a little. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the cheek before leaning quickly back and pulling her door closed.

Her new conquest touched his cheek with a sense of wonder that did a pretty good job of getting all his sins forgiven. Not that Tori could do anything about it. She smiled at him, knowing even as she did that there was genuine sadness in her expression, then started the truck.

As she shifted into gear, Matt looked in through her window and said, "If I tell you I'll hold my breath waiting for your call, would it work?"

"It'll work to make you turn blue," she said, grinning again. "It was really nice talking with you, Matt."

"Really, really nice," he repeated, waving slowly and continuing to watch as she drove away.

[Ohmigod, that was strange,] she thought, feeling lightheaded. [My heart is beating a zillion miles a minute, and with this damn corset I can't seem to catch my breath.]

[It wasn't like an adrenaline high - at least, not like the ones that I used to get from dares. But it was . . . memorable. And it wasn't like kissing CeeCee. Not exactly anyway. But . . . was it more like that than it should have been? Was I panicked about being discovered, or . . . excited at a different kind of attention? Oh, god, this is so bad but God help me, I liked his attention.]

She drove on for a while, not coming to any resolution to her feelings, when there was a buzz from CeeCee's remote. Tori realized that there had been a few others - just enough to show that CeeCee was okay. But it got her mind out of her own spiraling whirlpool and let her think of her friend instead. Thankfully, they were almost home.

Unfortunately, there was already someone there.

Chapter 15 - "Did You Spend The Day With CeeCee?"

Mrs. Robinson's car was in the driveway. That was unexpected. She usually stayed at the library until well into the afternoon, but it was barely noon when Tori pulled next to her car . . . with CeeCee in a suitcase in the back of the truck, naked and chained.

Tori carefully got out of the truck - thankfully it was on the side away from the house. Well, it would be something to be thankful for if Mrs. Carson wasn't also home, since the driver's door faced that side. Tori didn't see Mrs. Carson's car in their driveway - in fact, right then she didn't see any sign of neighbors watching her - so she took a moment to think even though she was standing in her driveway, in public, dressed as a girl.

She sighed, then moved to the back of the pickup. "CeeCee, are you all right? Give me a click."

The buzzer in her purse sounded, so she continued. "Look, CeeCee, I'm sorry, but my mom is home. Or at least her car is. I can't take you in right now because I don't have any explanation for having a heavy suitcase with me - especially since I'm dressed like I was going someplace special. You'll just have to wait until I get back after talking to her. I'll hurry."

CeeCee didn't say anything of course, but Tori thought the bag was starting to move again, and it brought a grin to her lips despite her worry. [That girl is just, plain, crazy,] she thought, then concluded wryly, [Spoken by the guy who is dressed like a stylish, way-too-hot-to-be-real girl.]

Tori made her way to the door, going in through the normal family entrance from the garage. Her mother was indeed home, working busily in the kitchen.

"Oh!" she said on seeing Tori. "You, um, you look nice. Is that a new outfit?"

"Thanks, mom," Tori said. She looked down her curves and tried to keep her blush under control. "CeeCee picked it out."

"It looks very classy, though that pencil skirt seems a bit . . . restrictive."

Tori laughed and said, "You mean 'tight.' and it is both. Like I said, CeeCee picked it."

"And the sweater? That color really suits you."

Tori nodded, blushing again. Her mother had mentioned the color, but they both knew the fit - over her still-Catwoman-sized bust - was . . . flattering as well.

Her mother tried to rescue her from her confusing self-image and did a better job than she knew. "So, did you spend the day with CeeCee?"

Now Tori had to struggle even harder, though this time it was to keep from laughing. "Oh, um, yes. I was never more than a few feet from her all day." The irony of stating the absolute truth yet being so misleading was just too hard to resist. "Until now, that is."

Just then the buzzer in Tori's purse sounded.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Mrs. Robinson asked.

"No," Tori said, perhaps a bit too quickly. So she tried to cover up her reaction with perhaps too much explanation. "I'm sure that's CeeCee. I'll find out later what she wanted to say." Tori smiled a private smile that Mrs. Robinson interpreted as happiness at the thought of her girlfriend. In fact, Tori was reflecting on the amazing effectiveness of telling the truth and nothing but the truth - but not the whole truth - as a way to totally mislead someone.

"Well, you do look nice," Mrs. Robinson repeated. "In fact, if you don't mind those clothes too much, perhaps we can talk your father into taking us out to dinner tonight."

"That would be fine," Tori said. She was still way into conflicted about the whole thing about dressing like a girl. Part of her liked it, but part of her felt guilty for liking it. And dressing so nicely for a casual day with CeeCee seemed like there was more to it than just looking like a pretty girl. It implied that she wanted to be - or at least seem to be - a very elegant, feminine young woman. And an elegant, feminine woman, so her chain of logic dictated, would want to go out for a nice dinner with her family. Speaking - or at least 'thinking' - of which . . .

"Okay, but if I'm going to look this 'classy' as you said, then you need to dress up, too."

"Oh!" Mrs. Robinson said, blushing herself. She had dressed nicely for a day helping children at the library, but her slacks and blouse, with flats, was definitely not as sophisticated as Tori's outfit. It might be fun to dress nicely for a change, and to be seen with such a beautiful daughter. So she nodded, smiling more to herself than to Tori. "Okay. I'll change."

"Don't ever change," Tori said quickly, moving to give her mother a quick hug. "Just change your clothes."

"Why . . . thank you, dear," Mrs. Robinson said. "That may be the nicest compliment you've paid me in . . . well, quite some time."

That resurrected the color to Tori's barely subsided cheeks, but she shrugged. "Then I should have done it more often."

"Goodness," Mrs. Robinson said, "if dressing like a beautiful, sophisticated young woman improves your, ah, interpersonal skills that much, then I may want to see Tori more often."

She followed up with another comment before Tori had a chance to reply. "Not that I don't love Vic. But boys are just different. It's nice to have someone whom I can relate to a bit better. At least sometimes."

Mrs. Robinson changed the subject to cover any awkwardness at what had seemed like a put-down on Vic. "Do you think CeeCee would like to come with us?"

[Ohmigod! CeeCee is still out there!] "I'll, um, have to ask. In fact, I need to get a couple of things from my room, then I'll go over there."

Mrs. Robinson frowned just a bit, trying to hide it within a not-totally-convincing smile. "When I first heard about CeeCee's chastity belt, I was horrified. But I have to admit it does make me feel a bit easier about you two spending so much time together."

She moved over to hug her child. "I know you're trying to be good, responsible kids. But I also know the temptations when your emotions - and hormones - are singing can be very hard to resist. And I don't think it would be in your best interests - yours or CeeCee's either one - to have a baby at this time.”

"We know, Mom, and I'd like to think that we could be, um, 'good, responsible kids' anyway. But . . . well, I think we've both come to appreciate the - this sounds funny, but it fits - the freedom of not really having any choice in the matter."

"I can see that," Mrs. Robinson said. She busied her hands with a dishcloth for a moment, wiping up a spot on the counter. “If you and CeeCee have discussed things to that level, did she ever tell you why she just doesn’t go on the pill?”

Tori shrugged. “Yes, but it’s not just about preventing a pregnancy. It’s about . . . always remembering how precious she is. How precious making love should be. Someday, hopefully, we’ll find out. But it won’t be because of a moment of hormonal overload, regardless of the chances of having a baby.”

“That’s . . . an interesting perspective,” Mrs. Robinson said. “And CeeCee is willing to put up with something that . . . well, I have to believe that at certain times it must be very difficult?”

“I guess so,” Tori said. “She seems okay with it.”

“And you?” her mother asked.

Tori grinned. “I don’t have much choice. But if she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

“Good,” Mrs. Robinson said. Then she looked at the clock and twitched. "Well, make sure you're presentable when your father gets home. Did you have any lunch?"

"Not yet," Tori admitted.

"Then why don't you ask CeeCee to join us? We can make something quick."

"Okay. She may have some things to do at her place, particularly if she's coming with us tonight."

Mrs. Robinson nodded, but she frowned again and paused in her work. Tori waited because it seemed like she wanted to say something. After a moment, that turned out to be true.

"Don't get me wrong," she began. "I think the world of CeeCee, and if you two decide some day to get married, I'll be very happy for you, and very proud of her."

Tori smiled and picked up the implied continuation. "But . . ?"

Mrs. Robinson smiled and said, "But I have to admit I would appreciate the chance to have it be just your father and the two of us tonight."

"Okay," Tori said. "I'm sure CeeCee won't mind. We'll bring her along some other time."

"Deal," Mrs. Robinson with relief.

Tori smiled and waved as she headed up to her room. As she negotiated the stairs in her tight skirt, she thought, [I owe CeeCee for this skirt . . .] Then she grinned and couldn't quite contain a giggle. [ . . . but maybe leaving her locked in the suitcase in the bed of the truck counts as part of the payback.]

In her room, Tori quickly gathered up CeeCee's things. The bag that CeeCee had used to bring the new skirt and sweater was large enough to carry CeeCee's clothes, shoes, and above all her purse. Tori's immersion in femininity had taught her the critical importance of always having her purse by her side, and for CeeCee to have left hers - on a shopping expedition no less - would have required a lot more explanation than Tori could give. Everything fit in the bag, though, with CeeCee's own knit top covering the lower items.

[Okay, if mom asks why I've got some of CeeCee's clothes, I'll say that she loaned them to me to try on. And since I'm a lot bigger than CeeCee . . .] - she looked at her high-and-proud bust in her mirror with unthinking satisfaction, then at her padded hips with a bit of a frown - [. . . this top or ones like it are about all that would fit me. Hopefully, Mom will think the rest of the bag holds similar things.]

Her pre-planned explanation turned out to be unnecessary. Mrs. Robinson just smiled as Tori moved back through the kitchen on her way out. The good news when Tori got back to the pickup was that CeeCee was still there - or at least the suitcase was. The bad news was that Matt had put the suitcase further up into the bed than Tori could reach. The tight skirt was almost too much for her. She couldn't 'climb' up into the bed, and she didn't want to risk staining it by sitting on the tailgate and sliding to the suitcase. In the end, the managed to get the ropes that held the suitcase in place untied from the rings in the bed by reaching over the sides, then used the ropes to pull the suitcase to where she could reach it.

If she let it hit the ground with just a bit of a thump . . . well, that was at least as much CeeCee's fault as Tori's. In a different outfit, she could have managed better. That was her story and she was gonna stick to it if CeeCee complained . . . when she could complain.

It didn't take more than another minute or so before Tori had the suitcase through the gate and into the Carson's back yard. She didn't waste time getting it into the house, though she thought about doing a running commentary on finding the right key (from CeeCee's keychain) and other stalls while CeeCee was still locked inside the case. Instead, as soon as she was out of sight of the street, she laid the suitcase down and opened the zipper.

Inside, CeeCee's eyes were closed and she was panting, but her muscles seemed relaxed.

Tori quickly pulled the tape off her lips and took out the nerf ball.

CeeCee's eyes fluttered and she croaked, "Water."

Tori held the water bottle to her girlfriend's lips again and CeeCee gratefully sucked at it. After draining as much as Tori would let her have, CeeCee leaned her head back and relaxed.

"Ohmigod, Tori . . . that was . . . insane," she murmured as Tori worked near her ankles. "When you left me . . . out there in the drive . . . all by myself . . . I just came apart. Even though I was tied - chained - in a tight little bundle, I felt like I was being stretched to the ends of the universe. I was destroyed and reborn again and again. Each time it felt like I couldn't possibly go any higher . . . and then I did."

Even though by this time Tori had the cuffs off both her wrists and ankles, CeeCee just relaxed without much movement. Her face took on a heavy-lidded, languid look of such sensuality that Tori felt a helpless pulse of desire that had no way to become real. CeeCee smiled smugly at the dark-haired girl and said, "I think I passed out."

"Passed out?" Tori repeated.

CeeCee nodded. "I know I was screaming, even though not much sound was coming out, and the next thing I remember was shaking a little - maybe 'quivering' would be a better word - but being mostly relaxed. I think I was . . . elsewhere in between. Like I really did disintegrate."

"Are you okay?" Tori asked, helping CeeCee to sit up while still in the suitcase. Tori got some bandage scissors from her own purse and started to remove the tape from the redheads wrists and ankles.

"Ohmigod, Tori, I passed 'okay' so far back that I think I'm coming at it from the other side," CeeCee said, a little giggle showing that she was recovering from the intensity of her experience. On that scale, sitting naked in her back yard during the bright light of day hardly measured.

Tori helped the smaller girl to her feet and unlocked the door using a key from CeeCee's purse. When they were inside, CeeCee used a table to support herself, then smiled at Tori.

"I think I've got it from here," CeeCee said. "I'm going to go to my bathroom and have the hottest bath I can stand. When it cools off, I'm going to drain the tub and do it again."

She looked down at her chastity belt and grinned wryly. "And I'm going to get Daddy to let me out of this thing . . . then take another bath."

"So you don't want to go out to dinner with me tonight?" Tori teased.

"Not tonight, beautiful," CeeCee said, not rising to the bait. "Not tonight."

She took the bag of her clothes and started walking carefully - with a wider-than-normal stance - toward her room. "Let yourself out, okay?" she called over her shoulder.

Tori laughed at her friend's dissipated state, but did as she was asked.

Her mother wasn't in the kitchen when she returned, but she heard water running in the master bathroom which she felt was a good sign. Her mother must have started getting ready for their big evening. Despite straining the seams a bit, Tori's new skirt still looked crisp and - to use her mother's word - classy. The sweater was fine as well. So she used her time to experiment a little with different hair styles, finally settling on one that lifted up from her face even though her wig was long enough that a lot still cascaded down her back. That required something for accents, so she looked through her mother's jewelry to find some earrings.

[I'm gonna have to get my ears pierced,] she decided. [That works okay for guys, now, and it would give me so many more choices.]

She found some quarter-sized gold buttons that worked with the elegant look and had clips on the back. She also found a necklace that she could work under the cowl neck of her sweater and still show the pendant - a gold heart that was big enough to look proportionate to the bosom it rode on.

Tori used the rest of the time to refresh her makeup, actually starting over from scratch a couple of times to get the look she wanted. CeeCee had provided a couple of fashion magazines and one had tips for brunettes 'on a special night out with that special guy' that she liked. [I guess Daddy is *my* 'special guy*,] she thought, though the images that were floating behind her eyes were of a taller guy in a blazer with a college emblem. [Don't go there,] she told herself firmly.

The sound of her mother moving downstairs pulled Tori from a daydream that she really shouldn't have been having. She looked at the clock and realized that her father would be home soon so she quickly gathered up her things, made sure the essential items were in her purse, and made her sideways way down the stairs.

When she made it to the kitchen, she stopped in pleased surprise. Her mother looked really nice. She wore what Tori would now label as a 'little black dress' that was just fashionably above the knee but still classy. Mrs. Robinson had smoky dark stockings and sling-back shoes that were also stylish even if the heels were a lot shorter than Tori's. The touches of accessories - including a ruby tennis bracelet that Tori envied - were just right for a woman who was comfortable in her life. Tori realized her own look - particularly in comparison - had a bit of trying-really-hard-to-look-sophisticated yearning that actually highlighted less maturity.

But what really brought Tori up short was her mother's hairstyle and the way it set off her face. The style was surprisingly like Tori's, with elegant combs holding it back from her face to show ruby earrings set in slightly dropped pendants. Rebecca Robinson's hair wasn't as long in back of course, but the framing around her eyes and cheeks was a near-match for Tori Robinson's own style.

For the first time, Tori could see her features in her mother's face - quite strongly, in fact. Of course it was really the other way around with Tori as the inheritor of the look, but after her afternoon lost in her own mirror, Tori could see an amazing resemblance in the shape of eyes and lips and nose. No one looking at the two of them would doubt they were mother and child - which was true of course - even if they were fooled on the exact nature of the child.

And for the first time, Tori realized that her mother was quite pretty. Prettier than Mrs. Carson, in fact. Mrs. Carson always dressed with impeccable style, but it was clearly a deliberate, carefully constructed look with the latest designer jeans or accessory touches. CeeCee’s mother was very pretty and had an excellent figure that showed real self-discipline, but Tori's mother showed a much more natural, more intrinsic beauty. Tori's own appearance had been at first so amazing that it didn't seem real, and had then passed into very satisfying authenticity. But now she realized that there was a reason she could look so pretty herself.

"Wow," Tori said, smiling at her mother's success in preparing for their night out. "I'm instantly and insanely jealous."

"Oh, you," Mrs. Robinson said, blushing but smiling happily too. "You're much prettier than I am."

"No, just taller," Tori laughed. In her heels she was actually taller than her father . . . well, maybe even without her heels since Vic had added a couple of inches in the last year or so.

They sat and shared a few minutes of chat as they waited for Mr. Robinson to return. It wasn't long before they heard the garage door go up, and a few moments later he was walking into the kitchen.

Where he stopped in an unknowing imitation of Tori's surprise at seeing who awaited him there.

"Good lord," he said, his voice barely above a whisper and reverent enough to make the comment a true prayer.

"Hi, Daddy," Tori said cheerfully, enjoying the effect they were having on him.




Mrs. Robinson rose gracefully to her feet and moved to give her husband a welcoming hug. "Guess what you get to do tonight," she said.

He got a snarky little grin on his face, then his eyes flicked to Tori before looking away guiltily. In another moment he had found an alternative, "Take the two most beautiful girls in the world to dinner?"

"Bingo," Mrs. Robinson replied, but in her eyes was a message that said his first - never-spoken - guess might have been right after all.

He was dressed as usual for work, in a sport coat and tie with nice slacks. "Do you want me to change into a suit?"

"Not unless you want to," Mrs. Robinson said, then she laughed easily. "If Tori and I do our jobs right, no one will be looking at you anyway."

"I can believe that," he said, moving toward Tori. "Do you have a hug for your old man, too?"

"Old?" Tori said, not completely holding in a giggle behind her own smile as she gave him the requested hug. "Not if that look you gave Mother is any indication."

Mr. Robinson's face showed a bit more color than normal, though an actual blush would be inappropriate for a man who could arrange a date with two such pretty girls. He let a grin agree with her and if it held a bit of smugness, well, neither of the girls would complain.

Apparently Mrs. Robinson had arranged reservations while Tori had been with CeeCee. She informed Mr. Robinson of the parameters of his date, and if there was a wince at the price he would have to pay for the pleasure, it was quickly contained. As they walked to the car, Tori was surprised at how *normal* it all seemed. The novelty seemed to be that the girls had dressed up so nicely, not that the youngest member of the family was such a pretty girl. Mr. Robinson habitually held the door for his wife even when she was wearing blue jeans and sneakers so that was normal, too. It was a bit strange, but also seemed very right, for Tori to be helped into the car as well. Her tight skirt helped her keep her legs together - wouldn't allow anything else, actually.

The restriction of her pencil skirt was actually more important a few minutes later when they reached the restaurant. This time a valet - actually a girl not much older than Tori - helped her from the car. With her tight skirt and super-high heels, it was a struggle for Tori to get to her feet from the relatively low car seat. The attending girl winced in sympathy when she looked at the tall brunette's heals, then grinned as she felt a significant tug on her hand from the shapely brunette.

The girl leaned in to Tori and whispered, "You're braver than I am to wear those heels, and with your father no less! What would you wear on a real date?"

"I guess I'll always be Daddy's girl," Tori whispered back, then giggled. "Or perhaps the right answer is, 'on a real date, who needs clothes?'"

The girl laughed out loud, then nodded as she finished closing Tori's door. By this time Mr. Robinson had finished helping his wife out of the car as well. He handed his keys to the girl valet and offered his arm to his wife. But Tori was in for another surprise when he cocked his other arm out for her to take. It was a bit incongruous that she was several inches taller than her father, but he managed to look quite smug as he entered the restaurant. It was a dramatic entrance, with a quite-gratifying hush moving through the lobby as their presence was noticed.

The maitre d' met them with a smile. "Should I be on the lookout for paparazzi?"

At Mr. Robinson's quizzical glance the man added, "Your daughter is tall enough to be a model and beautiful enough to be a movie star. I wondered if we should expect celebrity photographers to try to sneak into our restaurant."

Tori provided the indicated blush but Mr. Robinson's response was a surprising frown. After a second he realized what expression he was showing and quickly replaced it with a smile. "Not yet," he answered, "thought I agree that she is very pretty. She gets that from her mother."

"Indeed," the maitre d' said smoothly, bowing to Mrs. Robinson.

He moved to check in his book, generating an implied question which Mr. Robinson resolved with their name. The table he led them to was one of the nicest in the restaurant - balanced between a sparkling view overlooking the city and a good view *of* the table by the rest of the patrons. Tori had the impression that if no paparazzi showed up, the man might get out his own camera to take a picture of the striking girl and her equally classy mother. Oh, and the father too, though that was not really a major addition to the composition.

The frown had returned to Mr. Robinson's face when the maitre d' had left, and he turned that frown on his daughter.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"What's wrong is that the man was right," he replied cryptically. Then he explained, "You really are pretty enough to be a movie star or a model and those shoes do move you into the noticeably tall range. But most of all, you move with such grace and femininity that it's hard to see anything but someone born to be a beautiful woman."

Tori still didn't understand and a frown was marring her smooth features.

In an abrupt change, Mr. Robinson smiled. "That's not a bad thing, dear," he said. "I was just wondering if we should . . . explore that thought. I was thinking about the offers that the TV described for your, um, alter ego. You're obviously an amazing actor because one of either Tori or Vic has to be an act yet both are totally believable. Would you like to do that?"

"Do you want me to?" she asked.

"I want you to be happy," he said. The frown came back, but it was a frown of concentration as he tried to decide how to say something. "You seem so . . . comfortable as Tori. I'm not sure that Vic was that, um, happy with his life."

"Being Vic is fine," Tori insisted. "It's fun being different, but I don't want to change over like, full time."

"It would be fine if you did," Mr. Robinson said. "I love having a son and have always been proud of Vic's courage and intelligence. But I find I am surprisingly proud to have such a beautiful daughter."

They had to take a pause at that revelation to place their orders. Tori hadn't really looked at the menu but she knew she wouldn't be able to do justice to a large meal while she wore her corset. A quick scan of the offered entrees showed a chicken Caesar salad that looked simple and - based on the cost - she figured it was fairly small as well. Most of the items on the menu were much higher.

The pause gave Mr. Robinson a chance to organize his thoughts. He looked at Mrs. Robinson for silent concurrence, then the turned back to Tori. "I have to admit that I was uncomfortable with this whole thing. I figured the Halloween costume was no worse than one of your silly dares - not something that I would ever do, but no worse than some of your others. Then I saw you in your costume for real . . . and I was afraid for you."

"Afraid for me?" Tori repeated. To her surprise, it was Mrs. Robinson who picked up the narrative.

"We were afraid - I was afraid - that you'd find looking so pretty to be seductive," she said. "I was one of the pretty ones in high school, but I saw too many middle-aged cheerleaders around town, still clinging to that self image where their self worth was defined by being pretty."

"You're still pretty," Tori protested.

"Beautiful," her father corrected, but he nodded to his wife to continue.

"Thank you, dear, and when I try - like tonight - I can still hold my own. But the key is that I decided not to *define* myself by my appearance only. I didn't want you to fall into that trap."

"But you took me out shopping like, right away. If you didn't like me looking like this, why do that?"

"Well, frankly, I hadn't thought things through at that time. I was just amazed at how good you looked. Then your father and I talked, and we decided it would be best if Tori was just a one-time thing."

"When that TV report on Catwoman, including her modeling or acting offers, came out," his father picked up the narrative. "I didn't want to . . . close out an option for you. I wanted it to be controlled, but above all, I wanted it to be your choice."

"I'm not going to become a woman. I just . . . y'know . . ," her voice trailed off.

"Frankly, I'm glad," Mr. Robinson said. "Like I said, I love having a son - my son, the very real, very admirable William Victor Robinson. But while he's the best son in the world to me, I think there are lots of fathers - in fact, I hope there are lots of fathers - who feel the same way about their sons."

He sighed, then continued, "But to be a movie star or a model is literally a one-in-a-million opportunity. Could you be happy if you never tried to do something so unique? So . . . glamorous?"

Tori's eyes had started to shine with unshed tears at the praise from her father. When he got to that question, she smiled and stood up. She moved to her father's chair and pulled him to his feet, then hugged him. "Oh, Dad, how could I not be happy with you and Mom for parents?"

Forcing herself to face the question of a public career of some sort as a girl - with her parents full consent and confidence that she could succeed - helped Tori to make her own decision. At one level she decided that she liked being a girl . . . sometimes. And in her mind, it was as though she really *was* a girl those times, not that she just looked like one. It was true she couldn't have sex as a girl, but neither could CeeCee when she wore her belt, and that didn't make CeeCee any less feminine, any less graceful, or any less beautiful.

In fact, in some ways it was just the opposite. Her 'tin panty' made CeeCee so aware of her hidden treasure at all times that it made her even *more* feminine, and therefore even more graceful and beautiful. Tori felt a similar effect since a part of her never forgot that she had a hidden secret, too. And that thrill of possible discovery kept her intensely aware of her own gestures and voice and movements, which in turn made her more feminine and graceful.

It was a continuing adrenaline rush, but at a sustainable level which meant it truly could continue. Despite the very real pain in her toes after too long in too-high heels, and the pain in her ribs after too long in a too-tight corset, she could sustain the femininity for as long as she wanted, never getting tired of the act nor slipping in her portrayal.

But the idea of building a career doing that - no matter how famous she became, or how much money she made - meant that she wouldn't be building a career as Vic.

Most of the time, Vic was the person to be. He was fun, smart, courageous to a fault, and best of all, no one would think twice if Vic kissed CeeCee, or held her hand, or took her to a show. He liked being the protector both in the way they related when they kissed, and in little things like getting doors and paying for movie tickets. When Tori and CeeCee kissed it was great. When Vic and CeeCee kissed, it was a miracle to build on for life.

Chapter 16 - "Virtue Unchained?"

Most high school romances don’t last. No matter how intensely a teen age boy and girl are in love, life usually intervenes. They go away to different schools, or one family moves away, or a deepening relationship discovers discordance where once there was only harmony. But with a path so unforced yet inexorable it looked like the hand of Fate itself, Vic and CeeCee grew only closer. Vic even managed to get a couple of intern opportunities on his way to an electrical engineering degree, which was enormously helpful on his resume but delayed his graduation by a year allowing CeeCee to catch up. Her own discovery of a penchant for mathematics led her to a compatible degree and after graduation they both received very, very satisfying offers from a bleeding edge tech firm specializing in cryptography. The odds were so far against their romance being sustained until they completed college that their marriage could hardly have been called inevitable . . . but it might has well have been.

Few healthy young couples reach their marriage bed as virgins. Yet neither Vic nor CeeCee were ever interested in anyone else and CeeCee’s little tin panty meant they were at least technically virgins on their wedding night. They had . . . explored other alternatives with great enjoyment and great satisfaction, but in the one most important way they were ‘pure’ when Vic carried his new bride over the threshold into their wedding night hotel room.

"Put me down, darling," CeeCee protested, but it was a soft, contented protest from lips that were buried in his neck. "You don’t have to show off for me. I know you're stronger than you look."

"Thanks, I think," Vic replied wryly. "Just how weak do you think I look?"

CeeCee giggled and reached up to lick at his ear. "I'm not going to play that silly game. Now, let me down and help me out of this dress."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied dutifully. It was a beautiful dress . . . and CeeCee was entitled to wear white - at least technically. They certainly didn't want to damage it when they took that last, most important step together. However, their plans were interrupted when there was a knock at the door.

Vic let CeeCee stand and then opened the door to find a bellhop with their overnight bags. Vic knew his arms were going to be full so he had arranged for a little help with the less important items to carry. But that took only a moment. In a moment more, CeeCee's beautiful dress was hanging smoothly - and safely - in a closet. She had created a nicely naughty scene for the great unveiling with a lacy, virginal white theme. Of course, the snug corset with half cups (the dress had provided the only cover for her arousal semaphores), stockings and towering heels were not especially innocent. Just virginal.




What really set off the outfit though was what others might have found a discordant note of shining stainless steel accented by softer black neoprene that still hid the most feminine treasure of all.

Vic didn't take much longer getting his own tuxedo off. They flowed together with the confidence of long-familiar lovers. No confusion on where the noses went impeded their kiss, though CeeCee's hands were not quite a mirror for the ones Vic used to hold her close. They were busy with another task.

"Oh, god, baby, don't go too far," he gasped. "We don't wanna waste that."

"It's hardly a waste," she countered with a laugh. "And you're good for more than once a night, my stud."

He smirked, then said, "So, where did your dad put the tool?"

"What?!" CeeCee said, all her newlywed joy evaporating in an instant. "I thought he gave it to you!"

"To me?" Vic said. "But he's *your* dad."

"This isn't funny, Vic," she warned. "You better not be playing games here."

Vic's happiness hadn't disappeared quite as fast as his new bride's, but he was certainly frowning now. Without a word he turned to the newly delivered luggage and started pulling zippers with both hands.

They both giggled with heartfelt relief when the tool to release CeeCee from her chastity belt was right on top of the first one they opened. Then they shared a laugh that was more humor and less simple relief when they saw that Mr. Carsons had also included a supply of replacement links in a little bag marked, "Just in case . . ."

"Oh, man, that's cruel," Vic said. "But it is funny."

"Yeah, funny," CeeCee repeated, but she was looking at the spare links with an expression that was funny in a way not dominated by humor.

A few minutes later, Vic uncovered a treasure that had been so close - yet so far - for so long.

"Wow," he said with reverence, prompting another giggle from CeeCee.

"Do you like it?" she asked shamelessly. Just to make sure he had a good look she pushed her hips toward him.

"It's . . . I don't know what to say . . . magical," he replied. Without prompting, but without protest from CeeCee, his fingers reached out to touch lightly on the revealed mystery.

"I didn't, um, expect . . ." He stammered to a stop.

"That I'd be smooth down there," CeeCee offered. "That made it easier, so I took care of that way back in high school."

"Permanently?" he asked.

"Yep," she said smugly. "Mama and I used a home electrolysis machine about the time you started to let your hair grow out."

Vic's hair was almost as long as CeeCee's, reaching to the middle of his back from the clasp that held it low on his neck. Long hair had made it easier for another interest that they continued to share. Their new employer didn't mind his hairstyle, and by now they both enjoyed it was well.

Vic looked at the shaped plate he still held in his other hand. For the first time he saw what it looked like from the other side.

"Whoa," he murmured, eyes widening.

"Yeah," CeeCee said with another giggle. "That's my little friend."

"So that's why you were so . . . happy to wear this thing."

"Well, it's also good for cleaning . . . things, in the shower and all," she said. Then a dreamy tone grew in her voice as she added. "Really good."

But she wasn't surprised by what Vic had discovered so she recovered quickly. "So, stud, you just gonna look at that thing all day . . . ?"

He didn't bother to answer her. At least, not with words.

It turned out that they had made the right choice - or had it made for them - by saving the most important sharing for their wedding night. It might even have been best that they saved only that treasure, because they were each very familiar with the signs of arousal and readiness in each other, and when they finally joined it was more perfect than any fairy tale could ever be.

The magic wasn't even diminished by CeeCee's tears. Vic knew her moods well enough to recognize that they were tears of joy and wonder and overwhelming happiness, and he cherished the tiny salty drops with his tongue as they moved in gentle harmony.

At least it started out gentle. It remained harmonious, but it wasn't long before gentle was not on either of their minds. And it wasn't long after that before there wasn't much of cognizant thought at all on either of their minds.

Not even enough to keep count.

Or notice the passage of time.

At some point they woke up from a nestled slumber and realized it had gotten dark outside. Their wedding reception had been a simple affair with snacks only and it had been their plan to go out to dinner on their own rather than have a formal wedding meal. Their overnight luggage contained outfits that weren't quite as dramatic as wedding gown and tuxedo so their choice of venue was open to their whim.

Once the decision was made, they were ready to go quickly. In fact, it took longer for Vic to get ready than for CeeCee. She had let her hair grow long enough that it just wouldn't work in some towering updo frozen with hairspray. A few flowery ornaments could stay, and a brush took care of the main tumble down her back. She kept the enticing lingerie that had been hidden by her wedding gown and that meant she wasn't going to take a shower. She demanded a few minutes in the bathroom to herself for a bit of intimate cleansing, and after that her most time consuming task was to refresh her makeup, at which she was well into the expert level.

Vic, on the other hand, decided to take a quick shower. And that meant he had to dry his hair. When he re-entered the main room he saw CeeCee dressed in a flattering, body-conscious wisp of delicate fabric that resurrected a hunger no restaurant could satisfy. However, CeeCee's frown held up his amorous advance.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I can't find any panties," she reported. "I know I got some." She giggled and looked at her new husband. "Brand new. I haven't worn anything but my 'tin panty' for years, but now . . ."

"Well, I'm not going to put you back in that thing now," Vic said firmly.

"But I don't have anything else to wear," she complained. "And the skirt on this dress is way too short for . . . y'know."

"No, it's not," Vic said with a grin. "Of course, it may mean that I eat my dinner with, um, unseemly haste."

"No, darling, really. I can't" CeeCee said.

"Yes you can," Vic said breezily. He pulled a sport coat and slacks from his own luggage and was dressed before her protests had fully died down. Not that she was really protesting all that much. Her well-established kink included public - though hidden - nudity. Which seems like a contradiction since everyone is always naked under all their clothes. But in her case, it meant she loved to have a risk of exposure that wasn't shared by other girls. The risk was the point - she wasn't really an exhibitionist - but Vic knew even as he was providing her with the excuse that she was thrilled at the thought of walking around in public with only a tiny skirt hiding her femininity.

Especially so in this case, because before she had always been covered by her chastity belt - whether she wanted to be or not.

He quickly caught his hair up into his typical low ponytail and barely let her gather up her purse before he was shepherding his new bride out into public for the first time as an 'ordinary' married woman.

Neither one remembered much about that meal. They didn't feel like the sort of delay an elegant meal would have taken so they didn't choose one of the fancier places with long tablecloths that might have allowed a little discreet naughtiness during the meal. But they were both aware of that possibility - that for the first time, Vic's fingers could have been very naughty indeed.

Despite CeeCee changing from an obvious wedding gown, there wouldn't have been any doubt in the minds of passers-by that the couple were newlyweds. The waiter picked up on it immediately and brought a small bottle of champagne with the manager's compliments soon after they placed their orders. It wasn't enough to get them drunk, but it was enough to make them very, very happy as they returned to their room.

Though it's possible that they didn't need the champagne for that.

Pretty much a sure thing, actually.

However, once they got back to their room they found a surprise. At least, CeeCee was surprised.

"What's all this?" she asked.

In the room were three arrays of luggage. None of them were the simple overnight bags that they had brought with them. CeeCee recognized one array as the clothes she had packed - though the absence of panties in her overnight bag meant that there was no telling what was actually in them. One array was what she expected for Vic - a medium suitcase and a couple of sports bags that probably added up to the equivalent of a second normal bag.

But the third grouping was a neatly arranged set of matching luggage that she didn't recognize at all. On top of the new set was a present wrapped in wedding paper.

Vic grinned, and pointed at the box. "Open it."

Inside, CeeCee found a set of car keys that she also didn't recognize.

"That's the keys to our new car," Vic explained. "Your parents and mine went together and got us a brand new XTerra. I think they realized that we sometimes need a little more room for, ah, packages than a sedan would provide.

"You didn't tell them about us, did you?" CeeCee asked accusingly.

"No, but parents are funny like that," Vic claimed. "It turns out, we didn't keep our secret as well as we might have thought. When they were telling me about the new car, they, ah . . . well, let me show you something."

He opened one of the new suitcases and inside was another wrapped package. Once again he urged CeeCee to open it. She gasped when she saw the contents, but Vic noticed that her semaphores started signaling again through the thin material of her dress. The box had contained two sets of fur-lined leather cuffs - wide enough and padded enough to be worn for extended periods without injuring the wearer's wrists or ankles.

"Ohmigod," she gasped. "These are . . . awesome, but . . . our parents really know?"

Vic started to answer immediately, but then he paused. "Actually, I'm only sure that *your* parents know," he admitted. "Your dad showed those to me. And he pointed out a few more features of this bag that I'll get to in a moment."

He pulled CeeCee over to one of the room's chairs and sat down, drawing her into his lap.

"Okay, beautiful, you have a choice to make," he began. "Here's the deal. Our new car - SUV, actually - is big enough for our clothes as Vic and CeeCee, but it's not big enough for clothes for Vic, and CeeCee . . . and Tori."

"Tori?" she repeated. "Is she coming with us?"

"Maybe," Vic replied. "That's your choice. Behind Door #1, we have a honeymoon trip for Vic and CeeCee; a frolic in the sands and surf of beautiful French Bora Bora, with a romantic cabin built right out over the water. Reservations are in place, and our flight leaves in the morning."

"I presume you're about to tell me about Door #2?" she prompted, starting to grin . . . and preening just a bit because she was aware that her little tattletales were revealing her interest in what might be coming. Of course, the fact Vic's eyes were crossing as they traced the burro-tour path down her cleavage might have had something to do with her smirking satisfaction.

"Behind Door #2, is no honeymoon trip at all," he said, but his grin kept that apparent disappointment at bay. "Behind Door #2 is a road trip by Tori Robinson. She will visit places in the great heartland of America like the Grand Canyon, and Yellowstone, and the beaches of South Texas. Sometimes she'll be accompanied by her dear friend CeeCee, but a lot of time time it will seem like she is travelling alone."

"ohmigod," CeeCee whispered. "You mean . . ."

"Yep," Vic said smugly. "It's your choice. If you want, I'll be Tori for the next three weeks. But you'll spend most of that time - at least while we're travelling - in this suitcase. And you won't need any clothes of your own."

"ohmigod," CeeCee whispered again, panting and squirming in Vic's lap. His hand snuck under her skirt for a little of the newly-earned naughtiness that he had been denied at dinner. That didn't help CeeCees' breathing at all, but she didn't complain. At least, Vic didn't interpret her moan as a complaint.

"Tori *may* - I repeat *may* - allow you to borrow a few of her clothes occasionally, say for a nice dinner out or so that you can see the sights of Yellowstone. But the car isn't big enough for two sets of fashionable young women's clothes. So, whose clothes are we gonna take? CeeCee's - plus Vic's, of course - or Tori's and this extra suitcase?"

CeeCee's breathing was not working well for the basic purpose of providing oxygen, for all that it was working wonderfully well at grabbing Vic's attention. But she was still processing enough air to stand, and she quickly jumped up and pulled her dress off so fast that it was a wonder it wasn't torn.

"I'll . . . tell . . . you . . ," she gasped, running over to the bed and ripping the covers down, " . . . in the morning."

Despite her head start, she was only barely ahead of Vic.

Finis