A Wedding to Remember

Story codes: (As now required by Anna.) (This is the ‘Fine print’). Bondage story - A Wedding to Remember. Cross Dressing story - A Wedding to Remember. Explicit Sex story - A Wedding to Remember. Forced Feminization story - A Wedding to Remember. Perverted Sex Play story - A Wedding to Remember. Public Exhibition story - A Wedding to Remember. Key Words: Abducted; Borg; Cake; Confused; Handcuff; Photographer; Preacher; Wedding Dress; This story tells of the above-mentioned subjects as well as other very gross and disgusting stuff. It may be offensive to absolutely anyone or everyone. Don’t read it! - If you must read it, do so at your own risk. Many of my stories contain a number in front of the story name, and many contain a date. These indicate the sequence in which they were published. While one story is not really a continuation of another they sometimes do refer back to events that occurred in previous stories. I try to provide references when this happens. There are certain subjects that Anna will not allow on the site. Anna herself says it best… Torture: No stories or discussion about torture are allowed. Discomfort are allowed but please try to use the word discomfort instead of torture. In an attempt to meat Anna’s rules I have edited out all reference to ‘Torture’* and replaced them with ‘Discomfort’. Although, to be honest, I think my metaphorical reference, ‘Torture’* really is a better word. Characters: Me:{Submissive}, {My wife: One of the girls?}, {Karen: One of the girls}, The girls from (My wife’s) work. 26 – A Wedding to Remember. – Part 1. 09/20/09 Sometimes I think my wife has a secret little magic button that she occasionally pushes. This device instantly causes pandemonium to break out at my job. Of course, in reality my wife has nothing to do with my job or the company that I work for, nor does she really know any of my coworkers any more than casually. I know it has to be coincidence, but sometimes I think she must be the luckiest woman ali

ve when she would like to delay my arrival home for some reason. I found myself coming home late from work yet again this evening. As I mentioned before, just as I was packing up to head out, chaos erupted at the office and I had to stay behind to help resolve matters. On the drive back, nearing our house, I spotted an unusually large number of cars parked along the street in front of my home. My neighbors have several teenagers, so this isn’t entirely unexpected; I assumed the kids were hosting another party or perhaps just had a crowd of friends over. I pressed the remote to open the garage door and drove inside. Once through the house, I hit the button by the interior entryway to lower the overhead garage door. I knew trouble was brewing as soon that inner garage door clicked shut behind me. The place was packed with women, and I recognized at least a few of them as ‘The girls from work,’ which is how my wife refers to her female colleagues. They seemed thrilled about something. Women are much like bees; when they’re buzzing with excitement, it’s wiser to leave them be. I didn’t think I had many options left, but I figured if there was a slim chance for me, it lay in sneaking upstairs unseen and hiding out in the bedroom until they departed or at least calmed down. I had barely started toward what felt like my sanctuary when the women intercepted me and pulled me into the living room. It took a moment to piece together what was happening. Not that I ever truly figured out what was really going on. The first thing that occurred was them tying a homemade hat onto my head. It wasn’t much more than a paper plate adorned with several bows, similar to those used on gifts, pasted onto it, along with a ribbon tied under my chin to keep it in place. I may be a man, but I’ve seen this sort of thing done before when

Women gather for a ‘Hen party’ or engage in other ladylike activities on their own. After the hat was placed, I started shedding what felt like random pieces of clothing. Sometimes these women act collectively as one unit, much like the Borg from Star Trek. This wasn’t unusual; it happened today too. Amidst a sea of hands, it was hard to tell which woman removed any specific item. It seemed that piece by piece, my clothes just vanished. As I neared complete nudity, new garments began arriving and were put on me almost as quickly as the old ones disappeared. The new attire had a clear feminine touch—panties, stockings, bra, skirt, blouse, etc.—nothing masculine about it! All around, the women chattered simultaneously without seeming to listen to one another. I couldn’t make out any coherent conversation, but that didn’t bother them at all. Once properly dressed by their standards, I realized this was some kind of party, surprisingly similar to a wedding shower. In fact, that’s where I’d seen such hats before. However, it appeared I was the guest of honor or the bride-to-be. This came as something of a rude surprise since I believed myself already married and had no intention of making that mistake again soon.

Seated on the floor in front of the couch, surrounded by women huddled like football players, gifts began arriving shortly after. A small but surprisingly heavy box was thrust at me, with an expectation to open it. As I carefully unwrapped it, inside lay a pair of handcuffs. Before I could lift them out, someone snatched them up.

Someone else, or perhaps a few others, had seized my arms and yanked them behind me. Before I could process what was going on, my limbs were secured with tight cuffs at my back. Since my hands were out of commission, I assumed no more presents would be coming. Naturally, that assumption didn’t hold up. A box was thrust toward me, revealing several pairs of artificial hands made by the women seated tightly around me. The packaging tore open swiftly. Out came a stark white ball gag with a black leather strap, which was promptly wedged into my mouth and secured behind my head. Being mindful that I wore a long wig rather than having my natural hair down, they carefully lifted it so it wouldn’t get trapped under the strap.

The next present required me to try on a blindfold. It looked perhaps a bit comical due to its front adorned with faux rhinestone eyes that resembled feminine, almost feline shapes. Despite this playful design, the blindfold remained highly effective. More gifts followed once it was in place, though I wasn’t entirely certain what each one did. I started feeling relieved because none of them seemed overtly sexual, but my relief was short-lived as I was turned over; my hot pink panties were lowered and an oval-shaped vibrator was pushed up into me. Luckily, the women had applied plenty of lubricant to both the device and myself before insertion. By the time all the presents were unwrapped, I found myself hogtied in the middle of the living room by the coffee table, wearing most if not all my new accessories.

Once the gifts were opened, snacks arrived. The women seemed to enjoy taking turns adjusting my vibrator control while watching me writhe. Of course with the ball

I couldn’t eat any of the food while I had a gag in my mouth. That changed once they took it out and started feeding me. The women kept shoving various treats into my mouth—hamburgers, cake, chips, ice cream, you name it—all at once. It might have been nicer to get one item at a time, but I decided that being fed was the main thing anyway. After seeing what these ladies were like, I really didn’t mind much.

Eventually, they shoved the gag back in and went on chatting. ‘Continued’ is actually the right word because they barely paused for even eating themselves.

I lay there hogtied on the floor thinking the party would probably wrap up within a few hours, setting me free soon after. Soon enough, things started to wind down. Some of the women came over and untied me, checking my clothes, fixing my makeup, and combing out my hair. While they were doing that, I caught a glimpse in the mirror.

I was amazed at how the bright red lipstick popped against the white ball gag. I’ve always liked when women wear bright red ball gags, but seeing them together looked really striking. Before I could fully process what was happening, they whisked me outside and put me in a car. Just abducted right from my own house. Where’s the neighborhood watch when you actually need one?

Maybe I should share more about how things unfolded. Not that I knew exactly what was going on, but here’s what it seemed like to me. Most of the activity around me still felt somewhat unclear at best. I doubt my wife would have let ‘the girls’ take over our house without her present, so I assume she was there somewhere in the shadows. In the past, I’ve noticed she likes to hang back when these women are about. It also seemed like Karen had been there too, even though I hadn’t spotted her at first.

The crowd I thought I heard her voice at one point. For those of you who don’t know Karen, let me just say she worked in the same office building as my wife. These women were from a different company, so they knew ‘the girls from work’. Karen had also been playing bondage games with my wife and me for a few months now.

It appeared that this was indeed some sort of wedding shower and somehow it seemed I was standing there playing the part of the bride. I got the impression that Karen had been chosen to play the maid of honor. I suspected several other women would take on roles as bridesmaids or hold key positions. Of course, I hadn’t a clue how far they planned to carry this wedding theme. I hoped it would just be a party tonight and then we’d call it done. Knowing these ladies as well as I do, I feared they wouldn’t drop things so easily. They don’t seem to have a single leader; they operate in a hive-like manner—diabolical is only the start of describing their methods. In many ways, they are like bees: there’s a master plan, but it’s hard to see if you just watch one individual.

I remained blindfolded and still wore the stunning white ball gag, which had been removed briefly so someone could ‘fix my lipstick’ before being quickly put back on. Somewhere along the line they’d placed a collar around my neck. I recognized that collar; it was covered in lace with several silk flowers attached. It looked very feminine—a pretty decorative piece indeed. The lace and flowers hid the strong nylon strap and the remotely operated electronic shocking device that made this collar so effective. I had been seated in the back of a car, wedged between two other women who seemed to be sitting closer than necessary. My hands were still cuffed behind my back. Soon after we got into the vehicle, one of the woman’s hands wandered toward my crotch

. They both appeared ready to engage with me. It looked like they played nicely together, taking turns in their efforts on me. As the women focused on me, I lost track of time and wasn’t sure where we were headed. All I know is that after a while, it seemed we had reached our destination. The ladies pulled me out of the vehicle. Having received plenty of attention from them in the back seat, I was fairly certain my skirt was visibly raised at the front. There were four women and myself in the car, so now I had two ‘Guards’ flanking me on either side. Still handcuffed, blindfolded, and gagged, I decided it would be wise to follow their lead rather than struggle too much. Plus, my high heels wouldn’t let me run fast anyway. In fact, I was doing my best just to walk at a somewhat normal pace without tripping. Wherever we were, I could hear other cars and many people around us. We didn’t have far to go before entering some building. There must have been someone like a bouncer or ‘Gate guard’ because I heard the girls chatting with him briefly. Inside, there was music—loud music—and even more people. Somehow, even without seeing them clearly, I got the impression that most if not all of these folks were women. I’m not much of a drinker and don’t frequent many bars often, but this place had the vibe of what you might call a somewhat low-class drinking establishment. We sat down at some table. We met up with more of our group once we arrived, and I knew that two women were flanking me as we settled in. These ladies liked to swap places so they could all be near me from time to time. Consequently, it was hard to keep track of which woman was guiding or sitting beside me at any given moment. After being seated for a bit, the women decided it was time to t

I had the blindfold removed. I couldn’t believe they’d actually brought me to a strip club. It wasn’t quite like any strip joint I was used to, though that’s not saying much since I don’t go there often anyway. Clearly this spot catered to women; I just knew the strippers wouldn’t be pretty (or even plain) ladies but men instead. The show kicked off quickly enough and my hunches were confirmed. Part of me wanted to duck beneath the table while the ladies went absolutely wild, screaming their heads off and climbing up to tuck dollar bills into the guys’ jock straps. I did wonder if crawling under a table in such an establishment might be worse than sitting upright there, as it would certainly look like you were performing oral sex or something similar.

Our waiter returned with our drinks; apparently he’d already delivered the first round to the ladies while I was out of it. He carried a tray piled high with another set of beverages, and this time one was for me too. One of the women lifted my gag but gave me a stern look, warning that silence was expected unless directly addressed by her kind. I spotted straws in every glass, each topped with a little penis-shaped topper. How much better could it get? Naturally, the girls seated beside me had their own penises to caress beneath the table, and since my hands were still tied up, there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I sat quietly sipping through that phallic straw while watching several male strippers gyrating on stage before us. The ladies continued reveling—screaming, dancing, and… well, people have told me not to spill all the secrets of this particular venue. Let’s just say there was a suggestion that some physical trouble might come my way if I did talk too much, and honestly, surviving a catfight with these women sounds daunting.

As the evening progressed, the girls tend

Things got a bit more intense (again, that’s putting it mildly). I’m convinced the generous amounts of alcohol some were drinking played a part in how things went. Soon enough, we needed to head back. Luckily, there were designated drivers among the girls who had held off on drinks enough for me to feel comfortable letting them drive us home. It was certainly quite an evening, and I anticipated returning home with fond memories of what transpired. But as you might suspect, that didn’t happen exactly as planned. We all ended up at one person’s place. I wasn’t sure where we were or whose house it was; I just knew we’d been driven there, and the women had piled out of the car into this home. Naturally, I was among them. Every girl (myself included) took a turn in the bathroom. Following their lead, I claimed a small patch of living room floor as my bed for the night. For me, it didn’t need to be huge because the hogtie had compressed my body into a fairly compact form. The floor was hard, and the rug wasn’t much help as a mattress. Several women fell asleep quickly, likely helped by their earlier drinking. I slept poorly but woke up surprised in the morning having managed some rest despite being bound.

• o O o - The women started waking up one by one. It seemed whoever woke first went to the bathroom next. Eventually, someone realized I was still hogtied and untied me so I could join the line for the toilet. I was delighted to find breakfast had been made for us. A proper meal it was too. While warm coffee would have sufficed, real food helped considerably even with my relatively mild hangover from last night. With my hands still tied behind

I was still able to eat breakfast without any issues since all the women seemed more than eager to help feed me. Afterward, it was time for everyone to get dressed and ready for the wedding. - Oh yes, by the way, there was indeed a wedding, and as I had feared, I apparently am going to be the bride! I was led into one of the bedrooms and tied up in what must have been the tightest spread eagle position I’ve ever seen or felt. There were about six women all attacking me at once with their own cans of shaving cream and razors. Once they finished my front, they turned me over to tackle my backside. When they were done, I don’t think there was a single hair left below my eyebrows. And yes, I mean no hairs anywhere. Before now, I had shaved my pubic hair once before, and truly regretted letting them do it to me. [01 - Payback 01/30/09] Not that I really had much of a choice back then either. As the hair grew back in, it was quite painful because it rubbed and chafed between my legs; the ingrowing hairs felt like curse sandpaper rubbing painfully against my scrotum. It seemed like several months passed before enough hair grew out to stop the torment* (I think Anna allows us to be tormented). I must say that while I was completely naked, receiving treatment in a somewhat sexual manner, the women treated it more as a clinical situation. Once the women had removed all the hair below my head they started dressing me. Someone produced a pair of rubber panties which were pulled over my legs without much fuss. As they approached my hips, I learned that these panties contained a rather large embedded plug. The plug had been lubricated before it was unceremoniously shoved up my ass as the pants were pulled up. The next surprise was that there was some sort of pocket or sheath device in the front of them. The bad news was that as my penis was inserted, it forced it down between my legs. I have never been able to achieve an org

Using my member in this position while maintaining a full erection is quite challenging, although the ladies didn’t bother asking for my thoughts on it. After they put the panties on me, they secured leather cuffs to my wrists. These felt much better than the metal handcuffs had previously. That was until they connected them to a rope running through an overhead pulley system. As my captors pulled the line with minimal effort, I rose up onto my tiptoes. Then came ankle restraints and a spreader bar, leaving me unable to move once more. A corset appeared next—maybe one of the presents—and was simply slid over me without much ceremony or difficulty. The laces were threaded through and drawn tight. With the corset secured, I received something extra: my breasts. My attendant worked her way down from top to bottom, pulling each eyelet snugly. As pressure increased, they pushed inward against my chest while reshaping themselves nicely. She repeated this process multiple times using a J-shaped hook; its wire end slipped under the laces while the wooden T-handle gave excellent leverage for extra tightening. This cycle happened perhaps six times total. I started doubting if deep breaths were still possible—or breathing at all! The compression near my lower ribs felt intense enough to break bone.

(Hat discomfort for Anna) The laces were tied off and tucked well out of my reach inside the garment. The girls left me hanging (Literally) as they went off to chat amongst themselves. After a while, several of them returned and without saying a word released my bonds. I realized I couldn’t bend at all in my torso. Because of this, even walking took on a new perspective since I had to use unfamiliar muscles to balance properly. It wasn’t much trouble though because the girls quickly guided me over to a straight-backed wooden chair with armrests. They seated me and proceeded to bind me up again, using about three miles of rope in the process. When they finished, once more not a muscle could move. I soon discovered that my binding was in the perfect position for them to do my makeup. This included fingernails, toenails, hair, and every other part of my face. Everyone seemed eager to participate. There was a woman attending each hand and foot. One or two women were working on my hair and probably several more tending to my face. It was hard to tell who was doing what exactly. They all chatted as they worked, and as usual nobody really listened to one another. The process lasted well over an hour—maybe even two. Eventually I looked as beautiful as this team of women could make me. To be honest, I knew it would be a real challenge for them and wasn’t expecting miracles. In fact, I hadn’t been expecting any of this at all. Next came my clothing change. Around that time, I felt the call of nature and decided it might be a good moment to go before being dressed more fully. The girls weren’t about to let me handle this adventure in private, so we all piled into the bathroom together. They wouldn’t allow me to pull down the rubber panties easily, but I soon discovered that if I sat on the toilet, the urine was appropriately routed out through a small opening in the front of the panties. The humiliation was indescribable. Not only was I being f

I was forced to honestly relieve myself in a feminine way, with six women watching me. After I finished embarrassing myself, they brought out a pair of white stockings. I’ve worn them before, but never over freshly shaved legs. The sensation of nylon against my smooth skin is indescribable. Even as a man, I started feeling quite sexy and distinctly feminine. It wasn’t about wanting to have sex with a guy; it was an internal sense of being pretty—beauty wasn’t the main point—and it felt wonderful.

Next, I went back to the rope hoist for another tightening session with my corset. This time around didn’t last nearly as long as the first one did. I was surprised they could tighten it further at all, but they managed to pull out a surprising amount of slack from the laces. Once that was done, I was released again to put on my final layers. Around this time, someone slipped a single brightly colored garter up my right leg. Naturally, there were several undergarments: a slip and another skirt-like piece designed to add volume to the dress covering my legs and lower body. Not knowing the specific feminine terms for these clothes, ‘Underwear’ will have to do.

Several girls helped put white gloves on me. Made of some kind of satin, they reached just over my elbows, held in place by an elastic cuff at the top. They featured several tiny buttons around the wrists to tighten them. One girl mentioned that these would help conceal my masculine-looking hands.

applying that elaborate red nail polish even though they planned to conceal everything with the gloves. At last, my own wedding dress was brought out and put on me. It was exactly the same gown I’d bought for my submissive back then [[11 - Mental Health days. 06/07/09]]. This dress seemed crafted from miles of lace and fabric. Layers upon layers of material cascaded everywhere. The long sleeves clung tightly to my arms, fastened by a row of buttons that secured them snugly around each limb—each arm must have had forty buttons in total. With the sleeves so firmly buttoned, there was no chance those gloves would slip off until I took the dress off. Another hundred or so buttons held the back together, though the overlapping fabric and lace eventually concealed most if not all of them. I couldn’t believe how much material covered my legs and lower half; it barely allowed me to walk without stepping on it. More fabric trailed down behind me. The girls taught me how to gather an armful of cloth over my arm so I might have a slim chance at climbing or descending stairs, or even squeezing into a car. Honestly, transport hadn’t crossed my mind until then. I figured I’d need all the space in a large dump truck bed just to get moved around in this dress! Finally, one woman ran off and brought back the veil, which was carefully placed over my head with lace drawn across my face. In just those few short hours, I actually became a bride. I was quite surprised when Karen walked into the room. She wore the bridesmaid’s gown that had been given to me months earlier after buying the bridal dress. The dress looked as though it were tailored specifically for her; she looked lovely in it and matched shoes.

Her shoes matched the dress perfectly, and she had added several other accessories that only enhanced her overall look. She must have spent hours just on her hair. I usually love her beautiful long tresses, but today she wore it up. Why is it that when women dress formally they always wind their hair onto the top of their heads instead of letting it hang down where it looks so alluring? I never would have imagined how Karen’s lovely long hair could look good piled on top of her head, but whoever did this to her was certainly an artist. As I had suspected, she was apparently standing in as my maid of honor and I probably couldn’t have picked a better one.

Karen burst into tears when she saw me. “Are you nervous?” she asked through a sniffle, blotting at the tears running down her face with a tissue. The question caught me off guard. Certainly I was dazed and confused and didn’t really know what all was happening, but up until now I hadn’t thought of anything to be nervous about—fearful or frightened maybe of what the girls might do next, but nervous? “Well, I am now,” I stammered. “Aw, you look so beautiful,” she said as another shower of tears streamed down her cheeks. I guess women must be genetically programmed to cry at the presence of a bride, even if it is just a very confused guy dressed up like one. Guys sometimes cry at the presence of a groom (knowing what he’s getting himself into), but I have a feeling that is a totally different emotion. With all that I was wearing, I was unable to, or at least didn’t think I could sit down, so Karen and I stood there admiring one another.

I hadn’t really noticed until now, but one by one the girls had drifted off somewhere. Karen and I now stood there alone. “So, you’ve teamed up with the other women now?” I said accusingly, but somewhat jokingly to Karen. “Well, I wasn’t about to miss your wedding; I wouldn’t want to miss that for the world,” she shot back giving me a devious little smile that

It only made me feel like I was in much deeper trouble than I realized, or perhaps even could have imagined.

I reflected back on how I had ended up in this situation. All I did was come home from a long, hard day at work, looking forward to dinner and maybe some relaxing TV. Suddenly here I stood—a bride at my own wedding! The whole day seemed to go downhill from the moment I woke up. It also struck me that I was standing there very straight and rigidly because of the damn corset, wearing high heels and, due to the dress, unable to sit down. My leg muscles were starting to complain about being forced into this unfamiliar posture.

Suddenly, there seemed to be a commotion in the next room. The door opened and the girls streamed in, all talking at once. All six of them were now dressed in bridesmaid’s dresses and looked absolutely lovely. I would say they wore matching dresses, but actually, two different styles divided evenly among them—three wore one type and three wore another. I couldn’t decide which style I liked better since both were equally beautiful; the colors and styles meshed extremely well together.

I don’t know the proper feminese terms to describe their dress style, so I’ll just say they were long, flowing dresses covered with a translucent lacy material. One set was basically light pink, while the other was a nicely contrasting powder blue. Any female would surely have a multitude of color names to choose from; us men tend to stick to basic reds, greens, blues, yellows, etc. My guess is that when it came time to decide which looked lovelier, there was dissention, so they compromised by choosing both. I later learned the dresses had come from a thrift store specializing in this sort of thing.

Six dresses of the same style were available, which meant the girls had to mix things up. Despite the reason behind it, the outfits looked harmonious together, and I really liked how the two styles and colors combined. The girls all gathered around me for what seemed like a final inspection. Somehow, my wrists had been secured with handcuffs, trapping my hands in front of me. These were likely the same cuffs from last evening, but they’d been covered in white satin to blend seamlessly with the rest of my dress fabric, becoming nearly invisible. The result was that I appeared naturally to be holding my hands this way. Interestingly, the satin covering had no hole for a key, so there was nowhere to insert it to unlock them. As if on cue, all the women burst into tears—probably due to that genetic female trait again, I’m sure. Regardless, not a single dry eye remained in sight. Someone announced it was time to leave, and I was pushed out the door. A large, fancy car was waiting outside, surrounded by the girls. With no choice but to head toward its back door, I wondered how I would fit inside given my dress and other attire, even though the vehicle was spacious. The girls opened all four doors. At least two women climbed into the front seat facing backward, while at least another two stood by the rear doors. Guided toward the car, once I got close enough, they began shoving me through the nearest door. My dress material billowed in every direction, quickly obscuring my vision. I felt myself falling onto the backseat. The girls on the far side crawled in and pulled at the dress, while those in the front grabbed handfuls of fabric, stuffing it wherever seemed right. Within minutes, somehow, I found myself seated in the middle of the rear bench.

e car. The girls standing by the rear doors on either side were still shoving material from the dress into the car and the women in the front seat were still shoving material back at me pushing most of it downwards behind the front seat. Somehow they eventually managed to shove everything into the car enough that they could get the car doors closed. Two of the women climbed into the front seat and a big burly guy dressed in a rather nice dark suit climbed into the drivers seat. I got the impression that the rest of the women had another car, which must have been parked behind us. There probably had been some sort of signal given because the driver put the car into gear and we were off to wherever we were headed. We drove for quite some time. I have no idea where we ended up however my best guess was that it must have been some sort of private school. The women crowded around and pushed and tugged on both the dress and me. Eventually in an explosion of fabric and lace I seemed to pop out of the car. Before I knew what was happening the women were all congregating around me adjusting my dress. I was amazed that it only took a few minutes before my dress looked just as it had back at the house when we got dressed. The women began to push and shove again and I found myself headed to the door of a rather large building. As I had guessed this turned out to be a gymnasium, however it had been set up with a large number of folding chairs on the floor for some sort of assembly. There was a nice wide aisle in the chairs running down the center of the gymnasium. At the far end of the gymnasium stood several other people who were apparently expecting a wedding to take place sometime soon. These were obviously the other half of our wedding party. There were a few other people, certainly far more than I had expected (Or hoped / wanted to see) seated on the chairs. The women all lined up in the back of the gymnasium. The way they were acting left little doubt that in the very near

Next up were two bridesmaids making their way down the aisle, and without a doubt I was expected to follow them. I knew that they would ‘Encourage’ me to do so, but with the other bridesmaids already proceeding, I wondered how this encouragement would manifest. Around then, someone pressed an attractive bouquet of flowers into my hands. I noticed our driver had taken position in front of what looked like the sole available exit. Even dressed as a guy in my best attire, I’d have thought twice before challenging him. In heels and with this dress and corset on, I knew I couldn’t hope to challenge even one woman.

Wedding music was playing over the sound system, and the current track was coming to an end. The women were forming pairs for their march down the aisle. Suddenly someone appeared beside me. Before I could see who it was, I realized it was a man. Whatever his identity, he wore a nice dark suit that fit well. When I finally got a good look at him, recognition struck. It was John, whom I had met and befriended before. Back then, he had tricked me into wearing a full-body rubber diving suit while playing lifeguard for a small five-foot wide kiddie pool [18 – The Picnic. 07/26/09]. I wasn’t entirely sure who John was or his role here, but given what little I knew about him, it made sense that he might be part of this situation.

Karen stood in front of us, also carrying a large basket of flowers. Someone must have signaled because the women began walking down the aisle very slowly in traditional wedding fashion. Before my brain could fully process the absurdity of it all, Karen had already taken off down the aisle, leaving John and me standing alone side-by-side at the back of the gymnasium. I heard the wedding march play on as

Music was blasting from the sound system as John gripped my arm tightly enough to keep me from pulling away, yet his hold felt loving. He started dragging me down the aisle, and I realized that if I stumbled in this outfit, getting back up would be nearly impossible. John wasn’t slowing or loosening his grip at all. With no other choice available, I surrendered and began walking alongside him.

People talk about ‘Shotgun weddings,’ but I always assumed they were mostly fictional tales—great for storytelling but rare in reality. I hadn’t seen any actual shotguns or firearms of any kind at this wedding yet, but trust me: even without the literal firepower, by my standards, this event definitely qualified as a classic ‘Shotgun wedding’.

Just as it started sinking in that we were walking up the aisle, John halted abruptly. It appeared we had reached the front of the gymnasium. Once again taking charge, he turned to face me and gently lifted my Vail back over my head so the fabric draped down my spine, freeing my face. The open weave hadn’t really blocked my vision or made it hard to see through; I’d grown so accustomed to wearing it that I barely noticed its presence at all.

John gave me a passionate look, leaned in, and gently kissed my forehead before turning me back toward the front of the gymnasium.

It finally clicked for me that there were indeed other people present and that I was about to marry one of them. In some cultures, ‘Arranged marriages’ are standard practice, leaving the woman with little say in choosing her husband. But this is America; our culture doesn’t typically follow that route—at least not these days! My brain kept insisting on that fact.

married and that I had a wife who must be hanging around here somewhere. Where was she while all of this was happening? And why was she letting me marry someone else? With that thought I began to wonder just who it was that I was marrying anyway? Fortunately, standing next to, or at least very close to whoever it was I was in a good position to answer that question for myself. While I had been thinking about all of this Karen had stepped down from where she had been standing next to the other bridesmaids. Having been abandoned just short of the alter by John, Karen was now guiding me through the final steps towards… The guy? Just who the hell was he anyway? For that matter, who was I? Was this just some sort of really crazy dream or what? I have had some very vivid and some very crazy dreams in my life, but somehow this just didn’t seem like a dream or even a nightmare. Not the real nighttime, while you’re asleep, version of nightmare anyway. Karen had positioned me standing next to what was apparently the groom where I guess I was supposed to be. She gave me a really funny look as her eyes began to fill with water. She quickly lowered her head and bent down as she fluffed out the front of my dress and then scurried behind me to adjust the train of fabric that had been dragging behind me. Finally she had returned to her position sort of at my side, but more next to the other six bridesmaids. Someone else had begun to speak. I looked up to see someone who was dressed as a reverend, minister, maybe even a priest! Clean-shaven with a cross on his robe I didn’t think he was a rabbi, besides there was no tent. Since I didn’t know I just decided to think of him as a ‘Preacher’. Whoever he was he was acting very solemn and was beginning to speak. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join in hold matrimony…” These words sounded vaguely familiar. I was trying to assimilate all of this, but stuff seemed to be coming at me rather fast! Just where did I remember

were these words from a wedding or perhaps a funeral? A celebration of union felt more appropriate, yet I craved further clarification despite already being drowning in data.

So I did the only thing that came to mind: I panicked! When uncertainty strikes, what else is there to do? My head was spinning; I could feel myself fading away as oxygen levels dropped rapidly. I knew time was running out before total collapse set in. There I stood, securely bound and properly attired not just as a lady but specifically as a bride, facing someone who was reciting vows directly at me! The key phrase ‘marriage vows’ confirmed it—a wedding without doubt!

But then that persistent question bubbled up again: who exactly is this fellow standing beside me? I turned sharply to check. It took my overburdened, bewildered mind a moment or two to process the sight of someone next to me donning a remarkably handsome tuxedo—and it was none other than…my wife!

What on earth was she doing there? Clearly, she had hired a man’s suit for herself. The fit was impeccable. Naturally, paired with the jacket were matching men’s shoes. Her usually long, lovely hair seemed either hidden or completely absent beneath what appeared to be a masculine-cut wig. Actually, upon closer inspection, it didn’t look like traditional wigs; instead, her natural locks were styled attractively in an elongated cut that retained strong male characteristics while remaining elegant. From afar she projected clear masculinity, though subtle feminine traits emerged when you looked closely enough.

Her eyebrows stood out slightly due to their plucked shape—unusual for a man—but surprisingly similar to mine thanks to recent grooming sessions by the girls. Her clean-shaven face read as distinctly female or at least youthful. Realizing I already knew she was biologically female, my eyes darted around searching for flaws in her presentation. Ultimately, despite needing closer scrutiny to confirm details, she pulled off looking convincingly male overall.

I must have looked flushed—(how they could tell with all the makeup on my face is beyond me) and perhaps a bit unsteady as I stood there, because Karen quickly rushed up to my side and helped steady me. Everyone else just stood there dumbfounded, unsure of what was going on. Taking a deep breath—or at least as deep as the d**** corset would allow—I regained some small amount of composure. I turned and nodded at Karen, who stepped back into her proper place. The preacher picked up from where he had trailed off. Somehow seeing what I recognized as my wife standing next to me sort of made things a little more all right. At least I was marrying the person that I thought I was already married to, so it felt a bit less like making the same mistake over again… Well, I guess that might be open to debate or interpretation, but it didn’t seem quite as bad as if I were marrying someone else entirely. You have to look at this from the glass-is-half-full perspective and look on the bright side.

The preacher droned on, and somehow I managed to respond with my proper ‘I wills’ and ‘I dos,’ even without being coached. I wasn’t sure just who held the remote control that would activate the collar I still wore from last night, but I was certain that had I failed to respond quickly enough, I would certainly feel its wrath. Even my rather numb brain knew enough to prevent that from happening at any cost. I held out my finger and allowed my wife—the person next to me—to slip another ring onto it. It never dawned on me until much later that I had been wearing gloves, and the new ring had obviously somehow been sized to fit over them. Having never removed the first one, I now had two: one buried deeply under the gloves. Finally, the preacher was finished and announced to my wife—well, one of us—‘You may now kiss the bride.’ The person next to me stepped up and bent me backwards, throwing me very much off balance. Fortunately Karen was there to help support

I recalled my weight as the other person who I had always thought of as my wife did her best to support me. While all this was happening, that same woman—my spouse—bent over and planted a very deep, passionate kiss on me. The ladies helped me back onto my feet. Without their assistance, I certainly would have crashed to the floor because I was way off balance in more ways than one. Once again, there wasn’t a dry eye among any of my bridal party, at least as far as the women were concerned. But somehow, the difference between men and women seemed to be blurring here. Although I’ve never been to one, I can just imagine what it’s like at a gay wedding. Though when you think about it, the parties in a gay wedding might actually be better defined, making things less confusing. I have to admit that my emotions were starting to get a little mixed up now too; I wasn’t quite sure exactly what I was feeling, but I did feel tears forming at the corners of my eyes. Karen came to my rescue once again this time with a Kleenex. As I turned to look, I was totally taken aback by the number of people who had attended and witnessed the event. I couldn’t imagine who all these folks were, although unfortunately I did recognize a few, or what they thought we were doing here. In fact, I wish that I knew what I was doing there! Before long everyone had cleared out of the gymnasium and the wedding party re-formed to make a reverse march (Could this be called a retreat?) down the aisle and outside. Of course, it was clear that my wife and I (Or should that now be my husband and I?) were to bring up the rear being the last ones out. As we emerged from the gymnasium door we were showered by handfuls of rice and confetti. I flashed back to the only other occasion when this had happened to me. It had taken what seemed like days to get rid of all of this stuff which had in an amazingly short period of time imbedded itself in my

hair, clothes and anywhere else it could find. Naturally back then I wasn’t sporting a dress or long hair to snag on things. It would take me an age to clear all this debris. We reached the car which had been waiting for us. In fact, I now liked to regard it as our ‘Escape vehicle’. Once more the girls were in position and ready to pack my betrothed into the automobile along with me. I was uncertain about where my wife? Husband?… or rather my fiancée would sit. Somehow after being wedged into the rear seat, the ladies managed to scoop out enough space within the fabric of my dress for her to squeeze in beside me. The two women who had joined me on the previous journey got into the front seats, and our driver took up his position at the wheel. We lingered there for a bit, seemingly waiting for the rest of the wedding group to locate their transport and for the crowd to thin out slightly. Eventually we set off again toward unknown destinations. After driving for some time, we finally halted. The other members of the wedding party had also arrived, though I wasn’t entirely sure where we were or what our purpose was there. The ladies assisted in excavating my betrothed from her apparent burial site within my dress and pulled her out since it would be impossible to extract me with her occupying that spot. Ultimately, I too emerged from the car via the now-familiar burst of fabric. It transpired we had reached a quite scenic park area designated for taking pictures. Now let me state clearly that I didn’t mind participating in this whole affair when I believed it was merely some game or jest. Last night felt somewhat enjoyable as well. However, there were many people who attended the wedding, if one could call it that. To add to my discomfort, I wasn’t particularly keen on having my photo taken while attired as a female bride or whatever title applied. It appeared things were quickly escalating beyond control. I turned toward my sp

House and opened my mouth to complain. She was well prepared, ready for the attack I was about to launch. “You don’t want our pictures taken with you wearing that brilliant white ball gag, do you?” Thinking again about the collar around my neck, I shut my lips before a word could escape. Our driver stood there watching us. His arms were folded across his chest; he was quite large, looking like someone who might have worked as a bouncer at a biker bar. It crossed my mind that he was being paid by the women! Then came the ladies themselves—my wife and Karen included, eight of them in total. I didn’t stand even a slim chance against them, though wrestling with the women might be fun.

As if by magic, a photographer appeared from somewhere, shouting orders. He had my spouse and me pose alone first, then with the bridal party, and also solo for me. In preparation for each shot, the girls who were checking my makeup, hair, and dress positioning surrounded me. When they stepped back before each picture was taken, I stood perfectly still, afraid to move a muscle lest I disturb something. I noticed how carefully the women had positioned themselves. As is their custom, they constantly swapped places; every time they lined up, the sequence of individuals changed. Sometimes they grouped by color—three pink dresses together and three blues—and at other times mixed in alternating pink-blue order. That effect alone was quite stunning. Regardless of color arrangement, no woman stood next to the same partner twice in a row. We must have posed for around a thousand pictures. Finally, the women stuffed me back into the car, dug a hole for my betrothed, and everyone piled into their respective vehicles. We were off again to somewhere new.

• o O o - I was once again amazed when we pulled up in front of a ho

A hotel! I couldn’t believe that these women would do such a thing, or that my wife would allow such an event to occur. It was evident they were all in on the secret because everyone except me clearly knew—or appeared to know exactly what was going on! With another burst of fabric, I found myself out of the car again. As soon as I stepped out, one woman positioned herself behind me so that it wasn’t easy for me to see who she was. She made sure I understood not to speak to anyone unless my reply could be a simple ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ or perhaps ‘Thank you.’ She also reminded me that one of the girls would always stay nearby and within hearing distance. Still surrounded by the group, I had no option but to let them pull me inside. It seemed many people from the wedding had realized where we were heading and followed us here. Alternatively, they might have been invited to the reception; thinking about it now, that seems like a more likely reason for their presence. At this point, my mind was working hard, feeling stretched to its limit, though I wasn’t coming up with many answers—or even much coherent thought at all. Before we got out of the car, I told my fiancée that once again I really needed to use the restroom. Apparently, she passed that message along to the rest of the bridal party. As we entered the hotel, all eight of us women headed straight for the ladies’ room. With all eight of us crammed into the relatively small space, it was quite crowded. Since my hands were still bound in satin-covered handcuffs, I couldn’t lift my dress enough to use the facilities on my own. This wasn’t an issue at all because none of the women wanted to miss the show, and none would let me retreat for privacy. Of course, with the rubber panties holding my member enclosed, I needed to sit down to urinate. Without using my hands

I couldn’t manage to wipe myself. Again, each woman individually came to my aid to ensure I was wiped correctly. While we were in the ladies’ room, they reminded me several more times that I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone except under very specific conditions. It seemed they were ensuring I wouldn’t or couldn’t call for help. As we walked into the reception hall, Karen pressed a sort of satin drawstring bag into my hands, looping the silky strings over my wrists which remained bound by the satin-covered handcuffs. People started flocking around us. It was quite confusing. Many men wanted to kiss the bride; some even used their tongues. A few turned out to be ‘Dirty old men’ and sought a feel as well. Being tied up, I really couldn’t resist, nor did I want to make a scene at my own wedding reception. Many women also wanted to kiss me, with some of them using their tongues too; it seemed there were ‘Dirty old women’ among them! A good number of men and even a few women handed me cards or envelopes. I quickly realized that the drawstring bag Karen gave me was specifically for storing these cards or any other small items I might receive. Once most guests had greeted us, Karen stepped up to a podium set up next to the band. Yes, there was indeed a band present. This event was really going overboard and had long since gotten out of hand! Karen asked everyone to take their assigned seats as dinner would be served soon. Things seemed to follow standard wedding reception customs. A head table had been arranged for the wedding party, and naturally; my spouse and I were seated at the center, on display for all our guests. Once more, I considered crawling under the table but with this cursed corset on, I couldn’t bend easily.

enough to meet that objective as well; I also wondered if there was sufficient space beneath the table for my dammed dress! Dinner arrived shortly, giving us a bit of respite even though we remained on view for everyone’s amusement. Karen stepped in once more, retrieving her drawstring bag from me before we took our seats at the head table. Naturally, I wasn’t alone among all the girls surrounding me, so it didn’t feel entirely solitary. With my hands still bound together, I essentially had to use both of them just to raise my fork. This made dining a touch harder, yet considering how strange the weekend had been up to this point, it was hardly more than a small annoyance. Once most of us at the head table were done eating—or nearly so—Karen seized the microphone again and drew everyone’s attention. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but it was that standard wedding reception address about how deeply in love the bride and groom are and what a wonderful pair they make. Of course, here there remained some doubt, at least in my own head, regarding which of us truly played the role of bride versus groom. Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure on solid ground where I stood myself. It’s harder to assert your manhood when you’re tightly corseted, clad in silky stockings and high heels, with makeup applied and a wig atop your head while wearing a wedding gown. Karen passed the microphone along through the bridesmaids one by one as each gave their speech and offered good wishes. Once she concluded her remarks, Karen took back my drawstring bag and threaded its strings over my cuffed wrists. Afterward, the bridesmaids gathered closely around me, and before I knew it, the brilliant white gag was secured on my face once more. The band struck up again as my betrothed and I made our way to the dance floor to begin th

I was dancing. Naturally, other couples soon joined in after we started, and before long people began “breaking in” to ask me for a dance. It felt odd trying to move with my hands cuffed together, and even weirder being the woman while following the lead of the men I danced with. My high heels didn’t help much either. Now I completely get why so many women take off their shoes right when they step onto the floor. Unfortunately, mine had ankle straps that were nearly impossible to undo because of this cursed corset.

Since it was well known that I was actually a man, several women wanted to dance with me too. Of course, I’m not exactly a great dancer anyway, which made things even harder for me. Some men took advantage of my bound hands by placing them over their heads, leaving me dangling around their necks and forcing me to stay close while the rest of my body remained open and vulnerable to their advances. Being gagged, it was hard enough just to voice my thoughts on this. One particular guy had figured out his own method for doing so. After looping my cuffed hands around his neck, he grabbed a breast with each hand and then proceeded to guide me across the dance floor using them as handles. My first reaction was to give him a sharp knee to the groin. But since my arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, retreating quickly wasn’t an option. Besides, I didn’t want to cause such a scandalous scene at my own wedding reception. It really is tough being a woman! [Continues in part 2.]