Free Thyme II Thyme by Jennifer Jane Pope

naked freedom had reminded me just how terrible a garment it really was, and now I was about to be subjected to something that was regarded as even worse.
    It was Polly who produced the new suit from her sack. At first sight it did not look to be any different from the one into which I had been laced before. However, as it was brought over to me, I could see there were one or two innovations that had been added and the most noticeable, I discovered as my feet and legs were forced down into the leather tubes, was in the feet. For a start, the boot part had been adapted so my feet were arched even more cruelly than before, while on the outside some clever stitching and artful padding contrived to give the impression of two huge paws. I winced as much with shame as discomfort as the two maids pushed and pulled at me, tightening laces that ran up the outside of each of my legs until the dark-brown leather was stretched to the contours of my limbs and buttocks like a second skin. I could feel without looking that once again my bottom hole and sex were left uncovered, the tight leather compressing my nether lips into a pout that made them even more prominent than before.
    'See to her hands first,' Meg instructed.
    The maids then each produced what I took to be boxing gloves at first, but as they curled my hands into tight fists and forced the leather over them, I saw that the padding extended only to cover my fingers from the first knuckle joints to just beyond the second. Laces were drawn tight and knotted and now my hands were even more useless than they had been before, two shapeless little balls at the ends of my arms. I stared down at them and made no protest when the women began pushing them into the sleeves of the suit.
    Almost immediately I recognised the practicality of these mitts. The sleeves of the suit, I now saw, were much longer than my own arms and ended in paws identical to those on which I now stood, the extra length being made up of some solid filling within the last twelve or so inches of the tubing, atop which sat some form of hardened leather cup against which my curled fists were to rest. The padding was designed to give at least some relief from the constant weight my fists would be bearing, a concession that probably owed more to the practicality of Meg's intentions than to any sympathy for my discomfort.
    The suit was hauled up over my shoulders and the lacing at the back began. I felt my already slender waist being compressed even more cruelly, forcing the air from my lungs and evincing involuntary gasps of pain from me. Staring down at myself, I saw that I now appeared to have a much more prominent bust than before and concluded that the carefully stitched breast cups had been substantially padded to produce this effect.
    I felt myself growing giddy from lack of oxygen, but Meg had anticipated this and stepped forward to thrust a bottle of something acrid smelling beneath my nostrils. I gasped and blinked away the tears that sprang into my eyes, but the woman was unsympathetic.
    'You should know how to breathe properly by now,' she snapped. 'Get a grip on yourself or I'll take a birch to your arse.'
    I fought against the automatic feeling of panic and eventually succeeded in re-establishing a pattern of short, shallow breaths that soon enough helped me back to normal sensibility. By now the lacing had continued up to a point just below my neck, where Meg ordered a halt. I felt one of the girls tying off a knot and then Polly stepped away and crossed over to her sack.
    'No, not that, not yet,' Meg barked, seeing something dark and bulky emerging. 'Get her new tail first. I want her mouth free for this, and I want to see her face.'
    This announcement filled me with dread for I guessed immediately that if the sadistic bitch wanted to see my reactions, then the tail was not going to be something I was going to appreciate.
    Someone, this character Pottinger, presumably, had gone to some lengths in the quest