The add read:
“Be the Queen of your Fetish, or the Queen of ALL Fetishes! Enter the Fetish Fashion Pageant. Total prizes of half a million dollars.”
Following was instructions to enter the pageant. Karen had been eager to enter, and today was her first day as a contestant for the FFP. She looked at herself in the mirror. Tight cotton shirt and the tightest faded Levi’s she was able to put on alone topped by 5 inches heels black pumps. Her long curled brown hairs were floating freely on her shoulders. She applied minimum makeup. She didn’t want the judges to be attracted to her face, but to her jeans. She figured that she had a very good chance. But today was only the pre-selection.
She got out of the hotel, hailed a cab and went on to the pageant hall. She was surprised to see so many people, and so many fetishes for the contest. There must have been over 200 people. Seemed that every fetish was there, leather, latex, corset, high heels, even bondage and adult babies. She handed out her invitation to the clerk, who looked at her with sharp eyes.
“Tight jeans I presume?”
“Very good. Just go to the main hall and have a seat. Mr. Smith will be there to explain everything.”
With that, he handed her a blue ID card that she had to carry around her neck with a string. In the main hall, she was not the first. Another 200 people were there. She chose a seat around the middle of the room and sat. Her jeans were pinching but she could manage.
She thought of the highly corseted fetish participants who were standing at the back, unable to sit at all. Finally, after roughly an hour of waiting, the lights dimmed, and a single flood light illuminates the microphone in the middle of the stage. A young man, barely in his twenties entered the stage and approached the microphone
“Hello everyone, my name is Mike Smith. I’m the president of the pageant. You are gathered here so I will explain the final general details of the pageant. I know you’re all eager to start, and that some of you might be eager to get out of their fetish outfit, as I saw that some are quite severe” he said pointing to a woman, close to the stage, who was in a total body cast. “There will be points on the originality of the fetish in each category and for the severity or intensity of the fetish. The fact that you can get into your attire without exterior help may also add points, assuming of course that there’s the possibility that you can do it all by yourself.” he said, again referring to the body cast.
“There will be a queen in each fetish, and there will be the overall Fetish Queen, which will enclose the most fetishes in the most… interesting package. If I take my cast subject here, if she was wearing a latex outfit underneath the plaster, it wouldn’t give her more points in the overall category, because there’s no way to see that she is indeed wearing latex. It will, on the other hand, give her points on the intensity of the fetish. Each fetish group is assigned one resource person. Please address all your questions and comments to them. Finally, there’s two room numbers on your I.D. card. One, the four digits one, is your hotel room, in this same building, and the other, the three digits one, is your fetish category room. Please proceed to that room now. Thank you, and good luck to all.”
There was a round of applause, and slowly everybody left. Karen went to her room. There were about 20 girls, each wearing what looked like tighter jeans than the previous one. One tall blonde, wearing snug fitting jeans and 2 inches pumps went to Karen, and looked at her with a disgusted sigh.
“Tighter is not the better.” she said, “it’s how you wear it that counts.” and she turned away, her nose up in the air.
Karen raised an eyebrow and wondered how she would get pass the pre-selection. She knew perfectly well that the tighter, the better was the way to go. A woman, wearing the standard blue suit of the contest organizers entered the room.
“Hello ladies, I’m Suzan, your RP, or resource person. The pre-selection will be held in 30 minutes. Those of you, who feel the need to change, better go now. Good luck all.”
One girl, wearing quite tight acid wash Bongo jeans walked out. Karen wondered why she would need to change. She approached a group of three contestants. She was greeted by large smiles.
“Hi.. I’m Karen,” she said.
“I’m Betty,” said a well built black woman with medium tight dark blue Jordache.
“I’m Brigitte: said the red head one with a strong French accent.
She was wearing ripped off tight Lee, and was barely moving because each step was ripping them apart even more, and soon she would have nothing on.
“My name is Diane,” said the last one, a tall black haired woman in her late 30’s.
She was wearing very tight faded Guess jeans, and Karen saw her as a strong opponent. Obviously a tight jeans wearer for many years.
They chat together, scrutinizing each other for their weakness, but they all had the same opinion about the tall blond: she was a brat and was thinking of herself as having a much too high standard… Where was she anyway?
Suzan entered the room and invited everyone to get in line so she can evaluate them. All of them passed the pre-selection, although Betty was borderline. Brigitte was asked to go put on jeans in better condition and come back. The Bongo jeans girl returned wearing snug fit jeans. Suzan looked at her, disappointed.
“Saying that these are tight is stretching the word too much. I’m sorry Janet, but I have to reject that.”
“But Cathryn said that the tighter was not the better but how you wear them was…” she crumbled into tears.
Everybody looked around to search for the blond brat. She was at the door, wearing extremely tight Levi’s. She approached the desk where Suzan was sitting, walking with stiff legs. She looked at the Bongo girl and said:
“This is a contest, stupid. We’re here to win, and I’m ready to do anything” she said, with a snob attitude, rubbing her hands along her tight hip.
Yes, the jeans were tight, but the fitting was wrong. Too tight at the hips, not enough at the thighs. She was unsteady on her 4 inches pumps, stating that she was not an everyday high heel wearer. Suzan looked at her with a disgusted look. All the other girls approached Suzan and begged her to give Janet another chance. Suzan stood up.
“Miss Thompson, this kind of attitude is not welcome in this contest. I will give Janet a chance to get changed, and you are given a warning. One more incident like that and you’ll be out of the contest.”
Thompson had a defiant look
“yeah, right” she said. “We’ll see with my father.”
Janet came back a few minutes later with the tight Bongo jeans she was wearing first, and was rapidly admitted to the contest.
“Okay, ladies, tomorrow morning is going to be the tightness measurements. Wear your tightest jeans. The tightness will be measured at 6 points between the waist and the knee. Of course, the best-fitted jeans will have an equal pressure. That’s all for now.”
With that, the girls scrammed to their room. Thompson walked away. From the back, she looked like a hippo. Karen repressed a laugh. “She doesn’t stand a chance,” she thought.
The next morning, they were all gathered into the room, waiting for the tightness measurement. Every girl were wearing their tightest pair of jeans,
Diane was there, and by the look, Karen could weight her chances against her: it’s gonna be tough. All the other girls were wearing jeans that were awesomely tight, but Diane stood out with the way she wore them. The fit was perfect. No wrinkle, no skin buildup. The seam seemed to be tensed evenly, as the darker fabric still under the seam, was showing evenly through the faded blue of the outside. The waist was high, and there was no build up of skin over the top of the jeans. Either she had just muscles and bones, or the jeans were cut in a very special way. Karen evaluated her chances as second with her tight Levi’s. The waistband was just below the navel, and they were the tightest ones she could put on by herself, a rule of the contest.
The last one to arrive, as usual to attract the attention, was Thompson. She came on with an extremely tight pair of Diesel jeans, but with the wrong cut for her. Her skin was pouring up at the waist, hips and buns were snug, but looked weird, and the thighs and knees were tight. Looked like Jodhpurs. What attracts the attention was the strain the zipper seemed to sustain. Finally, Suzan entered the room, greeting everyone with a large smile.
“Hello all. I see everybody is ready. I’ll cut right to the chase if you don’t mind.”
She produced a device that looked like a very long spider. There was a center rod, and at six places along its lengths, were two insects like legs, one on each side. At their junction, there was a small dial.
“This is the tension measurement instrument. The sensing legs will be spread evenly between your knee and the waist level of your jeans. Each dial will indicate the tension read at that point. That way, whether you have long or short legs, the 6 measurement will be equal and fair for everybody. The scale is of 1 to 10. The higher the number, the higher the points. Anything below 5 earns 0 points. 5 to 10 give 5 to 10 points, for a maximum possible of 120, including both legs. Two devices like that will be fixed for 5 minutes on each of you, and you’ll be asked to walk, to make sure that the jeans had fallen well into their place, and to avoid someone trying to cheat by tensing their muscles.” She said while looking through the corner of her eye at Thompson. Looked like she was well known around here.
” After the tightness measurements are taken, you’ll be asked to pull down your jeans, and put them back on, so to make sure you are able to put them on alone. Question? Okay now, we’ll go by the numerical number of your room, I have devices to fit 5 girls at a time.”
Each girl proceeded with the devices which, remarked Karen, were surprisingly light, and didn’t interfere with the mandatory walk. Karen was pleased when Suzan took her readings. A 10 at the hips, 9 everywhere else, except 8 at the knee. Karen walked out with an even 9 everywhere. The two were equal, and, so far, on top of the chart. Diane and herself were the two who had the less difficulties putting the jeans by themselves. Yes, it involved a lot of tugging, pulling, jumping and twisting, but they did it with relative ease compared to the others, proving to Karen that Diane was an everyday tight jeans wearer.
They all waited to see the results of Thompson. Everybody approached to see the readings, and almost all left laughing. She had a 10 at the waist, 3 for the two sensors around the hips and upper thighs, and 7 for the rest. She was dead last… and furious. She started arguing that the measurement was not fair, that the device was faulty. Her face changed when Suzan asked her to get her pants down.
“What? What is that? I’m not undressing. That’s against the rules.”
“Weren’t you listening?” said Suzan “I said it yesterday, and just a few minutes ago. You have to prove that you can put your jeans on by yourself, without any outside help. Now it’s your turn.”
She started to slowly walk away, but was blocked by Brigitte and two other girls. Before she could react, Brigitte grabbed the zipper and pulled it down. With that, all the pressure rested of the waist button who snapped off and flew away, making an impressive noise when it hit the wall. They started to laugh, until Brigitte looked at the jeans.
“Merde! Non mais.. What is this thing?” she said pointing to something that looked like rubber pouring out of the open pants. Thompson tried to pull her jeans back up, but was restrained by the others. Brigitte pulled down the pants. Around her thighs were rubber bladders, filled with air.
“So, that’s how you planned to have your jeans tight hey? By filling air bladders. Well, you’re busted, lady… again” said Suzan with an angry tone. “The tightness device saw right through it. Too soft. You’re out of the loop. Get out, and I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to enter ANY other contest again. EVER.”
“Don’t be so sure, I’ll have my father firing you in a few minutes.”
“Miss Thompson. Your father might be the main contributor for this contest, it’s no excuse to cheat. Now, OUT!”
Thompson held her jeans with her hands and ran out, pissed off, and mumbling something about revenge.
“I’m sorry, ladies, it’s just that in every other contest we held, she tried to enter in all the other categories, and was always caught cheating. She thinks because her father is the main sponsor she has all the right. Although her father dislikes her behaving like that, she has never forbid her to enter again, and again. He thinks that, with time, she’ll learn that cheating, or a good father, is no replacement for doing the right thing. So far, not much success. But enough of that. Now the results.”
She went back to her computer, and printed the final results.
“Now, you do know that, according to the rules, we’re keeping only the first ten places. So, congratulations for the winners, and sorry for the others, better chance next time. You can stay for the rest of the contest, all expenses will be paid. If you chose to go now, just go by the pageant office, and your check of $5000 for participating will be given. A round of applause for everybody!”
Everybody cheered, some with less enthusiasm than others, but that was the rules. There was to be only one winner.
“For the ten of you who made it, in four days will be held in the main hall, the mobility contest. For this, you’ll have to put on your jeans on stage, alone, and you’ll have to negotiate different obstacles. The way you do all that, plus another tightness measurement will earn you more points. There will be points for posture, cut of the jeans, the overall appearance, and the degree of difficulty you chose to have. That is achieved by wearing high heels. In the meantime, get prepared.”
Karen spent the rest of the day with Diane and Brigitte. They had become close friends. She learned that Diane had been a tight jeans wearer since she was 12, and the jeans she was wearing for that day were not the tightest ones she could put alone.
“How could you put one anything tighter? Even with pliers, it took all your wits to close them at the contest.” asked Brigitte.
“So what” she answered. “There’s no rules forbidding using other tools, as long as you put them alone.”
That gave Karen an idea. She would have to hurry. Only four days left. The same evening, she called her seamstress with design changes. She said to take her tightest cut, make it with the strongest denim and zipper, and make them 5% smaller.
“That’s more than an inch tighter. Sure you’ll be able to put them on?”
“I hope so. I still have more things to get. Send them UPS as soon as they’re ready.”
“Will be ready tomorrow, so you should receive the day before the contest.”
Karen tanked her, and gave her a list of other stuff to gather and send with the jeans.
She then went to town, to a machine shop, and gave the owner a raw sketch of what she wanted and explained the use. He glanced at her, looking at her tightly enclosed body, and said that he thinks he would be able to do something, and to come back tomorrow. When she asked how much it’s going to cost he said, “A dinner with you would be fine.” The guy was handsome and good-looking… She accepted.
The next day, he showed her the design. She agreed that it would work, and he said that everything would be ready the next day, the last day before the contest. She had everything set. She just hopes it would work.
The Big Day arrived. The ten girls were ready, and wearing jogging suits. They had to come on-stage and put their jeans there, and not before. The order was chosen at random. The first four girls had put on the same jeans as the day before. The ability trail was consisting of a flight of 15 stairs that they had to climb up and down, going over a wall 4 feet high, climb a 5 feet ladder, walk on a suspended rope bridge, get down from a slide, walk 20ft in soft sand and rock, and crawl into a 3ft pipe. The ones who had chosen fancy, fragile high-heeled sandals were crying. The rope destroyed much of them, and the soft sand finished them. They could barely stand up at the end of the course. Some had great difficulties with the ladder, and in the tunnel, one of the girl’s jeans split open.
Diane was the next in line. When she arrived on stage, she kind of froze, looking up and searching for something. She looked at the panel of judges.
“Uh… I’m sorry, but I usually use a… door frame. Is there a way…?”
Suzan got up, waving Diane to wait a moment. A few minutes later, a prop man arrived with a doorframe on wheel. Diane smiled. The prop man locked the wheel and left Diane who proceeded to fix a spider looking device to the overhead frame. From it, hung a steel wire, ending by a hook. She cramped all her jeans between her ankles and the knee, and sat to put on lace-on 4 inches high-heeled boots that were encircling her ankles. Karen felt that she would have quite a good stability with those on. Then Diane stood up and started to pull the jeans. Again, the usual twisting, pulling and tugging were performed. When it was time to close the zipper, she took the hook hanging from the spider and fed it through the zipper handle hole. She turned a small swivel arm on the spider, and the wire retracted. When it was well tensed, Diane put some of her weight to hang on the cable, and used both hands to approach the two sides of the zipper.
With the zip being pulled up by the spider, it went up a few teeth. She tightened the spider, and the zipper went a little higher. She repeated the procedure until it was all done. She stood upright. The jeans didn’t made any wrinkle, but her legs were stiff, proof that they were made of heavyweight denim, the only thing that could resist such pressure. For each step, she had to rock her hips.
The stairs proved relatively easy, despite the fact that she had to climb one step at a time, not having enough flexibility to stretch the two legs from one extreme to the other in one movement. Her butt was getting highly compressed with each step. The climb down was easier. She had some difficulties with the ladder, almost having to get herself up with only her arms, only resting her feet on the step. The boot proved a good choice for the rope bridge. The slide descent was fun, and again, for the sand/rock pit, the boots proved efficient. The crawl was another story. She just couldn’t walk on all four. She had to pull herself, laying on her stomach, and doing what she could with her legs to get some push. Finally, exhausted, it was over.
Karen was the third one after Diane, at the 8th place. She was just hoping that the device would work. She didn’t have time to test them.
She went on stage carrying a heavy canvas bag. As all the other girls, she fed her jeans and cramped them between the knees and ankles, so to put on her high-heeled shoes. She had chosen white platform shoes. The ankle may not have great support, but the sole is almost indestructible. Once her shoes were on, she went on with getting the jeans up. They stopped at mid thigh. There was no way they were going to go higher without help.
She opened the canvas bag and got out two heavy leather belts. She put one around her left shoulder, going down below the jeans crotch, and another one on her right shoulder, closed in the same way. With her back slightly bent, she tightened the belts equally, then gently rose up. By doing so, the belts were pulling the pants up. Gosh it works! thought Karen. Slowly, and by pulling and tugging, the jeans rose higher and higher. She tightened the belts, and started again, until the inseam was resting on her crotch. She let out a sigh. She had a quick glance at Diane who had her jaw wide open, but then took a question mark look as how she was to close the zipper.
Karen reached again in the canvas bag and get out a pair of vise-grip pliers that were outfitted with plates, at 90 degrees angle from the jaws, on small hinges. Small pins covered the plates, roughly an inch long, by half an inch wide, a little like the hook side of a Velcro band. She hooked a steel wire to the whole of the zipper handle and put the other hand between her teeth. She opened the jaws of the pliers to their maximum, adjusted the screw and applied the two spiky pads on each side of the zipper. The pins grabbed the denim, and when she closed the pliers, the two sides were strongly being pulled together. She got a second pair of pliers and did the save on top of the first one. Once the top pliers had been set, she loosened the bottom one, the top one holding the zipper pressure, turned the adjustment screw a few more turns, and applied the pressure again, then back to the top one, then the bottom one, and so on until both sides of the zipper were touching each other. She took the steel wire out of her mouth and quite easily pulled the zipper up, and fastened the waist button.
She removed the pliers and was surprised by the sudden applause of the other girls. She looked at them, not knowing much about what to do, and did a gentle, and little bow. Diane winked at her in a you got me there way. Karen turned around and made her first step. She had never worn jeans that tight before, and just thought how the heck am I going to proceed through these obstacles…
The staircases were fun. From the spectator point of view at least. She had to climb the stairs sideways. Each step was biting almost painfully in her crotch. Her legs could barely go up enough. Once on top, she took a moment to rest, and regains some breath. Going down was easy. Now the ladder. She just couldn’t do it. She tried to pull herself up, but was unable. The jeans were simply too tight, and too restricting. She looked around, and crossed Diane looks. Diane slowly came to her, and offered her to help her get up. At that point, she was going to get disqualified anyway, so she accepted, and Diane pushed her up, one step at a time. Now the rope bridge. The choice of shoes proved to be a good one, as she could use the stiffness and thickness of the sole to rest her feet on the ropes, and feel secure. But, having to align one foot in line with the other caused an increase of rubbing in the crotch area and she had to work hard not to simply burst with an orgasm. Finally, with a mixture of relief and sadness, she was through. Next, the slide. To get down, she had first to sit. Easier said than done. She kneeled first then rolled on her back. She couldn’t raise her back to sit, so she let herself glide down, totally lying down. She used the speed at which she touched the sand at the bottom to spring herself back on her feet. She lost balance, and had to steady herself to the slide posts. The walk in the sand/rock pit was relatively easy. All she had to do is to proceed slowly. The tube? She did the same thing as Diane. Laid on her stomach, and pulled herself along. Once on the other side, she was unable to get back up on her feet, too exhausted and too aroused. Again, Diane helped her with a smile saying that she knew exactly Karen’s condition.
“Thank you very much” said Karen “but you really didn’t have to. That may make you lose some points, or even disqualification.”
“Friendship is better than points,” she said with a smile. They were given another round of applause.
Betty was the next one, and, compared to Diane and Karen, was wearing plain loose fitting jeans… but to her, they were tight. She was struggling to get on the ladder when a series of loud noises attracted her attention on the side stage. Then, out of the shadow, Thompson ran out, dressed in a tight latex outfit, holding a gun. She grabbed Betty from behind, put an arm around her neck and pointed the gun at her head.
“Nobody move, or she’s dead!”
Everybody froze. Behind her, 5 security officers were ready, guns pointing. Suzan tried to calm her down.
“Now, come on, Miss Thompson. You don’t want to do something as stupid as hurting someone, don’t you?”
“Stop! Don’t move!” shouted Thompson. “I said that I wanted to win one of the fucking contests, and I will. If you don’t give me a prize, I’m gonna make sure that this one won’t win any.”
“CATHRYN!” a loud male voice shouted.
A man, in his forties entered the room. He was wearing a perfectly cut 3 pieces business suit. His shoes were as shiny as a mirror.
“Cathryn, drop the weapon, and let go of that woman.”
“No dad. You’re with them. You don’t want me to win anything. Well, I’m going to have a prize, and it’s going to be my way.”
The discussion went on. During that time, Karen made a few swift gestures do Diane and Brigitte. They slowly walked back, disappearing behind the other girls, who covered their escape. They slowly walked behind the stage, to the other side where were standing the brat and her hostage.
Unseen by Thompson, Karen slowly walked toward her. Mr. Thompson saw her, but made nothing to give a clue to his daughter. In fact, he managed to make her back off a little, putting her in a better place for Karen to intervene. In a flash, Karen crossed the 15 feet separating her from Thompson, jumped on her and took the gun out of her hand, by throwing it toward the other girls. Diane quickly grabbed Brigitte and dragged her on the side of the stage. The struggle between Karen and Thompson continued, Thompson, in her stretchy latex suit, having much more mobility than Karen, who still had her arms quite free, and managed to give her a swift blow on the stomach, choking her. With that, the security officers grabbed hold of her, and helped Karen up. Mr. Thompson approached Karen.
“Thank you very much, miss…?”
“Just call me Karen.”
“Very well then, Karen.” He turned to the other girls and the judges.
“Sorry for the outburst, ladies and gentlemen. Please, do not let that incident affect your judgment.”
He quickly retired, leaving the room full of nervous girls.
“We’ll take a short break to clear our minds, and continue with the two contestants that haven’t completed the course.”
“No need to” said Brigitte. “I say we have a winner, or rather two winners. Karen and Diane. I think that we can all agree that they do have the tightest jeans, one of the highest level of difficulty, and as for the mobility tests, although Diane barely completed the course, and Karen would have been disqualified because she accepted help, they both proved that, under the right circumstances, they can overcome these difficulties and save lives.”
“I agree with you,” said Suzan “but I can not change the rules of the pageant.
Karen has been disqualified because she was unable to finish the course without help, and Diane for helping her. We have to decide a winner between the 8 of you, so as soon as you’re ready, please proceed.”
Karen and Diane looked each other. They didn’t really care about the prize. They had a brand new friendship.
The contest continued. Brigitte was declared the winner.
The hall was full of contestants, judges and guests for the official prizes announcements. Mr. Thompson took its turn to the microphone. Karen and Diane were standing at the back of the room, unable to sit in their tightest pair of jeans, the same ones they were wearing the day of the incident. They were there to support their fellow contestants. Having been disqualified, they were not eligible to any prize.
The prizes in each category were distributed. After the last one was given, Mr. Thompson asked the room for silence as he had something special to present. With that, the lights dimmed, and the screen behind him came to life. Karen and Diane had their eyes wide open. They haven’t thought of it, but every contest was videotaped. They were showing the struggle of Diane, followed by Karen’s, then the helping hand of Diane to Karen, and finally the incident, and the two ladies saving the day.
“I didn’t know I could move like that in these jeans” whispered Karen to Diane who repressed a laugh. Mr. Thompson continued.
“According to the pageant rules, those two ladies were disqualified for their respective contest. But, given the circumstances, I think that a reward is in order, so I would ask these two gorgeous and resourceful ladies to come on stage, please.”
Under an outburst of applause, Karen and Diane blushed on their way to the stage. There was a standing ovation. Mr. Thompson approached them with an envelope.
“Thanks to you, my girl is safe and currently under medical care. You risked your life, and you showed outstanding sportsmanship. For that, I give you the special sportsmanship prize, named the Karen-Diane prize, given, not every year, but when it is well deserved, to those who will put friendship before competition. Congratulations!”
Under the applause, Karen opened her envelope and almost fainted:
She rushed and embraced Mr. Thompson, immediately followed by Diane who, surprised by Karen’s behavior had opened her envelope and found the same thing.
When the cheers calmed down, Mr. Thompson took the stand again.
“And now, for the Overall Fetish Queen…. Miss Margaret Chung!”
On the stage entered a woman, wearing a latex catsuit, ballet toe boots, a heavy and long corset that was enclosing her from the hips to the neck, a leather hood, and her hands enclosed in a plaster cast, in her back. She received a prize of $250 000. She got away with a smile… assuming she could smile under the ball gag.
“What a shame” said Karen “no denim at all in her outfit.”
“Overall Fetish Queen hey?” said Diane with a wink.
“Do you really think we can cramp ourselves in these jeans, ballet toe boots and a corset over a latex bodysuit with leather gloves, a posture collar and a ball gag?”
“Dare to try?”
© Pete / monsterp63, August 2000
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