200. Amy Finds Herself in a Jam
Amy decides to go for it. Now that she knows the next clue to Shannon’s whereabouts lies beyond that door, she feels compelled to get there as soon as possible. That diary entry was from a week ago; who knows what could have happened since then, or what might yet happen if Amy delays any longer? She begins assessing the elements of her disguise.
“Hmmm. One pair of panties, one garter belt, two stockings. Well, let’s see what I can do with this.” Amy pulls down her cut-off jean shorts, her heart-print panties, her boots and her socks, then pulls on the thong-cut panties. The pink-silk-and-black-lace number fits snuggly around her hips and between her butt cheeks, and Amy notes with pleasure that it’s surprisingly comfortable. “I should wear fancy underpants more often,” she thinks to herself. Now for the garter belt and stockings. Amy’s never actually worn a garter belt before, preferring either pantyhose or stay-up tops when the occasion calls for them. But it can’t be that hard; she figures the stockings will be the hard part. She pulls up the lacy black garter belt and finds that it, too, is a perfect fit. She balls up one of the stockings, finds the toe seam, and carefully inserts her foot. She then gradually unrolls the stocking around her leg, working up from the ankles, to the calf, to the knee, to the thigh, until she pulls the stocking tight around her upper thigh. “While I’m wearing fancier underpants,” Amy muses, “maybe I should wear stockings more, too. I always get a thrill putting them on and feeling the curve of my legs as I roll them up, and I do feel a lot sexier knowing I’m wearing them, feeling them cling to my curves.” She then turns to her other leg and repeats the process with the other stocking, this time going a bit more slowly to savor the smooth, silky feeling of the stocking slowly working its way up her leg. Once finished, she stands up and begins trying to strap the stockings onto the garter belt. This proves surprisingly difficult; the material at the top of the stockings is somewhat thicker than the rest of the material and proves hard to force through the snaps. After getting her finger tips red and sore from dozens of failed attempts at snapping the straps on, Amy finally succeeds in attaching all four straps to her stockings.
“Whew! Well, now that that’s done, where do I go from here?” She looks at her clothes and tries pulling on the cut-off shorts. She then walks over to a nearby mirror to inspect herself. The shimmery dark purple nylons clash pretty badly with the black t-shirt and cut-off jeans she’s wearing. The straps emerge from the legs of her shorts to hold the stockings, which are on full display top-to-bottom.
“There’s no way Boswell would buy this,” Amy thinks to herself, a grimace of disappointment crossing her lips. “I look more trashy than classy.” Amy ponders for a moment. “Maybe… Maybe I should get rid of all of my normal clothes. That way there’ll be no tell-tale signs that I’m really Amy Shaw. I could just go up there in underwear…” Telling herself that there are no bad ideas in brainstorming, Amy pulls off her shirt and shorts and takes a look at herself again. “Hmmm… Maybe this could work.” The idea grows on her as she begins checking herself out in the mirror. She’d rather not go up there topless, but her pink bra is at least in the same color range as the panties, if not the same shade or material. “That guy Boswell certainly seemed into Lady Stephenson. Maybe I could try seducing him into letting me pass…”
Amy makes up her mind to go for it. She’s come this far, what’s the worst that could happen? She pulls out her pony tail and fluffs up he hair to look like the portrait, then takes off her glasses. The world goes slightly out of focus, but it's not horrible. Amy can get by without her glasses; she mostly wears them so people will think she's smart and take her more seriously. “I'll just squint a bit. Squinting is sexy...”
Amy walk up the stairs and along the large second-floor balcony that looks down on the Grand Hallway. She straightens her back, pouts her lips, and attempts to sashay as sexily as she can toward Boswell.
“Hello, Boswell. It’s me, Claire Stephenson. I was dead, but my spirit was… umm… so… obsessed with the thought of you and your sexy body that I just had to come back to the mortal plane to feel you again…” Amy realizes part-way through that she doesn't have much experience with seducing and hadn’t really thought of a good motivation for Claire Stephenson to not be dead any longer. But her act seems to be having an effect on Boswell, who is now rushing toward her.
“Madame! What are you do- Wait.” Boswell Blob gets close to Amy and inspects her top-to-tail. “I don’t believe you are Lady Stephenson.”
“Why of COURSE I am, faithful Boswell!” Amy made a grand gesture with her arms that strikes the moldering banister next to her. It let out a large, distracting CRACK! “I never felt I could express my true feelings before, but now-” Amy reaches her arms forward toward Boswell. “Now I see that life is too precious and short not to live for the moment and reach out for what we want!” Amy tries to embrace Boswell, only to have him suddenly leap backward, a look of disgust on his face. Her arms grasp at empty air and she stumbles forward. She reached over to put her weight on the banister to prevent herself falling on her face in a highly unsexy way.
Unfortunately, the banister is in no state to support her weight. With another great CRACK! the banister gives way and Amy finds herself plunging toward the ground floor. Amy cringes and hugs her head with her arms to try to protect herself in the anticipated hard landing. But it never comes. She cautiously looks around. She seems to be suspended, upside-down, in mid air. She looks up. From what she can make out, the toe of her stocking has caught on something above her, possibly a loose nail, and the indestructible hose now hold her suspended above the first floor. The blood rushes to Amy’s head as she wonders what to do next. Maybe she can grab the hose and climb back up… She feels herself slowly bouncing closer and closer to the first floor as the stocking gradually streeeetches out of shape. She tries to bend upward to grab the stocking, but finds her poor abs to be no match for the force of gravity. “Now I wish I’d done more crunches in gym class instead of getting out on doctor’s notes all the time!” Amy thinks.
Suddenly- *Pop!* Amy feels herself falling abruptly downward as the stocking loosens around her right thigh. She looks around and realizes that the rear snap on the garter belt holding the stocking has come loose. Now she has to get hold of that stocking before the other snap comes off! Looking down to the first floor, she notices that she is positioned directly above what appears to be a large urn. An urn with… something writhing inside of it. Amy redoubles her efforts to grab onto her stocking. Her poor, overworked abs strain as she tries to reach the stocking. Closer, closer, just inches away. She can touch it with her fingertips! Just a little more and-
Pop! “YEAAAAAAAAAH!” WHUMP!
The second fastener gives way and Amy goes flying downward, screaming as she goes, before landing solidly in the urn. She is quite thoroughly stuck in the urn, her long legs and bethonged butt on display above the urns lid. She kicks her legs, one still clad in a stocking, the other totally naked, trying desperately to dislodge herself. Suddenly, Amy feels a sharp pain in her shoulder, then another in her breast, then another on the tip of her nose, then more and more all over the portion of her body stuck in the urn. Her legs suddenly go completely ridged. They tremble as her muscles spasm. Her skin turns from its normal healthy tone to a sickly green, which fades into red, then pink, then a deep violet, then to a pale, pallid skin tone. Finally her legs part as the life leaves her body. Amy’s final resting place is face down in a giant brass urn, ass on display in a silky pink thong, legs splayed, one leg totally bare, the other clad in a shimmery purple stocking.
Above her, Boswell shakes his head. “Milady appears to have found her way into the master’s prized asp collection. May as well leave her there as a warning for future visitors…” With a wave of his hand, Boswell casts a quick spell to preserve Amy’s body and stave off decay, “I’m fairly certain that wasn’t Mistress Claire, regardless. Mistress Claire would never conduct herself with such a lack of poise and grace.” Boswell returns to his sentry duties, leaving Amy’s body where it lay, a silent, undignified warning to future trespassers.
Amy is in no condition to continue this adventure or her life.