Title: Belle of the Ball
Author: SassyInkPen (Oct 2004)
Pairing: Neville Longbottom
Summary: After losing a bet...Neville learns something new about himself and women's clothing.
Disclaimer: JKR owns them, I merely use them to play.
Belle of the Ball
"I'm not wearing that."
"Neville...you have to. You're not going back on a bet are you? You'd never hear the end of it." Hermione fussed about with the froth of lace, tulle and satin that was mounded on Neville's bed, arranging things just so and laying out the various pieces of the costume.
"No," said Neville defensively, "Of course not. I'll wear the dress, like I said, but I'm not wearing any of the rest of that." He eyed the numerous garments Hermione had brought in, trying to guess how...or where each one was to be worn. There were far too many hooks, straps and laces for his liking. Not to mention an over abundance of *pink*...much of it dotted with tiny rosebuds.
Hermione huffed and planted her hands on her hips, giving Neville a withering look. "Honestly...if you're going to do a thing, you should care enough to do it right. I spent all day yesterday researching period costumes and transfiguring hankies for you. That's nearly a whole box worth, you know."
"I know," he stressed. "That's the point. I only needed the dress. Not all that...other stuff." He couldn't quite bring himself to say words like 'undergarments' or 'lingerie'. A blush rose to his cheeks just thinking of it. They shouldn't even be on his bed.
Hermione looked scandalized. She seized up a corset trimmed with lace and sporting a mass of hooks and fasteners, shaking it in his face, "You can't wear a beautiful dress like that without proper foundation garments! It'll wrinkle and bunch right away...it won't lay nice!"
"I don't give a toss if it lays nice...I only have to show up dressed as a princess. I'm going to look ridiculous no matter what." His shoulders slumped with miserable defeat. Why he'd ever bet Draco Malfoy that he could go a whole week of double potions without blowing anything up, he'd never know. He'd tried, over the last several days, to convince himself it could have been far worse, but that only worked when he didn't think about how much teasing and ridicule he was going to take that evening.
"Suit yourself, then," sniffed Hermione primly. "I don't care if you wear them or not." She scooped up her books and turned on her heel, tossing her hair as she strode from the room.
Neville shook his head and then looked doubtfully at the pile of clothes. He poked at them warily with one finger, stirring the mass to get a better look at the things that lay underneath. The dress itself he understood well enough. It was a huge floor length concoction of pink silk brocade with slim sleeves that flared out at the elbow, hanging artfully. He was certain to drag those through the gravy more than once.
The other things, and there were quite a few, mystified him completely. Picking through the heap, he pulled out a long strip of translucent tan gauze in the shape of a leg. This, he realized, must be a stocking and he dug through the mess until he found its match. That was certainly a good start. Next he set aside the corset that Hermione had been so adamant about. This was one thing he vaguely recognized, having seen one cinched around the waist of the dressmaker's dummy his grandmother used to tailor her clothing.
After that...he was at something of a loss. One item looked like white satin swim trunks trimmed with lace, and another was a massive cone of stiff tulle that stood up on its own. At the bottom of all that he found a pair of thin silk panties (which made him blush all the way to his toes) and what appeared to be a silk t-shirt. Surely, there were way too many items here for one person to wear. Hermione must have brought him his choice of things. That wasn't so bad he supposed.
Other boys were beginning to return to the dorms, rowdy with good spirits and coming to get ready for the Halloween Feast and Harvest Dance. Quickly, he snapped the bed curtains shut around the mess of clothes and went to hide in the showers until he could dress in peace and privacy.
Later, standing in front of the mirror with the dress puddled around his feet, he cursed himself for angering Hermione. The dress she'd made was way too long, and there was no way he could hem it without risking some awful catastrophe. And backing out on a bet with Draco would surely earn him a beating.
Neville had opted to wear the corset because it turned out to be the only way to hold up the stockings. He wasn't worried about what Draco couldn't see, but it was likely that his legs, or at least his ankles would show at some point, and he wasn't about to give Draco a reason to claim he hadn't fulfilled the bet. It was when trying the corset on that he learned what the little t-shirt was for. The corset itself was made of stiff starched material and felt scratchy and terrible on his skin, but with the silk shirt underneath it was quite comfortable. Provided he didn't lace it too tight. The silk panties, too, he wore...mainly because he'd not bothered to take care of his laundry recently and they were clean. But they were also cut to follow the line of the corset so nothing overlapped but the garters.
The length of the dress however, remained a problem, and the more Neville fretted about it, the later it got. And if he didn't get downstairs soon, he would miss the feast and fail the bet. Hiking it up so that he could cross the room and get his wand, he noticed the daunting tulle cone standing on the floor...looking very much like the shape of his skirt. Of course. Certainly that was meant to hold the skirt out like he'd seen in the fairy stories his mother used to read to him. He'd wondered why his was so flat. Sure enough, when he pulled it on under the dress and tied the sash around his waist, he looked every bit the princess in his books, and the hem of the skirt just dusted the floor gracefully. He supposed he owed Hermione an apology for thinking she'd made a mistake.
The only problem now was that the tulle was scratching his legs terribly and he was already dying to pull it off again. He sighed and turned to eye the satin swim trunks still lying on the bed...now quite lonely. Clearly, this was their purpose, and much as he hated to admit it, he was really glad to have them. When he wiggled into them, fighting the mass of tulle and princess skirt, he breathed a happy sigh of relief.
When he turned to look in the mirror, he realized that he didn't look half bad. Hermione knew what she was doing, and although he cared more about comfort then whether or not the dress looked good, he was grateful to her for having the "proper foundation garments" after all.
When he entered the Great Hall, students were still milling around admiring each other's costumes and swiping treats from the bowls on the tables. To his very great relief, his entrance went largely unnoticed in all the commotion.
Hermione came charging up to him with Ron and Harry in tow, "Neville! You look wonderful! I told you the corset would make all the difference."
"Hermione! Shhh..." hissed Neville, turning crimson when he saw the looks on his friends' faces. Ron had not managed to completely muffle his snickering.
She circled around him, tugging seams and straightening bows. "Oh nonsense, don't let them bother you. Ronald seems to think a flannel sheet with a couple of holes in it makes a decent costume. Sir Nicholas was disgusted." She leaned closer and whispered confidentially, "I think Ron offended him."
After she'd fussed until everything was just so, she asked, "Did you figure out everything all right?"
"Yeah," Neville told her, "Those slippery swim trunks were a real lifesaver!"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "They're called pettipants..."
Ron snickered again but didn't bother to hide it this time, and Harry looked like he was making a valiant effort not to follow suit.
"Could we just sit down and eat?" mumbled Neville.
"I don't think you can sit in that get-up, Longbottom," sneered a voice from behind him. Neville turned to find Draco Malfoy (dressed as a vampire) standing behind him with his giggling bookends who appeared to be dressed as some kind of spotted horse...only both of them were wearing the back half of the costume. "I've got to give you credit, though, you didn't do the thing half assed." He smirked and got right up in Neville's face, "Just had that handy in your closest did you? You little fairy."
Neville was spared further needling by the dinner bell, and they all went to sit down to eat.
By the time the feast was over, and the house elves had come in to start clearing away the tables to make room for the dance, the novelty of Neville's costume had worn off and the students were onto other amusements. Neville, however, was becoming ever more obsessed with his clothes. Over the course of dinner, they had started to do the most disturbing things. His torso and legs were tightly encased in the corset and stockings, making him keenly aware of every movement that he made, and causing his skin to tingle and feel warm. The pettipants were cool and loose against his thighs, making a sharp contrast to the rest of his body, and each time he moved he could feel them brushing his skin.
The worst part of all of it was the silk underwear. Each time he shifted even the slightest bit, the pettipants slipped and glided over the smooth silk creating the most amazing sensations. It was like gentle hands caressing his groin and backside. He'd been too nervous to notice this when he'd come down to dinner, but now that no one was paying him any attention as they all filed back into the Great Hall, it was all he could think about and he was soon hard as a rock.
His face turned beet red and he was struck with horror at the idea that anyone should find out. He would be branded a freak for life if anyone discovered him. They would think he got aroused by wearing women's clothes.
More horror crashed over him when he realized that he was getting aroused by wearing women's clothes. Almost painfully so. He darted into the dimly lit hall and stood in the corner, eyes squeezed shut, trying to will his erection away. He kept as still as he possibly could, to prevent the underclothes from doing any more shifting or sliding. But even standing motionless, the corset held him firmly around chest and waist, and the delicate silk cupped his balls and gently restrained his cock.
The heavy skirt and multiple layers trapped his body heat, making everything from the neck down feel warm and flushed. The silk of the shirt and underwear clung to him, almost sucking at his skin. A soft whimper escaped his mouth and his heart was beating wildly. He had to get out of there...get out of those clothes, before anyone discovered his guilty secret.
Trying to walk gingerly, so as not to make matters any worse than they already were, Neville threaded his way through the throng of partying teenagers. If he could make it to the main stairs, he could race back to the dorm and get out of the treacherous costume before the unthinkable happened.
Unfortunately, just as he broke free into the entryway, he spotted Draco Malfoy holding court right in the middle of the staircase. Frightened of having to face Malfoy in his current state, Neville darted to the left, scurrying down the hall and around a corner. He ducked into the first room he came to, a study lounge, which was blessedly deserted. Pushing the door shut and locking it, he leaned back against the thick wood trying to catch his breath, and moaning softly. The short run had caused his clothing to massage him to new levels of sexual arousal and he was in dire straits.
He needed to sit down and think, to calm his traitorous body and wait until he could return to the dorms. There was a comfortable looking sofa by a little fireplace that was merrily crackling away and he waddled over to it, silk and satin torturing him all the way. When he tried to sit, however, the skirt with all it's tulle underneath billowed up around him like a bubble. He felt ridiculous and sighed, getting back up. When he removed the mass of tulle and hauled it out from under the dress, the thick heavy material of the skirt hung down heavily around his legs and backside...adding further torment as it draped him snugly.
With a whine of anguish, he dropped back onto the sofa. This time, without the padding of the tulle, his bottom rested firmly on the cushions and slid seductively within the pettipants. Heat flared up through his groin and he arched his hips involuntarily, gasping with the pleasure of the tight layers of clothing working so tantalizingly on his body. He could no longer help himself and sat rocking his hips slowly, feeling the slick material massage and caress him. If he moved just right, his chest and abdomen got the same treatment, silk undershirt touching him delicately as the corset embraced him. There was nothing left for it but to give in and let nature take its course.
Licking his lips and shaking with anticipation (and a certain amount of shame), Neville slid his hands down over his thighs, moaning as the thick skirt glided over the sleek pettipants. His cock ached with need and his pulse pounded in his ears.
Clawing at the skirt with his fingers, he hauled it up hastily, desperate to get to his cock and ease some of the tension. For a few moments all he could do was knead his palm over the burning mound in his pants, groaning like an animal in heat.
After a couple of minutes, he was able to slow down and take stock of the situation. Gingerly, he lifted the waistband of the pettipants. Cool air wafted in, ghosting over the silk panties molded to his rigid cock. He'd already soaked through them, making them translucent so that he could see the flesh of his body through the material. With a shaking hand, he reached down and cupped himself, moaning desperately. So thin were the panties and so intense the sensation, it was almost as if he had nothing covering him.
Neville lay his head back against the top of the sofa, panting wildly. His cheeks burned with shame as he rubbed his hand over himself, grinding his backside into the cushions to feel the layers of cloth tease and caress him.
"Ohh...ohhhhh....." His eyes were squeezed shut when he peeled down the font of the underwear to grasp his cock eagerly. The fear of getting caught and his own desperate need spurred him on as he stroked himself. But it wasn't quite right. His hand felt good, but not in the way that the confining cloth had, and he whimpered with mortification. What kind of a perverted freak must he be if wearing a dress made him this randy.
Still, he could not make himself stop. He was desperate for release. Opening his eyes and looking down at his lap, he nervously gathered up a fold of the heavy brocade skirt. It felt smooth and liquid in his fingers. Swallowing hard, he wrapped it around his cock and squeezed his hand over it. A sharp cry escaped his mouth and he thrust helplessly, heart pounding in his chest. The warm silk molded around him, sealing to his skin, making every movement exquisite and erotic.
His entire body ached with pleasure and sensation, from the stockings clinging to his legs, to the corset banded about his chest. He was literally writhing on the sofa as he stroked himself feverishly with the skirt of his dress. His moans and cries echoed off the walls and he worried that someone may hear him, but he simply couldn't control himself any longer. Clutching his cock harder, he threw back his head, panting with the effort of making himself come as quickly as possible.
He nearly cried with relief as he felt the first stirrings of his climax, and quickened his pace, fingers of his free hand clawing at the cushions.
"Oh god..." he wailed as he came, cheeks flushed and lips parted. The orgasm wracked his body as it tore from him, hot and wrenching. When it was finally over, he lay there, slumped and weak, panting for breath and trembling.
It was several long moments before he could catch his breath, and his body still tingled and burned within the confines of his costume. He had to get back to his dorm and get out of it as fast as possible. He never wanted to see clothes like these again, and yet he knew he would never get this feeling out of his mind. Neville was dimly aware of the clock tower chiming off in the distance and knew it was late. The dance would be breaking up soon.
As he sat up to try and straighten out his clothes, the clock rang its final bell and a snap of white light filled the room for a split second. When Neville was able to blink the spots from his eyes, he saw that he was sitting naked in a pile of tissues, huddled up around him on the sofa and the floor. The costume had changed back. Although it was gone, Neville could still feel the garments clinging to his skin, and the air chilled him.
He scooped up a handful of tissues and used them to clean the last traces of his shameful secret from his stomach and thighs. Then he heaped all but one of them on the fire. The last one, he set on a chair and pointed his wand at it, trying his best to concentrate. The robes he transfigured were a little snug, but they would keep him covered as he streaked through the empty hallways, anxious to get to his bed and hide himself under the blankets.