© Copyright 2016 - Lobo De la Sombra - Used by permission
Storycodes: FF; FM+/mf+; park; rides; naked; crates; encased; sealed; train; boxcars; stack; transport; trashbags; truck; landfill; messy; denial; cons; X
"Coming." Slipping into the jacket of her smart business suit, Trish glanced at the mirror and smiled. Not bad, she thought. Not bad at all. Only three weeks until her fortieth birthday, and she could still turn heads. Still smiling, she turned and left her office.
"Ok, Gina, let's go." Nodding, her assistant fell in beside her. "Everything in place?"
"Pretty much," Gina replied, eyes never lifting from the pad she carried in one hand. How, Trish wondered, can she do that all day without walking into things? "We did have one no-show at the Worm Race, but one of the instructors from the Wrap Academy offered to fill in, so we're good."
"And Special Delivery?"
"Tyler got the engine going. Better hope we never lose him, Trish. He's the only one who knows how to get that antique to work."
"Good enough." Exiting the main building, Trish glanced up, shading her eyes as she gazed into the morning sky. "And it looks like we're going to have great weather for the big day, too."
Together, the two women strode down the main concourse to the gates, nodding to the ticket venders as they stepped through and mounted the platform just outside. For a moment, Trish simply gazed out at the waiting crowd. Then, with a big smile, she stepped up to the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "good morning. My name is Trish Pearson, and I am thrilled to welcome you all to this special day. It's been years in the making, but now it's finally here. So, without further ado, I welcome you to the newest in adult vacations. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Fetish World."
With a cheer, the crowd surged forward, slowly forming into irregular lines as they approached the ticket stands. Glancing down at the mass of people, Trish frowned. "Maybe," she told Gina, "we should have set up screens and done this via video. Because I have no idea how we're going to get through that crowd."
"Afraid of getting your new outfit wrinkled?" Grinning, Gina linked arms with Trish as the two women descended from the platform.
"More like afraid of getting trampled," Trish replied, glancing around them. "I was hoping for a good turnout, but I never expected it to be this good."
"Did you," Gina asked, "even look at the information I sent you last night? Every hotel for thirty miles is booked solid for the weekend. Same for the motels. And I hear Dreamscape doesn't have anything to sell at the moment. They've rented every one of their RV's to people who couldn't get a room. Which means very little space left in the campgrounds, either." She grinned. "Ever consider building our own hotel? We could make it part of the complex. Even these people will need to sleep eventually. We could make a fortune right there."
Trish laughed. "And spend a fortune," she replied, "on chastity belts for the whole hotel staff." Laughing, the two slipped through a small gate set to one side of the ticket booths.
"Ok," Trish said, "you head back, keep an eye on things."
Trish grinned. "Time to mingle," she replied. "I want to see how everything's going."
"Fair enough." Eyes still glued to her pad, Gina turned away. "Call if you need me."
Alone, Trish strolled toward the first attraction, a rather large building made up to look like a train depot. Above the door, the sign read Special Deliveries. Avoiding the line, she slipped to one side of the building, entering through the employee door.
Inside, the building resembled the waiting area of an old fashioned depot. One by one, the guests entered, each carrying the plastic bag they'd received on entering the park. For a moment, Trish watched as men and women stripped down, their clothing and personal belongings stuffed into the bag they'd been given. Naked, bag dangling from one hand, the eager crowd then moved toward the back of the building. Quietly, Trish followed.
"I'm sorry, but clothing is not allowed on the ride. "I'm afraid you'll have to....oh, Ms. Pearson, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was you."
Trish grinned. "That eager to see me naked, are you Joe?"
Joe laughed. "I probably shouldn't say this," he replied, gazing at her appreciatively, "but who wouldn't be?"
"Flattery," she told him, "will get you absolutely nothing, but it's sweet of you to try." Smiling, she eased her way through the naked throng, out the back door and onto the platform.
Here, the railroad motif continued. On the far side of the platform, an old steam engine puffed gently. Behind it stretched a short row of boxcars. Moving to one end of the platform, Trish watched as customers began to emerge from the building. Working with quiet efficiency, attendants used a variety of cuffs and straps to thoroughly bind each naked customer. Once a gag had also been applied, each customer was lifted into a wooden crate, along with the bag holding their belongings, after which a lid was secured in place. An electric pallet jack began loading the crates into the boxcars.
Nodding, Trish moved to the engine. "Hey, Tyler," she called out, "how's she running?"
A tousled head appeared in the engine's side window. "Great," Tyler replied. "That new pressure regulator was all she needed."
"Well, go easy on her," Trish said. "We're figuring a half hour to circle the park."
"You got it."
Nodding, Trish dropped to the track bed, crossing in front of the engine. On the far side, attendants with crowbars waited patiently on a second platform. Once the train had completed its run, this group would unload the boxcars and unpack the guests before returning the crates for reuse. Nodding to the waiting crew, Trish slipped through the exit and made her way deeper into the park.
Her next stop was a dirty, dingy building. Over the door, the sign read Pete's Haulage. Once again, she slipped inside using the employee entrance.
Here, she watched as naked guests were thoroughly bound and gagged before being placed inside industrial garbage bags. Once each guest, along with their bag of belongings, had been sealed inside, the bags were carried out and loaded into a vintage garbage truck.
"Not too many, Steve," she told the man in charge. "We don't want anyone getting crushed."
Steve, dressed like the others in uniforms specially made to look filthy, grinned. "It's not Steve," he said, patting the name patch over his pocket, "it's Pete. Gotta stay in character, you know. And don't worry, I'm keeping an eye on it."
"And the fill?"
Steve shook his head. "You," he replied, "do not want to go down there. We've been collecting garbage from all the restaurants around here for the past week. I swear the smell down there would turn a buzzard's stomach. Even with the bags, these folk are gonna be seven kinds of ripe by the time we pull them out."
"That," Trish told him, "is why we installed showers." Glancing toward the door, she eyed the line outside. "I just hope we have enough soap." She turned back toward the employee door. "Anyway, keep up the good work." She grinned. "And watch the character thing," she advised, "or I'll change the name of the place to Richards so I can call you a Dick." Steve's laugh followed her out the door.
As she was considering where to look next, her phone rang. Pressing the button of her Bluetooth, she said, "Go."
"Trish?" It was Gina. "You need to get back here. We've got people from the networks here, ready for your big opening day press conference."
"Oh? Which networks?"
"All of them, I think. I've already informed them that we won't allow filming inside the park, but they want to talk to you."
"On my way." Turning, Trish began making her way back toward the main building, watching the crowd as she went. Already, she could see a few naked guests, their plastic bags clutched in their hands. She nodded, knowing that, by the end of the day, the park's personnel would most likely be the only ones still clothed. After all, why put your clothes on after one attraction, only to remove them for the next? Imagining what this area would look like later, Trish congratulated herself for including high fences in the park design.
Inside the main building, Gina met her. "They're in the small theater," she said. "No cameras, but plenty of voice recorders."
"Did you get their names?"
Gina held up her pad. "Right here," she replied.
Trish nodded. "Then lets do this."
Inside the theater, Trish moved to the stage, stepping behind the podium set up there. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "good morning. Before we begin, I would like to tell you how this is going to go.
"I know," she continued, "that each of you has questions, but I insist on order. Which means there will be no shouting, no shoving, no trying to get my attention. My assistant has each of your names entered onto her pad, randomly arranged. She will start at the top of the list and work her way down. When your name is called, you will be allowed one question and one follow-up question. After that, Gina will read off the next name. If you are unable to wait your turn, if you feel the need to jostle, push, or otherwise behave in an unruly fashion, please leave now. It will save security the effort of removing you."
She smiled. "Now that we've got that part over with," she said, "I would like to welcome each of you, and I thank you for coming. This is a big day for me, and I thank you for sharing it."
Trish paused, gazing at those watching her. "Fetish World," she finally said, "has been a dream of mine for many years, a place where people can openly and safely enjoy their particular fetish in the company of like minded people. It's taken years to get the design perfected and gain financial backing, not to mention all the licenses and permits we had to get, but it's all been worth it." Glancing toward Gina, she nodded. In response, the other woman read off the first name on her list.
"Ms. Pearson," said a husky man as he rose from his chair, "ever since this park was first announced, there's been a great deal of concern over the safety question. As I understand it, not only is clothing not required for guest, but nudity is openly encouraged. Aren't you concerned with the risk of sexual assault, to say nothing of flat out rape, that this situation might provoke?"
"The safety of our guests," Trish replied, "is and always will be our first priority. This park was designed with the understanding that many of our guests will be experiencing a high level of arousal as the day progresses. For that reason, security is the largest single department here. Every inch of this park, indoors and out, is covered by security cameras, every moment recorded. We also have guards at every attraction, every shop and stall, as well as patrolling the grounds. Intimate contact outside the attractions is forbidden, and failure to abide by that rule is grounds for immediate removal from park property."
"And outside the grounds? Are you prepared for the consequences of what might happen once people leave here?"
"Each guest," Trish said, "is required, before entry, to sign a waiver absolving this park of any liability for actions taken beyond our gates. We would, of course, be saddened by any improper or illegal behavior on the part of our guests after they leave here, but we have no control over that. Next?"
The next question came from a tall, strikingly dressed woman. "How," she asked, "can you hope to justify a park that not only condones, but actively encourages, socially unacceptable behavior?"
"And how," Trish asked with a frown, "do you define socially unacceptable? Who decides? The majority? The ones in power?" She shook her head. "Socially acceptable," she went on, "simply refers to the beliefs and preferences of people several hundred years ago. These beliefs, these preferences, have been handed down, taught to each new generation, until, somehow, they've grown to be considered sacred. Socially acceptable is what my grandfather believed, or his grandfather, or any of a long, long line of ancestors. But society changes, people change. A hundred years ago, homosexuality was illegal in many places. A hundred years before that, it was unacceptable for a man and woman to even be in the same bed for any reason other than the actual act of procreation. After they'd finished, one of them was expected to move to a different bed. Modern society turns a blind eye to many things once considered unacceptable. By the same token, some things considered unacceptable now were thought to be perfectly normal long ago.
"This park," she went on, "operates on the belief that nothing, nothing at all, is unacceptable, so long as all participants are willing adults, and so long as it does not involve harm to anyone else. I may not share the personal preferences of all our guests, but I can and will defend their right to have those preferences."
"You said adult," the woman said. "So there are no children present?"
"Absolutely not," Trish declared. "No person below the legal age of consent, as defined by state and federal law, will be granted admission to this park. We are very careful to check identification before anyone is allowed in, and we don't care if you're eighteen or eighty; you will be carded. And just for the record, all of our staff are of legal age as well. Next question."
In all, it took just over three hours before the conference was over. Some of the questions had been positive, most negative, but Trish had expected nothing less. Once the room was cleared, she sank into one of the chairs.
"That," Gina remarked, "was brutal."
Trish shook her head. "No worse than I expected, really. Society at large is simply not prepared to accept something like this, a place that celebrates our kinkier sides. They'll fight it, try to find legal excuses to shut us down. Which means our main job is to not give them that excuse."
"It won't be easy."
"We knew that going in." Trish glanced over. "Getting cold feet on me?"
Gina grinned. "Not hardly," she replied. "You know how much I love a good fight."
"Or a good struggle?"
Gina laughed. "Now, now," she admonished, "you know park personnel are not allowed to partake while on duty. If they were, you'd be out there right now, naked as a jaybird and having the time of your life."
"And you wouldn't?"
"I didn't say that."
"Anyway," Trish said, rising to her feet, "we've survived opening jitters, as well as our first press conference." She smiled. "We're on our way," she declared, "and I, for one, can't wait to see where this journey takes us."
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