Parole or Punishment? by Yoni Steele

Parole or Punishment?
by Yoni Steele
Parole or Punishment? By Yoni Steele
Part 1

It was a rather pleasant, spring Sunday evening. I had only been in town for a few hours and was enjoying a lovely walk along the somewhat deserted streets in a city shutting down for the night, thinking about my plans for the up-coming week. It was the start of what I felt was a hard-earned vacation, and I was looking forward to seeing the sights. I had been to Washington, DC, many times before, but it had always been for business. The museums and monuments had been tantalizing when I had driven around after those business meetings; but it was always too late to do anything on those occasions, other than enjoy the wide variety of cuisine in the numerous restaurants. So for the first time I found myself with the opportunity to do whatever I wanted. My agenda for the next six days included lots of places to visit, but as it was a Sunday evening, I had nothing scheduled other than wandering around.

I was exploring a side street when I discovered a rather unusual store. It was unlike anything that I had ever seen before, although I had been in sex-related stores on numerous previous occasions. What made this store different from those others were the paraphernalia and clothing on display. Many of the items hanging from the walls were similar to devices that I had created in my mind. There were cuffs and collars, harnesses of all sorts (some of which had obvious uses, but there were lots of others which I could only guess as to their use), gags, helmets, etc. And on the store floor were racks and racks of clothing made with leather, latex, satin, spandex, and lace. In fact, there actually was a "Rack" -- not the display kind, but an old-fashioned, eleventh century torture device! I even saw a pillory and several different types of crosses, including an impressive "X" cross that was centered on an axle so that it could be inverted or spun. That one made me smile, contemplating myself in it.

The wide variety of lingerie, however, really caught my attention. The panties, for example, came in more styles than I had ever imagined. And the satin brocade corsets were gorgeous. I was amazed at the large number of styles and colors. In fact, it was the corsets that made me decide to buy something for myself.

Nervously I scanned the racks for things to buy. I selected a crimson, Victorian style corset, as well as a white one with black lace trim, a pair of sweetly ruffled, pink panties, black stockings, a black lace bra, and a pair of high-heeled shoes. Then I realized that I had no way of knowing if any of the items would fit. I certainly didn't want to purchase all these things only to have to bring them back later. Glancing around the sales floor I discovered that the dressing rooms were discretely located to the rear of the store. That made me sigh in relief. If they had been centrally located, I probably would had chosen to buy the goodies and return them later, if necessary, but I certainly didn't want to interrupt my vacation by making a return trip to a store on an obscure side street!

As I looked around, I noticed that all the other customers were ignoring me and were busy scanning the racks themselves. In addition, the store’s only sales lady, a gorgeous brunette, was apparently busy helping someone else. When I dropped several items -- the steel hangers making a clatter as they hit each other and the floor -- she merely shot a brief glance in my direction and smiled over at me, but she made no move in my direction and continued to devote her attention to the other customer.

Slowly I worked my way to the rear of the store and verified that no one else was using any of the dressing rooms. Feeling more at ease, I entered one of the curtained stalls with my armful of garments. I was so excited that I was sure my cock was going to burst free of my undershorts!

It was while I was removing my pants that I discovered that I didn't have my wallet. At first that fact was merely an annoyance; I assumed that it had fallen out on the car seat. It would be a long walk back to the car to get it, but it would be worth it. I had fantasized about owning erotic under-garments like these for a long time. It was while I was pulling on the ruffled panties when I remembered: I had taken out my wallet in the hotel room to tip the bellhop, and then had tossed it on top of the dresser! I was furious with myself and started cursing under my breath. The lack of a wallet meant that I wouldn't be able to purchase anything because the time required to return to the hotel to retrieve my money would be too much. By the time I could get back to the store they would certainly be closed, and I just had too many other things planned for the up-coming week to make a return visit.

Despite my anger and frustration with myself, I continued to try on the other garments, just to verify the sizes. Well, OK, wearing the stuff was a bit of a turn-on, too, and this was definitely stuff that I couldn’t buy at home! I was a bit dismayed at how difficult it was to tighten the laces of the shiny red corset after I put it on, but it seemed to be about the right size for me. After closing my eyes and taking one more deep breath, I yanked the cords a little bit tighter and tied them off. When I opened my eyes again, the reflection that I saw in the dressing room mirror made me gasp. The reduction in the size of my waist was astonishing; I was thrilled at how feminine the curves of my torso were in the corset. I absolutely had to have one of these satin delights!

And then it occurred to me that no one had checked to see what I had brought with me to the dressing room area. I could easily steal something, and no one would be the wiser! No, that isn't like me, I thought. Stealing is wrong; I’ve never stolen anything before. I shouldn’t start now. …But on the other hand, do I really want to make another trip back here tomorrow? Preferably not. My conscience was definitely my enemy; it was dominating my inner arguments, but not by much. And then, of course, there is the issue of paying for all of this lingerie with cash. I certainly don't want to have a place called the ‘Pleasure Palace’ on my charge card bill!

With that thought, I scowled down at the price tag attached to the white corset which was still on its hanger suspended on a dressing room hook. My scowl instantly changed to an expression of complete shock. I couldn’t even breathe! I quickly scanned the other tags. The prices were all truly outrageous! They were positively astronomical! That settled it. So my question became, What should I take? As desirable as they might be, the corsets would be too obvious. I was reasonably certain that the sales clerk had seen them in my hands, and I suspected that either one of them might be obvious through my thin shirt and light spring jacket because of the way that they feminized my shape. The same arguments applied to the bra; and besides, that wouldn't look right without accessories anyway. The stockings would be easy, but then what would I do with the wrapper? Well, I do have pockets! So that point was settled. The shoes, of course, were out of the question. There was simply no way to hide them.

That left the ruffled panties. All I had to worry about was the hanger, but there were already several in the room hanging on two of the clothes hooks. One more wouldn't be noticed.

Having made my decision, I removed the corset, despite my lust for it, and the bra. I didn't even worry about trying on the shoes, even though they were the most questionable item, size-wise, that is. I quickly removed my shoes and socks, pulled on the stockings, and then put my socks back on over them. I pulled up my pants and glanced at myself in the mirror. No, the panties definitely were not visible. I slipped on my shirt, and then bent down to put on my shoes. Damn, I had forgotten my own underpants! Well, they would go conveniently into my jacket pocket without a serious bulge. And so after tying my shoes, I put on the spring coat and dropped the balled-up underpants into a pocket. Yes, I’m going to be able to pull this off! I thought happily to myself.

To avoid suspicion, I took all of the clothes with me when I left the dressing room. The other garments were quickly returned to the appropriate racks, so I started towards the door. The lovely brunette that I had seen earlier moved between me and the door and promptly asked me if everything was all right, wasn't there anything I wanted, did I need some help.

I was a bit surprised by her sudden interest in me, and was a bit flustered. As calmly as possible, I apologized that there just wasn't anything that I wanted this visit. She responded, "Well, there are two things. First, you dropped your undershorts over by the garter belt rack. And second, I am rather puzzled as to why you politely put away everything that you took to the dressing room except for the panties."

I took a quick look back along my path and saw the white lump on the floor. I was embarrassed by the loss of my underpants, but I was totally nonplused by her observation regarding the panties. I couldn't believe that she had noticed something as insignificant as that. So as I turned to fetch my underwear, I stammered, "I...I must have left them in the d...dressing room." That was, of course, the totally wrong thing to say, as it was an admission that I had taken a pair of panties to the back room.

"No, we've already checked the room you used while you were putting things away, as we don't want customers to inadvertently leave anything behind.” She smiled and politely whispered, “(It's happened before, you know.)" After a momentary silence she continued, "Anyway, the stall was quite empty.” She paused again, presumably awaiting a response from me, and I was about to tell her that perhaps she was mistaken about which stall I had used. But before I had the chance to interject, she resumed, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head to one side, and with an obvious note of annoyance in her voice, “And besides, one of the other customers saw you pull up your pants over the ruffled panties. Apparently you didn't pull the curtain completely shut."

I was furious with myself that I hadn’t just immediately left the store after leaving the dressing stall. But I felt that I had to cover up my crime by returning the other things to the racks; I thought that it made me look better as a customer. Instead, it just gave them time to find out the truth. After back-tracking the fifteen feet to the garter belt rack, I bent down to retrieve my underwear. I looked around, red-faced, as I stuffed my underpants back into my jacket pocket. I wondered who had spilled the beans to the owner, but there was no way to know from the expressions on the faces of those customers who were glancing in our direction. There were an equal number of amused and angry looks. I wanted to say something to the gorgeous brunette who was now clearly blocking the exit, with her arms sternly crossed. But when my mouth opened, nothing came out. I had no doubt that I looked as guilty as I felt at that moment.

With a jerking finger, she directed my attention to the sign over the door behind her, which read:

"ANYONE WHO TRIES TO FUCK US BY SHOPLIFTING WILL BE FUCKED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW."

"Give me the panties right now, butt-head; and I'll let you leave with only a warning," she ordered.

In an outstanding display of stupidity, and with a shrug of feigned confusion, I stammered, "Wha…What panties?" By this time, everyone in the store was staring at me. And I noticed with chagrin that the majority were Female!

In a louder, angrier voice the store proprietress said, "Asshole, I don't like to repeat myself. Now drop your pants, and take 'em off before I call the police!"

I responded nervously, "O.K., let me go back to..."

"No way, shithead!" she interrupted. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're out of my store!"

"I...I can't. Not in front of..."

Again she cut me off, "You had your warning!" And then she began to punch out ‘9-1-1’ on the cellular phone that was in her hand, but I was saved by a dead battery! "Damn stupid batteries!" she exclaimed in frustration as she pounded the phone with a fist. The exasperated brunette jammed the useless instrument back into its holster at her waist. Quickly she turned around, locked the door, and removed the key. Then, speaking out to all the remaining customers, she loudly proclaimed, “Forgive me, everyone, for this inconvenience. As soon as this inconsiderate thief has been dealt with, I’ll unlock the door again.” Now everyone knew about my idiotic indiscretion!

Before I could react, she and two assistants, who had appeared seemingly from nowhere, grabbed my arms, pinioning them at my sides, and pulled down my pants to reveal the pretty, pink ruffled satin panties. Upon seeing the black stockings as well as the panties that she already knew about, the lovely, but boiling, proprietress muttered, "Fuckin’ asshole!" The unexpected slap on my face was so hard that I almost fell over. My embarrassment was complete as I was escorted, shuffling, to the back of the store, pants at my ankles and wrists now firmly cuffed behind my back. I heard the sniggers and crude comments of the other customers, especially from the female ones; I was absolutely mortified.

When we were finally in a back office, the angry store manager picked up the telephone. Immediately I began to plead for mercy, but the brunette merely responded by saying that she had heard all kinds of excuses, and mine was one of the lamest ever. So I tried one last plea for mercy, "Please don't call the police. If I'm arrested for shoplifting my security clearance will be revoked; I'll lose both my job and my career. Please, Miss, I'll do anything you want. Just PLEASE don't make that call."

Then one of my "escorts" -- a deliciously cute blonde in a black spandex body suit -- spoke up, "Traci, maybe we can use him somehow. Why don't we just put him in bondage and think about it for awhile. You know we did just get a new shipment of clothing and toys; we can certainly use some help to put it on the shelves or in storage."

"No, Susan, I don't want him touching anything while he’s in the store," Traci answered the blonde as she put the phone back in its cradle. "He's already proven that he can't be trusted. But you did give me a wonderful idea of how we can put him to good use.

"As you both know, business has been awful lately because of the recession." As she said this, she glanced first at Susan who was on my right, and then at my other escort, a statuesque redhead in an incredibly short red leather skirt and tight pullover blouse, who was standing by my left side. "Since we can't charge less for our products, the only way to improve profits is by selling MORE of our inventory. You both know that I really can’t afford to advertise any more than I currently do, which means that that isn’t even an option. So the best alternative is by showing the goods in use, or by letting the customers try them out themselves. Well, the latter isn't always possible, and the rigid shape of the mannequins prevents them from being used for some of the equipment. So let's just use this shithead as a LIVE mannequin!"

Traci's two assistants voiced their agreement instantly. I, however, wasn't sure that I liked the sound of her idea, but closing time, I knew from the sign on the door, was less than an hour away. (It was one of the reasons that I chose to steel the stuff in the first place.) I supposed that I could tolerate some further embarrassment for an hour if it meant no jail time nor even a visit to the police station..

"Now where should we start?" Traci asked rhetorically. "I know! Since he wants to be a girl so much, we'll help him satisfy his desires." She paused and stared directly into my eyes. Then, with a rather contemptuous smile, she said emphatically, "Ladies, we'll dress him up like a whore." She paused to let the implication sink in, and then she continued, "Go out and get a corset, a bra, shoes -- you know, the ones with the locking ankle straps, a wig, and some make-up.” Then with a grin, she added, “I leave it up to you two to select a nice color for our – umm – assistant. In fact, I suggest that you ask for help from the people in the store. I’m certain that they would be delighted to help out.”

The two women secured me to my chair with lots of leather straps and then disappeared with giggles back out into the store. Traci remained with me, but she turned her attention away from me to something on her computer screen, which was facing away from me. I twisted a little bit in my seat, testing my bonds. But I didn’t struggle very hard. I doubted that there was much I could do to escape from the chair; and I was damned certain that there was no way out of the store. When I tried to say something, she warned me to shut up while she worked. I’m certain that not much time had elapsed, but it seemed like it took an eternity before the assistants returned with armloads of clothing and bondage toys.

Within minutes I had been transformed. Of course I was already wearing panties and stockings, but they added a rose-colored satin corset and bra. They were slightly darker in color than the panties that I had stolen, but were a reasonable match. I looked down at my waist and was amazed at the change in my appearance caused by the corset, but at great pain! My waist was in a vice, and breathing was definitely more difficult because of it. But my torso was definitely feminine in shape, rather than male. The garters hanging down from the corset were hooked to the tops of my stockings even though they were the thigh-high, stay-up kind. I must admit that it looked lovely.

The bra really didn’t do anything other than add some lift from below as it was simply an open platform type. My small, dark nipples were left completely uncovered. It would have looked beautiful on any of my well-endowed companions, but on me, it looked absurd.

A pale pink, see-through blouse covered the corset and bra, and hid nothing. Next came a hot pink skirt that was so short that the tops of my stockings and the garter tabs were completely visible. In addition, the skirt flared out stiffly to truly guarantee that nothing was hidden! And finally, they completed my outfit with a pair of high-heeled shoes unlike anything that I had ever seen before. The heels were little more than thin spikes that provided no real support. But the part that I found most amazing was that the ankle straps that held the shoes in place were locked on with small padlocks! I wasn’t going to get out of those things without a key or a sharp pair of scissors to cut off the straps!

They then belted me down to the chair again. Traci firmly warned me, “Behave yourself when out among my customers. If you put up with everything that they want to try out on you, you’ll be rewarded with the panties and stockings that you tried to steal. However, if you fight them or resist in any way, I promise that you will regret it. As far as you and I are concerned, this is your parole period. I’m sure you know that parole violators are locked up for a long time.”

I expressed my honest appreciation and gratitude. I was greatly relieved that she wasn’t going to turn me over to the police. But I was totally unprepared for what she said next. She told me, “Since you are dressed up as a slut, you really need to look like one.” (I thought that I already did look rather trampy.) She then directed her assistants to make me look really whorish with the make-up that they had brought back to the office.

They began by piercing my ears in several locations to give me a string of earrings on each ear. Shit that hurt! (Women actually choose to do that to themselves? Why?) The earrings that hung from my lobes were really gaudy and cheap looking. It felt weird having a weight pulling down on my fresh new piercings. The blonde assistant also wanted to pierce my nose, but Traci smiled in my direction as she responded, “That’s a very interesting idea, Susie Q. We can do that to him if he misbehaves.” Susie sneered rather wickedly at me. I expected her to make a sarcastic comment, but she didn’t say anything; she just smiled.

Then the redhead added an excess of make-up everywhere: bright candy apple rouge and lipstick, false black eyelashes, pink mascara and eye shadow, and heavy black eyeliner. It was finished off with a long-tressed red wig. And I don’t mean “redhead” red; it was shiny crimson to match my lip gloss! My reflection in the mirror that Susan held up for me looked rather grotesque. I supposed that most street walkers didn’t look that bad! After slipping my arms and hands into fingerless pink gloves trimmed with white lace, they polished my fingernails with cherry paint. Yes, I thought to myself, I am definitely going to attract attention! I glanced up at the clock behind Traci on the wall. Fortunately, it’s only for less than an hour.

Prior to escorting me back to the sales room, I was thoroughly fettered. My ankles were cuffed and hobbled with an 18 inch stainless steel bar, a massive stainless steel collar was fitted around my neck and locked in place, and a ball gag harness was strapped onto my head. A bizarre strap at my waist was used to incapacitate my arms; they were crossed behind my back, the left wrist locked to my right side, and the right one was secured to my left side. A heavy, broad leather strap cinched my forearms together. And lastly, my hands were covered with leather mittens, tightly laced and knotted. Even though my hands were behind my back, it took only a second to discover that the thumb covers were stitched to the rest of the glove. (So much for the fingernail polish!) My arms and hands were COMPLETELY useless!

They even pulled down the panties in front and bound my throbbing cock. (It should have been shriveled up with embarrassment, but instead my organ was pulsing with a life all its own! My subconscious delight at being bound up in female clothing was extremely obvious despite my conscious frustration.) They encased my organ in a leather sheath which the brunette store owner took great delight in cinching extremely tight, pulling the laces agonizingly taut a little bit at a time, which made me wince from the pain. The laces were then looped around my dangling balls and knotted behind the scrotum; the long loose ends were drawn backwards between my legs, through my anal crevice and tied to the forearm strap. The slightest movement of my arms yanked my sack painfully backwards. And as I soon discovered, it wasn't possible to walk without moving my arms at least a little bit!

For the next several hours I was paraded around the boutique by the three stunning Females and displayed to every customer who walked in through the door. Because of me they stayed open for an extra three hours beyond their usual Sunday closing time of 7 pm. The sales clerks both had agreed to work for free rather than overtime because it was such a kick to have a live model to display the products.

During the time that I was used as a mannequin my bondage was changed several times to show off particular products to the customers. I had the extreme displeasure of learning all sorts of things about different types of gags; I decided that the penis gag was definitely the worst! I also learned that the French single glove was one of the most debilitating and painful forms of bondage that one can be subjected to. In less than fifteen minutes, I was ready to be released from the torturous device, but I was well-gagged at the time so I couldn’t tell anyone how much pain I was in! If my arms had simply broken off, it would have been less agonizing. Fortunately, I was put into a U-shaped glove harness after that. While that device wasn’t as restrictive and considerably less painful, my arms were still just as useless!

The end result was that Traci’s plan proved to be very successful as nearly every customer bought something! In particular, she confirmed her hypothesis that it is much easier to sell a whip or paddle if the customer has a real subject to try it on! In three hours I experienced cats-o'-nine-tails, bullwhips, floggers, slappers, and a bunch of other things that I had never heard of. My buns received the maximal treatment when I was locked in a pillory. A professional dominatrix wanted something new and tried out more than a dozen different products on my well-displayed, up-turned ass and exposed thighs, burning my flesh with leather whips and floggers, and embedding wooden paddles and rattan canes into my swollen cheeks. Consequently, my ass was more sore than it had ever been before; it felt as though I had third degree burns down there!

In addition, Traci claimed that she sold more nipple clamps that day than she did in most weeks. My push-up platform bra and see-through blouse were perfectly suited to demonstrate a variety of agonizing little pincers! Sarcastically, after being informed of this fact, I thought, I’m glad that I was able to help. Now get me out of these awful things so I can get away from you nasty, devious bitches!

At the end of the day, I was escorted by the blonde and the redhead to a large storage area in the rear of the store. I expected a final stern lecture and then to be released – at long last -- from my bondage. I was completely exhausted from my painful experience, and just wanted to go back to my hotel room for a soak in the whirlpool bath and then into bed.

Instead of telling her assistants to release me and help me to get out of the clothes, Traci directed the ladies to change my outfit one more time. While I stood in stunned, frozen silence my legs were finally unfettered; but it was only to remove the nylon-lycra stockings and replace them with latex ones. The new boots that were strapped onto my rubber-covered feet and calves were at least a size too small. And the heels were taller than anything that I had previously been forced to deal with.

The satin corset which I had worn throughout my ordeal was also replaced by a stiff rubber one, which was laced even tighter about my waist, crunching me into a more radically feminine shape. Traci said with a smile, “Training overnight will be good for you. Corset training works best if it is continuous.” That comment struck me as more than a little bit frightening, but I was still too shocked and too tired to resist. As I struggled to breathe in the awful garment, Susan (the blonde) helped me to step into tight, high-waisted rubber panties, which she pulled up over the satin ones that I was already wearing. The extra garment was rather uncomfortable as it further compressed my genitals which were still bound up rather thoroughly.

Similarly, my arm bindings were removed. It took me only a second to discover that my arms were completely numb from hours of bondage, and there was no way for me to fight against them when they slipped my arms into full length latex gloves. A different kind of heavily boned mitten that forced me to ball my hand into a fist was used to cover each of my hands. Next I was laced into a leather garment that was incredible. It was actually a corset that extended from just below my chest all the way down to my ankles! (They called it a corset punishment dress .) When the laces were completely tugged taut, cinched, and tied, it was impossible for me to move my legs at all. The stiff boning prevented me from bending my limbs or twisting or bending at the hips.

Afterwards my arms were locked into heavy cowhide cuffs at the wrists and above and below the elbows, and secured to the sides of the corset dress with several thick leather straps. They, too, were totally immobilized. The devious mittens prevented me from even wiggling my fingers so my arms was once again hopelessly and completely useless.

Next they added a bizarre latex bra with cut-outs for the nipples. Because it was about two sizes too small, it actually gave me the appearance of real tits, although rather small ones. Because it was so EXQUISITELY tight, it made my nipples bulge outwards through the small holes. A vicious jawed clamp to bit down on each of my swollen, sore nipples like a pair of hungry Dobermans! I grimaced in pain, wondering how long I was going to have to endure this newest attack against my poor little buds.

Then Traci inserted a small rubber sponge into each of my ears. The music on the radio which had been blaring out a song by Queen was totally cut off! After she had completed that task, one of the other Ladies handed her something and she stepped behind me. When the redhead finally removed the penis gag that had been filling my mouth for the last 90 minutes I gasped for air; but my opportunity was very brief. Traci forced a well-stretched rubber hood down over my head, completely cutting off my sight and my speech. The inside of the hood was fitted with an attached gag to replace the plastic phallus. This one didn't seem bad at all. It was just a long, flat piece of rubber, apparently intended to keep me from moving my tongue much -- or so I thought.

After the hood was zippered and locked in place with a stiff collar, my arms were released from the belts that held them in place. My thoughts were, Terrific, they allow me to move my arms, but I can't do anything with them. I can barely stand in these ridiculous high-heeled shoes, and I certainly can't walk anywhere in this awful corset dress. And even if I could walk, I can't see anything!

But my "freedom" was short. Traci and her friends pulled some kind of jacket over my arms and torso. I could feel them pulling the straps tight on my back and on my lower arms. I suspected that it covered the wrist section of my mittens so the parts that were tied were further sealed from my access. My arms weren’t quite as numb as they had been before, so I tried to bend them, but was frustrated in my efforts. My guess was that the garment was some form of heavy leather. Well, I might not have been able to bend my arms on my own, but the women worked together and did it. It pinched very tightly at my elbows and added another hurt to my body. Although I couldn’t see what they were doing, it didn’t take me long to figure it out. They locked me into a head and hand stock so my arms were totally deprived of freedom! The tightly strapped material pinched my arms severely where they were bent, and I groaned in mute silence into my gag.

Then came the worst surprise of all: they pumped up the gag in my mouth, stretching my cheeks to an inconceivable degree. My tongue was squashed completely at the base of my mouth by the inflatable gag so that it was impossible to move it! My jaws truly ached from the painfully extended position. The gag pushed my cheeks outwards while the well-stretched latex face mask crushed them from the outside. I couldn’t move my jaws at all. That pretty much ended any remaining thoughts of pleading for my freedom.

My situation had become so bizarre; I could neither see nor hear, nor could I speak. The best that I could manage was a totally muffled, unintelligible grunt! And with my body completely encased in restrictive rubber and cowhide, even my sense of feeling through my skin was severely restricted; all I could feel was the intense pressure and rising heat of the wickedly taut garments on every square inch of my skin. I could just barely tell that the women were still touching my body! That left me with only one usable sense: smell. And that was pretty much overwhelmed by the potent aroma of latex and leather!

Next an elaborate harness was belted around my torso. I felt the belts being yanked tight. Then I was leaned backwards. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though I was being moved. This continued for a few minutes with a couple of odd stops. I realized that I could be imagining all of this as my senses were deprived of normal input, but there was no way that I could determine otherwise. Then I had the odd sensation that I was spinning. I wondered if they were doing this to confuse me, although again, it could have been my own senses fooling me. But I didn’t think so as my head seemed to be swimming.

Then I felt the sudden, peculiar sensation of falling over forward, but only slightly. I was tilted at an angle, facing downwards, based on the extra pressure on my already painfully-crushed toes. It was the only real sensory input to my blinded brain. Heck, my mind continued to tell me that I was spinning, but the fixed pressure on my toes made me think that I wasn’t. I was truly confused. Finally, the spinning sensation died away, leaving me with nothing but the smell of leather and latex and the pressure on my painfully bent toes. And of course there was the unending sensation of being squashed in a vice. Every square centimeter of my body was crushed by that vice, and it felt truly unbearable!

And there was nothing else. No more movement; no more touching; nothing. I was completely motionless; and I was completely incapable of motion. My fingers and my toes were bent in such a way that I couldn’t move them at all. My legs and arms were sheathed in rubber and locked in place by thick leather. My nipples were on fire, and I could feel the blood pulsing in them, but there was nothing that I could do to reduce the pain that flared in my chest. Even my head hurt because of the tautly stretched rubber helmet that encased it. My ears, nose, and lips in particular were being crushed in ways that I had never experienced before, and I really didn’t like it. And of course there was an amazing pain down between my legs; my cock and balls were fettered and squashed, and it hurt like hell!

On top of all of the pain, there was the mental psychosis: I didn’t know if I was alone or simply being watched by my devious, wicked captors as they contemplated further abuse of me. In my sensory deprived state, I wanted them to do something, anything. The thought of being left completely alone, abandoned while so thoroughly trussed up was maddening, and it grew worse by the second!!!

15.08.03