Sheryl And The
Straitjacket Incident - Part 3
by 3586088863
Sheryl And The Straitjacket Incident part 2by
3586088863
Chapter Eight
At length Sheryl smiles and takes my hands lightly aside. "Come on
now. Back to the task at hand. We want to stay on schedule."
As I'm getting up, she pauses to glance at her watch. With some delight,
she exclaims, "Oh, honey, look!" Nodding, she now transfers our attention
to the bedside clock. As we gaze on, it changes from 11:59PM to 12:00AM.
"Happy Saturday!" Sheryl bestows a frivolous peck on my lips, and in
response to my puzzled look, follows it with the cutest of shrugs.
"Sorry! I guess I'm feeling a little off-the-wall right now."
Smugly I note that my performance during the last few minutes have
evidently put her in a chipper mood.
"Fine with me, silly girl. So do tell what happens in the next hour
or so to this your unfortunate prisoner."
"With pul-easure!" She takes my right hand as if to shake it. Gracefully
she turns under my right hand, holding on to it all the while, and winds
up behind my back facing me. (Hey, that was cool. I knew that having a
dancer girlfriend would be cool.) Bringing her free left hand around me,
she strokes my chest lightly. Facing into the mirror with me, she continues.
"Very well. Inspector, you will notice the five securely anchored fabric
loops which adorn the circumference of the condemned man's waist."
She grasps my shoulders and twists my torso from side to side so I
can see all five in the mirror. "We shall now set the victim's sleeves
into these loops and secure them at his back. Do you give approval?" Sheryl
has acquired a bit of an air for the role.
I do my part to play along. "Madam, it is no less than necessary for
the security of the State--the only possible recourse. Even now the prisoner
is swearing that when he is released he shall take by force the first woman
he sees!"
"Then we have no choice. This man has forfeited to the State his freedom."
Sheryl reaches down to take, in turn, the two stiff black straps hanging
from my balled fists. The strap issuing from the left swings slightly with
the weight of the buckle. She first threads this strap through the front
three loops: left, center, then right. The strap on the right side is threaded
through these loops in reverse. At this point she pauses, holding the yet-unfastened
straps.
"Notice, sir, the way that this man's right arm is passed over his
left. In the protocol, this is the preferable method of restraint for the
left-handed."
"Duly noted, madam warden, and very sharp of you. But I have seen people
first pass the sleeves through all five loops. You will only use four for
each?"
Sheryl answers without a pause. "A most astute observation! Typical
strait-waistcoats offer side loops primarily for assistance in transport.
Not being designed to hold the arms, the loops force the arms in too forward-facing
a position. As the sleeves must be brought yet around the front of the
body, the position proves most uncomfortable for the restrained."
This consideration seems inconsistent to me. "But is it not precisely
through unbearable restraint that we hope to punish the prisoner?"
"In the end, Inspector, this configuration, specially designed with
the middle two loops angled slightly, proves most secure, endurable, and
humane. As for the punishment, good sir, we have much more effective means."
She winks. "But Inspector, you will want to excuse yourself for the sake
of your peace of mind. While our restraint is humane, officials often find
its application a little rougher than they prefer to know. It is best for
you to leave me to the prisoner now."
"Very well. But on your own life, spare him no chance of escape."
Sheryl feeds the straps around my waist and through the remaining rear
pair of loops until they meet behind me. Ensuring that my sleeves are passing
properly through all their loops, she threads the strap the slightest way
through the buckle. She leans into my ear. Aside from her confirmation
there is no other sound in the room.
"Are you prepared for your fate, prisoner?"
"Do it! Do it, Sheryl, before I change my mind!"
Following her firm, deliberate pull, the strap begins to sail past
the spring-loaded teeth. Inch by inch the mechanism irreversibly eats up
the slack. I let my arms follow the pull of the straps. My elbows come
to a stop against the center loops.
"Get on the bed. You can give me another two inches, at least!"
Awkwardly I hop onto the hard bed and land with my arms folded under me. It feels strange not to be supporting my own weight.
"Let out your breath! Squeeze your arms together!" With each command
she swats my exposed rump.
Eager to aid Sheryl's efforts, I compress myself as far as I can. I
suppose I am playing out of character now, but I am loath to end this session
inadequately restrained. Or--perhaps I'm not out of character. Maybe a
criminal being imprisoned by this beautiful seductress would willingly
sacrifice any chance of escape to deliver himself into her clutches.
Sheryl lustily straddles my back, gripping my side with her strong
thighs, and gives a mighty final pull. Ultimately I think my effort gave
her two inches. She took one more on her own.
Quickly she withdraws a small pin and fiddles with the buckle behind
me. One nearly inaudible click locks in her victory over me. Sheryl remains
on my back for a full minute, grinding me rhythmically, breathing unevenly,
before she lumbers back off the bed. I know better than to interrupt her.
Yanking on some of my other back straps, she pulls me back up to standing
and flaunts her handiwork in the mirror. At the sides of my back, level
with my waist, I see my two balled fists, connected now with a strong locked
strap whose tail is a foot long.
"Damn, Sheryl, that is tight. It's just like I always imagined."
"I know, huh? The thing is, because you have a well-defined waist,
the sleeves would naturally stay at the small of your back. Your chest
comes out so much that I don't think you could bring your hands over your
head even without the loops. But! Two more things, and then some surprises."
Sheryl returns to my front side and fastens a strap to tighten down
the large central loop. Though permanently sewn as a loop into the fabric
(for security, I assume), the loop is attached in two places to the extra
strap so the strap can gather up the slack.
"Good. And one final touch." This crowning touch calls for attention
just below my shoulders. I feel a sudden yank as a strong strap tightens
and locks, bringing my biceps together. The motion is unexpected; in my
reading and fantasizing, I had never come across this type of fastening
on a straitjacket before. Nevertheless, surely enough, the final strap
pinions my upper arms backward and binds my sleeves even more securely
to the jacket.
With the knowledge that the jacket is now fully applied, I now try
to thrash my arms about. With astonishment I discover that the force moves
my arms only along with my torso. No amount of straining can return individual
control to my arms. I praise my captor for her triumph.
"Sheryl, thank you! I can't move my arms at all, and I couldn't even
start to think how to get out of this. Oh, it's so much better than I thought
my first time would be. I could stay in here for days!" I am so effusive
that I can't stop sounding sappy.
Sheryl beams with pride, but she's not ready to quit yet. "Hey now,
be careful what you wish for, tiger. But we're not quite done yet. Remember
how we have our means of punishment?"
Sheryl kneels behind me and undoes a strap near my buttocks. I see
a long hourglass-shaped flap of grey fabric whip out from my backside and
settle between my legs. The release of the strip has released some of the
upwards pressure on my member.
The sight is unexpected. "That a crotch strap?" I had no idea that
anything had been concealing the actual crotch of the suit.
"You bet. It was fastened from the beginning, but I guess you didn't
notice." Anticipating my question, Sheryl continues. "Of course, in a full-body
straitsuit like this, you're going to have a bit of a hard time escaping
by lifting the whole thing up over your head, so we really didn't need
one at all. But I wanted one for the effect and the extra pressure. And
also to hide this until you couldn't back out."
She lifts the dangling flap, which evidently has been carefully made
to blend in from the front. Down south, centered directly over my bulge,
I see what appears to be a short vertical black line. Then I realize what
it is.
It is a strong black metal zipper.
Sheryl places her hand on the tab and tugs it down imperceptibly. "Yep.
This is how it's going to get *really* interesting."
Her prisoner gulps.
Chapter Nine
Alternately tugging at the front and back of the hood, Sheryl works
the tight black rubber down my face. It hurts slightly the way she's doing
it, but in my current state I can't possibly lend a hand. In any case,
not having had much time to inspect the hood before she started working
it on to me, I can only trust that Sheryl has an excellent reason for using
it.
"Nph!" The hood has settled to cover both my nose and mouth. Not hermetically,
thank goodness, but almost.
"Sorry. That better?" Sheryl makes sure the eyes, nostrils, and mouth
are well seated.
"Well, at least I can breathe again. So why the hood?" The hood restricts
my mouth slightly, and the words comes out slightly muffled. "That wasn't
a part of the little scenario." It's not that I didn't want it, I was surprised
she was still intent on adding more to my bondage.
Her muffled voice comes from behind me as she laces down the hood over
the back of my head. "Oh, I have plenty of things for planned for you that
are not in your scenario. We have to expand our horizons, you know, being
college students and all. Anyways, I think you'll like the feeling of being
totally enclosed from head to toe. With the suit, you're already so close,
you might as well go all the way."
After gathering the material from under my chin, Sheryl zips the back
flaps over her work. At the level of my lower neck I feel a demonstrative
tug. "There are loops on this hood for a separate locking neck strap. But
since we already have one on the jacket that I've fastened temporarily,
I'm going to drop these loops down between the loops in the jacket collar.
Then I can undo the jacket collar and do that up through both sets of loops.
It will work quite nicely."
The process takes about a minute. The base of the hood feels cold at
first as it is fed under the jacket collar. But after it is all done, I
feel a firm, but comfortable pressure around my neck. Sheryl declares her
satisfaction. "Very nice. Totally enveloped in what is basically one unbroken
piece. I like it."
"Sheryl, let me see myself." The audience of this request positions
me so I can see myself.
I am taken aback. The male figure in the mirror looks as though it
has stepped out of any fetish catalog. But it is me! Even better, sitting
beside a lusty girl I liked who shared this passion with me!
My vision is somewhat restricted by the small holes in the hood, so
Sheryl comes around to face me. "There are some other reasons I wanted
this particular hood for tonight." In the mirror I can only barely made
out some motion of Sheryl's hand before, all of a sudden, my vision is
suddenly obscured, and then, with the hum of a zipper, darkened even further.
"For one, without having to worry about sight, you'll enjoy the other senses
even more."
Sheryl guides me again into a reclining position. Taking a position
behind me, she smoothes a thin rubbery flap of the hood over my mouth and
closes the zip over it. I feel her legs close tightly around my waist from
behind. Then, without warning, she plugs my nostrils tightly with her fingers.
I breathe in, and I get nothing. I panic. There is not much I can do in
this position. With all my might I jerk from side to side to escape Sheryl's
grasp and the jacket's clutch, but her legs and the strong fabric refuse
to yield. The flap clings to my mouth. Trying furiously to breathe, with
my already cheeks depressed from the suction, I can only manage a small
stream of air--not enough, I know, to keep me from passing out soon. Each
second grows longer and longer.
All of a sudden I feel cold air against my nostrils again and breathe
heavily. In between deep, thankful breaths I grunt as angrily as I can
manage.
"Well, now we know by trial that the jacket is strong enough to hold
you," Sheryl chuckles. She pushes me forward so I am leaning over my legs.
I feel her testing the various exposed buckles for tightness, and then
I hear a series of clicks from different locations.
"Alright. I've just double-locked you into every last buckle, save
that, uh, special one down there. I'll give you some time to try to get
yourself out, or appreciate your bondage, or whatever. I'm going to make
myself more comfortable in the meantime."
Judging from the tossing of the bed, Sheryl leaves for about a minute
and then returns. A caressing hand guides my head to her inner thighs.
As she moves me against them, I realize with a hooded smile that I cannot
feel the denim of her jeans. Following the smooth curves I find the convergence
of her thighs and rub into it, much to her approval. The faint aroma of
her sex fills my nostrils.
"Un ... ooh... That's right, prisoner. Serve your time."
Over the next thirty minutes, we move together at her direction, sometimes
hurried, sometimes deliberately slow. The second time she comes, she explodes
with a mighty series of shudders, noises, and cries that make me glad my
hearing is deafened. I feel a tissue dabbing the face of the hood.
"God, that was awesome." Panting. "Just seeing you there, powerless,
bound but to serve me, makes me so damned horny. Though I should tell you,
winning me over like that ain't going to do you a bit of good. The keys
to that straitsuit are safe with Kate. We traded our keyrings. I'm as much
locked out of you now as you are locked in."
Chapter Ten
Sheryl generously restores my sight to me, then crawls over me on the
bed to the closet. From a dark corner she retrieves a large square of fabric.
Some of it has clung to itself, and as she wrests it apart I immediately
recognize the ripping sound of Velcro. She turns around to face me again
after setting some separate items back on the floor of the closet.
"As you probably realize, before I brought you in here, I set up a
few things beforehand," she explains. "Now this little number will be most
helpful in our next little scenario. Get up; let me slip this under you."
The sheet is quite a bit longer than the bed is wide, so she feeds the
remainder down over the far side of the bed.
"Is that whole thing Velcro?"
"That's right, all the plush on one side, all the hooks on the other.
You wouldn't think it holds very well, but when it's all done up it makes
for a terrifically tight wrap. Now roll on to your stomach. Center it at
your chest level, and lie in the center of the bed."
"I'm too high. Can you help me?" Having no use of my arms while lying
on my stomach makes it rather difficult to budge. Sheryl obliges and unceremoniously
drags me by my feet towards the foot of the bed. I slide smoothly on the
straitjacket's material.
Sheryl pulls the Velcro tight around my back. The feeling is singularly
odd; I feel like I am being rolled up in a wave. Rather clumsily peering
behind me, I notice the left edge of the sheet has just barely reached
once around me to meet the center of the sheet. With some exertion, Sheryl
snugs in the fabric around my bound body; then, sliding her hand under
the sheet to apply pressure from below, she seals the joint. I can hear
the miniature hooks catching.
"Okay, I'm going to need you to help me a little as I roll you over."
With as much coordination as I can muster I try to roll towards the wall,
where the rest of the expansive sheet awaits me. As I do, Sheryl recenters
me on the narrow bed and also guides the roll to make it less rough. Successive
landings bring me on to my back, then my stomach, then my back again. I
am now staring up at the ceiling because I'm no longer able to bend much
at the waist.
"Excellent. The sheet ends precisely at the small of your back. I couldn't
be sure how far around you'd be with your arms like that, but it's nice
for one that there's no distracting seam to look at."
It's true. I look down at a tight white band encircling my torso. A
number of metal attachments draw my attention. "What are those metal rings
for?"
"The D-rings? Yeah, I was going to take care of those soon. This pair
down by your waist"--leaving me for a second to pick up a piece of backpack-like
webbing from the floor--"are for these." She passes the strap down through
one ring, down between my legs, through a ring I didn't see at the small
of my back, back up through my legs, through the remaining one on the front,
and snaps both ends together. "Crotch strap," she explains. "Heh, your
second one tonight."
"And these"--two more pieces of webbing are crisscrossed around my
upper torso and neck--"are to keep you from slipping out the other way."
"I don't know whether I could. It seems like you did a pretty tight
job here."
"Aw. No need to flatter me, honey. You should learn to go all the way,
do it properly, and just flat out worship me." Sheryl grins. "But we're
getting there, don't worry."
"Is that right? I think I'll like that."
"Ok, little man. Too much idle talk from you. I like to work in silence."
She grabs the mouth zipper. I protest, but I know it's a losing battle.
The zipper is pulled across. From under the hood I sigh.
Evidently enjoying the new silence, Sheryl picks up four more straps.
After having anchored them on the remaining four D-rings, two on each side,
she shows me the other ends. They are stiff metal hooks. "Just like the
kind they use in bike racks," she offhandedly observes.
Hovering over me, and still holding the ends of two of the straps,
she reaches into the crack where the wall meets the bed. She hooks them
to what I assume is the metal flange underneath the bed. Sheryl then pushes
me away from the wall, so the hooks will be sure to ride up and catch the
flange. The remaining two straps are run to the flange on my right side.
In the mirror I can see Sheryl straining to get the hooks all the way to
their targets. After she does, she takes hold of a friction buckle on each
strap. Sitting on the floor and using her feet to push against the metal,
she fastens the straps securely; amazingly, she manages to get another
one inch out of the straps. "Hope you don't need to go to the bathroom,
cause you and that bed are going to become close buddies. But I'll be back
in a flash--I need some water. Enjoy!"
The door shuts, and I am alone in complete silence.
The cumulative pressure is amazing. The jacket is more than effective
enough at compressing my body, but the wrap intensifies the experience.
And all the while, I am being pressed into the bed by the newest strapping.
I try jerking my torso from side to side, but the violent motion only serves
to rock the bed gently. I am thoroughly trapped. And I revel in it.
Chapter Eleven
"How are you doing now?" My captor leans over to dribble a little water
down my dry throat.
After thirstily gulping a few times, I try to make an approving sound.
Sheryl understands.
"Good. You don't want to make me impatient, you know. Let's see, next
we have these delightful things for your legs. I got them at the same place
that makes the torso sheets."
I'm almost relieved that Sheryl hasn't forgotten about my legs. Being
the only substantial things I could move for the last few minutes, they
were really beginning to bother me. Out from the closet come two more tall
white Velcro sheets. They're tapered, so I can imagine the direction in
which they are applied. She brings one close to offer me a better view.
"I want to show you something. See this stitched sheath? In it is a
metal rod. It'll keep you nice and straight. Now then: your legs, please."
Just to make her life hard for her, I bend my knees as far as the suit
permits. She tries to straighten my knees, but I stubbornly hang on. I
am just beginning to think that I have won when she goes straight to her
purse, produces a roll of duct tape, unrolls a piece, and goes straight
for my nostrils. Before she can resort to this coercion, I give up. She
begins the wrapping immediately. Phew. I was worried she'd give up first.
* * *
Though I've spent nearly three hours helpless under Sheryl's hand,
this is the first time through it all that I've felt vulnerable. After
wrapping my legs, Sheryl had located something or other--it was too far
down to see clearly--to fasten my feet to the corners of the bed. And now,
though I'm sure Sheryl has been aware of it for a long time, I can no longer
hide the bulging in the crotch of my suit. With my arms wrapped and my
legs splay, my package is raring for delivery at the junction of my human
"Y."
And indeed, as she stands by the door, resting her hand on the
doorknob, she is staring straight at it. She sits by my thighs and rubs
it appreciatively. "Junior's all ready to go, I see."
Behind the hood: "Mm-hmm!"
"And we shouldn't neglect him, I don't suppose."
"Nn-nnn!"
Lifting aside the jacket's false crotch strap, Sheryl begins to ease
open the suit's crotch zipper. "Hey, tiger, can't you let up for a second?
I'm having trouble getting this open!" Perhaps because she wants me to
respond to her chiding, or perhaps because she likes symmetry, she pulls
open my mouth zipper too.
"You know, Sheryl, I'd really love to and all, but given the circumstances
I think it's going to be there for a while. This is possibly the longest-running
hard-on I've ever had."
The zipper is evidently open now: all of a sudden it feels a lot cooler
down there.
"Oh. Then I better not let it off. You know, and break your record
and all."
"No, that's not what I meant! For that I make the exception. Sheryl,
please! Don't be so cruel."
"Heh, I'm sweet too much of the time. I need to balance these things
out. Besides, I'm here to help you achieve personal greatness."
"Sheryl, at the moment there's only one thing I'd like you to help
me achieve!"
"Hush now, and listen to Sheryl, honey." With a zip I am mute again.
This time I am more complainant behind the zipper, but I doubt it means
much in terms of absolute loudness.
From the closet comes a formidable metallic black contraption, easily
the size of a canteloupe. Wires and straps hang down from the mass in Sheryl's
hand, but the most prominent part is the long tube in the center. She taps
it. "You know where this goes, right?"
A bulging guard flap is removed from immediately inside the suit's
crotch zipper. Immediately my member springs to attention, the first of
my own skin that I've seen in hours now. On its way up it brushes against
the zipper. I shudder. It's not much, seeing how much I'm bolted down,
but sitting on the bed, Sheryl feels the motion.
"Poor guy, hasn't had any direct attention for so long. Well, it would
have been a while yet, but I'm feeling for you. So remember this."
My captor leans over, extends her tongue, and plays it on Junior's
head. Without warning she then takes him all in, caressing in a marvellously
talented motion with her lips, tongue, and cheek. I have closed my eyes,
waiting for that final touch, when I sense the cold air on my member again.
My eyes snap open. Sheryl's face is not by my crotch anymore, and as concerns
me in the present situation, that is altogether wrong.
"You thought...? Ha. Nope, 'personal greatness,' remember?" Her mock
altruism is intolerable.
I scream into the zipper and rock the bed in frustration.
* * *
Sheryl finishes strapping me into the device. Tight straps around my
waist and thighs push me without hope of escape into this wicked extension
of her will. Or at least I assume it will be wicked. Everything else has
been.
Then Sheryl speaks up to confirm my fears. "This is a little number
I purchased on the West Coast. Basically, this will keep you on the edge
for hours. Electric play over your member and his two friends, combined
hydraulic and pressure stimulation in the tube--oh, if I were a guy I would
have used this on myself a long time ago."
She takes a plug to the wall socket. "The battery is supposed to last
two hours, but since we're going longer than that, I don't want it to give
out on you." Longer than two hours? My stomach drops.
"The device transmits a report of your response to me on a private
radio band; I can alter the intensity of the stimulus at any time. But
for the moment, I've got it set to keep you hovering between 80% and 90%
of what I think it'll take you to lose it. I'd do 90% to 95%, but I don't
know your fine points quite that well yet. Oh well, next time.
"You're probably going to get quite hot struggling in all those layers,
so I'll have to remember to turn on the AC too."
Sheryl paces back over to the head of the bed, where I'm contemplating
my fate in imposed serenity. She plants a kiss on my mouth zipper.
"I'm sorry, pookie. The next two hours will probably be terrible. But
I know you'll thank me in the end. Besides, next time it'll be your turn
to outdo me. I make a damned sexy—and damned loud--damsel in distress.
But for now..."
She looks at the clock. In false concern: "Why, it's 3:00 already.
What are you still doing up? Nighty-night." She unplugs the clock, kills
the light, smooths the guard pads over my eyes, and with a motion of finality
draws the zipper over them.
"One other thing: after three hours, I've set the machine to give you
release. But release without reprieve, for two whole hours. One after another."
My stomach ties itself another knot. "That's right," she concludes, feeling
my hooded cheeks, "it will be heaven and hell wrapped up into one. But
that's me." One last pat, and that is it.
Sheryl's steps die away. The door opens and closes. I hear the deadbolt
drawn through. I am now imprisoned and locked inside a diabolical straightjacket,
secured to a bed, immobile, blind, mute, and behind two locked doors to
which I have no key. It is impossibly dark and deathly quiet. The air conditioning
starts up, a low grating hum that dulls the ears. Behind the hood all the
sounds are muffled now. Then the machine turns on.
For the first few seconds, the stimulation is entirely tolerable. But
then it ramps up, torturing me with merciless precision, each second delivering
more than I thought I could handle in an hour. I try to buck the machine
off. I try to free my arms. I try to free my legs. Every exercise proves
futile. And only thirty seconds have passed. I scream into the zipper.
But above the air conditioner, I cannot hear even myself.
* * * * * *
Epilogue To The First Volume
"Sherrie, girl, you are pure evil. I never knew you had it in you."
Alone in the dark observation room, Kate massages her legs, which have
fallen asleep from the long wait. "Hm, but yeah, now that I think about
it, I could see that dominatrix fetish streak in you. Man, the costume
for that routine last year was *really* popular with the guys."
Kate casually picks up the coffee, rather cold now, that she has been
sipping slowly for the past hour. Her front-row view of the action from
behind the one-way mirrored window has been interesting enough that she
hasn't often had to resort to liquid divertissement. Several times Kate
has even found herself enhancing her observation with certain other types
of divertissements as well.
That was a close call there earlier, she realizes. It was highly doubtful
that the bound form on the bed realized that someone could be--and indeed
was--watching. He had enough to deal with at the moment. Sheryl, on the
other hand, certainly knew of the existence of the room. On the way back
from getting water, Sheryl had gotten the idea to let herself into this
room. Hearing a key in the lock, Kate had rushed over to the door just
in time to engage the deadbolt silently. Thankfully, the deadbolt key was
not on the ring Sheryl had been given.
Kate studies Sheryl's own keyring. Next to the illicitly reproduced
psych department keys she has added, she notes the three small keys with
the cute heart punched into them. In three hours she'd have to meet Sheryl
at the student union so that the tormentress could release her boyfriend
from his cruel torture. Until then, Kate would have to stay out of her
way and decide how to entertain herself.
She flips the "Video" switch on the console to "Low Light" and sees
the faintly rocking outline of the straitjacketed captive. After checking
the volume, Kate ensures that the tape is still recording. Five hours and
counting, the recorder indicates.
Oh, the delicious possibilities.
END OF VOLUME ONE
Aug 25, 2003
12.10.03