Ghosts of Trysts Past

I was just finishing up my shower after tonight’s conquest.  Marty or Martha (I couldn’t remember which, so I settled on Marty) had been an adequate lover.  I’d seen her at the bar.  5’4”, dirty blonde hair past her shoulders, perhaps 25 lbs overweight.  Still, she had a nice rack and a pleasant enough face.  It was clear that she’d had a head start on libations and was more than just a bit tipsy.  Tipsy and horny, a favorable combination.  Once she spotted me, she clung to me like a leech, ‘accidentally’ brushing against me every chance she got.  Well, she had a need and who was I not to fill it.

We made our way back to her nearby apartment, where clothes were hastily shed.  The sex was energetic enough, though I doubted we disturbed the neighbors.  Marty may have been needy, but clearly, carnal proficiency was not her strong suit.  Thankfully, she didn’t lapse into any post-sex small talk, satisfied just to lie back with a dreamy smile on her face.  I slipped out from under the covers and headed for the bathroom and a shower.

Turning off the water and reaching for a towel, I ran down my list of patented “escape lines” I’d use to beat a hasty exit.  My mind barely registered the twin spots of cold poking my ribcage, an instant before an indescribable pain drove the air from my lungs.  My muscles seemed to go lax and rigid all at once.  I could do nothing as I pitched sideways out of the shower, landing with a crash on the cold tile floor.

I managed to turn my eyes sideways enough to catch a glimpse of Marty,  still naked, straddling my body.  Gone was the meek expression she’d displayed at the bar.  In its place, was a cold, calculating look of malevolence.  She pulled my arm out from under me and slipped a rubber tourniquet around my bicep.  After tapping the vein several times, she pulled a loaded hypodermic out of the vanity drawer.

“This is a potent, fast-acting nerve agent.”  She explained clinically. 

“It will paralyze your muscles for up to an hour.”  She continued, pressing the plunger, me helpless to stop her.

“If you concentrate real hard, you should be able to continue breathing.  So, don’t waste your efforts trying to struggle.”

Even as she spoke, I could feel an strange warmth begin to spread throughout my body.  I began to panic as I was unable to draw a breath.  My flesh and skin tingled numbly, though clearly felt the hands that rolled me over on to my stomach.  Marty drew open one of the larger, bottom drawers of the vanity and hauled out an impressive jumble of black leather with chrome buckles.

I was helpless to prevent my arms from being drawn behind me.  My hands were turned out, palms facing away from each other.  A narrow leather strap circled my wrists and was yanked brutally tight.  Another, equally narrow strap, passed around my arms, just above the elbows.  With a strength I didn’t think the woman had, she heaved on the strap’s tongue.

An involuntary grunt of pain burst past my lips, as my arms were drawn together.  The joints, muscle and sinew of my arms had long ago lost the ability to touch my elbows together behind my back (if they‘d ever been able).  Or so I had thought.  But here they were, touching, nay, grinding against one another, the strap showing no signs of loosening.

I tried to tell Marty that the strain was too unbearable.  But I couldn’t get my vocal chords to work.  Hell, I couldn’t even get my lungs to work, this new tautness making it that much more difficult.  Marty straddled me, her ass toward my head.  I could feel her cunt, still damp and sticky from our tryst, squashed against my fused forearms.

She began to manipulate my lifeless fingers.  There was a strangely familiar “zzzzzztt!” sound, accompanied by a extremely narrow line of fire around the base of my thumbs.  Moments later, it dawned on me that she had used a plastic cable tie to band my digits together.  She repeated the process on my middle and little fingers as well.

Then, she worked my fingers straight, followed by a short, ripping sound.  There was no mistaking the cool grip of medical tape as it began to wind around my hands.  She must have used almost an entire spool, cocooning my hands from wrists to fingertips.  Already helpless, the loss of my hands had a staggering effect.

Next, Marty wriggled her plump ass up toward my shoulders.  Unable to see anything but the cold white tile floor in front of me (nor stop the drool that was dribbling from my mouth on to it), I couldn’t identify the rustle of something behind me, accompanied by the *clink* of metal.

I felt something semi-pliant slip around my arms.  It slid further up, passing my protesting elbows, coming to a stop near my armpits.  And then it began to shrink.  Now, I’m no stranger to tie-up games and I’ve been known to visit a bondage website or two, so, it was chillingly clear that Martha was encasing my arms in an armbinder.  Judging by the way it brushed against the hairs on my arms, a very heavy, very stiff, leather armbinder.

When she had it positioned properly, Marty began to lace it up, doing so with a vengeance.  I didn’t think my arms could mash any closer together, but she proved me wrong.  FOUR times, she worked the laces tighter before knotting them off between my shoulder blades.  Her weight on my back, combined with the paralyzing drug made it impossible for me to breath.  My vision began to grow hazy, my head throbbing as if hit with a sledgehammer.

Sensing this, Marty rose and knelt to one side.  She was apparently, not quite finished with the arm binder yet.  She guided a set of 2” wide straps up over my shoulders, crossed them at my chest, then fed them under my armpits.  The pinching and tugging I felt left no doubt that she was buckling the straps to the binder.  Whatever fairytale hopes I had of shrugging it off, evaporated. 

Whilst still on my stomach, my blonde assailant retrieved a bottle of alcohol and two wide adhesive pads.  After splashing some alcohol on my ass, she peeled the backing off one and carefully positioned it on my left ass cheek.  Though I did not actually see her do this, I could certainly feel the clingy presence of the adhesive.  Moments later, my right cheek felt an identical sticky grip.

Using her foot, she none-to-gently pushed me on to my back.  The relentless grip of the monoglove was now compounded by my own weight, crushing my fused arms.  Only able to gaze up at the ceiling helplessly, I heard the vanity’s drawer slide open once more.

After a moments pause, I felt something slip over my right foot.   Then the “something” began to tighten.  And when I say tighten, I mean tighten.  My foot was involuntarily forced straight as an arrow.  The recently familiar grip of leather squeezed the limb incessantly, right up over my ankle bone.  When Martha was finished, she repeated the process on my other foot.  Had I been able to experimentally wriggle against this newest and most odd restraint, I would have found my feet to be locked immobile. It was impossible not to overlook the strain already beginning to tax my tendons and calf muscles.  I had no idea what she’d just done to me.

Though I’d been trying all along to reason with her through paralyzed vocal cords, it came as a shock when the first groan squeaked past my throat.  Spinning around on her knees, Martha faced me once more.

“Well, well,”  she gloated, “It sounds like this little piggy has found his ‘oink’.  But, I’m not quite finished yet.  Back on to your tummy you go.”

It was child’s play to roll my complacent body over once more.   I felt Martha fit something around my middle.  Clueless as to what it was, I could do nothing but wait to find out.  Covering my mid-section from above my hips, to below my ribs, the part which pressed into my stomach seemed quite rigid.  As she closed it, the “thing” encased my waist.  Then it began to tighten, in correlation with a strange ratcheting sound.

I did not know the heavily boned waist cincher for what it was.  Nor did I know the ratcheting sound was Marty tightening the ski boot-style closures in back.  There were six in all.  Working patiently from one to the other, Marty was able to crush my mid-section like a tube of toothpaste in a vice.  Only recently regaining my ability to breath somewhat normally, that luxury was robbed from me once more.  I could almost feel my organs shift under the relentless pressure.  When Marty’s impressive strength could coax no more slack out the latches, she secured each one with a small padlock.  Then she began squirting a viscous fluid into each keyhole.

“I’m super gluing the padlocks shut on your corset, mutt.”  She purred. 

“Oh, by the way, that’s your new name.” 

“mutt” 

“All lower case letters and a mongrel.  I think it fits you very well.”

“As I was saying, I’m gluing the padlocks shut.  And since they’re made of titanium, it’ll be a locksmith’s worse nightmare trying to get them off.  That is if you ever get to see anyone from normal society again.  You‘ve been a very naughty pooch.”

“Sehh, Sehh.”  I tried desperately to tell her to “Stop!”

“Oh there you go, flapping that trap of yours.”  Marty admonished.  “We’ll hafta do something about that.”

So yet again, she rolled me on to my back.  Then she straddled my torso, facing me.  Rising up on her knees so that I could watch, she showed me my bikini-style briefs.  Then she made quite a show of rubbing them against her unwashed pussy.  Hell, she even used a couple of fingers to shove my underwear inside of her! 

She then showed me a flaccid, used condom.   Resting my underwear on my chest, she began to stroke the contents of the rubber on to my briefs.  When finished, Marty held them up so that I could see how the fabric had soaked up her juices and my ejaculation.  My already unsettled feeling, plummeted.

I could do nothing to prevent her from grasping my jaw and forcing my mouth open.  The she none-to-gently shoved my briefs into my mouth, pushing and poking until every stitch lie behind my teeth.  Immediately, my mouth was assailed by the salty tang of our sex.  It was all I could do not to vomit.  My muscles still unresponsive, I could do nothing but lay there with my mouth gaping open.

“Hmm,”  Marty said, probing inside my mouth, “not much room left in there.  But I still think I can fit you with your pacifier.”

She reached behind her, then turned back and showed me what was in her hand.  It was a gleaming, black latex cock and it was…ENORMOUS!  It had to be more than 3” long and 2” in diameter.  The shaft was not round, but oval in shape.  Its base ballooned into a sphere, easily 3-½” in diameter.  I knew with iron clad certainty that it would never fit.

I could only gaze in wide-eyed horror as Marty began by working my underwear to the bottom of my mouth, trapping my tongue.  Every ounce of concentration failed to turn my head away from the phallic abomination as it approached.  The realistic “head” of the prod pried my teeth apart as it entered.  Deeper and deeper it thrust, urged on by the heel of Marty’s hand.  I could not stem the flow of choking tears that spilled from the corners of my eyes.  And then it got worse.

The spherical base of the prod bumped into my teeth, then began to wedge my mouth even wider.  I heard the cartilage of my jaw *pop* as it stretched to undesigned dimensions.  By the time my incisors slipped over the apex of the sphere and my lips were stretched tautly around its circumference, the tip of the penis gag was within a whisper of cutting off my airway.  Marty drew the straps that dangled from the ball around my head and buckled them with heartless ferocity.  This action cut into the corners of my mouth, drawing my lips against the ball that much tighter.

The most hearty, plaintive howl I could muster, came out as a feeble “nnnnnnh!”, as Marty pressed the spout of superglue against my lips and squeezed.  The icy, cloying sensation matched that of my stomach’s, as the clear fluid traced around the seal of my lips on the ball.  Almost immediately, I could feel it grabbing at my skin, tightening as it dried.  Even when I regained my motor functions, my lips would remain locked firmly around the sadistic gag.

“There, mutt,”  Marty said, “no more of your yammering to distract me from doing a proper job.”

Desperate for any kind of silver lining, I could find only one feeble one.  With my restraints so obviously inescapable, I needn’t waste my efforts trying to get free.  This allowed me to concentrate in simply drawing my next breath.  As I said, “feeble”.

Marty rolled me over yet again.  Once on my stomach, head turned to the side, she used her knees to kick my legs apart.  There was a pregnant pause, then I felt her hand against the crack of my ass.  I didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know where things were going, when I felt her pry my cheeks apart.  Sure enough, a cold, slimy tip of something pressed against my anus.

“We thought you might like to know how it felt to get screwed.”  Marty said.

“We?”  I wondered.  “Who’s we?” 

Then I wondered if perhaps Marty was some kind of schizophrenic.  Clawing at more false hope, I prayed that the “good Marty” would appear and meekly, apologetically remove all my restraints.  Already, I’d forgotten about the disabled padlocks.

That thought evaporated when the tip of the probe lurched forward.  Lurched forward and rapidly expanded.  The sides of the plug were smooth and slick with lubricant, but progress rapidly slowed as the girth widened.  My shriek of pain dribbled out as a whine past the astonishingly effective gag.  It felt like a bowling pin was being shoved up my ass.

“Oh don’t be such a sissy-boy.”  Marty scolded.  “It’s only 8” long and 3” round at the widest.”

“Okay,” she admitted, “3-¾” round at the widest.”

I knew there was no way the tissue of my virgin ring could accommodate such a mammoth probe, but was once again, proved painfully wrong.  It’s a miracle that something didn’t tear.  Almost gratefully, I felt the mass slide into my rectum as the shaft narrowed near its base.  Then I realized something was terribly wrong.  My anus remained unnaturally stretched.

“Did I forget to mention that the shaft of this beauty only tapers down to two inches?”  Marty teased.  “Gives that little poop port of yours something to clamp down on.”

“Plus,” she added, “there’s a little something extra for you to enjoy.  Later on.”

Although the initial agony had diminished, it still left my violated orifice screaming in constant pain.  Already, I could feel my crushed innards writhing to expel the firm latex blockage.  So wrapped up in my misery, I paid scant attention as Marty buckled wide leather cuffs around my ankles and above my knees.  With my legs spread, I had no way of knowing that each set of cuffs were connected by a slender steel rod.  Closing my legs was no longer an option.

As Marty proceeded to glue the applied padlocks closed, she explained to me that the leg cuffs were also reinforced with bands of titanium.  It no doubt would be a harrowing, excruciating process to burn or cut them off.  Whilst still on my stomach, Marty attached some kind of wide leather strap anchored to the sides of the “waspie”.  The strap was then drawn over my sheathed arms and buckled well beyond “snug”, cementing my trapped arms against my spine.  Apparently, the wide strap employed three buckles, each of which was padlocked and rendered inoperable.

Once again surprising me with her strength, Marty flipped me over and pulled my helpless 5’10”, 175 lb body over to a corner of the bathroom.  Then she propped me up in a semi-seated/reclined position.  It was the first chance I had, to actually see the demonic bindings she’d applied.  I couldn’t make up my mind if the waspie was shiny patent leather or some kind of plastic shell.  Whichever it was, it was utterly inflexible.

My legs were held roughly 6” apart at the knees, 10” at the ankles by the cuffs and their gleaming steel spreader rods.  My feet were held in a brutal “en pointe” position by a pair of ballet boots that had stilettos well over 8”.  Of course, I couldn’t see my arms or my face, but that mattered little.  I could feel the helplessness of my situation all too well.  Marty got up and began running water in the sink.  As she did this, I strained to move any part of my body.

There!  My right knee rose just a fraction off the cold tile.  My motor functions were coming back to me, though I feared it was a case of too little too late.  Marty returned with a wash towel, shaving cream and a razor.  My heart sank as I ran over the list of things she might shave.

I was mildly surprised when she rubbed the cloth over my chest.  Though not grizzly bear furry, I had a decent amount of chest hair.  Not for long.  In less than five minutes, my chest was as bare as a pre-teen’s.  Not bothering with lather, Marty took a couple of swipes and *poof*, my eyebrows were gone too.

Then she got down to business.  She toweled, then lathered the area around my package.  Moving a little too rapidly for my liking, she soon rendered my pubic hair a memory.  Somehow, I don’t think the dozen or so nicks I received were completely accidental.  She then splashed a generous amount of alcohol on the denuded area.  The fire that blazed almost made me forget my stretched back passage.  I barely paid any attention as she smoothed yet another patch of adhesive across my newly bared pubic area.

The witch then showed me a small tangle of leather straps.  Never once wishing to wear one, I nonetheless recognized the cock harness.  She slipped the harness down my limp shaft to its base.  Then, Marty went down on me like a Heavy Metal groupie.  Turns out, the woman was quite skilled at the art of fellatio. 

In spite of myself, I could feel my tool growing larger.  I tried thinking about dead puppies or getting a blow-job from my grandmother, but nothing worked.  DAMN my virility.  I closed my eyes, preparing for the explosion that was about to take place.  I should have known better.  Unseen by me, Marty moved her hand into position.  As my rod twitched, seconds away from shooting its load, she grasped the harness’s strap and yanked.

My eyes popped open as my manhood was garroted.  The thick, throbbing shaft quickly grew purple due to the blood trapped within it.  I was helpless to stop Marty from securing all the secondary straps.  Each of my balls was strapped so tightly, I thought they might burst out of my scrotum.  Small straps ran off perpendicular from a main strap running up my hard-on.  As these were buckled, each of them squeezed my already rock hard penis.  I knew that either my dick, or my head, was going to explode from the pressure.  Once more, delicate looking, yet no doubt stout padlocks were affixed to each and every buckled union.  And once more, a drop of superglue rendered their mechanisms inoperable.

When she was finished, my caged hard-on stood at attention, ticking in the air.  I’d heard the term “exquisite agony” before and although this wasn’t entirely accurate, it came close.  My prick throbbed with the need to climax, ached with the need to deflate.  Rather than becoming numb from the strangling straps, its sensitivity spiraled upward. 

I tore my eyes away from my imprisoned member as Marty approached, clutching something that looked like an electric razor.  I noted that its power cord trailed back to a nearby wall outlet.  As she drew nearer, I got a better look at the weird device’s configuration.  The tip had a pair of prongs which turned in toward each other at ninety degrees.

Marty offered no explanation other than a smirk on her face.  The leer widened as she suddenly reached out and grabbed my right nipple.  Using her nails, she stretched the tender nub of flesh out painfully.  The device closed until the prongs straddled the fleshy bundle of nerves.  Triggering it, there was a suppressed sizzling sound, accompanied by a volcanic explosion of pain.  The smell of burnt flesh wafted up to my nose.

Marty released the assaulted body part and reached for the other.  In spite of the haze of pain that blurred my vision, I lurched with all my might, determined not to experience the same torment twice.  However, my most Herculean efforts resulted in nothing more than my body shuddering as if chilled.  With frustrating ease, my blonde antagonist was able to repeat the procedure with my left nipple.  I had no idea as to the purpose, but was fairly certain that it had been done for more than just causing me pain.  I was right.

Marty showed me a pair of open, silver rings, each an inch in diameter.  Clutching one in her fingers, she pulled my left nipple out once more.  Her face creased in concentration, I watched as she threaded the ring through the hole burned in my normally crinkled, now quite crimson nipple.  Sliding it so that the open ends faced out, she grasped the ring with a set of pliers apparently designed for the job.  Crimping the ends closed, the electric device was used once more.  There was a brief blue flash of lightening and when my eyes re-adjusted from the glare, I could see that the ends had been fused together.  No amount of feeble struggles I could muster, detoured Marty from installing the ring in my other nipple.

I stared down at the horrid “jewelry” in disbelief.  I saw that Marty had inserted them far enough back, so that each nipple stuck out unnaturally from my chest.  A pain more intense than I could have ever imagined, rolled through my chest in waves, making it difficult to breath.  My eyes rolled back up to Marty imploringly, only to see that she clutched a larger cousin of the device she’d just used.  It was probably more wishful thinking, than incomprehension of what its purpose might be.

Dread and panic overwhelmed me, as Marty grasped my hard-on with one hand.  Beginning with what was almost a lovers caress, she rapidly began squeezing it inside her fist.  My shriek of pain lodged behind the gag.  I was about to find out I didn’t know what pain was.  I sat there helpless, as she moved the instrument into position.  Another blue flash, followed by an agony I feared (and prayed) might stop my heart.  My overtaxed brain could handle no more and I passed out.

I had no idea how much time had passed when I came to my senses.  There was the briefest moment when I thought it might had been a dream.  But then the clamor of pain hit me and I knew it not to be true.  My blurred vision slowly cleared and I saw that I was still seated on the bathroom floor. 

A glint of light caught my eye, which swiveled to look in that direction.  There, sitting at the top of my alarmingly purple, rigid shaft, rested a 2” chrome ring.  The piercing had gone through the meaty portion of my penis’ “head”, just below the opening for my urethra.  Surprised by the lack of blood, my subconscious deduced that the flesh had been cauterized as it had been punctured.  I could see a slightly larger “glob” of steel marring the symmetry of the ring.  It was the spot were the two ends had been welded together.

A quick glance at my chest confirmed that rings still skewered my nipples, but had changed.  Changed, in that they each sported an addition.  Silver bells, the size of a shot-glass, dangled from the hoops.  I immediately deduced that these were no ordinary “ornaments”.  Each must have been freakishly heavy, for they pulled my tortured flesh out a good inch and a quarter.  I knew that it would be impossible to become accustomed to their incessant tug.

Reflexively, I struggled against my restraints.  I was surprised to note that I had regained practically all of my strength.  This did me little good however, the chance to mount any resistance long since passed.

“Enjoy your nap, mutt?”  I heard Marty’s voice.  I looked up, seeing her resting comfortably on her haunches in front of me.

“mmmnnnnnfffff!!!”  I howled at her in equal portions of anger and terror.  I had to stop my protests, as the saliva which had gathered behind the gag threatened to flow down my windpipe.  I realized that with my lips sealed around the ball, I’d have to continually swallow my drool (and cum), lest I choke.

“How do you like your new jewelry?”  Marty continued, as if not hearing my protests.  “They‘ll look even more smashing when we add a pair of earrings and nose ring.  But that will come later.”

“Oh and their Titanium as well, if you were curious.  VERY hard to cut.”

“But I see you’ve just about recovered from the drug.”  She said, changing subjects.  “So let’s finish things up and move on to Phase Two.”

“Phase Two?”  My mind whirled.  “What more possibly could she do to me?”

The answer came in a heavy leather discipline helmet, black as were all my other restraints.  I knew it only by sight, never having cause nor desire to wear one.  I thrashed my head as she neared, my bonds allowing me that small measure of rebellion.  Marty flashed an unsettling smile and grasped one of the nipple bells.  My body stiffened, then became almost paralyzed by the blinding pain.  Her message was all too clear, “cooperate, or else”.  Left no other option, I forced myself to remain still.

There was a frightening moment of suffocation, as she worked the two, firm breathing tubes up my nostrils.  Then the coarse interior of the hide swept up over my face.  I somehow knew instinctively, that the rough surface inside the helmet would soften once it became soaked with my perspiration.  All ready, I could feel the heat building up behind the thick rawhide that enveloped my head.

Once draped in position, Marty wrestled me back down on my stomach.  I howled ineffectually as my three fresh piercings ground into the cold tile floor.  I tried to lift my blood engorged manhood off the ground at the expense of driving my wounded nipples harder into the unyielding marble.

My face was then repeatedly lifted off the ground, as the sadistic blonde jerked on the helmet’s laces.  The cloying grip of leather was everywhere.  Soon, it felt as though an all encompassing vice was crushing my skull.  Whilst still prone, Marty fastened a ridiculously high, unnecessarily thick, leather posture collar around my throat.  The series of tugs that followed, proclaimed that it was secured by no fewer than four buckles.  As if there would be any doubt, she showed me the padlocks before affixing them to the collar.

The collar clamped down on my throat with alarming severity.  The tenuous task of breathing and swallowing became even more of a high-wire act.  I felt my distended jaw settle into a slight depression on the rim of the collar.  It was just deep enough to lock my head in place, staring perpetually forward.  Tolerable I suppose, if my face wasn’t planted into grout and tile.  The tubes in my nostrils kept my airway just free enough to continue my labored breathing.

A wide leather strap was fed through the loops on the helmet.  When it was drawn tight, it absolutely crushed my lips, driving the phallic-shaped prod that much deeper down my throat.  Not retching was going to be a constant battle.  I felt, more than heard, the final padlock snap into place.  I knew that there was little hope, that it would not be fused closed with superglue as were all the others.

Marty’s nails bit into my biceps as she gripped my arms.  Once more using her surprising strength, she jerked me to my feet in one motion.  Instantly, my toes and lower legs screeched at having to bear my weight exclusively on my toes.  The towering heels of the ballet boots left me in a disoriented state of exaggerated height.  I knew that I would topple in an instant, if not for her steadying grip.

Marty turned me so that I gazed upon my reflection in the mirror.  Even though I knew it to be me that I stared at, my brain still took several baffled seconds to process the information sent to it by my eyes.  Eyes which darted from one area to another, not knowing which alteration was the most surreal.

The helmet looked almost as severe as it felt.  The thick, dull finished black hide was triple-stitched in a seemingly hap-hazard fashion.  The only recognizable feature of the human trapped inside, were the frantic, hazel colored eyes peering back apprehensively.  I blinked, hoping to wash the image from my sight, but I was still there when I re-opened them.

The thick collar visually confirmed what I felt.  Not only did it hold my head practically immobile, it also elongated my neck.  I could no longer look down at my body, nor up at the ceiling.  If it wasn’t directly in front of me, I couldn’t see it.

My arms were gone, the only evidence of their existence being the two straps that passed over my shoulders, redundantly holding the sheath in place.  I apparently had always taken my chest hair for granted, for now its absence stunned me.  Or was it my abused nipples, the sensitive “man buds” stretched unnaturally downward by the weights through their rings.

My waist hadn’t assumed anything like a “feminine curve”, more it was just squashed into the unyielding shape of the waspie.  I quickly found that standing upright did not ease the crushing embrace on my organs, nor ease my breathing.  If anything, it compounded the strain.  I noticed for the first time, the inverted “Y” shaped strap that dangled from the compressing waist cincher.  The two smaller branches had already been buckled to the cincher near both hips.  They merged into one, wider strap, down near my packaged package.  The larger strap was easily 2” wide.  I had no idea its purpose, nor little cared.

With reluctance, I cast a glance down at my caged and altered manhood, paying little attention to the wide adhesive strip plastered to my denuded pubic area.  Though I’d seen it before, the image still stunned me.  The erect purple shaft stood at rigid attention, trapped within its latticework of leather.  A small drop of pre-cum dribbled out from the tip and ran down the tautly stretched skin.  Its gleam was dulled by the glistening chrome ring piercing the head of my cock.

“Don’t you look deliciously helpless.”  Marty purred loud enough for me to hear through the discipline helmet.

“Just one or two more things and you’ll be ready for your unveiling.”

“Unveiling!?”  I wondered.  I would have had a lump in my stomach, had there been any room.

Marty steadied me with one arm as I helplessly watched her actions.  With her free arm, she reached between my legs to grasp the wide, dangling strap.  As she did so, her forearm brushed against my tautly stretched scrotum.  Just that light touch sent shudders up my spine.  The need for ejaculation was now beyond painful, the slightest touch felt like a bell clapper against my hyper-sensitive tool.  Little did I know this was just the beginning.

Marty drew the wide strap between my legs and up to the back of the cincher.  In the process, she made sure to spread my ass cheeks apart so that the strap seated itself deeply within my cleft.  Once buckled snug, a padlock the size of her fist secured things with an air of permanence.  The edges of the wide, stiff leather strap cut into my ass cheeks like dull knives.

“This lock doesn’t get glued.”  She purred once more.  “You’ll be able to guess why in a while.”

I was relieved when I felt that the wacko bitch hadn’t tightened the crotch strap with her usual ruthlessness.  I should have known better.  Turning me so that my butt rested against the edge of the sink, she began attacking the two smaller straps at the cincher.  Slowly, inexorably, the crotch strap began to shrink.  It of course drove the mammoth butt plug deeper, but this seemed a minor consequence to what else was happening.

As it tightened, the strap, more correctly the crotch of the strap’s “Y”, inched forward.  As it did, it began digging harder and harder into the base of my hard on, behind my strangled balls.  My poor unit, wanting nothing more than to deflate and shrivel woundedly back to its ‘at rest’ state, now had the sharp edges of leather gouging into it like a pair of open scissors.  The tension shifted the whole package forward, making it salute as never before.  Once the tiny buckles were secured, everything remained that way.

Whilst still backed up to the sink, Marty reached around and grasped one of the adhesive panels adhered to my butt.  With her trademark subtlety, she ripped it off my flesh, taking quite a bit of sparse hair back there with it.  The second patch quickly followed.  Both cheeks now stung as if slapped.  Strangely, Marty lifted a large, handheld mirror in front of me and angled it downward. 

Reflexively curious, I looked into the reflection.  Bursting from the brand new rectangles of pink on my ass were four bold letters:

MU on my left cheek.  TT on my right.

MU  TT.  My new nickname.

“We only had time for a Henna tattoo for now.  Once your settled in, maybe you’ll get a proper job with ink.”

“There she goes again,” I thought.  “We?”  “Settled in?”  This bitch definitely didn’t have both oars in the water.

Marty spun me around so that I gazed into the mirror.  She reached down and ripped off the remaining bandage before I had time to brace for it.  The adhesive gripped on to the hyper-sensitive, recently shaved area of skin as if it had been riveted.  The howl I roared barely escaped as a soft moan.  There, in the bright pink region that had once boasted a forest of pubic hair, were the letters:        

                               ttum

It took me a moment to translate the reflection, given that my mind was so rattled.  Then of course, it dawned on me.  Marty had applied another Henna tattoo with my new name…

                               mutt

…boldly pronouncing what was thought of me, what I would be addressed as and what my status in life had become.  Though my rigid and imprisoned manhood hovered in the foreground, it did nothing to obscure the demeaning message.  If anything, it added a shackled exclamation point of humiliation.  The impact on my libido was staggering.

Glancing over my shoulder via the mirror, I hoped to catch a glimpse of any kind of compassion on Marty’s face.  There wasn’t so much as a glimmer.  Instead, she was in the act of attaching a 3’ aluminum pole to the back of my collar.  Using a widely spaced, two-handed grip, she used the pole to steer me from behind, away from the vanity. 

It was a heinous method to keep me from crumpling to the ground.  She had enough leverage to keep tension on the collar, which in turn kept my body upright.  Any attempt by me to collapse, resulted in my oxygen being choked off.  And so we headed out of the bathroom with me in the lead, knowing that I was in fact, being led.

By the time we crossed the scant five feet across the bathroom, my legs felt like rubber and my toes crushed in a vice.  Another extraordinarily unpleasant side effect was that with the rods locking my legs apart, I had to walk in a stiff-legged “sashay”.  This in turn caused my rectum and asshole to twist and grind against the enormous prod it housed.  Not to be outdone, the crotch strap sawed against my ass cheeks as if covered with sandpaper.

Turning down the short hallway, we headed back to Marty’s bedroom.  I saw that her door was slightly ajar.  The demonic woman never slowed her pace, driving me face first into the unlatched door.  Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except it wasn’t my face that struck the portal first.  That honor went to my strapped and throbbing dick.  It (more precisely, the acutely tender piercing) hit the hollow core door a microsecond before my nose.

In spite of Marty’s firm grip, the pain still managed to double me over partially.  My forehead smashed into the door, swinging it wide open.  Oh, to cradle my altered manhood and tell it it’s going to be alright!  Straightening back up (with Marty’s callous help), I was stunned by what I saw.

“mmmnnngff!”  Hummed my shocked cry.

Seated about the room, were eight, no, NINE of the women I’d bedded in the past seven months.  I could even remember the name of one or two of them.  As one, they all burst into laughter, then began applauding.  As if it wasn’t hot enough already in the arm binder, cincher, ballet boots and discipline helmet, my skin blazed with humiliation.

They all dashed over to me while Marty held me at rigid attention.  Their hands were everywhere, the majority focusing on my piercings and the bobbles that dangled from them.  There began a henhouse discussion about what to do with me.  Most of the scenarios suggested, revolved around castration.  Marty would have none of that, seeing that she went to all the trouble of restraining my manhood.

She announced that she had an idea.  First though, she had to take care of me so that I wouldn’t ease drop.  I was led over and made to stand in a corner of the room, facing said corner.  A short chain was attached to a ring on top of the helmet to a stout hook in the ceiling.  I didn’t notice the other hook buried in the corner at waist height.  Apparently, Marty was well aware of its existence.  After being pushed in until my nose pressed into the corner, a padlock was run through my penis piercing and the hook.  No way in hell I’d be backing out or turning around.

I stood there motionless and in agony, listening to the murmuring going on behind me.  Several rounds of laughter and applause later, I heard Marty’s voice in my ear.

“We’re going for a little ride, mutt.”  She growled.  “To a place where you can make some new friends.”

A blindfold (probably leather) was slipped over my eyes before I was released.  I heard snippets of commands going out to the women, instructing them to take up positions along our exit route.  Once more, a fleeting hope was dashed.  I didn’t think they’d be crazy enough to expose me outside the privacy of Marty’s apartment, but if they did, the chances of rescue would be excellent.  Once more, my captor was one step ahead of me.

The trip to the elevator, the ride down and the walk through the garage all went without incident.  Except for me, that is.  With each mincing, shuffling step, the misery increased a hundredfold.  Long past my endurance failing, my knees finally bumped into a car bumper.  Or more accurately, a minivan bumper.

There was no shortage of hands to “assist” me inside.  I quickly found out that I was not to be a passenger in the usual fashion.  I surmised that the third row seats had been removed, for I was wrestled on to the floor.  Agony, for they placed me on my stomach, my weight driving down on ALL of the piercings.  The scratchy pile of the all weather carpet on my bare areas of skin, was yet one more torment I had to endure.

I felt a set of cargo tie-downs cinch across my back and thighs.  Then, some kind of cord was affixed to the hobble bar on my ankles and the ring at the top of the discipline helmet.  The cord shortened, bringing my head up off the floor and bending my legs until I could feel the daggers of the stilettos digging into my ass.  The strain drove my throbbing cock and nipples into the unyielding carpeted floor.  Some kind of light blanket was thrown over me.  Moments later I felt, more than heard, the vehicle start up.

Once on the move, I thrashed and screamed like a madman.  Somehow, I had to catch someone’s attention.  But my struggles amounted to nothing more than a subtle stiffening of my body, my cries blotted out by the soft purr of the vehicle’s exhaust.  In no time, my body stilled, exhausted.  It seemed the only thing I was capable of doing was moaning and sweating.  I did a lot of both.

Time passed with the speed of the changing seasons.  I drifted of into a kind of trance, one that did not allow me refuge from the torture I endured.  Cramps now began to assail my body, due to the duration of the extreme hogtie.  And on we traveled.  By the time the vehicle came to a stop, the death I had been praying for still alluded me.

The minivan shifted as it discharged its passengers.  I was to be the last to exit.  When the hogtie cord was released, I could not curtail a wet, nasal scream.  As I lay there, half mad with pain, Marty’s voice pierced through my misery.

“End of the road, mutt.”  She said much too cheerfully.  “Parting isn’t such sweet sorrow after all.”

“Oh,” she continued, “by the way, I bet you think I’ve completely forgotten that little something extra I’d mentioned about your butt plug.  Well, I haven’t.”

My mind hardly had time to form a question, when my back passage exploded in agony.  It felt as if I was somehow crapping a lightening bolt.  The current sizzled and shocked the tender tissue, as well as all the adjoining areas.  Once more, the air was pounded from my lungs and I seriously doubted if it would ever come back.  Minutes seemed to pass before I sucked in that first, precious gulp of oxygen.

“Nice thing about a prod that size,”  Marty commented, as if describing a new stereo. It’s big enough to hold one hell of a big battery.  Now, we’re going to stand you up.  If you don’t want your shithole to get zapped again, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

And so it seemed that there was at least one thing I could control.  And that was to follow their instructions completely.  If they wanted me to jump off a bridge, I would gladly do so, anything not to get shocked again.  I was hauled to my feet.  I did not feel the something clipped to my nipple rings, but there was no missing the sudden, painful weight that tugged on the tip of my hard on.  Suddenly, an electronic *tic* sounded in my left ear.

“Okay, mutt.”  Came Marty’s voice through a speaker that must have been housed in the helmet. 

“You’re to start walking.  I’ll give you directions.  If you stop or try to fall to the ground, I’ll shock your ass until your heart stops.”  Then she gave me a smack on the butt, sending me on my way.

Well, I knew one thing, in light of all the suffering I’d endured this night, I definitely did not want to get shocked again.  The sensitive tissue of my rectum, even the ring of my ass, still burned as if assaulted by a blowtorch.  I lurched forward, free of their grip and under my own power.  I blindly minced forward. 

It was clear that they had attached something to my penis ring.  Though not heavy, there was still enough weight to drag my shaft earthward.  Each step bobbed my involuntary erection up and down, stabbing daggers into its crown. 

Occasionally, Marty would transmit a course correction.  Though my senses were limited, I could tell that the ground beneath my exaggeratedly pointed feet was paved.  A very small blessing indeed.  Each step jarred through my body, sending the nipple bells into an erratic dance.  Despite the evenings cool air, rivulets of sweat trickled down my body.

“Why on earth am I being made to walk?”  I wondered silently.

“My question should have been, “To where am I being made to walk?”

Unbeknownst to me, my agonized stroll had an audience other than the women in the minivan.  My trek was taking me ever closer to the crowd gathered outside the “Blue Cowboy.”   Half a dozen hard looking dudes were leaning against their motorcycles, curiously watching the show.  As I drew closer, they could see that I had a placard hanging from my nipple rings and a fiberglass cane dangling from my dick.  Marty’s voice steered me unerringly toward the crowd.  When I got to within six feet, the group could clearly see the message I carried.

                       I’m a red-blooded American male!

                       I believe that all queers should be castrated

                       and made to choke on their dicks! 

                       Anyone not sharing my view, is free to use

                       the exclamation point hanging from my cock

                       and the key to my chastity belt.

As one, the bikers spat a curse of my fornicating with my mother and pounced.  I had no idea what was going on.  One second, I’m struggling not to collapse, the next, there’s a tremendous pull on the ring of my collar.  I stumbled forward, my pelvis striking what I did not know to be a motorcycle. 

I was bent forward at the waist, an unseen hand snatching away the slender cane.  A pair of muscular legs clamped down on my head, keeping me bent over.  There was a confused pause and then my ass lit up as if struck with barbed-wire.  I screamed in agony and bucked with all my might.  It did absolutely no good as the blows kept raining down their brands of fire.  The only pause came when the one holding my head was relieved so that he could administer his opinion of my message. 

From my ankles to my ass, nothing escaped the ferocious lashing.  Especially my ass.  Though I could not see them, it was impossible for me not to feel the dozens of purple and scarlet wounds criss-crossing my flesh.  When they were finished, they jerked me to my feet.  The key to the large padlock of the chastity belt was yanked free from where it hung on the collar and I was spun around.  They shoved me up and in through the door of the most notorious gay bar in town.  Inside, the seventy or so patrons fell into a surprised hush.  Many could read the placard.  All would have a chance to read it and express their opinion before the night’s end.

The door behind me was slammed shut and bolted.  Closing one door on my life and opening a new one.  But that, is another story.