By Timothy Reisling Betticut
I struggled at the ribbons forcing me to kneel here all alone. Through my veil I looked down as much as my collar would allow to see quivering breasts with rouged nipples glowing beneath the pearled netting. Turning back I saw yards of dazzling white skirting that mounded up and around. And in front, my long red fingernails gripped the delicate bouquet. Could this be a joke? Why was I now this bridal package? Was this an obscure plan to rescue me from my humiliating female body? This terrible place? Were the girls coming? Yes… They must be. I was convinced they’d come….. Until I looked up, drooling around that ring in my mouth and stared right into the face of……. a leering, obviously drunken…. LANCE!
Occasionally life gives us an opportunity to renegotiate our contract with the future. Here I was, a dilemma’s horn looming on each side. If the plane failed to leave on time, our little airline would be cited for needless delays which might be the last straw, costing us all our jobs. Yet should we fly with the mix of cabin attendants available – we’d be cited for violations of Federal Affirmative Action hiring mandates which should cause us serious trouble, costing all of us our jobs. Right. We were stuck in the center of life’s holding pattern.
The problem happened a month back when Mary Quaid got fired for her awful performance as a stewardess. Okay, we’re not supposed to say ‘stewardess’ anymore, one more violation. But even though I’m a certified cabin attendant, I think of them as stews and us as stewards. I like girls a lot, and in those nifty costumes, it’s hard to forget their sex. Still, what Mary did, was to protest her firing as sexist and lodge a complaint against the airline. So now we’re under close scrutiny. And worse yet, Candy Lipzt got hurt the day before that key flight I was telling you about. Candy’s one of our best stews, but she tripped and broke her ankle, so since she couldn’t make that plane, we were in trouble – the only certified replacements were stewards, and if we substituted one it would mean that we’d fly with four men and only two girls. If the inspector checked…… you can understand the problem.
When airline deregulation started, our small Lair Airlines got underway and we did really well. Like most of the staff, I took a lot of my pay in company stock, so it was terrific at first. But recently, with the competition and the delays, it’s become awfully hard to keep going. Now my stock’s almost-worthless. We’re all doing whatever we can to stay flying, but the worst problems are the governmental regulations. And if a certified cabin attendant named Candy didn’t get on board that plane? We’d either have to abort, delay or accept a fine that would kill us.
Everything got more complicated by our company policy. You’ll remember how many airlines reduced services they offered flyers “and overreacted to the feminists’ protests of the seventies. So the girls’ costumes got less interesting and there were fewer of them. But not at Lair, we hired only the best looking stews and stewards and our uniforms are wonderful, especially the female stuff. Short skirts, hot pants, frilly blouses, lots of makeup and hair – a great flirty look. And it worked. Traveling businessmen flocked to us. We got known as The Lair in the Air, and we loved it. Trouble is now, with the profit picture, it’s gotten tough to recruit enough women who are attractive and smart enough to meet our standards and get certified.
So we had to figure out what to do to get that flight off the ground without being one girl short. That’s when the gang came to my room the night before. Let me explain. I’m what you might call sinewy. Like all of the guys, I’m pretty good looking, but I’m more the sophisticated type male model, rather than a hunk – know what I mean? The other guys on the flight team are a lot bigger than me. In fact, even the girls are a little bigger, no – as I found out, Candy was exactly my size. Now, Tina’s a brunette with legs that look miles long and Nancy’s a redhead with blazing green eyes. Nancy’s the bright one, constantly wondering if she shouldn’t have been busier raising kids than expectations. But they’re both terrific looking. In fact they’re so pretty, they have to tone themselves down or they’d always look like tarts.
The company rents us hotel rooms for overnight layovers. They’re called ‘Hot Beds’ because a lot of us share m rooms, and one person might be arriving as the other’s leaving. Since the occupancy rate’s so high, we leave clothes and things in each room along- the way, especially since the carry-on luggage we have is so small. Normally the girls’ rooms are pretty far away from the stewards and flight deck staff to/keep fraternizing to a minimum. Why it’s almost like those old single-sex hotels you used to
Hear of and the company really frowns on hanky panky, so it’s not a good idea to get caught in girl territory if you’re male or vice versa.
Given the problem we had though, Tina and Nancy snuck over to our side to discuss things, and they stopped at my place, loaded down with luggage and a plan. I was the plan. They’d figured that if a certified blond stew named Candy Liptz didn’t get on that plane in the morning, a lot of dung would hit the airfoil. And they meant to have either Candy or her look-alike show up. Guess who was going to get gussied up? Of course I hated the idea. But they’d seen the show.
A year before the company had its annual party. Things were pretty good back then and we were a happy bunch. So for the gala, a few of the stewards were asked to do a skit lambasting their stewardesses. You know the thing. Guys dressed like girls, bouncing around with big balloons stuck to their chests and ending up with a chorus line. Well, I was a ‘Chorine’. Problem was, with my build, I was too convincing. In the serving uniform, those balloons only made me even sexier and while the other guys got laughs – got an awful lot of kidding. In fact I had to screw my way through a third of the stews in the next couple of months to prove my virility and of course, that’s when I grew my beard.
Tina and Nancy were there and they loved it. And so when they felt a replacement for Candy was needed – they immediately thought of me. I was a dance and drama major in college so it was pretty easy to do the show. Needless to say, that kind of training also appealed to the girls, since they knew that makeup and body control would be simple for me. It didn’t take them long to lay the thing out.
If I didn’t agree to the impersonation, we could all lose our jobs. If I did, they’d help see that the whole thing was painless in the plane and pleasurable on the layovers. In fact, they got right to work showing me what terrific fun I’d have sharing a bedroom with the two of them for the next five nights. In a couple of moments I was naked except for Nancy’s luscious red lips around my penis and Tina’s hands rubbing me down. See what I mean about changing the future? Is there anyone who wouldn’t like to sample the excitement of a new life with the assurance of old knowledge? Besides, four orgasms later I thought their plan sounded wonderful and couldn’t wait to begin.
There was no wait. The girls skipped to their luggage and pulled out the basics. The first was a flesh colored satin waist, nipper that pulled my waist down to a breathtaking twenty six inches. Then they pulled out a latex thing. It was a woman’s torso made to slip over my body like a one piece swim suit, with gel sacks in the boobs, hips and ass – it had a light jiggling life of its own even before I pulled it on. Whew, it was tough to slither into the thing and it seemed to mold my body even more strictly than the waist nipper it covered so effectively. The jugs were D cup and delightfully pointed with engorged fat nipples rising from a pink sea of aureoles. Between my legs the thing captured my sex and held it against the inside of the opening that lurked within a thick bush of dark fur. While I could relieve myself through it, I’d have to sit for both. And anything that slid into that well-lubricated and hairy slit in front wiped against me in a way that aroused the hell out of my libido.
With those things in place, I was encased inside the body of a whitish provocative and well-endowed young lady. Padding over to the mirror, I looked at the effect in shock. There was a man’s bearded head jutting above a sexy girl’s figure. Incredible!
Of course neither my blond beard nor the rest of my body hair tasted long, within the hour, my legs, arms, face and underarms were as naked as the body I wore. Sitting me down, the two girls got working on makeup. Foundation, high-lighters, eyeliners, mascara, eye-shadows, blushers, lip sticks and glosses all got lathered on. I squirmed and whined as they plucked my eyebrows and penciled them darker – but of course, thick eyebrows would have ruined the entire effect. Still, I wish I could have talked them out of icing my earlobes and then piercing them. I’m certain that screw-on earnings would have done. But they told me that every pretty girl has pierced ears and screw- on’s invite too many questions. And since I had no answers, I got pierced.
Even though it was late, we weren’t through. They pried me into the high heels that Candy loves. In fact, it was a pair of those damned heels that caused her to trip and hurt herself. Nonetheless, since all of her clothes were designed to be worn with those things – I had to master them quickly, or nothing would fit. That meant an hour of slipping into boots and sandals and all sorts of footwear with two, three and even four inch heels. By the time I’d gotten the hang of the things, my feet and toes were horribly sore. Then you’re up on them, all your weight’s crammed down onto your toes, so your instep and toes start to burn and hurt, it’s unimaginable what girls do for beauty.
I had to admit though, in the long negligee that the girls slipped over me, and those heels – my legs and rear looked fantastic. And since the waist nipper and the torso kept me standing so tall – the effect was, well, erotic. With every click of my heels, I jiggled and wiggled and exploded feminine vibes that would turn on a monk. As I worked in front of the mirror, only my short, dark hair diluted the effect of carnal sensuality. By bedtime it was obvious that I could pass as Candy as long as I watched my voice and stood tall and sexy. And after all, except for the girls, who would know? The flight crew and stewards were new and. didn’t know any of us and none of the passengers knew us. Golly, not a fear bothered me as I drifted off, still negligee’d between the brunette and the redhead, sort of excited about going back to my theatrical days and pulling off such a challenging role. I only awoke once, wondering whether you can climb back into a plane after you jump.
Our flight was a long one. A red-eye from Newark to San Francisco, and then a layover till noon of the following day when it went to Mexico City for another day’s
Layover, then to New Orleans for a two night layover (just in time for Mardi Gras) and then finally back to Newark. Five nights and six days round trip. Next morning we were up early, the girls pulled stuff off me and creamed my body up with a depilatory before showering. After a lot of discussion, they decided that the hair on my head could stay, but not before dying it ash blond. Then it was carefully cut into bangs in the front with the rest pulled through the cap of a fantastic blond wig and knotted tightly so the thing was firmly fixed in place.
They laced me back into a waist nipper and the pseudo body was pulled back over me. Then the real work began. I argued about the corset. After all, I had a breathtaking constraint around my waist already, but they just wrapped it around me, and paid no attention to my whining as they laced me in. Ohhhh, it was tight, and beautiful. It was a virginal white satin, with strict metal bones and lace at the bottom and around the top. Four garters dangled down each of my legs and it pushed my tits up and way out like some kind of offerings to whomever I turned. Next came the slick white stockings that glistened up my legs. A short slip with dainty lace over the bust came next in the sheerest nylon. Then it was over to the vanity for another full makeup job, this time they included short, full eyelashes.
Then came the uniform. Actually, our boarding uniforms are really party dresses and the girls love to wear them. Short and off white, the things are high necked, long sleeved, wide belted and made out of a darnel that clings to everything. Someone once said that men had to be smarter than women, since no man ever had a shirt that buttoned down, the back. These things buttoned from neck to hem (the last button was left open) so that the fronts were simple showcases for the bumps and curves they displayed. I went back to the vanity with instructions to brush out my hair and to put on jewelry as the girls got into their matching costumes. Only our jewelry really told anyone what we did. We each wore a blue and red winged pin over one breast that showed our rank and certification. And tiny red and blue wings dangled from each of our ears.
I thought we were ready but Tina didn’t. Smiling wickedly she sat me down again and the two of them got out their nail kits. When they were finished, I had inch long fingernails, each tapered and sculpted and painted the same dazzling red as my lips. Finally I slipped into the off-white two inch sandals and we were ready. They pranced me over to the full length mirror and the shock was something. Flanked by a dazzling redhead and brunette stood a voluptuous blond, her hair full and cascading out and down to her waist, and her body quivering with each motion. Pain laced through my scrotum as my testicles tried to enlarge under their covering from the sight of the girls peering back at me. And I was the most stunning of the bunch.
For the first time I was becoming apprehensive about this whole thing. Oh, I’d no worries about pulling off the masquerade. Well, have you ever heard the expression, ‘Dangerous Blond’? Now that I was one, the real meaning began to sink in. And the danger wasn’t to others. Girls just shouldn’t look this blatant. Going out like this was going to be risky business. People who looked like me had to be awfully careful, or they got their brains raped out! Turning for one last look before we left, I made a mental note not to let myself be caught out alone like this, and then, as the door shut and locked upon my male clothes and as we clacked toward the elevators – it really dawned upon me how dependent I’d be upon these two girls over the next days, not just for companionship, but for basic protection. There is safety in numbers, especially when you’re a ravishing young blond, dressed to kill.
The plane was filling up. Tina and I stood at the entry checking tickets and smiling people aboard. Funny how cool the ladies were to us. I never really noticed that before. The older they were, the frostier they seemed to act. Odd. But the men sure made up for it. Wow, were they ever friendly. I got pinched by a guy carrying a baby! Pinched! He whipped his hand right up under my tiny skirt and let me have one on the right cheek – I must have screeched and jumped….. You can’t turn your back on anyone. Especially when there’s so little protecting you back there.
It was while I was still staring down the Handy Papa that I heard Tina’s ‘Uh-Oh» and got my first sense of the trouble that was coming. I must have still been blushing from the pinching, and I whirled right into her face. It was Mary Quaid herself, big as life. Bigger actually. Mary’s well over 6 foot in stockings and busty – some terrific piece of work, like a parody of a love goddess swelled to twice its’ size, but all the proportions held. She swung her meaty breasts around to shove me like I’d been poked by the snorting muzzles of two good sized calves.
She was followed by a razor blade and a lumbering mountain. A family of six could tent out in the first guy’s suit. It looked like he used hub caps for should padding and the way his upper arms strained at the fabric you could tell a lot of iron had been pumped into them. The arms ended in two monstrous hands with thumbs as big around as some girl’s wrists. They looked like they could sculpt rock – without tools. He seemed to repel fat the way a stripper avoids wimps and he was taller than Mary even in the spiked heels she sported. This guy was large enough to ignore anybody, hard and old enough to know some tough moves, nearer forty than thirty. His face seemed to wrap around his skull in a scarred mask, like it had stopped a lot of hard objects over the years. I’d bet that a lot of those objects were softer after the meeting. He looked bruised, wary and mean. He wore a tie that said ‘Rod’.
The other guy was shorter only in comparison to his friends. About the same age as the one with the ‘Rod’ tie, he reminded me of a bass player for a mediocre Vegas lounge band. His fast black hair had more grease than the lot outside an old garage. He was blade slim, with a tight shiny shirt opened down too many buttons to let tufts of black hair spittle curl around a dangling gold chain. His pants were just as snug and I swallowed my giggle at the way they showed off what looked like a sausage glued to his inner thigh. He moved like a dancer or, more likely, the master of some deadly far eastern death sport. He oozed presence – the sort of presence shared by politicians, attorneys and used car salesmen.
“Girl’s, meet my brother Rod and my good friend Lance. And there’d better be three of you – or this plane ain’t going one inch farther west,” she said to both of us, craning her gorgeous brunette head back aft to count the rest of the cabin crew. It was hard to look at Mary’s face and not see it framed by a pillow. Some girls are born with a book full of blank checks they can cash in any bedroom, but on closer inspection, you could tell that good times brought Mary nearer to the bottom of book. And what a face. Imagine a young Liz Taylor, the violet eyes, tons of curly hair and a dash of wickedness. Maybe her lips were a little too full, her eyes just a hair too large or her cheekbones a tad too sunken and high. Something about her said decadence. But what a gorgeous touch of wickedness. A lot of boats had crashed on those rocks.
Mary’s broad shoulders sagged at the sight of Nancy’s red hair. “Damn, so you got an even compliment huh? Well let’s see how well you work. Who are you anyway?” She was looking me right in the eye, not six inches away, our breasts actually touched in that tight entranceway. “Her name’s Candy Liptz,” Tina barked, “and you’d better keep it moving Mary or we’ll have to ask you to leave for making a nuisance of yourself.”
“Candy, Candy…. Hmmmmm.” Oh, yea, you do look kind of familiar – I guess we met at the last company party. My name’s Mary and I used to have your job. That’s right; you were on the Canadian leg weren’t you. Yea, I know I’ve seen your face before. Well, you’d better do a good job with us Candy. My boys and I are in your station and they’re both ready to write major letters of complaint for any service problems. She laughed and led her two cretins away with her as I breathed as deep a relieved sigh as my girdling could permit.
Yea, she’d seen me before – but it was with a full beard. Fortunately she’4 never had too good a chance to see Candy at the parties, well, that was test one passed, but there were going to be a lot of hours more for me to shake my pan tied ass for that mean bitch. Right then I realized how long a flight it was going to be.
We were in Costume ‘B1. In my male drag, I would have been wearing little boy shorts and a tee shirt, I never realized how comfortable that outfit was. Now I wore a tiny pink froth. Covered with lace from neck to wrist with a flaring skirt that barely covered my thighs and tons of perky petticoats that flipped It had a wide silken ribbon at the waist that tied in a large floppy bow in back, while I wore pale pink waist sheer pantyhose, of course I had on super shiny Mary-janes and ankle white stockings. I was wearing a wig that matched my hair and the twin blond braids dangled down to my shoulders. Tiny rhinestone starter studs sparkled from each of my pierced ear lobes. We curtsied to everybody when we got their drink orders and giggled a lot in our little girl finery. Since it wasn’t practical to take off our long colored nails, all the girls wore wrist length white gloves that matched the bows around our pigtails and waists. Our skirts were so full that it was awfully hard to pass another one of the stews in the aisles. And whenever we did they swished way up in the back treating the guys to a great show of pink lacy panties.
To take our orders, each of us carried a Barbie Doll in an outfit that matched ours with a pad fastened to her back. And we wrote with lollipop pens, you know, the big rainbow colored round things – but they had long white pens for sticks. Those things filled both of our hands, so whenever we had to get a pillow or help a traveler – we had to hold the lollipops between our teeth. And there was one kid about fourteen, named Ralph who really got off on that. He had that kind of blank face boys have, as if they get their life’s compliment of skin but have to wait years for support muscles to form underneath, and even more years for enough intelligence to come along to control the muscles in any civilized way. Funny how males become conscious of their penises before they become conscious to life. I was having an effect upon the lower half of this kid’s body, but for a few more years, that’s where all his direction would be. Ralph found every reason to get me to do things for him until that damned pop got so wet and sticky, it started to run all over my face. Ugh! He even had me help pull his carry on out from under the seat in front of him. He said it was stuck and he couldn’t do it. So with the sucker in my mouth, and skirts flying, I had to crouch down in front of him, holding Barbie under one arm, while I levered the thing free. Golly I was mortified down there like that – and every guy with an aisle seat was staring.
The girts seemed to love the way these outfits got so much attention, but frankly the whole thing made me feel pretty awful. Can you imagine how humiliating it was to wear that light pink makeup, those bangs and that childish dress? And of course, none of this really hid any of our boobs that belied the whole effect. Our fake white trainer bras showed right through the peek-a-boo material of the fussy dress tops. But it didn’t seem to disappoint the audience in the seats. It was all I could do to keep my rump covered and free from the naughty pinches of a lot of men on the aisles. These guys seemed to think that we were some kind of meat on display. But then, if we weren’t -well we wouldn’t be dressed like that I guess. So I took the orders, curtsied a lot and did my best to giggle convincingly whenever someone made some kind of lewd suggestion about my age or whatever…. I even found myself smiling when I looked at them as I was coming out of the closet.
Young Ralph had found another excuse to get me to suck on my lollipop by ordering me to hang his jacket up in the rear closet. So with Barbie in one hand, his jacket in the other and the pop clutched between my pink lips I swished down the aisle past Mary Quaid and her friends. Although I didn’t look back, I sensed the two guys rising behind me and following along, when the closet was pretty full, it’s a walk-in and I quickly darted inside and let the curtain fall closed so I could get away from those two monsters, Rod and Lance.
I waited inside for a few moments after hanging his coat and then backed out since with those wide skirts there wasn’t really enough room to turn in the narrow room. Rod was a crew-cutted Nazi-type with a chest the size of a washing machine – and Lance had slick dark hair, a day’s growth of stubble and an upper body that was the hard tough roller on Rod’s washer. Both had slim waists, good buns and attitudes that made you long for the impish wimp of Attila or maybe Darth Vader. They were the kind of guys who spent more time living life than understanding it. Large boys and in my little girl get-up, I was definitely intimidated, seeing them on either side of the door.
The force as they shoved me back into the closet wiped my face clean of happiness and tears welled up’ in my mascaraed eyes as they twisted my gloved wrists behind my back. One of them pushed my face into the hanging clothes while the other quickly pulled my skirts high up in back revealing my lace ruffled panties. As my arms came up, my face went down, so I was caught in that tight space, bent in half, my pantied backside pointing up at the two assailants and my titties hanging downward against my skimpy little bra and dress.
“Look sluttie,” I heard one of them whisper. “We’re following this flight all the way through for the days. When you lay over, we lay over – when you fly, we fly. Ana if we aren’t satisfied customers – you’re going to get some really serious complaints. Complaints that could shut this whole operation down. And Mary Quaid’s telling us just exactly what to look for. We’ve got instant cameras and tape recorders that’ll catch any infraction. So look good girl – look really good! And maybe, if you keep us as happy as Mary does – we might overlook the smaller infractions.”
With that they pushed me into a bail of skirts and petticoats; I fell onto the floor under the hanging clothes as they left laughing. Good heavens! What had started as a quick impersonation on a spontaneous dare had grown into something big. Too big. For the next five nights and six days, I was going to be scrutinized much too closely by an experienced and bitter stewardess and her two big cronies. And as I crawled and pulled and straightened myself out, this child’s outfit only made me realize just how helpless a girl I’d become.
There was no way that I could sneak into male country in our San Francisco hotel. Mary and her merry men had taken rooms across the hall from the stewardess suit. It was clear that I had to bunk with the girls and stay in character the whole time we were to be in town. Of course I filled Tina and Nancy in on the closet encounter and they looked as frightened as I felt. Because we all realized that if my impersonation were ever discovered – then everything would be over. With the best of intentions, we were threatening our entire business and the savings and hopes of all of our friends. Mary could get a fiendish revenge.
Mercifully, they let me out of my female body and I wiped off all of the makeup as we all fell into our beds. I was just drifting off when the knocking came at the door! Someone was there and while two luscious ladies were staying in one of the suit’s bedrooms, a full bodied and naked man was tying in the other in contradiction of all of the rules – me.
I ran to my door and peeked through a crack as Tina in a wispy robe opened the door to the halt. Mary Quaid loomed outside with Lance. I could hear muffled talk, Mary’s laugh and what seemed like a wail from Tina. Then I saw her whirl and slump against the door as she closed it.
Both Nancy and I rushed to the outer room. I’d grabbed a female robe and Nancy was still in her baby dolls. The news was ghastly. Mary was demanding that we join them for drinks and dinner. They seemed to have something on us, and we feared the worst -so we didn’t dare refuse. But our next flight was only ten hours away. Nancy’s gang had slept well on the plane, but we’d been going for over twenty hours now – and we had to get some sleep. Still, it was 2 AM in San Francisco, a time when that town just gets started. In an hour we were down in the lobby waiting our dates.
What do you wear to an early morning date with people you loathe and fear? Nothing too sexy, you don’t want to start ideas. Nothing too plain, you don’t dare insult them. So we dressed in little dressy suits, the Disco-Dame look, Tina called it. Fancy with long slit skirts, that covered everything but our lower calves and ankles from neck to wrist.
While they differed in color and slightly in cut, mine was like the others. I wore a yellow Antron blouse that buttoned up the back. A snug cigarette skirt in black and white pin stripes with a wide tight leather belt. Over it a short smartly tailored tight jacket with padded shoulders fit me well. Black stockings and black heeled sandals matched my wide brimmed hat and veil. That’s right, we all had veiled hats that both added an air of mystery and protected us a little from unwanted necking. Of course we all had black leather gloves and purses to match our belts and shoes. And each of us wore pearled earnings to match an elegant set of pearl necklaces.
Tina was in ivory, Nancy in grey. Of course they’d jammed me back into my artificial body and my fat nipples made tiny circles against the fabric of my blouse as I clicked in those heels. It was pretty clear that I’d have to stay inside that latex torso with its breasts and gash until this whole thing ended back in Newark five days off. I was tired, my feet hurt from walking across the country in that plane, I was crushed by a too tight corset and the thick makeup on my face was beginning to itch a little as we pranced out of that elevator into the mirrored lobby. You have no idea what women go through for love until you’ve tried to walk in a tight hobbling skirt and skyscraper heels. The effect on men might be fantastic – but it better be for all of the discomfort and irritation it causes.
But wow! We all checked our look together and the effect was dazzling. Three stunning women looked back through their veils. And the blond in the middle in the pin striped suit looked the best to me. In fact she looked too good – good enough to get hurt. And swishing and swaying in those flimsy clothes on my way to a date with a man….. It was getting out of hand. I’d lost complete control of this whole thing. The clothes were taking over, Candy had my body now. And it was humiliating.
They took us to a smoky jazz bar down near the wharf. The place was dark, fairly empty and just loud enough that no one could over near us. The two guys looked like characters out of an old Miami Vice – and Mary? Tall, raven haired Mary was playing the Ice Queen. She was all in leather. A jump suit with boots and gloves, blue leather. The damned thing had buckles everywhere, I wondered how long it took to zip and close it up. But wow what it did for her figure. I could feel the pain of my testicles pulling against their confines as I looked at her. She lit a long cigarette and blew the smoke out toward us. She sat flanked by her very big brother Rod and her dark haired stud Lance.
“Girls, we got the goods. I’ve got about ten photos of screw ups today. Oh, no one is too terrible by itself – but the group are worth a citation don’t you think?” She smirked as she dramatically dropped them one at a time in front of us. Tina tried to grab for one but Rod’s big hand clutched her wrist so tightly that she dropped it instantly. Yea, they were trouble.
The photos showed little things. I looking a mess as I crawled out of the closet after the guys roughed me up. Tina dropping some coffee, Nancy touching up her lipstick in the kitchen – things like that. She was right. No one of them would do us in, but the bunch might be a lot of trouble. Worse yet, at least three showed me – and just turning those pictures in to the inspectors could cause a problem that Mary Quaid couldn’t even be allowed to guess at. We had to get those pictures back.
“Why…. why are you showing them to us Mary,” Tina asked shaking her long black curls nervously. “If they’re so hot – why not just turn them in?” Tina was bluffing, but it was a good question.
“Hmmmmmm. We considered that. But I’m not sure that they’re really good enough. And since you were probably aware that we were taking them – I’m pretty sure you’re going to do better for the rest of the trip, unless we all gamble a little.”
“Gamble?” Nancy asked quickly, “You want to play a game?”
“Right girls. I’ve got some presents for you. Ummmm, I guess you could call them jewelry. And each time my boys here find you wearing these things tomorrow – we’ll give you one picture back.” And with that, Lance started pulling what looked like big ring boxes out of his sport coat, one for each of us. I looked nervously at the apple sized felt container on the table, and fumbled with it in my leather gloves. It took me a moment to get it open, and I had no idea what they were inside. Tina did though. She’d turned white and brought her hand quickly to her lips to suppress her gasp. “Oh no Mary. I can’t….. I mean we can’t….. These are ben-wah balls……” She was blushing. Tina had been almost everywhere. This was one tough girl, and somehow a pair of shiny metal balls about as big as marbles were making her blush!
“That’s right dear. And they’ll be a delight to wear, don’t you think guys?” The men’s laughs were so crude that Tina’s blush deepened. I looked at the twin golden globes in my box and as the candle lights flickered off of them, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what they were for.
“I can see that Candy and Nancy are at least acting dumb about our little gifts fellas,” Mary said as a cloud of smoke snaked out of her blood red lips. “Certain sorts of women have worn these little things for centuries, deep in their vaginas. And since the French invented high heels back in the eighteenth century – why they’ve become even more delightful.” She crushed out her cigarette as she spoke and reached over a blue gloved hand to scoop the balls from Nancy’s box.
“You see, when these things are deep inside you – why they mimic your every motion. Whenever you quiver or shake or move in any way – they rub all over your most sensitive parts constantly stimulating them. And even though it makes you crazy, why you want to move. You want to wear your highest heels and tightest clothes and oh, it’s just so, so nice.”
As she spoke, Rod was pulling something from his pocket. U looked about the size of a pocket calculator, with a couple of buttons on the front, he held it up for us all to see, then, passing it over the balls in Mary Quaid’s hand he pushed one of the buttons. Instantly a low buzz came from the machine and a small LED on its’ top glowed red. He moved it about a foot from the balls and the buzz and light both died.
“You see,” Mary continued, dropping the balls back into Nancy’s box, “They’re also slightly magnetized, at a special frequency. This little device can detect them. So if they’re being worn, all we need do is make a pass with the buzz box. If it glows, we’ll give you a picture. If it doesn’t, we won’t.”
“You mean, you want us to put those inside ourselves tomorrow and you’re going to inspect us?” Nancy was indignant. “Why that’s slimy. No. Never. Ohhhhhh.” She pressed her fist hard against her cheek to stop a trembling. “I mean it Mary, that’s disgusting. Why all the time those are in we’ll be….. like three bitches in heat. How could you suggest……” Her voice trailed off as Mary Quaid’s blue leather gloves collected the damning pictures slowly and suggestively, and then Nancy’s body slumped forward, knowing just how much those pictures of me really told.
We didn’t want to put them in. But at noon the next day, underneath our satin hot pants uniforms the little balls did their work. And for me it was special torture. The two little things had been inserted inside my artificial opening and came to rest right against the base of my penis – trapped into place by my tight panties. Mary Quaid was right. Every clack of my heels caused the things to dance about and caress my private parts. But with my apparatus tied so painfully backward – the sensations would constantly torment me without fulfillment.
If it was bad for me, the effect on the girls was much worse. Each of them had to stop once as we crossed the airport to grab at something and shudder her way through her own private hell – a humiliating public orgasm. “On my God Tina, I can’t take more of this. That was a magnificent cum, and when I have multiple orgasms, I lose more control each time. I even start to scream in pleasure sometimes. I, I can’t do that in public. What will we do?” The green-eyed red head was close to panic.
“Hold on Nancy,” Tina said. And while her words were strong, pinpoints of perspiration had formed on her forehead. “Look, if they inspect us and don’t turn over a picture, why we’ll just take these damn things out. And we know something they don’t. We only need to get back those three shots of Candy here, so we don’t have to go through ten inspections do we?”
I hadn’t thought of that. So as we stood at the welcoming gate in our ‘C costumes greeting customers, it was a little easier to keep a stiff upper lip and force my mind from the two beads that were driving me to a frenzy.
The ‘C’ outfits were our serving clothes. This was a short leg of the flight down to Mexico City and the meals were all pre-ordered. So we were already in our nylon maid uniforms. The short skirts perked over the same petticoats that puffed out our little girl costumes. But we wore fishnet stockings, stilt black heels, black ribbon chokers and lacy caps and aprons – the whole rig. But the damn underskirts flounced against my crotch adding another sensation I knew the girls were feeling as the nasty things molested them with every flutter and move.
I got the first inspection. I’d come out of the kitchen with a tray when Rod came into the end corridor. He gestured that I should hold the tray up and when I did, he passed the box in front of my crotch. Nothing happened. That’s right, no buzz, no light…. nothing! “What the hell you doing, Bitch?” he whispered loudly. Didn’t you put em like we told ya to?” I was so frightened I could only nod my curly head and bite my lip. What was wrong?
“Okay, let’s try it again Slut, and this time, I want to get close enough to read whatever’s in there, got it?” With the tray still up above my head, I pressed my crotch against his enormous hand holding the box and heard the muffled buzz. This was worse than we imagined. With all of our petticoats, we had to either let him up under our skirts or virtually dry fuck us with his hand to get any reading.
“Ahhhh. Good little girl,” and he pocketed the box after it finally glowed, and then slid a picture down the front of my low cut costume. I had the first image tucked into my bra, but I saw as it went in that this was one of Tina. My inspection had been humiliating but unproductive.
We got everyone ready for the movie after dinner in our ‘D’ outfits. I always thought these were the sexiest on the girls, especially the new ones who were still a little embarrassed by them. I loved the way they’d blush and try to cover up. Well, now that I was in the harem girl rig, I realized just how much of my skin showed off that blush. It’s not that they’re skimpy. In fact they cover everything. First there’s the gold silk and rhinestone bra and G-String set. Then the neck to ankle jump suit. Unfortunately the suit’s a gossamer cotton and rayon blend. With an emerald in my belly button and a matching veil draped from my nose to chin and a floor length scarf dangling from where it’s been pinned into my full blond hair, I’m an Arabic bimbo. The whole thing’s a hot flirty red. And with my lips done in the deepest crimson and slicked over with blusher, you can see them glowing right through the veil. Nothing’s missing. Rhinestones glimmer from my ears, in my hair around my wrists, neck and ankles. And my shoes are soft red slippers that show off my toenails painted the same deep red as my lips and fingernails.
Tina looked the finest in this getup. Her long dark hair fell all around her blue costume. And her terrific legs glistened and rippled through the thin fabric with every step. Like the rest of us, she had to tie her G-String really tight to hold her little teasing balls in place. That meant that the outline of her vulva showed clearly through the thin electric blue fabric which was set off by tiny jewels at her crotch and nipples. Apparently at least part of the reason for the sheen that glimmered from skin came from the cruel arousal she felt from the invaders tickling within her.
Both of the girls had come several times already and they were now learning how to focus their attention on holding back. Of course this meant that all of us were greatly distracted from our domestic chores in the cabin. Yet we knew that any mistake our faltering moves created could be swiftly recorded by Mary Quaid, Rod and Lance. I could see Nancy bite her shiny red lip as she passed me handing out headphones. She was hurting badly.
There were two guys in the next row she came upon. They were the kind who lose their hair and waistlines but still think they look like eighteen year old diving champs. They’d been leering at us the whole trip and making smarmy remarks whenever one of us would go by. The guy on the inside was just a dirty little fella, but the guy on the aisle, he was something else. This was a new money yuppie that hadn’t climbed far from a world where men still publically scratched their balls. Millions of polyesters gave their little lives to make his light green suit. But it was his white plastic shoes and belt that made the major fashion statement. Yet even the suit was made from a greater percentage of natural fibers than his badly fitting hair piece.
I watched in horror as she leaned over the one man to pass something to his seat mate at the window. And of course by leaning in, Tina’s fabulous breasts dangled down across the man’s chest. As if in slow motion, I saw his hand grab upward to clutch at her left breast, the way a farmer might heft a prize melon drooping from a tree in his orchard.
I expected her to jerk away, or at least give him the kind of drop dead look he deserved. But that didn’t happen. Instead, Tina just froze, her red curls falling down to hide the look on her face. I sensed it coming – had to stop it. I tried to race to her side but it was like running in molasses. It was horrifying to watch her back muscles tensing together into hard knots the way the ground contracts on a great mountain just before a massive eruption.
Both of Tina’s hands dropped lo the armrest between the men and her legs drew involuntarily together to squeeze at the twin intruders within her. Her backside began to rise and her tit fell farther into the oily hand that slowly massaged it. The guy copping the feel leered up into her face while her rich mane of red curls fell about his fat head and her eyes closed tightly. While I couldn’t see them, I knew her succulent red lips were moist and falling open to let out the squeals and moans that were building up into an imminent explosion. Tina was about to come in a loud, sweaty and violent frenzy right there across the lap of this crapulent clown. I had to get there. Had to pull her away.
As I got closer I could hear her stutters, “Duh…. DooSr….. Ohhh please, duh, duh, oh duh touch me like…..’. ooooooooooOOOOOO!” Her backside was starting to shudder and her back began to arch while she swung her head side to side in tiny arcs. I grabbed at her waist, and pulled, pulled her to me. My hand felt her muscles trembling and the rhythm building at her hips. She was entering the first stage of involuntary contractions. Her vulva was beginning to reach for its intruders, sucking at them, pulling them inward in a pneumatic grapple – the last stage before any conscious effort can be made to stop the primeval reflexes that make copulation so central to the human animal.
I had to do something, anything to bring her back from a disastrous orgasm right in the middle of the cabin. I sensed that all eyes were on us as I grappled her back to her feet – still, I had no choice and with my free hand I slapped her across the rump with all the force I could muster. “* HACK!” The flimsy fabric absorbed none of my blow and of course the G-Strings we all wore left her buns completely exposed under the transparent material.
“YIPE!” Tina screamed and jerked up and back into me pulling her breast from the fondles of its human cradle. A sweaty sheen covered her from forehead to toe, and the momentary look on her face was one of agony – far out of proportion to the spanking I’d just delivered – like she was trying to hide some searing pain. But then it passed and tears of gratitude welled in her eyes as she turned and fell into my arms. “Click!” Mary Quaid or her boys had another photo of two Harem Girl Stews apparently embracing in a moment of passion right in the middle of a startled cast of passengers. This was the most damming shot of all.
At least that’s what they thought they had. And it would have been damning enough. But if that photo got into the hands of the authorities, they’d discover a succulent stewardess falling passionately into the arms of a transvestite steward in the full view of everyone. This was a predicament beyond any we’d known. This *as a photo we had to recover, nothing was more important.
We arrived in Mexico City late in the afternoon, but by the time we’d changed, checked out, and taxied to the hotel – it was already close to seven and dark outside. Given the terrors of the last days, we sank quickly into bed and fell into tormented dreams through the night. We were awaken by seven the next morning with the first of our directions. Simply put, we had to take the most detailed measurements of one another. So minute were the requests that it was almost nine before we finished and had the bellboy take them off to be returned to our tormentors.
The day passed in wonder at those orders, well that and some good food, a little bathing and a healthy dose of girl talk. In spite of her close call, it rattled me to over that both Tina and Nancy thought that Lance and Rod were hunks. Lord! Sometimes it’s impossible to understand female tastes. They giggled at my reaction. Worse yet, while Tina was still terrified of the whole situation, Nancy was beginning to act strangely. As we relived the events of the plane ride down, she seemed to be suppressing a little grin. In fact, she even appeared to blush when Tina told her all the details of her molestation and then our embrace for the photographer.
“You two could be over-reacting to all of this,” She said! I couldn’t believe it. “Maybe if you just relaxed a little you could see the, er, fun in it all.” Can you believe she was getting off a little on this degradation? I was sure it was a notion that would pass quickly when we saw what they had in store for us that evening.
When we got back to our rooms that evening the phone was ringing and a perky voiced Mary Quaid laid out our directions for the evening and our costumes were waiting, along with all the details regarding their application.
But Nancy kept smiling even as we dressed one another. Let me tell you something about her. Nancy’s probably the brightest girl on our staff. She’s earned a Master’s degree in Broadcasting from a major state university and she plays chess for a hobby. Nobody would ever miss her in even the most crowded room. With that gorgeous red mane, and her fantastic build – men always go nutty. In fact, she usually sends a squirt of excitement through me. And she’s also the personality girl.
Her hobby’s neat. It must have been that broadcasting background – but she got the radio bug early in life. Said her life’s goal is to produce the last great American radio documentary. She carries a tiny micro-cassette recorder everywhere – tapes all kinds of things. She must have thousands of recordings.
With her brains, she can find something funny in almost anything. Nancy’s her own best audience. Whenever she cracks wise, she’s the first to giggle. In fact, she chortles at the weirdest times, and you know that she’s got another zinger, even if she can’t share it. With a face like the little girl next door and a body to match a Nautilus Queen’s, her great mind and fast wit make for an incredible package.
So I put her odd behavior down to that secret humor of hers. But she wasn’t really laughing. Mary Quaid’s directions were so hard to follow, that we all had to do each other’s costuming and makeup just to get the details right. No wonder she needed those intimate and detailed measurements – these things were intricately tailored. And while Tina and I were getting more panicky with each new eyelash or glitter – Nancy seemed to be …… humming. In spite of how awful it all was. It looked as if, well, she was enjoying our problem. Peculiar. Still, by 7:30 we were showered, dressed (decorated is really a better way to put it) and on our way to Ciudad Putacita, the infamous bordello town to the Northwest of the Mexican capital.
In spite of the darkness, or maybe because of it, Putacita felt like something squeezed from a street whore’s nostril. It was a neon space carved out of darkness, gleaming like the scabrous porcelain on a toilet in a bus station’s bathroom. A maggot slimed over with mother of pearl and in the ripe hot air of the dank Mexican night – it smelled worse.
Neither Tina, Nancy nor I spoke a word of Spanish and this place was where the working person went to unwind. We knew we’d find precious few who’d understand us here so it was as if we’d been gagged by our mother tongues. And in this city of sluts and grease, our outfits said something universal that we were going to find difficult to deny without a firm feel for the local lingo.
Before we left the hotel, I knew how awful it was going to be. As I sat at the vanity, I looked at the image staring back and almost cried. There, sat a dazzling, bejeweled and befeathered showgirl! Sparkles covered the spandex white net suit from the tips of my six inch heels to the choker rhinestone necklace and bracelets and anklets that were locked into place, preventing the removal of these provocative costumes. On my head I wore a skin tight rubber bathing cap encrusted and streaming long false curls of dazzling jewels.
The outfits were cunningly designed to make us look alike. Our heels were built to bring each of us to the same height, padding had been added in different places to round us out in the same places and our thick stage makeup was layered on over identical foundation so that even our complexions matched. Gone were the blond and the redhead and the brunette – in their place were three mannequins stripped of ail individuality, dignity and personal identity.
And it was worse. The sparkles were glued in special patterns about our tits, buns and clits. So that even though we were covered, no matter how we stood, all eyes were pulled to our sexiest parts. Special rhinestone ropes hung provocatively over each of these areas to attract more attention. And inside the caps were more surprises. Tiny earphones had been installed and the tight caps jammed them deeply into our ears. Their wires were attached to small but powerful radios built into our necklaces. Once switched on, we heard only the sounds of raucous Spanish music and babbling Mexican 03’s.
So, now we were being driven, deafened by the radios and muted by our lack of language skills, into the very heart of the country’s red light district, all gussied up like the worst (or the best) of tarts.
There were too many small touches to these costumes to remember them all. For example, the sheer mesh gloves were part of the things, so that when we moved our arms, the fabric was pulled tightly over our bodies. And the fingers had been ingeniously sewn together, so that we could hardly wriggle them separately. The crotches were lined with sparkles to hide thin but sturdy strips of Velcro which would let anyone get at us in the most intimate ways. And of course, once we snapped the bracelets, necklaces and anklets closed, we were effectively locked into these things until someone produced a key. In fact, the way our fingers were imprisoned, that person would have to turn the keys in the locks as well since those rigs left us scarce ability to do delicate work.
Here I was a normally active heterosexual male sitting in the back of a limo flanked by two gorgeous show girl beauties that were my mirror images! And my sex was pulled and entrapped tightly into a device that gave me the same apparatus down there as my partners. I was rapist bait with the same three entry-ways my partners sported and the jewels of this imprisoning suit flashed my treasures to anyone who cared to look. Knowing what I knew about men, they would care very much to look.
In fact, Rod and Lance couldn’t stop gawking. From the moment we clacked, swayed and jiggled out of our rooms, down the elevator, into the car and all the way through the night – they simply stared. Apparently there was nothing about us to tire the normal libidos of men. No matter how acidly Tina and I stared at them, or what we tried to say over the din stuffing our ears, their eyes never stopped undressing us. I say Tina and I, because Nancy didn’t look as uncomfortable. In fact she sat bolt upright, her back arched, tits jutting, chin out. Peculiar. Yet for me, it was awful, but nothing to match what Putacita held in store.
In the center of the city lies the Club De Putacita, like something out of a 19Ws movie musical, a Latin’s idea of what the Copa must have looked like in Prewar New York city. There was chrome and crystal and flowers and plastic everywhere. It was more Deco than a Peter Allen fantasy. Cigarette girls toddled in stilt heels, tiny flared skirts and shoulder strapped waist boxes. Razor thin women pranced about in skimpy clings that fell silk-like over their anorexic frames. And both the men and women all shared slick hair and evil leers. Three spangly show girls were just in place at Club De P’.
I’d forgotten to mention that our tormentors were dressed for the night as well. Each of the guys wore a 30’s style tuxedo, with great shiny lapels. Mary Quaid was in a torchy red froth that started with the thinnest spaghetti straps, then dangled into a silky cling over her wonderfully ripe nipples, plunged down to her navel and ended in a the tightest hobble skirting around her ankles. With each mincing step, her red toes peeked through the mesh fronts of her towering shoes. She was a combination of feminine helplessness and sexual come on. She wore her hair slicked back into a long braid that showed the big red plastic disks on either ear. With reddish eyeliner and big luscious red lips to match – her effect was startling. With the boys in tuxedos and the girls in showgirl outfits, we looked like the backup chorus for Mary Quaid’s starring role.
And what a role, as we flashed grandly through the main room at The Club De P, toward a mysterious rear door under a neon sign that flashed ‘Locker Room’. A door guarded by a monster at least equal to the size of Rod and Lance together. Mary Quaid paused to kiss him gently on the cheek and then nod toward us. With an ingratiating smile he looked us over as Mary introduced each of us to the man she called, ‘Doctor’ Juarez.
Inside the atmosphere changed quickly. Here were about a dozen tables raised on a two foot tall dais that circled around what could have been a spotlighted dance floor, only it wasn’t. A stainless steel railing rimmed the dais coming to about table height, each of which had been elegantly set in blacks and whites on dazzling white clothes. The door keeper grabbed menus and motioned the three of us showgirls to wait, while he escorted Mary, Rod and Lance up to the shadows of the table area about the brightly lit ring. Through the fog of tobacco smoke I could see that most of the tables were filled with twos and threes – staring right at us as we waited by the door. One of the tables was particularly interesting. I could make out the forms of two women, one an elegantly coifed brunette, the other appeared to be done up in a showgirl rig that matched ours!
On his way back, the door keeper detoured off to a dim corner and returned sliding a machine back into the center of the room. It was one of those hobby horses which you see outside of the stores at malls which children ride for a few coins. This one was quite colorful and trailed a cord which disappeared back into the blackness. He set it up along the railing of the dais so that the couple sitting at the adjacent table could easily reach the coin box that sat facing back on a pole on the back of the machine.
Next he wheeled in a small leather stool shaped like a rather large bike seat that seemed to have, yes it did, it had a seat belt dangling from it and it couldn’t have been more than a foot off the floor. At first I thought it was the light, but no, there was something in the center of the seat. A silver dollar? A ring? What? I was too far away to tell. It sat upon four wheeled legs and he pulled it by a leash attached to its front. As it got closer, I noticed that stout leather thongs seemed to be dangling and trailing from each of those legs. And something else, maybe a small black hose was attached somewhere underneath the thing and seemed to slither along behind like a kind of tail. He walked it in, and he circled the room, his big body cutting through the mists of smoke, as if he was showing off some sort of creature or entertainer to the audience. Waitresses in skimpy costumes were now working the dishes, serving drinks to the onlookers. Wait a minute. Did those serving girls wear…. handcuffs?
I didn’t get a chance to check because the Maître d’, that Dr. Juarez, as Mary called him, left his little wheeled friend and with a lot of fanfare was returning now toward us. Something here was scaring me, badly. The man was smiling and I could see that he had the face of an unsuccessful boxer. Like a rock weathered by eons of waves, these features had been battered and shaped by at least as many punches. He wore his hair slicked straight back to set off two enormous lumps of flesh which were apparently ears before they’d taken a terrible pounding. His lips had been swollen and battered back into twin fingers of hard flesh that barely covered his missing front teeth. Here was the visage of a living gargoyle sewn to a body swelled to twice life size.
In our dazzling high heeled rigs – there wasn’t going to be any arguing with the creature. And a quick glance backward confirmed my fear that the door behind us had been quite firmly locked.
I smelt him as he swung me about. This was a man in a hot country who didn’t spend much time washing. The twirl, the scent both must have shocked me as he pulled my hands swiftly backward. ‘Click’ – I heard it before I felt them. But even as I watched him swing Tina around the same way, I realized that he’d somehow locked my wrist cuffs together. And as I pulled in startled desperation, I didn’t even see him do the same thing to Nancy. But in instants, we three show girls at the door were mincing and pulling and tugging uselessly at our bound wrists. The head waiter stood back to let the audience appreciate what I horribly began to realize was the beginning of the evening’s entertainment. We really were about to become show girls.
Again, Nancy was the first to relax. Once she understood her situation, she seemed to calm down to it. Oh, she still tugged a bit, but it appeared more for effect. And I noticed that she seemed to ease ahead of us a little, her sparkling heels just out on the oval floor. Her twists and struggles let her turn her body every way under the lights from above that set off all of her sparkles.
The Boxer noticed her immediately and maybe that’s why she was the first to go. He was quick. And before any of us realized it, she had a long leash attached to her necklace and he pulled her out onto the floor and led her not-too-effective struggles around that ring the way he had introduced the little seat awhile back. Once around the sparkling girl went, her luscious lips protesting weakly to the humiliating display that ended right beside the horse!
A ripple of applause wafted through the room as Dr. Juarez stepped behind his sparkling prize and gently holding her shoulders, turned her in an arc to face each of the tables briefly Then, just as he pointed her directly toward us, his right hand left her shoulder, darted quickly down behind her and then it was back. But in that instant a look of terror swept across Nancy’s face, as she tried to look behind her. His left hand then roped the leash around her neck and held it like a noose, just tightly enough to prove that should he choose, he could garrot her in an instant. His other hand jerked her head back forward, forcing her to stand like a rhinestone statue and stare right at us as he then busied himself behind her with the saddle of the horse.
Moments later he returned to pull the leash behind her back and looping it through her wrist cuffs and again under her collar, he pulled her hands up and back, forcing her magnificent breasts outward and her head back. Finally he tied the thing off at her collar well above her grasping gloved fingers. With her head up like this she couldn’t see what was plain to us all as he moved her away from the horse. Now as he turned her to face the thing – her fate became clear.
Rising from the front center of that saddle was as large, greased black leather phallus! Juarez was a shrewd pro at this. As Nancy’s body jerked in spontaneous horror at what that erection meant. In the very instants when realization were exploding into her head. The Boxer moved. First his big right arm swept around her tiny waist and jerked her high into the air. In the same moment his right paw fell to grab at her naked bottom and splay her wide. Then, still too quickly to let her muscles rebel, he swung her as easily as you or I might lift a steak, up over and down – that right hand continuing to widen her privates, guiding the trajectory and directing entry control. He let her drop just quickly enough to feel the tip of the huge black thing at her nether lips and then take her breath as it slowly engorged her with its mass. Even over the blare in my helmet I heard her scream – and I saw her ruby lips purse and then open even wider than her great green eyes.
It was obvious that the fat six inches sinking deeply within caused all her muscles to freeze. After that first scream, she whipped her head to stare directly into his eyes and seemed to yammer, “Nuh, nuh, nuh, huh, nuh, nuh…..”, with each millimeter he let her drop upon her lubricated leather violator.
“Snap.” A seat belt was buckled into place. “Snap. Snap.” Two tiny locks clicked her anklets back to short rhinestone chains attached high up upon the horse’s rump. Her head jerked desperately for some release, some simple trick that would set her free from the terrible toy beast. It was obvious that the length of hard leather deeply invading her sexual canal kept her from any move that might lead to terrible pain or injury. Wrists tethered, belted and buckled, Nancy sat very straight and tall upon her saddle. Nancy’s plight was so shocking; it was a moment before I even noticed that The Boxer had claimed Tina.
Tina wasn’t the kind of girl who would ever program computers, write a great symphony or even write much of a letter for that matter. She’s a not-very-bright country girl from western hills of South Carolina where her daddy was the pharmacist for Aspoloosa, a town of about 5,000. In Aspoloosa, the men were miners and the girls were housewives. And they did both of those things very young. Tina’s mother died when she a child and her father was determined that Tina was going to get away from that. He raised her to be God fearing and aspiring to things better. Unfortunately, Tina only had one resource to make things better, and it wasn’t .her mind. Tina became a good girl trapped inside of a body that made every man think bad thoughts. But there was always something gently romantic about her, she drifted through the moonlight of life, parting it like a drifting gondola might part a charmed lagoon.
Somehow she’d survived puberty pretty much intact. This was at least in part to her daddy’s supply of birth control devices and also the ‘Plight of the Raving Beauty’. By junior high school, Tina was just so gorgeous, that most of the boys were scared to death of her. And since she was basically shy, she thought there was something wrong with her. Strangely enough – it made her few dates treat her like some kind of goddess, and kept her almost virginal through graduation (yes – almost).
With her Dad’s encouragement she applied for Stew School as soon as she turned eighteen and that got her to Lair Airlines about four years back. Now at twenty two, the long legged, big eyed brunette was fully in her prime. But she was still just as shy as that little girl who agonized through high school, without her share of dates, convinced that something was wrong with her.
And something was about to be ….very wrong…. with her. As the big man attached her to his next leash she couldn’t pull her gaze from her friend Nancy gingerly sitting on her horse, her hands pulled cruelly back and up, her huge breasts jutting out to glitter in the spotlights, her blue eyes riveted in total disbelief now at a space down between her legs where an unseen monster stuck like the finger of the devil way up into her femininity.
When it was done, Tina sat upon the bicycle seat, or squatted down there. Like Nancy, her Velcro snaps were parted to allow a horrible penetration. But unlike her friend the thing inside her loins wasn’t a leather phallus. This time The Dr. Juarez had screwed a round tipped metal pipe to that circle on the seat to which she was now tightly locked. Her knees had been strapped and locked to the front legs of the thing and her ankles pulled off the floor to lock to the rear legs. But her hands were simply cuffed now in front. She could helplessly fondle the locks that held her in place and turn and twist as far as her saddle’s invader would let her. But no way could she get up. Now there were two showgirls in the ring, glittering prisoners helplessly tied and impaled for the small crowd’s delight. Each of them soaring on emotional autopilot. And I knew, as The Boxer gave me a fiendish stare, that soon there would be another out there.
But I couldn’t sit on anything like that. Oh yea, the apparatus I was wearing between my legs was pretty convincing, but a hard fixed rod like that would squeeze right against my imprisoned prick. It would kill me. This couldn’t happen. What was in store for me? Dressed and bound and heeled as I was, there was no way I could open that door behind me, even if I had a key to the lock. There was nowhere to run. What was he doing?
Back he came from his darkened corner. This time wheeling a box or something like a tall narrow box on wheels, why it looked like the kind of locker kids get in school, only a little bigger and made out of crystal clear glass. This one was about five feet tall with another couple of inches added to its height from the wheels it rode upon. The door had those vents at the top and bottom, but it also had what looked like a single hole rimmed in black rubber at its center. Again, he took his time walking the thing around the room so that all could see it, even showing it to my two bound partners who were starting to lose some of their preoccupation with their insides and regaining a sense of fear.
In moments he’d come back to me, attached a leash and led me to the thing as it sat ominously at the very center of the ring. Then, with me standing and staring, he opened the door. Inside I could see that the far or back side of the glass locker had two holes about a foot below the top. Perhaps a third of the lid seemed to be missing also, on the far side away from the door. Gently, treating me very much as a grand lady, he helped me forward and realizing I had little choice, I stepped up inside the thing, ducking down to let my head and neck pop up out of that hole in the roof toward the rear.
The fit was snug, and it was instantly obvious that the twin holes were to let my breasts escape, ‘wank!’ the door was slammed and I was squashed forward, both tits mounding through the slots. That was odd. My cuffed wrists slipped through that hole in the door. My hands were now outside behind me and it was so tight there was no way I could pull them in. ‘Click, Clank’, apparently, yes, I could feel them, chains were slipped through the links of my cuffs and another lock held them together. I could feel it. A dial. A combination lock of some kind.
Now he was in front, sliding a rubber lined glass plate into the top of my locker. It had a half circle in front and as he pushed it slid around my neck, just below my collar. Now I was the complete prisoner. On top, my bangled head poked free, the radio music still blaring in each ear. In front two fat globes oozed out of hole in a glass plate that revealed the lush, trapped body of an enticing show girl. From the back, my shiny enameled nails clutched fruitlessly at a lock that held her hands a prisoner. And in case anyone missed any detail, Dr. Juarez smiled evilly through his boxer’s knurled lips as he slowly turned my cabinet to show the entire room.
I noted that dinners were now being served to the people at ringside and that the cuffed waitresses stole nervous glances our way from time to time. How bizarre. In the center of the room, three magnificent girls were being .horribly humiliated, and around them people ate and drank and watched as if they were being entertained by a piano singer or a small trio. It made me furious, but my struggles merely resulted in jiggling my titties at the audience.
As I pulled and fought at my casing, I missed the action behind me. I missed our tormentor lassoing Nancy around the hips and tethering her by a loop to Tina’s hips. I did feel him undo the chain through my links and then pull it closed again. And after a moment I realized what he’d done. Now Tina’s hands were bound up to mine, her fingers right over the combination lock. So we’d been trussed together now. Apparently that chain was strung around the locker, through the door jam holding it closed and then strung to hold my wrists to Tina’s – the one lock joining the thing together in her hands. If she only knew that combination, she could set me free and separate us.
Remember the lasso lashed Nancy to Tina, while Tina’s wrists were chained to mine behind the crystal locker. Now I was being rolled to the far end of the ring. As I moved, so did Tina, riding her little seat across the floor till that rope between she and Nancy grew painfully taught. I was being pushed toward Mary Quaid’s table, over toward the huge giggling body of her brother Lance. As I got nearer, he swiveled around in his seat and I noticed for the first time that my face came up to just about exactly the crotch level of the revelers on the dais.
Doctor Juarez rolled me in and in. I could feel that as I approached the railing, The Boxer was really working against the tension of that rope which had to be pulling Nancy’s hips terribly inward against her large leather friend while pulling Tina back against the piping that drilled into her core. Finally I was snug up against the rail and I watched the big guy snap small clips hanging from the rail to ‘D’ rings that were welded to my locker. Another set were fixed to the base of the dais and my crystal prison was now firmly up against the side and it took the greatest effort not to stare directly into the zipper of the Rod’s pants.
Next The Boxer roamed the ring again. This time holding aloft one of the largest enema bags I’d ever seen. It was bloated full and a long black hose dangled from it. For just an instant that hose jogged my memory. Why, but then I was lost in his next activities. He’d screwed a small metal plate about four inches behind my head, and now he was diligently cramming the enema sack back there. I could feel its warm contents, like a pillow behind me. The tube passed through a hole at the base of the plate and off somewhere. Somewhere? That’s where I’d seen a tube like, loot! The one protruding like a tail from under Tina’s bicycle seat. He couldn’t. NO!
But I knew it was so. That sack of liquid was being screwed into my friend’s tubing. And if I put too much pressure on that sack, I’d undoubtedly ram a hot spurt of something deeply into her loins. This was the same girl who only hours ago had been the cruel victim of a public orgasm on the plane. This simple, trusting brunette now sat strapped onto a monstrous pipe that would fill her up if I wriggled. What was in that bag? What was he making me do? No. I’d force my head forward and hold it. What was a little discomfort against Tina’s terrible agonies and humiliations? But forcing my head forward pushed it somewhere I certainly didn’t want to go. Now I was less than inches away from that great bulging crotch.
A last detail. A leash was strapped around my head, just above my eyes. Apparently there were some loops in the sparkling hat I wore which allowed the leash to be threaded tightly and buckled behind. Then I felt him tie it to something and pull my head gently back into the bag – then he tied the leash off to something.
That’s when the music stopped. My headphones had been disconcerted! I could feel The Boxer working at the wires that dangled behind my neck. What? Ohhhh. He’d hooked it into the loudspeaker. I could hear everything he said……… Too loudly. Ouch! For just an instant I jerked my head slightly back, to feel Tina’s fingers grasp at my wrists. I was right, she’d felt it. Something had gone into her.
While I couldn’t see the tableau behind me – it was simple to imagine. On the far side of the ring Nancy sat high up, bridled and belted to her horse. A lasso was lashed tightly to her hips and the rope stretched tightly to Tina, the second showgirl who knelt on an impaling pipe, her hands stretched tautly outward and chained to the cuffs of the third showgirl, me. And I was tightly imprisoned at the far side of the ring in a glass locker, my face only inches away from Rod’s crotch as he sat on the raised dais. My gloved fingers buckled behind me held the combination lock which chained my prison closed. A lock that lashed me also to Tina, but only Tina could see the dial. Neither of us knew the combination.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. Senoras y hombres. I give you the ‘Coming Dilemma – The Horrible Choice. Is it not wonderful to behold? Three fabulous showgirls. Each helplessly experiencing a wonderfully humiliating cosa…. er thing.” Dr. Juarez spoke with a rich accent. Occasionally he’d stop his English explanation of .our problem to go over it again in detailed Spanish.
“Mire’…. See how the cord goes from the loins of the woman on horseback to those of her friend on the low saddle. Oh how tight it is? Look.” with that he must have twanged it to make both girls jump. But what I noticed to my absolute horror was that my head also jerked. The rope that linked Nancy to the back of Tina’s loins must also be linking my head to the front of Tina’s body. When one moved, we all moved. And when I moved, Tina got squirted.
“Ayyyyyy. It’s ingenious is it not?” the voice continued, “How they each molest each other? And it is not all. In fact it is only part. The one in the locker can hear us good now. I’d ask her to nod, but she’s probably aware that if she did, her friend in the middle there would get another shot of nice warm honey through their especial linkage.”
Honey? Oh god. Every time I moved, Tina got a shot of thick hot honey streaming into her through that thing in her vagina.
“And she will get a lot of honey tonight. Unless the one in the locker can tell her the combination of the lock she holds in her hands. You see, once the combination is dialed, the door of the locker can be opened to free that one. She need but to grasp the keys I’ve now looped about the neck of this electric a horse here and free her friends.”
But I didn’t know the combination. How would I tell her? How would I know?
“And how does the locker bound beauty get the combination you ask? But it is so simple. She merely reads the muy…. er, very very small letters written here.”
He was beside me, reaching in front of my face. Over to Lance’s zipper. Pulling it down. Releasing his enormous wong. What? On Lance’s belly, in there……. numbers. Tiny numbers, hidden by that thing.
“There’s one very simple way. While the one in the locker holds the, er, obstruction to her vision, out of the way between her glorious lips, she merely need read the numbers and shout them loudly enough so that her friend can dial the lock open. Simplico, Eh?”
What? Nol I can’t suck on that thing. It’s a monster, incredibly large. It’s coming closer….
“Don’t worry Locker Lady, your friend with the lock has had her earphones turned down. Of course she doesn’t know what you’re trying to tell her since she hasn’t heard any of this presentation. But maybe you can let her know what to do while you’re giving her the numbers, eh? And just so we have something more to look at mis amigos, we have arranged for a singer. A beautiful songstress to add her charms to these entire goings on. May I present to you the very beautiful Miss Puppie Gulliermo?
A spotlight swung to the left of Mary Quaid’s table and an obviously nervous specter appeared. There stood the fourth showgirl. The woman at the tables who was dressed to match us in every detail – another flashing, dazzling entertainer.
Dr. Juarez spun in the center of the circle to guide the lovely singer to the middle of the floor and hand her a mike, while he continued, “in a moment the music will begin and the adorable Puppie will sing Mabonna’s hot single, ‘I Wanna Feel You Feel Me Tonight’. But finally, Senors and Senoritas, one last little detail – just to see to the excitement of all. Let’s put some pesos into the horse’s little box. Bueno, let the fun begin and have a wonderful dinner everyone. Especially you my lovely locker bound friend.”
With that he shoved my head forward. It was in me! Oh no. I was sucking Lance’s awful cock. And I didn’t dare bite. He could kill me. I had to take the thing, had to look for those numbers. Had to……. The horse had started. Rod grabbed my head and pulled me forward and then the collar around my head pulled me back – into that rubber pillow, spurting the honey out the lube. Hands gripped my wrists tightly. I could hear her scream now. I shouted, “Tina…. Tina…… The lock. Turn it two times clockwise past thirty.” But it was coming out, “Teee uh…. Teee uh…. Uh a www. Err in ooo ines ock ize pah ir-eel” I could feel her wrists grab at me with each backward jerk, and each forward movement sent Lance’s great dong further down my throat. I had a hot, hard human gag deep into my mouth, one that would undoubtedly explode unless I kept my mind on this problem and got the message back to Tina. Made her understand.
I had to keep my mind upon the problem, not upon me fact that I was in the middle of terrible homosexual act. And I could never let chat giant Lance know that he was being serviced by anything other than the beautiful showgirl who had her lush red lips around his great prick.
At that instant the primal bass line of the Mabonna record started and the beautiful Perro Guillermo started to lip sine the famous lyrics:
“I want your hands all over my breasts
To feel the warmth ooze out of my chests
Make them grow….
Toward you so….
That I can feel you feel me…
The smell was terrible. The Rod hadn’t washed in some time and the thing invading my mouth was oily and foul lasting. His thrusts picked up the coital beat of the song….
“Why must we wait for the evening to come?
I’m sure that you know the meaning of fun.
My nipples all tingle…
For your fingers to mingle…
I wanna feel you feel me…
“Two tiuhs cuhk iie ass ir-ie. Then ooo eee eeuh – eeeeeeesssl” Two times clock wise past thirty. Tina listen to me please – I screamed. But the words were only just intelligible. The thing in my mouth was growing bigger. The music swelled as the chord change approached and it drove Rod higher. He shook my head, crushing it back into the pillow of sweet fluid. Tina’s fingernails raked mine through her gloves. I couldn’t show her the numbers with my fingers, since our gloves held them together.
But now she was working on the dial. She was understanding, spinning the thing. Could she save me? The next numbers. I had to concentrate and stare at his belly. But that next line was written smaller and farther down toward the root of his prick. How could this be happening? I’m a man, not this rhinestone slut. But my mouth was working on Rod’s big member as I stared at those numbers and tried to forget the awful raping through my lipsticked lips.
“Why don’t I press my points into your hands?
Go on, dear, squeeze and fondle my glands.
Let the onlookers leer
At my living brassier.
I wanna feel you feel me…
The record beat on and up, the arrangement got hotter and higher. And the showgirl pretending to belt it out was working the room now; I could see her out of the corner of my eyes, her gorgeous face slavering over every syllable. She was acting out the same orgasms that Mabonna faked on her video of the hit. Now only one line of combination remained. I think Tina had it so far. Could she keep her mind on the action? Nancy was screaming now from across the room. The horse she rode had driven that thing in her to frenzied levels. She was cumming loudly – screeching out her joy. How far was Rod from exploding? Could he hold it? I’d no experience with this stuff. Could there be some warning? Some telltale quiver just before he shot his load into my mouth?
“Awk uh en as iiuh.” Back to ten past five. I hollered it over and over. It was the last line, in the smallest handwriting at the very base of his member. I’d pulled it all in to get close enough. Fortunately my gag reflex is low – to took all twelve inches of that massive sausage down into my throat and grunted out the numbers. I could feel her hands working – almost and…..
“What? NO!” Doctor Juarez had returned and plucked the lock out of Tina’s hands. I could barely see him back there but – YES! He was randomly spinning the dial. She’d have to start again! Could she remember any of the stuff? Any of the numbers? Nancy was the smartest part of our crew but she was lost right now screaming encouragement to the horse she rode. What could Tina remember? How close was Rod?
“Cup your palms underneath them and heft.
First the right then fondle my left.
Is my skin just like silk?
will you suck out my milk?
I wanna feel you feel me…
Now I sensed the crowd. They were clapping and gasping and some even moaned. Lance and Mary grasped one another under the table. And Tina worked on the lock again. In spite of the stuff burbling inside her, in spite of the way her body rocked upon that tubing, she held on. Her task was an obsession – it alone held her sane and distracted from this sparkling nightmare.
There was no need for me to keep that dingus in my mouth. But Rod’s hands had me trapped on it. With each stroke now I felt a quivering in the massive thing and my tongue could feel that the veins like worms all over its length. He started to grunt. It was getting very hot…. And the music was swelling toward the last burst of the ending lyrics as that singing showgirl belted, flashed and jiggled out the hip grinding verse….
“Now nothing’s real except little wiggles
Of your fingertips as they do tiny tickles
Just near the rim
Of my tautly stretched skin.
Come on and peel me…
I’ve got to feel you feel me…
“CLICK.!” The lock dropped open and the chain fell away. Push – PUSH – SLAM -at the door with my buns…. It crashed backward with my ass slamming it open and I tripped backward toward the doorway on those towering heels, popping Rod’s penis out of my mouth, but giving the enema bag one last awful hit with the back of my head. My friend was socked with that spurt. She whimpered as it hit. But just as I tried to pull my head through the hole – the massive prick erupted, hosing its thick goo over out at my retreating face and head. The gunk hit my face. It must have slimed over my cap as I ducked down and back onto my spikes. So anxious was I to escape the white jizm spitting through that hole over my head that I tripped and fell into a heap in front of Tina’s sweating face.
She was a terrible mess. The shock was taking a toll. I scrambled back up and showered the room in reflected sparkles as I spun about to get my handcuffed hands down to her bonds. She was already working on the belts that held her knees as I unbuckled her ankles. The crowd stilled as she tried to unplug herself from the tube that gurgled within her. Sticky goo oozed out around and under her buns. Her leg muscles were stiff so they gave Tina little help pulling off the thing. The honey stuck her to that stool and rod. Like a glittering bug impaled alive on a pin she jerked and lugged herself up off the gooey intruder between her legs.
It was awful to watch her hysterically pull herself up, only to slide back as her leg muscles cramped, but with both of our hands cuffed, there was little I could do but let her work at the thing while I clacked across the ring to grab the keys from the neck of the horse Nancy rode.
Seeing her made me gasp. She was slumped as far forward as that terrible saddle allowed, riding the bucking toy with an open drooling mouth. Her green eyes would open wide as spasms wracked her body, then close to slits, to glare at me, weird. The sweating, quaking showgirl seemed first transfixed with ecstasy then fixated on me with something that looked like hatred. I pulled at the keys and quickly undid my cuffs. In an instant I’d released Nancy’s seatbelt and the twin Locks imprisoning her ankles. Moments later I had her hands free. She slumped forward to hug the steed’s neck as I pulled the plug on the relentless motor.
By the time Tina was uncuffed she’d slid free from the seat and lay in a pool of sticky goo on the floor beside it, too tired to move. The crowd was applauding as the Boxer revolved around the ring, his arm outstretched like a magician’s assistant after a great trick. In the center stood two glittering showgirls, one speckled with firming sperm. Two more now lay on the floor gasping and quivering from the aftershocks of their horribly public orgasmic quakes. The girl who had done the singing gushed quiet, “Thank-yous into her mike. It was all so unbelievable – and yet here I was, a normal heterosexual man, corseted, glittering and speckled with sperm as the applause rolled over me.
Later nine of us sat at a larger table along the upper ring. Mary, Rod and Lance sat nearest to us, while the fourth showgirl sat on the other side with a new woman and the weird boxer-faced man who had done so much to us earlier, Or. 3aurez.
The other woman was an expensive piece of work who obviously spent heavily on maintenance. Thin, short, stylishly hewed razor slim by the latest Nautilus technology and looking about forty – this stark brunette had murky eyes that could scratch into case hardened metal or life hardened souls.
Mary Quaid introduced her as the widow Caroline Cornelius. Apparently this broad had somehow married old money – make that ‘OLDE MONEY’. And like a spider, she ate her wizened mate so men were damn near the bridal bed. Had Caroline Cornelius been born a man, she’d be carrying Camels around in the sleeves of a tee shirt, rolled high enough to flash bulging arms tattooed with eagles or tacky nudes. But as a woman resting atop a pile of financial securities only a little shorter than New York’s Trade Towers, just the missing ‘g’s in her words and the squint of her eyes betrayed the venomous clots burbling inside this lovely bug.
And the money bought her a shell of class. From her designer Nair to her designer shoes – her casings were the work of the world’s best courtier whoremasters. Still, regardless of her sex, frills or size, a platoon of Marines wouldn’t march away from a dark alley commanded by Caroline Cornelius – and even her $1,000 a dram perfume didn’t obscure an aura of something that lurked in the darkness. To meet Caroline Cornelius was to shiver.
The other girl was gussied up to match us exactly. I later learned that it was the widow Cornelius who had all the costumes made and her little friend was a critical part the plan. In fact, she was the plan. But in spite of her fragile beauty – we quickly learned of the deception.
Senora Cornelius was into young boys. And she found a beauty in Perro Guillermo. Blond, slim, blue eyed with sort of Latin skin, his grandparents fled WW II Germany to Bolivia. His mother was German, his father half Swede half Spanish. Perro’s father got killed getting into Southern Mexico, so he’d been raised by a vicious and poor stepfather and mother in Caba de Signor the famed resort. It was in that tinseled town that his seventeen year old good looks came to attention of his rich American mistress, the Senora Cornelius. But why was he now sitting gussied up in the same glittering drag each of us wore?
“So it’s simple ladies,” Mary Quaid continued. “If you’ll just let my boys and me help the poor widow get her boyfriend into the United States – we’ll let bygones be. And you get all your pictures back. Simple.” She smiled and pulled on her cigarette. “You see, everything so far has just been a kind of test to see how convincing you could all be as – uh – shall we say, sisters?” All but the showgirls giggled at her words. Tina and I giggled nervously, Nancy when she met my eyes, still inexplicably glared daggers.
“Ah, the girls are not comprehending the thing, Mary,” Caroline Cornelius said with a grin, aimed squarely at the oily Boxer. “Let me explain my dears. First though, meet the good Doctor Emilio Juarez.” The fast haired man smiled through those swollen and battered lips but a pool of intelligence glimmered in his deep black eyes. He stared directly at me. In fact all of our captors did. “You see, Doctor Juarez was a board certified psychiatrist until a small problem with an abortion caused him some trifling difficulties. In fact he remains one of this country’s pre-eminent hypnotherapists.” The gargoyle face glowed with happiness as he heard the praise. But still, his gaze fixed on mine. He was studying me.
“Well girls, I met Mary sometime back when she was still the chief stew with this leg of Lair Airlines. That’s when we hatched our plan. Unfortunately she’s run into some problems – still,” Caroline Cornelius locked her gaze on mine. “I think everything may have worked out for the best with you three,” and especially you my dear, the resemblance is uncanny.” I coughed and nervously scratched at a tiny piece of Rod’s ejaculation stuck to my cheek. She was right. The transvestised Perro Cornelius suddenly looked very familiar – he/she looked a terrible lot like me!
Originally the thought was to have Perro become a male cabin attendant on the Mexico to New Orleans leg. Since the crew’s papers are never checked – it would easily work. Unfortunately this run was changed to all female some months ago to cater to the more machismo desires of the Spanish businessmen. But then customs tightened again and random inspections of the crews were initiated to screen out drug carriers. That meant a slightly more elaborate plan.
So Perro was to get my papers. The story was that I had suddenly suffered an unfortunate breakdown from something called Neemphoe’s Syndrome, and needed to be shipped back to a sanitarium in the states under the care of Dr. Emilio Juarez. But since the crew’s luggage would be checked but not our papers, I would really stay on as a stew. Perro would have my identification so that – he would easily be whisked through customs and that would be that. Better yet, in order to keep suspicions down, Perro would be restrained and hampered so that no one would try to talk with the violent patient. That was especially important since Perro’s accent would instantly reveal that he wasn’t Candy Liptz and thus give everything away immediately. The plan seemed foolproof and tonight’s performance proved that Perro could pass successfully as a woman in the very center of public scrutiny.
“Still,” Dr. 3uarez interjected as he sipped his tequila. “It’s possible that something might happen to cause a particularly close inspection. So I’ve arranged to have you girls take Perro to a certain clinic in Putacita this evening for a final preparation. Then we can leave tomorrow with the complete peace of mind.”
We argued a little. But no one takes fluff heads in glimmering costumes very seriously and it was obvious that we had little choice in any of this. If everything went well we’d be sure to get the pictures back or else we could implicate Mary Quaid, Rod and Lance in the Perro incident. If Nancy kept the pix after this she couldn’t reveal them for fear of our testifying against her role in this illegal immigration. It would be in fact – A Mexican Standoff. Mary and her boys would get rich thanks to the widow Cornelius and we’d save our jobs, so what if one more illegal entered the country, we’d do it.
In an hour we found ourselves entering the Cliniqua Hombrecitas De Putacita. All the way over Tina and Nancy were whispering, glaring my way and whispering further. I thought it was strange that Nancy spent so long with the inducting nurse, but I didn’t panic until they grabbed me and the needle disgorged into my arm. In moments everything was dark.
When I awoke in our hotel room the next morning I was naked in different clothes! Yea, read that again. I was lying on the bed, undressed, but there were things on my body that had never been there before. I sat up with a start and stared at the two quivering mounds which shook on my chest. They were enormous. D cups maybe. The thimble-sized nipples peeked pertly out of large brown aureoles. The twin masses of flesh pulled down at my rib cage. And down between the two swaying orbs was a love mound as real and perfect as any I’d ever entered.
Panic. My first thought was to get up. But then I noticed my tiny waist and my soft round hips. I swung both of my new long curvaceous legs over the side of the bed and tried to get my balance with this new heavy top structure.
“Essentially it’s Metacalpholate-X,” Nancy said from behind me. She stroked the wrinkles out of her B Costume, the little girl dress as she rose from the chair near the window. “You Bitch! You let us suffer last night because you were just too manly to take Rod’s prick into your mouth.” Her red hair flared as she paced to me. She was furious.
“What? No. You’ve got it wrong Nancy. I mean. Well….” A as I slow last night at the club? Did I let the two girls get raped and humiliated because of my natural masculine distaste for fellatio? “Nancy, I didn’t mean. What have you done to me???” My voice startled me with its high softness. I stood up in my apology and caught sight of myself in the full length mirror. What looked back was shocking.
“Done to you? What did you do to us last night?” She was raving mad. Her green eyes flashed bolts. “I’ll tell you what we did. We had the clinic fix you up just like Perro. A couple of shots of an experimental drug called Metacalpholate-X have been administered and we had a nifty little bush rug glued onto your genitalia. The drug’s some kind of massive feminine hormone that works on men really well. Seems it attracts lots of the water from fat cells throughout your body and feeds it to the cellulite in your hips and breasts. Great effect huh? Makes you a horny little slut with a body that’ll deliver.”
What a body. I was transfixed at the thing in the mirror. The girl in there had a gorgeous figure, and a fantastic face. Her eyes seemed bigger than mine, with eyebrows plucked to quizzical arch, her cheeks more sunken with higher bones than mine and the lips larger and somewhat swollen. She was made up perfectly in rich colors and her mouth was a bright sleek red. Her complexion was flawless and not a hint of a beard showed through even on the closest look.
“Like your makeup?” Tina asked as she swished into the room in her red little girl finery? “Good morning Candy dear. I hope you like the effect we got on your face because it’s going to last a long time. That’s all permanent. Only a special solution will get any of it off. And you aren’t even going to find out where it’s at. Oh my, don’t we look sexy today.” She walked right to me, reached out and gently kneaded my left breast. Nancy stepped behind me and stretched around to do the same to the sensitive soft flesh on my right. My nipples grew and a feeling inside made me gasp.
“Yep, it all works,” Nancy said with a smirk as they stepped back letting me gasp for breath and feel the juices flow within. “The aphrodisiac in the stuff keeps you on a sexual hair trigger that almost any touch will pull… Actually, the nurses told us that men are a hundred times more sensitive to the effect than women.
My nipples were still stiff little poles but I regained control of my breath as a tingle radiated through each breast to join with another glow in my groin. My trapped member throbbed under its cache. “How can I get out of this? Oh please girls,” I begged, “What can I do? What do you want?” t looked at the mirror from one face to another and back to mine. “I’ll do anything. I’m so sorry about last night. Come on girls. This is terrible!”
“Terrible?” Nancy spat. “Terrible being a woman? Oh is it? We’re something to be despised huh? Good. Then the punishment fits the crime. Understand this you male cretin. We’ve fixed you up so that next time you’ll beg for cock. Until you get a shot of Metacalpholate-Y, the antidote to your predicament, that stuff is a part of you.” She smiled viciously and reached down to feather her fingers over my love mound. Her voice got low and sexy. “Now you know the score, wouldn’t you like to play the game?”
Oh! My eyes snapped closed and any protest I might have made was cut off as our lips met and I gasped from the pleasures that boiled inside me. My hips moved out of control and they pulled toward her like a compass toward north. She pinched one of my erect fat nipples forcing a gasp that seemed to come right up from my toes.
“Oh my god! Oh don’t stop. Ohhh,” I reached both arms to embrace her as tightly as I could. I wanted to wrap myself to her. Become part of her. She slid her hand slowly up my thigh toward what seemed the very center of my universe. As they rubbed against the lace of her bodice my nipples acted like twin switches of desire. Rheostats of pleasure turning up the heat, the light, the lust…. I fell to the floor as she pulled herself away.
Both girls towered over me now. Actually all I saw were shiny legs and yards of crinolines above me. “Get up Candy,” Tina said harshly. “Enough of this laziness. First you’ve got to get into uniform and then we’ve got to get Perro ready for her little trip to the States.”
I admit to a little memory loss here. I was bathed, perfumed, corseted, heeled, stockinged and puffed into the costume. Only this time its fit was obscene. The mirror showed a pink child’s dress quivering around the rich lushness of a bedroom blonde’s body. And the face and hair that crowned the effect were the wet dream of every service man.
Then we turned to Perro. As we worked I was filled in on Neemphoe’s Syndrome. Girls who suffer from that malady have an insatiable desire for the roughest kind of constant sex. They’re hysterical in their appetites and their lusts. Every waking moment is a search for another sexual fix and virtually any male can trigger them to rich multiple orgasms. Apparently the psychological problem is caused by frustrations that come from the availability of sex without commitment. Some women cannot take it and casual sex that makes a man ecstatic works on the minds of these intrinsically monogamous women and erupts in a frustration induced appetite that eventually works into Neemphoe’s Syndrome. They’re as addicted to lust as any heroin junky is to smack. More so, since they’re orgasms become exponentially more pleasurable with each new round. Untreated they will eventually die of heart failure in the process of love making. Death by fucking!
Moving a victim of Neemphoe’s Syndrome means keeping her relatively quiet and still. That means restraints. Gags and bonds are essential to the N5 patient. Moreover, the caring physician seeks to treat the symptoms while the problem can be treated. Indeed, the symptoms need to be seen to for many months, sometimes years into the treatment. Thus NS patients need constant stimulation along with their restraints. Sadly, Neemphoe’s Syndrome is still little understood and many women never recover. As you know the mortality rate is becoming heartbreakingly high.
So we worked to get Perro’s outfit just right. The Clinique Hombretas De Puticita had done as well to her as to me. She was breathtaking. Like me, the drug had made her more feminine from face to toe. With her blond hair and makeup, we could have passed for almost identical twins, particularly around the bust. First she stepped into special soft black leather panties that pushed a large rod deeply and which locked around her waist. Next her hands were coated with the richest conditioner, wrapped in plastic bags and then slid into flat mittens. These leather gloves had rough palms and were also locked irremovably onto her wrists, finally we manacled her wrists and placing a palm over each breast we strung the chain around her back pulling the hands face down over either nipple. Next we pulled a cape-like and armless leather straight jacket onto her that fit so tightly it pinioned her arms and hands down tightly against the front of her body. Now each move would cause those mittens to stroke and arouse her tits.
A crotch belt and a night collar were attached to the jacket and both of these were pulled tight and locked. She was now a long legged captive incapable of release without help with the keys we now hung on a necklace about her neck. So near, yet so far. Maybe it was the way I’d been treated, maybe just perversity. But I was getting off on packaging Perro. So I was the one who pulled each of her bonds just a couple of notches tighter. I was the one who delighted in sliding the phallus so deeply into her mouth and buckling it almost chokingly. And I tied off her knee high boots so snugly. In fact, I tried to argue the girls out of letting her have the tiny black leather micro skirt that matched the rest of her outfit to provide her with any modesty at alt. Still, I was glad she had it. It was exactly right in emphasizing Perro’s new jutting hips and providing the feminine touch that really humiliated the man inside.
An hour later we were at the airport with ‘The Patient’ set for boarding. That’s when we discovered the problem, who could have foreseen that in all the Lair flights possible, this one would have a large contingent of American psychologists returning from a conference in Mexico? Of course they would want to view a victim of this still relatively rare disease. And of course they would have to speak to her. Well as soon as they heard Perro’s accent, all would be over. It was horribly obvious to everyone that the stringently bound and gagged package writhing on her large black intruder wouldn’t do. A switch was essential, and only one other person would do. I would have to be impaled, bound, gagged and transported back to New Orleans as a victim of Neemphoe’s Disease. Even before we unwrapped her, I saw the sinister smile in Perro’s eyes over the discomfort she knew I was about to endure.
In half an hour the repackaging was complete. Perro was a pink stewardess suffering laryngitis and I was the leather bound patient. My blue eyes bulged wide over the fat leather gag crammed so deeply into my mouth. I sat in the rear of the tourist cabin with a spreader bar jacking my legs wide, we’d been permitted early entry. Mary Quaid was dressed as a nurse and both Rod and Lance wore whites as Dr. Juarez’s orderlies. Caroline Cornelius sat in the seat in front, now listed as my sister, the one who had officially committed me to the care of Dr. Juarez. Tina and Perro were off doing their work, Nancy stood close to Dr. Juarez as I listened to him talk. Talk.
“But what if one of the psychologists wants to talk with her. Won’t she give it all away?” Mary Quaid asked Dr. Juarez.
“There is that danger my dear,” he said reaching for his bag. “But I have many tricks that will make that improbable. First there’s this, it’s called Metacalpholate-X.”
He brought a syringe over to my quivering bare thigh. It’s an experimental aphrodisiac and hormone drug. It’s what they used on Perro last night to make him so feminine.”
“Wow!” Lance said. “If it’ll do that to a man, what will it do to a real girt?”
Well actually it works a bit differently on the two sexes; while it turns a man into a physically convincing girl a larger dose in a woman will induce a condition which mimics the symptoms of Neemphoe’s Syndrome in many girls. Actually a double dose will do the same thing to a man.”
“NUHHHHHHH!” I had to tell him. I’d already been laced with that drug last night.
If I got more…….” In total horror I saw the needle plunge into my thigh and empty a considerable amount of thick liquid.”
“No wait…,” Nancy leaped toward him, but she was too late. There was an agonized look on her face, “what have you done? Can’t that be harmful?”
“Relax my Dear. It won’t harm your friend. I’ve placed it into a muscle area so that it will be slowly absorbed, while the first effect will be rather large – as the day goes,” he said soothingly to me. “The passions might take your head off. On the other hand let’s take some other precautions just to be on the safe side, Eh?”
Next he threaded a small wire to a contact at the base of my crotch belt and connected its other end to a black box the size of a cigarette pack. This he clipped to the front of my costume about even with my belly button. On the front were a dial and some blinking diodes in two or three colors.
“Now you see Candy,” he said to me looking at the box. “As I twist this dial upward, we treat the symptoms of NS. Como se….”
Yoa! The phallus within me came alive. It danced and poked and vibrated wildly. It was heaven and hell combined. I gasped around the thing in my mouth and moaned fitfully.
“And that Mi Amore, is merely setting number one. There are ten settings more to come. But onto the next thing before the other board.” He dropped the power in my large companion back to zero and reached into his bag yet again, what next? How much more could I bear?
“Look at this close little sex kitten…. Oh so closely.” His voice was soothing, the drug was starting to work, and I was relaxing into a world of sexual pleasure, easing down then up onto a sensual ride. His voice was central and the tiny light he shone into my eyes was so white, so gentle. He was hypnotizing me and I was helpless to resist….
“….. And when you awake you will feel the thing within you. You will feel your hands on your nipples. You will want a man. The feeling will grow and grow. Become all pervasive. Become everything…. You will come closer and closer…… Higher and higher….. Nearer and nearer to the most explosive orgasm of any woman’s life. But, just as you peak. Just as you quiver upon the volcano’s very edge. Gust as you sense the primal eruptive powers of the universe. Then, at that instant. You will become totally aware of who you are, what is happening, where we are, who we are and you will fall completely down. Hating it, despising it, screaming to go back. Ready to die to climb back. And only at the very bottom of total awareness. Just as you are beginning to become normal and wish for release from this terrible torment. Only when you know… EXACTLY WHO YOU ARE…… Will you slowly start to build to an even higher peak than before to repeat the entire cycle anew……
“Now, pay close attention Candy. Should we remove your gag, you will immediately feel cheated of any orgasm. Your needs will become desperate for a man. Without your gag you will become hysterically driven to sexual fulfillment. But as it’s reinserted you will drop back down to normal, only to start again. Throughout it all you will rave and thrash and groan. Don’t keep it in. Let the forces explode through your voice. Screech to the heavens if you can make them hear.”
“And it will all continue, driving you up to, but never over, levels of sexual gratification beyond imagining. All will happen until you hear me, and only me say these three little words…..”
He paused, I sensed Mary Quaid and Nancy both draw near, fascinated by the moment. “You will be totally in this spell until you hear my voice tell you, Come Down Candy. Do you understand? Repeat the only sounds which will set you free of the demons of love…”
And I tonelessly repeated the only words which would set me free… “Come… Down… Candy.”
“Bueno Muchacha. Now Candy….. Wake up as I count slowly from three to one….. Three (I was starting to feel good but slightly aroused)…. Two (Ummmmmm….. a nice feeling in my groin)…. One …
“Hello Candy. What a wonderful trip we’re going to have.” I squirmed slightly on the seat suddenly conscious of it all. The second dose of the drug was coming in. I was a man, but they didn’t know it. But his instructions to return to a normal state of awareness. They made me completely conscious of my debasement. Here I was locked into that leather jacket. My hands oiled and imprisoned into mittens that stroked sex into each wiggling breast. My legs were jacked wide by a spreader bar locked to each ankle.
And in those towering boots, I doubted I could even hop anywhere. Nancy returnee to work with the others to tell them what had been done. No. This was too much. It had to stop. I had to get free. But no matter how I pulled and squirmed the only thing that loosened was the tiny skirt that rode up my hips.
“…. And ladies and gentlemen,” Tina went on as she gave the spiel about airline safety to the passengers. “One last thing. Dr. Emilio Juarez and his staff are transporting a rather unfortunate colleague of ours in the rear of the cabin. She’s been suddenly struck by a disease you’ve been reading about – Neemphoe’s Syndrome. Her treatment will begin as soon as we land. But in the interim, we’ve been informed that she might be making unpleasant and perhaps even some rude noises. We hope that you’ll all join with us in understanding her terrible plight and wish her the very best.”
Muffled screams drifted from the rear of the tourist cabin as the plane’s motors revved to catapult the jet into the evening sky toward New Orleans.
Even in the first moments of the flight it’s impossible to ignore the noise coming from the back of the tourist compartment. The black leathered blonde’s muffled screams and moans rolled up to the cockpit. Passengers nervously worked earphones on and turned the music volume as high as possible to block her wailing. Candy pitched and pulled and fought at her bonds while her smiling attendants played with the dial on a box pinned to her waist. With each twist of the thing, small lights twinkled and danced on the front of that small device. With each sparkle, the blond jerked and tugged more fiercely.
Inside that package my mind tried to blurt out the hypnotic instructions Dr. Juarez gave me. But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate, the thing in my stomach grew and twirled and my hands rubbed against my nipples and my resistance dissipated like the gentlest mist on an evening’s breeze. Through dazed eyes I saw the other stews come back and look nervously at me. At one point I heard pieces of a conversation between Nancy and Caroline Cornelius.
“I know that she wasn’t a great help to us last night, but this is more punishment than……”
“It’s not punishment My Dear, it just looks like discomfort. Actually she’s in whore heaven right now and going higher with every flash on that little box. Turn it up a little Rod honey, and show Nancy how much Candy’s getting off.
“Uhhhhhh. Ewwwwwww. Ahhhhhhhh. OHHHHHHHH! GUHHHHHHH!”
“See Nancy, she’s in love with her little friend – literally in love.”
“Can she stand that long? God, look how the veins have pumped out on her forehead and the way she’s screaming…..”
“Don’t be silly. She’s only up to number two on the scale. Wait till she reaches six or seven. Then you’ll hear some screams. It’ll be terrific. Ah, here come some of the psychologists. Now we’re really in for a show aren’t we Doctor?”
“Hello Doctors,” he said gently as the three concerned men approached. “I’m a Emilio Juarez, a psychiatrist and this poor unfortunate victim of Neemphoe’s Syndrome is Miss Candy Liptz. I’d certainly appreciate your consultation. Here, let me ungag her for a moment.”
He would do it. Yes, he unbuckled that terrible thing in my mouth. I could get some help, tell these men ail about it. *ho needs a job this badly? I could finally get rescued this awful hell. From this crushing jacket, these awful heels, the wicked spreader bar and the fat intruder wriggling in my groin. It was popping out of my mouth now……”
“Doctors,” I screamed as it came loose. “Doctors…. I need your help. I need your…… DICKS! YOUR PENISES! I WANT YOU TO RIP INTO ME. STUFF MY MOUTH. MASSAGE MY TITS. FILL ME UP. COME ON YOU PIOUS SHITHEADS – FUCK THE HELL OUT OF ME….. COME ON! FUCK ME NOW. THREE OF YOU CAN FILL THREE OF MY HOLES…..”
What was I saying? A part of me watched all of this in the greatest horror. What was happening? I wanted to get free. To end this humiliation, this torture. Had to escape the trap inside the body of a shameless bimbo. A harlot who wriggled and whinnied a sexual foulness that plainly embarrassed even these professional men who were urging Doctor Juarez to regag me, to shut me up as quickly as possible.
Moments later I sucked once more upon that nard leather dung. And Juarez told these men about the horrors of my illness. Of the dementia and psychosis that possessed me. He told them tales of me taking on an entire bar full of men in Putacita, of my exploits with some barn animals on the night the found me, and of the treatment he now applied, to exhaust me of the symptoms. While I shook my head and denied everything during his lecture, he finally invited the oldest and most distinguished of the trio to raise the level of penetration and violation on the box about my waist.
I crammed my eyes closed and steeled every muscle to prepare for the charge as I heard Juarez instruct the doctor to turn the setting up to number 5!;
“YEOW!” The vibrations ripped through me and I must have screamed for at least two minutes without ever inhaling or stopping. The thing set me off again. Back up to an orgasm I went. Who was I? Why was I? Where was I? What was I but a feeling?
Nothing but a feeling. Warm female flesh wrapped lightly about the world’s most sensual, most erotic, most perfect feeling. A girl gasping in the seat. Holding onto the trip that was……… “Ohhhhhh…”
Suddenly I came off the slope, sliding downward. Crashing away from the brilliant feelings. And with each notch down, who I really was got shamefully clearer. I saw the stares. Me, a middle aged man rigged up to be a sensuous girl. Me, trapped in leather and blond curls. Me, jiggling and wriggling and spread wide by an implacable bar between my spike heeled feet. Me, a transvestised queen, a mockery of female sexuality, a whifty, fairy princess. And any real woman who ever discovered this would despise me completely. And I could do about it. They had to let me loose. Let me out of this skirt that mocked femininity. Out of this makeup, out of this rig that…… ohhhhh.”
“See,” Ramirez continued. “She suffers peaks and troughs like any schizophrenic and now you can tell she’s become aware of us. Probably now she’s close to normal and feels the shame of her condition. But her mind will soon block it all out to take her upward once again. Here Doctor,” he said to another of the trio, “why not turn her dial just a little higher. Perhaps to 6?”
And that’s how it went through the night to New Orleans. Different passengers were allowed to play with me. One was particularly revolting. On our way out a \U year old brat named Ralph was aboard and this was apparently his return flight. The pimply faced kid obviously recognized me and along toward morning he stopped by my seat, unfortunately this was during one of my periods of lucidity. Dr. Juarez was napping and Lance turned down my knob when he went off to the bathroom.
“How’s it going Slut,” the little bastard whispered. “I heard them say that you can’t get enough. Too bad about this thing.” He poked under my skirt and pulled at my crotch belt. “Ah well, maybe I can get you off anyway.” His hand dropped onto the knob.
“UHHHHHHHHHH. ELLLLLLLLLLLL!” I cried, wailed, for help. I pleaded with my »yes. No more. The thing had been up to 7. It had almost killed me for those instants. I didn’t think I could take anymore. Even Lance let me get a rest. He couldn’t, shouldn’t be allowed to be here. He mustn’t play with that thing. He mustn’t play with me……
“Imagine Slut. I’m going to get a chance to really wiggle your controls,” I could see the bulge growing between his legs. A little wet spot formed on his chinos. “Take it ALL SLUT!” He turned it all the way up – past the 10!
It must have been his cry that brought Tina on the run. But by the time she arrived he was gone, and the knob went with him. The damned little asshole had pulled it right off after cramming the thing into its highest setting. I got reamed at full intensity by a mindless machine that wouldn’t be turned off. Worse yet, Tina never really looked at the box before, so she didn’t recognize that the knob was missing. But still the rapidity of the flashing lights worried her. That and the sweating, gasping, wheezing noises coming from me as I flopped about the seat like a carp newly fished out and thrown onto the deck of a boat.
By the time we arrived in New Orleans, I’d passed out. Oh Nancy had roused Juarez soon after Ralph disappeared and he’d disconnected the box from its wires. But not before I’d been pushed to an orgasm beyond anything most living people have ever been allowed. Then I lost consciousness and it wasn’t until they were loading me into the ambulance that I recovered any sense.
Images…. Headlights knifing through the night, wailing siren. Stretcher bumping across asphalt. Hushed voices. Stripped of my jacket and shackles. The sharp jab of a syringe, I gasped in the rich smell of flowers and disinfectant as I fell naked onto clean sheets on a soft mattress…… Darkness.
It cleared when they came to me in the morning. Tina looked guilty, Nancy seemed angry still, but her wrath didn’t appear to be aimed at me. Talking was difficult – impossible actually – with the ball held deep in my mouth by a harness strapped around my head.
“We’re really sorry dear,” Tina started to sob. “All of this seems to be out of hand…. we never…
“Look, that’s right candy,” Nancy interrupted abruptly. “On we were mad enough back in Putacita, but we never thought any of this would happen and we had no way of knowing they’d switch you for Puppie. The Metacalpholate-X was just a hoot. Something to get even with, we really didn’t mean this…..”
The whole thing spilled out. We were in the Neemphoe’s Sanitarium of Pequeq Parish deep in Bayou country, while the place looks legit – it’s not. The girls here have all been committed by some erstwhile guardian, just like me. In reality the place is a bondage bordello – with all of the victims committed to the care of Dr. Juarez. The asylum treats the symptoms of Neemphoe’s by selling the girls to men who will ‘help out’. The guardians ail get a percentage of their “relative’s” earnings.
To get in the Stews spent $200 for an hour of the hew girl’s time and they filled out a computer form for my preparation. They chose to have me wailing in bed. From the ‘Binders’ section, they chose ‘Other’ which they assumed to be nothing but turned out to be four handcuffs – they spread-eagled and gagged me tightly.
Mercifully, they chose ‘NONE’ under the check off for ‘SEXUAL STIMULATORS’. From the section, ‘Dress or Undressed’, they choose ‘Dressed’, and picked one of the selections entitled ‘Southern’. They picked it hoping that they could take me out into Pequea Parish inconspicuously. Hardly. Southern means a negligee that mocks a Southern Belle’s costume. It’s a low cut froth in international orange – satin, with a matching choker. Orange stockings an orange garter belt and bright orange sandals finish the look. I still suffered from the hypnotic suggestion so we all realized that when the gag’s removed a sexual frenzy will erupt.
But at least with the gag in place my mind could concentrate on the moment. Beside my bed lie a syringe filled with more of the aphrodisiac and feminizing Metacalpholate-X. While there had a choice of ‘Sexual Stimulators’ they chose NONE – however some decorated the bed all around me.
“Well we can’t get you out like this candy, even if we had the keys to your cuffs,” Nancy told me, shaking her red curls and looking around at my posh cell. “Hey look in here Tina.”
The long legged brunette whistled, “Yikes. There must be a hundred costumes in that closet. Every fantasy’s here at least twice. Look, maid, toddler, nurse, nun, bathing beauty, secretary, prom queen. Wow! Lots of leather. Look at this!” She came out of the closet holding the thinnest wisp of highly colored gauze on a hanger. “It’s a harem outfit.”
“Whoa,” Nancy giggled. “Imagine having to serve dinner on the plane in that!” The thing hid nothing. In fact, it probably proclaimed everything. The little froth looked designed to turn most men into helpless, mindless, rapists!
“EW eee ou uh eeer! Ey ant ew in! Ehhh eeee ouhhh!” The gag made my words into garbage – “Let me out of here,” I screamed. “They can’t do this! Let me out!” And how I squirmed against those implacable steel cuffs on each wrist and ankle. But only managed to tease my skirt northward and my top south. My monstrous tits were straining to burst free as I stopped. The things has swelled so hard and large that they almost blocked any view I had of my high heeled feet. Finally I just laid back, loud gasping sobs shuddering down my body, sending my breasts into rippling spasms. It was hopeless. And even if I did get free, I knew the power of Dr. Juarez hypnotic spell. I could never remove my gagging until he said his magic words. I’d have another terrible sexual fit if I even tried. It was too terrible.
“Look girl,” Nancy said softly and gently, she obviously pitied my plight. “We don’t have the keys and even if we did, there’s no way the attendant down stairs would let three women leave when only two came up/But I’ve got a plan. And it starts with this.” She pulled her little micro-cassette tape recorder from her package with a big smile.
“Remember how close I hung to you last night on the plane? Well there’s a little recording on this that you just have to hear.” She switched it on and I heard the words….
It was Doctor Juarez’ voice, soothing, quiet. Recorded on the plane. Just the one part……. “Come Down Candy.” All at once, the hammering of my heart slowed along with my breathing. And while I was a little fearful as Tina unbuckled my gag, I knew in an instant that it was alright again.
As my mouth was cleared and I coughed and worked my tongue, Nancy continued, “They said that you don’t become an official part of their, uh, line of merchandise, until they’ve got your pictures on display. But the people who do that, we’re told won’t be in until tomorrow night, well you relax here, we’ll be back before then – and we’ll get you out, just wait. They won’t offer you to any customers until they have your pictures and since nobody but us knows that you’re here, you can rest.”
“Where’s Puppie,” I finally whispered, surprising myself with the weakness of my voice.
Tina looked nervous. “It seems he, er, she’s… had a sort of change of mind. Now, don’t get excited.” She saw me start to pale. “We’ll take care of that and she’ll be with us tomorrow before the flight leaves. We’ll all be in harem uniforms and we’ll order you up in that one there.” She nodded at the thing in the closet. When we get here, we’ll make the switch, and the three of us will get out with Puppie safely tied behind in your place.”
“Puppie was sort of shocked by the way you were treated on the way down and now that he’s in the country, well – he doesn’t think he needs any of this.”
I really squirmed now and sobbed, until Nancy reached over and gently stroked my heaving body. “Easy little girl. My, you really do look like a girl now, but don’t worry. Puppie needs a shot of Metacalpholate-Y, the antidote to the stuff that’s made the both of you so shapely. And we’ve got the stuff. I think we can use it tomorrow to at least get him over here…. then we’ll see, huh Tina.” Nancy smiled evilly, and Tina picked up on her grin.
“Why not give it to me now? Oh please, get me out of this body.”
“Well,” Tina looked nervous. “We really can’t. If you suddenly, er, deflated, the attendants would know and just shoot you up again with this.” She picked up a syringe of the stuff from the dresser. “If fact, this is here in case anyone wants to pump you up. You might just get a little more anyway before we get back and since we only have one shot of antidote….”
Smiling down at me Nancy picked up on Tina’s thought, “Right honey, and just hold on till tomorrow. It’s all going to work out. Hmmmmm… and since you’ve got some time to kill, why don’t we just take this little number….” She reached for something on the bed and pulled the hem of my tiny hoop skirt upwards. “Slide it right into this….. and give you something to make the time fly while you’re waiting.” She switched the new implant on between my legs and as it buzzed to life, they both bent, Kissed me gently, reinserted my gag and walked out leaving me in my orange finery to struggle, moan and slowly build up to another orgasmic roller ride. This time though I didn’t have a hypnotic wall to stop my body from diving into nirvana.
I didn’t want the pleasure again. I tried to resist. I forced myself to think of my predicament. There I was, a fully virile man, trapped and packaged in this incredible female body that was flounced and painted and preened to vulgar heights. I felt beneath humiliation, at the lowest moment in my life as I lay there helplessly tied and open to anyone with that fat plastic stick up my fake vagina. But my thoughts didn’t stop the thing from buzzing me back to a flopping, heaving, panting mass of feminine helplessness. In a few moments I had reached the rim of another major volcano. I began to pray that it would come, that… that… that…… “Nuh.. Oh NUH!!!”
In the interval attendants fed me, walked me, enema’ed and evacuated me. They injected me and they left me to sleep. But always they filled my cavities. Always I was stuffed to the fullest with some foul, large and quivering things. Always each of my holes sucked upon something long, firm and fully packed. It seemed like forever until they prepared me for Tina and Nancy again. And when it came…. It was even worse.
The next day had come, but it still seemed so early when they showered and preened my body. Layers of makeup were delicately applied. The female attendants giggled as they went about their chores. By now the drug and the vibrators had worn me down. Only the thought of imminent rescue kept me at all alert and I simply let them do their worst. Since they assumed I was still under Juarez’s hypnotic suggestion, something always was pressed into my mouth to keep me pacified. Of course I played along.
As I watched the process take shape in my vanity mirror my mind worked on an interesting problem. Nancy’s trick with the tape-recorder should have brought a lot of solace – but strangely – things were just as bad. Because now my mind was free to understand just how degrading everything was. Without the distraction of those sexual elevator rides, now I could watch the attendants enhance my permanent makeup. Watch my lips get redder and glossier, my eyes drawn wider and deeper and the lush crimson glow blushed onto my cheeks and around my breasts.
I was totally aware as they cinched me tightly into the crushing satin waist-cincher and as they gartered my long silken white stockings. I understood how erotic the blood red panties appeared against the white and I could see that the front had been padded to imitate some sort of animal arousal beneath while the back was slit leaving my ass entirely unprotected. The brush tickled my sensitive nipples as it rouged them to almost a cherry red. Then came the dress.
It was a short, full, whiter-than-white bridal gown. The thing had a wide choker collar made completely of pearls that kept my chin high when they zipped the thing snugly up the back. Above the waist I was a dazzling froth of lace and peekaboo spandex. The thing covered my big mounds with a mesh that let the pert fattened nipples show through. There were big flirty shoulder sleeves that ended above my elbows. Below the waist tons of built-in mesh crinolines floated out and up swishing loudly with my slightest quiver. They shod me in four inch bowed sandals to flaunt my ruby red toenails.
After teasing my honey locks into gently curls that drifted all around my Head like a golden cloud, they finished the look with long pearled earrings fixed with studs.
Nervously, one of the girls pulled a handkerchief from my mouth and before I could say anything, quickly replaced it with a plastic covered white metal ring. It was soft and slid behind my teeth. Two straps attached to either side of it bucked under my hair. They repaired my lipstick and stepped back to admire their work. Now my lips and teeth were open in a large and permanent mode. I could have talked with some difficulty, but without help, I couldn’t close my mouth.
Then came the massive veil. The thing was pinned to my head by a pearled tiara and arced out in every direction like sparkling white embers blown from the mouth of a volcanic explosion. In the back it dropped to my waist to blur with the line of my skirting.
“She looks terrific. He’ll love her.” One of the attendants said to the other.
“He’ll do more than love her, Honey. He’ll fuck her head off.” The other giggled.
HE? wait. Nancy said she the plan called for the harem costume. What was this? There must have been a change in plans. No one else could know about me yet. I couldn’t be part of the menu this place offered to its clientele yet – no pictures were taken. What were Nancy and Tina up to?
They led me to the thing next. Two large planters of silk flowers had been arranged in the center of my room and between them sat an elaborate Victorian church kneeler. You know the kind. Dark wood. Deep crimson felt fabric on the padded kneeler and on the armrest in front. So the bride would be kneeling, a prim supplicant in this costume when her clients arrived eh? Okay. I’d gone this far. The only odd thing were the gloves and the bouquet.
After kneeling me, one girl slid my hands and arms right into the long ivory gloves that lay open on top of the kneeler. The other pulled my legs apart and gently but tightly tied my legs just below the knees to the kneeler. She wrapped them in wide ivory ribbons that were attached to the thing and tied them each off in large bows. My legs were about a foot apart and now there was no way I could pull them together.
The gloves however held my attention. The bottom of each glove was attached to the armrest. So when I had my hands inside and each of the little pearl buttons was tightly done, all the way up above my elbows, I was completely fixed to the thing. The last detail was the corsage of pink and white flowers silk flowers which was immovably fixed into the hands of those gleaming gloves. Thus they were a double bind. My arms were held tightly to the kneeler while my hands were caught to the grip of my corsage which spilled out all around them.
“Wonderful,” said the first girl clapping her hands.
“Beautiful,” agreed the other stepping back to admire me.
Through my veil I looked down as much as my collar would allow to see quivering breasts with the rouged nipples glowing beneath the netting. Turning back I saw yards of skirting that mounding up and around. And in front of me I held the delicate bouquet. Was this some joke? Were the stews looking for a good laugh? But no. Now I understood. None of my bonds had locks! Of course. They needed something which they could easily open. So they made me into a bridal package. And since every groom needed easy access to his new wife they assumed that I’d be particular available in this rig. Good thinking. I agreed …… Until I looked up, smiling around that ring in my mouth and stared right into the face of……. a leering, obviously drunken…. LANCE!
The attendants snuck quietly away. We were alone as he circled, but I tried to keep my eyes on him every moment. I felt like a bird near a cat. Worse yet, an injured bird, unable to fly or even flop. But what a pretty thing I was. A bride – The Bride of Lance. Kneeling for my Master’s pleasure. I wriggled furiously, helplessly, hopelessly. It did nothing but flaunt my charms. A bulge grew large at his crotch.
“Well, dun ya look good, ya Bitch! But les make you look better, eh.” He burped and reached to the side of my kneeler.
“W-haaa. What are yuh doin? Stah in! Noooo.” The ring let me talk pretty well. But I didn’t want to talk, not as my knees started to slide one way and my elbows the other. There was a motor slowly but inexorably spreading the kneeler backward and the armrest down and forward. I was going down in front and up in back. Stretching out with my face dropping forward and down to a level just about even with his crotch. I could feel my tiny skirts sliding up and back to show off those red panties and my bare sphincter.
“Lookin’ Good Girl.” He laughed and lumbered unsteadily around me once again. Only this time, I had to look up to see his face in front. Behind, my ass and those petticoats hid him completely. I was now on my knees in a deep bow presenting my bridal and virginal rear tauntingly at my man.
We had safe sex. He used two lubricated condoms, one each time he tore into my ass. I wriggled, screamed, cried, struggled and got fucked. He was big, long and tireless. It hurt very badly, both times. If only I’d still had the hypnotic help, maybe the pain wouldn’t have been so bad. But without it I was aware of every moment. Especially the end.
After impaling my butt twice he stripped his massive dong clean of the rubber and walked to the bed to grab the first soiled condom. Still swaying he staggered back to my kneeling perch. Now I sagged, head down, veils spilling all over the floor as I felt the motor start anew to lift me back to my original position.
“Gotta’ go Girl. But I dohn wanna leave you hungry…” He lifted my veil and held my chin tightly as my eyes popped wide in horror. I couldn’t shut my mouth around that circle. I had to take the open end of first one, then the other as he squeezed them dry. I had to let him cram each of the slimy, empty skins into my mouth. And then, he pushed a cork plug through the ring to hold it all inside, forcing me to swallow the slime I couldn’t spit out around the ring and the cork. I had to drink and swallow his thick, gooey loads.
He left a rumpled bride on her kneeler still gripping her bouquet. Streaks of caking cum rippled along her inner thighs and down her stockings and matching rivulets dribbled down from her lush red lips and over her chin. Her tear streaked face was hidden under layers of veils, but her sobs quaked out around the terrible rubber mess mashed far into her mouth. And I knew from the way she smelled, the way the waist cinch crushed her waist, the way the long pearl earrings danced along her cheeks, the way her skirts brushed her thighs and the way her jiggling breasts pulled heavily at her rib cage, that I was that violated bondage bride.
I guess they left me there about an hour. Can you imagine an hour like that? Chewing on a cud of slime. Rustling on your knees. Wondering if you would die. Hoping that it was over. Praying for someone, anyone, to save you. To make it right.
But at the end of the time the attendants were back. Soothing. Unbinding. Undressing, washing. Then reprocessing me once again. This time when it ended I was indeed a harem girl. A dancing harem girl, and what an awful problem that presented. If my plight with Lance had been terrible – it was merely degrading. This was potentially dangerous, and it scared the hell out of me.
I stood in the far corner of the room as the three stews arrived. My hands were buckled to my thick red collar at the wrists. My ankles were tied with a long scarf that shackled them about twenty inches or so apart. I could walk with only a little difficulty, but my four inch ankle tied sandals prevented too much locomotion. The real problem were the things that had been slid and buckled deeply into my front and back. They looked like firm rubber dongs. And that’s what they felt like for the moment. Wires trailed out from each of them connected to the large stereo set in the corner of the room. Finally another, slightly different dong was harnessed into my mouth. Yet a third wire strung from between my lips and over to the same stereo. The room was deathly still.
I knew that a small beam of light played across the room very near to me. I also knew that if Thai. beam was to be broken by someone, then the stereo would turn on. It was a big stereo rig, about a thousand watts per channel. I really didn’t want that thing to go on. Why? well the dong between my lips was a very high powered microphone as well. But the other two things that now invaded my body were a lot worse. They were state-of-the-art, full fidelity, 1,000 wait miniaturized speakers!
Up my rear I wore a tweeter, and my false pussy sported a massive woofer. If that stereo came on, I was going to woof and tweet and ……. worse yet, the explosive effects would probably make me whine, moan or – scream at the top of my lungs. Right! The microphone in my mouth was hooked directly into the set, so the cries would come back, amplified a thousand fold and explode deeply into my body.
I stood there terrified. I didn’t dare move for fear of breaking that beam. Yet I had to tell them. Warn them. Make them look before they touched me. “Muhhh. Stahhh. Ohhhhhnnn Cuh Near Meh! Stahhh Igh Err.”
“No. Stop,” I tried to scream around the gag. “Don’t come near me! Stay right there.” But it didn’t stop them. They stripped off their coats curiously looking at one another. Tina took their coats and dropped them on the bed. “Now relax Candy. What have they done to you.”
Perro was very nervous. She was a stunning blond in that harem rig and it was uncanny how alike we both looked. But it was obvious that she didn’t want to be here and was anxious to get going. She held back toward the door as the two girls came toward me.
I almost got hysterical. I kept jerking toward the stereo, wiggled the wires as best I could and hollered a lot of unintelligible gibberish…. NUuhh. Staahhh. Stereeuhs Seehkuhs in meh. wusn uh ligh….” Then they tripped the switch!
GREAT GOD IN HEAVEN! There was a CD disk in the machine and it was set for Michael Jackson’s classic ‘Billy Jean’. The base, the treble, my screams…. I could almost feel my head come off…. it… was…. marvelous. I orgasmed instantly. I also wet my panties.
A half hour later we left. It was quite simple. Behind Puppie lay spread-eagled to the bed and stuffed with my speakers and microphone the stereo pumping inside. At the desk we asked to have her left that way for a few hours then paid in advance to have her changed into a bondage mermaid and dropped into a warm pool of beauty mud for a night crammed full with portable vibrators that would go on whenever she stopped undulating her fish’s tail. It seemed like a nice way to get her ready for the photographers tomorrow.
The girls didn’t give me the antidote however. And they still haven’t. We’ve been back in New York a week, but my pleadings fall on deaf ears. They have released my cock from the pussy harness. So now I look like a gorgeous bimbo everywhere but between my legs. They’re getting a kick out of me this way. And truth be told, I kind of like the never ending sex we’re having. But next week we’re back on call so they should let me have the stuff by then. But of course Candy’s leg is still broken and we are a stew short. Hmmmmmm….. think they’ll give me the antidote then. After all, fun’s fun. But I can’t really stay like this much longer. I can’t….
* * * the end * * *