Pansy Pond By Timothy Reisling Betticut Chapter 4 – Kimberly
*** Week Two ***
“I….. You can’t make me do this. I…. I……” The blonde¹s hands raised easily even while her face and eyes seemed to will them down. “Look, you’ve got me under some kinda trance Doc, but I’m going to find a way around this and….. The fuck is this thing?”
The attendants tugged the tight black dress down over Kimberly’s corset casing and finally to the very top of her spiked bootlettes. Then they started working on the buckles as the blue eyed beauty lowered her hands and stared at herself in the mirror.
“Hey, Omagawd that’s tight. No, these heels are bad enough, I won’t be able to walk. Damnit! I can hardly breathe now, don’t…… Oh! don’t do that!”
As if she wasn’t there, the attendants meticulously rolled the buckles closed high on her neck, wrists, ankles and thighs. The casing was, at any distance, a dress. Condom tight and matte black with belts in the same unforgiving fabric, each buckling almost invisibly in front. The belt at the neck was high and kept her chin up, the waist cinch was at least 15 inches wide and snickered her down to some 19 inches around. Snugged in this strictly the blond could take only the shallowest breaths in her upper lungs. The two on her legs held her steps to the most mincing.
Finished, Raquel Satyrini walked around the captive beauty, as she spoke she snapped her fingers at the attendants who came forward with a high tray stacked with cosmetics, “Alright, that’s a start for your evening, now let’s get you made up and opened, eh?”
Fifteen minutes later Lance Torp stared from the eyes of a dazzling blond Kimberly. He saw her D cups bloom against the tight plain front of the dress from hell, her tiny waist spread out into jiggling wide hips and then his eyes dropped down along the super long legs belted together under that taught skirt that ended just above the five inch heels he teetered upon. Her swollen lips were wet and red to match the long nails poking from each of her fingers. Fingers that involuntarily, and unbelievingly swept along the dangerous curves of the glamorous body that held him so humiliatingly inside.
Lance Torp couldn’t understand how all this was happening. All his life he hated women, yet needed to use them. Many times he purposely insisted his dates wear clothing that cheapened them and even imprisoned them, just to know he had the power to make a woman demean herself for him. And now he stood, blonded, painted, corseted, hosed, heeled and finally packed into what looked like a sausage casing. He was the bimbo he’d commanded so many women to become. A creature devoid of any purpose except helpless sexual pleasure. He watched as the buxom blond thing in the mirror shook her curls and her long earrings sparkled and flashed in the light.
He knew the curves were real now, induced by some sort of drugs that seemed to depress his ability to object just as surely as it enhanced the exaggerated femininity of his body. And he knew the voices coming from those flashy silver and rhinestone earrings would order him as effectively as any commands he ever gave to the women he conquered in his other life before marrying Randi Russell.
Now, almost in a dream, he watched the attendants attach the belts at his wrists with a clear plastic rod some five inches long, then bring them up and attach the center of that rod to another rod of equal length already hanging from the very front of his collar. A third, slightly longer rod dangled from the front of that connecting rod. Now they pulled a single lace glove over his hands, the fingers somehow reinforced on the inside so that he appeared to be…… praying? His hands just below his chin, and his elbows tied off to nine inch lengths of invisible fishing cord to the front sides of the wide belt at the blonde¹s nipped in waist.
After circling her victim another time, Raquel Satyrini stepped in close and placed an index finger under Kimberly’s chin, “Here’s your deal little one. Your wife’s coming this evening. She understands you’re unhappy here and maybe the treatment’s not working. If that’s true, all you need do is tell her, and we’ll release you. Understand?”
Lance couldn’t believe what he heard as he teetered in his casing and heels to hold himself from falling toward his massive tits, “Just tell her I want out and you’ll tell her the therapy’s a failure?”
Doctor Satyrini stepped back a twinkle in her eyes as her hands dropped to her hips, “That’s right Kimmie. Simple eh? Of course you’ll have to be clear, that outfit sort of contradicts your message a bit.”
Lance saw the trap, but it didn’t faze him, “So you’ve made me look silly. So what. If I only have to tell her you’ve failed, I’ll do it regardless of this getup. When’s she getting here?”
“Oh, she’s here Kimmie, let’s go get her now, okay?”
“Get her, ummmmph. Hey wait up, aright. I’m coming. This rig’s not stopping me, if that’s what you think.” And Lance hopped along behind, Kimberly’s breathtaking body flopping around with each little jump, “I’m coming damn you. I’m…… uh…… coming. Wait, now. What’s in there? Who are they?”
Four blondes, encased in identical black hobble dresses stood outside a door. Each seemed a twin of the other, and all were almost identical to the hopping Kimberly, almost except for her bonds. “If you’ll just get into line, we’ll take you into that little room and get you fixed up to tell Randi your story, if she can pick you out of course.”
“Hah. I knew there was a catch. I’m supposed to be such a broad now, that she won’t know me, eh. You think? Well you’re wrong baby. Fix me up any way you want. Even like this, no way my wife’s gonna confuse me with any of these sluts of yours. Hey, what’s the…… uh-uh. Uh ohne uh izz hing.”
The attendants easily pushed the red O ring behind Kimberly’s teeth and pulled the skin colored strapping tightly under her hair, as Dr. Satyrini smiled encouragement. “You agreed to stand out in the crowd Kimmie and the other girls will all open up nice and wide – so……”
Lance still wasn’t too worried. The thing jacking open his teeth obscured his words some, but he could talk, and there was no way anyone would confuse his manners or his intentions with the willing nymphets parading in front of him. While they might look identical, Lance retained total confidence in his masculine ability to contradict this enforced transvestite disguise, as he hobbled and skipped along behind the other girls through the opening door.
Inside the round dim room five comfortable benches were built into the walls and each girl took a position facing one while Kimberly took the last. A deep pile carpet covered the floor and the walls were paneled in smoky mirrors.
“Huuunh. Hey. Whaaaa?” The attendant behind Kimberly suddenly pushed his knees into the back of her’s causing Kimmie to drop forward to a kneeling position. Then the man quickly attached a clasps to the front of the buckles at her ankles and knees – clasps fixed to the floor. Just as rapidly he leaned forward and with a well practiced movement took hold of the rod that hung from between Lance’s wrist binding, pulled it and Lance forward and down to hook the end of the thing to a catch on the front of the bench facing him. Now Lance knelt, bent almost to the seat, squirming in his cacooning and throwing his long curls back to see each of the other blondes similarly kneeling, but none of them appeared to be bound at the neck or ankles.
That’s when five men entered. Dr. Satyrini directed each to a seat in front of one of the attending women, the last to a spot directly before Lance. The man assigned to Kimberly had to slide his legs around the rod that held her praying gloved hands just above the seat cushion and now forced Lance’s face almost against this massive guy’s fly. As the man’s fingers grabbed his zipper and slowly began to pull it down in front of Kimberly’s swollen red lips, Lance started to realize what was to come – in his face.
When Randi Russell left her view point from behind the one way mirror and entered the room she’d been watching during her husband’s entire entrapment, she did her best to hold back laughter. Five back sides pointed up at her. Five blond heads were buried into the crotches of five panting men. Each guy held his sucker by the hair and helped her mouth along his shaft. Each of the girls shook her head and squirmed in apparent passion, their hands up somewhere in front of them helping their men along. One of the girls, the one closest to the door, was particularly creative and seemingly engaged in an Herculean hum-job along with the sucking she was performing. And her music got louder as she heard Randi Russell talk with Dr. Raquel Satyrini.
“So this is the fourth place you’ve brought me Raquel, and I still don’t see him. You say, he wants to talk with me? I feel like a kid playing hide and seek.”
“This is the blow job room. Each of these girls loves what she’s up to and they’re on their first man. As a guy gets finished, he slides around under the next girl’s lips. They’ll be here a long while, but the men love it. And that’s the point Mrs. Torp. That’s exactly the game we’re playing. In only two weeks we’ve gone a long way to accomplishing exactly our objective. You’ve seen dozens of our patients today, in a number of settings, yet, while one of them is definitely your Lance, we’ve fooled you huh? You’re certain you can’t pick him out, right?”
The redheaded super model watched her husband’s back as it bobbed forward and back along the swollen gag of human meat stuffing his mouth and throat. “Well, certainly he isn’t one of these tramps. No way Lance would ever…… ever suck another man’s cock. Yuck, the idea is a terrible turn off. If I ever thought he was one of these cock heads, why…… I…. I’d just have him committed here for life. Ewww, let’s get out, I think I know which one Lance is. He’s back in that second room isn’t he? The masked girl on the vibrating saw horse?”
As Randi Russell’s voice faded the large dong popped free from Kimberly’s lips and spurted over her eyes, nose and hair while the blond shook to avoid the massive spray and hoped his wife wouldn’t come back before they let him out of the blow job room. And Lance could only squirm forward in shame as a second man slid in front of his kneeling mouth, his flaccid dong pointing at Kimberly’s soft red lips jacked wide. Lance felt his great breasts sway as the guy tugged him forward and down upon his meat gagging. Futiley Lance yanked at his wrists and tried to pull free of the belting and corseting and taut black skirting and towering heels that simultaneously entrapped him and made him into a more enticing Kimberly-the-cock-sucker.
*** Week Three ***
“I can’t believe you didn’t hear me last week. How could you leave me doing that?” Kimberly walked as quickly as the knee high boots let her, trying to keep up with her long legged spouse.
“That was you? My husband the cock sucker? You were one of the blondes giving head in the blow job room?” Randi Russell giggled and flipped a stray red curl from her eyes as they walked toward the door following the five other couples.
“You think I liked that? The guys were using my head like a vacuum spigot.”
“I don’t know Kimmie, all of those girls seemed pretty active in there to me. I never dreamed…..”
Randi Russell was dressed to kill. She wore a Spandex orange thing that was short and tighter than Ed McMahon after a toot. Her shiny hair swirled behind them like a cape as they approached the archway at the end of the tunnel. Her husband Lance hurried to keep up as his long red nails gestured agitatedly. With each step his tiny white pleated skirt flipped up over his slick white tights to reveal sparkling gold panties. He was dressed to match the other cheerleaders who passed through the door in front of them.
“Well, maybe they did go too far last week, but you can drop out anytime you want Kimberly, if you’ll just admit this therapy failed.”
The blond cheerleader stopped, her hair billowing around her and the long earrings swinging gaily, “Admit this thing failed? So you can just shed me without any compensation? That’s it isn’t it? You want me gone? Well, no way Randi. And I’m not Kimberly, I’m Lance Torp, remember? Your husband?” She actually stamped her high booted foot on the walkway as she made her point, her large breasts jiggling behind the tight rayon white top and the large ‘PP’ lettering in the same gold as her panties. I’ll go out there and lead the cheers they made me learn this week. And every one of those spectators is going to cream over my performance this afternoon, you just watch.” Kimberly turned on her heel and strutted out through the door onto the field before the crowd gathered for the football game.
“I wouldn’t smile too hard, it’s not going well,” it was Dr. Raquel Satyrini who’d come up quietly upon the redheaded super model watching her husband mince onto the field all white and gold shaking her pom-poms, tits and ass.
“It isn’t? You mean he’s out there in front of hundreds of strangers, corseted and heeled, hosed and curled, painted and perfumed and you say it isn’t working? He sure looks like he’s getting into it.”
“This is just a charade for him. He’s mastered the moves of a cheerleader, but his smile’s not real. We’ve go to find that smile – that coquettish subservience of a real girl who packs herself into a costume like that to flaunt everything she’s got to a crowd of strangers. He’s only going through an act. We must make Lance love it, or hate it. Last week was the closest we came to real humiliation. But even with the drugs and hypno therapy, he resists fiercely.”
Dr. Satyrini watched her patient bounce as she worked the crowd. “I’m afraid some sort of goal is blocking the taming of her maleness. We’ll take it up this week with my colleagues.” What Dr. Satyrini didn’t express was her fears about the methods necessary to break Lance Torp’s ferocious male spirit.