PERFECTLY BOUND MAGAZINE by Timothy Reisling Betticut

PERFECTLY BOUND MAGAZINE
by Timothy Reisling Betticut

“Mam’selle vill please turn her back and give zee hands, N’est Pas?” The
hostess suddenly twirled the high heeled girl and handcuffed her. The
startled young woman squirmed and pulled at the things as the hostess
walked nonchalantly past them Carrying a menu, “Zis vay, si vous plait.”
The main room was a circle ringed by small booths. Curtains hid the
occupants of some. The lady led them to one, pulled back the table and
again expertly twirled the captive unexpectedly about, dropping her into
the booth.

Where she sat was special with an indented back to accept cuffed arms.
the hostess quickly buckled a seat belt tightly. A small padlock clicked
into place. Belts with locks, efficiently snicked around her neck and
ankles. With a last quick motion the hostess slicked the girl’s short
leather skirt modestly down over her stocking tops, handed the gentleman
a menu, dropped their Curtains and left them gaping at one another.

‘The Rack’. Great name for a rag trade mag for men. ‘The Rack’, a momma
of an idea for a slick, perfect bound book, glossy with four color plus
enamel on all art. Yoa! Big buck publishing – the perfect fashion
magazine for yuppie men roarin’ down the fast lane. Research predicted
large numbers, lots of double, even quadruple trucks! Finally, a man’s
fashion magazine to compete with ‘Vogue’.

And to hook the gold cards they gathered the best sports, financial and
political staff all together with Thunder McBride, the one, undisputed
macho male heterosexual fashion writer in the biz. No swish-glitz here.
But clothes were the emphasis and the first run was two million copies
at 250 pages. Hardly anybody bought it! Sales had to refund agency
advances.

Wendy Kaufman published and edited the book. She hired Thunder and his
three contributing horsemen for good salaries and stock blocks. If the
thing went down, she and her four editors were hurt. Big! Second issue
out. Same idea, but it had a fun feature showing male models in tuxes,
their escorts were transvestites. The edition sold like mad. Sell out!
Magic words. Research said it went to men who tripped on the TV feature.

Fast changes in the third edition. New cover, more TVs. Sell out! But so
much money lost on the first issue, ‘The Rack’ was in deep trouble.
Wendy needed an investor…. Fast and Bad!

Nobody’s faster or badder than Derk Kerl. The Upper East Side real
estate tycoon had an extra three million, liked the numbers, saw the
market. But he worried. Could the staff continue to maintain first rate
editorial stuff, plus know the TV market well enough to excite them? He
saw it like a ‘Playboy’ deal. Cram the book with snappy pictures and
naughty art work, but balance it with classy features and articles. Of
course everybady’d buy it to read the articles. Just like ‘Playboy’,
right? Heh-heh-heh.

Wendy’s editorial staff had to convince Kerl they were simpatico with
drag. He requested a little dinner – and five other things.

*** ** ***

“That’s the deal,” Wendy paced the golden oak conference room at ‘The
Rack’, her blond curls whipped about as she spun. “He set down five
conditions we have to meet. I hate it fellas. But there it is. We do it,
or fold.”

She looked over her staff. Lylia Wilkins, the political editor grinned
at the squirming men around her. She was a regal brunette, amused at her
colleagues. “If I understand you correctly Wendy, we simply have to
demonstrate that we’ve got an affinity for women’s clothes and roles, or
we lose our stock?”

“Essentially yes,” Wendy couldn’t meet any eyes. “And the dinner’s this
Saturday Night at the Wentworf Hotel. Since today’s Tuesday, there’s a
lot to do.”

“Hell you say,” Tim Mitty exploded. “You want us in dresses? Petticoats?
Shit! Fuck the stock! I’ve worked the money beat long enough to know
financial paper from toilet paper!” Even though Tim was small and slim,
his anger scared Wendy.

“I’m with Tim,” Digger DeViva was grim. Like the other editors, he got
chosen because he looked good in most clothes… to model on occasion.
His square trim mouth pursed in thought. “There’s gotta be something
else Wendy. I’ve been writing sports for years….” He fidgeted with a
pen. “If this got out, I’d be destroyed!”

“You?” Thunder McBride’s large voice showed the source of his nickname.
“I write about men’s clothes. That makes me an automatic wimp. I’ve
spent years making a straight rep. Jeeeezus Wendy!” How did a slight man
like that have such a big voice? It trailed off when he ran a shaking
hand through his long slick dirty blond hair.

“I’m sorry boys,” Wendy sank into her chrome chair at the head of the
long gleaming table. “This is it. Look, it’s only for a few days, and
I’ll get your secretaries to tutor you,” the men gasped, but Wendy went
on. “And… and Lylia and I will do everything we can to…”

“What are the five things? Tim interrupted in a flat voice. He set
figures on a pad and apparently he didn’t like the numbers. “The five
things? The conditions this guy Kerl’s set up,” he gestured toward
Wendy’s notes. “What does he want us to do??”

“Well, that’s another small problem,” Wendy looked at Tim, then gazed at
each of the men who’d given up so much to follow her into publishing
‘The Rack’. She cleared her throat and her voice was tiny, “They’re all
sealed in envelopes. I don’t even know them. We’re to pull them out one
at a time.” she paused and gulped a little water. Her hand trembled,
“just before they’re supposed to happen.”

*** ** ***

Too much money was at stake. Two of the guys made big alimony payments
and Tim had a new downtown condo, a monster load for a single man. None
of the guys was over thirty five so they had only small savings. ‘The
Rack’ was their big break. In fact, only Lylia could walk from the
place, but she seemed to really to like the idea.

STIPULATION ONE: All male editorial staff will prove they’re completely
comfortable with transvestite living by completing overnight therapy at
the ‘Psycho/Ceramic Clinic’ and carrying out their publishing duties
under conditions resulting from the procedures.

The Psycho/Ceramic Clinic treated pre operative transsexuals to a
procedure that subjects them to almost completely female bodies which
they can not escape. The theory is, that if pre-ops really want the
final sex change operation, they can live for a month as girls with no
trouble. But if they can’t handle a month of femininity, then antidotes
can be administered to change them back before the irreversible
operation.

The overnight therapy turned out to be injections of Metacalpholate-X
mixed with female hormones. M/X is an experimental drug that rearranges
male body oils. Fats and liquids are drawn to their breasts and buns.
The same fats are sucked from their waists, faces and general muscle
tone (including penises). In addition, they experience rapid growth of
hair on their heads while male facial hair goes into full remission. The
female hormone has a special booster to make the subjects randier than
teenage girls in heat.

The Clinic also provided irremovable Tummy Tubes. These bond shrunken
male apparatus inside gyneologically correct pseudo vaginas.

On Thursday morning, three vary new editors reported to work at ‘The
Rack’.

*** ** ***

The staff understood and appreciated their distress. Look, these guys
were out to save the place. Still, they were greeted with choked
chortles and smirks.

Digger first. Lovely. Like the other two; the Clinic corseted him down
to 25″, size eight except for bubbling breasts. Long beauty shop duty
emphasized everything. Digger’s hair was chestnut, short at the sides
and back with light blond streaks drawn through longer pompador curls.
Great face! Arched brows, clean makeup, some blush and brilliant red
lips. Big pearl plate earrings pierced through each lobe.

Spaghetti straps. Delicate. A summer dress that floated its antique
floral pattern like…well like a soft full skirt hiding a crinoline.
Fitted bodice and waist dipping to mid calf. On top, a curey bolero
jacket. Cotton chintz rustled over pale stockings and classic two inch
white pumps. Digger’s nails were done long and glossy like his lips.

Quiet. How to deal with this person? Then, to Digger’s relief, Thunder
arrived in shoulder length blond hair, slicked back from his ears.
They’d made it deep golden with darker streaks. More clean makeup
emphasizing plump pink lips. Large golden hearts dangled from each ear.

Enchanting dress. A pink shirtwaist, pearled snaps in front, a high
man’s collar worn up. It teased open to show some coy pink teddy. Three
quarter length sleeves pushed up. Pearls and tiny gems sparkled in a
cowgirl effect about his shoulders. Full sweeping skirts dropped from a
deep yoke slathered with lace trim. The matching belt snicked twice
around his tiny waist to buckle in front. It was pure cotton and fell to
his mid calves over sheerest-pink hose and the same shoes as Digger

The ‘girls’ corseting kept them straight and rigid in their chairs,
thrusting jiggling breasts up and outward. Whispered conversations
resumed… then Tim came to work. Quilts again.

A knockout silhouette! On top, white, rich linen, double breasted, long
sleeved with a flirty peplum. Below a short, snug, shiny black leather
skirt. Dark seamed stockings fell into three inch patent pumps. The
front was open to cleavage country revealing a provocative bra-lessness.
A black fat croc-belt nipped his waist.

Loose red curls framed a dramatic makeup job. Blue eyes smoldered, large
black plastic triangles dangled from either ear and red lips were
swollen in a sensual pout. Tim strode in wearing short black leather
gloves then peeled them off… sparkling ten long red nails. Another ten
peeked from Tim’s high black sandals.

They weren’t dainty girls. But they were pretty. As if Cinderella found
herself in negligee instead of ball gown, yet still innocent. A strange
turn on. Like tomboys reluctantly gussied up.

*** ** ***

STIPULATION TWO: Each male editor will execute one interview in his
field with an important married man while exhibiting the effect of the
Clinic’s procedures. The interview must be carried out at the
interviewee’s workplace.

Rough! Each guy had to use his contacts to make an interview for a new
girl on his staff – himself. Then carry it out without incident. The
subject had to be important, and of course not well known to the
reporter, or the masquerade might fail. Digger arranged something with
the new trainer of the baseball team, Thunder set up an appointment with
a guy who made fashion statements in music videos and Tim got an
interview with a key young investment banker. They quaked as their
secretaries took them to their meetings.

They got chauffeured for two reasons. First, imagine the embarrassment
if something happened and they were stopped in those outfits. There are
still laws against impersonating women in public, even in The Big Apple.
Besides, they were celebrities of sorts and they didn’t want the
publicity.

Secondly, each secretary had an envelope containing Stipulation Three
which they handed over as they left them at interviews. STIPULATION
THREE: Arrange to finish your interview over dinner at “La Restaurant
Seductierre” this evening at 7. Whoa! These were married men. How the
hell were they going to get them to……

Tim’s interview was a good example of technique. He slid his tape
recorder onto the banker’s desk and sat in close for the questioning,
while a delicate perfume the clinic’d mixed with a specially prepared
girl scent wafted from his neck, wrists and cleavage.

“Do you expect the prime rate to be correlated closely with M3 later
this year?” Tim’s eyes never left the man’s. He held onto his gaze with
a brazen heat, losing it only if his shadowed lids were forced to blink.
He watched it work. It startled the guy.

“Mr. Conkan…”

“Earl,” the tall handsome banker leaned into her web. “Call me Earl, Ms.
Liptz. And what’s your first name?

Tim blushed as the guy started to hit on him, smoothing down his short
skirt that hiked high none the less over his crossed dark legs. “Uhhh,
Candi. Candi Liptz. I’m new, uh…”

The well tailored guy bent forward, “Cigarette?”‘

Tim quit smoking a year back, but he never felt he needed one more.
“Please.”

Earl Conklin leaned close with a burning match. Candi came toward it,
aware her breasts were on view down her white blouse. With a smile at
Conklin, she gentled his hand in hers to steady the flame, and to block
some decolletage. Then she stilled and they both watched the thing burn
dangerously close to his fingers. At the last instant, she drew the
flame into the cylinder, removed the burning cigarette and let a gentle
curl of her smoke extinguish it.

“How ’bout we finish this over dinner?” Candi murmured sitting back up,
still holding his hand, knowing that somewhere in the suburbs a wife
would get a call about late work at the bank.

*** ** ***

“You never believed it’s so simple?” Lylia giggled at her friends in the
conference room. Each of the new girls had a date for the evening.
“Married men are interesting. They’re often a little harder to start,
but I’ve found them much easier to control later. Don’t you think so
Wendy?”

The publisher paced around the room. “Now look. You’ve all got to pull
this off tonight. We’ll be ruined if any of this leaks out. Damn Kerl.”
She looked anxiously at each of the four editors. “This could be a
terrible scandal. How do you feel? Candi?” Without thinking, she called
them by their female names.

“It went easily. After all, the drugs did an astounding job on our
bodies. Even Thunder’s voice is feminine!” Everybody giggled except
Thunder at his new loud, but distinctly girlish contralto.

“Weird to hear Lefty O’Rourke call me Bambi!” Digger shook a stray dark
bang away from an eye and smiled prettily through lucious red lips.
“What a scam. At first it was tough Setting him to come on out tonight,
then I figured it. In the training room I got some water splashed on my
dress. The thing looks so expensive that he got all flustered and I
insisted that I get it right off to dry it.” The sports writer started
to laugh. “Shit. You shoulda’ seen him blush when I came out in that
towel over my corset and hose with a blow dryer against the thing. I
mean I was still wearing this,” he stroked his fitted bolero jacket. “He
grew a sausage in his pants. Hell, he’d a gone anywhere with me then.”
Everyone laughed but Thunder.

“You know,” the big voiced blond looked worried. “It was humiliating to
have Steve De Forrest call me Honey. He never even paid any attention to
my name. I don’t think he ever heard me say I was Dolly Pensker.” Dolly
looked at her pink fingernails. “A schmuck! It was like I was a blond
airhead. I didn’t get anywhere, so… maybe I got desperate.”

Lylia’s eyebrows shot up. “How desperate Dolly Dear?” Everyone stared at
the blond who played with her long skirt and looked close to tears.

“Well, I… uh, I let him… I mean I did a walk on in a movie he’s
doing. An, an…. an adult movie.” Dolly’s voice was so tiny and low,
you wouldn’t guess that was Thunder McBride.

“A walk on,” Wendy leaned forward. “You let him photograph you? Doing
what exactly?” Her green eyes flashed.

“Oh, nothing. He’s doing a new film and he needed something he called
‘atmosphere’. He handed me a pair of… of… red, lacy opera hose and
asked if I’d just walk through the set.”

“Opera hose? You wore long red stockings and what else?” Wendy leaned
sharply toward Dolly who cried quietly. “Answer me girl. What else did
you wear for the scene?”

“Well he’s coming with me tonight isn’t he?” She suddenly screamed.
“He’s coming tonight and we still all have our jobs… and…and…”
Again her voice grew very small and her fingernails played with her kong
pink skirt. The drugs ravaged the guys’ emotions. “I didn’t wear
anything else.” Dolly sounded like a little girl, “just those pretty red
stockings with high heels.”

*** ** ***

Candi Liptz arrived at “La Restaurant Seductierre” a few minutes late.
she looked magnificent in the white and black dress with sparkling
leather. The restaurant was new to her and apparently to Earl Conklin.
Her banker waited at the bar with a peculiar grin on his face.

“Eat here often?” He got up to meet her at the door to the lounge and
guide them toward the waiting hostess.

“First time, what’s it like?”

“Well, if the art and the menu description mean anything, this could be
a binding experience.”

“Mam’selle vill please turn her back and give zee hands, N’est Pas?”
Before she could react, the hostess expertly twirled the high heeled
Candi, and handcuffed her.

“What the hell?” The startled young woman squirmed and pulled at the
things as the girl nonchalantly started to walk past them carrying a
menu, “Zis vay, si vous plait.”

Earl wrapped an arm around Candi’s waist, grabbed her purse and led her
into the dining room behind the hostess. “Nice place you chose. Don’t
you just hate it when you get all tied up in a bad restaurant?” He
smiled, obviously aware that Candi had no idea what was happening.

The main room was circled by dozens of small alcoves each with a booth
and a table for two. Curtains hid the occupants of some, others were-
empty. The lady led them to one, pulled back the table careful not to
damage the fresh flowers, again twirled the captive unexpectedly and
expertly about, dropping her into the booth.

Where she sat was special. The back was indented to accept her cuffed
arms. The hostess swiftly buckled a tight seat belt. A small padlock
clicked into place.

“Hey! Now come on,” of course after her first surprise passed, Candi
struggled. Too late. Belts with locks, efficiently snicked around her
neck and ankles. With a last quick motion the hostess slicked Candi’s
skirt modestly down over her stocking tops, motioned the gentleman into
place, handed him a menu and plucked a card from the table service.

“Now Mam’selle, vould you rate your date as zee more shy or zee more
bold on zee 1 to 5 scale?”

“What? Rate Earl? why he’s a gentleman!” Candi shook her red curls in a
vain effort to get something loose. Finally, puffing and panting she
looked up at the patiently waiting hostess. “Uh. He’s a gentleman I
said.”

“As you please Mam’selle,” she wrote a 2 on the card and placed it in a
small crystal holder on the linen table cloth. “Babbette will be here
zoon. Bon Appetite!” The hostess explained that her dinner would be
taken care of and handed Earl a menu. As she dropped the curtain in
place Candi saw a puzzled and pretty Chestnut haired girl wearing an
exquisite antique print dress squirming across the main room guided by
the left arm of an athletic looking pug. It was Bambi tugging at her
wrists lost behind her in the folds of her skirt.

Babbette explained the rules. First she stared at the card and carefully
grabbed Earl’s hand, placing it high up on Candi’s silky thigh just
beneath her hem. “Ah, zee two. Too many timid men need zeez aid, no?
Now, I give Monsieur zee keys ven I am satisfied that zee tip is
zatizfactory, and no before? Zo, zee order?”‘

First came a dozen raw oysters, curtsey of the house. Each ate six of
the slimy things, Earl serving Candi hers whole, cramming her mouth
full, even though he carefully cut his own.

Candi’s tomato soup followed. There were only the smallest spoons and
she wore a sparkling white top. With the neck strap and corset she sat
immobile and only the most careful coordination kept drops from her
glistening chest.

Everything was like that. Candi’s main course was spaghetti and meat
balls. Instead of cutting it, Earl carefully rolled her spaghetti
letting some hang from her lips each time so she could suck it gently
in. He dabbed her sauce flaked chin with a napkin throughout the meal
and insisted she drink plenty, in fact, too much wine.

Before dessert the hostess appeared with a package and an envelope. “Ze
box Monsieur is from the management. The letter just come for ze young
Mam’selle and perhapz you may open eet an read to her? Oui?” The
curtains closed again.

Earl curiously opened the package and Candi’s eyes flashed wide. “Uh,
no. No I don’t think so Earl. It’s been fun, but..nooo. Nugh! Erulh!” He
strapped the ball gag around her head and buckled it tightly under her
red curls.

Without taking his eyes off the struggling, stammering bound beauty he
slowly started working on the envelope, until finally the letter popped
out and he looked at it quizzically.”

“It says,” he looked at it, then back to her, then down again,
“STIPULATION FOUR: Promise him anything, but get him to take you to the
Wentworf Hotel on Saturday night…What the hell’s that mean?”

*** ** ***

“I think it’s a primal drive, that’s why I’m working on it.” Lylia
Wilkins teased Candi’s hair out, and stood back to look at her
reflection in the hotel room’s full mirror. Beside them, Wendy worked on
Bambi.

“But I thought you were researching sexual politics Lylia,” Wendy
brushed blusher on 8ambi’s high cheekbones. Why the interest in
bondage?”

“Well I discovered it fascinates most TVs, so it’ll be good for the
magazine. Okay Candi, stand up and let me we how that looks.” The
redhead in the tight coral dress teetered to five inch heels. Her dress
gently scooped in front but cut Put to a provocative oval shape in back.
A shirred peplum dramatized her waist with the help of a crinoline
lining. Once again a snug short sat skirt dropped beneath it, The dress
was sleeveless and coral glowed in her; earrings, bracelets, shoes,
lipstick and nail polish.

“Ewwww. You look terrific. You’ll have to work to keep his hands from
working tonight baby.” Lylia hughed watching the redhead examine herself
then turned to Wendy. “Bondage is like l/O to computer people. In and
Out. To get stuff into the mind we use the senses; taste, sight, sound,
smell and feel. To get thoughts out it’s a little more complex. Can I
help with her?”

“Nope, just about done,” Wendy steadied Bambi as she swished to her
stilt heels. The cute brunete with the short hair wore a brilliant print
bustier dress, boned at the sides, that was tiered, bowed and flounced
over a black tule slip. It zapped out in a briliant floral pattern of
bold fuscia, blues and oranges. She had a matching bow in her hair, high
black sandals that showed fuscia toenails, dark xamed stockings, small
blue dangling earings and nothing elm but the glamour makeup. “How do
you mean, complex? And what’s all that got to do with bondage?”

“I’ve gotta go get Dolly in a minute, but we have two types of
communication with people. Ways to get things out of our minds. One kind
are really intellectual like speech and writing or typing. The other
kind’s more emotional, like body language or expressions.”

“Speaking of body language,” Bambi swung her short full skirt with loud
swishing noises and struck a pose at the mirror, a hip thrust out and
the skirt bunched high. “How about this?”

“That’s what I mean. Body language goes right to an emotion. That one’ll
get you raped.”

Wendy sat down to repair her own makeup. “So what’s it all got to do
with bondage?”

“Well, the clothes we girls wear and our makeup, everything’s designed
to amplify emotional messages. You know, give guys the hots? Zap ’em? In
fact, they’re a form of bondage already; corsets, heels, tight skirts –
like that. Bondage that distills out an animal heat. Sex!”

“I get it,” Wendy glossed her full lips. “So when a man ties a woman up,
he’s in control. He can stop her using that stuff to arouse him. Take
away the tease?”

“Just the opposite. He makes it so her moves can only arouse him. And if
he’s really smart he gags her. That way he shuts off all intellectual
communication. You we, the gag’s really a binding on her brain.
Cocooned, her mouth stuffed, she’s capable of sending only the most
primitive messages which trigger massive male arousal. Neat Huh?”

“Ah…. So bondage lets him strip away our control but leaves us with
the sexy function of pleasing him with all our…”

“…communication cut down to the rawest primeaval, emotional stuff.
Right! No matter what the distressed damsel wants, now she’s just bait
for his animal passions. You know, like a worm wriggling on a hook.”
Lylia smirked and wobbled her hips. “Lots of girls do it to their men
for the same reasons. I’d kinda’ like to get that Hunk Derk Kerl
helpless on a hook.” Sighing, she checked her face and hair in the
mirror.

Bambi shuddered, “I’d hate it to happen to me again. When I found myself
at that little table today, completely at Lefty’s mercy. Shit! I was so
scared. And then the gag. At one point he even started to sniff this
stuff the Clinic sprayed on me, like a dog! Ewwwww. Never…never
again.”

Dolly came into the dressing room. Actually she made an entrance. The
blond’s hair was swept back in a gentle pony tail, held by a fluffy blue
feather. Twin blue gems dangled way down from each ear. She also wore a
bustier dress with detached short puff sleeves. The electric blue dress
had a full tulip skirt rustling over thick petticoats. A light blue
cotton lace covered the whole thing from bust to just below a hem that
stopped romantically above her ankles. It was very tightly fitted on top
and started phenomenally low just covering her nipples. The dress mixed
romance and lust. she had the thinest blue stockings and the highest
ankle strapped sandals. Somehow the whole outfit defied gravity by
staying up.

“I… I look pretty good. Oh damnit! I look fantastic. How’ll I keep
that sleaze off me tonight.” Everyone remembered her problem with the
movie maker Steve De Forrest at his studio and he’d really moved on poor
Bambi at the restaurant. Tonight she glimmered and glowed and cowered
all at once. “I’m sending off the wrong message…I know I am, girls.
Why are you making me wear this thing? He’ll do something awful to me in
this. I just know it.”

Of course the dresses had arrived from Derk Kerl earlier on Saturday.
While Lylia and Wendy were modestly gowned, the other editors were
outrageous.

“Look Bambi, just hold on. We’re all here this time and he can’t do
anything in public. After the dinner, say goodnight and go on up to the
room the magazine got for you.” Wendy looked at her girls. “It’s over
tommorow when we send you back to the clinic to get the antidotes, and
we’ll have a financially healthy magazine. Come on ladies! Let’s party.”

*** ** ***

Derk Kerl arranged the private dinner and fashion show. The meal was
uneventful accept for the captivated attention Earl, Lefty and Steve
slathered on their partners. These guys were set for a big night away
from their wives and the girls’ hands were full keeping the guys hands
empty.

“I’m impressed,” Kerl said by way of introduction after dinner. “And as
I told Wendy before she left to get ready, I’m going to finance your
magazine assuming no problem with the last stipulation.” The three
feminized editors suddenly realized neither Lylia nor Wendy were at
their places.

“And actually, given all you girls have done, I thought it appropriate
that Wendy and Lylia join in this last effort. Agreed? So let’s give
them a hand as they begin a little fashion show. Oh yea! I’ve had the
photographers come so we can get pictures for a hot photo spread in an
upcoming edition.”

Lights dimmed, a spotlight snapped onto a corner door, gentle rock music
began to play Wendy stepped into the spotlight as someone handed each of
the editors an envelope.

A breathy female voice began to read over the PA system, “Beautiful
Wendy wears a single leather glove pulling her elbows together behind
her back. Note how it makes her tits strain at her dress. She sports the
latest in escape proof silver shackles which hobble her steps to just
six inches. The gag in her mouth is a plunger type, inside it holds her
tongue firmly in place. Wendy is completely helpless and will stay that
way until her date, Derk, lets her out.”

Lylia stepped through the door as Wendy struggled to a seat next to
Derk. “Pretty Lylia’s in a hot red straight jacket. No pulling or
pushing will get it off. It’s there until her date, Derk, lets her out.”

Lylia stalked angrily to her seat next to Derk while Candi comes on
stage. She walked strangely from a spreader bar locked between her knees
jacking her legs wide. “In addition to her knee bar, Candi wears the
latest in coral leather mittens. Note how they’re locked at her wrists
then force her arms to cross tightly below her breasts. See how she hugs
herself and look how her hands are belted so tightly together in the
back. If Earl Conklin will look under his plate, he’ll discover the keys
to this nifty outfit. He’ll also discover the key that will undo the
ball gag Candi’s sucking on.”

Candi swaggered her way back to the table where Earl held her seat and
fondled the coral clad beauty from head to spreader bar. “Now we see
pretty Miss Bambi doing her James Bond damsel impression.” Bambi was
sort of pushed out through the door since she couldn’t see. Her full
skirt was pulled up over her head where it looped about her wrists with
a locked leather belt. She was bagged inside her own skirts.

“Of course this has the effect of exposing the bottom of Bambi’s pretty
frilly orange panties and the tops of her high stockings. On those
heels, with that skirt covering, it seemed redundant to hamper her
pretty ankles. If Lefty O’Rourke will come to his damsons rescue – he
can lead her back to her seat.” Lefty got up and began to escort the
struggling young girl when the voice continued, “Oh yes Mr. O’Rourke,
the keys to your lovely lady’s predicament are a little more hidden than
the others. But I’m sure if you search her VERY thoroughly, they’ll turn
up.”

Finally poor Dolly. Steve De Forrest was already on his feet by the
doorway as she came in. “We can’t understand Dolly’s reluctance to dance
the night away in her simple little bindings. She seems so shy and
timid. You’ll note we’ve placed the darlingest choker ribbon about her
neck and matching peek-a-boo lace gloves on her hands all in light blue.
So it was simple to lock the wristlets of the gloves to the ribbon. Add
a spreader bar to her ankles and look at her!”

Steve did. The big busted woman in the low cut dress had her gloved
hands locked tightly just behind her neck.

He helped her struggle to her seat as she tried to wail and protest
through the leather penis gag stuck into her mouth by a full head
harness sporting another shiny little lock. Most degradingly, the keys
to the outfit were pinned to the lace trim on Dolly’s waist. So near,
yet out of reach. Tears of frustration, rage or fear dribbled down
Dolly’s cheeks as she slumped into her chair.

“Please stand your ladies, gentlemen,” the voice continued as lights
came up. “Now gently push them please…” Squeals broke through gags as
the men pushed each of their dates backward, tripping them into canvas
linen carts which had quietly appeared during the show, each with a room
key attached. “And now goodnight gentlemen, I trust you’ll do the noble
thing and chauffeur a lady back to her room where you’ll find more
fashions waiting. Have an interesting night!”

Humping linen over nyloned legs poking from carts, sniggering like
nitwits on payday, they pushed out past the passageway blowup of ‘The
Rack’. Great name for a magazine, eh?

-END-

11 thoughts on “PERFECTLY BOUND MAGAZINE by Timothy Reisling Betticut

  1. I read this story many years ago. I found it here and loved it all over again. I wish there was a part two. Perhaps with the new girls serving their men and “receiving” their just rewards.
    What a tale they would have to tell at their conference room the next day! Perhaps they may be forced on antoher date but with their ex wives and girlfriend. They would have to tell their ex-wives they have switched teams. “As a new condition of course” . Or perhaps after their 30 day trial period when they are taken back for the antidote… opps somehow they were brought to the wrong room and lose the last part of their former lives !
    Paula
    Paulap19582@yahoo.com

  2. Paula, I am afraid that Timothy no longer writes these wonderful works so we can only speculate as to how it might have continued, though there is much excitement to be gained by speculation! It is an interesting story in that most of TRB’s tales use a male dom.

    Deborah Ford

  3. Paula, Perhaps part of the joy of stories like those of Timmy is that they set off hot thoughts in our minds. 🙂

    DF

  4. Oh indeed, and many other characters TRB has created 🙂

    I think when these stories work well they do induce into our minds a fresh direction for our fantasies.

    Deborah Ford

    1. That is a good question on a web site like this. I suspect many here would like to be sissified males as opposed to GGs. I wonder what others think?

      I think my fantasies run the complete spectrum.

      Deborah Ford

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