Stacey-1 free porn video

Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If you are one of them, why are you reading this? Protect your kids. If you are worried about them reading this sort of material, please censor free speech and use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn from bad experiences. All constructive comments are welcome. Please e-mail to me: [email protected] or [email protected] Finally, this is a piece of adult fiction. If you are underage, or if you find it offensive, please go elsewhere. Quickly. Note: This story contains TG material at the end, but is primarily a corset/bondage story. Stacey-1 By Samantha Michelle Copyright 2000 Back then I was an insolent, potty-mouthed brat with a "fuck you" attitude. And that was on my better days. Mom and Dad had tried psychologists, counselors, and even our family physician. And I ignored them. I was driving my poor mother ragged, and causing my Dad to loose what little hair remained. It was not that I was into drugs or crime: I hated both. Rather, I was determined to do my own thing and to hell with anyone else. The summer was a disaster; even my few friends avoided me. It was just after school started, when I demanded that my parents pay for me to go with my school drama club on a tour the following June, that Mom blew a gasket. It took her a week before she would talk to me, and said that it was time I grew up, or she would make my life as miserable as I was making hers. I laughed, and pointed out I was too young to be tossed out, and her face froze. Slowly she smiled, and her smile was chilling. When I got home from school the next Friday, the only things left of mine in the house were my schoolbooks. Mom and a friend of hers were waiting for me in my room. When she told me to give her my backpack, I tried to escape. I fought dirty, but they were stronger than me, so I found myself hog-tied with a pair of her pantyhose. I was shortly down to my bra and panties, and they carefully took everything out of my pack, sorting out the school stuff. They even removed all my jewelry, except my plain earrings. Her friend took all of the clothes, and extra stuff, and I heard the front door slam. Mom had the same smile as last week. When I started cursing at her, she left for a moment, and returned with a washcloth and a scarf. Quickly I had most of a damp washcloth shoved in my mouth, secured with the scarf. Curses quietly coming out "shurf, urf, murf, furf..." seemed to satisfy her. She then dragged me to the bathroom, deposited me in the tub, and gave me a scrubbing, everywhere, the likes of which I had not had since I was filling diapers. It was embarrassing. After she rinsed me off, she said if I would be civil she would remove the washcloth. I nodded, and she removed the scarf and slowly pulled out the cloth. I was surprised when she got me a glass of water. I kept silent. She left me in the tub, closing the curtains. I was still tied up, and she headed out of the room, saying she needed to get me some clean clothes. My room had seemed bare, so wondered where she had put everything. And tried to untie myself. Wet pantyhose is a pain. I was halfway through a knot when she returned. When she looked at me, she gave me another smile. "Nice try" was all she said, and re-tightened the knot. She then warned me if I tried to kick her she'd take her hairbrush to me. She had never spanked me, but I was pretty sure right now it was not an idle threat. She used one of those old-fashioned long-handled wooden hairbrushes. I nodded. She used a scissors to remove the wraps around my ankles, and stood me up. After drying me, and my hair, she helped me out of the tub, and spent the next fifteen minutes brushing out my hair. I was embarrassed at being naked, but the slow, gentle brushing felt nice. She even braided it in the way I really liked. When she was finished she again blindfolded me, told me to lean against her, and she pulled something over my feet and into place. I guessed they were cotton bloomers. They felt ridiculous. She then moved me out of the bathroom, and back to my bedroom. Sitting me in a chair, she told me to be very still. I heard a clink that scared me, and a moment later she had locked my ankles together with what felt like handcuffs. I had about three inches of slack. She then advised me to do exactly as she told me, or I would be hog-tied again. I nodded, scared silly. I had never seen this side of my mother. She cut the pantyhose off my arms, and I brought my arms in front of me and rubbed my wrists. She told me to raise my arms, and slid on a stiff long-line bra that came to below my waist. It felt more like a harness, and hooked in back. It was tightly boned, and had lots of elastic. Once hooked it forced my shoulders back, and my breasts out. The straps must have been two inches wide. She then helped me to my feet, and I had to hop over to the door, where I was told to hold on so I would not fall. She adjusted something on the back of the bra, and it pulled my shoulders back even further. I could force them forward, but was pulled straight by the elastic when I relaxed. She then pulled a long cotton slip over me, letting me move one arm at a time. It reached to my calves. What felt like a long, thin skirt was added. Then she slid a heavy dress over me, and I was surprised that it was buttoned and laced in back. When she started buttoning the collar, I found it was stiff, and came to my chin. When buttoned, it forced me to keep my head up. It had long sleeves that also buttoned. She pulled a wide belt tightly around my waist, and after cinching it tight, secured it with a click. I was wondering why the strange outfit, when she had me hop over to the chair, and helped me sit. She told me to put my arms behind me, and I was certain this time the metal bands she locked on my wrists were handcuffs. She unlocked my ankles, and then pulled on knee-length socks that she tucked up under the bloomers. I felt her put a pair of what seemed to be comfortable boots with stiff uppers on my feet, and laced them up. They came up almost to my knees. I felt a strap being buckled around each ankle. It was followed by one around the top of each calf, just below the knee. She put something that clicked on the two lower straps, and I felt her put something fairly heavy between the upper straps that also clicked in place. She helped me stand, and I found I could only separate my knees by about eighteen inches. The boots were extremely comfortable, and seemed to have a soft, thick sole. Next she fitted me with what were definitely not my normal designer glasses. Telling me to head for her bedroom, she guided my hobbled steps using my braid as a leash. That I hated, and when I started to say something she tugged hard, and suggested that I was not in a good position to argue. I shut up. When I figured we were just about in front of her large dressing mirrors, she stopped me, and turned me slightly. "I probably hate this more than you do, but you left us no other choice. All of your things, except what you must have for school, including clothes, have been placed in locked storage elsewhere. We have closed all of your accounts, and moved the money to new accounts you cannot access." She sounded pained, and paused. "Except for your restraints, this is how you will be dressed, all your waking hours. Every single day until you are eighteen. Or until you can satisfy your father and me that you have learned to behave like a caring, civilized person, not some vicious, feral animal off the streets." She was spitting out the words, like they were leaving a bad taste. "You will be taken to school and picked up every day, or will take the bus. No extra-curricular activities, no going out with friends unless we have pre- approved it and confirmed your required behavior with the school or their parents. I started so say something, and she tugged my braid again. "Keep your mouth closed and think carefully before you say anything. That is, if you have anything civil to say." With that she carefully pulled off the scarf. I blinked at the light, and stared in shock at the girl in the mirror. The dress was a non-descript dark gray, in the style worn by young women in the late 1800's. The wide belt was dark leather, with a flat clasp that had a keyhole. The glasses had thick, plain black plastic frames. Homely would be a compliment. And I was standing as straight as the girls back then did, which emphasized the appearance. I slowly turned, as my arms were still cuffed behind me. There was no question I would stand out like a sore thumb. A very plain thumb. And I was sure Mom would guarantee that everyone knew why. I started to cry. For years I had been different than the other kids. My parents were eccentric, and I was way too smart for my own good. I finally made a place for myself as an obnoxious, mischief-loving misfit. Very few people except for my parents ever seemed to care about how I felt. So I treated everyone the same way. Like shit. I had a few good friends who were more or less willing to put up me. Because I blamed my parents for my being different, they got the brunt of my anger. This was no spur of the moment action they had taken. I was now sure I had screwed up royally. For years I had made it me first. Now it looked like me last, or maybe not at all. I felt Mom remove the handcuffs, freeing my arms. She came to me, and gave me a hug. She was crying too. I wrapped my arms around her and we stood there bawling like someone had died. Me. It was late in the evening when Dad came home and found us sitting at the dining table, a half-used box of tissues between us. My brother had come home, grabbed a snack, laughed himself silly over my predicament, and disappeared when Mom started to threaten him with a similar fate. I was depressed, like my whole world has just collapsed around me. It had. He looked me over, shook his head and smiled, and asked if we had eaten. When we shook our heads he inquired about my brother, and announced we were going out for something and would bring my brother back something cold. In a small voice I tried pleading that I did not want to go out like I was dressed. "Get used to it" was his sharp reply. I tried to sink into the chair, but the damned bra and collar made me sit upright. Walking out to his truck with the hobble on was hard, and the bloomers felt funny rubbing between my legs. Mom quietly informed me the hobble would stay on all weekend, and would worn at home until my demeanor improved, as a reminder that this was for my own good. She suggested that I try a more feminine walk, and by swinging my hips I gained quite a bit of mobility. Dad advised me to be pleasant and contrite, to behave like a well-bred lady. Instead of fast food, we wound up at a really nice steak-house. And it was packed. I felt that every eye in the place was on me as I almost minced inside. The worst was all the others my age. When they saw me, they laughed and pointed. Just like I would have done. I saw several of the blonde squad from my high school, and I knew I was in trouble. I was sure they were not as bright as my friends or I, so I had regularly targeted them for some of my choicer comments. We were in the same waiting area, so they came over and eyeballed me. "I see you are wearing something as plain as your personality" from Veronica, the worst of the lot. "Yeah, its like her, well, like really boring" from another. "I bet they make you wear old fashioned underwear too" and one flipped up the hem of my skirt, exposing the underskirt and bloomers on one side. Mom was looking at Dad like she wanted to do something, but he shook his head. I managed to smooth my skirts. "Wait'll the kids at school see this" and the flash of a camera someone had pulled out their purse brought me to tears. Mom glowered at them, and pulled out some tissues to wipe my eyes. They walked away laughing. Soon we were seated. Dad made the waiter get me an extra napkin, which Mom managed to tuck into my collar. "Until you have developed civilized table manners, you will wear a bib." He said it loud enough that everyone around us looked at me. It was awful. They were rubbing my face in it. And all I could do is sit there and suffer. I was allowed to order a small portion of my favorite, prime rib. I managed to enjoy it between corrections on my manners. When I found I was physically full, but still hungry, it dawned on me that the belt was awfully tight. There was method in their madness. And they were apparently hopping mad. I politely declined dessert, which got me a smile of approval from Mom. When I needed to go to the ladies room, Mom accompanied me. I had planned to remove the dammed hobble, but found it was a piece of steel cable covered with braided leather, held on by two small padlocks. I carefully repositioned everything the way it belonged, and Mom nodded at me when we left. I had nearly mastered the art of walking in short steps, but still needed help getting in and out of the truck. At home, Dad advised me that I would be starting chores at seven in the morning, which was my normal school departure time. Mom's "This means you need to be up at six to dress yourself" really hurt. I always slept in on Saturday and rarely did chores unless I was bribed. She added "you will need help in the morning, so I will also be up at six." I knew she liked to sleep in, and she was not a morning person. After Mom helped me with the dress, she made me leave the bloomers on, and dressed me for bed in a long, plain flannel nightgown. Then she carefully locked a wide, tight leather belt firmly around my waist, and carefully locked my wrists together, this time with soft, padded cuffs, which were attached by a short chain to the front of the belt. She took off the hobbles, boots and socks, and tucked me in under my comforter. The chain was just long enough to let me scratch my nose. She was crying when she gave me a goodnight hug, repeatedly muttering that she loved me and that it was for my own good. Dad came in, and I thought I saw a tear in his eye. That really shook me. Dad never showed his emotions. I was so frightened and mentally exhausted I tried to think of anything but the cuffs and what was happening to me. I fell asleep quickly. When I woke up early I was disoriented, and realized I had been dreaming of being a fantasy princess who was captured and tormented for what she had done to her people. It took me several minutes to remember my predicament. I was also hornier than heck, and when I tugged at the cuffs I had an intense reaction that told me my bondage was driving the fantasy. I began to silently fight the restraints and let my mind run free. Soon I was back asleep with soggy bloomers and a very satisfied smile on my face. Mom woke me at six, and suddenly sniffed something. I blushed, but was unable to prevent her from lifting the covers and my nightgown. Instead of disapproving, she chuckled, and told me to wash up before dressing. I nodded vigorously. She left me cuffed, and propelled me towards the bathroom. It took some maneuvering, but I soon had taken care of business and was thoroughly clean. I carried the bloomers back with me. She pulled another set out of a drawer, pulled them up, and shackled my ankles, this time with cuffs that had a longer chain between them. After removing the belt, dressing was faster then either of us expected, and soon we were in the kitchen fixing breakfast. I was still hobbled. When I carefully asked why the security, she looked me in the eye. "For your own safety, until you understand what we expect of you." My blank look caused her to continue. "We know you are resourceful and are capable of disappearing from school or wherever if that is what you choose. And we also know you are frightened and hurt. So we are going to keep you from running away or doing something else that could get you hurt for the next week or so, in the hope you will see it our way." She started to cry, but continued "We hope you will stay, but if you decide you want to leave a week from Sunday, we will give you your clothes back, and a one- way ticket to your cousin Beth's, who had agreed to take you, and send you off with our love. If you won't do either, we will commit you to a hospital where they specialize in helping girls like yourself." I had no inkling that they were so worried about me, and hugged Mom as I broke down in tears. We were still hugging when my brother, out of nowhere, advised us that we were trying to burn breakfast. We didn't actually overcook the bacon. But it was close. The emergency drove my fears and questions aside, and I was really surprised when Dad joined us for breakfast. It felt like Mom had tightened my belt even tighter than yesterday, and a quick check confirmed it was a notch smaller. I was assigned the breakfast cleanup, and Dad's look made me decide to cooperate, at once, and without argument. My brother was looking at my short steps with a grin, and I figured he had guessed what was going on. When he tickled me I forgot about the hobble, and tried to kick him. Which caused me to land hard on my bottom. Mom rushed in to investigate the thud, and found me on the floor, legs splayed as far as they would go, rubbing my tailbone, with the little pest laughing his head off. She gave me an annoyed look, and said, "That is what you get for not responding to his childish behavior like a civilized young woman. Now please finish your chores." She then dragged him out of the kitchen by the back of his pants. I could hear Dad reading him the riot act, and three really loud "thwack's", each followed immediately by a screech. My brother, Ted, came into the kitchen, gingerly rubbing his backside, and apologized. I managed to suppress a giggle. Maybe there were some benefits. Soon my brother was banished to the outdoors for several hours of yard work. And I was told to make and serve tea, then join both parents at the dining table. By now my hips were aching from the unaccustomed gait, so after some thought I carefully detoured to my room and brought back the belt-and-cuffs arrangement Mom had secured me in last night. I managed a curtsey, and asked her politely if she would exchange the hobble for the cuffs because my hips hurt. I was sort of suspecting she wanted me to suffer, but she quickly pulled out some keys and made the exchange, apologizing for the unplanned discomfort. I wondered what discomfort they had planned. She motioned me to sit down, and I discovered that I could manage to sip my tea if I used both hands and was very careful. But I had to fight the collar and bra to do so. I saw a suspicious pile of formal looking documents on the table. I had the feeling these were the new rules. And there looked like a bunch of them. Dad apologized for my brother's behavior, saying he was unaware of most of what was planned for me He added that Tim would be briefed on proper behavior towards me in the afternoon. Mom told me that they had decided on this last week, and had rushed to get everything together so I would have nine days to get used to my new clothes and rules before my return to school. I realized how massive a piece of work it was, and I wondered how... "Dad, how much did this cost?" I used what little freedom I had in my hands to make global motions. "By the end, it will total about three years of my retirement, and most of your college fund, give or take." I calculated for a moment, and stared at him in shock. That was many thousands of dollars. "But why, why couldn't you just leave me alone..." "Because we love you. And sometimes that means doing something that hurts. It's called tough love." I knew how much Dad's retirement and my college fund meant to him, so I knew they were not doing this for fun. Mom handed me a set of the rules, and told me to read them to myself. She waited till I was finished. I was mumbling to myself, and shaking my head. She told me to read them again to make sure I understood exactly what was planned and expected. I was pretty sure I knew, but complied. It drove the point home painfully hard. It was not quite white slavery, but it was a long way from Disney Land. That is, if I stayed. In a nutshell, my life I had before Friday had been erased. I was to have no freedom to do anything, until I earned it, and maybe not even then. And I could lose privileges much easier than I could gain them. I was to be given a single, monitored fifteen-minute telephone conference call to my friends on Sunday so I could explain why I was on restriction. Cinderella came to mind. But I had no prince charming, and I was certain I had not earned a fairy godmother. I was expected to learn to proper deportment for a young lady, including controlling my mouth and temper. I was to become truly respectful of others, and their feelings, and display proper etiquette and bearing when dealing with anyone, including my brother. I was to understand, and show, humility. They promised me I would not be physically harmed in any way, and that the infliction of pain, or unnecessary discomfort was against their principles. I briefly wondered what necessary discomfort was. Physical restraints would only be used to protect me against hurting myself or others after the first nine days, or for discipline where it was deemed appropriate by them. The careful re-read of the documents, which were actually three separate contracts between my parents and myself, showed that much was undetermined. I was stuck with the restrictions, loss of my things, and having to wear my awful new wardrobe, which they were calling a uniform. It suddenly dawned on me that I was being sent to in-home boot camp. There was no fixed schedule, other than an absolute cutoff at my eighteenth birthday. I looked at them. They seemed stressed and very tired. Mom's "Questions?" brought a flood of thoughts. I was too drained to argue. "Can I have some time to myself to think this through?" got my English corrected as I was told to use "May I, and to insert a 'please'. I repeated it correctly. I was surprised when they told me that I had until the next weekend. Then it made sense. On next Sunday it was agree and stay, or leave, or be shipped off. They settled me on my bed fully dressed, and at my request, pulled up the comforter. I lay there quietly crying for a long time. The tight belt pressing on my full bladder told me I needed to get up. After managing the bathroom, I went back to the living room to ask some questions. Mom had gone shopping, but Dad was still there. I decided to try and charm him. Before I was even warmed up he slapped me with a reality check. "You are sometimes too smart for your own good. You have made and broken too many promises, and weaseled out of your commitments at every opportunity. We are not going to let you dig yourself in deeper. Proof is in the results, and from now on you will pay your bills in advance." I sat down hard in frustration, and after choking, remembered that the stiff collar. He continued "To make sure that there were no mistakes, or misunderstandings, while your mother and her friend collected you after school, my lawyer and I were having a meeting with your teachers and the school principal. They are aware that you have been placed under what amounts to house arrest, and are going to be treated like an English boarding school student until we advise them differently." I tried again to slump, but this time the bra prevented me. "They all agreed that your behavior warranted some type of intervention. And your English teacher seemed to be extremely pleased." I groaned. I did not like her, and had made it a point all last year of giving her a hard time, embarrassing her whenever possible. "I understand you have made her life difficult. How you deal with her now will be interesting. She did say that if earn her respect, she will back off. I expect that respect is going to be expensive." Collar or not, I hung my head. I shakily asked if there was anything I could do to change what they had planned. "The rules and goals are not negotiable. Neither is your mode of dress. We based what we are doing with the help of others, professionals in adolescent behavior problems. You have a desperate need to develop self-respect and self-discipline over a long and difficult course." He paused, thinking. "That means you need to pull your head out and grow up." He paused again "Your mother and I are open to suggestions. But any less difficult path is unacceptable." I could not stand the collar choking me and sat up straight again, crying. He waited till I was finished, and handed me some tissues. It was looking bleaker and bleaker. I had three years left in school. I wondered if I could stand to be without band or drama. But neither was mentioned in the rules. In a small voice I asked "Dad, what about my being in band and drama classes? They do have concerts and other activities after school and on weekends..." "I have already discussed this with both of your teachers. If you work hard, you can earn permission from us to participate. They have agreed to let you wear your current uniform." I relaxed a bit. "Um, the initial money for drama tour is due in January..." "Well, that means you will have to solidly prove to us by then that you have earned the chance to try for the trip." "The chance?" "We will, if you have earned it, fund your trip, but you will not go if you show any signs of failing to live up to your agreement, including to the day of your departure. So you might say there are two deadlines. One to have our permission to try, and other to succeed." I sat there and thought. Dad did not disturb me. I may have screwed up, but I could still think. Three years like this would be unbearable. "Do you have any suggestions for something I can do that can be completed, say, in less than a year?" He thought a moment. "We developed this plan with the input from several psychologists. It is based on the old English methods that have historically worked wonders for brilliant, disobedient, and stubborn young ladies. Like you." I shuddered. I had read about some of these schools, and their methods on the net. But Mom and Dad had promised I would not be harmed... It did, however, explain the forced posture. "They used to beat their students with paddles and tie them up and whip them and... and... and..." "And we said we would not harm you. Their methods were faster and successful, but we would never force such abuse on you." "Like the tight belt and this awful bra and..." "They are very mild, and although possibly uncomfortable, they serve as constant reminders to you about your current status." That left me with my mouth open. There were no holes in their logic that I could find. It was comply and live in safe misery until I was eighteen. Leave and live with my cousin, which might well be worse. Or find myself in a mental hospital where the rules might not be as pleasant. Three years was longer than eternity. I had to do something. Just then, Mom returned. Dad offered me the use of his computer to look for ideas. It was more interesting than sitting around stiffly staring at the walls. I moved to his workstation, and found I had to adjust things for my new posture. Typing in cuffs was surprisingly easy, using the mouse was strange. Soon I was absorbed in searching through page after page of stories about 'the English method". I was called to help for dinner long before I was ready to quit, but remembering their warnings, quickly logged off. Dinner was quiet, and Tim was behaving himself. He cornered me after dinner and gave me his support. And a hug. I started to cry again. Crying didn't get me out of doing the cleanup. But Tim helped a little. After cleanup was finished, Mom told me to shower and prepare for bed. She helped me undress, and replaced the cuffs with the close metal hobbles. The shower felt great, and I headed back to my room wrapped in a towel. I was getting used to the clinking on my ankles. Something told me to consider them ankle bracelets. I had a feeling I might be wearing them a lot. Mom and Dad were in their room, and I decided not to disturb them. So I managed to get dressed by myself. I couldn't put on the bloomers, but everything else was not too hard. I even managed to adjust the bra straps to the undesired tightness. The belt with the cuffs was on my bed, unlocked. I examined it. I found it was metal reinforced, and very strong. It was also easy to adjust, and self-locking. I set it one notch tighter, to compensate for the thickness of the clothes I had been wearing. On an impulse, I put it on, but left it unlatched. It was tight, but not uncomfortable. I tuned it around, so the cuffs were at the back, just like one of the stories described. I had to wriggle to get my wrists in the cuffs, and the hobble caused me to loose my balance. I fell against the bed, closing everything. When I got up, I found my arms were now locked behind me. I felt like an idiot. It was not uncomfortable, just very limiting. I didn't want to bug either Mom or Dad with my stupidity. So I figured I had better get to bed and let them yell at me when they found out. Between the ankle cuffs and my secured wrists, I was not very maneuverable, but I managed to get under the covers, and pull them up with my teeth. It was a weird, secure feeling, and I started fantasizing again. Apparently they decided to leave me that way, because when I awoke to her gentle prodding the next morning, I was still secured. She softly rubbed my head, and hugged me. It took her a moment to get me vertical, and I made a mad, but careful quickstep to the bathroom. I had to ask her for help. When we returned, she unlatched me, and helped me dress. Soon, hobbled again, we were making breakfast. We discussed what Dad had told me yesterday, and she confirmed they were of the same mindset. I wound up back on the computer later in the day, tired from chores. I was now both cuffed to the belt and tightly hobbled, as Mom and Dad had to take Tim somewhere. I knew if I fell I would wind up playing inchworm. However it caused no problems sitting. Soon I located a site run by an organization called LISA. It was, well, strangely interesting. They had a lot of information on corsets, which were a part of most descriptions of the "English method." There I found a scary, but possible solution buried in several old stories. It was a long shot, even if they would go along with it. A lot harder and far less pleasant. And if I couldn't hack it, it meant two more miserable years. But it could be done by my next birthday, or it could not be done at all. It had two additional, very important benefits for me. It required me to have the help and support of my friends, so they could not cut me off from the world. And because it relied on peer support and pressure, it would work best if I had to be out in public as much as possible. The biggest downside was that it bordered on physical abuse. I was a card- carrying wimp when it came to pain, discomfort, and doing things that were not fun. This would heavily involve them all. And once started, I was committed to giving control of myself, body and soul, to someone else. Something that scared me to the core. The very something that I now realized was part of my drive to avoid commitment, to be independent no matter what the cost. There was an out. I would have a safe word. Which would stop everything and free me. But it could be used only once, then the whole effort would be wasted, and I would probably be stuck till I was eighteen. Or ran away. Or did something else... But I was now beginning to realize that I couldn't run away from my biggest problem. Myself. When my parents returned they found me lying on the floor by the computer, sobbing. It took me a while to make it clear I was not hurt, at least physically. They unlocked my ankles, and I declined dinner, saying I was sick at my stomach. The pain was much deeper, in my soul. I was still crying when Mom came to help me get dressed for bed. My Dad says his side of the family has really good survival instincts. I guess he's right. Thoughts of suicide were running rampant through my mind, and when I was finally dressed. I slowly managed to ask Mom if there was a way she could secure me so I couldn't move. Her eyes flashed open, and when she tried to find out why, I managed to force out "trust me." She took me to the bathroom, and when we returned, she called Dad. Ten minutes later I was lying on my back, with my ankles cuffed together and tied to the rail at the foot of the bed. My wrists were cuffed to the belt in front of me. They had wrapped a narrowly folded sheet around my upper body under my arms, secured it to itself at each side, and finally to the bedposts at the top. Try as I might, I could move little more than my hands. They covered me to the neck with two comforters. Mom wanted to know if I needed her to stay with me, and I managed "no, I'll be okay tonight." When I said, "I love you both, thank you." as they left, she burst into tears. It was a long time before I was ready to even consider trying to sleep. Left to my own devices, I would have died that night. I silently struggled so hard to get free and kill myself I rubbed my wrists, ankles and armpits almost raw. But by the time I was so exhausted that I could struggle no more, I had made peace with that part of myself, at least for now. The mental pain had abated. I slept soundly for the rest of the night. I awoke with the restraints removed, and both parents watching over me with concerned looks. "Your wrists and ankles..." I nodded. "I'm okay, now." I stretched out, wincing at the pain in my over-stressed muscles and joints. "I need to use the bathroom. They motioned me to move, and for the first time in days I was unfettered as I ran down the hall. After making sure there were no razors or other sharp objects in the bathroom, they let me take a long, hot bath. It helped me relax. After drying, I looked at the reddened skin, and worked in some lotion. I headed for my room in a towel, and saw someone had changed the sweat-soaked sheets. Despite the pain, I dressed myself. I decided that just an under-dress would be appropriate, as I needed to keep the abraded areas free. That also meant no boots. I managed the belt, but left my wrists free. Soon I was drinking a glass of milk and telling them, slowly, about last night. Mom wanted to take me immediately to the hospital locked ward. Dad was looking at me carefully. He vetoed Mom, saying that I had saved my own life, and would call for help again if needed. I nodded fervently. I hoped to never feel those impulses again. Little did I know. Dad and I agreed to no restraints for the rest of the day, as I needed to heal. Mom wanted me secured hand and foot. I wound up spending the rest of Monday resting comfortable and warm. I was cocooned tightly, sans bra and collar, to my neck in sheets, and strapped under a comforter to my bed. At my request they had blindfolded me with a soft cloth against the daylight. I had wonderful dreams. Even if all I could do was twitch. When Tim got home, they unwrapped me, and since the redness and irritation was nearly gone, I wound up in my nightclothes with the belt on and cuffs in front. A light dinner, and I was again strapped to the bed at Mom's insistence. I had hoped to be able to roll over, but at least I could move a little. Sleep came easily. Tuesday they both needed to go to work. Mom was as nervous as a cat, but Dad took the lead, and I wound up fully dressed, cuffed, and hobbled. I used his computer, with his permission, to write up my proposal. My own plan scared me. It was hard to balance between what I wanted it to say, and what I felt it should say to meet their criteria. Finally I gave up on making it nicer for me, and wrote it for the most effect in the time allowed. I wondered if I was hanging myself with my own rope. It was just before four, and Tim was out playing, when the phone rang. I hopped over to answer it, and froze. What was I currently allowed to do? Nothing had been said either way. So I decided to follow that part of their plan, at least until I ran out of other ideas. "William's residence, Stacey speaking." "Hi Stacey. Say, where have you been, it's like you disappeared. There's some rumor going around that your parents had gone whacko and sent you to a boarding school" It was Kevin, the one person in my life who I knew I could trust with anything. I decided then and there to tell him the whole story. "Hi Kevin. And it's no rumor. This may be the only chance I get for a long time to talk to you, so listen and don't interrupt. And what I'm telling you is private, just between us. Okay? "Are you in some kind of trouble?" "Lots of trouble, or worse. To my neck. Just agree to keep it between us." "Okay, now tell me what happened." It took almost half an hour to explain from start top finish. I left nothing out, not even my thinking of suicide, and being tied to the bed. I knew Kevin understood the suicide part real well. When his parents got thrown in jail he was left in the cold, and I spent the better part of a month sneaking him food as he was living on the street, and talking him back to the real world when his pain got too heavy to bear by himself. He was not my boyfriend. He was a friend. He was still in school, working odd jobs for spending money and living at a shelter paid for by the state. He seemed unable to accept that I was okay. I finally told him I loved him but I had to go before my parents got home, and hung up. I wound up on the couch, sniffling and hugging a cushion when my parents returned from work. They gave me credit for the way I handled the call. I guess the possibility someone would call me had slipped their interim plans. We had just sat down for dinner, and I was back to belt and cuffs when the doorbell rang. Tim jumped up to see who it was, and his "Hey, stay out! Ouch!" was drowned by Kevin's bellowed, "Where Is Stacey!?" Mom froze. Dad headed for the living room like a steamroller. I followed. It was quite a sight. Kevin looked like a pissed off wolverine, Dad a mad bear. They were faced off by the door. Tim was scrabbling across the floor towards us like a mouse that had just seen a cat. Kevin must have tossed him out of the way. Dad and Kevin were concentrating on each other, and were about to go at it when I realized that they could both get hurt. So I screamed like I was dying, and flopped down on the carpet. In a moment they were on opposite sides of me, trying to find out what was wrong. I managed with great discomfort to sit up between them. "Stop it you two. Kevin, I'm okay. Dad, leave Kevin alone. GOT IT?" They jumped back. Mom ran out of the kitchen, and stood between them, but looked at me. Her, "Stacey, are you hurt?" was one too many, and I fell back and started to laugh. They all wound up staring at me like I had lost something. Soon Tim had headed for his room at their request, and the four of us were sitting at the kitchen table. I tried to convince Kevin that I was not being illegally held prisoner against my will. Or tortured, or drugged, or any of a bunch of things only a warped teenage mind, one that had seen way too many ninja movies, could dream up. When Dad realized I was defending their decision, he forcefully interrupted. "Stacey, you just said you agree with your mother and I that you need help." I nodded. He looked at Mom. There were happy tears in her eyes. She was mumbling "Thank, you God..." Kevin broke in angrily "So do you think forcing Stacey to make a fool of herself, depriving her of her friends and possessions, and keeping her tied up like some kind of animal will do that?" I answered before Dad. "May we be excused, I need for Kevin to read those contracts." Dad nodded. Mom seemed to be relieved. "Contracts?" I handed him my marked-up copy. "Read them, twice, then you tell me." I went to the computer, and decided it was time to print up my proposal. Mom and Dad had joined us in the living room before Kevin was finished. His face was strained, but I could not read it. "Shit" was all he managed. He looked at Mom and Dad. They nodded sadly. "And she agrees?" I politely butted in "May I please reply to that?" Mom and Dad looked at each other, and nodded. They watched me intently. I took a deep breath. 'Kevin, some of what I want to say concerns things we discussed two years ago, when you were trying to pick up pieces of your life, and I swore I would never tell anyone else..." Mom suddenly looked scared. He nodded. "You saved my life, time and again. I can never repay that. Go ahead." Now Dad looked at him closely. They had not known what was going on between us back then, other than the police were hunting him because of his parents, and that I was a lot more involved than I would admit. "You already know that Kevin's parents were drug dealers. They also treated him pretty badly. When they got arrested, he was afraid that they would blame him, and afraid the police would stick him in a home for boys because he had no relatives and was under age. He was, like, the opposite of me. Shy and kind and caring for others. And now everyone was after him and no one was willing to help. So I found him sleeping in the woods, under a tarp, and brought him food, and told the police I didn't know where he was, or conveniently forgot in which part of town I had last seen him." That made Dad snicker. "Anyway, he got really depressed. Remember when I said I was spending all those nights at Tammy's studying?" they both nodded. "I was holding his hands and talking him out of killing himself. We've been friends ever since. It probably was the only time in my life I have ever done something without asking for something else in return." They were now staring at me. I was not one to open myself to others. "Kevin, I know how much you care for me." He looked me in the eyes. "Can you honestly say that I don't have the problems they say I do?" He looked at his hands, and shook his head. "Do you know of any better way to get me to learn how to control myself?" He gave me a sad look, and shook his head. He was crying. "But it's so, so mean and lonely and will take so long and..." "And it's the only thing we and several professionals came up with, short of having her committed, which they said would probably kill her" That was Mom's input. Kevin looked scared. It was my turn. "Dad, Mom, you both said if I had a better idea, to let you know. Well, here it is." I handed them each a printout. Kevin came over, looked strangely at my cuffed wrists, lifted me by the chains, and gave me a hug. I snuggled in his arms and started to cry again. When I finally looked up, Mom and Dad were staring at each other. Kevin said "Excuse us for a minute." We nodded, and they headed for the kitchen. Kevin's "You know, that dress makes you look really pretty..." surprised me. "You, well, look much more, er, feminine. And you are standing so straight and..." "And I bet the belt makes my waist look better too, right?" He grinned. "Yeah." He blushed "and so do the cuffs" I blushed scarlet. Now I was aroused. Big Time. "I never knew you were a romantic." "I never thought you were interested in me as anything but a friend." I winced. "Touch?" Mom and Dad returned, sadly shaking heir heads. "It meets all of our criteria but one." My heart sank, and I sagged as much as the clothes would allow into Kevin's arms. "Which is?" I managed to get out. "Neither your Mother, nor I, is willing to force you to do this. We have never knowingly caused you significant pain or suffering, and this requires someone who can and will make that commitment." I started to sob. I was back to three years alone. Kevin's "May I see that?" made me jump, and bang my head on his chin. I looked at him, and then Mom and Dad. Dad's "It's pretty strong stuff" didn't deter Kevin. He lowered me to the floor, and read it twice. He looked at me. His "Maybe you can't do it. But I'm willing to try" caught us all off-guard. Mom and Dad looked at each other in surprise. Kevin looked hard at me. "You slapped me hard enough to leave bruises getting me to snap out of self pity. I nodded. "And you risked getting arrested for me. Or hurt or killed, or worse when you fed Dad's partners bad information on how to find me. And risked yourself again when you set them up so the police got them out permanently out of our hair." Both parents looked shocked. "Oh my God... We never knew..." I nodded. Mom looked at him. "But you're a..." Kevin added "Yeah. I'm a boy. I don't see gender in the job description. And I won't molest her or anything like that. Unless she begs me to." Kevin was being his usually brutally honest self. I tried to bite him, and got a mouthful of sleeve. I figured they were about to heave him out. Mom was giving Dad a panicked look. Dad spoke up softly "You are telling me you don't like girls..." He laughed. "Dressed like this she's got me so aroused I have trouble walking. But as far as I know she is still a virgin. And we have slept together, naked, many times under my tarp." I smiled guiltily and nodded. Mom fainted. This time it was my turn to get the wet towel. Dad seemed introspective. Mom woke up, and when she had figured out where she was, started in on her "my poor little girl" spiel. The kind that needed frequent flier miles to go with the guilt trip. Dad interrupted her. He sounded businesslike. "Kevin, where do you live?" "I live at the Seventh Street shelter, and work odd jobs to get spending money. Most of the time I go to school with Stacey." Mom gurgled. "Who is your guardian?" "A social worker. I'm sixteen, and now that my parents are in jail for the next twenty or so years, I can apply for emancipation. Besides, my social worker would rather I stay at the shelter, where they feed me and pay my rent, than have me run away from another do-gooder foster family." I was getting a feeling Dad was about to call the police. "Are you a criminal, and do you drink or use drugs?" "My parents were addicts. I won't get near any of that shit. And yes, I guess I'm a criminal. I ran away from the police and lousy foster homes." Mom and I were obviously not following the conversation. She looked like it was only a matter of time before she started screaming. Dad stood up, and asked Kevin to stand. "Shake hands with me." When they were clasping hands, Dad looked at me, and then stared him straight in the eyes. "Do you love my daughter enough to hurt her if it will save her life?" Kevin nodded. "Yes, sir." Kevin looked at me. My expression was one of total disbelief. I fainted. I don't know if I beat Mom. I awoke on my bed, with the covers pulled up. I was still dressed. The three of them were sitting around, watching me. My head was spinning, and I was not quite sure what had happened. Mom's eyes were red with tears. Dad looked exhausted. Kevin was trying for an evil leer, and getting a clown face. He spent the night on a cot at the foot of my bed, to which I was firmly secured. I would have sworn his snores sounded like purring. After some negotiation, and several re-writes, we signed the contracts on Saturday. Friday Kevin moved his few belongings into the spare bedroom. Dad was, at least in theory, an upstanding citizen, and the social work lady was so happy to get Kevin out of her hair she managed to get the needed papers signed and through the system by Friday afternoon, making Dad his temporary foster parent. Despite Kevin's protestations, Mom, in her normal panic mode, took Kevin and me to my gynecologist on Friday for a thorough education on birth control. I was started on the pill. Dad told Kevin that if I ever complained he had molested me, he would cut it off with a dull saw. After running it thorough a meat grinder. Kevin tried to promise I was going to remain a virgin. It was a good thing I was cuffed. As it was, I kicked him. As usual I had other plans. After much discussion, we wrote up a separate contract between us. We agreed to limit any romantic activities to those mutually agreed upon, including no intercourse for the duration of our contract with my parents. We gave the parents a copy. Mom looked relieved. Dad shrugged. "If their gonna, they're gonna." Mom hit him. Repeatedly. At least some things had not changed. Sunday I was allowed to invite all four of my other friends over. The parents bowed out immediately. I was not restrained, as we figured some of them might freak. Kevin and I gave then a short version of what had happened, and what I had to accomplish. There were a lot of tears and way too much sympathy. Kevin finally spoke out. "Stacey doesn't need sympathy. She needs friends who will support her and help her over the rough spots." He paused. "Which means that you will have to do the same things I have to do. Like correct every mistake. Make her do it right. And log every little infraction, however small, in her notebook. Even if you know it will hurt her, or get her in trouble." That got a lot of discussion. Finally everyone agreed. Monday was the most stressful so far of my short life. Kevin had taken over for Mom, and I was properly dressed. There was one concession. I was wearing a silver locket on a chain with an inscription. "Property of Kevin Taylor." On my belt I had a small pouch with a notebook. And two pens. I was laughed at, teased, and when the blonde squad found me, driven to tears. And my friends, despite their fears and tears, kept me on track. Everyone who was privy to the plan, including my teachers, seemed to have a comment for the notebook. By the last class I had several very full pages. My English teacher made a spectacle of me. She derided my appearance, and my demeanor, and everything else possible. She made me go to the chalkboard so everyone could see how I was dressed. It was downright vicious. And I deserved it. She then filled a page in my little book. Kevin drove me home. I was in tears. After I was again restrained, he pulled out the little book, and read off the comments. It totaled almost forty demerits. I thought I was a failure. He smiled and said I did fine. He transferred them to the big logbook Dad had found on Sunday. I spent the next two hours writing out by hand, while cuffed, "I will not..." followed by the different demerits. Monday night we defined our sleeping arrangements. We would sleep in separate rooms, unless I was fully restrained and could not help myself, in which case Kevin would move in with me. If I was not on punishment he could sleep in the same bed. If I was, one of us got the cot. Should he determine I needed the emotional support badly enough, he could sleep with me at any time, regardless of restraint level. The criteria for that were not spelled out. I had a feeling I was going to sleep mostly alone. Tuesday was more of the same. I discovered that my current clothing did not interfere with my band instrument, so that eliminated one problem. The drama teacher loved my clothes, and insisted on me showing my under-dress and bloomers. I guess she was a history freak at heart. I even got extra credit for it. But then she always ragged on the girls who were not acting feminine. I had been her target a lot. By Friday I had blisters on my writing hand, and Kevin was on the net looking for alternate punishments we could agree on. I spent Friday night trussed uncomfortably with my arms tightly over my head, and feet tied to the bottom rail. Kevin's snoring from the cot made it worse. Kevin figured out quickly, probably from observation, that if I could get my legs together, I could masturbate. Hands or not. So when I was on punishment, which seemed to be most of the time, my legs were now secured apart. I would then sleep poorly, be irritable, and thus earn more demerits, which meant more punishment time... And when my period came, I got really raggy, and in one day earned enough demerits to keep me trussed up the entire week. After the week was over, at Kevin's suggestion, we negotiated a slight adjustment for "female complaints". But I slowly got better. By early October I had earned back my Walkman and a few CDs. And a full 24-hour free day with Kevin. Strangely, he kept me restrained most of the time. I loved it. So did he. We slept till noon on Sunday. I also was allowed to be in our class play, and three of four mini-concerts. I missed the other one, but not by misbehaving. I had the flu. But each performance netted me more demerits. I was beginning to think I could earn demerits by breathing. The next weekend I was allowed to spend a whole day out with my friends. Alone. Dressed as usual, I stuck out like a sore thumb. But I was learning not to let it bother me as much. They still gave me demerits. I think I would have yelled at them if they didn't. The best part was they said they could see the positive difference in me. I wished I could. It was the Friday the 23rd of October when Kevin and I returned from school, with an unusually empty notebook (half the school was absent with the flu, and we agreed early-on that trying to explain me to substitutes was a lost cause) that we found there were several parcels waiting on the bed. From the shipping labels, I knew they were my corsets. I was not allowed to open them. So they wound up in Kevin's room. Kevin promised I would see the contents soon enough. Mom had ordered the corsets and accessories from a very reputable, and slow, maker in Europe. The other pieces had apparently arrived weeks earlier and had been stored at Dad's office. I did not know exactly what had been ordered, but from the volume, I was beginning to be afraid he had taken my proposal literally. Which meant that life was about to get a lot more stressful. I was more correct than I knew. The first inkling of what was to come was when, on Saturday morning, Dad installed a funny looking pulley and winch arrangement on my wall and ceiling. A stiff wooden bar with strange looking cuffs was then attached to the cables. "Lacing Bar!" echoed from my reading. It was both scary and inviting. Kevin lowered the bar, and told me to slip my wrists through the cuffs, which he buckled. I found they were heavily padded, and designed to distribute the strain smoothly to my arms. And strain there was, as Kevin slowly and easily hoisted me clean off the ground. I swung there for a moment while he looked the mounts over. He checked my belt, and found he could tighten it another inch without straining. When he lowered me it felt more snug, but a different snug. He hoisted me back up, and removed the belt. Shortly I was released and the two of us, this time in casual dress (Him, shorts and a T-shirt. Me, under-dress) were catching up on general room and house cleaning. I re-dressed for dinner, and Kevin told me to eat lightly. I'm glad I listened. Dinner was great. And Tim got the cleanup chores. We met in the living room. Mom and Dad advised me that since I was about to enter the second phase of my training, I would start with a clean slate. I jumped up and gave each of them a big hug. I realized that it was a real hug, not something I had to think about. When I started to cry, Kevin made me explain. Soon Mom was crying, too. They gave me a set of house keys. That may not sound like much, but to me it was verification that I had passed an important point. I was being trusted. I hugged them 'till I couldn't breathe. Kevin gave me a brand new demerit book. And made an entry in his big logbook. When they told me I was completely free until tomorrow morning, I wrapped my arms around Kevin, and he carried me upstairs to my room. Snuggling is wonderful; so is a helping hand. We were both so groggy the next morning it took until ten before we had showered. I was told to stay undressed, and wait in my room. When Kevin and Mom came in, they put my hands in the bar's cuffs. Shortly I was secured with my arms stretched loosely over my head. When Mom pulled off my bloomers, I blushed. They both examined every inch of me, and made notes in a new logbook. I was measured, pinched, the pinches measured, and once they hoisted me off the floor, they repeated the measurements. Finally they released me, and pulling out a brand new digital scale, I got the pleasure of finding out what I weighed for the first time since this had started. I was surprised; it was about 130, nearly five pounds less than I thought. I was then given a new, long slip to put on. I inquired about the hated bra, and was told that if I needed a bra I would be given one. I also got the first demerit in my new book. Something about patience. It was going to be a long day. Kevin cuffed me back to the bar, and brought me to a flat-footed stretch. He then blindfolded me. I had learned already, to the painful application of a hairbrush, that this meant I was to be very quiet and cooperative. I soon felt my first corset being wrapped around me, and Kevin had to strain a bit to fasten it in front. It gave me a rush, and I was both scared and excited. Several adjustments later, I felt the laces being tightened. The corset fit from just below my breasts and armpits to my hips. The first tightening was barely snug. He then slipped something stiff between me and the laces. The second took my breath away. It was like I was getting a full-body hug from a boa constrictor. I felt someone measure me. The bar was suddenly raised so I was on tiptoe, which made the corset looser. The third tightening caused me to make a lot of airy grunting noises. I could still breathe, but it felt like I was slowly being squeezed in two. Another measurement, and the waist was tightened just a bit. I felt the laces being wrapped around me, and tied off. When someone lowered the bar, everything seemed to settle in place. I felt heavy straps being attached to the front near my armpits, and to the back near the middle. Soon my shoulders were pulled rigidly back. I was now glad I had been wearing that bra every day. This was even more upright; my breasts were forced out prominently against the slip. I was released, but still blindfolded, and taken to my parents' room. There in the big mirrors I got a chance to see myself corseted for the first time. I almost passed out from elation. My breasts were proudly displayed above the corset, my posture almost regal. Placing my hands on my now rigid and flat stomach, it felt like I was a model. I understood what they had meant in the stories about being freely imprisoned. I could only move with grace, bending and twisting were impossible. Mom was looking worried. "Stacey, can you breathe okay? Does it hurt or pinch?" My reply was a bit breathless, but there was no mistaking the tone. "It makes breathing different, and no, it doesn't' hurt or pinch. It makes me want you to lace it tighter..." the last came out pleading. Mom had a confused look, and excused herself. Kevin looked like he wanted me for lunch. "One inch at a time, Stacey. You are now down to a twenty-four inch measurement around the corset. That is three inches less than without the corset. He added another entry to my new book. Patience is one of the things you are to learn. Progress from here on will be measured in tiny amounts." He smiled. "Now to finish your outfit." We went back to my room. It took him quite a while to get the order of things right, and finally asked me for input. I wound up wearing real stockings, which attached to the numerous garters connected to the corset. I was also advised that leg hair removal was a priority. These were followed by the bloomers, a second slip that fit snugly over the corset, an underskirt, and finally, one of my dresses. The dress hung loosely about my body. We looked at it. Kevin took it off, and went to get something. Shortly I was wearing a new dress. It was as plain as the others, but was fitted, and laced down the back. It was also longer; the hem was dragging the floor. Kevin let his hands roam all over my armored torso, and fondled my proudly displayed breasts. I managed to stay still, but soon was moaning quietly. He stopped, and I almost screamed. "Good control. Now go sit on your chair." I was twitching as I sat down. My screech made him jump. I pulled myself up, and rubbed my poor abused abdomen where the bottom of the corset had savaged me. He looked concerned. Lifting my skirts, and kneeling before me, which made me even hornier, he carefully examined the reddened place. He stuck his fingers between the corset and the slip, then pulled and twisted, nearly lifting me off the ground. When he released me it no longer poked. "Sorry about that. The bottom edge was bent slightly, and your slip had bunched up. We need to be more careful to pull the corset-liner smooth." He smoothed my skirts gently in place. "I think you are going to have to talk with your teachers about desks, because you will never be able to sit in the ones at school." I cringed. Both because I would have to explain why, and because I would be in the spotlight again. I could see the demerits building already. And my crotch was trying to override my brain. I wondered if fidgeting was an offense... When I politely asked Kevin, he thought for a moment. "I'm not sure, but it is probably time to add that to the list." I tried to hit him, but the corset really slowed me down. "Just kidding" But he added a demerit anyway. Drat. I thought the dress looked absolutely beautiful on me. I was learning that even plain could be beautiful. I was worried, however, about the dragging hem. Thinking he boots would help, I found I could not bend to put them on. Kevin laughed, and then helped. The hem still touched the floor. "Time for the next improvement." This time I sat carefully on the edge of the bed. I no longer had to watch my posture. The collar of the new dress was even stiffer that the old one. Kevin put something down outside the room. A moment later I was blindfolded, and back hanging from the lacing bar. I felt myself being lifted until I was on tiptoe. Instead of discomfort, it was, well, almost relaxing. I felt him slip a tall, stiff boot on my right foot. Once on, I realized I was still almost on tiptoe. The boots were high-heeled! And I loved heels. It took him a while to get the lacing correct. The boots buckled just like my others. I was still as far above the ground, but now I was mostly standing. He then added a wide leather belt. He warned me to watch my balance, lowered the bar, and then released me. The slow walk to my parent's room was heavenly. I had move gracefully. Between the heels and corset I had a wiggle that I would swear was making Kevin pant. And the rubbing of my thighs together in the stockings was getting me way to close to several demerits for "loud and unladylike behavior". When he took off the blindfold, I looked and fainted. He still claims it was a lack of air. I'm sure it wasn't. When I came to on my parent's bed I almost molested him. In the mirror I had seen someone else. A r