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
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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