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TV BONDAGE MODEL by "cc" My name is Clinton Crayle, and I'm a very different kind of Private Detective; I specialize in untangling the kinky sex lives of the very rich. My fee is a Thousand Dollars a day and I'm seldom out of work because I guarantee my results and my clients know my discretion is absolute. So if you're rich and in a jam, come to my office..., as soon as I get one again, that is! The click-clack of my high heels on. the sidewalk should have been a familiar sound to me by now. But somehow it only increased the nervous fluttering in my flat, smooth tummy as I made my way down the crowded downtown street in my tight blouse and snug, too-short skirt. I felt the eyes of male passer-bys appreciating the jiggle of my shapely breasts within the skimpy black satin bra that barely contained them, and the matching panties and garter belt swished sensuously -- even to my prejudiced judgment--under the skirt. As I listened to the swish of my legs in the black silk stockings that covered them, I tried simultaneously to forget that I was really a man underneath all this and to remind myself that once I finished this job, I could go back to my masculine identity once more... and for keeps! The lobby of the Freloar Building was every bit as shabby as I had expected, but at least it sported an elevator. I stepped gingerly onto it, anticipating the jiggle in my very real breasts once it started upwards, and experiencing all over again the slight push of my masculine genitals, confined behind the completely realistic false vagina that had been bonded over my male crotch for months now. Soon, I told myself, soon the damn thing would be off and I could work on getting rid of these massive breasts and growing back my body hair, and wearing male attire once more, and I'd never, never get myself into this mess again! How I got into this feminized predicament, robbed of all my possessions and even deprived of my masculine identity is too long a story to go into here ((EDITOR'S NOTE: CLINTON CRAYLE'S EARLIER ADVENTURES ARE POSTED ELSEWHERE AT FICTIONMANIA)) All I can say is that my mind and body'-had been radically altered from a previous case, so that now I looked, acted, and at times even thought completely feminine. Even completely nude (which was how I'd had to spend a large part of the past several months!) my disguise was totally undetectable! In fact, I might have had to spend the rest of my life as a performer in a very kinky nightclub, which was where my last adventure had landed me, had it not been for the tall, Eurasian woman. who had called me to her table one evening. I remember mincing over to her as best I could in my tight ankle-length leather dress, my thigh-length leather high-heels forcing me to keep my knees straight, the corset sewn into the dress emphasizing my breasts even as it nipped in my waist and arched my back, the high, tight collar forcing me to hold my chin up and keep my pretty face looking straight ahead..... "They tell me," the Eurasian woman had said, staring intently at my undeniably female body, "that you once went by the name Clinton Crayle." "That's right, Ma'am." I curtseyed as best I could in my outfit and went into the spiel I knew by heart now. "But now I'm your submissive little she-male serving girl Claire, and I'd be just delighted to perform any service that you'd care for! Would you like to spank me? Or tie me up? Or have me perform some intimate task for you? You have only to arrange it with my Mistress!" "I already have." The Eurasian smiled ever so slightly as she went on. "And we've come to a tentative arrangement. What I want to know is this: How badly do you want out of here?" "Er-What?" I asked, scarcely daring to believe my ears. "You heard me," she said. "How badly do you want to get out of all this and go back to being a man again? Bad enough to do a little job for me first?" I wonred what I should say. Could this be some trap? "It's not a trick." The woman read the fear in my wide eyes correctly. "I need a special kind of job done. I need it done soon, and I need it done by the man who used to specialize in cases of a rather bizarre sexual nature. If you're prepared to undertake this job for me, I'm prepared to buy you out of here and give you clothes -- female clothes, of course -- and enough money to live on for a few weeks. And if you succeed, I'll pay you enough for you to return to your old masculine identity and set yourself back up in business again. Well? I don't have all night." ** ** * * ** ** ******* * Which was how I found myself, still very feminine but very hopeful, riding upwards in this noisy elevator, on my way to keep an appointment with Eric West! ** ****** * * ********** * "I've always been proud of my body," the Eurasian woman had told me as we sped across town in her luxurious car. I felt the comfortable sensation of decent clothing covering my feminine curves once more and settled back to listen to her as she carried me away from that horrid nightclub and towards my new assignment. "And so it was only natural that I should seek to make a living as a model. I came to this country years ago, a naive young girl, and in order to live I took some jobs that... well, they were things I should rather not speak of. But I made a success of myself, and I had thought that the old days were all forgotten. Until last week, when I got this!" She handed the fine, pink stationery across to me. I opened it and read the delicately type-written message: "Jana--Congratulations on your Success! Always glad to see one of my old girls Make It Big! I even looked up some of the old photos you did for me! Very Nice! In fact, a Publisher offered me $50,000 for them! But I'm sure you can do better than that! CAN'T YOU? I'll be in touch, --Eric" Briefly, the woman who had come to this country as Jana Haffaz, but who was now better known as Miss Earth, winner of the most prestigious Beauty Pageant of them all, told me of the photos she had posed for years ago. As soon as I heard the name Eric West, I suspected that they would be of a very bizarre sexual nature, and I wasn't disappointed. Eric West was very well known in some circles as the leading artist in the Kinky Underground. His name on the cover of a book was guaranteed to boost sales ten percent, and a picture by him on the cover of a book or magazine made it an instant sell-out in the sort of stores that carried his kind of thing. And now he was apparently blackmailing one of his old models. And my job was to find him, get the pictures, and turn them over to Jana. And my payment for doing this would be my freedom! A complete return to my old masculine life-style! I could almost feel my long-confined cock surge at the prospect of impending freedom! For now, though, Jana apparently wanted to keep me on a shortish leash. The night she got me out of that club, she gave me a small suitcase full of rather cheap clothes, a little money, and a ride to my new home... The YWCA! That was where I had lived for the last week, in a dormitory with eleven other girls, storing my clothes in a locker, sleeping and showering in common quarters, and buying meager meals at local cafeterias while I tracked down Eric West. It wasn't hard. You see, I had an inside track; A few months ago, while working on another matter, I had come into contact with this semi- legendary figure and even done some modelling for him myself, under the name Claire Clinton. I remembered him as a rather threadbare, surprisingly boyish sort, with pleasant, open blue eyes, and a passionate commitment to his Art. I also recalled that he'd told me he was in some kind of legal difficulty and would be moving soon. And, most important of all, he had told me how to get in touch with him! ** * * ** * * * * ****** ** * So with all this going for me, I figured I had the Inside Track on finding those pictures and getting Miss Earth -- and myself -- out of a tough spot. But as I stepped out of the elevator and click-clacked my way across the cheap tile hallway towards Eric's new office/studio, I knew it still wasn't going to be easy by any means! Eric West would be guarding those pictures well and carefully, and I was certainly in no shape to force him to tell me where they were. No, somehow I was going to have to gain his confidence. Somehow I had to make him trust me enough that he'd want to tell me where they were. And that was going to be the hard part! "Claire!" Eric opened the door to my timid knock and practically scooted me in. "Good to see you again! Have some Java?" He pointed to an ominously gurgling glass pot half-filled with coffee so strong that the sunlight striking it cast a shadow on the floor. "Er-- no thank you." I half-smiled, looking around at the incredible clutter, the worn brushes, cracked pens and nubby pencils. The whole set-up looked like it was going to slide into Bankruptcy any minute now, and looking at it, I could easily see how a man like, this -- a decent sort of guy, actually -- could be driven to Blackmail. "I'll have some then." Eric poured some into a paper cup and somehow managed to gulp it down before it ate through the sides. Then he turned to me. "You know, it was really weird, you calling me just when you did!" He smiled, "I've been looking to find you again! A deal came up a week or so and I've been trying to line up some models who -uh- don't mind working under difficult conditions, if you know what I mean. I remembered the dyn-o-mite work you did for me last year, and was hoping we could get back together on this. You wouldn't believe all the fan mail you got from that last project...." He began sorting through a massive oak desk that added a whole new meaning to the word "cluttered", pawing carefully through stacks of letters and his replies to them, each reply neatly paper-clipped to its letter, each done on thin, cheap paper, and each scrawled in a semi- illegible handwriting. "Here's one," he said at last, then began reading. "'...the expression on your lovely drawings was so real, so vivid, that I could almost imagine that I was her, bound to that chariot and dressed in confining rubber, forced to the whim of a demanding Mistress....' See? They love you out there, Honey!" I lowered my eyes, feeling oddly flattered. Although the modeling I had done for him had not been exactly my idea (It had, in fact, gotten me into a very difficult situation!) I was still somehow pleased by this bizarre compliment to the looks that I was now temporarily stuck with. "You know what I think it is they like?" Eric went on. "There's something.... now don't get me wrong -- there's something very faintly Masculine about you: Nothing I could put my finger on, but just that ethereal 'something' that helps my male readers identify with pictures of you -and you wouldn't believe how many guys would like to be in your shoes!" And you wouldn't believe how much I'd like to get out of these shoes and back to being a male again, I thought. But to Eric I smiled modestly and said, "What sort of job is it? When would it be and how long would it take?" "I figure it'll take about a week, and it'll happen whenever I can get you and two other models together. I'm afraid I'll only be able to pay you about Half-Wages until I get some more orders in, but once this thing gets off the ground, I should be able to slip everyone a nice bonus. As for what it is: It's a Bondage Calendar! I figure to set up some photos and do drawings from them to illustrate each of the twelve months. With any luck, I should be able to do two a day." "And you'll need two other girls for this?" I asked, a little bit leery of company that might inhibit his conversation while we worked. "Who are-you going to get?" "Good question!" He grinned ruefully. "I'll have to settle for anyone else I can find with a halfway decent face and figure willing to work for half-wages and promises. Of course, you'll be the only one tied up, so that'll make it a little easier.... but I definitely need two other girls. There's just something about three girls in a bondage scene that makes the picture much more dramatically interesting: Two just isn't enough and Four's just too damn many to draw. No, Three's the magic number. And I've learned from experience that you can't shortcut. I once tried superimposing and...." He went on and on, warming to the technical details of his art, and I wondered once more how he could have stayed so passionately devoted for so long to a profession that had obviously paid him so meagerly. Then I remembered with a start that he was apparently planning on making a great deal out of his profession. And soon! This quiet, boyish fellow with the artistic mannerisms was planning on branching out into Blackmail, and my job was to see that it didn't work. And I had a big stake in bringing this job off successfully! "Uh, don't you know any old models you can contact?" I asked, "You know, Girls you've worked with before?" "Wouldn't have the foggiest notion how to reach 'em." He pawed through his desk again. "I mostly just keep the names and addresses of paying customers, and I keep those put away pretty carefully. But I've just never had the time to keep up a long-term correspondence with anyone, and the woman who used to supply me with models from time to time has dropped out of the business. So I'm pretty much stuck doing letterheads until I can get the act together." An idea hit me. "Suppose I could find some girls for you," I said. "I know a couple of girls looking for work who might be willing to do this. They're not bad looking; They don't speak much English, I'm afraid, but that might even make them easier to work with." "Could be," Eric shrugged. "Can't hurt to talk to them, anyway. Bring 'em around whenever you can and we'll see. For now, though, I've got to make sure that my Costume and Prop supplier is still talking to me. Maybe I can even get him to invest in last month's rent...." ** * ** * ****** * ** ** * That night, at a pre-arranged time, I called Jana. "I'm making progress," I reported, "but I'm going to need a few hundred dollars, and pretty quick." I told her briefly about Eric's problem getting models, and how I would need to work with him a few days in order to get him to open up to me. "Fortunately," I said, "there are two girls right here at the Y who ought to fit the bill: I'm not sure where they're from -- someplace in Indochina, I think -- but they don't know more than a dozen words of English. That means I can talk freely to Eric without worrying about them. And they speak French! I took it in College, so I still know most of it. I guess I'm about the only one here that's spoken much to these two, and we're kind of friendly, so I ought to be able to talk them into it without too much trouble. But I will need money! These two have been out of work for weeks, so I'll have to slip them a little something to get them to work for Eric's wages." "You'll get it," Jana's voice over the wire sounded satisfied, "I'll have someone leave an envelope in your letter box first thing tomorrow morning. Report back to me when you can." And she rang off. That night, in the Showers, I sounded the girls out on the idea of doing a little modeling. They seemed delighted at the idea, and strutted around comically, showing off their tan, lissome bodies in exaggerated modeling poses. I caught my breath with difficulty, feeling the painfully familiar surge of my trapped cock swelling beneath the implacable false pussy that imprisoned it and concealed my true gender. Oh, how I wanted relief! The sight of these two oriental lovelies parading around nude before me brought all my old masculine desires back with an agonizing rush! Soon, I promised myself, soon. The next morning there was an elegant pink envelope in my letterbox containing ten Hundred-Dollar bills. I explained to the two girls -- Miko and Ushi -- that this was the way things were done in this country: There was an advance payment first and later Eric would pay them. It was not long after that that I'd introduced them to Eric himself, who was delighted with their exotic looks -- strikingly similar to Jana's Eurasian loveliness -- and arrangements were made to start the very next day. ** * ** * * ****** **** ** * * * * ** ** * "It shouldn't be too long now," I reported to Jana that night. "Eric's a compulsive talker, and I ought to be able to work the subject around to where I want it without too much trouble." "Check in with me every night," Jana replied. "I want to know the minute you find out anything!" * *** * ******** ** * * * The shoes pinched my feet. The heavy silk corset pinched my waist. The pins holding my wig on pulled at my hair, and the ropes securing my wrists around the tree cramped my arms terribly. But I smiled back at Eric. "Doesn't hurt a bit!" I said. "You should try it!" He laughed at the thought of himself decked out as I was and turned his attention to the other two while I stood there in his studio, dressed as a fashionable lady of Colonial Days, complete with flowing dress, corset, petticoats, pantaloons, white stockings, stiff, high-heeled shoes, a powdered wig and elegant costume jewelry, with my arms tied around a mock-up of a cherry tree. Well, Eric had said he wanted to start with the most elaborate costumes first, I reflected as I squirmed in the confining bodice of my dress, wondering how a single garment could be so heavy.., and so low-cut! The tops of my pale breasts were practically spilling out of the thing! So we'd started with February, and Eric wanted to do Washington's Birthday. Only it wasn't so much a matter of chopping down the cherry tree as it was of tying a buxom young lass -- myself!-- to it. And instead of a hatchet, Miko and Ushi (dressed as young colonial men) were wielding a willow switch! "Okay." Erie _got hind his camera and started setting up the shot. "Miko: Pull on the rope that will tug Claire's arms up a little higher." She did, and I felt a whole new strain as I was pulled up on tip-toe by my wrists. "Fine," Eric said. "Now Ushi: Lift up the hem of Claire's bottom petticoat and pin it to her collar. In the back there." I translated this order for the giggling Ushi, who dutifully lifted up my skirts and pinned them to the back of my collar, exposing my pantaloons and silk stockings in the back, underneath a veritable cascade of starchy white-ruffled pettis. "Hmmm," Eric mused. "Not quite right. Tell you what: untie the ribbon at the waist-band of those pantaloons and re-tie it just under Claire's bottom." I translated, adding his order to "Tie it tight now!"and soon found myself with my blushing pink bottom exposed to the two tittering orientals, prettily framed above the silk ruffles of my pantywaist and below the matching white clouds of swishing petticoats. "That's it!" Eric cheered. "Now swat at her, Ushi, while Miko tugs on the rope!" I can't tell you how humiliating it was to have to translate that, but somehow I managed to speak the French for "Miko, pull my wrists up higher! Ushi, swat my bare bottom!" And they did! "Eeek! Owww!" I squealed, twisting and kicking. Ushi was really laying it on! I felt my pantaloons start to loosen under my wriggling bottom and drop towards my ankles as I struggled against panic to find the French for Not So Hard! "Pas si mal!" I cried. "O000! Pas si dur! Arrettez!" She stopped, as did the clicking of Eric's busy camera. "Wonderful!" he enthused. "I've always said there's just no substitute for Real Pain. The look a girl gets when she's struggling against it just can't be faked! Those shots will be worth a fortune. But I'm forgetting my manners," He came over and began untying me. "Tell the Dragon Ladies here to take a break while I set up the next shot. You gals can change in the next room whenever you're ready." Thankfully I lowered my aching arms and tugged my drooping pantaloons back up over my embarrassed butt. As I did so, I noticed with dismay that my struggles had completely dislodged my full, white breasts from the low-cut neckline of my dress; They were bouncing out for anyone to see! Quickly, I plopped the firm treasures back into my decolletage and followed the other two into the next room to change. While Miko and Ushi slipped into rather ordinary party dresses, stockings, and sensible shoes, I checked over the costume that had been laid out for me and, with a sigh, began getting into it. I got to keep the old-fashioned white corset, which covered me from my hips to just below my breasts, supporting but not concealing them, and the layers of white petticoats at my waist. These pettis, however, were unpinned at the seams to show slits up each side nearly to the waist! A velvet-covered steel choker came next, locking firmly around my neck. Then white lace hosiery, held up by a frilly white garterbelt. I had to take off my silken pantaloons for this, and I found with dismay that my outfit did not call for them to be replaced! Instead, I got delicate white leather cuffs, fastened together with silken cords, hobbling my knees together. Then my ankles. And finally, a pair for my wrists, fastened below my delicate white lace gloves, secured in front of me. Lastly came a large white summer hat and a fancy parasol, and I was now all decked out as a rather scantily-clad but still somehow very prim-looking Southern Belle! Somewhat bewildered, I minced out in my high heels, moving as best I could with my legs and wrists re-strained, hearing the rustling froufrou of my petticoats swishing as I walked and feeling the very unrestrained bounce of my bare breasts with each step. "Eric?" I asked, crossing my hands demurely across my bosom as the artist turned to look at me. "Just what Holiday is this supposed to represent?" "Confederate Memorial Day." He grinned, his eyes sweeping appreciatively up and down my curves as he took in the sight of me. I felt my cheeks burning and my bare shoulders tingling as he went on, "That comes in May, you know, and it revives a lot of nostalgia down there about dem good ol' days down on de plantation! And here's the rest of us!" Miko and Ushi came out, dressed as before in fancy party dresses. But now I noticed that they had each donned curly afro-style wigs! "This shot's going to play a little role-reversal on the old Master- Slave relationship," Eric explained. "That is, it will if I ever get it set up. Why don't you gals take five while I work a few things out." I translated this to the other two, who quickly doffed their wigs and went out for sandwiches. I, of course, could hardly go anyplace dressed like this, and besides, this seemed like a good chance to talk with Eric. So I sat delicately on a stool (000! That cold seat was awful on my freshly-swatted bottom!) and began carefully pumping. It didn't take much. Like a lot of very solitary people, Eric was a born talker to someone he felt he could open up to, and it wasn't long at all before he was telling me about the problems of working in his field, the letters from fans, some of them terribly lonely, and how it felt to have a total stranger tell you that you were the only one who had ever made him feel like he wasn't some kind of freak.... "You know, it's funny how different people and different cultures look at Bondage," Eric went on. "In Medieval times, it was considered perfectly normal for a man to keep his wife and daughters in some sort of bondage: Chastity belts, collars, even chains! Of course, that custom still survives to a large extent today in the Middle East, and I read once about an island somewhere in the South Seas that the French Government is keeping completely exclusive so that teams of researchers can go there every few years and study the ways of the inhabitants, whose culture hasn't changed in over a thousand years. It seems that part of their Social System is that every woman who has not had children has to go around in some sort of bondage sort of a Slave to the entire Community! "Once she's had kids, or gotten pregnant or whatever, she's allowed to pick a husband, own property and what-all, but up to that time, she must remain in bondage, and in order to make her more attractive to potential Fathers, the women of the island will devise elaborate bondages for the female slaves! Wouldn't it be great to see photos of the things they must come up with? Can you imagine a society where Bondage is openly considered erotic? It boggles my mind!" "But your art is certainly considered erotic," I put in. "Not openly, though," Eric fumed as he fussed with the lights. "Even in this day and age, Bondage is generally considered something to be frowned upon, something Dirty... That's why I always use drawings, even though I work with photographs of live models. This way, no one can accuse me of actually torturing women - which I'd never consider doing in the first place -- and no one can use my drawings as evidence that I've hired women for what they call Immoral Purposes." "But then," I ventured. "What do you do with the photographs after you've made your drawings from them?" He was about to tell me. I could just tell from the off-handed, relaxed way he was going on that he was going to tell me just what he did with old photographs of his models. And then, with perfectly awful timing, Miko and Ushi burst in, giggling and talking in their slurred-sounding native speech, and the moment was lost! "Enough wool-gathering!" Eric pronounced in a brisk, businesslike manner that fooled no one. "Back to work! If we put our minds to it, we might get an extra set-up or two today!" And so the girls put their wigs back on and everyone fussed with my bondage, trying to find a way to strut my breasts and still have me hold the parasol in the properly ladylike manner. With my wrists bound together in front of me, holding the umbrella meant that my forearms partially covered my bosom. So Eric tried releasing my wrists and pinioning my elbows together behind my back, lengthening and shortening the silken cord between them and studying the effect. "Problem is," he muttered at last, "it's just not possible to show off your breasts and your elbow bondage both to best effect in the same shot. Let's try something else..." At last he settled on binding my wrists behind me and having Ushi playfully hold the parasol over my shoulder while Miko led me about the room on a leash attached to my steel-and-velvet collar. While a large fan blew my layers of slit-to-the-waist ruffled petticoats this way and that, Eric had the girls tug me about in various positions while he followed, his camera snapping away busily. It was horrid! Miko tugged at the leash mercilessly, jerking me up, down, and side-to-side without warning. Each time she did this, of course, my breasts would swing and bounce breathtakingly, while I scampered about as best I could with knees and ankles hampered, hearing the swish-swish of my scissoring, white-stockinged legs and the riotous rustle of my swirling petticoats each time the fan blew them up over my hips! At last, though, Eric decided he'd got enough shots of me in this fix and he had the girls loosen my bonds. "Hang on a see'," he said suddenly. "Now I think of it, that outfit's perfect for the Mardi Gras set-up I want for May! Claire, tell them to strip down to their undies and put on the masks and stuff up on the shelf over there, while I set up the Sacrificial Altar!" The idea of a Sacrificial Altar didn't do much for my nerves, but I duly relayed Eric's instructions and Miko and Ushi cheerfully obeyed. By the time they were dressed in red silk bra and panties, plumed masks, gold-sequined gauntlets, high-heeled boots and gossamer-thin capes of sheer pink nylon, Eric had built up his makeshift Sacrificial Altar, created from a framework of solid lead pipes, complete with adjustable joints and attachments, covered with sofa-pillows to look like rocks. Working carefully with a stylus, Eric shredded my corset and petticoats until they hung off me in ribbons, then led me up to the Altar and helped me mount it. Oooch! I had to kneel on those cold, hard pipes on my stockinged knees, while Miko and Ushi held me up so that Eric could bind my elbows behind me and run a rope from them to a pipe just above me, forcing me into a permanent crouch. Then he tied a white leather ribbon tightly around my hair in the back, securing it in a sort of knotted pony-tail,then drawing it back, back, arching my neck, until my face was pointed upwards, and securing the whole thing to my elbow-bondage! The gag came next. It was the smallish dwarf pumpkin, with a notched stick driven straight through it. Eric somehow forced the whole thing into my mouth, although I could have sworn that my jaws would never stretch that wide, then pushed down on my head and up on my chin until my teeth were firmly embedded in the tough skin of the mushy-sticky thing. By the time he had tied the ends of the wooden stick with a strong nylon ribbon tightly behind my head, there was no way I was going to get that damned pumpkin out of my mouth! I moaned in humiliation at all this, and Eric suddenly looked at me with concern. "Oh geeze," he said, "I wasn't thinking! That pipe's gotta feel like Hell on your knees! That must be Agony! Here, let's pull your feet up." With the aid of Miko and Ushi, he arranged my legs so that I was balancing precariously on the pipe below me in my high-heeled shoes. Of course, doing this meant that my bare bottom stuck out behind me, and every time I swayed, my elbow-and-ponytail bondage pulled painfully on my neck and shoulders, but it was a little better, and much more secure when Eric tied my ankles to upright bars at my sides, ensuring that no matter how much I might sway and teeter, my feet would not slip from the bar where I was perched like some silken bird of paradise. "Okay, Girls, I'll just get the camera and... Oh, Hell!" I'd have said the same thing myself if I could talk. The Phone was ringing! I tried to moan in protest as Eric hurried into the next room to answer it, but the only sound from my lips was a faint, smothered "mew!" "Hellolcan'ttalk." Eric's voice came from the next room. "Irv? Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that but I'm-- You what? How much? When? Well God knows I can use it but--How many? What issue? Hold on, let me see if I've still got a copy... While I squatted there practically naked on that damned bar, Eric the Space Cadet went sifting through a pile of magazines to find something that some collector wanted copied. Damn! I thought as sticky pumpkin- pulp dribbled out between the handles on the perimeter down my chin: Get back here, Eric, and-- Suddenly I felt a light, gentle touch across my bare bottom. And, at the same time, another one along the side of my rib-cage. Startled, I twisted about. Miko and Ushi had pulled a couple of plumes from their masks and they were tickling me! Eeee! It was awful! Woowoo! The giggling girls stroked me teasingly with the light feathers! O000! Tittering as I squirmed wildly, trying to escape! Uhuhuhu I writhed and twisted, biting and screaming silently into the orange, but it was no use! Wheehee! The silent, smiling torture just kept coming, sending me into fits of spasmic crouch-dancing, flinging my tits and bottom around, swishing my stockinged legs and shredded pettis madly! Muhmuhmuh! It had to stoppppp! And suddenly it did. I heard the receiver click in the next room as Eric hung up the phone and came back in, seemingly unaware of the time he'd been away. "Ready to go Girls? Say, Claire, you really look great! All dishevelled and panting, like you'd really been kidnapped and tied to this altar! You're some actress! Well, let's get started!" He picked up his camera and walked around me, snapping pictures from every angle while Miko and Ushi brandished rawhide whips and posed menacingly beside me. I hung there in my fetters, limp and exhausted after the ordeal I'd been through, while Eric gleefully recorded every aspect of my heaving bare bosom, shapely, trembling legs, and shimmering pink ass. "Okay," he said at last, "let's cut you down and try another. This is going much faster than I thought!" It wasn't going nearly fast enough for me, but I gratefully climbed down from the "Altar", shooting nasty looks at Miko and Ushi, who giggled softly in reply, then turned my attention to the next outfit. It went on for hours: I was dressed in another tattered costume, this one of a Lady from the Fifteenth Century, lashed to a mock-up of a Ship's wheel, my arms and legs entwined in the curved wooden dowels, my breasts teased by Miko as while my bottom jutted out behind me for Ushi's attention, in a celebration of Columbus Day for October. Then came a Harlequin costume in skin-tight leather, dyed black and white. Only the tight sleeves ended in snug pods with bells at the tips, rendering my hands noisy but useless. The high-heeled boots were curled at the tips, and likewise belled. And the hood was an all-enveloping thing that covered my face completely except for slits at the eyes and nose. It had a stylized picture of a stupidly smiling face on the front, complete with red cheeks and clownish eyes, and of course the top was crowned with the traditional three bells. But the worst part was the cut-outs for my breasts and ass in the front and back! They were cut precisely to my dimensions, and so designed that I had to squeeze my curves through them until they "plopped" out, jiggling 'comically. Then, of course, Miko and Ushi had to cover them with black and white greasepaint, alternating the colors so that they stood out even more shamefully. Miko and Ushi wore ordinary street clothes for this picture, and posed in a variation of the old "sucker- trip", with Ushi on all fours behind me while Miko stood in front and gave me a push; Only Miko wasn't so much pushing me as pinching my poor nipples (ouch!) and what Ushi was doing behind me... well, it sent shivers up and down my spine! And all this for April Fool! My next costume looked a bit more traditional -- at first! All in white lace, flowing silk, and nylon net, I looked like the perfect June Bride. Only a closer look revealed that beneath my ridiculously short mini- skirted bridal gown, my legs were sewn into heavy white satin leggings, tied together at the knees with pretty satin bows. My arms were false "dummy" arms, posed holding the paper bouquet in front of me, while my real arms were tightly laced into a corset that held my whole torso upright. As you might expect, my shoes were white, and so high-heeled that with my knees secured as they were, I had trouble just standing. And my lovely white-lace bridal veil couldn't hide the wide white plastic gag that held my lips open in a permanent smile. The heavy, satin all over me, tight, restricting corst and painful gag made this costume a chore to wear, butl bad as, I really missed the coverage it gave me when we went to the next one! For July, Eric posed me as "Miss Liberty", dressed in a tight, one- piece, strapless, red-white-and-blue bathing suit that was completely inadequate for covering my breasts and rump, particularly when I had to wear knee-high gold-painted Cheerleader Boots and a tacky gold tiara. All this would have been gaudy and humiliating enough, but Eric decided to emphasize the bondage motif by shackling my wrists to another pipe- and-joint framework that forced me to hold one arm up (like I was carrying a torch) and locked the other one to my hip. My booted feet were secured to the base of this thing, and a collar at my neck was locked to the top, rendering me motionless as a statue. And silent as a statue, too, when Eric produced the plastic "torch" I was supposed to hold and placed it not in my hand but in my mouth! "Arch yourhead back, Honey," He urged, "Make like you were really carrying a torch!" As if sensing what was wanted, Miko obligingly tugged back on my blonde hair, pulling my head back painfully while Eric quickly snapped his pictures. "Hot damn! Would you look at that!" I rolled my eyes around to see that Eric was looking not at me, but at his watch! "Just Four-Fifteen," he went on, "and already we've-done... let's see... February, March, April May, June, July, October... Seven months! Say, Claire; Why don't you ask the girls if they'd like to put in some overtime for a little bonus? Why, we could even finish this thing tonight!" "Mggguuugghhuu!" I grunted; I had that damn torch stuck in my mouth, and Eric didn't even notice! But we all stayed on. Miko and Ushi let me know they'd be delighted to earn two day's pay for just one day's work, and for myself, despite the pain, discomfort, and sheer embarrassment that I'd had to put up with, this was turning into a profitable day. You see, all the while Eric had been working, he had been talking a blue streak, and I had been doing the best I could to steer the flow of his talk in the-right direction -- when I could talk, that is! And it was working. Eric had told me all about the special acid he used to ruin his negatives after he'd made prints from them. He showed me his darkroom facilities -- primitive but workable -- and even the battered paper-shredder that ground up pictures he was done with. He had also referred -- indirectly but often - to his relative poverty; This guy was definitely not getting rich doing this, and from the drift of his remarks, it seemed that he was just about resigned to a career of penury in his chosen profession. So from what Eric had told me, it was just about impossible for him -- or anyone else, for that matter -- to have copies of old photographs of Jana Haffaz. And from my impression of Eric West as.... well, let's say he was sort of out of touch with current events.., it seemed unlikely that he would even know that his former model was now Miss Earth. That left only one alternative: Someone else had written that Blackmail Note! But who? Who else would know that much about Eric's business? "Nobody," he said, when I at last got the conversation around to this topic, "I haven't had anything you could call a Business Relationship that lasted more than a few months. It seems like the people who are really dedicated to this sort of thing don't have the money to support themselves at it, and the ones with money just aren't dedicated enough to keep up with me. Now open wide, Dear." We were doing August: Back to School month: And I was dressed as a sort of grown-up schoolgirl, with white blouse (terribly tight and low-cut) cotton skirt (terribly brief) drooping white socks and saddle shoes, hair done up in ribbons and pigtails (terribly childish) and being forced to wear a dunce cap and hold an apple in my mouth while I held up the back of my skirt, exposing my white-lace pantied bottom for a spanking from Ushi, who was standing behind me, primly dressed, holding a two-foot steel ruler! November came next, and I was dressed as a Pilgrim Maiden. Only I thought that Pilgrim Ladies wore a lot more than just the starched white collars, stiff linen cuffs, white stockings and high-buckle shoes! "Well," explained Eric, "It's just natural that a thrifty girl of Salem would want to spare her wardrobe when she has to ride on the Ducking Stool!" I should have been beyond blushing by this time. But as I was strapped into the Eric West version of a Ducking Stool, I felt myself redden with a whole new burst of shame. The chair had no seat! My arms were crossed behind me and strapped to the back ("Shows off the tits more!" Eric explained) and my ankles tied to the legs of a chair that looked like it was built for a five-year-old. "That's right," Eric said. "Got it at a School Surplus Sale. As soon as I saw that the heavy steel framework was in good shape but the seat was missing, well, the possibilities came to mind almost at once!" And what possibilities! Being tied into this forced me into that back- arching, breast-thrusting, butt-strutting pose that seemed to be the West trademark. And when the chair was raised onto a platform, and a cardboard tube was fastened behind it to make it look like Miko and Ushi were raising me on a pivoted pole, the effect was unforgettable! "Yeah, I've worked with and for some people whose names you might recognize," Eric said after we'd finished this set-up and were preparing the next one. "But you won't hear them from me. I have two paramount rules for my work: Do the best job you can; And Don't remember any names. The way I see it, people who do business with me should expect quality for their money and complete privacy. That's why I never tell anyone the names of the publishers, writers, models, or even the printers! The fact is," he admitted sheepishly. "I don't remember most of them myself. But even if I did." He got that look of odd dedication that I had seen on his face so often before. "I don't think I could ever bring myself to name any names or cause anyone any embarassment. I mean, this here is more than my Life; It's my Art. And if a person can't be true to his Art, then he isn't an Artist to begin with. Hold the head a little higher, Dear...." It was hard not to hold my head high, what with that collar around my neck. And the leather straps that criss-crossed my body, holding my legs half-bent, my arms pinioned with my fists jammed into my armpits (and secured there by the tight leather straps) And the funny fur antlers on top of my head. The rubber ball, decorated like a Christmas Tree Ornament, was jammed tightly into my mouth, keeping me from speaking. But the bells all over those tight leather straps that were my only clothing made me far from silent! Now Miko and Ushi came in, dressed in abbreviated Elves' outfits, carrying small riding crops, and as they chased me, hobbling as best I could, around the room, swatting my breasts and bottom, Eric took picture after picture, cheering us on and complimenting me on my "bounce!" Labor Day came next, to commemorate September. But this was hardly a celebration! I was dressed in a black-and white striped body shirt, tight enough to outline every curve of my voluptuous feminine form, matching leggings, heavy, high-button shoes with six-inch heels, and a set of leg-irons, with a mock-up of a ball and chain trailing behind me! A collar and wrist-cuff arrangement allowed me to move my hands about eighteen inches from my neck, and when Eric put a comically tiny mallet in my hand, arranged some pillows to look like a Rock Pile, and had the girls dressed as Overseers, swatting at me with willow switches, the picture was complete. "Damn and Double-Damn!" Eric said suddenly. "What's the problem?" I asked. I was in the process of removing my leg irons, getting ready to move from this set-up to the Twelfth and last one. "Out of film!" he fumed. "The story of my life! One shot left and The Great Eric West runs out of Film! Curses, foiled again!" Despite my tiredness, my aching limbs, and my overwhelming desire to get this whole thing over with, now that I had solved the case, I couldn't help smiling at this likeable bungler's comic frustration. Even Miko and Ushi, despite the language barrier, giggled at his hair-pulling histrionics. "Well Hell," he said at last, "it's Six-Thirty, I'm tired, you gals must be exhausted, and it'll take me more than an hour to get over to the Discount Store for film. Tell you what, Claire: I know I can depend on you to show up tomorrow, but how about these two? Can you make them understand how important it is for me to finish this thing tomorrow? Next month's rent is depending on it!" I explained the whole thing to them in my clumsy French, putting in a few lines of my own promising them a bonus. I knew by now that completing this project was indeed quite important to Eric, both artistically and financially, and oddly enough, I had come to kind of like this strange little guy. So I did everything I could to convince Ushi and Miko to meet us back here at the Studio at Ten the next morning, got dressed again (Oh, how good it felt to be decently covered once more, even if it was in women's attire, and rather cheap things at that!) and told Eric I'd meet him tomorrow. Then I went straight to the nearest pay phone and called Jana. "I've solved your case for you," I said when she answered, "Meet me at a bar called The Basket, in the Oregon Hill neighborhood. Make it for Eight O'Clock and bring about Twenty Thousand with you... in cash!" "What do you mean?" Jana snapped, "You've found the pictures? You have them?" "Just meet me at The Basket," I repeated. "And if you want to keep your Miss Earth title, you'll have the money with you!" And I hung up. The Basket was an out-of-the-way kind of place in an older part of town. It was dark, it was quiet, and it was practically deserted, which suited both me and Jana perfectly. She sat across from me in the darkened booth, her lovely eyes simmering with suspicion. "Well?" she said when the waiter had drifted away at last. "Do you have the pictures?" "There are no pictures," I said. "And I think you knew that - or at least suspected it -- when you hired me!" "No pictures?" She tried to look surprised but didn't do a very good job of it. Maybe she wasn't trying very hard. "But then what about that Blackmail Note?" I tried to look tougher than I felt, sitting there all curvy, blonde and feminized, my once-manly chest now supporting a set of lovely breasts, and my male organs covered by that real-looking false pussy --,which was, in turn, covered by panties and pantyhose -- which were, in turn, covered by a cheap half-slip, and miniskirt! My pink blouse, made of some slinky synthetic, seemed to flash in the dim light, forcibly reminding me of the state I was in. But as I spoke, I kept telling myself that this was the only way I was ever going to get back to my old identity again. "You wrote that note," I said firmly, "And don't waste my time and your breath trying to deny it; I may be a little out of practice at Detective work, but even I finally realized that the pink stationery it was written on matched the envelope you used to deliver that money to me! I don't know what your motive was, but I can take a good guess: Eric doesn't keep records or photographs of his old models, but you didn't know that for sure, so you hired me to find out. That's my Charitable Theory. My other thought -- much less flattering to you -- is that you knew Eric didn't have any pictures, but you were worried that he might hear about your rise to fame and try to shake you down. You wanted to find him, but he'd gone underground to escape some legal difficulties. So you needed someone to turn him up for you, someone who would be willing to report his new address to you and so desperate for this job that she- I mean he- wouldn't ask a lot of questions." "But why should I try to find a man who wasn't bothering me?" she asked, her voice flat as her expression. "I could take a guess." I smiled and reached into my purse. "And it might have something to do with these." The manila envelope I tossed to her was full of copies of newspaper articles, personal ads, and similar items. They covered a few cities on each coast and one or two larger ones in the midwest. They were about the disappearances of several artists and small-time publishers, and the destruction by fire of their houses, apartments, or studios. "It's just too bad you had to hire me for this job." I smiled. "Maybe I was the only girl -uh- guy who knew where to find Eric West. But I'm also the only detective who would have known enough about the kinky underground to look up the names of those people in the Newspaper Files: They're all involved in some way or another with the production of kinky erotica; They're all missing; And it shouldn't be too hard to prove that they all -- at one time or another -- hired the services of a young model who later became Janna Haffaz: Miss Earth!" I noticed now that Jana's right hand was under the table. I tried to look as though it didn't worry me. "Just what did you think I'd do when you showed me all this?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Just what you're going to do?" I said. "I expect you to hand me over Twenty Thousand Dollars, pay the tab and get up and leave. Otherwise, those two Oriental Girls I've been working with -- You remember? The ones who don't speak much English? -- Otherwise, they'll take their copies of all this material and the letters from me straight to the offices of the most headline-hungry major paper in the City. And once that's done, you'll lose a lot more than your title as Miss Earth." I could see her calculating. She was probably thinking about the chances of killing me and getting out of here unseen. And her chances of finding Miko and Ushi and getting the envelopes -- if any existed -from them. Then, with a sigh, she pulled out one of her pink envelopes, bulging with money. "I should have known better than to trust a man," she said. "Even a weak, simpering, busty little she-male like you!" "You can trust me," I replied, calmly putting the money in my purse. "You can trust me not to tell you where Eric West is operating, and you can trust me not to tell anyone about the things I've uncovered. You're secret's safe with Eric -- in fact, I doubt if he even remembers it -- and.. it's safe with me!" "Hah!" she spat. "You expect me to believe that? You think this was my idea? I hadn't worn the Crown for a week before I got a note from Arnold Klow asking for money! And a week after that, it was Bill Gilbert!' I recognized the names. Both had been major figures in the Kinky Porn business. And both were mentioned as Missing in the clippings I'd copied. "I didn't kill them," Janna hissed. "Although they may wish I had! I certainly hope they do, anyway. But at least they taught me that I can't trust anyone I used to work for!" "Yes you can," I persisted. "Hiring me may have cost you some bucks, but believe me, I'm a girl -er- a man of my word; Your secret is safe now." "Sure," she sneered rising. "See you around, Pig!" And she stalked out. I didn't waste time worrying about her. Instead, I took a cab to the finest hotel in the City, where I spent the night in comfort I hadn't known in almost a year. How delightful to be showering all by myself! Without anyone ogling my curves! And how comforting to think that soon now, I'd be rid of those curves! The thought hit me as I was drying off and I wrapped the towel around me and went straight to the phone next to my comfortable bed. "Hello?" I said, after they answered on the other end. "Is this MISTER JO'S ILLUSION BOUTIQUE?" "It certainly is," came the reply. "What can we do for you?" "I'm a pre-operative transsexual who wants to go back to Butch," I lied. "I'm going to need some chemicals and hormones to shrink my breasts and hips, something to start hair growing on my body again, and -ah I'm going to need some solvent to help remove an artificial -er- vagina. Can you handle it?" "We can indeed," the voice on the other end replied. "We here at MISTER JO's like to think of ourselves as more than just a kinky clothing store: We're a Friend to the Sexual Minorities of this City, and we pride ourselves on providing any service they might want. Why just this evening I sold a complete kit for feminization to?? "That's really nice," l interrupted. "But can you help me? I've worn these things an awfully long time, and I'm going to need a lot of help getting rid of all this." "No problem," he assured me. "We're closed now, of course, but if you just stop by at Noon tomorrow, I can provide you with a whole array of hormones, solvents, astringents, and anything else you might need to start looking manly again!" Noon! That fit in perfectly with my plans for the next day. "I'll be there!" I promised. And then, still nude and feminine, I stretched out on the bed and proceeded to sleep more comfortably than I had for months. Tomorrow I was returning to Malehood! First, though, there was something I wanted to take care of. I had promised Eric that I would show up that morning to help him finish his last shot of the day, and I meant to keep that promise. After all, I told myself, he was basically kind of a nice guy who needed help, and I guess in a way, you could say he was responsible for getting me out of the mess that I was in before Janna hired me. So that morning, I dressed once more in my feminine finery, tucked the Twenty Thousand from Janna carefully in my purse, and took a cab to the Freloar Building, where Eric, Miko and Ushi were waiting for me. "Good job!" Eric said when I arrived. "Can you believe these two were waiting here for me? Want some coffee before we start?" I looked at the simmering pot of what was obviously yesterday's coffee reheated for today and wondered how anyone could drink the bitter stuff. But Eric gulped down a cup and we got started. Today's set up was for January, and Eric had arranged a striking New Year's tableau. Miko and Ushi were back in their Christmas Elf costumes, standing behind a big mockup of a Baby Crib. Only where most cribs have bars of cheap, flimsy wood, the bars on this one were of heavy bamboo, screwed firmly into place. And it had a matching lid, complete with a big shiny padlock! It was into this crib that I was locked... once I'd been suitably costumed! "Suitably Costumed" in this case meant that I was stripped completely naked and covered with Baby Oil. Then I was fixed up with an oversized diaper made of soft silk lace, folded into a triangle and pinned together with a big safety pin used for horse blankets. Next came pink satin booties and gloves. Only these were actually little bags, fixed with drawstrings to lace them tightly over my hands and feet. The bags looked delicate and baby-like, but once they were tied into place, I found that they were surprisingly strong and heavy, cramping my hands up into useless half-fists and forcing me to arch my feet and curl my toes. And when they had been laced securely onto my wrists and ankles, Eric tied the drawstrings, together with only about a foot of slack between them, forcing me to stay down on my hands and knees! A big pink baby bonnet and a pacifier came next, the pacifier: an oversized pink dildo, tied tightly into my mouth with a ribbon of strong pink nylon. Dressed in this outfit, I was not only completely helpless, but also speechless as well. I tried talking, but all I could manage was to drool helplessly down my chin, which Miko tenderly wiped off for me. I tried crawling about, but found that the bonds at my hands and feet had been cunningly criss-crossed, so that every time I pulled my left hand forward, it pulled my right foot backwards, and vice-versa. It was like being a clumsy, uncoordinated infant all over again! The three of them tenderly picked me up and placed me in the oversized crib, which Eric proceeded to lock shut. Inside the four-foot-square cage, I crawled about as best I could, noting that the bars were just wide enough apart for me to stick my head through if I twisted and squeezed, maybe, but definitely too close together to accommodate the rest of my body. "You wouldn't believe the figuring it took to get those bars just right." Eric yawned as he spoke, and blinked his red eyes a few times. "They had to look good and strong, but I wanted them to give a feeling of warmth; Iron bars just ain' sexy. An' they hadda be wide enough apar' that you could see all of you buh yuh stilli coon geht ouuuuu...... And he just folded up, his head slumped forward and his legs bending beneath him with an almost comic gracefulness as he fell to the floor and began snoring loudly. "Oh dear!" I said-- or tried to. What came out was, "Moomph-meeffipf!" I raised my hands to my face to pull out the gag-dildo/pacifier -- or tried to! With my hands and feet bound and bagged as they were, the only way I could get my hands even close to my face was by getting up on my knees and bending way over, in sort of a half-somersault, so that the weight of my legs on top forced my trunk to bend far enough that my satin-mittened hands got almost to the gag... just a little further... I wriggled and stretched.... And then someone reached through the bars and tugged down my diaper! Eeek! I squirmed around, dumping myself onto my back (Which, in this bondage, meant that my feet were forcibly lifted off the mattress by the bondage to my hands, so that I was lying there like a turtle on its back, elbows and knees bent, arms and legs waving laughably) and scooched down, trying to draw the diaper back up by the friction on the mattress as I looked up to see who had done this and why. Miko and Ushi smiled down at me through the bars. "Don't try to take that thing out," Ushi said. "We checked, and there's just no way you'll be able to get your hands up to your face. Not that you could do much with your fingers in those bags anyway!" "At least this saves us the torture of having to listen to your awful French, anyway," Miko added. "I thought I was going to break up laughing at the way you mangled some of those translations!" "Oh yes," Ushi grinned. "We speak American quite well. We should, after all; we've lived here ever since our Big Sister earned enough money to bring us over here from Turkey!" "You Americans are so stupid," Miko put in. "Thinking we were from IndoChina! Just because we made up these names and played dumb! Any blind man could have seen that we're from the same part of the world as our sister... Jana!" "Did someone call?" The door opened and Jana came in carrying a shopping bag. Her sisters (Faleen and Shama, their names were) exchanged embraces and kisses with her, then led her over to Eric and me. Jana snorted scornfully down at Eric, then turned to me and giggled at the sight of me, bound up and babyfied this way, diapered, hampered, and shamefully bare-breasted. "What a precious little Baby!" she teased. ?She sucks on her goo-goo so pretty! Does-ums want-ums nippie? Hmmm?" Mortified, I struggled even harder and at last managed to get over onto my hands and knees again. As best I could, I crawled up to the bars and demanded she release me. "Moomph-goomph!" I gurgled. "Moornph!" They broke up laughing all over again at this, and I blushed even deeper. "Ohhh, it's going to be fun handling you," Janna breathed, looking me up and down in all my helpless feminized infancy. "After you double-crossed me and acted so righteous and self-important yesterday! Well, you sure don't look very important now, do you Baby? How's this?" Before I could move, her powerful hand scooped between the bars and grabbed one of my big, dangling breasts, tweaking the nipple until I moaned softly in pain and frustrated sexual desire. "Mmmhmm." She nodded. "You were so smart, figuring out that angle about Arnold Klow and Bill Gilbert! Well, let's hear you say something smart now, Baby! What's the matter? Can't the little baby talk? Maybe this will help!" Her hand went in again, this time snaking into my diaper and rubbing the false-vagina cover over my real genitals until my imprisoned cock swelled painfully. "Well you're going to get a chance to see just how smart you really were, Baby!" she went on at last. "And when I'm finished with you, you'll see just how terribly clever I can be, too! And I do mean Terribly!" She turned to the other girls. "Is he completely out?" Following her glance, I looked out into the rest of the room and saw to my horror that Miko and Ushi had stripped the sleeping Eric completely and were rubbing a depilatory cream all over his body! "He sure is!" Miko laughed. "That stuff he drinks tastes so awful that we didn't have any trouble lacing it with sleeping potion! And he's such a small, light-weight type that we won't have any trouble with him at all! Hell, he's almost transformed already!" "Fine," Janna said. "Keep working on him while Shama and I give this place a thorough search!" And as Jana and Shama proceeded to turn poor Eric's office into even more of a shambles, I watched helplessly as Faleen altered the appearance of the sleeping artist. His body hair went first. Then his light beard and eyebrows. His hair was put in curlers and polish applied to his finger-and-toenails. Next came the makeup; A layer of Foundation, followed by rouge, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick, and a dusting of powder. The clothes went 'on him now. First a heavy nylon bodystocking, flesh- tone, padded at the hips and bust to give the wearer convincing feminine contours. A red satin corset, trimmed in black lace, was clasped around Eric's waist and tightened mercilessly. Matching black-and-red bra and panties put a double layer of silky nylon over, him and increased his feminized allure, even to my own horrified eyes, and a pair of black-net stockings, held up by frilly black garters', made it even worse... or perhaps better, depending on your point of view! Eric was stirring a bit now, but still too far gone to comprehend as Faleen strapped a pair of ruby-red high heels onto his feet and locked them in place. Or to resist as she poured him into a short, tight dress of heavy red satin, trimmed in black, low-cut to display his padded chest and micro-skirted to display his stockinged legs and pantied ass to best advantage. Finally, she pinned an elaborate red-haired wig onto his head and the once-male Bondage Artist now looked just like the flashiest of punk-hookers! "Whu-? Wha-tt," he managed, swaying uncontrollably in the high heels as Faleen and Shama pulled him to his feet. "It's nothing, Erica Darling," Janna cooed gently. "We're just taking you to a Doctor I know who's going to spend a couple of weeks working on your appearance. And then I have some very special plans for you and Baby here!" Eric's eyes swam over in my direction and paused briefly, with a complete lack of recognition. "Just go along with the girls now," Janna went on. "I'm going to stay behind here and package up this Little Darling so we can send her to a lovely place to wait while you're getting all fixed up! say Bye-bye to Erica, Baby!" "Mmmooommmpph!" I moaned desperatly. "MMMMMMPPPHH! ! ! !" Of course it did no good. It was a big old house in a rather seedy neighborhood. At least that's the impression I got looking through the cracks in my crate when they delivered me there! Inside, the black prostitutes looked down at my babyfied predicament with mildly scornful curiosity, as if my condition was rare but certainly not unheard of Then the big dark-hued Madame came in and picked me bodily up out of the box, holding me up as if I weighed no more than a doll! "Looky here, Girls!" she beamed. "Another little Baby-Child for us to love! Ain't she S-w-e-e-t, though! C'mere, Child!" With incredible strength, she cradled my body in one arm and used her free hand to remove my dildo-pacifier and diaper! Terribly embarrassed at being seen this way in this crowd of obvious black hookers, I tried to cross my bag-bound hands over me as I squealed in protest. "No! Let me down! Let 'me loose! Help me! I'll pay--" That was as far as I got before the big black madame shoved the pacifier-cock back into my mouth and sat down heavily on the couch, twisting me around as she did so, so that I was now curled up on my stomach, draped over her wide lap. "Bad Baby!" she scolded mockingly. "Baby knows that Babies don't talk around here! This is what Bad Babies get from Momma...." S-W-I-S-H- ! -! I heard the powerful black arm arc-ing downward towards my upturned, unprotected bottom. SMACKKKKK!!!!! I heard the fearful noise as the big, meaty palm connected with my defenseless ass. "E-E-E-E-! -! - ! -!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as sudden, sharp, burning pain spread all over my pratt! Crack! Smack! Whap-Whap-Whap! I don't know how long it went on. After awhile, the blows seemed to melt together into one big, throbbing hurt. But