A Swinging Time At The Wedding Fair free porn video

Author's Foreword My first story for Fictionmania, 'The Best Stand at the Wedding Fair', was written and published in June 2016. I went on to write some other stories with different characters, but then, for various reasons, I stopped. In September 2019 I felt the urge to try writing for FM again, and it seemed natural to consider a sequel to my first published story. I re- read 'The Best Stand...' and, after making a few minor amendments and corrections, I resubmitted it. I'd expected it to just quietly replace the existing version, and then had intended to refer to it in this foreword, but instead it was released as a new story. Perhaps I didn't make myself sufficiently clear in my Author Submission Template. Be that as it may, I apologise for the inadvertent confusion this may have caused among some readers. Anyway, here at last is the sequel. If you liked 'The Best Stand...' and wanted to know what happened next, your wait is over. Thanks for your patience. A SWINGING TIME AT THE WEDDING FAIR by Angela Dee North PROLOGUE I woke up. A grey September early morning light filtered through the hotel bedroom's beige curtains. In bed beside me lay my still-sleeping wife, Bridie. The clock on the wall-mounted TV read 7.28am. The alarm would start beeping in another two minutes. I'd had the dream again, the one in which Bridie leaves me. It's always the same dream, its details so vivid; we're striding along a railway station platform, Bridie in front with suitcase in hand, and me following, begging her to stay. But Bridie remains adamant as she steps onto the train. "Leaving you is the only answer, Terry!" she tells me from the carriage door. "It's the only way to keep you safe from Frobisher and his warped revenge. It's the only way I can beat his contract. I won't put you through all that, ten times a year for the next four years!" And then I watch her through the train window as she takes her seat, and the train pulls away, rumbling off into the distance, leaving me standing on the platform, alone... This was the fourth time I'd dreamt the dream. The first occasion had been a week after the Happiest Day Spring Wedding Fair in Sunderland, back in May. Up until then I had never taken any interest in my wife's wedding dress business, Bridie's Bridal Boutique. But the Sunderland show had changed all that, in the most bizarre way imaginable. The next time I'd had the dream was a month later, just after the two day wedding fair in Kingston-upon-Hull. The third time had been a few days after the show in Skegness. That had been a mere one day affair, and neither it nor the Hull show had hosted parties afterwards. And with no show in August, my schedule of tortured appearances as Bridie's mannequin had been granted a month's break. But now it was September, and time for the show Bridie and I had both been dreading. The London show. Chapter 1: BEFORE THE SHOW The London show would be in stark contrast to the Hull and Skegness shows, both of which had only been four hours each day. The London show, however, was to be a five day marathon, starting at 10am and closing at 6pm. Since I was required by Frobisher's 'rules' to be in position a full hour before the show began, I faced the decidedly daunting prospect of spending no less than nine hours each day as Bridie's mannequin. Nine hours of wearing a wedding dress, corset and high heels, in full make up and a wig. Nine hours of standing as still as possible with a vibrating metal dildo on a pole up my arse. But the final day of the show would be the greatest test of my endurance, when Happiest Day magazine would host an after-show party from 7pm until midnight. Frobisher's 'rules' would see to it that my ordeal on that day was stretched to a whopping fifteen hours. Unless, that is, I collapsed from exhaustion first. And with a steel rod stuck up my backside, that was a prospect too unpleasant to bear thinking about. I'd never told Bridie about the dream, because I didn't want to upset her. This, though, was the first time I'd had the dream before the show, rather than after. I wondered if it was an omen. The bedside alarm went off, and Bridie woke up. She turned and smiled at me for a moment, but then her smile was replaced by a frown of realisation. "It's time to get up," I said. "We've got a long day ahead of us." Bridie squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. We both got out of bed and began the task of transforming me into a female mannequin. I showered and shaved all over, paying special attention to removing my facial hair as closely as I possibly could. By the time the show ended at 6pm the stubble would be starting to poke through my makeup, but the bridal veil I wore as part of my outfit helped to disguise that fact. Bridie laced me into the corset, reducing my waist to twenty six inches. Then on went an extra firm control pantie girdle. Bridie had adapted it by adding a neatly hemmed hole to allow the PISS - the Passive Internal Stability Substructure as Frobisher had called it - to be inserted up my arse. Next came the white padded bra, stuffed with tights as usual, and the white suspender belt and white lace-topped stockings. This was as far as we were going for the time being; Frobisher had arranged a private room for us at the exhibition centre, and it was there that Bridie would complete my transformation. All I had to do now was throw on a jumper and a pair of trousers and trainers to hide my feminine underwear from view. We made our way to the Elysia Exhibition Centre, which was conveniently situated right next door to the hotel in which we were staying. The bulk of our stand was already set up, as Bridie and I had driven down to London the previous day for our scheduled 'get-in' slot. We'd attached posters and photographs to the walls and arranged leaflets in neat little piles on the cloth covered trestle table. All that remained to be done was for Bridie to plug in her laptop. And, of course, to dress her mannequin. After quickly checking that the stand was in good order and that nothing was missing, we went straight to the private room which we'd been shown on arrival the previous day. Bridie unlocked the door with the key she'd been given, and we went in. The room was basically a small storage space, but it was well lit and there was a sink with a mirror in one corner. Hanging up on a rail was the large white bag which contained the dress I was to wear for the show. Bridie had selected a traditional high necked gown with long sleeves and a full layered skirt. We had abandoned the bodycon dress which I'd been 'contractually obliged' to squeeze into for the Sunderland show. I took off my outer clothes and settled down in front of the mirror, and then Bridie set about applying my makeup. As usual, I sat in silence as Bridie got on with it. And, as usual, I watched in awe as my reflection became more and more feminine under my wife's deft artistry. At various stages of my makeover Bridie would take a step back to check the effect of her handiwork, a happy grin signalling satisfaction with her progress. First she daubed a few spots of moisturiser on my face and gently rubbed it in with her fingertips and allowed it to dry. Then three shades of brown eye shadow were painted onto my eyelids, with eyeliner drawn across the lower lashes for extra definition. An elegantly long pair of false eyelashes were then glued in place over my own and given a coat of black mascara. Next, some ivory foundation cream was brushed over my whole face and blended around my eyes, and across my jawline onto my throat. A little concealer was dotted around my eyes and mouth, and blended in with a small brush, followed by a covering of translucent powder. My cheeks were given a bold sweep of dusky rose blusher, with a flash of highlight added to the cheek bones for emphasis. Next my lips were gently coated with a small amount of balm, and coloured around the edges with a red lip liner. A lipstick in a matching shade was then drawn onto my lips with yet another small brush, and a little lip gloss dabbed on over the top. Finally Bridie glued a set of long red fingernails over my own. "Right," said Bridie with an approving nod. "You're done. And I must say, Terry, you look fantastic. I think we're getting better at this!" I stared at my reflection and smiled. "It's amazing. Seems a shame I have to wear a veil over the top." "Best not to take any chances, love," Bridie replied. "You're not totally convincing as a woman, remember. We're trying to make the punters think you're a mannequin, not a bloke in a frock." "You don't need to remind me," I said, glancing at the clock on the wall above the mirror. "It's just gone half past eight. I'd better get dressed and wigged. We need to be in position on the stand for Frobisher's so-called health and safety inspection at nine." "Terry," said Bridie, her tone suddenly more serious, "you don't have to do this. We both know Frobisher's contract isn't a legal document. We're not bound by it in the slightest. And what he's making you do, well... it's sexual assault, for god's sake! We could just shop him to the police and be rid of the smarmy bastard. Yet you insist on putting yourself through all this torture. Why?" "You know why," I said. "We've discussed it at least half a dozen times already. I'm doing this to beat Frobisher, to deny him his petty act of revenge." "It's just stubborn bloody male pride, that's all it is." "Perhaps it is. Perhaps it's partly my own pride that makes me determined not to give in to Frobisher. I know I don't have to do it. But I want to. I need to." "How terribly noble," said a man's voice from the doorway. Bridie and I turned to see Duncan Frobisher standing there, a Cheshire Cat grin on his face. "It's so nice to see you again, Mrs Greane. And Teresa, too, of course. I do look forward to these little reunions. Don't you?" "Come to quote another of your cock-and-bull rules at us, Frobisher?" I said. "We don't give a fuck about your contract. You're breaking the law and you know it." "And yet here you are, Teresa," Frobisher replied, "laced into a corset and your face plastered with makeup, about to pull on a wedding dress and stand for hours with a metal pole rammed up your derriere. Forgive me for asking, but how exactly does that prove you're a better man than I?" "I'm sure you'll have overheard what I told Bridie just a few moments ago," I said. "But in case you didn't, I'll say it again. You won't beat me, Frobisher. I won't give you the satisfaction. Your pathetic revenge will go unrewarded, mark my words." "Well, then," said Frobisher with a shrug, "we seem to have reached something of an impasse in our little personal feud, do we not? You are determined to defeat me, and I am equally determined to defeat you. One of us is ultimately destined to be disappointed." "Then I hope you can handle the disappointment," I said. "We shall see, Teresa, we shall see. The London show is long. Far longer than the last three shows for which we've had the pleasure of each other's company. You have coped admirably so far, but standing still for nine hours a day, five days a week, is quite a tall order. Even for someone of your undoubted stamina and fierce determination. So I've decided to be lenient with you, Teresa. I'm prepared to allow you some movement." "Movement?" "Movement. As in motion. Animation. The absence of stillness." "I know what movement means, Frobisher. What's the catch?" "Oh, there is no catch, I assure you. But I am introducing a new condition in our contract. Not that you are bound by it, of course, since, as Mrs Greane rightly reminded us a few minutes ago, it isn't a legal document that would stand up in any court. But I feel sure that your sense of pride will encourage you to rise to the new challenge. Or would you rather give up now, and admit defeat?" "What's this challenge of yours about?" I asked. "There is a display cabinet in the foyer," Frobisher said. "I require a suitably dressed mannequin to occupy it for the duration of the show." "You mean Terry?" said Bridie. "But you can't do that! I need him for my stand! Why don't you get another mannequin for your sodding display cabinet?" Frobisher turned to Bridie with a patronising look of pity on his face. "My dear Mrs Greane," he said, "I'm afraid you seem to be temporarily missing the point of the little arrangement between Teresa and myself. You will have to do without her for this show. But fear not, I have already delivered a replacement mannequin to your stand. A real one, I hasten to add, made of plastic." "But--" "It's almost quarter to nine, Mrs Greane. May I suggest you go and make sure your stand is in a state of customer readiness for the start of the show?" "But I don't have another dress for it!" "But of course you do, my dear lady! It will be wearing the dress originally intended for Teresa. Teresa's new dress is being provided courtesy of Happiest Day magazine. Now, may I further suggest we all get a move on? I wish to have Teresa installed in her display cabinet before the reception staff arrive, which doesn't leave us much time." Bridie scooped up the wedding dress and shoes which I was to have worn, and hurried out. Frobisher took me to an adjacent room, the same size as the one we'd just left. In one corner stood a clothes rail, on which hung a white Victorian style wedding dress with long lace patterned sleeves, puffball shoulders, a high-necked embroidered bodice and a full skirt. Draped over the rail were several lacy petticoats. I walked over to the rail, but Frobisher told me to stop. I turned to see him holding up a broad belt of what looked like white leather. The large buckle resembled some sort of bracket, with a pair of metal arches protruding from it. "You need this on first," he said. "Why?" I asked. "What is it?" Frobisher chuckled. "It's a belt. An important part of your outfit." "Under my dress?" Frobisher simply smiled and wrapped the belt around my waist, buckling it tightly at the back. "Now for the petticoats and the dress," he said. I pulled on the six petticoats and the elegant gown, which was a surprisingly good fit. Frobisher helped by tying up the laces down the back. I reached round to the middle of my back, and could feel the twin arches of the belt buckle poking out ominously. "Right," he said as soon as I was dressed. "Off we go." "What about the wig and veil?" I asked. "And the shoes?" "They're in the cabinet," Frobisher replied. "Come along." He escorted me out of the room and down a side corridor, by-passing the main hall where the show would take place. I felt strangely foolish without a wig on my head to hide the fact that I was a man. We passed through another door and I found myself in the foyer of the exhibition centre. Frobisher hurried me over to a tall cabinet standing in a corner a little way from the entrance to the main exhibition hall. It was a little over six feet tall, three feet wide and about six feet long from front to back. The front and side panels were made of glass, through which I could see a dark blue curtain that hid the inside from view. The rear side was a solid door, providing the access to the cabinet. Frobisher shepherded me inside. It was a tight squeeze for both of us. This was partly due to the wide skirt on the dress I was wearing, but mainly because of the ornate garden swing which dangled from the cabinet's pale blue ceiling. The chains of the swing were decorated with plastic white-petalled flowers. The floor of the cabinet was covered with a fake grass mat, furthering the illusion of the swing being in a garden. On the floor lay a large wig of long blonde curls, a veil and a tiara. Beside them was a black bin bag, its contents a mystery to me for the time being. But it was the seat of the swing which commanded my full attention. Or rather the six inch red PVC phallus which pointed straight up from the centre of the seat. I heard Frobisher chuckle softly. "I see you've noticed the new and improved Passive Internal Stability Substructure," he said. "You remember my good friend Robert, of course, who created the original PISS you used at the Sunderland show. It was he who designed and constructed this entire cabinet, just for you!" The seat of the swing was quite broad and about four inches deep, with a protruding lip along the front. This lip had four narrow slots in it, several inches apart. The front and rear faces of the seat each had a sort of metal bracket screwed in the centre. On the floor just in front of the swing there stood a short plastic stool. "Look on the bright side, Teresa," Frobisher went on. "You don't need to worry about having to remain standing still for hours on end. I'm letting you sit this one out!" "You're too kind," I replied, still staring at the dildo. Frobisher reached into his jacket pocket and took out a remote control. He pressed a button and the dildo began to gently vibrate. "The PISS you used at the last three shows was quite tame compared to this," Frobisher said. "Now the Vibrate Function has four modes. There's a standard throb, a side-to-side wobble, a circular motion and an up-and-down thrust. Each mode has five strength settings. The one you're watching is the standard throb, at the lowest setting. Strength five, for comparison, looks like this..." Frobisher pressed another button on his remote, and the dildo immediately began to pulse faster, making an alarmingly loud thrumming noise. I couldn't help but gasp as the thought of what was to come flashed through my mind. "The old PISS," Frobisher continued, "incorporated a heating element, as I'm quite sure you will recall vividly. This new model also has a heating function, which again has five strength settings. But Robert has cleverly managed to add a cooling function, too! He is such a genius, wouldn't you agree?" I nodded dumbly. "There's more," said Frobisher. "Take a hold of it." I reached out and gently grasped the dildo with the fingers of my right hand. The red PVC felt soft and ever so slightly warm. Frobisher pressed yet another button on his remote, and a section of the dildo expanded slightly between my fingers. "This, as I'm sure you've worked out, is the Inflation Function," Frobisher said "There are five settings for this mode, too. What you are feeling now is the mildest inflation setting. The higher settings become more intense, with the highest being quite vigorous. Guaranteed to delight!" I swallowed and pursed my lips, but said nothing. I didn't want to give Frobisher the satisfaction of knowing that I was beginning to feel a little scared of his new torture toy. "Enough dilly-dallying," said Frobisher. "Time for you to climb on board. Get yourself round to the front of the swing and stand on the stool." I did as I was told, with a little difficulty in the confined space, and stood with my back to the swing. Frobisher produced a tube of lubricating jelly from his pocket and liberally greased the dildo. "Now, sit yourself down, Teresa," he said. "I'll hold your skirts clear for you. The swing is locked in place, so it can't move. Now, carefully does it." I gripped the flower-covered chains on either side, and was mildly surprised to find they were as rigid as solid steel rods. Once Frobisher had gathered up my skirts, I took a deep breath and slowly lowered myself onto the swing's broad box seat until I felt the dildo sliding inexorably up into my rectum. Despite my best efforts, I could not prevent a whimper from escaping my mouth. Gradually I allowed myself to sink further and further onto the device, until at last my arse was resting fully on the seat. "Splendid," said Frobisher. He allowed my skirts to drop, hiding the swing seat from view entirely. "Don't you ever worry about needing to go to the toilet?" "I try not to think about it," I replied. I hadn't eaten solid food for two days, and had kept my liquid intake to a minimum, so hopefully the need for the toilet wouldn't be a problem. It had worked all right so far. "Very wise," said Frobisher. "Now, your shoes..." Frobisher picked up the black bin bag and opened it, bringing out a pair of white bar-strap shoes with six inch heels. The shoes were firmly fixed to a short T-shaped steel bar under the soles, keeping them no more than an inch apart. The T-shaped bar was in turn attached to the end of a steel rod, which extended upwards by just over two feet. At the top end of the rod was some sort of hook joint. "What's this?" I asked, eyeing the shoes and the rod with suspicion. "I'll explain everything shortly," Frobisher replied. He moved the stool away so that my legs now dangled freely above the floor. Kneeling down in front of me, Frobisher lifted the front of my skirt and pushed the shoes onto my white stockinged feet, then fastened the buckles. "Lower your legs," he said. I lowered my legs as instructed. Frobisher held one of my ankles in one hand and the steel rod in the other. Then, making little adjustments to the angle of my legs, he guided the rod's hook joint end onto the bracket on the front face of the swing seat. Producing a small but sturdy-looking combination padlock from his pocket, Frobisher secured the steel rod to the seat with a loud click of metal. I was alarmed to find that I was now unable move my legs. And I would be unable to remove the shoes, thanks to the buckled bar strap. "Excellent!" said Frobisher. "That worked even better than I expected." From his pocket he produced a slim but sturdy chain of white metal links. Lifting the front of my skirt, he threaded one end of the chain up through the left hand slot on the lip of the seat, passed it over the top of my left thigh and then down through the next slot. Threading it back up through the third slot, he passed the chain over my right thigh and then back down through the last slot. He looked up at me and grinned. "Don't worry, Teresa," he said, producing two more combination padlocks. "I'm not going to fasten this too tightly. Just enough to prevent you from trying to haul yourself up off the PISS." He took in most of the slack on the chain and locked it in place beneath the seat with the padlocks. I was now held firmly in place on the seat of the swing. "Now," said Frobisher, "push your sleeves up to just above your elbows. And gently does it. You don't want to rip the material." As I did this, Frobisher reached into the black bin liner once more. From it he took four flat hinged bangles. Each bangle had two small metal rings attached, one on either side of the opening. Two of the bangles were smaller than the other two. He placed one small bangle on each of my wrists, and the larger bangles on my arms just below my elbows. Then Frobisher gently tugged the dress sleeves back down my arms over the top of the bangles, and poked their small metal rings through conveniently placed openings in the lace material. "Take hold of the chains," he told me. As I did so, Frobisher produced another four combination padlocks. He slotted the shackle of one padlock through the metal ring on the bangle on my right hand, then passed it through a link in the chain and snapped it shut. Frobisher repeated the process with the other three bangles, disguising the padlocks by draping artificial flowers over each one. My wrists and elbows were now securely manacled in place, and all I could do was hold on to the chains of the swing. "Coming along nicely," Frobisher said. From the black bin bag he took out a short steel rod. At one end of the rod was a rigid, oval band of steel, the inside of which appeared to be lightly padded. At the other end was a smaller band, hinged in a similar way to the bangles on my wrists. Frobisher placed the larger oval around the top of my head like a crown, adjusting it for a tight fit. The smaller band went around my throat like a choker. Frobisher snapped this shut and then delved into the bag again, taking out a longer steel rod. This he fixed to the rod connecting the crown and the choker, at the same time securing the latter around my neck with a combination padlock. This effectively made it impossible to simply lift the crown off my head without first removing the padlock. Next he attached the lower end of the rod to the bracket on the rear of the seat, again clicking a combination padlock to fasten it. Finally the bracket of the leather belt under my dress was clamped to the lower section of the rod with yet another of Frobisher's seemingly inexhaustible supply of combination padlocks. The result of all this was that I could neither turn nor tilt my head, nor move my upper body forward or back. "Oh, wonderful!" said Frobisher. "Very snug. Now for the finishing touches." He picked up the wig and arranged it on my head, flicking the cascading blonde curls around my shoulders. Then he clipped the veil onto the wig, and draped it down across my face. "It seems such a shame to hide your pretty face with this veil," said Frobisher, placing the tiara on my head. I glanced down at the beautifully ornate dress which covered my legs. To any casual observer I would simply appear to be a bridal mannequin sitting on a garden swing, but in reality I was trapped, locked in position by steel rods, chains and padlocks, and impaled by a six inch dildo. "You lied, Frobisher," I said. "You said I would be able to move!" "Ah," he replied, "that's not quite true. My actual words were, 'I'm prepared to allow you some movement'." "But I can't move at all!" I said. "This fucking contraption of yours has seen to that! How is all this allowing me some movement?" "You misunderstand me, Teresa. I said you shall have movement, and movement is what you shall have. Trust me. Now, I'm just going to pop out for a moment. Don't go away, will you!" I heard Frobisher step outside the cabinet, and then came the unmistakeable sound of an electric plug being pushed into a wall socket and a switch being clicked. Then Frobisher entered the cabinet again. Standing right behind me, he reached an arm over my right shoulder. In his hand I saw a remote control. He pressed a button on it and withdrew his arm again. Above my head I could hear a faint whirring of a motor. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, the swing came to life. It moved forwards, taking me with it. All I could do was sit as the swing climbed in a gentle arc until it reached its foremost point. And then the swing paused for a second, held in place by the mechanism in the ceiling of the cabinet. There was a click, and the swing began to move downwards again. It passed its starting position and continued on. The swing completed its reverse movement, and paused, ready for the return swing. But then it stopped. I was held in place, trapped on the swing at the top of its arc. I could feel the pressure of the dildo inside my rectum, pushing backward. Frobisher chuckled behind me. "Ingenious, isn't it?" he said. "I said you would have movement, and that is exactly what you've got. The beauty of it is, you don't need to do anything but sit there and let the swing take care of it. Robert has surpassed himself with this little creation, don't you think? He had very little time to come up with the original PISS for the Sunderland show. But this, I'm sure you'll agree, is a minor triumph of engineering. And he did it all for you, Teresa!" "Very kind of him," I said through clenched teeth. "Give him my love, will you?" "Oh, you can do that for yourself! He's coming down to London by plane on Sunday, especially to see you." He pressed the remote again, and the swing slowly returned to its starting position. The discomfort in my rectum lessened, but I knew my ordeal was only just beginning. "One more snippet of information for you," said Frobisher. "You may remember how, at previous shows, I activated the PISS every half an hour." "I remember," I said. "You also had the sound system play 'Good Vibrations' and 'Hot Stuff' to go with the vibrator and the warming element." "Yes! That was my little private joke with you. But now here we are in London, Teresa, and everything in London is bigger and better. And because everything in London is bigger and better, so too is your PISS. It will now be continuously activated, vibrating and warming and cooling and expanding inside your poor little bumhole. Not only that, but Robert has incorporated a random setting programme, so that you'll never know which function to expect next." "Wonderful," I said, trying to keep calm. "Indeed it is," Frobisher replied. "You'll no doubt be delighted to learn that the timings are also randomised, Each function will last for anything between one and five minutes. And the functions can be triggered to operate in any combination, too. Apart from the heating and cooling functions, of course. It would be pointless making them work at the same time. One would cancel the other out." "Obviously," I said as my heart sank even further. "So all in all," Frobisher continued, "it's quite possible that you will have the dubious pleasure of experiencing three functions simultaneously, each at full strength, for a whole five minutes. Yes, quite possible. Highly likely, in fact." "I don't doubt it. And more than once, I expect." "Oh, I expect so, too. Possibly even consecutively." "Possibly?" Frobisher chuckled. "Probably, then. Incidentally, Robert has also programmed pauses between the functions, randomised to last anything from one to five minutes." "But probably mostly one minute, I suppose?" Frobisher didn't answer the question. Instead he said, "It's nine twenty-five. The reception staff will be arriving soon, and I really ought to be running along to carry out my health and safety checks. So..." Gathering up the now-empty black bin bag and the stool, Frobisher stepped out of the cabinet and closed the door. I heard the sound of a key being turned in a lock, and I realised that Frobisher had fastened me in. The blue curtain which had been closed all this time began to open automatically on its runners, bunching up behind me at the rear of the cabinet. As soon as the whir of the curtain's electric motor stopped, everything went quiet. The sound of traffic was hushed, and an eerie silence filled my ears. Then I found myself looking at the smiling face of Duncan Frobisher standing outside the cabinet before me. His mouth was moving, but all I could hear was a muffled mumble. The cabinet was double glazed! Frobisher gave me a cheery little wave, and then walked out of my line of sight. Unable to turn my head, my eyes searched around the foyer for a clock, but there was none to be seen. At each of the previous three shows there had been a clock in view, so I'd always known how much longer I needed to hold out. But here I would have no idea of the time, which raised the prospect of making each day seem to last longer. I had no view of any external windows either, so I couldn't even watch the outside world go by. Frobisher and his pal Robert had designed my torture chamber very well. My arse began to complain about the dildo stuck inside it, but there was nothing I could do to answer the complaint. I tried grabbing a tight hold of the chains and pulling myself up, but the metal restraints across my thighs under my skirt made such a move impossible. "Frobisher's right about one thing," I said to myself ruefully. "At least I can't fall over." Several long minutes passed. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the reception staff arriving, which must have meant that the doors would soon be opening to admit the punters. Which in turn meant that Frobisher would soon be pressing the button on his remote control, and my first eight hour ordeal of the week would begin in earnest. And then Bridie appeared. She walked towards me slowly, staring at me up and down, trying to understand my predicament. I knew she would be able to detect nothing of the steel rods and chains beneath the voluminous Victorian dress and veil I was wearing. Even so, I could see the horrified look in her eyes as she gazed on my helpless, immobilised form. She suddenly looked away and tilted her head, as if listening to something. Then she turned back to me and spoke. I couldn't hear her, of course, but I guessed she was telling me that the show was about to start. And then she mouthed three words to me that I had no difficulty in understanding. "I love you," she said. She hurried away. Another minute or so passed, and then a voice spoke from a concealed speaker in the cabinet's ceiling. The voice belonged to Duncan Frobisher. "Hello, Teresa! Don't bother to reply, because there isn't a microphone in there. I just thought you might like to know that the show is about to start. I'm sure you'll have gathered by now that the cabinet is double glazed. But don't worry, because Robert very thoughtfully installed a small ventilation fan in the ceiling, so you won't suffocate for lack of air to breathe. The double glazing also makes the cabinet virtually sound proof, so I'm afraid you won't be able to hear the piped music to help you pass the time. No more 'Good Vibrations' or 'Hot Stuff'! No more 'I'm Still Standing' either, for that matter. However, I have arranged a little something for you to listen to during the long hours ahead. It'll begin when the swing starts to move, which will be in ten seconds from now. I do hope your show goes with a swing!" Chapter 2: THE SHOW There was a click as Frobisher turned off the speaker. Several seconds passed, and then a whirring sound above me signalled the swing was about to start. The ventilation fan whispered into action, blowing a gentle draught which caused the veil on my head to flutter as if in a breeze. As my seat slowly moved backwards, carrying me helplessly with it, I heard a sound coming from the speaker above. It was the sound of a garden swing in motion. This had to be the 'little something' Frobisher had told me he'd arranged for me to listen to. As the swing drew back, a long, high-pitched squeak filled the cabinet. It took about five seconds for the swing to reach its rearmost position. Then, as before, the swing paused for a second as the mechanism above me prepared to move it forward again. The squeak sound effect stopped. Meanwhile, the Passive Internal Stability Substructure up my arse was activated. It was the Vibrator Function, at the same low throb setting as I had seen earlier. I tried counting the seconds, but found it hard to concentrate as the swing's motion brought me to its foremost point, tilting me back. After a second's pause, the swing began to move backwards again, accompanied by a slightly lower-pitched squeak sound effect. I reckoned it must have taken about ten seconds for the swing to finish one forward or backward arc, so six swings would take one minute. I had just completed one swing, and was now halfway through the second. I did a quick calculation in my head. The show had started at 10am, and was due to close at 6pm. At the rate of six swings a minute, I worked out that by 6pm I would have been swung 2,880 times. I decided to try counting swings as a way of passing the time. During the third swing, which was taking me backwards again, I caught sight of the first visitors to the show as they passed through the foyer. There were about a dozen of them, all women. Some glanced in my direction, pointing and smiling, before carrying on into the main exhibition hall. The swing completed its sixth squeak-enhanced movement, which meant that the first minute of my ordeal had just passed. There was no change in the dildo's gentle vibration, so I knew that I was in for at least another minute of it at the present setting. But then I became aware of another sensation as the Warming Function kicked in. I clenched my buttocks instinctively as I started to feel its gentle rise in temperature permeating my rectum, tensing myself against the as-yet unknown level of heat I would have to endure. I knew it wouldn't be so hot as to cause me serious injury, because Frobisher wanted to keep me here for as long as possible. The Warming Function lasted a full eighteen swings, and then faded again. It hadn't seemed excessive, but then again I didn't know what level it had been operating at. The Vibrator Function went on for a further twelve swings before it, too, stopped. I swung on, the PISS having fallen into a programmed pause. Held immobile by the steel rods, chains and padlocks, I could only sit and wait for the next assault to begin. I wondered which of the PISS's four functions would be activated next. I stared helplessly through the glass panel directly ahead of me. To and fro I went, counting the swings, every six marking the passing of a single minute. And all the while I heard the incessant sound effect of a garden swing squeaking. Twenty four swings later all hell broke loose in my backside. The Vibrator Function's Circular Mode kicked in at what must surely have been level five, the highest setting. Its motion was so violent that my bottom felt like it was being stirred from the inside, like a spoon in a bowl of cakemix. A whimper forced itself from my throat. The vibrator continued for six swings, and then mercifully stopped. But my relief was short-lived, for then the PISS's Cooling Function took over. Again my buttocks clenched, and I gripped the rigid chains of the swing tightly. It felt like an ice cube was being pushed deep into my arse, growing colder with every passing second, forcing an involuntary shiver out of me. I resumed counting swings to try and take my mind off the PISS inside me. I got to twenty before I lost track, my attention diverted by the repetitive squeak squeak squeak of the swing. A few more swings went by, and I guessed that I must have reached at least twenty four. The Cooling Function had been on for four minutes. And then it stopped. Or rather it gradually became a little less cold, which meant the Cooling Function must have turned off. The squeaking swing swung on. The muscles in my arse were complaining even more bitterly by this time, and I apologised to them profusely. They didn't listen, and kept on complaining. "Hello, Teresa!" said the tinny voice of Duncan Frosbisher over the speaker. "How are you getting on? I just thought you might like to know that we're now a full fifteen minutes into the show. Not many customers so far, unfortunately, but you know how it is. The first morning of any show is always a bit on the slow side. Not to worry, it'll pick up this afternoon. Ciao for now!" Fifteen minutes. Well, at least I knew what the time was with more certainty. But it also reminded me, as if I needed reminding, that there were still another seven hours and forty-five minutes to go before my first day's torment ended. The PISS continued to sit dormant in my arse, though my arse continued to fervently wish that the PISS would piss off and sit dormant somewhere else. More people passed by outside the cabinet. Again they were all women, mostly young. They didn't seem too interested in the mannequin bride on the garden swing. They simply threw it a cursory glance and then walked on, eager to see what was on offer at the various stands in the main hall of the Elysia Exhibition Centre. The mannequin bride continued its ride, to and fro, to and fro, like a metronome, and all the while the recorded sound of the swing's hinges squeaked and screeched with every pass. One swing led to another, and another, and another... I lost count of how many minutes had passed since Frobisher had spoken to me. The PISS had been inactive at the time, so it couldn't have been any more than five minutes. That was the maximum length of time for the programmed pause between functions, so the next one must surely be due to start any moment. Suddenly, without warning, my arse felt like it was being pummelled by a jackhammer from within. The Vibrator Function had been activated again, with the Thrust Mode at what felt like full power. The sheer force of it would have made me jump, but the chains across my thighs which pinned me to the seat of the swing prevented that completely. All I could do was accept the blows of the PISS inside me, and wishing that it would stop. But it did not stop, and the swing swung on, with my body clamped and locked rigid upon it. Six swings later and the PISS was still doing its thing, thrusting and pushing inside my rectum. The six swings became twelve, then eighteen... Until finally, at the twenty-fourth swing, the jackhammer inside me ceased. I heaved a sigh of relief. But then I realised that the show was still not half an hour old, and I had hours more of this suffering to bear. Yet I was determined not to give in. I would beat Frobisher. All I had to do was sit here and endure the pain and discomfort in my arse for another seven and a half hours. And then do it all again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after. And the day after that. But I was determined not to give in. I refused to allow Frobisher to beat me. The sound effect of the squeaking swing grew more and more monotonous, but I knew it was the least of my problems. The PISS stayed quiet for another eighteen swings, and then I felt pressure begin to build within my rectum. This, I realised, had to be the Inflation Function, but what I didn't know was what level or timing it had been given by Robert's random programming. The pressure continued to build, feeling like a beach ball was being pumped up inside me. I groaned as the intensity of the bloating increased, and the muscles in my thighs stiffened against the discomfort. It must have persisted for an entire thirty swings, but I wasn't sure because I lost count at eighteen. For, at the eighteenth swing, the Inflation Function was suddenly joined by the Vibration Function's Throb Mode. I don't know what level it was set at, but it must have been two or three at least. Maybe four. I sighed with relief when both modes finally stopped at the same time. The throbbing simply cut out, while the inflatable section of the PISS gradually returned to its normal size, reducing the pressure in my arse. But I had no respite, because the Warming Function started up again. It felt hotter than it had done before, but I had no way of knowing for sure what level it, or indeed any of the other Functions, had been set at. All I could do was sit immobile on the swing and endure it for as long as it lasted. At the twelfth swing I felt the heat in my backside begin to slowly dissipate as the Warming Function switched off, and the PISS moved into another period on pause. I knew I needed to think of something to occupy my mind for the punishment ahead. During the previous three shows, in Sunderland, Hull and Skegness, I had passed the time by listening to the songs being played over the sound system. Snippets of conversation from the passing punters had also helped to distract me as I stood for hours with the PISS up my backside. But here at the London show, in my soundproof cabinet in a corner of the foyer, away from the hustle and bustle of the punters, I had no such distractions. I was well and truly on my own, with nothing to listen to. Nothing, that is, except for the squeak-squawk-squeak-squawk of the swing sound effect being played on a never ending loop. It was already beginning to get on my nerves, and the show was still only thirty minutes or so old. The swing continued to carry me on its slow, gentle arc, forward and back, forward and back. Time after time I could only watch the front of the cabinet advance towards me as the swing bore me forward, only to retreat again as the swing moved into reverse. It was almost hypnotic. The PISS seemed to have been dormant for a good while now. Certainly it seemed longer than the maximum five minute limit. I began to wonder if something might have gone wrong with its programming. But then it flared into life once more, as the Cooling Function extended its icy finger deep inside my rectum. The temperature seemed to decrease more quickly this time, the cold much lower than before. So intense was it that I wanted to curl up into a ball in order to keep myself warm. But I couldn't do that, of course. The rigid steel rods and padlocks that kept my head, body and limbs in position allowed me no movement. I tried to ignore the cold, and forced myself to think of something else. Perversely, the first thing that came to mind were the combination padlocks that secured me, and wondered how many Frobisher had used. The first one had been to attach the rod holding my legs still; then another two to hold the chains across my thighs. That made three so far. Four more fastened my wrists and elbows to the chains which supported the swing. The steel rod and bands which immobilised my head and torso had taken another three. That made ten altogether. Just as I was finishing my calculation, the PISS roared back into action again with its Vibrator Function on Wobble mode. Because I had been concentrating so hard on totting up padlocks, the sudden renewed attack on my rectum made me cry out in anguish. Were it not for the sound proofing afforded by the cabinet's double glazing, my cry would surely have attracted attention from the reception staff, and it was important that I remained undetected for as long as my torture lasted. It was part of the game Frobisher and I were playing. And I was determined to win, despite the protracted suffering I was putting myself through. The vibrator continued to wobble inside me for thirty swings before it abruptly stopped. I sighed with relief once more, and then braced myself for whatever the next onslaught proved to be. And so it went on. Swing after swing, to and fro, to and fro, to and fro, marking time like the pendulum on a cuckoo clock, second after second, minute after minute, hour after hour. I longed for 6pm to arrive, when I would be released from this hell. And I had no way of knowing how much longer there was to go. Beyond the confines of my double glazed cabinet I was dimly aware of the comings and goings of punters attending the show, and I wondered how many sales Bridie had managed to take. Just as this thought crossed my mind, Bridie herself appeared outside the cabinet. She placed a palm on the glass. I instinctively loosened my grip on the swing's chains to reach out towards her; but my arms were held in place by padlocks, making the attempted gesture futile. All I could do was move my eyes to stare at the face of my wife, and offer her a reassuring smile. She spoke to me, but of course I heard nothing. Bridie seemed puzzled, then looked away from me and down to her own hand. She leaned forward for a closer inspection, and as she did so her mouth made an O of sudden understanding. I guessed she had figured out that the cabinet was double glazed and therefore soundproof. Bridie looked at me again and shook her head sadly, then opened her handbag and took out a notebook and a pen. She scribbled something in the book and held it up against the glass for me to see. She had written 'It's 2pm. I love you.' And then, with immaculate timing, the PISS chose that moment to burst into life once again with its Inflation Function. "No!" I cried out weakly. "Not now! Please, not now!" But the PISS took no notice of my desperate plea. As the expanding section of the dildo swelled, it felt like a car tyre air hose had been shoved up my bottom and turned on. I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the discomfort, in case Bridie noticed my distress. I wished that I could nod to show Bridie that I had read her note, but of course I could not. The band around my head prevented me from nodding or shaking it at all. Instead I gave Bridie a big grin, but I was uncertain whether she would be able to see it through my heavily patterned bridal veil. Bridie put the notebook and pen back in her handbag, then gave me a smile and walked away out of my field of view. I didn't want her to leave, but she had to return to her stand for the remaining four hours of the show. The PISS Inflation Function filled me for twelve or maybe eighteen swings, before the device subsided into another pause. Eighteen swings later it started up again with a repeat of the Inflation Function; it felt a little less full than the previous time, but after another six swings (or was it twelve?) it was joined by the Vibration Function in Wobble Mode at one of the higher settings. My rectum now felt like one of those toy balloon punch bags which bounce back to a standing position when knocked over. More swings went by. I couldn't be bothered to go on counting them any more. The Inflation Function stopped, returning the PISS to its normal girth, but the vibrator carried on wobbling for a further twelve swings before It was pointless trying to keep track of time. The randomly periodic attacks on my rectum by the PISS made the required level of concentration virtually impossible. The barrage of sensations within my arse went on and on and on, the four functions of the dildo working either singly or in various combinations, and at varying strengths. My only respite came from the brief, arbitrary pauses which Robert had built in to his programme. But, as the hours of my torment wore on, I grew more and more convinced that the arbitrary pauses were far outnumbered by the vibrations, heatings, coolings and expansions. "Good evening, Teresa!" Frobisher's voice came over the speaker, competing against the squeaking swing sound effect. "You may be pleased to learn that the show will be closing shortly." This unexpected news almost made me cry with joy and relief. "I do hope you've enjoyed the first day it as much as I have," Frobisher continued, "and that you're looking forward to tomorrow. Your release will take place just as soon as the last members of the public have left the building and the doors are locked, which should be approximately three quarters of an hour from now. Until then, toodle- pip!" Forty five minutes. Another two hundred and seventy swings, and an unknown number of randomised assaults on my rectum by the PISS. I had so far endured hours of torture at the hands of Duncan Frobisher and his friend, Robert. I could surely survive another forty five minutes. The two hundred and seventy swings went by with agonising slowness, made all the more agonising by the two dozen or so hits I was subjected to by the four functions of the dildo inside me. And then Bridie appeared before me. She held up a door key for me to see, before hurrying round to the rear of the cabinet and unlocking the door. The automatic curtain closed, concealing us from view, and the swing came to rest at its lowest point. I felt a slight wave of dizziness sweep through me. I was disoriented, having been in motion on the swing for the last ten hours straight. I squeezed my eyes shut and heaved a deep sigh. "Are you OK, Terry?" said Bridie as she edged around the swing so that I could see her. Concern was etched on her face. "I will be," I replied. "Just as soon as I'm out of this fucking thing. I hope you've got the codes." "The codes?" Bridie asked. "For the padlocks," I explained. "Frobisher used ten combination padlocks to lock me in this position." "Oh my god!" Bridie fished in her handbag and took out a piece of paper. "Frobisher gave me this. He told me I'd need it, but wouldn't say what for. Now I know it's a list of codes for the padlocks. But Terry..." "What? Bridie held out the sheet of paper for me to see. On it was printed a series of four digit codes. Not just ten, but a hundred. "How do I know which are the right ones to use?" Bridie said. "You don't," I replied. "This is Frobisher's trick to prolong my torture for a little more. You'll just have to start with the first one and work through the list for each padlock." "But that could take ages! What if the security guards come before I get you out?" "We'll worry about that if it happens. Get cracking, love. Start with my arms. I can hardly feel them anymore." Bridie manipulated the numbers of the padlock to match the first code on the list. To our surprise and delight it snapped open. But we weren't so lucky with the second number on the padlock at my right elbow. Bridie had to try almost all the codes on the list before finding the right one. I lowered my arm to rest on my lap. "Now the left," I said. But Bridie hesitated. "Wait a moment," she said, and rummaged in her handbag. "What are you doing?" I asked. My right arm began to tingle as feeling returned to it. Bridie took out her notebook and pen. "I'm going to make a note of the numbers for these padlocks," she said, and wrote down the first two codes that had worked. "It'll save us a bit of time tomorrow." "Good thinking," I said. "But please hurry." Bridie went through the list as fast as she could, making a note of each correct code. After releasing my left arm she unlocked the bands around my head and waist, then freed my feet and removed the shoes, and finally unbound my thighs. "Jesus, Terry! You must have suffered agony, stuck in this position all day long!" "You've no idea," I said. "The PISS has been active for the whole time. I've only had a few minutes break between its attacks." I didn't elaborate on the nature of the dildo's two new functions. All I wanted to do was get the fucking thing out of my arse. I told Bridie to find something for me to put my feet on so that I could stand clear of the swing seat. She left the cabinet, and returned moments later with the same stool Frobisher had me stand on earlier. After Bridie helped me out of the dress and petticoats, I placed my stockinged feet on the stool and grasped the chains of the swing in my hands, then gingerly began to haul myself up off the seat. My arse was dry, and pushing the dildo out took time and patience. Pumping my sphincter muscles in little bursts, I gradually eased myself up and into a crouching position. The relief of ridding myself of the PISS was enormous. I stepped off the stool and sank to my knees with a deep sigh. "Come on," said Bridie. "Let's get you out and changed and into a hot bath. You're exhausted." "What about the PISS?" I said wearily. "We need to clean it." "That can wait until tomorrow. I suppose you're still determined to go through all this again?" I nodded. "Frobisher won't beat me," I said. At the Sunderland show Frobisher had enforced a 'rule' which stated that all exhibits had to remain on the premises. As I was being treated as a mannequin, and therefore an exhibit, that had included me. But Frobisher had dispensed with that particular pretence from the Hull show onward. His challenge to me was a personal one, and it was a challenge I was resolved to win. We made our way back to the little room in which our day had begun. I put on my jumper, trousers and trainers, and we made our way back to our hotel room for a well deserved sleep. The next day, Thursday, was very much like the day before it. I woke ridiculously early, showered, shaved and put on the mannequin's undergarments. Bridie had packed enough changes of adapted pantie girdles and stockings to last me the full five days of the show. The previous day's soiled items were consigned to a plastic bag for washing when we went home at the end of the week. Back at the Elysia we completed my transformation from a bloke in his mid-twenties to a female dummy in a dress. Frobisher turned up right on cue to take care of my installation on the swing. He told us we had no need to wash the PISS, as he'd already taken care of it. "Did you have a good day yesterday, Teresa?" he asked me as we entered the curtained cabinet. "Terrific," I replied. "Can't wait to get started again." "You don't have to, you know. All you need to do is say the word, and you won't have to go through a moment more of this." "And hand you the victory? No thanks, Frobisher. That's not how I want to play the game. I'm here to win." "But you can't win! You're merely allowing yourself to be tortured! Give up now, and it'll all be over and done with." "Why don't you give up instead, Frobisher?" I said. "Why not stop this childish search for revenge over something that happened when we were just kids?" "Why should I?" came the reply. "You've made it abundantly clear that you're prepared to soak up all the punishment I can give you, and you seem quite content to make this just between the two of us. I can only assume that you actually enjoy submitting yourself to this predicament. Well, if you're happy to take it, I'm equally happy to dish it out. But don't say I didn't give you ample opportunity to back out." "Fine! Let's get started." I pulled on the six petticoats, then plonked the stool down in front of the swing and climbed onto it. Frobisher sighed and gave the PISS a liberal coat of lubrication. I grasped the chains and once more carefully lowered myself over the red dildo. It squelched its way up into my rectum until my buttocks finally rested on the seat. Frobisher set to. After buckling the bar-strap shoes onto my feet, he attached the steel rod which held my legs in position and clicked the first padlock on the joint. "By the way," he said as he worked, "I'm using a new set of padlocks on you today, with different codes on the list. So if you made a note of yesterday's numbers, which I fully expected you would, then I'm afraid it was in vain." He threaded the white chain through the seat and across my thighs, padlocking the links beneath the seat. I was again unable to raise myself up by as much as a fraction of an inch. Frobisher wrapped the belt around my waist and pulled it tight. Then he dropped the wedding dress over my head and arranged it around me, tying up the laces down the back. Next was the padlocking of my wrists and elbows to the flower decorated chains of the swing, after which came the placing of the steel band and rod which would render my head and torso immobile for the next nine hours. "Comfy?" he asked as he placed the blonde wig and veil on my head. I stared straight ahead and gave no reply. Then he bent down in front of me and lifted the front of my dress. "What are you doing?" I said. Frobisher looked up and smiled. "I'm doubling up on the padlocks," he said, clicking two in place on the chains holding my legs down on the seat. "I was undecided whether or not to bother, quite frankly, since it really only adds a few more minutes to your discomfort. But then I thought, why not?" Soon my body was being held in place by no less than twenty combination padlocks. It had taken Frobisher less than a minute to attach them all, but I knew it would take Bridie considerably longer to open them again, since she would have to test each padlock against Frobisher's list of codes. Frobisher finally declared me ready to face my day, and actually wished me good luck. He left the cabinet and locked the door shut, leaving me in silence. The curtain slowly opened around me on its automatic tracks, and I was once again on display. My arse was already complaining about the dildo inside it, but I ignored it and prepared myself for the next nine hour ordeal. Presently the reception staff arrived for duty, and a few minutes later the doors opened and the show began. And so did the swing and the PISS. The day ground relentlessly onward. I didn't bother trying to count the swings, since I knew I would lose count sooner or later anyway. Instead I simply allowed myself to be swept along on its tediously slow to and fro motion, accompanied throughout by the excruciating squeak-squawk of the garden swing sound effect from above my head. And the PISS continued to do its thing. Robert's randomly programmed device vibrated, warmed, cooled and expanded inside my rectum, both singly and in every possible combination. The random pauses, when they came, seemed to be short more often than they were long. But I, helplessly trapped on my swing, could do nothing other than accept the minutes of discomfort and savour the minutes of rest. I paid no attention to the blur of people passing by in the foyer outside my cabinet. They had no idea that the mannequin bride on the swing was a living, breathing man, enduring hours of agony for... For what? Frobisher's words came back to me: 'I can only assume that you actually enjoy submitting yourself to this predicament'. Was that true? I believed that I was out to prove myself superior to Frobisher by not giving in to his punishment. But was my willingness to take it really down to some sort of masochistic streak deep within me? I could easily have refused to do this ever again. I could have reported Frobisher to the police for committing sexual assault against me. Yet here I was, back for more. It's a bit late to change my mind now, I thought grimly. I'd made too much of a song and dance about wanting to beat Frobisher. I would have to see it through to the end. Whenever that may be. By the time the show ended at 6pm I was more exhausted than I had been the previous day. The worried expression on Bridie's face when she entered the cabinet to free me was clear. For a moment I considered giving in and accepting my defeat. But that would mean Frobisher would win, and I hated the very thought of that. Besides, I had now lasted two days. By this time tomorrow I would be more than half way through my torture, and the end would be in sight. No, I would not give in. I would keep fighting. "Fucking hell, Terry!" said Bridie. "He's put more padlocks on!" "There are twenty," I said quietly. "Have you got the codes?" Bridie held up the piece of paper with the codes listed neatly on it. "At least we know what ten of them are," she said. "No," I replied. "He used new padlocks, Bridie. All the numbers are different." "The sod!" Bridie began to open the padlocks one by one, starting with my arms and finishing with my thighs. As I hoisted myself up off the dildo and then collapsed in a heap on the floor, Bridie began to cry. "Terry, please, stop doing this to yourself! I don't think I bear it for much longer! Please, Terry! Tell Frobisher you give in. Tell him he's won. Let him have his stupid revenge. It's not worth putting yourself through this again and again just to prove a point!" "But I..." I stopped, unsure of what to say to Bridie. I didn't want to give in to Frobisher, but neither did I want to cause Bridie more distress than necessary. "All right, love," I said with a sigh. "I'll tell you what. Let's see this show through to the end. Then maybe I can convince Frobisher that going on any further is pointless. Maybe he'll see sense and we can call it a draw." "And what if he doesn't see sense?" Bridie asked. "Will you want to keep on trying to beat him? Will you want to go on dressing up as a bride and having a dildo stuck up your arse every month? Because if that's all you want, Terry, we can do that at home, whenever you like. You don't need to be tortured by Frobisher." I felt too confused and exhausted to answer. At that moment I didn't know what I wanted, other than to get a bath and a night's sleep. On the way back to the hotel Bridie told me she had made a few good sales. The Thursday crowds had, as expected, been out in force, and everyone was feeling confident that the next three days would bring bumper business all round. For my part, Friday and Saturday passed in very much the same way as Wednesday and Thursday had done. Up out of bed early, shower and shave, then into my bra, girdle, corset and stockings. Then we were off to the Elysia, where Frobisher padlocked me onto the garden swing for 9am. An hour later, as the show began, the swing's pendulum mechanism cranked into life, and with it the PISS. I was again only dimly aware of the people passing by on their way to and from the main exhibition hall. The focus of my attention rested on the almost constant bombardment inflicted on my arse by the actions of the dildo within. The most intense feeling was when the Vibrator Function was set to Thrust Mode and combined with the Warming and Inflation functions. This happened twice each day, though I could not be sure if all the functions were working at their highest level. Even so, the bursts of activity from all three at once wrenched a gasp from my mouth and tightened the grip of my hands on the chains of the swing. By 6pm each day I was totally shattered, both physically and mentally. And yet I was still prepared to come back the next day. I had replayed the words of Frobisher in my mind over and over: 'I can only assume that you actually enjoy submitting yourself to this predicament.' And the heartfelt plea from Bridie: 'Will you want to go on dressing up as a bride and having a dildo stuck up your arse every month? Because if that's all you want, Terry, we can do that at home, whenever you like.' Their words still echoed in my thoughts as I curled up in my hotel bed late on the Saturday night, and continued to haunt my dreams as I slept. And so Sunday dawned, bringing with it the last day of the Happiest Day London Wedding Show. I had survived four days of Frobisher's retribution, and was determined to see out the final day undefeated. If I could get through this one last day, I would surely be able to persuade Frobisher to abandon his crusade of vengeance against me. Just as I had done the four days before, I rose, showered and shaved, then put on my feminine underwear and went with Bridie to the Elysia. For the last time, Frobisher padlocked me in place on the swing and left me alone to face my day's punishment. As I waited for 10am to arrive, out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a movement just outside the cabinet to my left. The figure wandered back and forth for a few seconds, then moved slowly round to stand directly in front of me. I recognised him as being Robert, Frobisher's friend and creator of the cabinet in which I was now confined. He gave me a lop-sided grin, and then opened the small backpack he was carrying. From it he took a miniature drywipe white board and a pen. He wrote on the board and held it up against the glass for me to read: WHEN THE PISS STARTS Then he rubbed out the words and wrote more, holding the board up again for me to read: THE FUNCTIONS WILL Another wipe, and more words added: ALL OPERATE TOGETHER I read the growing message with increasing horror: AND ALL AT LEVEL 5 My jaw dropped as Robert wrote the final part of his message and held it up for me to see: WITHOUT ANY PAUSES Robert put away the wipe board and pen, and took out a remote control identical to Frobisher's. For all I knew it may have even been the same one, but whether it was or not didn't matter. He pointed it towards the top of the cabinet. "No!" I called out. "Please, Robert! Please don't! Robert simply smiled at me and cupped a hand to one ear as if to say he couldn't hear me. Which he couldn't, of course, thanks to the double glazing. He pressed a button on the remote... Nothing happened. But it was still not yet 10am. Robert had merely reset the programme to his new specifications. The swing and the PISS would both become active as soon as the doors opened to admit the public, just as on each previous day. The only difference today was that the device would not pause for even a second. My arse would be subjected to a non-stop round of full power attacks from the device for eight solid hours. I was almost impatient for it to begin, and was actually glad to see the reception staff arriving for duty. As usual they paid no attention to me. To them I was a mere dummy in a wedding dress, one of many on display in various parts of the Elysia Exhibition Centre. And then the doors opened, and the public entered. The final day of the show had begun. There were larger numbers of punters swarming past me than there had been on previous days, but I hardly noticed them. As the swing began to move backwards, my full attention was occupied by the PISS in my backside. The Vibrator Function kicked in on Wobble Mode, shaking my inside like a bucking bronco. It was immediately joined by the Inflation Function, swelling to full size and expanding my rectum like a balloon. Then the Warming Function gradually raised the temperature inside me. After thirty swings the PISS's programme decided it was time for a change. The vibrator abruptly went into full Throb Mode, whilst the Warming Function was steadily replaced by the Cooling one. The Inflation Function did not change, since it had no separate modes. That would be keeping me feeling continually bloated for the rest of the day. At first my predicament felt little different to each preceding day. But it wasn't long before the absence of any sort of break in the dildo's programme began to take its toll on me. The constant bloated feeling caused by the Inflation Function made sitting on the seat of the swing more and more uncomfortable, and the Vibrator Function's regular mode changes meant that I couldn't become accustomed to any one of them for long. The Warming and Cooling Functions simply alternated every five minutes. My arse felt like a washing machine full of boots, endlessly cycling through the same wash and tumble dry programme. I gritted my teeth and gripped the chains of the swing. There was absolutely nothing else I could do, padllocked and transfixed as I was. I began to feel warm, and could feel beads of sweat forming on my face. The PISS ground on and on inside me, its functions churning and cooling and heating my inflated rectum over and over. All the while I was moved back and forth on the swing, its squeak sound effect providing a monotonous soundtrack to my misery. I started to sweat more profusely. My stomach and back felt decidedly moist within the tight constraints of my corset. My immobilised legs and arms all began to feel as if they didn't belong to me, and my head felt light and numb. The walls of the cabinet began to sway in front of my eyes... I passed out. I had no way of knowing for how long, but when I came to I realised that I was moving neither forward or back. The swing had stopped, and the cabinet's blue curtain was completely drawn. "Terry! Terry! Wake up!" My eyes opened slowly, and I found myself face to face with Bridie. She looked very worried. "What happened?" I asked, feeling a little nauseous. "You fainted," she told me. "It's a good job I came when I did. You were out for the count. I need to get you out of here and off to a hospital." "Is the show over?" "No," said Bridie as she began opening the padlocks on my arms while referring to the list of codes. "It's only quarter to one." "But I can't go yet!" I said, still groggy. "I have to stay here, until the end of the after-show party." "No, you haven't." "But don't you understand, Bridie? If I go now, I'll have lost, and it'll all have been for nothing. Frobisher--" "Frobisher's dead, Terry. Robert too. It's over." "Dead? Bridie, you didn't... ?" "Kill him? Of course I didn't!" Bridie was now removing the head and neck clamp. "Though there have been times in the last few months when I would have liked to." "Then what happened to them?" "It was an accident. Frobisher was driving Robert to Heathrow Airport to catch a plane. They were running late because of heavy traffic, so apparently Frobisher jumped a red light. An articulated lorry smashed into them on the roundabout, killing them instantly. Talk about karma." "Karma?" "You know the saying, don't you? 'What you lose on the swings...'." "How did you find out about it?" "The police got in touch with the show organisers. Word spread like wildfire after that. Look, I'll explain later. Let's just concentrate on getting you out of here." Bridie removed the last of the combination padlocks and helped me carefully lift my arse clear of the PISS for the last time. Chapter 3: AFTER THE SHOW The death of Duncan Frobisher (and of his friend, Robert - whose last name, according to the newspapers, was Mason), had put an end to the feud between us. The strangest thing was that, when Bridie told me the news, I had felt a wave of disappointment. It meant that I no longer had the chance to beat Frobisher, to rob him of his revenge against me for bullying him at school. I felt cheated of my ultimate victory over him. And I felt cheated of something even deeper than that... Once I had been checked out at hospital and treated for mild dehydration, Bridie and I returned to the Elysia. The show still had twenty minutes to run, but Bridie had no desire to stay any longer. Nor did she really need to stay, for that matter. Business for everyone at the show had gone very well indeed, and Bridie's Bridal Boutique had turned a handsome profit. While Bridie dismantled our stand in the main exhibition hall, I had made my way to the reception area and was relieved to see the curtained cabinet still there. When I was sure no one was looking I nipped inside and closed the door. There was the swing, silent and unmoving, together with a faintly unpleasant smell from the dildo. The white high heels and the various metal restraints still lay on the floor where Bridie and I had discarded them earlier. I stared at the contraption for several minutes, lost in the memory of the hours I had spent locked into it. Then I unhooked the seat from its chains, picked up the shoes, steel rods and padlocks, wrapped the whole lot in the black bin bag I had brought with me, and left. Once all our gear had been loaded into the car we began the long drive home. Our route out of London took us past the roundabout which had been the scene of Frobisher and Mason's fatal accident. But all traces of it had already gone, apart from a fresh-looking pair of skid marks next to the traffic lights. On our way up the A1 we'd stopped at a motorway services for a cup of coffee and a triple cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate muffin. It was the first solid food I had eaten in days, and I'd wolfed it down greedily. It was almost midnight when we got home. After Bridie and I had unpacked the car, we climbed into bed together and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. EPILOGUE I never had the dream again, the one in which Bridie leaves me. I did keep the promise I had once made to myself, of learning about my wife's bridal business and helping out as her assistant wherever I could. Usually that meant tasks like answering emails and making deliveries. But Frobisher's death still weighed heavily on my mind, and I felt in some way that I was partly responsible. Had I not been at the London show then Robert Mason would not have flown to London to see me, which in turn meant that Frobisher would not have had to drive him to the airport. And so I came to a decision. "Are you sure you want to do this, Terry?" Bridie asked. A month had passed since the London show, and we were in the shop on a Friday night in early October. The time was coming up to eleven o'clock. "Yes," I replied. "It's just something I feel I need to do. You understand, don't you?" "Not really. Why don't you just let it go? Forget about Frobisher. His death wasn't your fault. After everything he put you though, you don't owe him a anything." "I know," I said. "But this is as much for me as it is for Frobisher. I bullied him mercilessly at school for four years. It's my way of making my peace with him- and with myself. But I can't do it without you, Bridie." Bridie nodded. "All right," she said. "Let's get you ready." And so we began. I'd already washed and shaved all over. Now, in the quiet back room of our small shop, I put on a padded bra, a pantie girdle, suspenders and white stockings. Bridie wrapped a white corset around my middle and tied the laces tightly to give me an hourglass figure. Then she set to work on applying the makeup to my face, with a light foundation and powder, darkly pencilled eyebrows, beautiful smoky eye shadow, false eyelashes coated with black mascara, blusher sculpted cheeks and scarlet lipsticked lips. Next it was time for the dress. Bridie had chosen a gorgeously elegant boat necked gown of white satin and chiffon, with a full ruffled skirt, diamante covered bodice and lace sleeves. The addition of a dark brown wig, a veil and a tiara made my transformation almost complete. All that remained were the shoes. "You look lovely, Terry," said my wife. "Or should I call you Teresa?" I smiled. "Of course. Frobisher's Rule." We left the back room and went through into the main shop. It was small, not much bigger than an average living room in a house. One wall was dominated by a window which Bridie kept covered overnight with a steel roll-down shutter. Tiny slots in the shutter allowed a very restricted view of the evening dark street outside. The side walls were each lined with clothes rails, on which hung an array of magnificent wedding dresses in various colours. Opposite the window was a narrow counter, the wall behind it decorated with photographs of beautiful young women in bridal wear. Normally the window display area was occupied by a female mannequin in a wedding dress, but a garden bench now stood there instead, facing out towards the street. And firmly attached to the centre of the bench was the swing seat I had rescued from the Elysia, complete with its now clean and freshly lubricated PISS. An electric extension cable snaked from it across the floor to a socket in the wall. In my stockinged feet I stood in front of the bench and lifted my skirt. Bridie guided me down onto the bench, the six inch dildo sliding with a soft, slow squelch into my anus. Down I went, until my buttocks rested fully on the swing seat, my back supported by the backrest of the garden bench. Bridie arranged the skirts of the around my legs and slipped a pair of white high heeled bar strap shoes onto my feet. "It's eleven o'clock," she said. "You ready?" I nodded. "I'm ready." Bridie picked up the new remote control I'd brought and programmed, and pressed a button. The PISS immediately came to life within my rectum, forcing a gasp from my mouth. I had reset the device to follow Mason's original programme, so that the four functions of the dildo would operate both singly and in various combinations, with pauses. "Ter-- Teresa?" said Bridie, a touch of concern evident in her voice. "I'm OK, love," I assured her, clenching my buttocks against the urgent thrusting of the vibrator inside me. "I'll be fine." "All right. Well... I'll see you at seven, then." I nodded again, and stared at the silver-grey blankness of the steel shutter in front of me. I heard Bridie walk across the shop to the back room, turning out the light as she left, plunging the shop into darkness. I was alone. There were no restraints holding me in place this time. No chains, no steel rods, no combination padlocks. I could get up from the bench anytime I wanted. But I would not. My willpower alone would keep me motionless. I had sworn a promise to Frobisher's memory that I would remain sitting in position for the entire night, until Bridie came back in the morning to switch off the PISS. With Bridie's help, I would repeat my promise to Frobisher three nights every month for the next four years, the full duration of our 'contract'. This would be my atonement to him. And so, as the PISS randomly cycled through its functions within my arse, vibrating and warming and cooling and inflating. As evening became night and night became morning, as pale daylight began to filter through the gaps in the steel shutter over the shop window, as the seconds and minutes and hours dragged by, I knew that the challenge I had set myself was only just beginning. It was a challenge I was determined to win.