<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Kbound44 on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/kbound44/</link><description>Recent content in Kbound44 on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sat, 30 May 2026 20:13:46 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/authors/kbound44/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Ballet Bound 2</title><link>/stories/2003/03/06/ballet-bound-2/</link><pubDate>Thu, 06 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2003/03/06/ballet-bound-2/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="ballet_bound.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ballet Bound&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part Two&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Page�s preparations began the nite before &amp;ldquo;our trip&amp;rdquo; with a series of
injections, as I lay perfectly stretched on her evil black leather bondage
table. Moaning through the swatches of cheap grey duct tape covering the
bottom of my face as a series of super sharp needles were slowly inserted
and withdrawn from my left hip, the black tights then rolled snugly back
up my waist. On my stomach, limbs anchored by white clothesline rope to
each corner of the table, a rather simple bondage arrangement . This was
the first time for the needle.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Ballet Bound</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/ballet-bound/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/ballet-bound/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;The van rolled slowly to
a stop. I felt light-headed, seemingly not enough air. Excitement mingled
with fear as I tried to move in my exquisite prison, a soundproof rectangular
wooden chamber underneath the solidly built in seats of the dining area
in the rear of the conversion van. Measuring twelve inches high, twenty
inches wide and seventy-two inches long, it was a perfect fit. Tightly
bound and heavily gagged, lying on my back, the top of my head and the
bottom of my feet pressed against the ends, shoulders snug against the
sides. On the outside panel, decorative gold vents at either end provided
air, augmented by a small electric fan flush mounted to the right of my
head. To anyone, it was a typical vacation vehicle, one of the many on
the busy interstate. I tried to squirm but to no avail. Sealed perfectly
in this coffin- like arrangement, an invisible captive.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>