Pervmont

Electric Jane The oversized, electric dildo securely locked into Titty-tart’s ass was creating a very realistic sensation of rapidly and deeply thrusting into her overstretched hiney-hole via the wave action of its shock point array and it made her gasp as it bumped inside her against the huge punishment dildo secured in her long-suffering pussy. The ring gag held her mouth open to its absolute maximum and she moaned silently as she worked furiously to please the customer’s cock with her mouth, tongue and throat. She’d have held his balls and worked the shaft of his cock with her hands, but they were mittened into useless little balls and short-chained up to her collar behind her back. That’s how all the ‘happy ending’ girls spent their days here at the Punishment Café, in back-prayer bondage, sucking or waiting en-pointe and leashed in line hoping for an opportunity to lick or suck. ...

Pat(ty) My given name is Patrick. I’m twenty-three, I’m into self-bondage, and I’m a cross-dresser. Not all the time, you understand; I have to work for a living, but cross-dressing is my fetish, and for lack of interest in almost anything else, my one hobby. I’m sure that I probably spend more time and money shopping for shoes & clothes than the average female, but it’s what I like. I’m lucky that I have a body that lends itself to female attire; I’m five feet eight inches tall and slender, at one hundred thirty pounds. My almost-black hair is cut in a ‘page-boy’ style, which I hide by wearing it pulled up into a ‘man-bun’ or up under a hat. With my hair down and make-up on, I’m quite passable as a girl and I often go out dressed as one. I’m not gay, but I love flirting with men while I’m dressed in something sexy. ...

I’d worked with Bob for nearly a year. We ran heavy equipment, excavating for new construction, roadways, anything involving moving a lot of earth. Bob was short, maybe five-foot-seven and kind of slightly built. Bob was definitely one of the guys though; loud, sexist, foul-mouthed and always on time with a filthy joke or observation. Bob loved girls and could spot something wiggling along in a pair of yoga pants a mile away. ...

Ruth Ruth had always been taller than me, a fact that both bothered her, and one that she liked to tease me with. Now, she is much taller than me, due to the eight-inch tall, ballet-toed stiletto heels that are locked securely onto her large (size ten, women’s) feet. She had always walked impatiently ahead of me, annoyed, her long, athletic Amazon strides, seemingly designed to emasculate my more normal pace. Now I am the patient one, holding her arm as she wriggles along, high on her toes, her knees hobbled closely together. Her bottom moves delightfully, well above the ground, rolling and jouncing obscenely under the way-too-short little grey prisoner’s dress that is now her daily uniform. ...

Sharon Sharon cursed to herself as she had to make an awkward little hop-step up a curb, causing a jingling to emanate from her breasts. She cursed her luck, cursed the choice she’d made, and above all, she cursed the short little link locked between her thigh hobbles. People stared at her as she made her forced slow, hip-swaying walk down the pedestrian mall to her office building. They always stared. Why shouldn’t they? She was out walking along in a too-short, too-tight grey-blue state correctional department dress. She hated this. She hated every waking second of this. She subconsciously tried to turn her head, to not see into the laughing eyes of the other pedestrians. For the thousandth time, the too-tight, too-tall steel collar pinched her throat at her jaw bone, stopping her. She was all too aware of the words emblazoned on the collar, in large, clear letters: CONVICTED PROSTITUTE, and under that, FLORIDA DEPT. OF CORRECTIONS. Her formerly long, beautiful hair that had hung nearly to her waist, had been cropped to a short pageboy style, so that the collar with it’s lettering and it’s large, permanent, front and rear-mounted leash rings would show from all directions. ...

My name is Sarah. This started off to be the account of my friend, Tish, who is married to another friend of mine, John. It turns out I was going to end up involved in the story too, in a big way. Tish and John had been married for five years and it was going okay. You see, when John met and fell in love with Tish, she was a pretty free spirit. She was pretty open-minded, and John was sure that she would delight in discovering all the joys of bdsm and fetish that he enjoyed so much. ...

Celia was a lab rat. At least that’s what she and the other scientists and technicians called themselves; the Biotronics Corporation lab rats. The name probably came from the anonymity and dehumanization that were byproducts of their uniforms and the enormous size of the Biotronics facility. Hundreds and hundreds of Biotronics staff milled around like ants, or perhaps more like rats in a maze. Each looked much like the others, dressed in his or her unisex white lab coat and scrubs. It was almost difficult to tell the women from the men. The sterile environment was made even more Orwellian by the countless stainless steel tables brimming with the equipment and wires and tubes of science. ...