continues from part one Jessica awoke with a start as she always did being wrapped or in bondage. It always took the mind a few seconds to remember what was going on. She could again see the ceiling above her so it must be morning. She had to pee pretty bad also. She of course could not move at all, she was awake enough now to remember the armor suit and being locked in it the night before. The more she thought of Steve doing it to her the more aroused she became. ...

She sat trembling at the same speed as her motor. She tried to calm down, but her tummy hurt, and she couldn’t let go of the steering wheel. She couldn’t see across the road. She could hardly see the resolute traffic moving slowly through the heavy snowfall. The drive from her home to the Truck stop usually only took 35 minutes. Today it took an hour and 10 minutes. The road was slick with heavy slush, and whiteouts blurred fields of fallen corn stalks. Panther noticed that her teeth were chattering, and her fingers were sore. She let go of the steering wheel and sighed. The Truck stop was filling up fast as travelers sought respite from the gales. Lake effect flurries my ass, she thought sourly. This was no lake effect. This was a blizzard from the plains, and now she would miss the party, damn it. Lady Swan had called a long while back and said she was at a crawl on the Thruway, and wasn’t sure what to do. Panther told her this was the next exit after, and Swan should try for it, where there was ample lodging. ...

I am a quiet person who hates contact with others, so when new neighbors moved in, I did not go over to introduce myself. And with a large hedge between our houses, and large lots, we couldn’t even see each other’s houses. That was fine with me. I worked the late shift and wanted to sleep late in the morning. But their dog started barking at 6 a.m. and woke me up. This went on for a week, and phone calls got no response. Nobody answered. So I came up with a different tack - - I would call them when I got home from work and play a recording of their dog into the phone, then hang up. ...

My car was in the shop and I needed to get to my exercise class so I called my boyfriend and asked him to give me a ride; I said that I was sure I could get someone in the class to give me a lift home. [I should point out right now that ours was a non-sexual relationship and that we did not live together.] When he arrived, I had already put on my leotard and tights, and when he saw he, he just stared. I could also see movement in his crotch. But why would I be surprised? I had a nice figure and the spandex showed it. ...

Jane has lived in London for the past three years after moving from Manchester just after her 22nd birthday. Jane moved away from the North to escape the dreary weather and to enjoy the faster pace of the nation’s capital. She is tall and slim with auburn hair falling down to her shoulders; her green eyes are forever sparkling, enhancing her already beautiful face. A year ago she first discovered the existence of latex clothing whilst waiting to have her hair fashioned for that evening’s nightclubing, she had picked up a copy of a Shiny magazine, which was amongst the usual fashion mags on the table. The pictures of the glossy black coloured latex garments being worn by the models looked so sexy it intrigued her greatly, to the point even that she felt her pussy becoming moist at the sight of the latexed girls. She wished she could massage her twitching mound to encourage the sensual feeling to the climax it obviously desperately needed, however there were too many customers sitting and milling around for this to be possible. She hurriedly made a note of a few names and addresses of companies advertising the rubber fashion wear before she was called to have her hair done. ...

I am seriously overweight, I know it. It’s not easy to keep fit, in fact in my situation it feels like it’s just near impossible. My metabolism is slow, I’m lazy at heart, and really, I’m just not suited for wearing any sort of brand-name clothes. But, I have a fetish. It’s a strange fetish compared to all the other ones I see on the internet, although it sort of incorporates them. ...

Mary Louise came home from her dull, boring secretarial job to her dull, boring garden apartment. Her random reflections on the dullness and boringness of her life suddenly stopped when she saw the door to her apartment was ajar. She was certain she had locked it – she always did. Cautiously, she stepped through, closing it silently behind her. She looked about. Some of the things in her living / dining / kitchen area had been disturbed. Papers were lying on the floor. There was a can of beer on her dining table. She listened. A distant mutter of voices could be heard from her bedroom. She tiptoed closer. ...

Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to the real Huntress, a true and cherished friend who has always been there, from that first day when she made this old Wolf feel welcome in a new and strange place. In our world of information, he was a mystery. Even his name was unknown. Some even suggested that he’d lived under so many assumed names that even he couldn’t remember the name he’d been born with. To those who sought his services, he was The Hunter. As in hunter of men. He was among the highest priced assassins in the world. He had never missed a target; he always came through. This job, however was different. For one, the target wasn’t a high profile personality. For another, the client demanded an unusual payment option. ...

Mary lay still, trying to conserve what little energy she had left. To be honest she had little movement available to her but she had been struggling now for over 36 hours with no effect. There had to be an answer to this predicament. She just had to work it out. In the mean time she must stay calm and still. Mary was one of Nature’s cruel jokes, a “Plain Jane”. She was flat chested and just a little too plump. Her hair was mousy, straight, and refused to sit in any styling position for more than an hour. She normally wore glasses, having tried contact lenses and found she was hyper allergic to them. No amount of money or style could make her attractive to the male or female sex alike. She was a loner, always had been, probably always would be, assuming she got herself out of this bind that she was in. With no one else to play with she had had to pleasure herself. It had not taken long for her to decide that she needed some way of spicing it up, self bondage had been the ideal solution. She had spent many hours restrained in some way or other waiting for ice to melt or timers to go off. Her body was accustomed to such mistreatment. Her capacity for pain and discomfort was until now never exceeded. This time she had tried something different. There was no timing device, no automated release, there was no need: there were no locks. All she needed was a knife. She could see the knife if she moved a bit to her left. It was lying on the floor in full view. Unfortunately she was on the bed some 21 inches above it. So near and yet so far! If her arms had been free she could reach out and grab it, but of course, her arms were not free. They were behind her back, held by unforgiving, unyielding, rope Getting off the bed was not an option. For a start she was in a strict hog-tie which would mean rolling off and either breaking her back or other serious injury. Worse than that she had tethered herself to the iron bed head. She had limited rolling ability but was prevented from rolling off completely. This had been for her own safety, or so she had thought. She knew that she tended to writhe about when tied up so had taken this precaution against rolling too far. She had not considered the possibility of dropping or loosing the knife. The orgasms had been spectacular. Longer than she had planned but then again she was supposed to be free by now. She had lost count of the number of climaxes before the batteries gave out. The repeated sporadic stimulation had added to her exhaustion. It had been the distraction of the vibrator and her own spasms that had made her drop the knife and sent it sliding oh so slowly to the floor and out of her reach. The vibrator now lay dormant, just one more frustration. The loss of the knife had not upset her initially. For a start she was still lost in orgasmic euphoria so loosing the knife just meant more orgasms. It was only when the stimulation began to hurt that she seriously started to worry about getting free. In her mind the knife was only a last resort, she did not expect to need it. The reason for changing from rope in the first place was that she had been able to free herself too easily. She had changed to leather cuffs and chains to make escape more difficult. There was always the chance however that the release mechanism would fail and she had no back up system or person to free her. This latest technique had seemed like a better alternative. She had found this tying method on a web site and it had claimed it to be inescapable. She had not really believed it so the knife had been a precaution. Unfortunately it now seemed the web site was correct. By tightening against the cinch there was no way to reopen the slip knot especially as it had been her own weight that had closed it. She had no way to exert that much pressure on the ropes to open the cinch and the number of turns around each wrist removed all the slack in the rope. After thirty six hours in a strict hog-tie she wished she had been more careful. The basic tie may have been copied but the “enhancements” were all her own. She may have no breasts to speak of but her nipples were both large and sensitive. She had wrapped several layers around her chest squashing what little breasts she had and ensuring her nipples were permanently being rubbed. To make sure that the rope did not ride up she had tensioned it over her shoulders and down to her waist. It may not have been the most elegant of body ties but it was effective and no one else was supposed to see it. The crotch rope was both functional in holding her vibrator and tortuous in it’s tightness splitting her backside and rubbing it raw. The vibrator was top of the range with intermittent settings to tease and tantalise but sometimes allow satisfaction. She had of course tied her thighs as well as her ankles to keep her legs tight together and the hog-tie made this dig in that little bit more. She was naked except for the ropes. The heating had gone off over night and she had got very cold. She would have to remember that next time, assuming there was a next time. Long term bondage had brought problems that she had never encountered before. It had only been a matter of time before she had to go to sleep, tied up or not tiredness overtook her. The first night she had been interrupted by the vibrator. By the second night the batteries had died so she had expected to be able to sleep. She had awoken with a jolt and searing pain in the backs of her legs from cramp. She had never felt pain like it. There had been no way for relieve it so she had had to scream and bear it. The screaming made little difference as she had gagged herself as an extra treat. The gag was a breather one to ensure she did not suffocate, which as it turned out had been a good idea. Eventually the pain subsided but the aftermath was still making itself felt many hours later. Then there was the problem of her bladder. It was clear that if she did escape she was going to have to buy a new mattress, this one was soaking wet and ruined. Now her stomach was complaining that it was empty. She would last several days without food but how long could she live without water? Her overnight drink was as tantalisingly close as the knife, only this time it was on her bedside table. Then again she could hardly drink with this great ball wedged in her mouth! It may allow her to breathe but it made drinking virtually impossible. Who would notice she was missing? She owned her own shop, with staff who were perfectly capable of running it without her. She answered to no one and was not fixed to any sort of routine. She got on well with the neighbours but it was not uncommon for them not to see her for days. Mr Reid might notice that she had not come out but it was doubtful if this would be seen as unusual. What if she was found? It would not take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that she had done this to herself. Then what? The shame, the embarrassment, the explanations, she really did not want this to become public knowledge or local gossip material. No, she had to get out of this on her own, but how? She seemed to have tried everything! The bed had no sharp edges, of course not. She had tried rubbing the ropes against the bedside cabinet. The only thing that did was make her glass shake, the rope seemed unaffected, not that she could really see it of course. The glass? Could she smash the glass? Could she even reach the glass? Not as she was but she could rock the bedside cabinet? Would it? The glass fell over. Well it was supposed to. More liquid on the mattress and on her, but not in her mouth of course. The glass rolled around on the top of the cabinet. It was not a completely straight glass so it did not roll straight. It was hard to see and move the cabinet. It hurt her neck. She could only just see it without her glasses. Patience! She had all the time in the world! Patience! Let it roll…. It almost followed the knife onto the floor, almost but not quite. It then took time to manoeuvre it into her grasp. Then? It is much more difficult to smash a glass than you might expect, especially if you are trussed up like a roasting turkey. She cut herself of course. Well if she was going to die why not bleed to death? Now what to cut? The hog-tie? Or the tether? Probably both. Have you ever tried to cut a rope with a piece of broken glass? With your hands tied behind your back? With open cuts on your fingers? Nylon Rope? She had to stop several times to rest. Each movement affected one of the tortuous extra ropes but sex was the last thing on her mind now. She was sure that some of the shattered glass had buried itself in her while she rolled about. She would have to miss going swimming for a while until her body healed itself of all these cuts and scratches. With the hog-tie removed it was relatively easy to slide off the bed. Fortunately she had not crossed her legs, that might have complicated things, if only slightly. The last little bit was a jolt but she was now safely on the floor. The knife was blunt, but it did the job and did not slice her up any further. She looked at the clock: over 48 hours had passed since she toppled over to secure herself. She was hungry, she was thirsty, she needed to sleep and she needed some plasters, but she was alive and nobody would know. Mary was thankful for small mercies. Shame about the mattress. Next time she would be more careful. No mistakes, not even one little one. Next time she would attach the knife to the bed head. Yes that would do it, but how to stop her reaching it too soon? Maybe scissors? Scissors with the handles tied together? Could she cut the ropes around her hands with scissors? It might be worth a try. What could she lose? ...

Fellow Enthusiastics, I was glad to discover others in the world with similar tastes. Good not to feel so alone, or so evil and perverted. The trick with the ice escaped me … Thanks, all of you… Whoever. I was going the other way, trying to put keys into boiling pots of water which would have to then cool, obvious problems with that idea, the least of which was that it wouldn’t work. Ice never occured to me. ...

The night had been planned for a week, and the essentials worked out and in place now for two days as I awaited opportunity and a COLD night. Opportunity: time alone without the wife worrying … Cold night: the freezing rain on my nylon sheathed legs… Be it known, this IS a true tale, and happened as I now relate. The night came with temperatures near freezing, the mid thirties. ...

Ever since I was small I’ve been fascinated by rag dolls. I’ve no idea what the attraction is, maybe it’s because they don’t look human like most dolls or maybe it’s the often garish outfits they are dressed in. whatever it is I have over the years accumulated a small collection of the things – much to my friends amusement. I realised a couple of years ago that this fascination was starting to become more serious, a fetish if you like. The occasion was a fancy dress party at work and yep I hired an outfit, the garish dress, yellow wool wig and clumpy Mary Janes. I had a great time but afterwards I felt a bit let down – the outfit was great – as far as it went. I mean you could tell what I was dressed as but in my mind I didn’t look right. ...

Part Four The auction went a little bit better than usual. A well-known local software programmer bought the twins for $15,500, and his mistress (small m) bought me for $12,000. Nobody ever outbids them when they choose to show up, which we can never anticipate. They left the three of us on the stage, and retired to the bar to watch the rest of the auction. A nervous young man who had been the underbidder on the Olson Twins, and whom I suspected had been sent to the island as a graduation present by his father, an occasional visitor, made a jump bid to $15,000 for Slave Unit C, and got his wish. He handed a briefcase to the cashier without counting it out or receiving change, and left with his purchase in eager anticipation. Someday he may learn the folly of revealing the limit of his bankroll before Round Two, but for today was the buyer and not the buyee. I could see two of the ladies sizing him up for future consumption. ...

Darlene groaned as her body shifted again. The car was taking a right hand curve at what felt like high speed, but the bound transgendered girl had no idea how fast her captor was actually driving. Darlene had never ridden in the trunk of a car before. She had no idea how fast the car was moving, but it felt fast. The tg’s bound and strapped body, secured to the floor of the trunk with additional leather straps, shifted to some extent with every lateral movement or change in speed the car made. ...

(continues from A Date with Ian) After my chance encounter with Wendy and her subsequent suggestive e-mail, we played cyber and real world tag. We couldn’t find a time to meet because either she was away on business or I was. We kept in touch by e-mail, but it was frustrating that two adults living in the same city couldn’t work out a way to meet in person. The interest was still there, certainly on my part and, I sensed, also on hers. ...

Let me relate to you a session that occurred a couple of weeks ago here in play central. Those of you who know of me and have seen my pictures know that I have been happily married for many years. This does not mean, however, that we are a perfect match. There are things about my hubby that irritate and annoy me, like I guess every married woman, especially one married to a man from Liverpool. Unfortunately, this means he is football crazy ( that’s soccer to you colonials ), like many of his ilk. In his case this means Everton, the ‘other’ club of Liverpool, perhaps not as famous internationally as Liverpool football club itself, but with an equally long and illustrious history. ...

This story is released into the public domain, no rights reserved. Feel free to write a continuation, print it in a magazine, put it on a website, or do anything else you please with it. Notification of reprints or derivative works is requested, but not required. I’m a huge fan of GrometsPlaza - if you do use this story, a link back to the place where it was originally published on GrometsPlaza would be appreciated. ...

(Copyright 2004: the work of prose below is the sole intellectual property of the author, permission is not given for it or any part of it to be posted or printed elsewhere without the consent of the same. The author can be contacted at [email protected]) The rain had eased off and was steaming from the tarmac by the time Eliza breezed out of the studio building and crossed the car park. A cooling breeze was the only thing that prevented the heat of the early afternoon from becoming unbearable, overhead the sky was a clear blue and the sun blazed mercilessly without a cloud in sight. ...

I had always had a fantasy of being thrown away into a waste disposal site and buried alive in a landfill. The urge grew stronger as my years wore on, and then I found the perfect mechanism to make it happen. Of course it was still just going to be a fantasy, but I could at least make it seem more real, and partly play it out. On my walk to work each day, I cut through the back of a shopping mall - the delivery & services area. I noticed that at one end there was a skip that would fill up with flat-packed cardboard. I noted that this was always empty on a Monday morning, and about half full on a Friday evening. This gave me my plan… I would climb in on Friday night when all the stores were closed and spend the night in there fantasising that a truck would take me away. I didn’t realise at the time it would come true though. After weeks of plotting I decided to go ahead and see what it would be like to sleep the night in there, being careful that I wouldn’t actually get trashed for real, just a fantasy, as I’d climb out again early Saturday morning before the shops opened. ...

I was nervous, nervous and horny at the same time. I could hardly keep my paws to myself as I was clearing myself in the shower. I found myself rubbing my breasts a few times as the water teased over my body. I finally pulled myself out of the shower when the water turned cold. I hurried to dry off my fur, there wasn’t much time left until Greg arrived and I had to be ready for him. ...