<?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>Straitjackets on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/straitjackets/</link><description>Recent content in Straitjackets 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="/tags/straitjackets/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Finding Lori</title><link>/stories/2017/12/04/finding-lori/</link><pubDate>Mon, 04 Dec 2017 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2017/12/04/finding-lori/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;I am walking quickly through the large hallways of a state run mental facility surrounded by surly interns who are very unhappy people made even unhappier by the confusion and determination my presence has caused. The ordeal started two months ago when I was told my dear friend and fellow bondage enthusiast Lori had been committed by the state into the mental facility. After an extensive search I found her location and bluffed my way to be told the particulars of her incarceration. I knew Lori well and her deep seated desire to experience the most stringent bondage she could. She had worked for several years as a nurse at two different mental facilities until she was found wearing a tight straight jacket and leg binder locked in a “quiet” room.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Meeting</title><link>/stories/2002/05/14/the-meeting/</link><pubDate>Tue, 14 May 2002 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2002/05/14/the-meeting/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Jessica was amazed at how fast everything had gone. It seemed like only
yesterday she had acted on her urge and had gone online looking for a playmate.
It all started innocently enough with some small talk, but after a few
emails, the real conversation had started. All this went through Jessica&amp;rsquo;s
mind as she lay on the hospital bed completely restrained. Slowly she drifted
off again, completely oblivious of time.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 12: The Training Room</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/the-secrets-of-shackleton-grange-12-the-training-room/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/the-secrets-of-shackleton-grange-12-the-training-room/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="secretsofshackletongrange11.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 11: Strung Up, Bogged Down and Hung Out to Dry&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 12: The Training Room&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Cathy shut her eyes, curled up into as tight a ball as she could manage, took one last deep breath and prepared herself for the searing pain which she knew couldn’t be more than a microsecond or two away. And sure enough, she felt something strike her left arm and resigned herself to the fact that the spandex cat-suit, which offered next to no protection, was about to be ripped into by either Fang’s dagger-like teeth or his equally effective claws. She could hear and smell the dog’s breath only inches from her head. But something didn’t seem quite right here.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>