Author: Clive Bedford

About: Prepare yourself for a journey into the unchartered wilderness of Eros country--a place where desire is often a matter of life and death. Where passion is a pulse beat away from the Last Rites. Where the whip and the erection are inextricably bound together in a deadly game of pleasure/pain.

If you are weak or squeamish you are advised not to travel the pages of this bizarre tale-- a diary of a terrible and terrifying descent into the inner circles of a sexual inferno.

It is a tale of cross-dressing, of exotic fetishism, of ruthless bondage, and of unbearable sexual torment.

It is the odyssey of one man who became the international victim of the world's most ruthless degenerates. From England, to France, to Spain, to the United States they indulged his penchant for pain.

He was Mark. He was Mimi. He was Mamie. And he was simply, "Darling."

Prepare yourself for the INNER CIRCLES OF PAIN!

Illustrated.

Excerpt:

I unloosed the neck-fastening and removed the cape. I still did not really like being naked in front of her, but I liked being locked in the attic even less!

“Lift your arms!” I did as she told me, and she put around my body a garment that made me shudder, but whether because it was rubber-lined and cold, or whether because from its very appearance I had a premonition of discomfort I can't say. It was a corset, made of soft black leather and lined with rubber. Between the two layers, sandwiched in the middle was stiff, strong canvas. I could feel the stiffness of the material; the thing could have easily stood up unsupported! And I could see the ribs, at about two-inch intervals where stiff steel “bones” were sewn in. It fitted up under my armpits and hung down loose to a point halfway down my thighs. “Hold it!” ordered Caterina. (She was always so courteous!)

I supported the thing while Caterina adjusted two shoulder-straps running up over my shoulders from front to back and crossing before being buckled. These took the weight off as she began to thread a very long lace through the eyelets in the back of the corset. Unless you have personal experience, or really think it out, you can have no idea how long a lace must be to control about two and a half feet of corset, especially if it is to be very tight-laced. This was almost thirty feet long, and it took Caterina all of half an hour just to get it loose-threaded. Of course, in the future there was not the same problem, because on the rare occasions when she took it off, she had only to loosen the laces and not unthread them.

I stood patiently, wondering, not daring to talk. There were times when the woman would give me, by her standards, a civil answer; there were other times when she would construe a simple question as rebellion. At last I heard her mutter, “Thank God that's done!” and for a mad moment I really believed that was all! But she grasped the laces tight in both hands, and working down from the top, began to pull them in. One doesn't just tighten the laces of a restrictive corset and leave it at that, you know. The technique is to pull them in enough to bring the corset into contact all over with the body. You tie the ends in a loose bow to hold what has been gained, and then you start over again, putting real pressure on. It may be necessary to repeat the operation two or even three more times, depending on the degree of tight-lacing that is aimed at.

Caterina's aim was apparently simple. The corset had been made to a certain size, which presumably she had specified. I was required to conform to it! As she worked, the corset began to grip me harshly, crushing my ribs so that I must pant quickly in order to breathe properly; it confined my soft young waist into ever-smaller dimensions until at the end I could almost encircle it with the outspread thumb and middle finger of both hands. I measured once, using a length of string and setting it against a ruler. My neck, slender even now, was then about eleven inches around. My waist was just three inches further around; fourteen inches, outside the corset! Inside it cannot have been more than thirteen inches or a fraction more.

It compressed my hips and, as the lacing was tightened down to the bottom edge, it pressed hard against my thighs, crushing them together so that I felt sure I should not be able to walk again. I was encased in a tube of hard rubber, canvas and smooth leather! In fact, while I was standing there, silently enduring, it did occur to me that the corset gave rise to several practical problems, although I did not care to mention them. The worst of it was that I could not see how I should even be able to touch my genitals; and since by this time I obviously had a strong, if still small, erection it looked like being a miserable time while I was wearing the corset.

However, when she had tied the laces and tucked the surplus neatly out of the way, Caterina pulled up a couple of zips of which I had not been aware, one at each side of the lower part of the corset, running from the hem upward to my hipbones. This left me temporarily with what were, in effect two “aprons,” at back and front as the lower part of the corset. I had noticed some protuberance on the front “apron” but was too confused and concerned with extreme discomfort to think clearly about it. Caterina did not leave me in ignorance long. Kneeling down, she took hold of my heated and throbbing genitals, and pushed them into the rubber-lined leather sheath which was attached to the front of the corset. My balls fitted snugly into a round sack, and my prick into a kind of tube. This tube was just long enough to come to the ridge below the tip of my prick, but the knob itself was not altogether free. It was covered by a very thin film of white latex rubber, in the end of which was a small perforation.

Caterina then put fine laces into small eyelets set around the sack containing my balls and along the underside of the tube, and with an effort, pulled them tight. I twisted and cried out as she did this.

“You're hurting me!” I cried in protest.

She looked up at me, and I met her eyes, dark, large and curiously expressionless. There was something inhuman in the look she gave me.

“I know,” she said. “It is intended!” Then she finished pulling the laces tight.

The effect on my genitals was catastrophic! My balls, when at last I was able to investigate, were crushed as hard, under the leather, as a small rock. My prick became hard and rigid, stiff like a pencil and hardly thicker than my small finger, except for the knob which, being unrestricted, swelled out large against the gentle pressure of the thin rubber covering it.