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."
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
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.