Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If you are one of them, why are your reading this? Protect your kids. If you are worried about them reading this sort of material, please censor free speech and use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn from bad experiences.

All constructive comments are welcome. Please e-mail to me: Sam@pobox.alasaka.net or samanthas_michelle@yahoo.com

Finally, this is a piece of adult fiction. If you are underage, or if you find it offensive, please go elsewhere. Quickly.

Note: This story contains TG material at the end, but is primarily a corset/bondage story.

 

Stacey-1                       by Samantha Michelle                 © 2000

 

Back then I was an insolent, potty-mouthed brat with a "fuck you" attitude. And that was on my better days. Mom and Dad had tried psychologists, counselors, and even our family physician. And I ignored them.

I was driving my poor mother ragged, and causing my Dad to loose what little hair remained. It was not that I was into drugs or crime: I hated both. Rather, I was determined to do my own thing and to hell with anyone else. The summer was a disaster, even my few friends avoided me. It was just after school started, when I demanded that my parents pay for me to go with my school drama club on a tour the following June, that Mom blew a gasket. It took her a week before she would talk to me, and said that it was time I grew up, or she would make my life as miserable as I was making hers. I laughed, and pointed out I was too young to be tossed out, and her face froze. Slowly she smiled, and her smile was chilling.

When I got home from school the next Friday, the only things left of mine in the house were my school books. Mom and a friend of hers were waiting for me in my room. When she told me to give her my backpack, I tried to escape. I fought dirty, but they were stronger than me, so I found myself hog-tied with a pair of her pantyhose. I was shortly down to my bra and panties, and they carefully took everything out of my pack, sorting out the school stuff. They even removed all my jewelry, except my plain earrings.

Her friend took all of the clothes, and extra stuff, and I heard the front door slam. Mom had the same smile as last week. When I started cursing at her, she left for a moment, and returned with a washcloth and a scarf. Quickly I had most of a damp washcloth shoved in my mouth, secured with the scarf. Curses quietly coming out "shurf, urf, murf, furf..." seemed to satisfy her.

She then dragged me to the bathroom, deposited me in the tub, and gave me a scrubbing, everywhere, the likes of which I had not had since I was filling diapers. It was embarrassing. After she rinsed me off, she said if I would be civil she would remove the washcloth. I nodded, and she removed the scarf and slowly pulled out the cloth. I was surprised when she got me a glass of water. I kept silent.

She left me in the tub, closing the curtains. I was still tied up, and she headed out of the room, saying she needed to get me some clean clothes. My room had seemed bare, so wondered where she had put everything. And tried to untie myself. Wet pantyhose is a pain. I was half-way through a knot when she returned. When she looked at me, she gave me another smile. "Nice try" was all she said, and re-tightened the knot. She then warned me if I tried to kick her she’d take her hairbrush to me. She had never spanked me, but I was pretty sure right now it was not an idle threat. She used one of those old-fashioned long-handled wooden hairbrushes. I nodded.

She used a scissors to remove the wraps around my ankles, and stood me up. After drying me, and my hair, she helped me out of the tub, and spent the next fifteen minutes brushing out my hair. I was embarrassed at being naked, but the slow, gentle brushing felt nice. She even braided it in the way I really liked. When she was finished she again blindfolded me, told me to lean against her, and she pulled something over my feet and into place. I guessed they were cotton bloomers. They felt ridiculous. She then moved me out of the bathroom, and back to my bedroom.

Sitting me in a chair, she told me to be very still. I heard a clink that scared me, and a moment later she had locked my ankles together with what felt like handcuffs. I had about three inches of slack. She then advised me to do exactly as she told me, or I would be hog-tied again. I nodded, scared silly. I had never seen this side of my mother.

She cut the pantyhose off my arms, and I brought my arms in front of me and rubbed my wrists. She told me to raise my arms, and slid on a stiff long-line bra that came to below my waist. It felt more like a harness, and hooked in back. It was tightly boned, and had lots of elastic. Once hooked it forced my shoulders back, and my breasts out. The straps must have been two inches wide. She then helped me to my feet, and I had to hop over to the door, where I was told to hold on so I would not fall. She adjusted something on the back of the bra, and it pulled my shoulders back even further. I could force them forward, but was pulled straight by the elastic when I relaxed.

She then pulled a long cotton slip over me, letting me move one arm at a time. It reached to my calves. What felt like a long, thin skirt was added. Then she slid a heavy dress over me, and I was surprised that it was buttoned and laced in back. When she started buttoning the collar, I found it was stiff, and came to my chin. When buttoned, it forced me to keep my head up. It had long sleeves that also buttoned. She pulled a wide belt tightly around my waist, and after cinching it tight, secured it with a click. I was wondering why the strange outfit, when she had me hop over to the chair, and helped me sit.

She told me to put my arms behind me, and I was certain this time the metal bands she locked on my wrists were handcuffs. She unlocked my ankles, and then pulled on knee-length socks that she tucked up under the bloomers. I felt her put a pair of what seemed to be comfortable boots with stiff uppers on my feet, and laced them up. They came up almost to my knees. I felt a strap being buckled around each ankle. It was followed by one around the top of each calf, just below the knee. She put something that clicked on the two lower straps, and I felt her put something fairly heavy between the upper straps that also clicked in place.

She helped me stand, and I found I could only separate my knees by about eighteen inches. The boots were extremely comfortable, and seemed to have a soft, thick sole. Next she fitted me with what were definitely not my normal designer glasses. Telling me to head for her bedroom, she guided my hobbled steps using my braid as a leash. That I hated, and when I started to say something she tugged hard, and suggested that I was not in a good position to argue. I shut up.

When I figured we were just about in front of her large dressing mirrors, she stopped me, and turned me slightly. "I probably hate this more than you do, but you left us no other choice. All of your things, except what you must have for school, including clothes, have been placed in locked storage elsewhere. We have closed all of your accounts, and moved the money to new accounts you cannot access." She sounded pained, and paused.

"Except for your restraints, this is how you will be dressed, all your waking hours. Every single day until you are eighteen. Or until you can satisfy your father and me that you have learned to behave like a caring, civilized person, not some vicious, feral animal off the streets." She was spitting out the words, like they were leaving a bad taste.

"You will be taken to school and picked up every day, or will take the bus. No extra-curricular activities, no going out with friends unless we have pre-approved it and confirmed your required behavior with the school or their parents. I started so say something, and she tugged my braid again. "Keep your mouth closed and think carefully before you say anything. That is, if you have anything civil to say." With that she carefully pulled off the scarf.

I blinked at the light, and stared in shock at the girl in the mirror. The dress was a non-descript dark gray, in the style worn by young women in the late 1800’s. The wide belt was dark leather, with a flat clasp that had a keyhole. The glasses had thick, plain black plastic frames. Homely would be a compliment. And I was standing as straight as the girls back then did, which emphasized the appearance. I slowly turned, as my arms were still cuffed behind me. There was no question I would stand out like a sore thumb. A very plain thumb. And I was sure Mom would guarantee that everyone knew why. I started to cry.

For years I had been different than the other kids. My parents were eccentric, and I was way too smart for my own good. I finally made a place for myself as an obnoxious, mischief-loving misfit. Very few people except for my parents ever seemed to care about how I felt. So I treated everyone the same way. Like shit. I had a few good friends who were more or less willing to put up me. Because I blamed my parents for my being different, they got the brunt of my anger.

This was no spur of the moment action they had taken. I was now sure I had screwed up royally. For years I had made it me first. Now it looked like me last, or maybe not at all. I felt Mom remove the handcuffs, freeing my arms. She came to me, and gave me a hug. She was crying too. I wrapped my arms around her and we stood there bawling like someone had died. Me.

It was late in the evening when Dad came home and found us siting at the dining table, a half-used box of tissues between us. My brother had come home, grabbed a snack, laughed himself silly over my predicament, and disappeared when Mom started to threaten him with a similar fate. I was depressed, like my whole world has just collapsed around me. It had.

He looked me over, shook his head and smiled, and asked if we had eaten. When we shook our heads he inquired about my brother, and announced we were going out for something and would bring my brother back something cold. In a small voice I tried pleading that I did not want to go out like I was dressed. "Get used to it" was his sharp reply. I tried to sink into the chair, but the damned bra and collar made me sit upright.

Walking out to his truck with the hobble on was hard, and the bloomers felt funny rubbing between my legs. Mom quietly informed me the hobble would stay on all weekend, and would worn at home until my demeanor improved, as a reminder that this was for my own good. She suggested that I try a more feminine walk, and by swinging my hips I gained quite a bit of mobility. Dad advised me to be pleasant and contrite, to behave like a well-bred lady.

Instead of fast food, we wound up at a really nice steak-house. And it was packed. I felt that every eye in the place was on me as I almost minced inside. The worst was all the others my age. When they saw me, they laughed and pointed. Just like I would have done. I saw several of the blonde squad from my high school, and I knew I was in trouble. I was sure they were not as bright as my friends or I, so I had regularly targeted them for some of my choicer comments.

We were in the same waiting area, so they came over and eyeballed me. "I see you are wearing something as plain as your personality" from Veronica, the worst of the lot. "Yeah, its like her, well, like really boring" from another. "I bet they make you wear old fashioned underwear too" and one flipped up the hem of my skirt, exposing the underskirt and bloomers on one side. Mom was looking at Dad like she wanted to do something, but he shook his head. I managed to smooth my skirts. "Wait’ll the kids at school see this" and the flash of a camera someone had pulled out their purse brought me to tears. Mom glowered at them, and pulled out some tissues to wipe my eyes. They walked away laughing.

Soon we were seated. Dad made the waiter get me an extra napkin, which Mom managed to tuck into my collar. "Until you have developed civilized table manners, you will wear a bib." He said it loud enough that everyone around us looked at me. It was awful. They were rubbing my face in it. And all I could do is sit there and suffer.

I was allowed to order a small portion of my favorite, prime rib. I managed to enjoy it between corrections on my manners. When I found I was physically full, but still hungry, it dawned on me that the belt was awfully tight. There was method in their madness. And they were apparently hopping mad. I politely declined dessert, which got me a smile of approval from Mom. When I needed to go to the ladies room, Mom accompanied me. I had planned to remove the dammed hobble, but found it was a piece of steel cable covered with braided leather, held on by two small padlocks. I carefully repositioned everything the way it belonged, and Mom nodded at me when we left.

I had nearly mastered the art of walking in short steps, but still needed help getting in and out of the truck. At home, Dad advised me that I would be starting chores at seven in the morning, which was my normal school departure time. Mom’s "This means you need to be up at six to dress yourself" really hurt. I always slept in on Saturday and rarely did chores unless I was bribed. She added "you will need help in the morning, so I will also be up at six." I knew she liked to sleep in, and she was not a morning person.

After Mom helped me with the dress, she made me leave the bloomers on, and dressed me for bed in a long, plain flannel nightgown. Then she carefully locked a wide, tight leather belt firmly around my waist, and carefully locked my wrists together, this time with soft, padded cuffs which were attached by a short chain to the front of the belt. She took off the hobbles, boots and socks, and tucked me in under my comforter. The chain was just long enough to let me scratch my nose.

She was crying when she gave me a goodnight hug, repeatedly muttering that she loved me and that it was for my own good. Dad came in, and I thought I saw a tear in his eye. That really shook me. Dad never showed his emotions. I was so frightened and mentally exhausted I tried to think of anything but the cuffs and what was happening to me. I fell asleep quickly.

When I woke up early I was disoriented, and realized I had been dreaming of being a fantasy princess who was captured and tormented for what she had done to her people. It took me several minutes to remember my predicament. I was also hornier than heck, and when I tugged at the cuffs I had an intense reaction that told me my bondage was driving the fantasy. I began to silently fight the restraints and let my mind run free. Soon I was back asleep with soggy bloomers and a very satisfied smile on my face.

Mom woke me at six, and suddenly sniffed something. I blushed, but was unable to prevent her from lifting the covers and my nightgown. Instead of disapproving, she chuckled, and told me to wash up before dressing. I nodded vigorously. She left me cuffed, and propelled me towards the bathroom. It took some maneuvering, but I soon had taken care of business and was thoroughly clean. I carried the bloomers back with me. She pulled another set out of a drawer, pulled them up, and shackled my ankles, this time with cuffs that had a longer chain between them. After removing the belt, dressing was faster then either of us expected, and soon we were in the kitchen fixing breakfast.

I was still hobbled. When I carefully asked why the security, she looked me in the eye. "For your own safety, until you understand what we expect of you." My blank look caused her to continue. "We know you are resourceful and are capable of disappearing from school or wherever if that is what you choose. And we also know you are frightened and hurt. So we are going to keep you from running away or doing something else that could get you hurt for the next week or so, in the hope you will see it our way."

She started to cry, but continued "We hope you will stay, but if you decide you want to leave a week from Sunday, we will give you your clothes back, and a one-way ticket to your cousin Beth’s, who had agreed to take you, and send you off with our love. If you won’t do either, we will commit you to a hospital where they specialize in helping girls like yourself."

I had no inkling that they were so worried about me, and hugged Mom as I broke down in tears. We were still hugging when my brother, out of nowhere, advised us that we were trying to burn breakfast. We didn’t actually overcook the bacon. But it was close. The emergency drove my fears and questions aside, and I was really surprised when Dad joined us for breakfast. It felt like Mom had tightened my belt even tighter than yesterday, and a quick check confirmed it was a notch smaller.

I was assigned the breakfast cleanup, and Dad’s look made me decide to cooperate, at once, and without argument. My brother was looking at my short steps with a grin, and I figured he had guessed what was going on. When he tickled me I forgot about the hobble, and tried to kick him. Which caused me to land hard on my bottom. Mom rushed in to investigate the thud, and found me on the floor, legs splayed as far as they would go, rubbing my tailbone, with the little pest laughing his head off. She gave me an annoyed look, and said "That is what you get for not responding to his childish behavior like a civilized young woman. Now please finish your chores." She then dragged him out of the kitchen by the back of his pants.

I could hear Dad reading him the riot act, and three really loud "thwack’s", each followed immediately by a screech. My brother, Ted, came into the kitchen, gingerly rubbing his backside, and apologized. I managed to suppress a giggle. Maybe there were some benefits.

Soon my brother was banished to the outdoors for several hours of yard work. And I was told to make and serve tea, then join both parents at the dining table. By now my hips were aching from the unaccustomed gait, so after some thought I carefully detoured to my room and brought back the belt-and-cuffs arrangement Mom had secured me in last night. I managed a curtsey, and asked her politely if she would exchange the hobble for the cuffs because my hips hurt. I was sort of suspecting she wanted me to suffer, but she quickly pulled out some keys and made the exchange, apologizing for the unplanned discomfort. I wondered what discomfort they had planned.

She motioned me to sit down, and I discovered that I could manage to sip my tea if I used both hands and was very careful. But I had to fight the collar and bra to do so. I saw a suspicious pile of formal looking documents on the table. I had the feeling these were the new rules. And there looked like a bunch of them. Dad apologized for my brother’s behavior, saying he was unaware of most of what was planned for me He added that Tim would be briefed on proper behavior towards me in the afternoon.

Mom told me that they had decided on this last week, and had rushed to get everything together so I would have nine days to get used to my new clothes and rules before my return to school. I realized how massive a piece of work it was, and I wondered how... "Dad, how much did this cost?" I used what little freedom I had in my hands to make global motions.

"By the end, it will total about three years of my retirement, and most of your college fund, give or take." I calculated for a moment, and stared at him in shock. That was many thousands of dollars.

"But why, why couldn’t you just leave me alone..."

"Because we love you. And sometimes that means doing something that hurts. It’s called tough love."

I knew how much Dad’s retirement and my college fund meant to him, so I knew they were not doing this for fun. Mom handed me a set of the rules, and told me to read them to myself. She waited till I was finished. I was mumbling to myself, and shaking my head. She told me to read them again to make sure I understood exactly what was planned and expected. I was pretty sure I knew, but complied. It drove the point home painfully hard. It was not quite white slavery, but it was a long way from Disney Land. That is, if I stayed.

In a nutshell, my life I had before Friday had been erased. I was to have no freedom to do anything, until I earned it, and maybe not even then. And I could lose privileges much easier than I could gain them. I was to be given a single, monitored fifteen minute telephone conference call to my friends on Sunday so I could explain why I was on restriction. Cinderella came to mind. But I had no prince charming, and I was certain I had not earned a fairy godmother.

I was expected to learn to proper deportment for a young lady, including controlling my mouth and temper. I was to become truly respectful of others, and their feelings, and display proper etiquette and bearing when dealing with anyone, including my brother. I was to understand, and show, humility.

They promised me I would not be physically harmed in any way, and that the infliction of pain, or unnecessary discomfort was against their principles. I briefly wondered what necessary discomfort was. Physical restraints would only be used to protect me against hurting myself or others after the first nine days, or for discipline where it was deemed appropriate by them.

The careful re-read of the documents, which were actually three separate contracts between my parents and myself, showed that much was undetermined. I was stuck with the restrictions, loss of my things, and having to wear my awful new wardrobe, which they were calling a uniform. It suddenly dawned on me that I was being sent to in-home boot camp. There was no fixed schedule, other than an absolute cutoff at my eighteenth birthday. I looked at them. They seemed stressed and very tired.

Mom’s "Questions?" brought a flood of thoughts.

I was too drained to argue. "Can I have some time to myself to think this through?" got my English corrected as I was told to use "May I, and to insert a ‘please’. I repeated it correctly. I was surprised when they told me that I had until the next weekend. Then it made sense. On next Sunday it was agree and stay, or leave, or be shipped off. They settled me on my bed fully dressed, and at my request, pulled up the comforter. I lay there quietly crying for a long time.

The tight belt pressing on my full bladder told me I needed to get up. After managing the bathroom, I went back to the living room to ask some questions. Mom had gone shopping, but Dad was still there. I decided to try and charm him. Before I was even warmed up he slapped me with a reality check.

"You are sometimes too smart for your own good. You have made and broken too many promises, and weaseled out of your commitments at every opportunity. We are not going to let you dig yourself in deeper. Proof is in the results, and from now on you will pay your bills in advance." I sat down hard in frustration, and after choking, remembered that the stiff collar.

He continued "To make sure that there were no mistakes, or misunderstandings, while your mother and her friend collected you after school, my lawyer and I were having a meeting with your teachers and the school principal. They are aware that you have been placed under what amounts to house arrest, and are going to be treated like an English boarding school student until we advise them differently."

I tried again to slump, but this time the bra prevented me. "They all agreed that your behavior warranted some type of intervention. And your English teacher seemed to be extremely pleased."

I groaned. I did not like her, and had made it a point all last year of giving her a hard time, embarrassing her whenever possible. "I understand you have made her life difficult. How you deal with her now will be interesting. She did say that if earn her respect, she will back off. I expect that respect is going to be expensive."

Collar or not, I hung my head.

I shakily asked if there was anything I could do to change what they had planned.

"The rules and goals are not negotiable. Neither is your mode of dress. We based what we are doing with the help of others, professionals in adolescent behavior problems. You have a desperate need to develop self-respect and self-discipline over a long and difficult course." He paused, thinking. "That means you need to pull your head out and grow up." He paused again "Your mother and I are open to suggestions. But any less difficult path is unacceptable."

I could not stand the collar choking me and sat up straight again, crying. He waited till I was finished, and handed me some tissues. It was looking bleaker and bleaker. I had three years left in school. I wondered if I could stand to be without band or drama. But neither was mentioned in the rules.

In a small voice I asked "Dad, what about my being in band and drama classes? They do have concerts and other activities after school and on weekends..."

"I have already discussed this with both of your teachers. If you work hard, you can earn permission from us to participate. They have agreed to let you wear your current uniform." I relaxed a bit.

"Um, the initial money for drama tour is due in January..."

"Well, that means you will have to solidly prove to us by then that you have earned the chance to try for the trip."

"The chance?"

"We will, if you have earned it, fund your trip, but you will not go if you show any signs of failing to live up to your agreement, including to the day of your departure. So you might say there are two deadlines. One to have our permission to try, and other to succeed."

I sat there and thought. Dad did not disturb me. I may have screwed up, but I could still think. Three years like this would be unbearable.

"Do you have any suggestions for something I can do that can be completed, say, in less than a year?" He thought a moment.

"We developed this plan with the input from several psychologists. It is based on the old English methods that have historically worked wonders for brilliant, disobedient, and stubborn young ladies. Like you."

I shuddered. I had read about some of these schools, and their methods on the net. But Mom and Dad had promised I would not be harmed... It did, however, explain the forced posture. "They used to beat their students with paddles and tie them up and whip them and... and... and..."

"And we said we would not harm you. Their methods were faster and successful, but we would never force such abuse on you."

"Like the tight belt and this awful bra and..."

"They are very mild, and although possibly uncomfortable, they serve as constant reminders to you about your current status."

That left me with my mouth open. There were no holes in their logic that I could find. It was comply and live in safe misery until I was eighteen. Leave and live with my cousin, which might well be worse. Or find myself in a mental hospital where the rules might not be as pleasant. Three years was longer than eternity. I had to do something.

Just then, Mom returned. Dad offered me the use of his computer to look for ideas. It was more interesting than sitting around stiffly staring at the walls. I moved to his work station, and found I had to adjust things for my new posture. Typing in cuffs was surprisingly easy, Using the mouse was strange. Soon I was absorbed in searching through page after page of stories about ‘the English method".

I was called to help for dinner long before I was ready to quit, but remembering their warnings, quickly logged off. Dinner was quiet, and Tim was behaving himself. He cornered me after dinner and gave me his support. And a hug. I started to cry again. Crying didn’t get me out of doing the cleanup. But Tim helped a little.

After cleanup was finished, Mom told me to shower and prepare for bed. She helped me undress, and replaced the cuffs with the close metal hobbles. The shower felt great, and I headed back to my room wrapped in a towel. I was getting used to the clinking on my ankles. Something told me to consider them ankle bracelets. I had a feeling I might be wearing them a lot.

Mom and Dad were in their room, and I decided not to disturb them. So I managed to get dressed by myself. I couldn’t put on the bloomers, but everything else was not too hard. I even managed to adjust the bra straps to the undesired tightness. The belt with the cuffs was on my bed, unlocked. I examined it. I found it was metal reinforced, and very strong. It was also easy to adjust, and self-locking.

I set it one notch tighter, to compensate for the thickness of the clothes I had been wearing. On an impulse, I put it on, but left it unlatched. It was tight, but not uncomfortable. I tuned it around, so the cuffs were at the back, just like one of the stories described. I had to wriggle to get my wrists in the cuffs, and the hobble caused me to loose my balance. I fell against the bed, closing everything. When I got up, I found my arms were now locked behind me. I felt like an idiot. It was not uncomfortable, just very limiting. I didn’t want to bug either Mom or Dad with my stupidity. So I figured I had better get to bed and let them yell at me when they found out.

Between the ankle cuffs and my secured wrists, I was not very maneuverable, but I managed to get under the covers, and pull them up with my teeth. It was a weird, secure feeling, and I started fantasizing again. Apparently they decided to leave me that way, because when I awoke to her gentle prodding the next morning, I was still secured.

She softly rubbed my head, and hugged me. It took her a moment to get me vertical, and I made a mad, but careful quickstep to the bathroom. I had to ask her for help. When we returned, she unlatched me, and helped me dress. Soon, hobbled again, we were making breakfast. We discussed what Dad had told me yesterday, and she confirmed they were of the same mindset.

I wound up back on the computer later in the day, tired from chores. I was now both cuffed to the belt and tightly hobbled, as Mom and Dad had to take Tim somewhere. I knew if I fell I would wind up playing inchworm. However it caused no problems sitting. Soon I located a site run by an organization called LISA. It was, well, strangely interesting. They had a lot of information on corsets, which were a part of most descriptions of the "English method." There I found a scary, but possible solution buried in several old stories.

It was a long shot, even if they would go along with it. A lot harder and far less pleasant. And if I couldn’t hack it, it meant two more miserable years. But it could be done by my next birthday, or it could not be done at all.

It had two additional, very important benefits for me. It required me to have the help and support of my friends, so they could not cut me off from the world. And because it relied on peer support and pressure, it would work best if I had to be out in public as much as possible.

The biggest downside was that it bordered on physical abuse. I was a card-carrying wimp when it came to pain, discomfort, and doing things that were not fun. This would heavily involve them all. And once started, I was committed to giving control of myself, body and soul, to someone else. Something that scared me to the core. The very something that I now realized was part of my drive to avoid commitment, to be independent no matter what the cost.

There was an out. I would have a safe word. Which would stop everything and free me. But it could be used only once, then the whole effort would be wasted, and I would probably be stuck till I was eighteen. Or ran away. Or did something else... But I was now beginning to realize that I couldn’t run away from my biggest problem. Myself.

When my parents returned they found me lying on the floor by the computer, sobbing. It took me a while to make it clear I was not hurt, at least physically. They unlocked my ankles, and I declined dinner, saying I was sick at my stomach. The pain was much deeper, in my soul. I was still crying when Mom came to help me get dressed for bed.

My Dad says his side of the family has really good survival instincts. I guess he’s right. Thoughts of suicide were running rampant through my mind, and when I was finally dressed. I slowly managed to ask Mom if there was a way she could secure me so I couldn’t move. Her eyes flashed open, and when she tried to find out why, I managed to force out "trust me." She took me to the bathroom, and when we returned, she called Dad.

Ten minutes later I was lying on my back, with my ankles cuffed together and tied to the rail at the foot of the bed. My wrists were cuffed to the belt in front of me. They had wrapped a narrowly folded sheet around my upper body under my arms, secured it to itself at each side, and finally to the bedposts at the top.

Try as I might, I could move little more than my hands. They covered me to the neck with two comforters. Mom wanted to know if I needed her to stay with me, and I managed "no, I’ll be okay tonight." When I said "I love you both, thank you." as they left, she burst into tears.

It was a long time before I was ready to even consider trying to sleep. Left to my own devices, I would have died that night. I silently struggled so hard to get free and kill myself I rubbed my wrists, ankles and armpits almost raw. But by the time I was so exhausted that I could struggle no more, I had made peace with that part of myself, at least for now. The mental pain had abated. I slept soundly for the rest of the night.

I awoke with the restraints removed, and both parents watching over me with concerned looks. "Your wrists and ankles..." I nodded.

"I’m okay, now." I stretched out, wincing at the pain in my over-stressed muscles and joints. "I need to use the bathroom. They motioned me to move, and for the first time in days I was unfettered as I ran down the hall. After making sure there were no razors or other sharp objects in the bathroom, they let me take a long, hot bath. It helped me relax. After drying, I looked at the reddened skin, and worked in some lotion. I headed for my room in a towel, and saw someone had changed the sweat-soaked sheets.

Despite the pain, I dressed myself. I decided that just an under-dress would be appropriate, as I needed to keep the abraded areas free. That also meant no boots. I managed the belt, but left my wrists free. Soon I was drinking a glass of milk and telling them, slowly, about last night. Mom wanted to take me immediately to the hospital locked ward. Dad was looking at me carefully. He vetoed Mom, saying that I had saved my own life, and would call for help again if needed. I nodded fervently. I hoped to never feel those impulses again. Little did I know.

Dad and I agreed to no restraints for the rest of the day, as I needed to heal. Mom wanted me secured hand and foot. I wound up spending the rest of Monday resting comfortable and warm. I was cocooned tightly, sans bra and collar, to my neck in sheets, and strapped under a comforter to my bed. At my request they had blindfolded me with a soft cloth against the daylight. I had wonderful dreams. Even if all I could do was twitch. When Tim got home, they unwrapped me, and since the redness and irritation was nearly gone, I wound up in my night clothes with the belt on and cuffs in front.

A light dinner, and I was again strapped to the bed at Mom’s insistence. I had hoped to be able to roll over, but at least I could move a little. Sleep came easily.

Tuesday they both needed to go to work. Mom was as nervous as a cat, but Dad took the lead, and I wound up fully dressed, cuffed, and hobbled. I used his computer, with his permission, to write up my proposal. My own plan scared me. It was hard to balance between what I wanted it to say, and what I felt it should say to meet their criteria. Finally I gave up on making it nicer for me, and wrote it for the most effect in the time allowed. I wondered if I was hanging myself with my own rope.

It was just before four, and Tim was out playing, when the phone rang. I hopped over to answer it, and froze. What was I currently allowed to do? Nothing had been said either way. So I decided to follow that part of their plan, at least until I ran out of other ideas.

"William’s residence, Stacey speaking."

"Hi Stacey. Say, where have you been, it’s like you disappeared. There’s some rumor going around that your parents had gone whacko and sent you to a boarding school"

It was Kevin, the one person in my life who I knew I could trust with anything. I decided then and there to tell him the whole story. "Hi Kevin. And it’s no rumor. This may be the only chance I get for a long time to talk to you, so listen and don’t interrupt. And what I’m telling you is private, just between us. Okay?

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Lots of trouble, or worse. To my neck. Just agree to keep it between us."

"Okay, now tell me what happened."

It took almost half an hour to explain from start top finish. I left nothing out, not even my thinking of suicide, and being tied to the bed. I knew Kevin understood the suicide part real well. When his parents got thrown in jail he was left in the cold, and I spent the better part of a month sneaking him food as he was living on the street, and talking him back to the real world when his pain got too heavy to bear by himself. He was not my boyfriend. He was a friend. He was still in school, working odd jobs for spending money and living at a shelter paid for by the state.

He seemed unable to accept that I was okay. I finally told him I loved him but I had to go before my parents got home, and hung up. I wound up on the couch, sniffling and hugging a cushion when my parents returned from work. They gave me credit for the way I handled the call. I guess the possibility someone would call me had slipped their interim plans. We had just sat down for dinner, and I was back to belt and cuffs when the doorbell rang. Tim jumped up to see who it was, and his "Hey, stay out! Ouch!" was drowned by Kevin’s bellowed, "Where Is Stacey!?"

Mom froze. Dad headed for the living room like a steam roller. I followed. It was quite a sight. Kevin looked like a pissed off wolverine; Dad a mad bear. They were faced off by the door. Tim was scrabbling across the floor towards us like a mouse that had just seen a cat. Kevin must have tossed him out of the way.

Dad and Kevin were concentrating on each other, and were about to go at it when I realized that they could both get hurt. So I screamed like I was dying, and flopped down on the carpet. In a moment they were on opposite sides of me, trying to find out what was wrong. I managed with great discomfort to sit up between them. "Stop it you two. Kevin, I’m okay. Dad, leave Kevin alone. GOT IT?" They jumped back. Mom ran out of the kitchen, and stood between them, but looked at me.

Her, "Stacey, are you hurt?" was one too many, and I fell back and started to laugh. They all wound up staring at me like I had lost something. Soon Tim had headed for his room at their request, and the four of us were sitting at the kitchen table. I tried to convince Kevin that I was not being illegally held prisoner against my will. Or tortured, or drugged, or any of a bunch of things only a warped teenage mind, one that had seen way too many ninja movies, could dream up.

When Dad realized I was defending their decision, he forcefully interrupted. "Stacey, you just said you agree with your mother and I that you need help." I nodded. He looked at Mom. There were happy tears in her eyes. She was mumbling "Thank, you God..."

Kevin broke in angrily "So do you think forcing Stacey to make a fool of herself, depriving her of her friends and possessions, and keeping her tied up like some kind of animal will do that?"

I answered before Dad. "May we be excused, I need for Kevin to read those contracts." Dad nodded. Mom seemed to be relieved.

"Contracts?"

I handed him my marked-up copy. "Read them, twice, then you tell me."

I went to the computer, and decided it was time to print up my proposal.

Mom and Dad had joined us in the living room before Kevin was finished. His face was strained, but I could not read it.

"Shit" was all he managed. He looked at Mom and Dad. They nodded sadly. "And she agrees?"

I politely butted in "May I please reply to that?" Mom and Dad looked at each other, and nodded. They watched me intently. I took a deep breath. ‘Kevin, some of what I want to say concerns things we discussed two years ago, when you were trying to pick up pieces of your life, and I swore I would never tell anyone else..." Mom suddenly looked scared.

He nodded. "You saved my life, time and again. I can never repay that. Go ahead." Now Dad looked at him closely. They had not known what was going on between us back then, other than the police were hunting him because of his parents, and that I was a lot more involved than I would admit.

"You already know that Kevin’s parents were drug dealers. They also treated him pretty badly. When they got arrested, he was afraid that they would blame him, and afraid the police would stick him in a home for boys because he had no relatives and was under age. He was, like, the opposite of me. Shy and kind and caring for others. And now everyone was after him and no one was willing to help. So I found him sleeping in the woods, under a tarp, and brought him food, and told the police I didn’t know where he was, or conveniently forgot in which part of town I had last seen him." That made Dad snicker.

"Anyway, he got really depressed. Remember when I said I was spending all those nights at Tammy’s studying?" they both nodded. "I was holding his hands and talking him out of killing himself. We’ve been friends ever since. It probably was the only time in my life I have ever done something without asking for something else in return." They were now staring at me. I was not one to open myself to others.

"Kevin, I know how much you care for me." He looked me in the eyes. "Can you honestly say that I don’t have the problems they say I do?" He looked at his hands, and shook his head.

"Do you know of any better way to get me to learn how to control myself?" He gave me a sad look, and shook his head. He was crying.

"But it’s so, so mean and lonely and will take so long and..."

"And it’s the only thing we and several professionals came up with, short of having her committed, which they said would probably kill her" That was Mom’s input. Kevin looked scared.

It was my turn. "Dad, Mom, you both said if I had a better idea, to let you know. Well, here it is." I handed them each a print-out.

Kevin came over, looked strangely at my cuffed wrists, lifted me by the chains, and gave me a hug. I snuggled in his arms and started to cry again. When I finally looked up, Mom and Dad were staring at each other.

Kevin said "Excuse us for a minute." We nodded, and they headed for the kitchen.

Kevin’s "You know, that dress makes you look really pretty..." surprised me. "You, well, look much more, er, feminine. And you are standing so straight and..."

"And I bet the belt makes my waist look better too, right?"

He grinned. "Yeah." He blushed "and so do the cuffs" I blushed scarlet. Now I was aroused. Big Time.

"I never knew you were a romantic."

"I never thought you were interested in me as anything but a friend."

I winced. "Touché"

Mom and Dad returned, sadly shaking heir heads. "It meets all of our criteria but one."

My heart sank, and I sagged as much as the clothes would allow into Kevin’s arms. "Which is?" I managed to get out.

"Neither your Mother, nor I, is willing to force you to do this. We have never knowingly caused you significant pain or suffering, and this requires someone who can and will make that commitment." I started to sob. I was back to three years alone.

Kevin’s "May I see that?" made me jump, and bang my head on his chin. I looked at him, and then Mom and Dad.

Dad’s "It’s pretty strong stuff" didn’t deter Kevin.

He lowered me to the floor, and read it twice. He looked at me.

His "Maybe you can’t do it. But I’m willing to try" caught us all off-guard.

Mom and Dad looked at each other in surprise.

Kevin looked hard at me. "You slapped me hard enough to leave bruises getting me to snap out of self pity. I nodded. "And you risked getting arrested for me. Or hurt or killed, or worse when you fed Dad’s partners bad information on how to find me. And risked yourself again when you set them up so the police got them out permanently out of our hair."

Both parents looked shocked. "Oh my God... We never knew..." I nodded. Mom looked at him. "But you’re a..."

Kevin added "Yeah. I’m a boy. I don’t see gender in the job description. And I won’t molest her or anything like that. Unless she begs me to." Kevin was being his usually brutally honest self. I tried to bite him, and got a mouthful of sleeve. I figured they were about to heave him out. Mom was giving Dad a panicked look. Dad spoke up softly

"You are telling me you don’t like girls..."

He laughed. "Dressed like this she’s got me so aroused I have trouble walking. But as far as I know she is still a virgin. And we have slept together, naked, many times under my tarp." I smiled guiltily and nodded. Mom fainted.

This time it was my turn to get the wet towel. Dad seemed introspective.

Mom woke up, and when she had figured out where she was, started in on her "my poor little girl" spiel. The kind that needed frequent flier miles to go with the guilt trip.

Dad interrupted her. He sounded businesslike.

"Kevin, where do you live?"

"I live at the Seventh Street shelter, and work odd jobs to get spending money. Most of the time I go to school with Stacey."

Mom gurgled.

"Who is your guardian?"

"A social worker. I’m sixteen, and now that my parents are in jail for the next twenty or so years, I can apply for emancipation. Besides, my social worker would rather I stay at the shelter, where they feed me and pay my rent, than have me run away from another do-gooder foster family."

I was getting a feeling Dad was about to call the police.

"Are you a criminal, and do you drink or use drugs?"

"My parents were addicts. I won’t get near any of that shit. And yes, I guess I’m a criminal. I ran away from the police and lousy foster homes."

Mom and I were obviously not following the conversation. She looked like it was only a matter of time before she started screaming.

Dad stood up, and asked Kevin to stand. "Shake hands with me."

When they were clasping hands, Dad looked at me, then stared him straight in the eyes.

"Do you love my daughter enough to hurt her if it will save her life?"

Kevin nodded. "Yes, sir."

Kevin looked at me. My expression was one of total disbelief.

I fainted. I don’t know if I beat Mom.

I awoke on my bed, with the covers pulled up. I was still dressed. The three of them were sitting around, watching me. My head was spinning, and I was not quite sure what had happened. Mom’s eyes were red with tears. Dad looked exhausted.

Kevin was trying for an evil leer, and getting a clown face.

He spent the night on a cot at the foot of my bed, to which I was firmly secured. I would have sworn his snores sounded like purring.

After some negotiation, and several re-writes, we signed the contracts on Saturday. Friday Kevin moved his few belongings into the spare bedroom. Dad was, at least in theory, an upstanding citizen, and the social work lady was so happy to get Kevin out of her hair she managed to get the needed papers signed and through the system by Friday afternoon, making Dad his temporary foster parent.

Despite Kevin’s protestations, Mom, in her normal panic mode, took Kevin and me to my gynecologist on Friday for a thorough education on birth control. I was started on the pill. Dad told Kevin that if I ever complained he had molested me, he would cut it off with a dull saw. After running it thorough a meat grinder.

Kevin tried to promise I was going to remain a virgin. It was a good thing I was cuffed. As it was, I kicked him. As usual I had other plans. After much discussion, we wrote up a separate contract between us. We agreed to limit any romantic activities to those mutually agreed upon, including no intercourse for the duration of our contract with my parents. We gave the parents a copy. Mom looked relieved. Dad shrugged. "If their gonna, they’re gonna." Mom hit him. Repeatedly. At least some things had not changed.

Sunday I was allowed to invite all four of my other friends over. The parents bowed out immediately. I was not restrained, as we figured some of them might freak. Kevin and I gave then a short version of what had happened, and what I had to accomplish. There were a lot of tears and way too much sympathy. Kevin finally spoke out. "Stacey doesn’t need sympathy. She needs friends who will support her and help her over the rough spots." He paused.

"Which means that you will have to do the same things I have to do. Like correct every mistake. Make her do it right. And log every little infraction, however small, in her notebook. Even if you know it will hurt her, or get her in trouble." That got a lot of discussion. Finally everyone agreed.

Monday was the most stressful so far of my short life. Kevin had taken over for Mom, and I was properly dressed. There was one concession. I was wearing a silver locket on a chain with an inscription. "Property of Kevin Taylor." On my belt I had a small pouch with a notebook. And two pens. I was laughed at, teased, and when the blonde squad found me, driven to tears. And my friends, despite their fears and tears, kept me on track. Everyone who was privy to the plan, including my teachers, seemed to have a comment for the notebook. By the last class I had several very full pages.

My English teacher made a spectacle of me. She derided my appearance, and my demeanor, and everything else possible. She made me go to the chalkboard so everyone could see how I was dressed. It was downright vicious. And I deserved it. She then filled a page in my little book. Kevin drove me home. I was in tears.

After I was again restrained, he pulled out the little book, and read off the comments. It totaled almost forty demerits. I thought I was a failure. He smiled and said I did fine. He transferred them to the big logbook Dad had found on Sunday. I spent the next two hours writing out by hand, while cuffed, "I will not..." followed by the different demerits.

Monday night we defined our sleeping arrangements. We would sleep in separate rooms, unless I was fully restrained and could not help myself, in which case Kevin would move in with me. If I was not on punishment he could sleep in the same bed. If I was, one of us got the cot. Should he determine I needed the emotional support badly enough, he could sleep with me at any time, regardless of restraint level. The criteria for that were not spelled out. I had a feeling I was going to sleep mostly alone.

Tuesday was more of the same. I discovered that my current clothing did not interfere with my band instrument, so that eliminated one problem. The drama teacher loved my clothes, and insisted on me showing my under-dress and bloomers. I guess she was a history freak at heart. I even got extra credit for it. But then she always ragged on the girls who were not acting feminine. I had been her target a lot.

By Friday I had blisters on my writing hand, and Kevin was on the net looking for alternate punishments we could agree on. I spent Friday night trussed uncomfortably with my arms tightly over my head, and feet tied to the bottom rail. Kevin’s snoring from the cot made it worse.

Kevin figured out quickly, probably from observation, that if I could get my legs together, I could masturbate. Hands or not. So when I was on punishment, which seemed to be most of the time, my legs were now secured apart. I would then sleep poorly, be irritable, and thus earn more demerits, which meant more punishment time...

And when my period came, I got really raggy, and in one day earned enough demerits to keep me trussed up the entire week. After the week was over, at Kevin’s suggestion, we negotiated a slight adjustment for "female complaints".

But I slowly got better. By early October I had earned back my Walkman and a few CDs. And a full 24-hour free day with Kevin. Strangely, he kept me restrained most of the time. I loved it. So did he. We slept till noon on Sunday. I also was allowed to be in our class play, and three of four mini-concerts. I missed the other one, but not by misbehaving. I had the flu. But each performance netted me more demerits. I was beginning to think I could earn demerits by breathing.

The next weekend I was allowed to spend a whole day out with my friends. Alone. Dressed as usual, I stuck out like a sore thumb. But I was learning not to let it bother me as much. They still gave me demerits. I think I would have yelled at them if they didn’t. The best part was they said they could see the positive difference in me. I wished I could.

It was the Friday the 23^rd of October when Kevin and I returned from school, with an unusually empty notebook (half the school was absent with the flu, and we agreed early-on that trying to explain me to substitutes was a lost cause) that we found there were several parcels waiting on the bed. From the shipping labels, I knew they were my corsets.

I was not allowed to open them. So they wound up in Kevin’s room. Kevin promised I would see the contents soon enough. Mom had ordered the corsets and accessories from a very reputable, and slow, maker in Europe. The other pieces had apparently arrived weeks earlier and had been stored at Dad’s office. I did not know exactly what had been ordered, but from the volume, I was beginning to be afraid he had taken my proposal literally. Which meant that life was about to get a lot more stressful. I was more correct than I knew.

The first inkling of what was to come was when, on Saturday morning, Dad installed a funny looking pulley and winch arrangement on my wall and ceiling. A stiff wooden bar with strange looking cuffs was then attached to the cables. "Lacing Bar!" echoed from my reading. It was both scary and inviting. Kevin lowered the bar, and told me to slip my wrists through the cuffs, which he buckled. I found they were heavily padded, and designed to distribute the strain smoothly to my arms.

And strain there was, as Kevin slowly and easily hoisted me clean off the ground. I swung there for a moment while he looked the mounts over. He checked my belt, and found he could tighten it another inch without straining. When he lowered me it felt more snug, but a different snug. He hoisted me back up, and removed the belt.

Shortly I was released and the two of us, this time in casual dress (Him, shorts and a T shirt. Me, under-dress) were catching up on general room and house cleaning. I re-dressed for dinner, and Kevin told me to eat lightly. I’m glad I listened. Dinner was great. And Tim got the cleanup chores.

We met in the living room. Mom and Dad advised me that since I was about to enter the second phase of my training, I would start with a clean slate. I jumped up and gave each of them a big hug. I realized that it was a real hug, not something I had to think about. When I started to cry, Kevin made me explain. Soon Mom was crying, too.

They gave me a set of house keys. That may not sound like much, but to me it was verification that I had passed an important point. I was being trusted. I hugged them ‘till I couldn’t breathe. Kevin gave me a brand new demerit book. And made an entry in his big logbook.

When they told me I was completely free until tomorrow morning, I wrapped my arms around Kevin, and he carried me upstairs to my room. Snuggling is wonderful; so is a helping hand.

We were both so groggy the next morning it took until ten before we had showered. I was told to stay undressed, and wait in my room. When Kevin and Mom came in, they put my hands in the bar’s cuffs. Shortly I was secured with my arms stretched loosely over my head. When Mom pulled off my bloomers, I blushed. They both examined every inch of me, and made notes in a new log book. I was measured, pinched, the pinches measured, and once they hoisted me off the floor, they repeated the measurements.

Finally they released me, and pulling out a brand new digital scale, I got the pleasure of finding out what I weighed for the first time since this had started. I was surprised; it was about 130, nearly five pounds less than I thought.

I was then given a new, long slip to put on. I inquired about the hated bra, and was told that if I needed a bra I would be given one. I also got the first demerit in my new book. Something about patience. It was going to be a long day.

Kevin cuffed me back to the bar, and brought me to a flat-footed stretch. He then blindfolded me. I had learned already, to the painful application of a hairbrush, that this meant I was to be very quiet and cooperative. I soon felt my first corset being wrapped around me, and Kevin had to strain a bit to fasten it in front. It gave me a rush, and I was both scared and excited.

Several adjustments later, I felt the laces being tightened. The corset fit from just below my breasts and armpits to my hips. The first tightening was barely snug. He then slipped something stiff between me and the laces. The second took my breath away. It was like I was getting a full-body hug from a boa constrictor. I felt someone measure me. The bar was suddenly raised so I was on tiptoe, which made the corset looser.

The third tightening caused me to make a lot of airy grunting noises. I could still breathe, but it felt like I was slowly being squeezed in two. Another measurement, and the waist was tightened just a bit. I felt the laces being wrapped around me, and tied off. When someone lowered the bar, everything seemed to settle in place. I felt heavy straps being attached to the front near my armpits, and to the back near the middle. Soon my shoulders were pulled rigidly back. I was now glad I had been wearing that bra every day. This was even more upright, My breasts were forced out prominently against the slip. I was released, but still blindfolded, and taken to my parents room. There in the big mirrors I got a chance to see myself corseted for the first time.

I almost passed out from elation. My breasts were proudly displayed above the corset, my posture almost regal. Placing my hands on my now rigid and flat stomach, it felt like I was a model. I understood what they had meant in the stories about being freely imprisoned. I could only move with grace, bending and twisting were impossible. Mom was looking worried.

"Stacey, can you breathe okay? Does it hurt or pinch?"

My reply was a bit breathless, but there was no mistaking the tone. "It makes breathing different, and no, it doesn’t’ hurt or pinch. It makes me want you to lace it tighter..." the last came out pleading. Mom had a confused look, and excused herself. Kevin looked like he wanted me for lunch.

"One inch at a time, Stacey. You are now down to a twenty-four inch measurement around the corset. That is three inches less than without the corset. He added another entry to my new book. Patience is one of the things you are to learn. Progress from here on will be measured in tiny amounts." He smiled. "Now to finish your outfit." We went back to my room. It took him quite a while to get the order of things right, and finally asked me for input. I wound up wearing real stockings, which attached to the numerous garters connected to the corset. I was also advised that leg hair removal was a priority.

These were followed by the bloomers, a second slip that fit snugly over the corset, an underskirt, and finally, one of my dresses. The dress hung loosely about my body. We looked at it. Kevin took it off, and went to get something. Shortly I was wearing a new dress. It was as plain as the others, but was fitted, and laced down the back. It was also longer; the hem was dragging the floor. Kevin let his hands roam all over my armored torso, and fondled my proudly displayed breasts. I managed to stay still, but soon was moaning quietly.

He stopped, and I almost screamed. "Good control. Now go sit on your chair." I was twitching as I sat down. My screech made him jump. I pulled myself up, and rubbed my poor abused abdomen where the bottom of the corset had savaged me. He looked concerned. Lifting my skirts, and kneeling before me, which made me even hornier, he carefully examined the reddened place. He stuck his fingers between the corset and the slip, then pulled and twisted, nearly lifting me off the ground. When he released me it no longer poked.

"Sorry about that. The bottom edge was bent slightly, and your slip had bunched up. We need to be more careful to pull the corset-liner smooth." He smoothed my skirts gently in place. "I think you are going to have to talk with your teachers about desks, because you will never be able to sit in the ones at school." I cringed. Both because I would have to explain why, and because I would be in the spotlight again. I could see the demerits building already. And my crotch was trying to override my brain.

I wondered if fidgeting was an offense... When I politely asked Kevin, he thought for a moment. "I’m not sure, but it is probably time to add that to the list." I tried to hit him, but the corset really slowed me down. "Just kidding" But he added a demerit anyway. Drat.

I thought the dress looked absolutely beautiful on me. I was learning that even plain could be beautiful. I was worried, however, about the dragging hem. Thinking he boots would help, I found I could not bend to put them on. Kevin laughed, then helped. The hem still touched the floor. "Time for the next improvement." This time I sat carefully on the edge of the bed. I no longer had to watch my posture. The collar of the new dress was even stiffer that the old one.

Kevin put something down outside the room. A moment later I was blindfolded, and back hanging from the lacing bar. I felt myself being lifted until I was on tiptoe. Instead of discomfort, it was, well, almost relaxing. I felt him slip a tall, stiff boot on my right foot. Once on, I realized I was still almost on tiptoe. The boots were high-heeled!. And I loved heels. It took him a while to get the lacing correct. The boots buckled just like my others. I was still as far above the ground, but now I was mostly standing. He then added a wide leather belt. He warned me to watch my balance, lowered the bar, then released me.

The slow walk to my parent’s room was heavenly. I had move gracefully. Between the heels and corset I had a wiggle that I would swear was making Kevin pant. And the rubbing of my thighs together in the stockings was getting me way to close to several demerits for "loud and unladylike behavior". When he took off the blindfold, I looked and fainted.

He still claims it was a lack of air. I’m sure it wasn’t. When I came to on my parent’s bed I almost molested him. In the mirror I had seen someone else. A refined, shy young woman out of history. Standing tall and proud next to her beau, his arm around her firmly corseted waist. Several gladly-earned demerits later, I fixed my face and hair, and we went downstairs to show the others. I was to develop a love/hate relationship with stairs. They made my walk ultra-feminine. And damned uncomfortable.

Several oohs and ahhs later, Dad announced that since I was dressed up, we should go out to dinner. Mom seemed to be really proud of my new appearance. Dad strutted like a pigeon. Kevin was having trouble walking. I made sure I rubbed against him as much as possible. Even if it was going to mean more demerits. Tim was looking at me like I was from another planet. I wondered if he would ever fully hit puberty.

Did you now a corseted girl can be a really cheap date? I ordered the smallest portions, and still had leftovers. I also had every male eye in the place glued to me. And some of the women, with looks of hate or envy in their eyes. I even got to dance with Kevin. I made a snide remark about another girl who was staring at me. He made me pull out my little book. Right on the dance floor. I was so embarrassed I wanted to cry. And so horny I wanted to do it right there in front of everyone. We made it home without further incidents.

After I managed my evening chores, which the heels and corset made downright painful, Kevin helped me up the stairs to my bedroom. It took a lot less time to get everything off. After I hung everything up, he sent me to the bathroom for my evening preparations. When I returned, there was another corset waiting. Soon I was tightly encased in what was called by the maker a sleeping corset.

When Kevin totaled up the day’s demerits, I wound up secured like a big "X" on the bed. The bastard even caressed me till I was bouncing several times before he pulled up my covers, and crawled into his cot. I was so aroused the bed was vibrating, and the hug of the corset made it worse. And I couldn’t do anything about it. I really tried. When I heard him flying solo I barely managed to keep from screaming. I dreamed weird dreams.

Kevin complained the next morning that my bloomers were sticky. I stuck out my tongue, still stretched in place. He kissed me and played tongue tag. Between the bladder pressure and other stimulation, I almost wet the bed. I found out later I earned another demerit. For "insolent behavior". I wondered if I would ever learn.

Sunday was somewhat of a day of rest. I was becoming really good at housework, and even with the corset and boots managed to finish by five. I had tried before to argue that doing most of the housework was unfair. That earned me an unpleasant night emulating a goose prepared for the oven. Kevin and I spent several quiet hours doing homework, snuggled together in my room. Last night used up most of my demerits, so, other than the sleeping corset, they only restraints were Kevin’s arms.

We got up really early Monday, which was good because it took longer to get ready. Kevin took pictures of me. I felt like a model. It was one of the few good feelings I had that day. I was on display from when I arrived. I got poked and prodded by the blonde squad, ogled by the boys, and sent to the principal’s office when I had to stand in class because of the corset. There was no way, painful or otherwise, I could sit at one of their desks.

That got me a some free Halloween candy from the secretary, a normally-dour lady so old she remembered her own corsets. She defended my behavior, claiming the current school desks promoted slouching and other bad manners. And from some long-forgotten storeroom, small high desks and tall, hard stools appeared in the rest of my classrooms.

One of the older teachers remembered them. "I know where I saw those. There used to be a set in the corner of each classroom, next to the blackboard. I wonder if they still have the dunce caps..." I complained aloud about his comment, earning several demerits. I was to hear about that dunce cap for months.

Lunch was a travesty. As usual, I was the only person carrying an old-fashioned lunch box. I began to suspect that while wearing a corset I could carry enough for lunch in a purse.

The blonde squad surrounded me. I looked to Kevin for relief, even knowing that I was required to go it alone. He indicated a demerit. They crucified me. It was all take and no give. I sobbed all the way to my first afternoon class. My English teacher seemed strangely sympathetic. She verbally reamed, hard, one girl who was making fun of my discomfort. I was too miserable to enjoy it.

Kevin had to help me into the car for the trip home. My feet hurt. My ribs hurt. And worse, my dignity hurt. I had enough demerits to ruin the next several days. I’d gone in feeling like a princess. I left thinking a doormat was a higher life form. On the way home it began to fester. I mechanically went through my afternoon chores. Kevin was watching me carefully. I was silent. I waited until Kevin had to go and pick up some groceries, then headed for my room.

I was sure it would ever end. Even though I knew he couldn’t, I hated Kevin for not rescuing me at lunch. June seemed so far away. And there were all the unknowns facing me. I pulled out the paring knife I had hidden in my boot earlier, staring at it, and my wrists. I rolled up my sleeves. The dress was too nice to cut. I had made several shallow, oozing cuts on each wrist when I realized what I was doing.

They say that when you reach that point you make a decision. I carefully put the knife down. It kept calling to me. I forced myself to pull two sets of heavy cuffs out of a drawer, and with one set secured my ankles to the bottom of the bed. I could still reach the knife. I stared at it. "no more suffering..." kept echoing "just a little deeper is all it will take..." I wanted it all to end. I managed to wrap the other cuffs around the center rail at the top. Soon I had one latched around a wrist. "come on, it’s so easy..., and you will never have to worry again..." I started to pull the chain off the bar, and thought of Kevin and Tim and of my parents. Somehow I latched the other cuff, securing me to the bed. And started to scream.

Mom and Dad got home before Kevin. When they heard my screaming, they dashed up to my room. Mom later told me she nearly died when she saw the blood and knife on my dresser. I was screeching and thrashing wildly against the restraints, my eyes closed. The thrashing had caused my wrists to bleed more, which looked, I guess, really scary. Mom said she was heading for a telephone to call an ambulance when Dad stopped her, saying I was not in any immediate danger. It took him a while to convince her that it might destroy me if I was hospitalized without my consent.

By now I had stopped screaming, and lay there limply. Convinced I was still breathing, they covered me and found some gauze and antiseptic for my wrists. As they were finishing the first-aid, I opened my eyes, and through my tears croaked out "I love you." Kevin found us in my room. Mom was still crying, and feeding me small sips of water. The sight of the knife made him turn pale. Dad convinced him that I was okay, at least for now. When he moved to release me, I did not fight it. I was too exhausted.

Soon they had undressed me and removed the corset. It was like working with a rag doll. When mom asked if I was hungry, I nodded, and she and Dad headed downstairs. Kevin started to put me into a nightgown, but I stopped him, and managed to stand unsteadily. I wobbled to the closet, pulled out my sleeping corset, and collapsed slowly to the floor while trying to wrap it around me. When he finally carried me downstairs I was dressed for bed, the comforting squeeze of the corset nearly as important as Kevin’s warm embrace. I looked frightful, red eyes and pale, tear-streaked face, my hair in disarray.

Before dinner they cleaned up my wrists, and re-bandaged them. Mom took a roll of Tim’s athletic tape and made custom wrist-braces that were almost rigid. I could still use my fingers, at least a little. With the long sleeves of the nightgown pulled over them, it looked almost like I was wearing gloves. Kevin had to cut my food, as Mom refused to let me have a knife. Even a butter knife. Tim looked really concerned, though he didn’t know what had happened, and asked if there was anything he could do. I told him a hug would help. The kid was getting stronger.

I was able to make it back to my room under my own steam. Mom refused to let me be alone for a moment, even in the bathroom. I almost needed her help. Her wrist-taping job was too good. I could not flex them at all. She insisted that I be securely restrained, and I quietly asked Kevin if that would also help me work off my demerits. For once he agreed. Because he was afraid of causing problems with my bandaged wrists, I wound up cocooned in sheets and blankets. They then strapped the package tightly together. Kevin blindfolded me securely with a thick, soft cloth, saying it would help me sleep. It was warm and cozy, and when I felt Kevin slide into the bed next to me and slowly rub my neck, I was asleep in moments.

We skipped school on Tuesday. I was still too shaky, and Mom would not let me be alone for a moment. So Kevin called in and got our assignments, claiming the 24-hour flu, which was rampant. I stayed in my nightclothes. My wrists didn’t hurt, and Mom promised to change the bandages that evening. He kept me tightly hobbled, with my hands cuffed behind me most of the day. Which meant I could not do chores. I didn’t mind. The less I could move, the more secure I felt. And I really needed the secure feeling. It helped keep the panic away.

Late in the afternoon Kevin and I finally discussed what had happened. He sat me in one of the dining room chairs, which let me have my arms behind me, and wrapped me in a comforter. I could relax without falling over, and we talked until Tim got home. I asked Tim if he would cover my chores, seeing as I was a bit tied up. He laughed, and his, "Sure, Sis" made me feel a lot better.

For some reason it was becoming important to me to do my part, no matter how hard it was. When I told Kevin this, I got a big hug, and mark in the back of my little book. When I gave Kevin an inquiring look, he said "Brownie points and good comments". I grinned.

Kevin decided to leave me secured through dinner, so he had to feed me. It did good things for my battered ego. I needed to feel loved and cared about. Even if he did make me eat all my veggies. My hands were freed after dinner, as it was impossible to do my homework otherwise. I did a lot of stretching. When mom redid my bandages, everything looked fine, and she made the outer wrapping small enough it would be almost hidden by the sleeves of my dress. I was glad, as I really did not want to answer questions at school about what had happened.

I spent the night back in my cocoon. Kevin and Dad said it was my choice if I wanted to be restrained. I figured it would make mom happier. It did. And I really did liked the way it made me feel. I slept great, and later found out that I had earned several "good" points for caring about others.

School Wednesday was almost a revelation. I decided to expect nothing, and when I got compliments I took them graciously. The nasty ones seemed to have lost their sting.

Thursday I was back to almost normal. I was really surprised when, at the end of the day my friends, who I rarely got to see, cornered me and asked if Kevin and I were going to the big Halloween costume lock-in at the Armory. I was now so far out of the social scene, I had not heard about it. It sounded like fun, but as always I told them it would depend on Kevin and my parents. They asked if there was anything they could do. I told them to keep me on the twisted and narrow path. They all hugged me, and got wide-eyed at the armor. Kevin was watching. "Maybe someday she will show you..." That left them with their mouths open. I was smiling.

I did my chores quickly. Kevin agreed that the lock-in sounded like a good idea. When I mentioned I did not have a costume, he sprouted an evil grin. I suddenly started to get worried. He did have a rather strange sense of humor. Mom and Dad agreed, as I had been super-stressed and had very few demerits this week, and I would be under close supervision the entire time. Mom made Kevin promise to keep a close rein on me. I had a feeling that was not going to be a problem. Friday was a half-day, and Kevin brought me home, undressed me, and told me to shower and shave and get ready, but not dressed. I decided on a long tub soak, and was squeaky clean and smooth by the time he returned. He was carrying two large packages, which he set beside me on the bed.

They were marked "Tony’s Adult Fantasies, by appointment only" "How..."

"I used to do odd jobs for Tony. All the other shops were down to clown suits and ghosts. So when I called him, he was nearly out too, but remembered one set he had put back because none of the ladies could fit it..." His eyes were teasing me. "It’s a bit small, but I think I can squeeze you in..."

Half an hour later he was dressed as a swashbuckling pirate. The silk shirt was dreamy. So were the leather accessories, and scimitar. He looked so good I tried to drag him into bed. That got me a short spanking, and a demerit. I wanted more, but he pointed out we needed to get there before they locked the doors. So I was now hanging, feet off the ground, from the lacing bar. The short, satiny undergarment barely covered my breasts, and reached just past my thighs.

And he had not kidded about squeeze. He said the costume required a 22 inch waist. We were down to 22.5, and I felt like I would snap in the middle. He gave a final set of yanks, and announced I was ready. When he lowered and released me, I breathlessly asked "ready for what, fainting?" I was a bit lightheaded. When he pulled my costume out of the box, I forgot about breathing. He had to jab me, hard, before I passed out from lack of air.

It was straight out of one of my fantasies. Or a steamy romance novel. The long silk skirts were slit to the thigh. The fitted bodice was made of soft leather with shiny silver hardware, and looked more like a long-line pushup bra. It laced in back. There was a long-sleeved silk shirt that would come up over my breasts, but it was so thin I could read through it. And there was more in the package.

Ten minutes later I was in ecstasy. I had never worn much silk, and it was softer than I had imagined. And this was silk satin. The outfit was made for a shapely, corseted woman. I was glad I had inherited my grandmother’s hips and bust. The fit was not perfect, but darn close. I looked like I was in my twenties. It was not quite indecent, but it oozed sensuality. When Kevin added a new pair of seamed silk stockings, he let his fingers wander. I stared to whimper. Then I realized something. No bloomers meant no underwear. I turned bright red. To my toes. Kevin promised we would stop on the way to get me some panties, and he laced on my high-heeled boots. I stayed red.

He added the scarves to my head and neck. When I looked at my bandaged wrists, visible through the shirt, I cringed. He pulled some heavy metal objects out of the package. They were wide iron shackles, complete with padlocks. It turned out they were leather lined. They clanked, but covered the bandages, and looked great with the outfit.

He told me to put on my makeup (I was now allowed a small selection) and wait in the hall. He came out of the room carrying a clinking leather "pirate sack". His expression said I would find out about the contents soon enough.

When we came downstairs, Kevin called to my parents, who were in the kitchen. When they saw us, Dad’s eyes bugged out, and he dropped his glass on the floor. Mom sagged against him, muttering "My little girl..." Kevin helped dad clean up the spill while mom circled me, eyeing with concern my abundant and corset enhanced cleavage. And my tiny waist. She could see I was breathing shallowly, making my cleavage look more precarious.

"Just HOW tight are you laced?" She made it sound accusatory. My breathless, smiling, "Twenty-two inches," caused her to launch into Kevin. Dad finally had to put a hand over her mouth to shut her up. Then she bit him. She finally made Kevin promise to loosen my laces if I complained or fainted, and to carry one of my regular dresses along to cover me.

I whispered to him that if he loosened me for any reason other than a medical emergency, I would throw a fit. He nodded agreement. And added another demerit. It figured he would make me wear my little notebook in its case on the sash of the outfit. The phrase, "No rest for the wicked" ran through my mind. I wiggled. I sure felt wicked enough. And looking at Kevin was giving me ideas. The panties he bought me en route were scandalous. They were shiny, scarlet, satin elastic. He managed to pull them mostly up while I was sitting.

When we pulled up at the armory, the lot was nearly full. I had to be helped out of the car. Sitting had reduced my already small lung capacity. While I was getting my panties where they belonged, Kevin had pulled out two large, hooded velvet cloaks that were part of the costumes. He put his on, then grabbed his bag. His "Close your eyes and don’t move" made me stand perfectly still. I felt him draw my arms behind me, and the heavy cuffs were secured together with a metallic clink. It was quite a rush.

When he placed a wide metal and leather collar around my neck, I quivered. It made me hold my head up proudly. A felt and heard a loud "Click", which sent shivers down my spine, and into my crotch. He told me to open my eyes. He was holding a long, braided leather leash. He tugged slightly, and I felt the collar tug on my neck. When he added the cloak, nothing was visible but the leash. His "let’s go sign in" broke the spell. He held my shoulder tightly, as with my arms bound I was not able to balance that well. He signed us in. His gruff, "come, slave," almost had just that effect. I was intoxicated. On emotions. And probably a lack of oxygen.

He left the cloaks on and fastened as we mingled. There were only a few snide remarks. I bristled when one of the blonde squad types said Kevin needed a leash because I was such a dog. I hissed. His tug on the thong, and, "Heel, Stacey," made me blush. And got me a demerit. So I played puppy dog. And licked his ear. He seemed to be having trouble walking. She looked disgusted.

My friends and their dates were congregated near the judge’s stand. We joined them and chatted. It was obvious they were happy to see me out of my parent-imposed exile. It was almost like old times, but tonight I had my own date, not someone else’s I had stolen. They stared when Kevin fed me an hors d’oeuvre, and gave me sip of his soda. Tammy, one of my oldest friends, a stunning blonde with a brain, was dressed, barely, as Marilyn Monroe. The resemblance was incredible. So was her cleavage. I could see her navel ring from the top. She was not known for shyness. My décolletage was mild by comparison.

"Going to join them in competing for costume prizes?" I spun around and found myself facing my English teacher, Mrs. Roberts. But she was smiling. She was beautifully dressed, like Vivian Leigh when she played Scarlet O’hara in Gone With the Wind. I had never noticed she had such an incredible figure, as at school she always wore loose clothes. Her waist was smaller than mine. My startled expression made her chuckle.

"Yes, I wear a corset. I’ve worn one since I hurt my back when I was twelve. I liked them so much I never stopped." Soon we were chatting like friends. When she told me I had made great progress in my efforts to turn my life around, I started to cry. She was the last person from who I expected to get a compliment.

Tammy pulled out some tissue from a sequined handbag big enough to carry a stove, and dried my eyes. She said quietly "can’t you..." and gestured at her hands. I shook my head, and smiled. My teacher’s wide-eyed "Oh my..." was interrupted by the announcement that it was ten o’clock and the doors were now locked. They followed with the house rules, which were mostly no drugs, alcohol, or overt sexual contact.

The judging was scheduled for ten-thirty. There were many categories, some with rather hefty prizes donated by local merchants. There were four grand prizes. One for best costume. One for most realistic costume. One for best home-made costume. And one for best costumed couple. Five hundred dollar scholarships donated by the local bank. These helped explain the amazing variety of really good costumes. For the chaperones, there were also several prizes, mostly gift certificates. The grand prize for the best chaperone costumes was a full fitting at Tony’s. Kevin and I looked at each other and grinned.

Of the nearly eight-hundred people present, only fifty or so were actually competing. I was upset when Kevin said we were signed up. I was afraid to be paraded around like this. Before I could complain, he reached under my cloak, and tapped my little notebook. I shut up. And thought about some of what I had been learning so painfully over the last few weeks. And the promises I had made to myself.

Kevin was looking at me, concerned.

I managed a pained smile "I think that, maybe, I just grew up a bit." It came out painfully. His inquiring look got him, "Ask me later. We have a contest to win."

Each person or couple was called by name. The idea was to walk to the center of the stage, show off the costume, and leave by continuing to the opposite end. Several others were cloaked, waiting for their call.

Tammy made her debut and wriggled across the stage. When she bowed the temperature went up several degrees. So did some other things.

I recognized the name of one of the next contestants. Victoria was my chief tormentor from the blonde squad. I figured she was going as Barbie. Or a bimbo. A pair dressed in formal church trappings made their way on stage. I was shocked when they were announced as "Abbess and Benedictine Monk" The costumes were impeccable. At center stage they engaged in a minute of spirited discussion, in period English, about the lack of morals among the youth of the day. I began to suspect that there was something more than dark roots beneath the bleach.

We were among the last called up. Kevin pulled off my heavy glasses, putting them in his pouch. His "Remember, you are a feisty prisoner, and my unwilling slave" was the last thing I heard before my feet hit the steps. When we stepped on stage, he took off his cape, bowed, and then yanked off mine, pulling me slowly by my leash to center stage. In character I fought him, hissing and spitting like a cat, but with my arms bound and trying to balance, it was obviously futile.

There was almost absolute silence when we stopped. The announcer managed "Pirate and captive princess" Kevin bent down, pulling the leash to the floor, forcing me to kneel. The corset and collar kept my posture rigidly straight I looked up at him, baring my teeth and growling audibly. He placed one foot on the leash, stood up, and patted me on the head. I struggled feebly. I was afraid if I struggled hard I was going to start screaming from the feelings I was getting.

He gave a deep bow, knelt again, grabbing me by the leash at my collar, and almost lifted me to my feet. He spun me slowly around, did likewise himself, and pulled me by the leash to him where he gave me a kiss that caused me to force myself involuntarily against him. He stepped back, and led me, still struggling feebly, off the stage. The applause was deafening.

I was visibly shaking, and starting to pant. I managed a "help, dizzy" and he grabbed me just before I collapsed. He carried me over to the gym mat where they had put our cloaks, and laid me down so I was stretched out on my side, with my head on his lap. He covered me with the cloaks, and coaxed me to breathe slowly. Soon I quit trembling, and was breathing normally again. He put my glasses back on. We watched as one last, late entry came on stage.

It was Gina, a young Hispanic girl who had caused a major uproar when she insisted on staying in school last semester although she was fourteen, unmarried, and very pregnant. She was dressed in a simple cape and plain tunic, carrying her baby with her, swaddled in a traditional wrap. She quietly made it to the center of the stage, where an assistant brought out a small hay-filled manger. The announcer spoke up "Madonna and child" She placed the infant in the manger, and rocked her while she softly sang a lullaby in what I thought might be Hebrew. She then placed the infant at her breast, bowed, and left the stage. They announced that she had made the entire costume, and the manger, herself, as school projects.

I think there were as many tears as there were applause. And there was a lot of applause. I was crying. I had worried about what I looked like in school. What it took for her to stand up in public like that I could not begin to imagine.

They distributed the ballots. I voted, but Kevin had to write down my entries.

After they collected the ballots, it was time for the chaperone contest. Most of the costumes were pretty good, even if unimaginative.

Mr. Linden, the truant officer, was a shoe-in for most in-character. He was dressed as a Keystone Cop, and had as a prop a wheeled cage containing three rowdy students in twenties garb, banging tin cups on the bars.

There were only two couples’ entries. Mr. Baylor, one of the gym teachers, and a tall, trim woman whom I did not recognize came as Tarzan and Jane. The costumes were great. A small person came tumbling out dressed as monkey in a diaper, rolling and cartwheeling about the stage, finally popping to its feet, munching a banana. Jane called out "Cheetah" and tossed it expertly on Tarzan’s shoulder. The crowd went wild.

The next entry I recognized. Mrs. Roberts and a tall, distinguished gentleman wearing the dress uniform of a confederate colonel strode majestically onto the stage. To the background of a waltz, they danced in gliding, swirling steps across the stage, pausing briefly at the center to bow and curtsy formally to each other and the audience. I would almost swear that I smelled lilacs.

Voting for the chaperones took only a couple of minutes.

They announced it was the witching hour, and that there was a midnight snack available before the results would be announced. Kevin asked if I wanted to eat. I nodded, and said I was ready to get back on my feet. We left the cloaks folded to mark our place on the mats, and headed for the serving tables. When I saw Victoria and her companion, I asked Kevin to detour their way. When I complimented them on both their costumes and performances, she smiled, and told me they didn’t have a chance against us. Her partner rumbled his agreement, and pulled back his hood. He was Larry, the center from the football team. So much for the "dumb jock" stereotype.

Victoria carefully circled me, examining the collar, cuffs, and costume. She tugged at the cuffs, and gasped at their weight. Her mouth was open as she examined the tightly laced corset visible through the silk. "That... is... a... real... corset.... And you really are chained like that..." I nodded. "And you can’t get free?" I shook my head. "Wow..." She looked flushed. "You really get my vote." I felt good.

We made it through the crowd to the food tables. Kevin collected everything for both of us. I think the restraints got more attention than I did. But I didn’t care.

We found Tammy and the rest of them, and after being minutely examined by everyone, compared notes on the different costumes. Tammy was petting the cuffs. Kevin was having trouble not staring down her cleavage. We fit right in. When one of the other girls announced it was time for a bathroom run, my bladder sent out flood warnings.

I was trying to nicely hint to Kevin that I needed my wrists free, when Veronica asked him if she could escort me to the facilities. He grinned, and handed her the leash, asking if she wanted my cuffs removed. I gasped when she declined. "Why spoil the image..." Surrounded by the others, I was led away. When they finally commandeered a stall, I was first in line. They pushed me inside, and pulled the door closed. Three minutes and many contortions later, I whimpered "Veronica!"

She opened the door, and found me standing, still fully clothed. I was bouncing like a four-year-old. "I can’t get my..." I blushed "my..., my damned panties off!" It was a big enough stall so she came in and pulled the door closed behind her. I could hear the giggling from the entire washroom. It took her a moment to tie all the skirts up around my chest, exposing the corset and scarlet panties. I was trying hard to match them. And not wet myself.

"Good grief, Stacey. Chill out. Hmmm, I bet I know why they’re already sticky... I was whimpering. She carefully worked them loose from the bottom of the corset, and pulled them down and off. Which left her staring at my swollen pubes. "Golly kid, are you horny or what". She paused. "Well, sit and do it, I want to get back out on the floor."

Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have to sit and pee while another girl your age is watching? And then to have her wipe you? Especially when you are so aroused that even her slightest touch causes you to twitch and want more? And you’ve known for years she’s a lesbian? She was thorough in her wiping, way too thorough. She pulled the panties back on, grinned evilly, and drew her long fingernails slowly and lightly along my crotch. I arched up on tiptoe, moaning.

A moment latter she had repositioned my skirts and opened the door. She pulled me with her by the leash to a sink, where she washed us up. Everyone else clapped. I was almost trembling with frustration and embarrassment. Soon the rest had finished, and we returned en mass to where we had left Kevin. Every step made me grind my thighs together, which made me more aroused. But Kevin was nowhere to be seen. I suddenly got scared. Veronica sensed it. "Hey, take it easy, we’re your friends too, He’s around here somewhere." Her hug made me whimper.

She and I set off in search of Kevin. We made quite a sight. A nun with a captive princess in tow. We found him collecting our cloaks before they moved the mats. Veronica’s "I believe this belongs to you" got his attention. She handed him the leash. "Don’t tease her too much. Especially if she tends to get rather vocal." I was bright red. He was chuckling evilly. I started to worry again.

Soon we were waiting by the stage for the announcements.

One of the band members won best costume. As a Borg. Tammy AKA Marilyn took a close second. Her second bow was as devastating as the first. When she wiggled back to us, I whispered "how do you keep from..."

She smiled. "Glue"

Gina unanimously won the "homemade costume" award.

We tied with Victoria and her partner as best couple. A quick consultation between the four of us, and we agreed to split the prize. So the four of us went up together. We announced our decision, and as Victoria and Larry launched into an impromptu skit, giving us a sermon about such ribald and debauched behavior. Kevin and I faked, somewhat, a full body hug and theatrical grope in their presence. When we all bowed, I was a bit disoriented, but had a heck of a smile. They requested an encore, but we made if off the stage too quickly.

The chaperone contest went as expected. The only close vote was between Tarzan and Gone with the Wind. I cheered when Mrs. Roberts and her partner won. They joined us afterwards. She introduced the "Colonel" as her husband, Stephan, who seemed really shy.

Soon everyone except Mrs. Roberts and I were sitting on the mats. We were both stretched out to let us breathe. Mr. Roberts turned out to be an engineer, so he and Kevin were enjoying a serious discussion that was about as interesting as dried mud. I managed to wriggle around so I was facing Mrs. Roberts, who suddenly blushed, and pulled my skirts down. I saw a lot of people trying not to stare. My, "it’s their problem," made her laugh.

We chatted for a while about how my rehab was going. I was honest, and said it was hard, and getting harder, but I was finally beginning to believe I was slowly making progress. When I told her I had to lace down to 22 inches to get in the costume, two inches less than my normal, she smiled. "Ahh, what we women will do for our men." She looked at her husband. "It has been three years since we wore these costumes. And then it was only in the privacy of our home.

Your wearing a corset to school gave me the courage to do this tonight. I’ve been scared speechless several times. And this is an eighteen inch corset. I haven’t been below twenty for two years." I mouthed the "eighteen". I thought my goal of 21 was hard. She giggled. "Years of practice. And a natural 23 inch waist."

I groaned. "Unfair!"

She was studiously avoiding staring at the cuffs and collar. It looked like they were making her uncomfortable. "Why does my hardware bother you?" came out, and I cringed. Instead of giving me a demerit, she shook her head.

"Are they real?"

I nodded. "See for yourself" I rolled over so my arms were towards her, and wriggled closer. I felt her puling gently at the cuffs. "You can’t hurt them. And I’m used to a lot of tension." I heard her gasp. She tugged, and twisted some more. When she stopped, I wriggled away, and rolled back towards her. She was shaking her head. She looked at the collar, it’s lock, and the heavy leather leash.

"I thought this only happened in the nineteenth century..." She straightened suddenly. "I just realized that you are far too proficient at maneuvering in those." She stared at me. "Is this a part of..." I nodded, beginning to get scared. Her eyes got very wide. "Oh... my... God..." She shook her head, and started mumbling to herself. "And you do it voluntarily?"

My "Sometimes, unless I have fouled up" made her nod.

She noticed I was shaking. "Are you sure you are okay?" I nodded, then shook my head.

"Just scared, like you might do something to make us stop...." She smiled and shook her head.

"No, I won’t do that. My advanced degree is in English literature, not education. The description of the "English Method" is a common theme in many works. But so many describe ridiculous and dangerous goals..." she looked at my waist, concerned.

"Nope. 21 inches. Only five inches less than my natural waist when I’m five pounds heavier. And to answer the second question, the one you didn’t ask, yes. It includes, or can include, almost all the portrayed punishments, however unpleasant, as long as they are safe." She slid over to me and hugged me like I was her daughter.

She was sniffling. "And to think of all the times since you started I have done my best to make you miserable..."

"I deserved every bit of it, and probably more. I am trying desperately to change, way down deep inside. Part of that is paying my dues for what I have done in the past." She stopped sniffling but kept holding me. I hoped I had not blown it.

I woke up much later. When I opened my eyes Kevin and Mr. Roberts were watching over us. They had covered us with the cloaks. Kevin’s "have a nice nap?" made me smile, and realize my arms were aching, and my ribs felt bruised.

"I really need to stretch, but I don’t want to disturb..." Mrs. Roberts opened her eyes, and almost jumped up. Her husband laughed. "You two looked so comfortable we decided not to wake you up." She sat up and looked at her watch.

"People started going home a little while ago. So we were about to wake you two up." Kevin carefully brought me to a standing position, and I stretched as much as I could. He pulled out his keys, and removed the collar and cuffs, dropping them in his bag. Now I could really stretch. I sounded like a bowl of Rice Crispies. Mrs. Roberts did the same stretches, and got the same responses, only louder.

I chuckled. Soon we were ready to go. I was surprised when Mr. Roberts told Kevin to call him in the late spring about a summer internship. Kevin’s smile was infectious. He hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.

We got home about ten. Mom and Dad were waiting for us. I was waiting for a bathroom. They said they would be gone for most of the day, and looking at us suggested we get some sleep. Kevin managed to get me out of the corset, and after we had showered, he hung me back on the bar until he had rubbed lotion on all the abraded areas. Despite my protestations, he laced my sleeping corset no tighter than normal. I wanted back to 22 inches. I asked him to measure me. When he did, he grinned. The tape said 23.25 inches. I would have given a high five, but I was still cuffed to the bar.

When he released me, I opened a drawer and handed him the light set of padded cuffs, then knelt before him and put my wrists together in front of me. "Please..." It was nearly an hour before we were sound asleep together. I still was cuffed.

Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went - The holidays were a time for relaxation and reflection. I was beginning to understand that humility was not a sin.

The exercise program I started just after Halloween was paying off. I found I was not becoming heavily dependent on the corset for support, only I felt like something was missing with it off. And my legs were looking great. In January I hit 22.5 inches.

When I got my first semester grades after the holidays I was amazed. They were the best I had ever managed. That earned me several things back, including permission to drive when needed, and a new dress somewhat of my own choosing.

It was also after the holidays that a new group started to harass me. I never did find out exactly why. One person said he thought it was because my good behavior and conservative dress was being used as a justification to reprimand them for their foul language and gang-baggie outfits. They slowly escalated their efforts, which I was now generally able to politely ignore. Which made them even more angry. Several of them pushed me around, then knocked me down at lunch one day, trying to get me to fight. Kevin and the entire blonde squad were headed their way with fire in their eyes when a teacher interrupted their activities,

We all wound up in the principal’s office, where I quietly described exactly what had been happening, and had happened that day. The teacher confirmed my story. They tried to deny all of it, but I was exonerated, and the four of them got suspended for two weeks. I quickly forgot about the incident, I was far too busy doing other things, like avoiding demerits. The better I behaved, the more picky everyone got.

It was the Friday before Valentine’s day and the President’s Day holiday when my world exploded in my face. Kevin had been taking dance lessons at my request, and I had worked hard to earn the privilege of us attending the Valentine’s dance after school. So for the first time I wore my new dress. I was walking on air, which was in short supply because Kevin had to lace me down to 22 inches.

Since it took me a little longer than most of the girls to visit the bathroom, I usually made a stop after lunch at a little-used washroom near the gym. I was just finishing when I heard the door open. I left the stall and found myself face to face with the four that had been suspended. I was slammed hard to the tile floor with a towel held over my face so I couldn’t breathe or scream. I was then doused with some sort of bad-smelling liquid from my chest to my boots. Saying "this will teach you to fuck with our group, shithead" they released me and ran out of the room.

When I finally got enough air to move, I carefully rolled over and got up, dripping. I was starting to itch, and when I opened my eyes I found I was covered with a weird looking green paint. I staggered out in the hall, and started screaming for help. One of the gym teachers came out to see what the ruckus was, and dashed over to me. A moment later he ran into the bathroom and came out with the paint can. His "Shit, we’ve got to get this stuff off NOW" was followed by him literally dragging me into the men’s locker room showers.

My skin was starting to burn by the time he yelled for someone to grab his tape scissors and a lot of towels. Making sure there was none of the stuff in my eyes, he put a towel over my face, and lay me on my stomach. I found out later he had been an army medic, which may have saved my skin, or my life. He cut off my dress and slip, and seeing the corset, cut the laces, and peeled me out of what little remained. I was screaming in pain by now, and didn’t care whether I was naked or not. They shoved me under a shower, and started scrubbing and wiping me clean. Another worked on cutting my boots off.

It took them at least fifteen minutes of hard scrubbing before he was sure it was all gone. My skin was raw and oozing and felt like I was on fire. One of the guys tried to cover me with a towel, but the touch of it on my skin made me scream louder. The medics arrived and sprayed me with some type of anesthetic disinfectant before wrapping me in a sterile sheet. One of them gave me a shot, and soon I felt the pain dull. It calmed me down and made me woozy. They put in an IV as we sped along.

At the hospital I was again scrubbed down, this time with sterile sponges, and slathered with a cool cream that took all the pain away. After wrapping me in some sort weird plastic that looked like perforated saran wrap, they covered me with a sheet, and wheeled me out to where Kevin and my parents, along with the police, were waiting. I was pretty much out of it from the shot, but managed to tell them some of what happened. Mom and Dad were crying, and Kevin looked ready to explode.

The police asked if anyone knew who the kids that did this were. Kevin looked at them. "I’ll take you to them. That way you can keep me from killing them." His voice was low and level. Even the cops looked scared. They wheeled me to a private room, and put something in my IV. I woke sometime later strapped to my bed. I was not in pain, but itched, and could feel a tube running from my crotch across my leg. Mom and Dad and Kevin were there, as were two doctors. Mom told me the tube was there so I did not have to get up or move to pee. So I tried, and felt the tube move slightly and get warmer. There was also a dribbling sound from a container next to the bed. I felt silly. They laughed.

I was poked and prodded and asked all sorts of questions. They cut small sections of my mummy-wrap open, examined my skin, then taped them shut. The doctors made notes, and told me they would be back shortly. A man dressed in a suit replaced them, introduced himself as a detective, and asked if I could pick out the kids who attacked me from a bunch of pictures. It was easy. I doubt if I will ever forget their faces. He thanked me, and wished me a speedy recovery. When the doctors returned, they were smiling.

When they finished telling me about my recovery plans, I started to cry uncontrollably. They were about to put something in my IV when I asked them to wait. I looked at Kevin through my tears. "Do they know about my contract?" he shook his head. The doctors looked puzzled. I stopped crying, and asked Mom for a tissue. I said I would be okay without the shot, and they left. Kevin came over to me, and held my bandaged hand gently. There were tears in his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days.

The good news was there should be no scarring, but I would probably have a mottled appearance for at least a year. The bad news was that I would be in the hospital until I was out of danger of infection. That was probably about two weeks. After that I could recover at home. I would need to be massaged with a special disinfectant, anesthetic moisturizer twice a day for at least a month after that.

When that was done, the massaging and stretching could be reduced to daily, and I could return to school, but only wear soft, loose cotton clothing until I was fully healed. I was told the stretching would be agonizing at first, and they would give me medication to help me sleep and reduce the pain. When I asked how long the whole process could take, I was told two to six months, maybe longer. That was when I had started to cry.

Mom, Dad, and Kevin all wanted to call the contracts null and void, saying I had suffered enough. I didn’t answer. I asked them to get some sleep, and to come back tomorrow. Mom called the doctor back in, and I was out in moments.

I refused to discuss the contract, or much of anything else for the new week. The nurses treated me like a pancake, flipping me every few hours. When I was awake I itched terribly, and I hated that drugged feeling. At the end of the week I was taken to a whirlpool bath filled with some weird disinfectant soap, and dishwashered for almost an hour. It felt good to be able to move, even a tiny bit.

The soap caused all of the wrappings to come loose, and most of the dead skin. Using a device very similar to the lacing bar they carefully hung me up to dry as they examined every inch of me. The catheter was swinging freely, and I realized it was making me aroused. I figured it was a good sign. A technician came in and measured me from neck to toes. Instead of returning as a mummy, I looked more like a quilt. Only a few small areas were covered with squares of the wrap, mostly on my chest, breasts, and stomach. The rest were painted with some sort of liquid bandage. And I had stopped itching.

Mom and Dad were waiting for me. I suddenly realized I needed to pee. So the nurse hooked me up to my bottle, removed the clamp on the tube, and I ignored the chuckles as I tried mightily to fill it. The doctors came in and said that the damage was much less than they had originally thought, and that I would be going home tomorrow if my compression sleeve was ready.

That got a blank look from everyone. They explained that the sleeve was like a super-tight spandex body suit that supported and protected my skin while it healed. I would have to wear it at all times except when being massaged or bathed. They had originally not planned on one, but the location and type of badly damaged skin remaining was amenable to it, and I would be able to return to school in a few days if I could tolerate the continuous pressure. They wondered why we all laughed.

I went home the next day, with a bag of prescriptions, feeling like a five pound sausage in a two-pound casing. The empty sleeve looked big enough for an eight-year-old. It took Kevin ten minutes to work it on, with instructions from the technician, and zip it up. It was slippery, but still hurt like heck being pulled across my injured skin. There were a lot of jokes made by the nurses about the front-to back zippers that ran through my crotch. But it meant I could go to the bathroom without help. The bulky liners they supplied were an uncomfortable substitute for panties. I was also warned about getting a hair caught. So I managed to catch several the first try. Several screeches later I wondered if shaving was allowed. It wasn’t.

I found out why they had not mentioned a bra. Can you say squashed flat? Ouch! It fit from my toes to my neck, and down my arms ending in what looked like Madonna’s fingerless gloves. But I was elated when they told me I was supposed to move around as much as possible while wearing the sleeve.

At home my room was just as I left it, but there were new clothes on the dresser. I was supposed to go directly to bed, but I decided to look them over. I cried myself to sleep.

There were three soft cotton, long-sleeved jumpers that were totally shapeless. Instead of my heeled boots there were ankle-high elastic pullovers that looked like bedroom slippers, and girls white tennis shoes, with frilly Bobby-socks. No belts, corsets, or anything fitted. When Kevin returned from school he put down a plastic sheet on the floor, and gently peeled my sleeve off. Wearing gloves, he gave me the best massage of my life. I did not care if it hurt, I needed his touch. I asked for a damp washcloth, folded it, and wedged it between my teeth. He understood, and continued even when I screamed. I was exhausted, and once back in the sleeve welcomed the compressed feeling. We snuggled until dinner.

That night I managed without their sleeping meds, and woke up hungry. I made it downstairs in time to see Kevin off to school. Mom suggested I eat lightly, and I nibbled my way slowly through a bowl of fruit during the day. Mostly I read. And stretched. When Kevin came home I got another massage. I could feel him cringe every time I screamed. But he didn’t stop. I managed to help make dinner, although I had to be sure and keep myself dry. Tim didn’t seem to mind doing some of the chores that had been mine, and gave me a gentle hug when he had the chance. I got a shower, and a full treatment just before bed. I was frustrated, but it still hurt too much to have that part of my body played with.

I woke Kevin at five, and asked him to give me my treatment early. When he got out of the shower, he was surprised I was dressed in a jumper. I had managed to brush my hair and put in a ponytail, but my tears were still visible from the effort. He helped me put on socks and the tennis shoes. The sleeve was visible at my neck, hands, and ankles. I looked shapeless and awful.

When I picked up my book-bag, and winced, he gave me a concerned look. I shook my head, and we headed very slowly downstairs. There was a major argument with Mom and Dad about it being way too soon for me to be going back. Kevin finally settled it by promising to bring me home if the school nurse said I needed to go home. For some reason I packed my old lunch-box. I put a new little notebook in one of the jumper pockets. It made me feel better.

Mom must have called the school while we were in route, for there was a welcoming committee. They tried to assign me a teacher’s aide, and were surprised when I said I would do it on my own. My teachers tried to give me a regular desk. I choose my old stool, even though it hurt. When they found me a cushion, however, I did not argue. I was so far behind, it was frustrating. Someone made sure one of the teachers escorted me through the halls, and to lunch, making sure I was not jostled.

When they saw me move stiffly in, I was surrounded by my friends, and most of the blonde squad, who formed a moving fence to our table. I managed to quell the questions, and slowly ate, feeling like I was back to September. But people who were now giving me support would have kicked me back then.

I found out the kids that had attacked me, and their associates had been expelled permanently, and were in the state reformatory waiting trial. That made me feel only a little better. I had finished eating when someone asked about my funny gloves. I got a lot of sympathy when I described my sleeve, and the twice-daily torture sessions.

I panicked when I needed to go to the washroom. I was afraid to go alone. Finally one of the blonde squad noticed I was standing near the door and shaking. She escorted me, and even helped me with my zippers. It was to become a ritual. She spread the word, and I found I had an escort at all times. By English I was exhausted. Everything hurt, and I was even considering taking the pain pill my Mom had insisted that I carry. I found a cupcake on my desk, with a note from everyone in the class. "Welcome back Stacey". I cried happy tears for several minutes.

Tammy and several of the blonde squad carried me out to where Kevin was waiting. He was alarmed, but their, "Special delivery, one pooped chick," made us all laugh. He had to wake me to get me inside the house. Mom woke me again just before dinner. I was asleep on my bed fully dressed, wrapped in two blankets. She had to help unwrap me. Dinner was quiet, and I managed to do a few chores before I collapsed quietly. Once assured it was just fatigue, Kevin gave me my treatment. I slept through the pain.

By late Sunday I was moving better, and had made progress in catching up on schoolwork. But I was getting back into being a problem. Old habits die hard, and mine were tough. A big blowup on the next Sunday evening left me screaming, and everyone else pissed off. When Kevin came upstairs, he found me crying, and trying in vain to lace my sleeping corset over the sleeve. He carefully unhooked it and looked at me.

"I won’t go back..." I wailed and grabbed for the corset. He pulled it out of my reach, and I started beating on him. He managed to wrap me in a blanket without hurting me, and soon I was back to cocoon status. The secure feeling was comforting. I fought gently against it’s unyielding softness. Between the pressure on my crotch from the pad, and the rubbing of my thighs against each other, for the first time since the attack I had a long and luxurious orgasm. When I returned to consciousness, Kevin was staring at me. "Wow".

I gave him a silly smile. "Mmmm." He told me I needed my massage, and I pouted, but nodded. I nearly chewed the washcloth in half, but managed to remain still through the whole procedure. Soon I was back in my second skin. We agreed that we needed to do something. I wanted my corsets and to continue my program. He wanted me to take my time and heal up, saying I had been through too much. When he pointed out that my day corset was ruined, I cried. He gently wrapped me in a clean cocoon for the night, secured it loosely, and snuggled against me. It was my best night’s sleep in weeks.

Monday I measured my waist just before I put on a jumper. It was only 25 inches over the sleeve. When I weighed myself, I was down to 120 pounds. No wonder I felt weak. But it gave me an idea. Once dressed, I carefully pulled a wide belt out of my closet, and pulled it tight, making sure it did not abrade any sore spots. The tape showed 23 inches. I found my older boots, and laced them on. The thin, pale, flat-chested girl in the mirror smiled at me. I carefully made my way downstairs.

Mom blew a fuse, but I refused to remove the belt or boots, saying they felt fine. Dad wouldn’t take sides. Kevin stayed out of the line of fire. And added demerits. We made it to school just on time. I managed to make it through the day. When we got home I found a message on the machine that I had a follow-up appointment at the hospital on Wednesday morning. I managed to do most of my old chores, and start dinner. Kevin and I were working on homework when Mom and Dad got home. With all the time I had to spend treating my injuries, I was only gaining a little at a time on my schoolwork backlog.

Wednesday I insisted on wearing the belt and boots, and carried my sleeping corset wrapped carefully in a big towel. Mom took me. The doctor frowned when he saw the tight belt and boots. But after a full examination, which was much easier because I had mostly given up on modesty after realizing half the football team had seen me naked, he was smiling. The nurse helped stuff me back into the sleeve. Kevin was gentler.

He told Mom I was healing fine, and to continue with the sleeve for another month. I groaned. He also said that I could reduce the massage treatments to once a day if needed, but two were preferable. Mom was shocked when I asked him if I could start wearing my corsets and tight dresses.

"Corsets?" He looked at me like I was a candidate for the locked ward. "Women quit wearing them years ago." When I unrolled the towel and held up mine, his eye’s bugged out. Mom looked embarrassed, and was turning red.

"Until I was attacked, I wore one. I want to start again. Today. Right Now!" I paused. "Please...."

He tried to convince me that I was already thin and well-shaped. I said I didn’t care if I was built like Madonna. The nurse was standing there with her mouth open. Suddenly she started laughing. We both looked at her.

"Why argue about it? She is the first patient in a long time that hasn’t pitched a fit about how tight the sleeve was." He looked perplexed, then nodded. "So let her put it on and you can see if it will hurt her recovery."

I never expected a doctor that had poked, pulled, prodded, and massaged every part of my body to be embarrassed by my underwear. But he was bright red by the time Mom and the nurse had managed to lace the corset as tight as I wanted. The sleeve made it easy, and didn’t bunch when things got tight, like my slips did. I was able to confirm that there were no folds or pinches anywhere. The corset slid smoothly over the sleeve when I moved.

He went back to poking and prodding, and compared the corset to a chart of where the worst damage was still located. When he finished, he gave me a disapproving look. "There is no medical reason you can’t wear the corset. Or anything else you can fit over the sleeve. But if you get any irritation..."

"I know. Loosen and lotion." He grumbled, and told us to come back in a month unless problems developed. I wore the corset to school that afternoon, after making Mom tighten the shoulder straps, twice, to force my back straight. In the car I got her to promise me a replacement for everything that was ruined. She looked at me, and added a bunch of demerits to my book.

With the corset, it was apparent I was moving like I used to. By the end of the day, I ha