textfiles/sex/EROTICA/I/images.txt

Images
by P. Libo

******

     He looked up and was entranced by the image in front of him. A young
woman, somewhat plain and thin but with a magnificent head of very wavy
auburn hair. She was dressed in the highest of fashion, 1876 fashion that
is. Her emerald green taffeta dress had a tight fitting bodice, tight
enough to make it quite clear that she was wearing a very restrictive
corset. Her figure was nice, not spectacular, but nice as would be
expected of a lady. In the mirror to one side of her he could see that
her dress buttoned up the back, with at least a couple dozen small jet
buttons. The dress seemed to hang straight down from her waist to the
floor in front. On the sides it spread out a little, but in back, where
the bustle was, it extended back more than a foot. The perfect image of
a young lady of fashion, except for one tiny anomaly.
     Around her waist was a very wide leather belt, covering the
sumptuous fabric, her wrists were held to the sides of the belt by straps
buckled snugly around them. Her elbows were held together behind her back
by a tightly buckled narrow leather strap. Who was this prisoner? Was it
Christine Daae, held against her will in the catacombs below the \Opera
Populare/, to sing for Eric? A maiden abducted for some Oriental
Potentates Hareem? Constance Blunt, captured and bound for ravishment by
Jack? The images conjured up by these thoughts chased through his mind.
     She moves, swaying slightly as she shifts her weight. Her dress
comes alive in a soft shimmer of highlights as the watered silk fabric
settles into its new position. A sound! her head snaps around, breaking
eye contact with him, her hair alive, seeking flight. Seeing nothing, she
turns back to him, her mane of hair lagging slightly, dancing on its own,
then lying still again. Her colour is high, strong, no fainting damsel
this, even helpless as she now stands.
     She stood on a low platform, a tall step up. On each side of her,
several feet away was a well braced solid square wooden post, above her,
resting on the side pieces was another, well braced to them. In front of
her was a wooden lounge chair, at least that is what it appeared to be,
the tall back sloped back fairly steeply, the arms were very high. At the
side of each of the front legs was what appeared to be a shackle, with an
open catch.
     The door opened and his wife entered, she was quite handsome, but
not in a cute or pretty way, more Angelica Houston than Barbie Benton.
She had jet black hair done up in exact period fashion to match her black
and white 1876 dress. As she glided across the room towards him, he
marveled at the grace with which she moved. She stepped up to him and
held the items up for his inspection.
     "Once we start, there's no backing out, no safe words, nothing like
that" He only nodded, unable to speak clearly. She reached up and softly
said, "Bend your head down". As he did, she pressed the ball into his
mouth, then stepped around behind him and buckled the first buckle
drawing the gag into his mouth. On the side again, "Lean down a bit
farther, please". Stiffly he complied. She deftly buckled the top strap
behind his head, pulling the gag even deeper into his mouth. "OK, stand
up dear ... now you're sure?" Again he nodded. She stood up on her
tiptoes and kissed him, "I do love you dear". "Hie huuu hoo hoo", he
tried to say the same, but the ball filling his mouth prevented any sound
coming out except for humming noises through his nose.
     She took the noose off of her arm and reached up, again he bent
forwards as she slipped it over his head. She stepped behind him and
fiddled with something, then reached up and slid the noose into place
behind his ear, then pulled on the rope, and pushed on the knot until the
rope was just as she wanted it to be. She reached behind the post and
clicked something. He heard a humming noise behind him and in a few
seconds the rope began to stir, another click and the hum deepened in
pitch, the knot began to push he head to the side and forward just a
little. Just as the pressure began to rise there was another click and
the humming and the knot stopped. She looked at him again and said, "Last
chance to back out, you're very sure?". As well as he could he nodded.
She smiled like the cat between the mouse and its hole, then pressed
herself against his front, "Yes, I think that you ARE sure. But you're in
for a surprise you know, we're not going to do this in the usual way".
     "Mummmmmm?"
     "You'll see," she stepped down, and he looked past her, The young
woman had changed, she now had a large red ball drawn tightly into her
mouth, narrow black straps led around her hair to the sides, trapping it
against her face, covering much of it, more straps led from the side of
the ball up in an inverted V to meet between her eyes, then as a single
strap back out of sight over the top. The thick silky braided nylon rope
that encircled her neck made a pleasing contrast with her hair and dress.
The rope ended almost out of sight, well behind her left ear in a bulky
hangman's knot that started at her neck, and ended almost at the top of
her head. It trapped her hair around her neck giving the appearance of a
auburn scarf over her head and neck. Her face was slightly flushed, and
had a faint sheen of sweat. She was breathing with very shallow, quick
breaths, almost panting.
     His wife glided to the chair and turned to face him, she backed up
to the chair and lowered herself gracefully into it. Leaning down she
raised her skirt just enough to expose her ankle which she quickly
clamped into the shackle, latching it closed, the the other ankle was
likewise trapped. She paused, savoring the moment and her prisoner, then
turned to the timer and murmuring to herself turned the dial to 3
minutes, then to 4, "yes four minutes should be just about right, Four
minutes, that's enough". She leaned over and picked up a belt from the
table, and old belt worn and obviously discarded, even the buckle was
broken, the tongue missing. She placed the belt around her neck and
through the buckle, then leaned back in the chair and reached both hands
over the back with the end of the belt, fiddled for a moment, and then
sat back up. Or tried to, before she got half way up the belt tightened
and pulled her to a stop, momentarily a look of irritation crossed her
face, and she leaned back, reached over and fiddled some more. This time
when she sat up she made it all the way up. "No this won't do either."
She leaned back again this time she made it most of the way up, she
adjusted the belt around her neck, then leaned really hard up to it. Her
eyes bulged just a little and her face darkened slightly, she leaned
back. "Just right", she smiled at him again.
     She unbuttoned the front of her skirt enough to admit both of her
hands, then she reached over to a small cup beside the timer and dipped
the fingertips of one hand into its contents. She reached over to the
timer and flipped the safety cover off of the arming switch with her
thumb, and then pressed the arming switch. "Ready dearie?". Again he
nodded. She pushed the start button with her thumb, and the sweep second
hand began to revolve. Then she placed both hands into the opening of her
dress and began to move them, slowly at first, then faster. Her eyes were
half open, and kept glancing at him then to the clock and back.
     "Wait a second", he thought, "this isn't how it's supposed to be,
she should be playing with me". He began to get nervous, after all
something could go wrong, dead wrong. He looked at the young woman, she
was even more flushed than before, her hands were trying to pluck at her
skirt, but tightly restrained, could only touch the belt. Her eyes were
wider than before, with more than a hint of panic in them, he felt it.
     His wife began to lean up to the belt drawing it snugly around her
neck, tighter than the noose around his. The timer began its second trip
around. He felt the panic begin to rise in him, he began to struggle to
get his arms loose, but the strap holding her elbows tightly together
prevented the young woman from getting any leverage against the wrist
restraints and her hands just flopped up and down. He tried to step away
but the noose was too tight, he couldn't even turn around. As she
struggled her dress swayed, heavily, sensuously. The timer began its
third trip around ...
       He though about how he had gotten into this sweet predicament.  
Twenty minutes ago his wife had said to him "Honey, you know   that
hanging game that you want to do?". "Yes?", of course he   did, it was
one of his favorite breath control games. "Well,   I'd like do do it
today. I've had an idea that will make it   ... oh ... interesting, I
think". "Well, go on", he was   interested, almost every one of his wifes
variations on their   usual games was interesting, to say the least. Some
of the   were really wild. Sometimes she was the victim, struggling  
with a noose snuggly around her neck while either she   masturbated or he
masturbated her, and then hoisted for a few   seconds just as she
orgasmed. But usually he was the victim,   tightly bound, masturbated to
the point of orgasm, then the   platform would drop and he would dangle
at the end of the rope   while he came, and for a few seconds more.
       "I want to dress you up, I mean really dress you up, first.   Then
I'll show you exactly what we'll do". It didn't take a   whole lot of
convincing, he really did enjoy dressing up in   womens clothing, not to
try to be a woman, but just for the   soft silkyness of it. Besides when
he was dressed, his wife   became a real bondage nut, tying him almost as
tightly as he   really liked.
       They went into the bedroom and he began to remove his shirt.
       "Not so fast, let's get me ready first".
       "Sure, whatever you want".
       "Get the black and white dress out please, I'll get the  
accessories".
       He went to the walk in closet and rummaged along her side until  
he found the dress that she wanted, as he lifted to off the   rack he
heard her say, "and bring the large container next to   it". There was a
large clothing hanger hanging to the right of   her dress he lifted that
off too.
       "Honey, this one is awfully heavy, are you sure that it's the
right one?"
       "Yes dear, it has everything that you'll need in it except for the
wig".
       She had already removed her clothing and put on her underthings.
       "Please help me with the corset".
       He picked up the corset and approached her, she turned around  
and he put the corset around her waist, hooking the first of   the posts
into the busk. Quickly the corset was hooked, and in   a few moments he
had drawn the laces as tight as they could go   and tied them off. She
stepped into her petticoats and then   slipped her button shoes on. He
dropped to his knees and began   to fasten them up as she slipped the
dress over her head. By   the time she had it arranged to her
satisfaction her shoes were   finished. Except for her short blond page
boy she was the   perfect image of a ladies maid from 1876. She corrected
the   fault in a few seconds with a little nylon wig cap over her hair  
and a black wig over that, all done up in cigar curls, very period   and
proper.
       "All right dear, now it's your turn". She turned to the   cloths
hanger, "Please remove your clothing". As he   rapidly complied she
opened the hanger and began to remove   items of womans under clothing
from the last century. By   the time that he was down to his shorts she
had removed   almost everything from the container. "Those too", she  
said. Then she handed him a set of knee length silky   pants.
       "Bloomers, the string ties in the front. Brassiere, you   know how
that goes, breast forms, right and left. Chemise,   the buttons go in
front."
       As she handed him each item he put it on, enjoying the   silken
feel of the feminine clothing ,and the changes in   his shape. Hose,
stockings really, he sat down a pulled   them on, pulling up the bloomers
to get them in position,   then added a garter on each leg.
       "Now your corset, turn around please".
       He did and she returned the favor that he had earlier done for  
her. In a few minutes the corset was laced quite tightly, or   so he
thought, his breathing was shallow, all in the chest.   It made his bust
move up and down alluringly. He would find   out the truth about
tightness in a few more minutes. She sat   him down and applied a small
amount of makeup, "A little   lipstick, just for color", as she described
it. She left the   room and returned almost immediately with a long wavy
auburn   wig. She placed a wig cap on his head, making sure that all   of
his hair was tucked up under it, and then twitched the wig   into
position over it, pinning it into place with pin after   pin. The feel of
all that lovely hair on his shoulders, and   hanging down his back to his
shoulder blades, and in front to   the top of his brassiere made him
shiver with anticipation.   "You know", he said, "I really don't make a
bad looking woman,   do I?".
       "Quit fishing for complements wench, or you'll feel the flat of  
my hand where it'll do the most good".
       He shut up, spankings were not his thing, although he got an  
unreasonably large number of them when dressed. His wife was   really
into them, well into giving them anyway.
       She had him stand up again and hold onto the door jamb. She  
untied the laces, and began to pull the corset tighter.
       "Hey wait a minute dear, you're going to cut me in two".
       "Don't be silly, besides you'll never fit into your outfit like  
this".
       She continued to pull and tug and soon his waist was even  
smaller that it had been before. "OK, I think that that will   do now".
       His breathing was even shallower, and his breast more animated.  
She picked up a stack of petticoats and sorted through them,   "This one
first, then these, then this one under all of them".   The last one
seemed to be much narrower that the others, he knew   why that was. He
began to pull them on one at a time, the   heavy fabric felt rich and
slippery to his hands, and twice a   petticoat slipped through his
fingers to the floor. She picked   up the next item of clothing, it
looked like a cross between a   cloth sausage and a bird cage, seeing the
question in his eyes   she said, "This is a bustle, it makes your rump
bigger" and   smacked him across his with the palm of her hand. She
passed   the straps around his waist and then adjusted the bustle so that 
 it was in exactly the right place.
       "Now for the crowning glory", she turned to the container and  
extracted a seemingly endless piece of black trimmed emerald   green
taffeta. Turning to him and lifting it up she said, "If   you'll put your
hands through ...", he put his hands through and   she pushed, pulled,
lifted, wiggled, tugged and finally got the   dress and bodice over his
head and torso. As they struggled   with it, the dress rustled loudly,
the sections rubbing across   each other made a sensuous shirring sound.
She lifted the   bodice and he put his arms into the sleeves, then she
pulled the   bodice up, and stepping behind him began to button it up the 
 back, button after button, hook after hook, soon it was snug all  
around. In the mirror, he watched her dressing him, the image   of a
young lady and her maid. She had, of course, been right he   could never
have gotten it on before. He critically examined   the dress, green with
black trim, the skirt had several layers   of draping across the front,
each trimmed with tiny black   tassels. What appeared to be row after row
of button loops,   each with its own small decorative jet toggle covered
the front   of the bodice. The tight sleeves ended just below his elbows, 
 in a spray of black lace several inches long. He felt the   skirt, it
was smooth and very stiff but strangely soft, as the   touched it he was
aware of the sheer weight of the dress. "It   must weight 20 pounds", he
thought. He took a hold on the dress   and experimentally swung it a bit,
it rustled softly, and its   weight swayed his body, just a little. He
swung it harder and   felt it pulling at his waist and the bodice. He
reached up to   feel the tight sleeves and found that he could raise his
hands   no higher than his shoulder, the sleeves were that tight. His  
wife grinned, "Perfect, a young lady should depend on her maid   for
everything". He ran his hands over the tightly fitted   bodice, the
smooth shiny fabric felt like soft steel under his   fingers, the texture
of the decorative button loops a   counterpoint in black.
       She brought forth the last item in the container, a wide  
polished black leather belt, very wide, at least a foot or more,   with
3 buckles at the opening and a wide strap a quarter of the   way from
each end. She turned him around and reaching around his   narrow waist,
wrapped the belt around it. Quickly she inserted   the center strap into
its buckle and pulled it up. She turned   the belt around his waist a few
inches, then pulled it back a   bit, the opening was now right in the
center of his back,   straddling the row of closely spaced buttons, the
two wide   straps were exactly at his sides. She pulled the buckle tight 
 and then inserted the tongue and slipped the end under the   retainer,
the other two buckles quickly followed. Then she   turned him back around
and took his right hand and placed his   wrist in the strap on that side
of the belt, wrapped the strap   tightly around his wrist, and then
slipped the end of the strap   through the waiting buckle. His left hand
likewise quickly   lost all freedom of action.
       "Now, we want to make sure that your hands stay secure dear".
       Stepping behind him she took a leather strap and wrapped it  
around his elbows, just above the ends of the sleeves, and then  
carefully drew them together, as his elbows got closer together   his
breathing became even shallower and more rapid as the motion   available
for inspiration became less and less, when his elbows   met she smiled.
Back in front of him, she pushed him gently   back, as he stepped
backwards he felt the fabric around his   legs, pressing and gently
restraining his motion towards the   wall. The bustle hit the wall with
a firm thump, and he felt   the dress swing against his legs again. "This
is going to be   very interesting", he thought, it was the first time
that he   had ever worn period womens clothing.
       First things first", she smiled and stepped up to him, "I always 
 wanted to kiss a lady dressed like this". She reached around   him and
pulled him to her, their corsets and breasts met, then   their lips, she
pressed in on him, bending him backwards over   the unyielding bustle. He
reached with his hands to embrace her   but could only get his fingertips
just to her waist. He pushed   as hard as he could, but only got another
half inch. His head   touched the wall, then as she pressed in on him,
tilted forward,   his shoulders and elbows touched the wall seconds
later, at   almost the same instant. He tried to pull her to him, but his 
 elbows against the wall gave him no freedom. She pressed her   groin
against his for a long moment, and then pulled away,   slipping through
his fingers.
       "Well I'd say that your arms are securely fastened".
       She pulled up a stool and sat on it. "Left foot please". He  
lifted his left foot up, and she pulled a black, high sided,   high
heeled shoe onto it, then buttoned it up, ten buttons at   least. "Right
foot", she released the left foot. He tried to   put it on the ground and
stumbled, the heels were huge, at   least 6 inches if not higher. "Honey,
I can't stand in these".
       "Don't worry, you won't have to for very long". He struggled to  
keep his balance as she placed the other shoe on his foot, and   buttoned
it up also, leaning his bustle against the wall seem   to help. She stood
up and taking his elbows in her hands   guided him out into the hall and
down the corridor towards the   play room door. Again there was the soft,
clingy feel of the   petticoats around his legs, impeding motion.
       She opened the door and guided his unresisting body into the  
room. She had set the bondage rack up as a gallows, with the   drop
platform, and the lowering winch. Well, now he knew just   what was going
to happen. He began to tremble with excitement.   They approached the
platform, he tried to step up, but the   petticoats did not allow him
enough leg movement to get his   foot onto the platform. She lifted his
skirt and then the   petticoats, caressing his leg as she did so, and
helped him   stand on the platform. Turning him to face the chair and  
mirror she said, "I'll be right back", and left ...
     The second hand began its final sweep. Panic rose in the young
woman, she was trying to speak through the gag, but the tight corset,
snug bodice and bulky ball allowed her to produce only murmurs and soft
incoherent sounds.
     His wife was really straining against the belt, her face was quite
dark and she was making gurgling sounds. The timer slipped to zero, he
tried to shout "No!" but the sound was cut off to a gurgle, as with a
snap the platform below the young woman's feet dropped to the ground, she
also dropped, but only about an inch as the remaining slack in the noose
was taken up.  Her feet appeared, as if by magic, below the hem of her
dress, reaching down, then out and around. He heard the hum of a motor
running, and knew that he would live, then gave himself up to the
struggle.
     At first the noose was not too tight nor too painful, but as her
feet danced around trying to find something to support her it slowly
tightened. She could still breath, with gurgling noises much like the
woman in the chair was making, when she breathed out she made a gurgling
sound, and when she breathed in, a horrid snoring sound. She was twisting
now, slowly turning.
     The haze of hair around his face that had appeared when the gag and
noose were applied had blocked off his view of his wife, in fact all that
he could see now was the bodice of his green dress and the wide square
post passing across his vision.
     As he turned further, he saw a mirror below him angled up so that he
could see the entire view. In the image her kicking feet were limited in
scope by the strong hem of the petticoats. Her buttoned shoes had heels
that were much too tall, not that it mattered as they weren't touching
anything except air. He tried to still the dancing feet, and for a moment
they paused. The noose was buried in her throat, almost covered by the
wild mane of auburn hair. He though that she was, perhaps, the most
striking thing that he had ever seen. The feet began dancing again, and
he felt the heavy weight of fabric that surrounded his legs, caressing,
soothing, restraining. The womans image slowly turned away and the other
post passed slowly before him. He watched the image in the mirror on it,
he watched her eyes, they looked back, panic stricken, out of a darkening
face.
     Then they too turned away and his wife appeared, her hands were
moving so rapidly that they almost blurred, she relaxed just a bit
against the belt and took a long shuddering gasp of air, then snapped
back against the belt. He tried to breath, there was a gurgle as he
exhaled some air, but when he tried to inhale, nothing. Suddenly his wife
began to thrash about, straining against the belt and ankle restraints,
for several seconds she made no sound at all and then went limp and fell
back against the chair, releasing the belt. Her breath sighed out, then
back in again.
     That left only him, and the image in front of him. Her feet were
kicking widely now, stopped only by entrapping fabric, with every kick
the dress rode up, and fell again. The dress itself seemed to be alive,
swaying and moving almost independently. Her head was tipped quite far
forward, the noose biting deeply under her chin. The only sounds in the
room were the continuous rustle of taffeta from his dancing feet, the
creak of the gallows, an occasional gurgle and a faint humming. Her head
was no longer tipped to the side, but was tipped forwards by the knot
which had worked its way further around as the noose tightened and was
now near the back of her neck. Now he needed a breath of air, very badly.
Again he tried to breath, more gurgles, and no air. He felt the pressure
rise in his groin, up, up, up. He tried to shout as he came ... only a
gurgle.
     His wife swung away again. "If I can just reach my feet up and put
them around the post in front of me..." he thought. He tried to swing his
feet up, but as they went forward his bustle went back and nothing much
else happened. He tried again, more forcefully, pulling his feet up and
kicking them out, except that when he kicked his feet, instead of
shooting out to the post, they went down, and when his legs straightened
with a jerk, he felt the noose tighten some more. Again he tried to
shout, nothing now, not even a gurgle. He tried to scream, as loudly as
he could ... only the rustle of taffeta, the creak of the rope around his
neck, and a faint hum.
     The face of the image swinging by in the lower mirror was dark,
almost purple, the bulging eyes wild and mad, there was no intellect
behind them any more, just panic. Her feet were flailing around wildly,
he tried to still them again, but the movement never paused. Her hands
were franticly straining upwards as far as they were able. As she passed
from view the feet changed motion, began kicking up and down. Each kick
tightened the noose still further. Another post, again the feet went up,
the bustle back and the feet dropped with a jerk. Now the noose was very
painful. The other mirror was partially hidden from view by his hair
falling around his face, the chin pressed down towards the straining
bosom. But he could see the jerk as each foot kicked, the noose
tightening, slowly working its way around her neck, the head bobbing down
just a little with each jerk.
     As he swung around to the front again, he could see that the knot
was actually on the other side of her neck now, the noose had tightened
so far. Her feet were almost still, only pushing down and waving in small
circles, trying to reach the ground now only inches away, only her hands
still moved with any rapidity, fluttering like birds. His vision was
beginning to dim, from the sides, and he heard a ringing sound, way off
in the distance. Now he was facing his wife again, her eyes were open and
she was watching like a snake watches a bird, slowly rubbing inside her
dress.
     Then as everything faded to red and then slowly to black he felt the
tips of his shoes brush the floor, and then again. Then he was able to
actually press with the toes of the shoes, his vision began to clear but
he still couldn't breathe, he strained his neck muscles and tried again
... nothing. Now he was actually standing on his heels, in the image the
knot was lowering away from her head, red face straining for air, but the
noose was still tight around her neck.
     His wife was bent over fiddling around her ankle. Then she was up,
and coming to him, reaching around to the knot and pulling on it. He
gasped in air, panting through his nose, trying to breath around the gag.
She didn't remove the noose, only loosened it, pushing it back around to
the left side. She reached over behind the post and flipped a switch, the
humming stopped and the knot with it, still touching his head. She hugged
him, speaking soft nothings, then, "poor baby, are you all right?". He
nodded, breath whistling in and out as rapidly as nostrils, corset and
bodice would allow. She ground her crotch against him and kissed him
again and again, all around the ball gag, on the ball gag, on his cheeks,
his hair, the noose. She ran her hands across his bodice, cupped the
breasts, then pulled him to her and hugged him. His breathing began to
slow from its frantic pace. She continued to hold him, caressing, lifting
his skirts to fondle him. He began to get excited, whatever she wanted,
even a spanking would be fine.
     She smiled at him and said, "That was really hot, let's try it
again".

FIN