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The Twighlight Zone Ch. 01

By: Seurat



A number of years ago, I published a series of stories in a series entitled, "The Twighlight Zone". The stories were all linked to a sex toy/lingerie shop and club of the same name. The first of the stories and the inspiration for the series began in "The Wedding Present", already posted here. Each chapter had it's own characters and plot, though all revolved around the shop and it's goods. As things progressed, the characters and situations got more and more fantastic, with elements of science fiction creeping in. Finally, a computer meltdown caused the loss of the last chapter in the series, and I never recovered.

Recently, a budding author tracked me down, and has convinced/cajoled me to write again. I am in the process of re-editing the original series, as well as some short stories and new works, and will publishing them as time permits. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.



This is the first in the actual series.



 part 1: The Shop



Carol looked out the passenger window again, across the parking lot at the store at the end of the cul-de-sac. Just thinking about going in there was making her nervous. Hell, she thought, just sitting in the parking lot was making her nervous. How was she going to get herself inside?

Not that she would be the only one there. The lot was half filled with cars, attesting to the popularity of the store. Whoever owned the store had chosen a perfect spot; one of the old 'company' buildings from the city's boomtown eras, it was accessible yet secluded. Even so, Carol was nervous that somebody would recognize her. Again she looked out the window at the non-descript store. A few mannequins posed in the windows in skimpy costumes, a hint of what lay inside. A huge walnut and leaded glass led to the secrets that lay behind. Over the door was painted the name: The Twighlight Zone. Underneath was written: The store with the exotic twist. Only, the 'x' was written ambiguously enough that it could make the word 'erotic'.

A porn shop, or at least as close as this city would get to a porn shop. Rumor had it that any type of clothing or sexual toy could be had in there. A treasure trove of delights. And therein lied her problem. If she was seen going in there, it would be admitting to the world that she and her husband had sex, and that she was willing to add some spice to it. If she were seen she would be branded as a slut.

Carol thought it over for the hundredth time that afternoon. She wasn't doing it for herself, she knew. She did it for Thomas, her husband. Just a little something to thrill him on their anniversary. Steeling herself, she got out of the car and headed for the front door. Nobody would see her. Nobody had better see her. Her pace quickened as she started up the steps. Was it difficult for men to walk into pornography shops? The rush of adrenaline, the racing heart, the sweaty palms?

Just as she reached the front door it opened, and Carol nearly turned and ran back to the car when she realized it was a doorman opening the door so she could enter. Ducking her head in thanks and in a vain attempt not to be seen, Carol hurried inside. And stopped dead in her tracks just a few feet inside the door.

The store was huge. Huge like a major mall store. Far beyond what she had expected, or thought could exist, given the store front. Marble and carpet covered the floors, and racks of clothes surrounded her. It was so far beyond what she expected that Carol stood in the entryway, mouth agape.

"Ma'am? May I help you?"

"Excuse me?" Carol turned to the saleslady that had come up beside her. She was dressed in a sharp business suit. Again, not what Carol had expected.

"I asked if I could help you. You have the look of a first timer."

"Well, yes, but I think I would like to look around by myself. Thank you."

"Quite alright, ma'am. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. My name's Janice."

Carol hadn't taken three steps into the bizarre store before she turned to find Janice, who was straightening lingerie on a nearby rack.

"Janice? I think maybe I could use a little help. All this rubber and leather and whatnot is all very confusing to me. I just wanted to get something to, um, I mean, it's for my husband." Carol blushed deeply. 

"That's quite alright, ma'am. Let me show you what we have; The Twighlight Zone prides itself on satisfying every customer, or your money back." Janice beamed at Carol, pride showing in her face. Carol calmed a bit.

"Before we go too far, Janice, I was wondering if you could tell me about the name. You know, what with the television show, and everything."

Janice smiled again. "Actually, ma'am, we don't have anything to do with the show. The owner is from Europe, and had never seen the show. She wanted a name that conveyed a feeling between day and night, between light and dark. When the creatures of the dark come forth. A twighlight time, and thus a twighlight zone."

"You make it sound so...I don't know, almost malicious."

Janice let out a little laugh. "In a way it is, ma'am. We at the Zone realize that our products are about the loss of innocence. Traditionally, the role of hedonists. What most people come to realize, though, is that we are here to help improve relationships, whatever type they may be."

Carol smiled weakly in response. She didn't really think of this store as a relationship aid. "Hedonism is quite the word. Everything here reeks of sex."

"I assure you, ma'am, none of our products have been used and, except for the leather, has been de-scented as far as possible."

Carol was caught, and laughed a bit at herself. "I meant that it all has an essence of sex."

"Sorry, ma'am. It's just that some people are very accusatory when they come in here. Sometimes I get a little defensive, and I apologize. Let's get back to the reason you are here: a present for your husband. Did you mean you wanted something to wear for your husband, or something for your husband to wear?"

"You have clothing for men? As in lingerie?"

"Yes, ma'am. In fact, we are currently running a special package deal called, 'Seven Saturdays to complete Sexual Slavery". It comes with costumes, make-up, and sex toys, along with an instruction manual on how to sexually enslave your man. It's been a very popular item."

"Slave? You mean, it turns my husband into my slave? I don't think I want that."

"It's meant to make a female the dominant partner in a sexual relationship by playing on a male's sexual fantasies. There are some drawbacks. Not every women can handle or even desires the responsibility of constantly being in charge of her husband. Also, some men get too far into the fantasy and refuse to return to the former relationship. They have too much fun."

"Fun as a slave?"

"Yes ma'am. The lack of decision making responsibilities is a strong sexual fantasy among many men. Being tied up, sexual deprivation, the whole leather and boots thing."

"I had wondered about that. I never understood it, though."

"Many women don't, ma'am. They wonder what the attraction is, and are afraid to try it. Some really get into it, some decide they don't like it. The reason we suggest it, at least once, is that as a dominant a woman can order her mate to tell her about his fantasies. From there, she can match up elements with her own fantasies and improve her sex life."

Carol smiled again. Thomas was a little repressed, she thought. Maybe something a little out of the ordinary was called for. "Hmm. The way you put it, I might have to give it a try. Show me what else you have."

* * * * * * * * * *

Janice led Carol through the front section of the store, where racks of silk and lace lingerie crowded the aisles. As they moved deeper into the store, they encountered more and more customers, each attended by one or more salespeople. Many were filling baskets or writing on notepads. They reached the center of the store, and Carol noticed that the store was laid out like a wagon wheel with aisle spokes separating each section. Lingerie that you might find in a Victoria's Secret store. Leather outfits. Clothes made of rubber. Bondage devices. Toys. Electronics. Other sections that Carol could only imagine.

"Ma'am?" Carol snapped back to reality. "It can be a little overwhelming, at first. Have you decided if the gift is to be for you or your husband, or would you like something for both of you?"

"Um, I thought maybe a little slave girl outfit. Or maybe something to tie him down with. Oh, I don't know. Help!" Carol laughed in exasperation. "It's for our tenth wedding anniversary, and we're possibly going to the shore for two weeks. I just wanted something to add a little bang to the beginning, if you catch my drift.

"I think I know what might do. Have a seat in here, and I'll bring some items back for you." Janice led her to a changing area, then retreated into the store.

Carol looked around her, at the people and the clothing. Ten minutes ago she was merely a housewife; now she was a sexual deviant. She looked at a mannequin dressed head to toe in a zippered leather body suit complete with spike heeled boots. How could anybody walk in those things? Carol walked over to get a better look, and realized that the mannequin was breathing. She was so startled, she jumped back and bumped right into Janice.

"There's somebody in there!" Carol blurted out in surprise.  "Yes, ma'am. All the mannequin's you see are actually models. If you would prefer not to try on a piece of clothing, or if you would like to see how something would look on a certain body type, they are here for your shopping pleasure."

Carol took another look around the store, paying closer attention to where the 'mannequins' were. A male in the 'toys' area was trussed in chains and had his mouth filled with a bright red ball. She thought of herself dressed in the zippered leather outfit, with Thomas all trussed up and unable to protest as she teased and tormented him. He always did talk too much and ruin the mood. She would be in control for once. Maybe be just use his body for her own. Maybe she should try this dominance thing.

"What's that over there, Janice?"

"It's called 'The Housewife Harness'. Instructions on how to mount the eye bolts and hide them as plant hangers until they're needed. The set includes wrist and ankle restraints, the spreader bar, blindfold, the leather posing pouch, and your choice of a ball or penis gag. Cock rings, butt plugs, and nipple clamps are extra."

"Penis gag?"

"Yes ma'am. Different sized gags in the shape of a penis, molded out of plastic, rubber, or leather. Gives a straight male the feeling that he is being forced to suck a penis. Great for threats."

"Come again?"

"If he acts up, you threaten to get a real penis to replace it, or tell him it's all just practice. As I said, great for threats."

"I couldn't bring another man into our bedroom."

"It's the thought that counts, ma'am. The mind is the most erotic device ever created." 

"What were those other things you mentioned? Cock rings, butt plugs, and clamps? What are they for?"

"I can show you, if you want." Janice led Carol over to where the model hung.

Carol was truly intrigued by the entire idea now. "How would I get him into this. I mean, I don't think he's about to let me truss him up like that."

"You do it in steps, ma'am. Dress in something sexy, and surprise him while he watches the t.v. Entice him back to the bedroom, promising him that you have something special in store. Have him put on the pouch and blindfold while you change into something really kinky. Take down the plants and truss him up, then take off the blindfold. You'll be able to gauge his reaction by the bulge in the pouch. The rest is up to you. It does come with a beginner's guide."

Carol looked back at the zippered leather outfit, the one with the heels. "Do you have that in my size?"

"Yes, ma'am. In fact, I've already picked one up for you."



Carol smoothed tight leather over her legs, and stood up. Her legs wobbled on the towering high heels and her legs were cramping from the strain, but Janice assured her that she would get used to wearing them in time, even if it was for only short periods of time. She strode over to the mirror and looked at the figure before her. A domina, Janice called it. This was going to be an anniversary that Thomas wouldn't soon forget.

"Janice, I think this could be the start of a beautiful relationship" she joked.

"I certainly hope so, ma'am. I certainly hope so."

* * * * * * * * * *

Carol spread out the packages she brought home on the master bed, then ran downstairs to get her husbands drill and some other tools. The rest of the results from her shopping trip were going to dropped off by Janice later on; Carol didn't need them for tonight's activity, and thought it would be better to have them delivered rather than worry about trying to find a hiding spot for them. Besides, some needed a little tailoring to make them fit just right. 

When she returned, she stripped naked and, dropping the tools on the bed, reached for the little instruction booklet. She began reading it as she went to her dresser and pulled out a sweatsuit. The book gave instructions on how to find the rafters in her ceiling, the best placement of the eye bolts for minimal embarrassment when dealing with visiting family, and a host of other things. Carol noticed that she was having a hard time concentrating on the work before her. Visions of Thomas trussed up flitted through her mind. She might just have to masturbate before she got started.

* * * * * * * * * * *  

Thomas sat in his favorite chair and clicked on ESPN. Carol had phoned him earlier and told him to cancel their dinner reservations that night, as she had cooked up something special for him. He didn't smell anything from the kitchen, and when he got home Carol had told him to watch fifteen minutes of television, then he could come upstairs. She had been dressed in a fairly drab sweatsuit, most likely from an afternoon workout. He hoped she wouldn't wear it to bed.

'Upstairs' was one of their euphemisms for making love. The thought of possibly having sex was making him erect. They didn't make love that often, and if he was lucky he might even get a blowjob. They were few and far between, but it was their anniversary. It was obvious that Carol had something special in mind, and a blowjob would be a welcome start to two weeks off.

The fifteen minutes dragged on forever, or so it seemed, and finally Thomas rushed upstairs. As he reached the midway landing he was surprised to find Carol's sweatsuit in a small heap. His pace quickened as he went up the second half of the stairs. The door to the master bedroom was wide open, and the room itself was lit with candles. A few extra hanging plants were set in front of two of the windows. On their bed was his wife Carol, dressed in sexy red lingerie, and holding a glass of red wine. A teddy, Thomas thought, that's what they call it, I think.

"You're still dressed. How can I tell if you like my anniversary present if you still have your pants on?"

Thomas kicked off his shoes, unzipped his pants and pulled everything from the waist down in one fell swoop. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled both his undershirt and dress shirt off over his head. His member was growing visibly at the sight of his wife sitting up in bed. A drop of precum glistened noticeably at the tip.

"Oh, Thomas, always jumping the gun. Here's a little test to see if you really want my special present. If you can blow out all these candles and get onto this bed by the time I count ten, I promise I'll give you a night you won't ever forget. Over ten, and we'll make love but you'll never get to see my other surprises. Ever. GO!"

After a moment of hesitation while the words registered in his mind, Thomas ran around the room, his now erect cock slapping into his legs and apparently trying to trip him up. Carol counted out loud, slowly at first, then getting quicker as he neared completion. In total darkness he leaped onto the bed just as she said, "Zero."

"How's that?"

"Very good!"

Thomas reached over to touch his wife, but as his fingers made contact, she pulled away. 

"Wait, don't say anything, and don't touch me unless I tell you. I've got something very special planned for us tonight, and if it works out, the it will last the entire weekend. Maybe the whole two weeks. So be quiet and do everything I tell you, understand?"

"Mmmm-hmmm." Thomas agreed through closed lips.

"Good. Thomas, I have to tell you, I haven't had a thing to eat all day, and I'm really hungry. Why don't you slide your legs over the edge here and give me something to fill my stomach?" Thomas' prick jumped at the thought of his wife giving him a blow job, let alone swallowing. She'd always said she would taste his cum as soon as he had. In the dark he watched the silhouette of his wife slip off the bed, pulling his legs in her direction. He scuttled over to the edge, laying flat on his back with his feet on the floor, erection hanging over the edge of the bed. He felt his wife's hands caress his inner thighs, then push his legs further apart as she moved her body between them. One hand lifted his cock from were it lay stiff against his belly while the other began playing with his ball sac. His wife's mouth kissed the head of his cock, then she ran her tongue slowly licked up it's underside. Thomas relaxed on the bed, enjoying the sensations his wife's mouth were creating. He could feel his climax rising, and evidently so could she, because she stopped before he could cum.

"Thomas? If I let you cum now, will you be able to 'perform' for me later?"

"Um," Thomas debated answering. A blow job usually drained him in more ways than one, and he was never up to sex afterwards. He mumbled honestly, "probably not."

"Didn't I tell you not to talk?"

"Mmmm-hmm." He tried to make it sound apologetic.

"Then we'll just save it for later, okay? You may answer that question."

"But...It feels so good, and I'm so close."

"Stop your whining. What I've got planned for you will feel better. A whole lot better." Carol got up from her position on the floor and stood before Thomas, her body a dark shadow in the room. She leaned over and pushed the wine glass into his hand. "I'm gonna go change into something a little more appropriate to what's going to happen next. I've left you something under your pillow. If you don't think about it, it'll be easier to put on. I'll be out in about fifteen minutes." Carol turned and walked to their bathroom. 

Fifteen minutes, Thomas thought to himself. It was fifteen minutes of waiting before, and only one minute of sex. Now another fifteen. What did she have in mind? Thomas slid over and reached under his pillow, and found a piece of heavy material there. Pulling it out, he examined it the best that he could in the darkness of the room. A few thin straps, each ending with a dime sized ring, connected to a triangular piece of cloth with two holes, one with a tube sown over it. What the hell was this thing? He downed the wine in one gulp and headed for the window.

Holding it up to the weak light coming through the window, He could see that it was some bizarre piece of underwear made of leather. He held it to his now semi-erect cock to see how it would go on, and his cock reversed it's downward trend at the mere thought of kinky sex. Evidently, he was supposed to pass his dick through the tube, which would cover about have it's length. His balls would pass through the second and lower hole. The three straps would then be pulled around back to hold the whole thing in place. Thomas started pulling the tube over his cock only to find that it was too small to let an erect penis in. He would have to go limp, then pull himself in. Now his wife's statement about making it 'easier to put on' made sense. If he thought about wearing leather underwear, he would stay so erect that he would never get it on. Thomas let his mind drift back to the office, concentrating on work and projects coming up. After a few minutes he looked down to see that he had gone nearly limp, and he quickly pulled the tube on. His cock immediately started to harden again, filling the tube and stretching forth. Thomas readjusted as best he could, and soon the lower half of his prick was tightly encase in leather. He pulled the front down and maneuvered his balls through the hole, the pulled the two side straps together in back, or at least tried.


The Twighlight Zone Ch. 01



They were too short.

Trying his hardest, he could barely get the rings to ouch. That was when he realized their was no way to connect the rings. Shit! He got the thing halfway on, and now couldn't finish the job.

"How's it going out there, Thomas?"

"Okay, but I don't know how to connect the rings."

He saw a flash of light as the bathroom door opened and then slammed shut. A figure stormed into the room. "Damn it, Thomas. I give you one small task to accomplish in ten years, and you can't figure out how to do it. Get over here." Thomas nearly ran over to the new hanging plants where his wife stood. She sounded really mad, and he didn't want to ruin their anniversary night. His eyes, still momentarily blinded by the light from the bathroom, nearly caused him to run into her on his way over. 

"Turn around, so I can connect them." Thomas spun around so quickly that his head hit one of the plants. "Be careful, will you? I just bought those." Carol reached around both of his hips and grabbed the straps, pulling them tight behind him. Then she reached under his ass and between his legs and grabbed the third strap, pulling it up between his ass cheeks to meet the other to rings. Thomas heard a soft 'click'. The straps drew the entire thing tight into his body, and he doubted he could wiggle out of it even if he wasn't erect.

"It's a little tight."

"It's supposed to be. What did I say about you talking? Don't let it happen again." She grabbed his balls lightly, and then his cock, making sure the leather wasn't pinching any folds of skin. "There. Now unhook that plant and put it down over there." Thomas did as he was told. Things were happening too quickly for him to question them, which is exactly what Carol wanted. "Point each hand to the ring in the ceiling. Hurry! I don't have all night."

Again, he did as he was told. He heard something metal clink first above one hand, then above the other. What felt like doubled over rope was pressed into his hand. "Hold this." His hands grasped the rope tightly. Something soft touched his left shoulder, then began massaging his arm as it moved towards his wrist. She was wearing gloves, he thought. She never wears gloves. Both hands circled his wrist, and squeezed around it, then he felt a hand on his other shoulder. It startled Thomas, thinking that she was holding his left wrist, but when his body jerked away his left arm was anchored to the ceiling. She quickly buckled the other restraint around his other wrist, before he could protest.

"How about a little light, so we can see if you're still ready for me." Carol's face lit up behind the flame of a lighter, revealing for the first time to Thomas the fact that her face was the only flesh exposed in an outfit of black leather and zippers. Heels higher than anything he had seen her wear supported her leather boots. She smiled as she walked silently around the carpeted room, lighting candles as she did.

"So, does my anniversary present meet with your approval?" She turned and looked as his still erect cock. "I see that it does."

"Ohmygod, Carol, this is so incredible. I can't believe it."

Carol put down the lighter and moved quickly over to him the best she could in her heels. A hand reached behind her back and brought forth a black rubber penis about three inches long but as thick as Thomas's own. Her other hand grabbed his jaw and squeezed his cheeks, popping his mouth open in both surprise and pain. She promptly strapped the penis gag in place.

She sounded miffed when she spoke. "Dammit, Thomas. I told you not to speak, didn't I? You always talk to much. Now look what you've forced me to do." She adjusted the gag so it was not hurting him. "That should keep you quiet. I don't want to hear any complaints about it either. I've been reading a little book today about women and sexual power, and I know I could easily go down to the club and pick up one of your friends for an evening of satisfying sex if I wanted to. Hell, I bet I could get that guy Barry up here to replace that rubber penis with a real one. Isn't he the one you call Barry the fairy, or something like that?"

Emotions were flashing through Thomas' mind. Disgust at the huge (to him) dildo in his mouth, fear that his wife would even think of fucking somebody else or bring Barry here, and lust at seeing his wife in such a sexual frenzy. A sense of real panic began to overcome Thomas, and he started to hyperventilate.

A flash of panic went through Carol's mind. Her husband didn't know that she wasn't serious with her threats; as far as he knew, she was one step away from bringing another man into the bedroom, to fuck him, or her, or both. Time for some loving reassurance.

"Oh, by the way Thomas, do you remember our wedding dance song, the Sleeping Beauty Waltz? If, for some reason, all this becomes too much for you, just hum a little for me. Okay? I have no intentions of sharing you, just yet."

He almost hummed right then, because of everything that she had just said, then realized what she meant by it. Thomas nodded, and relaxed as much as he could. So this was all for fun. He had a way out, if he needed or wanted it, so he could let loose without the fear or rage he had felt a minute ago. Everything she said or did was part of the act. Of course, that didn't stop his adrenaline from being pumped out full blast through his body.

Carol's hand grasped his cock. "Wow. Look at how hard you are. It's like a little shaft of concrete. I could fuck that all night if I wanted to. Would you like that, Thomas?"

He nodded, paused, then shook his head.

"What's wrong, Thomas? Don't you want me to keep you hard all night, just for my pleasure?"

He nodded again, then shook his head, unsure of exactly what the question was.

"Then it must be this new underwear I bought you. I think it shows you off quite nicely. It must me a little snug, though, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"That's the idea, you know. It's tight enough to keep you erect for me but too tight to let you cum until I say so. And that won't happen until I am satisfied with your performance as my sex slave. I say 'I' because they happened to be padlocked on, and I hid the only key. Now, I'm still hungry. Do you mind if I have a little nibble on your meat?"

Carol got down on her knees and started licking and kissing his erection. Thomas' knees nearly buckled from the sensations he was feeling. This was not the woman he knew; this was a sex-craved leather-clad kinkmeister. Carol had never done anything like this ever in their whole relationship. Oral sex had never played a big part in their relationship, and the lack had never been really important. Hell, she never said words like 'fuck' or 'cum', and she had always referred to his cock as 'it', but in a seductive way. He could feel his orgasm rising again as Carol's tongue swirled around the head of his cock, kissing and licking it like a lollipop. She had never done anything like that, either!

Carol looked up at her bound husband, and put her trust in Janice, who had told her ejaculation would be nearly impossible in the leather underwear Thomas now wore. At least, it would take a lot more stimulation then he was used to, that's for sure. She could feel Thomas start to twitch in orgasm, and just kept sucking and licking. The twitch lasted just a moment, and his cock seemed to expand a little, but nothing else. She smiled, and pulled away for a moment. Time to tease.

"Oh god, Thomas, forget the fucking. Your cock tastes so good, I can't stop. Cum for me." A little corny, perhaps, but his moan in response was one of desperation and lust. Just the reaction Janice had said she would get. She brought her hands up, one to grip his shaft, the other fondle his balls. It gave her a strange feeling of erotic power to have him like this, and that made the fellatio easier. Enjoyable, even. She redoubled her efforts, seeing if she could get him to cum even though she knew he could not.

Thomas wasn't having as much fun. His whole body was so filled with sexual energy he thought he might explode. His building orgasm had surpassed anything her had felt with Carol before, but it was just that. A building orgasm. She kept sucking and swirling and licking, and his orgasm kept building a little more and a little more and a little more, but there was no release. It was almost painful, and he was afraid that when he did cum he wouldn't have that feeling of control that he usually had. Not that he was in control now. 

Carol could feel herself getting wet underneath the hot leather jumpsuit. This domination thing had her so turned on, she could feel her own orgasm building. Maybe this domination idea wasn't so bad, after all. Time to switch gears, and positions. She pulled her lips off his dick with an exaggerated sucking sound.

"Well, Thomas, are you going to cum or not? I'm down here, waiting for my jism feast, and you won't cum. Don't you like what I'm doing? Aren't I good enough to taste you, to swallow you, to lick you dry? You've never held back before." Thomas moaned again in frustration, and Carol's smile grew. "Well, if you're not going to cum, then the least you can do is let me use this cock to masturbate myself.

She got up and unlocked his wrists, and as they fell to his sides she pulled them behind him and linked the cuffs together. Then she grabbed his cock and pulled him over to the bed and pushed him onto it. She didn't hear the door downstairs open.

"Just look at that big ole cock of yours. If I'd known the effect this would have on you, I would have done this ages ago. Let's see if you can satisfy me, or should I just leave you like that?" His head shook vehemently. "Good. Get all the way onto the bed."

When he was in position she unzipped the zipper leading from her belly button through her crotch and to her waist in back, then climbed on top of him. Straddling him, one hand guided his engorged cock into her, and she sighed at the filling sensation. She braced her arms on either Side of him and started sliding up and down, grinding her clit into the leather above his cock.

At the door to their bedroom stood another leather covered figure, completely in white to contrast Carol's black outfit. A hood disguised the face, revealing only a pair of green eyes and lips painted cherry red. Breasts abnormally large and firm jutted straight out from it's front almost in mockery of the female form. From between the legs rose a thin and curved phallus, constructed of small bulbs with small spaces in-between, currently being covered in lubricant to make the impending surprise anal insertion a lot easier. After all, part of a this domination scene was the surprises. At the figure's feet lay a duffel bag with two weeks worth of bondage and domination equipment to experiment with, along with some street clothes.

On the bed, Carol was shuddering through her first orgasm, or rather through the waves of it. Thomas had never felt so good inside her, and the kinkiness of what she was doing was really turning her on. She immediately began working on a second, content in the knowledge that for once she would definitely get full satisfaction before he did. 

As the figure moved across the room, it began blowing out the few remaining lit candles, wanting to work in near darkness, and knowing that the lights wouldn't be missed until it was too late. The female on the bed arched her back in a second orgasm, and after a moment of rest, began work on another.

Thomas was going out of his mind. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, and worst of all he couldn't cum. Instead, his wife was riding him like there was no tomorrow. She had orgasmed at least twice already, and was heading for a third, when she suddenly slowed down.

"Thomas, would you like to cum inside me now? Should I take off the padlock and let you fill me with your seed? Or should I tease you and not let you come until later? Moan once if you'd do anything to cum right now." The figure in white moved across the carpet, it's phallus bobbing in the air. Somebody was in for a big surprise. The figure stood at the foot of the bed, ready and waiting for the right moment to thrust forward. 

Thomas let out a single excited moan. "Did you like my little domination scene?"

A moan of agreement. How did she come up with this? 

"Do you think you could do the same thing to me, if I asked? Dominate me, tie me up, the whole nine yards?"

A pause as ideas flitted through Thomas's head, followed by another moan of agreement. The figure in white smoothed the lubricant on the foremost ball of the phallus, and aimed it at Carol's rosebud. If it was domination and sex she wanted, that was what she was going to get.

"Really?" Her voice was excited. "Could you really play the part of the master, with me as your sex slave? Sticking your cock in my mouth, my cunt, maybe my ass?"

Thomas moaned again, a definite yes.

"Too bad." Carol locked her left leg under is right and rolled herself onto her back, pulling him on top and at the same time using her leather covered hands to pull apart his butt cheeks as Janice leaned in with the dildo. Carol smiled as she watched his surprised eyes go wide in the dimly lit room as bulb after bulb was slowly pressed into his opening. "I think I like being the dominant when it comes to sex, and that's the way it's going to stay until I decide otherwise. Happy anniversary, Thomas." Carol began fucking him again, this time from underneath, as the white clad Janice finished her rear entry. The bulbs of the dildo pressed against his prostrate and, combined with the surprise of the sudden intrusion and the night of teasing and the clench of Carol's vagina caused Thomas to explode in the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced. His body slammed into Carol, who held him in place as he bucked wildly as each spurt of hot jism forced it's way through his confined cock and into Carol's waiting cunt. Janice pulled the strap-on out slowly, causing additional aftershocks of orgasm to pulse through Thomas as each bulb passed over his prostrate, until he finally collapsed on top of Carol. Unnoticed by Thomas in his throws of ecstasy, Carol had been able to grind herself to a third, subtle but enjoyable orgasm.

The three of them stayed that way for just a moment before Janice pulled herself completely free. She so enjoyed these home demonstrations; they always helped her sales commissions in the long run. She thought to herself, 'another satisfied customer!'  





Epilogue to part 1:

I would like to tell you that Janice left, her sales demonstration complete, and that Carol continued to dominate Thomas for the rest of their two weeks off. Or that they switched places and he dominated her on occasion. I could tell you that Janice joined them for some scenes, and made the two of them her sex slaves. Or even that they spent the next few days experimenting with the rest of the toys that Janice delivered, and then went shopping for even more stuff. But for now, this is where their tale ends.



The Twighlight Zone Ch. 02



Before you go any further: this is another episode in my Twighlight Zone series, a collection of stories which are connected (loosely) to a store by the same name. Each story is somewhat of a standalone; while characters from one episode may appear in other episodes, don't expect storyline continuation from one episode to the next. If you really like characters, let me know and I may develop them in a further story.

This is the second of the Twighlight Zone stories. Re-reading this work, years after I originally released it, has led me to realize that I was in a really dark place at the time. Well, even darker than normal. Black, even. Even after a major rewrite and a lot of storyline correction, the darkness still shows. This episode of the series has lots of femdom action, a lot of revenge fantasy, a smattering of sex, and really nasty things happening to cliché characters. I make no apologies, but I do warn you: if this isn't your type of erotica, don't read any further.

The Twighlight Zone, Chapter 2: The Twighlight Cafe, by Seurat





It was another boring Wednesday night party, and Hank Prah stood behind the fraternity bar and idly fingered the small glass vial in his pants' pocket. The substance inside could sate his itch, albeit temporarily. It was easy when he was the bartender; when he saw a prospective 'companion' approaching, he would simply gauge how drunk she was, add a little extra to a cup, then make a show of pouring her a fresh beer in a fresh cup. He would make her do something before she could have the beer: tell him her name, who she was with, anything, just to get her chatting. A girl engaged in conversation was less likely to head out onto the dance floor again, and Hank knew better than to push more beer on her. After all, why get her drunk when his little additive would have the same effect? When she wasn't expecting it, he would pull her aside and get her a little worked up, then move her to a more comfortable spot. Usually by then, the drug had started to take effect, and he was guaranteed a sure thing.

It wasn't the most most honorable way to get laid, that's for sure, but these girls were here looking for a good time, and he was there to provide it. Sometimes he just helped things along a little.

One of his fraternity brothers, Joe, had been pestering him all night about cutting out on the house festivities a little early.

"C'mon, Hank." Joe protested, "It's a once in a lifetime chance, and as seniors we ain't gonna be around much longer. We're talking the Twighlight Cafe, where they give blowjobs with every drink. Besides, this party's a bust."

Hank looked around the fraternity dance floor and nodded in agreement. There hadn't been any good prospects at all. Rory and her 'gang of four' were being hit on pretty heavily, but he'd already sampled the delights of all five (one more than once), and they wouldn't ever let him get close again. And it looked like they were about to leave, which would sorely deplete the number of attractive girls in attendance. Pickings were slim.

As if on cue, Rory spotted him behind the bar, and said something to her friends. They turned and looked at Hank, but kept dancing. All five simultaneously pointed at hank and then, in sinque, held the thumb and forefingers two inches apart. The intent of the gesture was obvious to everybody that saw it, and there were more than a few guffaws. Rory flipped him the bird, and the girls all went back to dancing. He returned the gesture a moment too late.

Yup, Hank thought, pickings were very slim.

"The Cafe? Like you could get us in. What's the deal? I thought it was special invite only, or so I'm told."

Joe hesitated. "Jerry. He has some connections."

"Jerry Cass? What is it, fag night? I thought you'd given up on your old roomie when you joined the house."

"You know he ain't queer. Besides, he said tonight is 'models night'. All them babes from The Twighlight Zone are going to be there. It's one of the few nights that outsiders can get in, and even so you need an invite. He says it's payback for me saving him from alcohol poisoning freshmen year."

Hank remembered that night. He, Joe, Jerry and the other pledges at the time had been given a task that included drinking a bit of alcohol. Jerry had ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. He hadn't ratted out the fraternity, but it had cost him his pledge status. The school had prohibited him from joining any social organization. Hank had never really liked the lightweight, but if he could get them into the Cafe', he would put up with him for the night.

They'd all seen the dog-eared catalog from the 'Zone', but strict policies at the store and the club had prevented anybody from the house from ever getting another copy. It was like the one from Frederick's of Hollywood, only a lot thicker and kinkier. More expensive items inside, too. The Twighlight Zone carried everything for anybody; latex to lace to leather, jewelry to bondage gear. And every piece was modeled in the catalog by insanely sexy women, with three or four views of every item. Nobody knew how the brotherhood had come by the copy they had; it was a fraternity treasure, scanned and photo-shopped dozens if not hundreds of times, but the original was priceless. They'd never been able to get another one. Hank started getting a hard-on just thinking about it.

What made it more exciting than anything else, Hank knew, was that it was just down the street. Literally blocks away from the university, the most erotic den of inequity could be driven by daily. And that meant that all those women, those women, from the catalog were also just as close. It made that catalog the repository of every kinky fantasy anybody in the house had, all supported by the fact that the possibility of the fantasy becoming reality was with arm's reach. Hank snapped back to the subject at hand, Jerry O'Neil.

Of course, there wasn't a man on that campus that hadn't tried to get in there at least twice. But for some reason, the store had a policy that stated that nobody under the age of twenty-one was permitted in, and if you tried to gain entry once and were denied, there was a good chance you were going to be banned until you were thirty.

"Could have surprised me. He always came off as gay to me. How's he going to get us in, anyway?"

"I don't know, but he made the offer to me this afternoon. I thought it would make for a nice 'end of year' blast."

"Get the guys, we'll all go." 

"Nope. Said he could get in only four guests. I figured me, you, Fitz, and maybe Larry."

"Sounds good. You drive. Be good to get away from the fraternity scene for a while, get me some fresh meat."

"He said dress nice. Suits."

"Suits? I ain't changing to go to some fag bar."

"At least sports jackets and ties, then. Can't get in without them."

"Fine," Hank said in an offhand manner.

* * * * * * * * * *

The parking lot in front of the Twighlight Zone shop was only partially filled, but Joe led his fraternity brothers around the side to another lot, next to a warehouse that abutted the shop building. This one was far from empty.

Jerry was waiting in the parking lot when the boys pulled in. BMWs, Porches, Ferraris, and a multitude of other expensive cars filled the lot. Hank sneered, "the cover better not be too much. I only got about fifty on me." The other boys laughed; they all knew he carried a lot more than that. 

They spotted Jerry next to his Chevy at the back of the lot. When they got close, Jerry skipped the pleasant 'hellos'. He turned to Joe. "What's with the jackets and jeans? I thought I told you to dress nice. You know, suits?" Jerry's eyes shot daggers at Joe, both for the group's attire and for the presence of Hank. No time to argue now, though. Joe averted his eyes, knowing Hank would be the one to reply. The alpha dog of the pack always took command.

"What's the matter, pansy, should we have dressed all queer-like, like you? If jackets and ties ain't enough for these people, then screw 'em. I bet this whole place is just a scam, anyways." Hank's group laughed, though Joe held back. Jerry was dressed in a black silk suit with matching tie. Around his right wrist was a thick white bracelet.

"Forget you, Hank. You don't like the rules, nobody's gonna cry when you leave. I'm doing this for Joe, not for you. And it's not a scam."

Hank's entourage ignored the comment and, sensing fresh meat, joined in on baiting Jerry.  

"Yeah, what's with the funeral director suit, somebody die? What are you, some type of artsy-fartsy goth?" Larry quipped. "There better be some hot fuckin' babes in here, Jair-ee, and not just a bunch of fat chicks with too much makeup."

Jerry stared at them a moment, as if contemplating a comeback, but let it slide. He felt his debt to Joe was too much, and he could put up it the other three for a night if need be. "If you're coming, then lets go." 

He led the way to a non-descript steel door in the back of the large warehouse. To the side was a buzzer, and after Jerry pressed it, a window in the door slid open. Jerry raised his right arm, exposing the bracelet. "And four guests." he said, though the boys could see nobody behind the window.

The door creaked open, revealing a long hallway lit intermittently by overhead lights. Jerry walked in, turned and waited. After a second, Hank led the others in. "This better not be a scam, Cass, or I'll bash your fucking head in." Jerry started walking down the hall.

As they headed down the dim corridor, the entrance door slammed shut. "Just like in them movies, eh Hank?" Larry chanted. Jerry was really getting tired of his fawning. Fucking toadie.

The faint sounds of music could be heard from down the hall, a heavy bass vibrating the floor. They turned a corner, and were almost deafened by dance music.

"Man, oh man. Look at these fuckin' babes. Looks like the 'little Larry' is gonna be makin' a lot of honeys happy tonight." Larry bragged. 

Fitz murmured, "I always wondered what heaven was like." He pulled out his cel phone to take some pictures, but Jerry pushed it away.

"Private function. If you try to take pictures without permission, they'll get pissed, and you'll end up outside on your ass."

Hank had to regain control. "Yeah, so what. I betcha if Cass here can get laid here half these bitches are either whores or guys in drag."

Regardless of what they said, the four boys were impressed. This was no college party. Before them was an open flight of stairs leading down to a huge round dance floor, complete with lasers, strobes, and diamond balls. The ceiling, 50 feet over the dance floor, was made of huge plates of stainless steel that reflected the lights back down. To the left of the entrance was a long bar, and beyond that were cocktail tables on a balcony so the floor could be watched. To the other side were booths for more private meetings. Another bar connected the cocktail area to the booths, completing the outer ring. In all, it was a massive dungeon-like party room. Spaced sporadically around the edges were cages hanging from the ceiling and dancers, male and female, writhed inside to the incessant music.

It wasn't architecture that overwhelmed them though, even as impressive as it was. It was the people that filled it. All told there was at least a few hundred people in there, the likes of which the young men had only dreamed about. Leather and latex outfits were standard among the females, and there seemed to be a preference for the color red. It was a living version of the catalog they had all drooled over. Fetish dreams brought to life.

Some of the men were attired either in black, white, or blue suits, although a number of them wore nothing but shoes and leather briefs. This last group appeared to be waiters. While not a majority, there were enough of them that there was probably one server for every two women there.

"Told you. Look at them guys. It's a fucking queer bar." Hank always had an opinion.

Jerry shot back a sarcastic note, "well, you've seen it. If you want to leave, go ahead. I won't be crying in my drink if you do, Hank. I realize this isn't up to your normal standards" he added, now with more than a hint of sarcasm. Jerry seemed a little pissed, but Hank ignored the remark.

A very attractive brunette in a white suit at the bar spotted them standing in the doorway and came over. "Jerry, I'm so glad you could make it. Are these your guests?" She had a bit of an English accent, but it did nothing to detract from her allure.

"Yes, Ms. Worthington, these are the ones I was telling you about. Guys, this is Ms. Tara Worthington. She's owns the Twighlight Zone, and the Twighlight Cafe as well. Ms. Worthington, this is Joseph Seift, Larry Lade, Fitz Urban, and Hank Prah."

She smiled, "Pleased to meet you all. Any friend of Jerry's is a friend of mine."

Joe and Fitz managed to mumble a "and very pleased to meet you" back. Larry was too busy checking out the women on the floor to respond..

Hank spoke first. "Nice place you got. I don't suppose they serve beer here, do they?"

Larry, completely oblivious to anything but the women on the dance floor, turned around and cut into the conversation. "Could you point me to the bathroom? I have to see a man about a horse."

Ms. Worthington seemed a little taken aback at their brusque nature. She pointed, "Bathrooms are over there. I'm sure we can get you a beer, dear."

"Gonna see what the action's like." Fitz said, as he headed towards the dance floor. "C'mon, Joe."

Suddenly, the group was dispersed, leaving Jerry and Ms. Worthington a moment to themselves.

"Nice friends you got there, Guest Jerry."

"They're...acquaintances, Mistress Worthington. I don't know if I would call most of them 'friends'" 

* * * * * * * * * *

Hank sidled up to the bar and looked around. Look at these fucking whores. Betcha I could show them a thing or two, he thought. He caught the bartender's eye and ordered a beer while he took in the sights. 'Hell of a lot better than what showed up at the house, that's for sure.'

A blonde woman next to him turned and said, "Beer? I would have thought a handsome guy like you would have ordered something a little stronger."

Hank looked at her. She was something out of the movies. Zebra-striped elbow length gloves matched the striped knee high boots, complete with four inch spike heels. She was wearing a black leather dress that didn't hide much of her ample cleavage. Long blonde hair framed a zebra skin mask through which green eyes and full pink lips were visible. Hank caught himself before he started to drool from his open mouth.

"Excuse me?" He couldn't remember what she had just said.

"I just thought you were more of the whiskey or vodka type."

"I sort of wanted to gauge the prices first. Looks like they have to pay the rent here somehow, and I'm betting that the drinks aren't exactly free."

"Then how about I buy. Gary?" 

The bartender appeared, "Yes, mistress?"

"Give my friend here an 'On All Fours'. You do like rum, don't you?" Hank nodded.

"Very well, Mistress."

Hank leaned up against the bar. "Mistress? Isn't that like one of those bondage things?" 

"Actually, it's a term of respect here, instead of 'ma'am'. I have heard that it is used in the bondage community, though. I have enough stature in this place that that is what they call me. Someday you may respect me enough to call me 'Mistress', too."

Hank felt a sort of erotic fear wash over his body. He knew she was hitting on him, but that usually happened when a girl had been drinking, and it was never as subtle as this woman's cat-and-mouse play. Besides, she could have had any guy in the joint, so her attention to him made him decidedly nervous. He looked away for a moment, and realized that his drink had appeared before him on the bar. No courage better than that created by alcohol.

"I'm Hank."

"Just, 'Hank'?" she asked. 

He had been expecting her name in return, not a question. Damn it, should he reply with his real name? Who knew what kind of freak this woman could turn out to be.

"Um, Smith, I'm Hank Smith. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, Hank Smith. I'm...not giving my name out to open range guests. We'll think of something for you to call me later, though, 'cause I think you'll be screaming it. I saw you at the door with that young man, Jerry. Are you his guest tonight?"

Hank didn't catch her joke. "Yeah. Who would have believed the little fag could get us in a place like this?" Hank took a swig of the drink. It was strong, but tasted good. He would have to learn how to make them; a couple of these in a girl and she'd be flat on her back with legs spread. Or, as the name implied, on all fours. He grinned at his unspoken joke. "What's an 'open range guest'?"

"You are. You aren't dressed like a member. And you're not showing the band of an invited guest. Which means you're here unattached; free to roam the open range. I just wanted to know who you came with so I would know who to thank later." She gestured across the dance floor. "It also means that you can be approached without problems from members. Lucky for you that you're exactly what I'm in the mood for tonight. Big, smart, and handsome." She smiled, and took a sip of her drink. She leaned in close, and he could smell her expensive perfume. "To tell you the truth, Hank Smith, I've been sitting here at this bar looking at all these perfect bodies for a long time, and it has made me really horny. And, seeing as you're here alone, I wondered if I could take you upstairs and fuck you. If you wouldn't mind."

Hank's mouth dropped again. He'd used a line like that plenty of times and had it succeeded once or twice, but he never expected to hear it pass a woman's lips. He already had a hard-on, and now this babe wanted to go fuck him. Slut, he thought.

But she had him on the defensive: now he was the hunted instead of the hunter. Doubts surfaced. "I don't know. I better not. My friends..."

She seductively licked her silvery pink lips. "Screw them. Even better, forget them. Let them get their own excitement. This is a one time offer, Hank Smith. Take it or leave it. either way, I hope you enjoyed the drink." She stood up, looked Hank in the eye, then turned and walked away.

"Wait!" Hank gulped down the rest of the alcohol, put the glass on the bar and trotted after the woman. The stories he was gonna tell about this bitch would be far beyond anything she was going to do to him. 

* * * * * * * * * *

Larry maneuvered his way through the crowd. Most of these babes could be porn stars! Look at them tits! None of the super huge ones, either! I gotta get to the bathroom. he thought to himself. It seemed to Larry that a fair share of the women were dressed in clothes from the Twighlight Zone catalog. His head snapped around when he thought he recognized one of the women, and he nearly tripped over himself. Holy shit!

He was positive. She was one of the models from the catalog. He looked around again, noticing that the women in red all looked like they were models. The other women were beautiful, too, but he hadn't masturbated pictures of them. Two very attractive brunettes in matching red latex teddies and boots stood outside the doors to the bathrooms. Larry looked close. The Twins! The times he had fantasized about them were too numerous to remember. He moved in for the kill. 

"Good evening, ladies. I was wondering if you would like to come in and give me a hand? Two would be even better."

The girls smiled. One looked down at Larry's right hand, then whispered something to the other. "We'd like to, but we can't fuck free roamers."

Larry was dumbfounded by the unusual statement. It wasn't the reaction he had expected. Usually his little jokes got him a 'pig' or 'asshole' or, if he really leered, a 'why, can't find it by yourself?'. He entered the bathroom slightly stunned, but with a growing erection.




The Twighlight Zone Ch. 02



Inside was just like any other bathroom. Larry found an empty stall, dropped his pants, and began to jerk off. This was too much. What was with the look they gave his hand? Jerry wore one of those bracelets. Must mean he's a member. I bet they would've fucked me right there if I had one of them things. At that moment, he heard another person enter the bathroom, and a planned formed in Larry's head. He left his masturbation unfinished, stuffed his wilting penis back into his pants and zipped up.

Larry heard the person enter the stall to his right, close the door, and after a few moments he heard vomiting. So even a ritzy place like this has drunks. The person got up and opened the door, and Larry opened his at the same time. He turned and walked right into the guy.

"Hey man, be careful!" He grabbed the guy to keep him from falling backwards.

"Sorry. Must have had too much to drink." The guy was dressed in an expensive silk suit in the same medium blue color as some of the other people. He didn't notice Larry open the bracelet and slide it off as he was helped to the sinks.

"Why don't you cool down a little. The heat out there will do it to you every time." The man mumbled a response. Larry turned, but before he opened the door he went to put the red and gold bracelet on. The catch was a little mangled, and wouldn't close correctly. "Shit." Larry forced what was left of the small metal catch in place, and pressed to two halves together. He rooted through his pants for something to repair it with, and came up with a paperclip. Bending it into place, he hoped it would hold. "Time to get some pussy."

The door opened and Larry walked out and immediately began to look for the twins. He saw them talking to a very attractive redhead dressed black leather boots, pants, and shirt. Now that he knew what to look for, he noticed that none of the three wore bracelets. He adjusted his new jewelry and walked over.

The three women looked up at him as he approached. The one in black frowned at first, then actually smiled when she saw the red and gold bracelet around his wrist. She said something to the twins, and the pair giggled. As Larry reached them, both stood straighter, thrusting out their chests. Larry realized the latex not only was red and tight, but let some of what was underneath show through. His erection resumed and was now twisted painfully in his underwear.

He smiled and nodded to the twins. "Ladies, we meet again. Are you sure you wouldn't like to change your mind? The offer is still open, and you never know. I might teach you something new." Both women giggled, and looked at the figure in black.

She spoke. "I am Agent Katherine, their trainer. If you are interested in buying their contracts, I'm sure we could work out some kind of deal." Her voice had a Gaelic lilt to it, and her green eyes flashed at him. Her presence was overwhelming to the young man, and Larry found it hard to speak.

Must be a modeling agent, Larry thought. He'd heard a lot of 'mistress' comments, along with a bunch of other titles, like 'guest' and 'agent'. She thinks I'm one of these big shots 'cause of this bracelet. Man -o-man, have I stepped in it.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Larry, um, guest Larry. And yes, I, um, I would be interested in their contracts. But, um, as you well know, I would have to, um, interview them personally before anything could be finalized." He stumbled through the bluff, and hoped to God that it would work.

"Well, Guest Larry, this is slut Joanie and her partner slut Kathi. I'm sure we could go to a private room upstairs so you could check their training. That is, if you are so inclined."

Larry felt a panic attack coming on. "Ah yes, their training."

Agent Katherine smiled again. "Yes, Guest Larry, they are fully trained, and are more than proficient enough to carry the title 'slut'. You have heard of my reputation?"

"Well, of course I have!" he bluffed.

"Then you know what to expect from my trainees. I assure you, the twins could more than satisfy you. In fact, that has been my problem; I will only let them go as a pair, and so far, nobody has been able to withstand their combined efforts. If you would like, I can allow you to sample."

Sweat began to dribble down Larry's neck. "You mean have sex?" he gulped out. "Sure!" Larry wondered about the 'slut' comments, but didn't wonder too long. "Um, How much is this going to cost me?"

"Your first experience at the club, eh? You do look a bit young; I figured that you were here as a family guest. Especially considering your attire. They can only be bought or sold, not rented. Consider it a trial run. I expect them to pass any test you may have, with flying colors."

"Then lets get them upstairs. It's been a few hours since I had sex, and 'little Larry' is getting mighty anxious." The twins giggled. Mistress Katherine did not look amused.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jerry and Joe sat at one of the small tables with a view of the dance floor, and watched as Fitz danced with nobody in particular. If you asked him, his excuse would be that he simply enjoyed the feel of the crowd around him. In reality, he usually had problems finding partners. His tendency to accidentally step on toes or hit somebody in the face put off even the most desperate of partners.

Joe spoke first. "How the hell did you ever get into this place?"

"My aunt is one on the board. In fact, she is probably going to be here tonight; I thought I saw her earlier. It looks like most of the other owners are here already. She made a few connections for me a couple of months ago."

Joe looked out over the crowd. "How can you tell? About the owners, I mean. They all look alike to me from here."

"Simple. 'Citizens' and their guests are dressed in white. They are people hoping to get in on a chunk of the action. 'Agents' and their guests are in black. Twighlight Zone Models are in red. 'Owners' wear what they want, but each has a distinctive pattern or color. They are the members of the board, and own the store and the club. Their guests wear what they want. The ones without much on are personal servants."

"Ms. Worthington's a citizen? She was wearing white."

"She's the primary owner. She can wear whatever she wants."

"So we're owner's guests, and you're an agent?"

Jerry smiled. "No. That's what the bracelets are for. Everybody but free roamers wear them; I could tell you the significance, but it would simply confuse you more at this point. As guests of a guest, you guys don't get them. Most of the members won't have anything to do with you, because nobody knows if you are 'clean' of STDs." He took a drink. "But you might get lucky with another guest. Sex is pretty open at these events once everything gets going. There's a whole bunch of rooms upstairs that they keep clean so people don't have to leave the property to fool around."

Joe mulled it over. "You mean, those women in red out there, the ones I would give my left nut for, are all models for the Twighlight Zone?"

"Yeah, the guys too. I've been told the women can do stuff in bed beyond your imagination."

"And I don't have a chance of getting with one, do I?"

"Slim to nil. I can introduce you to one if you really have your heart set on it, but don't get your hopes up too high."

Joe chuckled to himself as he watched the antics on the dance floor. "So Fitz doesn't have a prayer out there, does he?"

"Nope." 

Joe looked at the dance floor. As far as paybacks were concerned, this was one of the better he had experienced.

Jerry took another drink. "Joe? What happened to us? I mean, we were pretty good friends freshman year. But you sort of dumped me for that ass Hank."

"I don't know. He's very powerful; he's always doing something. Things just happen around him, and it's easy to get caught up in it. I guess I'm sort of drawn to him. I know it sounds weird, but he's very charismatic. And when you had to bail on pledging the fraternity, well, I was around them more and you less."

"Why does he hate me? I get you guys in here, and he still just gives me shit."

"You don't fight back. Give him shit back; show him you're his equal. He doesn't pick so much on people he respects. He just doesn't respect you."

"So if I give him shit, he'll stop harassing me?"

"I didn't say that. He harasses everybody. He just won't do it as much."

"Well, I don't think I will have a problem with him after tonight, then." Joe was about to ask what Jerry meant, but at that point Tara Worthington returned, and seated herself between the two. "Are you boys talking about me?"

"No, Ms. Worthington," Jerry replied. "We were discussing some stuff from school." 

"Oh. Jerry, would you mind getting us a couple of refills? I'd like a little time with Joseph, here." Jerry nodded and left, dismissed.

"So Joseph. Have you made any plans for after graduation?"

"No ma'am. I've been on a lot of interviews, but nothing has panned out. I guess I'm not really sure what I want to do. Four years of college, and no ideas yet. I'll probably end up in grad school." Joe's mind wandered as he talked. Ms. Worthington was stunningly attractive. He thought she couldn't be more than thirty, but she seemed wiser and more confident than anybody he knew at her age. Her attitude demanded respect; Joseph felt like a little kid talking to the principal.

"I must confess, I had Jerry invite you here tonight. He had shown me some pictures of the two of you freshman year, and I thought you had some potential even then. I'm looking to expand the Zone a bit, and was hoping to get a look at what the local colleges might have to offer in the realm of new models. Most move on after about five years, so there is always a need for fresh faces. Jerry said he owed you a big favor for saving his life, and I thought I could help him pay you back." A waiter sent by Jerry deposited two fresh drinks at their table. "Have you ever thought of modeling? The Zone is always looking for good looking guys like you. A little more meat, a little training, and you could be one of those out there dancing, with a six-figure contract in your back pocket."

He looked at the men on the dance floor. Most were wearing only tight leather shorts. "Dress like that? I don't think so."

"Independent models start at two thousand a day per shoot; those with contracts earn more than twice that and enjoy special perks. Two years out of college you would have all your student loans paid off, a nice car, and a place to call your own."

"Are you kidding me? You think I could do that?"

"Sure. And the networking that goes on at our events is incredible. You'll have your choice of careers if and when you decide to give up modeling. Why don't you come to my office tomorrow and we'll work up some contracts. I've an office over at the Baum Dietrich center."

Thursday was out, and Friday was, too. "Can't tomorrow. I've a big project I need to complete. Would Monday be alright, Ms. Worthington?"

"That would be fine. Now, I need to do some mingling. Why don't you enjoy yourself a little. And here," she snapped a translucent bracelet around his wrist, "consider yourself my guest for the rest of the night."

* * * * * * * * * *

Fitz moved his hips and swayed to to the music. He moved in a dream of heaven. Beautiful, sexy women surrounded him. 

He was smart enough to know they weren't really dancing with him, but he'd had a few drinks (they were free) and no longer cared. It was enough to be surrounded by the fantasy flesh which encompassed him. One really caught his eye. She was in a black leotard, heels, and gloves, but unlike others in black she also wore a white bow tie with a matching ribbon in her tightly bunned brunette hair. She spotted him staring at her and moved in.

"HI!" She shouted over the music.

"HI!" He shouted back.

"I LIKE THE WAY YOU DANCE!"

"THANKS!"

She moved in close, matching his movements flawlessly. The went through three songs like that, then the music paused.

"Could we rest for a moment?"

"Sure." He motioned towards the back bar where it was a bit quieter. This woman was incredible looking. Big brown eyes, pouting lips. He couldn't take his eyes off her hips.

"I was wondering if you would do me a favor. I noticed you're a free roaming guest. I've got a performance to do in a little while, and I was wondering if you would help me out. Everybody else is too uptight about their appearance and reputation to help a girl out."

"Sure, I guess. I just thought..."

"That I wanted you for something else? Maybe, but we can discuss that later. Will you do the show? I only need you for one trick; an transformation illusion. It would only take me a little while to teach you."

"Okay. What do I have to do?

* * * * * * * * * * 

The door to the room she led Hank to had a small zebra stripe circle where a room number would normally be placed. Inside, it was dark and at first he couldn't see anything. She shut the door, hit a light switch that illuminated a number of recessed lights in the ceiling, and walked across the room, where she turned and faced Hank. It was almost as if she were putting herself on display for him in that odd room.

The room itself was high-ceilinged, and continued with the whole 'gothic' feel of the dance floor downstairs. The walls were painted black and hung with blood red curtains, and the floor was a gleaming silver. 'Probably built right on the roof of the dance floor downstairs' Hank thought. In the dead center of the room was a waterbed-like frame with futon mattresses on top, all covered in black sheets and pillows.

"Well, 'Hank Smith', is this a suitable place?" she asked, giving him that smile again. "I happen to know that it has been reserved for the night, and that the sheets and the mattress are suitably clean."

"I think it will do quite fine" he said, with as much confidence as he could muster. Hank moved in to start a little foreplay. She put her hand up to his chest, and held him away.

"Hold on there, lover. Before we do anything, I'd like to see what I bargained for."

Hank looked at her stupidly.

"The clothes, the clothes. Take them off, unless you'd like to do this with your jeans on. Personally, I prefer the touch of flesh over that of denim."

"Oh. Sorry." Hank knelt down and untied one sneaker, then pulled it off. He was mid way through the laces on the second sneaker when he realized she was just standing there, watching him.

"Aren't you getting undressed, too?"

"I will. I just want to watch for a moment. I like to see the effect of my disrobing on the...shall we say, 'more intimate' parts of the male body."

Hank got up from the floor, wobbled a little, then pulled off his shirt and unzipped his jeans. "That drink was a little more than I thought it was. Remind me to get the recipe."

"That's okay, 'Hank Smith'. I'm sure you'll rise to the occasion. In fact, I was wondering if you would like a little something to help." She proffered her open hand, which held a small blue pill. He immediately knew what it was.

"Um, well, I've never really had any problem with that.." he said, throwing his shoulders back a bit.

"Well, 'Hank Smith', I will be very disappointed if you can't last as long as I will need you, but you know yourself better than I do." He snatched up the pill and swallowed it in a gulp. She smiled that smile again. He never saw the smile leave her face, but he noticed every time it reappeared. "Thanks, 'Hank Smith'."

Her reference to his made-up name was starting to irritate him. "You know, you could just call me 'Hank'."

"I could."

Hank pulled off his jeans, then his socks, and finally his boxers. Years of weight lifting and playing sports showed; he was in nearly prime physical condition. His prick wasn't in the least aroused, though. He looked at her sheepishly, not knowing what to do next or where to put his hands.

"Looks like I have a little work to do before I get to fuck you." She unzipped the leather dress, and let it fall to the ground. Underneath she wore a zebra striped corset with full black leather cups, which held her ample bosom. A black leather g-string covered her pussy, and a black leather garter belt held her stockings up. "What do you think? Leave it on or take it off?"

Hank had never seen somebody in real life dressed like this, except in strip clubs. And he for sure never had one standing in front of him that wanted to fuck him. His prick started to harden, and, caught off guard, he tried to cover it with his hands.

She nodded a little. "It appears outfit is improving your status a little. I have to tell you, 'Hank Smith', I'm sort of used to having my own way. Would you mind hopping up here," she patted the bed, "and giving me a display action?" 

Hank got onto the bed, and stood in the middle of the mattress. His 6 inches of cock was now stiff and pointing straight out. His head was less than a foot from the ceiling, and at first he involuntarily ducked. She began to walk around him, and looked at him like she might a car she thought of buying. The only sounds in the room were her heels on the metal floor and the small amount of music that leaked up from below. As if on cue the two lights over the bed went out, leaving the pair in darkness.

"Shit! Something always goes wrong." She sounded truly irritated at the glitch in their plans. "Be a hon and jiggle them a little. Sometimes the bass shakes them loose. And as much as I like the dark, tonight I want to see everything."

Hank reached his left hand to the ceiling and felt around for the recessed light. After a moment, he found the bulb, which had already began to cool. He gave it a little wiggle, and the light came back on. He dropped his hand and reached over to the other one with his right hand. This one he also wiggled, and as it flickered to life, the first one went out again. Both Hank and the woman laughed a little the ridiculousness of the situation..

"Can you reach both at once? They must be on the same track, or something."

"Sure 'nuff" replied Hank, and he reached up unsteadily and tried to get at both lights at once. The alcohol was making him a bit dizzy, but the blue pill was already starting to have it's effect. He got his left hand in the recess and on the bulb, but was just a little short on reaching the other one. He bounced a little on the bed, and got his other hand into the recess but not on the bulb. He bounced again, this time was successful in grasping the bulb in his hand for a moment. Both lights began to flicker.

"Bingo!" He said, immensely proud of his action. He bounced again and pushed both bulbs at once; the rings around the openings snapped shut painfully around his wrists, locking his arms above his head and leaving him on the balls of his feet. "What the fuck?"

His companion reached over the wall switch plate, and adjusted a switch there. The bed lowered away from Hanks feet, and after a moment, his feet were six inches above the bed sheet. The pain of having his entire weight suddenly placed on his trapped wrists put Hank into agony.

"HEY! What's going on?! Put that back!" 

She walked over to Hank's clothes, and began rifling through them until she found his wallet with his driver's license and his college ID. "Hank Prah" she said. "You know, I just had the feeling that you weren't a 'Hank Smith'. No matter how many times I said it, it just didn't seem to match you. But Hank Prah does. I've heard that name somewhere. Let me think." She tapped his license against her lips, and looked at the ceiling as if in lost in thought. "Ah, yes, I thought I recognized you, and that name confirms it. Hank, I must say that I have seen some of your college work. Quite the ladies man, aren't you?" She went over to her bag and pulled something out, then climbed up behind him.




The Twighlight Zone Ch. 02



"Look, bitch, I don't know what kind of shit your into, but I don't like it and I want down, NOW!" His head was swimming even more, and he thought he might pass out. The pressure on his wrists and the strain on his arms got more painful with each passing second.

"Bitch? That's not a very nice thing to call me, especially considering your current predicament. I think you should call me, 'Mistress'. You know, it's one of those 'bondage' things. And I think an apolgy is order, also."

Hank's wrists were now concentrated points of pain. "I'm sorry, Mistress. Please, let me down! This really hurts."

"In a moment, Hank Prah. By now, you should be feeling the full effects of your drink. You know, I almost thought of calling it 'How Hank gets Sorority Girls into bed', but I thought you might catch on, so I went with 'On All Fours'. Lots of alcohol combined with a bit of that date rape drug you are so fond of using. I'm sorry to say, though, that what I have planned as payback won't be as enjoyable for you as what you did to my sisters. This is a small town, Hank, and we alumni watch out for our initiates."

"It wasn't me!" he cried out, but there was no sincerity to the statement, only panic. "Please, just let me down." The room was beginning to warp and twist as Hank's lucidity vanished in the effects of the drug and the pain.

"Oh. I'll let you down in just a minute. I just figured having your arms out of the way would make it easier to do this." She began massaging his balls with one hand and brought his erection to full staff. With her other hand she locked the cuff around the base of his genitals tightly. A belt then went snugly around his waist.

"OW!. What the fuck is that?" Hank strained to look down at his dick, but could only see a glint of metal. 

"That's a chastity cuff. You'll be wearing it until I get you fitted for a proper chastity belt. It will let you get fully erect, or rather stay fully erect, but you won't be able to orgasm. And this is the custom key for the cuff you wear." She held up a black and gold key. "Magnetics, you know. So much better than the old style. It would be easier for you to cut your dick off then to remove that cuff without the key. Less painful, too." She smacked him hard on the ass, eliciting a yelp, only, just as his mouth opened, she stuck something huge into it. Hank found that he couldn't close his mouth at all, that it seemed pried open. She fastened something around the back of his head, presumably to hold it in place. Another strap wound over the top of his head and fastened under his chin. "This key also works the lock on your ring gag." 

He heard a click on the back of his head and she pulled backwards, forcing his head back until he was staring at the ceiling, at which point he heard another click and felt her adjust something. His head was now immobilized, and she got off the bed.

Hank tried to kick out at her as she did so, but only succeeded in causing his wrists greater pain. Besides, his muscles felt like they were turning to jelly. She turned and smiled. Hank had never seen such a malicious smile in his life. "You know what a ring gag is for, Hank Prah? It's to make it easier for people to put things in your mouth, especially things you don't really want there. Ever put your thing into the mouth of an unwilling recipient, Hank Prah?"

A cold sweat began to break out over Hank's well maintained body.

"I thought your comments about 'gays' and 'fags' very interesting, Hank Prah. Tell me if you disagree: a man can be considered gay if he has another man's erect penis in his mouth." She waited a moment, knowing full well he couldn't reply. He did manage a few panicked grunts. "Okay, how about this, then. A man who has other men orgasm in his mouth and then swallows is a fag."

Hank whined, and shook his head violently. She pulled something else from the bag, and Hank saw his chance. He again kicked out wildly in another vain attempt to get back at his tormentor, but found that his limbs were now useless.

With a motion at the wall switch, she released the ceiling restraints and Hank fell to the bed below. Unable to brace himself, the jolt onto the mattress was very painful. He let out a muted cry of pain as his captor opened the room door.

"I think he's ready now. And by the size of his erection, I would say that he is really looking forward to our playtime." Hank wrenched his body as much as he could to see five leather clad female bodies enter the room. Their black leather bras matched their shorts and boots perfectly. Each one had a zebra striped bracelet on her wrist.

Unlike the women downstairs, each of these women wore a strap-on harness with a rather nasty looking dildo mounted in front; the phalluses looked huge to Hank's drug addled mind. The fourth of the group carried a number of digital cameras and two video recorders. The fifth held a black leather gym bag. 

Also unlike the women downstairs, none of these girls currently wore masks. And even in his drugged state, Hank recognized them all. He had seen them earlier that evening dancing at his fraternity house.

"Hank, I would like to introduce you to some of my sorority sisters, but I think you have already met Rory and her friends. You probably didn't know it, but Rory has high hopes for a career in the movie industry. Independent films, mostly." Hanks eyes briefly focused and he saw the five girls pull leather masks over their faces. "The kind not for general distribution."

The woman he knew only as 'Mistress' handed the magnetic key to Rory, who affixed it to a leather cord around her neck.

The fifth girl, the one that had carried in the bag, reached inside the leather container and pulled out a tube of lubricant and handed it to Rory. She then handed the second girl a riding crop. Hank's eyes went blurry again, so he did not see what the rest of the girls were given, but he did hear the cameras as they were turned on.

Rory spoke up. "Tonight, we are going to make a little movie about a guy that used to like raping women, but now only wants to be dominated into sucking cocks and being anally raped himself. Some people call guys like that 'dildo fags', but I think we'll come up with a new name when we see how well you can act."

Each of the girls made a final adjustment to their leather mask, and the woman in zebra stripes was slipping her dress back on. "I'm sorry to say that I can't stay for the performance, Hank. You may have made for an interesting fuck, but I have a husband to get home to and it's getting late. Normally, I would say something witty right now, like, 'I promised I was going to fuck you, and I guess you really are fucked now, aren't you?' But I think that thought is already firmly implanted in your head. Isn't it?"

Hank let out a gurgled scream in response as Rory moved in behind him. She was prety sure that he was trying to scream the word, 'Mistress', just as she had promised him at the bar.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mistress Katherine led the way up the stairs to a long hallway. The women in red giggled as Larry, sandwiched between them in the passage, groped and stroked their latex clad bodies. He had seen them in the Twighlight Zone catalog, and had jerked off often over the pictures therein. Even in his fantasies he had only been able to handle one girl at a time.

As they walked down the hall the giggling twins began to return the gropes, making his erection even harder. Finally, they reached a door that Mistress Katherine opened. The twins scampered inside, and turned expectantly to Larry. 

Larry looked around the room the women had brought him to. Satin pillows covered the floor, and the smell of incense and perfume hung in the air. Oil lamps lit the room with a hazy light. It looked like some sort of harem bedroom. Slut Kathi kissed Larry again, and started to deftly undo with his belt. Slut Joanie was busy taking off his jacket and shirt while exploring the depths of his ear with her tongue. Mistress Katherine stood a few feet away and watched, a satisfied smile on her face. 

They finally got Larry's clothes off. Slut Kathi pushed Larry back onto the cushions, and pulled on his left leg, drawing it from the right. Slut Joanie pulled on the right, and they began massaging his upper thighs. Slut Kathi took the head of Larry's cock into her mouth and started swirling her tongue around it, tasting and exploring. Slut Joanie meanwhile was attempting to get both of Larry's balls in her mouth without the use of her hands.

"Hey babe," he said to Agent Katherine," there's plenty to go 'round. Want to join in?"

"Excuse me? I'm here to supervise only. And I am Agent Katherine, not a 'babe'. You may refer to me as either Agent Katherine or Mistress Katherine." The Gaelic accent seemed to be getting stronger as she got more irritated.

"Okay, but it ain't every day you get to deflower somebody." Larry lay back and closed his eyes, enjoying the ministrations of the twins. Every time he even came close to cumming, they would slow their pace and relax him.

"Deflower? Are you saying you are actually a virgin?"

"At the moment...but your friends seem eager enough to fix my problem." He put his right hand on Slut Kathi's head, and helped her bob up and down. The paperclip on the clasp came loose, and the bracelet slipped off his wrist.

The Gaelic voice snapped out a single command. "Stop."

Both girls immediately froze. Larry's eyes opened. "What did you stop for?" 

Mistress Katherine picked up the band and the paperclip, and then inspected the broken clasp. 

"Sluts, restrain him." Teeth tightened on Larry's genitals, causing him a little pain but a lot of discomfort. Each one of the woman grabbed one his arms and twisted it in place behind his back. It was a simple matter to hold it long enough for a set of cuffs to be attached. "Make any move, and they will remove your genitals." 

She turned the bracelet over in her hands, as if it had suddenly changed. "The penalties for impersonating an owner's guest are extreme. The next time you refer to me as anything but Mistress Katherine, you'll want to rip your own pathetic dick off because the pain will be so great. Now, state loud and clear where you got that bracelet."

"I'm a customer here, um, Mistress Katherine." Larry smiled weakly.

"Sluts, convince him tell the truth." Kathi resumed sucking his head, and added her hand to stroke his shaft. He felt himself building again, and just as he has about to explode both bit down painfully, killing the orgasm. She then started again, head bobbing up and down, tongue flicking and swirling until he was about to release, then the teeth sunk into his flesh again. Larry was torn between the pleasure and the agony, but maintained his innocence.

"Larry, I know that's not the truth. Since you have decided not to be honest, I will need to take more extreme measures. Slut Joanie, put the rings on him." Slut Joanie got up and left the room, but was only gone for a minute. 

Mistress Katharine's tone was now conversational. "Larry, I read this in a story once, but I have never had the chance to actually do it to somebody. I think you'll appreciate this, as only a person as sexually frustrated and stubborn as you could." 

Slut Joanie returned with a bag of crushed ice and a red suede pouch. She filled her mouth with ice as slut Kathi took her mouth off Larry's prick. Slut Joanie lowered her head to engulf his purpling cock, still held in Slut Kathi's tight grip. The ice in slut Joanie's mouth and the ice water that dribbled down his shaft had the desired effect; Larry went semi-limp.

Slut Joanie removed her mouth and opened the pouch, and too out two large rings. She slipped both over Larry's shaft, down to the base. Slut Kathi shifted her hand to grip his balls and dug her hands into his flesh.

"Wait!" Larry protested.

"Speak again without permission and it will be as a soprano. Lock them in place."

Slut Kathi engulfed his cock, taking the entire thing into her warm mouth. Larry felt himself grow hard again, and as he reached a full erection he felt the bite of the rings, whose inner diameter was smaller than his dick was round. When he was fully erect, she pulled off and sat back up.

"Slut Joanie, mount him." The woman unsnapped her crotch and straddled Larry. She lowered her self down as slut Kathi guided his manhood into her dripping pussy. She slowly slid all the way down, teasing Larry with a gyrating action until she was fully impaled. Inside, she was warm wet and tight as her vaginal muscles clamped down on his erection. Being inside her was better than Larry had ever imagined sex could be.

"I don't know if this is considered deflowering a male virgin or not, since you will not have an orgasm. Larry, I am about to have slut Joanie ride you like you've...well, like you had never been ridden before, if you weren't a virgin. She's going to use you for her own pleasure, which is something I don't allow often, so you can bet she will do her best to get the most out of it." Slut Joanie looked at him with a big smile on her face, and nodded her head up and down vigorously to indicate her anticipated fun. 

"That's not so good for you. Those two rings will prevent your orgasm." Slut Joaine looked at him and made a mocking pouty face and slowly shook her head 'no'. "At the same time you will be unable to go limp. The action of being fucked will draw the two rings apart a fraction of an inch and then compress them. This will pinch the skin between rings, causing you great pain. Pleasure, pain, and hopelessness, all in one action. You will soon answer my questions, and truthfully. Commence."

Slut Joanie began fucking, first a series of short humps, then she drew herself almost all the way off. Each time she came down on his shaft, the two rings would pinch the skin between them very painfully.

The entire time this happened, slut Kathi massaged his balls, and finally slid a finger down to massage his anus. Larry began groaning from the pleasure and the pain. Larry felt himself continually build up, but the rings prevented him from cumming. The pinching pain drew tears to his eyes, and finally he yelped in pain. 

"What is it you want?!"

Slut Kathi corrected his question by driving her nails into his ballsack.

"Please, Mistress Katherine, tell me what you want!"

"Larry, where did you get that bracelet?"

"I got it from a drunk in the bathroom. Please make them stop, Mistress Katherine. It hurts."

"Confession is good for the soul, Larry. And while you will still be punished, you probably just saved your ass from a fate worse than death."

Mistress Katherine smiled. "Sluts, you will stop. Slut Kathi, wrap him up. Slut Joanie, keep him restrained." Slut Kathi left the room. Slut Joanie, still mounted on top, leaned over and whispered to Larry, "Too bad that bracelet had to come apart, Larry. Slut Kathi and I are very good. You wouldn't believe the power and intensity of the orgasms we could draw from you. The things we could teach you. You could have never matched the experience with anybody else." 

Slut Kathi came back with two rolls of red plastic wrap and a hair dryer. Slut Joanie got off Larry and grabbed his cock and balls in her hands, digging nails into each slightly, and pulled him to his feet. Slut Kathi started the first roll at Larry's neck and began wrapping his upper body, pinning his arms to his body. Larry didn't move from fear that his genitals would be removed.

The first roll made it to his waist. The second roll started at his ankles, and when the wrap reached his knees, Slut Joanie let go. Slut Kathi continued to wrap, and soon had him wrapped completely, with a nice handle jutting out front. Slut Kathi then turned on the hair dryer, which had the effect of shrinking the already tight wrap as well as causing Larry to sweat profusely inside his cocoon. The layers of plastic melted in to each other to form a hard red plastic skintight shell.

He was desperate. "Please let me go, Mistress Katherine. I won't take anything from anybody, ever. I won't say anything to anybody about any of this, either."

"On the contrary, Larry, I intend to give you something to talk about for the rest of your life."

At a motion from Mistress Katherine, the twins picked Larry up over their heads and carried him out of the room. Mistress Katherine picked up Larry's clothes, rolled them into a ball, and left, shutting the door behind her. 

* * * * * * * * * *

During a lull in the music in the space below the rooms, a stage in the center of the dance floor had risen up, and a magic show was giving the dancers a chance to calm down a bit. The female magician, already well know to the crowds, had added a number of tricks to her repertoire, and was proving herself to be very entertaining to the amassed people.

Three figures sat in an area with the best view, and watched the show with barely disguised amusement. But then, they knew what was going to happen next.

A grinding sound from under the floor alerted the dancers that a second stage was coming up, and they cleared the way. Up came a stake, to which a young man was tied, dressed only in his jeans, his hairless chest exposed. It was obvious that he had no connection to the Zone, and therefore probably had no idea what he was in for.

Fitz looked out at the crowd, and started to sweat profusely under the combined attention of the people and the bright lights above him. From the first stage strolled the magician, dressed in a black leotard, thigh high leather black leather boots with spike heels, matching gloves, a white bow tie, and a top hat. The crowd clapped.

"For my final illusion tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I present: the Damsel in Distress! Tonight's mystical transformation will turn this strapping young man into what he most desires! A change that will impact him like no other; a change that is only possible with your help! I need one of you kind people to tell me, what is it that men most desire?"

A voice cried out, "SEX!" and people chuckled in agreement.

"Then lets give him a little sex!" She turned around to Fitz, unzipped and pulled down his jeans. A panicked look washed across his face. She leaned in close and whispered, "don't worry, you're doing fine. Don't forget my promise; I'll make this worth your while." Fitz calmed down a little, but his sweating continued to increase under the heat of the lights.

She hooked her finger in his boxers, and pulled them out a little while she peered inside.

"Oops. Looks like he already has a 'little' sex." Fitz blushed in humiliation, and the crowd laughed.

He started to protest since that wasn't part of what she had said she would do, but she cut him off.

"What is it that every man wants?"

Another voice, "a little pussy!" People chuckled again. The responder was an obvious plant, but the show was still entertaining.

"Then lets give him a little pussy!". To Fitz's obvious surprise and dismay, the magician yanked down his shorts to expose him to the crowd. In one deft motion, she pulled out a little drawstring bag, pulled it over Fitz's genitals, and drew the drawstring tight. It happened so abruptly that he had just started to protest when she made a show of pulling the drawstrings tight, much to the crowd's enjoyment. She drew them tighter, and tighter, until finally the bag popped off, leaving a little patch of hair surrounding swollen pussy lips. Fitz looked surprised beyond belief.

"There's his pussy. Something's missing. Got a pussy, what we need is..."

"Tits!"

"Yes! Breasts. Mamaries. Fun bags. He already has the nipples, but is missing what backs them up. We need to flesh them out a little, don't we? I wonder what we could fill them with...what are breasts filled with?"

"Milk!"

"That's right." She reached behind the stake, and pulled out a hose and a jug. She fixed one end of the hose to the jug and put the other end in Fitz's mouth, then lifted the jug. His cheeks bulged at first, then normalized as he made a swallowing motion. The milk level in the jug went down. Buds appeared on his chest, swelling into small breasts, growing through an A-cup then to a B-cup. She removed the hose.




The Twighlight Zone Ch. 03



'The Twighlight Zone' is a series of connected stories with recurring characters, but I hope that each can stand alone. The stories deal with femdom, bondage, mind control, consensual, reluctant and non-consensual sex, sexual torture, physical and chemical body alteration, and lots of other nasty and fun stuff. Mostly, they deal with a woman, her erotic empire, and the people with whom she interacts.

If that isn't your cup of tea, then I would suggest finding another story. 

-Seurat



The Twighlight Zone, Chapter 3, by Seurat

'Elizabeth'



"Have you read these papers thoroughly, Mr. Roland? Do you understand what signing them means?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you, Ms. Harn, Have you read and understood these papers, and comprehend what signing them means?"

Shit. I wrote them. Of course I 'comprehend', you little prick.

"Yes, sir."

"Then I need you to sign here, Mr. Roland, and here, and here."

Hurry up, you little dick

"Ms. Harn? Sign here, here and there."

The two complied, then stood away from the table.

"The witnesses will sign here." The notary's two companions signed, and he affixed the seal and stamp. "I'll make sure these are filed correctly. Here are your copies."

* * * * * * * * * * 

Elizabeth almost shook with pleasure as she watched the notary and his companions walk to their car. John had just signed away his entire fortune to her. With this third pansy under her belt she would be a multi-millionairess. She'd never have to work another day in her life.

John turned and looked at his lover. She was everything he could have wanted in a woman. Almost six feet tall, she towered over is five-eight frame when she wore her heels. Toned body, nice bust, and a face which could survive in the modeling industry for years to come. Big blue eyes, pouting lips, and long, blond, wavy hair that reached halfway down her back. Besides the obvious physical attractiveness, she was charming, intelligent, and had a wonderful sense of humor. How she had remained a virgin so far into her life, he couldn't figure out, but she assured him it was so and that it would remain like that for the time being. Not that he hadn't tried. He plied her with expensive dinners, candies, and lingerie. She said that penetration wouldn't happen until they were married.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"Oh god yes...yes...Yes...YES!" 

Elizabeth's body shook with another orgasm brought on by the ministrations of John's tongue. When it came to oral pleasure, John was good. Too bad he wouldn't live long enough to stick anything besides his tongue in her.

Of the three men she had truly dominated in the past few years, John had been the easiest. Hell, she didn't mind wearing the sexy lingerie he gave her, especially since it seemed to give her even more power over him. Made her even more desirable to him. Got him even more worked up. It was easy to dominate men if you used their sexual desires against them.

"Een nn eee," spoke the mound of hair between her legs. She released John's head from between her thighs.

"What was that, honey?"

"I said, 'I can't breathe'"

Giggle. "Sorry, teddy bear. When you get me going like that, I can't always control myself."

"Honey?"

"Yes dear?"

John stood up, which the bulge in his jeans overly evident. Must be painful, she thought. Good.

"I was just wondering. I mean, I signed the papers and everything, and you had said...well, I was wondering if we could...make love?"

"Oh honey," Simp! ,"I told you that it isn't proper until we're married."  Unless you had a nice thick cock like Max. "And remember, I don't want you touching yourself; a man's seed should only be used for procreation. So none of that nasty masturbation." Unlike me, who's going to be sticking that big ole nasty dildo right up my cunt once you leave.

"But...but...you said...How about if you...you know, gave me some oral satisfaction, like I do for you?"

"Put your THING in my mouth?!" Like it could even fill my mouth. "That's disgusting!" She'd never even let him take his pants off. In fact, she protested every time he tried. No sense in creating a temptation for either of them. 

John looked like he was going to cry. Elizabeth lay back in bed. Three months of leading this wimp along. He must be ready to explode. It made for six months total in his celibate state; three months of nothing with her secretary Cheryl before she got hold of him, and now another three months with her. Of course, she did lose a good secretary when she fired Cheryl, but the poor girl had been ready to give in to his sexual demands instead of following her boss' orders. Cheryl had also threatened to expose what she knew of Elizabeth's plans, and Elizabeth couldn't risk that. Cheryl had been fired from her job, and then promptly disappeared. Elizabeth had quickly been dropped from the list of suspects.

The thought that he hadn't had an orgasm in six months sent another aftershock orgasm through Elizabeth. She could probably get his cock to erupt by simply rubbing her foot over his erection. Of course, the fact that he went without didn't mean that she didn't get any cock. Her lover Max would be here soon, and John had her good and worked up.

She picked up a chocolate from the box he'd brought her, and bit it in half. "You're going to have to go."

"Why?"

"I've got a business deal to finish." She twirled her tongue through the raspberry cream chocolate in her mouth, and thought how the silky feel was similar to that of Max's cock. "And I don't want you to be in the way." She finished the chocolate, and picked up another.

"Tonight?! But we were going out to the movies to celebrate!"

"I'm sorry honey, but I have to get this deal wrapped up before tomorrow." Besides, I want to climb on top of Max and fuck him like there is no tomorrow.

John got a resigned look on his face, pulled his shirt back on, and started towards the bedroom door. "Tomorrow?"

"I'll call, teddy bear." Although by then a gas leak in your house will have caused your untimely death by explosion.. She popped another chocolate into her mouth.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Elizabeth watched from her bedroom window as John got into his car. She lifted her left hand and waved 'bye-bye' as he pulled away, but kept her right hand hidden. It currently held a 7 inch purple dildo she was getting ready to slide into her pussy. When she was sure that he was gone, she turned and jumped into the bed, lay flat on her back, and slid the big monster between her legs. Soon she would be putting Max's monster there. She closed her eyes and began moving the dildo in and out, in and out, in and out, feeling another orgasm build. It was good, but it wasn't Max.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ding-dong.

Nothing.

Ding-dong. Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open. She must have fallen asleep waiting for her lover, but a quick glance at the clock told her that she it had only been a half hour since John's departure. Max? No, he wasn't due for another two hours.

Ding-dong. Shit. She pulled the dildo out of her cunt, leaving herself feeling empty. This better be fucking good. She wrapped herself in a robe and headed downstairs.

Elizabeth opened the door to find a short (to Elizabeth) black haired lady at her door. She was attractively dressed all in white, with little white pumps to match her white purse. A bit conservative for Elizabeth's tastes, but to each their own. She carried one small and two large packages. Elizabeth looked at the stranger, "Yes?"

"Ms. Harn? I'm Tara Worthington from 'The Twighlight Zone'. I have some packages for you. Presents, actually."

'The Twighlight Zone'. Elizabeth had been to the unusual store a few times. She had an expensive pair of jeans from there that had zipper up both sides; you could get out of them completely in a flash, never have to take off your shoes, do your fucking, and be back in them before the light changed. She also remembered the other things they sold, besides every day clothing. Lingerie, sex toys, and fetish wear just to start the list. Too expensive for her current bank accounts, but maybe a place to visit once she was done with John. She and Max had gone looking a few times, and she had convinced John to buy her a piece of lingerie worth over $2000. She wore it a lot when she fucked Max.

"Presents? I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"A mister John Roland said to deliver these here this afternoon. All these items are custom tailored, set to the measurements taken when you were last in the store. I'm here to do your final fitting, if you have the time."

"John, that sweetheart."  Horny little fuck. Must have dropped a bundle on this. He shouldn't be spending my money that way.  "What do you mean, 'fitting'?"

"These are custom items. I'm here to make sure they fit properly, and that you can put them on and take them off without damaging them. Quite routine, I assure you."

Elizabeth thought about it for a moment. It was a little strange to have a tailor come to your house but, after seeing the store and the fact that the woman had three separate boxes (which meant a lot of money was spent), she reluctantly decided to let the lady in to her house.

"Well then, Ms. Worthington, won't you come in?"

The woman smiled, "Call me Tara."

* * * * * * * * * * 

Elizabeth watched as the woman spread the boxes on the bed. There had been another few in her car, and these were spread out too. She opened a small bag and took out a four inch leather tube. She motioned for Elizabeth to turn around, the pulled the long blond hair into a ponytail, which was then held in place by the tube, so it stood out from her head like a horse's tail. "So your hair doesn't get caught in anything." Then she opened the first box and pulled out a pair of black leather boots that would probably reach to her knee. The five inch heels would be uncomfortable, but Elizabeth used to do runway modeling, so heels weren't that big a deal. Tara handed them to Elizabeth. "Go ahead and try them on. I think the size is right, and our shoes are actually very comfortable."

Our shoes are very comfortable, blah, blah, blah. Bitch. What would she know? Let her walk up and down a runway in a pair of four inch spikes instead of those schoolteacher shoes, and then tell me about comfort!

Elizabeth pulled the left boot on. The inside was lined with what felt like silk, and she could feel cool air circulating around her foot. Still, it was a snug fit. "How does it do that?"

"You mean the aeration? One of our patents. Keeps your foot dry and comfortable, without the need for stockings or socks. Zip it up."

Elizabeth pulled the zipper up, and the leather edge folded over the seam for a smooth finish. The boot itself was snug all the way up; no loose spots were evident. It was as if Tara could read her mind. "Another patent. The leather isn't actually whole, but micro-squares connected with an elastic, and then sealed. It'll stretch almost twice it's original size and still remain smooth. The only problem we have is that it becomes very puncture and cut resistant. That can make it difficult to cut patterns." Elizabeth pulled on the other boot, luxuriating. Max would get a hard-on just from seeing her in these. These would be perfect for a little dominatrix and the slave scene. She was starting to make herself wet just thinking about it. 

"What else you got?"

Tara opened another, smaller box. "How about matching gloves?" Elizabeth's eyes went wide. Elbow length black leather gloves were something she had always wanted but could never find in quality. She pulled on first one then the other, and marveled at how the lack of gaps or loose spots, not even at the wrist. 

"These are incredible. How much does something like this cost?"

"I'm not permitted to disclose that information, Ms. Harn. But if you're wondering because you would like another pair, they do come in red, blue, yellow, green and white. Mr. Roland set up an account with us, and said you were to have Carte Blanche. We have a new catalog going to press in a few days; I'll have one sent over if you like." Elizabeth got up and went to her full length mirror. Even though she was still dressed in her robe, the gloves and boots, along with the hair tube made her just reek of kinky sex. She was definitely wet. Max is in for a night he won't soon forget.

"I must say, Ms. Harn, that those items compliment you quite a bit. Have you ever thought of modeling?"

"Why, thank you. I used to be a model."

"Would you ever consider modeling for us at the Zone?"

"I'm sorry, hon, but just today I signed a deal which guarantees that I won't be modeling any more."

"That's a shame, Ms. Harn."

"What else do you have there?"

"The main course, Ms. Harn. Mr. Roland spent hours picking this out for you. I helped him myself." Tara picked up the largest of the boxes and opened it, then pulled out a black leather corset, complete with under wired half-cups and a lined snap crotch. Elizabeth almost fainted.

"If your not too modest, you could try it on now. I do this all the time."

"I wouldn't be much of a model if I never was naked in front of the designers. Besides, I might as well complete the outfit."

Tara gave a grandiose gesture. "Then, if madam would be so kind as to step into this?"

Elizabeth shucked her modesty with her robe. The corset was beautiful. Max would flip. "I never knew John had such...unusual tastes." Little fucking pervert.. She stepped into the corset, pulling it up her long muscular legs. When it got to her hips she had to wiggle a little, put it finally pulled over. The inside was padded and lined with silk in a fashion similar to the boots. "How do I tighten it?"

Tara opened another box and pulled out a small remote control looking device, and attached to two little studs that were between Elizabeth's half cups. "Turn this knob to work a series of internal wires which draw the lacings shut. When it's as tight as you want it, use this clip to hold them in place, and tuck the cords here. I'll show you the first time." Elizabeth watched in fascinations Tara turned the device on. Two small gears pulled the cord in, tightening the corset first at her lower back a little, then further up.

The breath was pushed from her lungs. "I think that's tight enough."

"Really?" said Tara, a little surprised. "I would have thought somebody as fit as you would have gone much smaller." She began to disconnect the cords.

"Wait. I guess I could go a little smaller." 

Tara smiled as she turned it on again, this time a little faster, so Elizabeth couldn't change her mind so fast. The heavy front boning caused Elizabeth to stick out her leather covered ass a bit, while the cups seemed to squeeze and lift her tits at the same time. The corset itself was seamless; not a single ripple could be seen. Tara tied off the ends, and stuffed them into a hidden pocket on the front. 

"Not so bad, was it?" That remark got Tara a dirty look from Elizabeth, but she simply returned a smile.

"No, but it is hard to breath." Elizabeth looked in the mirror again. Her already sexy body had an even slimmer waist, and her b-cup breasts, augmented by the wiring and padding, jutted from her chest like two c-cup missiles. I'm not going to make it waiting for Max - I gotta cum, and soon. " Is there more?" 

"Mr. Roland also picked out some earrings; two sets of matched pearl studs. Are your ears double pierced?"

Elizabeth gave the woman a withering look. "Triple, actually."

Tara opened the small box. Inside were two sets of pearl stud earrings, one set larger than the others. Elizabeth took the box and went the vanity to put them on, but discovered she couldn't work the posts while wearing the gloves.

"Little help?"

"I'm sorry. There designed so the don't come off very easily. Due to the cost, nobody that buys a set is happy when they lose one." Tara put the posts through the holes in Elizabeth's ears, then snapped the backs on with an audible 'pop'.

"Ouch!"

"I'm sorry about that. They are a little snug, but you'll get used to it."

"You should have warned me" Elizabeth snapped. Her ears burned a little from the pain. "What's in that little box?" She pointed to a foot long box that had been inside the corset box.

"I forgot about those. They are toys that go with the corset. They are a little more 'personal', in nature. Would you like to see them?"

Toys? "Why the hell not?" Elizabeth got up and walked over to the bed. Her legs felt a little wobbly. Must be the boots. She opened the boxes to discover a small black dildo and a smaller black butt plug.

"I could show you how to put them on. In case you would ever be interested. I'm not saying that you're into that kind of thing , but..." Tara mumbled her way out of the suggestion.

Elizabeth's head started to get fuzzy. Her earlobes throbbed. "I don't know..."

Tara smiled an almost evil smile. "Here, I'll show you. Bend over and put your hands on the vanity."

Elizabeth felt her body stumble over to the vanity and bend over, thrusting her ass high in the air. Her head was growing a little fuzzy, as if she had a few drinks. "Will this do, Tara?" What am I doing?

"Nicely, dear" Tara opened the snap crotch and deftly stuck her finger into Elizabeth's wet pussy. "Plenty of lubricant here for both toys!"

Elizabeth felt the intruding digit, but even though her mind told her to be appalled, her body responded by thrusting backwards, pushing the finger in deeper. "Tara? I'm not feeling well. A bit dizzy, in fact." Elizabeth was having a lot of trouble concentrating on what was going on. "Something isn't right here. I think that the corset must be cutting off the oxygen to my brain. Could we take this off now? Tara?"

"Please, call me 'Mistress Tara', and I think things are going just perfectly." Tara removed her finger and Elizabeth watched in the vanity mirror as she used the wet finger to grease up the butt plug. A nasty smile came across Tara's face. "Ready?" She nudged the tip of the butt plug into Elizabeth's anus, which resisted, then pushed it all the way in with one motion. Elizabeth shuddered momentarily with the erotic pain, then felt a little relief as her anus closed around the smaller stem of the plug. Before she could think about it, though, Mistress Tara slid the dildo easily into place. "We'll just hook up the wires here, and close this crotch nice and tight, Tah-dah!"

Elizabeth's ass and pussy seemed overfull from the constriction of the corset.  Something's wrong. What's happening to me?

"Stand up, Elizabeth. How does it feel?"

"Very full and very tight, Mistress Tara. Mistress Tara, what is happening to me?"

"You will not speak unless spoken to, Elizabeth. By the way, I think 'Elizabeth' is too proper sounding a name for a slut like you. What would be a good name for a slut like you? How about 'Bunny'?" Tara spotted the box of chocolates next to the bed, "or 'Candy'? Yes, I think a chocolate eater like you should be called 'Candy'. Don't you agree?"

CANDY!? What kind of name is that for a woman of her stature? Once she had made a success of herself she had insisted on being called 'Elizabeth. "Yes, Mistress Tara." It was as if her mind was stuck in a body she didn't control, a body with a mind of it's own, where she was just an observer.

Tara walked over to the dresser and rummaged through it until she found the zipper jeans, which she tossed to Candy. "Put these on. We're going to have guests in a little while."

Candy obediently began to put the jeans on, using the side zippers to avoid trying to pull the tight denim over the boots. Max! Shit! How am I going to explain all this? Am I going to be given the chance to explain all this? What's happening to me?!




The Twighlight Zone Ch. 03



Elizabeth gathered up all her energy. She knew she was speaking out of turn, but she had to know. "What did you do to me?"

Tara was going through the closet; she tossed out a black silk shirt, then a black leather belt, then turned to face Candy. "You must be a strong one, to still be able to refuse a direct order. It's the earrings, you little shit." The nice demeanor Tara had exhibited earlier was gone. Elizabeth immediately reached up and fumbled with the unusual earrings, but couldn't quite grasp the backs with her gloved hands.

Tara reached up and grabbed the ex-model's jaw. "The larger ones are releasing a concentrated chemical into your bloodstream which makes you very receptive to suggestion. I would say you could remove them, but you now have no desire to do so." Candy immediately stopped trying. "The smaller ones serve a function you'll discover later. Now hurry up and get dressed. I'd like to see if that mouth of yours can do more than complain before the door bell rings."

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ding-dong. Mistress Tara pushed Candy's head away from her crotch. Pussy juice streamed down her chin. "Did I do good, Mistress Tara?"

"Fair, Candy, but you'll learn. You would think that with all the oral attention you've been getting, that you would have picked up a few tricks. You can work on that later, I suppose. Now clean up, and fix your make-up; wear the silvery pink lipstick."

"Yes, Mistress Tara." I can't believe I just ate her pussy. I've got do to something to get out of here! But her Candy-self did just what it was told.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Candy walked down the steps carefully. Besides the difficulty she was having with the heels, the dildo and the butt plug were a bit uncomfortable. Well, maybe 'unusual' was a better word for it. Max will help me. He's got to help me. She heard voices in the living room, male and female. She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner. Mistress Tara was talking to John, and another woman was behind him. John! maybe he would help!

"Here she is now, your little slut Candy!"

"Hello, Candy" said John,"you remember slut Buffy, your old secretary, don't you?" 

The other woman looked up at the name with a dizzy-looking smile on her face. Cheryl! She was the one that had led John on in the first place! What had happened here? Max was supposed to have killed her; they found a body in the car wreck, and identified it as her. 

Cheryl/Buffy was dressed the same as Candy, only in negative. White boots peeked from her jeans, white gloves, a white leather tube giving her black hair a pony look, and no doubt a white corset and toys under the white shirt. Her tits strained against the shirt, much the same way as Candy's did, and her erect nipples were evident. She even wore the same silvery pink lipstick. John was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, a nice shirt, and a leather jacket. 

Tara spoke, "Candy, this is Master John, whom you will refer to as John in public, and Master at all other times. This is slut Buffy, whom you will refer to as Buffy in public or as 'slut Buffy' at all other times. You will do whatever Master John tells you to."

"Yes, Mistress Tara." Like hell!

"John, everything worked perfectly. I did nothing with the toys yet, though. Did the paperwork go through okay?"

"Yes, Ms. Worthington. The entire Harn estate is now mine. You'd think that somebody that thought she was as smart as she was would have reread the contract before she signed it. We simply substituted a new set of papers, and she never doubted it. By the way, seeing as she is now a penniless waif, she'll need a job. Any modeling contracts open for her and Buffy at the Zone? I've got a room upstairs in my new house here that she and Buffy can stay in, if they're good." At the phrase 'if they're good' Buffy's eyes got a dreamy look, and she reached around Master John and began rubbing his crotch. Mistress Tara smiled again.

He continued, "of course, it's going to take a bit of remodeling and, seeing as how some of my old possession were destroyed in an apartment fire a little while ago, I think we may do some shopping for furnishings soon." Buffy continued to focus her attention on the front of his jeans.

"Programming's going well, I see. You have to be a little more careful with your words; I could see where things could be a little embarrassing in public if you make a slip. Yes, I could use a few more models, in the bondage and sexual toys areas. Are you going to set up Candy's program before you go?"

"Nearly forgot!" He took out a little control and pressed a few buttons. The second set of stud earrings in the new Candy's ears crackled to life. A voice started whispering in both of Candy's ears ...you love Master John you will serve Master John you will do anything Master John tells you... then slowly faded into the room's background noise. If she concentrated, she could pick it out ...you love sex with Master John you love sex with slut Buffy you love sexy clothing... Elizabeth wasn't sure what the voices were for, though.

"That should do for now. I really don't know how to thank you, Ms. Worthington."

"Nothing to worry about. I have to watch out for my best workers, you know? Before you go, John, how are things in the biochemical prosthetics division going?" Tara winked at the man.

"Let me show you. Buffy, show Mistress Tara your favorite thing in the whole world."

Buffy's whole body shivered as she dropped to her knees, and a lustful grin spread across her face. She undid Master John's belt, and nearly ripped his pants off, exposing the cock she had recently rubbed to a full erection.

Candy gasped. Holy shit. Look at him. He's huge! At least ten inches long, and two in diameter. He was bigger than Max! Buffy took the head of the engorged cock in her mouth and began stroking the shaft with her left hand while her right hand fondled his egg sized balls. Her eyes closed and she started to hum as if there was no place in the world she would rather be. In fact, at this point in Buffy's training, there *was* no place she would rather be. Her training was almost complete.

John pressed another button on the remote. The voices in Candy's ears were no longer in sync. ...you love giving head you love pleasing orally and anally... while the other spoke phrases ...to you the term on your knees' is an invitation to please Master John orally... Both voices again quickly blended into the background noise. 

For the briefest of moments during the switch, Elizabeth resurfaced. "John...why are you...why did you...?" but the thought slipped from her mind. Elizabeth, or 'Candy' as she now knew her name to be, had the briefest of thoughts regarding subliminal messages, but quickly put them out of her head. There were more important things to worry about. It was just a few moments later when all the worries she had about money and Max slipped from her mind with the last of her old persona.

"Why did I do this to you? Well, my old girlfriend, Elizabeth," he started, and a distant memory flitted through her head at the name, "she was a bit of a 'user', so I decided to replace her with a newer model. One that does what I want her to do, when I want her to do it. Not the other way around."

Candy felt drawn to Master John, and looked him in the eyes. There was a question there, but she knew that he had to give her permission. Master John smiled and said, "Buffy, stop. Our new slut wants to make up for lost time. On your knees, slut Candy. Show me what I haven't been getting from you for the past three months." He winked at Mistress Tara, who stifled a giggle.

Candy dropped to her knees in front of Master John. She wrapped her leather covered left hand around his shaft, and reached out with her right to fondle his ballsack as she had seen Buffy do. The purple head, bigger than a golf ball, still glistened with Buffy's saliva. For a moment, there was a flash of 'Elizabeth' as she pondered whether she could actually fellate the huge dick in front of her. I can't. It's too big. Too fucking big. Her mouth opened, and she slid the cockhead past her silvery-pink lips, leaving a slight trail of lipstick and gloss as her lips tightened their grip. Her hands began stroking and fondling of there own accord while her lips swirled and explored. Soon she began to ease more of the huge prick into her mouth, slowly bobbing her head up and down. God I can't believe I'm doing this.  Two inches, then three, then four. The glans hit the back of her throat It's too much! Too FUCKING BIG!, and on the next down stroke she started to deep throat it.

John touched another button on his small control. Between slut Candy's legs things began to happen. The buttplug and the dildo began to expand as the current from the batteries hidden in the corset reacted with the chemicals inside the toys. When they reached their full size, both began to warm and vibrate. Slut Candy's orgasm began to build. God I can't take much more.

John tensed up,  He's going to cum! , and in a last moment of defiance, slut Candy moved to pull the cock head out of her mouth. Mistress Tara's hands instead forced her head back into position just as the cum spurted forth. It was not the palm full that she got from Max's little dick, but the first stream would have filled her mouth if it hadn't shot right down her throat. She kept pumping her Master's cock, shooting stream after stream of tasty cum down her throat. He pulled away, her pouting mouth sucking as long as she could. The toys inside her overexcited her nerves, sending her into a convulsive orgasm that rocked her like none before. Candy had given her master an orgasm, and been permitted to swallow the results, and finally realized how happy she was with her accomplishment.

Tara looked at the prosthetic cock. She knew that for all intents and purposes, it was a part of John, but she thought he might have overdone it a little with the size. "Wow, John. How much did you prime your prick with?"

"Well Ms. Worthington, I figure that was about three months worth. I've been saving up for a special occasion." They both laughed. 

"Slut Candy, did you like that?" Tara spoke softly to the convulsing body on the floor. "Every time you please your master, he may reward you with an orgasm. Don't please him, and he will punish you. Or worse, he may sell you to me. Sort of sad, really. You could of been a domme to rival the best in my organization. Too bad you were so greedy; that was your downfall. See you Monday, bright and early. Got a new catalog to get out!"

Slut Candy looked up at Mistress Tara and Master John, affection and desire in her eyes. Inside her head, slut Candy heard a weak voice scream in futility as the last vestige of the woman that was Elizabeth accepted it's fate. Master John pulled his underwear and pants back on, gave a small bow to Ms. Worthington, and walked to the door. Buffy and Candy came up on either side, each taking an arm. 

I hope Master John will let me suck his cock again soon,  they both thought. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Epilogue

Max swung his Porsche into the driveway, and clicked off the ignition. Elizabeth is going to be fucked like never before. He had stayed, ever so briefly so as not to be obvious, to watch the explosion that killed John Roland. Nobody could have survived that.

Maybe she'll wear some of that kinky underwear that he buys her. Correction: bought her. If that bitch I married had done me like Elizabeth does, we wouldn't be getting divorced right now.

He trotted up to the front door. Tacked to the front door was envelope with his name printed on the front. He pulled it off, and the door slowly swung open, of it's own accord. On the floor of the hallway was a large clothing box emblazoned with "The Twighlight Zone". He stepped into the foyer, closed the door, and opened the envelope.

Max, my little slave.

Put on the outfit in the box. All of it. 

Make sure it's nice and tight. 

Then bring that big cock of yours upstairs. 

I've got some plans for it

and you 

that you will never forget. 

    Mistress 

Wow! She's gone off the deep end this time. Max had a difficult time getting his clothes off fast enough, and left them in a pile on the foyer floor. His erection was almost painful as he opened the box. Inside were three leather bags, each with a 'Twighlight Zone" insignia.

The first contained a mass of one inch black leather straps connected with rings in a criss-cross pattern. The second had what looked like a black leather condom and a little, empty bag. In the third was a ring-gag harness to keep his mouth open wide. After he removed the bags he saw three small envelopes numbered #1,#2,#3.

she has gone off the deep end, but when she gets in these moods she's fucking incredible He ripped open the first envelope.

#1 - put on the jumpsuit. 

You climb in through the neck, like a good little slave.

Max picked up the mass of straps, straightened them out as best he could, then found the collar. He pulled the leather-like fabric and it stretched surprisingly wide, and stepped in. In a moment he was completely in the harness, and he straightened and flattened the straps where need be. The suit was like a net covering his body from the neck down. It left his hands and feet free, and his erection and ass bare. If he could have gotten harder, he would have. He ripped open the second envelope so violently that he actually ripped part of the note inside. He held the two sections together to read it.

#2 - put the tube on my property. 

Pass it though the ring, then draw the bag over your sack. 

Max did as instructed. The tube was tight; almost too tight. It covered all of his eight inches, leaving the glans exposed. The bag, which seemed to be made of the same stretchy leather looking material, had a ring which slid down the shaft, then drew it over his ball sack. It felt like somebody had a good grip. It was a little uncomfortable, but certainly arousing. He knew the third one was going to tell him to put on the gag, but he opened it anyway.

#3 - put the gag on and get your ass upstairs; you're already late.

This better be worth it.

She had put him a ball-gag once, after he killed her first boyfriend. Of course, she had made up for his inability to use his mouth by using hers twice as much. He stuck the ring in his mouth, maneuvered it behind his teeth, and fastened the harness behind this head and again on top, making sure it was snug. His mouth was open to the limit, wrapped around the 2 inch ring. He couldn't speak at all. He nearly came as he ran up the stairs.

The bedroom was lit only with candles, and Elizabeth was nowhere in sight. A few empty boxes from 'The Twighlight Zone' lay on the floor. The bed had only a black satin sheet and four manacles attached to the frame. A large card read, 'Tie yourself, sex slave'. Oh man oh man oh man.  Max hooked his left ankle into the first manacle, and slapped the magnetic hasp shut. He had to spread his legs wide to get his ankle to the other manacle, but he only had to push down against the hinge, and the halves closed and magnetically locked. His arms stretched out and found their place in their manacles. 

Pre-cum began to dribble down his wrapped shaft. The tube and the sack held his prick straight up and pointed towards the ceiling. His cock was so hard it hurt. A voice from across the room startled him out his momentary erotic daydream.

It wasn't Elizabeth. Max's heart had been racing from sexual arousal, but now fear replaced excitement. The woman's voice was strong without being masculine, and had just a hint of an English accent.

"So this is the guy who was going to kill one of my favorite biochemists, eh? Nice dick you got there; you'd think it would get you laid a little more often, or you wouldn't be where you are now. Pretty desperate for sex, aren't you?" A small woman dressed in white walked into the room. Curled black hair framed an angelic face. "Looks like you can follow directions, though. That's good, especially where you are going." Who the fuck is that? Max futilely strained against the manacles, and realized just how badly he had been had. Grunts and snorts emanated from his mouth, but nothing intelligible could make it past the ring-gag. 

"What was that?" she asked, "Where's Elizabeth? Funny that you should be concerned about her. She left a little while ago with John."

John? No, John should be dead by now. Max had watched as his apartment erupted in a fireball less than an hour ago. Max gurgled incomprehensibly again.

"No, I assure you he is quite well. What's that? Really, Maxie, you are very difficult to understand. Perhaps it would be best if you just shut up." Tara slid the purple dildo, covered with Elizabeth's dried juices, through the ring-gag and all the way into Max's mouth, making him gag. "Better get used to it. You'll be sucking real ones pretty soon."

* * * * * * * * * *

End? I don't think so. Part 5 in the series is all about Max and what he goes through one night in a desperate attempt to gain his freedom from the diabolical Ms. Tara Worthington. Before that is Part 4 in the series, "The Art Critic", in which we learn about Alan O'Neill, who critiques some sculptures of Tara's, plays a game of racquetball, and finds out (the hard way, naturally) what happens when Ms. Worthington takes an interest in his extracurricular activities.



The Twighlight Zone Ch. 04



Before you go any further: this is another episode in the Twighlight Zone series, all of which are connected (loosely) to a store by the same name. Each story is somewhat of a standalone; while characters from one episode may appear in other episodes, don't expect storyline continuation from one episode to the next. If you really like characters, let me know and I may develop them in a further story.

As an author and an artist, there have been times that I have looked back on a piece of work and seen something so alien to my current thought that I wondered who it was that really created the item in question. 

This story is one of those times. 

I have no idea what muse guided my hands across the keyboard, or where many of the things in "The Art Critic" came from, and therefore have no reasons or excuses. This story pretty much touches on a hell of a lot of fetishes out there: bondage, consensual/reluctant/non-consensual sex, anal/vaginal and oral sex (mostly between men and women), toys and masturbation, mind control, latex and leather, tickling, caning, body modification, forced adultery, a little CBT, cuckoldry, transexual and transgender scenes, and a whole lot of Female Dominance (in capital letters, since that is the overall theme). Add to that a very sarcastic victim, and you get the fourth in the Twighlight Zone series.

If none of that is your thing, don't bother reading further.

I've done a major rewrite in order to close some plot holes and correct some missteps, as well as correct a lot of grammatical problems. I am sure I missed a few, so your patience and understanding is welcomed. In addition, I added a bit here and there were it was called for.

In all, it is the story of a man thrown into a situation out of his control, and with each step forward that he takes to get out, he slips two backward into debauchery. All the while, he has to deal with what is happening to his personality, his body, and to his relationship with his wife. I can only hope you enjoy.

The Twighlight Zone, Chapter Four, by Seurat

'The Art Critic'



Wednesday, May 8th.

THWOCK! The racquetball hit high and wide right on the front wall. A hard shot to return, but not impossible. I lunged for the return and put away the kill into the corner. My point, giving me the second game. "Nice shot" said my opponent, a Ms. Tara Worthington. She was cute, sexy, and dressed in spandex shorts and a loose fitting T-shirt. I had noticed she wasn't wearing any bra during the first game, and that realization was probably why I lost. It made the second game a close one, but I had squeaked out a win. In point of fact she was almost as good as me, but she had a way of twisting and arching for shots that distracted me to no end, and definitely gave her an edge that compensated for my lead in ability.

I don't know if you have ever played racquetball, but it can be very tiring. Third games are always the worst for me, even though they only go to eleven. By the time I get that far, I don't have a whole lot of directional power left. Power, yes. Direction, no. I just hoped I could hit the ball into a corner where she couldn't return it. The first few serves went off the way I wanted. Strong, fast, and so powerful that when I hit the ball, my stroke lifted me off the ground. By the time I lost the serve I was up 5-0. Her first serve was an ace, and not because it was fast. Just before she hit the ball she bent over, and the spandex (or rather what was in the spandex) distracted me. On the next serve she wiggled a little and it had the desired effect: another ace. I may be married, but I'm not dead, and I was really beginning to notice her body.

By this time she knew exactly what effect she was having on me and my game. She was constantly wiggling a little, or smiling, or licking her lips. By the time I returned a serve she was up 9-5. She was so surprised that I made a return that she stood there and watched as I took the serve back.

At this point, the muscles in my legs and arms were so tired they were quivering. I am not an athlete, nor am I a young college man. A night of racquetball was pretty much my exercise for the week, and the game tonight was more strenuous than I expected. If I could keep the power going, I might just pull off a win. The first serve was fast and low, and her return was short. Same with the second. 7-9. I gave her a lob and she was caught off guard. Two more power shots and I was up 10-9, a point away from victory. She returned my next shot and we volleyed for a while before she put it away. Just like me she tried to put away the next two serves. They were screwy back corner lobs, but I returned one for a kill and we were tied 10-10. 

I stood in the sever area, trying to catch my breath. "Ready?"

"Hot, wet, and ready, yes" she replied. I bounced the ball and brought the racquet around just as her words hit me. The ball went high off the front, and she slammed it high for a wall hugger on the far side. I sprinted across in a valiant attempt to catch it on the rebound, and only succeeded in slamming into the wall. "Sorry, but I couldn't resist. If you want the serve over, I understand." I shook my head to decline the offer. Tied 10-10, a point away.

She bounced the ball a few times as she walked to the lines. She turned around, looked at me, and made a show of giving the ball a squeeze. "Ready for me?" I would've swore the temperature on the court went up 10 degrees. I nodded.

The ball moved so fast off the front wall that I didn't even see it coming. I should have, because it was aimed straight at me, and it caught me between the legs. I dropped to the ground and folded into the fetal position. No return made it her point, her game, and her match. I didn't really care. I tried to uncurl my body and congratulate her, and decided instead to wait for a minute or two. Or five. Maybe even for the next presidential election. I was in no hurry.

Now, I've caught it in the crotch before, and always unexpectedly. No sane man takes it in the crotch on purpose. Usually, I recover fairly fast. A direct shot is painful, but it isn't like getting kicked in the crotch. Normally, this is a point of impact pain. Unless, of course, you're playing with a prick-tease and you have a hard-on straining against your shorts, because then getting hit then is like falling onto the bar of your bicycle. It hurts real bad, and you wonder if the pain will ever go away.

She waited until I started to get up before she asked if I was okay, and if I wanted to get some coffee or tea afterwards. At least I think that was when she asked me, as I was a little preoccupied. I agreed, and searched around for my goggles and glasses, both of which came off when I hit the ground. I could soon see again. Rather, I should say that things came in to focus again; I still had little stars of pain dancing in front of my eyes.

A little background before we go too far here. My name is Alan O'Neill, and I'm a critic for a local newspaper. I do everything from the rare restaurant opening to whether or not the latest vampire flick is any good. I specialize in art shows, and I had met Tara the night before at a show at the University. In fact, it was her show. We talked a little, and came on the subject of sports. That was how we ended up playing tonight.

When I first met her I thought she was attractive. She was short, for my tastes, about five-four, maybe five-five. Long curly black hair framed a delicate face with blue eyes, small nose and full lips. Her body was nice; not nice like when your wife gives you exercise equipment for Christmas and you didn't think you needed it, but nice like what you say when you get caught by the same wife watching Kelly LeBrock in a movie you hate and she asks you if you think LeBrock has a sexy body and you tell her it's just...nice. Let me just say it was athletic and firm...some parts so firm that I wasn't sure they were all natural. I didn't really care. To top it off, she had a definite hint of an English accent, something that I had always liked in a person.

I wasn't going to be hitting on her. I am what they call happily married, and am also what they call a dog. I talk a good show, and always figured there was nothing wrong with looking as long as I didn't touch. It doesn't matter where you got your appetite, as long as you always ate at home.



As my mind came out of the haze of pain, I realized I had not only agreed to tea at her place, but to give her a ride home. She had evidently taken a cab to our match. 

* * * * * * * * * *

I pulled up outside the gym in my sensible little two door, and let her in. I could tell she had not showered either, and her scent quickly filled the car, or at least that was the way it seemed. I was getting thoughts that a married man shouldn't be getting. "Everything okay?" she asked, "I mean, you got hit pretty hard. I hope everything works okay." 

I decided to let that one slip by. I am no Don Juan, by anybody's standards, but I know a pass when I hear one. I had to keep my mind on the goal: a little info on a locally showing artist, nothing more. I was not about to ruin my marriage for a piece of ass.

"Yeah, nothing that's never happened before." It was true. When you play racquetball, you take your life and genitals and pretty much hope they don't get it by the ball, let alone a racquet or an elbow. She gave me directions to one of the nicer areas of the town, where rows of large brownstones lined the streets. Hers was like the others there, a one-car garage and basement entrance off the street, and a short flight of stairs led up to the main entry.

I parked in the drive and we headed up to the huge cherrywood and leaded glass front door. Inside was a tastefully decorated, if sparse, living room and dining area with a kitchen in back. Pieces of modern art and sculpture decorated the room. I've noticed that in my years of dealing with artists. Either their domiciles are a blank canvas, waiting to be painted, or they are crammed with clutter. True artists don't quibble about style when they decorate; they throw together everything they like, and let critics be damned.

"Any particular type of tea?" she asked, walking across the room to the kitchen.

"No, as long as it's hot." I looked around. "Nice place you have here."

Her voice rang from the kitchen. "Thanks. It used to be my father's. He had made some good investments a few years back, and when he retired to Florida, I got this place. I'm still remodeling some parts, but it'll be done to my tastes soon. Would you like honey in your tea?" I yelled back 'yes', and she returned to the living room, where I still stood, admiring the art. Force of habit, I guess. "Have a seat."

I took the mug of tea, sat down on an overstuffed leather chair, and had another look around. "Most of this stuff your work?" It all seemed pretty eclectic, but the was some undercurrent that tied them all together. I figured it was the artist.



"Oh no. I just like to dabble in a little sculpture. This is actually my private collection. Mostly unknowns, but maybe someday they'll be worth what I paid for them."

"You live here, and support starving artists? Dad must have made some really good investments. Wish I could get into art that way."

"I'm sure you'll really get into art someday. I do have a day job. I'm a computer-technochemist for Baum-Dietrich Technologies. I have to have some way to relax."

"Computer-technochemist?" I was in way over my head on this one. "Just what does a computer-technochemist do?"

"Right now, we're developing synthetic nerve actuators. Sort of a replacement skin, which could be regulated through the use of micro-computers." She could tell she was losing me fast, and I could tell she was on the way to change the subject. She looked at me for a moment, then asked, "more tea?" 

Taking a quick look at the clock, I saw that I had plenty of time to get home before my wife. "Sure. Do you mind if I ask you some more questions, for my story? I'd like to get a good background on you for the article."

The next move was pure textbook slapstick, though I probably couldn't prove it. As she stood to get the teapot, her knee hit the table and her mug of tea was knocked into the air. As if in slow motion I watched it come right at me, dousing my left thigh and crotch with hot tea. Where my pain had previously settled to a dull roar, it now went off the 'scalding' scale. 

"Shit! I'm really sorry." She grabbed her sweat towel and rushed over as I tried in vain to dry of with some tissues from the table. She began to towel of my thigh and, before I could stop her, she began wiping my crotch too. Despite it's recent abuses, my cock sprang to life at her touch. "Seems more got wet than I first thought."

I grabbed her hand and pushed it away. "Please! I'm married, if you hadn't noticed." I showed her the gold band on my finger. It may sound feeble to you, but I was married, and didn't want to forget. I said it as much for her benefit as my own.

"I didn't mean anything. Really. Why don't you run upstairs and shower off, while I wash your clothes. Unless you want to explain to your wife why your privates are covered in honey-tea. Upstairs, through the bedroom. Should be plenty of towels." I got up and climbed up the spiral stairs. "Better hurry. You don't want to have any stains there, do you?" My pace picked up.

I couldn't believe how quickly my evening had gone downhill. What started as a 'get to know you better for an article' had become a 'I am about to get naked in some strangers apartment after my genitals have been abused twice'. 

I quick-stepped it back through the bedroom and into the bathroom, taking a quick look at the four-poster bed decorated with gossamer scarves and the other furnishings as I passed by. Once in the bathroom, I turned on the water and stripped out my clothes. My thigh and crotch were a bright red from the tea, but were starting to cool a bit. I put my glasses and wedding ring on the vanity (not everybody's is tight on their finger, and I didn't want to lose it down her drain), hopped under the hot spray and pulled the curtain shut. After a few moments I heard the door open, and a slight noise as my clothes were picked up. The door shut again. I finished the shower quickly. The water helped a lot in calming the pain. An ice pack later would be even better.

I reached out of the shower and grabbed a towel, and looked around as I dried myself off. The whole room was done in maroon and white, down to the soap in the dish and the toothbrush. The room felt a little odd, especially after the mashed together decorating I had seen downstairs. I toweled off my hair, put my glasses back on, and wrapped the towel around my waist and made a roll-over knot. Turning off the light, I stepped out into the bedroom.

There was a chair in one corner of the room with an odd looking terry-cloth robe lying across it. I say strange because it looked too bulky to be just a robe. As it was not there when I went into the bathroom, I figured it was for me and would do for me a lot better than just a towel. I undid the towel, letting it drop to the floor, and put on the robe. The lining of the robe was cotton; it was snug around my arms (probably wasn't used to arms larger then Tara's) and cinched it tight around my waist. The robe was cut high for a woman, and rode even higher on me, nearly exposing my genitals. I vowed not to sit down while wearing it.



"Guess that robe isn't quite big enough for you," she said from the bedroom doorway. I probably turned red enough to heat water. She walked over to me, her body swaying the way I had noticed in the court, and I could feel myself starting to get hard. "We should really find something a little more appropriately sized for you." She stood in front of me an smiled. "I always did like that robe. You didn't pull the sleeves down far enough, though. It can be a little tricky if you aren't used to these kind of robes, I must say. Here, let me show you." She stepped behind me. "Cross your arms in front of you." I did as she asked, and felt her hands run up the sleeves a little, her left up my right, and vice-versa. The cotton lining stopped about halfway up my forearm, and by the time she reached them, she was giving me a tight hug from behind. I looked down to see my now stiff prick sticking out from the folds of the robe. This situation was getting decidedly uncomfortable. And it certainly wasn't going in a direction I wanted it to go.

I felt her grab the ends of the sleeves and start to slide them down my forearm. With a suddenness that caught me completely unaware, Tara brought her knee up to the center of my back and pulled hard on the sleeves, and I heard some snaps pop. The sleeves slipped over my hands, and she somehow connected them behind me, effectively straight-jacketing me. Tara grabbed my shoulder as I started to protest and spun me around, throwing me off balance. With a smile of contempt she pushed my off-kilter body backwards, which caused me to fall on the bed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?!"

She looked at me and laughed. "I figured we would have a little fun. Looks like you were figuring on it, too. The flesh seems willing enough." With that she grabbed my cock, "Is the spirit just as willing?"

"I told you, I'm married! Now let me out of this thing!"

"If you really were happily married, you wouldn't have come back to my house. And you certainly wouldn't have such a big erection. Now move back onto the bed, before I make you do it myself." I felt her fingernails jab into my flesh, and decided that, at the moment, I should probably go along with her.

I slid back on the bed so that my head was on the pillows. She got on the bed on walked over (on her knees) until she was straddling me, the earthy smell of her body preceding her. She looked me in the face, smiled, then looked at my crotch. She then leaned over and began kissing my neck, then my chest where it was exposed, then moved downward, finally stopped short just before reaching head of my cock. My head flopped back in frustration. Seeing her chance, she quickly moved up so that her knees were on the outsides of my arms, and sat back on my chest. "Now, I'm going to go change, and I don't want you to go anywhere. Promise you won't move?" I nodded. We both knew it was a lie.

"For some reason, I don't believe you. But I do know how to help you keep your promise." She reached below my crotch and under my ass, and pulled up another strap, this one about a half inch in width, and I felt a tug on the back of the robe. Tara pulled it up through my ass cheeks tightly, so that it felt like I had a wedgie. With her left hand she lifted my cock and balls up, and with her right wound the strap tightly twice around the base of my genitals. The strap then went back under itself and up to my crossed arms, which it circled twice, and was tied off on the headboard.

She walked around to the foot of the bed and pulled a scarf from under the bed and looped it around my left ankle, drawing the loop tight. I panicked and tried to get out, but realized that any attempt to escape might mean serious injury to my manhood. She stretched out the scarf, tying it to an unseen anchor at the bottom corner of the bed. She then did the same with my right ankle.

"Now, I'm going to change into something a little more appropriate. Don't go anywhere. Like you would."

With that she walked out of the room, and I heard her as she walked down the stairs. Even though I had come out of the shower only a few minutes ago, I was really starting to sweat. Remember what I said about my day going downhill? Well, that road had just ended at a cliff, and I couldn't seem to brake. What to do? Struggle and try to get loose? Not likely. Scream for help? Who would hear, anyway? I could feel my heart trying to break out of my chest. All I could do was lie here and wait. I lifted my head and looked briefly at my fully erect cock. "Traitor," I said, and flopped my head back down.




The Twighlight Zone Ch. 04



I heard her return a few minutes later. If my traitorous cock had gone limp at all while she was gone, it more than returned to fully erect when she came in. Dressed neck to toe in a white cyre' catsuit, she looked the picture of kinky sex. White leather spike heeled boots adorned her feet, and white latex gloves adorned her hands. Her nipples stood erect through cutouts designed to show them off, and the lips of her pussy showed through the cutout between her legs. I was a bit dumbstruck, and simply stared.

"My, you look good enough to eat. No, don't say anything, just relax and enjoy. In fact, I don't want to here a word from you." She leaned over and took off my glasses, then reached under the bed at the side, and when I saw what she pulled out I started to buck frantically to get away. The strap around my balls and the tightened scarves at my ankles abruptly reminded me of my predicament, just in case I had forgotten. Knowing full well my helplessness, Tara took the black leather hood she had pulled out and wiggled it over my head, cinching it tight behind my head and under my chin. The hood had cutouts for eyes and mouth, but the nose was so firm against my own I couldn't breath that way. When I made the mistake of opening my mouth to protest she promptly filled it with a large pacifier shaped gag, which velcroed in place. The inside of the gag was big enough that I couldn't move my tongue, but was perforated at the front so that I could breathe. I tried to express my desperation and uneasiness with what she had just done, but managed only to get out some incomprehensible grunts. Then she undid the cock strap.

"That's better. Now, before we begin, let's set a few ground rules. One - I do to you what I want, when I want, and you accept, willingly or not. Hmm. Guess that about covers it." With that she moved back down to my now red prick and took it into her hands. She wrapped her left hand around the shaft and began to fondle my balls with her right as she stroked up and down. She must have felt me about to explode because she stopped and gripped my dick so tight that I couldn't cum. "Something's wrong here. I know!" She waited a few seconds to make sure I was relaxed enough so that I wouldn't cum, then dropped my cock and jumped of the bed and went back into the hallway, out of my sight. When she returned I saw that she carried a small spray can, a cup, a small bottle, and a large towel. She put the can, the cup and something else down on the ground at the foot of the bed and started wedging the towel under my legs from ankles to hips. "Cream can get so messy, you know." Cream? As in whipped cream? This was definitely getting different. I was starting to hyperventilate, and had to concentrate to calm my breathing. Visions of her suddenly pulling out an icepick and perforating my chest danced through my head.

She leaned off the edge of the bed and I heard the spray can. When she came back up her hand was filled with a large mound of foamy cream, which she proceeded to rub all over my cock and through my pubic hair. By the time she was finished the cool cream covered me from hips to knees. "Ready for the big surprise?" 

What next? Chocolate syrup and a cherry?



Tara leaned back off the bed and came back up with a ten-pack of razors. My eyes must have bugged out in surprise because when she looked up she started to laugh. "Always did hate those pesky hairs getting in the way. Don't move; I don't want to cut you. Considering how much blood you have flowing down there, you would probably bleed out in thirty seconds or so." With that, she proceeded to shave my lower body clean. When she was done my body stung from the effects of the razors, but I was hairless. She went into the bathroom and came back with a washcloth and cleaned me up, then picked up the small bottle and poured oil into her hand. "This should help things from rubbing raw now that all that hair is gone." If I thought I was hard before, I now had a piece of steel growing from my groin as her hands made quick work of making me slick and slippery. She removed the towel and climbed on the bed again, straddling me.

"Guess I owe you a good fuck now." I could still protest. I wasn't going to be forced into adultery without putting up a fight, academic as it may have been, and violently shook my head 'no'. 

"Oh? Consider yourself pretty well fucked already, don't you?" She smiled enough at her joke that I didn't have to respond.

"Tell you what," she said, as she reached over my head and grabbed something, which she pushed into the outside of the pacifier gag. "I'm in need of a model for some pieces I am working on. I'll give you one hell of a blow job right now, and in exchange you give me seven more of your Wednesdays to do with you as I wish. No harm will come to you, your wife will never know anything more than she knows now. You'll get to experience some great sex. And if you're really good, I'll give you your wedding ring back." With that, she lifted up my ring in front of my face. She must have taken it when I took it off for my shower! "Or - you could get up right now and leave. Which is it?" 

Now, I think that if I had ever found myself in this position when I was younger and not married, I might have looked at things differently. But as far as I was concerned, at that very moment, I was trapped by some psycho out of some fantastic nightmare. The constant teasing and happy talk on her part was pushing me over the edge.

I was going to be as stubborn as a mule, despite the obviousness of my predicament. I shook my head 'no' again, and let out a few pleading grunts. She looked at me as if waiting for me to do something else. As if I was physically able. "You don't seem to be leaving, so I'll take that as a 'yes - I will stay'. Good. Now, I have a special kind of blow job in mind for you, and I am willing to bet your freedom on it. If you can cum without passing out, I'll let you go. If not, well, I'll take that as an acceptance on your part to help me out with my special project. Grunt once if you think you can handle those parameters."

I grunted once. In reality, though, I knew there was no chance for me. There never had been, not since I agreed to the racquetball game.

"Alan, see how easy things are when you cooperate? Of course, I will need a little help. There is no telling how accomplished you may be at not passing out from an orgasm."

Who ever heard of somebody actually passing out from an orgasm?

"Better hold your breathe." She reached behind the pillows and turned something and suddenly there was something flowing in through the gag. I closed my mouth tight and pressed my tongue over the perforations to try to keep the gas out. I didn't remember her saying anything about gassing me.

"Alan, I've always prided myself on my sexual abilities. Let's see if I still have what it takes." Her hands once again enveloped my oil covered cock. I closed my eyes and concentrated on cuming before the gas knocked me out. One of Tara's hands started to massage my ass and balls as the other pumped up and down my shaft, teasing and tickling my manhood like her life depended on it.



That's when I realized the deviousness of the whole situation. The rush of blood in my body due to the handjob would use oxygen faster and force me to breathe, while holding my breathe actually prolonged the onset of the orgasm. My head started to spin as my tongue weakened. The gas and the approaching orgasm had there effect. My breathing got heavier, forcing more of the unknown gas into my lungs, and the room seemed to spin around me. My body bucked as I came, and Tara directed the tip off my cock towards my face. She deftly continued stroking with one hand while she picked up the small cup with her other. 

Cum erupted from my cock in the most intense orgasm I had had in months. One hand stroked my now twitching cock while her other held steady to catch shot after shot of my ejaculate. Seconds later the gas had it's intended effect and I faded from consciousness. Just before I passed out, I thought I heard her say, "Aw, too bad" in that slight English accent.

* * * * * * * * * * 



In my mind I saw myself, an observer in my own life. I saw my wife as she was when we first met; plain yet attractive, and how she changed through the years of our relationship. Our wedding day, the two years since, the changes in her and the changes in me. I had changed, too.

Things had slowed for us, become routine. Sex happened once or twice a month if our schedules meshed perfectly. Nights of passion were interspersed with art shows, odd jobs, racquetball games, and her choir practice. In fact, we hardly saw each other during most evenings; I played racquetball Monday and Thursday and had a regular art opening on Tuesdays, and she had choir on Wednesdays. Weekends were spent visiting relatives, doing housework, or simply recovering from the week. It was one particular art show that stood out in my head, and the racquetball game the following night that put me where I was now.



I met Tara Worthington at one of those art openings. I was there to write a review and hopefully get some insight into the artist, she was there as the artist. She was attractive by all accounts. Long curly black hair framed a perfect face with full lips and blue eyes; she was short next to me, her firm five-four frame dwarfed by my lanky six-four. 

But while I found her attractive, I was not the type of guy that gets into the panties of every woman he meets. Heck, I'm not the type that even *tries* to get into the panties of every woman he meets. Instead, I was the stable type. Tried and true. Faithful to the end, if only given the chance.

Tara and I got to talking about things, such as her sculptures (mostly wrought iron and mannequin parts), my racquetball, and the world in general. Finally, we decided to take the interview a little further, and play a game the next night. I thought it would give me a chance to get to know the artist better, and that always makes for a better article. I wasn't sure what she had in mind then, but If I knew then what was to be the result of the game, I probably would have given up the sport.

My mind drifted towards more recent memories, of a day and time close at hand. I felt myself sitting on our couch, watching TV during a rainstorm. If you could call it watching. Mostly I just sat there, remote control in hand, and flipped through the channels. On rainy days like this, that was all there was to do. That, or read the porn on the internet. I had collected over three thousand sex stories, and the number grew daily. Masturbation was one of the few outlets I had anymore, and the drop in my marital sex life drew me there often. Too often. So channel flipping became my new baseline alternative.

My wife came in to remind me to pick up lottery tickets on the way to my game that night. She was always playing the lottery. She said we would hit the big one some day - the Super Seven - and we could both retire. Retired at thirty, to do what ever we wanted, when we wanted, with no ties to anybody. Only in my dreams. She put on her coat over the suitably frumpy outfit she wore, kissed my forehead goodbye, and walked out the door to the garage. She loved me, and I her, but whereas I felt I hadn't changed much physically in the eight years since we'd met, she had put on weight. That, when combined with career problems and extracurricular lives, had killed our sex life and was stagnating our marriage. She wasn't happy with the way she looked, and when she wasn't happy, I wasn't happy.

Any of you in a long term relationship know what I am talking about.

Soon after she left, I went upstairs and changed into shorts and T-shirt for that night's game. Tara Worthington would either be easy kill or impossible to beat; I couldn't seem to find a player in the middle. Not that it made much difference. Just to see her in shorts would be enough to keep my masturbation fantasies going for weeks. 

All this began to fade from my mind as the drug-fog lifted from my mind.



My eyes fluttered open once or twice, and tried to adjust to the bright light which surrounded me. As I awoke, I took mental stock of everything I could feel or sense. Arms straight out, fingers spread apart and held by some force. Body horizontal, head restrained by a strap over the forehead and another under the chin but over the neck. Another strap just above the knees, and another over the ankles. I flexed muscles or twitched limbs to gain information. If there was any chance of me escaping from where I was, I would need as much information concerning my situation and location as possible.

"Wakey, wakey, Alan. Glad to have you back." 

It washer, Tara Worthingtom.

I tried to reply, but found that my mouth had been gagged with a dental dam. "Alan, I am so happy! Everything worked out just as I had planned. You have just become part of my latest art project. Tonight was only the first part, of course, and you've passed with flying colors. I realize that you'll have to get back to your darling wife soon, so I'll make this quick."

I caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye. She was still in the white catsuit, gloves, and boots, but now had a white lab technicians jacket over top. 

"You will follow my directions for the next six Wednesday nights, and will follow all my orders. If you don't," she said, as she made a motion out of my view, "you'll experience a little discomfort." I saw her press a button on what looked to be a remote control, and a searing pain went through my cock and balls, centered at the base. I screamed into the gag, and tears fell from my eyes. It felt like a red hot poker had been shoved down inside my penis and swirled around for effect. It lasted for only a moment, but that was two moments too long.

"That was a low level. Imagine what could be done at a higher level. Disobey me, Alan, and you won't have to imagine. I'm very serious when it comes to my art." She removed the gag and head straps, and I immediately looked down at my cock. I saw nothing that wasn't there normally. Still missing was my pubic hair, and that was a little odd to me. I couldn't remember the last time there were no shrubs around the tree.

"What did you do to me? Why are you doing this to me? Why?" I blurted out, unable to control myself.

"Well Alan. I can call you Alan, can't I? I know that I was a little forward, calling you by your first name all this time, but I thought that under the circumstances, we were close enough that I could call you 'Alan'. Well, I did a little research into your life. Quite a fascination you have with the internet. Evidently you have saved over 3000 sex stories from the web. I, too, get a lot of my ideas from the internet. Female dominance, bondage, all the fun stuff. The predominant theme which also runs through those stories you saved. Which is why, when I was searching for a suitable subject, your name popped up. I simply tagged a few stories on a site I use, and watched to see who took the bait."

She paused for effect. "As the saying goes, 'be careful what you wish for, even if it's in your dreams. You may get it.' Well Alan, you're gonna get it." She got up and started to untie my legs.

I noticed for the first time the shape and color of the room. All white, circular, and almost antiseptic in nature. A large electronic device shaped like a mixing board, hooked to a computer and a rack of components. A distinctive smell made of a mix of alcohol and cooked rubber.

"Why?"

"You are an experiment, Alan. A work of art in progress. A piece of Female Domination art."

Just my luck, to meet a 'Fatal Attraction' psycho. My head started to spin again from her revelation.

"Before I let you up, I want to warn you that to try to harm me would be very stupid and even more painful. You would live out your days wishing for death, the pain would be so great. All I ask for is a few evenings of your time. After that, any involvement I have in your life will be at your discretion. And I promise you that your wife will be as ignorant of our get-togethers when we are done as she is now. Unless you tell her, that is."

I started to get up, but by fingers were still tied down. "Do you mind?"

"As I said, don't do anything foolish." She pressed another button on the remote control, and my hands were suddenly free. I tried to get up, but my head spun, and as soon as I moved any of my muscles, my entire body ached like I had a bad sunburn. I decided to lie down for a few more minutes.

"The pain you feel is part of my project. I've laced your body with a crystal neurotransmitter, just under the surface of the skin. It covers nearly your entire body, a little less on your scalp, but it isn't easy working around all that hair. Now you know why I shaved you. The crystals are not noticeable but they are permanent; the skin sensitivity you feel is from their implantation, and will pass in a day or two. It's sort of an invisible tattoo.

"By themselves the crystals do nothing. However, they are linked by means of your own nerve synapses, creating a receiving net which covers your entire body. They are attuned to a set of oscillating high frequencies to this remote. When connected to another set of liqui-crystals, they will transmit electrical signals directly to nerve centers, allowing you to experience sensations through external media. What this means to you, my little confused friend, is that I can, with the help of my other toys, make you feel the rush of water, or the touch of a rose, or the pain of fire. This is all part of one of my artistic experiments, and you were lucky enough to be chosen. Don't you feel proud?"

I tried again to get up, and it didn't work. "Excuse me for being a little dense, but I was recently drugged. What the HELL is going on?"

She walked over to a small table and picked up a tube of some sort of gel, squeezed some into her hand, and rubbed it over my chest. She returned to the table and picked up two small objects, about the size of bean bags, and came back to me. "Do you like breasts, Alan? You know, tits? Something nice to suck on, a female erogenous zone, a sex object? Well, tell me what you think about these." She first pushed one onto my chest (which I noticed was shaved clean), centering my nipple into a small indentation on the back of the small falsey, then did the other. They were small and flesh colored, and would have been less than a half handful. Wiping what was left of the goop off her hand, she picked up the remote, and pressed a number of buttons.

The remote hummed for a second, then let out a beep. A wave of tingling swept across my chest, and before my eyes the fake breasts became part of my chest. "Hey! Wait a minute! What do you think you're doing?" She just smiled, and pressed a few more buttons on the remote. I got up and, still stumbling, tried to reach Tara. The control hummed, then beeped again. My new chest expanded greatly, now to a c-cup, standing high and firm. The weight threw me off balance, and I fell to the carpeting. Tara walked over to me, and smiled at my dilemma. 

"My prosthetics are composed of a number of different crystals, which can simulate the feel of nearly any material, including skin. Once activated, the prosthetics integrate themselves with the crystal neuro-network. By exchanging moisture from the surrounding air and chemicals from the dead skin on which it lies, it can expand or contract as required. In effect, I can sculpt your body into anything I want, as long as it is skin tight. Like give you the kind of tits you always wanted in a girl."

"Please don't do this to me..."

"Oh Alan, so predictable. I'm not doing this on a permanent basis to you. The way this works will be simple. I've given you a small ring of extra skin around the base of your genitals. That was what caused you the pain. Follow my directions, and in a few weeks I'll take it off. Try to remove it yourself, or to have anybody else remove it, and the results will be painful and permanent. So calm down, please."




The Twighlight Zone Ch. 04



"What is it you want?" I got off the floor, trying to arch my back to support my new chest, and succeeded only in making my new breasts jut straight out like silicon monsters. I felt like a stripper with a new boob job. The whole situation was completely unnerving. 

"That's better. On Wednesdays, when you return home from work, you will find a box at your house. As soon as your wife leaves for her evening out, you will follow the directions in the box, and dress in the items you'll find within. You will activate the remote and attach the prosthetics, and dress in the clothes provided. The remote will be timed so that if you do not begin the operation by six-thirty, the pain will begin, and will progress until you are incapacitated. Any time after nine-thirty you may enter your code, and the prosthetics will deactivate and come off. Very simple, actually. One night a week for a few weeks, and you get to experience what most men would die for. Do we have an agreement?"

"I don't think I have a choice in the matter, do I?" She shook her head no, smiling all the while. "Then would you mind taking these off, so I may leave, and get back to the real world?"

"Why no, no problem. One other thing" she said. I groaned. "We can balloon nerve areas and concentrate them to points, so effects are magnified." She reached over and began caressing my new left breast. Sensations akin to a coming orgasms fogged my mind, and I saw the nipple become hard and erect. She smiled again, and stopped. "Thought you might like to know. By planning things carefully, I can enhance your most sensitive areas, or turn them off, or even give you all new ones. Isn't this going to be fun?" She tapped a number code into the remote and hit a red button. The remote hummed for a second and beeped. My new breasts shrank and with an audible sucking sound came off in Tara's hands. She put them on a table.

"One other small rule."

"Does this rule making ever end?"

She shot me a dirty look. "I don't want you to masturbate, at all. Sex with your wife is okay, but none by yourself. Your little device will let me know if you falter." Oh wonderful, I thought. I can't go two days without jacking off, let alone a week at a shot.

Tara handed me my clothes and, without saying a word, rushed me to the stairs. I passed a small hanging clock on the wall and realized why. Almost time for the wife to come home. I pulled on the shorts and rushed down two flights of stairs Her little lab had been in the attic. As she opened the front door she gave me a little kiss. "I like a nice smooth body to work with, so don't forget to shave your body clean. If you do it at least every other day, it isn't so bad. Let it go for a week, and the razor burn will keep you from wearing jeans for days. Same time, next week. I'll be looking forward to our next...game." She waved 'bye' in a very cordial manner.



I climbed into the car, and started rifling through the rest of my clothes looking for the car keys. Not only did I find them, but my wedding ring and my wallet also. I guess Tara would need to keep my ring for blackmail purposes when, in reality, she had commandeered my body instead. I started the car and rushed home, trying to dress on the way. Wednesday nights were not going to be boring for a while.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Monday, May 13th

I haven't been able to concentrate well since last Wednesday. My wife noticed my freshly shaven body this morning and commented on it; I made up some silly and stupid reason about how read that it could help with my racquetball game. At dinner tonight she announced that she had finally decided to get in shape, and that aerobics class started tonight at the community center. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. While I was happy for her and for her commitment, it would mean even less time for us. 

We now see each other only on weekends, in bed, and at dinner. Weeknight television together is a thing of the past. Our sex life seems to be suffering even more. The events of last week are starting to fade, though I have been sure to shave my body as I was told.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Wednesday, May 15th - The first night

I sat in front of my computer and tapped away. Why hadn't I thought of doing this earlier?

+++ Welcome to The Baum-Dietrich Technologies Interconnect Program +++

+++ Please enter your passcode +++

I started my Creeper program. It was great for breaking into pornography sites if I didn't want to spend cash for a password.

***initiate password bypass function ***

+++ Passcode accepted +++

+++ Department? +++

research

+++ Baum-Dietrich Technologies Research and Developement Project Database +++

+++ Stockholder Press Release Information +++

search keywords neurotransmitter/neuro/Worthington

+++ Seventeen results. Press here for listing +++

+++ Information to follow +++

+++ Silkskin - a crystal based neuro-enhancing cloth, akin to the popular 'cire'' fabric only having a great deal of flexibility. Developed by Baum-Dietrich Technologies by and for the virtual reality department, silkskin magnifies the effect of any outside physical stimulation directly to the skin below. Experiments have shown that those wearing silkskin are easily distracted, as the material keeps their entire body extremely sensitive. 

find next

+++ VRcloth - a version of silkskin connected directly to a persons neuro-pathways 

find next

+++ VRprosthetics - nerve connected prosthetics, consisting of an outer layer which is nearly identical to skin in texture and color; a liquid core which, under proper frequencies, could: harden, enlarge, shrink, soften, move in a particular direction or set of directions, and transmit sensations from the outer layer to the inner layer; and an inner layer, which transmits sensations to nuero-receptors implanted in the skin and connected to the hosts own nerves.

find next

+++ Personell data: Worthington, Tara J: President and CEO 

Baum-Dietrich Technologies. 

[ set Worthington.gif ] Education : BS in chemistry, W3oq4it7pq38ohf48o....

*** Security Program detected. File transfer interupted. 

Abort initiated***

+++ End file transfer +++

+++ Connection closed +++



The small amount of information that I was able to gleam from the company's public relations department confirmed most of what I had already been told. It didn't mention, however, that the president was claiming to be a researcher that was subjecting unwilling persons to her own personal experiments. Most of it was technobabble, but at least it supported what Tara had said to me last week. It didn't settle my queasy stomach any.

I stared at the screen of my computer, hoping that things would all of a sudden change and my life would return to normal. But it was Wednesday, a day that had caused no small amount of problems in my digestive system at that point. For the past week I had tried to live my life normally, but I was far from being in a normal situation. Last Wednesday, when I had gotten home from my evening of "racquetball", I had a difficult time concealing what had happened to me. I don't know if my wife suspected something or not, but the paranoia running rampant in my head made it seem that she was constantly touching, stroking, prodding, tickling, or just being all too affectionate for my current situation. She soon realized that I wasn't in the mood, and, after telling me about her day at work, what happened at church, and that we didn't win the lottery (again), We took our places in our king sized bed and soon fell asleep. Before I knew it we were shutting off the alarm and getting up to the morning sun.

The week had passed quickly. My wife made the occasional overture for sex, but I couldn't do it. Guilt for what had happened already, and what I thought was going to happen, killed my mood completely.

All too soon it was Wednesday again. I had almost forgotten the whole thing, dismissing it as a dream induced by reading too many fantasies, except for the fact that I found my self keeping my body shaved. This morning I found the shoebox-sized package on the front porch, next to the morning paper. I quickly picked it up, and once back inside the house, stuffed it under the family room couch. I thought it wasn't supposed to arrive until the afternoon. 

As I walked back to the kitchen, I was filled with a sense of apprehension as to what I was going to do. Well, almost all of me. My cock was rock solid in erotic anticipation at what could be in the box. I was fairly familiar with my body and it's reactions to certain situations, and I knew full well that there is a reason cocks have 'heads'. It's because they think only for themselves. I did my best to conceal the confusion between my brain and the erection in my pants while I ate my breakfast. The morning preparations for work went quickly and I soon I kissed my wife goodbye when she left for work.

Once I was sure that her car had left the driveway, I fished out the box and ran upstairs. I shut the bedroom door like a teenager with his first porn magazine and ripped open the package. Inside was a remote control about the size of my CD player's with a tag attached, an unmarked toothpaste tube, and a black outfit. I pulled the outfit completely out of the box and laid it out on the bed. 

It was, in fact, a jumpsuit, and while it looked a little small for me, I knew it would fit the way Tara wanted it to. It was made of an almost white translucent material, a cross between latex and spandex in texture and strechability, and was designed to cover me from my ankles to an open faced hood. I examined it a bit more closely, and discovered it was not uniform in thickness. Heavier, thick sections were located in the chest, ass, and hood. There where half-inch holes where my ears would be and a small glove-pouch in the crotch area, in addition to a large slit up the back. It also had no way of fastening it; I assumed that I would climb in through the opening in the back, and that once it was over my head and arms it would keep itself in place. I carefully rolled it up and put it and it's companions back in the box. At the foot of our bed was a heavy locking cedar chest; a friend of mine had made it for us as a wedding present. The bottom face of the chest was actually a drawer with a concealed lock, and I used to hide my few items of material porn there. If you think that when you get married, you will have no secrets from your wife, wait until she tries to throw away all that hard earned porn you have collected over the years. Sure, women can have their bodice-ripper romance novels, but unless she enjoys porn too, it's a no-no.

I put the box in the drawer and locked it. The small key went back on my keychain, and off to work I went. In some bizarre way, I was looking forward to this evening. I could hardly surpress my excitement.

When I got home that afternoon, my wife was already there and cooking dinner. The meal went quickly, as it often does on Wednesdays, and we chatted about the day's events. She could tell my mind wasn't on the conversation though, and got ready to leave for her class. I kissed her good-bye, and again watched as her car pulled out of the driveway. Kinky fantasies began to flit through my head, and I was hard by the time I got upstairs. I stripped quickly, and unlocked the drawer to remove my costume. It seemed cooler; almost oily to the touch. I got out the controller and the tube. The tag on the controller read:

 "Start at 6:30. Head to ankles in the jelly,

 put on the suit, enter 1637794 [ enter ]

 Leave the contoller home.

Be at 730 Sycamore at 7:15, lower door.

 Don't be late."



I opened up the tube, punctured the sterile seal, and squeezed a generous portion of the pinkish jelly inside into my hands, then proceeded to smooth it over my body. It was cool but warmed up quickly, and had no smell. Wiping my hands on my discarded jeans, I started to put on the jumpsuit. Left leg, straighten, right leg, straighten, then maneuver the arms and head into position. The material was stretchy and flexible enough that squeezing in wasn't too difficult, but my hard-on was definitely a hindrance. I grabbed the glove-pouch and pulled it out so that I could maneuver my cock in, and it fit snug, exposing only the glans. 

It was almost as if whoever designed this thought the wearer would have an erection when they put it on. No surprise there.

It was definitely more comfortable that way. I slid my hands down the arms into the gloves, making sure the fingers weren't twisted, then pulled the hood up and over my head. It was a little tight, but finally made it. Next came the bathroom.

I wiped off the extra jelly with a towel, and stood in front of the mirror, admiring the skin tight costume. The face cutout exposed me from lips to eyebrows, my hard-on stood out proud before me, and my feet were bare. Nearly my entire body was covered in black. Even the hole that I had gotten in through wasn't noticeable; the slit closing over itself once the hood was on. I got the controller and returned to the bathroom because I wanted to see what happened when I entered the code. After pressing the buttons as instructed, I heard the controller hum for about thirty seconds, and then let out a BEEP. It seemed very loud in the relative quiet of my bedroom.

If I thought the suit was skintight before, I was wrong. Almost the entire thing shrank, except for additions to my pectoral and anal area. My somewhat athletic body was even more male; it looked like I spent hours lifting weights every day. The biggest change, though, was in my pubic area. My suit covered shaft and balls were held in what was now a stiff and hardened case, holding my prick straight out from my body like a dildo on a latex suit, except the now purpling head was real. It felt like somebody's hand had a firm grip on my cock and balls. Firm, but not uncomfortable. I reached down to touch it, but discovered that not only was the shaft rock hard, but it didn't I could no longer feel anything. Except for the head, my dick was nothing more than a numb appendage.

My fantasies vanished and reality hit me in the face like a brick. I was trapped in some nut's experiment, and couldn't get out. Frantically I tapped the code into the controller, hoping to be released. I heard the hum and BEEP, but instead of the relief I wanted, a sharp searing pain around the base of my cock doubled me over and once again I felt the molten lava burn thoughts out of my genitals and my head. When I recovered, I looked up and saw the bedroom clock reflected in the mirror. Evidently, Tara's original instruction of 'start by six thirty' and her new one of 'be there by seven fifteen' had a third one attached. Fool with the controller and pay for it. I was almost tempted to smash the controller into the wall, but thought better of it. It got locked back up in the drawer.

I grabbed a pair of gym sweats and pulled them on and over my erection, which stood out like a tentpole, fished my car keys out my jeans, and headed out. I had a very difficult time not stopping to masturbate, but the lack of sensation helped with that. The erection made driving very difficult.

* * * * * * * * * *

My car screeched to a stop outside the house on Sycamore St. I really needed to get those brakes worked on. It was a bit old, but served my limited purposes well. 

The address was close to where Tara lived, maybe a block or two over, and I assumed that it must belong to one of her friends. The house was a large brownstone, one of a string of seven on the street. It was a nice neighborhood, probably inhabited by yuppie wannabes, but I don't think they would have liked what they saw getting out of my car. My black clad body, with erect prick tenting my sweat pants, moved quickly from the car to the ornate oak and glass street level door. I knocked and the door swung open, and as I stepped in I noticed three Greek letters imbedded in the leaded glass window.

My bare feet stepped onto a thick, plush carpet, a dark blue in color. I stood in a foyer, about ten foot square, with dark paneling on the walls and three other doors, one to either side and one in front. A yellow light filtered through the leaded glass window in that far door; it too had the three Greek letters on it, only in gold leaf. A beta, an alpha, and a delta, if I remembered my college days right. BAD? A sick joke; expensive, but sick. Baum And Dietrich, maybe? I couldn't be sure. I closed the street door and advanced to the one with the light behind it, and knocked.

"Come in, Alan. You're early." The door swung open to reveal a large room that must have taken up the entire basement of the house, Dark paneled walls supported a ten foot high ceiling. My feet padded quietly into the room, which was also carpeted, and I found myself in what looked to be a weight room, only I didn't recognize any of the equipment. Tara stood on the other side, disassembling a device made of white pipes and straps. 

She was dressed in white head to toe; a snug leather dress with a high collar and a hem down at the knees, white stockings, and white wrist length gloves. Even though the dress was not very revealing, it was snug enough to accentuate all her curves, and would have made me go hard if I had had the problem of being limp. She wore no shoes, probably so she wouldn't have to worry about the carpet. As I approached, she stopped what she was working on and looked up.

"You can take off the sweats. I'll be with you in a moment." She went back to work on the construction while I shucked the pants. After a minute, she spoke again. "Come here. I need you to move this box into the lift." I walked over, my dick bobbing up and down obscenely in front of me, and picked up the box. It was full of bent rods about a foot long, and a number of nylon straps.

"You're awfully quiet today. No, 'hello, Tara, how have you been'?" She was being very conversational, which I thought was amusing due to our current state of dress.

"Sorry. Hello, Tara, How have you been?"

"Good. I can't lie. I have been very worked up about tonight. I thought you would be, too, but you sound a bit reserved. Have you given up hope of getting out of your situation, or have you resigned yourself to enjoy what you have only read and fantasized about? Either way, tonight should be exciting. Come along." She walked to a section of the wall and pressed on a section of the paneling. A five foot section of the wall recessed and slid to the side, revealing an old style gated elevator. Her English term of 'lift' came back into my mind, and I wondered (for no real reason) if she was American. 

"You look very nice tonight." I said, trying to ease my situation. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what's going to happen to me tonight, would you?" We got on the elevator, and she locked the gate in place. It started to rise.

"Thank you. If I told you what was going to happen, then it wouldn't be a suprise, would it?" She laughed a little. "Don't worry. Nothing *bad* will happen to you tonight. I'm giving a little little art show, and I wanted my favorite critic to attend. I told you that already, didn't I?"

My mind started to read things into her words. Bad. BAD? Art show? The elevator stopped, and she opened the gate and the outer door. The room it opened onto was at least twice the size of the basement; it must have cut across two of the houses, and reached across two floors. The whole room was painted white, with a white marble floor. A weak light shone from a few track lights in the ceiling, faintly illuminating sculptures and paintings around the room. We walked halfway around the room to a bent frame sculpture made from white tubing. 

The main supports were two pyramids, which supported a crossbeam which ran through a circle at least nine feet in diameter. In side the circle was another circle, and within that one, another, the smallest being at least eight feet across. She motioned for me to put down the box, and when I did she started to fish though the rods.




The Twighlight Zone Ch. 04



I tried to get a little more information out of her. "You know, you've got a really strange place here. A private art gallery, elevators in a house, all the fun stuff." She fitted two of the rods together, and snapped two straps at either end. "And what about those Greek letters? What do they mean? Did all of this come from your father?" She took out another rod and connected it to a star shaped device, and began strapping it to my left leg. I felt like like was getting fitted for a suit.

"My father left it to me, yes, but it was my great-grandmother that designed and built it. She had plenty of money, and did what she wanted. Other leg please. Thank you. Anyway, she belonged to an organization with a very strict charter and good benefits, and this was her way of returning the favors they showed her and her husband. It's been in the family ever since. Come over here please." 

She pulled me, stiff- legged, over to the circles, and swiveled them so I could climb inside. Once inside, she slid in the two piece rod, and attached it to my shoulders and wrists, turning my upper body into a big 'T'. "Must have been pretty good benefits, to have built a place like this. Is that what the BAD stood for?" She lifted my feet onto the frame and snapped the bars in place, then hooked the star device to the other leg bar, then to a third bar and my shoulder rod, making an effective rack to which I was already attached.

"Stands for, Alan, stands for." She took another rod, this one having a small, finger sized dildo attached to the end. She covered it liberally in lubricant, and pressed it to my anus. "Open up." It slid in easily through a hole in the rear of my suit that I hadn't noticed before and pressed into my anus about half an inch before my muscles stopped it, and she adjusted it it and attached it to the rest of the rack, leaving it about a half inch in my ass. 

"What the hell?" Try as I might, I couldn't un-impale my self.

"I'll explain more about that in a moment. You see, Beta Alpha Delta still exists. It is a Femina Sorority, and I'm putting on a little show for the local chapter. It's pledge time, and we have some fine candidates. You won't be working with them much, though." She pulled a set of earphones out of the box, and wedged them in the little earslots in my hood. They plugged into a little jack on the frame, and suddenly her voice was amplified. "I'm going to give you the controls now, Alan. Try not to make a mess. See you in a little while." She pressed a little device into each of my hands, then stood back and smiled. "Almost forgot." She reached into the box again and pulled out something which she kept hidden at her side.

"A little kiss before I go?" She leaned in, and surprised me with a rather tonguey kiss, and at the same time reached down and grabbed the head of my aching dick. Suddenly, she pinched the glans between two fingernails, and when I yelped, she stuffed the ball of the gag into my mouth and locked it place. It must have been coated with something; it tasted sour and I noticed that my nervous stomach started to calm almost immediately. Again she stepped back, and grabbed the side of the inner sphere and pulled. It began to spin slowly around, giving me a view of the room, the Tara, then the room. On one of the passes, I saw her grab the next sphere and shove it in a different direction. The dildo at my ass began to hum, and I started to get dizzy. She spun the third one and my view began to shift all over the room. I rotated in three hundred sixty degrees on three different axis.

Her voice came through the headphones loud and clear. "The controls will let you start or stop rotation. I would let it spin, if I were you, unless you want that vibrator up your ass. It's a gravity fed device. If it stays in any one orientation for more than twenty seconds, it will start to rise against the frame and into your rear end. It won't go far, but if you're not used to it, so I guess it could be a little uncomfortable. I don't know; maybe your into that kind of thing. Talk to you later." The noise of the room clicked off, and was replaced with music by Nine Inch Nails. 

Whatever was on the ball gag was keeping me from throwing up. I felt the spheres slow down, and decided not to risk it any further penetration by the digit at my anal gate. I closed my eyes and clicked on the buttons, sending the device back into rotations. When presented with the question of disorientation or butt fuck by a piece of art, I decided to take the disorientation. 

I don't know how long I spun, but when I opened my eyes there was a different scene in the room. The lights were up, and I could see know that the room had more occupants than before. They were across the room looking at other sculptures. I noticed that depending on how I rotated the spheres, the wiring would cross and I could hear what was being said. That, or Tara was giving me the feeling that I was doing it. More likely, she was doing it on purpose.

"...sisters to this years art show..."

"...paintings and sculptures for bid..."

"...for preparation..." They were moving closer to me.

"...erotic satisfaction..." There were about two dozen of them, dressed in exotic costumes and all wearing masks of some sort. As they approached, I felt the rings slow again, and I pressed the buttons to keep it going. Only this time, I kept slowing down. Before they arrived, I got a good look at them. Seven were dressed in colored leather outfits; Tara in her white (only now she had on cowboy boots), one each in red, purple, and blue, one in green with yellow diamonds, another in black, and the last in zebra stripes. Each wore a veiled mask fitted to a hood which covered their face, with their hair pulled through a hole in the top of the hood pony style. Around them were at least a dozen women dressed in black leather bras and panties, with matching hoods. Only their hoods were full face, and wouldn't allow speech. All were in stockings and heels of some sort. They were fantasies from one of my wet dreams. 

The music kicked off just before they reached me. "This gentleman will be providing service for the next few weeks. As you can see, he has been prepared as stated in the program. You can also see that he is quite capable of a hearty erection, and," the sphere rack stopped completely, and the vibrator rose into my ass, try as I might to keep it out, and stimulated my prostrate to a quick orgasm, "he can culminate his actions too." One of the fully hooded women ran forward and caught the ejaculate in a clear cup while they all had a laugh at the joke. When I was finished and the dizziness stopped, I got a better look at them.

Tara stood next to the device, and retracted the vibrator from my ass. She was stunning in her white outfit, with her long black hair cascading from the top of the hood. There must have been a lot of fake hair in there, because I knew her hair wasn't that long - it now almost reached her waist.

Second was one completely dressed in red; long curly brown hair framed the hooded and veiled face. She was nicely built, and her outfit was cut to show off cleavage. She stood in front of me in her high heels, and looked me up and down. I had the feeling that she was smiling, when she turned and walked away.

Third was dressed in a purple leather bodysuit, complete with purple high heeled boots. A thick brown braid trailed from her hood to her waist, laced at the bottom with purple leather straps. She was tall and stocky, like a basketball player, and probably stood six and a half feet in her heels. She paid little attention to me as she passed.

The next was dressed in a blue silk shirt and a matching leather skirt, with a long blue leather overcoat. Her topknot was made of long, straight black hair which reached midway down her back. Her body was more petite than the others, but was no less impressive. I felt a cold shiver run down my back as her mask turned to face me for just a moment.

In contrast to the solid colors I had seen so far, the next one was dressed in a combination of green leather and green and yellow diamond silk. The diamonds were large, and tickled some memory in my head, but I couldn't place it. Her costume was a snug bodysuit of green silk, with green leather corset and calf high boots. The hood was also diamond covered, and actually had two holes through which the red hair was pulled through. Both were on top, but one each on either side of the centerline, giving her a twin ponytail look.

Next to last was the poster girl for Dominatrix Inc. Strategically placed sections of Spiked black leather covered what they had to while exposing much more. She wore spiked black leather gloves with a matching collar, and her blonde hair spilled from a hood that was also covered in studs. The boots were spike heeled, and rose almost all the way to her hips. 

Last of the seven was dressed in zebra stripes, from the thigh high spike heeled boots to the short skirt, corset, and half cup bra, to the short jacket and hood. Dirty blonde hair cascaded down her back. This last one was bustier than the others, and when she stopped in front of me, she grabbed hold of my cock roughly and gave it a twist. I yelped into the ball gag more in surprise than pain and she let out a low laugh, turned, and walked away. 

Once all of the main watchers were past, the group of women in full hoods surrounded me. Each wore a black leather bra and panties, and knee high black leather boots. Around each wrist was a thick leather bracelet, and around each neck was a studded collar. On their left butt cheek was a gold beta-alpha-delta. All were nearly identical dressed; the only differences were their hair topknots. They all stared at me, and if I thought I was hard before, then I was a rock now.

Tara spoke again. "See, girls, how your dress affects the normal male? The correct use of clothing can excite a man without any other stimuli. This one evidently has a passion for leather and heels. Most men do." As they turned and walked away, Tara grabbed my erect cock. "Gotta go, big boy. Be back soon." She adjusted something on the rack, and walked away. Again, the heavy sounds of Trent Reznor filled my ears. The vibrator buzzed and again pushed at my anus. I started pushing buttons, and the spheres began there rotation once again. I closed my eyes in an attempt to stop the dizziness this caused, and lost track of time.



The next thing I knew I was being disconnected from the sphere. My body ached, and my mind swam with dizziness and a self-induced trance I had entered to keep from being sick. Tara undid the ball gag, and I flexed my jaw to see if the muscles still worked. While she unhooked the rest of the bars, I looked around at the now dark hall. Most of the sculptures were gone or disassembled, and I wondered if they had also held occupants during the show. I hadn't been in much of a position to notice at the time. The muscles in my arms and legs quivered with exhaustion.

"Mind telling me what went on here tonight? I mean, this was no one night stand with a little kinky sex thrown in. This was full blown crazy. Who were all these people? And what is all this leather crap, with the women and the heels and shit?" The more I talked, the more worked up I was getting, and I decided to quit before I lost my temper.

"Alan, Beta Alpha Delta, the Femina Sorority, is a semi-secret society designed to propagate the female agenda. It inducts college age females into an intense training program where they learn to dominate and control both men and weaker females. We originally did it through the use of sexual tension, and that is still the most fun and the easiest, but we have developed other ways. Tonight was part of the pledge program, and the women you saw were sisters and pledges. They will be involved in the training sessions for the next few weeks." She finished packing the tubes and motioned for me to pick up the box. We headed for the elevator.

"What was the art show for? And the hoods? And where do I fit in?" Questions started to flood my mind, and I could hardly spit them out fast enough. We got into the elevator.

"You were suggested as a likely candidate for the training sessions, and after you were checked out it was decided you would help out this fall. The hoods and veils were for the protection of our sisters. If it ever became public knowledge who was in our society, they would be shunned and the whole thing would be undermined. The art show was to show you and a few other subjects to the sisters and the pledges." The door opened and we got out into the basement.

"I am a subject for training sessions?"

"Yes, but you'll learn more about that later. You know, Alan, you are taking this entire thing very well. Most of the men we do this to would have cracked or lashed out by now. Are you okay?" I could heard some concern in her voice.

I put down the box and turned to face her. "When this whole thing started last week, I didn't know what to think, or what to believe. It all seems so far-fetched. Women in leather, secret societies, the whole thing. But I was pretty sure you weren't going to hurt me, and at the moment you've got me by the short hairs. I touched the controller after the suit was set, and got the pain again. I won't be doing that again. I think that as long as I know it is going to end, and that it won't screw up my life, I can handle it."

Like a snake her left hand fluidly grabbed my right wrist, her right hand grabbed my prick, and she swept me to the ground in a judo take down. Before I could move, she was straddling my thighs.  

"If I do hurt you, it's for you're own good. Over the next few weeks you'll learn a lot, and it's best if you do what you are told. Most people have a submissive nature, and look to others for guidance. We are going to show you how to use that to your advantage. Understand?" I nodded. "Good. Then let's get down to business. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you will answer, out loud, in a complete sentence and in the affirmative. Understand?" I nodded again. Her hand came across my face in a loud slap that sounded worse than it was, but still stung. "Understand?"

Flip her over, I thought. Fight back. You aren't the most muscular of men, but surely you could take on this woman and come out on the winning side. 

But somewhere inside me, a piece of me split in two. Part of me was tried and true, stable and constant, perversions in the closet where they belonged. The new part was curious. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Well, at least maybe test the waters with a toe before saying it's too cold for a swim. The new part won.

"Yes, I understand. I will answer all questions affirmatively and in full sentences."

She grabbed my prick again, and slipped one hand around the base while her other grabbed loosely just above it. Her eyes never left mine as she slid the top hand up and off my dick, then quickly brought it up and underneath, followed with another stroke from base and off the tip. Left hand, then right, then left, each yanking my cock upward while trying to draw everything inside my loins into the air.

"I have a little reward to give you for being such a good and understanding man this evening. Alan, honey, you won't cum until I tell you, will you?"

"I won't cum until you tell me." 

Her actions sped up a little. "Do I feel good to you?"

"Yes, you feel very good to me." Despite my orgasm earlier in the evening, I was already hard again.

She began to stroke faster, occasionally squeezing harder as her hand passed over my glans.

"If I asked you to dress up in kinky costumes, would you?" Faster, harder.

"Yes, I would wear kinky costumes if asked." I could feel orgasm building again.

"Would you let me change you body, so that you would be more sexually appealing? I mean, as long as I changed it back?" Her muscles began clenching around my prick, drawing the cum upwards. I was starting to go numb, as I do before a really mind-blowing orgasm.

I gasped out a reply. "I would let...let you change my body...to be...be more sexually appealing."

"If I told you I would teach you to satisfy and be satisfied, bring out your animalistic natures, send you to hell and back, would you agree to it?" I was starting to lose consciousness, and almost ready to explode.

"YES. I want you to teach me. Teach me to satisfy and be satisfied. Make me an animal. Send me to hell and back. OH. UNH." She twisted off me and grabbed a small cup, as she had on that first night, and caught the results of my orgasm as my cock spurted forth its load of jism of the evening. I didn't know why she did what she did, and I wasn't about to ask. She had a very irritated look on her face.

"You didn't wait until I told you to cum. Just for that, I don't want you to engage in any sexual activity in which you cum, until I say so. If you go home and wifey is in the mood, the sex had better be one sided, in her favor. I am setting your reminder ring here to give you a level seven shock if you orgasm without my permission. You have to learn control. I'll decide your further punishment at a later time. But first I think we should get you out of that suit and get you home. Your wife will be expecting you." 

* * * * * * * * * *



I pulled into my driveway, turned off the car, and just sat there for a minute, wondering what punishment Tara would subject me to, and when. Tara had gotten me out of the outfit and dressed in my sweats without saying another word to me. The first night was over, with six more for me to endure. I didn't know if I could do it. These two Wednesday nights made me doubt myself - who was I really? What did I think I was doing? My whole life was becoming a house of cards, and I was shaking the table with the deceptions I had now allowed to become part of my life. I hope the cards wouldn't fall.

I got out of my car and walked to the dark house. I must have beat my wife home. I let myself in and headed upstairs to shower off . It was when I got into our bedroom to strip off my sweats that I saw it. On top of the television in out bedroom was a ball gag harness and a DVD in a white box. In block lettering read the title, "The Art Critic and the Art". Below it was a picture of an odd sculpture of a man in a gyroscopic appearing device.

I picked up the items and locked them in the chest drawer. I was pretty sure I knew what was on the DVD, but I wasn't sure how felt about it. I certainly wasn't happy that the whole thing had been recorded and left in my house. 

* * * * * * * * * *



Wednesday, May 22nd - The second night



I sat in the front seat of my car, dressed in thin white pants, white t-shirt, and white sneakers. I was parked by a woman's health club, waiting for my time to come up. When it did, I walked into the place, and was greeted by the receptionist. She was an attractive redhead, dressed in workout clothes.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm here to see Gloria." Just say what the note told you, no improvising.

"Just down that way, second door on your left." She pointed.

"Thank you." I walked down the hall, passing open rooms full of attractive, sweaty women, as they were led through aerobics and dance classes. I didn't get an erection; I couldn't. My cock was encased in a tube filled with tiny pointed nibs. Every time I even started to get erect, the pain was incredible. It was called a Khali's ring or something, and I wasn't too fond of it at all.

I found the door and knocked. A soft, feminine voice told me to enter. Upon entering I was greeted by the beautiful owner of the voice. She looked oriental; an athletic body with well proportioned and firm breasts was wrapped in a modest dress of blue satin. Long, straight black hair hung in a ponytail. Her face was pretty and serene. A light perfume hung in the air.




The Twighlight Zone Ch. 04



"You are Alan? Good. You are wearing the device? Better. If you are good, I will remove it when we are done. Follow me." She turned and walked into another room. She was so overwhelming that I couldn't even speak.

The room contained three tables covered with towels. On each table lay a naked and beautiful woman. Sexy doesn't come close to describing them. The workouts to keep bodies in that shape must take all day. Pain in my genitals as my erection was quelled brought me back to reality quickly.

"I will show you the techniques once. If I have to show you a second time, I will be displeased. Do you understand? Good." She had yet to wait for a response from me.

She got a robe and put it on over her dress. A small bottle taken from her pocket drizzled oil over the chest of the first woman. "You will give each of these women a massage. If they find it acceptable, you will be permitted to leave. Begin, here."

I moved over and began rubbing and massaging the first woman's breasts. I heard a loud THWACK a second before the pain shot through my thighs. Gloria had hit me with a split bamboo cane.

"Not like that, you idiot. Move your thumbs like this, you fingers like this. You're here to give her a massage, not feel her up."

That's the way my evening went. I would begin to massage, she would hit me, then correct my technique. I started to sweat profusely because I never knew where the next blow would land. My thighs and calves ached, my arms stung, and my fingers were going numb. After the second blow I didn't worry about pain in my genitals. I was so worked up about getting hit that the thought of these women as sex objects went right out the door, down the street, and into some forgotten alley. 

Not to say the women didn't try to get a rise out of me. In turn, they twisted this way and that, spread their legs to give me a show, and pursed or licked their lips. I became an automation, there just to give massages. 

Not that that stopped them; they soon upped the ante, and ran their fingers up my thighs to caress my ass or massage my balls. As the evening wore on they made a game of it, and tried to see who was the most effective. They started double-teaming me, and by the time I reached the third woman, the first two were rubbing their oil covered bodies all over my legs or sticking their tongues in my ears, or any of a multitude of other things. I found that by totally concentrating on giving a massage, I could block out almost all thoughts of sex. Any thoughts that did make it to my libido were bitten back by the Khali's teeth.

After nearly two hours, all three women agreed that I was a passable masseur. I had learned light and deep muscle techniques, along with pressure points on the face and feet. I could've probably gotten a job giving massages.



Gloria then blindfolded me and led me into another room. She moved me around, evidently into a specific position, with light hits of her cane. I felt her undo my pants and drop them to the floor. She stood behind me and undid the biting device.

"Now I shall show you one final massage."

From behind she grasped my limp cock with one hand, and rubbed my balls with her other. It took a minute after all I had been through, but soon I had a strong erection. Her hands felt better than any I had ever experienced or thought I would experience, and soon I felt my orgasm rising, Gloria must have too. Her hand left my balls and removed my blindfold just before I came. 

I stood in front of a large wall of glass. On the other side was a room full of attractive women, dressed in aerobics gear, all staring in my direction. The fact that I was being jerked off in front of a room full of women took me over the edge. My cock exploded in orgasm, and my knees buckled because of the intensity of the blood rush. Gloria milked my cum into a pan she had placed in front of me.

It was then I noticed a figure on the other side of the glass with her back to me, to whom all the other women were really paying attention. I must've been behind a one-way mirror, looking onto a class. At least I hoped it was a mirror. Hoped and prayed. Exhibitionism is not my cup of tea.

* * * * * * * * * *

Friday, May 24th



My wife had an exceptionally hard day today, and was very happy when I gave her a full body massage. I could tell that she wasn't in the mood for sex, being too tired, and I wasn't allowed to have sex anyway. Memories of the teeth kept my mind on what I was doing. It was nice just to touch her and to make her feel good. I think she really enjoyed it.

If the rest of my 'learning' sessions were going to be like this, I might just be able to survive. Hey, look at that. Now, not only am I deceiving my wife, I am getting good at deceiving myself.



* * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, May 30th



I sat on the couch and looked at the DVD case. The cover showed a woman in English riding clothes sitting in a saddle. The title read, "Horse play - the training of a mount". I slipped the DVD out and into the player, undid the drawstring on my sweatpants, and relaxed on the couch. My wife wouldn't be home for a few hours; she had to pick up some groceries, get gas for the car, and make the weekly contribution to the Old People's State Assistance program, also known as the lottery. That would take her close to the mall, and she could never pass by without a quick stop in. I reached over and turned out the lights, and focused on the TV.

The screen flickered, then faded in on a row of stables. The camera was evidently fixed in position. Into the screen walks an attractive Egyptian looking woman with long brown hair, almost black. She is dressed in tight purple leather pants, purple leather riding boots, a white silk shirt, and a purple leather vest. She is tall and athletically built; from her location and clothing it is evident she is going for a ride.

She opens a stall and reaches inside, pulling on a pair of reigns. Whatever is on the other end doesn't want to come out. She picks up a riding crop, raises it above her head, and it falls: once, twice, a third time, the only sound being that of the crop on flesh. The reigns go slack and a figure emerges from the stall.

It looks like a cross between a horse and a man. A man's face and mouth are held in the bit and bridle, and a set of blinders keep his sight limited. His arms are strapped to his sides in a harness which also holds a saddle on his upper back. Long hair, made into a mane of sorts, runs between two leather horse ears projecting from the top of his head. From his ass projects a horse tail, it's root held in his anus by more straps. A thick eight inch cock dangles limply between his legs, which are encased in black leather from his crotch down to their heels. Only these boots are missing the heels; they force him to stand on the balls of his feet, and they make little horseshoe prints when he walks on dirt. His discomfort is obvious.

She hits him again and speaks, but the only sound heard is the crop connecting with flesh. He squats as low as he can, and she climbs into the saddle. He adjusts himself to her weight, then she directs him out of the stables.

Change to another camera view, this time the area being viewed is a riding arena. The purple clad woman stands on a platform, cracking a drovers whip at the horse/man as he performs tricks; he side steps, canters, and even jumps over small barrels on cue. Any time he falters, he feels the lash.

Change to another camera, this one mounted on another rider following the purple clad woman. She is on the horse/man's back saddle, and they are at a full gallop. In front of them is another man, a look of pure terror on his face as he is chased down. The rider twirls a weighted net over her head and releases in a perfect and practiced throw, and the running man tumbles to the ground, his body encased in the net. He is quickly surrounded by women dressed in black leather catsuits and boots who pick him up and carry him away. The horse man is covered in sweat, and crop marks can be seen across his ass. She turns him about, and they trot out of the cameras view.

Another view from inside the barn. Horse/man is lead into a small with a sign overhead that reads 'Stud Service', but he is evidently unaware. Inside, she takes off the bit and bridle and pulls a large feeding harness over his head. His jaws move the bag as he eats. She picks up a large beaker with her left hand and begins to massage his cock with her right. His eyes go wide, and he tries to escape her grasp, only to realize she has attached his body harness to a frame in order to hold him in place. 

His already large prick grows in her hand as it becomes erect; eight inches, nine inches, finally ten inches long and as thick as a soda can. Her hand pumps away, and after a few minutes he begins to spurt huge globs of cum into the beaker, filling it nearly half-way. His knees buckle from the orgasm, but he is held up by the harness. She turns to a refrigerator in the stall and opens it, pours a small amount of another liquid into the beaker, then places it next to several other beakers. It is labeled with his name: Stud O'Neill. The screen fades to black.

I hit the 'stop' button, ejected the DVD, and returned it to the case. I thought back to last night; I still have marks on my ass, and sitting was a little uncomfortable. I got a few tissues and cleaned the pool of precum on my stomach. I wasn't allowed to complete my masturbation, and didn't even dare risking the consequences if I did. I went back upstairs and slipped the case and the crop that accompanied it back in the secret drawer with the other items already secured there. 

Maybe a cold shower would take my mind of things and help undo my erection before my wife got home.

* * * * * * * * * *    

Sunday, June 2nd

I really don't see how people do the things they do in the stories I've read. Unlike many of the people in the erotic fiction (or non-fiction, if you would believe some of them), I am a nervous wreck. Every time a car drives by, or the phone rings, or I see a letter in the mail from an unknown address, my hearts starts going at a mile a minute.

I'm jumping at shadows. Who, out in the real world, knows what is happening to me? I get the feeling that I am not the first to be subjected to the scheming of Tara and her friends. It all has such a regular, practiced feel to it. That doesn't make it one bit easier. The session last Wednesday was nothing like what I had experienced before, yet the very next day I risked electrical castration to watch the replay.

That part of me that was curious and wanted to see what would happen? Well, I am reminded now what happened to Pandora when curiosity got the better of her. Only, I really didn't have much choice when it came to opening the box in the first place.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

On a whim, I convinced my wife to go on a date with me. We spent the afternoon on a couple of old nags, riding the trails in the woods. I think she enjoyed the break from our normal routine.

* * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, June 5th 



I found this week's package on the front seat of my car when I got out of work. Whoever was delivering these for Tara and her friends could get in anywhere, it seemed. 

Big surprise there. What was I thinking? That they could develop this whole crystalneuro thingy, but not get into a four year old used Saturn?

I sat in the parking lot and ripped open the brown paper packages. Inside was a pair of green shorts, a green and yellow diamond patterned t-shirt, and a pair of green calf high socks. All were made of the same cool and oily feeling material that first night I was an art object. There was another tube of gel, instructions for the remote, and an invitation to a party for tonight. I stuffed the items into the glove compartment, and headed to the store to pick up a few things. From the look of the outfit, I thought I might be playing soccer.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dinner with my wife slipped by. Casual conversations about work, my fictional racquetball partner for the evening, and the possibilities of looking at houses this weekend. One part of my mind kept up the talking while the other tried to figure out what would happen tonight. Before I realized it my wife was kissed me goodbye and I was left to clean up the dinner dishes.

* * * * * * * * * *

The shirt and shorts were snug, and felt slimy with the coating of gel underneath. My feet felt like they were stuck in wet sneakers. I tapped in my code, and all became skin tight. I had begun doing morning exercises to relieve my sexual tension, and the shirt showed off the meager results. There was small pocket in the front of the shorts for my cock but not my balls, almost like a sheath. The shorts also showed off the fact that I shaved down there, and that I wasn't wearing any underwear. 

If you are wondering about that last statement, I can say with all honesty that the shorts had molded themselves to my body. Had there been any hair left, it would have bushed things out a little. As it was, it was easy to tell that my parents had me circumcised as a baby.

It was went to walk back into the bedroom when I noticed it. My feet had become hyper-sensitive; the carpet felt like steel wool trying to rub the calluses off my feet. I jumped to the bed and sat down, and realized that the shorts were having the same effect on the skin they covered. It was like having a sunburn without the pain, everything was so sensitive that it *almost* hurt. I pulled on a pair of sweats and my old sneakers, even though the sensations almost being too much.



Limping down the stairs was difficult; every step renewed the sensitivity. My body began to sweat heavily under the strain. I grabbed my wallet and keys from the stand by the door and headed out to the car, and I imagine that if any of the neighbors saw me, they got a good laugh. I must have looked like I was walking on eggs.

* * * * * * * * * *

The address for the party was at a comedy club. I hoped that it wasn't a tie-and-jacket club, because I was dressed as the biggest dork you can imagine. I assume that I would be alright because the note had said nothing about additional clothing. I parked and grabbed my stuff, then headed for the club. I found that I could move quick but had to be ready for when I stopped, as the effects of the outfit would catch up after a second or too. I pulled out a ten for the cover charge, but the man at the door saw my clothing and just pointed to the stage door.



The entry led into the back of the club, where that night's performers waited their turn. I saw my 'date' for the evening immediately, and things in my mind fell into place.

She was very attractive, as all the women connected with this organization had been so far. She was dressed in a green harlequin outfit decorated with yellow diamonds. Green ankle boots covered her feet, her hands were in yellow gloves, and a three point harlequin hood complete with bells on the ends on the points finished the outfit. A yellow mask covered the upper part of her face. Though the rest of the room was empty, I could clearly hear the noise of the crowd. 

I may be slow, but my brain hasn't stopped altogether. I now had a good idea of what was going to happen to me tonight, but the woman's lightheaded manner didn't do anything to allay my fears.



She smiled at me, and in a cheerful voice greeted me. "Whad'ya think? Too much? I always heard that comics were nothing more than common man's jesters."

"Um, I don't know. I don't go to this type of club. Maybe some of them will find it entertaining." I gestured in the general vicinity of the crowd noise.

"I don't care about them. It's you I'm here to entertain." She smiled. Pleasant as that smile was, I got a bad feeling about the whole thing.

"What would you like me to do?"

She looked around the room. It was filled with oddities as if somebody had been collecting things from garage sales for twenty years. Finally, she motioned to an old barbers chair in a corner. "Sit there."

I did as I was told, first taking off my shoes and sweats. I was growing used to the overly sensitive nature of my clothing. Once I was seated, she skipped over to me, bells jingling, like a little kid. She leaned in front of me, grinning. My bad feelings grew even worse. She picked up my left arm and put it on the armrest, and flipped a strap over it, tying that arm down. "Why are you strapping me down?" A stupid question, considering the people I was dealing with, but I asked anyway.

"Used to be a dentist's chair. These made sure they didn't thrash during an operation." She tied down my other arm. I pretty much let her, testing the bands once she was done. I could've overpowered her easily if I had wanted, but nothing really unpleasant had happened to me yet. At least nothing permanently scarring. "That was in the days before anesthetic. 

You won't have that problem."

Sirens, bells, and whistles all went off in my head. "Let me up." She strapped my feet down quickly, knowing I knew something was up.

"But you'd miss the show if you left."

"I don't care. Let me up now, please."

"Don't you like comedy?"

"It's okay. If you want to go out into the club, we could watch a few of the comedians, but I've been drugged before and I don't like it. It wasn't part of the deal."

"Deal? I don't remember any deal. I was just asked to show you a good time, take you out and have a few laughs. And who said anything about drugs?"

"You did when you talked about the anesthesia."

She laughed. "I meant you wouldn't have to worry about thrashing about during an operation."

"What operation?" my voice cracked.

"No, silly. The chair was originally made for minor operations. No operation for you, so relax a little. Enjoy."

I felt a little relieved. "Then what are the straps for?"

"So you don't leave during the show." With that, she spun the chair around, then pulled back a curtain that had hid the wall behind the chair. I was given a balcony view of the stage where a comedian was just finishing his act. I felt her hand do something at my crotch, and when I looked down I saw a tube leading away from the tip of the built-in sheath.

She crouched down behind me and whispered in my ear, "This next one is one of my favorites. I hope you laugh at all his jokes."

The next one out was a guy who did nothing but complain about the differences about men and women. He was okay, by my standards, but I'm not a big one on male bashing. My jester friend seemed to like him just fine. I could hear peals of laughter every time he made a joke about how stupid men can be. Halfway through his act she leaned in close again.

"You're not laughing. Nobody comes to my club and doesn't laugh." She walked to where I could see her completely. "Some of the people you'll meet may strike you or tease you sexually in order to control you. I was asked to teach you how to laugh at yourself because you didn't know how to do that." Again with that 'teaching' thing. My mind flitted back to the masseuse. She had let on that I was being taught'. This would take some serious thinking. "Instead of a crop or a whip or even my hand, I use this." She held up a long stiff feather. 

The alarm bells went off again, louder and stronger than before. I tried to pull loose from the chair, but couldn't.

"That's right. Even if you weren't ticklish before, you are now." The feather brushed up my ribs, wiggled in my armpit. I let loose with a howl of laughter. "Much better. I thought it was a good joke, too."

The feather wiggled the soles of my feet after each of the comedian's jokes about men, ripping guffaws from my mouth and tears from my eyes. 

The next comic was one she had picked just for me. My laughs began to drown out the crowds in the normal seats. The jester alternated between my feet, my ribs, and my armpits, never letting any one area get desensitized. Tears streamed down my face, and I begged for mercy. I could feel my bladder about to explode. She never let up, and finally I lost control over my bladder. The tube hooked to my shorts took care of the mess I would have made, drawing off the results of my laughing fit.