The Club of Fools Ch. 07

"Yes ma'am," he gasped. There was nothing he could do to change any course of action she chose. He just hoped and believed that it ended in his orgasm. Life was so simple at a time like this.

"You're a gay transvestite aren't you baby? Or maybe you're really a woman, are you?" She was inches from his face and her breath was hot against his lips.

"Yes, oh yes, I'm, I'm a woman, yes ma'am. Please let me come ma'am." His breathing was ragged. His hands tried to flex in futility, flattened unseen within the internal sleeves of the sleep sack.

"You want to come, do you? Will you obey your new owners?"

He gasped for breath and said, "Yes, oh my God yes, but why, what's...? Oh Jesus!" And he let out a long groan followed by a quick yell of release. His hips bucked within the sleep-sack as his ejaculate coursed through the rubber tube toward the catheter bag strapped to his leg. When he was done, Jodi stepped back, mesmerized by his addiction to his plight. She smiled and shook her head.

All Jason could do was try to regain his breath within the corset and sleep sack while Victoria asked Suzie if she had anything to say. She strode up to him and stared into his face briefly before she said abruptly, "Bye-bye. Can't say I'll miss you. Can I put the hood on him now?"

Victoria giggled and said, "Yes, go ahead. So long Jason!"

Jason, clear headed now after his orgasm, panicked for the first time. "What are you people doing? This...you're just messing with me, right? Tell me what you're doing with me!" he yelled. His head moved back and forth avoiding the gag which Suzie was trying to place in his mouth. Finally Victoria grabbed one of his ears and pulled. When his mouth opened with the pain, the gag was pushed in. It was that simple. His last defiance was taken from him so easily.

Suzie pushed it hard against his face while he tried to push it out with his cheeks and tongue. After some time and struggle, he gave up and gasped for air through the breathing tube while the leather hood was being pulled over his head, eliminating all light and most sound. The last external thing he saw or felt was Jodi at his side stroking his cheek gently just before his lights went out. The hood was pulled on and laced up tighter and tighter with each pull of the laces, millimeter by millimeter, so that the thick padding at the mouth, eyes and ears was compressed against his head. Then he heard the distinct sound of a lock snap shut at the back of his neck to secure the hasps over the laces, as if the lock was really necessary.

He swung from the winch hook, subdued, silenced and with no connection to the outside world. His own domain played out only from skin level to some deep internal and seemingly eternal space within his psyche. After a few moments or hours he felt his feet touch the floor as the winch lowered him down once again. When he was laid out on the floor, the thick heavy laces of the sleep-sack compressed him further, from his ankles to the top of his chest, a second corset-like layer that seemed to tighten on his very soul. He laid there like a dropped thought, incorrectly thinking the bondage assemblage was completed. Then he felt something being attached to his neck, stiffening it, making it also helpless. The stiff leather posture collar was wrapped around his neck, pushing his chin up and out while it was cinched up with roller buckles and locked, also behind his neck. The layers of bondage were absolute and impenetrable; essentially he was tightly corseted from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet. He had actually dreamed of this once, wondering if such extreme bondage even existed in real life, and the feeling was intensely erotic to him, womb-like, and he would have been in ecstasy, except for the fact that the circumstances had a distinct possibility of being true. He may have indeed been sold. And now he had lots of quiet time to think about that.

Someone rolled him over on his belly and his breathing tube became pinched so he couldn't breathe. He tried to regain his position on his back but was astonished and alarmed to find that he had no means to do that; his immobility was absolute. The lacing of the sleep-sack had been the final nail in his coffin, so to speak. He could not bend or move in any way, from his head to his knees, and below that point there was only slight to moderate flexibility. Just before anoxia and expected death set it he felt himself being winched up again so that his feet left the dungeon floor. He breathed deeply, grateful for the air. Someone pushed him and he swung back and forth, back and forth, like a cocoon in the wind.

Then nothing. Silence except for his own heartbeat and breathing. It felt exquisite, terrifyingly deprived sensually, and despite his recent orgasm, he knew he was hard again. At times like this he felt a bewilderment, a complete lack of understanding of why he liked this. His brain was like a wolf guarding the sheep. Fantasies overruled all natural impulses to resist, and in fact, resistance was now pointless. Whatever had been arranged for him was going to take place. Resistance was futile.

What the hell was happening? Was what they said real? He screamed into his breathing tube for answers, but he knew the noises he made dissipated rapidly. No answers came back to him, probably because the answers would unfold unchallenged anyway. Why explain to a dog the details of an upcoming trip to the vet? It just wasn't necessary. Nobody answered, and he swung, slower and slower until the equilibrium mechanism in his ears could no longer determine whether he was swinging or not. Periodically, he screamed unintelligibly, but it fell on the vastness of unknown space. The women might have been there, but he had no way of knowing.

Vulnerability set in. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Well, he thought, that wasn't really true; when he had been punished in the bondage corset and arm-binder, he had felt absolute despair because he was in pain and simply had to deal with it. This was different though; he was completely comfortable, and he was thinking too much. Lack of pain allows that.

Then his mind jolted as if was electrically shocked. He understood. He really was being sent to someone else, somewhere else, but maybe just for the night, to be used by someone else. Maybe he really was a slave. Maybe he could be sold. They wouldn't get rid of him like they said...they just wouldn't. Would they? What about his job? What about his career? This was crazy. They wouldn't do that. They just wouldn't do that. This could not be happening. They wouldn't do that. They couldn't do that.

Then if his jaw had been free, it would have dropped. They could do this. They would do this. And they did. Jesus, oh Jesus, where was he being sent? Who was going to take him? And for what? All these silent questions with no answers. He found himself breathing rapidly and in short breaths. There was no other way to breathe. He was cocooned and was awaiting metamorphosis. How would he emerge? Where? For what purpose? Wait...if he was really a slave, then he knew what he would be doing for his new owners. He had been trained to serve people sexually; that was his true value now; and he stewed with that thought. He would be used as such.

Someone pushed his cocoon again, and he swung helplessly back and forth, around and around. He made grunting sounds through the breathing tube and awaited his fate. He was a slab of sexual beef. His world had been reduced to this.

Please touch me...please touch me...there...please touch me there.