Warning - if you do not like bondage, forced sexual relations, meaningless lesbian sex, and other fetish themes, I am asking you to please skip this story. This story involves dark ideas and contains somewhat disturbing content at times (although there are many mainstream books that would make this story look G-rated).

Author's Note - first and foremost, I would like to thank the staff here at StorySite for keeping such a fun, free site going all these years—a site that is a tremendous resource for the TG Community. I also want to thank them for keeping this site so "rule free" and accessible to the wide spectrum of authors and readers who come here.

A special thanks goes out to Denver, whose Tabor series inspired me to start writing again (this story could not have existed if I had never read Tabor). The idea of a woman coming out of a comic book or picture and dominating someone is obviously not an original one on my part. I have read similar ideas in other stories, but I attribute the idea I used in my story to a scene in Denver's Axle City Limits (A Tabor Story), where Betty Page seduces and enslaves one of the waylaid travelers.

I also want to thank all of you who have left kind or helpful reviews of my previous stories. As Solari (see Nigh Skies Hotel Universe, one of my favorites) once said, reviews are a writer's lifeblood.

The Drawing of the Starlet was originally meant to be a quick, two- or three- week short story (a respite from the Inner Realm of Tioga 2: A Midsummer Night's Nightmare). I was going to include it in "a Triology of Transformations," a set of short stories on which I am currently working. But my bitchy, controlling, muse took over and went wild, so I ended up with something way too long (I keep telling her that bigger isn't always better, but she just won't listen). Anyway, I blame her for this entire perverted story (even though she had to borrow my intimate knowledge of the submissive female role in bondage to make it have true feeling—after all she's not the one who puts on the corsets, the five-inch heels, and the tight restricting skirts and mini-dresses!).

I'm also in the process of turning this story into a story with images. I just had a lot of trouble coming up with the main pictures this time, since my skills in that area are taking way too long to blossom. Anyway, I hope you like the story, dear reader.

"It is really as if [the writer herself] had become afraid of [her] work which, like a restless dream, still continued to frighten [her] while it was being told." Soren Kierkegaard

for everyone who can appreciate and adore the difference between fantasy and reality

 

The Drawing of the Starlet

by Jodie Anderson

 

Devin Holland was a comic book junkie. He loved comic books, but not just any comic books. His particular poison was fetish comics—especially the ones that involved unusually strict bondage, domination, and forced sexual acts. Better still were the comic books that involved bondage, girl-on-girl wrestling, domination, AND forced lesbianism themes.

Being unskilled and right out of college, Devin was forced to take a job as a data-entry clerk. He worked long hours but got paid a decent amount of money due to the frequent overtime. He also liked the fact that he didn't have to have much human contact while he was on the job.

Devin spent almost all of his free time reading fetish comic-books, surfing the Internet to find artwork and pictures of damsels in distress, and reading stories about women who were forced into bondage, lesbianism, and submissive positions. He also spent most of his money buying comic books, pictures, and literature related to these tasty themes.

On a typical night after work, he would go directly home and start reading and fantasizing the moment he walked in the door. And he would remain immersed in his fantasy world until two or three in the morning—when he could finally tear himself away and fall asleep.

Despite the fact that Devin loved reading about the female sexual experience, he was not a cross-dresser, was not transgendered, and never once had the desire to wear women's clothing.

Devin had almost no meaningful relationships with others (He preferred his women and girls to be confined to comic books and stories, so he could deal with them on his own terms). He had always been a loner, which did not bother him. He actually enjoyed to be by himself, most of the time. He was also very low-key. He abhorred anything that drew attention to himself. But everyone's life is a story, whether they want it to be or not, even Devin's. And Devin's story begins like this.

 

September 2002

 

It was a cool, windy Friday night in early Autumn. Besides the fact that it was payday, it was a typical Friday night for Devin. After getting off work, he found his life being controlled by his fetishes, as always. He went straight to the ATM machine to withdraw some cash and then stopped at one of his favorite comic book stores on his way home.

After making several cheap purchases—most of them old Eric Stanton comics involving big-breasted cuties with perfectly voluptuous bodies getting tied-up, dominated, and teased by sinister dark-haired authoritative women with equally incredible bodies—Devin headed straight for his car.

As fate would have it, he had parked on the west side of the mall, so he had to exit the small entrance in the back of the mall to get to his car. This entrance was at the end of the fake "city-shops" are of the mall that was supposed to resemble a turn-of-the-century town. This section of the mall had a long, twisting, fake cobble stone walkway, with lanterns, lamps, small trees, plants, and mostly fake stores with facades that were mere decorations. As Devin hurried down the walkway, he saw a small store that he had never noticed before.

The store was tucked away neatly in an almost inaccessible corner, at the end of a row of fake stores. He initially noticed the store because of the unusual, dim purple-tinted flickering lights which flanked the store's doorway and cast a tinted haze over the store's stone facade. On the top of the store, written in elegant cursive, was the name "Hose and Prose." Underneath the name was a small black and white, old-fashioned picture of a sexy, dark-haired woman who was holding a book in her gloved hands. Thanks to a short mini-skirt, the woman's healthy, alluring, nylon-encased legs were on display. She was looking out at the passers-by over her book, her reading glasses dangling on the end of her straight aristocratic nose. The trace of an ambiguous smile played at the corners of her lips. She had the classic "sexy-librarian" look.

The name of the store was silly—probably just a gimmick to attract women hooked on romance novels—but it piqued Devin's curiosity nevertheless. He walked over to the shop and stepped inside. He was greeted by the smell of flowery scented candles and dusty books.

At the end of a long, narrow corridor which was adorned with old books, and, believe it or not, stacks and stacks of stockings and pantyhose, Devin saw a young woman sitting at a desk. The woman was extremely pretty, probably in her early twenties, and was dressed in a pink satin mini-dress, pink high-heeled pumps, and nude shimmering stockings that tantalized the eye. She was wearing heavy makeup, dangling diamond earrings, and a diamond neckless. She looked like she should be out on the town, not stuck working in a store.

As Devin approached her, he noticed that she looked horribly depressed. She had a teenage-like pout on her lips and was slumping in her chair. She looked like she could burst into tears at any moment.

"Um, excuse me, miss?" Devin said shyly.

The young woman looked up at him, her huge blue eyes filled with sorrow.

"Yes?" She answered, her voice reserved and quiet yet sounding like silk.

"Do you sell comic books?"

"I'm not really sure," the woman answered, sounding worried, nervous, and upset. "And we're about to close," she added, playing with her shoulder-length, brown hair which curled slightly at the ends. Her hands were tiny and slender, with extremely long perfectly manicured pink nails.

"Okay, thanks anyway," Devin said, happy to be done with the encounter. He turned and started to walk toward the door, when he heard a woman's voice.

"Nonsense," the voice purred loudly and slowly.

"Uhh!" The young woman in the pink dress cried out, startled. She sat up straight in her chair, breasts thrust outward.

Devin's eyes betrayed him and took a quick look at the young woman's breasts: they were huge, probably double Ds. He looked away instantly. That's when he noticed a curvy silhouette appear from the shadows behind the desk.

"Becky," the loud purring voice spoke again, very slowly, as if the woman speaking was turned on, concealing anger, and taunting her employee all at the same time, "show this young man to the middle of the store." The woman's voice had a thick Spanish accent.

Devin watched the woman's silhouette, but he couldn't see her face. He could tell by her voluptuous shape that she was about fifteen to twenty pounds overweight, but at the same time, her body looked strong and seductive.

Becky slipped out of her chair slowly, watching the shadowy woman's shape over her shoulder. When she was several steps away from the desk, she turned and started walking back toward the middle of the store. "Right this way, sir," she said quietly, her voice shaky with emotion.

Devin followed Becky into the heart of the store, down long, twisting aisles of dusty books. The stacks went all the way to the ceiling, so it was difficult for patrons to know where they were. The store seemed impossibly large on the inside. The aisles went on and on, cris-crossed, and intersected with other aisles at many sharp angles, creating a labyrinth-like environment. There were even staircases and what appeared to be at least two floors above and one floor below the main floor.

As they walked, Devin noticed that Becky's mannerisms seemed entirely incongruent with her mood. She walked with a sassy, seemingly deliberate night-club sway in her hips and butt—a sway which made her stockings swish against her clingy satin dress. Her movements were slow and overtly sexual as she sauntered along—one silky thigh crossing in front of the other for no apparent purpose but to entice. Devin's eyes watched Becky's perfect ass as he followed—marveling over the look of her easily visible high-cut panty line. (This was unusual for him: he almost never stared at women who weren't trapped in a comic book or captured in a humiliating predicament on film.) Becky's enticing perfume trailed behind her like a thick cloud and cut through the dusty-book smell easily; whatever she was wearing, she must have been drenched in it.

Every time Becky saw a book on the floor, she stopped, bent down slowly, and picked it up. Each time, she bent from the waist rather than the knees, which caused her dress to ride up and expose her pink satin panties.

Occasionally, when she reached an intersection of aisles, she would stop and pose like a centerfold with her hands on her tight yet womanly hips and her huge breasts pointing at Devin's face. She would think for a moment and then start off down another aisle. Devin was careful not to stare at her body while she was looking, especially after he realized that Becky still looked extremely upset.

After several minutes, Becky stopped abruptly. Devin stopped too.

"Here you are," Becky said. "I have to get back," she said, fighting back tears. She turned back the way she came, her heels clicking softly on the floor.

Devin was so mesmerized by her catty strut that he couldn't even manage to call after her. Within seconds she was around a corner and out of his site.

Devin shrugged and started looking for the fetish comic books. There were no signs, but he found them quickly: he knew what to look for. When he found what he hoped would be a treasure-trove of smut, he picked up several of the comic books and inspected them. Unfortunately, most of them he already had. The rest involved simple plots, superheros and superheroines, and little sex or kink.

After rooting through nine or ten large bins, Devin started becoming anxious. The fetish-driven part of his conscious felt like he was wasting his time, using up time that could be spent drooling over the new Stanton comics he had already purchased. He started making his way back to the front of the store. Just after he left the comic book section, his eyes darted across a worn, very old looking leather bound book, tucked underneath a stack of old cook books.

A strange slightly euphoric tingling came over his body the moment he set eyes on the book. He felt a powerful surge of adrenaline; his knees became wobbly.

At the same moment, a strong cold draft whipped up; it almost felt like a wintery breeze. He heard a slight ringing noise in his ears, and then he thought he heard a woman's voice whispering something,

(come to me, bitch)

but he couldn't quite understand the voice.

Devin shook his head, as if to clear his mind, and stared at the book like it was a lost treasure. He felt compelled to inspect it.

He walked over and pulled it out of its resting place. The book was enormous. It had huge oversized pages and looked like an Atlas, not a comic book. There was no picture on the cover, no title or author information on the inside of the book. The only writing before the initial story, was a one-line inscription, hand-written in elegant purple-colored cursive: "Property of Ms. Alexandra Tioga."

Devin opened the book and flipped through a couple of the pages. He was elated to find that the book involved heavy bondage, forced lesbian sex-acts, and domination. But he was still slightly disappointed. At first glance, the pictures seemed just like all the other bondage comic books he had obsessed over during the past five years. So, despite the fact that the book contained over eight hundred pages of bondage and lesbian fetish materials, Devin was reluctant to purchase it. He also noticed that the price of the book was $125.

But after closely inspecting a few of the drawings and reading some of the captions, Devin couldn't resist. It seemed like the book was tailor-made to suit his unique fetishes. There was a huge-busted blonde with a tight waist and wide hips in horribly strict and even mildly painful bondage in every story. In almost every drawing, the hot little sexpot was dressed in fetish wear (skin-tight spandex and stretch-satin, illegally short mini-skirts, silk stockings, and high-heels) and was getting dominated, spanked, humiliated, or even fucked by a beautiful, angry aggressive woman. The blonde woman was almost always gagged. In several of the drawings, more than one woman was giving it to the hapless blonde, and sometimes, the blonde was even the reluctantly risque recipient of an all-out lesbian gang-bang.

Devin noticed that the pictures seemed somewhat similar, which was fairly typical for the genre. But one of the slightly unusual things about this book was that the same gorgeous, pulse-accelerating blonde was the submissive star in every story. The only things that changed were her outfits, hairdos, positions, and unwanted girlfriends; oh, and the expressions on her face. Usually, she wore a look of shocked haughty indignation or a princess-like pout. Occasionally, her face looked like she was in the grip of a powerful but unwanted orgasm. And as the book went on, her predicaments seemed to get more and more outrageous.

For example, in one picture toward the end of the book, the blonde was tied down to a work bench. Her legs were spread apart by a spreader bar at her ankles and were tied to two of the bench's wooden legs. Her torso was tied down to a long wooden board, and her arms were stretched out and tied to the other two wooden legs in front of her. She was blindfolded and her hair was adorned with two large white satin bows (she was wearing the cute satin bows in almost every picture—even though they were almost never appropriate for the situation). She was wearing a white satin Victorian corset which was laced painfully tight; a white satin push up bra; a white, lustrous nylon spandex open bottom girdle with eight satin and lace garters; nude, shimmery stockings; white opera gloves; and white stiletto heels that looked a tad bit uncomfortable. A team of tall, voluptuous brunettes was handling the star: one was pounding her with a thick pink strap-on from behind, her strong hands squeezing the blonde's narrow, cinched-in waist; another was fucking her mouth with a strap-on; a third woman was underneath the bench, playing with the blonde's nipples; a fourth was using a remote control which, one could gather, operated something inserted into the poor girl's butt; a fifth woman was straddling the blonde's back and spanking her ass; a sixth woman was whispering trashy things in the blonde's ear; a seventh woman was kissing her on the neck; and two women were filming the scene and taking pictures. Successive drawings showed that every one of the women had a lengthy turn, and the clocks in the drawings showed that the blonde's ordeal lasted more than five hours.

After glancing through half the book, Devin sighed and gave in to his fetish. He navigated his way back through the maze of stacks rather easily, but when he finally reached the front desk, Becky was gone. Devin called out several times, but Becky didn't,

(or couldn't)

answer. After about five minutes, Devin shrugged and left the money on the counter. As he was walking toward the door, he thought he heard loud slapping noises and muffled female moaning coming from somewhere beneath him. There was a strong gust of wind followed by dark cackling. Devin listened for another few moments but heard nothing else. He walked out of the store and took his purchase home.

 

 

Devin ate dinner and then flipped through the Stanton comic books; as always, he was pleased with their content, especially the curvaceous bodies of the women. One of the stories, "Battling Bondage Babes," involved a sexy blonde who sneaks up on her sleeping roommate and starts tying her up. The roommate awakens and a sexy little catfight ensues. (Well, this had little Devin's heart racing as he imagined being in the room with these women as they fought it out, watching as one woman used her satin-covered ass as a weapon and slammed it down on the other woman's face.) As it turns out, the blonde wins the battle and ends up getting the brunette securely tied, gagged, and lying face down. The story ends with the blonde sitting on the brunette's head and spanking her viciously with a thick wooden hairbrush.

Devin was about to nod off when he remembered the unusual comic book he had found and purchased in the mysterious store at the mall. He went over to his bag, pulled the huge book out, and started flipping through it.

This time, he noticed that the artwork in the book was beyond impressive: it was almost perfect. The details were so meticulous, so life-like. Every curve on the women's bodies was perfectly drawn. The fabrics and colors were incredibly precise and inviting—as were the buxom, bound cutie's pouting and then cathartic sexual expressions as she struggled helplessly against her tight bonds and the endless army of mistresses that bedeviled and harassed her throughout the book.

Every expression was perfect. It was as if the blonde bondage victim was a real woman—an unwilling model who knew she was being drawn so that others could observe her in her most vulnerable moments whenever they wanted. She seemed to be a heterosexual woman who knew that she was being forced to pose as a reluctant lesbian in a comic book. Her expressions betrayed the fact that she knew others would be able to see each and every humiliating situation she went through. Each expression was perfect for the particular situation, too: the expressions, and the emotions they portrayed, were entirely congruent with the physical, mental, and sexual torment the blonde was going through. It was as if she were actually experiencing each event.

Devin slowly realized why the same victim was on every page. It forced the reader to attribute a real personality to the woman and to identify with her, which, in turn, gave the book an uncanny sense of realism.

The stories all seemed to start the same. The young woman would be free for the first few pages, until she pissed off a vindictive woman (usually it was for some petty convenient reason), got tricked or blackmailed by a duplicitous woman, or simply provoked a group of lesbians with her unwittingly sexual and flirtatious behavior. Then the girl would get bound and gagged and pretty much stay that way for the rest of the story. Each story usually lasted several weeks and often a few months. At the end of the story, there would be a smooth segway into the next story. The blonde would start out free again, trying to get her life back together, but then another dark tragedy would ensue and she would find herself in another lengthy predicament—and under the whip of a new mistress or group of mistresses. Thus, the vicious cycle of bondage and forced lesbian sex would continue and continue.

And then some. As Devin flipped through the book, he realized that it must have spanned nine or ten years of the poor woman's life. The stories kept track of the days, months, seasons, and years with meticulous detail. For example, the caption at the end of one story ended as follows: "She suffered at the hands of the cruel woman for the next seven days." The next story would begin exactly seven days later, with our heroine finally back home in the safety of her apartment.

Devin also noticed that the blonde woman's appearance aged perfectly as the years went by in the book. The differences in her appearance were so subtle; the artist was obviously extremely talented.

In the comic book, the blond bondage toy was constantly getting fired from jobs or punished for missing work (usually due to prolonged confinement that she didn't dare tell her bosses about). In a few stories, she got fired after compromising pictures of her in her various predicaments wound up on the boss's desk. In other stories, the boss was the one responsible for her bondage.

The more Devin studied the book, the more incredible and moving he found its premise. He noticed that some of the mistresses made several appearances and haunted the blonde's steps ruthlessly and continuously. They would have a session with the blonde during one story and then come back later at some point—usually at an incredibly inopportune moment for our luckless little protagonist.

Another interesting theme in the book was the use of colors. Devin noticed that the submissive blonde woman's bondage outfits varied significantly, but the colors did not. In the two-thirds of the book, she almost always wore white. But every so often she would be wearing red lingerie;--maybe a thong, a satin bra, a smothering girdle, a body-shaper, or lace garter-belt underneath her clothes. Whenever she was wearing red she seemed even more nervous, more expressive, more vulnerable.

Devin guessed that the white outfits were supposed to symbolize innocence. This was made quite clear when, toward the end of the book, the blonde women wore black almost exclusively. The black was supposed to symbolize her lost innocence and her lost heterosexuality (even though it had been no fault of her own).

The black/white color scheme seemed to make sense, but Devin couldn't figure out the reason why the woman wore red. In one of these situations, a story in which she was wearing a red corset, a red stretch-satin mini skirt, nude stockings, red heels, and a red satin push-up bra, she was in a doctor's office. She was strapped to a medical examination chair, and her legs were spread wide apart in the stirrups. A tall, busty brunette in a red and black vinyl nurse's outfit was sitting on the blonde's face. Her wicked, trashy smile betrayed the fact that she was forcing the blonde to give her oral. Another female nurse in the same kinky outfit was straddling the blonde's torso and sucking on her breasts with thick, heavily lipsticked lips. A third nurse had some sort of a plunger mechanism between the blonde's spread legs. This nurse was also smiling deviously, her severely arched eyebrows making her look like a professional dominatrix.

Devin noticed that this "doctor's office" scene repeated every so often, and finally disappeared altogether. And a couple of months later in the comic book, there was a seven-month gap in the woman's life that was written off in one simple line: "Seven months later, she had moved to Chicago in the hopes of starting over."

But, unfortunately for our little bondage princess, things didn't go any better in Chicago. After living in the Windy City for no more than three days, she was kidnaped by a group of jewel thieves: all women—all lesbian women. They kept her bound and gagged and used her as their sexual play-thing for a couple of weeks. Then they ended up framing her for a crime they had committed.

As a result, the blonde ended up getting a year in jail. The "jail" storyline was completely out of control. Before taking her first shower, the blonde ended up getting "claimed" by a group of curvaceous Hispanic women: long-haired beauties with insatiable sexual appetites who had a thing for dominating prissy white girls. For the entire year in prison, the blonde spent most of her time in bondage, with her Hispanic mistresses sitting on her face, parading her around the prison on a leash while wearing lingerie or humiliating costumes, or just giving her a playful gang-bang.

The blonde finally got paroled, but her parole officer, a 45-year-old, attractive dirty blonde with a perfectly Statonesque body, ended up blackmailing her into the submissive side of a long-term lesbian bondage relationship. Unfortunately for our poor little princess, the parole officer had a penchant for prolonged bondage, forced orgasm denial, and anal play.

Devin was completely spellbound by the book. Even though it was totally outrageous at times, he decided that it was the best lesbian-bondage comic book he had ever seen. By far.

The thing he liked the most was how the main woman seemed to be in such incredibly uncomfortable and vulnerable positions at almost all times. He had seen it all before, in other comic books, but some of the pictures in this book were just amazingly graphic and naughty—the poor blonde was just so darn helpless. And midway through the book, there was no escaping the fact that she had become a total lesbian bondage whore. You could see it in her eyes. She was dejected, frustrated, utterly mortified and humiliated—she obviously didn't enjoy being forced to participate in lesbian sex acts on a daily basis. But she was a lesbian bondage bitch nevertheless, if for no other reason than the sheer number of times she had been forced to have sex with other women. In essence, she had been sexed up by lesbians so many times that she was practically one of the team.

Devin found it all so erotic.

After his initial inspections, he went back and started reading the stories from beginning to end. He made it through several stories before sleep claimed him.

 

 

Devin awoke to the sound of a blood-curdling scream. He let out a startled gasp and reached for the clock. It was four in the morning. His listened for a few moments and thought he could hear voices coming from somewhere in his small apartment. He lay motionless in his bed, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.

"Should we would make her the star?" a muffled female voice asked someone off in the distance.

"Definitely," a second woman answered, "let's see how she likes it for a change."

"Will it ever wear off?" one of the women asked.

"No. Not a bit," a giggling female voice answered, "she'll be perfect for the part, after we seal her. The potion also works on the mind, so her reactions will be genuine. She'll blush and squirm when we kiss her."

The women's voices grew muffled again as a train tooted in the distance.

Devin slipped out of bed and turned on a dim lamp. He did a quick sweep of his bedroom and the rest of the apartment, including the closets, but no one was there.

When he was about to get back in bed, he realized his window was open. He poked his head out and looked down the five stories to the street. He noticed that a group of college-age women was sitting on the fire escape, talking and laughing with each other.

"What are they doing up this late? Drugs...gotta be drugs," Devin laughed to himself. He shut the window and crawled back into his warm bed.

As he waited for his heart to slow down to a normal pace, his thoughts strayed back to the submissive blonde in the comic book. Something about the woman and the book was bothering him. The more he thought about it, the more he decided there was something horribly disturbing about her situation. He couldn't pinpoint why he felt this way, and why he felt this way about her as opposed to the thousands of other helpless women he had seen bound and dominated in comic books over the years.

After wrangling with some undefined emotions in his head for several minutes, he realized that he felt empathy for the poor young woman. He actually felt empathy for a comic book character. How silly, he laughed to himself.

But his laughter was a bit uneasy. Was the laughter genuine, or was it avoidance of some other emotion?

'But how can I feel sorry for her. She's so damn sexy—such a dick tease—and such a perfect reluctant lesbian,' he thought, imagining the blonde girl getting triple-teamed by three strict tall voluptuous Asian women in police uniforms. This image settled him down nicely and superimposed itself on his empathy. Feeling better, he started to drift off again. But just before he fell asleep, he thought he heard the muffled female voices again.

And this time, the voices were louder. And closer.

 

 

Devin was in the grip of a powerful dream. In his dream, he was in a small dark bar which was dimly lit by flourescent purple lights. The small barroom was filled with approximately fifteen murmuring women. All of them were dressed in provocative outfits–short skirts with silky black nylons; tight pants that flaunted thong- or panty-lines; catsuits that displayed and gripped dramatic curves; satin dresses; push-up bras; thin, silky breast-smothering blouses; etc.

The women were all watching Devin intermittently. They weren't staring at him boldly, it was much more subtle, the way women usually are when they are checking out a guy. A surreptitious glance here, a licking of the lips there, a couple of flirtatious smiles. He blushed and got all tingly. He wasn't used to being watched.

He tried to listen to their conversations, but he couldn't quite make sense of what they were talking about. All he could ascertain was that they were talking about a woman who they all apparently knew. And based on some of the things the women were saying, Devin figured they weren't into men.

Devin felt uncomfortable. For whatever reason, the room felt steaming hot; the humidity made the air feel absolutely disgusting. After a couple of seconds, Devin realized that he was parched. He looked up at the bar and noticed a frosty goblet was sitting directly in front of him.

The goblet was full. The liquid inside had a curious bright-purple coloring, but it had a pleasant aroma and appeared ice-cold and refreshing. The goblet was odd-looking: it had an hour-glass shape, was extremely big, and didn't have a handle. But Devin thought nothing of it; after all, this was just a dream. Desperate to quench his thirst and cool down, he picked up the goblet and took a sip of the drink.

All of a sudden the women's murmuring voices quieted down. He thought he heard one of them laughing gently. He turned and looked. Several of the women were staring directly at him. Their gazes had become much more bold–level lingering leers. Their piercing eyes and brazen looks made him uncomfortable. Most guys would love to be ogled by a group of attractive sexy women, but the large number of them made it somewhat intimidating. Also, the way they were watching him was eerie–almost like a pack of wolves eyeing a potential meal. Their gazes were certainly lust-filled, but they were also mixed with contempt and anger and were bubbling over with aggression.

Devin tried to ignore them, but he could feel their burning gazes crawling all over his body, sizing him up–gaging whether he'd be good in bed. After a few minutes, the situation threatened to unnerve.

Devin went for the drink again, hoping it would sooth his quickly fraying nerves. As he gulped down another few mouthfuls, he began to relax almost at once. The drink tasted incredible and had a pleasant, cool aftertaste.

Devin heard more laughing; it was louder than before. He looked over at the group of women again. They were all staring at him, and they had fanned out across the bar. Some of the women were flanking him, some had positioned themselves by the doorway like security guards. A few of the women were licking their lips, and one of them was even rubbing her hands together and biting her lower lip as she watched Devin, her narrow eyebrows raised in dark anticipation.

Devin tried to rouse himself, but he was trapped in a deep sleep. Something told him he needed to wake up, now, before it was too late. He refocused his mind on his apartment, and felt like he was making progress toward consciousness, but then a euphoric feeling began to creep into his extremities and he began to relax again. Several small bright purple spots crept into his vision, making it difficult to focus.

The women's voices became louder. He began to hear them more clearly.

"She's in for it now," he heard one of them say.

"She'll make a perfect bondage slut," another said.

Before Devin knew it, two of the women were at his elbows.

Devin felt totally out of it; all of his motions seemed slow and took tremendous effort. He looked down at the half-empty goblet and wondered what the hell he was drinking. He went to set the cursed thing down, but one of the women tucked her hands underneath the bottom of the goblet and pushed it back up toward his mouth firmly.

"Drink up," the woman said with a serpentine smile, "after all, you deserve it."

For a moment, Devin tried to resist and push the goblet down. But he found that he had no strength in his arm. 'Oh who cares..., in for a dime, in for a dozen,' he thought. He smiled, opened his mouth, and poured the rest of the purple liquid down his throat.

Before he even managed to set the empty goblet down, he felt an acute muscle-spasm near his hips. The feeling quickly spread to the rest of his body. He managed to get off his stool and stagger out into the middle of the bar room.

The women quickly formed a circle around him, interlocking their hands and standing with their powerful legs wide apart. The circle tightened and tightened until they were no more than a few feet away from him. When the circle had closed, they began to chant in a flowing, whispering legato. Their bodies seemed to spin around him.

Even though Devin's vision had blurred, he was able to see their faces in the flashing purple lights. He thought he recognized some of the women, but he wasn't sure where from. They were all very attractive, but something seemed wrong with them—terribly wrong. Their proportions seemed almost impossible—enormous breasts, small waists, huge thighs, claw-like fingernails. They also seemed so cold, angry, and vengeful. Their hungry mouths dripped with sadistic glee.

Whatever was going on, Devin was certain that these psychopathic women had nasty plans for him.

The spasms in Devin's hips became faster and faster, and then he felt a tremendous release of pressure in his body. He looked down and watched in horror as his hips pushed outward and reshaped themselves into something more dramatic. It was a powerful and terrifying feeling, but it didn't hurt at all. In fact, the feeling felt slightly good, like some sort of orgasmic release.

And then his waist began to tighten and shrink. His thighs puffed up and became smooth, while the rest of his legs also morphed into something more fleshy and less muscular. His butt plumped up as did his lips.

"Help me...help me," he moaned, but something inside his throat cinched tightly and made it difficult to speak. He felt himself gulp spastically at the air several times. He reached up and touched his neck; his Adam's apple was gone. It was then that he noticed his hands looked different. His veins were less visible, his fingers were long and thin, and his hands were small and delicate. He felt the blood in his fingers thumping wildly, and then long, pink nails appeared on his fingertips.

"Wha...wha...what's happening!" He managed to scream. His voice was high-pitched, clearly feminine, a sexy purring contralto.

The spasms grew stronger in his chest as an incipient pair of breasts emerged on his chest. Slowly, his breasts filled in; after a few minutes, they began to push out his shirt. They grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger. Long blonde hair swung down in front of Devin's face, obstructing his view of his still-blossoming breasts. He swept the hair out of his eyes, but more fell into his vision. His shirt became painfully tight, and then it ripped apart right down the middle. He reached up and felt two heaving breasts in his small hands. His nipples were huge.

And they were hard.

Before he really had time to ponder the feeling and look of his huge breasts, his crotch began to spasm.

"Oh no," was all he could manage to eek out.

The chanting women were spinning faster and faster around him. Slowly, the purple lights all pooled together, and everything went dark.

 

 

Devin awoke to the feeling of two small hands squeezing his enormous breasts through a satin bra.

"Ooooo, stripper breasts!" a woman's laughed.

Devin opened his eyes and saw a chesty brunette with a small waist and big, perfectly toned thighs, straddling him. She was wearing a black spandex catsuit that reflected a strange sparkling purple light that was illuminating parts of his otherwise dark apartment. The brunette puckered her moist lips at Devin and kept squeezing.

"You've got an NHO, slut," the buxom brunette teased. Devin's panicked face didn't seem to understand. "That's a nipple hard on....you dizzy blonde," the woman snipped at him and then squeezed his nipples some more. When Devin still didn't seem to understand, the brunette began to squeeze harder and even twist.

"Unnnnnn, what are you doing to...mmm...ummmmmff!" Devin opened his mouth and started to question the brunette harshly when everything grew dark and he felt something slam down on his face.

It was a woman's butt. He could feel her satin panties and smooth flesh pressing against his cheeks, his forehead, and his lips. The backs of the woman's smooth thighs pressed down tightly against Devin's arms and upper chest. She wriggled around a bit, sat up, cocked her hips back, and slid her crotch forward so that her satin covered sex was directly over Devin's mouth. The woman ground herself into Devin's mouth and nose, smothering him with her crotch and thighs.

"Unnnnn....get...mmmmffff," Devin wailed and moaned, but the woman's body kept smothering his face, causing his sexy contralto pleas to become muffled and garbled.

Devin felt wet satin sliding across his mouth, nose, and every so often his heated cheeks. Soon his face was sticky; it was covered with a mixture of the woman's drippings and his own now-female sweat. Devin was hit by a powerfully musky and blatantly sexual smell. Obviously the woman on his face was extremely turned on. She wriggled again, sat up, let out a dark mirthless laugh and squeezed her thick thighs tightly against Devin's head.

"Shut up, bitch!" The woman hissed.

Devin writhed and wriggled underneath her tremendous weight, but he couldn't escape. He tried to push her off with his hands, but his wrists had been tied together with rope while he was still asleep. It was just like the Battling Bondage Babes comic he had read earlier in the night.

As he struggled beneath the weight of the two women, he felt something silky—something wedged inside him. Whatever it was, it was wedged in his butt, but also somewhere else. It felt as if it were wedged inside his penis somehow.

Something cinched around each of his ankles, and then there were two audible clicking noises. He could hear several women's voices in the background.

Minutes later, the two women got off him and pulled him up, into a standing position.

He looked around the apartment in a total daze, trying to take in and make sense of what he was seeing. His apartment was dimly lit with the same eerie purple light he had seen in his dream. More importantly, his apartment was filled with what appeared to be no less than ten women.

After a few moments he quickly realized that these were the women from the bar in his dream. Had it all been real?

He looked down and saw two huge breasts jutting out from his chest, pushed upward and thrust boldly out by a white satin push-up bra. The nipples looked impossibly thick and huge, almost quarter-sized–the kind of nipples that are visible no matter how many layers of clothing a woman puts on over them. He also noticed that the rest of his body was entirely feminine—the body of a sexy stripper; a trophy wife; or a gorgeous, voluptuous seductress—take your pick. His entire body from the waist to the ankles felt bloated with feminine fatty-tissue. Although he had an unusually tiny waist, he had huge jutting hips, a plump, firm butt, and long gorgeous legs that widened dramatically between the knees and the soft flesh of his upper inner thighs. His arms were long and small, they looked and felt weak. He could feel his long blond hair brushing against the small of his back (another couple weeks without a cut and it would be touching his ass no doubt).

As he tried to comprehend the impossible, a group of the women whisked him over to the huge mirror over his dresser in the middle of his room. One held a gloved hand tightly over his mouth, another had an arm around his waist, and the others were holding his arms and whatever else they could get their greedy hands on—mainly his plump ass and long, sexy legs.

One of the women held his head firmly between her hands; she adjusted his gaze so that he had to look directly into the mirror.

"We don't want you to miss the show...since you love to watch this type of thing," the woman said.

Devin couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was a gorgeous woman with double-D breasts, what appeared to be a 22-inch waist, way too long blonde hair (like a Barbi doll), plump lips and cheeks, a round face, perfectly thick thighs, and wide child-rearing hips. His pelvis was way too flat. He couldn't see the tiny little mounds that made up his labia, but he knew they were there: he could feel the satin thong sliding between them.

But he wasn't just a good-looking woman with an incredible body. He was much, much more, a total fantasy, a real lap-lander. He was sex, love, lust, innocence, need, and vulnerability personified–all mixed up in a blender and poured out into the frame of a 5'10" big-breasted blonde who looked like her body was made for one purpose only: to be fucked nice and hard, frequently and often.

The women all around him had amazing bodies as well. But their expressions betrayed perverted lust and were entirely devoid of any innocence, unlike his. In addition, many of them had bodies with impossible curves as Devin had noticed while he was dreaming. These women seemed like they had been pulled right out of an Alazar or Eric Stanton comic book. But so did he, for that matter.

He was so distracted by the site of his own fuckable female body that he didn't realize what the women were doing to him until he felt the white satin and lace corset tighten around his already small waist and stomach. In the mirror he could see one of the women pulling at the thick strings to the corset, pulling as hard as she could with her gloved hands, her lips pressed tightly together and her black ponytail flipping wildly as she exerted herself. Devin felt the corset pulling his waist further and further in, causing the discomfort in his midsection to go from mild to moderate and his breathing to become difficult. Thick satin garters with metal clips dangled down from his corset and danced playfully in the air as he struggled.

"Mmmnnnnnn, mmmmmrrrrrrr," he moaned as he tried to wrench himself free. But there were no less than six women holding him steady, their huge breasts pressing into his sides, face, and body. The women's grips tightened and held him in place easily. His struggling did nothing more than please their sadistic minds and cause his Barbi-like hair to dance wildly, making him look even more irresistibly sexy.

Once they got him completely secured, they dressed him in a pair of nylon stockings and clipped them in place with the metal clips on his garters. Two of the women stuffed his feet into a pair of five-inch white heels–not practical for walking, but perfect for fucking–while another strapped a thick flashing red collar around his neck and leashed him up.

Devin's mind was scrambling to keep up with what was going on. He was still trying to understand how these women had gotten into his apartment and how it was possible that he was trapped in the body of a 40's pinup girl. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what was next.

The aggressive women didn't wait for Devin's mind to catch up; they pushed on, full steam ahead and quickly applied the finishing touches to their curvy catch.

One woman reached back and slapped him across the face. The blow hurt plenty, but it humiliated even more–especially when several of the women cackled at him. The woman slapped him across the face several more times and then issued him an order.

"Keep your face still, we need to bitch you up!"

Devin obeyed: he was terrified and didn't even have the mental will power to resist. Two of the women held his head in place anyway, pressing tightly against his neck and temples with their hands, while a third yanked on his collar and pulled his neck as far forward as it would go.

At the same time, he felt hands caressing his upper thighs–sliding, kneading, massaging, getting ever closer to his new sexual equipment.

He watched in the mirror as the women did his makeup. His face already looked beautiful without the makeup, but they made him look like more slutty—thick mascara; dark black liner; sparkling pink shadow; wet, lustrous fuck-me pink lipstick; lip liner that was just a shade darker than the lipstick; heavy pink blush; thick foundation; and dangling earrings that caught and reflected the eerie red light. To top it all off, they put two large white satin bow clips in his hair to pull his hair back from his face and make him look even more pretty. When the women were done with him, he looked like he was ready for a Cabaret show—or ready to suck something long and fat. The outfit and his makeup made him look like the classic good-girl-gone-bad, the haughty-little-princess-who-secretly-likes-to-fuck look. In fact, he looked a lot like many of the women he had seen in comic books over the years—women who ooze sexiness and dress provocatively but are apparently totally unaware that they are walking teases to most people, whose eyes they tantalize with their peppy and animated night-club struts.

Oddly enough, with all that was going on, something about the satin bows in Devin's hair really bothered him.

(he had seen them before...but not on himself)

He wasn't quite sure why—he couldn't put one of his long and slender fingers on it.

Then three women he had not yet seen came into his view, dragging along what appeared to be a workbench. A couple of the women bent him down over the bench, putting him in the perfect position for anal or vaginal sex, while others quickly strapped his thighs and ankles to the bench's legs.

"What are you doing to me!" Devin screamed. One of the women slapped him across the face. The blow was firm and stung Devin's cheek. "Ouch!!" He whined.

There was a brief pause, and then another loud "smack" as the woman slapped Devin again. "Ouch!! Stop it! Stop it!" He shrieked, as his new mind and bodied sank deeper and deeper toward hysterics. There was another harsh yank on his leash; his neck moved as far forward as it would go. His face was now an even easier target for the woman in front of him.

The woman's cat-like eyes flashed at him, emanating sadistic pleasure and channeled anger. It was as if her eyes could smile and smirk just like her evil mouth. She slapped Devin again and again and again, while someone else kept a firm pull on the leash.

Devin cried and moaned and struggled, but the ruthless little vixen kept slapping him. At the same time, two women in front of him untied his wrists, then tied them together behind his back. They tied his elbows and upper arms closely together too. They lifted his wrists up behind his body and tied them to a long thick piece of rope that was attached to a metal hook and dangled down from the ceiling.

When they were done binding him, his legs were in a standing position, his body was horizontal to the floor, supported by a black leather pad beneath him, and his arms were bent far up into the air behind him. In essence, he was totally vulnerable.

The women stepped back from him. They leered at their sexy captive as they discussed the next steps.

In the mirror's reflection, Devin saw that one of the women was sitting as far away from the others as possible, off in the back corner of his apartment. It looked like she was drawing on something. Devin couldn't see her face.

"Oh...she looks ravishing," one of the women said eyeing Devin's breasts and hips and then other points south. It was the woman who had sat on his face earlier; Devin could tell by the color and design of her high-cut satin and lace panties. After all, he had had a very close look at them earlier.

The woman approached him, stepping out from behind two of the others. She was wearing a thick, powerful harness, which looked practical and effective–not a prop, a cheap flimsy harness, or a "novelty" item. This devilish thing was tight and strong and looked like it was meant for hardcore lesbian sex. A long, fat dildo protruded from the harness. It was on so tight that it seemed to be an extension of the woman's body. The dildo was dripping with lubricant.

Three more of the women approached him while the others toiled about in the background, getting ready. All of them moved effortlessly on their impossibly-tall high-heeled pumps and boots, clicking and thumping around the apartment with determined paces. One of the women crawled underneath him and started caressing his upper thighs with her palms and her outstretched fingers. Another women started kissing and caressing the flesh around his waist; she moved back toward his ass with her mouth. Her wet kisses led her to his vagina. Soon she had her mouth on him...sucking him through his moistening satin thong.

"Oh...what are you doing to me?" He moaned. The kissing on his vagina felt good, but it also made him feel ashamed. The way he might feel if he were getting a blow-job from a gay guy.

And that's when he realized that something was wrong with his feelings. He did a quick check of his value system, and realized he was still the same basic person, but he sensed that something was terribly different. A dynamic, important, and controlling piece of his personality was askew.

He had difficulty understanding it for awhile. But when he focused on the gorgeous women's bodies, he knew what had happened.

His entire sense of sexuality had changed. He was not attracted to any of these women sexually. He did realize they were pretty, but he certainly didn't want to sleep with any of them. The thought of even kissing a woman gave him the willies all of the sudden. Yuck. And then he thought about how a woman's sex had been smeared all over his face. His cheeks turned florid from shame and embarrassment. He felt so humiliated. He also had a different feeling about bondage–now that he was the one playing the role of the bondagette.

Since he no longer liked women, he suspected the converse was true about men. Strangely enough, this didn't bother him a bit: it seemed like it was deeply and comfortably ingrained in his mind.

For a second, Devin was able to catch a glimpse of the rest of the women in his apartment. Each of them had at least one sex toy: a vibrator, a butt plug, ben-wa balls, a cattle prod, a whip, handcuffs, nipple-clamps, or a cat-o'-nine tails. More importantly, four of them were wearing strap-ons. Within seconds, the group crowded in on Devin.

A pair of hands hooked onto his waist from behind. He sensed a strong woman standing directly behind him, her squared hips tucked neatly between his spread thighs.

Another woman stepped directly in front of his face. A huge strap-on dildo protruded from her pelvis. Meanwhile, he felt the woman behind him pressing her pelvis against his butt and the backs of his upper thighs–the fat dildo pushed forward, underneath his sex and then slid back. The woman rocked her hips back and forth, using the dildo like a violin bow, sliding it across Devin's sex. Every rock of the woman's hips coaxed a sexy bitch-moan out of Devin's pretty little mouth.

"Oooooo, we're finally getting to you, huh? The snobby little straight girl is finally showing some genuine emotion," one of the women teased.

"So haughty...so very, very haughty," another shook her head and yanked on his leash firmly.

Devin felt the woman behind him cock her hips back, slide his satin thong to the side, and press the tip of the dildo against his wet labia. He turned his head and looked in the mirror, he could see the woman behind him starting to push forward–a motion that was all hips and ass.

His plump, juicy lips parted in a classic fuck-struck pout, a pout which made it appear as though the sensations he was feeling were one third pain, one third humiliation, and one third sexual pleasure (for the moment, the mental aspect of his humiliating predicament had deferred to the powerfully distracting physical sensations he was experiencing). The dildo pushed deeper and deeper into his body; he could do nothing but receive the penetrating object.

A string of short, quick high-pitched moans and whimpers slipped out of Devin's mouth as he experienced female penetration for the first time.

The woman in front of him planted her hands on his cheeks and adjusted his gaze firmly, so he was looking directly forward–directly at the long fat dildo protruding from the woman's pelvis. The woman grabbed a handful of Devin's long blonde hair, wadded it up, and held it tightly with one hand. She tucked her other hand underneath Devin's chin and forced him to keep his face level.

He tried to pull his head back, but there was another firm tug on his leash. Once again, the tug turned into a constant pressure, which helped keep Devin's head in position.

"I'm next," the woman in front announced, "suck it, or it's gonna hurt when I put it in you," she said bluntly.

Devin hesitated ever so slightly: he was distracted by the strap-on that was still pushing its way deep into his vaginal canal, spreading him apart mentally as well as physically. One of the women kneeled down to the side of him and slapped him across the face. The woman holding the leash tugged even harder.

The woman behind him had pushed in all the way to the hilt. Her grip on Devin's narrow, corseted waist tightened. She squirmed around a little, wriggling her hips in a circular motion to get Devin's canal used to the penetration.

"Oh...oh...oh! What are you doing to me?" He moaned.

The woman in front of him stepped forward even more. She nudged the dildo against Devin's bee-sting lips and then traced the tip of the dildo back and forth.

"Say ahhhhhh," she teased in a sing-song voice.

The woman behind Devin slowy pulled her hips back, causing the dildo in his vagina to slide back. When it was almost out, the woman cocked her hips and thrust forward in a firm, fluid motion.

"Oh!!!" Devin cried in response to the potent penetration and the bundle of sensations it sparked throughout his body. When his mouth opened, the woman in front pushed her dildo deep into his mouth. She stepped forward even more, so the dildo would not be able to come all the way out. Devin gasped and made choking noises. When the chokes subsided, the woman started rocking her hips back and forth, fucking Devin's mouth.

The woman behind Devin pulled out and thrust in again.

"Ummmmmm," he moaned around the rubber penis stuffed in his mouth.

Within seconds, both women had moderate, firm but not harsh, paces going. Devin was being double-teamed, fucked in the mouth and the pussy at the same time. He felt so dirty, so sleazy, so uncomfortable, so ashamed. His heterosexual woman's personality hated this situation.

"Oh yes...that's it...beautiful...very beautiful stuff," one of the women said.

"I'd say her audition is going very well," another laughed.

"Yes...she's gonna get the part...it's all hers...and she'll be perfect for it. Such a natural, such a starlet," another woman cooed.

"A harlot starlet," another woman teased, pronouncing the words so they would rhyme. Several of the others cackled, but they remained focused on their captive.

Devin tuned the voices out. He couldn't help but focus on the dildos that kept pumping in and out of him.

He felt another pair of hands grab his ass and spread his cheeks apart. And then someone smeared a thick, jelly-like lubricant all around his puckering hole.

"Ummmmmm...ummmmmmm!" He protested, as the women continued to fuck him.

Seconds later, he felt the first ben-wa ball push into his butt. The ball was moderately sized, and caused his sphincter to stretch open as it was pushed into him. The first ball was followed by another, and another, and another. Soon there were seven of them buried deep in his ass. The balls were followed by a large butt plug. Devin felt the terribly invasive thing push into him and stretch him to the limit.

"Ummmmmm...unnnnnnn!!" He moaned again.

Finally, his sphincter got passed the thick part of the plug and cinched tightly around the smaller part of the plug just before its base. The dildo had jammed the ben-wa balls deep into him, causing moderate to severe discomfort.

One of the women turned on the plug. It started buzzing away inside Devin's butt. The sensation took him by surprise and instantly pushed him toward his first female orgasm.

"Mmmmmmmm....unnnnnnn....unnnnn!!!" He moaned, writhing in nervous pleasure, as he began to feel a thumping sensation in his vagina, the incredible yet involuntary feeling that indicates orgasm has begun.

"Quick, she's cuming..." one of the women whispered. She pulled the plug out of Devin's butt and then pulled out the string of ben-wa balls slowly.

"Uhhhhhh....unnnnnn...ummmmmm...ummmmmmmmm!" Devin moaned in his cute and sexy yet muffled voice. Every time a ball got to his hole, his sphincter was forced to stretch open to let the ball pass through. Each ball caused Devin to moan in pleasure and discomfort: the balls caused the thumping in his vagina to intensify every time one of them popped out.

Devin's orgasm lasted and lasted. When it was finally over, some of the women shuffled around and switched positions. Another woman got in his face, and another one crept in behind him with a thick strap-on, ready to fuck.

As the women prepared to continue, Devin took a look into the mirror. Once again, he was trying to understand how this crazy new reality was possible.

It was then that he noticed that he looked a lot like the blonde sexpot from the comic book. The one who had wound up in humiliating and confining situations, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.

It was hard to notice before, because most of the time he had seen her, she had had a plastic cock in her vagina, her butt, or in her mouth–and sometimes all three at once. But now that he was in a similar position, he recognized the uncanny resemblance he had to the woman.

But he knew there was something extremely important that he was missing. In addition to what he was experiencing, something else was going on. He could feel the buzz in the air, but he just didn't know what it was.

Instead of being able to think about the meaning of everything, he was penetrated again, from the front and back.

"Ummmmm...unnnnnn," he whimpered, as he got fucked for the second time.

 

 

After nine of the women had had a turn, they untied Devin and stood him up in front of the mirror. He was totally exhausted. The almost constant penetration in his mouth, butt, and vagina had taken a toll. His outfit and physical position had exacerbated his discomfort. His ankles ached from being propped up on the heels for so long; his stomach and waist felt squeezed to the limit; his arms ached from being stretched out behind and above him; and his nipples were pulsating from all the pinching and twisting.

But it didn't matter what he felt, the women weren't done with him.

He was unhooked from the bondage bench he had been attached to for the last hour. His hands were pulled behind his back and laced up into a thick leather arm-binder that covered his fingers and hands, and went all the way up to the tops of his small arms. His ankles were restrained with two ankle cuffs and an 18-inch hobble chain.

"I think it's time to show the starlet the cover of the book," one woman said, smiling at Devin.

A voluptuous woman emerged from the shadows in the corner of Devin's bedroom. Devin could not see her face, but he knew that it was the woman who had been drawing in the corner most of the night, the only woman who had not directly participated in Devin's humiliating and uncomfortable ordeal.

Devin looked down and noticed that the woman was holding the comic book he had purchased earlier in the day. He noticed immediately that the cover was no longer blank. Apparently the woman had draw a picture on the cover of the book.

The woman bent over and leaned the comic book against the wall so Devin could have a closer look.

Devin stared at the comic book. The cover had a brilliantly detailed picture on it. It was a picture of a gigantic book, something that was supposed to be ten or eleven feet tall. The book stood on the floor in an apartment, its bulk dominating the entire room. An eerie purple light poured out from the book and illuminated the apartment.

In the picture, the gigantic book was open. A group of tall, physically fit, attractive women in provocative outfits were dominating an overly-curvy blonde, right in front of the giant glowing book.

Devin recognized the woman on the cover: it was the blonde who was the main character in the comic book. The blonde's arms were strapped together behind her back in a thick leather arm-binder. Her ankles were cuffed and chained, and she had a giant white ball-gag stuffed in her mouth. The blonde's captresses were all over her: one was feeling her breasts; another was kissing her neck; two were holding her shoulders and pushing her forward; and another was following up with a cat-o'-nine tails, whipping the blonde on the butt. All of the women were dressed in fetish or club outfits, some revealing, some providing full coverage.

Well, that certainly made sense, Devin thought, the blonde certainly should be on the cover. But something just wasn't right. The blonde had a harrowing look on her face: it was as if she knew some horrible future awaited her.

As he studied the cover of the comic book, Devin noticed that one of the blonde's captresses was in front of her, tugging on her leash, leading the blonde somewhere. 'But where?' Devin wondered. Then he noticed the woman's thigh high boots—they appeared to be inside the giant book. And she was pulling the blonde toward her. Toward the comic book. Devin also noticed that a few of the other women in the picture appeared to be half inside the giant, glowing comic book and half outside of it.

'Oh...they're going into the book, I get it,' Devin thought. But then he remembered the blonde's face. He studied it once more; her face was absolutely horrified. She knew the women were forcing her to go inside the comic book, and she desperately did not want to go. And Devin realized why: the blonde didn't want to go into the giant glowing book, because she knew what was going to happen inside the book. But how? Had she read the book before? Devin didn't understand.

Again, he got the sense that he was missing something important. The snickering women around him didn't do anything to allay his suspicions or calm his frayed nerves.

He looked over at the mirror, at his impossible reflection. All at once he realized that he was a splitting image of the woman in the comic book. The resemblance was more than uncanny and was much deeper than their clothing and style. Devin had the same exact body as the blonde, the same huge breasts with the nipples that looked impossible to hide, the same big, innocent eyes, the same sexy mouth, the same Barbi-length blonde hair!

"Blondes are always the last to understand what's going on," a woman whispered in Devin's ear. She kissed him on the neck and made a hungry growling noise.

Devin started to turn away from the mirror, but then he noticed something. He was wearing white satin bows in his hair—the same ones he had seen the blonde wearing throughout the comic book. A sickening understanding slowly descended upon Devin's mind. His stomach soured as his mind put forth a sinister theory as to what was happening.

"The bows are just adorable...I love how you wear them all the time," another voice whispered in Devin's ear.

Devin looked at the blonde's outfit on the cover of the comic book. It was identical to his own: nude nylons, white corset, eight thick satin garters, white high-heels that were way too tall to walk in. The two were even bound in the same manner: laced into arm-binders, ankles cuffed and on a short chain, and collars wrapped around their thin necks. And, of course, the blonde was wearing the silly white satin bows in her hair.

Then Devin noticed that there was one difference between him and the blonde on the cover of the comic book. The blonde was gagged. All of the sudden, he realized how silent the room had become. How utterly silent. Trembling with fear, he looked up at his tormentors.

"Missing something?" One of the women teased, holding up a white ball gag and dangling it in front of Devin's face.

(Off to the side, the comic book began to pulsate wildly. And then the book began to grow in width and height.)

He took another long look at himself in the mirror and was hit with a mind-numbing realization. He had misunderstood all along! He didn't just look like the blonde in the comic book, he had become the blonde in the comic book!

(Up and out the book grew for several seconds, its binding and edges glowing in a powerful and bright pulsating purple light.)

And with that realization the wall between the front and back of Devin's mind came crashing down. A horrific and soul-wrenching understanding slammed him. He knew what was about to happen: the women were going to pull him into the comic book somehow.

'And then what!' he thought in a total frenzy.

(The bright light enveloped Devin and several of the women around him as the comic book overtook them in height.)

'Oh you know...you just don't want to think about it,' a woman's voice teased him in his mind.

One of the women walked directly up to Devin and put her face right in front of his, only inches away.

"You have been sealed as a woman by the nine muses," she said, in a ceremonial tone. "Now we shall take you across the threshold."

(There was a slight gust of wind as the book flipped open and drenched the entire room in the bright purple lights. A slight but steady breeze emanated from the book).

"No, please don't do it...please don't do it. Let me go," Devin begged in a pathetic whisper.

All of the women laughed or smirked at Devin's helpless situation. They were thrilled by the look of impending doom on his pretty face.

"Awwwwww...what's the matter? You don't wanna' be objectified? Don't wanna' be bound, teased, humiliated, and fucked by lusty lesbians for the next ten years of your life?"

"Wha...wha...?" Devin babbled, but he knew what the woman meant. He tried to avoid the swirling, horrible thoughts, but his mind perseverated on predictions of what his life would be like as a buxom bondage whore. He had objectified women throughout most of his adult life, and now they were going to objectify him. Payback's a bitch—or in Devin's case, a bondage bitch.

The thought of it all was just so utterly unbearable! The reality was that he now had a pair of seam-ripping breasts (genuine button poppers—just like the women he had drooled over in sooo many books he had read over the years) a tiny waist, huge hips, and a vagina; and he was going to have to dress in outfits that showed it all off. Outfits that put him on display—which he hated more than anything. When reading comic books, he had often wondered how the bound beauties felt in their tight restricting outfits, their sexy revealing cuts, the silky eye-catching fabrics. How it felt to be forced to be a sexual object. A walking (but not for long) sex object or sex symbol. How restraining and humiliating, how uncomfortable they must feel. But he had only thought these thoughts as a detached observer and he had never really considered just how awful it might be for them. And he had never imagined or even considered how it would really feel (both mentally and physically) to actually BE in one of those outfits, in one of those bodies, and one of those unbearable physical positions for countless hours while mischievous full-bodied women spanked, slapped, and sexed him up.

But all of those feelings had been so abruptly and ruthlessly forced upon him. And he knew he would have to live with them for the rest of his life.

"You'll learn to love it...DEVRA," one of the women hissed softly in his ear.

"How can you do this to me? Do you have any idea what it will be like for me?" Devin pleaded, his huge imploring eyes darting from one woman to the next, hoping to draw out their feminine empathy. But as he looked from face to face, he realized that he was wasting his breath.

He finally understood where the women had come from. He should have known the second he laid eyes on their bodies. They hadn't come into his apartment from the fire escape, they had come out of the perverted and twisted comic book while he was asleep! As such, they probably didn't have real personalities! Just by watching their faces, he knew they were the shallow sadistic comic-book women he had seen so many times in his obsessive studies. All these women wanted to do was dominate, humiliate, control, and fuck. In essence, there was no way to reach them: they were beyond reason, devoid of empathetic emotion.

"No...no...," Devin wailed as his hair began to wave slightly in the breeze wafting out from the open comic book.

"Yes, it's time," the woman with the ball gag said. She forced it into Devin's mouth and held it there while another woman buckled the device tightly behind Devin's head.

The rest of the women closed in on him. They turned Devin around and faced him toward the open book. They pushed him forward. He struggled against the women and somehow managed to keep himself from getting pushed into the book. But then the purple lights in the center of the book cleared partially, and a tall, dirty-blonde with impossibly curvy measurements stepped out and snatched up his leash. Devin recognized her face and her intimidating, thigh-high boots, from the cover of the comic book. "Hi, sexy, we've been waiting for you," the woman purred.

Two more women came out from the book. Each of them slipped a gloved arm around Devin's waist. Devin felt a cat-o'-nine tails crack down on his butt. He realized that the scene on the cover of the comic book was being repeated—but now, instead of being a mere observer, he was an unwilling participant: the main attraction. He could feel mouths on his neck; hands on his thighs, butt, and breasts; his arms bound in the tight leather binder; and the pull of collar around his neck. But above all else, he could feel the priceless expression on his face as he was both pushed and pulled into the comic book.

After Devin disappeared into the book, the rest of the women followed eagerly, with the exception of the woman who had drawn the picture on the book's cover. She stayed in Devin's apartment and waited for the book to close.

Once Devin and all the muses were inside, the book slammed shut and shrank back down to its original size. The mysterious woman sat down with the book in her lap and began drawing on it again. When she was finished, she looked down at the cover and smiled wickedly. She had given the comic book a name: Devra in Distress. The woman picked up the book and left.

So ended Devin's story.

And so began Devra's.

 

 

The next morning the woman with the comic book entered Hose and Prose and turned on the lights. She walked back to the desk and then entered the back room just behind it. She went down a wide stone staircase and fearlessly navigated into the dark catacombs beneath the store.

After making two quick turns, she came to a small room. She opened the door and entered.

A young woman lay hogtied on a matt on the floor. Her arms were tied at the wrists, the elbows, and the shoulders. Her legs were tied together at the ankles, knees, and thighs. She was blindfolded and had a thick, black, penis gag in her mouth. The woman was wearing a pair of pink satin panties which had soaked through in the crotch, and a matching bra. Several coils of rope encircled her waist; two thick extremely tight crotch ropes were buried between the young woman's satin-covered labia.

"Good morning, Becky. Did you have a long night?" The woman asked in a taunting tone as she bent over and began loosening her employee.

"Mmmmm," Becky croaked. She sounded exhausted.

"How ironic that you hate wearing those panties so much...it looks to me like you would have had a very painful night without them," the voluptuous woman said, tracing her finger along the crotch ropes. She paused for a moment, grabbed Becky's cheeks, and added, "the next time you act up, I'm gonna present you to a man–or group of men. Now, I'm leaving you a book that I want packed up and sent to Ms. Tioga. It's called, Devra in Distress. If you don't have it done within the hour, I'm gonna pack you up and send you along with it."

 

 

Epilogue

Two weeks later, the first issue of Devra in Distress was published. It was a regular-sized comic book and was of average length, but it turned out to be an instant success in the underground comic world. It was particularly popular with people who liked Eric Stanton comics, Betty Page, Alazar comics, girl-on-girl bondage, and forced lesbian sex.

The first issue was called, "The Bosslady's Buxom Blond Bondage Bitch." (Devin would have laughed at the cheesy alliteration). It was about a prissy yet incredibly hot and sexy heterosexual woman named Devra, who got a job working as a secretary for a cold, calculating lesbian businesswoman, Ms. Benson. The first day on the job, Ms. Benson drugs Devra, has her abducted, and forces her into strict bondage. Later in the story, Ms. Benson ends up hiring two dominatrix/prostitutes to "make love" to Devra, and videotapes the action. Ms. Benson threatens to send the tapes to Devra's boyfriend and family, and blackmails Devra into becoming her bondage bitch. Devra is forced to "work" late into the nights and the bulk of most weekends and is also forced to accompany Ms. Benson on her frequent business and pleasure trips. In the end, Devra's boyfriend dumps her after he is about to kiss her one night and smells pussy on her breath. Devra is so devastated that she starts to see a woman psychiatrist–which leads into the second issue of Devra in Distress: "Hypnotized and Humiliated." During the first session, the psychiatrist hypnotizes Devra, and, well...you get the point.

A new issue of Devra in Distress was published every successive month thereafter. After a year, Devra in Distress developed a huge following across the world, especially in Japan, where it became fashionable in the underground world for women and cross-dressers to wear gigantic white satin bows in their hair.

After Devra in Distress had been on the market for two years, the DVDs started to appear. The DVDs contained real-life re-enactments of some of the bondage and forced sex scenes from the comic books . The DVDs became popular. But the woman who played Devra in the movies was such a good actress, and seemed so genuinely humiliated and frustrated with her situations, that many people found the movies too disturbing to handle. For the same reason, many other people found the DVDs to be like Devra: utterly irresistible.

Hardcore Devra in Distress junkies did everything they could to track down the artist who created the comic books and the dazzling blonde starlet who was the main attraction in all the movies. But the comic books and the DVDs had been published anonymously. The books didn't contain any information regarding the artist, and the only credits in the movies said that the blonde was played by Devra Holland.

In Japan, rumors are circulating that a four-movie, 20-disk DVD set is going to come out in the next few years. Supposedly, it will cover, in great detail, four important situations in Devra's life. The movies will be called, "Fucked and Framed," "Jailed, Jammed, and Jaded," "The Fragrance of Female Fertility: Devra in Red," and "Pounded, Pouting, and Pregnant." (And only the few true insiders know the names of the final few titles in the entire series: "Heterosexuality Lost: Learning to Love Lesbianism," "Bondage Bitch in Black," and "Seduction, Sale, Slavery, and Surrender in Red Satin.")

It is said that only one person has seen the original Devra in Distress book from cover to cover: a young, pretty woman by the name of Becky. Strangely enough, "Becky" disappeared just last year, when the rumor mill was in full force; after her disappearance, no new information has come out on the Devra in Distress series (other than the regular monthly issue). In the latest issue of Devra in Distress, there is a five- page teaser added on to the end of the comic book, which previews a new series called Becky in Bondage. The first several DVDs (covering over five years) are going to be called: "From Filthy Ritch Boy, to Bondage Bitch Toy;" "Gagged, Grounded, Girly, and Gaining (in the hips, breasts and ass)"; "Hypnotized, Hormoned, and Hampered by Dr. Cole," "Hot, Horny, Hogtied, and Horribly Heterosexual;" "Fucking and Sucking," and "Three Input Gal." It sounds rather interesting.

It is now July 2005. Devra has approximately seven years left in the comic book. And then her fate will be in the hands of Alexandra Tioga.

  

  

  

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