The club sounded interesting and private. No one outside would know that she
had been there. Besides, she had never given the Chatroomgirls her real name.
What could go wrong? They hadn't even asked her for money to join. She followed
directions to the club and found it in a quiet but clean industrial area.
The cotton smock was clean, starched and was a little snug but she squeezed
into it. She checked out how she looked in the mirror. The snug smock looked
good on her butt and boobs and was very simple, almost like something in a
women's prison movie or a medical fetish nurse’s dress. It matched the cell
theme she thought.
Once again she checked herself out in the mirror. How would she look
struggling? Like a maiden in distress. She leaned back against the chain and
looked in the mirror. She was thrilled by her imprisonment which was
getting more difficult by the minute. Her excited breathing was making her breasts
move against the stiff fabric of the smock. The last bondage equipment in the
cabinet was a heavy canvas bag and a heavy pair of wrist manacles.
"One crowded hour of glorious life
is worth an age without a name."
Walter Scott
Overwhelmed with emotion and ecstasy she felt another orgasm while struggling,
lunging and writhing her way through the crowd in her chains. Breathing heavily
in the hood she could see nothing.
The doors opened and she went out alone into the night air. All the cars were
gone. The streets were empty and quiet. She looked back at the featureless
building and then walked home.