A Place to Stay – The Invisible Man
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Terri
Feb 17, 2012, 2:21:19 PM2/17/12
to Augustine Art
A Place to Stay – The Invisible Man
As Wendy flew in from Seattle, Fiona brought Adam with her to the
airport fresh from his “afternoon at the spa”, which under ordinary
circumstances would have been most pleasant and relaxing. However, for
Adam, his descent into hell continued as he was stripped of his tiny
miniskirt and corset and his wig was placed on a dummy, while he was
bound to the electrolysis table. As dozens of eager women worked to
first wax off all of Adam's hair, dozens of other women – employees
and patrons alike – gathered around the poor boy to watch his ordeal.
Once his hair was waxed off, Fiona had decided that he should have
every single hair removed from the top of his head to his toes from
his chest to his calves, from his cock and balls to his anus. She
wanted the workers to employ the most uncomfortable, downright
painful, method possible to extract every living hair and to turn the
boy into a bald, hairless alien.
Using the old-fashioned electric wire method instead of tweezers or
chemical depilatories, each follicle was first probed then electrofied
so that the hair was burned out of its pore. One by one, inc by inch,
hair by hair, Adam squirmed in his bonds as the women exacted the most
cruel method of hair extraction possible and his squeals of misery
delighted each and every one of them. Once he was bare, the women
rubbed his open pores with rubbing alcohol, nominally to cleanse him,
but in truth to allow the burning fluid to enter each and every pore
of his body in one final torture at their hands.
Adam could not and would not stop them as they tormented him and
created a perfectly bare boy. He wanted the relationship, the
partnership, the chance for fame and fortune that Fiona and Wendy had
promised. All he had to do was be a “good boy” for his Mumsie and Aunt
Wendy for a week of their testing to prove him suitable to work with
them. Actually, Adam would be working “under' them in more ways than
met the eye.
Allowed to put back on his bright pink mini skirt, Britney Spears pink
camisole corset, bright red wig and strap-up sandals, Fiona took the
poor humiliated and now bare-as-a-baby's-bottom boy to the airport to
meet his Aunt Wendy for the very first time. Although she seemed sweet
and adorable, sexy and intelligent in her photograph, Wendy was a
demonic and sadistic woman, who studied the torture rites of the
Incas, Nazis, and every “civilization” and tribal culture in between
to root out the most effect and atrocious methods to torture a man
sexually within an inch of his death, then bring him back to life for
more. If she could have earned a Ph.D. in Torture, she would have it
and serve as a consultant on the subject.
Wendy's skills as a seductress and manipulative mistress were
legendary in the Pacific Northwest. Soon, her skills would be known
worldwide with hers and Fiona's launch of their BDSM Internet platform
and Incest website. Soon thousands of patrons would be logged onto
their website to observe Adam, heretofore to be recognized only as
Number 28, as he would suffer at Wendy's and Fiona's hands. Every
request would be logged and voted on in terms of the most expedient
way to deliver it and each vote for either “favorites” or “new
techniques” would generate hundreds of thousands of dollars for the
two women. Each day, the torture earning the most votes in a weighted
scoring matrix would be played out from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. EST. Those
unable to be signed on during those four hours would have access to
recorded sessions and archives of the Best of Number 28.
Number 29 tried to hide in the busy airport behind his Mumsie, but she
forced him out into the open with every opportunity. His short, super-
small child's skirt did nothing to disguise his hairless ass or his
engorged and now bare cock. The metallic red wig only made him stand
out even more than he already did with his outfit and ankle to thigh
lace-up sandals.
As Wendy came through the Gate, Fiona made Number 28 hold up a huge
sign over his head, which only forced his cock and ass to be fully
exposed. The sign read simply, “Aunt Wendy. It's me. Your Big Boy.
Take me. I'm yours and Mumsie's.” Number 28 cringed at what it said,
at what it implied, at his unprotected nudity.
When Wendy came down the ramp and saw her partner, Fiona, they hugged
and exchanged a long tongue-on-tongue kiss that would have resulted in
an X-rating for a motion picture. Then Wendy went over to Number 28
and slapped him on his ass, then lifting up his skirt so everyone
around them could see, she let out a wolf whistle that just drew more
attention to Number 28's horned-up Super Dog.
“Let's get going, Fiona. Where are we headed?”
“Oh, we're in for a long walk down to Baggage Handling on the other
side of the airport, then back over to this side to get the shuttle to
our car. Number 28, loves walking in those high heels and its hard to
tell if the males or the females like watching him more as he struts
around in that get-up.”
“Oh, poor Number 28. Will you let Aunt Wendy play with you in the back
seat while Mumsie drives you home? I'll be gentle.”
Number 28 looked at his Mumsie for approval and getting her nod, he
acknowledged his Aunt Wendy's request.
“Oh, Aunt Wendy will be gentle with you alright, Number 28. As gentle
as a boa strangling a boar. As gentle as a rattlesnake sinking its
teeth into its victim over and over again. As gentle as a flock of
buzzards hovering over a carcass. You get the picture, Number 28? Want
us to drop you off in downtown Newark or leave you on the streets in
Queens, or do you accept anything and everything Aunt Wendy wants to
do to you?” said Fiona.
“I'll do anything Aunt Wendy or Mumsie want me to do – anything.”
“Then, let's take a walk to the baggage return and have Number 28
carry your luggage. I hope that his skirt doesn't fall down, or he'll
be in a really sticky situation.”
Number 28 was in for the ride of his life that night as the two women
would secure his ankles to the headrests behind him as he was strapped
with handcuffs on his wrists behind him into the center of the back
seat of the Mercedes. Their frequent stops to inquire about
directions, stops in busy parking lots, stops on the expressway rest
areas and sorority-like antics would make Number 28's night a “long”
and overly “exposed” one.
Tired beyond tired, when Number 28 arrived “home”, he was tied into a
chair in Fiona's playroom. His girlish clothes were cut from him and
Wendy admired the hair removal skills employed by the spa workers.
Bare from top to bottom, Number 28's head was coated with a
“lubricant” according to his Aunt Wendy and a tight blue rubber hood
was pulled over him. The hood allowed his eyes to be seen, and there
were two small nostril holes for air passage. But there were no ear
holes and through the thick rubber he could hear nothing being
discussed by his Mumsie and Aunt Wendy. The mouthpiece, a small hole
covered by a rubber flap that could be secured like a hatch or left
open was the only other part of his face visible, but only when it was
allowed to be opened for his “feedings”.
Number 28 would not realize until it was much too late that the
“lubricant” that his Aunt Wendy had swore would help to ease the hood
on his head was actually a super-strong surgical adhesive that would
seal the blue rubber hood in place and permanently attach it to his
head. Number 28 was now unrecognizable. The addition of bright green
contact lenses disguised him further so that no one looking at him
would ever be able to tell who he was in real life. This was his new
“real life”.
“Lubricant” was smeared all over Number 28's chest and back and arms,
and a thick blue rubber Body Armor-like top was pulled over his head
and glued to his torso. His arms were encased in the blue rubber
sleeves and his hands were “lubricated” and sealed inside matching
blue rubber mittens. From now and for the rest of his life, Number 28
would never grip a fork or a pencil or scratch an itch. He was encased
completely from his navel up. His legs were coated with “lubricant”
and thick blue rubber leggings were slid up and glued to him. His feet
were encased in round rubber balls the size of bowling balls. Thick
blue rubber straps held his ankles, knees and thighs together, as
similar straps held his wrists, elbows and biceps together tightly
behind his back.
Only Number 28's cock and ass were visible and openly accessible. He
had become invisible. The Invisible Man. He did not exist any more. He
had become a complete and total boy toy – Fiona's and Wendy's,
Mumsie's and Aunt Wendy's.
Although there would be many tortures tried out on Number 28 that
week, he was fully positioned for his new role as “silent partner” in
the women's Internet BDSM games which were scheduled to begin on
February 29, Number 28's “birthday”.
As Wendy flew in from Seattle, Fiona brought Adam with her to the
airport fresh from his “afternoon at the spa”, which under ordinary
circumstances would have been most pleasant and relaxing. However, for
Adam, his descent into hell continued as he was stripped of his tiny
miniskirt and corset and his wig was placed on a dummy, while he was
bound to the electrolysis table. As dozens of eager women worked to
first wax off all of Adam's hair, dozens of other women – employees
and patrons alike – gathered around the poor boy to watch his ordeal.
Once his hair was waxed off, Fiona had decided that he should have
every single hair removed from the top of his head to his toes from
his chest to his calves, from his cock and balls to his anus. She
wanted the workers to employ the most uncomfortable, downright
painful, method possible to extract every living hair and to turn the
boy into a bald, hairless alien.
Using the old-fashioned electric wire method instead of tweezers or
chemical depilatories, each follicle was first probed then electrofied
so that the hair was burned out of its pore. One by one, inc by inch,
hair by hair, Adam squirmed in his bonds as the women exacted the most
cruel method of hair extraction possible and his squeals of misery
delighted each and every one of them. Once he was bare, the women
rubbed his open pores with rubbing alcohol, nominally to cleanse him,
but in truth to allow the burning fluid to enter each and every pore
of his body in one final torture at their hands.
Adam could not and would not stop them as they tormented him and
created a perfectly bare boy. He wanted the relationship, the
partnership, the chance for fame and fortune that Fiona and Wendy had
promised. All he had to do was be a “good boy” for his Mumsie and Aunt
Wendy for a week of their testing to prove him suitable to work with
them. Actually, Adam would be working “under' them in more ways than
met the eye.
Allowed to put back on his bright pink mini skirt, Britney Spears pink
camisole corset, bright red wig and strap-up sandals, Fiona took the
poor humiliated and now bare-as-a-baby's-bottom boy to the airport to
meet his Aunt Wendy for the very first time. Although she seemed sweet
and adorable, sexy and intelligent in her photograph, Wendy was a
demonic and sadistic woman, who studied the torture rites of the
Incas, Nazis, and every “civilization” and tribal culture in between
to root out the most effect and atrocious methods to torture a man
sexually within an inch of his death, then bring him back to life for
more. If she could have earned a Ph.D. in Torture, she would have it
and serve as a consultant on the subject.
Wendy's skills as a seductress and manipulative mistress were
legendary in the Pacific Northwest. Soon, her skills would be known
worldwide with hers and Fiona's launch of their BDSM Internet platform
and Incest website. Soon thousands of patrons would be logged onto
their website to observe Adam, heretofore to be recognized only as
Number 28, as he would suffer at Wendy's and Fiona's hands. Every
request would be logged and voted on in terms of the most expedient
way to deliver it and each vote for either “favorites” or “new
techniques” would generate hundreds of thousands of dollars for the
two women. Each day, the torture earning the most votes in a weighted
scoring matrix would be played out from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. EST. Those
unable to be signed on during those four hours would have access to
recorded sessions and archives of the Best of Number 28.
Number 29 tried to hide in the busy airport behind his Mumsie, but she
forced him out into the open with every opportunity. His short, super-
small child's skirt did nothing to disguise his hairless ass or his
engorged and now bare cock. The metallic red wig only made him stand
out even more than he already did with his outfit and ankle to thigh
lace-up sandals.
As Wendy came through the Gate, Fiona made Number 28 hold up a huge
sign over his head, which only forced his cock and ass to be fully
exposed. The sign read simply, “Aunt Wendy. It's me. Your Big Boy.
Take me. I'm yours and Mumsie's.” Number 28 cringed at what it said,
at what it implied, at his unprotected nudity.
When Wendy came down the ramp and saw her partner, Fiona, they hugged
and exchanged a long tongue-on-tongue kiss that would have resulted in
an X-rating for a motion picture. Then Wendy went over to Number 28
and slapped him on his ass, then lifting up his skirt so everyone
around them could see, she let out a wolf whistle that just drew more
attention to Number 28's horned-up Super Dog.
“Let's get going, Fiona. Where are we headed?”
“Oh, we're in for a long walk down to Baggage Handling on the other
side of the airport, then back over to this side to get the shuttle to
our car. Number 28, loves walking in those high heels and its hard to
tell if the males or the females like watching him more as he struts
around in that get-up.”
“Oh, poor Number 28. Will you let Aunt Wendy play with you in the back
seat while Mumsie drives you home? I'll be gentle.”
Number 28 looked at his Mumsie for approval and getting her nod, he
acknowledged his Aunt Wendy's request.
“Oh, Aunt Wendy will be gentle with you alright, Number 28. As gentle
as a boa strangling a boar. As gentle as a rattlesnake sinking its
teeth into its victim over and over again. As gentle as a flock of
buzzards hovering over a carcass. You get the picture, Number 28? Want
us to drop you off in downtown Newark or leave you on the streets in
Queens, or do you accept anything and everything Aunt Wendy wants to
do to you?” said Fiona.
“I'll do anything Aunt Wendy or Mumsie want me to do – anything.”
“Then, let's take a walk to the baggage return and have Number 28
carry your luggage. I hope that his skirt doesn't fall down, or he'll
be in a really sticky situation.”
Number 28 was in for the ride of his life that night as the two women
would secure his ankles to the headrests behind him as he was strapped
with handcuffs on his wrists behind him into the center of the back
seat of the Mercedes. Their frequent stops to inquire about
directions, stops in busy parking lots, stops on the expressway rest
areas and sorority-like antics would make Number 28's night a “long”
and overly “exposed” one.
Tired beyond tired, when Number 28 arrived “home”, he was tied into a
chair in Fiona's playroom. His girlish clothes were cut from him and
Wendy admired the hair removal skills employed by the spa workers.
Bare from top to bottom, Number 28's head was coated with a
“lubricant” according to his Aunt Wendy and a tight blue rubber hood
was pulled over him. The hood allowed his eyes to be seen, and there
were two small nostril holes for air passage. But there were no ear
holes and through the thick rubber he could hear nothing being
discussed by his Mumsie and Aunt Wendy. The mouthpiece, a small hole
covered by a rubber flap that could be secured like a hatch or left
open was the only other part of his face visible, but only when it was
allowed to be opened for his “feedings”.
Number 28 would not realize until it was much too late that the
“lubricant” that his Aunt Wendy had swore would help to ease the hood
on his head was actually a super-strong surgical adhesive that would
seal the blue rubber hood in place and permanently attach it to his
head. Number 28 was now unrecognizable. The addition of bright green
contact lenses disguised him further so that no one looking at him
would ever be able to tell who he was in real life. This was his new
“real life”.
“Lubricant” was smeared all over Number 28's chest and back and arms,
and a thick blue rubber Body Armor-like top was pulled over his head
and glued to his torso. His arms were encased in the blue rubber
sleeves and his hands were “lubricated” and sealed inside matching
blue rubber mittens. From now and for the rest of his life, Number 28
would never grip a fork or a pencil or scratch an itch. He was encased
completely from his navel up. His legs were coated with “lubricant”
and thick blue rubber leggings were slid up and glued to him. His feet
were encased in round rubber balls the size of bowling balls. Thick
blue rubber straps held his ankles, knees and thighs together, as
similar straps held his wrists, elbows and biceps together tightly
behind his back.
Only Number 28's cock and ass were visible and openly accessible. He
had become invisible. The Invisible Man. He did not exist any more. He
had become a complete and total boy toy – Fiona's and Wendy's,
Mumsie's and Aunt Wendy's.
Although there would be many tortures tried out on Number 28 that
week, he was fully positioned for his new role as “silent partner” in
the women's Internet BDSM games which were scheduled to begin on
February 29, Number 28's “birthday”.
Adam
Feb 18, 2012, 5:40:42 PM2/18/12
to august...@googlegroups.com
So, this is it - Adam is gone, and his shell has a new role as a product, a commodity, a fictional character. It is the end of my existence.
Except...
I do still exist! My consciousness is still of this world, and is now permanently sealed within the body of No. 28, which was my own once, but doesn't belong to me any more. But it's still attached to my mind! I'm still in here - trapped for the rest of my life.
From now, all I can do is lie back...and experience the intense sensations being force fed to me! This is the greatest moment of my life!
Terri Powell
Feb 18, 2012, 8:41:11 PM2/18/12
to august...@googlegroups.com
I always liked those blue-rubber outfits that Augustine drew a while back. I knew they'd come in handy again.
Now, if only Augustine would do Number 28 justice with his art!
Date: Sat, 18 Feb 2012 14:40:42 -0800
From: adamr...@gmail.com
To: august...@googlegroups.com
Subject: Re: A Place to Stay – The Invisible Man
Date: Sat, 18 Feb 2012 14:40:42 -0800
From: adamr...@gmail.com
To: august...@googlegroups.com
Subject: Re: A Place to Stay – The Invisible Man
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