A Place to Stay – Dress Rehearsals

[Terri]

A Place to Stay – Dress Rehearsals

While Number 28 was being transported to what would become his new
home, in a live broadcast studio high atop the remote mountains in an
undisclosed location in Central America, his “Mumsie” and “Aunt Wendy”
readied the papers necessary for their much anticipated IPO. The soon-
to-be born Internet Giant, and newest interactive “family-oriented”
social network, The Room, would have its inaugural debut on lucky,
February 29, 2012. This date, foretold by soothsayers for centuries as
the true beginning of the Next Millennium, would be fortunate for the
two co-founders and business partners, Fiona and Wendy. It would not
be so fortunate for their misfortunate and incapacitated son and
nephew, Number 28. The concept for the new interactive, live-fed
network, complete with News, Games, Private Messaging, Global
Chatrooms, Photo Albums, Motion Picture Archives, and every other
feature of the most successful websites available to “families” was
simple. Number 28, their “natural born” adult son and nephew, had
volunteered his services in the hopes that live feeds of his
Challenges, themselves born by Tweets and voting privileges from paid
subscribers and shareholders in the venture, would help to bring
worldwide understanding to the often misunderstood world of BDSM.
Here, for the first time, a willing sub, would enact the agonies and
anguish of a troubled masochistic and dominated and fully disciplined
sub for the entertainment of millions round-the-clock. Of course, the
binding legal disclaimers, buried in the small print of those often
clicked and seldom read “Agreements” to access the new Network's
content, proudly upheld that “no humans or animals were, are or would
be harmed in any way during the production or in archival photographs
or video streamed films or in any live feed depicting the misery of a
bound and muzzled sub. All actors or actresses are over the age of
eighteen, and records to that effect were available for the asking by
writing an email to the studio's producers.” During the initiation of
the Network, and the course of its existence as a worldwide phenomena,
no one, repeat “NO ONE”, ever emailed the producers asking for proof
that Number 28, or soon to be added, Sister Sandi, were older than the
age of eighteen.

To fully prepare the archives for the viewers who did not want, at
that very moment, to see the live feeds,, but instead wanted to peruse
the thousands of hours of historical “fantasies” endured by Number 28,
Fiona and Wendy had been filming their tortures of Number 28 in the
studio, as unknowing employees of the Studio and Network documented,
photographed, filmed and edited the young man as he “acted out the
part” of the helpless and frightened son and nephew of “Mumsie and
Aunt Wendy”. They did not realize, or care for that matter, that
Number 28 was really being tortured in the “supposed and proposed
fantasies of the two and the Tweeted suggestions of fans who had
already purchased advanced premium memberships of the enterprise. Soon
enough, retail stores online and in shopping malls around the Earth
would carry merchandise similar to those insanely mad birds who fly
themselves into pigs' sties on another wildly popular online and
telephonic game. Number 28 hats, shirts, posable dolls, board games,
etc. would be sold in addition to the stock offerings, interactive
memberships, and voting rights that had already netted the two wicked,
no, demonic women a cool $30,000,000 in gross sales before Number
28's “birth day” of February 29.

For weeks, the two had filmed the poor boy being examined by evil
nurses and doctors in medical rooms, playing BDSM games under the
control of his Mumsie and Aunt Wendy in their bedroom, his bedroom,
their basement, their “torture chamber”, etc. He had undergone severe
and long enema fillings and retentions. He had endured the most
satanic sexual rituals at the hands of Grand Inquisitors and Gestapo
agents. His perpetually hardened cock had been douched with the most
caustic liquids and pastes. His ass had been whipped by witches until
it was barely recognizable, then he was lowered into cauldrons of
progressively more blistering and corrosive fluids as they were boiled
over open wooden flames. He had had live animals and insects inserted
where the sun doesn't shine – front and back – snakes, lizards, wasps,
Army ants, live piranhas, toads, mice, rats, gerbils, you name it.
Fiona and Wendy had not only acted the parts of “Mumsie and Aunt
Wendy”, but they had enjoyed torturing the boy as immoral nuns,
sadistic teachers, sorority sisters, femdom mistresses, police
officers, jailers, and priestesses.

Now the stage had been set for Number 28's Internet birth and complete
unveiling as he lay hopelessly tied to an examination table, encased
in a blue rubber sleeve from his head to his feet, save for his eyes
that had been glued to their obscenely wide openings in the outfit's
hood, his nasal passages which had been stuffed with Q-Tips to cause
the poor boy abject misery as he struggled to breathe, and his
constantly open and fully accessible cock and ass. Otherwise, as he
was strapped to the table and surrounded by a couple gowned and masked
nurses while his Mumsie and Aunt Wendy watched, Number 28 was ready to
be “born”.

“Lights, cameras, ACTION!” shouted the director of the Internet's
newest website itself came alive and the nurses wheeled in cart after
cart of metal and vegetative sounds, enema bags and nozzles, pin
cushions and syringes, anoscopes and proctoscopes, urethrascopes and
specula. A boiling pot looked as if it held plaster and from its top
extended strips of gauze that appeared to be being readied to cast the
poor boy's only available appendage!

The servers went crazy with Tweets and live messages from viewers,
paid subscribers and stockholders demanding the poor boy be probed to
within an inch of his pitiful life.

“What would you like to see happen to Number 28?” was all that was
asked by the producer. The servers were overwhelmed by responses. What
request would yours have been?

Meanwhile, one of the early adopters and principal shareholders, a
woman only known to the Board of Directors as “Terrible Terri” had
bypassed the servers entirely and asked the nurses to “splay him open
like a frog on a dissecting tray, then fill that bladder with
undiluted and unsweetened grapefruit juice, stuff his urethra with the
thorny stem of a red rose while its flowered head extends out his
glans, all the while his rectum is stuffed with those tiny, sharp pine
cones – STUFFED, I SAY!” Terri demanded. “AND HELD FOR THE NEXT FOUR
HOURS! OR ELSE!”

The Room, and more appropriately Number 28's infamy, was born.

The ticker tape-like banner across the website simply read over and
over again, “What do you want to see happen to Number 28, while we
track down and secure his Sister Sandi for her punishments at Mumsie's
and Aunt Wendy's hands?”

Well, what request would yours have been? Speak up now. The producers
are listening and eager to satisfy your sickest and most perverted
BDSM cravings.

Well?