Cheryls long night - The Dream
Copyright Bound Jenny


Warning! This story might contain activities that might not be suitable in selfbondage. Please play safe.

As promised, here is the dream referred to in Cheryl's Long Night. It happens between the time Cheryl passes out, tied to her torture table, and when she regains consciousness later that night.

Through a groggy haze, Cheryl felt that she was still tightlaced, collared and gagged. But there was more to her restraints. She felt her arms were pulled severely back, and held fast behind her, and her legs were pinned together. But she was warm, enveloped in a soft blanket, and comfortable. A gentle voice prodded her awake.
"Mistress Cheryl, it is time to rise."
She opened her eyes, and shut them again against the light of morning. She had glimpsed a young woman before her, in some kind of servant's uniform dress, dark green with an immaculate white apron, and a maid's bonnet. "You must get up, Mistress Cheryl. You are expected at breakfast, and we must ready you."
Cheryl's eyes finally adjusted enough to open and focus on her companion. She was youngish, maybe not even older than Cheryl herself, who was twenty-three. The servant was also tightlaced, as evidenced by the small waist over the wide skirt. She looked like someone from a Victorian period movie. Though she was somewhat worried about her predicament, Cheryl didn't conclude to some kind of danger. The girl didn't seem threatening, and even looked concerned for her well-being. It must have been Jennifer who arranged this. So she played along.
The downy comforter that she was wrapped in was unzipped, revealing the deliciously bound Cheryl within. She was resting on an inclined board, which had a cavity to comfortably hold the arms of someone who was confined in a monoglove. There were two other servants standing by, and both of them had bridle-like harnesses attached to their heads, with bright red balls held in their mouths. Cheryl smiled faintly. If this was Jennifer's doing, and it had her trademark twistedness, she really must have gone to great lengths. She had said that Cheryl had another birthday present coming, but remained elusive as to what it was, but the spark in her eyes told of something special.
Cheryl met Jennifer two years earlier, at a Victorian exposition in a museum, while on a vacation trip. Cheryl was standing in front of a mannequin dressed up in a beautiful ball gown, laced down tighter than anything she had imagined. She stared dreamy-eyed at the display when Jennifer came up and opened the conversation. Later they found out they were from the same town, and made fast friends. Since then, they had discovered their common passion for self-bondage, and had practically become sisters.
The maid helped her up and onto her feet, after some kind of ankle-training devices were removed; they had maintained her feet in a en-pointe position during the night, clamped tightly together. Some knee-high silk stockings were pulled on, and attached to the bottom of her long, knee-length corset, followed by some ankle-length ballet-heeled boots, laced up tightly. She saw herself in the mirror, after the servants gently turned her around, and was excited and aroused by the sight.
Then, the collar came off. It was replaced with something less heavy, but just as tight and restrictive. A sort of neck corset, closed at the front and laced at the back, with frilly white lace around the edges, very pretty. Cheryl decided she liked that very much. It didn't strangle her, but it held her neck in a very pleasant, almost erotic manner. Her head was held delicately and proudly erect, almost aristocratically. She started shivering in delight.
"Please, Mistress Cheryl, control yourself. You must behave like a respectable lady today. You are to be presented to some guests." Cheryl could barely keep herself from giggling in her gag. Their act was very sincere, though it was humorous, at least to her.
The gag came off, and after Cheryl worked her jaw back into working order, she asked, casually, with an amused tone, "I suppose Jennifer put you up to this?" The two other servants looked nervous all of a sudden, and the young one who could speak answered, in a hushed tone, "The Duchess is in charge of you until you're twenty-five, or when married off. She arranges everything. Respect that, or your life will be that of a servant, not a noblewoman with power and respect." Either these girls were good actresses, or something was strange here. And who was this Duchess? From their reaction, it must have been Jennifer. That reassured her, and she continued playing along. In any case, up to now, Cheryl was enjoying herself quite nicely!
Another head harness was put on, which had no gag, but was more elaborate, decorated. There was a ball on a short strap on a table nearby, and it matched the new harness. Cheryl chanced a question, "Who will be present, today, ummm... Miss?" "Some very important people, rich and powerful. You may address me as Caldwell, Mistress Cheryl. I am your servant and that's the way servants are addressed, as you well know." the girl named Caldwell said nervously as she measured Cheryl's waist with a tape. She then put her hands around the small waist and pressed hard.
She momentarily walked away, leaving Cheryl with the two mute servants steadying her. She could hear a phone receiver lifted. "Yes, Duchess? This is Caldwell. Mistress Cheryl's waist is now sixteen and a half inches... Yes, Duchess, I can squeeze easily with my hands. Her neck? I tightened the neck corset to contact... Sixteen inches, Duchess? Yes, Duchess. And I think her arms could be pulled back a little more. They seem a little loose... Yes, Duchess. Thank you, Duchess." The phone was returned to its cradle. In the mirror, she saw Caldwell nodding at the two mutes, one of which held her steady as the other began undoing the knot in the small of her back. Caldwell took the now loose laces and pulled them taut, while the second servant pulled Cheryl's monogloved arms up and out of the way, in strappado fashion.
Cheryl gasped and said, "Easy!" As Caldwell strained to pull the laces, aiming for another half inch off the waist, she replied between grunts, "If Mistress Cheryl wishes to gain power and fortune, her corset must be tight and her restraints fast! Garrett, hold her well. On the count of three: one,two, three-PULL!" The extra half inch was squeezed out of Cheryl's waist, with three powerful pulls, with a corresponding increase in pressure along the entire corset. Cheryl was gasping, "I said easy!". Caldwell nodded at the ball gag on the table, and Garrett fetched it. She thrust it quickly into Cheryl's mouth and clicked the straps onto the harness that was on her head. She started to find it less amusing now, though she decided that in her current predicament, it would be useless, if not dangerous, to resist. In any case, if it was part of Jennifer's game...
Caldwell instructed the two mute servants to help her pull Cheryl's shoulders back. Bracing themselves, they started by pulling the straps holding the shoulders back even tighter. Then Caldwell took the laces that regulated the tightness of the monoglove and pulled them hard, pressing Cheryl's arms even closer together, her elbows almost touching. The strain and pressure were both distressing and stimulating. She breathed hard and fast in her tight corset, her eyes wide, the exposed part of her breasts heaving up and down. "Calm down, Mistress Cheryl. You do not want to overstress yourself." That was easy for her to say, she thought.
The laces on the lower part of her long corset were slightly tightened, pressing the legs together solidly. "I think she's ready." Caldwell said, examining her charge. "We will now dress her properly."
A half dozen ankle-length petticoats were wrapped around her legs. Then a specially adapted camisole, with a single wide sleeve in the back, was put on. It was frilly and smooth, silky white, but tight-fitting. Then a blouse, with the same single sleeve behind, buttoned up the front, with a high collar that concealed the neck corset, save for the lacy frilling. Every wrinkle was smoothed out as the garments were adjusted. Her hair was arranged by one of the mutes, while the other and Caldwell prepared the skirt and a jacket.
The skirt was carefully draped over her petticoats, ensuring that no lumps or other asymmettries were visible. It had a short train, properly said a train balayeuse, like some skirts worn in the late 1870s and early 1880s. It was very pretty, in its light reddish coffee-brown color. The jacket matched the skirt, and was likewise fitted with a single sleeve in the back. It was tightened around her, smoothed down, tightened again, to extract the maximum advantage of her tightly constricted body. It had to be perfectly conforming, no wrinkles, no lumps.
As the three servants tended to the details of her attire, Cheryl gazed upon the view in the mirror. The image reflected was no less than a bondage goddess. Her tiny waist defined the boundary between the wide skirt that concealed her legs, save for a luscious hint of the ballet heels at the bottom, and the upper body, which was in itself a masterpiece of beauty. Her arms were so tightly pinned behind her as to be invisible from the front, and her shoulders pulled so far back that the line down to her tightlaced chest and waist was a perfect, straight V. Her bosom protruded prominently, both from the upward push of the brutally tight corset, and the forward thrusting action produced by the shoulders being pinned so far back. The curving neckline of the jacket, exposing the immaculate white blouse, brought the eye down to the bust. Over that was the exquisitely slender neck, tightly braced in that lovely neck corset, crowned by a head that was held daintily erect, her hair arranged to frame her lovely, ballgagged face. Every single curve, line, seam, strap, the very cut of the clothes, made Cheryl look transcendentally beautiful, a bound and tightlaced Venus.
Despite the tight constriction, the huge strain on her arms and shoulders, her tightly pinned
legs, her precarious posture, nay, because of all that, Cheryl felt a rush of exhilaration. She had daydreamed before of such beauty, such absolute entrapment, utter helplessness, all the while being tended to by maids and servants... She drew a deep breath that made the formidable corset creak, and strained sensually against all her fetterments. She almost climaxed when a fine gold chain was attached to a small ring on her neck corset, under the blouse's collar. She was smiling, her white teeth framing the lovely fuschia ball in her mouth, eyes bright, heart pounding, trembling with sheer delight.
Caldwell noted this, and smiled faintly, satisfied. "Come along, Mistress Cheryl. You must be punctual for breakfast."
The long hobble from her bedroom to the meal hall took fifteen minutes. Cheryl was exhausted, but enjoying every second of it. Never could she have ever imagined that her dreams were coming true! The creaking of the corset with every tiny step. The clicking sound of her ballet heels on the hardwood floor. The shuffling and rustling sounds from her skirt. The subtle scent of lilac from the perfume. The pressure of the restraining garments over her entire body. Every one of her senses was being tickled to heavenly bliss. Even the decor of the mansion was to her liking: Victorian style, tasteful, sober, and quiet save for the echoes of high heels on hard wood down the long corridors.
Finally, the procession arrived in the hall were breakfast was to be served. Since she could not sit, Cheryl was strapped to a decorated post near the table. She wondered how she was to feed herself, bound as she was. A purple satin and lace blindfold was put on her.
A few moments later, she heard the sound of heels on the hardwood floor, tiny steps like she had taken before, but more practiced. Caldwell's voice was heard.
"Duchess, Mistress Cheryl for your review."
"Did she give you any trouble, Caldwell?" The voice was familiar, very similar to Jennifer's. It held authority and assurance.
"Oh, no, Duchess. She was a little restive during the adjustments of her corsets and bindings, but quite well-behaved." At least Caldwell wasn't up to overstating what had happened. She even mitigated it. The Duchess approached, and stopped within a few feet. Had she not been blindfolded, Cheryl would have seen a sight very similar to her own image in the mirror, earlier. A different dress, lavender in color, over an identically-trussed up body, though the degree of severity was much greater. The Duchess, like Jennifer, was nearly a head taller than petite Cheryl, and that made the incredible tightness and tautness of her bound and constricted body appear even more severe. In addition, the Duchess had breasts that were a size larger than Cheryl's, and projected ahead of her in a most pleasing manner.
"Beloved Cheryl," the Duchess began. "As you know, it was the will of your parents that if they died, you were to be placed in my care until the age of twenty-five, or until you married. You have noble blood in your veins, and I will ensure that it shall not be wasted in menial servitude. You are progressing well in your waist training as well as in restraint training. I may be repeating myself, but you must cooperate, because the tighter your corsets, and the more strict your daily restraints, the better off you can be, marrying high up the social ladder. You will then have power over your husband, influence. You will have servants tending to you hand and foot." The Duchess paused, and saw that Cheryl was in a state of blissful ecstasy.
"You feel right now the power of your body, its beauty, its graceful form. The tighter you constrict and bind yourself, the more it shows how well-to-do you are, and by that you can ensnare a similarly rich man, who will not be able to resist you, and be irresistibly compelled to grant your every wish. That is the power we have, as women." Cheryl was fighting two urges, one to giggle from the elaborate strangeness of the situation, and the other to begin spiraling into a sensual frenzy because of the totally erotic predicament that she was laced, strapped and bound in.
The Duchess leaned fractionally closer, as much as her stiff corset and other accoutrements could allow. Cheryl could hear the creaking of her corset and restraints. Whispering, "I intend that you succeed me one day, my dear child. You have potential, I can see it. Your ability to experience sensual pleasures from being bound and tightlaced will enable you to go very far, just like me. But if you don't cultivate your discipline, your self-control, if you refuse to let yourself be molded and trained, you will never be able to be more than a common servant, never to access the power and fortune that is yours by blood." The Duchess straightened, and perfectly balanced on her own impossible heels, she daintily tip-tapped away, commanding the servants to feed Cheryl her breakfast.
The gag was removed, after a warning from Caldwell to keep quiet and well-behaved. She played along, being fed while still blindfolded. It was strangely pleasant to be fed, tended to, pampered in this way, all the while being bound and crushed in a way that most people would consider sheer torture. If this really was Jennifer's gift, and the "Duchess" seemed to be her, Cheryl really appreciated it, and resolved to let Jennifer know of this once it was over.
The gag was returned to her mouth, and the bound beauty was led to a drawing room, where she was rested on an inclined board similar to the one were she slept. A book was placed in front of her so she could read, and was instructed to nod once when the page was to be turned.
Cheryl read that there was a slight change in the historical timeline. The fashion of tightlacing remained, and over time, other fashions came into being, such as arm binding and long corsets, and progressively higher heels. Naturally, the more fortuned could afford the elaborate corsets and bondage apparel, at least the best quality items, to achieve the tightest possible restriction. And since this state caused the bound beauty to be completely helpless, servants were required. All this denoted status, which increased with the tighter bondage and corsets. All that in addition to the mesmerizing power that the tightest and strictest practitioners had over their men.
As she read on, Cheryl was flabbergasted by the complexity of the whole scenario. But she accepted the whole deal. It was, after all, just a show. Or was it? There was a seed of doubt in her that said it wasn't. How could it be real? If it was, why couldn't she remember any of her past here? She shook herself back to her senses.
After reading a few chapters, obviously a part of her education in the fine art of being a proper 21st-century Victorian Lady, she was given dance lessons - bound and constricted as she was! It was totally exhausting, sometimes even frightening as she teetered precariously on her stiletto heels, trying to avoid falling over with what little freedom of movement her legs, and the rest of her body, were allowed. Caldwell and her girls were there to catch her, though, just in case.
More deportment training, and just before lunch, an adjustment to her corset, down to fifteen and three-quarters inches. Cheryl was bound again to the post in the dining room, and fed by the servants that were assigned to her.
After lunch, her dress was changed, the new clothes of different color and cut, but just as flattering to her tightly restrained figure. The muted stripes were tailored to emphasize the sharp lines. A small chain was attached between her shoes, to restrict her paces further. Cheryl shivered deliciously at the sight of her heavenly reflection in the mirror. Again, the two words appeared in her mind: bondage goddess.
Caldwell announced that Cheryl was to take a walk in the garden, outside.
To get down from the upper floor, an elevator was used, but it was only large enough to fit Cheryl's bound form. Caldwell and her two gagged assistants took an adjacent stairwell after securing their charge in the lift, and sending it down.
Once released from the elevator's narrow cage, Cheryl was led down another corridor to a door leading to the grounds behind the mansion. Meticulously maintained, it was an exemplar of a proper Victorian garden. Other servants were tending to the grounds, some harnessed to small carts for hauling tools and garden supplies. A few were even clothed only in a latex body suit, with a full ponygirl harness!
It all was so real. The seed of doubt in her mind, planted earlier, grew somewhat. Maybe Jennifer paid for Cheryl's stay here, but she couldn't have organized it all. It was just too elaborate, too complex. Cheryl tried to remember if she had heard of a place like this, a Victorian bondage resort, but came up blank. Some of the people she had seen could have been other customers, others being employees. She decided to concentrate on the delicious sights and sounds that enveloped her.
Maybe an hour into the walk, done in steps of two or three inches, resting often, they arrived at the far end of the garden. The grounds continued on, and in the distance, maybe a hundred yards away, she could see someone bound to a post, alone. She could just see that it was a female servant, by the dress. Cheryl stopped and nodded her head in that direction, since she was still gagged. Caldwell understood, and explained.
"That is one the Duchess' servants. She was very delinquent in her duties to the Duchess, and is being punished by being bound very tightly to that post, the ropes pulled with the strength of our two strongest footmen. She has been there since last evening, and is due to be released in a few hours. No one has been there more than once." Cheryl wondered what it would feel like, to be tied that tightly, for so long. Probably so painful that she wouldn't want to try it again. She felt conflicted inside, part of her sensually desiring to suffer that predicament, the other wanting to avoid it. Caldwell urged her along.
Two hours of walking precariously on ballet heels, restricted to tiny steps because of the corset, which also crushed her waist down to less than sixteen inches, let alone the immense pressure on her rib cage, was more than exhausting. She was glad to return to the mansion, but instead of returning to her quarters, she was led to another room, on the ground floor. It was about two o'clock.
This room was very elaborately decorated, femininely decorated. It was a dressing room, with racks and racks of lovely dresses, petticoats, frilly things, and one whole wall of corsets. In the center of the room was a low, long bench with straps and strange mechanisms on it.
"We will prepare you for tonight's reception." Caldwell said, and she nodded to her two mute companions. One left the room, while the other assisted Caldwell in removing Cheryl's dress and undergarments. Before the other returned, she was down to her corset and monoglove. She could feel the laces behind her being untied, and fingers working to loosen her corset gradually, one inch at at time. Cheryl knew that being released too suddenly after being constricted for so long in such a tight grip would cause acute lancing pain in her ribs and belly.
While they left Cheryl to adjust to the slightly looser corset, they started loosening the monoglove in a similar manner, to allow the shoulders to readapt to freedom one small bit at a time. Caldwell told her to move her shoulders a bit, to help the readaptation process. The second gagged maid returned with two more silenced maids, pushing a large wheeled basin filled with steaming water. One of the two held a small bin containing soap and washcloths.
Once they had removed Cheryl's corset and other restraints, and her undergarments, they urged her to the toilet, with a warning not to inhale too deeply. When she reemerged, relieved, they proceeded to place her in a standing spread-eagle with her wrists in cuffs hanging from the ceiling. Thus exposed, they washed her body thoroughly, with a scented soap. Her hair was washed with great care, and the tangles combed out. After rubbing her entire body with a lotion, and perfuming with an exquisitely sensual scent, the servants released Cheryl from the spread-eagle and began dressing her anew. The two mute servants who arrived with the wash basin left.
A light liner was put on, then Caldwell took the most gorgeous corset that was displayed on the wall: a massive leather masterpiece that had boning so dense that at the waist, they were laid one next to the other. "That is absolutely beautiful..." Cheryl whispered. The upper part extended all the way up to the neck, but the chest above the bust was exposed in a circular orifice, from a little over mid-bust to just under the neck.
Cheryl stepped excitedly into it, as this kind of corset was one of her fantasies coming true. They closed it around her body, legs, and neck, so she was encased from the knees to just under the chin. Caldwell pulled the laces until the corset was moderately tight around her waist and chest, and tied them off provisionally.
"Now we will bind you to the lacing bench, Mistress Cheryl." she said as Cheryl was led to the bench in the middle of the room. "It will be necessary to use special measures to ensure the tightest possible constriction. The tighter you are for our guests tonight, the more you will impress them."
Caldwell helped Cheryl down onto the bench, on her belly. It had curves and cutouts to conform to the body's curves. Her arms were stretched beyond her head, and strapped into cuffs that were solidly bolted to the end of the bench. Her ankles were likewise cuffed, but these were attached to cables that pulled Cheryl's body taut, stretching her out. Her upper body and buttocks were strapped down with heavy belts, to hold her down when the time came to pull the laces. To either side of her waist were posts with oddly-shaped fittings at the top.
Caldwell undid the lacings and took both ends and wound them around the fittings at the ends of the posts, like tying up a boat at the dock. Now Cheryl understood their function: it avoided knotting the laces repeatedly after each tightening.
One of the gagged maids took a long bar, four feet in length, and inserted it into the shaft of the winch that was to wind the cable. Cheryl heard a ratcheting sound, then felt a strong pull on her ankles, stretching her body out. This stretched out her midriff, which allowed much greater constriction of her waist. Caldwell and the other maid each took one side of the laces, and pulled with all their might, squeezing the breath out of the helpless Cheryl, who whimpered feebly under the strain. A tighter waist necessarily meant more pressure on the ribs, and the full-torso corset made upper-chest breathing much more difficult.
Caldwell explained, "We will have to lace you down to fifteen inches, in increments, over the next few hours. The bench will help us, and you, reach that goal. Please remain calm, Mistress Cheryl, and all will go well." Remain calm? She couldn't do anything else in her current situation, bound and stretched, laced tighter than she had ever been, and with the prospect of being laced even tighter. Her labored breaths made the leather corset creak and crackle, a sound that gave her goosebumps. The odor of the leather heightened her state of arousal.
An hour later, Caldwell and company gave the laces another strong pull before securing them to the poles. Cheryl's waist was measured at fifteen and a half, tighter than what she had earlier in the afternoon.
Another hour passed, and another pull on the laces. Fifteen and a quarter. Getting even a quarter inch out of her tiny waist was a monumental effort. At the end of the third hour, the fifteen inch mark was reached. Her laces were tied off, and a small padlock inserted into the grommets at her waist. The sound of the lock clicking shut sent pleasant shiver up Cheryl's spine - she automatically associated that sound with that final committal, in self-bondage, when that last padlock was closed.
Her ankles were released, and short stockings put on them, then a pair of exquisitely finished ballet-heeled stiff leather boots, with mirror-polished stainless steel heels eight inches long. These were also tightly laced around her ankles and calves. Now released, Cheryl was carefully raised to her feet. The corset groaned under the strain.
Her arms were put into an exceptionally stiff monoglove that matched the leather corset, and seemed to be specially made to be attached to the latter. Over the course of the next hour, the three servants pulled Cheryl's shoulders back ever farther, tightening straps and laces, pulling her arms close behind, until they touched from the elbows down to the hands, and her shoulders were pulled far back, farther than she had ever experienced. She was now completely encased in a brutally tight prison of leather, from her neck down to her toes. She couldn't move a muscle, save for some tiny movements of her legs, below the knee. Though the pressure on her body was nearly unbearable, she could feel it subsiding gradually and being replaced with a pleasant, giddy euphoria.
Before she was dressed further, a gagged maid started applying makeup, even powdering her exposed chest, while Caldwell and the other prepared the evening's clothes. A rolling rack came into view, and other than the mass of frilly cloth that was to be her undergarments, a sumptuous gown of the finest purple and black silk and satin hung before her. Tailored to fit the crushingly tight leather corset and monoglove, it had an opening exactly where her chest was exposed. Glancing at the mirror, she tried to picture how it would look on her, with that pushed-up, compressed cleavage heaving up and down sensually with every one of her labored breaths. She felt excited, aroused, and between her tightly pinned legs, she could feel a slight moistness. Cheryl closed her eyes and tried to calm herself, but the distraction of the incredibly erotic pressure on her entire body was almost too strong to resist. With a great effort of will, she held her excitement in check.
A half-dozen tight-fitting, silky petticoats were wrapped around her, encasing her in smooth, feminine, frilly fabric from the waist down. She almost wanted to be presented in her leather apparel, but desperately wished to be dressed fully in that gorgeous gown. A pad, called a bustle, was attached to her backside, to extend the buttocks behind, after her monoglove was tightly secured against her body, totally immobilizing Cheryl's arms. She could now only move her head slightly, and her legs a little bit, below the knee. Another half dozen petticoats, this time thicker and heavier, with a lot of flouncing adding bulk. were draped over. Then a tight-fitting camisole over that, smoothed down and tightened like a drum to prevent any wrinkles under the gown. The weight of the cloth was beginning to bear down on her, and it made her feel even more stimulated, more trapped, more helpless...
And what a gown! The finest satin and silk, dark purple, black accents, flouncing crossing over the skirt, with black silk roses and ribbons decorating it. The bodice had the same opening for the chest, exposing Cheryl's heaving breasts. "It is magnificent, Caldwell." Cheryl remarked. The maid replied, "It was expressly made for you, Mistress Cheryl, by order of the Duchess, just as the corset and other restraints for your costume. There will be several potential suitors present tonight, and the Duchess has expressly demanded that your presentation be beyond perfection." Cheryl looked at herself in the mirror, mesmerized. "I believe that..."
One of the gagged maids knelt down and raised Cheryl's skirts slightly, to hobble her ankles together with a gold-plated chain. Another chain was attached to her collar, a very fine one, not meant to pull her, but as a symbolic link to the holder of the other end. As it hung down from her collar, she felt the cold metal brushing against her heaving bosom, just as she thought that it couldn't get any more erotic. She trembled, and her breaths turned into shaky gasps of total bliss...
Finally, an elaborate head harness was put on her, with a beautiful purple ball for a gag, and tightened and locked into place with tiny golden padlocks. Cheryl saw the final work of art in the mirror, and had to close her eyes or the spectacle would have overwhelmed her control. Even in her wildest dreams she had never conceived of such a beautiful predicament, such absolute sensual entrapment and loveliness.
It was now nearly seven o'clock - five hours had gone into turning her into a delectable bound goddess! Cheryl hadn't eaten supper, but laced to fifteen inches, she didn't feel very hungry. Caldwell walked twice around her, carefully inspecting every detail, pulling out a tiny wrinkle here and there. She was satisfied, and nodded at the two mute servants.
They returned with a large box on wheels, large enough to contain Cheryl in her current attire. It was fashioned like a doll package, with a clear window in the cover that allowed a view of the contents. It was about the same color as her dress, dark purple, with pink filigreed accents swirling in Victorian style, and pink satin lining inside.
Caldwell led her slowly to the box, and turned her around while the two mutes removed the cover. Cheryl was carefully placed within, and before the box was closed, was reassured that fans would supply fresh air to her. Now she was ready to be presented! In her box, proudly displayed, Cheryl felt beautiful, desirable, sensual, irresistible. Even if she tried, she could not even squirm pleasurably in that tight prison of leather and cloth. She inhaled as much as she could and pressed her chest, waist and belly into the corset as hard as she could, reveling under the unyielding pressure.
The box containing the gorgeously bound and dressed doll named Cheryl was taken to the grand reception hall, where she was left in a line with other boxes, containing other young women fit for their first presentation. It took about half an hour, and about seventy or eighty people entered the hall, all elegantly dressed, the women exquisitely bound and attired in their finest fetterments and frockeries. They filed past, inspecting every package. One distinguished elderly couple, obviously very well-to-do, stopped in front of Cheryl's box, and she could hear them calling someone over. A young man, about Cheryl's age, appeared, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the apparition behind the clear plastic. His eyes were wide open, and his jaw dropped in astonishment. The older man seemed to ask him a question. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he nodded. Cheryl's box was opened. She was chosen!
She could tell that the young man, Vincent by his name, was both nervous and excited. His hand trembled slightly as he took the fine gold chain that was attached to Cheryl's collar. She stepped out of the box, steadied by her maids. She could feel a slight squeeze on her shoulder, through the tight restraints. Turning her head slightly, she saw Caldwell smiling and nodding. She concluded that meant she had a prize catch!
During the evening, she could understand now what the Duchess and the others had said about her power over men. Vincent seemed to be entranced by the bound and tightlaced goddess at the end of the chain, as if the physical bondage on Cheryl traveled along the chain and turned itself into emotional bondage on Vincent's end. She caught glimpses of his parents - the older couple - nodding as they watched Vincent and Cheryl together, and especially Vincent's expression of almost uncontained awe. They too were very satisfied by his choice. And Cheryl knew that Vincent was now completely under her sensual power.
Music started, and Vincent, still looking like a deer caught in headlights, looked at Cheryl expectantly, who understood, and nodded. They began to dance, Cheryl performing exactly like Caldwell and her companions had taught her earlier in the day. She lost track of time, each dance more wonderful than the last. Her eyes grew brighter and brighter with each passing moment.
The motions contributed to her sense of arousal, every tiny wiggle translated and magnified through the tight grip of the corset, gradually amplifying her excitement, and eventually, her heart pounding, her breaths short and quick, her bright eyes rolled up into their sockets, and with a soft moan in her purple ball gag, she passed out as she attained a powerful but strictly contained orgasm, falling into Vincent's arms, trembling, a blissful smile on her face. Her last thoughts, before sinking into black oblivion, were of utter fulfillment, total joy. She had never felt so wonderful in her life.

This is where Cheryl wakes up in her torture chamber, still tied tautly to her table.

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