While the cat’s away, the mice will play! Well, not really, it is just a night out with the guys. I pulled into the driveway quietly humming to myself. Something seemed a little off as I opened the front door and let myself in. It’s just that the wife’s away for a week on a business trip, I rationalized to myself. As I walked into the house I glanced into the living room, for no particular reason, only to see Karen sitting there reading a book. “It’s about time you got home,” she admonished. I knew that Karen was somewhat of a switch, but today clearly Karen was in Dom mode, and that meant trouble for me.
I can’t say that I was excited about Karen being there, although there was no question in my mind that her presence meant that I would unquestionably have an interesting weekend. Karen was a friend of ours. She worked in the same building where my wife worked, but she worked for a different company. It was already quite clear that my wife and Karen had cooked up something and I would be the worse for wear because of it. Karen wasn’t the type to sit in someone else’s living room reading a book because she had nothing better to do. The chances were that one of us was going to end up subservient to the other. I hoped that I would be the dominant one, but already knew that the chances of that happening were about as good as my winning the lottery.
Bending over a page corner in the book to mark her place she put the book down and came over to greet me. “Hi there big guy,” she purred as she let one of her hands flow over me as she walked around my body. Karen often referred to me as ‘Big guy’, especially when she was in Dom mode. That’s a long story, but let me just say that while it did refer to my male member it wasn’t necessarily meant as a flattering reference*. From the way she was doing it, and what was happening, with her hand sensually trailing over my body, I fully expected that Karen would encircle my body. I stood there, following her with my eyes as she stepped behind me. As she emerged from the other side I felt her grab one hand and I felt the unmistakable cold steel of a handcuff encircling the other wrist. Before I could even react to what was happening my hands were cuffed together in front of me.
*As I recall the incident, I had been tied spread-eagled, gagged and blindfolded to the bed at the hand of my wife. Suddenly someone new entered the room. Whomever it was I didn’t recognize the voice. She spoke to my wife, then approached the bed and took my male member into one hand and began to fondle it as she again spoke to my wife as though I either wasn’t in the room, or couldn’t hear what she was saying. “Of course most men are average size, or perhaps even a little smaller in this area,” she proclaimed, stretching and apparently showing off my member to indicate what she was talking about. “Of course, they all have big ego’s and each and every one of them like to think that their equipment is special and rather huge, so you do the math.” she concluded. It was at that time that she seemed to realize that I was in the room and spoke to me as she said “Hi there big guy”. As she waggled my wonker. After an introduction like that there wasn’t much I could have said even if I hadn’t been gagged. It wasn’t until much later that I actually met Karen and learned who she was.
One thing about Karen was that she was always thorough, and almost always planned well ahead when she was executing a plan. There was a sturdy but unobtrusive hook screwed into the ceiling of our entry hallway that used to support a hanging potted plant. Today there was a chain dangling from that hook. Still holding my now cuffed hands Karen pulled up a short stepladder and attached the handcuffs I wore, to that chain. Climbing back down off the ladder she quickly retrieved two thick telephone books, which she placed on the floor at my feet. “Up,” was all she said as she once again ascended the ladder and pulled upward on the chain holding my wrists. Almost fascinated at what she was doing I dutifully stepped onto the books. Karen quickly shortened the chain to accommodate my newfound height. Stepping off the ladder once again she folded it, placing it against the wall, and then forcefully kicked the telephone books out from under my feet. Without the aid of the books I was now very well stretched out, finding it necessary to remain on my tip toes to avoid the pain of the hard steel cuffs digging into my wrists.
Karen once more stood back to survey her newly captured prisoner. She started by removing my shoes and sox. Carefully loosening the laces on each shoe before slipping it off of my foot. Then she unbuckled my pants, slid down the zipper, and pulled them down off of my hips. It was almost like watching a striptease although in this case I was the one from which the clothing was being removed. Next she sensually unbuttoned my shirt. Of course, with my hands held above me she couldn’t get the shirt off of my arms, but she did a good job of pushing, and again using the ladder pulling it upwards and out of the way. I now stood there in my underwear. The undershirt was pulled upward off of my body, over my head and up onto my arms to join the shirt. These now rested out of the way and on the top of my head.
As she descended the ladder Karen sensually rubbed my chest as she used my body to steady her descent. My tighty-whities were all that remained at this point, and by now there was a rather large bulge in the front of them. Karen smiled as she knelt down in front of me, almost as though she were about to give me a blowjob. She pulled the underpants down at the sides until they hung up on my member. She then very gently, and sensually grabbed my member and slid it out of the restricting garment, giving a few very welcome squeezes and fondles as she did so. Karen seemed to be taking great delight in turning me on. Kneeling in front of me as she was, she was in a perfect position to take my member into her mouth, and I just couldn’t wait for her to do so. As I looked down she smiled and licked her lips as though to tease and taunt me. She pulled the underwear down my legs, and one by one I lifted my feet so that she could remove the no longer needed garment. Throwing the underwear aside she once again took my member into her hand giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll have to do something about this,” she said with a smile.
‘Yes please, and quickly,’ I silently thought, knowing full well that it was not good to rush Karen.
Karen produced what appeared to be a pair of rubber pants. Briefs might be a better description, because they looked more like shorts. She had me lift one leg at a time as she worked them up my legs. They fit tightly, and she had to stretch the rubber somewhat to get the legs over my thighs and the rest of the garment over my hips. Karen’s previously sexy and teasingly sensuous and playful attitude had now changed. It is somewhat hard to explain that Karen worked in a professional manner. What I mean by that was she was determined and all business in what she was doing. It seemed disappointing, and even humiliating that she was working so directly in the area of, and even with my manhood and yet she seemed to have no sexual involvement or interest in it at all, she was just doing a job. This was even more devastating in light of her previous apparent interest in my manhood. This was not the case for me. As she handled my member to encase it within the shorts it once again grew rapidly. When this happened Karen simply sighed, shook her head, got up, and left the room. She returned moments later. She grabbed the waistband of the shorts and pulling it forward dropped three ice cubes into them. I wasn’t thrilled. The ice cubes had landed as she had undoubtedly intended right on my manhood. They were held immovably in place by the tight rubber pants. The cold was excruciating, and caused my member to do an immediate retreat shrinking to its smallest possible size.
Karen kneeled in front of me, and with one hand reached up between my legs. She found a hole in the shorts between my legs well below my manhood and worked one hand into that hole. She then worked that hand forward over my manhood, stretching the rubber as she went. The pants were made of a double layer of material in that area, and her hand was encased in what might almost be described as something like a pocket. She reached down into the waistband with her other hand. This hand was in direct contact with my now frigid and flaccid member. Using both hands she located a small hole in the inner layer of rubber and managed to force my entire male package through that tiny hole. As she removed her hands the hole sealed tightly entrapping my manhood in the pocket in the front of the shorts. Let me quickly recap what had just happened so you can better picture the scene. The tight fitting shorts had a small hole in front that my genitals had been threaded through. That small hole now tightly sealed against my body and around the base of my penis and balls. A second layer of rubber covered my genitals. This layer was sealed on the top and sides. The only opening was way down between my legs. While I was wearing these pants if I needed to take a leak I would certainly not be able to do it standing up, and even then it would be a messy affair. There did seem to be a slit in the back of these pants that would allow me to take a dump, should that become necessary. I desperately hoped that that would not be the case.
Once Karen had finished with the capture and binding of my manhood she straightened out the pants, pulling them up as high and as tightly as she could. She was fastidious about smoothing out any wrinkles that might appear in the rubber fabric. “Stay there, I’ll be right back” Karen instructed, as she departed up the stairs in the direction of my bedroom. I had little choice, since my hands were still cuffed and suspended well above me. Karen quickly returned. I immediately recognized the corset that she had brought with her. I had been forced to wear that thing once before, and hated it. A corset like this sure makes both my wife and Karen, or probably any woman for that matter, look really feminine and sexy. I happen to be a guy, and like to think of myself as a rather masculine one. While I’m no jock, I still don’t need, or want to look feminine and sexy. I also knew that this tightly restricting and heavily boned garment would quickly become quite uncomfortable. I wouldn’t be able to bend well, if at all at the waist and the constriction on my stomach and chest would be at best, uncomfortable.
Karen quickly threaded the garment up over my legs. I guess I could have resisted, but as they say, resistance is futile. With my hands pulled over my head as they were I was in no position to offer any resistance. On more than one previous occasion Karen had demonstrated her abilities to be dominant, and her willingness to use a riding crop on my ass if she thought the situation required encouragement. Once she had the corset in position she began arranging and doing preliminary tightening of the laces. The corset started well down on my hips, covering a good portion of the upper part of the rubber pants that I now wore. I realized that the pants would not be coming off until the corset was removed. Unlike many corsets that incorporate a sort of half-cup bra, this corset featured a full cup bra that would cover my entire breast. That is if I had large feminine breasts. Karen quickly solved that problem for me by providing large rubber prosthetic breasts. These were molded from the same squishy, squiggly material that rubber fishing worms and some other kids toys are made from. They were heavy for their size and bouncy. Having been forced to wear these on previous occasions as well, I knew that they would cling to my body. While in themselves they would not be a problem they would cause my chest to perspire and their bulk and weight would be annoying. I also knew that with the corset in place their removal would not be possible.
Karen produced another tool that I was now familiar with. It was a metal hook in the shape of a ‘J’ with a wooden T handle on it’s top. She could slip the hook end under the laces of my corset and pull them with amazing force. My hands pulled tightly above my head as they were approximated the position of a woman at a lacing bar. Karen showed no mercy as she made numerous passes each time pulling the laces as tightly as she could get them. By the time she had finished I could barely breathe. There were actually two sets of laces. The first started at the top of the corset, and worked it’s way down to the small of my back. The other started at the lower extremity of the garment just above my ass, and worked it’s way up towards the small of my back. Once the laces were thoroughly tightened Karen stretched an elastic cover that was fastened to one side of the garment over the laces. There was an upside down zipper that the elastic fastened to. The zipper started at the top of my back and zipped downward to the bottom of the garment totally enclosing the laces. I heard a small padlock click shut, as the zipper was pulled closed. Then Karen tucked the padlock up under the bottom of the corset.
Once again Karen disappeared up the stairs only to return carrying an armload of stuff. She released my hands and handed me a package of stockings. There was little doubt that she wanted me to put them on. I sat on a kitchen chair and worked the gossamer fabric up my legs. Once the stockings had been pulled up to my thighs Karen assisted in fastening their tops to the garters that dangled from the corset. Karen then handed me a pair of panties to put on. These weren’t the same kind of panties that my wife normally wore. These had multiple layers lace ruffles all around them. I gave Karen a look, but put them on without comment. I was then presented with a dress. “Put this on” was all she said. This was no ordinary housedress. It was made from many layers of ruffled flimsy gauzy material. The outer layer was adorned with purple printed flowers. The ruffled skirt came down to just above my knees. Once I had pulled the dress over my head she stepped behind me and zipped the zipper up the back. Another padlock holding that zipper was fastened in place. I then felt her tucking the lock in under the top of the dress so that it wouldn’t show.
Karen went to where she had deposited the pile of items and retrieved a belt for the dress. Well, it wasn’t really what I would call a belt; it was more like a ribbony sort of thing. Karen referred to it as a sash. It was made out of the same material as the dress and obviously was intended to go around my waist. There was something not quite right about it though. As Karen began to thread it through the two belt loops on the dress, well, they were not really belt loops but two thin string like loops designed simply to keep this sash thing in place, I realized that there was a thin but sturdy chain inside of this thing. The chain exited out of holes in the back or underside of this sash leaving a long free end of material on either end. Once it was placed around my waist Karen pulled the chain tight. Believe me when I say that the corset was already painfully tight, but I felt this chain digging harshly into the corset. Karen latched the two ends of the chain together using yet another small padlock. Then she took the free ends of the material and neatly tied a dainty bow with them. She then produced an artificial flower made to match the flowers printed on the dress and clipped it onto the middle where the bow was tied. This whole arrangement completely hid the chain and it’s associated lock so that it just looked like a sash around my waist.
Next Karen produced a pair of shoes. I had been forced to wear women’s high heel shoes before, but these were truly spike heels, and were higher than I had ever worn previously. These shoes had straps that fitted around my ankles as part of their design to hold them onto my feet. I again sat on a kitchen chair to put the shoes on my feet. Once the shoes were on Karen produced two more small padlocks and attached them to the straps and buckles which locked each shoe into place.
“OK, stand up and let me look at you,” Karen commanded. I stood as she gave me a close inspection. I wobbled some on the unfamiliar heels. The narrow spikes didn’t provide any horizontal stability and I had to keep my ankles rigid to prevent my feet from twisting to either side. Apparently I passed inspection so far. Karen then went over to one of the kitchen counter and retrieved a wooden box that must have been sitting there all the while. She opened the lid, then reached into the pocket of her jeans and retrieved a ring of five small shiny brass keys. I could only assume that these were the keys to the padlocks that entrapped me and held me captive. She jingled the keys to be sure that she had my attention then made a show of dropping the keys into the box. She then closed the lid and pressed one of two small buttons imbedded into the lid of the box. There was a faint whirring sound from the box and Karen studied a small display screen, which was also imbedded into the lid of the box. Then she pressed the only other button on the box. There had also been a woman’s purse sitting on the counter near the box. Karen now reached for the purse, and slid it directly alongside of the box on the front of the counter. Leaving the box and the purse on the counter she turned to face me. “Have a fun weekend,” she said as she headed for the front door.
‘Now wait a minute!’ my mind yelled, as I stood there dumfounded not uttering a word. Once again something wasn’t quite right here. My wife, and even Karen had dressed me up as a woman before. That wasn’t really anything new. But in the past, each time I had been dressed they were there to see to, and enhance my pain, suffering, and humiliation. Besides all that, they had always taken great pains to go the whole nine yards fixing a wig onto my head and adding all kinds of makeup and other feminy details. Why was Karen just abandoning me like this? I heard the word “Mistress” escape from my mouth. I myself wasn’t sure if it was pleadingly, or a question, or just a statement. Karen turned slightly and said “No, your mistress is in Ohio for the week,” and then continued walking toward the street. I stood there transfixed by the sway of her hips as I watched Karen get into her car and drive off.
‘The box with the keys!’ I thought. I rushed to the counter where the box still sat, almost falling off the steep heels as I went. I desperately pulled on the lid but it wouldn’t open. ‘Now what?’ I thought. Then I remembered the two buttons and the display panel imbedded in the lid. One red button had a tiny label “Scroll down” next to it, so I pressed the other white button to see what it would do. The display sprung to life and displayed the following message:
“This is try #1 of 5”
“Game starts at 6:am.”
I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button to see what that would do. The display changed to:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
After a few seconds the display went blank! Now what kind of infernal contraption is this? I silently asked myself. And what kind of ‘Game’ could it be referring to? I wondered. I considered pushing the button again, and then considered the warning that I apparently only had five tries, but at what? I wondered. I figured ‘What the hell!’ and gave the white button another press. Again the display came to life:
“This is try #2 of 5”
“Game starts at 6:am.”
Well, I had indeed burnt up one more try at something. I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button to see what more I could learn. The display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
Once again after a few seconds the display went blank. Well, I had learned two things. 1: don’t push that white button again right away or I’ll soon run out of tries. 2: Whatever the ‘Game’ is, it must start at 6:am.
It was about this time that I remembered that I was supposed to be out with the guys tonight. Damn! I certainly couldn’t go dressed like this, and it sure looked like I wasn’t going to change in a hurry either. I picked up my cell phone and called my friend Ed. Of course the first words out of his mouth were “Where the hell are you guy?” I made up an excuse, telling him that something had come up and that I wouldn’t be able to make it this evening. I knew I was going to hear about that more than once when I got back to work on Monday. That is if I made it to work on Monday. But right now I seemed to have more pressing problems.
I needed some time to think over my situation and figure out a best plan of action. I also needed to get off my feet; these shoes were already starting to be a bother! Absent-mindedly I went to the fridge to see what was there to eat. As I opened the door I reached for the bottle of wine sitting on the bottom shelf, and poured myself a glass. I also found some leftover Chinese food, which I spooned onto a plate and threw into the microwave. Along with the food I carried the box over to the kitchen table to study it further. I could hear the keys rattling around inside. The box itself was nondescript and rather plain, but it was nevertheless well made. There were no markings. The cover seemed to fit rather tightly and I could tell just by looking that I was unlikely to pry it open without damaging it or leaving telltale marks.
Of course, I could have fought, and overtaken Karen, just as I could cut the dress and other stuff off of my body. There was no doubt in my mind that Karen had not acted alone on this. My wife just had to be involved. Karen had just been the probably very willing delivery agent. Even though at the currant time I was a somewhat unwilling participant there were rules to our games. For example, I knew that while neither Karen nor my wife was present they would both undoubtedly at some later date closely examine both the box and the clothing that I wore for signs of undue tampering. If anything suspicious were found I would be interrogated and made to account for what had happened. Even a wine stain on the dress would be cause for an inquisition. I had no doubt that if my accountability wasn’t top notch I would suffer the consequences.
There didn’t really seem to be much that I could do at the time. I couldn’t, or rather no longer wanted to go out with the guys, seeing as how I was dressed. And I certainly didn’t want to go out anyplace else for the same reason. It seemed that the box didn’t want me to bother it again until 6:am. I put my dish in the sink and poured myself another glass of wine, then headed upstairs. Undressing didn’t seem to be an option, so I laid down on the bed as I was and switched on the TV. Absent-mindedly I set the alarm for 5:45 and layback to see what was on.
The alarm was blaring in my ear. I punched the snooze button to silence the racket. Peering at the clock I realized it was 5:45. I didn’t even have to look, as my body told me that this hadn’t been a dream and I was still dressed, as Karen had left me. I headed downstairs and switched on the coffee maker then wandered over to the table where that infernal box still sat. I knew it wasn’t quite 6:am, but I figured I’d give it another go. I pressed the white button. As expected the box once again came to life, and the display read:
“This is try #3 of 5”
“Game starts at 6:am.”
Well, I had indeed burnt up one more try at whatever it was. I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button to see what more I could learn. The display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
Once again after a few seconds the display went blank.
The coffee maker began to gurgle, which was its signal that it was nearly finished. I got out a mug and placed a spoonful of sugar into it. By that time the coffee was ready, so I filled my mug and carried it over to the table. The box sat there both ignoring and taunting me. I considered the possibilities of what ‘the game’ might entail. I had no doubt that whatever it was would unquestionably be grossly humiliating, but the possibilities were just endless. I wondered how close to 6:am. It needed to be before I pushed the button again. I also wondered what time the box thought it was, was it’s clock accurate? I decided just to be sure, to wait until a few minutes after six before I tried again.
Finally time had crept by and I decided to give the box another go. Once again I pressed the white button, half expecting to see the same old message with another precious try subtracted. This time the display read:
“This is try #1 of 25”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The ‘NN’ was a number that was counting down, apparently by seconds. I watched the numbers roll down from 90 until they reached zero, and the display automatically changed to:
“No signal acquired.”
“Take me outside.”
Well, at least the damn box seemed to be playing the game, but I still had no idea of what the game was, and apparently only had 24 more guesses to find out. I pushed the ‘Scroll down’ button to see what more I could learn. The display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
Once again after a few seconds the display went blank.
Well, there was no way that I wanted to go into the front yard where all of the neighbors could get a good look at me, so I picked up the box and my coffee and headed to the back yard. It was a nice sunny day as I stepped outside. I walked to the edge of the deck and set my coffee and the box on the railing. I figured, OK, this is about as ‘outside’ as it gets, and I need to get some more information, so I pressed the white button again. The box sprang to life and displayed:
“This is try #2 of 25”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The numbers began counting down again as before. I fully expected them to reach zero and have the box shut down again. Suddenly the numbers stopped decrementing and the display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 327 miles.”
Well, at least the damn box seemed to be playing the game, but I still had no idea of what the game was, and apparently only had 23 more guesses to find out. I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button to see what more I could learn. The display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
Once again after a few seconds the display went blank. Well, it looked as though I was 327 miles from wherever the box wanted me to be. But in what direction did I need to go? I sure hoped that it wasn’t straight up, as that would require a space shuttle, and that’s already spoken for.
I immediately thought of the airplane. I love just this sort of problem when I’m flying, although even then my flying buddies and I usually give each other either a compass direction and distance, or a GPS location (Latitude and longitude) so that we know which direction to go. In this case I could fly a large circle, interrogate the box, and quickly determine at least the general direction to my goal. That thought was soon rejected when the reality of my situation struck. I couldn’t safely fly and operate the rudder pedals with these spiked heels on. Besides I had always made it a rule not to involve or combine any kind of bondage games, such as my being dressed like this, with flying. Besides, while I didn’t know where, or what my objective was, it was most likely on the ground, and how would I get there once I found a nearby local airport and landed the airplane? I was stuck on the ground for this one.
In any case it appeared that I was going on some sort of a trip. I needed to think this over somewhat carefully. Clearly I could get into trouble, or at least make my situation worse by rushing into something like this without thinking about it first. I was guessing that the box wasn’t smart enough to determine the distance by road, but was rather judging its distance as a straight line. In this part of the country one often has to follow the roads, going, for example, east, and then south, rather than taking a much shorter, but nonexistent diagonal route. Of course, that was just my guess, and I could very well be wrong. Then too, where was I going, and what would happen when I got there? More importantly, I wasn’t thrilled about going out in public wearing this dress that I didn’t seem able to remove, at least hopefully, until I arrived at my destination.
Since I hadn’t planned on going anywhere I wasn’t prepared. A trip of 327 miles would take some time. It would probably take at least seven hours to get there, and another seven or more to get back home. I may even end up spending the night somewhere once I got these infernal clothes off! I began making a mental list of the things that I would need, and gathering the items up placing them on the bed. Naturally, the first things I gathered were my male clothing. I packed underwear, jeans, a shirt, sox, and a pair of shoes. Out of habit I placed them in a small suitcase that I used when I traveled. What else would I need? The suitcase already contained mundane, but necessary items such as shaving and other hygiene items. Instinctively I picked up my laptop. For years I’ve used DeLorme Street Atlas along with a GPS unit. I had this setup years before the modern GPS units such as the Tom-Tom were available. I never migrated because even though the laptop is more cumbersome it offers so many features that the smaller devices only wish they could include. What else might I need?
I sat down to think about this some more. I didn’t want to go out into public, even driving around on the highway, dressed as a woman. It was too warm to wear a jacket, which might hide the top of my dress at least until I stepped out of the car and the flowing skirt became apparent. I felt betrayed by the box, which had not allowed me to do this traveling during the night when I was much less likely to be seen. Humiliation seemed to be the name of the game. First it was my wife and Karen that did the dirty work. Now it seems as though they have recruited inanimate objects to do their dirty work for them. + Well, I figured if I’m going to be gone all day I should get something to eat so that I won’t have to stop for food, at least right away. I grabbed my laptop and my suitcase and headed downstairs to see what I could find to eat.
Before long I had rustled up some grub and had eaten my fill, which was somewhat less than I normally would have eaten due to the severe constriction of my waist by the damn corset. Seeing the purse that Karen had so obviously left lying on the counter I decided to examine that as well. Now, I normally never look in a woman’s purse, even my wife’s. But this seemed like a special occasion, since it did appear to be MY purse. Inside I found my wallet and my car keys. Somehow Karen must have taken them out of my pants and placed them in here. Of course, true to form there were a number of tampons, and a long string of attached condom packets, along with some other stuff. There was also a female’s wallet. Either the purse, or it’s contents smelled like someone had spilled a bottle of perfume in it. As I considered this assortment of goodies it dawned on me that since I was, although unwillingly, dressed as a woman, if I went someplace and they saw me digging into an obviously men’s wallet, which I had pulled out of my purse, it would surely draw undesired attention. I quickly transferred my cash, credit cards and driver’s license to the feminine wallet, placing my own wallet into my suitcase so that it would be available for my return trip, since when dressed as a guy the obviously feminine wallet would draw unwanted attention.
I still hadn’t figured out a way to prevent people, and mainly other drivers from getting a good look at me as I proceeded on my trip. I went upstairs and glanced in the mirror. A figure with a masculine head and a very feminine body peered back at me. There was no way that I would be able to go out in public looking like this, and since I was unable to shed the feminine body I would have to do something about the head.
I searched through the closets and drawers searching for a wig that my wife and Karen had made me wear when they had dressed me en-fem quite some time ago. Finally I found the long wig taking it into the bathroom to put on my head. Well, I now had long hair, but it looked more like I had just crawled out of bed from a night of fitful sleep and then had stuck my finger into an electrical socket. I tried both a comb and a brush. Eventually I managed to get it to look like I had just crawled out of bed on a more normal morning. That is to say that it looked somewhat better, but not at all what I would call good. Next I got into my wife’s makeup. I had no idea what I was doing or how to go about doing it. I won’t bore you with the details, but I will admit that the results didn’t begin to approach what I knew was possible from having seen what my wife and Karen could do, even on my face, with this stuff. I guess I could have called Karen, but that would really be admitting defeat, and I knew that I would never live an indiscretion such as that down, so I lived with the best that I could manage by myself, and believe me, the word ‘Best’ does not belong in that sentence.
I picked up some makeup in case I needed to do emergency repairs. I took the makeup downstairs with me and dumped it into my purse. Once again I stared at my adversary and my tormentor, the box. I had written down my latest clue of 327 miles so that I wouldn’t forget it. Once again I looked around the room as though making sure that I hadn’t forgotten anything. The truth of the matter was that I was truly dreading the next step, which would be getting into the car and driving off to wherever the box was taking me. As I reached for the purse I noticed my manly hands. I knew that this just wouldn’t do. I ran back upstairs and once again searched through my wife’s drawers. Eventually I found a dainty pair of white dress gloves. These were rather small for my big hands, but I forced my hands into them anyway. These would have to do, I thought as I headed back downstairs.
I hung the purse on my left arm and picked up my luggage, the laptop and the diabolical box. Once again surveying slowly the room in a vein effort to delay my departure. Slowly I walked out to the car, throwing my luggage into the back seat, and placing the box, my laptop and my purse on the passenger seat. Out of habit I set up the laptop and connected the GPS unit to it. Bringing up Street Atlas it faithfully confirmed my present position as I sat in the driveway. I just sat in the drivers seat dreading the inevitable trip as I did my best to prepare myself for the upcoming unwanted adventure. It was about five minutes later that I finally resolved myself to the fact that the box was indeed in control of my destiny, and I had best get on with the inevitable. I started the car and slowly, carefully, pulled out of the driveway.
There was no way around it. To get to the highway I needed to drive through town where it seemed that everyone would have the opportunity to get a good look at me. I silently cursed myself for not having filled the tank before arriving home last evening. There was less than a quarter tank of fuel. Fortunately, enough to get me started on the highway, but I would have to stop for fuel before long.
I drove slowly and carefully. These damn spiked heel shoes definitely weren’t made for driving. I could just imagine being pulled over, or even worse, getting into an accident and having everyone realize that the picture on my license didn’t exactly match the strange looking woman that stood in front of them. Slow and careful seemed to be the best bet.
The box had not been kind enough to give me a direction of travel, only a cryptic distance of 327 miles. I decided to head south to see what effect that would have on the distance. Just as I reached I-70 in Denver I pulled over to the side of the road and once again interrogated the box by pressing the white button. The box sprang to life and displayed:
“This is try #3 of 25”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The numbers began counting down again as before. I prayed that something more would happen before they reached zero and have the box shut down again. Suddenly the numbers stopped decrementing and the display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 325 miles.”
Well, at least the distance was smaller, but by far less than the distance I had traveled. I was guessing that my goal was in some diagonal direction, but as I said, the highways around here run mostly north/south and east/west. I decided to try my luck by getting onto I-70 west. I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button to see what more I could learn. The display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
As the display went blank I pulled onto the highway, heading west. The laptop confirmed my progress as I went. After a while I reached the city of Idaho Springs, where I took the exit ramp into town. There are two gas stations right at the end of the exit ramp. I chose one at random and pulled up to the pumps. I pressed the white button. The box sprang to life and displayed:
“This is try #4 of 25”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The numbers counted down again. The numbers stopped decrementing and the display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 294 miles.”
Well, at least once again the distance was smaller, but again by far less than the distance I had traveled. It seemed that my goal was somewhere southwest of my present location. I realized that by now I probably had enough information to do some math and calculate a fairly close compass heading, but I have to admit that my mind just wasn’t up to that task. I would just blindly press on and hope for the best. I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button, as expected the display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
There was only one dreaded option left to me at this point, and that was to actually get out of the car and put some gas into the car. Thank goodness that we had given up full service gas stations some years ago, and the modern pay at the pump option was a godsend. I filled the tank with fuel. I felt that my bladder was filling from the coffee that I had enjoyed this morning, but there was no way that I was going into that convenience store and asking the clerk for the key to the ladies room. I would wait until I came to a roadside rest area where I would be able to relieve myself, hopefully with fewer people around. The laptop confirmed that there was indeed a roadside rest area just past exit 235 not far down the road.
There were several cars parked in the rest area when I arrived. By now I was feeling a rather firm pressure in my bladder, which urged me to quickly make my way into the restroom. I looked longingly at the entrance to the men’s room, but deep down I knew that the lady’s room was my only real choice. One lady was exiting the restroom as I entered. She gave me a rather strange look, but said nothing as I hurried past her. I got the feeling that she may have been glad that she was leaving. Once I entered I noticed that there was obviously another lady in one of the stalls. I chose a stall furthest from hers. I pulled up my dress and pulled down the lace-ruffled panties. Of course, I had to sit to relieve myself. The urine sloshed out from between my legs into the bowl, but nevertheless I reveled in the relief that this gave me. Several generous wads of toilet paper were necessary to dry my rubber encasement once I was finished. I then pulled up my panties and straightened my dress. Fortunately, while I was relieving myself the woman in the other stall had finished and departed leaving me alone. I quickly made my way back to my car. Once again on the road I now felt refreshed.
I interrogated the box as I traveled westward. Vail was 254 miles, Glenwood Springs was 222 Miles, and Grand Junction was 156 Miles. These all confirmed that my destination was indeed most likely in a southwesterly direction. It’s roughly a hundred miles from Grand Junction to Green River Utah, which is the next good gas stop and place to eat. Realizing that I would undoubtedly have to head south into the desert I opted to stop for gas at the west end of Grand Junction in a town called Frutia. There are a number of gas stations here, several of which are truck stops. The others serve a brisk highway clientele. Not having the option to select a quiet out-of-the-way place I chose one at random and filled my tank. By now, since by the restriction of the damn corset I had been forced to eat a rather small breakfast I was also rather hungry. I found a drive-through restaurant and ordered a burger and fries before getting back on route 70 west. When I reached Crescent Junction, having crossed over into Utah, I had traveled 81 miles but the distance the box gave was again the same 156 miles. This clearly indicated that my objective was most likely south, and somewhere between Grand Junction and Crescent Junction. There weren’t many paved roads of any kind in this part of the country, being mostly desert. Fortunately, there was a local highway 191 that headed south from this city, which probably had a permanent population of about 5. I headed south on 191.
Eventually I came to a town called Moab. It wasn’t difficult to pull of the highway at this point, because the highway was mostly a narrow two-lane strip of paved road surrounded by desert. Once again interrogated the box by pressing the white button. The box sprang to life and displayed:
“This is try 10 of 25”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The numbers began counting down again as expected the numbers stopped decrementing and the display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 115 miles.”
Well, at least I was again on the right track, and while not an exact match, seemed to be in line with the distance I had traveled. I felt somewhat proud of myself for having made such good progress so far. I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button. The display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
I continued south down highway 191, I stopped in a town called Monticello where the box indicated 74 miles, and a town called Bluff, which reported as 26 miles. I felt that I was making good progress, but looking at the map there sure wasn’t anything of consequence within probably 100 miles in any direction, much less 26! I continued south in 191, eventually crossing over into Arizona. By the time I reached the Arizona border I had traveled more than 26 miles. Could this baron desolate place possibly be my destination? The only way to find out was to ask the box. I questioned it by pressing the white button. The box sprang to life and displayed:
“This is try 14 of 25”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 28 miles.”
Well, that was sure a kick in the ass! This clearly wasn’t the place that I needed to locate. Where had I gone wrong? There just didn’t seem to be anything or any place around here worth much of anything! I went back to the laptop to see what I could find on it. One of the nice features of Street Atlas is that you can zoom in and out so that you can see the surrounding areas. The route that I had traveled was dutifully plotted on the map. Suddenly a light went on over my head. There is a small town called Mexican Hat, just about 26 miles from Bluff. To get there you have to turn off of 191 onto 163. I had passed that intersection some distance back, thinking nothing of it. Now it came to me. Some years ago I had been a fan of a cooking show entitled ‘Good Eats’ staring this guy named Alton Brown. In his private life Alton was somewhat of a motorcycle enthusiast, and had gotten this brilliant idea about taking his cooking show on the road. They organized a caravan with a bunch of motorcycles and traveled from their home in Georgia to Los Angeles. Along the way they had stopped in Mexican Hat Utah where they stayed in a motel that featured this restaurant type of establishment called ‘The Swinging Grill.’ At the time I had been intrigued by the place, even though I knew it probably wasn’t worth driving across town for, unless you lived in a place like this, literally hundreds of miles from the nearest Mickey D’s. I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button the display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
I traveled back north on 191 until I came to the intersection with 163. I pressed the white button. The box sprang to life and displayed:
“This is try 15 of 25”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 18 miles.”
Well, that pretty much confirmed it; my goal was apparently Mexican Hat Utah.
I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button to power the unit off.
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
I turned onto 163 and followed the road southwest. In a short time I found myself in the city of Mexican Hat on the San Juan River. This certainly wasn’t likely to be confused with a place like Denver, nor did it seem to be a very prosperous place. I was careful not to blink as I entered the city so that I wouldn’t miss it. Once I arrived at what I deemed to be the heart of the city I began to look for the Mexican Hat Lodge that housed this world-renowned dining establishment. I figured that if I stood in the heart of the city I could probably see everything that it had to offer. I wasn’t to far from wrong on that score. As I pulled into what served as a parking lot for the hotel I again pressed the white button of my source of torment. The box dutifully sprang to life and displayed:
“This is try 16 of 25”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The display automatically changed to:
“Congratulations.”
“You Have Arrived!”
Well, thank goodness, but now what was I supposed to do now that I was here? I pressed the red scroll down button to see what more the box would tell me the display changed to:
“Game restarts again”
“at 7:am.”
Shit! This just didn’t seem fair! I had traveled all day long and played the game as the box had directed, I had been locked into these dammed humiliating an uncomfortable feminine clothes for a full day, and I had even reached my goal with plenty of my allotted tries remaining, and now this! I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button to see if there was anything more I could learn. The display changed to the same old:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
Once again after a few seconds the display went blank.
Shit! There didn’t seem that there was anything that I could do but hang around this place until tomorrow morning when the box would probably lead me off to god knows where on another wild goose chase. Meanwhile I was clearly stuck in the middle of nowhere dressed as a woman. In any case it was becoming clear that I wasn’t likely to get out of these damn clothes tonight. I thought about the few options that presented themselves. There were surprisingly several motels in the area, and the Mexican Hat Lodge wasn’t exactly the classiest among them. Nevertheless, I decided that it would do well enough for a night’s lodging.
It’s truly unfortunate that they don’t have such things as self-check in motels. The Mexican Hat Lodge is a family owned and operated business. Somebody’s grandmother was manning the front desk when I entered to check in. She seemed rather taken back at my appearance. I guess they don’t see all that many perverts in a place like Mexican Hat. I explained that I needed a room for one night. All in all Grandma was pleasant enough and ended up being rather chatty after apparently deciding that she would play along, and at least treat me as though I were female. I figured that if I was lucky, maybe she just wasn’t really sure. She invited me to join them in the swinging grill for dinner where all of their family members present a musical kind of singing show. I guess in a place like Mexican Hat, any kind of live entertainment is big news. I did my best to preempt any potential problems by explaining that I had been traveling since very early that morning and was really tired and hungry. I asked if I could just get a quick but hearty meal and then be off to bed. I was assured that she would see to it that I was accommodated. I think that she was as much relieved, as I was to know that I wouldn’t be a detriment to their nightly show.
I carried my luggage, laptop and the box into my room, and then made my way into the restaurant. True to their word I was seated in a relatively quiet corner. I had known that a family ran this establishment, and as I sat there awaiting my meal I began to notice that I was being served by a multitude of people. One person would bring out water, another would bring out rolls, and on it went. It struck me that probably everyone in the family wanted to come out to see the pervert. Eventually I was served a delicious steak. Of course, I hadn’t eaten anything since my rather small lunch, so I truly was ravishing by the time my dinner was served. I would have to say that this is really quite an interesting place. The meat is cooked on a grill that literally swings in and out of the flames of a wood fire, which is where the ‘Swinging Grill’ derives its name.
By the time my meal was being served more people started wandering into the restaurant making me thankful that I had scored the quiet corner table. After a while one of the family came out and started the show. I have to admit that while I hope they aren’t expecting a Hollywood talent agent to stop by and give them their big break, for the type of show that it was, it really wasn’t bad at all. I was tired and didn’t stay to see the full show. Having enjoyed a good meal I headed back to my room. When I arrived at the room the damn box began calling to me again. I couldn’t help myself and just had to press that white button again.
“This is try #1 of 3”
“Game starts at 7:am.”
The red ‘Scroll down’ button produced:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
As expected.
I had been given two less attempts this time, so apparently the game was getting a little more serious. I placed the box on the nightstand. During dinner I noticed that the tiny white feminine gloves that I had been wearing to hide my masculine looking hands had become somewhat dingy looking from my wearing them throughout the day. I now removed them and took them into the bathroom where I scrubbed them as best I could using the tiny bar of soap provided by the motel. I rinsed them thoroughly, and hung them on the shower rod to dry during the night. I was beginning to feel a little grungy myself, and wished that I could remove the dress and stockings for the night as well. Even getting out of these damn shoes would be a wonderful relief, but alas I knew this was not to be. I took off my wig and scrubbed off the makeup, hoping that somehow I would be able to do a better job with it tomorrow. I turned out the light and crawled into bed. Within seconds I had fallen asleep. It had been a long day.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
I awoke to a loud shrill beeping sound. It was my travel alarm, loud enough to almost wake the dead! As I silenced the alarm it confirmed that it was indeed 6:45 Am. As I awoke I was quickly reminded of my current situation as the corset stays were digging painfully into my body, and these dammed fake breasts were either weighting down my chest or uncomfortably pressing into it when I tried to sleep on my stomach. Before I dragged my sore and aching body out of bed I knew that I wanted out of this stuff now! Unfortunately, the only way out of my predicament seemed to be to satisfy the damn box, and that didn’t seem to be an easy thing to do. Thinking of the box, I wandered over to the dresser where I had left it and absent-mindedly pressed the white button. Dutifully the display sprang to life with the message:
“This is try #2 of 3”
“Game starts at 7:am.”
The red ‘Scroll down’ button produced:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
I dug in my purse and found my makeup and hairbrush. Of course, by now the wig needed some serious attention. I did the best that I was able to make the wig look halfway presentable, and halfway presentable is probably a good description of the results of my efforts. I also smeared on some makeup in a vain attempt to make my face look somewhat feminine. Once again, my severe lack of expertise in this area clearly showed. By now I became well aware that I was once again hungry. The damn corset was constricting my stomach to an extent that I could consume only very small meals, and as a result I needed to eat far less, and far more often than I was used to. I decided that the hotel restaurant people had already seen me in all of my splendor, so there might be slightly less embarrassment for me eating there rather than finding someplace new. I gathered up my things, and carried my belongings out to the car so that after eating breakfast I would be prepared to make a swift getaway, should the box suddenly decide to cooperate.
One fear that had crossed my mind was that perhaps the restaurant would be staffed with a different crew in the morning, and thus I might be subjected to a completely different set of gawkers. Fortunately, breakfast apparently isn’t a big thing in this area, and a skeleton crew of family members was on duty. Knowing that I would be unable to consume the breakfast that I would have really preferred I opted for a much smaller selection of one egg, toast, and some hash browns. Indeed this proved to be a good choice, because my constricted stomach was barely able to hold the abbreviated meal.
It was now nearly 7:45. I sincerely hoped that the box didn’t mind my being late for our appointment. Back in the car I once again confronted my nemesis and pressed the white button. The box sprang to life and displayed:
“This is try #1 of 20”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
Thankfully, the box didn’t seem to care about my tardiness. The display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 275 miles.”
Once again the game seemed to be getting more serious, since I had been given five fewer chances to locate my goal this time. I had expected a goodly distance because there sure didn’t seem to be much of anything within a short distance of Mexican Hat Utah.
I pushed the red ‘Scroll down’ button.
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
I decided that as long as I was stuck in a place where nobody knew who I was, I would take advantage of the situation and fill the gas tank while I had the opportunity. Unfortunately the modern age of ‘Pay at the pump’ hadn’t yet reached as far as Mexican Hat, so I had to stroll on into the convenience store to leave them my credit card as a deposit. The clerk was an older man, who gave me a very strange look as I entered the store, but busy with another customer, took my card without comment. I received several strange looks from the locals as I pumped my gas, but none of them made any comments. Then I had to go back into the store again to pay for my purchase and reclaim my card. As I reentered the store the clerk, who was probably somewhat bored seemed to have had a slight change in attitude, and now seemed anxious to have someone to talk to. At the risk of seeming abrupt I hurried out of the store as quickly as I could.
I Once again I faced the question of what direction I should travel. My goal could be in literally any direction. I set up my laptop and connected my GPS to it. Bringing up Street Atlas it sorrowfully confirmed that this was no nightmare, and I was indeed in Mexican Hat UT. All I had to do was to look in the mirror to confirm that the rest of the nightmare was also true as a rather strange looking female face stared back at me. Mexican Hat is on highway 163, so there really were really only two choices, northeast, or Southwest. Since I had come from the northeast I decided to head southwest. As I neared the city of Kayenta, AZ. which was near the intersection of highways 163, and 160, I once again interrogated the box.
“This is try #2 of 20”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 297 miles.”
Well, that sure wasn’t the right direction! My objective had to be either north or east. I turned onto highway 160 and headed east. At least this was in the general direction towards home. Highway 160 became highway 64 as I crossed from Arizona into New Mexico Eventually I came to the small city of Shiprock NM. I once again interrogated the box.
“This is try #3 of 20”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 225 miles.”
Well, at least I was definitely headed in the right direction this time. Since I was doing as well as could be expected I continued east on highway 64. As I passed through Farmington NM the box reported a distance of 186 miles, again confirming that I was on track. Eventually arriving at the city of Bloomfield NM. I once again interrogated the box.
“This is try #5 of 20”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The display automatically changed to:
“signal acquired.”
“Distance 165 miles.”
I was still on track headed toward my unknown destination. Looking at the laptop I decided that I now faced a decision. I could continue east on route 64, which so far had proved to be rather fruitful. The problem was that 64 didn’t seem to go anyplace that I might want to go. Another option would be to take route 550 north. This would take me back into Colorado towards Durango. This route would take me closer to home, and into some more familiar territory. Once I was up near Durango I could pick up route 160 and head east again if the box indicated such a choice prudent. I realized that this was somewhat of a gamble, but my gut instinct told me to head north. I turned onto 550 north.
There really wasn’t any place to turn off of route 550 until I came to the intersection of 160, 40 miles to the north, now in Colorado. I pulled over at the intersection and once again requested assistance from the box. The box dutifully reported a distance of 158 miles. I had gained only seven miles by driving forty. The good news was I hadn’t lost any ground with my gamble. I once again headed east on route 160, keeping track of my progress with the box and Street Atlas as I went. The box reported at Pagosa Springs, 110 Miles. Monte Vista, 64 miles. Alamosa, 47 miles. Fort Garland, 21 miles. And La Veta, 12 miles. Finally I ended up in a place called Walsenburg CO. The box displayed:
“This is try 13 of 20”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The display automatically changed to:
“Congratulations.”
“You Have Arrived!”
Well, I had achieved one more objective, but I still wasn’t sure what it would buy me. I pressed the red scroll down button to see what more the box would tell me the display changed to:
“Next objective is”
“154 mi. Try #1/10”
Pressing the red button again only got me:
“Access denied.”
“Powering off.”
Shit!
I was tired and hungry. The small breakfast that the damn highly constricting corset had forced me to settle for had worn off hours ago. Not only that I was on some wild goose chase while dressed in women’s clothing that I was unable to get out of. Life was not good! I decided that I needed a break and it was time to eat. I drove past an Outback steak house, and my mouth began to water. Unfortunately I knew that the damn corset would not allow me to consume any kind of decent sized steak. Indeed, last evening half of my steak remained on the plate that I had been unable to consume. I ended up settling for a Mickey D’s burger, and with the restriction of my clothing, it was about all that I was able to get down.
The box wasn’t being much help by limiting me to only half the number of guesses this time. As I sat and ate my burger I looked at the laptop wondering where my next objective could be. I clicked on my present location and designated it as the start of a route. Then I scrolled up to my home and clicked on that designating it as the end of the route. The distance was 179 miles. Accounting for the twists and turns in the road that seemed to compare favorably with the 154 miles that the box was reporting. Not only that, Walsenburg sits on I-25, a major north/south highway that heads for home. I decided that I was going home regardless of what the damn box wanted! I finished my lunch, humiliated myself at a local gas station as I filled the tank, and headed north on I-25.
I had often flown into the Pueblo airport. It’s a nice one-hour flight, and a good place to go for the preverbal $100 hamburger. (For those of you that don’t fly, that’s $2.00 for the hamburger, and $98.00 to fly there.) When I reached Pueblo I again pressed the white button. The box reported 115 Miles. Street Atlas reported 130 miles by road, so I seemed to be right on track again. By now all I wanted to do was get home. I didn’t even bother to consult the box as I drove the rest of the way home.
As I pulled into my driveway I gave the damn box one more chance to save itself from certain destruction. I figured that it was either giving up the keys, or it would find itself splintered against the pavement. The box must have felt my anguish, because when I pressed the white button it responded with:
“This is try #3 of 10”
“Acquiring signal. NN”
The display automatically changed to:
“Congratulations.”
“You Have Arrived!”
’This is it’ I thought, ‘either give up the keys or you’re splinters’ as I pressed the red button. The display responded with:
“Access granted.”
“you May Open the lid”
A small whirring sound emanated from the box. I gave a slight upward push on the lid, which easily swung open. There, lying on the bottom of the box was the ring of five shiny brass keys. I snatched up the keys and was about to smash the damn box anyway, but then thought of what my wife and Karen would surely do to me when they found the smashed box. And one way or another they surely would find the smashed box. I do hope that the box appreciated my leniency.
Getting home and retrieving the keys was actually somewhat of an anticlimax. Here I had traveled literally hundreds of miles through four states for two full days, only to be rewarded with the keys after arriving back home. The whole trip really seemed rather pointless, other than the humiliation that it caused me. I carried my suitcase into the house, having never had the opportunity to open it even once during the trip.
I immediately made my way to my bedroom. The first thing I removed was those damn shoes. I can’t tell you how badly my feet hurt. Not only the foot itself, but the muscles in the back of my calves, and just my legs in general. The shoes had forced my foot into an unnatural position with my toes pointed downward, and not being able to remove the shoes for a full 48 hours had taken a toll on my muscles causing them to rebel. Finally the dress came off followed by the damn corset. I had almost forgotten how good it felt to be able to take a normal breath filling my lungs full of air. I stepped into the shower before I removed the rubber pants. Of course, it took some effort to extract my manhood from the tiny hole that constricted it into the front pocket. Thinking back, Karen had some sort of amazing job to get my package fitted into this contraption.
Since I hadn’t been able to change my clothes for two full days the shower felt wonderful. I took the dress, corset and other clothing down to our laundry room and placed them amongst the dirty clothing.
The next thing I knew the alarm was going off again and it was once again time for work. Of course, when I got to work I was hounded by all of the guys who wanted to razz me for not showing up on Friday evening. I did hear some comments like ‘Whipped’. Of course if they only knew the real reason I hadn’t shown up…
When I arrived home from work on Monday my wife had arrived home and met me at the door. Of course she wanted to hear all about my weekend. I decided to play the game and simply said that nothing much had happened, and that I had taken a short scenic drive to relax me. There was no way that I was going to give her the satisfaction of hearing about what really happened. Undoubtedly she knew the gist of what had happened since I was no longer wearing the dress, and her diabolical box was still in one piece. Later that week I did notice the nicely cleaned and pressed dress hanging in our closet, and my wife did say something about her needing a new pair of dress gloves.
Authors Note:This story was actually inspired by an article in the July 2010 issue of 'Nuts and Volts' magazine. One particular article 'Self-Locking Box' caught my eye. http://nutsvolts.texterity.com/nutsvolt ... 20box#pg29 The article and project was based on another article which can be found here: http://arduiniana.org/projects/the-reve ... he-puzzle/
In the preamble the author described a box from the initial article that’s contained some electronics, including a GPS module, that would not unlock itself to be opened until it was taken to a specific location. The author of this second article had modified the original design replacing the GPS unit with an RFID card reader. These are the cards that many companies use as ID badges that open doors when held near a reader. I guess the RFID version would be neat, and have it's uses but... All I could think about was a box that a key could be locked into that would not open until you reached some specific location. Thus the story was born.
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29.08.10 | updated - 07.05.17