Instant Victim

"Going all the way this time, honey. Just getting it over with. Relax, and we'll get through this." I tried my best, I really did, but as his entire fist entered my colon, I screamed into my gag again. "I'm in, trying to find the key now." Once again, the situation rolled over me. Here I was, getting fisted in the ass by a total stranger, in front of a crowd of admirers, also all strangers. And Lord help me, I was loving it. Another orgasm rolled through me, mercifully a smaller one this time, and when I had recovered, Jerry was actually unlocking my handcuffs.

Finally, free of my biggest bonds, I was able to slump to the floor in relief. Curled in a ball, I was able to conceal my initimates from the other passengers. Jerry stood protectively over me for a moment before asking if I wanted to get dressed. Accepting his help to stand again, I allowed him to pull the dress up from the ground, and was finally covered for real. As he helped me to a seat, thankfully vacated by another good samaritan, he handed me all of the keys, cuffs, and vibrators. He also handed me a piece of paper. "My phone number—this was kind of neat, and if you'd like a, uh, more traditional date, well..." I shrugged, and he nodded, and moved away.

The show was mostly over now, though I still had a fake cock in my mouth, and shoes in which I could barely stand locked on my feet. The envelope had said they would stay on, but for how long? Almost as if my thoughts were read, another envelope appeared in my hands. I sighed, and opened it.

"Wasn't that fun?

I've taken the liberty of mailing the keys to your remaining bonds to your house. I expect they'll arrive in the next three or four days.

I have placed the keys to your car and house in your lap. The rest of your belongings will be waiting for you at home, save for the clothes you were wearing. You won't be seeing them again.

I'll be in touch."

In touch? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? And three to four days? I still had to work! How was I supposed to do that with a gag and these stupid shoes?

But Christ if the thought of this didn't make me wet again. I was violated in the worst way, and basically allowed myself to be violated again to get out of it.

I managed to get home without much incident, though figuring out how to drive in these shoes was a pain. My belongings were all there, though it appeared my closets and drawers had been ransacked. I didn't bother to look at the contents. Did a bit of research; apparently the shoes are called ballet heels, designed to keep you on tip toe while balancing on a ridiculous seven or eight-inch stiletto.

I finally managed to calm down enough to start falling asleep. Gods above, I've rarely if ever even had a sexy dream before, but damned if I didn't start thinking about what was to come.