I wonder why I haven't told her. Shouldn't we be able to talk about anything. Or maybe I should just give it up. I walk downstairs to the extra bedroom and look through the closet. I've brought some things with me--a length of chain, a dog collar and a ball gag. Why is it such a big deal? We own a ball gag for Christ's sake. We are probably more adventurous than most couples, at least most couples in the midwest. When I told my wife I would like to try a ball gag, she went out and bought one, albeit a cheap one. That was pretty cool. But the cross-dressing is just too embarrassing to talk about.

I look through the closet and find what I am looking for. Just seeing it makes me get hard. It's a green velvet minidress. She's had it since highschool, I'm sure, and probably hasn't worn it since. It's indecently short. I try to imagine my wife wearing it--she would be really hot. I fumble for my keys and unlock the padlock on the chest at the foot of the bed. She thinks I lost the key in college. Now we just use it as a small table. It's a good ploy because we can't afford extra furniture; especially for our makeshift guest bedroom in the basement. Inside the chest I find my things: Bras, panties, pantyhose and stockings. All of which have been borrowed at one time or another from my wife. She's not terribly organized and has never even noticed them missing. Lastly I pull out my prize possession, my leather 4-inch high-heel ankle boots. I wonder how I ever built up the courage to buy them at that garage sale.

I check to make sure the blinds are closed on the slit of a window at the top of the wall then proceed to undress. The concrete floor is cold on my bare feet, but the thought of getting dressed is warming me up. I put on the bra and stuff it with some old socks. Next I pull on the panties. By now I have a large erection and the panties only cover my balls. I'm getting more excited now and quickly slide on some black pantyhose. I notice that they have a run on the back of one of the legs, but I don't really care. I suppose I'll have to replace them eventually. When they're finally on, the pantyhose exert pressure against my cock. I pause for a moment to enjoy the feeling. But then it's time for the shoes. I put one of them on and almost come when my heel slides fully in. The sound of the high heel scraping against the concrete turns me on even more. The boots are a little small and my ankles, I suppose are a little large, so it's difficult to lace the boot up. I lean back in the boot so that I can close them as tightly as possible then I secure them with a nice bow. The laces are thin and soft, they won't be coming untied. I sit back and try not to come because I have a whole other boot to put on.

I get the other boot on without creaming in my pantyhose, and now it's time for the dress. I slide it over my head and work it down as much as I can. Because I'm taller than my wife, her mini-dress is micro mini on me. It barely covers my ass. The long sleeves are a full two inches short of my wrists. I reach around behind me and tie the laces in the back. As I tighten them, I watch as the slack in my waist is removed and my breasts appear to bulge out. Not too bad. I walk over to the mirror and admire myself. The clicking sound of my heels on the echoes through the room and makes me want to come. But I've got a better idea.

First, I think I should be wearing my collar. My wife got it for me almost as a joke when she first found out that I like to be dominated. I put it on. Next I grab the bright red lipstick out of the chest and begin to apply it to my lips. Then I take the ball gag and insert it behind my teeth being careful not to smear my lipstick. I buckle the leather strap behind my neck and try to spit out the gag--I can't. Now I try to swallow and can't do that either. I examine the chain that I've brought down and try to see how many links it take to wrap around my wrists. Then I count out the number of links and use a padlock to make a loop. I place my hands palm to palm and slide them into the loop. It's the perfect size. I pull my hands out of the loop and attach the other end of the chain to my collar using a connector that screws open and shut. Letting the chain hang behind my back, I again insert my hands into the loop and try to imagine that I am truly helpless.

At first I play games with myself; I try to get the gag out of my mouth with my hands bound behind my back. Obviously I can't. Now I try to get my boots off. I struggle and struggle but I can't touch anything except the heels. This turns me on even more. I imagine what I would do if she walked through the front door right now. I could run over and lock the door, but what would I say I was doing? Not that there's a chance of her coming home. She's at a dinner meeting and won't be home for hours.

Eventually I get bored and decide to get myself off. I lay down on my belly on the bed and begin to hump it. But my cock is rubbing strangely against the pantyhose and it doesn't feel that good. Now I notice that my wrists are sore from the chain. Disappointed I pull my hands out of the loop. I rub my wrists and get an idea. I run upstairs and work my way to our bedroom. Fortunately all of the blinds are closed because it's getting dark out and people would be able to see in. I go through my wife's drawers and find a pair of black elbow length gloves. She's never worn them. At least not since we've been married, but I saw them in her drawer once and have always wanted to wear them. I slide them on, pull them up to my elbows and then work the sleeves of the dress back down over the gloves. I like the feel of the gloves. I wish I had on a sleeveless dress that would show them off more. As I walk back downstairs, I turn the collar around so the chain is now in front of me and I again insert my hands into the loop. When I get downstairs I sit on the bed looking at my hands. It's an interesting sight to see my hands in black gloves wrapped in silver chain. I bend over and realize that I can reach my penis and jerk off. But I'm not really in the mood anymore; I'm getting bored again.

Then I get the idea that would change my life forever. I don't know what causes me to think of it, but I remember a picture that I saw in a grade school history book. It was a picture of a slave in an unusual bondage position. He was probably being punished for something. I have a strange compulsion to try that position. I go to the laundry room, grab a broom and return to the bedroom. Now I sit on the bed and put my feet up at the foot of the bed. I pull my knees up between my arms to get an idea of how it would feel. It doesn't feel too bad. I really want to try it with the broom, but how am I going to do it? The easiest way would be to pull my hands out of the loop, wrap my arms and legs around the broom and then put my hands back in the loop. But I'm too lazy to do that. Instead I arrange the broomstick on my right hand side with the tip of the hand above my right elbow. Then by leaning to the right I am able to carefully guide the broom under my knees and over my left elbow. Once past my left elbow, though, the broomstick keeps on going. I am unable to stop myself from leaning to the right and just keep on going until the broom head itself is butted up against my right arm and can go no further. The pressure of the broom against my arm starts to make it numb and I decide that this wasn't such a great idea so I pull my wrists out of the loop.

But my wrists won't come out. I try again, but my hands are stuck. Because my knees are between my arms, I can't pull my hands straight out of the chain loop in the same way I put them in. When I realize what I've done, I begin to panic. I think that if I can just pull hard enough, I can bear the pain and get my hands out. It doesn't work. Now I get a new plan: work the broomstick out the same way I put it in. Unfortunately, I have no leverage to get off of my right hand side. I begin to rock back and forth, trying to build up enough momentum to get me on my left side so I can push the broomstick out.

I continue to struggle and to rock. Each time I rock to the left I get a little closer to center, but each time I rock to the right, the broom presses painfully against my arm. Finally I am able to center myself... at least briefly. My momentum caries me over to my left hand side with such force that I pivot on the tip of the broomstick and then roll forwards off of the bed. My head hits the chest which was at the foot of the bed and my feet come over my head and I roll onto the floor. My head and wrists are throbbing, but at least I'm on my left side. My ass and my feet form two sides of a rather odd pyramid with the tip of the brooms forming the third. Ignoring the pain that I am feeling I try to work the broom free.

At first I don't know what the sensation that I'm feeling is. I feel like I'm moving ever so slowly to the left. Maybe I'm succeeding and dislodging the broomstick? But then I start moving quicker and I can see it's not the broomstick coming out from between my arms and legs, it's the metal handle of the broomstick beginning to bend. I yell into my gag as the metal bar gives in to my weight and bends. I find myself flat on my side. I hope that maybe the broom handle broke, but I now I can see that it is still attached, just bent. There's no way to get the broom out now with the broom head on one side and a big bend in the handle at the other--there's no way out.

The only thing I can think about is that she's going to find me like this. What will she do? How will I survive the humiliation? I find myself starting to cry. Not very manly, but then again, I'm wearing a dress. I feel the panic welling up inside me. It's like an animal instinct over which I have no control. I go crazy, pulling as hard as I can against my bonds. Maybe I can pull my hands out; maybe I can bend the broom handle. Nothing happens. I run out of energy and a strange calm again falls over me--I'm helpless. I have to accept that. I look at my knees in the pantyhose and my high heel boots. Jesus, what have I done.

I'm on the basement floor for a couple of hours. I think I've actually drifted off to sleep a couple of times because I can't seem to account for all of the time. How long has it been? My body is so sore, I don't notice hardly even notice it anymore, except of course if I move. Any movement at all and pain races through my entire body. I'll try not to move. Then I hear it--the chirp of her car alarm. What a strange feeling. I've never been so happy to hear a sound. My torment is almost over. But I've never been so scared in my life. What will she say? At this point, I don't care. She could bring a dozen coworkers home and I wouldn't care as long as they would release me.

Upstairs, she walks in the front door. I can hear her heels clicking against the hard wood floor. She calls my name. I don't even try to answer. The fear is beginning to win out over the anticipation of release. Maybe I can just stay down here and she won't find me. Better yet, maybe I'll die. I try to will myself to die. She calls for me again. I hear her coming down the stairs. I feel tears running down my cheeks. My heart pounds so fast I think my head will explode. Pain tears through my body. Am I moving? Maybe subconsciously I'm trying to wiggle away and hide. But there's nowhere to go and I can't move anyway. Oh Jesus, she's going to find me. I can't do anything about it. I can't take off these clothes. God Damnit. Fucking Shit, she's going to find me like this.

The door to the room opens. She walks in a stares at me, but says nothing. I whimper pathetically through the gag. She looks so good. I've never seen her like this. I just want to hold her, thank her for saving me. God, I'll do anything for her. "Shit!" she finally says and walks out the door and back upstairs.

I'm stunned; I don't know what to do. I go crazy, yelling as loudly as I can through the gag. It's a cheap gag with a foam ball instead of a rubber ball. I can squish it with my tongue and get almost as loud as I could without it. Or, at least, that's what it seems like in my depraved state. The thought floats through my head that maybe the neighbors will hear. But I don't care; I'm desperate for help--anyone's help. I can bear the shame, but no more pain. I'm in so much fucking pain. How could she leave me like this?

I hear her walking back down the stairs. What a wonderful sound. I hope she's not too mad about me yelling. The door flies open. She's pissed. "So you want to be a fucking girl?" she yells. Now I'm afraid the neighbors will hear. I squeeze the gag against the top of my mouth and try to talk.

"Pleeth, juth helb me."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" she yells and slaps me across the face. Strange, but I don't hardly feel it. "If you want to be a girl, then you can be a girl." Oh fuck, she's brought down some Vaseline and a huge dildo. Oh Jesus, she can't be serious.

I try to squirm away, but I can't move. The pain throughout my body is extreme, but I continue to struggle. She rolls me onto my back. I think I'll pass out from the pain. I feel her smearing the Vaseline on my ass.

"Pleeth... Pleeth, don't!!" I scream. I begin to panic uncontrollably. "Pleeth... No!! No!!" I scream into the gag. But there's nothing I can do as she slides the dildo into my ass. The pain is nothing compared to the pain I am already in, but the humiliation is extreme. Then she turns it on and it begins to vibrate. I try to squeeze it out of my ass, and at first think I'm succeeding, until I realize that she's pulling it out only to ram it up my ass again. In and out it goes as she fucks me... as she rapes me. I'm powerless to stop her and I begin to cry again.

Finally she stops. "Poor little girl," she says.

She reaches down and tries to bend the broom handle back into shape. It breaks instead. "You owe me a new broom," she says as she pulls it out from between my legs and arms. The rough edge of the broken metal scratches the back of my knees ripping the pantyhose to shreds. Immediately I stand up, so happy to be free. But I almost pass out from the pain. I fall back onto the bed. I've been lying on the floor for so long that I'm light headed. And now the blood seems to be going to other places. I look down in disbelief at my immense erection. My skirt is well above my hips and my penis is clearly visible through the pantyhose. She sees it and smiles.

"Maybe you're not a girl after all." I say nothing as she pulls down the pantyhose and panties exposing my cock and balls. Then she hikes up her skirt and pulls down her pantyhose and panties. I've never been this hard in my entire life and easily slide inside her. She works herself up and down, but I'm too tired to help--I just lay there. The pantyhose exert pressure on the bottom of my scrotum that combined with her rhythmic motions is almost unbearably pleasurable. I come almost immediately. An almost immediately after that, I'm dead to the world. I lay there is a stupor, too tired to even pull my hands out of the chain loop as she gets up and fixes her skirt. She looks at herself in the mirror and as I look at her I see myself. I look like shit. My drool has smeared my lipstick and it is all over my face. Now I begin to feel ashamed. How could I have done this to myself?

I think she sees me looking at myself. "Do you like what you see?" she asks. "Jesus, who taught you how to put on lipstick... a hooker? Do you think you put on enough?" she asks jokingly. She laughs and casually picks up the tube of lipstick on the dresser. "Cinnamon Candy," she reads off the bottom. "You know... this shit is really cheap, and really slutty. You really like this?" she asks.

I've gotten the gag off, but my mouth is so dry and my jaw aches so much that I can't respond.

"You're pathetic!" she continues, "In fact, you're so pathetic, I don't even think you deserve a man's name. You need a slutty name to go along with your slutty clothes--Jesus, look at those heels--you are just a fucking whore." She starts to walk out of the room still holding the tube of lipstick. She smiles. Then the smile turns into a laugh. "That'll be your name... Candy. You can be named after your slutty lipstick that you like to wear so much of." She pauses. "Actually, you'll need to spell it with an "i" so you can dot it with a heart. You'd like that, wouldn't you, little girl?"

She walks out of the room. I look over at the clock; it's after midnight. I've been chained up for almost six hours. I work my hands free of the chain, lay them by my side and quickly fall asleep. I dream about my wife and candy canes.