Her heart was thudding, she was having trouble breathing, and she was sick to her stomach. For the first time in her life, Jenny thought she might faint. Tears streamed out of her and she finally gave up fighting the ropes that bound her. The more she fought, the tighter they got and the more they hurt. Her arms and legs were already numb. She wished to God that Lynn would stop struggling.Stop your goddamn squirming, she wanted to shout. Can't you see you're just making it worse? She'd have shouted that at Lynn had her own mouth not been stuffed with a wadded-up wool stocking, the stinking sock that the old bastard had pulled off his smelly foot and shoved into her mouth before tying the gag rope around her head. Thank God she hadn't vomited. She would have choked herself to death, would have drowned on a lungful of vomit.Lynn stopped struggling, hopefully having come to the same conclusion as herself - that struggling was only making the ropes hurt more. They were bound together -. A bra here, a dressthere. It made me feel like a pussy but I also couldn't deny how much itturned me on. I'd almost always have to masturbate within minutes ofwearing the clothing, as my cock would start to throb/ache if I didn't.Luckily my dad worked long hours as a lawyer, so I had plenty of time to"experiment" between when I got home from school and when he got homefrom work.That continued all through high school, until I went to college. It wasa bit more difficult in college; having a roommate and all. But I'dstill occasionally sneak on a thong or panties just to get off from timeto time. I was too afraid to go beyond that, not wanting to ruin myreputation as a macho guy. And that's really all it was. I had nointerest in being a girl, or even wearing girls' clothing. I was onlyattracted to women, and found guy on guy stuff revolting. But somethingabout wearing those clothes, just briefly, to get off, had an effectlike no other.Once my parents more or less disowned me for wasting.
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