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EARNING THEIR WAY OUT OF MALE CHASTITY

FINAL BONDAGE TAG-TEAM — PART 1 OF 6

Zedication: This Book is Dedicated to Alan Tegel. Without whom, this Story would have never been told. I wish to Thank You, Alan, for Pushing Me to Spread my Wings Even Further. Zatanna Dark

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.

ENTRANCES . . .

I’ve watched a Show being Filmed before . . . but I’ve never been in front of the cameras like we’re about to be. Open, real, honest, with nothing hidden. With so many Reality Shows out there . . . I guess the odds of me being on one weren’t too crazy.

The line of Guys, or Men, depending upon what you want to call them, is a very wide collection. If you were going to have twelve Guys on a Show fighting over a Girl, this would be the variety you’d want.

Thinking of every Boy Band Ever, there’s always a variety to appeal to the vast array of viewers. It’s just Human Nature to want such a thing. None of us have been given too many details. I’d like to think this would be just like every other show.

Except the numbered collars already have me questioning that already. All are black leather is locked on each of us. I’m still determining his name, but the number 11 would refuse when they were about to add the lock.

Guess it’s nice to know you can always just say “No” if you feel things aren’t within your comfort zone. He did earn first physical contact as those redheaded, sexy as ever, Twins walked him away. Bet he’s getting lucky with them right now.

“Number 3! Get moving!” The Clipboard Girl had already waved 1 & 2 onto the Set and I was holding up the line. “Sorry!” With a bit of an uncalled for snide look, she responded with, “Better be.”

I, along with Numbers 4 through 12, of course, minus 11, joined 1 and 2 who were already on the Set. It feels odd referring to everyone by number, but without knowing anyone’s actual names, it does kinda make it easier . . . especially with the numbers right on the fronts of everyone’s collars.

I am entering the Set or the Stage. I don’t know which one it is; the lights are bright. Looking down, I see large circles on the floor. Each has a number in the middle.

I didn’t need any explanation or guidance as I quickly made my way to circle number 3. It seems everyone else didn’t fully grasp the simplicity of this concept.

{Smack!} Clipboard Girl smacked Number 12 really hard on the ass with her Tool of the Trade . . . her clipboard! Number 12, who was standing in circle number 11, was raising his hand in anger! “You Fucking Bitch!”

A very powerful voice said, “Girls!” The redheaded Twins moved in quickly from behind the camera area. This time I was allowed the visual pleasure of their white spandex covered bodies as they entered the spotlights! “Wow” Leaked out, but quietly.

Number 12 was about to get violent with Clipboard Girl! I wasn’t sure the Twins, as much as they had their Cross Fit bodies, could stop him! That was until the surprise of the day ran out from backstage . . .

Quadruplets? No fucking way! Also, with equally as intense red hair, tight white spandex bodysuits, and just as extremely fit bodies as the first pair! “Wow.” OK, that one wasn’t as quiet. I need to be more careful. I need to stay respectful of their beauty.

Still, with the Quad fast approaching and obviously powerful enough to take Number 12 down. I didn’t see them reaching him quickly enough! Turns out, Clipboard Girl’s foot ended the standoff as it was buried deep into 12’s balls!

The tall and scary tower that was Number 12 opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. As both hands tried to find his balls, he slowly tipped to the side.

“Timber!” was perfectly timed by Number 4, seconds before he started to fall. Almost as if it was slow motion, the tower of a man, eyes wide open, pain crossing his face. Then it sped back up and 12 hit the wooden floor of the Set fast and hard!

“Number 4!” Sounds the powerful voice. “That was a good one. But next time. . you don’t speak without permission. You’re all still learning . . . so I’ll allow it this time.”

In any other place, working at a Restaurant, a Meeting for some Big Business, or even out in public, her words would have just sounded rude. Here, it’s different.

Here . . . it feels right. She’s in-charge of everyone working to Produce this Show as much as she’s in-charge of all of us. After all, we are just numbers for her to command.

Honestly, not sure how the rest of the Guys feel, but I’m ready to do anything and everything they ask or tell me to do. I want to be the last one standing . . . whatever that even means . . .

EXITS . . .

Number 11 was walked out by the Twins, I mean two of the Quads. Standing and arm in arm like Dorothy, the Tin Man and the Lion. Number 12’s exit wasn’t as nice.

The Quads, as muscular as they were, could easily have carried him off Set. They did anything but. One of them wrapped a black rope, or was it a noose? Couldn’t tell for sure . . . around his ankles.

Tossing the loose end to her Sisters, they lined up as the Sexiest Dog Sled Team you’d ever see! No disrespect in any way. They are the farthest things from Dogs. But the imagery was pretty solid.

Once all four had a hand on the rope, they headed off Set as he dragged behind. Not bothering to slow or adjust as they left, his body smacked hard against one side, then the other side of the doorway.

I’d be very surprised if he didn’t bite his lip when his chin caught the frame of the door. Guys truly are idiots at times. Acting all tough and powerful, yet we’re just one well-targeted attack away from us going down.

Even the Death Star, the most powerful and feared creation of the Sci-fi Universe, has that same simple weakness. I’ve yet to find this type of weakness on a Woman. Am pretty sure, it’s because they don’t have one.

Number 12 didn’t, or couldn’t, fight his exit . . . only letting out a few small grunts of pain with each hit. And then there were Ten. No longer Ten Guys all kicked back, relaxed, and joking around. Ten who were now all silent and at attention . . . including myself!

The silence is broken as I finally get to see where the voice of power has been coming from. A Goddess of Power. Maybe in her late twenties. Sitting sideways and crossed legs on a very rich brown leather couch. One of those with the fancy inset buttons creates a criss-cross pattern.

A very tiny, tight, and short black latex dress with only one shoulder strap is fighting to hold in her perfectly-sized chest. Every inch of her skin is perfect! You didn’t need to hear her talk to feel her Power.

Her blonde hair pulled tightly into a single tail. She had very little, if any, makeup . . . for she did not need any. Her shiny black stilettos cupped and supported her pointing feet.

She was holding a very long black riding crop as if it were just a natural extension of her arms and hands. The only part of her displayed accessories that weren’t black was her metallic silver nails that looked sharp enough to cut glass!

“As you’ve all just learned. The choice to leave or stay is always yours. While how you leave will always be mine. Walking out on your own two feet or dragged away ball-less will be based on what you’ve earned and or deserve.”

Dead silence . . . waiting for that pin to drop . . . “Do you all understand?” A random ass collection of “Yup,” “Yeah,” “Sure,” “No Problem,” . . . and as polite as possible, down-home Texas “Yes, Ma’am” from me.

Lastly, one not too smart, yet very quiet, “This is Bullshit” from Number 8. The Goddess on the couch said, “From here on out, your responses will ooze Respect.

I will know when you mean it and when you’re just pretending, so I don’t destroy you on the spot. You will respond to me with Yes, Mistress Z or No, Mistress Z.”

Number 8 now says a little louder, “Total Bullshit.” It’s not that Mistress Z didn’t hear him either time. She was deciding just how he’d be leaving. Mistress Z says, “Dusk, Dawn . . . you two may enter now.”

Continuing with, “This competition will be both day and night. Therefore, all of you will need Trainer Access, day and night. Say hello to the Boys and girls.” The Overall Level of Female Power on the Set just tripled!

In an overly short, not really covering anything, black ruffled skirt and the smallest of bikini tops held in place by pretty much, shoestrings, was Dawn.

Her dishwater blonde hair outlined her hazel eyes and full bright red lips. Border-lining between the sweet voice of Jessica Rabbit & Marilyn Monroe, she said, “Hello Boys.”

The third woman of Power was much more dark. Wearing a black stretchy shoulder-less dress, mini skirt combo full of holes of curiosity. God, I’d love to put my tongue in every hole . . . with her permission, of course. I want to keep my nuts.

She was obviously Dark and would be working the Night Shift. Her straight black hair cascaded down onto her full breasts as she cut to the chase with a simple and straightforward, “Don’t any of you Dare Fuck With Me!”

Number 8, was determined to get booted next, comments, “I’d fuck you anytime Cunt . . . Let’s do it now . . . Right here in front of the Lights and Cameras, and I’d take care of all the Action.” Stupid . . .

“Oh, Yeah?” Said Dusk “That’s kinda Hot? So you have a Big Cock then?” She asks as she moves up to him. “Bigger than you . . .” and with her un-holstered handheld Taser firmly held against his stomach, he’s stopped mid-sentence!

Pushing the Taser against him so hard we really couldn’t hear the noise. We just watched as his uncontrolled spasming body pissed itself before crumpling straight down. The visuals totally made up for the lack of the expected shocking sounds.

Mistress Z called out two quick commands, “Trunk! Ball-tied!” The Redheaded Quads reappears from back Stage with not too large of a trunk and a few hands full of rope.

Like a fast-moving Pit-Crew, they descended upon his crumpled and piss-covered body. At least they were wearing rubber gloves so as not to have to touch his really stinky expelled fluids.

Noses were starting to crunch up as the smell of a never cleaned cat box came our way. Having cats myself, I’m fully aware of that potential smell. His wrists, forearms and elbows were touching behind his back as the rope work was completed! Ouch!

I didn’t think guys could do that. His knees, ankles, and thighs were equally bound and then folded up against his chest. The rope harness running over his shoulders held his knees in place.

Tipped on his side, one more rope was pulled and knotted between his ankles and his wrists. At first I thought the trunk would be too small to fit him.

After seeing how tightly he is bound into that ball, I’m pretty sure he’ll be completely inside the trunk soon. They finished up their package with a large insert panel gag and a spandex hood.

With the trunk open, he was slid in on his side. Then the trunk was turned upright as he slumped down, helplessly bound inside of it. Looking twice, I do not see any air holes . . .

As it’s closed and latched tightly, Dusk tosses one of the Quad a lock and says, “My lock . . . and only by My Key.” A second after the click of its closure, the gagged screams of pain from within could be heard!

Lifted onto a small cart with a handle, the trunk and Number 8, in my mind, I’m hearing the words of Hanna-Barbera’s Snagglepuss, “Exit, stage left.”

The smell of his piss, although I’m sure it has already filled his new home . . . has also really kind of starting to overshadow the scent of these Powerful Women that we all just witnessed in action . . .

PLEASE . . .

Mistress Z completely had my utmost respect. Everything about her let me know that she was at the top of the food chain, and we were hers to toy with, tease, devour, or toss aside . . . as it should be.

The Dark Horse of Dusk quickly let everyone know when she said, “Don’t Fuck with Me,” that you don’t Fuck with Her. The Quads . . . Just wow! As the Ninja Snipers of this Crew . . . I want to feel their hands on me as much as I fear how or when it’ll happen.

Even Clipboard Girl . . . really need to know her real name. She’s fully capable of herding us around, keeping us in line and protecting herself as needed. I believe that’s in every Girl . . . they just don’t all know it yet.

Now Dawn . . . I so look forward to seeing her as our own little sunrise. I’m sure some of these idiots are underestimating her. Thinking to themselves that she’ll be the one they could control.

I don’t need a crystal ball to know . . . we’ll soon be seeing much more of what she has to offer. The last of which would be any of these chumps controlling her.

I was taking a second to look around at the rest of the Crew. I noticed that not a single one of them was male. This show is Hosted, produced, starred, and created by Woman. It’s just as the best DC Movie ever was done.

“Excuse m ma me . . . Mi . . . Miss . . . Mistress Z?” The scared-to-death and nervous-as-hell voice of Number 5 quietly squeaked out. “It’s ok. You may address your Mistress Number 5.”

“I . . . I don’t . . . I don’t think I should be here.” His hands are shaking like crazy! “Number 5. Are you asking for permission to leave?” He hesitates to answer the question . . .

“Number 5! I asked you a question!” He, with his whole body starting to shake and his eyes facing downward, continues, “I . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mistress.” Mistress Z adds, “And?. .”

“P . . . Ple . . . Please, Mistress. I . . . I don’t want them . . . them to hurt me . . . If . . . If you . . . don’t like my answer.” Mistress Z switches to the calming voice of a counselor. “It’s ok, 5.”

“Yes . . . Yes Mistress Z . . . I would like to leave . . . but . . . only if it would . . . make all of you happy?” Then, again just as calm, Mistress Z replies, “Ok”. Shocked by her simple answer, 5 hesitates. Quickly turning left and right in efforts to keep an eye on all the Quads.

“Just clean up that stink first . . . and then you have my permission to leave.” Number 5 looks all around, trying to find a mop and bucket. Looking to each of the Girls . . . hoping they’d help. Hoping anyone would help . . .

Directed at everyone, “Is there . . . something? Anything I . . . I can use?” He glances up for a second at Mistress Z, who is now more interested in her nails than anything else. She flicks some dust or dirt off the nail of her index finger.

He’s randomly flinching as if someone is about to hit him. Even though no one is near him, if he doesn’t calm down soon, there’s going to be two messes in need of his services.

Hands shaking even more, he tries to un-button his shirt . . . but can’t get more than one of the buttons un-done. Ignored by all three Mistresses and everyone in the Crew beyond the Camerawoman.

He grasps and tears off the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Still fumbling, he kind of half pulls it over his own head, getting caught partway. Once off, he drops to his knees and wipes up the piss.

As no one acknowledges if he’s done well enough or not . . . he switches to removing his pants to polish and buff the whole area one more time. Then wads his shirt up inside his pants.

Rolling his pants around the soaked-in piss shirt, he stands up with his head downward. Waiting in silence . . . shaking in silence . . . hoping he’s made his Mistress proud . . . hoping they don’t hurt him.

“Number 5. You may approach your Mistress.” He stopped shaking, but I believe he also just stopped breathing. He’s not fucking breathing! How is that possible?

I thought your body would override your thoughts if you were in danger . . . but for 5, that instinct never kicked in! He just slowly turned blue and fell backward! As two of the Ninja Quad Squad moved in to catch him before hitting the floor, Mistress Z added, “Or not?”

Not sure where it came from, but the other two of the Quad rolled out a stretcher. Number 5 was very carefully lifted by the four of them and placed just as carefully onto it. He was then, rolled away.

“As I mentioned before, you may leave at any time. How you leave is up to me.”

Continued ⬇️ HERE ⬇️

FINAL BONDAGE TAG-TEAM — PART 2 OF 6

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