Super Heroine
The Continuing Adventures Of Xat-Anna And Tele-Girl
 2021 by Bob2300 (deviantart.com/bob2300)
Edited by Dannysuling (deviantart.com/dannysuling)

Author’s Note: Acknowledging contributions, including ideas and writing, by Zenetx.

My head was shaky, but as I blinked my eyes slowly the room came back into focus. It was lit dimly with the glow from a few lighting sources. I could still make out most of the main features of my living room. Damn! My head hurt from last night’s snacking. What on earth had I been drinking?

As I moved to get up, I could feel the tinkle of glasses, and the crunch of wrappers. I sighted an empty bottle of sangria, one smudged and empty glass, a crushed packet of crisps, and two ice cream wrappers. At least, that was what it all looked like in the dim light. Trying to recall the evening, I remembered that I hadn’t made it to the bedroom last night, instead just dozing off on the couch in a drunken stupor.

At times like this, I really didn’t want to get up. Still, I concentrated on scooting my body back, in order to sit up in my expensive plush leather couch. It took me two shaking attempts to pick the bottle up and put it on the coffee table in front of me. There was the clink of the glass on the table as I placed it in the same vicinity. I had a dicey moment where I thought I would knock them both over, then have to clean up the shattered glassware. I focused on clearing my head and centreing myself.

I looked up at where the lights were making me squint my eyes. I knit my brows and could feel a brief sensation on my temples, and then my power finally activated and the light switch came on. I had to raise my arms in front of my face and squint as the blinding light disoriented me, but then regaining a little of my focus I looked over to the switch again and waved my right hand, trying to focus. The intensity of the lights went up! Desperately I waved my hand in the opposite direction ,and the lights mercifully dimmed.

I blinked and looked around the room. There was an open box of crisps with half the packets eaten, a few more empty beer bottles, and a tub of ice-cream that was completely melted sitting on the other end of the coffee table. Apparently it had been another busy night with the contents of the refrigerator. I sobbed, thinking of where I had once been, and how far I had fallen in my own regard.

I blinked again, focused my eyesight, and things began to clear. I looked over at the curtains and narrowed my eyes, feeling the same pressure in my temples only perhaps slightly less, and I activated the remote controller on the curtains so that they slowly whirred open. This gave me a nice clear view of the bay in the early morning light, one of the rewards from my super-heroine days, a comfortable retirement out in this sunny and quiet part of the world.

I glanced over to the black curtains on either side of the big artificial fireplace. A wave of my hands, and the motors on those curtains started to move, displaying the contents. It had been a long time since I had really practised with my powers. Had I wanted to move the curtains completely, I knew I would likely be on the floor with a lovely migraine. something I didn’t at all want. As it was, I could just scrape the barest function from my powers at this point. Without constant practice, they were just a novelty now.

The black curtains revealed two manikins displaying two costumes. To the right of the chimney was my dress costume: high heels, fishnets, waistcoat, domino mask, top hat, and other accessories for when I was appearing on some TV show or at some press conference. To the left was my patrol costume: an actual helmet that could take a strike to it from a .50-calibre round, my Kevlar titanium-weave long coat with a dozen pockets stuffed with useful trinkets, my flak jacket t styled to look like a waistcoat, trousers with the knee protection and ceramic plates, and my good old comfortable boots, as well as the gloves I never wore because they got in the way of the fine hand manipulations that some of my powers relied upon.

I had been ‘Xat-Anna’, the diabolical heart-breaking lady of magic. Five years as a super-heroine, which made me a veteran when most such folks failed to last even two years. An active career, that. Still, my powers had been very good in the day, not just my low-level telekinesis but my visualisation power, the ability to form objects out of thin air just by focusing my will. Once upon a time I could conjure walls and spikes and change the terrain, but now, well, I was rather more humble.

My mouth felt like the bottom of a cheap wine bottle. I focused on the coffee table. I felt as if my sinuses were trying to turn inside out as I tried to use my visualisation power. An empty glass materialised for a moment, and I stopped making the effort. Immediately, the glass faded away, like a ghost. I grabbed my nose, rubbed my sinuses, and rubbed my palms over my temples. After a moment I felt I was ready so, composing myself, I tried again. I could feel the pressure in my skull for a moment, and then a glass with water and four headache tablets appeared on the edge of the coffee table

I knew one wasn’t meant to take more than two of these at a time, but really at this point I didn’t care. I threw the tablets down my throat and then washed them down with the glass of water. I felt better instantly, even though it was clearly a placebo effect, as the tablets wouldn’t really start working for another five minutes. But I was feeling better.

I looked down at my clothes: one jogging sock, black loose sweatpants, a loose T-shirt. I was wearing a bra and panties, both of which had become a little twisted and out of alignment, given my time spent sleeping sprawled up on the couch. A little adjustment and the underwire of my bra sat right, and a tug on my panties and the waist band was straight. I was no longer feeling like they were trying to cut me in half.

I looked down at my stomach. While not exactly flabby, I acknowledged that I would not fit into either of my old costumes. I looked over at my home gym: the rowing machine, the exercise bike, the treadmill, and weights. As far as I was concerned, that lot could remain where it was, collecting dust.

I looked at the gilded plaque over the top of the mantelpiece and felt my eyes starting to tear up. With a harsh dismissive flick of my fingers the curtain closers activated again, and the two costumes were hidden away in their alcoves.

A wave of melancholic sadness hit me. I recalled the dark times when ‘Hubert the Overmaster’ had tried to take over the world. In the papers they called it an extinction event, given the number of people who died during his rampage. It only came to an end with all the combined might of every superhero fraternity on the planet. I felt the first tear roll down my cheek. When he first started his rampage, the global population of superheroes had been about four hundred, and by the final battle there were still some two hundred of us left to stop him. Alas, at the end of that day only a dozen of us survived.

I looked at the mantelpiece, the picture there, me and my trusty sidekick—Teresa May, ‘Tele-Girl’, a low-level telepath. I raised the empty tumbler to her. You never did speak to me after that day, I thought to myself. I know you may feel reproachful that I sent you away. But you had no such business in a fight like that. In my own way I was protecting you, so that at least you weren’t another name on the monument. I looked again at the plaque, remembering that day, when they were sure that the Overlord was not going to regenerate again, that his body was inert, desiccated, and in vacuum storage. The few of us left were standing on the podium, exhausted, but knowing we had saved the world.

Now, I felt more tears rolling down my cheeks, and I reached for a box of tissues. Yes, they had given us a gold medal and a handshake. Two days later, both ‘Captain Zap’ and ‘Borbossa’ succumbed to their wounds, despite the best efforts of the doctors. They had fought hard right up to the last moment, saved my life a dozen times in that battle. Feeling very sad, I folded up into my own lap, my hands on my face stained with my tears. I remembered, and rocked slowly back and forth.

I still kept a lookout for some of the others. I visited ‘Green Fury’ in the hospital. Despite surviving, she was still almost lifeless. And despite the vital signs claiming otherwise. ‘Seargent Tork’ still looked like he had been turned to stone. In the last four years, three more of the survivors—the ones who stayed in the game although they knew they couldn’t handle it—had committed suicide, Or at least as close as a superhero comes to it. The ‘Red Atom’ had gone against the entire despicable Fraternity of Taurus on her own, and her final moments had been caught on camera. Now I both cried and laughed as I sat up and saluted their memories. “Death by heroism,” the media had blared. What a way to go. More like ‘suicide by supervillain’, I knew. Even now, once a month I put flowers on their graves.

No! I can’t do this! I can’t let myself fall back into the trap of memory. My head is full off so many morose thoughts, and I knew I had to find something else to focus on!

I looked at the big screen TV, located round the other end of the coffee table. I could reach over and pick up the remote, but instead to placate my boredom I focused, and the TV flicked to life. It was the entertainment channel with its reruns of the show “Magicians Have Talent.” Oh, now that brought back me back to a happier time, when I was still barely able to do anything with my magic powers other than flimflam card tricks, make a few matchsticks move about on a table, and make objects appear for about ten minutes. I got my first break there, and then I moved to the big stage and the TV specials. Once my powers really got good, the North-Northeastern Superhero Society contacted me with an offer to join them.

I wiped my face clean and settled down on the couch to watch the reruns on the TV channel. Soon I was watching a magic show, a bit more corny than most. It was the classic straitjacket escape act, but this guy was using a prop jacket from a hallowed shop. I swear, I thought to myself, he is spending more effort to make sure he doesn’t tear it than he is to try and escape from it. For his acting, I awarded him eight out of ten, but for his actual magic act only two. Still it was nice to see someone with a bit of enthusiasm, the right attitude, the right presentation, to sell what you were doing. You can get yourself on stage and make a living, even if the tricks are not that impressive. It’s still about the presence you build.

Suddenly, on screen there was a ripping sound, clearly not part of the act, and I swear that with the look on the guy’s face I couldn’t help but laugh. The presenter talked over it, but I swear he said “Aagh, my deposit.” I suppose I shouldn’t ever laugh like that at someone else’s misfortune.

I looked as carefully as I could at his straitjacket as the spot ended. It wasn’t even canvas, but rather thick cotton. That resonated with me...an odd sensation, like a thought catching hold of something at the back of my mind. As if it was dredged up from somewhere else, as if it had been sitting there for so long just waiting to unfurl. I blinked and shook my head. I was entertaining a naughty little idea, to pass the time. With nothing better to do, and to make today interesting. I needed to try to create some spark of interest in my life.

Perhaps I had too much alcohol still in my system, but I decided to give it a go anyway.

I calmed myself, chuckling at my own silly idea. Then I stood up, closed my eyes, crossed my arms loosely, and concentrated on my power. I visualised what I wanted, and again felt the pressure on my sinuses as my power started to activate. The things I created with this power, when I used it at its strongest, would only last twenty-four hours. An object would only be able to remain in place for that long, and it had been quite some time since I had used my power to create anything of any size greater than aspirin, or to refill a tub of chocolate ice cream. At least ice cream didn’t exist after you ate it, and wasn’t really all that fattening.

I opened my eyes and looked down at myself. I was now wearing a white T-shirt with long sleeves! Not exactly what I was looking for, but it was a start. A little bit of concentration and the T-shirt vanished. I started to do my thing again, eyes closed, arms in place. I concentrated, and a moment later there was something around my body, I focused a little harder and it was clearly there, and solid. I opened my eyes and looked down, and found myself wearing a costume straitjacket: no crotch strap, no arm loops, just thick cotton and a few plastic belt buckles, not very solid at all.

It had been years since I did a straitjacket escape, but this one was so loose, so roomy, that it took me all of a minute to pull my arms over my shoulders, put my foot on the strap between the sleeves, and lever the entire thing over my head and off. Okay, it wasn’t actually that bad, but it still felt lacking. In the past and at my best, I could probably get out of a Posey straitjacket in five minutes. Then I gave up the life of the stage for the superhero leagues. Hardly a world record, of course, but escapology was only one part of my repertoire of skills, and if I was doing magic more impressive—like the ‘chained coffin escape’—well, I used my powers to cheat.

I recognized that this little stunt had given me a taste of a mild thrill, the first time I had felt my heart race in...well, I couldn’t say how long...and it felt right. It couldn’t really hurt to experiment with my powers a little more, I figured, since they were in dire need of a workout anyway. Not that the rest of me couldn’t benefit from the same, alas.

I looked down at the prop straitjacket on the floor. It seemed to wriggle for just a second, and then it was gone. I took a deep breath and centred myself. Okay, one Houdini classic, coming up. I could feel the pressure building in my head as my power worked away. In a moment, experienced a pressure over my torso, and something was there firmly between my legs. Experimenting, I moved my arms backwards and forwards. I had a little play with them, but they were still quite tightly held in place. When I opened my eyes, I was now wearing a more formidable garment.

I walked over to the long mirror on the wall and took a look, which confirmed I was clad in a proper straitjacket, ready for a professional performance. Thick, tough canvas that couldn’t be easily broken or pulled apart. My arms were wrapped around me tightly, pulled snug around my body, and there was a solid crotch strap to prevent easy removal. I rolled my shoulders, and the jacket was quite snug. I had of course sized it for myself. I twisted around and looked in the mirror. No pathetic costume straps greeted me; instead, down the back of the jacket, big heavy lumps of leather were tightly buckled, with the excess left-over strap folded back on itself and tucked out of the way—nice and neat and really very tight.
 
Experimenting, I gave the straitjacket a gentle tug, and the garment held my arms in place, though there was no central strap of side loops. This would still be a massive challenge for a magician who hadn’t practised her act in years. I pulled on the arms hard and let out a gasp of surprise as the crotch strap made its devilish presence known, tugging tightly between my legs, forcing my sweatpants and thong to very intimately rub me between my legs. I let out another little gasp.... That didn’t exactly feel that terrible! Actually, it added to the spice of trying this escape. Oh, I can imagine what my old fans would have paid to watch me squirm about in a jacket like this. A certain demographic would prefer to watch me to keep wiggling rather than actually escaping. For the moment, I would have been giving them a good show.

As I squirmed about trying to get my arms out of this position, I found that my breasts were rubbing against the jacket, a rather...err…interesting sensation. Through the thin material of my bra I could feel my soft flesh rubbing against the jacket. That too was a rather exotic experience. My nipples felt like they were being tweaked with each squirm against the canvas. I made very slow progress, as I was able to move my arms bit by bit to the point where I could get one arm over my shoulder and free myself from this enforced hug. It would happen eventually, but I was not so much determined to escape as to relive the sensation of my old act.

I took things slowly, a little session of struggling. Then I watched a little TV, and experimented with my powers a little. My telekinesis was doing okay, moving nothing larger than crisps and my house keys about on the table. And my matter-synthesis powers seemed fine for small things, cards and coins at first, then scarfs and ribbons. I got to the point where I could conjuror up small bits of furniture. Of course, my head hurt a little, like I had been doing my tax returns, but it was still rewarding.

The time I was investing was surprisingly enjoyable, as I spent the rest of the day...um...training…well, really, struggling in that classic canvas straitjacket. Honestly, it was more fun than I expected. I did eventually manage to work one of my arms over my shoulder and then over my head, almost getting out of the jacket. With a lot of effort I could just about stretch and reach and undo the crotch strap, That didn’t quite get the jacket loose enough to get it all the way off, though. The thick canvas on the ends of the sleeves really made it difficult. A bit more practice, getting a bit more flexibility, a few less tubs of ice cream, and a bit more effort, and it would be not an ‘almost escape’, but an actual escape.

Also, getting my powers working again left me panting and tired but feeling much better. Who knew, I might be able to have another crack at my stage career. I thought I still had my agents’ number somewhere. And  maybe this time I could have more escapology in my act. I could see it now: I do the magic tricks while wearing a jacket and using my powers. Actually, I was becoming convinced that not having the use of my arms seemed to help me focus on my telekinesis and conjuration powers.

I finally closed my eyes, feeling the tug of my power as the pressure on my brain increased, doing my thing again to open the last buckles...actually, removing them. I squirmed my way out of the rest of the jacket, folded it up under my arm, and took a theatrical bow for an imaginary audience. I giggled and gave myself a little clap of encouragement. Then I threw the jacket on the couch and concentrated, willing it to evaporate back to the imaginary realm from whence it came. I blinked...but it was still there.

I scratched my head and tried harder. This time the jacket seemed to fade and fray around the edges. I schooled my mind and concentrated even harder. In one way it almost seemed a shame to get rid of it, but this was enough for today. It wasn’t as if I wanted to wear this costume to bed.

Finally, after some real concentration, the jacket was entirely gone. This time I managed to get as far as the bedroom, rather than waste my day getting down to the bottom of a bottle of rosé or sangria. I had a nice warm shower, changed into my nightie, and actually landed in my bed, as opposed to my couch. A vast improvement over my usual regime....

...I woke up and I didn’t feel the usual clawing ache of a hangover. I yawned and rolled the covers back; a good full night’s sleep, and I stretched my neck and shoulders. I could feel a little tingle in my skull where I had been experimenting with my powers, but that was fine. I hadn’t pushed myself too far, so although I had a few aches in my body things were okay. I remembered training for the water-cell escape that was much easier when you could magic your own oxygen supply into existence. Still, I had been a bit of a stinger. I knew had a lot of work ahead of me.

I pulled the rest of the sheet off and I paused. Funny, I didn’t remember wearing any shoes to bed! I raised my foot to examine what was there. It looked innocent enough, some black patent leather two-inch slip-on heels. I definitely didn’t recall putting them on. I shrugged my shoulders and kicked them off. I didn’t even remember owning a pair of shoes like that, but then again my powers did sometimes subconsciously manifest items, like entire cartons of cigarettes when I was trying to give them up. Perhaps it was time to get myself some new shoes. However, these were a little tight on my feet and pinched a bit. I focused on the shoes for a second and my suspicions were proven right: they shimmered and disappeared. I shrugged my shoulders again. The whole thing was a bit odd, but hardly the oddest thing I’d ever experienced. It was a good sign, actually, because it showed that my powers were being given a decent workout.

Now I focused again, doing another twist and shake in front of the mirror, almost as if I was performing for an audition. I produced for myself a slightly thicker canvas straitjacket with a wider crotch strap and a central loop for the arms. I was not sure that I could escape from this, but without the use of my arms I could focus on my powers.

I imagined a little magical show I had the idea for—a performance called the ‘reverse escape’. An assistant would wave a cloth in front of my hands and—voilà!—there would be a pair of cuffs on them. Nothing really stupendous about that. But then the assistant raises the cloth again, and mittens and more cuffs would be locked to my arms! Another wave of the cloth, and chains and ropes would be wrapped around my torso. once more, and I would be clad in a transport jacket over the top with shackles on my ankles. The material would be pulled higher this time and I’d be in a full body cage. Then an intimidating box, and then the entire thing disappears, and a few moments later I’d be walking onto stage from one side....

I spent a bit of time struggling, but more time practising with my magic. I manage to make a grand piano and a large safe appear in my living room. Then the floor started making a rather unhealthy creaking noise and I immediately dematerialize those items. I reminded myself that If I began messing with the big stuff I must remember to do it outside. The safe must have weighed a few tons; one of those can have some substantial stopping power when you manifest them a couple of hundred foot above a giant robot’s head! They can also save your life if you find you need to manifest a safe around you—which reminded me of my first real battle. I ended up summoning a safe around me to stop an attack, and it took me two minutes to calm down enough to open the safe up from the inside—right into the supervillain’s face, knocking him out!

I began to feel tired. I decided that next time I would work my way up before trying something so heavy, and it would be out the back, out of the house. I started to doze off. It felt nice and snug in the straitjacket, and at least I was getting a hug. It was after I had dreamed of a straitjacket escape the second time that I woke up, feeling that something was happening. A quick check told me that I had now somehow gained two-and-a-half-inch heels with a buckled strap. Now, this was a bit more irritating than the last time. Still, it gave me an extra incentive: I had to wiggle out of the jacket, almost dislocating my shoulder to get one arm out so that I could twist around and undo the straps. It was actually a decent performance, really, when I put my mind to it, but then I had left just enough room for my body to wiggle out of it.

Then I removed the damn shoes. I rubbed my aching feet; the damn things looked smashing but pinched like anything. I realized that somehow the two aspects were connected. I wanted a jacket but not the heels, so where the heck did they come from? I was going to have to spend a lot of time practising with my powers, or who knows what might turn up? I remembered the bill from the hotel; I had summoned a pink Cadillac into the room when I was still toasted. The super insurance said I’d have to pick up the tab for that one....

...The next day, aroused and obsessed with the idea, I dressed in a matching lacy bra and panties, black leotard, slinky seamed-nylon pantyhose, and yoga socks. Wearing this stuff I can slide out of the next restraining jacket a little more easily. I searched the internet for something a bit different and, after a bit, I saw a really interesting restrictive leather straitjacket…that one would look really very good on me, for my act of course, I thought coyly. I stood up in front of the mirror to do a little twirl while focusing my power. Then sur enough, my arms were pulled in tightly. I could see the black leather of the jacket was tightly laced up at the back and knotted tightly as well. It was tailored to my figure, including a crotch strap that hugged my body, almost caressing it. It really looked good against my tight pantyhose. The garment had a front loop and two side loops that tightly captured my arms. I was probably not escaping it without help, I figured, but then, of course, I had magic powers. So, I thought I might be able to focus my telekinesis on undoing the buckles…err, laces...damn that crotch strap was distracting. Perhaps I wouldn’t be able to focus my powers after all. Actually, I decided I wouldn’t be doing much training today.

If I struggled pulling my arms backwards and forwards, up and down, I quickly learned I’d make absolutely no progress in escaping. But I could feel the strap between my legs hugging me, sliding backwards and forwards as it cut a deep indentation in my flesh. I could sense it just between my buttocks, and that didn’t feel bad at all. I was intensely embarrassed as the heat flooded my body. I am definitely getting turned on struggling against this jacket, I thought. I could feel my hips wiggling as my body was getting aroused, and began pulling harder and harder. I didn’t realize that I was panting loudly, and when I heard myself I figured it was a good thing there weren’t any neighbours close by. I could feel my toes curling, and I realized I was rubbing my breasts against the couch as I struggled and wiggled, practically grinding myself against the leather cushions. My body felt so intense. My eyes rolled back, my neck arched, and I began to feel like I was in a sauna.

I climaxed in the most intense release of sexual energy I had experienced in years. Then I flopped face-down on the couch. Best escape ever, I told myself sarcastically. Even though I hadn’t physically escaped, I didn’t really care at the moment. The fan boys and some girls would have emptied their wallets to view that one!

I was exhausted from all that exertion, and after all that struggling I was still practically trapped in the tight leather jacket. I found a comfortable place and dozed off, and I was so snug and comfortable on the couch I must have slept for hours. When I finally woke up I immediately wondered whether the jacket had gotten tighter while I was asleep...or had I just slept awkwardly? My feet twinged, and there was an odd sensation in my jaw and I groaned. My mouth felt a bit odd—there was something wedged between my teeth, holding my tongue down. Nervously I opened my jaw, and find that I was wearing a mouth guard inside, a bit of an odd thing. I hadn’t worn one of those since I completed the basic combat training module when I joined as a junior hero. I opened my jaw and spit it out, giving the piece of offending rubber a withering stare. It quickly disappeared off the table.

But that was only half the problem, I detected. What’s this? Now I was wearing three-inch-heeled ankle-length boots and, judging from the odd metal bits on the shoes, they seemed to be locked on! I pulled on the jacket in frustration and kicked the lock plate on one shoe with the heel of the other. I gave it my best, trying to focus on the too-tight boots and dematerialize them. Worryingly, though, they stubbornly remained in place, clinging to my feet. They must have been something that my imagination conjured while I was dreaming, rather than something that some intruder had slipped onto my feet. Yeah, annoying, but not the end of the world. I again focused on the jacket—enough fun and games for today.

Oddly, I continued to have real trouble with the jacket. I guessed that I had made it a lot tighter than I was originally intending. Again I focused...and again my powers did not banishing the thing from my body.

At this point I was still not terrified at the situation, feeling that I could still manage to get free if I was creative— meaning abusing my powers to create something to help me out of the jacket. I concentrated and soon felt the pressure in my sinuses rise as I drew on my power. Suddenly, sitting there in my living room was a heavy metal object with a sharp hook that I could catch the lacing in. I moved around very carefully, making sure not to poke myself in the bottom as I worked to get at the laces. The jacket was tough, though, and the laces at the back were also tough. Still, by slowly working backwards and forwards I managed to unravel the knot and laces to free myself. I actually almost regretted no longer feeling the the pressure of the jacket, as I pulled it off. Then I had to go to silly lengths to get the boots off, in the end using a kitchen knife to cut them. I felt a wave of relief at getting the shoes off. Only after I got the devices away from my body was I able to dematerialise them. 

My normal practice after every performance had been to remove my heels as soon as I could get back to my dressing room. Then I would get rid of the jacket and the little bit of assistance I used to cut open the laces. Well, that was a bit of power, of course. But now, I was finding it harder to remove things than to create them. It felt so dangerous, so naughty, so spicy to do it—to play with the restraints in this manner—but up to this point I had managed to make a grand escape. I should really focus on something else other than the straitjacket escape, I told myself. Maybe some card tricks, or some larger stage illusions. But on the other hand after that mind-blowing orgasm I was becoming addicted to the feeling of a strict strap pressing down, rubbing between my legs.

The truth was that I was undaunted and not completely satisfied. Yes, the experiment with my power was good, but I was sure that I could do better if things were a little tighter. I took a good, long, hot, foamy bath and a long rest in bed.

As the next day rolled around I woke up and found something pressed between my lips. Somehow, I had managed to summon an adult-sized baby’s pacifier while I slept, and now it was between my teeth. The moment I realised what it was I tried to spit it out, only to find that it was on an elasticated cord, behind my head. I threw it in the bin a moment later, then superstitiously checked for another pair of boots! This time ,thankfully, there weren’t any.

I craved a little bit more excitement in my life, I fell that there should be something else that could be done to make my orgasm all the more exquisite. As I finished my breakfast and dematerialised the dirty dishes, I remembered the heavy leather restraints that were used to confine and construct supervillains, to keep them out of trouble. I closed my eyes and did a little twirl in front of the mirror. Immediately there was a warm sensation all across my body, as if I were being gripped tightly. I opened my eyes and inspected my new costume.

Perhaps it was a mistake to do this in the nude, but the leather against my naked flesh felt so good, and the silk lining was luxurious. There were three crotch straps lined with textured rubber cradling my intimate areas, and they were almost punishingly tight. Wide, thick, firm, leather thigh-bands were hugging the tops of my legs. My arms crossed each other in front of me, held by...well, it was too wide to call it a band; it was more a pocket or sleeve holding them tight. There were two big, heavy side-loops, left and right, hugging my arms to my torso, giving me barely any arm movement. The jacket was tailored at the waist, hugging my curves, and it was fitted at the neck. The garment cradled me, putting a little pressure on my body. There were also tight redundant straps pinning my upper arms to the side of the jacket.

Truly it was something designed by a mad scientist, and would clearly easily confine one horny former superheroine!

Observing the leather jacket in the mirror, I found it a little harder to glance back, given its high collar. I couldn’t really shift my arms with the side loops: they were very firmly pinned in place. But there were laces down the back that I could still open with a hook on a stand if I had to. But, wow, the thing was really tight. I found myself moaning like a cat in heat...oh, yes, tight could be good!

I tested the jacket pulling left and right up and down backwards and forwards. This feels so good! Its amazingly intimate as I kick and wiggle and struggle, rolling around on the floor and the rug, rubbing myself against the coffee table and onto the couch. I got myself worked up, biting a cushion, rubbing myself against the leather couch. I felt so good I moaned, “This one is too tight!” At which point I exploded, my lustful moans held at bay by the cushion and the jacket holding my struggling limbs. I was wet, sweaty, and still very tightly bound, red-faced and panting on the sofa—and a distant, satisfied, smug look plastered on my face.

Even given my best effort, and after many hours struggling around, I had barely made any progress. Well, I had literally made no progress in the escape itself. Instead the tight straps working away between my legs had me rather constantly aroused. And after the third time I was completely exhausted! The strap panel holding my arms in front was simply too wide and secure. There was no slack at all to do anything!

Sweating profusely, my bare skin was practically glued to the leather across my entire aroused body, and the jacket made leathery cracking sounds whenever I moved. On top of that, each attempt pulled on the tight crotch straps between my legs. In the beginning that was just a distraction, but now it was  so intense that I couldn’t keep from gasping and moaning. I was exhausted and at my limit. It had been fun, but now it was time to finish my little adventure for today.

I stood up, my legs a little sore, and I moved to the mirror, I craned my neck round and the laces unravelled to become straps. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, I just needed to visualize the buckles opening in my mind, or just ceasing to exist. Last time I didn’t put my all into it.... That was it! I could feel everything shifting. Now, I thought, I’d head for the shower and relax, I just needed to stretch my arms and I’d be free.

Wait! There was something wrong. My arms...I couldn’t move them.—at all! The straitjacket was even tighter than before!! What the hell was happening? How did I just made it a size smaller?!

Panicking, I tried again. Come on!! Suddenly the crotch straps become absurdly tight, sinking between my legs and bringing me to my knees: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, Oh god!” I remained still for a while, trying to regain control of my breath and cooling myself down. This had never happened before. Maybe I was losing my powers?! It couldn’t be!

Okay, I thought wildly, time for Plan B, I focused, and a metal stand appeared, with a vice on it and a utility knife in the vice. Easy, for sure, I could just cut myself out. So I took a step towards the knife and the entire thing faded away as if it were never there! I shrugged my shoulders and tried it again...and again, but everything that I created faded away before I could use it. That was really worrying. And now I was going to have to get out of this jacket the old fashioned way. I gave my arms an experimental tug. Perhaps I made it too tight. But I couldn’t budge the thing, and though my struggling made me look cute it didn’t actually get me out. I couldn’t use my powers on it, because the damn thing got tighter, pulling on my arms and on my waist and between my legs. I shook my head...I must have been imagining this, and I couldn’t believe it. It had to be a dream.

I made a mistake and looked down at the crotch strap—and promptly fell to the floor moaning. No, not tighter! I’d discovered that I couldn’t use my powers to escape, not at all!

Very slowly I got up and sat on my couch. I looked at the empty glass on the coffee table, closing my eyes, visualizing it full of water. My nostrils twitched, I felt a little stuffy, but it worked. So, apparently I still had it. I concentrated, and a few other random items appeared—a tie clip, some dice. Weird. I made those items disappear, and then created some ice in the glass. Success. So then why couldn’t I free myself? Well, I thought, at least I wasn’t going to die of thirst. In the meantime, until I figured this out, I was permanently trapped in this ungodly tight straitjacket! Weird enough, this thought alone made my heartbeat go faster. Almost unconsciously I started to rock backwards and forwards, working the crotch strap in deeper, my inflamed flesh bulging out either side of the straps. This was really getting me turned on. I knew I should be far more worried about actually escaping this mess, but...well...I guess I needed to get myself off a few more times before my subconscious brain would let me out....

...Several hours later, I used my living room mirror to look at the buckles at the back of the straitjacket. I was a bit winded, a bit red-faced. I’d tried out my first theory about getting myself off to get free, and then had a bit of a rest after I had squirmed to another few orgasms. But my arms remained fixed tightly in place, and amazingly I was still a little horny from my predicament.

But after only a short nap it was worse! I woke up to a rattling noise and immediately thought of a chain, but that was not the case. On inspection, I found that the buckles each now had a little padlock on them that I would never be able to remove by myself. I suppose I could have conjured up some sort of industrial press and tried to break them, even though a real hydraulic press suddenly appearing in the middle of the living room would probably have ruined the floor. The thing was, I didn’t remember putting those locks there. Now, I needed to think really hard about using my power to remove the padlocks from the buckles. As fun as this little exercise was, it was getting less appealing as more time progressed.

I cleared my mind, closed my eyes, and put an immense amount of pressure behind the thought. I felt giddy from the intense exertion, light-headed...and there was something different, too. And when I looked in the mirror, the straps were gone! Instead of opening the buckles, the two halves of the jacket were now riveted together, and it felt even tighter, if that were possible. I really, truly panicked at this point, thrashing like a lunatic who belonged in one of these jackets. I was throwing myself about, banging the jacket against a bit of furniture, rolling around on the floor, screaming, trying again and again to get free. After ten exhausting minutes I simply ran out of gas, and I just lay there on the rug for a few minutes getting my breath back. I stood up, looked in the mirror, and tried again.

There was a flash of pain in my head as I overtaxed my powers. The buckles came back, but this time attached to more straps over the top of the already sealed jacket. This was getting ridiculous, I thought. My control over my powers couldn’t have degraded that much. How could it be going haywire like this?

Looking at the mirror I saw that my hair was a mess. I summoned a comb and neatened it up. I concluded that my powers simply didn’t seem to be working on my own creations—at least the ones fixed to my body. I had to admit it had reached the point where I couldn’t get out of the jacket by my own means, under any conditions. I cursed myself for my stupidity, playing this game after all the little warning signs that had begun cropping up. I had to push it just too far, didn’t I, and now to top it off I had gained another level of accessory from my most recent rest.

Even my shoes were more restrictive. I knew I couldn’t get out of these four-inch, calf-high boots with a one-inch cuff locked around each ankle. It was bit harder without my arms for balance. I could just walk in them, but it was getting a lot less fun! My poor toes already ached. On the other hand, my vanity told me that the boots did make my legs and my ass look really good. In fact, overall, I looked damn good. I had forgotten that using my powers a lot typically burned up quite a few calories, better than most diet plans. If one didn’t mind the mild headaches, that is. Speaking of which, my head felt like it was in a vise half the time. I conjured up some more paracetamol and water, although getting them in my mouth would be a struggle.

Perhaps my power, fuelled by my new-found desire for bondage, was taking over. The restraining jacket had become involuntary, and I couldn’t override or subvert this particular bondage. But how was this happening? And why was I still so calm at this prospect? I supposed that, after all, the jacket was still one of my creations. Given a moment to think about things, I remembered that they were not permanent. So, to get free I just needed to wait for it to fade away in its own good time. After all, when I was a superhero I once got stuck in a battle suite for twenty-four hours that I had conjured into existence in an emergency. And when I was a very young magician I escaped from the cuffs and everything else in some acts because I had summoned them in preparation a while before, then simply let them vanish to portray some grand escape.

This current situation should be no different, really. I would just have to wait it out and then enjoy my freedom. In the past, I had subjected myself to piercings and tattoos that had been temporary as a result of my power. This would be no different. I slept....

Waking up, I felt like I was choking. There was something crammed in my mouth. I sat up and looked round. Instantly the bedsheets rolled back and the light switched on, moved by my telekinesis almost by instinct. I tried to dislodge the mass in my mouth, and a little, wet, green silk handkerchief came out, knotted to a blue handkerchief. I shifted my tongue round and slowly spat out an entire line of bunting. I squinted down, looking at the floor where the wet fabric lay, and the conjured gag disappeared beneath my gaze. What was next? If I opened my mouth would a white dove pop out? I grimaced at the thought of that. Thankfully, my power couldn’t conjure up live creatures.

I looked at the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet—it had been twenty-four-and-a-half hours. My visualisations, my constructs, had always faded away after such a time period. But at the moment I was still firmly locked in the jacket. Now I was very worried; it was definitely time to start panicking. I was in bed, struggling and cursing and kicking—as futile as any of that was.

I could feel something firmly occupying my back passage, too. Some sort of soft rubber cone was wedged up my butt! Oh, great! My unconscious lusts had added a little toy to keep me company. I realized that something else had happened, too. I was now wearing black leather, knee-length boots with a five-inch pencil heel. The ankle cuffs were now solid ovals joined with a loose chain, so that when I stood up they hung down to the floor. I was really starting to get worried. I wanted nothing to do with these shoes...boots...whatever. Things were definitely getting worse.

Looking at the bedsheets, I moved them just by thinking, my telekinesis compensating a little for my lack of hands. The leather felt a bit tighter, if that were possible. The crotch strap was tightly cupping my pussy, the jacket squeezing my breasts, frustrating and exciting me at the same time. Still, all very annoying; for some reason my powers simply won’t work on my jacket. I couldn’t will the plug to go away, and I pulled on my arms and stomped my feet in frustration. I marched into the kitchen, a little nervous on heels that make me totter to keep my balance. I glanced at the cupboard, and the cereal floated out and poured itself into a bowl that I willed there. Milk followed, and I age levitating one spoonful at a time, thinking hard about my predicament. I didn’t want to call the cops or someone else. I could just imagine this in the papers. I could see the headline: “Washed up ex-superheroine humiliates herself, stuck while practising new act.” I could feel myself blush, and as I lost concentration the last spoonful of milk and cereal hit the jacket rather than my mouth.

I conjured up a cloth to wipe away the milk. And that’s when it hit me: I still had a drawer full of nice sharp cutlery, and I still had telekinesis, I was going to get out of this jacket! If it wasn’t going to be the last thing I did, it was going to be the next thing that I did!

After a lot of effort, I got a very sharp steak knife wedged between the drawer and the cabinet. I slipped the side loop of the jacket against the blade ,wiggled backwards and forwards, and finally the serrated steel cut through the leather. I looked down in satisfaction, only to see the two cut halves of the jacket merge back together and re-join as if they had never been cut. Shit! I struggled and pulled, but my arms were stuck fast, “No way!” I shouted in anger, screaming at the empty kitchen. “You can’t keep me in here. I don’t want to be in this jacket one moment longer!”

If I did actually get the jacket off, I had to ask myself it it would simply reappear on me again, only even more secure. The truth was, I had to admit, I was getting more excited struggling against the jacket. The more secure and solid it seemed to be, the hotter and wetter and more stimulated I was becoming. Was my twitching libido working on my subconscious, keeping me in this jacket until I got tired of it?

I found my powers worked fairly well without the use of my arms, at least to a point. I could conjure up a three-course meal or summon various bits of equipment into the kitchen. But I couldn’t put a scratch on the jacket and make it stick. I had a long think about the magic that underpinned my powers, especially if I was constantly subconsciously focused on the jacket. If my mind was still actively creating it, then the device wasn’t technically fully real ,so it would still be able to move of its own accord still do-little tricks like shrinking, and it would never fade away because it wasn’t completely separated from the mental process that was creating it.

I was, I suspected, effectively renewing it constantly, so I could never leave it alone to fade away on its own. I had truly fucked myself over this time.

I needed someone I could trust to reach into my mind and switch the damn thing off. It was not something I was going to let any random mentalist handle, though. I didn’t want some amateur bozo making it worse. Worse still, some smart-arse little prick deciding that while he was in there I needed to fall in love with him or some shit like that. I knew a couple of hypnotists, but every single one of them had ended up behind bars because of some abuse of their power. Larry Shenanigan’s infamous ‘transfer your bank account to this number’ telethon was still within recall. So I would definitely need to be very cautious.

I was very tired, and once again I needed to get some sleep. I was turning into a bondage nymphomaniac who needed to be tied up to an absurdly tight degree to get her rocks off. I needed lots of sleep, not four hours of rolling around in my bed squirming about until I was moaning into the mattress like a bitch in heat.

In any case, I unfortunately didn’t get a fantastic amount of sleep. Being confined in the jacket was so unforgivingly tight that I was just simply rolling around trying to find a comfortable spot. And alas this made me more turned on. As I was wiggling about in bed eventually I became so horny that I was testing the springs in the mattress. It was not a good combination all round. Eventually, though, I fell asleep dreaming of magic and bondage and unconsciously squirming around wearing just the straitjacket and heels....

...I woke up with a painful “Mmmpph!!!” My mouth was packed, and there was something wrapped around my face. I rubbed my head against the side of the bed-frame to dislodge the cloth band, Then I worked my jaw, pushing with my tongue against a thick block of foam. After a few seconds I spat out the large foam-rubber ball wedged in my mouth. I pulled at the jacket. Ouch! Wait a minute! Why does that feel so odd? I quickly realised that my arms were now secured tightly behind my back. The damn jacket had decided to do a little remodelling while I was asleep! I felt a lot more vulnerable being unable to see my arms, and my shoulders were wrenched back tightly to the point where they could barely shift. My elbows were being pullet closely together, and I could barely shift my arms about with the tiny amount of leverage that I had. That reverse hug was so tight, and I could feel all the straps that held my arms at the front of the jacket. All the loops were right there, keeping my arms tightly folded away.

There was now also a substantially tighter collar on the jacket, pushing against the base of my throat. Suddenly I was seriously worried, all over again. Things were getting worse by the minute. And yet it was also turning me on more and, and that was even more worrying! I was struggling against my own body’s desires, and losing rapidly as, day by day, my bondage was becoming even more dominating.

And speaking of dominating, the plug wedged up my ass seemed to be a few inches longer and about twice as wide, with a few ridges that made their devilish presence felt any time I tried to move.

At last I remembered someone who I could call on to help deal with this. To be perfectly honest, she was the first person whom I had thought of, but the last person whom I actually wanted to talk to about this. It would be embarrassing, and we had some complicated history between us, some unresolved issues that might get in the way. So I had reasons not to speak to her. On the other hand, the list of alternatives was pretty much exhausted.. 

Years ago, she had graduated from being simply a sidekick, I had actually gone to the ceremony and stood at the back, observing the ceremony that dubbed her a full-time hero. I hadn’t talked to her in years, and had written a few letters that had never been answered. But who else could I call, now? And besides, she might be able to help me. More to the point, she might actually be willing to help me, and maybe I could settle a small bit of personal business that had been festering for four years.

I hoped that Teresa May, the Silver telepath, my old sidekick tele-girl, could help me. I glanced at the dressing table, snd the drawer flew open. My little contact book sailed out and opened itself up on the table right where I needed it. I walked across the room in my high heels, and the junk and furniture obliged me by moving out of the way. I summoned a chair and sat down, and the phone moved over and landed on the table.

I looked at the jacket in the mirror, then twisted myself round to try looking behind me. I could feel my heartrate suddenly accelerate, and the room spun. I nervously looked down at the phone. Before I had a change of mind and heart, I nose-dialled my friend. At first, I tried to use my telekinesis, but my powers were cutting out now whenever I tried to use them to escape, and this certainly counted as an escape—if, that was, Teresa still counted me as a friend.

The phone rang for three pips, then the call was accepted. The line was silent, but I could hear breathing on the other end, so I was sure she was there. I took a deep breath. Teresa would know that something was serious before I would allow myself to use this number. And so I spoke, trying to keep my voice from cracking into self-pitying sobs. “Please, I know we have not spoken in years. But, please, you have to help me! Please come to my house.” I waited, still hearing the breathing on the other end. Then, finally, there was a hesitant voice, uttering one word—“Okay”—and then the line clicked off. Oh god, she had agreed to come! At least she would see what the emergency was, and she would either help or leave. At this rate it couldn’t get much worse...at least, I hoped it couldn’t get much worse....

...Two hours later my home’s alarm system activates as something draws close. A hidden screen pops up in the main living room and I have a few seconds to enter in a clearance code, or else all hell will break lose. My home is isolated but it still protected. I had been an active superhero long enough to have acquired a few enemies, of course.

My tennis court, for example, is never used for tennis. It has automatically transformed to become a landing pad. My friend arrives as swiftly as she could, in an old M-2 flight shuttle—stubby, compact, durable little things. She probably just set it on auto pilot. You can park them almost like a car. It is the kind of transport that the super leagues were using twenty years ago. I watch her on the monitor; she looks a lot more confident, a lot more sure of herself. Minimal makeup, long straw-blonde hair in waves, a silver business suit with a short silver skirt and long silver stockings. She quickly finds the spare key under the mat, and lets herself in.

I’ve been wondering how this would happen. Would she walk in, take one look, and laugh? Would she begin screaming at me? I have no idea, but this meeting is well past due for a number of reasons. She wears a look of apprehension as she slowly walks into the house, and as I walk out into the hallway, looking her up and down. Her business suit is a bit too sturdy, probably low-profile armour. She has a small ray-gun in her hand which she quickly pops into her purse. We simply look at each other for a few seconds, and then she blinks.

“Hello, Anna.”

I look her over, taking in the changes. “Hello Teresa.” I look at the key she’s holding. “How did you know that the key was under the mat? Have you got some sort of clairvoyance now?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have to be psychic to see that one. They must have spent twenty million or more on the security on this place, and yet you leave a key under the mat! I mean, really, it’s like something out of a bad spy novel.”

She looks over my outfit, noting how secure and revealing it is, how it hugs my figure. She takes a step forward and points one silver nail at me, her voice gaining confidence as she speaks. “So, what happened to you? Did you finally crack and they put you in the super-asylum?.”

I gulp, imagining what would happen if they did drag me off to that place. Hardly anyone was ever released again. I shudder at the thought .“No…not like that.… It’s one of my own virtualisations…except I can’t get out of it!” She looks sceptically at me and stands there with her arms folded. I try to fill the silence. “I can barely damage it, and when I cut it the damn thing repairs itself.” I still needed to explain how I had ended up like this, or she might call an ambulance for me, with a one-way trip to the super-asylum. At least, I muse ironically, I am dressed for the part. But of course that would help get me in, but not out.

I feel my face go red with embarrassment. “I-I was doing a little bit of training. You see…I’m thinking of reviving my stage career.”

Teresa takes a step closer, looking at me wearily. Another step or two, and her voice becomes sharp. “You got a medal, and I got sent home like a child.”

I pull my shoulders back, plant my feet, and stand my ground. My voice is firm and a little too loud. “You were only eighteen years old. The next of kin of nearly four hundred other people got medals posthumously. I didn’t want that for you, and I still had the authority to deny you active duty when they called up the ranks, so I did it.”

She looks furious for a moment, then reflective, as she slowly closes the rest of the distance between us. She looks like she wants to reach out and hug me or kiss me or something. Slowly the little scene unfolds. She looks about. “Fine, this is as good a place as any. I guess this is where we do this.”

I feel her thoughts in my head; I don’t have to hear her speak. You want us to reconnect, I can sense it. You want the two of us to have the relationship that we had before. Well, I am a hero now. I am the one that kept going while you folded. I might have been small-time. but I kept going. There were so few of us left. If you had stayed then you could have made at least bit of difference.

I  reply, speaking the words and thinking them as well, “I did my time. I went to my breaking point. Then I fell down into a bottle and barely came out just to throw some flowers on a memorial or go to some ceremony.”

Teresa walks past me and gestures for me to sit down on the couch. I think for a second, and an entire buffet appears on the table! Teresa dismisses it with a wave. “Nice confectionery. Look, I felt abandoned…you cast me aside.” She points up at the plaque over the fireplace.

I start to feel a tear rolling down my cheek. “I cared. I didn’t want to see you die. The overmaster was immune to telepathy, so you wouldn’t have been able to help.”

She grabs me by the lapels of my straitjacket and pulls me close, so that I am looking into her eyes inches away. Her expression is raw and emotional. “I still wanted to be there, for you.”

I look away for a second, then meet her eyes, unflinching. “I understand, but it is the way it is. And it’s in the past. What is left now?”

She looks me up and down then takes a cup of coffee. “I must admit that there was a bit more to it, than just feeling betrayed when you didn’t pick me to stand at your side. I would have marched with you into certain death. I mean, then we were best friends...at least I thought that we were friends. After you didn’t let me go off to fight the overmaster with you...well, for a while I thought of you as...well…as an enemy. Now I can see the reasons that you didn’t take me along. But thinking back, reflecting over the years. I also feel that you always looked down on me. When they signed me up they told me that we were meant to be a partnership, that I only had to do a bit of probation and I would be a full hero. But, well, you didn’t take me seriously unless you really needed my talents.”

I look at her. “I am sorry if I didn’t fully appreciate you. That was a long time ago; you’re a full hero now.” 

“Yes,” she replies quickly, “you respect me because I’m a hero now. You always ended up treating me like a sidekick because I was only a low-level telepath. whereas you could do all that actual fancy magic. I guess now it’s backfired on you. Oh, you look so pathetic. Let me get you out.”

Teresa tries to undo the buckles, only for the straps to re-buckle and refasten themselves as soon as she undoes them. She tries to use a cheese knife on the jacket, with a negligible effect. Tele-Girl retrieves a butcher’s knife from the kitchen. She seems to be out to prove that she doesn’t need to use her powers to get me free, as a way to show her superiority. She slashes away, and I can feel my right hand coming free for a moment —only to be pulled back in place! For another five minutes Teresa tries to cut the jacket with a knife, but it heals itself again and again. Watching it stitch itself back together is very infuriating for me, and I feel a tiny bit nervous with Teresa holding that blade, standing behind me, and yet she’s trying to help, just like old times.

Teresa sighs and puts the knife down, then puts her fingers to her temples, focusing on her power. “I guess you got the best in the business, so I might as well do my thing. Clearly the kitchen gear isn’t working.”

I can sense your mind, the conscious thoughts and the unconscious thoughts. You have been a naughty girl. I feel myself blushing as she continues with the mental probe, making an assessment of my condition. I can sense your power working away, the magic-based super-power—that is, the bit of your brain controlling it. I can feel your instincts, rusty as they are, from when you used to be a bit of a hero. I can feel all that guilt for being a survivor of that big ultimate battle against evil. I can feel your exhaustion when you’d felt that you had done your bit. I guess I can see why you retired, I suppose I didn’t want to see things from your perspective, but that’s part of the package of being a telepath. When you retired you didn’t practice your powers, and now they are not as sharp as they once were. You can’t control them with the same keen focus, right?

I pull on the jacket. “Well, obviously,” I say aloud, and she looks at me.

“You went to the standard superhero academy for a bit, and you had the usual bit of escape training, right?”

I nod. “Yes, and I did perform as a magician, but I have to admit a lot of that, especially when dealing with anything like this, was with the help of my powers, before and after I was a hero.”

The telepath looks at me. “I think on some level you don’t want to be let out of that jacket. You don’t have a reason to come out. That makes it harder. It’s like you have become introverted, like a protester who has chained herself somewhere and doesn’t want to leave.”

I look around the room. “I suppose you’re right. But what have you been doing all this time, while I have been hiding myself?”

“Well,” Teresa replies, “I have improved five ranks as a Telepath. I still act as support hero, but I am the one giving the orders, not just relaying them. And I have made quite a bit of money on the side in poker tournaments.”

I nod. “Okay, I guess you have done well for yourself. Can you get me out of this jacket?”

Teresa moves closer and removes her jacket so that she is not encumbered, something I have been wanting to do for myself, of course. She pulls and prods my jacket, and looks like she has a spark of inspiration. “I have an idea,” she announces, and shows me a picture of a red straitjacket on her phone. Suddenly the jacket I am wearing turns from black leather to red leather! Teresa looks triumphant. “It’s only a small change, but imagine if I could get you to change it into paper rather than leather! You would be free in a moment.” She looks thoughtful, another idea playing across her mind. She raises her phone and shows me a picture of a waist-clincher. She places one hand on my shoulder one hand on my jacket. “I am trying to turn the jacket into something else.” The jacket changes, just as she says. I feel the air squeezed from my lungs and I collapse forward into her arms, 

“That’s not helpful....” I gasp. “It’s even more uncomfortable now!” I am scolding her, as best I can. She hasn’t managed to change the jacket. Instead, I now have on a really tight waist clincher on top of the straitjacket, and it is quite firmly and uncomfortably padlocked in place behind me. In my frustration, I try to bite the jacket, but my teeth barely scuff the leather.

Suddenly there is an odd tingling sensation, and I feel my jaw cracking open. Dumbfounded, I’m suddenly stuck with some sort of rubber-coated ring wedged in my mouth. There are thick straps under my chin and behind my head. I have no way to resist, and my friend seems curiously enamoured of my increasing peril.

“Oh, I see!” she exclaims. “I think I have an idea of what might be happening. Let me try something.” She approaches behind me and suddenly grabs my breasts.

“Whht hrm nhh dhnng?! (What are you doing?)” I shout through the ring.

“This is just an experiment,” Teresa replies. “Don’t you want to get free? Now, trust me and close your eyes.” I don’t know what she’s up to, but unfortunately I don’t have a choice. “Yes, just like that. Take a deep breath and relax.” She begins to grope my breasts vigorously.

“Hmf thnf rmhlln nmgmffhrn? (Is this really necessary?)” I mumble.

“Yes, it is. Now be a good girl and stay still.” It’s easy for her to say, of course, but anyway I can’t do anything to stop her even if I want to, being this helpless, so I try my best do endure it. She increases her assault, squeezing hard and almost lifting me from the floor.

“MMHHhhh!!” I protest.

“Hold on. Try to imagine my hands touching your skin directly.”

I see what she’s getting at, and I try to focus on that, despite all the distraction. Little by little I start to feel the direct touch of her fingers, which are now making circular movements around my nipples. Then abruptly she pinches them!

“Mmmhhhnnnggg!!” I scream out. But it’s working! The jacket is melting away. She keeps pinching and twisting my nipples very hard. I panic, struggling and wiggling my body until she finally lets them go.

“Well, I mean at least your breasts are free,” she notes.

Panting heavily, I give her an angry look. Not only am I still helpless, but also now my breasts are exposed and I’m further humiliated! The jacket now has a snug rubber lining around my breasts, with some sort of rigid demi-cup underneath helping to hold them up, like an underwire bra giving me a bit of support. I wish my friend had told me before she tried something with my breasts. The result of her efforts is that I’m left with my poor breasts bulging out of the two cut-outs in the jacket.

Wait...why on earth is my face going red, my body heating up, and my shameless nipples hardening?

Teresa grins and smiles, kicks off her shoes, and undoes a few buttons on her blouse to make herself more comfortable. She pulls the bottom of her garment out of her skirt so it’s loose, and undoes the buttons so that there’s a generous view of her silver bra. She rolls her sleeves up past her elbows. Teresa looks like she’s savouring this, making herself very comfortable at my expense. She cracks her knuckles and then turns her focus back on me. She looks satisfied, but her words don’t quite match the look on her face. I give her a disappointed look and muffle my protests through the gag that is forcing me to drool all over the jacket. I look down, and immediately a cloth levitates and wipes up my drool.

At last my former sidekick us finished fussing and getting comfortable. I swear she’s staring at my legs and my naked tits. She has a hard time suppressing her grin. “Okay, Anna,” she begins, “that didn’t go so very well, but it gives me an idea. I think that you’re stuck in that jacket because you like to be in there.”

I blush and look at the carpet, but her hand reaches out and touches my chin, forcing me to look her in the eye. She continues, “You feel guilty…you feel that you need to be punished, right?” I drool on her hand as she runs her fingers over my lips. Then she pulls me closer. “You want to be controlled; you don’t feel that you should have any autonomy.” I blush deeply. “I bet you are second-guessing yourself, whether your actions in the fight against the overmaster helped or hindered the effort.”

I feel like I have been kicked in the stomach, Well, I wasn’t thinking that before. But now I am focused on that battle and I can feel a deep, burning shame. Suddenly I am helplessly crying and sobbing.

The telepath blinks, and a soft but immensely intrusive silicone plug appears in my mouth out of nowhere, wedged in the ring-gag. My eyes go wide as the plug slowly begins to sink into my mouth of its own accord. In seconds I am feeling the rubber tickling the back of my throat, and Teresa is hugging me tightly. All I can do is focus on getting just enough air into my lungs to breathe. The plug seems to swell up, and I am sucking on it to pull air through the core.

I can feel the other plug, the one residing in my bottom, beginning to vibrate, as if it is a tuning fork that has just been struck! I am suddenly, inexplicably, wiggling about, feeling the crotch strap tightly between the folds of my flesh. This is inappropriate! I should be able to control myself, and I can feel my face getting so red.

Gagged, humiliated, turned on, and unable to do anything about it, I just sit there with my former sidekick cuddling me like a little lost kitten. I pull on my bound legs, on my arms, but I remain securely in place. It’s so humiliating, and now that I can feel her breasts pressing against mine, I realise that Teresa is really into this. I can barely resist her, packaged as I am.

Nevertheless, I try to pull away. But she moves forward and suddenly I am pretty much held on her lap. She’s holding me very tightly, almost so I can’t get away, stroking my hair, and I am barely able to breathe, choking on the gag. “You know,” she whispers in my ear, “you look so cute like this. And it’s what’s in your mind that’s holding you back, you know. If I were a psychiatrist I’d say that you are sabotaging yourself, holding yourself back. To me it’s quite obvious that you are.” Her hand glides down my leg, and I cannot voice an objection as she strokes my thigh. I try to pull away again, only to feel a snap in my back as something tightens on the jacket. Teresa has a firm grip on the straps. “Perhaps if you reach a certain level of inconvenience, of suffering,” she continues whispering to me, “you will have had enough. That’s it, right? Your mind will believe that you have suffered enough, and it will release you. If that’s not what’s going on, then I don’t have any other ideas. But I think it is...and so I think I am just going to make things a little bit more unpleasant for you...for your own good, of course.”

I have no say in this decision, and no possibly of lodging an objection. I can only watch her eyes as she looks me up and down. She runs a finger across my temple and taps the centre of my skull. “Now, my friend,” she says, no longer whispering, “open up your mind. Give me access, so I can give you some help.”

I had already lost the battle with my body to the restraints, but I don’t really want to let her in where she has access to my desires and feelings. I know that she could use her power to force her way in, but so far she’s being polite. I feel mortified ,though, and find myself giving up, letting in the gentle pressure pushing at my conscious mind, as you would invite someone into your inner sanctum...as you would take someone into your trust.

I feel her mind against mine, the difference, the distinction. We had done this many years ago when she was still training. Now, to my surprise, she feels far more solid, her presence more dominating against my flagging, self-conscious, tired mind. For a second, I see myself through her eyes: bound, aroused, mute, and helpless.

Teresa grins. “Yes, exactly. You can see what I can see. Now I can feel that you think it’s a bad idea. But, well, I am the telepath and you are the naughty girl who is getting spanked metaphorically by your uncontrolled desires. You can already feel your mind latching onto what I am presenting.”

She tests the connection, thinking of a toaster, and thus I think about a toaster, and of course there appears a toaster on the table, the exact same one she must have at home, and which I have now produced for her with my power. She smiles and looked down at my restraints, and the manacles go from rusty iron, to bronze, then back to stainless steel in a matter of seconds. She is trying to get into the part of my mind that controls the restraints! Part of me wants her in there, and part of me is still apprehensive—for a number of reasons, some obvious. I can feel an acute sense of nervousness, like I am walking around naked, as Teresa has access to my thoughts.

She smiles again. “Found it! Now to add a bit of pressure to your predicament.”

I can feel things getting even worse as she sends my powers working along specific lines. I can feel my legs shift and change. For a second it is unclear what has happened. But now, much to my regret and the twinges of pain in my feet, I find myself dressed in black, thigh-high, six-inch, stiletto-heeled boots. They are strapped and locked and laced on in a way that will make their removal very time-consuming. I am worried about balancing, as they appear constructed with a one-inch platform at the toe, and everything is laced tightly shut.

These boots, I conclude, are clearly designed to be looked at, not actually worn. So impractical; my feet really hurt. My toes are twisted into an uncomfortable position, and the hobble chain connecting my ankles are even tighter, now, keeping my feet right next to each other, with barely any room to shift about and try to make myself more comfortable. Also, the top of the boots high up my thighs are connected to the bottom of the straitjacket with two big leather straps, looking a bit like heavy-duty garters, and this makes the boots incredibly snug and horribly impractical.

And yet, I am more turned on, being forced to wear them at the whim of my former sidekick, than if I had selected them myself. There is something about being forced to endure another’s will that excites and arouses me, and I dearly wish that I could hide that fact from her.

Indeed, Teresa is now looking at me funny...no, she is actually looking at the plug wedged in my mouth, held tightly at home, firmly in place, by the ring gag. I watch as she raises an eyebrow, and feel the plug slowly shift, beginning to move backwards and forwards, extricating itself from my jaw. This is the first time anything has shifted, changed, in my bondage. The plug lands on the floor, bounces, then comes to a stop—and fades away! The plug lodged in my rear end then ceases its twisting for a moment. I breathe a sigh of relief, able to take a full breath without my rectum being compressed.

Teresa reaches forward and I don’t flinch...well, not much. For a second it seems as though she is going to force herself on me and make me share a kiss with her, not that I could resist, bound so tightly. I can read it in her eyes that this is what she wants to do, to take me there. But she stops herself at the last second, reaches forward again, and I almost flinch as she sets about removing the ring gag. This takes a bit of effort from her. For a second the device seems to writhe and struggle in her hands, as if it is trying to crawl back into my mouth to keep me gagged, but after a second it stops moving. Something she has done has worked, and I was free of the gag!

I work my jaw for a moment to regain my voice. “Thank you for that. At least I can speak properly again.”

Teresa gazes down at my horrible footwear, then reaches out and runs her hand over my right leg. “Now, I know that little idea of mine didn’t free you,” she says. “It just made things a little bit worse for your feet. But believe me there is a threshold where your subconscious will get fed up with this little game, just you wait and see. I just need to push things a little bit further.”

The telepath retrieves her tablet and begins scanning through several sites online, until she has precisely what she wants. As she returns to me I am sceptical, but at this point I don’t think she can make things worse than they are. Teresa gestures for me to follow her into my bedroom. “We need somewhere more comfortable to do this,” she tells me.

My ‘friend’ now shows me some pictures of black ballet-heeled boots, so pointy I almost wince just looking at them. She shows me a very solid steel-and-brown leather fetishist version of orthopaedic leg braces, and then finally—the last item—something that looks like a piece of weight-lifting equipment that is actually a sort of heavy, rigid, bar-ankle-cuff, all to help me further (by her twisted reasoning) become more uncomfortable, in order for my subconscious mind to basically be satisfied that I have suffered enough.

I sigh. “You have got to be kidding,” I begin to complain. Nevertheless, in the space of a few moments I feel my power activate, and I promptly receive the tightest, most sadistically proportioned pair of heel-less ballet boots that proceed to crush my feet and ankles. They are still strapped to the bottom of the straitjacket, and they are still not going anywhere anytime soon. I observe that they are combined with a pair of locking metal and leather medical braces over the top of them, which make it a struggle to move my limbs at all—a fight to bend them and a fight to lift them. Then there is the solid bar ankle-clamp which locks over my ankles, holding them rigidly in place with about an inch between them. It is heavy, awkward, and restrictive. I can barely move my legs with all the restrictive layers, as if they are now set in concrete.

I look up at Teresa. “Thanks…now I can’t even walk out of the bedroom!”

She helps me onto my bed, then pats me on the shoulder. “Look, it might not work instantly...but at some point it should just reach a critical mass and then—poof!—you’re free, and you should regain full conscious control of your power.” She stands over me and looks down, thinking. “This all just needs a bit of time. If you can’t move about, that might be enough to finally break the barrier that’s keeping you bound!”

Sitting there helplessly on my bed, I mutter to myself, “And if all this doesn’t work?...” 

Teresa shrugs. “Well…I could put you in a coma-like state for a couple of hours and see if that shuts all your powers down.”

I shudder, not liking that idea one bit. As if I were a faulty computer and she was going to reach for the reboot key. No, not my favourite idea, not for one second. “I will take a rain check on that option.”

She leaves me alone for a bit on the bed. I’m bored. I could summon a milkshake, some snacks. I could turn the TV on with my telepathy, but...well. I have other ideas. I’m quite frustrated, helplessly bound in leather and steel, lying on soft satin sheets. I am also quite turned on, so helpless. The boots are starting to grow on me; as restrictive as they are, they have a certain elegance and beauty to them. So I begin a little game. Wiggling about, letting the tightness of the straps work away on my flesh, getting me more and more excited yet not really helping me get free. I can feel the heat and arousal building between my helpless legs and at my exposed breasts. And quicker now than it was before. I don’t have a gag to chew on, but...well, I can roll over and chew on my pillowcase for the moment.

I am red-faced and mortified five minutes later, when my friend and now possibly my jailer, Teresa, finds me wiggling about on the bed, rather enjoying my predicament. Her mouth gapes open at the sight that greets her: me trying to get off on the jacket’s tight crotch-strap.

Teresa waves one finger in my face. “Naughty girl, I guess I will have to teach you a lesson. You can’t have any outlet that makes you comfortable, because then you will end up making no progress. So, I’ll have to cut off every possible avenue of release. Even that, until you truly want out.”

She scrolls on her tablet for a moment, then shows me a picture of a rather punitively tight chastity belt, with a viciously ribbed discipline anal-plug built into it that must be at least nine inches long and very rigid. I gasp as my straitjacket changes and the crotch straps are replaced by the cold solid metal of the chastity belt. The waistband is linked to the main jacket by a number of riveted straps. My body shakes and my arousal crashes as my clitoris is clamped between two plates of metal that are part of the punishingly tight belt. It’s rather harsh, and I gasp in pain and sit there, stunned.

I am now stuck with my waist cinched in the belt, which seems to have merged with the waist-clincher, making for something to truly take my breath away. The thing is really impeding my breathing. The rest of my outfit ensures my arms are tucked tight and neat behind my back. I desperately want them free so I can claw this chastity belt off. I swear the jacket has somehow gotten tighter, and clearly my outfit is topped off with that tight chastity belt locked on, for good measure. At least the cold steel belt has some sort of rubber or latex lining. For the most part it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, but I so desperately want to cum, now.

Suddenly the anal-plug makes its presence known, stretching me wider and wider, making me gasp and whimper, right in front of Teresa. She wears a look that says, Serves you right; you brought this upon yourself. The plug makes my ass feel uncomfortably full. I stare at her.

“Teresa, you can’t do this to me! Well...I know you just did, but, come on, I need something to combat the boredom. It’s not like I can do much else in this state!”

She looks down at me and pats me on the head. “Like I told you, if you’re not enjoying yourself then you will actually want out of your restraints, and your mind will free yourself, subconsciously or consciously.” I fume, but for sure she has a point.

“But,” I tell her, complaining, “the size of the plug.... It’s no fun!” I can feel myself blushing. “It’s intrusive and stretching and humiliating, and I can’t do anything about it. The damn thing is mechanically squirming about in my rectum! Tormenting me!”

Teresa rolls me over and pats me suggestively on my bottom cheeks. “You look so cute like this. Don’t make me consider punishing you further.”

She leaves me alone for a few minutes. I try to use my telepathy to bypass the belt and directly stimulate myself, but it won’t work. My powers cut out at the most frustrating times. I try to visualise some sort of stimulator inside the belt, vibrating against my pussy to give me the stimulation I needed to cum. But infuriatingly my contrary powers just make the steel strap between my legs even tighter!

When Teresa returns I try to be very polite. “Please, Teresa, this thing is too tight. You managed to get my gag out earlier, so come on, please, try using that technique on the rest of my restraints.”

She pats me on the shoulder. “You wanted to talk, and that allowed me to persuade your subconscious to let go of the gag. But right now, really, your mind doesn’t want to do much else. Now, you can use your powers to maintain your body’s basic needs, can’t you?”

I sit there and think about it, involuntarily squirming about from the rectal stimulation. “Well, I haven’t had to go to the toilet in a while, and I can rehydrate myself just thinking about it, so I suppose that’s so.” I gyrate my hips, emphasizing the chastity belt’s presence. “Come on, Teresa, let me out….please! You have to do something more than this, because this isn’t working very well. I’m so bored like this. Come on, let me get a nice relaxing toy into this belt. You can’t keep me locked up like this!”

Teresa gives me a wicked smile, and tells me that she damn well can. I focus in on her as she begins to leave my bedroom once again. “I can keep complaining all night,” I threaten. “You’re a telepath, so even if you gag me you will still hear my thoughts picking at you!” I continue in the same vein, trying to get Teresa to wrestle with my subconscious and forcibly try and free me. Even when she isn’t in the room, there is that link in our minds, and I pour my complaints down that channel.

Eventually, my jailer begins to get fed up with my begging and complaining. She returns to my bedroom, and immediately I can see in her expression, the tone of her voice, and her body language that she isn’t going to suffer a moaning brat for too long before administering consequences. Perhaps I want to see what those consequences might be? Perhaps I want to see if her idea of making my situation intolerable, bound to the point that I want out beyond whatever guilt or desire for punishment I carry in my mind, would work? Certainly, having my clitoris cruelly pinched and my backside filled to the brim with the rubber plug was making me even more desperate to get out of this restraint, or at least to get a little bit more stimulation.

Teresa looks down at me like a misbehaving pet. “Okay, darling, you’ve succeeded in getting on my nerves. I guess it’s time to shut you up.”

Ever since I tried to bite the jacket and rip one of the seams open I’d had an ache in my jaw, as if something belonged there. Now, with a mental suggestion from Teresa, it was back, I had a jaw-stretching, rubber-coated ring-gag in my mouth. It had just simply appeared, and now my jailer was suggesting the use of a pump gag. That thought quickly expanded into a rubber bladder in my mouth. There’s a pump sticking out that pumps the thing up without anyone needing to squeeze the bulb. Then the pump disappears, but the immense gagging pressure remains. There is also a valve sticking out from the ring. Teresa keeps whispering, and sure enough there’s now a tight rubber panel on top of the pump-and-ring-gag combination, connecting to the harness of straps sealing my mouth, keeping it all in place.

An instant later a tight black rubber hood plunges my world into darkness! I’m frightened—and I’m horny! I’m feeling a little nervous. There is a new assertiveness emanating from Teresa, as she pushes me down onto the bed. Her hands press on my shoulders, and despite the hood I can sense her lips hovering over the gag.

She has me at her mercy!

I might be able to do something with my powers, pushing her off with my telepathy. Perhaps I could trap her head in a block of ice, treat her to an exact duplicate of the restraints I’m wearing. But the simple truth is that I don’t do any of those things. I can feel where she is through our mental connection, but I don’t feel inclined to act against her, even though it’s obvious now that she is intentionally tormenting me, making my bondage more and more secure and overwhelming. Is it our friendship, or something else, holding me back?

Teresa whispers in my ear, her words a seduction of tight rubber and leather. I am now pretty much helpless, both physically and mentally, to resist, as my jailer begins to describe an ultimate restraint. I am equally mortified and turned on at the proposed increase to my frustrating bondage.

As she mentally projects into my mind an image of how she wants me to be cocooned, my powers begin to follow her direction, completely skipping my conscious control. I can clearly see what she calls a ‘reverse prayer’ position for the arms of the jacket, connected to the back of a second incredibly tight black leather hood that will form over my already encased head. It will be even more secure with the addition of a sort of really sadistic posture collar, which will remove even the slightest chance of movement in my head. The collar would also be heavily padded, dampening sound, keeping my head tilted back so that my jaw is forced into the best angle to make the gag as large as possible...another thing to look forward to.

Moments later, my power activates. Rapidly and seamlessly, my hands are moved. Quickly they are locked even more tightly behind my body, fused into one restraining mitten that is connected to the back of the new leather hood. My head is pulled back, unable to move. It’s irresistible, and turning me on even more! I can’t resist her touch at all…and I confess I don’t really want to.

I can feel her rolling me over, examining my arms. Then there is a collar wrapped around my throat that encompasses the bottom of the hood and my hands bound up behind my back. It’s confining and dominating, and I so want to be confined and dominated, just like this. I can barely hear her words through the hood, but I can feel her intentions through our mental link.

It’s late, I hear in my mind. It’s time to sleep. I’ll stay the night to look after you. That’s what friends are for, right? She has a nice idea to keep me snug and out of trouble. How considerate of her. I am going to be put away for the night, all snug with an ankle-to-elbow hog-tie. And a second later I can feel my body shift and lock, my spine bend, and my tendons stretch. Perhaps a much larger vibrating plug deep in your ass, high up your rectum, to keep your company all night, she tells me. And thus the plug already filling me gets worse—much worse! Leaving me a squirming bundle more desperate to cum than to be free.

Teresa is now in bed with me. I can sense she has stripped to her underwear, but a moment later that too is gone. She spoons me, her legs wrapping around me, her hands cupping my breasts. And just exactly that way the two of us fall asleep, with satin sheets wrapping us up tightly together....

...Am I dreaming? At least I think I am.... Yes, I must still be asleep. Is Teresa in my mind, or is it some suggestion, some hint of Tela-Girl’s presence. I can sense something...a thought...a mental suggestion. I hear it and I am not entirely unopposed to it. Yes, it would be nice if my heavily bound body was strongly teased. Yes, it would be nice if there were some sort of vibrator or toy for my vagina.... I imagine myself spanked, or tickled, or both! Maybe a nice, vibrating, ridged plug buried in my pussy.... Yes, I could feel myself—or is it imagining myself—gripping it, cradling it inside my flesh, as it brings me to orgasm...again and again!

If course, I am still bound physically, unable to move. Is all of this still a dream? And there is something from far earlier...I could see it in detail, even if some aspect is a little hazy. My mind reaches for it....

It all started a little earlier, I see now. I imagine the telepath suggesting something...my “friend” pretending to help...me giving myself some bad advice, which causes my body to become further bound and humiliated and...and yet I want it. I am super-frustrated, yet it is making my powers unstable, and they are really getting out of control. Whatever the dominating bitch suggests is happening to me almost immediately. I both love it and loathe it. Is she overriding my mind, making me like this stuff—or have I always liked it? It’s so hard when the bitch is in my mind!

But I don’t trust myself! I need my Mistress to tell me what I need to do, and how I should service her.

I am roused from my slumber by my own worries and the shifting flesh around me. I am entwined with Teresa and the silk sheets. I try to call on my powers and free myself, but I can’t focus on it. I remember waking her up. She had grinned and whispered in my ear, “This butt-plug causes so much distraction already. I can’t even imagine what you would feel if it happens to grow bigger...and bigger...and bigger...! How humiliating it would be if this huge and uncomfortable thing would get completely stuck in your rectum, and you won’t have any way to remove it....”

The damn thing must have expanded to a good twelve inches at that suggestion! And the base seemed to be practically glued between my buttocks, stretching me painfully wide and completely sealing my sphincter, its buzzing faintly driving me wild with frustration. But still I had succumbed to my exhaustion and dozed off to sleep.

Teresa stirs beside me, fully awake. She is stroking the side of my helpless body, running her fingers over my chastity belt. “Poor thing,” I hear her say through the hood. “I can’t even imagine how desperate you are to cum, with that agonizing toy vibrating inside you for so long.” The buzzing in my ass immediately goes from a low-level distraction to an intense building vibration that has me ready to explode. Teresa continues to whisper, “What would you feel if it suddenly stops at the worst possible moment? Your nice and tight jacket holding your arms completely useless, your gag preventing you from appealing for help. Would you be able to stay sane?”

I scream into the gag in frustration, as indeed the vibration ceases at the last possible moment, denying me. The gag seems to expand even larger to absorb my begging. I try to project my complaints into Teresa’s mind via our link, but discover that they encounter something like a rubber sheet and bounce off!

Teresa cuddles me and slowly goes back to sleep. She is sharing the same bed, keeping me company, spooning up against my bound body. While the plug teases and denies me, she snores away, happy to use me as a living body pillow. This turns me on even more, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I am so desperate! Please...Mistress...please let me cum...I will be a good little girl....

Oh god where did that come from!?

My former sidekick finally stirs. She smiles down at me and I can feel the desire projected through the link. She feels ravenous and capricious as her hands squeeze and cuddle my cruelly bound body.

“It’s time that I reveal the truth of your imprisonment,” she says, “to tell you the complete truth. I have always wanted your body, and your heart, Anna. I have always loved you since we met all those years ago, when we were so close together working as a partnership. When you rejected me, I got really mad. I used my power, I implanted the idea for you to get yourself caught up like this in a bondage scenario. I hammered it into a white-hot thought and shoved it into the deepest part of your brain, for you to call me to ride to your rescue. All so I could scoop you up into my firm embrace.”

I am mortified, betrayed, and excited at the same time, I pull on my bonds in a futile effort to free myself, and I feel her hand smack into my rump as I wiggle. “Naughty girl. You know, I also like pretty women and tight bondage. And now that I am projecting my desires into your mind, I can tell that so do you. Deep down, you wish to remain firmly bound and teased and disciplined, and it doesn’t matter if you do or don’t desire it in the first place, because you do, right now, and right here.”

I struggle to break free from her mental and physical control, but my hog-tie becomes tighter. And Teresa cradles my bound flesh that much more tightly. She grins down at me. “You look so tasty like that, I believe I could cover you in whipped cream and lick it all off.”

Presto! A tray full of cream appears on the bedside cabinet, and Teresa has to stop herself for a moment as she considers the possibility. She chides me, “Not yet, sweetie. You need another week of teasing to be ready.” A disappointed mumble issues from my hugely gagged lips, and the tray disappears. Teresa playfully squeezes and twists my bullet-hard nipples. “You see, you rejected me in the past...or maybe it was the Anna part of you, now that I come to think about it. I don’t think that you even noticed that I was actually interested.”

Looking back, I have to concede she’s right. I didn’t even notice her flirting. I laughed it away, thinking that she was just kidding when she suggested the two of us spend a weekend in escape training, sharing the same rubber cocoon, getting to know each other. Considering the way she was always clinging to me, the way she was practically taking over, living in my front room...yes, I can see it now. I don’t really understand if what I feel now is genuine love and desire for her, or something that she has manufactured and projected into my head. Is it just a false desire that she’s implanted there?

Teresa strokes my corseted, narrow waist. “Let’s get you a little upgrade, shall we?” she asks rhetorically.

“Mmmhhoow ammpphh noomp (How about no?)....” I answer, knowing that the mumbling escaping my mouth will be clarified by my thoughts in her mind. But she begins inexplicably pushing something into my mind in return, and mere seconds later I can see a picture of an extreme wasp-waist corset with a fancy black-lace trim and solid steel-boning reinforcement bands, squeezing me, knocking out my breath. Suddenly in one go it is incorporated into the straitjacket I’m wearing, replacing the waist clincher. I am gasping like a fish out of water, desperately needing sweet oxygen. The experience of being suddenly tight-laced into submission is too much. The fucking thing is far too tight, and the steel-boned construction is crushing my ribs. I am going to pass out. I am only able to regain my focus when she seems to have unlocked something.

That bitch! I thought to myself. She can’t keep me like this forever, can she? She can’t keep teasing me like this? My head will explode if it keeps going. I swear if she does this for much longer without letting me cum she is going to get a matching set of brutal restraints. When I can just get my focus back, I will wrap her up just like I am and see how she likes it!

I feel a line of fresh air against my naked vulnerable skin. Oh god ... she has managed to get the plate off my chastity belt. It feels so good, as her fingers run over my flesh. I desire her so much right now that she can take me in any degrading, humiliating way she likes...if only she will!

I try to project my desires. Please let me cum, Mistress.... I need to so desperately. Oh god, the plug in my ass has started up again! Please, please let me cum. I will be your obedient sex slave, please! I can feel her will, her dominating thoughts pressing down upon me. She has her nails tracing around my enflamed, desperate, chafed and chastened clitoral flesh.

“No, my darling,” she says aloud. “I think you’re going to have to learn your lesson. Two words will dominate your focus. Every braincell, every neuron will be geared towards towards the end goal of escaping the cycle of tease and denial that I am going to impose on you.”

I try to shake my head, to scream, to struggle, as the restraints reconfigure themselves, forcing my knees wide and giving Teresa access to my most intimate areas. She runs her tongue down between my hogtied legs, lapping at me like a cat with cream. She speaks to me again. “Even those best mad scientist stories, you know, I was never fully convinced about their ‘machines’ that were designed to detect when someone is about to cum, or even if there is another person with super-human senses ‘watching them closely’. But if it’s a self-inflicted punishment that springs from your own mind, then it’s perfect. You will tease your own flesh to the last millisecond and then stop before you go over the edge.”

She taps the base of the huge, invasive plug still occupying my rectum and stretching my anus. “This is my perfect revenge for all the lonely nights you put me through,” she says gently but firmly, “ever since I had a mad crush on you. Now, Anna sweetie, I can feel you begging for it. You can’t fight your own mind, your own powers.” She runs her finger over my clitoris. “This relief will be your way out.”

I can feel the massed survivor’s guilt, that on some level my subconscious mind believes that I should be punished like this. I can’t stop her, and her touch is heaven and hell, redemption and purgatory. I can feel the weight of her thoughts. And I conclude that it will be weeks before she tires of this game of revenge.

A panel in the hood over my head appears, and I see and feel Teresa removing the pump gag. Suddenly she shifts round and I am trapped between her legs. In moments I am overtaken by lust, licking away, desperate to please her, so that she might return the favour. Then suddenly her flesh is pushed brutally hard against my face, and all too soon she is shuddering in peak pleasure. I dearly want to share that pleasure with her, but I can’t breathe and she is squeezing me tightly. I am about to black out, but somehow get a gasp of air.

I note now that Teresa is wiping herself clean. To my dismay she adds to the indignities I suffer and stuffs her wet, stained panties deep into my mouth, to remind me of my new place! The pump gag goes back in, and it expands of its own accord, the layers resealing over it. It seems to fill with warm liquid rubber, solidifying it and making my jaw even more tightly compacted. The telepath’s silky panties are so far down my throat now that I am practically at the point of swallowing them.

Teresa rubs a hand over my encased head, “Good girl! Well done for your first time. It really is the perfect opportunity to increase the substance of your gag, and especially your hood.” The completeness of my restraints suddenly increase, as another layer of rubber is added over the leather. Then more leather over the rubber, then more rubber again. And finally a tight steel mask over the top that tightly crushes my head and secures all the other layers, compacted in place, subjugating me. My captor, my Mistress Teresa, returns to teasing my pussy.

Since the beginning, my powers have been growing, but used by my Mistress to help control and punish me. Early on I had managed to bite and spit out the gag the first few times, only for it to reappear the next morning, bigger and tighter. And my powers are such that I don’t really need to eat—though right now, I tell myself, it would be nice if I had a double gin. My new reality is to be teased...but not allowed to cum. And later on...? Teresa strokes my breasts and I want more.

“Now,” she whispers to me, “I think those nipples of yours need some nice, tight clamps!” And instantly they appear in place and tighten...hard...making me squeal into my gag. “Good girl,” she says, caressing my tits, “you can never escape from me, and very soon you won’t want to. I think, Anna, that you desperately need that plug in your cute little ass to be just a tad larger—oh! You don’t like that? I can feel you resisting me. Let it go... surrender.... Good girl, you can feel the rubber expanding to keep you nice and plugged and filled...and in line....”