This is crazy.

This is Loonytoons.

This is too real.

Too terrifyingly real.

These people are nuts!

There are four strong leather straps on me, two narrow ones to render me helpless, another two, one wide, one narrow, to make me know I am a woman.

I am helpless to run, helpless to defend myself. Helpless to do anything but stand here in this box stall, wobbling on these too high heels, awaiting, wondering what will happen to me next.

I came up here to the Flanders Spa on the advice of my friend Ruth. She told me there wasn’t a better spa in the world for shaping figures. She wouldn’t, however, say a word about how they did this, insisting it was a secret she’d sworn to keep.

I’ve only been here thirty minutes and I’m beginning to suspect I’m not going to enjoy this vacation.

I should have suspected something when I saw the uniform they sent me with my welcome package. It was nothing but a white, short sleeved, body hugging leotard, old fashioned seamed mesh stockings, a pair of very high heeled shoes that fit me perfectly and a wrap-around black leather mini-skirt. There were instructions that said I was to wear this outfit when checking in and that I was to bring no other clothing with me.

When I asked Ruth about this, she explained that it was all part of the spa’s secret method to help me motivate myself to achieve my goal. There are about five pounds on my butt I have been trying to get rid of for over two years, so I figured I’d give them a try. I called in a reservation for a two week stay.

Today I drove up here, dressed in white, almost transparent Danskin, feeling next to naked even with the kinky leather mini skirt wrapped around my hips.

As I entered the high iron gates my eye caught a glint from the wall’s top. Even though the walls are twelve feet high I could see that they were topped with broken glass. This bothered me just a little, but then I figured it was for security, a measure designed to keep the compound safe from outsiders. After all, Ruth said that many very rich and famous people come here. Before me was the spa’s main building with a tasteful sign pointing where I needed to go to register.

I gave my car keys to the valet and walked into the lobby, glad to see that all the women in sight were dressed as I was.

I was just signing my name in the spa register when two huge female goons grabbed me from behind. Held face down over the registration counter, I felt straps being wrapped around and around my crossed wrists, binding them tight together behind my back. Feeling my skirt being yanked away, I screamed, but no-one paid me the slightest mind, as if the kidnapping and stripping of young women went on all the time around here.

As I was discovering how useless bound hands are, they did the same thing to my ankles, turning me into a monopod. Then, standing me up in the middle of the spa lobby, they put the wide leather cincher around my waist and buckled it so tight I thought I would be cut in two.

The narrow cooze strap cutting down through my sex and then buckled up tight in back made it seem even tighter, even more restraining, certainly more revealing. I could do nothing but scream in outrage, unable to escape, unable to get any of the watching crowd to help me.

Then, strapping me down to a hospital gurney, they brought me out to this stable, stood me up and left me here, completely helpless, completely alone.

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As we were crossing the stable yard, on the way here, I saw my friend Ruth pulling a man on a pony cart. He had a nasty looking whip in his hand and she was sporting several angry looking red marks in the backs of her legs. As she staggered past, she winked at me, then continued back toward the stables, the front of her leotard drenched in drool and sweat, her erect nipples stretching the transparent cloth like tent poles under the big top. She was wearing a waist cincher and cooze strap like mine but in addition her arms had been pulled up into the middle of her back by a harness that went over her shoulders and crossed her heart before they fastened to her cincher in front. Between her legs, her body suit was soaking wet and mostly transparent. You could even see how red lipped and swollen she was down there.

Is this how they sculpt bodies here? No wonder Ruth has such a tight body!

Having nothing else to do, my bound hands begin to explore the cooze strap cutting up between my ass cheeks. I get a finger under it and tug, hoping I can somehow get it away from my aching clit.

No such luck, the thing stays where they put it, cutting between my labia, stimulating that part of me that I least want stimulated right at this moment.

I know I’m all wet down there, I wonder if it shows. Of course it shows. When its wet, this leotard is the same as being buck naked.

Orgasm is beginning to be a distinct possibility now.

If I wanted to, I could masturbate with this cooze strap and cum right here.

That is not what I want. At least the sensible of half of me doesn’t. What I want is to find a way out of this boobie hatch. What my sexual needs might be, will just have to wait for later, after I’ve escaped.

Oh Shit, someone’s coming! My every instinct is to run away. But I can’t. I can barely stand.

Its a man! He has straps and things in his hands! Worse, he has a rocket in his pocket!

What kind of a place is this?

He says, "Steady on girl, you don’t want to fall down, fixed like that." He smiles as he enters the box stall, his pocket pointing the way. Coming to where I stand, he continues, "My name is Willy, I’ll be your personal trainer during your stay with us."

I try to shuffle away but know its useless. My ankles are too tightly bound.

He grabs my waist cincher and begins attaching the harness straps he carries.

I can only watch as he renders my bondage even more complete. Soon my wrists are pulled up between my shoulder blades, the heart crossing straps the same as Ruth was wearing, outside. I discover that suddenly my hands are twice as useless as they had been simply bound together behind me.

"Please Mister Willy," I beg, my voice quivering with panic I’m only half faking. "Please sir, what is going on here?"

"Ponies don’t talk!" he says, strapping some kind of a harness around my head.

I don’t want to anger him, so I shut up.

It does me no good however, as he intends to rob me of the ability to talk anyway. He holds up a bit and winks, a mad gleam sparkling in his eye. I struggle to the best of my abilities but he has little trouble getting it in and then my talking is done.

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Only when it is in and my reins are tied to a ring on the post beside me, does he bend down and release the strap around my ankles. I quickly discover that drool is going to be a big problem for me. The bit is huge, and when the reins are pulled it gets bigger, forcing my mouth open.

"Time for your first exercise." he says, untying me and leading me out of the stall.

I am taken to a training meadow where I am forced to walk around him in a circle. The ground is soft, forcing me to stay up on the toes of my too high heeled shoes. All around me other women are being exercised, some running on the big oval track, pulling their Masters on pony carts, others simply attached to machines and left to high step around in mind numbing circles.

When I rebel and refuse to do his bidding, his whip finds my bottom and hurts me. When I do as he says the cooze strap rubs my clitoris, making me know how horny I am becoming.

I can’t help it, I’ve always loved the fantasy of bondage, always dreamed of being the helpless maiden at the mercy of my Master.

But as the wise man said, "Fantasy is not reality." The dream of bondage has none of the risks of the real thing. I have never tried to experience real time BDSM because I have never trusted anyone that completely.

But now here I am, under this stranger’s whip, as helpless as I’ve ever imagined I could be and so wet I’m dripping. Suddenly, trust is no longer an issue.

Soon I too am learning how to high step, how to move in ways that please him, and at the same time stimulate me.

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Around and around I go, every high step a step closer to orgasm, a step away from who I’d thought I was.

When I cum, Willy rewards me with a short rest, his hands coming, to caress the welts on my rump, to inflame and intensify my passion, to train me to serve.

After exercise comes a potty break. Taking me back to the stall, Willy loosens the cooze strap, props my back against a wall over a drain in the stall floor and stretches the body suit crotch out of harm’s way.

At no time does my trainer give me the slightest chance to rebel. My hands are strapped together up in the middle of my back. My feet are strapped together any time I am not wearing a bit and reins. The whip is always at hand.

Lunch is unsweetened Cheerios and skim milk, fed to me by my Master.

After that more exercise, this time hitched to a pony cart. I can almost feel the pounds melting away as he forces me to efforts I would never have thought possible.

Dinner is unsweetened cold oatmeal, served in the trough in my stall. Without the use of my hands, I am forced to eat it as an animal would, in the process, getting a lot of the gooey stuff smeared all over my face and even some in my hair. After my day of passion and exercise I smell like a horse.

Willy chuckles and helps me to hobble to a nearby stall where there is a drain in the floor. There is a stainless steel collar hanging from the ceiling by a chain. There is a hose and bucket of soapy water, with a sponge floating in it.

As soon as the collar is locked around my throat Willy begins removing my body harness. As the cooze strap pulls down out of me I shudder and moan with the return of blood flow. And when he loosens the waist cincher I gasp in relief. My wrists and ankles he leaves in their bondage.

Producing a pair of emergency room scissors, he begins cutting off the leotard. Suddenly I am nude, the leotard a thing of the past, nothing but a rag tossed into the corner.

My bath and grooming are both cold and hot, the water is cold and I end up hotter than I’ve ever been. Then he leaves me like that, hanging fire, my body as ready for fucking as its ever been.

Instead, he unlocks my collar, hobbles me back to my stall and puts me to bed by fastening my neck into a collar chained to the floor next to a pile of straw.