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Once or twice she'd actually seduced locksmiths into getting her out of the belts...but the new one that Arnell had locked her in, made by F.X. Copeland at the Dungeonopolis Gift Shop, was impenetrable.

Quincy-Jane, an old friend from the scene, had introduced Medina to Arnell. "I love being her submissive, Dina."

Quincy-Jane had enthused. Quincy-Jane had lost her left leg from the knee down to cancer as a youngster, and had been pampered about this sensitivity her entire life by parents and friends.

Quincy had gone to therapy and become a Paralympian, and could get around on an artificial leg faster than most able bodied; basketball, swimming and the like.

Quincy-Jane had become a leading disability advocate with six bestsellers about handicaps, queer theory and feminism, and her own TV show.

But she'd had a fantasy that only Arnell was able to fulfill.

"Arnell gets me to strip naked, and she hides my peg-leg, and I stand in the middle of a bare room, stark naked, hopping on my lone healthy ligament, Dina.

Yes, and then Arnell and her sexy little bitch assistants, the kind of girls I was always insecure about?

Fuschia and Kiarybel, they come the room fully clothed in leather miniskirts and crop-tops, and the three of them walk around whacking at me with wet hickory switches, and I hop around, and they call me "Hoppy" and "Stumpy" and "Gimpy"...

And finally, when I'm lying on the floor, covered with welts from the switches, my poor stump waving around, a couple of really good looking guys, also dressed, come in and pull out their dicks and pee on me!

And then, covered in pee, which is burning the bruises, I get up on my knees, and remember one is JUST a knee, right?

I suck the three clits and two cocks to orgasm, and after that, my chastity belt is unlocked and I frig myself with a cheese grater to an intense, blasting cum, before I get hosed off and locked up again.

I pay Arnell to give me this treatment-a thousand dollars a session, six times a year."

Now, Medina walked stridently up to the weathered brownstone townhouse, and rapped on the door. She heard someone behind her approaching the steps to the house and turned around to view a little man in a casual jean jacket.

Medina gave him a freezing stare, and the fellow stopped short. Men generally admired Medina and were also terrified by her-

Medina generally found this to be useful, especially in business.

Of course Medina couldn't date very much, since she was locked in this belt,

And, except for getting released for bathing, teasing and the very occasional orgasm when she came by once a week, the wretched thing had been on her (voluntarily of course) for twenty-seven months now!

Finally the door opened, and Arnell's curly red hair, the bangs swirling over merry eyes, appeared.

"Well, Miss Medina! How's it going?" Arnell looked over Medina's shoulder. "There's Orrin! Come on in, babe...did you scare Orrin, Medina?"

Medina stepped haughtily into Arnell's spacious hall. Orrin came in hesitantly, just after. "D-don't worry about it, Arnell. I might have startled the lady. You have a private clientele-"

Medina smirked contemptuously. "I must find out how you recruit, Arnell. The bucolic and somewhat pedestrian-"

"Shut up, Medina." Arnell tossed her curls, and laughed, making her cleavage bounce in her gray tank top. "Take off your clothes. Right here in the foyer."

Medina's eyebrows arched coldly. "I usually wait until we're in the massage suite."

"No, no. Look at poor Orrin. You've made him blush and he feels badly that he's irritating your highness.

And quite frankly, he is a sweet guy, and with his air conditioning repair business, he probably makes more than you do."

"Oh, Miss Arnell, don't worry about it." Orrin smiled. "I didn't mean to bother the lady, Miss, um-"

"Miz Tobin. Ms. Medina Tobin." Medina tried to decimate Orrin further with a patrician glance, but Arnell was cocking her head, her tongue peeking through the full red lips.


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