Again and again he forced himself to look away from the ghastly image of himself in the mirror only to find his trapped eyes drawn hopelessly back. Back to the streaks of tear washed makeup on the pale cheeks above the gag. Back to the sight of himself tied to the chair, squirming and weeping out his fear. His regret. Self pity and self condemnation. How could he have let this happen? What will happen now?

If only! If only! It wept and whimpered and squirmed to get loose! But nothing gave an inch. Not a fraction of an inch did the clever rope bindings give and even if he could loose them all? He would still be handcuffed. How could it have let this happen? How could it have been such a fool? Such a loser?

"My whole life!" it thought. "Ruined! Lost! Humiliated!"

Fresh tears. Renewed struggles just as hopeless as before and time. Time to look at himself in the mirror. Time to think, to wish things otherwise, to cry and to begin the forevermore litany of regret.

When his regular Dom couldn't make it he should have just called it all off. But he only got into the city and away from the vanilla wife and kids once or twice a year. He couldn't pass up the chance to play his very special game. Compulsive, manic behavior had sent him scrambling around town looking for a suitable playmate. Something told him that the playmate he finally found was not suitable but he had to play. Couldn't resist.

The girl that he found was skinny and in ill health. She wasn't a Dom but assured him she'd tied lots of guys up. (He could vouch for that now.) And she had handcuffs! Wore them like jewelry from the patent leather belt around her thin waist. Above the tight black mini skirt and torn fishnet stockings. He should have known she was a drug addict.

Should have known. Should have asked. Should have been more careful. Could have, should have! Shouldn't have let her tie him up. Should never have encouraged her to use the cuffs. But he had! He had done it and allowed it and more! He'd played his "secret" game. Played it! And lost?!

Fresh tears.... It should all have been so simple, so sexy, so nice. Nothing to it. Just watch a man dress himself in lingerie and insult him as he does it, with whatever comes to mind. Insult his manhood, his gender, his sissyness. Call him fagot. Watch him dress in his humiliation then tie him up in it. Tie him up in front of the full length mirror so he has to look at himself and just leave him there for awhile. A short while! Half a hour! He'd made that clear! Made sure she had a watch and understood!

Only he didn't tell her what he did in the bathroom just before she put him in the chair. Didn't share his private game or castration fantasy. That was too personal. Would it have made any difference?

She hadn't known when he had come back into the room that underneath his panties a hard and remorseless band of rubber was fastened round his balls, choking the life out of them. She was busy making a cell phone call when he'd quietly spread the jaws of the bander and eased his precious balls through the deadly gap. She'd been quietly setting up a score when he'd slipped the emasculating rubber off the restraining prongs one by one, till the gasping moment of truth! Snap! And the intense cutting pressure. Panties up, time wasting, clock ticking.

She was quick and very good with the ropes once she had him in the chair and soon he was utterly helpless; deluding himself that escape was possible and goading her to use the handcuffs too. She would have anyway. She also would have gagged him anyway, even if he'd had a chance to protest. She'd always planned to gag him and she did so before he could react, coming up from behind with a pair of his own pantyhose and wrapping the elastic cloth round and round his face, deep in his mouth. Then the cuffs for good measure.

"Gotta go out for a minute or two Hon." She winks at him. "Don't you go anywhere!"

To be continued: ASAP