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Subject: {ASSM} Pages 1-3 of Sharon's Luck by Scott
Date: Sat, 18 Aug 2001 14:10:01 -0400
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Sharon's Luck
By Scott

    Sharon cursed to herself as she had to make an awkward little hop-step up 
a curb, causing a jingling to emanate from her breasts. She cursed her luck, 
cursed the choice she'd made, and above all, she cursed the short little link 
locked between her thigh hobbles. People stared at her as she made her forced 
slow, hip-swaying walk down the pedestrian mall to her office building. They 
always stared. Why shouldn't they? She was the only one out walking along in 
a too-short, too-tight grey-blue state correctional department dress. She 
hated this. She hated every waking second of this. She subconsciously tried  
to turn her head, to not see into the laughing eyes of the other pedestrians. 
For the thousandth time, the too-tight, too-tall steel collar pinched her 
throat at her jaw bone, stopping her. She was all too aware of the words 
emblazoned on the collar, in large, clear letters: CONVICTED PROSTITUTE, and 
under that,  FLORIDA DEPT. OF CORRECTIONS. Her formerly long, beautiful hair 
that had hung nearly to her waist, had been cropped to a short ponyboy style, 
so that the collar would show from all directions. 

    It was "80's" night at the dance club on the beach. Sharon was 36, and 
80's music was her music. It was fun, albeit sometimes a little ridiculous to 
dress up in those old styles that she had worn to clubs when she was in high 
school. She needed the release from reality from time to time. Her 
upper-management job was a killer, giving her migraines and insomnia if she 
didn't cut loose from time to time. Sharon was going to cut loose tonight. 
She'd started drinking rum & cokes before she left the house, and she was 
ready to party after a few more at the club.
    It was so loud in there. Why were clubs where you went to try to meet 
someone too loud to talk to them? Sharon was flirting with a guy at the bar. 
He was a broad-shouldered, good looking man with a moustache. His hair was 
full, and stylishly short. He wasn't really dressed in 80's attire, unless 
you counted the tight blue jeans under his dark t-shirt and sports coat. 
Sharon didn't care; she wanted to drink, dance, and wake up at his place. 
    
    A bead of sweat trickled down Sharon's temple. It was too damned hot to 
have a big, thick plastic "breast-chastity" plate locked in place over one's 
tits, Sharon thought. The hundreds of tiny "breathing" holes drilled through 
the thing weren't doing their job. She could feel every one of the awful 
device's myriad of stainless steel straps biting into her upper torso at 
every step, and every breath she took. They looped around her shoulders and 
connected between her shoulder blades, pulling her shoulders well back and 
forcing her tits even further into the breast chastity. 
    She would like to wring the guy's neck who designed the damn thing. It 
had to be a guy, because no woman would have ever made another woman wear 
this thing. It was a quarter-inch thick, and pressed flat against the length 
of her rib cage, up to her collar bones. It's edges curved halfway around the 
front of her torso, dipping down under her armpits. It looked like body 
armor. Her breasts sweat and bounced inside two oversized breast forms 
mounted onto the front of the chest plate. The breast forms were obscenely 
shaped, from Sharon's point of view. They were outfitted with molded-in erect 
nipples, and made the wearer appear to have F-cup sized breasts. 
The worst part however, was that the openings provided for her natural D-cup 
breasts were a pair of three-inch diameter holes through the chest plate into 
the breast forms. Sharon's breasts were effectively and continuously 
root-cinched. It was painful, humiliating, and there was absolutely no 
respite from the awful pressure. 
    Sharon had dressed to get noticed. She wore a hot pink vinyl micro-mini 
tube dress over a black leather garterbelt. It's six garters held her black 
fishnet stockings up as far as they could, but fell short of the skirt's hem 
by three inches. The hot pink, six inch high stiletto heeled shoes matched 
the dress, and sported little padlocks on the ankle straps. She neglected to 
wear a bra and panties, and also to bring the keys to her shoes. It was going 
to be that kind of night! 
    Sharon enjoyed being tipsy, and she enjoyed flirting at this man and his 
moustache. She made a continuous show of crossing and un-crossing her legs, 
then dropping her keys and bending way over to pick them up, giving an ample 
view of her tits as they would try to escape from the tube dress. She had 
another drink, and saw that the man had pulled out a hundred dollar bill. It 
was folded in half, and looped around his finger, the way a man would hold a 
dollar for a stripper. Sharon stroked his inner thigh teasingly and spoke 
into his ear, "What, are you going to make me an offer?" She was kidding, of 
course. He certainly just intended to pay the bar tab.
    Mr. Moustache raised an eyebrow and said "Why, what all could I get for 
this?"
    "Anything you want, sexy." Sharon purred into his ear. 
    "Tell me." He said
    Sharon was enjoying this little game. "Well," she said, "first, I could 
use my mouth on you, and then I could-" She stopped. The man's eyes had gone 
very cold, and very hard. Another man stepped up from nowhere and took her 
upper arm. Handcuffs were produced. "You have the right to remain silent," 
the man said. No amount of explaining, nor any amount of crying did any good. 
The other club patrons stared as she was handcuffed and escorted out to an 
unmarked police car. The humiliation deepened as she was throughly and 
efficiently searched in the parking lot by a female officer with an icy 
disposition. She tried again to explain, and was told "Give it up, slut. 
You're the third one we've taken out of there tonight. 

    Sharon hated the chastity belt most of all. It was degrading, demeaning, 
dehumanizing, and cruel. The hawkish looking old crone who had presided at 
her predisposition had said "I've seen the evidence against you. Did you know 
that your entire exchange with the officer was being video taped? I know you 
think your going to try to plead out of this, but your looking at six to nine 
months incarceration, minimum." 
    "I'm totally innocent!" Sharon had fumed. She was still in the slutty 
outfit from the previous evening, with the addition of a full set of manacles 
that she had worn through the long, sleepless night. Her wrists were tightly 
cuffed behind her to a waist chain. A chain dropped down from the front of 
the waist chain, between her legs, to  -~T' into the ten inch long ankle chain. 
The guards had found it humorous to expose her breasts for the other inmates, 
and chose to leave her in the locked-on six inch high heels as well. 
    "Suit yourself, but your're about to get locked up." She paused, 
"Unless.." 
    "Unless what?" Sharon's stomach was a knot of fear. She couldn't go to 
jail! Her career, her life would be over! 
    "We are trying out a new program," the judge continued. "The "get tough 
on morality" laws have filled up the jails to capacity, so they're trying 
something new."

    Six hours later Sharon was bare naked, spread eagled, with her wrists 
cuffed above her to an eyelet placed exactly high enough to make her stand on 
her toes. Her ankles were held apart by a spreader device which was merely a 
three-foot long steel pipe with an ankle cuff linked to each end. A 
nasty-looking, heavyset woman was washing her down roughly with a bucket of 
soapy water and a sponge. Sharon's temper was at an end. 
    "God damn it you fat, disgusting hag, get your nasty hands off of me and 
let me down from here!"Sharon had screamed into the woman's face. 
    "That, my little bitch, was a mistake!" the uniformed woman had said with 
an evil look. Sharon felt her blood run cold. Her pride wouldn't let her make 
an apology though, and she compounded things by spitting in the woman's face.

    The fitting area was like a doctor's office, only with the patient's 
wrists and ankles cuffed. The heavyset woman took measurements with a cloth 
tape and called them over to another woman who wrote them down. Sharon knew 
she'd made a huge mistake by making an enemy of this woman.
    "Shoes, size 7!"
    "Um, excuse me, what shoes, and I'm an 8." 
    "Waist, 23 inches!" 
    "What, are you nuts? My waist is about 27 inches on a good day!" Sharon 
complained
    "Correction, waist, 22 inches!" 
    "Oh no, please!"
    "Under the crotch, 17 inches! Sharon had seen the measurement; It was 
supposed to be 19 inches! All the measurements ended up being written down 
many inches too small. There were three exceptions; The anal, oral and 
vaginal plugs. 
    "Vagina, extra-large!"
    "No, please!" Sharon had wailed. The guard had responded by cruelly 
thrusting three gloved fingers with a dollop of lubricant up Sharon's virgin 
ass. 
    "Anus, extra-large!"
    "Oh God! Please! Don't!" The woman grinned maliciously.
    "Mouth, double XL!"

    Sharon's jaws ached every morning from that jaw-jacking gag. It was long 
and round, like a tube with a small combination feeding and breathing hole 
that ran it's length. It resembled something called a "penis gag" that she 
had seen in an adult book store, only without the penile features. Why they 
had chosen to make the gag, the plugs in her pussy and ass, and the heels of 
her shoes bright safety orange she didn't know. It wasn't like anyone was 
likely to miss them anyway. The hem of her uniform dress fell short of 
covering her crotch by two inches; the brightly colored ends of the thick 
plugs were clearly displayed for all to see. 
    She was required to lock the gag in place each weeknight by six p.m. The 
gag contained an electronic signal device which would trigger punishment 
shocks from the vaginal plug if it were not fastened securely in her mouth on 
time. The timed lock would release at seven a.m. on weekday mornings. On 
weekends, it remained securely in place at all times, limiting Sharon to a 
liquid diet. She would have to suck whatever she could through the half-inch 
diameter hole in the

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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