This is not a hard process. It really comes down to basic math... would any of you care to check my work?

A PDF of the whiteboard is attached to the post. I assure you all the math is sound. evil grin

But for proof of concept... I submit to you a little narrative tale below. I call it The Tipping Point... and it sits in that quiet little space where math and biology meet psychosis. Enjoy.

THE TIPPING POINT

You shift in your heels.

You feel the panties against your chastity, the smooth fabric caressing your swollen balls locked inside the ring. She shifts as well. Mocking.

She is a monster.

The bra cups hold you forward, lace edges pressing into skin that yields now in a way it didn't used to. The weight of your chest is a constant low pull you've stopped noticing except when you notice it…

…which is always.

Your lips rest apart with just a breath of space. Not dramatic, not a performance. The injections give your lips a pout that always shows that little gap unless you force them closed. That takes concentration.

You press your lips together. She does too. Seeing her mimic you makes you angry and aroused. You want to punish her for doing this to you. Push a cock into that pursed, mocking mouth and watch her eyes widen and tear up…

She raises an eyebrow at you?  Curious or mocking?  Does she know what you are thinking about her? She is such a fucking tease.

Your stockings run smooth from heel to thigh where the garter clips bite, digging into your smooth thighs. Your panties shift again, and staring at her only makes the aching arousal worse. You push against the flat, small cage, and as always it feels like you are so aroused you could break right through it.

You know that is an illusion.

So does she.

Her eyes drop to your cage.

“You know what you look like.”

“That's because you made me this way.”

“Me?  I don’t think I started this…”

“I didn’t want this… not this…”

“Like you aren't enjoying every second of…”

“Don’t…that’s not fai…”

“Do you like looking like this?”

“You fucking like me looking like this.”

“I bet you would like fucking me looking like this…”

“That's not funny.”

“The photo went up this morning.”

“That has nothing to do with…”

“You saw the comments.”

“Stop.”

“You read every one.”

The heat comes before the words finish.

Men…

…actual men…

…on the other side of a screen… but real… men in this world…

…saying the things men say…

…what you would say…

…what you would say about a woman that looks like…

Your body responds, the ring shifting just from remembering. Your body electric. A shiver going straight through you. She smirks. She knows how you feel. She feels it too. She felt it even before you did…

…that voyueristic arousal of being desired… wanted… objectified…

“You know you like it.”

“No. YOU like it.  I…”

“We both got wet reading the comments.”

“You got wet…”

She has long blonde hair. It didn't used to be that. It became blonde when she decided to do this to you.  It falls to the middle of her back. She turns to let you see it, swishing it so it teases her shoulders and back. She looks back at your face. Her eyes are so very blue. You know they are contacts. You are wearing them too.  You know how they feel. 

…like bondage for your eyes… 

Another feminine trapping locked into place each and every day. She wears them and she makes you wear them. 

She picked blue.

You feel the earrings brush your cheek as you turn to look away from her little teasing display. The little dangling gems are a constant reminder. You drop your eyes and find the other reminder.  The one that she locked onto you.  The bracelet on your left wrist. You stopped trying to get it off weeks ago…it used to be an almost obsessive compulsion, that pulling, during moments of regret and denial. 

Now it is part of you.

She holds her matching one up. You watch it catch on the middle of her thin wrist. It is so tight there is no getting it past.

“You looked at your own photo the way they did.”

“Don’t"

“You looked at yourself and…”

“That's not…”

“Just admit it. You wanted…”

“I…”

“Say it!”

“You…”

“Say it.”

“…no…”

“I wanted…”

“I'm not going to say it.”

"— to —go on… ”

“Stop.”

“Say it.”

…fuck you…

“Fuck me?”

“Fuck her.”

“Yeah you did. You wanted to fuck her and so do they.”

“Mmmpgh.”

“It's ok. You don’t have to be ashamed.  It gets me hot too.”

You shiver.

She smirks.

The shiver doesn't stop.

The locking ring around your balls…

…the panties…

…the cage flat and unyielding…

…the shifting weight in your bra…

…the hair tickling lightly against your bare back…

…the bracelet forever locked around your wrist…

…the lips…open again…because you are not concentrating…

…the eyes that are now too blue and too big…

…the blue eyes…vibrant…piercing…staring right at you…

You see you.

Her smile matches yours.

This is no longer a game.  No longer something you can stop.  There is no return.  Not when the one doing this to you stares back at you in the mirror.