Something was tethered to it, perhaps a leash or chain. Her hands were lifted with the bar, the manacles replaced with hinged cuffs, her hands behind...her. Wide bands encircled her wrists, twisting was difficult, separating impossible. Her ankles were enclosed within another set of manacles, these with a short hobble chain. She still couldn't see. Did the gas leave her blind? Was this an added punishment? She was lifted from the box and carried upright along what sounded like a. I was rapidly realizing that her mischievous smile was a personal trademark of sorts; the smile always appeared just before she did something scampish. While grinning like a Cheshire cat she held her arms tightly at her sides forcing her tits together and outward saying, "and before you ask, yes they are one hundred percent real."Realizing I had been noticeably staring just as I had done in the bar last night I apologized, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to." Oh, hun,". I sat on the edgeof the bed, and brought my ankle up until I could grasp itin my hand. Then I fell backwards so I was lying on the topof the bed, with my ankle still in my hand. Now I couldslide the stocking over my toes and up my leg.It was only at this point I realized how utterly hairlesswere my legs, and for that matter, the whole of my body.The Scorned Women had certainly done a fantastic conversionjob on me, and must have spent most of last night on it.Only now could I vaguely remember. He had seventy-two hours leave and just one thing to pick up. Ten minutes later, he'd changed and was in his car, making his way to DC and what he hoped was the next phase of his life.Shannon was in her last semester, student teaching. She'd been leasing an apartment with her college friends but they were all away, either on trips with their boyfriends or visiting their families on the last college break before adulthood and jobs took them away.But Shannon, she was different; she wasn't.