Revenge of the Punching Bags

by PlastiClown

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© Copyright 2016 - PlastiClown - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; island; vacation; discovery; capture; caged; transform; M2f/object; inflatable; slavedoll; auction; sex; climax; pregnancy; birth; raincoat; cons/reluct; X


No one would have believed that I would end up as the plastic prisoner of an inflated punching bag. More precisely I was the inflated plastic slavedoll of the Bobo the Clown character that had been printed on the punching bag that I had owned and used as a masturbating toy.

I had received an all-expenses-paid vacation on a semi-tropical island and, though caution would have dictated that I check out the organization offering the trip, I couldn't resist going. So I packed my bag and went to the airport at the designated time. There were only about a dozen people on the flight and the flight seemed to go quickly, though we had a long way to go. From the island's small airport we were taken to a plush hotel. There I was taken to a suite that consisted of a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom.

In the middle of the bedroom, by the foot of the double bed, stood an inflated plastic punching bag. It looked a bit like the one I had once had, but it was bigger. Mine had stood about four feet tall and this one was about five and half feet. The character printed on the opaque-white plastic looked like Bobo, but there were small differences. He reminded me of a character from the Batman comic strip. He looked like the Joker's twin brother, except that he had softer features, blue eyes, and curly blond hair instead of frizzy green. He wore a white tee-shirt and red shorts covered with yellow polka dots. I knew that we were going to get more intimately acquainted in bed that night.

When I was younger I had an inflatable punching bag made of the same soft, smooth plastic. I had long associated plastic film of the kind used in raincoats, aprons, and shower caps with girls and women and found it sexy, so I used my punching bag for sexual pleasure. I would get into bed and pull it under the covers with me, then I would hug and kiss it as I performed mock intercourse with it. Bobo the Clown was sufficiently effeminate that I had no trouble falling in love with him. For years I had yearned for another Bobo the Clown punching bag: it was like yearning for lost love. And now, it seemed, my yearning, my tacit prayer, was rewarded.

Strangely, I got the weird feeling that this Bobo was watching me. It was just an air-filled plastic bag, so I assumed that the pathetic fallacy was operating in my mind. My desire to have a loving relation with Bobo was making me impute consciousness to an inanimate object. Nonetheless, I got intense pleasure out of masturbating with my new toy and I got very little sleep that night. The next day I went out for a walk, heading toward what had appeared from the air as a small village in the jungle.

I was walking along the beach when I heard a woman calling "Punch me!". I followed the voice into the trees and found a small clearing occupied by a big, inflated plastic punching bag. The opaque lime-green plastic bore the image of an almost completely naked young woman. She wore a knee-length serving apron made of transparent-white plastic with the words "Punch Me!" printed on it in darker green.

"Punch me!" the young woman repeated as I approached her.

The bag stood as tall as I did. I took it in an embrace and felt the plastic soft, smooth, and warm. "No, I don't want to punch you," I said, feeling a little self-conscious talking to an inflated plastic doll. "I want to take you back to my room and play with you in bed."

"Take me to my room, then," she said. "It's closer."

I picked her up and, following her directions, carried her down a trail that went deeper into the forest and brought us to a small bungalow. I carried her inside and put her into what looked like a shower stall built into the wall of the living room. I pressed the button on the wall, as she requested, heard a firm whump, and saw a young woman wearing a "Punch Me!" apron walk out of the stall. She introduced herself as Loyce Laputani and then walked up to me, put her arms around me, and pressed her apron against me. I felt as if I had been punched from a dozen different directions or more and then I passed out.


I regained consciousness and found that I was completely naked and lying on a cot in a cage. I saw that I and several other naked young men were the prisoners of a matronly woman and a squad of teen-aged girls. At first I thought that we had been imprisoned by a troop of Girl Scouts. But I'm sure that they were not real Girl Scouts. They wore green uniforms, basically tee-shirts and shorts, but they didn't display the trefoil emblem of the real GSA. They did, however, stuff us with cookies. Close enough, I thought.

Our cages lined the wall of a wide circular room and the girls seemed to be trying to fatten us up, trying to make us look more balloon-like. They were succeeding because we had all been drugged and obeyed the girls without thinking. I was horribly reminded of the incident at the beginning of Sinbad the Sailor's fourth voyage, in which incident Sinbad and five of his companions were captured by cannibals and fattened up to be eaten.

I saw that the central part of the room was given over to the girl's own collection of inflated punching bags, a parody of the Justice League of America. Resembling elongated pears, the bags bore the images of various superheroines on their soft, smooth, opaque-lilac plastic:

Standing five and a half feet tall, one bag bore an image of Supergirl standing with a shocked expression on her face. Her wrists and ankles were bound together with green-glowing kryptonite shackles;

Standing over six feet tall, another bag bore an image of Wonder Woman standing almost completely naked with her hands tied behind her back. She wore only a knee-length hostess apron made of transparent dark-blue plastic that had thumbnail-sized silver stars printed on it;

A little taller than Supergirl, Batgirl stood with her hands at her sides. She was clearly pregnant. Instead of her armored battle costume, she wore Batgirl pajamas with the shirt being pushed up by her swollen belly;

Another six-footer bore the image of Zatanna in her magician's costume. The extra height was necessary to accommodate her top hat. Her wrists and ankles were bound in shackles and a ball gag filled her mouth, presumably to prevent her from casting any spells;

Several other superheroines whom I did not recognize appeared on the other bags.

After eating and resting for a time, we were brought out of our cages and made to exercise with the bags. When knocked over with a punch, the bag would bounce back up in less than a heartbeat, so we got a good workout keeping up with them. I had to use Supergirl as my "sparring partner", largely, I suspect, because the girls were amused by the erection I got when I played with my favorite comic-book character.

One day it was raining and the girls came inside wearing their transparent-green plastic Girl Scout raincoats. With their pixie-style hoods pulled up, they looked especially pneumatic. During our first exercise session the girls kept their raincoats on and my erection became especially prominent, to the girls' delight.

Then the day came when we were to meet our fate. We discovered, to our dismay, that the matronly woman in charge of the girls was a powerful witch. She declared that all of the prisoners had reached the desired level of fatness. She ordered one of the prisoners out of his cage. He came out and stood on a designated spot. The girls surrounded him and the witch told him to come sexually aroused and to puff out his belly. He complied and the witch touched the left side of his neck with the ornately-carved rod that she carried. We heard a firm whump and saw the boy try to run. One of the girls caught him and tossed him as lightly as a beach ball to another girl. The witch had turned the boy into an inflated plastic doll and yet the boy was still there, still moving. The girls put a transparent-black plastic raincoat on the hapless boy, punched his belly a couple of times to make him behave as they demanded, then made him put on a pair of rubber sandals and escorted him out of the room.

This is what I had often dreamed of doing to Bobo. I wanted to fatten him up until he was comfortable for me to lie upon. When he was pudgy enough for me, I would tuck his curly blond hair into a pretty plastic shower cap, get him totally hot, and then turn him into an inflated plastic woman. I would come to a hard climax over the fantasy of sharing a wedding night with a hot plastic bride.

The witch plastified several more boys and then my turn came. A girl brought me out of my cage and escorted me to the place of execution.

The witch handed me a beret-style shower cap made of transparent-white plastic with a white rubber headband. I saw that pink, yellow, and pale blue lollidots had been printed on the smooth plastic in a tiara-like pattern. "Looks like you're going to be someone's plastic princess," the witch said. On her command I put the shower cap on.

She then whispered into my ear that I was going to be allowed to play with Supergirl in bed and that just before I climaxed I was to inhale a deep breath and puff out my belly. I did as she commanded, feeling my heart beat rapidly and quivering inside. When I puffed out my belly I felt something touch the left side of my neck about an inch below my ear and I felt a jolt as if something had exploded inside me. I knew that I had been plastified and that it was futile to try to escape, so I stood and examined myself.

I had been turned into an inflated plastic slavedoll. Worse, as I stood naked I noticed that my breasts had swollen and their nipples had become larger and more prominent. I also saw the only the glans of my erect penis poked out of the top of my vulva and below it I saw a pucker that could only be the entrance to a vagina. I had been turned into a girl.

I was then given a girl's raincoat from Seldig PlastiCoats to wear. It was made of transparent-white plastic that was turning a very faint beige with age. It hung limp on me, the more so once the plastic absorbed warmth from my body. The wet-skin sheen of the skin-smooth plastic shimmered as I moved and made the plastic look body-warm. I pulled the pixie-style hood up over my shower cap and mated the magnetic patches on the ends of the tabs to their keepers to keep the hood snug around my face.

The witch made me put on a pair of rubber sandals, then escorted me down a hall to a waiting area behind a curtain. I saw about a dozen plastified boys in their plastic raincoats standing, waiting. The witch left me at a place near the curtain and I could see through a gap into the room beyond. What I saw horrified me.

It was like an auction, held by a big, fat rubber boxer, complete with boxing gloves. One of the gloves, I saw, held an ornately-carved, red-glowing rod. The boxer stood on a low stage in a small auditorium. There was a target-like spot next to the boxer. About a dozen clowns and superheroes sat in the audience.

I saw several Bobos waiting, along with a Bozo. A couple of Batmans mingled with a Tarzan and a Popeye. These were living versions of the figures that had appeared on inflatable plastic punching bags and I suspected that's whence they came. The punching bags were waiting to take revenge on their former owners.

Each boy came forward, as he was called, to the designated spot and was told to stand at attention. The boxer then touched the tip of his rod to the magnetic patch closest to the bottom of the boy's raincoat. The boy and his raincoat were then transformed into a big, bouncy, roly-poly punching bag. The boy's clown or superhero then came forward, bopped the boy a couple of times, then picked him up and carried him out of the room. Then my turn came and I trembled as I walked to the spot.

I nearly swooned as I waited to be turned into a punching bag. But instead of bagging me the boxer called Bobo. I saw my Bobo approach the stage and saw that he was carrying what turned out to be a big, fat kitchen apron made of transparent-white plastic that had a gay, bubbly array of pink, yellow, and pale-blue polka dots printed on it. As he held it up before me, I saw that the wide, ruffled skirt would hang almost to my ankles.

The boxer then spoke. "Do you, Bobo the Clown, take this plastic prisoner to be your personal slave, to have and to hold, to possess and to enjoy, to well-use and humiliate, forever and ever?"

"I do," Bobo said.

"You may possess your slave," the boxer said.

Bobo put the apron on me as if he were accepting a bride. He put his arms around me to tie the apron and I felt his warmth. "With this apron I thee wed," he said, "that you may serve my pleasure faithfully and submit to me in all things, forever."

"I now pronounce you master and slave," the rubber boxer said.

Bobo took my hand and led me off the stage and out of the auditorium. "My plastic prisoner at last!" he gloated as he took me outside. He pointed out his apartment on the second floor of a three-storey building across a clearing that served as a kind of village square. As we walked across the clearing I saw several clowns taking their punching boys into their apartments. The sight only intensified my sense of helplessness.

I was intensely aware of the plastic of my raincoat's hood kissing my cheeks. The raincoat's skirt caressed my legs as I walked and warm plastic rubbed my buttocks and belly. A light breeze fluttered my apron and I became more intensely aware of my femininity. I began to envy the boys: their masters were only going to bop and bounce them. My master was going to do something different to me.

Hand in hand, we went up the stairs to his apartment. "You look so pretty in that raincoat," he said in his nasal soprano voice. "And that shower cap looks so nice on you. I really hope you like the apron I gave you." I nodded and he seemed happy about that. We came to his front door then and it opened for him with a soft hum of machinery.

We left our sandals by the front door and he didn't waste any time taking me into the bedroom. He told me to take off my apron and lay it on one of the inflated plastic chairs opposite the foot of the bed. As I took off my apron I noticed him taking off his shirt. He approached me then and took me in an embrace, pressing his belly against mine. Then I noticed the sensation of his erect penis pressing against my abdomen. Then he picked me up and laid me down on the bed. He slid the skirt of my raincoat above my hips and I wondered why he didn't just have me take off my raincoat.

Standing over me, he pulled down his shorts and underpants and let them drop to the floor. His pale-white skin had a waxy translucence to it, so his erect penis looked like a weird candle. I spread my legs as he knelt on the bed and mounted me. He loomed over me and I stared into wide blue eyes as I felt him penetrate me.

"Now, my plump plastic slavedoll," he gloated. "Now you're all mine!"

It felt as if he had poked the center of my scrotum (which I no longer had, I assumed) with something that then spread over all of it. At the same time I could feel something pushing inside of me and rubbing the underside of my penis (now my clitoris). When he had penetrated me fully he brought himself down on me. I felt hot, rubbery flesh press against me and his left cheek pressed against mine as he slid his arms around me.

He pulled his penis partway out of me and then shoved it back in. Then he did it again. And then again. Slowly at first, then more rapidly. He began to breathe more heavily and then began to grunt with each thrust. I felt him masturbating me with his movements and I felt his belly rubbing warmly against mine. "Here it comes!" he grunted. Then he caught his breath and held it as he pumped me rapidly. I felt something hot blossom deep inside me in long, hard spurts and I climaxed long and hard. Finally he went limp on me and lay panting.

I don't know what kind of load he shot into me, but it filled me up with sexual heat. I bucked and I squirmed as I felt my clitoris throbbing. I luxuriated in his triumph over me as I felt his belly pressing rhythmically against mine in time with his breathing. Then he went limp and the real horror came. "Now you're pregnant," he said. "You have a copy of your raincoat growing inside you and whenever I pump a load of squirty-goo into you, it will get a little bigger and you will get a little fatter. Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" With a sigh, he relaxed and lay quietly on me for a time.

It must have been half an hour later that he decided to get off of me. His penis came out of me dry: I had absorbed everything that he had put into me. I was glad to see that, at least, there would be no mess to clean up. He then went into his bathroom to take a shower. I simply lay on the bed, still in shock over what he had done to me and what he had told me.

Eventually I got up and explored the bedroom. There wasn't much to see. I opened the closet door and saw his transparent-black plastic raincoat draped over its padded hanger. I held up a sleeve and stroked the plastic, feeling how soft and smooth it was. At that moment Bobo came out of the bathroom still wearing his beret-style shower cap made of transparent-red plastic with a red rubber headband. He told me then that I was never to play with his personal plastic.

He put his clothes back on but didn't take off his shower cap. He sat on the couch with me and played with me, hugging me, kissing me, and touching me all over. When we went to bed for the night I had to take off my raincoat. He wanted me completely naked in bed. He had his way with me again and again brought me to a hot, throbbing climax. Then he went to sleep on me. I took his shower cap off him, kissed it, and then laid it on top of the blankets.

I was alone in the apartment during the day, when Bobo went out to conduct his clownish business. I discovered the pleasure of wearing nothing but my raincoat, luxuriating in the sensation of soft, smooth plastic rubbing warmly on my bare skin. And it didn't get sweaty and sticky, so I could enjoy it all day. I also found that I could watch movies and cartoons on the television, though all of them were some form of plastic pornography. I also found a stack of what looked like comic books, but found that they were more like Tijuana bibles, again presenting plastic pornography. I looked through the stack and one comic caught my attention, so I pulled it out and read it.


It was an issue of Adventurous Comics that showed on its cover a picture of Supergirl, wearing a plastic shower cap and a startled expression on her face, doubled over the fist that the villainess Starfire has just punched into her belly. In the background women in clown costumes watch. Dressed in a pirate costume, Starfire gloats, "So much for the ex-Supergirl! Now she's just a helpless punching bag!"

The story begins with Supergirl attending a costume party put on by a woman who is suspected of organizing a gang of women criminals. When the hostess, a woman called Starfire, calls for a toast, everyone drinks champagne that has been doctored with a kryptonite-based drug. Only Supergirl is affected, becoming extremely suggestible. Starfire notices and escorts her out of the room. Several other guests follow.

Starfire leads Supergirl and her henchwomen through a hidden entrance and down a flight of stairs to the basement, where they have set up their gymnasium. Starfire guides Supergirl to a table, on which she has previously set an open suitcase. From an open box in the suitcase Starfire takes an ornately carved, red-crystalline rod. She then takes from the suitcase a beret-style shower cap made of transparent-white plastic with a white rubber headband and hands it to Supergirl.

"Put this on!" Starfire commands. "We want to see how pretty it looks on you!"

Supergirl takes the shower cap and puts it on, giving her head a slight shake to settle her hair into place inside the plastic bag.

Then Starfire whispers an appalling command into Supergirl's ear. At first nothing happens, then Supergirl begins breathing heavily. After several more seconds she takes a deep breath and puffs out her belly. At that instant Starfire touches the tip of her rod to a point on Supergirl's neck an inch below her left ear.

The room echoes with a loud whump and Supergirl staggers. Starfire quickly puts her rod back in its case and closes the case with a click. She then puts her left arm around Supergirl's shoulders.

"Confused, Supergirl?" she says. "Let me help you!" She starts to turn to her right, then spins back around and punches her right fist deep into Supergirl's belly, sending Supergirl reeling backward toward one of the henchwomen.

Reacting intuitively, the woman grabs Supergirl by her biceps. Supergirl tries to regain her balance and get away from the woman, but she can't. She struggles against the woman's grip while the woman gazes at her in astonishment.

"She can't get away from me!" the woman says. "She's lost her powers! She's weak! We can do whatever we want to her!" Then an odd realization dawns in the woman's mind. In a tone of horror the woman says, "She feels empty! There's nothing inside her!"

"Oh, she's still very much there!" Starfire says as she approaches the woman and her struggling captive. "But she is now an inflated plastic balloon!"

"Then let's pop her and be done with her!" another woman suggests.

"Nonsense!" Starfire says. "She's still perfectly indestructible! And perfectly helpless!" She cups Supergirl's chin in her right hand, lifts her head up, and gazes into her wide blue eyes. "She's going to be my inflated plastic prisoner forever!"

"You hear that, Supergirl?" the woman holding her says. "You're just a big blow-up slavedoll!"

"Hold her by her legs!" Starfire says. "I want to have some fun with her!"

The woman holding Supergirl lowers herself into a kneeling position and wraps her arms around Supergirl's thighs. Starfire takes a step back and then punches Supergirl, making her bend over backwards. Helplessly, Supergirl springs back upright to be punched again. Over and over Starfire punches her hapless prisoner, filling the room with a bappity bappity bappity of rubbery thumps.

"Look at how much she loves it!" one woman enthuses. "She can't wait to bounce back for more! I'll bet she's always wanted to be a punching bag!"

"Well, let's give her what she wants!" Starfire says. "Let her go!"

The woman holding Supergirl's legs lets her go and gives her a light shove. Dazed, Supergirl stumbles toward Starfire and gets punched. Reeling backward, she gets punched by another woman. Like a big rubber ball, she gets bounced from one woman to another, being punched and jabbed as the women taunt her.

"You should get her an apron that says 'Punch Me!'," one woman says. "I bet she'll get hot when she wears it!"

Unable to stand, Supergirl falls to the floor. One of the women picks her up and tosses her, as lightly as a beach ball, to another woman. For several minutes Supergirl flies around the room as the women bat her to and fro, as if she were a giant volleyball. Soon, though, Starfire calls a halt to the play and one of the women grabs Supergirl and holds her by her biceps.

Face to face with Supergirl, Starfire holds up in her left hand what looks like a plastic drinking straw with a flange around its middle. "Ladies," she says, "you will now witness a special humiliation of our prisoner!" With her right hand she gently strokes the stubby milky-white tube jutting from the side of Supergirl's neck an inch below her left ear and Supergirl struggles against the woman holding her. "Now, Supergirl!" Starfire says. "I'm going to let the air out of you! When I re-inflate you, you will be my big bouncy punching bag!"

Starfire pushes the straw into the valve on Supergirl's neck and Supergirl goes limp as air whooshes out of her. The woman holding her allows Supergirl to descend into a kneeling position and then bend over forward as if bowing to her mistress. The women watch in silence as the once-mighty Supergirl deflates and collapses on the carpet.

As Supergirl flattens on the carpet, Starfire goes to get her suitcase and bring it back to the hapless superheroine. She picks Supergirl up and stuffs her into the suitcase, then closes the suitcase and latches it. Then she and her henchwomen leave their basement lair. Starfire goes home as her henchwomen return to their party.

Later, in Starfire's bedroom, Supergirl lies completely naked and deflated on Starfire's bed. Starfire, wearing only a black satin half slip and matching camisole, has pulled her out of her action costume and then folded the costume and laid it on a chair, putting Supergirl's boots under the chair. Trembling with anticipation, Starfire partially inflates her prisoner, blowing her up to about a half dozen breaths shy of being full. Then she turns her attention to the object lying on the floor at the foot of her bed.

It's made of soft, smooth, clear plastic film and it has a valve through which it can be inflated. Starfire sits on the bed, picks the thing up by its valve, and begins to inflate it. It turns out to be a narrow, double-walled skirt that's attached at its bottom to a two-foot-wide oblate spheroid. Starfire gets the thing halfway inflated and then takes a break. She doesn't want to hyperventilate herself.

She picks up Supergirl and squeezes her to make her legs firm enough to be pushed into the skirt. She puts Supergirl into the skirt and pulls the white rubber waistband up around Supergirl's waist. Then she finishes inflating her prisoner, blowing her plump and firm. As Supergirl regains consciousness, Starfire kneels behind her and finishes inflating the skirt, blowing it plump and firm. Now Starfire has naked Supergirl trapped in a clear plastic skirt whose weighted base will keep her standing upright.

Breathing heavily, as much from excitement as from hyperventilation, Starfire stands up and confronts her prisoner. "Now, mighty Supergirl," she gloats, "you are my big, fat, blow-up punching bag." She jabs Supergirl between her breasts and Supergirl tips over backward and almost instantly bounces back upright. Starfire punches her in the belly and knocks her almost to the floor. Again, she bounces briskly back upright and Starfire punches her again. Using both fists, Starfire fills her bedroom with a bap-bap-bap of soft rubbery thumps as she keeps Supergirl bouncing gaily up and down.

At first Supergirl tries to defend herself, trying to deflect Starfire's blows. But then she notices that her distended clitoris is visible through the clear plastic of the rocking skirt, so she puts her hands over it. She simply submits to Starfire punching the stuffing out of her.

Soon Starfire begins to work up a sweat. She pauses in her bopping of Supergirl, takes off her camisole, and tosses it onto a chair. Then she confronts her prisoner anew. With her hands at her sides, she steps forward until her belly bumps into Supergirl's.

"Touch me!" Starfire says. "Feel me! Don't be shy! I want to feel your hands on my body!" She puts her hands on Supergirl's waist to hold the two of them together. Leaning back, she gazes into Supergirl's eyes. "Feel how soft and warm I am!"

Slowly, reluctantly Supergirl reaches up and puts her hands on Starfire's biceps. Under Starfire's exasperated prodding, she moves her hands to fondle Starfire's breasts and stroke her belly.

Frustrated, Starfire uses an inch-wide doubled-plastic waist-sash, the belt of a raincoat, to tie Supergirl's hands behind her back. Then, using what looks like a plastic drinking straw with a flange around its middle, she lets the air out of the rocking skirt. When the skirt has deflated sufficiently, Starfire pulls Supergirl out of it and sits her on the chair on which her costume lies.

Starfire takes off her half slip and puts it on her helpless prisoner. Then she uses another raincoat sash to tie her ankles together and tosses her onto the bed.

With Supergirl thus secured, Starfire goes to take a shower. Starfire tucks her raven-black hair into her transparent-black plastic shower cap. If it weren't for the little white starburst patterns printed on the plastic, it would be hard to see that she's wearing a shower cap.

The story ended with a note that it was to be continued in the next issue of Adventurous Comics. A teaser panel showed Starfire and her henchwomen meeting in Starfire's plush living room while Supergirl stands in the middle of the room in her clear-plastic rocking skirt. The women are taking turns playing with her and she's wearing an ankle-length, ruffle-skirted full apron made of transparent-white plastic with the words "Punch Me!" printed across the top of the skirt in big, blobbery red letters and a bulls-eye pattern in red on the bib over her belly. The caption on the panel declares "Amy Wins Her Bet!"


Unfortunately, Bobo's collection did not include the next issue of Adventurous Comics, so I never found out how Supergirl got out of her predicament. I knew that she must have gotten herself out of it somehow, because there was a later issue of Adventurous Comics with another Supergirl story in it.

I got up then to take a break and stood by the big window looking over the bay. I could see a neighboring apartment in a wing that jutted out away from the main building. In that apartment I saw a boy in his transparent-black plastic raincoat standing by the window. His belly bulged as if he had swallowed a basketball; it pressed against the inside of his raincoat and pulled the plastic taut. He was masturbating as I watched and I knew that I was seeing my own future.

On the fourth day of my captivity Bobo turned me into a punching bag. It was raining and I was staring out the window, watching people go by in their plastic raincoats and raincapes. Transparent plastic in various tints abounded and I loved watching it. Then I saw Bobo coming up the stairs. I grabbed a towel and waited by the door. When he came in I used the towel to wipe water off his raincoat. He hugged and kissed me and then told me to take off my apron and keep the hood of my raincoat pulled up over my shower cap.

I complied and he revealed that he had borrowed the fat boxer's magic wand. He told me to stand up straight and put my hands on my thighs, like a soldier standing "at attention". When I did as I was told he touched the tip of the wand to the lowest magnetic patch on my raincoat and I felt a jolt and heard a solid "thoomp" echo in the room. I felt my feet suddenly resting on a round, rubbery mound. He put the wand into a locked cabinet and then came back to play with me.

He jabbed me in the chest and I tipped over backward. Before I had time to react, I bounced back up to get bopped again. My raincoat had turned me into a roly-poly punching bag. For several minutes he made me bounce gaily up and down. Then he grabbed me and hugged me and kissed me as I had done with the young woman who had captured me. For an hour he played with me like that, alternately bopping me and then hugging and kissing me. Then he left the apartment again.

A few minutes later Loyce Laputani came into the apartment and took off all of her clothes. She punched me and knocked me backwards almost to the floor. In less than a heartbeat I bounced back up for her to punch again. I had rapidly alternating views of her and the ceiling, but I noticed how her breasts jiggled as she played out the boxer's dance with me.

As I bounced and rocked for her I felt my bare skin rubbing against my raincoat. The humid warmth of her presence made the plastic feel all the sexier, especially when she paused in her pugilistics and hugged and kissed me. She played with me for an hour, alternating punching me with making out with me. When she was done with me I was steaming hot. I couldn't wait for Bobo to get on top of me in bed.

She put her clothes back on and then took the wand and reversed the punching bag transformation, turning me back into an inflated slavedoll. She looked me up and down and giggled. Taking the wand with her, she left.

A short time later Bobo returned. I greeted him by pulling up his shirt and pressing my belly against his. I wanted him to feel my raincoat's soft, smooth plastic warm on his bare skin. I hugged and kissed him, rubbing my belly against his and making very clear to him what I wanted him to do to me. I ran my mouth over his big rubbery lips and gazed into his wide dark eyes.

He reacted by picking me up and carrying me into his bedroom. He tossed me onto the bed and began taking off his clothes. I got up to take off my raincoat and lay it across the bed and then slid myself under the covers. Lying on my back, I spread my legs and watched as he got into bed with me. My heart (if I still had one) was pounding as I watched him mount me and felt him penetrate my vagina.

His penis slid into me easily and I felt a kind of swelling sensation inside me as it did so. I felt his soft, smooth rubbery skin hot against mine as he brought his weight down on me and he slid his arms around me to hug me tightly. I felt the swelling in my vagina ease as he pulled partway out of me and felt the swelling come back as he pushed his penis back in. Again and again he slid his penis in and out of me and the sensation heated up my sexual excitement and sucked all of my attention into what Bobo was doing to me.

"Oh, you're so soft and warm!" he sighed. He kissed the valve in my neck and said, "My hot plastic prisoner!"

I couldn't wait. I squirmed and writhed in his embrace. I luxuriated in the sensations of his belly pressing against mine, pushing rhythmically with his heavy breathing and of my breasts pressing against him. I ran my hands over his back and his buttocks.

Suddenly I felt heat blossom deep inside me in long hard spurts and I climaxed. My vagina was wracked with spasms and my clitoris throbbed and jerked. For ten seconds I was completely caught up in the sensations pulsating within me, then it was over and I basked in the afterglow of love well consummated.

Bobo lay on me for a time and rested from his exertion. Then he pulled his penis out of me and rolled over to go to take a nap.

A few days later Bobo gave me a self-inflating plastic bonnet, which he called a vocalizer. It was made of very pale, transparent-blue plastic that had thumbnail-sized images of rosebuds printed on it in red and green. A half-inch-wide doubled-plastic ribbon formed the forward hem of the bonnet and hung down several inches so that the ends could be tied under my chin. I put the bonnet on and the soft, smooth plastic pressed against my ears and kissed my cheeks. Once the bonnet had fully inflated itself, it made my thoughts audible so that I could talk to Bobo.

He took his shirt off and then, wearing only his bright red shorts with the yellow polka dots, he led me to the sofa and sat with me. He put his left arm around my shoulders and with his right hand stroked the plastic of my raincoat on my left thigh.

"I love how soft and warm you are," he said in his clownish voice. Again I marveled at the fact that I was still generating body heat. Hadn't I read somewhere that such a thing is supposed to be impossible? That energy couldn't come out of nowhere? But, then, turning someone into a living blow-up doll had to fairly impossible, too, yet here I was.

He called me by the feminized form of my name and said, "Don't worry about it. Just accept it and enjoy the magic."

"En... enjoy," I said. "Bobo, I'm a sex toy."

"And a very pretty one, too," he said. "I just love playing with you."

"I've sorta noticed," I said. "Am I ever going to get out of here?"

"No," he said as he hugged me. "I was your plastic prisoner and now you're mine and I'm going to keep you forever."

"I never used you for a punching bag," I said somewhat defensively.

"That's true," he said. "You always enjoyed playing with me in bed. And that's how I like playing with you, my lovely blow-up bedwarmer."

"Well," I said hesitantly, "I... I do sorta like it when you play with me in bed. It feels kinda nice."

"And I want to make it feel nicer," he said. He hugged me and said, "I want to know how you like to be held." When I turned my head to look at him he tenderly kissed my lips and said, "I want to know how you like to be kissed." He slid the plastic of my raincoat against the inside of my right thigh and said, " I want to know how you like to be touched."

My goodness! He was trying to seduce me. And he was succeeding. So I told him what he wanted to know and reciprocated by putting my hands on him. Suddenly we were done with conversation, so he took my vocalizer off me and put it into a locked cabinet. Then he took me into the bedroom to play with me. There he undressed and put on his shower cap. I took off my raincoat and we got into bed and enjoyed the hottest lovemaking I had ever experienced.

The next day I got sufficiently bored that I went back to looking through Bobo's collection of magazines and comic books. It was all plastic pornography, an endless array of raincoats and aprons, shower caps and inflatable toys, mostly punching bags. Most pornography is boring, merely a continuous repetition of whatever is supposed to titillate the reader or viewer (Gee, kinda like this story. - PC). But then I found a video cassette labeled "The Last Popeye Cartoon". Intrigued, I put it into the player and started it.


The cartoon started with Popeye walking alone through the forest. Suddenly a dart stabs him in the butt. He barely has time to react before he swoons and falls unconscious. Gloating over his prize, Bluto comes out of the bushes, drags Popeye back into the bushes with him, and then takes him home.

In the basement of his house, Bluto has Popeye in a cage. The sailor is dazed and Bluto keeps him that way by drugging the food that he gives him. Over the next couple of weeks Popeye grows fatter, as Bluto intends.

One day Bluto decides that Popeye is fat enough to make a good punching bag. He cleans up his prisoner and makes him put on a pair of red satin boxing trunks. Then he brings him out of the cage and stands him on a weird pattern on the floor, a pattern that is connected by wires to a cabinet that has a big red button on top. Lights on the cabinet are glowing and Bluto is satisfied that everything is ready.

He hands Popeye a girl's shower cap made of transparent-white plastic with a white rubber headband and Popeye, under post-hypnotic suggestion, puts it on. At the same time a large bulge grows in Popeye's trunks. Then Popeye inhales a deep breath and puffs out his belly and Bluto slaps the red button.

Suddenly Popeye disappears in a cloud of mist and when the mist clears he has been replaced by an inflated punching bag that resembles an elongated pear. The soft, smooth, opaque-white plastic bears a full-sized image that looks exactly as Popeye did when the mist enveloped him. A quiet voice that sounds like Popeye's comes from the bag and says, "Woe! What just happened?"

Bluto punches the bag and it tips over and bounces back in half a second to get punched again. Bluto keeps the bag moving, punching in a rhythm. "Ah, my plastic prisoner at last!" he sighs. For several minutes he fills the basement with the bappity-bappity bappity-bappity of soft rubbery thumps as he bounces the hapless sailor off his fists. Then he stops and lets the bag come to rest.

"Woe! Bluto! What did you do to me?" the bag says.

"I've turned you into a big, fat, blow-up punching bag," Bluto says. "There ain't gonna be no spinach rescue for you this time. You're going to be my helpless plastic prisoner forever."

Bluto picks the bag up and carries it upstairs, through the house, and into his bathroom. There he puts it into the shower stall.

"Why do I feel like I do whenever I'm alone with Olive?" Popeye says.

"Because you're alone with me now and you love being my very special punching bag," Bluto says as he takes off his clothes. He steps into the shower and bellies up to the bag. He puts his left arm around Popeye and rubs the plastic sailor's fat belly with his right hand. "You're so soft and warm," he says. "So smooth and feminine. You're going to be so comfy in bed. I can pretend that you're Olive Oyl when I play with you." His penis slides across Popeye's plastic as it swells and stiffens.

At the same time Popeye feels his own penis swelling and stiffening. It feels to him as if it were pressing against the inside of a plastic half slip and, for some hidden reason, that intensified his arousal. "No, Bluto, please don't," he moans. But his plea only further stiffens Bluto's arousal and precipitates the final act.

Wrapping his arms around the bag, Bluto rubs his penis rhythmically against the plastic until he climaxes in long, hard spurts. Popeye responds by enjoying his own hot, throbbing climax, squealing in a quavery rhythm like a girl.

Bluto turns on the water in the shower and washes both himself and Popeye. Affectionately he puts his left arm around Popeye and rubs his right hand on Popeye's fat belly. Then he begins hugging and kissing his new toy and the cartoon ended, as if the subversives couldn't think of a better ending.


I knew that Bobo was really in love with me when he brought me my own Supergirl punching bag to play with. It looked just like the bag I had seen in the fattening hut. Standing five and a half feet tall, it bore an image of Supergirl standing with a shocked expression on her face and her wrists and ankles bound together with green-glowing kryptonite shackles. She was my perfect masturbating partner.

I put the sofa cushions on the floor and put her into the space between them. Wearing my raincoat to give me extra weight, I pushed her down and mounted her, resting my knees on the cushions. Then I masturbated by rubbing myself against her.

After several hours of playing with her I discerned Bobo's insidious plan. I was well heated up by the time he got home and I couldn't wait to get into bed with him. I was desperate to feel him squirting his heat into me.

Several months went by and I started getting fat. Every night and every morning Bobo had his way with me and on the weekends he took me down several times during the day. I was just a sexual punching bag for him. My belly bulged and pulled my raincoat taut over my middle. I would spend hours just rubbing my raincoat or my apron over my fatness and masturbating over the sensation, often hugging and kissing Supergirl as I did so. Then I got my new raincoat.

It was shortly after Bobo left for the day that I began to give birth to my new raincoat. I felt especially hot as I saw transparent-white plastic starting to slide, little by little, out of my vagina. I sat on the couch and watched my new raincoat come out of me. I wanted Bobo on top of me so much just then.

My new raincoat took a little over an hour to come out of me and it came out clean and dry. When the top of the hood finally popped out of my vagina I just sat and stared at the raincoat in shock. I was stunned by what I had just done and I was overwhelmed by memories of how I had got the raincoat. I began thinking obsessively about Bobo.

I couldn't get him off my mind. In some desperation I went into the bedroom, opened the closet door, and took out Bobo's raincoat. I put it on, thinking it made a perfect plastic negligee. I lovingly stroked the plastic and thought about the raincoat caressing Bobo's body. I spent the afternoon playing with the raincoat, masturbating over the thoughts it evoked of my big rubber clown.

Some time later I heard Bobo coming and I went to meet him at the door. He gave me an annoyed look when he came in and saw that I was wearing his raincoat and only his raincoat. Quickly I made the time-out sign and gestured at the cabinet holding my vocalizer. He sighed, retrieved the vocalizer, and handed it to me. As I put it on he mumbled, "This ought to be good."

I was trembling with anxiety and my voice quavered through the vocalizer. "I... uh... I gave birth to my new raincoat this morning." I pointed to where my raincoat and its duplicate lay draped over the sofa. "I... I... uh, I think I can get pregnant again."

"Yes, you can," he said.

"Good. I love you, Bobo," I said. "I... I love what you do to me and I want to get pregnant with your raincoat."

"You do?!" he said in astonishment. "But... but... I use you like a toy." He seemed bewildered.

"I used you as a toy," I said, "but I loved you nonetheless. Just think of me as your playmate instead of your plaything."

"Oh, OK," he said as he started pushing me toward the bedroom. As he took off his clothes I laid myself down on the bed and pulled the skirt of his raincoat up over my hips. I watched in fascination as he crawled onto the bed and mounted me.

I was trembling and enjoying the sensation of sexual heat flaring up within me. His softness and warmth coming down on me got me even hotter and I urged him on.

"Oh, fuck me, Bobo! Let me have it! Make me pregnant!" I cried out my vulnerability to him and acknowledged his mastery over me. I understood then that my enslavement was complete.


I drew inspiration for the fantasy in Adventurous Comics from the story "Super-Girl?" in Adventure Comics #404 (March 1971), in which Supergirl has lost her superpowers and the villainess Starfire uses her for a punching bag while her henchwomen watch. Having captured Supergirl, the women have her tied to a post in the basement of their hideout. Deciding to finish her off, Starfire stands over her and says, "Now, untie her - I think I'll have some fun with her!" Commenting, "I'm going to enjoy this!", Starfire throws Supergirl around like a rag doll. Though the appropriate reaction to that scene is horror and fear for the superheroine, I also felt a strong erotic component.

The images on the cover and on pages 18 & 19 touch most directly on the theme of Bondage and Discipline and thus serve as the seeds from which sexual fantasies can grow. An alternative possibility would have Supergirl, instead of sitting on the floor with her hands tied behind the post against which she is leaning, being hung from a ceiling beam by her wrists. Starfire confronts her and says, "So much for the not-so-Supergirl! Now I'm going to have some fun with her!" She punches Supergirl in the belly, setting her swinging, and punches her again when she swings back. "See? The mighty Supergirl is now just my big rubber punching bag!" For several minutes Starfire punches the hapless superheroine. When Starfire stops several minutes later, one of the women notices that Supergirl is not breathing. "She's had it!" Starfire says. "Let's get this stuff moved, then we'll come back later and play with her some more!" As the women pass the limp Supergirl they each give her a whack on the buttocks. Of course, that's when Supergirl regains her superpowers and tears the place up, capturing the gang.

That last scene was actually enacted (more or less) on the episode of Xena, Warrior Princess called The Reckoning (aired 1995 Oct 16). In that episode Xena is suspended by her wrists in a dungeon and a man comes in and uses her for a punching bag. Later she rings the man's chimes and all is well.

Is there anyone who grew up reading superhero comics who is not into Bondage and Discipline? Certainly the comics seem to contain an inordinate number of scenes of bondage and punishment. Although not explicitly sexual, such scenes certainly arouse sexual heat. Why were they put into comics? It seems unlikely that the artists themselves were unaware of the implications. Sometimes they actually came close to being very explicit. Consider this:

The scene in which Supergirl lies tied up on her captress' bed while her captress bathes in an adjoining bathroom was inspired by a scene in the Brenda Starr comic strip in the late 1960's in which the girl reporter, wearing only her bra and half slip, lies tied up on a villainess' bed while the plump villainess, wearing her shower cap, bathes in the adjoining bathroom. Although the plucky Ms. Starr freed herself and escaped her fate, the jeopardy into which she was put was so overtly sexual that I wondered how and why it had been published. Or perhaps the lesbian jeopardy implications of the piece simply slipped by the editors?

The Popeye cartoon was inspired by scenes in two of the cartoons, "Out to Punch" (1956) and "Punch and Judo" (1951), in which Popeye is in a boxing ring being bounced up and down like an inflated plastic punching bag. Both cartoons may be seen on YouTube.

We have known for a long time that sex and violence seem to go together, as disturbing as that thought may be. But neurologically the connection makes sense. The activities of sex and those of violence both involve aggression, a surge of adrenaline, and an increase in heart rate and respiration. In both cases a person must overcome another person's defenses, rendering that person helpless to resist the first person's demands.

When this connection goes very wrong, it leads to sadomasochism and rape. The rapist blames women for his failure to become a man, so by abusing them, coercing them into enduring horrible treatment, he can pretend to himself that he has achieved a kind of super-manhood, validating that pretense by "popping the cork on the champagne of victory" (as one comedian put it). That fact explains why rapists can never be cured of their deficiency: they have made it too pleasant for themselves.

In this analysis we see an underlying cause for our love of damsel-in-distress stories (or hero-in-distress stories). We use the violence to drive sexual desire by arousing the physiological manifestations, especially the anxiety that accompanies both phenomena. But we don't need violence itself: bondage and discipline create the same kind of anxiety that produces the necessary physiological reactions.

Another factor might also involve chemical imbalances in the body. Hormones coming into play in response to environmental cues can compel us to think sexy thoughts. Certain smells, for example, may release memories that bring up an arousal. Certain sights and sounds or certain textures may do the same, bringing forth the connection between sex and plastic raincoats for example.

Let's add in the factor that since the advent of modern feminism men have been admonished to get in touch with their feminine side. What, indeed, does it feel like to be female? Part of that exploration, as in stories like this one, must certainly be sexual. But is our imagined female sexuality authentically female or is it merely male wishful thinking? You decide.



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