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Everybody knows that a prison is an awful place but poor Fynn had to taste its horrors on his own flesh. Having been a thief since an early childhood, he was eventually sentenced to be locked in Beltimore.
And thus, Fynn vanished from his motherland forever and was taken with a caravan to the foreign kingdom. Upon arrival, he was stripped of clothes and his waist was bound with a suffocating steel cincher that the guard locked with a key before throwing him into the small cell.
The first day was the hardest in his life and he threw up a few times but couldn't do anything to release himself from the cincher's pressure. On the second day bearing it became easier and after a week he even got used to it, and then the guard who locked him before paid a second visit. He handcuffed Fynn to a high bar and convinced the trembling youth not to move or else...
Apparently the cincher was more sophisticated than Fynn could have imagined, it was double-layered and the inner layer was made of a softer metal which could be pushed to bury deeper into Fynn's waist with large screws that the guard turned several times until Fynn almost fainted of the pressure...
Fynn figured out he was screwed. The first day repeated but instead of throwing up he suddenly felt very aroused while touching his poor waist, his so defined ribcage and the tense, round tummy right below the hard cincher.
Fynn would often feel high because of the suffocating constriction of his body. The sense of pressure, the lack of air and the massage of the millions of nerve endings in his tummy, all did it for him, keeping him all day in a state of some mindless ecstasy.
Time passed and Fynn's waist became so numb that he pretty much didn't feel the pressure anymore, the pain was either gone or his body just unlearned to sense it. His guard, however, kept getting more and more extreme ideas and Fynn's waist cincher ended up looking more like an exoskeleton that wrapped around his chest, clenched his waist and buried deep into his belly and under his ribcage, crushing every soft spot on his torso, squeezing it to the very bones. The guard was very proud of this "Masterpiece" cincher, as he called it, and he was already sketching the next invention...