I approach and hand Winnie his wine. His words seem to be offered in rote. Like reading a bedtime story to a child, there is repetition but a sense of comfort imparted. Sunny seems to concentrate. Winnie’s fingers gently tweak the nipples bringing forth the flow of endorphins which will indeed begin a journey to the dreamworld of complete submission.
“Eight hours, Sunny. I know you can do it,” Winnie bends to softly whisper in her ear.
I detect a slight nod.
Chapter Six
Dr. Winthrop Samuels
Mrs. Anderson did not stay for the entire exhibition. After an hour of conversation, one more glass of wine while observing Sunny mentally combat the urge to move, she arose and announced the need to check on Kim.
“I don’t let him run around loose you understand. When I am not present he’s shackled in a stress position. Makes him eager to see me,” she drolly explained.
I believe Sunny’s nakedness provoked a degree of lust and Mrs. Anderson would be equally happy to greet Kim... and that tongue.
So Sunday evening brings more arroycoo. Before departing I did reach an understanding with Mrs. Anderson. After so many years handling young female rascals, her assistance with Sunny’s care and continued subjugation, was promptly offered when I explained the circumstances.
“She does need to be exhibited. And her psyche welcomes the anguish,” she commented.
“You see how easy it is to hang her. Quite docile. Well disciplined. Completely obedient.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Mrs. Anderson nodded in agreement.
We have thus formed a troika... one to assure that Sunny’s masochism is continuously cultivated.
I interrupt Sunny from her endorphin induced stupor. It is feeding time. Oatmeal with laxatives, fruit washed down with prune juice. Spoonful after spoonful, Sunny ingests knowing full well that the concoction will soon bring the shame of uncontrollable bowels.
Tomorrow will be a busy day in the machine shop, my mind wandering as my pet masticates. Sunny’s ultimate submission will require more grommets. Tiny, finely honed, my skills will be tested.
With the feeding over, I slide the stool to sit before those accomplished tongue and lips. Sunny has spurred my lust as well.
***
Late Monday afternoon I rummage through the machine shop scrap barrel, really an extremely well maintained and sanitized stainless steel pot. For this effort, little end pieces of nickel cobalt will suffice. None are to be missed, but for my task, otherwise destined to be melted down.
I cut. I shape. I polish. I take great care, take great pride. The thought of where Sunny will be adorned with these gems inspires. The cost of the metal, the imputed cost of machinery and my skilled hands do indeed make these trinkets as costly as diamonds. Smoothness is imperative. Sunny will bear their presence for a long, long time.
Hours past closing, I complete nine grommets, the size of the resulting aperture less than half of those penetrating Sunny’s nose, spine, buttocks and ankles. Measured in millimeters, my caliper suggests a diameter of 2 mm, one fifth the size of the openings my device thrust through nose cartilage, spinal flesh, buttocks and Achilles tendons.
Upon completion I test, threading a thin, strong but flexible steel cable through the holes. Snug... as intended... the passages barely offer enough opening. Yet I make a string of the grommets then attach the clever locking device onto the end of the cable.
With the turn of a small key the device locks onto the cable. Unlock it, and one can slide the lock up or down the cable then relock it. Such wicked genius. Such evil to be ordained with the turn of a small key. Such control... such finality in terms of ultimate governance.
Now the question for final grommeting... should Sunny be anesthetized? My medical training suggests yes. Knowing her ultimate enjoyment of mind racking pain... my sadistic controlling side says... why bother?
I sit back and marvel at my work. Coming to mind? The swab. The click. The snap. The yelp. The blood. The dab.
It is late. Time for a cab to Ludlow Street. By arrangement Mrs. Anderson has Sunny hanging and awaits my arrival.
***
Stopping on the fourth floor, I knock on the door of Mrs. Anderson’s loft. Hearing the rattle of chains I patiently wait, knowing that the encumbered Kim, permitted steps of mere inches in being hobbled by heavy shackles, will eventually offer entry.
The door swings open and the cute hermaphrodite curtsies then beckons entrance. He is quiet and it is apparent that Mrs. Anderson has dozed off. I step softly and find indeed that the imposing form of his governess reclines on a coach. The position of her legs, that short skirt pushed well up passed mid thigh suggests that Kim’s tongue ardently worked as she approached slumber.
Close by is the frame with Sunny’s well bound nakedness in full display. There are tears. My nose detects that the bucket has again captured her excrement. Her bladder also emptied. Without the assistance of guiding fingers to splay her labia and direct her flow the resulting splatter wet the newspaper placed below as a precaution.
“Good evening, Sunny. Glad to see me?”
She nods vigorously, knowing not to awaken Mrs. Anderson. I playfully tap her nose.
“Worked on some things for you, pretty naked girl.”
Though quite the mess, I decide it is best to wheel her to her loft and clean her there. I turn to see the loyal tongue of Kim resume its homage. He kneels and that wet barnyard sized appendage protrudes to apply long gentle laps to Mrs. Anderson’s feet.
Not knowing where Sunny is in the cycle of slow building pain, whether there has been any massage offered, I look to my watch. It is nearly ten p.m. Sunny has been probably been hanging since dinner time and was most likely massaged at about eight o’clock to reset her endorphins. She is due.
“I’m going to treat you with the probe, Sunny,” I graciously offer as I push the frame towards the door.
Mrs. Anderson stirs. She’s groggy and apologizes.
“Kim will clean up.”
I thank her and move onward. Out the door, the elevator remains waiting. We enter and close the doors. I am eager to once again use the grommet device.
I pat Sunny’s face, stroke her right breast. She is in a stupor, the endorphin induced dreamland of the masochist.
“I have more grommets for you, Sunny. Implementing these will be even more painful. Remember I said I would not administer anesthetic? I may have to absolve myself of that pledge.”
My pleasant caress brings more consciousness. Still, Sunny knows to remain perfectly motionless, not so much as a finger stirs. She is admirably disciplined in avoiding the intensely painful cascade.
“Where?” she beseeches.
“You will soon know. I will begin tonight. Much smaller than those bearing the weight of your body, yet equally invasive... and more controlling. Anesthetic? I will let you decide.”
Ah, the mental torment of the masochist... accept the pain and experience the rush of the body’s natural narcotic? Or perhaps watch in numbness as I decorate, perforate her flesh with more holes and metal. But will such numbed viewing offer more horror than feeling the penetration?
Sunny ruminates. Not knowing the location offers delicious frustration.
“How many?” she inquires, the decision obviously difficult.
“Nine. There will an initial penetration then four pairs will follow. Performed each day for five evenings.”
“It will hurt?”
“Intensely.”
“It should not be mine to decide.”
“It will be the last time you decide anything. You may think of it as a last meal for the condemned.”
The elevator grinds to a halt. Sunny’s odor pervades the car. I hastily open the doors and wheel out my hanging pet. She moans as I too fast pull, causing her form to slightly swing and tension the many cords and grommets. She forces herself to accept the anguish without moving, knowing that would only begin the cascade.
I will cleanse, prob
e her anterior fornix then prepare her for the first of the grommets, to be installed when Louise returns from her shift.
***
“No! Not there!”
The words are gasped in terror as Sunny begins to understand my intent and her fate.
We’ve used her grommets to bind her within the frame. She hangs not, instead lying supine on the floor. For the first time, elbow grommets are secured to the bottom rectangle of pipes, left and right to the sides. Buttock grommets are also attached to the side and for the ankle grommets I devised a spreader bar holding her feet well outside the three foot wide frame.
Sunny is obscenely spread, a gynecologist’s open mark.
Kneeling and toying with her clitoral hood has manifested the notion of where the first grommet will be placed.
Louise graciously bends and grasps both the nose leash and hair bob, raising Sunny’s head so she can better watch. In declining any anesthetic, she will not be relieved of sensing the penetration And I will not relieve her of the horror of watching as well.
“Many women have jewelry here, Sunny. Said to be quite the turn on.”
I talk as my gloved fingers caress, increasing the circulation to the pulpy fold of flesh. In being kept chaste, her genitalia react zealously, swelling to my tantalizing touch just as I desire.
“No! Please!”
I align the grommet device, pulling her hood vigorously to offer the prongs a goodly tuft of skin. Then it comes. I press. There follows the click. The snap. The yelp, though more of a scream. The blood. The dab.
Done. Sunny’s feminine protective covering, veiling that exceptionally sensitive morsel of epidermis, has yielded to a tiny highly polished tube like piece of metal, offering an opening left to right atop her clitoral hood.
“All done. Louise will diaper you and secure you for the night.”
Sunny shakes with the trauma... or perhaps the understanding that eight more will follow. For now she has a good inkling as to where.
***
Perhaps gynecology should have been my specialty. I find playing with Sunny’s bejeweled genitalia to be terribly amusing, though for Sunny my efforts have brought horripilation night after night for the past five days.
Finished in thrusting nine grommets into her most intimate flesh, it is time to install the controlling cable. Slim, flexible, high grade stainless steel, it will resist cutting with simple tools. A bolt cutter could possible do the trick.
“Say good bye, Sunny, it will be awhile before you see or play here again.”
She moans in dejection, lying supine once again, her ankles secured but not widely parted.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.”
I thread the thin cable through the clitoral hood grommet. I form a loop and with a special crimping tool, mash a little clasp to form a permanent circle. I tug gently and chuckle as the cable tensions the grommet and the penetrated skin stretches to rise from her mons.
“This would make an interesting leash, don’t you think, Louise?”
“You’d certainly have a girl’s attention,” Louise offers with a laugh.
I toy a bit then return to business. Eight similar grommets penetrate the meaty labia majora, spaced right, left, right, left from top to bottom of the vaginal opening, offset just a tad, just as with the spinal grommets. I likewise thread the small cable. At the bottom grommet I tug. The action essentially zips closed Sunny’s vagina, her clitoris well tucked away and unavailable for play.
The loose end dangles and onto this I slip the special lock. Pushing it up until it greets the lowest grommet, I pull firmly and turn the tiny key.
“You’re zipped closed, Sunny,” I tease with a smile. “Your little cunny is off limits... to you... to everyone... but the keyholder.”
I dramatically hold up what will offer relief from the forced chastity.
“But I’ll need to pee!”
“When I decide... or Louise... or Mrs. Anderson. Perhaps Kim will offer relief as well.”
In reality, with fervent effort, her excretions can be made to forcibly flow past the closed labia. But while hanging in arroycoo, as with all muscular exertion, she’ll not be wanting to press hard on her bladder. She will have to learn to wait.
For the past four nights I have fed Sunny Viagra, the drug used to enhance male arousal. Its effect is to increase the circulation in the genitals, and physically works the same on women. Therefore when ready to place the labial grommets, the flesh was well engorged and offered quite the target. I was thus able to form two perfect rows, clitoral hood to the perineum.
Each instance of intense pain was preceded by brief, mild and unfulfilling masturbation... caressing and teasing until the strips of flesh were well engorged and ready to accept the prongs... and the click, the snap, the yelp, the blood and the dab which followed.
In celebration, Louise forces two large glasses of water into Sunny. Then it becomes time to hang her. How else would a girl of Sunny’s ilk desire to spend a Saturday afternoon?
***
“Ten hours, Sunny. Very good. But you really need to better control your bladder. It’s quite inconvenient to keep unlocking you.”
I caress the breasts while I console. Sunny has established a record time bound and hanging in arroycoo. Her secured genitalia have added a wonderfully degrading dimension to the ordeal, forcing her to beg for the key. She could not relieve herself without assistance, not without beginning a cascade of muscle cramps in forcing a flow.
So it’s a simple matter to unlock the cable, slide the padlock down to offer slack, then splay her open, the four sets of grommets parting to make way for the opening to her urethral passage. By agreement we do not immediately react to her pleas, letting her squirm, motion she must heedfully constrain in order to avoid the intensity of cramping.
I move to release the ankles, gently lowering her feet to the floor. Then the buttock grommets, essentially reversing the process by which Sunny is placed in suspension. With the elbow grommets unclipped, her wary limbs lower, the hours of limited movement stiffening normally supple muscles and ligaments. The nose leash remains.
“How do you feel?”
“It’s like I’ve taken a drug, Dr. Samuels. I’m languorous... kind of groggy.”
“You’ve probably felt the same after one of those thorough floggings you’ve endured. Such naughty antics in bringing forth a flow of your body’s natural opiates. So ironically contrasting... it counters the suffering you so much covet.”
I clip together her elbows then release the nose leash from the pipe.
“Come,” I command, offering welcomed motion, an opportunity to walk.
I lead her about the loft, preparing her for a long night of less stressful bondage, hogtied on the kitchen floor.
She prances, the nakedness so alluring in being bound and helpless. She walks on toes, the Achilles tendons still not pliant enough to enable the straightening of her feet. I peer back as I lead watching the breasts bounce with each footfall. The buttock grommets force a slight clenching, adding roundness to enticing globes. Sunny obediently follows my hand, reacting to my intentions before the leash tightens and brings discomfort. Round and round, I restore circulation, then I lead her to the basin on the kitchen floor. I unlock the tiny padlock and slide it down the thin cable, bringing slack. My fingers reach to part the outer labia. I nod and Sunny knows to squat over the basin.
Though the cable remains in place, her flow passes over and around it, her excretions splashing to the basin. Despite the many incidences of urinating at my behest, she looks away in shame. Within moments her steady flow turns to a dribble. I stand ready with a nappy to dry her soon to be entrapped portal.
“Must you bind me so tightly tonight? It’s been a long day.”
I just smile and shake my head, bending at the waist to pat her dry. I toss away the wet paper towel and reach down to again draw up the lock. When it touches the lowest grommet, I press firmly and turn the key. We
term it zipping her closed, the thin cable drawing together the grommets to indeed emulate a zipper.
“You’re still searching, Sunny. Still questioning authority. Still trying to understand your own psyche. It is not within your purview to decide when and how you will be bound “
In turning the key, I again lock closed the egress of her bladder. I also deny any possibility of frottaging the sensitive inner labia. It will be a long time, as well, before she sees or touches that well shielded clitoris.
“Tummy down. Louise got you a nice carpet.”
Just as the family dog is afforded his/her own parcel of padded floor covering, Louise has indeed purchased on a old shag rug. Sunny knows to lie prostrate as instructed. The elbow grommets are momentarily released only to be re-secured to buttock grommets and ankle grommets.
I do offer some slack, it has been a long day.
“This is all? My life? It’s so tedious.” Sunny dejectedly moans.
“Louise will be in to check on you.”
Sunny’s needs are vast. Proper care and degradation of the masochist is an unending challenge. Sunny will eventually sleep despite the discomfort. But she is correct in that the relationship cannot be brought to dreariness like some old marriage.
So I move to the refrigerator and open a package purchased at the grocery store.
Ginger... a root, a spice, a simple food ingredient... a sharp curving knife abets my efforts. I cut and shape it into a plug. With my fingers so often palpating, exploring every inch of Sunny’s form, all apertures included, my engineering experience proves invaluable in estimating the perfect size.
I create an anal plug. Bulbous in shape, tapered at the stem, it is to be inserted into the rectum. Sunny will struggle tediously to expel it. Ginger burns, offering the sensation of a lighted match with absolutely no damage to the flesh.
“Something for the boredom,” I announce, bending to first graze her nipples and leave a trace of stinging juices.
While her areolas slowly burn, I part her cheeks and insert my makeshift anal plug. Though tight, the moisture of the root aids my efforts. It slides inward.
Dr. Winthrop Samuels Series Page 13