Bondage a la Carte

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Bondage A La Carte

  & Other Tales of Domination

  by Jurgen von Stuka

  ISBN: 978-1-938897-61-0

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2014, All rights reserved

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

  USA

  Preface

  The concept of total, perpetual immobility, strict restraint and confinement, being sealed off from the outside world, unable to communicate in any way with anyone, remains a tantalizing and common theme in much BDSM literature. Variations on this theme of extreme submission are infinite and there is always one more new idea just around the dark corners of our mind wherein we are either the subject of such an experience or the provider of same for another person who may or may not have asked for it directly or wished for it subconsciously.

  In either case, the result is the same: intense restraint in a locked cell, cave, cellar, coffin, vault, cage, hidden storage room or secret containment vault. This is often accompanied by constant sexual stimulation either from outside sources beyond the subject’s control or by the subject’s own actions, such as indefinite and continuous self-stimulation with foreign objects.

  Of course, this kind of enterprise is, at least in the BDSM world, seldom more than a short journey into confinement, subjugation and sensuous pleasure, terminated by eventual release and return to the real, less erotic world.

  However, such fantasies are still sought after and promulgated by those who find the concept so appealing that they may seek to read and hear about yet another venture into the sadomasochistic domain of impossible erotic dreams. Such fantasies often entail infinite, endless bondage and sexual pleasure. Certainly, one version of this scenario is where the subject seeks and finds a willing and skilled dominant practitioner. This man or woman will not simply bind or chain the subject and throw away the keys.

  That is not very subtle.

  In fact, it’s probably boring. The true dominant knows the subtleties of placing his charge in such extreme bondage that there is little the subject can do other than endlessly ramp up her erotic senses and enjoy the tactile and mental benefits of being hopelessly kept in bound isolation until such time as her keeper decides to release her.

  In this series of unrelated tales, the reader may need to imagine for him/herself the possibilities suggested by each story. In some of the stories, the end result is obvious…the woman finds her ultimate nirvana of perpetual servitude in bondage at the hands of another woman or man. In other chapters, the end is perhaps only the beginning and the reader will have to visualize the next phase of the subject’s experience.

  Whatever your desires and needs may be in this regard, read this with the knowledge that what may seem like a fine idea may, in the end, not be what you want to spend the rest of your life experiencing.

  JvS

  Amsterdam, August 2013

  Summary/Synopsis

  If you like short, erotic tales, this is for you.

  One nice thing about short stories is that they are a quick read. You don’t have to remember the plot, (if there is any), and you will have less trouble remembering what each of the characters did or said or who was screwing who.

  Aside from those benefits, at least in this case, you get ten different stories in one book. Each of these little vignettes tells of the trials and tribulations of one or more unfortunate females at the hands of one or more perversely dominant persons. It’s pretty tame fare. No one dies. There are no terrorists, no bombings, no car chases, no guns, no people getting run over by a bus or train. In other words, this stuff is not your normal Hollywood or TV junk fare. Hopefully, you’ll find it interesting and worth your hard-earned money and time. If not, burn it. Or burn the Kindle, Nook, smart phone or tablet that you downloaded it on. Have fun.

  Jurgen von Stuka

  The Tales

  I. Bondage a La Carte - The White Room and the Figures in Black.

  How much is one woman able to endure when faced with an ever- changing menu of ghastly torments, even if she plans them herself?

  II. A Glimmer of an Idea - Money will buy anything.

  The ad promised him an expensive and satisfying fulfillment of his fantasies. All it would take was money.

  III. The Web* - Art is in the eye of the beholder.

  Artistic things that a talented and kinky physician can do with a room full of chains and four young women at his disposal.

  IV. The Tram - Wherever you go, your past life follows

  For the tourist, Amsterdam offers plenty of entertainment, but don’t get stuck on a tram going to places you might rather not visit.

  V. Fun with Metal - Hanging around in a warehouse.

  There’s nothing like having your own private warehouse with lots of anxious, masochistic women hanging around for social gatherings.

  VI. A Visit with Doctor Gail*-Getting to know the local chiropractor.

  This kinky doc specializes in making sure that your appointment with him is memorable.

  VII. The Squirt Gun Kidnapping* - “I’m dumber than a bag of sand.” Irrigation takes on a new meaning when an abduction victim finds that there is more to life than just being bound and screwed day and night.

  VIII. Gladiator Slave Sisters* - A good reason not to take a freebie vacation trip. Two friends end up visiting a Mexican bullring…as the main entertainment.

  IX. Bloody Romance - How one couple spends their spare time. Peter takes a trip to America. Myra stays in the coffin in the cellar.

  X. Therapy – Lacy is fired and agrees to undergo therapy. Her training includes a spanking machine and days locked in a cage.

  *Portions of these stories have appeared on some BDSM web sites prior to 2000.

  I. Bondage A La Carte

  Chapter One

  Berlin, Germany

  It was not a pleasant room. It was bright, but foreboding in its sterility and accompanying décor.

  White. Everything was white.

  Various chains and ropes hung from the overhead pulleys and winches. Bare white walls sprouted heavy iron rings mounted at different heights and accented the curved, polished, chrome clamps that reached out like grasping claws, waiting for wrists, thighs, ankles or necks to be placed in their cold, steel grip. Impersonal ceramic tiles gave the room a clinical, sterile look, vaguely suggesting something not quite right…something that might indicate pain, discomfort or perhaps some less than cordial scientific enterprise.

  The floor was slippery smooth. Cool to the touch. Her bare feet arched slightly as she stepped through the open metal door and walked slowly to the center of the room. Her eyes focused on the bare, far wall, a minimal, indulgent smile on her slightly parted lips. She could have been entering the theater or a posh restaurant, except for her attire. She was naked. No clothes, no jewelry, no make-up.

  I said “no jewelry”. But that isn’t quite true. On each wrist and ankle was a thick leather cuff, studded with small silver caps and locked with an embedded silver metal clasp. Expensive. Not some cheap item from the local porn shop. A single bright gold ring was well attached to the cuff itself. She put on the cuffs herself when she arrived, as soon as they stripped her and told her to stand still while each cuff was locked into place with the rings turned to face outward from the slim limb they encircled.

  She projected an image of pristine elegance, highlighted perhaps with a
quality usually reserved for royalty: that distinguished and quite confident personal image so many sought and so few attained. Even as she stood there, stark naked, nipples extended by the cold, fear or even by erotic anticipation, full breasts rising and falling regularly with her breath, her skin and facial color a bit pale, reflecting maybe a bit of trepidation about what was to follow, about her commitment to this place for an indeterminate amount of time.

  Blond…well, dirty blond, but naturally blond as the small, carefully trimmed thatch of curly hair between her thighs verified.

  Well cared for…with long, carefully trimmed bangs over the eyebrows and almost in her eyes. A center part on top. Rough, sassy, expensive, designer trim that was short in front and then angled down slightly behind her ears and to the nape of her neck, never touching her shoulders.

  Gorgeous. Full, red lips without a trace of rouge or make-up.

  The eyes were green, neither blue nor brown. Dark, lustrous green.

  Tall…well, taller than most women, with a more than adequate figure that looked quite proper on her. Not voluptuous, but far from anorexic. Not too much meat on the bones, but enough to make it look attractive…more than attractive…hot. It was the kind of figure that could show off risqué clothing and still make observers either instantly jealous or sexually excited. She could easily show up at a business or social event in a gown cut from neck to navel, from short hem to hip, without looking extravagant or sluttish. Clothes were made for her. Her body was the showcase. Her legs, now spread wide, as if for better balance and as though she anticipated what was to come, were long and slim with only a moderate flare at the hips. At the apex of her thighs, framed by the edge of that precious keyhole triangle possessed only by women with the best figures, were two gold rings, one through each of the lower lips. They sparkled through the light blond hair. Above it, a nicely proportioned waist with a flat belly that said that she exercised often and was careful about what she ate and how much of it.

  The breasts were a perfect match to the rest of the image. When she walked, they moved smoothly, evenly, with a fluid motion that said they were totally hers. When she jogged, her audience stared transfixed until she was out of sight. No silicone, no saline here. Just natural woman flesh of the highest grade. When you first saw her, no matter what your personal gender preference, your eyes went first to the face, then to the breasts. It was a natural thing to do. A glance at them said: “Not too big, not too small; just round and firm enough to stand on their own.”

  For what they had in mind, she was, as I said, perfect.

  Chapter Two

  Two hooded figures, dressed in baggy black outfits and looking like they were costumed to rob a bank or jewelry store, appeared behind her. They wore black tactical boots with the trousers tucked into the top, paramilitary style. Dangerous. Fearful. But she had already met them and showed no worry or fright. She didn’t even turn to look at them. She just stood there while one of them roughly pulled her cuffed wrists back behind her, clipping them together with a single small padlock through the twin embedded rings. A black-gloved hand reached out and gripped her chin, squeezing the lower part of her jaw and forcing her mouth open while they inserted a large, red, rubber pear with a leather strap through the center. Two hands pulled the double straps back behind her head, as they might rein in a recalcitrant pony, and locked the ends with another padlock.

  My God, it’s huge, much bigger than I imagined. The pear shape is something new, she thought. The fat part fills my mouth and the narrow end is part way down my throat. How the Hell can I keep this thing in my mouth for more than an hour or so?

  On anyone else, it looked like a common ball gag. On her, it was an arousing, luxurious and sensual accessory that might have come from Hermes or Cartier. The pear held her red mouth wide open, lips curled around its perimeter, muffling any sounds from her throat. Nevertheless, subdued moans still seeped around the edges, bubbling with a touch of clear saliva from the corners of her mouth and mixing with her now increased respiration rate through her nose.

  As the lock on the gag strap clicked shut, two more black-gloved hands reached between her legs from behind and deftly separated the ringed lower lips, as if to ascertain that the rings were in fact there and available. A louder moan escaped the ball-gagged mouth.

  He’s putting one, no, two fingers up my cunt. Jesus, the gloves are cold and rough. Feeling my rings. Just to check, I guess.

  A black-booted foot nudged the instep of one of her bare feet, pushing it outward. In compliance, she moved her legs a bit further apart and waited while they wrapped a black leather cincher corset around her waist. They laced it tight, made the parallel edges meet and tied off the laces, cutting the remaining ends close to the black fabric. Small gold rings dangled from the top and bottom edges of the corset.

  Too tight. Too damned tight. I have tight corsets, but this thing is like a vice. Can’t breathe.

  Her already narrow waist was now even smaller. The cincher pushed in on her ribs and compressed her internal organs because there was no fat to squeeze. She struggled for a moment to get her breath, the corset was that tight, but then, as she knew it would, her youthful body accommodated to the compression of her waist and she breathed carefully as the air surged in and out of her nostrils, her breasts rising and falling in the same regular rhythm.

  The picture that the multiple video cameras captured was immensely erotic, although one could argue that it was nothing more than a very pretty girl being slowly bound, gagged and deprived of her freedom.

  She stepped back slightly as one of the hooded figures, (she wasn’t sure if they were men or women because the hoods and shrouded outfits hid all body shape), produced a small, flat case, beautifully finished in black kid leather with intricate gold hardware. The case snapped opened and was laid on the tile floor, revealing twin black leather phalli, one slightly bigger than the other. Both were artisan quality representations of a large penis with the base holding a gold ring similar to those on her multiple cuffs and between her legs.

  This wasn’t on the menu. They said they’d fuck me. They didn’t say they’d put something that fat up my cunt and park it there.

  As she tried to back away, Black Hood Number One removed one phallus, the larger one, from the case. While Hood Number Two held her thighs in their parted position, Hood One again parted her lower lips and slipped the dark, hard thing up into her pussy, easing it all the way in without encountering a bit of resistance except for the slight rotating movement of her hips, as if to embrace this dark penetrator. The thing disappeared quickly, screwing its way up into the warm, dark passage, leaving just the small gold ring showing. It matched the labia rings perfectly.

  My God, I’m already wet. It went in faster than George, my favorite toy vibrator.

  All three people in the white tiled room knew that she was wet enough to feel no discomfort as the leather dick slid into place, but more remarkable for the thousands of observers watching the streaming internet video was the fact that the dong stayed where it was placed, never moving or seeming inclined to slip back out. Some watchers assumed that she was simply gripping the leather dick with her internal muscles. Others correctly surmised that when Hood One inserted the thing, he squeezed a spring switch on the base and this released a tiny compressed air cartridge which in turn inflated the leather cock enough to restrict its expulsion. The girl shivered as she felt the expanding device press inward and outward until the cartridge emptied its minute compressed air load and the now fattened and full prong settled into its home.

  Yikes. That’s a new variation. Damned thing feels like it’s the size of a cricket ball and it’s certainly not coming out.

  Her mouth clamped tighter onto the red pear, her eyes seemed to water a bit and her face contorted in a combination of discomfort and embarrassment that she was being fucked with an inflatable leather dildo while her video image was broadcast around the globe. She bent over slightly, as if to more easily accommodate the fat dong
in her cunt and the look of consternation in her eyes quickly passed. She tried straightening up, but Hood Two pressed her downward from behind and Hood One grasped her left breast and neck, also pulling her downward.

  Chapter Three

  Unsure as to what they wanted, she resisted a moment and was forced to her knees when Hood Two pulled her cuffed wrists upward, attaching them to a dangling chain with a steel hook on the end. The chain quietly retreated into the overhead, making her bend and then kneel. Her arms were painfully extended upwards behind her towards the ceiling. The chain reversed for a few inches, lessening the tension and allowing her to kneel without undue discomfort. Once on her knees, black-booted feet shoved her legs further apart and forced her head to the floor while the overhead chain continued to pull up on her arms. The effect of this combination of force thrust her ass into the air.

  This is where the ass-fucking is going to happen. But I’m not ready for it yet. They’re not going to prepare me or anything. My butt is going to get reamed whether I want it now or not.

  Multiple video cameras around the room and behind her caught the snapshot of her spread thighs with the three rings showing, and her gagged face turned to the side, pressed to the tile floor. The microphones picked up her groans and yelps of resistance. As she moved her head to look over her shoulder, she saw Hood Two spray some sort of lubricant on the second phallus and approach her spread ass cheeks, the glistening, black leather head aimed at her tightly shut butt hole.

  Oh shit, here it comes.

  It touched her lightly and she flinched, held to the floor by the boot on her neck and her raised arms. The dripping head of the black thing pressed again, making assertive contact and coating the area around the opening with the slippery goo. This time it was pressed forward more aggressively and she twisted her hips, trying to evade. The pressure from behind continued, increased and suddenly, the rounded penis head pushed aside the muscle gate of her sphincter and was into the foyer of her lower intestine. A low moan, followed by a sudden intake of air through her distended nostrils reached the multiple condenser microphones scattered around the room. The transfixed global audience, hearing these sounds, could almost feel the shining black leather prong as it impaled her bottom, half in and half out. Then there was silence.