Bondage a la Carte

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “Yes. Good night to you,” Greg’s voice tapered off as he began a walking tour of his new domain, inspecting each fresh, young morsel displayed for his enjoyment and pleasure.

  On the opposite stone wall were three young women, each chained with her arms above her head, an iron brank with a fitted gag and blindfold on her head and ankles chained wide apart. Two still wore portions of what had apparently been their earlier outfits, which had now been conveniently reduced to mere rags covering only a small percentage of their fine young bodies. The other was stripped down to her bra and bikini panties, but still wore a pair of T strap high heels.

  Dangling from a single chain from the overhead was a fourth woman, appropriately nude, with a heavy steel chastity belt her only covering. Her wrists were manacled to the hanging chain and her mouth was gagged by an elaborate head harness incorporating a blindfold as well as a large rubber plug that was stuffed into her mouth, spreading her jaws wide.

  The final display was a small, freckled redhead with what appeared to be almost no breasts at all. This was apparently Marta. Greg at first thought she looked too young to be in this sort of situation, but quickly realized that she was simply an attractive woman of small stature and had all of the equipment of a twenty-year old, if not more. It was the position she was in that was deceptive. The device holding her was an ingeniously well-constructed wheel with all of the accoutrements that allowed the user to expand the outside rim and spokes to stretch the wheel’s occupant as much as she could stand. The girl’s wrists and ankles were bound with coarse rope to the wheel’s outer rim, holding her in a spread-eagle position, her head resting between two massive wooden spokes and a coarse rag stuffed into her open mouth. She moaned as Greg approached, inspecting her tiny breasts, thrusting and hard, pink nipples and totally hairless sex triangle. A small sign hung on a string around her neck. It said: “I may look 12, but I am 22 and loving it.”

  “What a strange display,” Greg said as he approached her. “I suppose you want to be tortured too?”

  The tiny red head nodded as much as the rope around her neck would allow. She blinked and tears trickled from under the blindfold.

  “Was that a ‘please?” Greg asked.

  More tears and another nod.

  “Perhaps I can oblige,” Greg said with a grin, picking up a short leather quirt and touching the girl’s left nipple gently with the tip.

  More tears and another rapid nod, her body actually shaking in anticipation.

  “How about this?” Greg asked, swinging the quirt and striking the girl’s chest without warning. She howled into the rag gag, tugging at her rope bonds and tossing her head.

  “More?” he asked, this time striking her smooth, unmarked upper thighs and watching the stretched legs flex slightly at the knee while the noise from behind the gag continued. “If you will keep that up for awhile, I’ll go see what the hanging lady over there needs. Scream as much as you want. I like the sounds you make. If you do really well, I’ll come back, untie you, put you to work at serving us lunch and then, if you do that equally well, I’ll tie you again and fuck your brains out.”

  The girl screamed with greater enthusiasm.

  “Weird,” said Greg as he walked over to the girl hanging by her wrists. “Are you waiting to be flogged as well?” he asked, swishing the short whip about and letting her feel the air as it whistled though the multiple flails.

  The week went quickly, with Greg working hard to maintain his stamina, get a reasonable amount of rest and not overindulge in the multiple entertainments offered. At night, rather than leave the dungeon, he slept in the massive bed, usually with one bound woman on either side of him and the others chained to the heavy posts at the bed’s four corners. For consistency, he maintained his contact with four of the women he first met in the dungeon. He found each one of them especially suited to his varied tastes and they seemed to have secretly conspired to keep him to themselves although he saw and met many other available and beautiful women on the premises. The fare, as they say, was varied. Lorraine, one of the original hanging foursome, was uniquely suited to being kept by his bedside in a heavy steel cage with her sex and ass pinned against the back wall and her head encapsulated in a heavy, black leather hood, chained down to the forward floor of the tiny enclosure with a metal cock jammed up through the mouth hole of the hood and deep into her throat. Although he viciously fucked and whipped her cunt and ass interchangeably, she never protested and made it clear that his treatment was suited to her needs as well. The one time he took her out of the cage to allow her to shower and use the toilet, she returned to the cage without his even knowing it, self binding her ankles and wrists to the solidly mounted cuffs at the four corners of the cage and never removing the hood. He knew that she was carefully tended when he was not in his quarters and noted that upon his return, Lorriane was always clean, properly lubricated and available, stuffed so tightly into the cage that parts of her body literally oozed out from between the bars. One night, he came back late to find that she had been trussed up not only with hood and cuffs, but with her ringed nipples chained and pulled out to each side through the bars and attached to weights that dangled outside the cage.

  For variety and some other subconscious reasons, he kept his promise to the tiny girl initially tied to the wheel and he fucked and flogged her merrily and often. When he delved deep into his soul and asked why this tiny, freckled creature fascinated him so much, he realized that she looked astonishingly like a girl he had once desperately wanted to date in high school, but her parents, overly strict, forbid her from seeing him. This strange psychological phenomenon haunted him even while they were madly humping with her tied, face down, on the heavy wooden table in his room and elsewhere in the compound. She showed up at odd moments, often tightly secured in leather straps and gagged with everything from one of the elegant Hermes neckties from his quarters to the bra of one of her seldom worn bikini sets.

  This multi-woman arrangement allowed him to sample a bit of brunette, a touch of blond and a dessert of redhead…if he was able to remain awake. When he finally slept, he would awake later and find two or three luscious bodies wrapped around him or each other in the bed.

  “How is everything?” one of the original house escorts asked him on what he thought was his third day.

  “Excellent. Everything you promised and more. As much as I enjoy this routine, there is, I have discovered, such a thing as too much. I have had to learn to throttle back a bit if I am to survive this vacation,” Greg said, laughing.

  “Of course, Sir. We expect that. Some clients wear themselves out in the first twenty-four hours and spend the rest of their visit recuperating…with help, of course,” the escort said. “Do you require or desire any kind of aid or assistance? Do you want to augment or replace any of your help?”

  “No thanks. You selected a perfect blend for me. It has thus far been a great adventure. What I don’t really understand is why these fantastic women do this?”

  “They come for the same things you do,” the man said.

  “Do they pay to be here?” Greg asked.

  “Some do. It depends on several things. However, don’t worry about that. If they have any complaints, they voice them to us and we make adjustments.”

  “Well, I don’t have any complaints,” Greg said with a sly grin and a wink. “But…” he hesitated a moment.

  “Yes?”

  “Is Andrea available for tonight? I’d like to take her to dinner in an appropriate setting.”

  “Of course. Do you wish to leave the compound?”

  “Well yes. Sure, if it’s safe.”

  “What kind of dining do you prefer, Mr. Greg?”

  “Something formal. Exclusive. Private. We’d dress for the occasion and I want her to be appropriately restrained, invisibly.”

  “It shall be done. I will have details in your residence room in an hour or so. Do you want a tuxedo or a suit?”

  “A dark suit. White shirt. Herm
es Blue pattern tie and a pair of soft slip-ons, preferably Italian with no hardware.”

  “Consider it done. How strict do you wish her to be bound, Sir?”

  “The only thing she should be able to do is walk, sit, talk, eat and drink.”

  “An interesting concept. I will put this request into the hands of our chief bondage technician, the CBT. She will call you or come by if she has questions.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Black.”

  “You said Andrea. She is not Black, Sir.”

  “No, not race. I meant her attire.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Done.” He turned to leave the giant chamber, then stopped and extended his right hand. “By the way, I am John. I am one of the owners.”

  “My God, this is your operation?” Greg asked extending his hand as well. “I had no idea…”

  “That’s the idea…” John said.

  “Wow. Fantastic. You get right into the center of things and we, the clients, just assume you are The Help.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, John. I have found everything well suited to my tastes. Is this, if I might ask, a private company?”

  “If you are considering investing in our enterprise, I can tell you there is always room for another partner, but the entry level is ten million Euros…at the moment.”

  “I’m interested. Let’s talk when my vacation is over, if you like.”

  “Of course. Fine,” said John. “Will that be all, Mr. Greg?”

  “Yes. Thanks. I enjoyed meeting you and thanks for sharing the details. Makes things even more fascinating.”

  “Indeed. I thought it would. Good day, Sir. Enjoy.”

  Chapter Two

  The CBT called Greg ten minutes after he gave John his request. They discussed, in detail, exactly how he wanted Andrea bound for dinner.

  “What sort of material do you want us to use?” Minerva, The CBT, asked.

  “Material?”

  “Chain, steel cable, rope, fabric, leather…?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you,” he interrupted. “Especially since this is on such short notice, Minerva,” he added amicably.

  “….Silk scarves, hemp rope, nylon ties, ribbons, lingerie…?” she continued.

  “Enough, thank you,” Greg said more loudly, suppressing a laugh at Minerva’s persistence in offering her wares. “I do have one suggestion though.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Greg. That will help, I’m sure.”

  “I was,” Greg interrupted again, “thinking of some sort of sheaths for arms and legs.”

  “That is easy, but do you want her to be able to feed herself?”

  “Well, perhaps. I am not the doting type. I’d like to share the food and drink easily and was thinking of a sort of retractable wrist restraint that would, on my command, release enough for her to use a knife or fork, pick up a wine glass and enjoy the meal, but it could be retracted in some way.”

  “That is certainly possible. I will try to have it available for you tonight. It may be a bit unwieldy as I haven’t actually made anything like it before. But I have a good background in prosthetics, so I may be able to come up with something. If not totally functional, perhaps symbolic?”

  “Do the best you can, Minerva. Everything here has been impressive, so I’m certain you will make it interesting as well. Call me if you have any questions.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Greg. Andrea will be delivered to your apartment at, shall I say, 7:30?”

  “That will be fine. Oh, by the way, when might I expect my own attire to be delivered?”

  “I think you’ll find the valet outside your door right now, Mr. Greg.”

  The musical doorbell rang. Greg said good-bye to Minerva and went to the door. Another gorgeous, model type, brunette in impossibly high heels, black high-topped hose, a black bikini thong and a starched white formal shirtfront with white bow tie stood at the door. She bowed slightly and easily pulled a garment cart with several hanging bags into the entryway of the apartment.

  “Good evening, Mister Greg,” she said softly, her perfume preceding and following her into the room. Greg noted that the shirtfront had only a collar, but no back and no sleeves. A narrow white fabric band encircled her tiny waist, securing the shirt’s stiff, ruffled front over her breasts. “I have brought you several outfits. You can choose what you want to wear tonight and I can assist if you wish.” She smiled a brilliant smile, standing comfortably erect on her towering black patent leather shoes.

  “I think I can manage,” Greg said, quickly flipping through the hanging garments, all of which were apparently brand new and covered a wide range of contemporary men’s evening wear.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” the valet asked, moving slightly closer to him and pressing her stiff shirt front against his arm, the breast and nipples beneath clearly stressing her point. “It is only fourteen hundred hours. Perhaps I can help you relax before your evening begins.”

  “Ah, what do you have in mind?” Greg asked stupidly, knowing full well that if she pressed his arm any harder his own stiffening member would answer the question.

  “Perhaps we should make sure everything fits,” the valet said, reaching for her belt buckle and snuggling even closer. As if on cue, the formal shirtfront she wore broke away at the collar and the waist and Greg found the front of his Sea Island golf shirt nearly pierced by twin rock-hard nipples, each tastefully decorated by a large gold ring.

  “My name is Leslie,” the valet said softly into his left ear as her hands removed his belt and pushed down his trousers until they were around his knees. She brought up her right foot, inserted the front of the shoe into the crotch of the trousers and pushed them further down so that he instinctively slipped his bare feet out of the pants.

  “Leslie,” Greg said. “I think that, in the interests of total relaxation, we should get out of the foyer, don’t you?”

  “Of course, Sir. Bed or bath?”

  “Sorry, what?” Greg stuttered as he tried to get his feet totally out of the slacks and was working on removing his shirt while Leslie was, to use the hackneyed term, all over him.

  “Bedroom or bathroom, Mr. Greg?” she asked more urgently.

  “Bath,” said Greg. “You get that cute little ass in there and, by the way, chain yourself to the wall on the right. Put a nice gag in as well and you can wait until I get ready. Got that?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Leslie spouted with enthusiasm as she turned on her steeple heels and marched quick time into the massive bathroom, her firm ass moved in an enticing rhythm while her breasts bounced and swayed with her quick steps. As Greg attempted to pull himself together, he was thinking that the last thing he wanted right now was to totally exhaust himself on this lovely valet. The planned evening’s activities with Andrea were paramount in his mind, but this opportunity, like so many already explored while he had been here, was too good to miss.

  In the bathroom, he heard the sounds of chains being moved and then silence. Greg waited a few seconds and then walked into the tiled chamber that was basically an entire living area outfitted with not only every bathing and toiletry convenience, but with a large inventory of BDSM gear as well. Leslie was on the right, facing the cool green tiled wall, a huge breather’s gag strapped into her mouth, a leather blindfold over her eyes and her wrists in thick, chromed manacles held closely together behind her back. A thin, chromed chain went through the twin rings on her nipples and was attached to a heavy eyebolt mounted high up on the wall. She stood on her toes, her heels a few inches above the backs of her shoes, stretched to the extent of her somewhat extended breasts and nipples. Her chrome shackle-bound ankles were connected by short chains to large floor-mounted rings. Standing on her toes, the heels of her shoes elevated an inch off the floor and with her head thrown back, she looked quite uncomfortable, as though she was staring at the ceiling. With her magnificent breasts stretched by the nipple rings and chains,
her breathing was slow and even, but with each breath, the chains seemed to tug further on her nipples and she emitted a quiet, high-pitched cry.

  She was perfectly posed, Greg immediately thought, for a thorough flogging as her reward for being so overtly forward with him.

  “How would you like it?” he asked, pressing himself against her curved, stretched back, his hardened cock instantly seeking the narrow space between her clenched buttocks.

  “Uh, uh,” Leslie mumbled around the gag. Her hands immediately gripped his cock, gently, but urgently squeezing and massaging.

  “Not in the ass?” he asked, laughing as his enveloped dick probed further below.

  “Uh, U ann aye ooo aht U aunt,” she bubbled, slowly rotating her ass and seeming to embrace the exposed tip of his cock with her butt muscles.

  “I’m sorry, Leslie,” Greg said. “But I have a heavy date with Andrea tonight and I’m not sure we should be doing this right now,” he said, making no effort to disengage.

  Leslie stood even higher on her toes, tilted her waist enough to bring her ass up slightly and then, as Greg marveled at her skilled hands and body, actually jammed her ass onto his cock, her rear portal engulfing his cock and swallowing it as though some sort of suction device was dragging him into her. Greg, after a moment’s surprise and hesitation, pressed forward, reached around her and grabbed her stretched breasts, his thumbs and forefingers holding each of the nipple chains so that he wouldn’t harm her ringed nips, then drove himself deeply into her ass.

  Leslie responded actively, rotating, humping and dragging on his impaling shaft so that Greg wasn’t really doing anything but holding onto the chains and pushing with all his strength, going as deep as he could go, holding back on his immediate urge to ejaculate. Leslie, her head full back so that her scented hair covered his face, shook her entire body, vibrating with and against his thrusts. The sounds coming through the breathing hole in the gag were a mixture of total submission and sexual pleasure. On impulse, Greg released his grip on her tits and unstrapped the gag, pulling the fat rubber penis-like probe out of her mouth and then fastening his own mouth over hers, pulling her head even further back with his other hand clamped into her long brown hair. They came together, shuddering and shaking like two teenagers who had just discovered orgasms. Then they hung there, she still stretched in the tit chains, he holding her hair with one hand and the twin suspending chains in the other.