Bondage a la Carte

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Alone, hopelessly bound and suffering from the isolation and the continued beatings with the automated machines, Lacy’s current condition was one hundred eighty degrees away from the picture of life as she had pictured it when she packed a few belongings and flew on a one way ticket west from her family’s mini farm in New Jersey to the beckoning coastal mecca of San Francisco only three months before.

  This wasn’t the life she had dreamed about. The company hired her because of her good looks and her accounting background. They promised her full health care and a 401K after six months. They even helped her find an apartment and paid the first two months’ rent.

  Now they had gone several levels better and seen to it that she was counseled about her fixation with alleged sexual harassment. The counseling was accompanied by enforced “therapy”, consisting mostly of restraint, enclosure in a tiny cell and seemingly endless punishment that they told her was part of the rehabilitation.

  The therapist, Doctor Ables, was a weird, bearded man with thick, wire rimmed glasses who looked like a cheap extra from some Roger Corman horror film. Ables said he felt that a few years in rehab would change Lacy’s life for the better. While he chatted with her in his office, Lacy was strapped down to a leather couch that smelled of sweat and Ables stared continuously at her tits, which enticingly raised the front of her nearly transparent hospital gown.

  “Why do you suppose you have this obsession with others sexually harassing you?” Ables posed the same stupid question each time they met.

  His question went unanswered because Lacy was always gagged with some sort of disgusting device that usually resembled a huge, fat dick or, at other times, a startlingly realistic model of a female pussy that contained, in its inner chamber, a slightly smaller simulated dick that discharged a milky substance into Lacy’s throat when Ables squeezed the rubber bulb on the outside of the device.

  “This is what you really want, isn’t it?” Ables would ask, squeezing the bulb after pumping Lacy’s wide open and plugged mouth with the entire contraption for several minutes. “You have an oral sex obsession, right? Does it matter if it’s male or female?” Ables persisted.

  Lacy, too desperate to breathe and not wanting to swallow the crap Ables was squirting into her throat, would struggle and fight the many restraining straps, gagging on the combination of simulated sex organs in her mouth and wishing she’d never left New Jersey.

  Lacy was punished daily, disciplined, as they put it, for things she couldn’t understand. While on the spanking machine, the only sensory element available to her was tactile and this failed to make up for the lack of other senses. The impact on various portions of her torso and limbs ranged from light, almost teasing strokes to hellish, brutal, hammering slices that she was sure were stripping the flesh from her ass, her once firm and lovely thighs, her tits and her belly. She counted as a blessing the fact that all of these areas were not struck at once. Sometimes, probably for days, the spankers flailed away methodically at the front of her thighs. Each blow seemed to slightly edge up or down her legs, leaving imprints that looked like overlapping circles in the flesh. If she could have seen them, she was sure they were flaming red with the blood rising to the beaten surface, leaving the skin too tender to even touch with her fingers…if she had been able to use her fingers.

  Doctor Ables, who often seated himself in the treatment room next to the spanking machine, watched Lacy with great interest. One morning, after the usual twenty or thirty minutes of having her thighs flailed by the machine, Ables stopped the thing in mid stroke and sent for an orderly.

  “Put the harness on her,” the doctor said quietly, still seated and still staring thorough the coke bottle bottom spectacles. “Use a number three in the front and a number two behind. I’m going for a coffee, so do this quickly, Fred. No funny business, okay?”

  “Yes, Doctor Ables. Three in front and two in back,” Fred, the orderly repeated while opening the aluminum briefcase he’d brought with him and removing a leather harness. He placed the widest strap around Lacy’s waist, drew the buckle extra tight and locked it. A second strap that was connected to the waist belt hung down behind from the base of Lacy’s spine. Fred adjusted this strap so that it lay between her spread thighs. Then he removed two different silicone dildoes from the wide selection displayed in the case, showed them to Lacy and raised three fingers for the fatter one with the serrated exterior and two fingers for the slightly smaller one that had what looked like tiny silicone fingers on the narrow, pointed end. He fitted a lubricated condom over each dildo, squirted a warm oily substance between her legs, and without any other prelude, forcibly inserted the number three, the larger serrated dildoe, into Lacy’s cunt, jamming the thing well up inside her while she shrieked and shuddered on the leather couch, trying unsuccessfully to bring her spread apart knees together. Because Lacy lay on her back, getting the second dildo up her ass was a more challenging task for Fred and he eventually ended up sitting atop Lacy, facing her feet and bending over while he inserted and wiggled the number two probe into her clenching asshole. If Fred was anything, he was persistent and when Dr. Ables returned with two foam cups of hot coffee, he discovered Fred still sitting on Lacy’s stomach and still trying to get the entire rubber dick up her ass while she bounced and wiggled under him.

  “Need another hand, Fred?” Ables said, setting down the coffee on the counter.

  “Un huh,” Fred muttered, his head still between Lacy’s quaking knees and both his hands under her ass.

  “She needs to relax,” Ables said, as he pulled the hem of the meager gown up over Lacy’s face and began to message her tits. Almost at once, Lacy relaxed a bit and the ass probe went home. Fred pressed the small buttons on the base of each probe, brought the crotch strap between Lacy’s legs, pulled it tight enough to drive the double prongs well up inside the patient and applied a lock to the metal fitting on the front of the waist belt.

  Lacy relaxed and stopped struggling while the doctor continued squeezing and rubbing her breasts, and Fred drank his coffee.

  “I think she’s had enough therapy for this morning,” Ables said as he escorted Fred out of the treatment room, locked the door behind him and secured the peephole so that no one else could observe the nearly naked and vibrating form of Lacy under the remains of her gown. Both dildoes were slowly spooling up to their full vibrating capabilities and Lacy was soon lost in the combined sensations, too complex to allow her to focus on anything except the tensions building between her legs.

  From then on, the dildoes became part of the therapy and accompanied Lacy on the spanking machine. Different body parts got the automated treatment, but the internal vibrating dicks were usually an accompaniment to the thrashing she received. Sometimes, they flogged her smoothly rounded ass, the same ass that had always gotten men wound up as she walked past them in the office or on the street. The perfectly rounded, firm and yet enticingly wobbly ass cheeks that were the root of all of her troubles. This was the same ass that more than once had gotten her distasteful, obscene offers she initially refused politely and then, after they persisted, drove her to have a chat with the bitch in human resources.

  That had been fun. A total waste of time. And embarrassing. Caroline, the skinny blond Vice President of Human Resources, had listened intently to Lacy’s complaints about George and Mark’s constant ass-grabbing and lewd remarks. She asked a few innuendo-laced questions, apparently not really interested in Lacy’s response.

  “Exactly what did George say to you?” Caroline asked, writing slowly on a lined pad on her desk.

  “That he wanted to, to screw me in the ass,” Lacy responded slowly, unsure about how candid she needed to be to make her point.

  “Anything else?”

  “You want his exact words? Because I know them. They stuck in my mind just as they would in yours if he said them to you,” Lacy said.

  “Exact words, or as best you can recall them,” Caroline repeated, her left hand still writing madly on
the pad.

  “He said: ‘I want to fuck your ass until you come and then I’m going to let Mark do the same thing,’’ Lacy added.

  “Anything else?”

  “He said he wanted to tie me up and have me suck his dick. He emphasized that he wanted to come in my mouth,” Lacy said with obvious distaste at the thought.

  “He wanted a blow job?” Caroline asked, sounding as though she doubted the accusation.

  “No. He just wanted me to inspect his belly button up close,” Lacy said sarcastically.

  Caroline wrinkled up her forehead and stared at Lacy, saying, “There’s no need for sarcasm here, Lacy. Just answer the question.”

  Now red-faced with anger and embarrassment, Lacy shouted back, “Not ‘wanted’, he said he was going to do it. That he’d tie me up with wire and put something called a spider gag in my mouth to hold it open and make sure I didn’t bite him,” Lacy said, grimacing.

  “And did he tell you how he’d manage to do that, assuming that you would resist?”

  “He was extremely detailed. He even showed me a pair of handcuffs he kept in his locker and sometimes carried in the hip pocket of his jeans where everyone could see their outline.”

  “Did you stay and listen?”

  “Stay? He was sitting on my desk in my office and talking very quietly. He was explicit.”

  “So you made no attempt to get away from this, I gather,” Caroline said raising both eyebrows and writing fiercely on her lined paper. Being a long time West Coast transplant from some tiny Southern town, she was always inclined to take a somewhat egalitarian view of things in the company. In Lacy’s case, however, she seemed to advocate the flee and forget approach to the sort of sexual annoyances Lacy was complaining about.

  “It was my office,” Lacy shouted. “He was in my space, insulting me, making lewd and unacceptable comments. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yes, Lacy. I think that is more than enough.”

  Exhausted from the interrogation, Lacy sat back in the unpadded steel chair in front of Caroline’s desk, certain that she had finally made her point. And then Caroline said she had no choice but to seek sexual harassment charges against her, Lacy, because it was apparent, she said, based on the numerous complaints from other employees, that Lacy was a sexy tease.

  Lacy couldn’t believe this reaction. She sat stunned and crying in the hard, metal chair in Caroline’s inner office, finally asking why, why was she being targeted with this absurd vendetta.

  “Because, Lacy,” Caroline said with a smirk, “you are an employer’s nightmare.” She was thinking that the sooner she got rid of this problem the better off the company would be. Thus far, the word “lawyer” didn’t seem to be in Lacy’s vocabulary, and if she played this right, Caroline thought, she could avoid the expensive and embarrassing situation of a law suit by Lacy, which would most certainly result in a huge settlement or, worse yet, a prolonged court battle and bad publicity for the company.

  “You are too attractive to work here and you drive the men, and some of the women, nuts with your tight little ass, your unreasonably firm but jiggling tits and your fresh, Hollywood face. You need to get that ass out of here and I will make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  “Offer?” Lacy whimpered.

  “Yes,” Caroline said, pulling out a file from her center desk drawer and opening it with her finger tips, as if the papers were toxic. “Here’s the deal. I have already discussed this with Andy and he thinks it’s a fair offer.”

  Lacy knew Andy Montgomery, the self-appointed CEO, Chairman of the board and President all too well. The twenty-something Berkeley graduate and founder of the firm was a known womanizer and full-of-himself dickhead who had, on a few occasions, wandered past Lacy’s office and then doubled back, sticking his head in the door and leering at her. Typical of his remarks was a comment about the dress or jeans she was wearing and how they complimented her figure. At Christmas, Andy had dropped by and carefully tucked a company envelope with three crisp one-hundred dollar bills into her shirt’s open neckline, pushing it downward until it hit the fabric between the bra cups and then lightly tapping it, noting how her tits jiggled from the intrusion. Andy was an asshole of the first magnitude, so his approval of any “deal” involving Lacy was unsurprising.

  “You resign now,” said Caroline. “No charges will be recorded. You will resign for ‘personal reasons’. You can say that you want to spend more time with your family or some such drivel we use when our big shots get caught with their finger in the cash register or their dick in some secretary and we don’t want a scandal. You understand, right?”

  Lacy had nodded, partly because she was baffled by the corporate political BS Caroline was handing out and partly because she couldn’t find the words to object.

  “We will give you a very attractive termination package of six months pay,” Caroline continued. “Although it is highly irregular, we’ll continue your medical and 401K, and send you to therapy where, we truly hope you’ll learn to conduct yourself in a less sexually alluring manner.”

  “What? What do you mean, therapy,” Lacy babbled. “They are harassing me. Not the other way around.”

  “Well, obviously, you fail to comprehend the facts. You come off as a slut, dress like a whore and then complain about people slobbering over you and making serious offers to boink you, which you always turn down. You are trouble and we want to help you.”

  “By sending me to therapy? And what’s wrong with the way I dress?”

  “It’s all right here in your file. You want me to read it?”

  “Sure,” Lacy said, wondering what in Hell this woman was talking about. Therapy for objecting to endless sexual innuendoes, ass-grabbing, accidental/intentional rubbing against her in the hallways, lewd remarks, filthy e-mails and other clearly illegal and frightening behavior.

  “April second of last year,” Caroline intoned gravely. “You came to work in a pair of what several employees complained were jeans that fit so tight they could see the outlines of your pussy.”

  “Huh?” Lacy sputtered. “Not as tight as Cindy, your secretary, wears every day.”

  “We are not talking about Cindy,” Caroline said quietly. “Cindy is an ugly little worm from South Boston, Massachusetts. Anything she can do to enhance her unlikely chances of finding a husband out here is permissible. But you are not Cindy. You are the suburban slut from West Caldwell, New Jersey, and you act like you own the place.”

  Lacy nodded, knowing that this was probably true. Cindy was a hag. She probably gave blow jobs to homeless men in the alley at night. She had grown up in a city that thought incorrectly of itself as being The Hub of The Universe and where the young women dressed like farm workers and shunned make-up, supposedly to deter would-be rapists. Lacy had heard that story once too often from Cindy in the break room and wondered who, in their right mind, would want to rape Cindy, even in Boston.

  “Shall I continue?” Caroline pressed, not wanting to lose the thread quite yet.

  Lacy, looking a bit dazed, nodded again.

  “Fine. On June 4th, you wore a dress that was unacceptably too tight around the ass and tits and much too short. You allowed it to expose the tops of your thighs while sitting in the meeting with Hal and Joe, among others. I got several complaints about that,” Caroline added, reading her notes from the file.

  “It’s just a dress. It was on sale at Limited. In fact,” Lacy said, thinking about that day when she wore the dark blue dress, “you have one just like it. You wore it to the company meeting.”

  “But it covered my ass…and my cunt,” Caroline said sharply. “Yours did not. My God, Lacy, have you no shame? Are you aware that every time you find an excuse to bend over you are showing your panties, if you are wearing any, your crotch and your ass to the whole office?”

  Lacy was now totally stunned. “Whole office?” she thought. It wasn’t her fault that the entire company, such as it was, operated out of a warehouse-like room with exp
osed air ducts and plumbing in the high ceiling and most of the staff sitting on high stools at their desks which were, in fact, ordinary doors supported by saw horses from Home Depot. Because she handled the company finances, Lacy had an office of sorts. Caroline’s office was another exception, as were the offices of other big wigs in the firm, but just getting up on the stool at her door was an interesting exercise if one was trying to avoid other employees peering unabashedly up her dress. Her head hurt terribly and she wanted to end this charade.

  “Okay. Okay,” she said. “I get it. I’ll take the deal. Where do I sign?” Anything, she thought, just to get out of this Hell Hole.

  “Good,” said Caroline, turning the file folder around and presenting Lacy with a small gold pen. “Just one other thing: you will agree not to ever press charges against the company or its employees on this or any other matter. Sign here…and here…and here.”

  Lacy blinked back tears and signed.

  “Thank you, Lacy,” Caroline said. “As you may have read on the forms you just signed, your continued salary and benefits are contingent upon your staying in therapy for the entire six months. You may empty your desk and go home now. Security will show you out. Give the guard your company ID and your keys before you leave. Friday morning, a private car will pick you up at home and take you to a very plush facility down the peninsula in Palo Alto for your first therapy session. You will live there. Arrange your schedule so that no one will miss you for a month or so. Tell them you are going on vacation and may be gone for a while longer. I wouldn’t tell them that you resigned your job here. After all, you may be able to return after your treatment.”

  “Live there? A month?” Lacy whined.

  “Maybe more. You just signed a deal for six.”

  Lacy gasped, swallowed and got up from the chair. Her face was hot. She needed to get away from this bitch, now.

  “Oh, and Lacy,” Caroline added. “Your apartment rent and utilities will be taken care of. It’s the least we can do. Goodbye, Lacy, and have a good day,” Caroline waved her to the door and turned back to the work on her desk.