Bondage a la Carte
Page 24
Without any warning, the blows came again, this time to her breasts that hung outward and down, away from her chest, a factor caused by Lacy’s position on the movable metal frame that held her strapped in a spread-eagle pose. There were straps around her neck, above and below her tits, at her waist and at the top of each thigh. The ankle and wrist straps were heavier and fur lined to reduce the chafing. The hood was a diabolically designed thing that rivaled the ones she saw in the leather/kink shops on the street. It had a long zipper up the back and multiple straps that wound around her head, pressing the hard leather into her face and scalp, driving the gag even deeper into her mouth and throat and sealing her eyes from any light.
The frame was tilted so that she was hung at a thirty degree angle forward from vertical. The automated flails struck slowly, about one blow every three or four seconds; the smooth, flat, flexible, rubber paddles hitting the soft undersides of her tits, leaving a circular imprint about two inches in diameter and hurting like fire each time they struck. Slung in the frame, with her wrists and ankles bound with fleece-padded cuffs, Lacy could only move a small distance and as she did so, the impacts shifted somewhat. She made no sound, first because her gag consisted of an inflatable rubber bulb that filled her mouth and second because of the bandage-like leather compress that sealed her mouth from below her nose to her chin under the hood.
The gag and seal were extremely effective, but they were also coupled to a wireless, electronic shock device buried in her ass. Any sound from her throat or bulging oral cavity instantly triggered a bolt of lightning that flooded her rectum and lower intestine. Two or three attempts at screaming into the gag convinced Lacy that silence, despite the pain, was the only way to avoid this additional internal agony. The anal “motivator”, as they called it, was permanent for the day. First, they had given her a series of enemas that cleaned out her lower gastro-intestinal tract and then, while she was still recovering from those gross invasions, one of her keepers unceremoniously drove the lubricated, multi-lobed, silicon sausage up her ass, inflated it and left the hose and wire dangling down her naked thighs while they moved her to the suspension frame.
During the more extended sessions, the slightest movement of her body caused the impact areas of the paddles to increase, spreading the fiery pain over a wider area. In time, this procedure left her with multiple groupings of bright red patches on the most sensitive parts of her body. At times, just the lightest touch of a single paddle brought waves of fiery pain, indicating to Lacy that the paddles were coated with some sort of liquid or gel that had an irritant in it. The frame moved into different positions between sessions, much like the suspension beds used to keep bed-ridden hospital patients from getting bed sores. At times, she was standing upright with most of her weight held by her wrists and ankles, which were spread wide apart. Later, usually every few hours, the frame shifted slowly to a reverse position, hanging her by her ankles and allowing the beating to be concentrated on the narrow area between her spread thighs. The more refined beatings used different shaped strikers, some of them like long, flexible chop sticks that hurt like nothing else and focused on her already swollen pussy, digging inside the lower lips and striking with the pain of a hundred needles being quickly driven into her flesh. Lacy howled and screamed into her mouth-plugging gag, the bolts of electricity shot into her ass and she thrashed about on her four suspension bindings, tugging at the strap holding her hooded head rigidly in place.
Part of this so-called therapy, as they often reminded her, was nothing more than blatantly sadistic beating of her body in a random fashion. No one session was especially dangerous and each time the devices began to thrash her was essentially a new experience. Lacy had never been spanked or beaten by anyone, even her parents, but somewhere in her leather-cocooned head she began to see this entire treatment as punishment for something she had done.
Maybe I do dress irresponsibly, she thought during an interlude when the spanking device wasn’t beating her ass or her tits. Maybe it IS my fault. My fashion sense may be too Hollywood for this community. Maybe I need a new role model, someone like Grace Kelly or Jackie O.
That was the whole idea, they told her, the men who dragged her from her cage, where she rested now and then, when she begged them to explain what was going on.
The black Lincoln sedan picked her up at her apartment as was promised two days after Caroline fired her. In the interim forty-eight hours, she was assisted in getting her personal life in some sort of order and was visited by an older man who said he worked for an agency that the company hired to help her arrange for her therapy sessions. In fact, she soon discovered that he and others were little more than paid implementers of her torment. The car had automatic locking doors and she was taken to a low, non-descript building in the south bay area, not far from the airport.
This doesn’t look that plush or up-scale to me, Lacy thought. Looks more like a factory warehouse. I should have known that bitch Caroline was lying.
They entered a large garage, the car doors unlocked and the driver escorted her out of the auto and up a flight of stairs into a room where she was told to undress and don a hospital gown and paper slippers while the men stood back and leered at her.
“Come on, bitch. We haven’t got all day. Strip or we’ll do it for you,” one said with a nasty smirk and a long leather switch in his hand. Lacy stripped.
In a few minutes, two more men in white uniforms entered, told her to place her hands behind her back and locked some sort of metal clamp around her wrists. It wasn’t a conventional handcuff. This clamp forced her hands together with the palms pressed against each other and her inner wrists tightly joined. Small, ring-like clamps were slid over her fingers and thumbs, holding the digits close together and making it impossible to move her hands or fingers. The men then used a large metal clamp of similar design to bring her upper arms together until her elbows touched. They applied the closing pressure slowly, ratcheting the device while her shoulders screamed at the forced strain. But soon her arms were joined as one from elbow to wrist and Lacy was shouting to the men to stop and release her. These verbal objections entitled her, they said, to a first class gag which they forced between her teeth and fastened behind her head. It was accompanied by a second mouth seal, a leather-faced pad that covered her lower face from below her nose to the base of her chin and was held snugly in place with a wide strap that went under her chin, forcing her mouth shut around the gag plus several other straps that encircled her head.
Her legs were bound with a thick leather strap above her knees and a pair of leather restraint cuffs on her ankles with a short chain joining them. The entire ensemble was completed with a wide, heavy, metal collar that fit perfectly around her neck. The width of the collar restricted her head movements even further than the complex gag and sound sealer already installed.
Lacy stood immobile in the room, unable to do more than take short, restricted steps on the tile floor, while one of the men attached a short chain leash to the front of her collar and gently tugged her towards the door opposite the one where she entered. Her mind racing with fear and questions, Lacy stumbled forward, unable to resist the tugging on her leash, and slowly went through the door and down the quiet, empty hallway. Even with the limited movement allowed by the leg hobbles, the strap around her knees, the restrictive head harness and collar, she noticed that the hall seemed like that of a dormitory, with metal doors on each side at regular intervals. Each door had a peek hole at eye level and a small, horizontal slit at waist level, like a mail slot. Lacy noted that the doors had key card slots like hotel rooms and each door had a number and a space where a name was mounted in a metal holder.
Finally, the tugging on the leash stopped and one of the doors was opened by the second man. Lacy looked into the room behind the door and started to back out, pulling hard on her leash, resisting the thought that she was going to be placed in this fearfully equipped space behind the door.
“Come on, Lacy,” sai
d the leash-holding man. “This is your new quarters. You’ll get used to it.” He pulled hard on the leash and Lacy shuffled inside. The space was tiny, about the size of an ordinary jail cell, but contained more than the ordinary cot and toilet/basin fixtures. In the back left corner was a small black cage with heavy bars and an open door at the front. On the opposite wall was a metal frame bed with multiple cuffs on sliding fixtures so that the person on the bed could be affixed in various ways. Between the bed and the cage was a small stainless steel fixture that apparently served as a bidet, toilet and wash basin. Directly on her left, in front of the cage, hung a pair of metal cuffs like the collar she wore. The cuffs were joined together and suspended by a chain that vanished into a slot in the steel-paneled overhead. There were no windows and only a single barred light in the ceiling.
“Now,” said the guard with the leash. “If you behave yourself, I’ll put you in the cage to settle down. If you resist, you’ll get hung up on these for a day or two,” he added striking the hanging cuffs with the end of Lacy’s leash. They rang with a hollow, metallic sound of solid steel. “So, what’ll it be? Cage, stretched on the bed frame or the cuffs?”
Lacy shuddered as she surveyed the entire horror scene, but slowly nodded towards the cage, assuming that they’d free her from her present restraints and that the cage would at least give her limited freedom.
“Right,” said her guide, suddenly all smiles and sunny disposition. “Good choice,” said guard number one. “And we’ll just get this annoying little dress off first,” he added as he pulled the gown from the front by grabbing it between her breasts and pulling until the Velcro closures at the back released and the gown fell away. “Much more comfortable in there without this hindering your contemplation,” he added.
“Okay, honey. In you go,” said the guard while the other pressed down on her bare shoulders and pushed her towards the cage. Lacy whined and resisted as best she could, but went to her knees and stuck her leather harnessed head into the cage, crawling slowly on her strapped legs until only her shackled ankles remained outside the cage. The guard then shortened the chain between her ankles, bringing them together and lifting her feet until they cleared the door of the cage. Then he pushed the door shut, locking it. Lacy balanced on her knees for a moment and then tumbled slowly forward until her harnessed head met the concrete floor and the front bars of the cage. She felt the guard pull on the chain that joined her closely bound ankles and connect it to the upper bars of the cage.
“Let’s see how you like this, slut,” the guard added as he shortened the chain even more, lifting her feet until they touched the overhead bars and requiring Lacy to shift her knees backward on the floor. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back later to improve your position for the night. If you’re good, we’ll get you a nice set of tit clamps to help you focus on your evil ways. If you are a bad girl, as I think you probably are, we’ll haul you out, drill holes in your nipples and fit some nice stainless steel rings on them. The rings will come sooner or later anyway, but you might find the clamps more enjoyable for now. Think about it, whore.”
Lacy was already thinking about how untenable her position was and wishing she’d opted for the bondage bed frame instead of the cage. She was in a strange position that depended on the cage’s strict enclosure to hold her. Without the bars of the cage, she would have toppled over onto her side, but the chain holding her feet to the overhead part of the cage and her head on the floor forced her to hold this impossibly unnatural pose until someone or something changed. She stayed that way until they took her out and put her back on the spanking machine.
And that was how Lacy spent her first week in therapy.
Other Jurgen von Stuka Novels From Pink Flamingo Publications
After School
Bondage Brokers
Complicity
Cruise
Desperate
Secrets of the Women's Self Bondage Cult
Summer School
Summer School & After School, The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition
Transition