by Rod Harden
She grunted as the cord bit into her. “Mr. Sanders, please!"
"Shut up, or you'll be gagged as well."
"Yes, sir,” she said with a pout.
"One more adjustment and you can get on,” he said as he stepped around in front of her again. He reached up and grasped the tops of her bra cups and yanked them down, exposing her breasts. As he did, he looked into her eyes, expecting more complaining, and was pleased with her silence.
"Good girl,” he said. "Now you can get on the treadmill."
She did as he told her and waited, obviously nervous. Trapped behind her, her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shorts. He grinned as he pulled a pair of nipple clamps from his pocket.
Brenda's eyes widened when she saw them. “What are those for?” she asked stupidly.
He chose to ignore her and simply reached over and clipped them on her plump puckered beads. She groaned, but again held her tongue. No doubt trying to make up for the “what now” crack, he told himself.
He just needed to make a couple more adjustments before starting her machine. First, he took the chain that connected her clamps and attached it to another chain that hung from the center of the handrail across the front of the treadmill. Finally, he lowered a rope from the ceiling and wrapped it under her arms, circling her chest above her breasts.
"Now you're all set, princess,” he said. Her expression revealed a mixture of pain and worry. He smiled and added, “I know what you're thinking, but it's all quite necessary. See, the clamps and the chain will make sure you stay on the belt, and the ceiling rope will make sure you don't fall down."
"Um, okay,” she said without conviction.
Then he stepped back and turned on the machine.
* * * *
Brenda could hardly believe that he was actually starting up the treadmill! She kept hoping it was some kind of bluff, to test her reaction or something. But she had no time to think about it. She had to start moving!
Much to her relief, he set the speed at a leisurely walking pace. She found it easy to keep up, although she winced with every step as her breasts bounced and tugged against the clamps. The pressure of the rope between her legs was a constant annoyance as well.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her, nodding approvingly. He let her continue for a few minutes before stepping forward and adjusting the speed setting. The pace of the machine picked up.
Now she had to trot to keep up. She wished she had the full use of her arms. As they were, she could only flap them like a fledgling trying to take off for the first time. She felt silly but found the movement helped her keep her balance.
She had just begun to puff a bit when he again pushed the speed up. Now she was jogging. The clamps pinched and yanked at her bouncing boobs even more insistently. Moaning, she shot a glance over at him, hoping he would see that she couldn't possibly keep this up, but he simply grinned back at her.
"You're doing fine,” he said. As if saying it made it true.
Soon, he again stepped forward and reached for the speed adjustment. “No, please!” she begged. “I can't go any faster, Mr. Sanders."
"I think you can, Ten. You've barely broken a sweat."
"Ohh!"
She was running at a full clip now. Her nipples felt like they were ablaze, and the rope from the ceiling dug into her armpits whenever she began to slump or falter. Worse still, the rope splitting her cunt somehow managed to wedge itself even deeper inside her.
Tears began to spill down her cheeks. Glancing down, she watched the workout timer count off each interminable second. She'd actually been running for fifteen minutes. How much longer would he make her do this? she wondered.
By the time the counter passed twenty minutes, she was drenched with sweat, but the tears had stopped as her mind became focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other.
As she watched twenty-five minutes tick by she managed to gasp, “Please, Mr. Sanders!” But he still made no move to slow the pace or, better yet, turn the machine off.
Somehow she kept going. Her legs seemed to move on their own, as her arms flapped desperately at her sides. Her nipples throbbed and screamed for release, and her pussy was drenched and aching. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was ready to burst.
Finally, she saw him approach. He reached for the speed control. The timer had just counted past thirty minutes. He paused and smiled at her, and for a brief, panicky instant, she thought he would turn the speed up again.
But he didn't. He turned it down. Way down. She could walk again. As she gasped for air she muttered a breathy, “Thank you, sir."
Soon her breathing and heart rate returned almost to normal. Sanders let her cool down for five more minutes before stopping the machine completely. Then, after releasing the rope from the ceiling and disconnecting her clamp chain from the treadmill, he untied her elbows at last.
"The clamps and crotch rope stay on,” he said, “until you're done with the Bowflex."
She smiled weakly, grateful simply to have her arms back, but she couldn't help a sad glance down at her poor squashed nipples as she stepped off the treadmill and followed along behind him.
CHAPTER 15: ENCOUNTER ON THE SIMULATOR
After just a few steps Sanders stopped and turned to Brenda. “Before we start you on something else, I think you could do with a drink. Don't want you getting dehydrated."
"Yes, sir,” she said, perking up. “I am thirsty. Thank you!"
"There's the water cooler,” he said, pointing to a corner.
She walked over and looked at the empty cup dispenser. “Mr. Sanders? I think you're out of cups."
"Cups? You don't need a cup, Number Ten. Take a closer look at the spigot."
She looked down and noticed that the spigot had been modified with an extension of narrow copper tubing that descended several inches and then curved away from the body of the cooler. It reminded her of the type of water bottle used in a typical hamster cage, with its drinking tube extending from the bottom.
"On your knees, Number Ten,” called Sanders. “Like a good little gerbil."
Apparently, it was no mere resemblance.
"Y—Yes, sir.” She lowered herself down to her knees, sat back on her heels, and leaned her head forward. Hesitantly, she took the tip in the tube in her mouth and then reached up and turned the knob. Nothing happened.
"It's voice activated, princess,” said Sanders. He had strolled over and stood next to her now. “You have to say ‘please’ within three seconds of turning the spigot to start the flow."
"Oh. Okay.” She cleared her throat and said, “Please.” Then she put her mouth around the tube again and turned the knob. To her delight, a rush of chilled water flowed into her parched mouth. She hadn't realized until then just how thirsty she had become.
But the flow only lasted a few seconds and her thirst was far from quenched. She glanced up at Sanders. “It stopped, sir."
"Then you must say ‘please’ again."
She nodded and got herself into position again. “Please,” she said, and lapped up the next gulp of water. “Please,” she said again, for more. It seemed strange to keep saying ‘please', almost as if she were begging an inanimate object.
Or perhaps, she thought, what I'm really doing is begging a stand-in for Mr. Sanders.
By the time she felt satisfied, she had “begged” the water cooler at least a dozen more times. Presently, she sat back and looked up at Sanders. He smiled down at her.
"Better?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you. But, um, may ask a question?"
"Yes, Ten."
"Why do you have it set up like this? I mean, it's so humiliating having to get on my knees and keep asking a machine for each sip of water."
Sanders laughed. “Why, Number Ten, I believe you've answered your own question. Now come along to the Bowflex. As long as you're on your knees, you can stay there. Just crawl along on all fours behind me. There's a good girl."
&n
bsp; Brenda had almost forgotten about her clamped nipples, but as she crawled across the floor they made their presence very obvious. With each step, the chain swung from side to side and pulled lightly at her dangling and swaying breasts.
By the time Sanders reached the Bowflex machine, she was moaning softly and steadily. But despite the continual ache in her breasts, and the pang of the hard floor against her knees, the crawl actually felt good. For the first time in over twenty-four hours she had full use of her arms and legs, and it simply felt wonderful to move.
Sanders guided her in how to use the Bowflex machine to work on all major muscle groups. By the time she finished, she felt exhilarated. She also realized that if he worked her as hard everyday, she'd soon be in the best shape of her life. Not that she had anything resembling flab anywhere on her body, but maintaining optimal muscle tone was always problematic on her old work schedule.
As she used the Bowflex, she could hear the other girls getting drinks, with their periodic and repeated requests of “please” coming from the direction of the water cooler. For some reason, listening to them beg and picturing them on their knees licking the water from the tube made her pussy grow moist. She actually began to look forward to getting her next drink.
But the worst part of her stint on the Bowflex came when Sanders finally removed the clamps. She was about half way done. Her nipples had been alternating between dull throbbing and mild numbness for well over an hour, and now the rush of sensation back into the sensitive buds was worse than anything she had experienced the previous day.
Yet somehow she maintained her composure. She simply let the pain surge through her with barely a whimper. As it subsided she glanced up and saw the look of pride on Sanders’ face as he watched her accept her momentary suffering in silence. It seemed to make it all worthwhile.
In fact, he was so pleased with her overall performance that he allowed her more to eat. He even let her use her wrists cuffed in front of her. She was so delighted at the relative freedom, she felt positively giddy as she downed another bagel and some yogurt.
It wasn't until they entered the simulator again that she thought about how completely she had accepted that notion that Sanders could feed her, or not, according to his whim, and that she had to “earn” the right to use her hands.
But once they were in the simulator, she had little time for further reflection. She spent the first hour as the hors d'oeuvres girl again. He dressed her in another skintight latex outfit with her control strap in place, and her arms and legs in restraints. And of course, her gag was tethered by the same too-short chain to the ceiling.
This time, though, Sanders made the simulator move quite a bit more than the first time, banking it to the left and right repeatedly, and subjecting it to severe “turbulence” over and over again. But no matter what he threw at her, she held herself steady and came through it all without spilling a single snack.
Once more, she saw how pleased he was with her, and it gave her a feeling of true accomplishment. Even his curt verbal appraisal, “Not bad, Ten,” sent a warm glow to her cheeks.
Presently, he removed the tray, but left her standing in the middle of the cabin. Her head remained tilted upward from the short gag tether. After setting the tray down, he stood in front of her for a moment. “I believe,” he began, “you have some punishment due, Number Ten."
The warm rush of just a moment before became a cold sinking feeling. She shook her head. What was he talking about?
"Do I have to remind you of your inappropriate vocalizations earlier today?"
"Oh, thad!” she muttered around the ball crammed in her mouth.
"Yes. That."
"I'm forry, fir!"
"No doubt."
"But I—” She stopped herself. It was no use trying to make excuses. Especially when it would come out all jumbled from her gagged mouth anyway. And excuses were not what he expected of her. She knew by now what he did expect.
"Fir?” she said, starting over.
"Yes, Number Ten?"
"I—I know I was a bad girl, sir, and I need to be punished.” She hoped the gist of her garbled words was getting through. “So ... Um..."
"Go on. I'm listening."
"P—Pwease pumiff me."
"There's my girl,” he said, beaming.
She smiled meekly around her gag, but swallowed hard, wondering what he had in mind for her. Whatever it was, she hoped it wouldn't involve anything resembling a spanking. Her bottom still ached from the paddling on the plane.
He started by untying her arms and then removing her control strap. After taking a seat nearby, he instructed her to kneel at his feet. She positioned herself in front of him, sat back on her heels and lowered her eyes, waiting. She could feel her heart quicken and her cheeks flush at the mere thought of him contemplating her fate. She both dreaded it and yet...
She couldn't wait for it to begin.
"Today,” he began, “you will administer your own punishment."
She looked up at him, startled and curious.
"Well,” he corrected himself, “part of it, at least.” With a grin, he reached into a satchel beside his seat and pulled out a large handful of clothespins. Her nipples puckered as soon as she saw the little wooden jaws. “Bare your breasts, Number Ten,” he said.
"Yeffir,” she mumbled. She untied the laces that held her dress together in front and her tits popped out like puppies eager to play.
He handed her one of the pins. “Put it on your left nipple."
Her throat felt dry and she could only nod as she accepted the clamp and placed it as instructed, accompanied by a faint, “Uh!"
He waited a moment, no more than ten or twenty seconds, and then he said, “Now take it off."
Puzzled, she did as he told her.
"Now put it on again."
The nipple had barely adjusted to its release when she squashed it again. It seemed even more painful than the first time.
He handed her a second clothespin and told her to put it on her right nipple. After she did so, he again paused and told her to take them both off, and then to put them both on again.
Next he gave her a pair of pins and told her to put them both on her left breast on either side of the first one. Once more, when she finished, he told her to remove all the pins, only to replace them again.
The next two clothespins went on her right breast, matching the ones on her left. By this time, she knew what to expect. Sure enough, all six pins came off in reverse order only to be immediately put back on.
Her sore tits seemed as confused as she was. The tender nerve endings argued with her, demanding that the wooden jaws either stay put or remain off, one or the other. It became harder for her to obey, especially the command, “Now put them all back on,” which he said so nonchalantly.
Little by little, her breasts became covered with more and more clothespins. He continued having her place them in pairs, until there were nine on each breast, one on each nipple surrounded by eight more. Her gently sloping mounds were barely large enough for the cluster of hungry wooden jaws.
By the time she placed the eighteenth pin in place, her hands were trembling and a continual moan oozed from around her gag. She looked up at him through misty eyes and prayed he was done.
"Very good, Number Ten. You followed my instructions well. Now perhaps you will remember not to speak out of turn."
"I will!" she said nodding and batting her lashes hopefully.
"You're not done yet, if that's what you're thinking."
She huffed at that, stifling the whine that wanted out.
"Get on your hands and knees,” he said. “Good girl. Do they hurt more like that?"
"Yeffir,” she whimpered.
"Gravity is a marvelous thing, isn't it, Ten?"
Not really, she thought. “Yeffir,” she said aloud.
"Now jiggle your tits, princess. Make all those clothespins bounce around for me."
"Owww,” she whined as she obeyed h
im.
But even in the midst of her self-inflicted punishment, her curiosity got the best of her and she glanced down at herself, watching the spectacle of pain that her bouncing breasts had become. It was a bizarre yet mesmerizing sight.
He let her go on for what seemed like hours, although it was only a few minutes she guessed. Then he told her to hold still.
"On your knees again ... Good girl.” He licked his lips as he regarded her. “Is your punishment over, Ten?"
She started to say yes at once. She wanted to say yes. But then, before she let the word past her gagged lips, she wondered why he was asking her. It had to be a trick question. If she said yes, he might be angered by her presumptuousness. But if she said no, he would simply go ahead and punish her more.
As her mind raced, trying to come up with the right answer to his deceptively simple question, she suddenly knew what to say. She looked up at him and, as clearly as she could, said, “Only if you say it is, sir."
He beamed at her. “Excellent, princess! My, you are a marvelously fast learner!"
She was so thrilled that she pleased him, she felt a pair of happy tears roll down her cheeks. “Thank you, sir!"
"But!” he continued in a more serious tone. “Even though you answered correctly, your punishment is still not quite finished."
Her shoulders sagged a bit, but the thrill of his praise continued tingling throughout her body.
"First,” he said, “I want you to pull up your dress and touch yourself. Yes, you heard me right. But not too much! If you come, you'll be put to bed tonight with no supper."
She nodded her understanding and slid her hand beneath the hem of the shiny dress and gently guided her finger toward her clit. When she made contact, she shuddered and gasped as if she had touched a hot poker.
"Remember,” he cautioned her, “don't come! Now lean forward and look up at me. That's right. Keep rubbing that clit. Good girl. Now ... stop!"
"Ohhh!” she groaned. Stopping was torture. Her clit throbbed and swelled in the wake of her touch as she yanked her hand away. Her hips rocked forward on their own, seeking the source of the withdrawn pleasure.