Learning to Crawl

by John Argus

  Gwen grunted as her body was bent back farther and farther, and tried to open her mouth to complain, but she couldn’t, and her wrists were soon strapped tightly to her ankles. Another strap was attached to the harness around her head and pulled even more tightly back, straining her like a taut bow.

  She then heard the detestable Carol’s voice, and then strong hands picked her up and carried her out of the bedroom, down the stairs and out to the garage. She was placed in the boot of another car and the top slammed shut. Moments later the car was in motion, heading, she presumed, for Richardson.

  Though, of course, she could not know that. How strange, she thought, to let oneself be so completely at the mercy of others. She had never been asked if she wanted to be given to a horde of lesbians to be a plaything, yet had not been given the opportunity to protest until her gag was removed at the club, and by then she was too lost to it all to really do so.

  Nor had she been consulted about becoming a public spectacle and art piece. Yet she’d had the opportunity to protest after arriving, and had not – not even when it was obvious she was to be fucked by the muscled man in front of all those despicable women. She had been appalled, or at least a part of her had been appalled, yet she made little effort to resist.

  Why?

  What on earth was becoming of her that she made no protest to such things? Not too long ago she had been a feisty character who would have been outraged had someone even presumed to order her food or drink in a restaurant without consulting her, yet now a man she barely knew gave her to strangers for their perverse gratification and she said nothing by way of complaint.

  And how much did she enjoy it? a smug inner voice asked.

  Gwen grunted as the car hit a pothole and she banged her temple. Her poor trussed body was aching more fiercely with every passing minute. Why must she be bound so tightly? Did they think she would break free and run? Clearly she could not.

  And what day was it?

  She yawned, and then felt her stomach rumble. She had gotten little sleep and not much to eat since arriving at Richardson’s penthouse; somewhat ironic given her desire for a warm bed and decent food had led her to him in the first place.

  Despite her sore back she almost dozed off a few times during the cramped journey, but some bump or turn always brought her back to groggy wakefulness.

  Then the car stopped and the boot opened and Carol was lifting her out and carrying her to the elevator. She set her on the floor and then backed out, leaving her alone as the doors smoothed shut. The lift rose on its own, and she stared at the corner near the ceiling, wondering if he were watching her at that moment.

  The doors opened and Richardson gazed down at her, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

  ‘Don’t want to have anything to do with lesbians, hmm?’ he asked acidly. ‘I understand you enjoyed yourself thoroughly.’

  He bent over her, undoing the strap holding her head back and she groaned with relief as her neck muscles relaxed. He then removed the strap holding her ankles and wrists together, and she let out a long moan of sheer bliss as the pressure on her spine dissipated.

  Hanging upside down in the dark was not conducive to clear thinking, especially as Gwen was already exhausted. She spent the first few minutes massaging her neck and knees, the latter being difficult to accomplish as she had to raise herself, and her back was really not in the mood for stressful work. With her wrists bound in front of her, however, she could do little things like scratch her nose when it itched, and she was unreasonably grateful for this.

  The night passed in a dark haze. Her head ached and after a while it was hard to tell up from down. Occasionally she fell asleep, only to wake in confusion and disorientation. A soft voice whispered in the background of pleasure and obedience, but she could barely hear it and had no idea if it was even real.

  The lights woke her as they flickered on, and she was confused through her headache to see the room was upside down. She blinked at it but it failed to change about. She was lowered to the floor and lay limp, staring at the ceiling, feeling extremely light-headed.

  While she lay there Richardson produced a pair of leather sleeves. He bent her legs back one at a time, as they had been the previous evening, and then slid one sleeve up past her knees. It grew tighter as he tugged it up, and in the end had her feet jammed back against her thighs.

  ‘Wha… what are you doing?’ she asked fearfully.

  He produced a pair of odd leather mittens and pulled them on over her hands. They had no fingers, not even thumbs, and her hands were forced into fists as he tugged them down around her wrists and then buckled them in place. Then the other sleeve was placed around her arms, cocooning them tightly.

  ‘Stop it,’ she said feebly.

  A moment later her hair, in a loose ponytail, was lifted and pulled through a coin-sized opening in the top of a leather hood, which he smoothed over her head.

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ she complained. ‘And I’m hungry.’

  Richardson ignored her, and the hood was tightened beneath her chin. There were no eyeholes and she was cut off from her surroundings as a collar slipped around her throat, then two determined fingers pinched in at the sides of her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. Something was then carefully placed inside – a plastic ring of sorts that kept her mouth open.

  Now her protests were mere whimpers and faint grunts, and she made more of them as pain bit her nipples, even while recognising the clips that bit into her tender flesh. Strong hands flipped her onto all fours, on her elbows and knees. Then she felt something between her buttocks, probing her anus, and a small ball was pushed inside. Her sphincter closed behind it, cosseting the intruder snugly. Something long and soft was now protruding from between her buttocks, and as she moved a fraction what felt like a main of hair brushed against her thighs.

  A small clip was fastened to her clitoris, but it was quite weak in comparison to those dangling from her nipples, and provided only mild discomfort.

  ‘Come, we’ll get you something to drink,’ she heard, and felt a surge of relief as he guided her by the leash he had attached to her collar. She crawled blindly, turning as the leash pulled, halting when he directed.

  ‘There’s a bowl of water right in front of you,’ Richardson said.

  She lowered her head, her lips searching, and knocked against the side of the bowl. Her chin plunged into the cool liquid and she used her tongue catlike to quench her thirst.

  That need satisfied, her stomach rumbled demandingly and she raised her head blindly.

  ‘Want something to eat, do you?’ he goaded, and Gwen nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘But how do you expect to eat when you can’t chew?’

  She had no answer to that, her mind not quite up to solving problems yet, but Richardson solved it by feeding her a thin but tasty soup through a straw.

  Once replenished the leash guided her again, and she guessed they had returned to the little torture room.

  ‘Back up a little,’ Richardson ordered, and she obeyed, her vulnerable pussy making contact with something she quickly recognised as a vibrator. The nose of it rested lightly just within her, and she felt its intense vibrations beginning to excite her.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he said, and left her alone once again.

  Gwen tested her bonds experimentally. She had no hands with which to undo buckles or snaps. She tried crawling a little way forward but yelped and backed up instantly; it seemed he had fastened the chain attached to her clitoris clip to something behind her.

  She could, however, move backwards a little, sliding her pussy slowly down the length of the vibrator until it was buried inside her. The vibrator was oddly shaped, having a smaller round nub pushing down and forward near its base so as to press directly against her clitoris. Despite her predicament she ground herself against it experimentally
, and then with growing excitement as it set her clitoris pulsing deliciously.

  What was there to think about but base animal instincts, after all? Nothing else seemed to matter any more. Food, water, pleasure. What else was worth thinking about? What else could she have?

  She ground herself wantonly against it, slowly riding back and forth along the length of the thing, her mind thinking only of the pleasure filling her body as she trembled and sighed.

  So tired was she that she came quietly, sighing blissfully through the strange gag, her insides melting as she sagged weakly while the orgasm faded…

  Why was she there, naked and chained like an animal, degrading herself and waiting for Richardson to return and degrade her further?

  A sound made her flinch just as a hand slipped between her legs, and a moment later she felt pressure on her collar.

  ‘Come,’ Richardson ordered.

  Gwen eased forward carefully but found herself no longer chained in place, and followed him again on her elbows and knees.

  ‘Keep that backside high,’ he instructed as they moved, his requirements accompanied by a sharp stinging snap of a strap across her buttocks that made her yelp.

  She heard the murmur of voices ahead and they turned, then went down a step into what she knew was the front room.

  ‘Hell!’ a male voice exclaimed. ‘You really know how to keep your women in their place, don’t you?’

  ‘Certain types of women,’ Richardson replied.

  ‘Lovely body…’ another voice enthused, and beneath the hood Gwen blushed furiously with embarrassment and excitement. She was grateful to the hood for the element of anonymity, and for preventing her from seeing their eyes. And then she gasped as a male hand groped her breasts.

  ‘Very nice,’ a voice said, close by.

  She thought there were three of them, not counting Richardson, but could only identify them when they spoke.

  Gwen knew she was a sex slave. But the words were strangely comforting, somehow easing her humiliation and rousing the fire in her belly. Yes, she was a sex slave to the despicable men, their helpless prisoner, unable to resist their filthy desires and lusts. She formed that image in her mind and felt the heat grow, felt herself begin to exult in the demeaning and degrading words they spat at her.

  ‘You’re asking too low a price,’ she heard, and then her collar was tugged and she crawled forward, around in a slow circle, and then another swipe on her bottom from the strap made her jerk sharply.

  ‘Keep that ass high,’ Richardson ordered.

  ‘Nice tail on her,’ someone commented.

  Fingers pushed into her sex, first two, then three, and a hand slapped her bottom.

  ‘Spread them wider,’ a coarse voice ordered.

  Someone then gripped her ponytail, using it to force her head up and back, and she felt the spongy warmth of a man’s cock pushing through the ring that held her mouth open and sliding across her tongue. It pumped in and out a few times then thrust smoothly into her throat. Hands groped her breasts, roughly pinching her nipples and tugging on the weights.

  Whoever was behind her tired of merely using his fingers and thrust his erection into her with a masculine grunt of satisfaction. She felt him penetrate the soft moist folds of her sex to drive deeply into her.

  Hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as a hairy groin pummelled her bottom, agitating the ball lodged just inside her rear passage. Then the stranger eased back and pulled her to meet his next flurry of thrusts.

  Meanwhile the cock in her throat was pumping rapidly in and out, the hand gripping her hair tugging as if to emphasise the man’s power over her, while a hand she presumed was his roughly mauled her breasts.

  She caught snatches of sneering conversation between them, but her mind was failing to really grasp the meaning of their words.

  Words weren’t really important – not unless they were commands…

  Chapter 13

  The man was Japanese. He was stout and white-haired, and fairly old.

  Gwen did not know who he was or his name. He had entered the room alone, smiling down at her as she lay in the cage, then unlocked it and ordered her out in a surprisingly gentle voice. He removed the leather restraints around her wrists and ankles, brushing her hair back from her face with his fingers as he smiled down at her.

  The ropes he held were quite thick, but soft and flexible.

  He smiled as he saw her eyes moving anxiously over the long lengths. ‘Rope,’ he said, and when she looked up at him he smiled. ‘Rope is what a true artist works with. Rope can be shaped by a true artist’s imagination.’

  He took her wrist and carefully looped the rope around it several times. She watched as he laid each one perfectly alongside the next until six neat loops were wrapped around her slender wrist. He turned her gently, a single finger pressed against her shoulder, and lifted her arm up behind her, raising it higher and higher until she gasped with discomfort. He lowered it then, his fingers kneading and massaging her shoulder and upper arm, then began to raise it in slow, gentle pumping motions until her quivering fingers were almost touching the back of her neck.

  He brought the rope over her shoulder and down between her breasts, looping it back up beneath her right breast then around the other side, drawing it back over her shoulder again. Lifting her other wrist up, he again worked it higher and higher then tied it in place and brought the rope across her other shoulder. As before it looped up beneath and around her left breast, so that now both were somewhat constricted. The rope returned over her shoulder and dropped down her back, then he began to massage her shoulders once again, and drew the rope around her arms and bent to force her elbows back together.

  This was more difficult, but he was patient, and her hurting did not seem to bother him. He shushed her and cooed gently as he slowly forced them together, then looped the rope twice around her front, once just above her breasts pushing down, and once just below pushing up.

  He tied the loops off behind her then let the rope drop down between her buttocks. A deft hand reached between her legs and pulled it through, then up to her belly. There a finger held it in place while the rope slipped sideways around her waist, then returned to tie off. It circled her waist again, then dropped between her legs and pulled up tight, then tighter, then agonisingly tight, digging between her labia and crushing up into her sex, grinding against her clitoris as he tied the loops off behind her.

  Double loops slipped around her thighs, knees and calves and ankles in a figure eight pattern, binding her legs tightly together. Then smaller vertical loops pinched each of them tight.

  Finally, apparently pleased, he stepped back to admire his work.

  ‘Simple, but effective, until we get to my place,’ he mused, with a sparkle in his eyes.

  Another rope went over her head then down beneath her jaw, pulling tight. It circled several times, then twisted and went horizontally around her head, over her eyes so that she could not see, and then over her mouth, prising between her lips.

  She heard him say, ‘Take her,’ and was lifted across someone’s shoulder, then carried out of the room. Eventually she sensed rather than heard the hush of the sliding doors, and then felt the lift sinking. The cold outside air kissed her skin, then warmth enveloped it again as she was placed into a vehicle of some kind.

  During the short journey she heard his voice again, talking to someone, and then she was lifted out of the car and carried down a flight of steps. Then she was settled down on some kind of soft rug.

  ‘Now we have more time,’ she heard him say.

  The loops of rope were slowly and carefully removed from her body, starting with those around her head. She was in a room with a low ceiling, stone walls and no windows. There were several squat tables and sturdy chairs set about, as well as a pair of large chests and an antiq
ue desk.

  He laid her back on one of the low tables and began to ensnare her with rope once again. This time he used different thicknesses and meticulously laid the rope in an intertwining pattern of circles and loops that constricted her flesh. Her breasts were encircled carefully, the man paying great care to squeeze them to the exact degree of firmness. Then much thinner cord crossed her breasts, going from one side to the other, then back again. He plucked at her nipples, and then twisted the thin cord in tightly so that the erect pink buds were caught between the two taut cords.

  Two more cords crossed vertically, again pressing in together against the sides of her nipples. He spent a great deal of time, loosening and tightening until perfectly satisfied all was as he wanted it.

  The rope was fed down between her legs once more, and then he tied a thin length of cord to its end.

  ‘Hyzala fibre,’ he whispered. ‘From the jungles of Paraguay. Very resilient – very elastic.’

  Gwen had yet to say anything. It seemed she had fallen out of the habit of speaking, for some reason. She had spent several days on her knees and elbows at the mercy of others, only really allowed to speak when spoken to, and punished whenever she spoke without being given permission. During that time she had been used by many, often spanked or switched before others. She had grown used to keeping her eyes submissively downcast, unwilling to meet their looks of contempt, and keeping her mouth shut.

  The man tied a small loop in the chord as he laid it along her body, and his fingers spread her pussy open, easing aside her tender clitoris. His fingers stroked her there as he cooed, and her clit began to swell with desire. Then the loop was slipped around it and tightened before he pulled the cord down and up between her buttocks. There it met another loop of rope, which travelled up the length of her back to tie up around her shoulders.

  He eased her off the table and onto her feet, then smiled as he had her straighten up, and then smiled anew as she gasped and bent forward to try to ease the discomfort, then he reached behind her, seizing her hair and pulling, the vicious tug on her scalp forcing her to straighten again and the ropes dug into her shoulders, into her pussy, and pulled the elastic cord around her clitoris even tighter.