Having It All

by Jurgen von Stuka

  While he was away on the hiking trip, Frank had placed Ellen in somewhat similar accommodations and used a unique locking device that stretched both cunt and asshole to increasingly wider diameters. The cleverly designed double plug actually locked in place so that nothing went in or out of the dual apertures. Its double hoses were connected to compressed air regulators that periodically increased the pressure in the plugs’ rubber bladders, swelling their interior size and filling the spaces for various periods of time, then retracting to a slightly lesser volume, giving the wearer a brief respite before swelling again. Both the interiors and the circular muscles surrounding the openings were thus nicely stretched by the time Frank returned and even with the enemas and liquid diet, Ellen was desperate to relieve herself. Frank had given her time to recover a bit, but insisted that the holes be kept stretched and open until he once again required her to lie across his knees and administered new enemas, a massive vaginal flushing and the necessary thrashing with the carpet beater. Thus, it was a bright red and seared ass that Ellen presented to Frank for the final penetration, first by hand and then with the huge plug. Her pussy was fully stretched as well and occupied by a combination inflatable and vibrating dildo of similarly massive proportions.

  Ellen’s feet were permanently clamped into metal pumps with six inch spiked heels held in place with locking metal bands over the instep and around the ankle. Her knees were clamped to the metal bench, with the bands going around her lower thighs and also just below the knee. A wide metal belt held her waist to the flat back of the cubicle and additional bands of steel above and below her tormented breasts pressed her back against the wall. Her posture collar, also fastened to the wall behind her, held her hooded chin in an upraised position and restricted any sideways or up and down movement. Ellen was immobile in every respect. Even her toes could not move because of the confines of the steel shoes and her fingers were sealed into carbon fiber gloves that were inside the sleeves of the jacket.

  The jacket was custom fabricated and differed from most strait jackets because it bound her arms behind her, not crossed in front. It fit like her own skin, allowing no slack, once the arm straps were pulled tight and locked.

  All of this should have provided enough entertainment for even Ellen, but there was more. She knew, because she had specified each article of restraint, every item of her discomfort, months before.

  From the junction box on the left wall of the cubicle a multitude of wires sprouted and led to various parts of Ellen’s anatomy. Instead of being connected with metal clips, the wire ends were plugged into terminal fittings that had been inserted under the skin and sutured in place. The wires led to each already tormented, ringed and stretched nipple, to both of her vaginal lips and clit, to her entombed tongue inside the gag and hood, and, of course, to complete the session, to both the vaginal and anal plugs in her crotch. A wide range of electrical stimuli could be provided by these connections and they were applied at opportune moments when Ellen’s attention to other refinements seemed perhaps to wane a bit. A few seconds’ low amperage jolt to her nipples elicited a snort through the hood’s breathing holes and a jiggle of her tits, as well as a vain attempt to lift her similarly shocked ass off the metal seat. Inside the strait jacket, she pulled and wiggled her arms in great, but useless efforts to somehow avoid the additional shocks to her tongue and rectum.

  Slowly, continuously, Ellen experienced the discipline that she and Frank planned long ago as her final session before the estate was broken up and the guests sold off. She knew what this all meant and prepared herself for whatever came next. She was pretty sure that the estate had now been sold, all assets liquidated and the guests already essentially the property of other “persons of interest,” as they referred to them when the plan was first hatched. The funds that changed hands were not in U.S. banks and Ellen knew that sooner or later, Frank would take a trip to multiple destinations, slowly changing his identification and appearance so that he would just seem to fade away into oblivion. She also suspected that one of the cute young things that recently inhabited one of the basement cells would accompany Frank for awhile, until he finally sold her off as well and moved on, deeper into his new cover and able to access the millions that had been stashed away in various foreign banks under assumed identities. Since the buyers of the camp were all foreigners, no money ever even passed through the U.S. in any form. The goods that were sold, except for the estate, were not identified in any way, so the final transactions remained covert and secure. Somewhere, in some foreign financial center, perhaps in Singapore or Shanghai or Brunei, the millions would slowly trickle into accounts that no one knew or cared about, waiting for the new version of Frank to access them.

  Ellen sat in her closet and imagined the future. She was pleased that she had brokered her own fate, whatever it was to be. “Everything is a transaction,” she recited mentally to herself.

  Complicity

  A Consensual, BDSM Romance

  Preface

  Have you ever wished that one of your dreams would actually come true? Have you wondered if there might be another place where the things you wished for were reality?

  As both an observer and participant in the BDSM scene for more than thirty years, I remain astonished at the range of variations our minds create as we try to find new applications for old fantasies. The fulfillment of dreams is certainly one venue.

  This story admittedly has a very thin plot: a young woman has erotic dreams that, once discovered by her boy friend, seem to fit in with her real life experiences.

  Sandy is a sub, a masochist of the first magnitude. She wants to try almost everything, but conscious and social restraints, (no pun here), keep her in an endless circle of auto bondage and stimulating dreams. When she discovers that she can actually experience some of her dream fantasies while safe and secure in her own residence, the possibilities become nearly endless.

  Enhancing this seemingly ideal situation is an extended visit by her sister, Meg, and her lesbian partner, Remmy. All three women happily unite in a continuum of erotic indulgences.

  Bottom line: if you seek a complex plot and in-depth characters, this is not your book. But, if you want enjoyably close exposure to day-to-day erotic experiences, this is the place for you. Nothing ponderous here about who did what to whom and why. No tangled motives, no difficult-to-grasp situations. If you seek literary distractions based on non-consensual BDSM, you have come to the wrong place. Everyone in this story is totally committed and willing to try almost anything. And therein lies the fun and pleasure of it all. Being bound in rope or chains is only fun and enjoyable if you desire it. If you do not wish to be someone else's bottom, you should not open that door. The uninitiated among the general population who, on the politically correct side, feign distaste and condemnation for B&D are, as is often discovered, those same people who secretly indulge in the very practices they claim to condemn.

  In Complicity everyone participates because they want to. What a shame that the doublespeak detractors of such behavior can't behave the same way.

  Chapter One

  The Vikings

  From his command position in the stern of the vessel, Magnar divided his time and attention among three things: Lonad, his navigator with his mysterious sliver of metal that pivoted and swung on its sharpened pin, always pointing towards the frigid regions; Balmuth, the steerer, nearly always at the rudder; and Sandra, his latest English captive, bound, gagged and chained by her long, elegant neck to a deck ring at his feet.

  Sandra was a fine trophy to bring home, but Magnar's crew was still restive from the quick and easy, one-sided battle on the island coast and he caught some men casting jealous glances his way, staring at this dark-haired, full-breasted prize with the chain around her neck and the leather thongs cutting into the fine, pale skin of her wrists and ankles. She twisted and tossed about on the hard wooden deck of the single-masted long ship, making strange sounds from behind her rawhide gag that cruelly split her r
ed mouth. She knew what this man from the distant shores of icy Northland was going to do to her and she felt a mixture of fear and longing. She feared the coming life as his slave in a foreign place and she longed for what she hoped would be continuous bondage, always chained or tied, always offered as a sexual gift to strangers, always available to a man with a whip or a cane.

  She knew the stories handed down by the village elders and imagined the combination of pain and excitement she would soon feel with her bound arms embracing the harsh, weathered thickness of the old ceremonial mast erected on the outskirts of the small Viking village. They would gag her with the tattered remnants of her own remaining underwear and tie her cruelly to the old mast: arms and legs roped and pulled around the rough, hard surface with its deep carvings and old, discolored paintings. It would be an unpleasant position to endure. She fantasized that it would be as though she was engaging in sex with the painted cravings on the pole. Throughout the sea voyage, she experienced, with increasing anxiety the daily training sessions inflicted upon her by this long-haired, bearded giant. She endured the multiple cuts and bruises that rose swollen from her fair skin as the brutal lash criss-crossed her soft back and buttocks. She only tacitly resisted, thrashing about while the ship's crew took their turns at teasing her and she secretly longed for more of the rigorous beatings inflicted while she was bound with her hands high over her head and toes a few feet off the deck, her ankles tied to keep her from kicking. Accepting more than resisting her fate, she writhed and struggled hopelessly against the bindings that now held her, her naked breasts and belly pressed to the rough and splintered surface of the deck at Magnar's booted feet. She knew that a worse fate awaited her once she was carried ashore and chained to the slave pole, high on a fjord cliff, above the swirling mists and icy waters.

  Few slaves ever escaped from the Vikings, but Sandra knew by heart the thrilling tales of one woman who, it was said, had been a captured slave and then was mysteriously released by the Norseman Prince after several months of bondage, endless sex and servitude in his village. It had been something of a trade, the town myth went, with the dark and bearded royal from the North landing near the settlement, bringing his slave up the beach and tying her to a leafless tree, then raiding the town and taking away three of the youngest women. As they were led back to the ship, their eyes covered with long strips of cloth torn from their garments, mouths stuffed with the small fabric bags full of salty sand, and their wrists and arms tightly bound behind them, they passed the returned slave. They could not see her, but they heard her moans and whimperings as they passed. She was tied naked, suspended by her hands from the branch high overhead, swinging in the strong north wind. She made only small, pitiful sounds, but the many new and old stripes on her legs, breasts, back and belly provided ample evidence of the trials she had suffered. It was said that she had pleasured her Viking Master so well that he had eventually agreed to return her to her home. And so, the involuntary, one-sided trade was made and three village virgins were substituted for her.

  That was a year or more ago and now it was Sandra who was the new captive and it was she who was headed, she knew, towards a fate that she dreaded, but also, in her mind, had sought ever since she saw the bound woman in the tree.

  “Perhaps that might be me,” she thought.”Perhaps he'll tie me and ravage me and whip me when he feels like it. Perhaps, I can serve as his slave and he as my master.” Sandra had dared to dream of this future. Now it was the present.

  The digital alarm clock on the table next to the bed went off with an endless electronic bleating and Sandy opened her eyes and slowly climbed out of the vivid and so realistic dream. Unconsciously, she rubbed her rope-bruised wrists and wondered if it was, in fact, only a dream.

  Chapter Two

  Meeting

  Sandy was, as usual, late for work, but since she was a volunteer and her family was a consistently top-drawer contributor of needed cash gifts to the museum, no one said anything to her. It had been a monumentally exhausting night for her. The moment she came home from work, checked her phone messages and made a quick salad for her dinner, Sandy plunged into her other world. The featured paraphernalia of the evening was a long coil of hemp rope that she ordered on line and was anxious to try out. Using the illustrations from a book she often read and studied, Sandy arranged all of the gear she would need, took a quick shower and began the ritual binding that would, if it worked out, encompass her entire naked body and secure her for the night. With each loop around her body, each knot tied just so, she used the doubled length of rope to create a body-enveloping net of coarse hemp. She discovered that although the book was not written for self-bondage practitioners, it did not point out that once she had wrapped her upper torso in a symmetrical pattern of rope, it would be extremely difficult to bend enough to extend the rope enclosure to below her waist. After multiple attempts to proceed further, Sandy painstakingly removed the torso rope and started once again, this time beginning with her ankles and working upward, encircling her shins and calves, then her knees, then her narrow thighs. When she got to her crotch, she again studied the book's instruction, threading the doubled rope through her legs and bringing it up the buttock divide, then wrapping it around her waist and again taking the double strands between her legs. She carefully separated the four ropes so that two were snugly inside her pussy and the other two on the outside of her lips, making a stimulating and symmetrical pattern before she finished that segment behind her back, leaving a special slip proof loop for her hands later.

  Sandy then decided that perhaps a couple of self starting dildoes might help, so she hopped over to her dresser, selected two from the many in her drawers and lubricated them to her satisfaction. At times in her erotic self-disciplined life, Sandy purposely avoided using lubricants on the objects she used to penetrate her own cunt and ass. Her rationale for electing this often painful alternative was to simulate being raped by parties she imagined in her dreams or fantasies. But, in this case, she used the chosen assist from something called SlipperySlip, and thus the two automated dongs went in easily, bypassing the tight rope barriers she had already erected. Once inside, they settled in, giving her an occasional jolt on a random schedule that she was pretty sure would last, because of the recently charged batteries, intermittently, all night.

  The binding of her upper torso took longer and she struggled to set the various rope segments so that she would later be able to slip her arms into them and have the ropes draw tight, holding her captive in the most pleasant fashion. As the rope patterns rose up to her chest, Sandy again consulted the book's text, seeking the options offered, based on the size of one's breasts and how much tension the subject would/could withstand. She chose the most extreme, which involved a series of rope loops around her chest, above and below her tits, with locking knots on either side of each breast and another in the center cleavage. This system put pressure on her chest, affected her breathing and squashed her more than adequate tits horizontally, forcing the nipples forward and creating a shiny, pear-shaped form for each breast. Knotting this portion of rope securely, Sandy installed the remaining rope over her shoulders and then, with great care, around her neck using a knot that would prevent the neck loops from tightening. The full-length mirror in her bedroom provided Sandy with an erotic view of her bound figure and she was already panting slightly from the full body stimulation caused by the meters and meters of hard rope wound around her figure, cutting into her cunt and forcing her tits outward with the nipples hard and pointing.

  Her final moves were calculated to allow her to get into the bed, snap an external rope attached to the bottom of the steel bed frame to her rope-bound feet and connect another rope already attached to the headboard to her chest web. The other necessary move was to slip the leather discipline hood over her head, close the laces and zippers and make sure that she could breathe easily with it in place. Inside the hood was a breather's gag, which filled her mouth, but allowed air to move freely through th
e center of the hard rubber ball gag.

  With the foot and chest retainer ropes locked in place, she tested to see how much movement she had allowed herself and was pleased to conclude that once she slipped her arms down into the torso network of rope and secured her wrists behind her, she would a have very little latitude for movement. She also knew that based on the tension and pattern of the ropes, certain movements would tighten segments of the rope in her crotch and around her breasts, eventually bringing the thrilling sexual spasms she craved.