Having It All

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “Right. And…” Sandy stopped.

  “Yes? What?”

  “Well, I think we need some sort of safety for this kind of thing. Since we both tend to self bind, we need a sure fire escape system.”

  “I agree. The physical aspect is not really too difficult, but the psychological elements are tougher.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you just pointed out that from the start, what was really getting you off was the prospect that you could not get free. You had lost control and that turned the heat up even higher than the usual self-torture kind of like whipping yourself with a soggy rag, knowing that it's not going to do much.”

  “But what about a physical safety net?”

  “For one thing, having a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters nearby is a pretty good remedy. In an emergency, we cut the chains. It takes, as you well know, considerable force to make them work, but they are more or less foolproof.”

  “I'm not sure that I could have gotten the leverage if I had them. I would rather have access to extra keys, at least for the critical restraints.”

  “Right. However, even if you have keys, they take time and effort too, as you discovered. Another good safety is using snap hooks and not locks.”

  “How is that going to help?”

  “If you had used a snap hook on your ankles instead of a padlock, you could have released it when you pulled your feet up behind you. Same for the pulley chain to ankle connection. Same for the pulley chain to the wrist cuffs. By using these in critical places, you leave yourself multiple outs. Another item you probably haven't used is the quick release connectors like we have for the pony training area.”

  “You mean those things with the sliding spring release on one end and the hole on the other?”

  “Yeah. They're intended to let you release tension even when there's great stress on the chain. They work really well.”

  “I get it. I need to think about that. Is the safety factor going to mitigate the excitement level?”

  “Consider the alternatives. If the nails hadn't pulled out of the rafter, you might have spent the weekend there and that would not have been pretty. If you are going to tie yourself up when you are alone, you must weigh the chances of someone releasing you if you get, as you did, hung up.”

  “Amen. I agree. But next time, give me more notice that you aren't coming home,” said Sandy, looking Jim straight in the eye. “And, by the way, the same goes for you.”

  “The same what?”

  “I will make sure I let you know my plans well in advance.”

  “Yes. I agree. If you had taken your cell phone to the cellar, you at least would have known I called to tell you I was off on an emergency overnight trip.”

  “True. But I couldn't have answered it.”

  “That's another good idea there. We should follow up any voice mail with a text. Both of our phones roll out texts as soon as they are received. You could have read the screen, assuming it was before you put on the hood.”

  “Ok. Good safety measures. And I am going to take extra care next time,” Sandy said.

  “Absolutely. Auto bondage fans, take note,” Jim said with his broadcast announcer voice. “Miss Sandy can tell you from her bitter experience that you should not chain yourself in the cellar without having an escape plan.”

  “Ha, Ha,” giggled Sandy. “And don't tell me it hasn't happened to you.”

  “No, you are right,” said Jim, putting out his cigar. “But that's another story.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Inquisition

  The woman in the iron cage couldn't possibly be her, Sandrella thought, viewing the entire scene as though it was appearing to her on a screen or mirror instead of the way it actually was with her being a live participant. But there she was, locked helplessly in this iron enclosure that wrapped dozens of thick metal bands around every part of her naked body. Her hands were behind her back, locked together with a single metal cuff/band that held the wrists tightly together. Her elbows were fastened the same way. Both arms were pressed hard against her back by the cage's bands. Her legs and ankles bore similar cuffs, which were quite unnecessary because the pressure from the cage bands was so intense that each of its many bands pressed deep into her flesh, indenting the skin and muscle so that there were so many pain/pressure points on her body that they created one solid mass of discomfort. To finish the degradation and hopelessness of her situation, she wore an expanded pear-shaped gag in her mouth, held in place by yet another cage band across her lower face. Above that, there was a final metal band that clasped her head in a viselike tension, restricting any head movement.

  Designed as a long-term interrogation and punishment device, the body cage hung in the fetid dungeon room, suspended from the high, vaulted dome in the ceiling on a rusted chain. They lowered the cage from time to time to give her a drink of stinking, foul water and a few crumbs of bread smeared with some pork grease. Then they hoisted her back up again.

  She dozed in the cage.

  From below, the Questioner spoke again to her.

  “Sandrella, you are a wicked, corrupt slut. Your soul, such as it is, is already damned to an eternity in hell, where you shall suffer the torments of fire being applied to every part of your sinful body forever. Do you now confess to the aberrations in which you have indulged?”

  Sandrella tried to shake her head slightly, as she had been doing each day for as long as she could remember, but the increased pressure from the head and gag band prohibited even a twitch. The best she could do was a grunt from behind the expanded thing in her mouth. He throat was stone dry and all that came out was a muffled croak that sounded like a choking frog's midnight last gasp. She was neither a slut nor a witch, but it was clear that she would spend the rest of her life in this cage or someplace worse, unless she confessed. Over many weeks, they had whipped her until she bled and collapsed. She endured two sessions on the strapado and thought that her shoulders and arms would never recover. The boot nearly broke the bones in her feet, but the Questioner wanted her body intact. So, just as the screws were being tightened to the bone-breaking point, he stopped the procedure and sent her to the stone coffin where the slow dripping water torture had also failed to elicit any admission of guilt. She now knew that they, her accusers, were mixing in a different sort of interrogation, one that would have sexual elements beyond anything she had considered. A few days before, they bound her straddling a kind of railing with its serrated metal edge driving deep into her instantly aching crotch. She was tied with a rope around her neck that was pulled backwards and fastened to the end of the rail and another rope from the noose on her neck pulled her forward. Her arms were bound with yards of coarse rope, from shoulders to wrists, the elbows tightly compressed and shoulders forced back, making her tits stand out obscenely between the coils of rope, as her inquisitors wanted them to. The flails were used periodically to keep her nipples hard and rigid. Beneath her, her ankles were tied wide apart to a heavy iron bar and additional weights were added periodically to the bar, pulling her into greater agonized contact with the rail.

  “For greater effectiveness,” said the Questioner, the head cleric who supervised these special hearings from a gilded chair placed close enough so that he could observe her suffering and hear her responses. “…the iron rail you are perched upon will be slowly heated. I suspect that at some point, you will feel that warmth despite what must already be considerable discomfort on that private space between your legs and the center of your filth, midway between your asshole and your cunt.”

  Sandrella merely moaned as they jammed a huge brass funnel between her teeth and fastened it there with leather bindings around her head and neck. The first jug of foul-smelling water was poured endlessly into the funnel. Sandrella swallowed, having no other choice except to drown. She sputtered and choked as the second and then third jugs were poured.

  “I have great patience,” said the man in the long, black cloak and cowled hood. �
��I can wait forever, but I want to save your tormented soul, so today we are graciously providing you with some additional encouragement. The water will fill your belly and, thanks to your purging diet, work its way quickly down through your body. Just about the time when the rail is too hot to tolerate, you will be able to evacuate your bowels and bladder and cool the rail. In time, you'll learn to coordinate your body functions to the heat. It may take awhile, but we have plenty of time. The sequence will repeat itself endlessly or until we run out of water. Then you'll go back into your cage for a short rest. Tomorrow, if you are still here, more entertainment will follow.”

  ***

  “Let her down,” the inquisitor shouted on the following afternoon. He instructed the hooded, bare-chested torturers who stood at the hand winch to turn slowly and lower the hanging cage carefully. The winch creaked and the cage descended. They threw many buckets of freezing water on Sandrella, first to get her wide-awake and also to rinse off the filth that was accumulating below her in the cage and on the stone floor below. Now at eye level with the Questioner, Sandrella shuddered from the chill of his eyes and from the cold water bath.

  “Remove the mouth plug,” he ordered. The torturers unfastened the twin loops of chain that held a cork plug in her mouth and kept her jaws spread. “Will you confess?” he asked for the fiftieth time. She shook her head.

  “I have done nothing. I am innocent,” she wheezed.

  “We shall see,” the cowled man said with a scowl. “We shall see. Fix her, then put her back up there,” he said, gesturing to the high dome above. Then he turned his back and left the room.

  The two torturers assembled their equipment, then unlocked and opened the three confining bands that held her arms pressed to her back and enclosed her hips. One band was across her ass, pressing her hips forward against the front bands of the cage. The second band was below, even with her sex. The third band opened in front, also exposing her crotch. Obviously, they were again going to do something terrible to her sex, she thought as she shifted her banded wrists and elbows. Sandrella closed her eyes as the men began to tamper with her privates which had been already sore and blistered by the earlier session on the heated rail. A thin, flat metal bar was inserted between her tightly closed thighs and she felt something projecting from the bar brush the soft and damaged skin at the very top of her legs as it pushed aside her singed hair and nestled at the entrance to her pussy. With one man behind and one in front, they eased the bar upwards, using their rough fingers to pry apart the lips of her sex and her rounded buttocks to force the cold, hard cap of the first extended metal penis into her cunt. Sandrella grunted and then cried out as the thick phallus entered and drove deep into her cunt. The pain was so intense that for a moment she didn’t even realize that a similar prong was being forced into her rectum. The surprise and double shock made her scream all the more loudly and the men chuckled as they continued to raise the bar until it rested flush with her pelvis, the twin dongs set deep inside her. They closed the cage bands, the one on the front first and then the ones behind, setting the crotch bar on top of each and thus elevating it so that her weight rested on the bar and the probes it held.

  “Not a bad saddle to ride for awhile,” one tormentor said in Italian, a language that she knew well although she had never been to school. “You will tire of this in time,” he said, breathing garlic breathe into her ear as he rebound the chain gag into her aching mouth. “In time, you will beg to confess, but it may be awhile until he comes back. He is very busy. Meanwhile, you can piss and shit around these little obstructions, resting quietly on the angled bar.”

  The cage bands were all relocked, the chain gag checked to make sure it pulled her cheeks well back and drove the hard cork plug far back into her throat, the head band and the one over the gag were closed and the cage was winched back up into the smoke and mist of the dome. Sandrella reflected on how long she might last before telling them anything they wanted to know. It could take days or weeks of standing, doubly impaled on this sharply angled metal bar that already threatened to cut her in half. The cliché that those in her secret society often voiced came to her as she suffered in the cage: They might break her body, but her soul remained intact.

  But her real concern was not for her soul or her future. She was so stimulated by the additional torments to her sex and ass that she thrashed and struggled endlessly, trying to find a way, some way, to relieve the waves of climbing ecstasy. She reveled in the tight confinement of her cage. She found the double prongs up her cunt and ass to be endless stimulants that would not allow any release, no matter how she tried. True, by slowly flexing her internal muscles and slightly rotating her bound hips and grinding the pointed bar into her already bruised crotch, she could embrace the intruders, flexing her inner muscles and getting a weak orgasm from the action. But real release would not be hers and she shuddered to think of how long she might have to wait before they accepted her confession, chained her to the blackened stake in the courtyard and burned her alive as a witch.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brank

  “I hope you're having fun with all of this,” Jim said the next morning when he was putting Sandy back into her tub, this time filling it part way with warm soapy water and allowing her to soak away some of the marks and bruises from their recent activity. “After all, keeping you tied up all the time…or, most of the time, is keeping me pretty busy and my work is starting to suffer.”

  “So, what am I supposed to do? I'm your bondage/sex slave. All I can do is lie around and fuck you when you feel like it. Isn't that what girls like me are for?” asked Sandy, laughing so hard she was crying.

  “Well, it's too bad I haven't decided to sell you. There are people on line and elsewhere who would pay big money for you and ask no questions.”

  “Do as you want,” was Sandy's only reply. “Except, I want my gag back,” she added petulantly.

  “Oh, I have a new one for you, honey,” Jim said, smirking as he removed a small package from the linen closet. “You are going to really like this.”

  Jim showed the new toy to Sandy and she shrieked so loud that he ran over to the tub and slammed his hand over her mouth. “You want to wake the neighbors?” he asked.

  “A ant ear,” Sandy said, twisting her head in his hand, trying to remind him that the nearest neighbors were about a half mile away.

  The new device was an elaborate combination discipline hood and steel brank. This was no ordinary brank. It looked formidable and it was. The design was based on a clamshell concept, hinged at the crown of the head and with front and rear sections. The front panel incorporated a frame that fit closely around the nose and allowed for pins to go through rings or piercings in the septum and/or sides of the nostrils. In its most strict form, once the wearer's head was enclosed in the brank, a narrow steel pin was inserted into the side of the nose frame, through the septum or through both nostril piercings and the septum and then locked in place. This arrangement restricted any movement whatsoever and was useful for training recalcitrant slaves and others who were equipped with the necessary piercings. But, the beauty of the device, as Jim often pointed out, was that once a head was captured in the brank, new piercings could be easily accomplished without any concerns about the wearer moving much while the surgery was being performed.

  The same was true for the fittings around each ear. The brank also had earmuffs that were leather over foam pads that provided excellent sound-proofing. If the wearer had ear piercings or rings mounted anywhere on the ears, the brank easily provided for these to be locked to the rear panel.

  The front panel was a masterpiece of ingenuity and sadistic thought. Even if the wearer was lucky enough not to be exposed to the nose restraints, there were plenty more astonishingly perverse features to entertain even the most jaded victim. For instance, a variety of special gag devices could be easily fitted. The most common was a simple light bulb-shaped rubber plug attached to a hinged panel over the mouth. The victim's mou
th was forced open and the bulb stuffed in, then the hinged panel was closed and locked. The brank was snug enough to hold anything in the wearer's mouth, so it functioned as a multiple sensory deprivation device as well as an unpleasant addition to any other bondage. In the purest sense, the wearer could be chained to anything by the ring on the top of the brank and he or she would not be going anywhere.

  Additional optional gags included one that allowed breathing. Another special design featured a stomach tube to allow the victim to be fed without removing the gag. One of Jim's favorite “designer gags”, as he called them, was one that combined the speech-proof rubber ball plug with a bit and a tongue clamp. This item, Jim admitted it was a real ball buster to get into the victim's unwilling mouth, clamped the tongue and held it with a u-shaped bit that pulled the cheeks back, forced the jaws wide apart and plugged the oral cavity with a very large rubber ball. The bit went through the ball and the tongue clamp extended below the bit bar, pushing the tongue down into the lower jaw area. Fitted with this device, the wearer not only could not speak, but had to endure the tongue squeezing and jaw spreading as well. Once the brank was closed and this gag in place, it was the consensus among those who tried it that there would be no resistance forthcoming from the wearer with his/her only objective being to get the thing out of their mouth as soon as possible.

  Another version provided for a bit arrangement, permitting the dom to control the wearer and encourage satisfactory performance with ordinary reins attached to the sides of the bit. A truly effective bit was a spiked spoon, a type that was used only on horses and ponies that were totally uncooperative. Any tension on the reins forced the spoon up against the soft palate, pressing the spikes into that sensitive flesh. A reverse of this type pressed the spikes down into the tongue. Either way, it was an excellent trainer and few subjects failed to cooperate for long.

  The brank had less painful covering for the eyes. Leather and foam- padded inserts allowed for each eye to be shuttered tightly and no light would enter once the pads were closed and locked in place. There was some constant pressure from the pads, but compared to the bits and gags, this was the easy part.