The Couriers

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Marianne, despite her anticipation of the entire plan, was nonetheless surprised and a bit frightened. Other than what Nicholas told her, she had not been informed about how this whole thing would go and now she was having some concerns about exactly whose hands she had allowed herself to fall into and what they would do to her. Her anxiety was heightened by the sophisticated metal bands the captors fitted around her booted ankles and legs, both above and below her knees. They used a similar chromed steel clamp to replace the leather thong securing her upper arms just below her elbows. This elbow band was slowly closed with a sort of ratchet lock until her forearms were parallel to each other and her elbows touched. Marianne’s thin shoulders, pulled beyond what she experienced at the restaurant, screamed in stretched discomfort as the arm clamp closed and locked. The front of her dress was carefully cut open to expose her barely concealed breasts and the expensive, La Perla lace bra that half covered them. She felt the a sharp-nailed finger slide inside the flimsy silk cups of the bra and use a cold metal object to cut a small hole in the cup where the nipple nestled.

  “Your choice in lingerie is both expensive and discerning,” the female voice behind the fingers muttered softly. “What did this little item cost you? About four hundred Euros? Maybe More, hummm?”

  The fingers were withdrawn and the nipples of both breasts obediently popped through the newly cut holes. Then something hard and rough closed painfully onto the extended, pink nipple flesh. She had a sudden realization that they were two common wooden clothespins, the most basic and crudest tool of the B&D practitioner. They firmly snapped around Marianne’s nips. Snug, unbearably tight. She knew the feeling because she had tried clothespins on herself and found them too painful, too cold and hard. She preferred spring clips that had small adjustable set screws to moderate the tension. The clothespins were too harsh, too unrelenting. She struggled, unsuccessfully, against the restraints, whining and mewing like a trapped cat in a cage. The pins held her nipples defiantly. The pressure seemed to keep increasing and there was no relief, no way to get rid of these terrible pinching torments. Marianne held her breath. Involuntarily, her plugged and stuffed ass tried to expel its new tenant. It was not a pleasant feeling. Holding her breath did no good. Finally she exhaled. There was no hope, nothing left to do but to wait and pray that she’d be saved from this unexpected and painful torture. The pain in her breasts slowly subsided. She lay still on the dirt floor of the warehouse. Waiting.

  The metal helmet that went over her head was the final touch. Custom made and molded especially for her after several plaster impressions were made of her head by a sculptor in Geneva, the helmet had been produced and delivered to the people she now faced. The costly, leather-lined device had a variety of features with which Marianne would soon become intimately familiar. Nevertheless, in this instance, the clamshell hood went over her head, was lowered until her face was enclosed and then the rear section closed and locked, forcing her nose into the molded faceplate. The helmet was heavy and she felt the bulk as she tried to move her head. The foam pad over her lower face was pressed hard against her mouth. They braided her long hair and pulled it up and out through the small opening in the top of the rear plate. Twin plastic hoses were inserted into her nostrils and led through openings in the helmet. Marianne breathed cautiously and found that she was getting cooler air even with the annoyingly harsh hoses so far up into her nasal cavity.

  Once the helmet was on and they were assured that she was able to breathe through the nostril hoses, her abductors locked a ten pound iron collar around her neck, fitting it over and around the base of the helmet and thus additionally securing the entire neck-to-crown enclosure. Even if the helmet locks were released, the brutal collar remained, keeping the helmet sealed closed and Marianne’s pulsing head confined silent inside, breathing raggedly as the two captors picked her up and put her in what she thought was probably the boot of the car.

  But the trunk of the Audi wasn’t where they put her. She lay on her side while the man in black forced her clamped legs back and up until the ankle clamp connected with and locked to her extended and clamped wrists, making the position a strict metal hogtie and leaving her no slack to even stretch. The position was completed with a short chain linking the top of her heavy helmet to her painfully clamped elbows. They shortened the chain until her head was pulled back and she had to concentrate on breathing. Only then was the cold metal container enclosing her bowed body slammed closed and she felt and heard the sounds of an engine and movement of the vehicle.

  Still, the worst thing about all of this remained her breasts. The clothespins. Nothing, she thought, hurt more than her compressed and clamped nipples. In time, Marianne would learn that clothespins on the nipples were but a prelude to more clothespins on other sensitive body parts and that the very simplicity of the small wooden pins was part of their painful charm. Simplicity, Marianne was to learn, was often the most effective form of torment.

  In the front seat of the van, Carlton, the black jumpsuit-clad man, drove carefully. He picked up his cell phone as he navigated the exit to the airport and speed-dialed a number.

  Emil Brillcart, answering the call, said nothing and Carlton said only two words: “Contact complete,” then the connection was severed and Carlton concentrated on his driving, noting that Karine was following close behind him in the black Audi.

  Inside the metal crate, Marianne fought to stay conscious. The initial thrill of the capture and heavy restraint was replaced by real fear. She was certain that, given the strictness of her restrains and the total disregard for her needs and specifications, she was in the hands of real slavers and was destined for something far more terrible than the week of what she anticipated would be mild bondage and perhaps some spanking which she had anxiously anticipated and paid for. The multiple telephone discussions and emails had, she thought, been explicit about her limits, and this, she now worried, was not on the menu she agreed upon. Something must have gone terribly wrong, she thought. This was NOT what she signed up for.

  So now, as she hung by her sore wrists inside the long and narrow iron cage suspended from the high overhead beams, Marianne considered that all in all, her captors were doing exactly what she had hoped for, but not what she expected. The cell where she was kept from the day she arrived was something out of a dark and evil fantasy, with its cold and clammy stone walls, the dozens of rusty chains hanging from the walls and high moldy ceiling, the creaking heavy metal door with its peek hole and trapdoor at the bottom for passing food and water, and the silence. Upon arrival, they had used a speculum type device to deflate and remove both of her dildoes. The relief was immeasurable, but was short lived as they fitted her with a more common chastity belt with dual prongs mounted in the crotch. Every two days, this horrible device was removed and she was given an enema to root out what little waste was in her intestine, then the thing was refitted. In the cellars of the old mansion, she was carried into the two-meter square crypt and released from the terrible multiple metal clamps. She was then chained with her hands behind her, wrists attached to a heavy, rusted waist chain with another short length of chain running to her shackled ankles. With this onerous arrangement, she could not fully stretch out in the cell. The same heavy iron collar remained without the helmet and a separate chain led from the collar to the ring on the floor. They positioned her in such a way as she faced the door and could reach, which some effort, the old metal plate that occasionally contained a slice of hard bread and some rib and chicken bones in a thin soup that was periodically pushed through the lower panel of the door. With similar great difficulty, she was able to turn slightly and just reach the sloop bucket where she could, with great difficulty, relieve herself if necessary. This was to be her home while they performed daily surgical operations on her body, piercing her in places that would have been invisible if she were dressed. On one single day, the woman surgeon perforated her nipples, tongue, nasal septum, clitoris and the smooth flesh on either side of her anus. Th
e surgery was carried out with local anesthetic, but when that wore off, Marianne was intimately aware of the degree of body modification they had carried out. Rings of various sizes were inserted into each piercing and an antiseptic gel applied to the incisions three times a day to combat any potential infection. Marianne noted, when her head wasn’t sealed in the hood, that in fact her breasts had been pierced in two different places: the actual nipples bore stainless steel rings that were perhaps an inch in diameter. But behind them, deeply imbedded in the breast tissue outside the areole, were much larger rings. The rings in her nose and tongue were smaller and mostly just annoying, especially when she was gagged and hooded.

  Of course, all of her personal possessions; her jewelry, watch, clothing and mobile phone were long gone. When they eventually opened the confining steel crate and took her out of the van’s disguised compartment, they released only the hogtie of hands to feet, and then cut away her traveling clothing. Her dress and boots were carefully removed and the clamps reattached, but her expensive bra, panties and hose were cut away and destroyed. As they did this, Marianne remembered that she had been told to wear clothes that she would never see again, but in her excitement to more or less live the role she thought she would play, she decided to dress the part of the traveling tart. Tart indeed, for she was now being punished for her evil ways, something she had long dreamed of happening until she found, quite by accident, the web site that began this adventure into torment and agonized submission.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hang Up

  What they were about to do to her, she was certain,

  was explicitly what she had told them they were never to do.

  The hanging cage was diabolically designed to keep its prisoner on her toes not only because of the overhead bondage of her wrists, but also because of a curved, solid bar that ran from front to back between her legs, replacing the chastity belt now and then. The double dildoes mounted in the curved saddle on the bar forced Marianne to stay on her toes as long as she could and then to slowly, reluctantly, ease herself down onto the impossible thickness and length of the twin prongs, feeling them probe deeper and deeper into her body. Gradually lowering herself, she again experienced the mixed thrill and pain as the steel cocks pushed aside internal organs, seeking domination of her cunt and ass until her heels gratefully touched the cage floor and she could try and relax for a few moments. Then, with no warning, she heard the whine of an electric motor and a series of slight clicks. She felt the bar slightly raise itself and she had to raise herself as well or be, as she feared, cut in two by the bar and the double dicks surging slowly further upward. She tried to cry out, to tell the Amazon Queen who delivered such tantalizing punishment and degradation, that this was too much. It was too much, just as the brutal helmet and the shoulder straining elbow clamps she had endured on the first day. But the pear gag was effective. She could breathe slightly through it, but her jaws were stretched wide open, her teeth imbedded in the groves of the pear’s rubber base and her mouth was full. She could only gurgle and whimper as the bar rose another fraction of an inch and Marianne stretched a bit higher, aching feet and toes desperately trying to compensate for the double fucking between her spread legs.

  Her ankles were shackled together, the cuffs joined by a short chain, but also held to the sides of the cage by additional chains shortened with turnbuckles, so that she could neither bring her legs together nor spread them farther apart. This feature made dealing with the rising bar all the more difficult. Of course, she could not see the bar and its invasive accessories, but she felt them. Her elbows overhead were again pulled into close proximity and this uncomfortable connection held her parallel arms in front of her chin, bringing her head back and giving her a view only of things above her. Marianne groaned and tried to stretch a bit higher, her eyes seeing only the domed top of the hanging cage and the chains holding her arms high above her head. Just when she was sure she could not elevate another millimeter, the bar slowly lowered itself and the double dicks slid back a bit, allowing her to lower her heels and breathe rapidly around the gag and through her nose. They kept her there for eight long hours.

  “Are you ready for your punishment?” Karine said when she unlocked the cage door, lowered Marianne’s arms to near her waist and released the side chains to her ankles. This question seemed almost rhetorical, for if she could have talked, Marianne would have commented that she was being punished twenty four hours a day, so what was to follow was probably just an extension of what she had already experienced.

  “I have some new games for you,” Karine said as she unlocked the wrist cuffs, twisted Marianne’s arms behind her and relocked the cuffs, modifying the restraint by attaching a chain from the cuffs up between her shoulder blades to the collar. When this appeared to be a bit too flexible, Karine shortened the chain until Marianne’s hands were splayed, palms out, on her upper back, wrists crossed and all secured to the heavy neck collar.

  “You have been here for a month, so now these new things from The Book are ready for you. Everything up until now has been bland and easy, but we go now to the exercises prescribed by The Book. You remember that, don’t you, my little pig?” Karine added as she slapped Marianne’s freely hanging breasts and attached the short leash to the girl’s heavy collar. With a tug on the leash, she urged her captive to follow.

  Marianne nodded, the expansion key attached to the end of the pear gag rattling a bit as she stepped away from the cage and trailed closely behind Karine as they crossed the frigid stone floor of the dungeon and entered another, small room with the usual chains, staples and rings on the walls, ceiling and floor. However, what got her immediate attention was a pair of thick iron bands hanging, as so many painful things seemed to do in this place, from a chain that attached to a hoist in the ceiling. Each band had its own chain and these mated with the central chain about a foot above the bands. The design of these bands and Karin’s reference to The Book, quickly brought to Marianne’s mind the most likely torment she was about to experience. It was not a pleasant thought. What they were about to do to her, she was certain, was explicitly what she had told them they were never to do. They were going to once again hang her from the overhead by this chain. They would then torture her, probably, as she had heard a few minutes before, with the whip, cat, cane or perhaps all three alternately. But what made her stomach flip and shudder inside her belly was the knowledge that this time, she would be suspended by her breasts.

  “Don’t get too excited quite yet, cunt,” the Amazon said with a sneer. “Make no assumptions. You’ve been here long enough to not dwell in that dangerous nether land of assumptions, based on the recent past. Assuming anything can be most dangerous for you.”

  Marianne wondered what this meant, but was a bit shocked when the heavy hanging chain was not fastened to ropes around her breast, but was attached, with two heavy snap clips, to the newly placed rings in her nipples.

  “Now things are going to get interesting,” Karine said quietly as she pushed her subject into a better position so that a second chain could be lowered and it too clipped into place...on the ring in her clit!

  “My God,” Marianne screamed into the pear gag as she rose up on her toes, trying to relieve the tension and strain on her nipples and clit. “No, no, please. You’ll tear me apart.”

  No one knew what she was saying and no one cared as the twin chains were shortened and Marianne found herself standing again on the tips of her toes, stretched upward horribly by the chains and rings in her three highly sensitive, but equally fragile areas: clit and nips.

  Karine stood back, inspecting her victim and wondering if it was possible for this handsome young woman to survive the night in such a position. To help her decide, Karine attached a heavy steel spreader bar between Marianne’s ankles and listened carefully to the groans and cries coming from behind the gag.

  Thinking about the expanded pear in Marianne’s stretched mouth, Karine decided on yet another addition to the proj
ect before her and took a shining, stainless steel device from a drawer on the wall cabinet. She held the thing up so that Marianne could see it.

  “You know what this is, bitch?” Karine spat.

  Marianne stared at the lethal-looking thing. It was a short metal rod with one end that looked much like the pear in her mouth and the other end with some sort of handle that resembled the twist grip on a motorcycle throttle. Along the length of the rod were drilled holes spaced about an inch apart. Her analysis of the device gave her shudders because she was pretty sure that this monster steel thing was intended to go inside a human body and there were only three places it might possibly go:

  One was her mouth, and Marianne wondered if the present rubber and leather pear would be removed and this frightful object used to replace it.

  The second place was her cunt, and although they had already reamed it out quite thoroughly with a variety of dildoes, Marianne reasoned that this thing might be the next course on the “fucking Marianne” side of her torment menu.

  The third possibility was one she almost immediately rejected, merely because of the thing’s size.

  There is no way that could possible fit up my ass, so it must be going up my cunt, she thought.

  But even so, it would take some doing to get it into the already well-abused and expanded lower, frontal cavity and Marianne was not even willing to contemplate it, especially since the stretching force exerted on her three suspension points was already killing her, the pain being more than she had suffered thus far.

  Karine, taking advantage of the obvious fear and denial she readily saw in her victim’s face, turned and dipped the bright steel object into a nearby jar of the same viscous fluid that Marianne knew was what they used as a lubricant. It had been applied liberally before ramming the multiple dildoes up her cunt in series, each time a larger, fatter, longer one replacing the previous one. For variation, they had tried serrated and ribbed faux dicks, as well as some that, once inside, slowly inflated until her discomfort brought her to near unconsciousness.