Retaliation

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Hank imagined it. He didn’t respond, but at Melinda’s insistence, began trying to insert his privates into the unyielding array of chromed rings. This took some time. When he failed repeatedly to get a different ball into a different ring, She flailed his ass with the bamboo cane. In time, he managed to get it on. It hurt terribly and the final task of enclosing his rampant dick in the separate Eight Rings of Hell extension took all his energy and skill. Then, to further enhance his pain and frustration, he had to “fish” for the recently laser drilled hole that when crosswise in his foreskin and get the pin all the way through it. Properly installed, a small lock was then attached to the end of the pin.

  When it was finished, Hank’s private parts were cleverly contained in the rings that neatly separated his cock from his balls and encircled each ball alone. The cock enclosure was a series of chromed steel rings that began large and ended up smaller, each ring reducing in size and thus squeezing the cock flesh unpleasantly until the last, smallest ring rested just behind the head of his dick. Each ring was connected to the next at the twelve and six o’clock positions, keeping the rings connected, but spaced apart. Hank thought that as an independent sex gadget, it might be fun. Combined as a torturous threesome of cock cage, ball separator and the hellish thing up his ass, the combination were be hellish.

  Hank wondered just how She was going to use the Junk thing, since it was intended to be thrust up inside a vagina and entrap the inner and exterior labia and the clitoris as well.

  He got his answer when Melinda spread his ass cheeks, pulled the Four Ring Circus back between his thighs and slowly inserted the coiled chrome projection of The Junk up his ass. She slipped a heavy rubber sleeve ,like an extra large condom, over the entire cock cage, effectively masking the lock and pin at the end, and then forced more and more of the seven-inch long, inflexible device into his anus. Hank also felt the strong spring-loaded clamps that were intended to snare female labia snapping onto the fleshy skin of his ass cheeks.

  “No…please. No…” Hank screamed as the four metal clamps locked onto this ass flesh, pinching and squeezing it as the multi-ringed hollow probe worked its way deeper into his colon.

  “What I’ve discovered, Hankie,” She said soothingly, “is that if I turned this thing upside down, the original clit snatcher will just reach your balls if we stretch them a bit, like this. It may require a bit of assistance from this little gadget that I invented.”

  Melinda dangled a small wire device in front of Hank’s widening eyes. He saw two loops of rubber-coated wire and some other longer wires, but he had no clue as to what it was for until Melinda seized his already separated balls and slipped a wire loop around each already trapped nut. The wire loops were slowly closed to further stretch the ball sac and then the ends of the wire thing were pulled back between his thighs and connected to the base of the monster up his ass.

  Hank screamed. Melinda ignored him.

  Melinda was tugging on Hank’s already individually secured balls and pulling them down and back until the Junk device’s clit grabber engaged and trapped the top of his ball sac, squeezing it until the clamp closed around the top of the sac, just below his chrome-ringed, semi-dick.

  “I know, Dickhead,” She said. “That this wasn’t your intended application for the Iron Junk, but it seems to work okay on your ass and balls instead of up inside some poor, tied up woman. I like the feature that allows me to tighten the clit grabber’s short rod connected to the base of the dick. It really is quite ingenious, Hankie. Very nice. I think I’ll apply for a patent on this and you can be the model. Okay?”

  Even after this lecture, putting on the entire harness and fittings required substantial efforts. To enhance this process, Melinda had Hank lube his entire crotch, pointing out, with her usual black humor, that “when the Circus is in town,” as she put it, “the crowd goes wild while you pull and yank and stretch your cock and balls to fit inside the rings and cage.”

  So, Hank now stood wearing the tight metal belt, his wired balls in the rings, his cock in the tight little cage and Iron Junk ass plug all in place, waiting for his next lesson.

  “In the next room is a new outfit for you. When you are released from your present position, I want you to go through the door, which will be unlocked, take a shower, shave and make yourself presentable, then put on the uniform, boots and hat. Then wait for your instructions. You will, as always, be under close video observation, so any mistakes on your part will be punished severely. No questions. Just do as you are told. You have twenty minutes. If you are late, you will be flogged with the cat one stroke for each minute you are late.”

  Melinda rose from her chair and walked out of the room. Hank heard and then felt the chains release and his arms fell to his side. He tested his shaky legs and went to the door which was unlocked. He entered the adjacent room, went to the basin and used an electric razor to shave his face, then stepped into the shower cubicle and washed quickly, feeling the sting of the hot water and soap on the many horizontal slash marks across his legs and torso. His cock and balls were still intolerably stressed from the multiple devices locked on them. Showered and dried, he went to the shelf hanging from the wall and looked at the clothes laid out for him. He saw no underwear, so started to pull on the black wool trousers, discovering that they had no crotch.

  Typical of Melinda, he thought, noting that when the waist band was closed, his steel-enclosed sex hung outside the pants and most of his ass was exposed as well.

  “Wait. Stop right now,” Melinda’s brittle voice came through the overhead speaker. “I almost forgot. Put on the girdle and bra next. They’re in the top drawer of the dresser.”

  “Wha, what?” Hank stammered.

  “You heard me. The girdle and bra, Shithead, or we’ll come in hang you up by your balls and flail your ass again.”

  Hank opened the dresser drawer and removed a flesh-color woman’s panty girdle with suspenders hanging from it and zipper up the back. The crotch was open. It took him several minutes to get the girdle on over the metal things in his crotch, but he finally got it right. The same colored bra was not as difficult because he had often watched fascinated while his wife or his dates had put their underwear back on after sex or showering.

  “That’s fine, Hank,” the voice in the PA system said as he finished pulling up the girdles’ side zipper.

  “Now the stockings. They’re in the second drawer. The dark ones with the back seam, you fool. And hurry up, we don’t have all day. Now take the larger breast forms out of the drawer, apply the cement and put them on your tits, making sure they fit correctly into the bra cups. If you screw it up, I will personally rip them off and we’ll start over again. The cement is quick setting, so pay attention to what you are doing. Do it, asshole.”

  Hank reluctantly complied. The tube of breast form cement was easy to open and had an applicator that allowed him to coat the inner surface of the forms as well as his chest. He slide each form into the bra cups and gingerly pressed the bra and forms to his chest, immediately feeling the heat of the curing cement and knowing that if they were pulled off, a lot of his skin would come with them. When finished, he had to admit that the combination of the girdle and silicon-form-stuffed bra had potential in further altering his physical appearance, even if it was temporarily.

  “And now, Hankie,” She added. “I’m going to make sure that this Junk thing stays in and on you. You won’t be passing through any metal detectors for awhile, I suspect.”

  Melinda was back in the room, behind him now, attaching a cold steel rod with a hook on one end to the back of his collar. The curved lower end of the rod passed through his ass crack and snapped onto the back of the Iron Junk, pulling it upwards and thus forcing it deeper into his ass.

  Hank groaned, feeling the coiled metallic intruder slip even further up his already well-plugged ass.

  “Just so you’ll get some idea of what you put those poor, stupid women though in your little Five Seasons penthouse,” M
elinda said. “I think wearing this combination outfit for a few days will improve your understanding and tolerance. We’ll see. If not, I’ve got more of this sort of thing we can try on you later. For now, continue getting dressed. We leave in a minute.” She left the room and left Hank confused as he wondered exactly what he was going to do dressed as a female chauffer.

  The tailored white shirt was heavily starched and fit him perfectly, nicely shaping his new breasts, displaying excellent cleavage through the keyhole opening in the middle of his shaved chest and giving him an imposing figure. With some difficulty, Hank closed the collar, bringing the starched tabs close together, but not concealing his considerable cleavage. He attached the clip-on bow tie, then pulled on the matching black jacket, buttoning up the side of the double-breasted front which flared around and under his breasts. Then he pulled on the straight black skirt and the black boots with the calf panels that strapped on, completing the look of a somewhat dated, female, private chauffeur with broader shoulders. He had little time to admire himself in this uniform, for the speaker on the wall clicked and he heard Melinda's voice.

  “Put on the gloves, Dickhead,” she shouted. Hank realized that he'd forgotten the black leather gauntlets on the bottom of clothing pile. He quickly slipped them on.

  “Now stand still. Don't move or else,” she said with the same strict tone. “We are going to the garage and you will get into the Bentley, seat yourself, attach the manacles to your wrists and wait there. Make no other moves, understand?”

  “Ye, ya, yes, Melinda,” Hank stammered. He had no idea what this was all about but it didn't look good. Since she knocked him out in the wine cellar a long time ago, Hank had not left the house and now she was telling him to get into a Bentley?

  “Bentley,” Hank wondered. “Where did she get a Bentley?”

  He stood at attention, waiting. Another door opened and he walked through it, then down a long hallway without any doors or windows, then through another open door and into a large garage that he had never seen before. A shiny, perfectly detailed, black Bentley limousine was directly in front. It wasn't new, but it looked very well maintained. The chrome shone. The black on black paint reflected the bright garage lighting. It was a stunning vehicle. Hank tried the driver's door and found it unlocked. He studied the driver's seat, stunned at what he saw. The seat was more of a small metal bench, welded to braces on the floor. On each side of the bench were single manacles on chains. There was a kind of flat metal brace chained to one side of the seat with a locking mechanism on the other side. But the most remarkable thing about the seat was the flat chrome ring, not unlike a handcuff, mounted on the front edge of the seat. Hank had no doubt what was about to happen, but he hesitated a moment. Now he knew why he was wearing the short, tight skirt. Now he understood. He was to become a slave driver, literally, for Melinda.

  The rear section of the limo was well fitted out in heavy, dark wood with black leather upholstery and the requisite tinted glass panel separating the driver's compartment from the rear. The shotgun seat on the right in front was an apparently normal single seat.

  “Get in and sit,” Melinda's harsh voice echoed through the garage. “Now, Dickhead.”

  Hank turned, thinking of fleeing through the door he had just passed through. Melinda stood in the doorway, a large pistol in her right hand and a cane in the other. The right hand rose and the pistol emitted a subtle hiss. The dart hit him in his neck. He reached up to touch it, wondering what it was and then his knees folded and he slipped to the carpeted floor, his head and shoulders falling inside the car and his torso outside.

  When he woke up, he was seated in the car. The chromed ring attached to the seat was locked around his already metal confined sex and the Iron Junk prong was still up his ass. The flat metal brace was across his thighs and chained to the seat. Behind him, a sturdy metal post was strapped parallel to his spine and he sat bolt upright on the metal bench, his chained wrists pulled down at his sides. He blinked, shook his head, trying to clear the fog and pain. The dart contained an effective knockout drug that working almost instantly. Someone, probably Melinda and one of her assistants, had affixed him in the car. In some ways he was not unhappy that he'd been unconscious while whoever his captors were, had clipped his already confined cock and balls to the seat and fastened the metal that ran through his crotch to the post behind him. Surely it must have been a painful experience and even now his rear sphincter twitched and clinched, still trying to expel the big metal dick, the ball grabber and the ass clamps that he had worn for several hours.

  Melinda appeared again, this time dressed in black, a tight, body hugging dress with a hemline at mid thigh and neckline plunging down between her breasts, accented by glimmering diamonds on her gloved wrists and chest. Walking slightly behind her was a woman Hank had never seen before: a stunning redhead in a black leather cat suit and jacket, towering high heels and darkly made up eyes. She carried a black leather briefcase and, as Melinda stopped next to the car, stepped around her and opened the left rear door for Melinda to enter. Then she closed the door and stood alongside Hank, reaching into the briefcase, removing a rubber mask. She took off Hank's Chauffeur's hat and began to fit the mask over his head, first forcing a large pear gag into his compliantly open mouth. By now Hank knew the drill. Resistance was futile. He just went along with whatever his crazy ex-wife wanted. The mask was a full head style and once it was on, the redhead closed the opening in the rear, first lacing the edges together and stretching the mask over Hank's face, then tightening the laced closure and finally pulling down a heavy zipper from the crown of his head to his neck. She then reached around the front and inserted a small metal key into the mouth of the mask and engaged the mechanism of the gag pear, turning the key slowly while Hank felt the thing in his mouth expand and fill his oral cavity well beyond its intended size. His cheeks were stretched tight, his tongue plastered to the floor of his mouth and his jaws achingly extended to their maximum. Any sounds he might make were absorbed by the gag and mask. Hank was again totally silent and extremely uncomfortable. The wig came next, attached to the head mask. It smelled like a perfume Hank knew, but couldn’t readily identify.

  “Now listen, Dickhead,” he heard Melinda saying through the earpieces of his mask as the redhead replaced his cap and closed the driver's door. “You drive. Put your hands on the wheel and keep them there. You look like you drive. Felice will take care of everything. Let's go.”

  Hank listened; unbelieving, astonished that this strange soap opera continued to unwind with him as both the fool and the slave. How was he to drive the car while he could neither see nor reach the controls? It was only after they were well on their way to wherever they were headed did he realize that the Bentley was designed as a right hand drive vehicle and Felice was actually doing the driving while he was simply a dressed-up show manikin. The giant chromed dick up his ass and the clasp around his sex reminded him constantly of his new low-life status. Each tiny bump in the road, each turn and stop caused his body to shift a bit and this in turn drove the massive dildoe up or down or sideways in his lower tunnel and tugged at his captured sex. He soon found out that Melinda also controlled the degree of tightness of the metal ring around his package and this too seemed to be responsive to the movements of the huge car and the seemingly potholed roadway.

  Must be in Massachusetts or California, Hank thought cynically, recalling his visits to both states and the appallingly poor road conditions there.

  Eventually, they stopped and he heard Felice get out, walk around the car and open Melinda's door. He heard music and people. A man came up to the car and opened the driver's door. The metal plate holding him to the seat and the straps pinning his back to the post behind him were unlocked and removed and he heard a man's voice say.

  “Are you sure you want us to have him for the night, Melinda? He looks like he's already been buggered.”

  “He has, Kurt,” Melinda said in the distance. “But I am sure you'll find
some way to improve his attitude and demeanor. Felice will pick him up tomorrow... or maybe next week. Enjoy, Kurt. Enjoy.”

  What followed was all a blur for Hank. He was roughly hauled off his seat and his hands freed from the manacles only to be tied behind his back. Two pair of strong female hands seized him and propelled him forward, the tight black skirt rubbing against his stockinged thighs and the things in his crotch making him even more uncomfortable. They went up a long stairway and into a cool room where he heard many people talking and laughing. His jacket, shirt and skirt were cut away from his body. They left him with his boots, stockings, girdle, bra and wigged mask. The gag stayed in. Then Felice, (he was sure it was her), spoke into his ear quietly.

  “You are going to be one of the featured statues for the night. Cooperate while you are mounted and I won't allow them to hurt you too much. Resist and it will hurt, big time. Got that? I’m taking the chastity stuff in your ass off for now, but the Four Rings and cage will remain. Try not to struggle.”

  He felt the metal belt being unlocked and removed while the crotch strap was pulled away and the long ass probe of the Iron Junk slipped easily out of his ass. The crotch connection with the Four Ring Circus was disconnected and he was literally hoisted into the air by three people with one holding his upper torso, one at his waist and one with his booted feet. The held his legs wide apart and then lowered him slowly. He felt the cold, hard, touch of what was inevitably another giant prick centered on his already bruised and hurting asshole and then the thing was going in, deeper and deeper as his handlers lowered him. Eventually, his high heeled boots touched something solid and he was able to more or less stand at rigid attention with the solid prong deep inside. The hands on his body released him. Someone locked handcuffs on his wrists and removed the rope. Another set of cuffs went around his arms just above the elbow and the chain between them was shortened until his arms were painfully pulled back, elbows nearly touching and his chest thrust out. His bra was pulled down and the breast forms remained glued to his hairless chest, the fake nipples sticking out lewdly.