Retaliation

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Or Tony, the diminutive young man who drove a delivery truck and made a habit of video recording professional women in compromising situations, then blackmailing them. Tony only went after the successful and well paid female lawyers, physicians, celebrities and educators. In the end, a group of these blackmailed women formed a quietly vindictive team, pooled their funds and enlisted Melinda’s firm to handle Tony once and for all. Last seen in public entering a popular female doctor’s office, Tony vanished, to reappear a year later as a slim young female with no hips and very small breasts, a luxurious head of dark brown hair and a face that would have made even the original Tony weep with desire.

  Toni, as she was now known, was often displayed by the firm as an example of the range of services offered by Melinda and her team at The Switch. Her ringed nipples chained to her wrist cuffs, her steel collar usually short chained to a post or wall, Toni was always available to service anyone who desired the attention of a demure young woman of indeterminate youthful looks and who had a highly talented tongue and a ready-for-use ass.

  Meanwhile, Melinda was constantly perfecting the techniques She employed on her guests. Herb Franklin, a bold and extravagant California politician known to many of his fans as “Herbicide Franklin,” because of his propensity for encouraging chemical means of leveling large tracts of forest and grazing land. Herb then worked tirelessly to secure zoning variances to allow the construction of high rises and industrial facilities on the land. Finally, he annoyed enough Green Party citizens who felt that they had had enough of Herb’s plundering the biosphere. One night, parties unknown intercepted his stretch limo on a deserted stretch of desert highway and Herb disappeared forever. His well-armed body guards and driver were injected with a relatively harmless sedative and when they awoke a few hours before dawn, they discovered that their charge was gone. Wishing to keep his disappearance quiet, the party officials didn’t contact police and avoided the media while the search for Herb continued for over a week. Finally, it was quietly announced that he had gone to South America, country unnamed, to visit with some scientists who claimed to have a new aerial sprayed chemical more deadly than Agent Orange and harmless to humans and domestic animals. Herb’s interest in such chemicals was well known as he had more than once recommended and even encouraged wide spread application of substances which had overnight destroyed acres of wildlife so that factories and houses could be more easily built on the sites. Thus, the name Herbicide was appropriate and also thus, his disappearance was accepted by most followers who assumed he’d return with some new killer treatment that would eliminate weeds from front yards and golf courses while doing no harm to other plants and animals.

  Herb however, was put into a deep sleep by his captors and flown to the airport near Melinda’s primary facility. When he finally awakened from his drugged sleep, he found himself chained in one of Melinda’s deeper cellars. The chains were not only on his wrists and feet, but the most uncomfortable one was attached to a heavy steel ring that had been inserted into his foreskin and welded in place. Lying on his side in the darkened cell, it took Herb awhile to realize that the ring welding, carried out while he was unconscious, left a tender scar of toasted flesh in this highly sensitive area. Any movement brought such pain as he had never experienced himself, although he had most certainly, he realized, brought similar discomfort and agony to others. The chain on his dick was only about eight inches long and connected to a ring on the nearby wall. This short tether only permitted him to stay on the cement slab bunk where he lay, but not to go anywhere else. To relieve himself, Herb eventually discovered that pissing in the bucket next to the bunk was not only painful, but constituted a challenge in itself. Other body functions were equally difficult.

  A few days after his initial abduction, Herb was visited by Melinda and her associates.

  “Hello Mister Herbicide,” Melinda said, entering his cell. The lights were on in full glaring force and Herb squinted into the brightness, trying to see his new guests.

  “You are wondering what the Hell happened, aren’t you?” Melinda asked, locking eyes with new cringing, naked, subject who was still chained to the wall by his dick. The collar on his neck was snug and wide enough to force him to keep his chin up and his eyes upward and forward so that Herb could not see his torso or anything below his neck. The simple, but effective chained hog tie linking his wrists and ankles required a bowed position. The dick chain from his groin went straight from Herb to the wall, making it appear that he might have the beginning of a hard on.

  Herb nodded slowly, able to only move his head slightly because of the collar.

  “We have been asked to assign you a new, more productive and less destructive life.” Melinda continued.

  “And who the fuck are you,” Herb asked, his usual nastiness betrayed by his tone even though he realized this was not the kind of situation where being a shithead was going to help him. Despite his chains and his pierced dick, Herb was so accustomed to being a prick that even now he remained hostile.

  “Let’s just say we have been retained to take care of you for the indefinite future,” Melinda said. “Gag him, please. I don’t like his tone and I certainly don’t think he is in a position to talk to anyone that way.”

  Eloise stepped forward, and while Herb momentarily fixated on her nearly completely exposed, voluminous chest with both breasts oozing out over the top of her leather corset, she held his nostrils closed with one hand and with the other stuffed a light bulb-shaped foam rubber gag into his open mouth and fastened it behind his head.

  Herb gurgled into the mouth-filling plug. Unused to being so handled by anyone, he attempted to resist and in the process jerked hard on his chains, nearly pulled off his own dick. He howled into the pear gag, but then settled uncomfortably onto the hard concrete slab, trying to reduce the tension on his already stretched dick, wrist and legs, and waited to see what was coming next.

  Melinda turned to her team, saying, “Fix him up. I’ll check the video later,” and walked out.

  Herb was afraid and puzzled. He had no idea who or what brought about this change and he wanted, in his usual politician’s way, an explanation so he’d know whom to blame. Instead he got a fat metal plug stuffed up his ass without the benefit of any lubricant. The butt plug, once in, was painfully expanded with a sort of ratchet device and then locked in place.

  “That won’t be coming out soon,” Eloise told him as she pocketed the key, checked that the dick chain was nearly taunt and escorted her helpers out the locking door.

  Left alone once again, Herb ranted and screamed into the gag, but eventually he quieted and lay stretched into a tight, backward bent bow, imagining terrible things to come which, he would learn eventually, were not as bad as what would actually happen to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Switch In Action

  Manny was having a bad day. His wife, Camille, had chained him to the welded steel bed frame in their cellar while he was passed out drunk. Now he wanted to be released and couldn’t say so. Naked and spread eagle on the bed frame, Manny yelled and shrieked into the rubber ball gag filling his mouth, but very little noise emerged. He tugged uselessly at the steel handcuffs on his wrists and ankles, doing little other than rattling the chains locked to the cuffs and the bed frame.

  Camille came into the locked cellar room laughing and chatting with Donna, her long time friend and neighbor. Clearly there was more to the relationship besides just being neighbors and Manny often wondered what the two of them did while he was at work.

  “You miserable piece of shit,” Camille said between outbursts of laughter, wagging her finger at Manny and still laughing. “You’re probably wondering how I got you down here while you were passed out on the living room floor, huh?” she added.

  “Oh, don’t give away your secrets,” Donna said to Camille. “Actually, you, dipshit,” she added, pointing at Manny, “are lucky I came over because she was about to throw you down the stairs. I helped drag
your sorry ass down without breaking too many of your bones and then we rigged this little arrangement up for you.”

  “Isn’t she great?” Camille said, watching Manny and putting her arms around Donna and tweaking the nipples of her girlfriend’s naked, perfect breasts. “Want to know what we’re going to do with you, asshole?” she asked, making a big deal of rubbing her own more than adequate tits against Donna’s.

  Manny shook his legs and rattled the chains, shaking his head wildly. He knew from past experience that Donna was crazy and dangerous. Only a few months ago, her husband, Ray, simply disappeared under what police called “questionable circumstances.” Donna was considered a suspect until she produced Camille as an iron-clad alibi, saying that the two women had been in Chicago on a shopping spree when Ray apparently fell under a road construction machine while working on the interstate and died instantly. Donna quickly claimed and cremated his meager remains, but Manny also knew that Camille and Donna had not been in Chicago. He kept that information to himself, fearing that the two crazy bitches might make his life even more unbearable if he ratted them out. In truth, Manny disliked Ray anyway and figured that whatever happened to the guy was not his, Manny’s, personal problem. What did worry Manny was the brochure from The Switch that he discovered in a folder on Camille’s desk a week ago. The letter on company letterhead thanked Camille for her inquiry and said they would be in touch with her shortly to “discuss her preferences in the matter of her problem.” Manny was now quite certain that Camille was plotting his demise and he got shitfaced drunk the night before while sitting on a bar stool in the Last Chance Café, discussing Camille’s suspected plans with Greg, another buddy who also had suspicions about Ray’s accident.

  Three or Four bull shots and beer into the evening, Manny mentioned the letter and brochure to Greg and got an earful about how The Switch was supposedly a company that wives used to get rid of their husbands.

  “How do youze know zhat?” Manny asked, already slurring his words.

  “Because, asshole,” Greg shot back. “There was a feature on TV a while back about investigations by the state police into a supposedly active slaver operation upstate where people were disappearing. Some people think it was aliens. But they never have solved the cases. You best watch your ass, Man, she may be planning to carve you up and sell you for hamburger.”

  “Not goin’ to happin,” Manny said, downing another whisky shot. “I’m a lot smarter than she izz.”

  Now Manny was naked, chained and gagged in the basement and his wife and her friend were leering at him like he was a slab of beef in the supermarket butcher shop.

  “Let’s tighten things up,” Camille said, moving carefully to the side of the frame and shortening Manny’s left hand chain, then doing the same with his right hand while Donna shortened Manny’s ankle chains, leaving him stretched tight on the bed frame, gurgling into his gag and sweating.

  “Don’t worry, Manny, you’ll live,” Donna said with a smile. “For the record, you’re going to have a terrible and fatal accident, but in fact you’ll be some Jap or Chinese hoodlum’s fuck friend.”

  “Oh, come on, Donna,” Camille said as she tested Manny’s chains and gag. “Don’t spoil it for him. It should be a surprise. You like surprises, don’t you Manny, dear?”

  Still watching him carefully, Camille fitted a canvas hood over Manny’s head, making sure that his nose was centered in the hole in the front, then tugging the zipper in back shut, closing the lacing that covered the zipper and pulled the material tight around his head, sealing her husband’s sweaty face inside the fabric bag. “Made this myself while you were out banging your girlfriend, Ingrid,” Camille said, poking Manny’s head with her finger. “I’ve got some more interesting hoods for you, but right now we thought we’d clean you up a bit before the other games get started.”

  With a very dull razor and a bit of his own shaving cream, Camille and Donna began to shave Manny’s body. It was a slow process and they had to keep warning Manny not to move or he’d get cut. Even so, they nicked and sliced him here and there as they roughly removed hair from his legs, arms and body, then concentrated on his groin. When they finished, Manny lay silently on the bed, still tightly chained, but well aware of his now nearly hairless state. The women toweled him off and then used his electric razor to complete the job, taking off the missed hair and stubble.

  “The head will be more fun, don’t you think?” Donna said, poking Manny’s canvas-covered forehead with her sharp fingernail and then running the nail down his hairless chest, tweaking each rigid nipple.

  “Oh, yea,” said Camille. “That will take some more care, though. We can chop off the longer hair and then use the electric razor to finish him off.” “By the way, Donna, can we go over to your place and get his crate now?”

  “Sure. Before we go, let’s apply some after shave to keep him alert. Let’s do the crate switch while it’s still dark. No one will see us, but I think we can load it into my van and then unload it in your garage.”

  “Okay. They’ll be here tomorrow to pick it up and that will be that. What about the replacement?”

  “Oh, ha,” laughed Donna. “Katie has that all under control. She’ll bring it by later and we can stash it in Manny’s truck. She assured me that it’s a very good body match and since there won’t be so much as a tooth left once it goes through the machine, it won’t make any difference.”

  The two women left Manny still futilely struggling in his hood and chains. By morning, they had Manny neatly secured and sealed inside the metal paint locker he had kept in the garage. They had removed all of his hair, including that on his head, fitted him with an even larger inflatable gag and deluxe discipline hood that sealed his head inside its cocoon-like capsule, leaving him to breathe through hose connected to a respirator attached to a screened hole in the back of the locker. Before lifting Manny into the steel container, his two abductors installed a large rubber butt plug in his twitching ass and secured it with a locked harness that conveniently provided a metal ring that served as a base for the cock and ball cage that enclosed his genitals.

  “I hope he enjoys the plug,” Camille said as they tightened the leather straps that held Manny snugly to the bottom and sides of the locker. “It’s a preview of what’s to come, I think and there’s not going to be anything else for him to do while he chills out in this metal box.”

  “Yeah,” added Donna. “Fun is having your ass reamed and your dick and balls locked up while stashed inside a locked steel can.”

  “Probably not as much fun as we’re having,” Camille said, referring to the dual dildoes they both put into their own ass and cunt earlier that night. It was Donna’s idea and she brought the four black rubber dongs with her when she arrived, suggesting that they could have some fucking fun while they tormented Manny. Reluctant at first, Camille eventually agreed and they giggled and jabbered as they stood back to back in Camille’s bathroom, pressing the dildoes home, putting on the waist and crotch belts and nearly toppling over as the vibrators in the double dildoes took effect. They managed to get into the bedroom and then lay with arms and legs entwined while the batteries on the vibrators slowly shut down. A few hours later, they were still enjoying the erotic high while they took out their frustrations on Manny.

  Manny couldn’t hear the conversation. He was pressed firmly against the metal bottom of the steel locker he bought only a few weeks before with the intention of storing volatile liquids and paints in it to prevent having a fire hazard in his garage. The locker was clean and hadn’t been used until now, but this was the most unlikely end use Manny could have imagined. Unknown to him, Camille and Donna fitted it out earlier with straps they bought on line and heavy metal staples that bolted onto the inside of the locker. Now, with his wrists cuffed behind him and pulled up to the collar around the base of the hood, his elbows painfully drawn nearly together with another strap and his ankles and legs chained and strapped, Manny had to concentrate on breathing and c
ould not worry about much else. The locker was loaded into the crate from Donna’s van and the women retired to Camille’s bedroom to deal with the excitement they had been experiencing for the last few hours while they dealt with Manny. When the truck from The Switch arrived, the driver and helper found two dishelmed, sexually drained young women to greet them.

  “Here you go, Ms. Flamingo,” said the cute brunette driver of the box truck with signs saying Ace Furniture on the sides. “Just sign this and we’ll be on our way. This was an even deal, as I understand it, so there’s no charge and we get to keep the crate, right?”

  “That’s the deal,” Camille said as she signed the shipping papers. “Don’t suppose you can tell me where it’s going?”

  “You don’t want to know,” the driver said, stuffing her hands into the hip pockets of her short cut-off denim shorts, winking and heading back to her truck. “Far, far away,’ she sang as she climbed up into the cab and drove off into the early morning light.

  “That’s just about it,” said Camille to her friend and partner. “Now all we need is to have Katie take care of the truck accident and we’re done. Free.”

  “You never asked me what really happened to Ray, did you?” Donna said as they sat in the kitchen, waiting for their coffee to brew.

  “Not my business,” Camille said. “I figured that you’d tell me when you were ready.”

  “Well, this firm, The Switch, picked him up just as they did Manny, and headed for a rendezvous with some Asian slavers. But for some reason, they rejected him and then, I was told later, The Switch told me that they disposed of him in a very creative fashion. I’m not sure this is the truth, but the story works for me so what the heck. You may recall that Ray worked for a highway construction company out in Indiana and, as I understand it, he was working with a crew that was using one of those huge machines that tears up the old blacktop and spits it out on a conveyor into a dump truck. Well, Ray got clipped by a passing truck, (actually, I was told it was the truck’s side view mirror that hit him), and he fell into the path of the machine. In a second, it grabbed him and dragged him under it while his crew tried to pull him free. He was chopped up into tiny bits and came out on the conveyor mixed with old blacktop chunks. Messy, but efficient.”