Bondage Place

by Bruce McLachlan

  The women were committed to this singular duty, their bodies rippling under the new layer of polished skin as they obeyed their allotted humble position. The spasm of their abdomens showed that their orders to operate were given by voltage. Lydia guessed that there was a motion sensor above the door that activated the toys, operating them like any other automatic door.

  The enslaved attendants held the door wide to reveal a large entry hall, a flight of wide marble stairs rising on either side to access the balcony of the second floor. Paintings and sculptures hung on walls or were presented in specially placed alcoves. The wealth of the owner was shown through such displays of pelf.

  The girl walked boldly in and presented her feet to the figure lurking beside the doors. The woman was locked within the tight arms of a leather straitjacket, the ferocious coat holding her closely. An opening at her crotch allowed the ring piercing her clitoris to be locked to her ankles by short chains, confining her to a squatting pose. A collar held her to the wall near to the living hinge on the right, the long chain allowing her to sink forward and lick the girl’s footwear.

  “That’s a good girl. A few more weeks of such devotion and I’ll consider setting you free again,” she commented. The servant attended the task with blank enthusiasm and skilled speed, cleaning the shoes and then slithering back to the wall.

  “Okay, slave, come on, let’s get you upstairs. I want to see what else you can do other than look good,” smiled the girl, tugging on the leash.

  With an envious glance to the condemned, Lydia was towed away and taken upstairs. She wouldn’t have minded being one of them: stripped of responsibility, given endless purpose, controlled and used as a mere machine, her humanity extracted and her will replaced by electrified toys.

  The lush corridors were as extravagantly rich as the rest of the abode, lined with works of art and pleasing scenes. The girl led her to a plain door. She opened it and hauled Lydia inside. The bedroom was large and furnished in the manner of this opulent place, the four poster bed wreathed with fine curtains, the dressing table and wardrobe intricately carved with swirling designs and detailed engravings.

  The young girl moved to the bed and turned Lydia around. With a light shove to her shoulders she dropped back, the edge of the bed knocking her shins out from under her. Lydia’s arms bore the brunt of her falling body, the soft mattress bouncing her to a halt as the girl looked down at her and then stepped astride her torso, kneeling onto the sheets and moving forward.

  “I like my slaves with short hair,” she commented, running her fingers along Lydia’s spiked fuzz. “Nice breasts, too,” she added, tracing a finger around Lydia’s naked assets.

  The feel of the warm latex settling across her belly made Lydia shiver and the girl folded up her legs, locking her pointed toes onto Lydia’s inner thighs and forcing the supine captive to spread them wide.

  “That’s it, open yourself to me, slave. You’re mine to do with as 1 wish,” she purred licentiously. The young woman arched back, making Lydia whimper softly at the sight of her breasts straining against the gleaming fabric.

  “You like, huh, slave?” she beamed, keeping the position to make Lydia pant her reply, each breath of the girl brought new shimmers of refraction upon the jet- mirrored peaks.

  “Oh yes, Mistress, very much, you’re gorgeous,” she blurted, airing her thoughts without consideration.

  “That’s the right attitude, I think you deserve a treat for that, slave,” she offered. Then she brushed Lydia’s sex, capturing the sheen of moisture her lust was exacting before bringing it up to her lips.

  “Taste your arousal like a good slut,” she uttered, and with a somber countenance the youthful woman wiped her fingers across Lydia’s mouth, depositing the taste of her own sex.

  Without word or hint of emotion upon her slender features the young woman caught Lydia’s nipples in a soft pinch and rolled the nuggets, making them stiffen in her grasp as she leaned in.

  “You like that slave?” she asked softly, her gentle breath against Lydia’s cheek.

  “Yes, Mistress, very much,” Lydia murmured.

  “Kiss me, slave,” she ordered.

  Lydia was suddenly riven with confusion, unsure of what to do. She had never willing acted thus, but the girl was a sight of pulchritude and the treatment she was receiving at her hands was making her ache for some manner of satisfaction.

  Remaining still, she accepted the girl’s lips and copied her as she parted them to extend her tongue. They met and flitted upon each other’s tips, reaching out and running along the other’s lips, tickling the sensitive skin. The fires of lust started to bum more fiercely and the passionate exchange grew in fervor. While nipping at her partner’s lips and tongue the latex-clad temptress continued to tease the peaks of Lydia’s assets. The indoctrinated captive was unable to respond, her hands cuffed, denying her the chance to paw and grope at the gleaming curves attending her.

  Without warning the girl drew her mouth away and Lydia’s concern that she was to be deserted was banished as the girl arose and reversed her position.

  “I think it’s time we stepped up our play. I think you should worship me, slave,” she demanded, lowering the zip of her hot pants. Her slit hovered just out of Lydia’s reach, the extreme clinch of the fabric opening the aperture wide.

  Splaying her thighs over Lydia’s face, she held herself away from the prisoner to make her strain and rise, craning her neck forward and fight to access the opening.

  “Come on slave. If you really want it, you’ll make the effort,” she chuckled, looking over her shoulder and down at Lydia’s flushed features.

  Overcome with a tempestuous desire Lydia ignored the rending twinges in her overextended neck and burrowed her tongue into the warm sex. The girl was already wet from their foreplay. Pushing her organ deep, she filled her tongue with the taste of the warm tight tract and then withdrew to swirl her tongue against the woman’s clit. The flavor of her was like nectar and Lydia feasted with gusto.

  “Oh, that’s it slave. Oh, good girl, that’s it, right there!” she hissed through clenched teeth, her body tensing in fits of response to the attention and squeezing Lydia’s tongue which burrowed in deeper.

  With Lydia lapping and dancing upon the tender flesh, the youth slowly lowered and smothered Lydia with her pudenda. The teeth of the zip clawed at her tongue and the smell of the plastic overpowered her as she drowned in her submissive derogation.

  “That’s it slave, smell me, taste me, fill your senses with me,” she smirked, wriggling her hindquarters on the supplicant face. “And now I’ll give you a little something as well.”

  With a squeal into the muffling flesh Lydia felt the girl’s fingers paw at her sex. The lithe fingers savaged her, for while the girl had the benefit of exacting delight from Lydia’s playful tongue, Lydia had her wants answered by painful scratches to her most tender regions.

  “Sing for me, slave!” ordered the girl, eager to hear Lydia’s tunes of distress.

  Squealing into the girl’s belly, her breath slipping between skintight gloss and nubile skin, Lydia jerked under the harsh caresses, reveling in her mild suffering, the churning blend of pain and pleasure making her head swim.

  Increasing the stakes of their play, the girl ground herself lower, applying her body weight in full. She balanced on the trapped face and stifled Lydia’s air, suffocating her as she exalted upon the eager tongue.

  “Come on slave! Get that tongue going! Oh that’s it! That’s just right, keep going, don’t stop. Please your Mistress! Show me how devoted you are.”

  The cunnilingus wrought sudden gasps from the girl and while she groaned under the climaxes that Lydia induced, she began to increase the viciousness of her fingers, making Lydia scream and fight to get free as her tolerances were exceeded. Lydia’s hands clenched and clawed her fingernails into the lush sheets; her legs kicked and dragged at the material as she tried to crawl her way out, the intens

ity of the vulnerable state only increasing her delight.

  With a reckless fling the girl cast herself aside onto the mattress, panting and shuddering softly while Lydia gulped down great lungfuls of unimpaired breath. Her face sparkled with the moisture of the girl’s womb.

  “Umm, that was good. Such a skillful tongue. A most unexpected bonus,” muttered the girl from her relaxed sprawl.

  Recovering from the bizarre encounter, Lydia maintained her silence and rolled herself onto her front side. Her cuffed arms had been rendered numb by the compression. Pins and needles washed through the flesh and she lay still, breathing into the covers, the luxury of the fabric smooth and teasing against her flesh.

  Her belly was rolling with flickers of residual pleasure, the encounter was one of wondrous rhapsody - even without climax.

  “But I’m not finished with you yet, slave. I think we can still have more fun, don’t you?” She quizzed.

  “Yes, Mistress,” uttered Lydia.

  Still tasting the girl on her tongue, Lydia felt her ankles being gripped and drawn apart, presenting her along the bed with legs splayed. The girl sat between her legs, facing her rear, the slender digits acting as manacles on her ankles and holding them apart as a single foot lifted up.

  “Kiss it, slave,” she demanded, causing Lydia to instantly stretch her neck aside and lap at the footwear.

  “Now spread your rear for me, slave, I’m going to shove this in you,” decreed the girl, making Lydia shiver with dread as her hands drifted back down and grabbed her buttocks, pulling them apart to create easy access.

  The foot was put to Lydia’s buttocks and slowly pivoted, driving the heel forward to touch her sphincter, the thin shard scratching a passage before forcing an uncomfortable entry. With a gurgle of suffering Lydia snapped her teeth to the blanket, using the cloth as a bit to help her endure while she felt the rigid spine enter her.

  “Come on, slave. Take it! Swallow my heel like the whore you are! You know you love it!” laughed the dominatrix as she worked it into her.

  The weak movements her legs made against the girl’s pinning hands were merely a token undertaking to make her revel in her pseudo-helplessness. Sodomized by the rocking heel, Lydia endured the mild ache and squirmed upon the intruder.

  “You like that, slave? Being fucked by my heel?” She grinned, and briefly released a hand so she could slam her palm onto Lydia’s shivering buttocks.

  “Yes, Mistress!” howled Lydia. The girl continued to grant random spanks, reviving the weals. She tried to close her legs a little to help shield her, but applause rang against her inner thighs, the tender skin detesting such abuse.

  “Legs apart, slave!” growled the girl, twisting the heel and slapping her with more venom.

  “Yes, Mistress! Of course, Mistress!” she cried, casting her legs wide so that the ligaments of her inner thighs ached.

  “Wider! I want you nice and open to me, slave!” she continued, swinging backhanded swats into the exposed flesh.

  Lydia fought to comply, stretching herself into as wide a splits as she could under the encouraging hand of the girl. A sharp shove made her yelp and spasm forward and the heel jolted free.

  Curled on the bed, she held her battered anus, shaking slightly in recovery. The girl crawled forward like a feline to kneel beside Lydia and run her hands across her damp skin.

  “So many welts. Were you a bad girl before you were brought here? Is that what these are for?” she questioned.

  “They were a parting gift from my former Mistress, Mistress,” she replied, her cheek to the sheets, her eyes sparkling with tears of pleasure and pain.

  “Hmmm, such generosity. Would you like a spanking from me, slave. A welcoming gift?” she asked.

  “Oh yes, please, Mistress,” exclaimed Lydia with eagerness, the slaps of command having piqued her eagerness for more.

  “Then come and sit across my lap, slave,” announced the girl, removing herself from the bed and sitting on the side, her legs placed together to create a bench of flesh for Lydia to prostrate herself on.

  Clambering to her feet, Lydia dropped to her knees and lay across the thighs. The delicate young limbs against her belly were a wonderful and alluring feeling.

  Lydia offered up her rear, her head hanging down as her cuffs grabbed at the chain and towed up her spine to create an open target.

  “Is my slave ready?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mistress,” came Lydia’s soft reply. She sighed with relish as the palm of the girl rubbed her rear with soft swirls, stroking the thin pelt in anticipation.

  The hand rose up, making Lydia tighten her muscles as she braced for the stroke.

  “Don’t tense, slave!” warned the girl, reaching back down and pinching one of Lydia’s more colorful weals to have her grimace and then fall obediently limp.

  “That’s much more like it,” she added, prodding the slack rear and kneading the soft flesh to savor it before she punished it.

  The girl swatted the cheeks with a swift flurry of claps, spanking with ferocious speed and strength, instilling prickly riots of heat in Lydia’s hindquarters and fueling a swelling sensation that left them pulsating internally. Lydia whimpered and croaked as the applause slowed to a more steady and even rhythm, the timed attacks drawing out the discomfort after the initial rabid barrage.

  The small wriggles of worry between each stroke as Lydia tried to endure them met soft giggles of amusement, the mistress delighting in the agitated dance of the slave on her lap.

  “Such a wriggler!” she laughed, and delivered her hand into the meeting between rear and thigh. The strike made Lydia’s back arch, lifting her up, her mouth wide as she released a startled sob.

  “Oh, Mistress!” she mewled, turning her next words into a snorting gasp as another searing clap attacked the exact same spot. Lydia trailed back down, languid across the thighs, sobbing softly as another clap struck a cheek, the girl alternating from buttock to buttock.

  A fresh strike on her most tender spot made her bounce back up, her head craned back, her face grimacing. The hand of the girl traced the furrows on her brow.

  “Look at these crinkles,” she smiled. “Such a tender little thing.”

  The girl applied another dozen or so swats of her hand, making Lydia mewl and spasm softly on the delightful thighs of the celestial beauty.

  “Okay, that will do for now, little slave. Here, kiss my hand,” she offered, showing Lydia the palm that had been responsible for delivering her stresses.

  Lydia fawned on it with gratitude, kissing it with passion before the girl took her from the smooth whipping stool of her legs and stood up.

  Taking the leash, the girl curled it about her palm and returned Lydia to her feet. Hauling her onwards without a word, Lydia was lead back into the passages and deep into the heart of the building, the girl still not saying one syllable to her. Was she so ill-thought of that she was not worth addressing after their short and intense session? Maybe she did not want to be seen conversing with a slave, instead preferring to offer the outward image of derision to the servile caste.

  Chapter Eight

  Stopping sharply, the girl rapped upon a door and stepped back. The sound of movement issued from within and the portal swung open to reveal a woman of great beauty, the comely native dressed in a leather leotard with glossy thigh boots and a wide studded waspie belt. Her long hair was intricately woven into a stern plait, and her face was adorned with brooding saturnine shades to give her a fierce glower.

  “A new arrival?” questioned the woman, her voice only slightly accented as though she had spent long hours trying to cover it up or erase it.

  “Straight from the prison. She’s to be prepared for immediate service,” reported the girl, tugging down on the leash to have Lydia fold herself into a tight animal crouch at her side.

  “Why the rush? Is there demand for her already?” quizzed the woman, moving her stare toward Lydia in assessment, seeking to detect that which was so alluring about her.

  “I think Mister Talbert has heard of her arrival and is eager to meet her,” replied the girl.

  “I shall make haste then. It would not do to keep him waiting.”

  Taking the leash from the girl, the woman began to reel Lydia in, staring intently at her, inspecting the new arrival as she was drawn ever closer. The intensity of the scrutiny made Lydia distinctly uneasy for it was so clinical, like a doctor looking upon an intriguing scientific curio.

  “I shall put her in his playroom in readiness,” she decreed.

  With an absent and careless nod the girl acknowledged the woman and strolled away.

  The leather-clad woman moved Lydia further inside on a short rein and shut the door. This bedchamber was not as spacious as the previous room but was still furnished with extravagance. A small interconnecting door bore her into an adjacent room, this one outfitted very differently to the bedroom.

  The chamber was wall to wall with mirrored panes while a strange set of stocks rose at the center. The frame bore the confining slat horizontally, ready to trap a victim by the waist and hold them while a beam below dragged their legs apart and stretched them wide and downward to connect to rings set far apart of steel.

  The leather-adorned female shifted Lydia over and opened the wooden jaws of the Engine of Woe, indicating for her to step in. Presented to this site of restraint, rendered docile by her incarceration and intimidated by this new environment and the unknown machinations unfolding about her, she did nothing to resist. There were many questions demanding answers - the mystery of the girl, this woman, and her new location, the enigmatic Mister Talbert. All of it weighed heavily upon her mind, leaving her riven with anxiety and stress as she faced the future. How she wished to see the cruel visage of her enslaver again, the familiar countenance that testified she was secure and to be looked after, to be granted constant and mordant attention in the name of teaching and discipline.

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