Bondage Place

by Bruce McLachlan

  Cursing her ill fortune she arose and moved off, straightening her skirt and continuing the banality of serving drinks as she sweltered within her latex prison. Her face throbbed from the gag that distorted and swelled her smothered features.

  It was not long before the powerful physique of her initial customer arose before her. Stopping her in her tracks, he hooked a finger through the ring of her collar and brought her closer to him. Her towering footwear brought her near his eye level.

  “Come with me, slave whore,” he uttered, emphasizing the words to indicate his contempt for her. These people traded and used other people’s lives to suit their corporate needs, why then would they have any respect for the women they had trained to serve without complaint?

  Keeping her fixed to him by her collar he wandered into the barrier of greenery, slipping through the interlocked arms of the flowers and trees and losing the two of them amidst the splendor of the majestic grounds.

  Stopping suddenly, he whirled and grabbed her with rough strength, slamming her against a low tree branch, the horizontal stem catching her in the small of her back. Announcing the impact with a croak of pain, she felt him push his body to hers and bend her backward. His frame anchored her lower body, preventing her from flipping over as he twisted her over the beam. Her arms flailed and clawed at him as he pushed even more sternly, her back pounding and threatening to snap should he not immediately stop.

  Snatching her skirt he hoisted it up and threw down his shorts before snagging the wild limbs. Trapping her wrists, he turned them and stretched them out, the arm locks leaving her helpless. With practiced expertise he slipped into her womb, impaling her on a rigid length and lifted her upward. With Lydia twisted upon the branch, he drove into her with increasing severity, making her gasp and squeal at the callous treatment, all sound destroyed by the hideous gag.

  Unable to defeat his potency she could only languish upon the branch as she was brutally used, the ferocity of his coitus feeding Lydia’s masochism and allowing her to meet it with exaltation while still giving her enough resentment to force her into struggling against him. Of course, the struggles were useless and proved her vulnerability, which in turn fed her submission.

  He seemed to find the act of his assault more pleasurable than the intercourse and he continued to pause and change his grip, letting his lust subside until he could commence once more, denying himself climax while he savored the feel of the girl who was suffering under his desire. Lydia hid her euphoria well lest it terminate his ravishment for failing to meet his demands.

  Against all reason she was exacting a thin veneer of ecstasy from this attack. The pounding thrust of his penis and her powerless pose rendered her to the return of savoring her submissiveness.

  Parting her thighs, Lydia locked her legs around his body. He detected her subtle pleasure, causing him to stab more savagely and pull at her all the more maliciously. Trying to banish her delight and make her pain excite him once more, the increase in her duress only caused a greater delight. One she found harder and harder to suppress and conceal from view.

  Withdrawing suddenly, he yanked her off the branch and spun her around before shoving into her shoulders and slamming her back onto the bark. The landing knocked the wind from her lungs and almost tipped her over the horizontal barrier. Before she lost balance he jumped between her legs, his hands tugging up her skirt and snatching her wrists from under the branch. Then he bent her elbows against the underside of the branch. Croaking in distress, she unleashed a gurgling hiss of a howl as he introduced himself to her rear, her own lubrication being used as he drilled into her sphincter.

  The shock of initial trespass had her bucking and squealing sibilantly in dismay, but as he thrust into her and loosened the tissues, she started to once more find gladness in her defeat and her stem molestation.

  With his fun stolen from him yet again by her masochism, his plunging rape brought him to ejaculation. As he broke into a rapid volley of culmination he stained her rear and crushed her in a merciless grip, his abdomen bucking as he endured a most critical orgasm.

  Drawing free, he cast her aside onto the ground, her prolonged contortion leaving her momentarily disabled. Dropping to the lush carpet of grass she fell into a twisted sprawl and fought to straighten herself, her limbs flicking with tiny riots of pins and needles.

  “So you have an appetite for pain, do you, slave?” he pondered, looking down at her as he refastened his shorts.

  Lydia remained where she was and held to her silence as he stepped forward to stand over her face and glare down at her from above, the golden sunlight wreathing him as it streamed through the forest roof.

  Slotting a foot under her side he rolled her over, her lack of resistance to his will left Lydia on her front. With the same foot he steered her arms out into a cruciform, her heart fluttering with malaise at the unknown act he was planning. She wanted him to punish her more than anything, the barbarism of their sex having kindled a need for more stringent play.

  Dropping to his knees by her armpits, his shins fell on her biceps and his backside settled upon her head, squashing it into the ground under his massive weight. The unbearable pressure made her writhe and squeak in panic as smothering claustrophobia enveloped her.

  Her bared cheeks suddenly lit up with a warm glow, his palm slapping them with verve. The spanking was delivered with maximum effort, the soft flesh rippling under the abuse and adopting a flushed shade.

  Spasming under the slaps she pumped her legs wildly, the heels plowing grooves in the soil as she fought to get free. The abuse prompted escape and a glee in being humbled. The continuing hail of open-handed applause on her rear grew in levels of heat, the flesh being rendered more sensitive all the time, making the blows bum all the brighter.

  Suddenly they stopped and no more followed. It took all her resolve to avoid finding a means to petition him into continuing.

  “Did you enjoy that, you slut?” he rasped, out of breath from his strenuous toil.

  “Well did you?” he said with greater clarity, hooking a finger between her buttocks. He slipped the crooked digit into her orifice and pulled, the wrench at the sphincter making her squawk against the gag and announce her desire.

  “Damn it!” he cursed, and dredged amongst the grass before locating a small twig. “Aha! This will do nicely!”

  Pressing the tiny strut into the nozzle of her gag the hiss of escaping air made her shiver with relief as the balloons started to shrivel. In seconds, they were deflated and she instantly cried out in pain as circulation galloped back into the tissues.

  “Yes, please don’t stop, hurt me, give me more,” she burbled upon the solid oval that was all that remained of the gag. Lydia’s words were distorted almost to incoherence, all reservation and hint of dignity lost under her need for renewed attention.

  There was a whistle of displaced air and a searing stripe bored into her rear. The thin branch rose and fell as a blur of movement, slamming into her already rosy hide, making her scream and fly into paroxysms. The weapon was thicker than any normal instrument of corporal punishment and rather than the usual burning weal the trauma was more penetrating and destructive. The rod instilled deep bruises that made her flesh go numb and give way to a throbbing pulse of agony.

  Wailing, her arms slowly lost their vitality. The crimp on her circulation wrought by his legs deprived them of feeling, causing them to flop like dazed serpents pawing weakly at the soil. Despite her solicitation of this ill treatment, she now bitterly regretted her actions and all she wanted was to elude the harrowing encounter.

  The heat of her woe started to subside as soon as he stopped. The latex of her hood slipped wetly against her face as he moved, the sweat an effective lubricant. Gasping for breath, the period of recovery caused her reviling of the scourge to melt and settle into a heady sense of rhapsody.

  The libidinous tyrant lifted away from her and let the stabbing flow of feeling return to her arm an
d head. Casting away the branch, he snatched her collar and hoisted Lydia up. Her legs staggered and sought to place herself on steady platforms. When he released her she sagged slightly and swayed erratically, her heels doing little to aid her balance as she massaged her aching arms.

  “I think it’s time we saw just what you can take, my sweet little slut,” he muttered, his eyes flickering across her form, marveling at her stamina and her enfeebled state. His respect for Lydia increased greatly.

  Towing her in his path, he led her back to the main house, taking her upstairs to one of the playrooms. His gait was swift with his need to exceed her tolerances. Via her enjoyment, she had set a challenge to him and victory was his only consideration.

  The chamber was furnished sparsely and bore a broad rack; the metal surface polished to mirrored perfection, the engineered steel dense and impossibly secure. At each comer lay an automated winch, the thick chain emerging from a vent in the tabletop and leading into a thick restraint. The leather cuffs were lined with sheepskin and embellished with padlocks to condemn their victims to perpetual arrest.

  Shown over to the table, she looked across it with a welling sense of fear. The severity of this mediaeval engine of suffering made her contemplate that the sadism of her captor might well cause severe harm. But it was this very sense of mortal jeopardy that piqued her excitement, and she was eager to subject herself to its monstrous grip, to see just how much she could take, to push the limits of her algolagnic thirst.

  “Strip,” he snapped.

  With celerity she removed her dress and slipped off the suspender belt. Her stockings, hood and gag had to remain for they were locked to her, just like her collar, which she stroked to remind herself of her state of slavery to this dark house.

  “Get on,” growled the villain before snatching a crop from the wall and bringing it around and into her thighs, the mesh fabric doing little to absorb the impact. With a yelp she stiffened and clung to the side of the rack, deliberately delaying her obedience to inspire a few more strokes. This act of resistance was one she knew would cause the discipline she ached for.

  “I told you to get on, slave,” he growled, and slammed the crop into her flesh again.

  His hand clamped to the back of her neck, pinning her to the steel surface as he started to beat her rear and the backs of her legs with full and brutal swings. It made her shriek and spasm under his hold, fighting to evade the lambasting rod.

  The beating ceased and Lydia held to the smooth surface. A sheen of fevered sweat having been drawn forth by the attack. His hand came away and with flagging energy she clawed her way onto the cold top.

  Lying face down, her front side was chilled by the steel pane while her rear continued to hold onto the warmth that his frenetic scourging had imparted.

  “Roll over,” he demanded and threw a malicious overhead hack down across her buttocks, making her yowl and flip herself over. She pressed her contused and pained cheeks to the metal, the pressure upon the weals making them revive their former refulgent character.

  The locks of the gag were unfastened and the device pulled from her lips, granting final respite from the muting bane.

  Fingers sank into her cheeks, forcing open her mouth and slotting the crop within lengthwise. The rictus was closed manually, leaving her holding the weapon as he drew out her limbs and sealed them within the awaiting manacles. The feeling of having her movement stolen away stoked her concupiscence and she closed her eyes to savor the theft of motion. The knowledge of letting him complete this act that would leave her vulnerable to terrible abuse served to increase her response.

  Lapping at the thin rod of the crop, Lydia tasted the woven leather and delighted in her subjugation.

  Tugging the scourge from her teeth, he grabbed the latex hood and ripped it from her head, exposing her features and letting the air cool off her accumulated sweat.

  “A pretty little thing,” he commented after examining Lydia’s features now that they were exposed. He smiled and once more forced open her mouth, forcing in the gag, craning her jaws wide and then buckling it firmly in place to prevent ejection.

  Swallowing with difficulty, she bit upon the gag, her jaw already starting to develop a deep ache as saliva slipped over her lips and trickled down her face.

  “Now that makes you look even more delicious,” he admitted, running the back of his knuckles down her face. “But I think we can make you look even more sultry.”

  Lydia wailed in despair as she saw him grab an inflator bulb and screw it on. Sobbing, she watched with dismay as he laughed and started to pump air into the internal bladders. Pulling against her bonds, Lydia jiggled and fought as the cheek-distending agony started to envelop her face once more, sealing up her mouth and leaving her torn with anguish.

  “Now that looks much more attractive,” he mused. He ran a finger along the absurdly swollen cheeks; the flesh tight, pushed to the verge of splitting by his cruelty.

  “But I think you could be inflated even more than this, huh, slave? Would you like that? I think you would, I know I will,” he commented and quickly retrieved another rubber balloon. Without delay he forcefully stuffed it into her anus and before she could use her muscles to eject it he was inflating it with a rapid volley of pumps. Lydia arched up and howled silently into the gag, the welling force in her rear starting to grow more intolerable. Spasming, she felt ready to burst, her fear that he would do damage allayed as he continued. With each and every pump she thought she would rupture, that she could take no more, but each pump was merely an intolerable precursor for another. She could do nothing as he continued to pump her up, her insides aflame as she tried to come to terms with the rectal torture.

  “Is that enough?” he asked, patting her belly.

  Lydia nodded wildly, her body becoming damp with sweat, her senses scrambled by the inner mayhem wrought by the balloon.

  “I think a few more. Shall we say five more? Let’s count them off together, slave,” he announced.

  “Five,” he said softly and crushed the inflator. Lydia’s head craned up, her tendons standing out, her veins rising against her flushed skin as she hissed into the gag, resonating the rubber with her screeching holler.

  “Four,” he said, and Lydia dropped back. Her body jumped up and down against the rack, her anus flashing with unbearable suffering. She was going to burst, she couldn’t hold this much.

  “Three,” he pronounced, and she bounced the back of her head to the table, her senses lost in a tempest of suffering.

  “Two,” he said, and her hands were clawing at her bonds, her body jiggling, her awareness of her own body concentrated solely to her rear. She couldn’t feel or think about anything other than the mayhem in her anus.

  “One. There, all done,” he aired, stepping back, leaving her at a terrible level of super-inflated horror. She couldn’t eject it; it was just too big to get past her sphincter, leaving her no option but to endure its horrible bloating presence.

  “Perhaps a few more, slave?” he asked, rubbing her splayed thighs.

  Inhuman screams sought to rip free of the gag as she howled for him not to follow through with his threat. Fortunately for Lydia, he was bluffing and with a merry titter he moved on with other diversions, thereby letting her take a few minutes to get used to the body-bursting rubber balls that now occupied her so acutely.

  A control box was taken out from beneath the table. The metal case was linked to the mechanism by a dense insulated cable. A touch to the button had the machinery cranking into monotonous life and it started to methodically haul in the slack. The chains rattled loudly against the metal bed as they shuffled back, vanishing into the apertures and onto the toothed cogs of the winches.

  Panic set in and she suddenly fought to get free, the imminent terrible travail eroding her blissful contentment.

  “Too late for that my slave, far too late,” he chuckled.

  Her limbs reached out to their maximum length and
the slow retraction of the chain continued to haul at them, bringing a suffering that swelled in her joints like fire and afflicted her racked ligaments;

  “Does that feel nice? Can you feel yourself starting to come apart?” He crooned, leaning over to study her body as it rippled with strain both internal and external.

  Gasping for breath Lydia screwed up her features as she tried to endure, and when her resilience was eclipsed she vented a piercing shriek onto the gag.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he revealed, and the rack instantly ceased its motion, keeping her held at her current unbearable peak.

  Unable to writhe because of the extreme pull at her body she could only throw her head around in wild circles to beat the air with her short hair. Through bleary tear-filled eyes she saw him bearing a fat candle, the wick already adorned with a bright flame that cast back the gloom of the chamber and revealed the malevolent smirk of her abuser.

  “Look at this, and you can’t dodge it, move or do anything to stop me. Can you slave?” he mocked.

  Reaching across, holding the candle terribly close, he gradually tilted the white rod until a spattering tumble of droplets fell onto her breast. The ethereal touch of the molten wax gave way to the expected blast of terrible heat, the burning fluid radiating its fierceness throughout her tender tissues. It made her wail escalate all the higher and into numerous new octaves. The man listened to her resounding near-extinguished shouts, while lines of her maniacal spit dribbled from the breathing tube. Her rabid response to his droplets sent the excess spittle up into the air as brief geyser-like coughs.

  “Hmm, now you look so much more lovely,” he stated, sighing to himself with pleasure at seeing her thus.

  More splashes fell upon her nipples, coating her in a patchwork of frozen splashes, the translucent liquids becoming opaque as they cooled, hiding the flushed pink hue of her torrid hide. Wandering down her torso he dripped across her belly, then into her inner thighs, the running trickles making her fight even more fervently, the soft flesh becoming filled with physical despair. Finally, his cruelest finale was the pouring of the wax into her bald pudenda, the cascade freezing her in a petrified wail. She was unable to inhale as her scream ran out of air, keeping her locked in this howling pose, the pain denying her ability to respire.