Only when the fiery molten wax began to cool did she manage to haul in her air through the small tube. Even then the momentary breath was thrown instantly forth as a stifled bellow of continuing outrage at this atrocious misuse the moment he applied more.
Unwilling to give her any respite from such a terrible assault he launched the crop into activity once more, striking across her body at random. The blows upon the frozen wax cracked the shells and kept Lydia a resident on plateaus of unbearable mayhem. Working his way down her body and legs he paused to unlock and remove her boots and then he applied blows to the soles of her feet. The long untouched and exceedingly tender flesh responded with waves of pain that were more than she believed a human body could tolerate. Yet despite all her wishes to find shelter from the ocean of misery washing through her, no end came.
When he finally desisted, she was virtually unconscious. Her eyes flitted madly, her body dripped with sweat, the sound of her pulse and the soft background whine of her ringing ears the only thing gathered by her senses.
“Did you enjoy that?” he asked with jeering intent saturating his every syllable.
Still lost within the embrace of acute shock, she vaguely assimilated the words but could not respond.
A truculent slash into her thighs made her sob and gave her the energy and purpose to answer him with a frantic shaking of her head.
“You wanted pain and I gave it to you. Now did you enjoy that?” he spat and applied another trio of blows.
Changing her response she nodded in jerks, the welts he had drawn across her still stamping out a steady beat.
“So you want more then?” he proposed. This caused her to shake her skull wildly in denial, the response causing another trio of blows that had her shrieking through her gag.
“If you enjoyed it, surely you want more? So unless you were lying, you must want more. So do you?”
The complimentary trio of virulent hacks had her pleading for more abuse, tears rolling down her face in misery.
“As you wish,” he laughed, and flexing the crop in his grasp he began to apply it with merry enthusiasm.
“There, are you happy now?” he whispered, distinctly out of breath from his sadistic labors while he reached forward and brushed her damp strands of hair.
Lydia gurgled and nodded weakly, bringing a pleased grin to his lips.
“I’d like to keep giving you what you crave, but I have other things to do, so I’ll leave you to your bondage. Have fun, slave, I’ll check on you some time,” he chuckled, and immediately left the room, leaving her trapped within the unforgiving tentacles of the rack. Her body reverberated with the pain of her ordeals and the continuing unholy incarceration.
Hours seemed to trail lethargically by due to the lack of any contradictory stimuli. Her stomach growled and rumbled, the emptiness revealing just how long it had been since she had eaten properly. The moisture she had lost from her tortures weighed heavily against her with a drought and the ravenous gnaw of cramp through her limbs. The twisting tightening of her tissues accentuated an already unbearable ordeal. The time upon the rack appeared to last forever, yet when the door finally opened, the duration seemed as naught.
Chapter Eleven
Turning her head, Lydia regarded a silhouette that had her heart leaping, for it appeared as though her beloved oppressor had returned. Her semi-delirious state and the trick of the frugal light enforced the image on her.
The dark shape sauntered forward into the dim light of the room, revealing herself as a small woman, her thin figure sealed within a latex catsuit that was polished so perfectly it could have been mistaken for gloss by those not obsessed with such fabrics. Patent thigh boots flowed over the legs of the garment and matching vinyl opera gloves extended up over her sleeves. The high collar of the catsuit was smothered beneath a hood, the eyes acutely shaped, ascending to points and revealing the oriental nature of her latest dominatrix. The mouth slit opened to unveil blood red lips and a cascade of sable hair flew from an aperture at the back. Her ponytail swung as she closed the door and paced around Lydia’s helpless frame, while she clutched a black briefcase in one hand.
Smoothed digits ran over her frame and the gentle touch made Lydia shudder, the passage of latex over her flesh a welcome old companion.
“Are you thirsty?” uttered the stranger, the accent fully betraying her eastern origin as she laid the case beside Lydia’s hopelessly stretched physique.
Nodding dramatically, Lydia brought a beam of gladness to the woman’s lips. The affirmation caused the female to carry her meandering fingers up to Lydia’s features. The delicate hands delved into the inflation nozzle and with a steady hiss of release the suffering in her cheeks started to rise as circulation slipped back into the taut flesh. Lydia shook and whimpered, taking the havoc with glee for it meant she was finally going to be free of the baleful implement of silence. Panting, she lay against the rigid effects of her restraint. The woman worked the straps of her gag, loosening it so Lydia could use her long suppressed tongue to force it out. The implement hung upon her collar and she licked her parched lips, yawning to exercise her stiff jaws.
“Suck,” purred the woman, pushing her forefinger to the lips of the bound slave.
Opening her mouth, Lydia accepted the digit and locked her lips to it with suction, dragging at the impervious fabric, delighting in its flavor.
“Harder, or you receive nothing,” she promised.
Mustering her dregs of energy Lydia rolled her tongue upon the intruding tip and slowly began to shuffle her head in oscillating motions. Performing fellatio with the finger, Lydia made the woman cock her head back and luxuriate in the display of dominance.
“Good slave,” she decreed, withdrawing the finger and petting Lydia’s head.
Turning from her victim she opened the case and removed a plastic contraption. The small frame was held up as her gag was removed in full, the oval portion finally slipping free of her.
The brief relief Lydia’s jaws had found in being able to close was lost when the woman forced open her mouth and slotted the new device within, her weary jaws unable to offer any resistance.
The brace slotted neatly onto her teeth, pinning them open and locking into position to prevent Lydia’s tongue from expelling it.
In the wake of this implement came a small funnel. Climbing up onto the table the woman sat upon Lydia’s raw cleavage, the feel of the latex-coated rear compressing her breasts a sensation Lydia found highly erotic. The enjoyment was intensified as the stranger’s thighs clamped to either side of her head, keeping her face upright and unable to move as the funnel was slotted into her mouth.
A flask emerged from the case, was unscrewed and lifted over the funnel before the woman started to pour. Cool water cascaded in and Lydia accepted them readily, gulping down the chill flow, sating her thirst as quickly as the waters entered. The glorious feeling of the icy flow slipping down her parched throat was magnified by the vision of the woman towering over her. Lydia’s libidinous gaze pondered upon the belly before her, the tight panes of latex, the subtle wrinkles catching the reflections of dim light as the sheet of polished fabric rolled over and held her breasts. The minute bulge of her nipples pressed against the material and added a tiny point to them. Her anonymous features glared down at Lydia, the smoothed contours of her face only opening to reveal dark eyes and a wicked ruby smile.
With one canister exhausted another was applied. The water was harder to ingest this time since her stomach had rashly devoured more than it should. The flow entered slowly, the weight forcing it down her throat, making her ingest it.
The pressure within her belly began to grow, choking her, causing her eyes to bulge with alarm as she strained and tried to throw her head free. But the woman’s thighs were pinning her in place.
The swash of water continued, building up within her, punishing her stomach as it swelled and rippled, fighting to get out as the constant influx forced it
back down. The weight of the woman upon her chest increased the strain, hampering her digestion. To form a further act of spite she began to scratch at Lydia’s flanks with her heels, the dagger stilettos jabbing and clawing at her, making her cry and render her less able to deny ingress of the flood.
Gurgling for release or reprieve she struggled as another flask was held up and opened. The slow enforced ingestion made her close her eyes and pray for an end to this torture.
The water level of the funnel dropped, the last dregs dropping into Lydia and strengthening the restless sea within her.
Setting aside the flask, the female impassively removed the cage and lifted herself up. She reversed her position and presented her rear to Lydia’s eyes. The sight of the adorable ass painted with the fabric she so revered prompted her into forgetting her troubles as it stirred her longing.
The sheet of darkness started to lower and Lydia caught the overpowering scent of rubber before she was smothered by it. The woman settled into a comfortable pose. Lydia’s nose pushed between her buttocks, her lips sealed by the material, and the impermeable skin cut off her breath.
Trying to suck in breath through the mask Lydia hauled at her bonds and suddenly felt fingers burrowing into her sex. The stranger slipped in and shuffled within her, probing wildly and with little care, causing Lydia to jolt and waste precious breath on pointless cries. The gag of her tyrant’s rear let the air slip out through a brief tunnel that slammed shut to deny entry when she fought to inhale.
The abiding darkness of her vision developed flicking spots and a true void began to muster in her periphery as her lungs burned and her pudenda shook with the harsh rampages.
The pillow of flesh lifted up, Lydia’s skin clung to it with fingers of sweat as she gulped down breath, the near asphyxiation leaving her dizzy and nauseous and the banquet of water rising once more.
“Lick,” muttered the dominant, crooking her fingers like claws to make Lydia squeak from shock as she attacked the proffered hairless pudenda.
Craning her neck forward with all her might, she put her lips to the taut fabric and parted the dry boundaries to her mouth. Letting her tongue flop across the warm material the stinging flavor of it spread across her taste buds, causing the woman’s caresses to become even more succulent.
Lapping freely she found bliss in her task, her vulnerability, her bondage and pains, the rough treatment of her loins, the lingering taste of latex on her mouth; all of it had her lost within a heady cloud of elation.
Hauling herself up, the slender female moved from the mordant tabletop and dropped to the floor, the strike of her heels upon the ground echoing loudly. Pacing to the wall, her contours sauntering gracefully against the black skin, she returned with a set of clamps.
The silver contraptions contrasted starkly with the jet fingers that held them. The nodule armed pads of the jaws chewed on the air as the woman brought them to Lydia on a lethargic swoop.
The clamps snapped to Lydia’s nipples, instilling the familiar throb such implements always bestowed. There was hardly any time to inure to them, for a flock of pegs suddenly took flight from the case and descended on her body. The plastic birds took pecks all around her assets, snapping pinches of soft skin and holding tight, steadily wringing the sensation from them as the dark pulse of their mild crush started to gather like a storm.
The female leaned in and kissed her, the touch of her painted satin lips flushing new and powerful desire through Lydia. Their tongues met and coiled against each other, the passionate exchange rising in speed as their commitment to carnal appetite rose relentlessly. Lydia panted and groaned, the pain of her incarceration adding new eroticism to the kisses until the woman backed away, wiping the traces of shared saliva from her ruby lips.
“Do you like my clothes?” inquired woman, leaning over so that her concealed breasts hung over Lydia’s face. The seductive purring of the stretch material rang in the forlorn prisoner’s ears.
“Oh yes, mistress,” Lydia rasped, closing her eyes as she once more found herself corrupted by the need to deviate, forgetting about any consequences and dedicating herself to being ruled by the will of another.
“Would you like a similar outfit?” questioned the woman.
The unprecedented offer snapped Lydia to attention and she responded with speed, scarcely able to credit her good fortune should this be a genuine offer.
“Yes I would, mistress. Please can I have one, I’ll do anything you want,” she blurted. The prospect of such glorious entrapment within a prison the size of her own skin rose to be her most pressing quest. It was sure that the woman would not simply dress her in latex, she would apply bondage to it, turn her apparel into a prison and refuse her pleas when she begged to be set free of it.
“Excellent. Perhaps I shall turn you into one of the mummified wretches I have stored below. Would you like to be part of my Shadow Foundry? I shall encase you in rubber, layer upon layer, cocoon you, weighing you down, leaving you trapped within it. Would you like this?” she droned softly, letting her hand once more skip along Lydia’s racked form, assessing the taut skin she wished to doom within dour latex captivity.
“Yes,” Lydia hissed, overwhelmed by the prospect of such fetishistic detention. She knew she would hate it, she knew it would drive her mad with frustration when she was in it, but she needed it. Her depravity was wailing for her to accept without reservation, even though she knew full well that she would curse it during the worst parts of her imminent imprisonment.
“Then I shall do it. Just for you,” announced the villain. And with her featureless digits she began to snip away the pegs, each removal causing Lydia to stiffen or jolt, the predictable effects returning as they always did, yet just as hard to weather without movement or complaint.
She did not want to react so poorly in front of this woman. She wanted to remain strong in case she jeopardized her new allotment as the female’s rubber disciplined slave. It was a fate Lydia was eager to explore.
“No. I think we’ll leave these in place awhile longer,” pondered the adamant female. She stopped herself as she gingerly took hold of the silver clamps and readied to remove them. Strengthening her resolve, she decided to let them continue their work and have Lydia endure a far greater affliction when they finally fled her mashed teats.
Flicking the control box when the last implements were made to relinquish their holds, she caused the chains to payout a quantity of their hoarded stash of steel links.
An unexpected blast of intensified pain rocked Lydia’s limbs, the long stretch rendering them susceptible to a lightning strike of returning sensation. Her ribs were raw and tender as though made of paper rolls. And the sockets of her stretched form were sporadic in their responses to her demands, seeming to have grown used to their demeaned racking.
The mistress began to unbuckle the restraints, freeing Lydia’s apathetic limbs and taking hold of her collar to help draw her from the table. Walking was difficult and her body weak. The swallowed waters flooded her gut, leaving her feeling distinctly queasy.
The lithe form ushered her down into the depths of the building. She showed her onto a descending spiral staircase, a negative image of Lydia - a black wraith to contrast the pale, sunlight deprived form of her adoring captive.
Lydia’s breasts bobbed and made the forgotten clamps reveal their lingering presence with each step. It was a sore temptation to remove them but she had to try and obey. And so she followed with obsessed eyes locked to the rubber curves of the woman’s anatomy, especially the stretch of black skin across her pert rear. What wonderful pleasures awaited her at the end of this trip?
Chapter Twelve
The stairs delved down into a rough brick chamber where several shelves bore stacked boxes and a single low wattage bulb dangled above, supplying frugal lighting that emphasized the ragged nature of the walls. A heavy steel door was on the far wall, the vault-like structure heavy and adorned with many bolts and locks,
the construction similar in most respects to the gateway that had carried her into the paradise of her lost mistress.
The woman looked over the fronts of the containers, glancing to Lydia, and selected the size most likely to accommodate her. Dragging out the chosen box, she strained to lift it and dropped it to the floor. The extreme burden it presented made Lydia suddenly wonder what she had unwittingly petitioned.
Flipping off the lid the dominatrix began to rummage inside and drew out a set of latex briefs. The underwear was adorned with two fat dildos whose entire jelly lengths were subtly ribbed. A touch to the exterior set them running. The semi-translucent purple phalluses extended and contracted at a slow shuffle, the ribs being the joints by which they gained motion. The surfaces of the penetrating rods buzzed softly, vibrating at a soft pitch while the garment was opened at the waist and Lydia was made to step within.
The humming restless toys were dragged up and inserted within her, making her stiffen and gasp. The woman straightened the tight garment and a slap to Lydia’s rump announced a satisfied position before the grim tailor began to attend the other items.
A catsuit was drawn out and handed to her, the heavy fabric draping across the dominatrix’s forearms in mockery of ceremonial decorum.
Lydia found concentration increasingly difficult with the trembling trespassers within her. Their steady shuffle caused a light glaze of perspiration to seep from her back, her hairs standing on end as flocks of goose bumps rode across her hide.
“Remove the clamps and put it on,” ordered the woman, stepping back and dropping a hand to her covered loins. She sedately stroked herself as she watched Lydia take hold of the instruments.
Bondage Place Page 11