Vanishing Act 8
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Vanishing Act 7)
8
8
Vanishing Act
Chapter Eight
8
Ash was exactly right in that whatever secret agendas I might have,
I knew they would have to stay secret. Which meant absolute obedience.
I came to that conclusion very quickly as the pain in the various parts
of my body went on and on. The load on my wrists stretched my arms
and after the first hour made my shoulders seem like they were about to
be torn apart at the sockets. My neck ached with the need to constantly
lift my head so as to keep my nose clear of the drool that leaked around
the rubber ball, and to allow passage for the tears that regularly rolled
down my cheeks. My ankles likewise bore the burden of my weight,
but the pain there subsided into something relatively bearable compared
to the fire that burned in the soles of my feet.
But these limb torments were as nothing to the one that pulled at my poor nipples and the lips of my pussy due to the terrible lead ball supported by all four clamps. I could see the instrument of my torture hanging beneath my stomach, whenever I let my head drop – a reminder from Ash of the folly of disobeying the person who held such power over my life.
I alternated my tears with a whimpering keening sound, eventually focussing on a spot on the concrete floor such that the pain began to recede. Whether this was real or not I don’t know. I tried to concentrate on this spot to the exclusion of all other things, to take myself into Subspace where the pain would lessen and my body would cease to be the receptor of such sensations. It was like trying to empty your head of all thoughts - something I had always found difficult. This time I think I managed it, and I found myself in a strange twilight world where Jan Sherwood ceased to exist and my surroundings dissolved into a haze of nebulous shapes and sensations. The silence was broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing, interspersed with snuffling and inhaling as I sought to clear my nose.
Time had stopped, as had my thought processes, when the steel door swung open again and Ash returned to survey my form slumped in the suspension ropes in the centre of the room.
The return of an outside influence brought me back to reality with a physical jolt, much like those strange spasms that you occasionally get when you’re almost asleep. The nature of it brought the pain flooding back and I knew I could not return to Subspace again. I cried piteously, moaning and drooling further.
“And how are we now, Jan?” A moaned response. “Have we learned our lesson?” Pathetic nodding of head. He stood beside me and stretched out his foot, the toe of his shoe flicking the lead weight hanging half a metre below my stomach. My moans went up an octave as the renewed pain shot through my tortured nipples and pussy. There followed a light touch on the still smarting soles of my feet. I jerked and tried to writhe within my bonds but the strain in my extended limbs was too great to do more than shudder.
“I am now thirteen thousand five hundred dollars richer, and your car has a new home,” he said smugly. “Life is good, I think.” I made no response. Then the weighted ball was unhooked and I momentarily came alive, howling behind the rubber ball wedged in my mouth, as the blood flowed back into my tormented flesh.
He let my feet down first, but I could barely stand, so painful were they. They remained cuffed and locked together while he unhooked my wrists and cuffed these together behind me. I was light-headed and could make not the slightest resistance as he picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bed, dumping me in a heap before removing the gag from my mouth. Then I was in darkness again as he left, the door closing with the sound that I knew would remain with me in my nightmares for the rest of my life.
* * *
Some hours passed before he returned to feed me, this time with some
thick stew. It was the first hot food I had received since my capture,
and I confess it tasted pretty good. I suspected it was out of a
tin, but I wasn’t going to complain as he fed me sitting on the edge of
the bed. He was obviously in a good mood. He showed me the
cheque he had received for the sale of my car to a dealer and chatted boyishly
about the sale, but I said nothing. I tried not to look at him, not
trusting myself and terrified of what might happen to me if he misinterpreted
my expression or the tone of my voice.
My dinner over, he stood up and paced the room for a short while.
“The auction of the house is set for next week, Jan. Just thought you might be interested. All reports from the real estate people suggest there is a lot of interest. They’re doing a bit of a publicity blitz. There will be a nice colour photo in the newspapers over the weekend and fliers will be going out. I think we’ll get a good price.” He stopped and turned to stare at me. “That is, I will get a good price.” He grinned. “There’s no doubt about you, Jan – you’re changing my life – absolutely for the better, I must hasten to explain,” he added with a short laugh. “There is one element of it that we have not yet contemplated, however, have we.”
I knew what was coming next.
“We’ve established the parameters of our relationship, Jan. You
now know your place in the order of this world – or so I fervently hope.
Is that the case?”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, staring at my feet.
“I really and truly hope so. I would not want to have the trouble
of giving you another beating like this morning
It would be so upsetting
for me to think that I’d failed again. Any punishment you have received
so far would be a fraction of what you would receive if I had to go through
that process again. Do I make myself understood, Jan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are we sure?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Lie back on the bed.”
I did as I was commanded, my cuffed wrists trapped under me. He positioned me with my stiff-cuffed feet near the frame at the foot of the bed then wandered across to the cabinet beside the door. From inside the cabinet he produced several lengths of rope and a roll of silver duct tape. I groaned inwardly at this last item, for the recollection of the first hours I had suffered here, bound immovably with the hated tape, was still fresh in my memory, along with other memories I would never have considered possible.
The cuffs came off my right ankle which was soon taped securely to my right thigh. My left ankle was bound similarly and I found myself with my knees in the air aware of how vulnerable I was becoming. This was obviously Ash’s intention, for one length of rope was threaded through behind my right knee and both ends tied to the right side of the bed. Moments later my vulnerability was confirmed as the same treatment was meted out to my left leg and I lay there, spread and scared. His hands worked the third rope through the wrist cuffs underneath me then pulled them hard towards the foot of the bed. With my knees tethered as they were, my only option was to slide towards the foot of the bed while my legs were pulled in the opposite direction, exposing my buttocks in a way that left me in no doubt what was going to happen.
Ash walked to the cabinet again. My breath was coming faster now, and when I saw him return with a paddle and a small bullwhip I began to shake uncontrollably. He stood beside the bed and looked down at me. I didn’t trust myself to speak, but implored him with my eyes, which now leaked tears of self-pity. I began to sob quietly.
“Now, Jan, you need to understand what is going to happen to you.
Life is not all bad if you do your part.” He held up the bullwhip.
It had a thick leather-bound handle and a tail perhaps a metre long, wrapped
around the handle. He held it in front of my face. “Lick it!
Good girl. Now kiss it!” I did so. I could smell the
strong smell of leather and sweat. “Now open wide
”
The wrapped handle was abruptly jammed between my teeth. I spluttered
involuntarily. His voice was abruptly slow and cold with his next
words. “If you let go of that, I will use it on you. Make no
mistake.”
“We are now going to get to know each other a little better, Jan –
in the biblical sense.”
Even though I knew it was coming – that it was inevitable – the shock was still there. Despite all the torture and humiliation I had suffered to date, the penetration of my person by objects, the abuse of my sex by whipping and clipping, this was the coup de grace – the rape of Jan Sherlock by her captor.
I closed my eyes at this point, letting the tears run silently from the corners down my temples. I thought I had mentally prepared myself for this, but I was wrong. I had known that Ash would not stop at financially ruining me. That had obviously been the first priority – striking while the iron was hot. The sexual side had been inevitable, but I had subconsciously held on to a slim hope that it might not happen, and now my denial had caught up with me. My experience with Graham in his Sydney dungeon had been exciting and stimulating in all sorts of ways – until the final night. This time the nightmare just continued. I considered that my situation could really become no worse, however. I had to accept what was to come as being at least better than a beating. I resolved to make the situation work for me – to channel my anger and determination into getting even. What this latest outrage did was to up the revenge stakes a notch. One day, the time would come, the opportunity would appear
I was expecting to feel him enter me but what happened next was a surprise. There was a resounding smack as a paddle caught me squarely across the right cheek. I gasped, nearly letting the whip fall from my mouth. Then a searing pain across the other cheek. Six on each side with the paddle, then a further six on the inside of my thighs with the short-handled flogger. I was yowling and crying by this time – the whip in my mouth was nowhere near as effective in silencing me as the ball gag, and was obviously not intended to be. The finale was a trio of strokes vertically down my pussy that saw me writhing and chewing on the leather handle jammed in my mouth at the terrible pain between my legs.
I lay there whimpering as the barrage of blows ceased. I dared
not open my eyes for fear of seeing him preparing to unleash some new horror
upon me. The unexpectedness of the beating and the pain it had caused
had totally driven the thought of sexual penetration from my mind, and
with it the mental preparation for such final ignominy. I was still
gasping and wishing the pain would go away when his fingers slipped inside
me.
“You’re wet, you little slut!” he declared with a triumphant tone.
“I knew it. You’ll enjoy this.”
The suddenness of his entry startled me again, together with the ease with which he slid inside. I gathered at once that he was reasonably well endowed, and despite the beating I was also well lubricated with my own juices. I was momentarily astonished at this – a part of my brain identifying the fact and with it the strange feelings I had not expected within my loins under such circumstances. In Sydney Graham had beaten me once on the pussy – admittedly nothing as painful as this, but certainly enough to get the blood flowing. When he entered me that time it seemed as though every moment had been amplified and the sensations heightened.
This time I knew the flogging had been too brutal, that it could not possibly enhance what was to be a trial unwished for. I tried to ignore the stale smell of cigarettes that still clung to Ash. How appropriate a name, I thought ironically. The smell would stay with me, I knew, reminiscent of that first night of terror when I had been blindfolded and captured in my own bedroom. Smell was such a powerful emotion I doubted I would ever be able to shake myself free of the feelings this would conjure up.
I was aware that Ash was now naked – his flesh warm against the tender sweaty surface of my own. He thrust into me, but had only done so a few times when I suddenly felt a rising tide in my loins that I could not control. I could not believe what was happening and that I could be as out of control as this. What had he done to me? The heat intensified and a great wave surged within me, leaving me gurgling and panting through the handle still clenched in my mouth. My eyes were screwed shut as the pleasure tide roared through my limbs leaving my hands clenching in their cuffs beneath me and my legs straining to close on the being impaling me between them.
But it was an incredible sensation of pleasure – a stark, unbelievable
contrast to the pain that had so recently swamped my poor body. Despite
my principles and my determination to resist I found myself powerless,
and surrendered my last vestiges of will to the onrush. I was aware
that somewhere distantly someone was making a kind of gargling cry that
went on and on.
Eventually it dawned on me that I was the one making the noise, as
I slowly came back to earth. Ash had briefly paused to let the climax
take hold, but was clearly far from done himself. He hammered away
at me for another fifteen minutes, and again, despite my best intentions
I lost a further battle, this time of a lesser severity, but which combined
with his own climax to leave us both panting and soaked in perspiration.
All thought of the beating was now lost from my mind, which had gone beyond
logic by this stage. I was exhausted from the sustained suspension,
the beatings and the climactic attention I had just received. I just
wanted to collapse, to roll into a little ball and send the world away
for a long time
* * *
I guess that day marked a watershed in my captivity. It was the first of many times in which I was used by Ash for his personal pleasure. Invariably in each of these instances I was bound in a helpless and exposed position – something he delighted in doing, not least because any so-called foreplay usually consisted of a flogging for yours truly. I was unable to resist, and usually unable to protest.
It was a watershed also in that I came to the unavoidable, unexpected and somewhat difficult-to-accept conclusion that the flogging actually served to enhance the subsequent coupling. I discovered that the mixture of pain and pleasure took me to new heights which I had neither experienced nor expected. I was bewildered by this, since I still loathed Ash and what he was doing to me. The conflict in my own mind left me confused and – I reluctantly admit – less determined in my resolve to overcome my situation no matter what. There were issues of sexuality which I had not expected or even known to exist, and which I had no avenue for discussion with anyone. Depression closed in on me and for a long time things got worse. The Stockholm Syndrome, where hostages make friends with their captors, seemed a possibility for a while, although the appearance of Ash always left me uncertain because of his unpredictability. I could be bound in a stringent position and receive a beating, which might or might not be followed by intercourse. Or I might simply be left there, with no explanation. I half-looked forward to his visits, however, if only for a break in the routine, for the boredom was getting to me. In a way this was the worst aspect of my captivity.
Once or twice I tried to engage him in conversation, but each time I wound up with weights hanging from my nipples and pussy lips, bound in a terrible position for having disobeyed my code of conduct. All the remainder of the time I was kept – at very least – with my hands cuffed behind me and my ankles cuffed and locked together.
After perhaps ten days had passed, Ash entered the room to announce that the auction had taken place and that my house had sold for two hundred and twenty nine thousand dollars. Even after the real estate people had had their cut, Ash would be left with a healthy profit. The news only served to depress me further, as did the announcement that the auction of all my belongings would take place in two days time.
On this particular visit he brought with him a cardboard carton, which
he put on the floor next to the bed, where I sat.
“I’ve brought you a present, my dear,” he told me lightly. “I
do hope you like it. It will make your life a little more comfortable
down here.” He opened the flaps with a flourish and I looked down
to see a jumble of stainless steel strips and chains. My heart sank.
It was another of his devious schemes, I knew, which would inevitably end
up with me in some awful position having horrible things done to me.
That said, I could not help my interest piquing as he extracted what
turned out to be a ‘belt’ from the mess of chains and fastened it around
my waist. It fitted perfectly. It was about four centimetres
wide and made in a single piece of stainless steel, perhaps three millimetres
thick. By pulling the ends apart he was able to slip it sideways
on me then rotate it so that the ends joined over my navel. Here
there was a rebate at each end so that they overlapped without any increase
in thickness, and through the middle of these overlaps he inserted two
rivets, snapping them off with a riveting tool. I didn’t know how
the belt could then be removed. On each hip there was a small
D-shaped projection through which there was a small ring, about three centimetres
in diameter. There were further such D-projections in the centre at back
and front, but without the rings.
I watched curiously as he then fitted stainless steel cuffs to
my ankles. These were hinged, with an inner lining of dense foam
that made the cuff fit snugly against my skin. Unlike the belt, these
cuffs locked in place with a small padlock on the outside of my leg and
had a D-ring on the inside – obviously for hobbling purposes.
The same operation took place on my wrists, with the metal cuffs soon locked into place. The last piece of equipment turned out to be a collar. Devoid of lining, it was riveted into place like the waist belt. Like the belt it had four small D rings on it. I didn’t like to consider the possibilities here. Then the thin stainless chains came out, and before I was even free of the leather cuffs, I saw the chains locked on to each ankle cuff, run through the hip rings and then connected to the wrist cuffs. A long length of chain locked to the back of my collar and was then attached to the post in the centre of the room. The leather cuffs then came off and I was told to stand. I did so with a rattle of hardware and found my wrists drawn snugly in to the hip rings as I straightened up. That was when I realised that to move my hands above my waist I had to bend my knees somehow, whether it was by raising my leg, or by squatting or kneeling. Ash was immensely pleased with himself.
“Like them?”
“They’re very pretty sir,” I said at last.
“Suits you,” he said. “But Jan you must remember that everything
good has to be earned. These chains offer you so much more freedom,
without taking away your basic restraint. You should first understand
what can be done with them. Kneel.”
With these ominous words I did as I was commanded, and waited while
he locked a few links between my wrist cuffs, then attached this short
length of chain to the front D-ring on my collar. He stepped back
to admire his work.
“Excellent!” he exclaimed, looking down at where I knelt, my hands
cupped either side of my jaw as though I was just resting my head in them.
“Remember this position. It’s what happens to slaves who are disobedient.”
And with that he turned and departed, leaving a host of thoughts racing
through my mind.
The most immediate was what freedom of movement did I have? I thought initially things might not be too bad, until I tried to stand and found myself bent at waist and knees in a most uncomfortable position. I could walk about the room in this contorted manner, a bit like a chicken strutting its stuff, but not being able to straighten my legs or arms was going to be distinctly unpleasant. I found I could only get on to the bed with some difficulty, but at least once there I could lie on my side or sit cross-legged.
Another, different thought popped into my mind. The fact that Ash was near to completing his objective in selling off all my assets could have meant he had no further use for me. Instead he had just spent what must have been a considerable amount in getting these customised restraints made. This told me I was here for the long term – whatever that might mean. He had mentioned something about a study or experiment when I had first arrived, but in my pain and exhaustion and fear I had not taken it in. Was this part of it?
I had been released from the more stringent bondage, and ultimately I surmised I would have more freedom of movement. Would I have enough to somehow overpower Ash? I suspected not – not in the present form of restraint, anyhow. Any such attempt would have to be based on the premise that the keys to the chain securing me to the post were either on Ash’s person or in the cabinet. I did not want to take the chance of overcoming Ash and finding I was still trapped here with the only option being to let Ash fetch the key. Somehow that would not work, I reckoned.
The realisation that there was some sort of long term purpose to my captivity left me struggling with mixed emotions. There was relief that such a future existed, but the thought of this captivity stretching out interminably filled me with trepidation and despondency – feelings that lay heavily with me over the next day or so. Life in my dungeon did not get any easier, even though my hands were no longer cuffed behind me and my ankles were not joined. I could not straighten up and my back and legs began to ache as a result. Ash delivered food in a bowl on the floor – usually some sort of stew or pasta – designed obviously to make it difficult to eat without the use of my hands except in a very limited way. I managed the task kneeling beside the bed with the bowl sitting on the edge. Drinking was still a problem and inevitably I got wet and cold. I found I could not quite reach the shower taps with my hands in my crouching state, but I could still raise one foot high enough to turn the tap on with my toes. This process was cumbersome and chilling and further depressed my spirits.
I guessed that nearly two days passed before he came back to release the chains from where they were locked to my collar. I was pathetically grateful for the release, for the restraint had been much harder than I had expected. Although not as stringent as some of the things I had endured, the long time I had been forced into the crouch and the unknown duration I was faced with all took their toll on me. I became like a pet awaiting its master for the lifting of a punishment that had been imposed for no reason.
The release – as usual – did not come without payment, as Ash stuffed a ball gag in my mouth, roped my elbows to each edge of the bed and gave my buttocks and pussy a thorough flogging, before fucking me thoroughly. I had discovered in the course of these sessions that he at least wore a condom. Again, this lent credence to my theory that I was to be held for a long time – long enough so that complications like pregnancies were to be avoided by all parties. That was some small relief to me, although a pregnancy would have been welcomed if it meant my escape from captivity. But somehow that would have been both unlikely and unexpected, I decided.
After he had satisfied himself Ash unlocked my hands from my collar
and I stretched out on the bed, luxuriating inwardly at the relief it gave
my muscles. Ash was grinning again, and I knew something else had
transpired.
“Isn’t it amazing what you accumulate over time,” he said. “Until you
come to insure something, you don’t realise how much money you’ve sunk
into material things. I think the same applies to auctions.
Of course, Jan, the good thing about your possessions was that they were
all so new. You’d bought the house then furnished it really well.
No junk for you. That inheritance certainly set you up nicely.” He
paused and cupped his hand under my chin as I knelt on the bed. “Nearly
fifteen grand worth. I think this calls for a celebration.
I’m feeling extremely magnanimous, Jan. I will grant you a favour – a ‘boon’
they used to call it. It must be reasonable, and within my power
to grant. As long as you don’t expect something silly like release,”
he smirked.
I paused for a moment. It was the first real concession I had
got from him. Was this a sign of an easing of my restrictions? How
daring should I be? I did not want to upset him by being over ambitious
and ending up with nothing – or worse, ending up being punished for being
impertinent.
“Please sir – I’d like something to read. A book? A big book?”
He smiled at me, and for a moment there almost seemed to be warmth
in his smile.
“That’s very good, Jan. Very reasonable. Yes, I guess you
must be getting a little bored down here. I will see what I can do
to alleviate that. Yes, you may have a book, and I will consider
the thought behind your request.”
Then he was gone.
* * *
I had established in the meantime that in my relatively unrestrained state I could nearly reach the door while standing up. Tracing a circle around the post I could almost reach every corner of the room if I laid down and stretched out my legs. Such were the tedious things I occupied my mind with. I could now circle the post continuously as a form of exercise, which at least was a bonus for me. I counted how many circuits I did before I got tired, using this as a benchmark to try and maintain some sort of regime.
The book appeared with the next meal. Both were shoved inside the door without Ash entering the room. Then the door clanged shut and I was left standing in the darkness, cursing myself for not stipulating some form of light to read by. Of recent times the light provision had been intermittent – on some sort of timer I suspected, although I found it difficult to detect any pattern without a watch. My sleeping was probably to a pattern although I couldn’t detect one here, either. I just slept when I felt like it.
I felt around and picked up the book and the plate of food, retreating to sit on my bed. The book was a paperback, maybe an inch thick. I wondered where it had come from. I wondered what Ash would read
It seemed like a day before the lights came on again. I should have guessed that Ash would prolong the darkness just to frustrate me. It was like the three wishes given out by the genie, the end result being that they are used thoughtlessly for no net gain by the recipient. Ash was obviously thinking the same way. On his next visit he asked would I like the light on for a while, to which I eagerly agreed. I looked at the book and saw it was a Wilbur Smith novel. My heart leapt in anticipation of the simple act of finally being able to read, to escape in my mind from the depressing surroundings of my captivity.
Perhaps I was too transparent in my expectation, for my captor took
equal delight at pulling a soft leather discipline helmet from his pocket
and flourishing it in front of me.
“Oh no, sir, please! Let me read
” I cried like a child. I could
not believe myself and how desperate I had become for some sort of intellectual
stimulation
It was a plea I made without thinking – another mistake. Not only was I going to get the helmet, but because of my little outburst I was going to have a gag to go with it. Disconsolately I opened my mouth to let him work a soft rubber ball behind my teeth before the black leather blotted out the light as the laces were pulled tight down the back of my head and the reinforcing straps were locked at the base of my neck.
“I’ll leave the light on, shall I?” he whispered next to my ear before there was the heavy clang as the door shut.
* * *
It must have been perhaps half a day later when I got my sight and speech back. When I finally got to read, however, it was only with my hands now chained together behind my back. With every change of restraint Ash was insistently emphasising how dependent I was on him, and how little he need do to make my life uncomfortable in the extreme. Having my cuffs locked with a short chain through the D-ring at the rear of my belt was in many ways more difficult than when I simply had leather cuffs on. I was again unable to fully straighten my legs, although this was not so severe as when my hands had been linked to my collar. This time, however, feeding was really messy, and my hands were not as mobile as the previous position, being secured to the belt. Again, he left me for probably a day like this, but it was a day to blissfully savour the joy or the written word again, to transport myself to another country and the adventures on African shores.
I sat cross-legged on the bed, the book held open under my feet. I tried turning the pages with my toes but usually ended up having to turn right round to use my hands. By this time I had got used to the belt and the metal cuffs with their foam linings, which turned out to be moderately comfortable.
About halfway through the book Ash turned up to release my hands from
the belt. He was again in a good mood, flourishing a cheque from
the sale of the house.
“I think we need to make things a little more interesting and comfortable
for you, Jan. What do you think?”
“I’d like that, sir.”
He appeared to be half thinking out loud. “Maybe we should put
a television set down here. Yes, that would be good. Is there
something else you’d like, maybe?”
I really thought at this stage that I was making progress, that my gradual approach was working. “Could I go outside, sir? Just for a while?“ I didn’t know what my chances were here. I didn’t know what the practicalities were, whether he would even consider it, whether it was realistic, or what it would lead me into, but whatever the difficulties, it had to make for a change from my present condition and the pathway to some chance of escape. I still had no idea what he intended for me in the long term. I wondered if I could insinuate myself into doing some housework – something which might also allow me some sort of opportunity to get away.
“Go outside?” His response left me uncertain whether it would even be considered, or whether it might cause great offence. I felt like Oliver Twist asking for more gruel. Here I had just been offered the holy grail of captivity – a television set – and I now wanted to go outside. What was I thinking? “Hmmmn. All right Jan – I’ll think about that one. One thing at a time, eh?” He smiled at me. I didn’t know what was behind those eyes that left me worried as to where it was all leading.
* * *
The TV arrived the next day, by my reckoning. It was one of those ones with an integrated video player, which surprised me. Ash evidently wanted to do the installation with me securely out of action, and his idea in this instance was to have me kneeling in the middle of the bed facing the head, while a rope was looped around each chain between my wrist and the hip ring. Pulling these out to each side drew my ankles hard up to my hips, spreading my legs at the same time, and pulling my wrists out to the sides of the bed. It was extraordinarily simple but very effective. Of course not content with merely securing my limbs, it seemed that I was to be fully plugged as well. I was made to bow forward while a large butt plug was inserted.
It was well-lubed, but still big enough to make me gasp and groan as it finally slid home. Then came the vibrator inside my pussy. Neither of these events were strange to me by now. What was different, however, was the semi-circular stainless steel strip which he produced at that point, which I realised moments later was a crotch strap. It fitted over the D-rings on the front and back of my belt, snugly holding the devices inside me. I quickly concluded there was no way I would be able to extract them past this strap, even with the use of my hands.
His last focus was my head. It was the same soft rubber ball I had experienced under the discipline helmet, this time held in place with numerous turns of silver duct tape around my head over the top of a rubber swimcap. He pulled the tape first horizontally then wrapped it vertically under my chin, finishing with a couple of turns over my eyes. I could hear him moving about behind me, getting things out of the cabinet and obviously preparing for what I was sure would be my next ordeal.
I experimented with the crotch strap and the inserts, but they were well and truly embedded for the duration of whatever I was now to experience. Moving my vaginal and anal muscles around them only served to create sensations that I did not want to exhibit in front of Ash.
He went away for a while, leaving me kneeling in my darkened, silent world, my arms pulled out tautly to the sides. It was not the most unpleasant of positions I had been in, though I was far from enjoying it. My wriggling about and trying to ease things eventually resulted in my falling forward on my face, bringing my arms down flat on the mattress. It was a better position, easing the strain on my arms and shoulders. I may even have dozed in this state until a searing pain bit through my consciousness as a crop smacked across the exposed sole of my right foot. I screamed beneath the tape as a second blow fell on the left one. Six strokes on each foot was my punishment for departing from the set position, something Ash told me would not happen for quite a while in the near future.
He undid the ropes on my chains and hauled me to my feet, steering me away from the bed until my back was against the dreaded steel post. I was made to kneel, the cold steel pressed against my spine and the back of my thighs, my calves horizontal on either side of the post. He locked the cuffs of my wrists together behind the post, then proceeded to wind more turns of the duct tape around my head and the post, securing the two immovably. This done, the tape and pads over my eyes were removed.
I blinked in the light, suddenly discovering that my eyes were the only things I could move above my shoulders. Even below this point, the fact that my head was fixed rigidly meant any body movement was extremely limited. It was evident that no further bindings would be required for me. Ash stood up from where he had been squatting in front of me, and I saw the television set on a small trolley a little over a metre away. Uh-huh, I thought. Watching the television was not to be an optional activity. It was going to be total focus. Maybe I would die by the death of a thousand electron beams, I thought grimly.
Ash wasted no time on formalities, nor did he suggest how long the program was that I would be watching. I established very quickly that it was a video, however. The good news was that there would be no advertisements. This was also the bad news, for it was good old fashioned, uninterrupted porn on a four-hour tape (as I later found out). Ash switched it on then bent to turn on the vibrators in my rectum and pussy, before he left without a backward glance, turning out the light as he did so. With the television obscuring all other features of the darkened room, and me barely able to move a muscle, I had little choice to go along with it. Even shutting my eyes could not exclude the sound effects, and the bastard had evidently turned up the volume, just to make sure I could hear through the layers of tape around my head.
It was clear he knew what would happen. I even knew it myself, in my heart, and no matter how I tried to concentrate on other things, my nipples hardened and warm sensations began to spread from my loins. And of course what should be the first event on the session but my friend stainless steel lady, that he had sent by email to my computer how long ago was that? But here she was, as though time meant nothing, still impaled on her pole, the chain stretched over the beam in the castle while she approached orgasm in spectacular fashion.
The following scenes did nothing to make life easier for me. To say bondage was a theme would be somewhat of an understatement. Bondage was the focus, and I lost track of how many women climaxed in the course of the tape, some with male assistance, some with female help, some with artificial help and some through various painful and contorted circumstances. Somewhere along the way I lost the plot as well. The vibrators drove me to a point where I couldn’t resist. With little encouragement I was soon gyrating to my own music - as much as I was able, that is. Ash had thought this one through again, and the fact that I could firstly move so little and secondly had nothing to press against left me frustrated for a long time as I struggled to work out how to counter his devious methodology.
I finally managed to get my fingers hooked beneath the crotch strap, between the post and my bottom. It was strained and awkward, but it gave me just enough to move the front vibrator against. When I finally climaxed it was again difficult as I lost my grip on the strap and struggled vainly against the tape holding my head to the post and stifling my cries. The shudders subsided through my body, leaving my legs trembling in the wake, but there was no letup from the mechanical intruders nor the sensory input from the video. The moans from the participants merged with my own as time stretched out and the second of what was obviously going to be a protracted series of orgasms began to slowly work its way to the surface
I lost track of when the video stopped. Somewhere in the four hours the batteries died on the vibrators and I exhausted myself struggling firstly trying to achieve orgasm and then to stop the waves that followed. Some women have trouble achieving orgasm, while some I know appear able to climax merely by squeezing their thighs together. I don’t know which end of the spectrum is the most desirable, but I know my own body’s behaviour. While the first climax may take some effort, once I am there any subsequent climaxes follow like a wheel rolling downhill. This instance proved to be an example where the natural momentum took me away at a speed which kept up with the impetus from the vibrators and the video. I had never experienced anything like this before. Graham had toyed with me and had driven me wild, but had always ceased when my exhaustion had shown through.
In this instance I had no choice and there was nobody to release me from this continuity of arousal. The sweat poured off me and I became faint from the exertion. The strain on my back and neck from fighting the tape holding my head to the post was there in the background, but was repeatedly swamped by the climactic waves surging from my loins. I did not know how much of it I could take, not that I had any control over the matter. At length my senses seemed to merge, as, with my eyes screwed shut my own cries and moans behind the tape combined with those on the video tape, and I lost track of which noises were mine and which were other protagonists.
By the time the tape finally clicked to a stop the batteries in the vibrators had run down and I hung there in the darkness, my breasts heaving and my thighs trembling uncontrollably, my body streaming with sweat. I was moaning and panting, my mind still filled with a myriad of colours and flashes that bore no relation to my predicament or my location. I was off in some faraway place where reality and tangibility did not exist. It was a strange subspace planet of noise and smell and sound and indescribable feeling, but devoid of form and life. My head was buzzing and I felt an overwhelming mix of exhaustion, satiation, elation and a sensation of being beyond caring.
When the lights snapped on I was only dimly aware of Ash sitting in
a chair beyond the television. I had no idea how long he had been
there watching me, nor did I care. I was wrapped in my own little
world and would have fallen face down on the concrete when he cut the tape
binding my head to the post, had he not supported me. I was barely
conscious of being carried back to the bed, deposited there and having
the remainder of the tape cut away. Then the lights were off again,
and I slept
21.07.01
updated: 26.06.02
story continues in Vanishing Act 9
o0o