Steel City, part 1 by Morlock

Steel City
by Morlock
Part 1

Author's note: The official positions and the historical events discussed in this story may exist or have existed, but the story characters are not based on, nor do they represent, any actual official.

"Don't make threats if you aren't serious - you might be believed." Anonymous

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The nineteen seventies were a tough time to own a sex shop in Texas. This was the lower end of the bible belt and while the average redneck worshiped the Second Amendment and the Norman Rockwell paintings about the four freedoms of the citizen, those didn't apply to atheist, perverted scumbags, like - well, like me. Possibly a store catering to wife beating or stepdaughter screwing would have done well and have been somewhat more socially acceptable, especially if you were a pillar of the community. You could open an adult shop without much trouble, since it usually caught the local officials by surprise, but to keep it open you had to have two things - a very good cash flow, and a very good attorney. Of course, both of those things are interlocked with each other.

Years ago, in the rural parts of Mississippi, which was about as backward and primitive a place as you could find in America, I was a young twerp living on a hardscrabble farm just one step above the Grapes of Wrath level. Money was a never a problem, since I never saw any, but I was happy. I had thousands of square miles of forest to roam around in with my only prized possession - a fifth hand BB gun. Of course, a young boy from the age of about five to fourteen doesn't ever actually roam in all those square miles, but they were there.

I bummed around with a couple of other boys of my age, and grew up with them. Our part of the state had many sources of water - lakes, ponds, creeks, streams, and so forth. Air conditioning wasn't even science fiction to us back then, so in the summer, every time we came to one of the aforementioned bodies of water, we went swimming. We didn't carry wet bathing suits around with us all day - like all young boys from the beginning of time, when it was time to swim, we stripped down and dove in and thought nothing about our condition of bareness. If a farmer's wife happened along, we waved at her and she waved back. Those were innocent times.

On infrequent, but certainly not rare, occasions, one of my friend's sister or sisters would have followed us and do the same thing. Of course, at that age, we knew better than to associate with girls - it was well known that there was no better way to get cooties. But, sometimes we just couldn't shake them. They stripped down, and followed us in.

In that innocent age, I noticed that there was a subtle difference between the body of my friends and their sisters, but the difference was trivial. About the only thing it meant to us was that the girls couldn't stand up and pee without it running down their legs. Certainly, we had no idea of what the differences were for. Come to think of it, we had no idea what girls were for, period.

Eventually, the sisters stopped swimming in the nude with us. I don't know if the girls, as they approached puberty, naturally realized that it was time to stop associating in the buff with boys, or if their mothers just laid down the law that they were getting too old for that behavior.

One young sister, particularly, was a thorn in my side, always criticizing, mocking my every action, and in general, acting like a girl. One summer day, as I was cooling off in a stream, she showed up and jumped in. I ignored her until she swam underwater and grabbed hold of my pecker (as we called it back then) and my balls. It hurt.

I knew that you didn't hit girls, but I dragged her out of the water to the bank, pulled a climbing rope out of my knapsack, and tied her arms behind her back, then stood her up and wrapped the rest of the rope around a small tree. Interestingly, she didn't yell, or cry, or scream. She seemed to enjoy it. So did I and got a hard on just looking.

For days after, I visualized that scene, without knowing why it fascinated me. We played more bondage games that summer, and for years after until she began to approach puberty. The games weren't sexual, since we had no clue about sex of any kind. But, my love of bondage dates from that point.

* * *

In the army I was trained as a gunsmith. It was work I enjoyed and had an aptitude for. I became very talented at using lathes, milling machines and all kinds of metal working tools. From that training, after my discharge, I had no problem landing a well-paying job as a toolmaker with an oilfield company. I also met a secretary of the same company who liked to dally around. In fact, she liked to be tied up and fucked.

As time went on, we experimented with different restraint materials. Rope was bad - it left marks that had to be explained the next day at work, or a reason for wearing a long-sleeved turtlenecked sweater in August had to be invented. Chain was good, but it could hurt. And it could also leave marks.

So, at intervals of slacktime, I machined up a set of bracelets and a collar for her. These could be connected with rope or chain and could be worn for an entire weekend in comfort. And they were totally inescapable. Most weekends found her stretched out in one of my inventions - and usually dipping cum from any given hole. Many other items slowly entered my inventory over the next few years as we experimented with B&D.

Since I had grown up as poor as dirt, money actually meant something to me. It was something to be hoarded for use in bad times and not spent on frivolous stuff like new cars and fancy clothes. As a result of that attitude and an army buddy who had become a stockbroker - and my good paying job - I accumulated a substantial nest egg for the future. This came in handy in the mid 1970s when the oil recession hit and I was laid off.

* * *

I had moved to Texas after leaving the army. There were several reasons - one was that the state had no income tax and another was the "looseness" of society. At the time there wasn't a huge bureaucracy dedicated to making what are now called "nanny laws." If you were a tax paying citizen who generally stayed within the set of civilized customs, people left you alone. I later found out that the tolerance didn't include any business that had to do with sex.

I bought an old building in downtown Dallas. It was a leftover, two story, concrete WWII building, ugly and dirt cheap. It was also built like a fortress, which is what caught my eye. I was about to start a business, and wanted something fairly burglar proof. I needed some equipment and this recession was the time to get it, as smaller machinist outfits closed their doors. I picked up a large and a small lathe, a milling machine - old, but built like a battleship - and other miscellaneous metal working items - all for a song. I didn't waste money on my apartment upstairs on anything other than the absolutely needed furnishings - like a bed, stove and refrigerator. The bed I needed because I still played games with my old girlfriend - and some new ones, also.

I had the front of the building professionally redone, and soon opened as "Hard Metals Co." I was an expert in machining the very hard materials that most machine shops hated to work, since any inexpertness would result in damaged tools or equipment. Metals like all the various stainless steels, nickel, chromium, cobalt, and tungsten, just to name a few. I had no overhead, other than some low property taxes and water and power. I also had a large investment stash, so I could afford to wait until my business naturally grew.

It did, slowly. As the recession slowly came to an end, I picked up a few specialty orders, and as the word spread other work flowed in. I didn't do mass production, specializing instead in one of a kind, cut-to-fit, replacement items mostly. I made sure that every piece of work that I sent out was absolutely perfect, even if I had to lose money on the job. As a result, my reputation grew as a machine shop that could be depended on for absolute reliability.

The cost for my services was very high, but if a company could repair a machine for a few thousand dollars, instead of having to replace it for several million, that was a no-brainer for the financial officer of the outfit. It wasn't long before the customer realized that the part they had received from me was of higher quality than the original. I was also helped by the trend of machinery companies to effectively abandon their old products in the hope that they would be discarded for new.

Meanwhile, I still made small high-quality items for more personal use.

* * *

One day, a well dressed individual walked in to my office. He was nervous, and possibly embarrassed, it appeared. We were obviously alone, since at that time I had no other employees, not even a secretary.

"Good afternoon, sir," he started. After my affirmative reply, he continued, "I understand that you make custom metal fittings to order?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. "I can build just about any part you need."

Again the nervousness. "I would want this transaction to be confidential." What on earth was this? He didn't have a part in his hand, and he wasn't dressed like a maintenance dude. In fact, he looked more like an attorney. Did he want an illegal part to be built? How in hell would a machined part be illegal, anyway?"

I was mystified, but nodded again. "Certainly, sir. I see no need to inform anybody else of our business."

He handed me a picture. Ah... That explained the attitude. "Can you build one of these?" It was a picture of a painting, probably a book cover, of a woman in a sirik. I had never heard the word, but I knew what the item was.

I nodded and smiled. "Yes sir. You've come to the right place. With your permission, let me show you some of my other, shall we say, less advertised products."

I unlocked the door in the rear of my office, turned on the lights and gestured for him to enter. It was a large room, immaculately clean, and totally unexpected to be in the back of an oily machine shop. On the walls were expensive bookcases and around the room were pedestals. These supported various bondage devices, from collars, locks, polished chain, bracelets, plugs, rings, and many other pieces of paraphernalia for making a woman - or a man - feel owned. Larger items like racks, stocks and suspension furniture were in the center of the room.

His eyes grew wide over his open mouth as he looked around. "My god..." He walked around inspecting item after item.

Finally, as he began to recover, I said, "As you can see, I have the same... shall we say, hobby as you. I have made these for use on my own... girlfriends. Notice that all of these items are of the highest quality - there are no plastic, tin plated toys, or junk like you will find in one of those back alley sex shops. All of the binders are stainless steel, the wood is mahogany. The golden items are genuinely thick plated, 22 carat gold. I spare no expense in making this type of gear."

He was speechless as I led him back to my office. "As you said, any transaction we have will be confidential. I would ask that you treat the exotic part of my business the same. There is nothing illegal here, but local attitudes are such that..."

"Certainly, sir," he responded as he finally came back to life. "I'll be happy to keep your... business between ourselves. I'm just astonished to find a supplier of things for my hobby, as you say, locally. Usually I have to order such items from California. And nothing I have purchased so far comes close to your quality."

I nodded my thanks. "Now back to your item. I can certainly make it to order, however, I will need the measurements of the woman who will be wearing it." I naturally assumed that this would be a woman since homosexuality had yet to make it out of the closet, generally - especially in the South. "If she wants to come in for a fitting that will be fine, but I understand that she may be hesitant to pose for such a personal item of wear. Otherwise, I will need her wrist, ankle and neck sizes."

He pulled out a notebook, ripped out a page and handed it to me. I inspected it. "Ah... These look satisfactory. Just one other thing, is this item for show, or do you want it to be totally inescapable?"

"Yes sir, I want it real."

I nodded. "Very well, the bracelets and collar will be stainless steel, the chain will be light, but of unbreakable chrome plated welded links. I will also supply you with five small, but very secure plated locks of the same strength as the chain." I stopped for a moment as I calculated. The cost to you for this item will be..." I named a price that was obscenely expensive, but you have to pay for quality.

He didn't even hesitate. "When will it be ready?"

"Any time after Wednesday you can pick it up. You may bring the woman for a fitting if you want - in private, of course - she doesn't even have to meet me."

We shook hands, and as he turned to leave, I said, "One other thing... If you should happen to have friends or acquaintances who might need other such... devices for their entertainment, please give them my address."

"Certainly sir. Good day to you."

* * *

That's how it started. He was ecstatic over the sirik when I handed it to him. He also purchased a large number of personal items that he had seen on the last visit. Later, he came in with other orders for this or that.

The word slowly spread, and I began to pick up a clientele of B&D customers. Not many, but very exclusive. This was a time that far predated the Internet, so all research had to be done at the local adult book and magazine stores. I had a huge stack of fairly sleazy BDSM magazines that I perused through to get ideas for new items, but the bracelets and collars were such standard items that I just always stocked them in various sizes. But all else was made to order. Some things got fairly far out.

My first and still favorite girl friend, Cindy, was also laid off, like me, so I had set her up with a small hair dressing shop - 'The House of Woman'. I didn't understand the need for such things, but she made a go of it and paid me back in short order. As an aside, she also specialized in piercing - mostly ears, since this was long before the time of visible skin jewelry. But she came in handy on the infrequent occasions when a woman's nipples or labia needed holes.

* * *

Business was really picking up. I finally had to put on an employee to help with the regular industrial work. I went through three machinists before I found one who would work to my exacting tolerances. Sam was his name and he was fairly elderly, about forty, didn't move very fast because of an old Korean war wound, but followed my specifications to the last ten-thousandth. I never had a problem with his work, and paid him well as a result.

* * *

A new customer came by one morning to make an appointment. That night he brought his sub, dressed but wearing a full hood - deaf, dumb and blind. He ordered a metal bra, or halter, for her. In those pre-computer days, that was something that couldn't be put to blueprints. I wondered how to create those compound curves in metal without having her available all during the manufacturing process. We finally hit on the solution. He procured one of her bras, we took her into the display room and tightly bound her to a vertical pole - actually a four by four mahogany post set in a platform that allowed a sub to be attached in various ways for use. Then the bra was soaked in wheat paste, a fan was placed in front of her, and she was left to dry. A few hours later, the bra was rock hard and when removed was a perfect pattern.

A few weeks later, he came back and wanted me to build a clit shield, but one that left her pussy open for use. That was a puzzler, and I told him that I would have to do some research. Later, when I had my girl strapped down to a rack, with her legs up and spread, I began looking into the problem. And other things.

A chastity belt would do the job of covering her fun button, but he wanted to still be able to use her, while denying her the ability to pleasure herself when he was gone. I played with a waist belt, with descending straps down on either side off her pussy and back up. But it seem to be way too much to cover such a little spot. Finally, I got Cindy in on the research. It was she who came up with the solution, assuming that the guy wanted to do it that way.

I called the customer in for a consultation, and he immediately agreed. In fact, he was ecstatic. After all, the pain wouldn't be his, just the problem of his worthless sub. So, I built the first small piece, which was nothing more than a small bent barbell piercing about an inch long. The sub was delivered to Cindy's shop, taken into the piercing room, and three small holes made in her twat, one just above where the crack began, and the other two about a third of the way to her pussy hole, through the lips. Sterile inserts were used to let the wounds heal, and the time would allow me to build the other item.

A month later, all four of us were in my bondage display room - my customer and his sub, myself, and Cindy. We strapped the sub to a convenient rack, spread her legs, and Cindy inserted the stainless barbell in the hole at the top of her crack. The ends stuck out about a quarter inch on each end, and then had threaded balls screwed on and made permanent with thread lock. Then a cupped piece of metal was slid down over the barbell, slots in it made to just fit the barbell shaft. A small and delicate lock was then threaded though a pussy lip hole, a hole in the bottom of the metal clit cover, then though the lip on the other side. When locked, her little joy button was totally inaccessible by any fingers.

She was quite a sight in her metal bra, collar, wrist and ankle bracelets, and the little cover between her legs. The customer was quite happy, but what I wanted him to do was leave, immediately. I needed to strap my own bitch down and relieve some serious pressures in my cojones.

* * *

I became friends with one of the adult video shop owners, and he referred any special orders to me. In this way, and by word of mouth, knowledge of my alternate business began to spread. How far, I began to realize when a pair of detectives showed up one morning. They saw my machine shop, my office and nothing else. It wasn't a raid, just a checking of certain rumors that they had heard. I was honest with them, and said that I had made many sexual devices for customers to their specification. Nothing illegal about that. Neither was the use of the items, as long as the recipient was willing. I emphasized that this was a machine shop, not an adult toy store, and I would make anything that a customer would pay for as long as it wasn't patently illegal.

They seemed satisfied, but after talking with my new adult store friend, I realized that the problem was just starting. He said that the real harassment would come at next election time as the local district attorney and associates looked around for a campaign theme. I decided that some pre-planning was in order.

Back at the shop, I opened the dusty trap door leading downstairs. The basement was a filthy mess, partially full of disintegrated cardboard boxes, packing materials, rat droppings and just junk. A single bare bulb didn't help to show much. It was big, probably as big as the entire upper building floor. Along one wall, a four foot square hole in the floor had a rusted steel ladder bolted into the wall and leading down - a sub basement. I knew it was there from the inspector's notes - I had hired him before I purchased the place to make sure I wasn't buying a crumbling disaster. Then I had totally forgotten about it.

My light didn't show much from the top looking down. Kicking it with my foot, I decided that the ladder was still serviceable. Down I went, about twelve feet to a dirt floor. This room was much smaller, about twenty by forty feet. The walls were concrete but the floor was just bare dirt. I could see round concrete patches in the ceiling and walls where sometime in the distant past some kind of utilities ran through here. For now, except for the pile of trash under the ladder where junk from the upper basement was kicked through the hole, the floor was bare.

My first thought was that the sub basement could be the perfect place to store items that I didn't want found by some squad sent by a politician bent on getting reelected.

As I looked around with the flashlight, I noticed two areas of opposite walls, about door sized, that had been closed with mortared cement blocks. Did there used to be a utility tunnel between the buildings on this street? That was intriguing. After lunch, I was back down at the bottom with a sledge hammer and looking at the mortared up rectangle in the west wall. Just a few hits and several blocks fell out. Behind them was nothing but dirt.

The opposite wall was breached in minutes also, but behind it was only darkness. Shortly, I had knocked out enough blocks to enter a short tunnel, about five feet wide and eight feet tall. Old corroded brackets on the wall showed that this had to be a utility tunnel from decades past. In only about fifty feet, I came to another blocked up wall. I knew that it was somewhere under the vacant building next to me. I was leaving my property now, and technically trespassing, but since I was twenty or thirty feet below ground level, I doubted that anyone would notice.

I blasted though the blocks again. On the other side was another musky room, again about twenty by thirty. In this one, the access hole in the ceiling was cemented over. Again on the other side was a blocked up portal. Jeez! How far did this thing go?

Through the next wall was a much longer tunnel. At least a hundred feet or so. It ended in the standard blocked up hole. I wasn't sure where I was now, so I didn't try to open it up. Instead, I returned down the tunnel and went back to the surface. Walking out on the street, I took a measure of what was to the east of my shop. The building next door was a brick structure, three stories and falling down. Next was a vacant lot that probably used to contain another structure like mine. Next was another cement building, but at least in as good a shape as mine. This one had a dry cleaner shop in on part of the ground floor. The upper two stories probably had once been offices, but from the look of them they were abandoned.

* * *

Cindy and I were, well, a pair. There was absolutely nothing in my makeup that desired a family, or kids, and in fact, years ago I had had a certain operation to make sure that I didn't father any. She was the same way, some what rare for a woman - she had no desire for a nest somewhere. I found out much later that she had had the same female operation for the same reason.

We were very close. I don't know if it was love. I'm not even sure that I would recognize the condition. We certainly liked each other tremendously, and spent much of our time together. But it was nothing exclusive. If she found some young hardleg that she just couldn't resist, that was her business, although I expected her to tell me of any technique that he might know that I didn't. Similarly, if some hot cunt came along, I could pump her without the guilt of violating a relationship. Cindy might ask me how good she was, but that is all.

While I was totally straight, Cindy could enjoy a female relationship on occasion. In fact, a few times in the past, we both enjoyed another female in our bed together. Usually, it was her office manager, Mary.

Mary was quite a piece of work, especially for those times. She had a nice body, somewhat plump, but that just made her a soft lay. But her main feature, as long as the lights were on, were the tattoos that covered a large part of her body from her neck to her legs. And this wasn't sailor ink, done in some dive on the wrong side of town. Actually, she did get them on the wrong side of town, but whoever did them was an artist. They were really beautiful - multicolored and in context. On her back, a dragon rose out of a surreal landscape toward a magnificent vixen, with improbably high and large tits, chained to a rock. A knight, on her left side was galloping to the rescue. And so forth. She had a map of what her body would look like in a few years - Not a square inch of her body, except her face, would be blank.

On the front, her bare pubic area had a face of a demon, with an open mouth and a tongue where her slit was, so every time I was shafting her, it looked like the inked character was giving head. In fact, when Mary was in need, she would inform me that it was time to 'feed the pussy monster.'

With us, it was sorta like family life, without the family.

* * *

The idea of the underground tunnel fascinated me for some reason. I knew that many big cities had extensive underground infrastructure, although most apparently were abandoned or in disuse by now. I spent time in the library and in the city hall archives trying to find out more information. Very little was available. I found a picture of the old steam generation plant that serviced downtown and assumed that the tunnel was used for heat distribution as well as water and sewer.

Then I had an idea. From the archives, I found a list of customers for the old steam plant. Then I plotted their locations on an old map of the city. That showed me that the plant serviced the old downtown. It didn't give me a map of the old tunnels, but at least told me what old buildings they went under.

* * *

That afternoon, a woman, about thirty or thirty five, entered and asked for me. My employee called me from the back, and I invited her into my office. I knew what this had to be - dressed like she was, there was no way that she was going to ask for a bearing housing or a jackshaft. However, this was my first woman client for my alternative products - at least I assumed that. Heck, she could be canvassing for a donation for all I knew.

"Mr. Barton? Bob Barton?" She wasn't nervous or scared, but I could detect some uncertainty.

"That's me. How can I help you."

She looked around as I gestured to a chair. "Mr. Johnson said that you specialized in certain... wearable items made to order." Johnson was a client who purchased bondage stuff from time to time.

I got up and looked out the door, then closed it. It was more for show than anything else. Nobody else was around but Sam, my machinist, and after a lifetime of loud tool work, he would have trouble hearing us if he was in the same room. "Mrs... Miss...?"

"Miss Laughton," she answered.

"Miss... Laughton. Confidentiality is my long suite, and there is nobody else around. I make sexual items for people to their specifications. I require cash for payment, and I keep absolutely no records as to who ordered what. I don't want to know your address. If anybody asks, I don't even remember seeing a woman of your description. Please speak freely."

"Thank you," she said. "Well... I would like a chastity belt. One comfortable enough to wear all the time. And lockable. Is that possible?"

This was a new one. The idea of asking for a sex toy that would prevent sex was... heck, I didn't know. Futile? Ridiculous? However, the customer is always right. "Hmmm." I mused. "Like a leather belt, or..."

"No! she interrupted. I want it made out of metal and totally unbreachable."

I shook my head. "Miss Laughton, even something made of the hardest materials in existence can be broken by anyone wanting to make the effort. However, a belt made of hard metal would defeat anyone who didn't have very special tools."

She nodded and obviously wanted to say something else. I waited for a few seconds, then said, "You have something else in mind, correct?"

"Could... Could it have a vibrator on my... over my...?" That was as far as she got.

I took over. "Miss Laughton. I can build anything you want, BUT..." I held up my finger and waved it. "One thing you have to realize and get used to is that we are going to be talking about some intimate parts of your body. Words like titties, pussy, asshole and others will be used. I have to examine and measure your body closely. And I have to touch certain parts of it on occasion. If any of this upsets you, then we can't do business."

She nodded without looking at me. "Yes, I realize that. It is just that I haven't quite... the reality of the situation hasn't quite sunk in yet."

I smiled. "I understand. And I will try to ease you into it slowly. One other thing. I am a normal man, and fairly young. The sight of a female body excites me and I can't do anything about that. I don't want to do anything about that. So if my body reacts to my examination or measurements of you, then that is just the way it is. I will, however, pledge to you that I will not use our association to hit on or take advantage of you in any way."

She nodded again.

"Now, you want a chastity belt, but one with a vibrator in a position that will massage your clit - or clitoris, just to be clearer. Correct?"

"Yes," she said. "Is that possible?"

I nodded. "The vibrator, certainly." I thought for a moment. "Where would the batteries go?" I mused. "You would have to be able to turn it off and on, so there would have to be a switch."

"Could you make it where it would come on at random times? In such a way as I would have no control? And not when I'm sleeping?"

Holy shit. What do you call these kind of women. Self masochists? Solo subs? After another fifteen minutes or so of conversation, I said, "I'll have to think about that. I'm not sure. What you are asking for is very unusual. I need time to experiment and see if what you want can be done. Can you come back for another consultation?"

She nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, of course."

"Just one other thing - I hate to mention it, but..."

She reached in her purse and handed me a piece of paper with the local bank's letterhead. "This is my balance at the Southern Bank."

I looked at it. Sumbitch! She could buy me with just the month's interest. "Thank you, Miss Laughton. It appears to be... ah... adequate."

I thought about it for a few minutes. "I'll do some research and give you some options. Can you come back at the end of next week?"

"Yes, say Friday?"

"Fine. That will give me a week to do some planning." A thought popped into my head. "One other thing, Miss Laughton. This item will be a very intimate piece of gear. To reach your desire of being able to wear it permanently, I will have to fit it to you personally. Are you shy about being naked in front a man?"

She smiled and shook her head. "I doubt that you will find that I have anything you haven't seen."

After she left, I just sat there and thought. What the fuck is with these wom... Never mind. They are what they are. Back to her wants. As I said, the chastity belt and vibrator were no problem. But, where did the batteries go? Putting a battery compartment in the belt was going to start to make it bulky. It was going to show under even thick clothes. Using the pocket of the clothes was a problem. What she wore would have to have a hole to get a wire through, and it would have to be pluggable. Maybe I could stick it in her pussy, I joked to myself. Funny. An electric pussy.

Wait a minute. I thought about that for a while.

* * *

By now I had plenty of income and very little in the way of expenses. I decided to indulge myself on a whim. First, a trip to city hall to get a permit to do some renovations.

Before starting, I covered the hole leading to the basement with a large sheet of steel so as to hide the fact that it was even there.

My building was divided into front and back halves with a concrete block wall. The machinery business only occupied the front section and was even now only partially used. The back half was just empty and dusty.

A large freight door was installed in the back wall to allow trucks to enter from the alley. Also, a corresponding door was made in the divider wall. This I explained as a way to get supplies without them having to park in the street in front of my building while unloading. And as a matter of fact, that was the truth - just not all of it. Next, I hunted around and found a used traveling crane for sale which I then had installed in the back half of my building. The crane just happened to travel over the opening to the basement.

Finally, this phase was completed when I closed up all other accesses between the two halves of my building except for the new overhead doors leading out the back and into the front section and one leading to my office. When these were locked, all access to the back half was prevented by anyone but me.

By moving the crane over the basement hole I could lift the heavy plate of metal and allow access to the stairs. Clumsy, but this was a temporary solution.

* * *

At the local library, I looked up chastity belts. There wasn't much, just a few references and some line art pictures - that particular piece of history, in this area of the country, was obviously not something that was thought to be needed to be in a public library. I stopped in to talk to the adult store owner and asked if he had any info. He did. From the back he brought an old book with the title of "Sexuality in the Dark Ages." Promising to return it promptly, I headed back to the shop to peruse it.

A couple of hours later, I knew that not only was this going to be a major cut and fit job, it was going to take some heavy experimenting.

* * *

A trip to the wagon yard got me several illegal laborers. I paid them well and started them to cleaning out the basement. Of course, all this work was done at night and on weekends. It wouldn't do for Sam and my customers to wonder what the hell was going on in the back.

It was emptied of all trash, then washed down and a coat of white cement paint was applied to the walls and ceiling. When finished, it looked really nice - and BIG. A twelve foot ceiling and a huge expanse of floor as big as the whole building made it seem to be almost like an indoor sports stadium. Of course, the many concrete pillars holding up the upper floor/ceiling took away some of the feeling of expanse.

Next, the hole to the sub basement was lengthened and a real set of stairs installed to replace the metal ladder bolted to the wall. Again, the subbasement was cleaned up, although I didn't bother to paint it.

Again, I hunted around for used equipment. While purchasing the long conveyer that I needed, I also found a large surplus milling machine. As far as I was concerned it was a cheap imported piece of light duty junk, but I picked it up for a song - in fact, for the price of it as scrap metal. I had plans for it.

The crew started digging out the dirt in the west wall tunnel, after cleaning up the opening by removing all the rest of the cinder blocks that it had been closed with. The dirt was delivered by my new conveyer up both floors to a waiting truck. I was hoping that the tunnel wasn't fully filled in from there on. If so, then that part of the project would come to an end fairly quickly.

* * *

Miss Laughton showed up on Friday, late. I showed her some pictures and sketches and we agreed on a price. She was wealthy, or she would have been wasting her time. This product was going to be expensive. Monday, I ordered the materials I needed.

"Miss Laughton, don't take this the wrong way, but women are built differently from each other. I need to measure... ah... certain parts of your... ah... parts for..."

"Mr. Barton. We both know what we are here for, and neither one of us is a blushing virgin. Tell me what you need to do. As I said before, I doubt that I am going to show you anything that you haven't seen before. Feel free to look at anything you want."

I laughed, the ice broken. "Ok. I need to make some measurements. Specifically, I need the angle of your legs in the front, the width of your, well, your pussy at different locations. How far down from your waist your hole is, your waist size, the distance through your crack from the front to the back - well, several things. By the way, I will need your panties to use as a rough sizer."

She stood up and immediately stepped out of her skirt, then her pantyhose, and then lastly her panties. Then she stood up with her legs spread and said, "Measure away."

Shit! Man, what a sight! She was shaved, or depilated, and totally bare from the waist down, standing in front of me with both legs apart and telling me to get close and start working. Cindy's cunt was going to have a real workout tonight.

I got a cloth measuring tape, and a pad of paper and started. I put a little mark with an ink pen on her stomach and back at the bottom of where the waist belt would be, then ran a string from mark to mark through her crack. Fifteen minutes later, I was finished, but was rutting like a kid looking through a hole into the girl's shower room. Cindy was really going to be sore tomorrow.

She looked at me for a minute, then, instead of getting dressed, started to unbutton her blouse. I just watched, wide eyed. Shortly a full bra was showing, then it too dropped on the pile of clothes on my desk.

She stepped up to me. "Mr. Barton. I feel that your condition is my fault and I need to help you alleviate it." My 'condition' was very visible and had my front pants tent poled. Since I almost always went commando, there was nothing to stop it, except my jeans. She reached for my zipper, and polite as always, asked, "May I?" I gulped and nodded. Zipppp! And out it sprang. Shortly, I had my clothes in a pile beside hers.

She began to kneel, obviously to began a little tongue action, but I took hold of her arm and said, "Wait." I pointed to the door in the rear wall of my office. "Come with me." She followed, no doubt expecting that I had a little room with a bed in the back. She was wrong - it was a big room.

I closed and locked the door behind us as she stood frozen, just looking around at the unbelievable assortment of bondage and discipline equipment on the walls and covering the floor. I just let her stand there and look until she got her fill. Finally, she looked around at me.

I just smiled and said, "I have a couple of girl friends that are into B&D. And building bondage apparatus has been a hobby of mine since I got out of the army."

She began to walk around and examine some of the items. She stopped. "A real medieval rack." She looked at me. "You made this? It looks like an original."

"Every bit made in USA by me. I just weathered it to look like it had been taken out of a dungeon somewhere."

She pointed. "Oh my God. Is that blood?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it. Sometimes the torturer gets out of hand with his whip." As her eyes got wider, I chuckled and continued. "Not really. Just brown paint to look like the real thing. Some customers want a brand new piece of furniture - some want it to look genuine."

A while later, she came to a spreader table. "I assume that the woman lays back on this and her legs go up here?

I could tell by now that she was well turned on by the room. "Yep," I replied. "Do you want to try it?" She nodded. "Ok, turn around and lay on your back with your butt at the edge of the table." She leaned back as I walked around to the other side. "I don't know if you have ever been restrained before, but if you want loose, just say so." Another nod. I flipped the hinged collar over her neck and secured it with the turn bolt. Her beautiful and definitely non-saggy tits were rising and falling rapidly with her breathing. I then pulled her arms out from her sides and latched them in cuffs beside the two poles that rose from the table's edge beside her butt.

The poles were about four feet apart and stuck up about four feet above the table top. At the top were short chains and more cuffs. I lifted her legs that were dangling over the edge and fastened them into the steel manacles. Now she was well spread, with her legs pulled back with knees bent and her feet high above her. She could wiggle all she wanted, but nothing could be hidden or closed. I finally took my eyes off of her spread crack and asked, "What do you think?"

"God. This is unbelievable," she replied as she tested her bonds. "I feel so helpless."

"You are helpless, I guarantee," was my answer. "Nobody escapes from my equipment on their own. These aren't toys - they're the real thing." My eyes were back on her crack. "Do you want loose?"

"NO!" she answered, emphatically. "Let's go on with what we were about to do." That's what I hoped to hear. Before I could start, she hesitantly asked. "Don't you put one of those gags on the girl first?"

"Usually. Do you want one?"

She nodded. I walked over to the wall and selected one that I thought would be good for a beginner. It was enough to keep her from speaking, but was soft and had air holes in it. I held it above her face, and asked, "Are you ready. You realize that once you have this on, you are mine to do with as I please?" Wide eyed and breathing hard, she nodded, but didn't speak.

"Open wide." She did, and I stuffed the ball in and wrapped the Velcro straps around the back of her head. Gotcha! This pussy is mine for the next hour or so. Then, I dropped the waist half clamp in place, and secured it, followed by another plastic band across her forehead and attached to the table. Her movements were now restricted to moving her knees and elbows somewhat, but she could no longer nod or move her head. This was as far as I wanted to take her - any more restrictions on moving could rapidly become oppressive to a beginner. I didn't want her tortured, just hooked.

"Gosh, Jill." I looked at her. "I assume that since I am now so familiar with your body, I can call you Jill?" All she could do was look, but I pretended that she had given me permission. "Good. Uh-oh. I forgot something - sorry." I walked back over to the wall, then behind her. "A slave almost always gets a blindfold." Before she could digest that information, I had it over her eyes and velcro'ed on. It was showtime.

For the next fifteen minutes, I just used my hands. Up and down her body, arms and legs, but other than playing with her boobs, nothing intimate yet. Finally, I pulled up a stool and sat down at the end of the table, staring into that spread and beautiful crack. I traced a finger up and down, around her slit, but not yet anything serious. From this angle, I could see that her rapid breathing hadn't stopped. And from the prominence of her nipples and engorged pussy lips, she was really turned on. And I had hardly started yet.

I decided to bring her off before I got mine. So I started in with some major fingering, except that I didn't stick a finger up her asshole, just rimmed it a little. I had no idea if she was into sex in that area or not. Better to be safe this first time - what I hoped was a first time, I reminded myself. Finally, as I decided that she was ready, I reached around with both hands to roll her nipples, while my tongue gave her the full servicing of her pussy. In a while, her legs suddenly went rigid against the ankle chains, her arms tried to pull out of the manacles, and her body tried to lift against the waist strap. A gurgling "AHHHHHHH" managed to make it out around the gag. I continued for a few seconds more until she just went limp, then stood up.

I gave her a minute or so, then walked around beside her head and pulled the ball gag and blindfold off. "How was your first foray into bondage-land?" She was still breathing hard - almost gasping - but her smile told the answer. She tried to move her head over to look at my rock hard johnson, but only her eyes could move. Finally, she said, "How about you? It still won't fit into your pants."

"I bet I can find somewhere it will fit," I replied. And shortly, it was fitted quite well into a warm, wet, and wonderful place.

* * *

In about thirty feet, my crew broke through into - nothingness. The continuing tunnel. Once they cleaned up the last of the dirt, I paid them off, gave them a bonus and a song and dance about running new pipes and electricity from downtown.

Now I had to fix an access to my subterranean kingdom, but one that could not be located no matter what the search. I assumed that somewhere was a record of the old basements and tunnels in some dusty file cabinet. Probably in the tax office, but I was confident that I was probably the only person on earth who knew or remembered that they existed. That wasn't a problem. Hiding an access behind the usual pivoting bookcase, or trapdoor under a rug, would provide protection from only cursory search. I needed something that would require the searcher to almost tear the building down.

I removed the loose piece of steel over the basement opening, then installed a thick steel floor plate, covering the opening completely. At one of the narrow ends, I attached some massive hinges, but built to my specifications - they didn't look like hinges - just big floor anchors. On the other end were two matching "floor anchors", but were non-working dummies. Now I had a hinged trap door to the basement, but not one that could be lifted by any reasonable number of humans.

On top of the plate I installed the imported milling machine that I had bought earlier. The advantage of using the lower quality import was that the weight was much less than a full blown production machine. Now the only opening to the basement was covered by a real and working machine and was completely disguised from any search, short of tearing the building apart.

To access the underground, the overhead crane would be moved over one end of the milling machine, which would then be lifted along with the floorplate and would expose the stairs leading down. Of course, this entry could only be done at nights and on weekends since the whole operation was not exactly silent. Any use during a work day would have Sam and any customers wondering what the hell was going on in the back.

As an afterthought, I enclosed the staircase with walls and put a large one way mirror in the bottom door.

* * *

The flexible part of the chastity belt was totally made of stainless steel cloth. From a one inch wide belt that would eventually lock in the back, a vee of steel mesh went down the front to just before where her asshole would be. At that point, a quarter inch steel braided rope was permanently connected and went up through the ass crack to attach to the belt in the back.

I took Jill's panties to a clothing supply and asked for a window dummy to fit them. Finally, a rough belt was ready and I called Cindy to model it for me. But, unfortunately, she was larger than Jill and the tolerances were too small. I had made the belt adjustable so as to get maximum comfort, but one thing that stainless steel does not do, is stretch.

The lock and mechanism took almost as long as the belt to build. It had to be very flat, since anything with a normal tumbler would stick out very noticeably - not to mention being very uncomfortable to lean back against. I made an unusual design with a tumbler on both sides, but only the two rather than five or six in a normal lock. But the keyway was strange, and would be difficult to pick just because it didn't follow any known lock design. But one thing for sure, it wasn't coming off without the key. Or a diamond cutting blade, which would be very dicey to use next to a woman's skin.

I called Jill and asked her to come back in.

I escorted her in, locked the door, and asked her to sit down. She sat there, looking both expectant and excited.

I sat down in front of her. "Jill," I started, "What you want built is going to take a while and some experimenting. First, let me say that I'm very interested in this... device" She nodded with a smile. "But, we may have to, as we say in my business, cut and fit for a while. It is very unlikely that I will build a chastity belt for you that works properly the first time." I leaned back. "After all, this isn't a passive piece of metal clothing that you will just strap on. It's a machine with moving parts."

"Fine," she replied. "I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with."

I picked up my notebook. "You want this to be inescapable by yourself, and to activate itself without your being able to start and stop it." She nodded. "Ok, here is what I have come up with." I looked at my notes. "The belt will have to be a little thicker in the front than a normal chastity belt because it has to contain several things that the medieval ones didn't. The extra thickness will be below your Venus mound, so it shouldn't show under clothes. The vibrator will be no problem, but since it is a motor, it has to have power. To make this self contained - that is, so you don't have to carry batteries in your pocket and have to plug and unplug every time you change clothes, I have come up with this." I looked up at her. "Excuse me, but I have to get really graphical now."

"No problem. Go ahead."

"The hole in the front that allows you to douche will be a little under an inch wide. It will still be far too small for any penis to fit, so you will still be protected. And here is the reason for the larger hole." I flipped the page to a drawing. "This is a battery holder, about five inches long but less than an inch wide. It will hold two double A batteries. This will be a seamless tube of stainless steel, to prevent injury in the rare event of a battery leakage. Also, the outside will be coated with latex to prevent irritation of the vaginal wall."

I waited for a question, but she just sat there looking at the sketch with barely concealed excitement.

"This unit will be locked in and unremovable without the key. But it still has to be made removable. There is the matter of your period, and the need to douche on occasion. Plus, research has led me to believe that the continual presence of a foreign object in the female vagina will eventually cause irritation. But, for your desire of... helplessness, you can prevent yourself from removing it, and stopping the vibrating process, by removing the key from your access. One way would be to mail it to a remailer. That would put the key out of your hands for a week or more. Anyway, we are a long way from that right now."

She was definitely excited, no doubt. "How long would the batteries last."

I shook my head. "Don't ask about details yet - I haven't even started on the mechanism. I wanted your yes or no before I started."

Immediately she said, "The answer is yes. Let's go."

I stood up. "I need to take some measurements. "Take your clothes off and stand over here."

Without hesitation, she began to remove everything. I started to say that only her skirt needed to come off, but kept quiet. What the heck. Shortly, a very nice female body was standing in front of me - again

I pulled a complicated piece of metal construction off a shelf. I held it upright, and stepped up to her. Her eyes opened wide. "You already have it made!?"

"No, no," I replied. This is just the basic belt without the crotch fabric, adjusters, lock or any mechanism. I just need to fit it to you so I can cut it to size. Spread your legs." What a thing to say to a customer. I brought it up between her legs, asked her to hold it up on the sides, then marked the belt in the back with a pen. Then I pulled the ass cable up and marked it also. Removing it and setting it aside, I spread a blanket on the table, then put a pillow at the end. "Please lay down on here with your legs together." She did.

I took several measurements and sketches, then said, "Spread them wide." Her legs veed out. I opened a shelf and pulled out a long narrow latex rod, rounded on the end. "Now... Jill, I need to insert this in your pussy so that I can measure to it, and get the position and angle of your vagina." She nodded and looked at the ceiling. Surreptitiously, I spread a little lube on the rod and inserted it slowly. By now, my mind was all business, and the fact that I had a very desirable female, with her legs spread, and a dildo sticking out of her twat, and on a table in my office, receded into the background. A strange thing, the human mind.

Finished, I pulled it out. Then, "Jill, I'm going to pull your upper lips apart so I can make sure of the location of your clit. I didn't take notes the last time I saw it. Ok?" Another nod. There it was, about average size. More measurements. "Ok, that's it. You can get dressed."

She pivoted up to a sitting position. She looked at me with a wry expression. "Well, I won't ever be embarrassed by visiting my gynecologist again." I wasn't sure how to take that, until she couldn't hold back the laugh. "Bob... As long as I'm undressed..."

When she finally left, after dark, both of us were exhausted and drained. In the case of myself, that was a literal statement.

* * *

I was really feeling excited now. Armed with a pair of flashlights and a pen and pad for making notes, I entered my new domain to explore. The tunnel continued straight for at least a hundred feet. Finally, I came to an intersection with corridors running in all four compass directions. Unlike mine, this section of underground had pools of standing water and... oh shit! Rats. I immediately returned back to my own building, went up stairs to get a sheet of plywood, and closed up the opening as tightly as I could.

That week, I built a steel door to fit the opening. One that was rodent proof. The tunnel under my section of street was rat free, mainly because of it's total dryness and the complete lack of anything to eat. The rats in the tunnel didn't bother me, but I definitely didn't want them to have access to my section and move in.

As soon as the basement was dehumidified, I moved all of my B&D products into it. This removed the risk of having the authorities find a large collection of what they considered to be disgusting perversions. Unfortunately, while the multi-ton trap door allowed secure access to the underground, it could only be used after closing for the day since the operation of the crane and clanking of metal could hardly be unnoticed even in a machine shop. It would only have taken a couple of times before anybody who happened to be in the front office would be wondering what in hell was going on back there. Plus, there was the problem of having to leave it open the entire time I was underground - also a major security problem.

So, it was only used to bring big items into and out of the basement and only at night or weekends. I needed another and much more unobtrusive entry.

* * *

The next item for Jill's belt was the little motor. It needed to be of the highest efficiency for maximum battery lifetime. It also had to be small in the scheme of things. A regular motor, even a tiny one, was out of the question. It needed to be very wide but very flat. Some stuff in my catalogs was close, but not close enough. Finally, I found some specialized motors for some kind of medical machine. They were almost an inch and a half wide, but only a quarter inch deep. Using one of these, with a wide diameter for the stator and rotor, I got plenty of torque and they very power miserly. You don't want to know how much each one cost.

I advertised for and talked to several electronic designers before I decided on a young man who seem to like his work more than money. I gave him my specifications and some down payment money and left him to it.

* * *

During the next several weeks I explored my new underground. It became almost a new hobby. What I slowly found was a grid covering the downtown part of the old city, built over half a century ago. Some tunnels were blocked by dirt that was dumped into the hole from above whenever the old building was torn down and a new one built. Several had steel or concrete pillars piercing the ceiling and floor that were the foundation of the new high rise skyscrapers above. In a couple of places I could barely squeeze through between these pillars and the walls. The steam, water and whatever other piping used to exist was totally gone - almost assuredly removed for the scrap value decades ago. So far I had found no access to above at any other location. Virtually every opening that hadn't been filled with dirt was closed with concrete.

I wondered if I was the only person who knew about this underground domain. There were probably old geezers still alive who had been engineers and maintenance workers who could remember when they used to come down here but I would bet that all of them would assume that the tunnels were long gone.

* * *

Jill was back for a fitting. She was bubbling over with excitement. This was just a test run of the hardware. The electronics weren't ready yet.

She stripped down, and I pulled the belt up her legs. I connected the rear cable, then snapped the belt together in the back. There was still no front to it yet, so her pussy crack was mostly visible through the triangle of steel. Except for the area over her clit. It was covered, and a curious circular round object was visible, being built into that part of the belt. The motor. It looked a lot like a thick half dollar piece stuck on the front of the belt.

There were a couple of wires sticking out - temporary, of course - just for testing purposes. I had a small box with two other wires sticking out that I connected to the belt wires. Here we go.

"Ok, Jill. I need to see if this gives the feeling you want. If not, then we will stop. Otherwise, we will try different settings to calibrate it."

She almost shuddered with excitement. She nodded, vigorously.

I flipped a switch on the little handheld box. "I want to know when you feel a low level of stimulation." The tiny motor was totally silent, since it didn't turn very fast compared to the normal motor in, say, a cassette deck. The motor shaft had a small bump that acted as a cam which caused a small piece of rubber to move back and forth. How fast depended on the voltage to the motor.

I turned the knob to feed a few hundred millivolts to the windings. She immediately stiffened, here breath was sucked in, and her eyes widened. I made a note of the voltage, then flipped the switch off. I looked at her.

"Oh my god. That was a low level?"

I nodded. This was a direct stimulation of the clitoris, so naturally it was more intense than just rubbing it. "Did it feel uncomfortable?" Some vibrators can overstimulate to the point of being painful.

"What? No! It was wonderful."

"Ok, hang on a minute. I need to recalibrate. It appears that a much lower range of stimulation is in order." I turned the box over - the bottom was missing for ease of change - and with a soldering iron, moved a wire further along a chain of diodes. "Here we go again. Feel that?"

She shook her head, sort of apprehensive at the expected stimulation. Another notch on the rotary switch. Another shake. Click, to the next position.

She nodded. "Ok, I can feel sort of a... a... well just a pleasant... I don't know. It feels good but is very gentle." Ok, that would be the low setting. I turned it off to let her come down a little.

In a few minutes, I readjusted and turned it on again.

"The same thing. A gentle rub." Up a notch. Then another. Her legs began to twitch. "Ok, that is much more intense. It wouldn't take long for me to come at that rate."

"I need to find the point at which it stops being pleasurable, and starts being painful." I turned it up again. She jumped. "Bad?" I asked. I could tell from her face that it wasn't, even before she shook her head. Another click. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and she moaned. Ok, that setting would be the high end. Just for my fun, I left it going. Actually, it wasn't just for my fun. She was in heaven.

Sure enough, with her nipples engorged into marbles, she drew in a deep breath, threw her head back and fell into a thrashing orgasm. As soon as I saw it wind down I turned the switch off. I busied myself with my tools to give her a chance to compose herself as her muscles jerked in the post orgasm contractions. I wasn't sure what she was going to feel as she wound down - having just been forced to have an orgasm in front of a casual male acquaintance.

In a few minutes, she was composed, but not embarrassed. "My, god. Is that what will happen when it goes off?"

I nodded. "Actually, my design is, if my electronics person comes through, that you will get a random stimulation at different times. The level of the stimulation and the length will also be random. It might just be a low level that makes you frustrated and horny. Or one like the one you just had that makes you lose control. Or anything in between."

* * *

I was getting enough business from the now recovering economy to have to hire another machinist. And I had to get a part time secretary from one of those temp agencies. Sam made sure that the new guy, Billy, was clued in to my absolutely no defects method of operation. Times were good and the money was good and getting better. I thought about using the adult sex store to sell my wares, but decided that my type of clientele, while they had no problem entering a machine shop, probably wouldn't want to be seen entering a store selling sexual ware. Back then, the idea of an adult purchasing sex toys was not in the mainstream, yet. In fact, back in my home state, even dildoes were illegal to sell.

But, I still got an ever increasing stream of upper level customers who wanted custom equipment. I was thinking about putting out a catalog, but hesitated due to the idea of it being hard evidence of what I built.

* * *

I got a call from my electronics designer that the prototype was ready, if I wanted to see it. I jumped in my truck and zoomed over to his lab - actually, a garage behind his mother's house. My first impression was that my client would have to carry it in a backpack, then I remembered that it was a prototype, made large so that it could be modified easily.

He showed me how it worked, or at least gave the theory. I can handle electricity, and motors, switches - heck, I have even made small circuits with transistors, but I was not an electronics wizard.

He pointed to a little chip clued to the circuit board. "This is actually the chip out of a digital watch. It handles the timing." Some wires were pointed at. "These are the jumpers that set the length of the random time. There can be one of four settings. Four, eight, sixteen or thirty-two hours."

"I don't understand," I said, shaking my head.

"Ok. From your specs, nothing can happen between the hours of 10pm and 7am. During that time, this chip holds the circuitry reset. Now, if the four hour jumper is set, there is a chance of an event happening during the next four hours, then during the time of the next four hours, until the circuit is reset at night. In other words, you could have several events a day. Probably two to four. Follow?" I nodded.

"If it is jumpered to eight hours, then you will have an average of half that many events per day. On sixteen, now you are down to the possibility of having no events that day. Actually, the real probability is that you will have a single event on the average of every two days. And on thirty-two, one every four days."

"Got it. Sounds good."

"Now, when an event is indicated, then this line will have a voltage applied that can be anywhere from the minimum to the maximum and anything in between. And it will stay active for a random length of time. This resistor controls that. Could be anywhere from fifteen seconds to five minutes."

He looked at me. "What do you think."

"So far, it looks great. I need to take it with me so I can do some testing."

Cindy and Mary were my guinea pigs. Whenever I came up with something new, one of them usually got to wear it all weekend. It was Cindy's turn. The latest device was just a bar that connected to both ankles and kept her legs stiffly spread. In the middle of that bar, another one was welded and rose vertically up to where it ended with a long dildo that was stuck up her asshole. Since it was installed with her legs straight, there was no way for her to get enough slack, as it were, to remove the dildo. As she walked around, straddle legged, the dildo would massage her butthole vigorously.

After about an hour, she complained that she had tested it long enough. Since I hate whining women, I chained her arms to the ceiling, strapped a gag in her mouth, then went to a movie and out to a good dinner. When I got back, much later, I decided that since her legs were already spread, she probably wouldn't mind me using the open hole in the front. Eventually, I got around to removing the spreader and plug, fed and watered her, and chained her to my bed for the night. A couple of whops with a strap shut off the complaints about the day.

Mary was into pain with her bondage, and as time went on the desire increased. Cindy liked pain from the standpoint of being forced into something, but it didn't take much to make her do whatever I wanted. But Mary's taste increased over time until her lashings and whippings were just shy of causing blood. When she was on the rack, she would scream bloody murder around her gag, but when it was over, she would usually tell me that I hadn't turned the winch enough - and ask why didn't I stripe her with the crop while I had her helpless? So I gradually cranked up the severity, but always cautious that I didn't cause real damage. In fact, after watching her and Cindy play with the medieval stretch rack, I installed a friction clutch on the wrench so that it couldn't pull past a certain force. I was afraid that Cindy, sitting on Mary's face and leaning over and tightening the ropes, would go too far while in the throes of passion.

Mary came back from the tattoo artist with even more of her skin covered with beautiful ink. This time, her right arm was getting the treatment.

* * *

Back at my shop, I rigged up one of the small motors to where it would vibrate against my arm when it was activated. I playfully toyed with the idea of strapping it to my dick, so I could enjoy the random stimulation, but I knew that a vibration that a woman would consider stimulating would barely be felt by a male. Oh, well.

The electronics and the battery pack I put in my pocket and carried around all day. I had the random time set on minimum, so as to have it activate as often as possible. It actually worked. The kid was good. Suddenly I would feel a sensation on my arm, that might go on for seconds, or for minutes. Then a half hour, or four hours later it would happen again, but this time barely feelable. After a day of testing, the next day I put it on the sixteen hour mode, which is what Marie would probably want. Just like he said, nothing happened that day. In fact, it was well into the evening of the next day and I was about to decide that it wasn't working, when suddenly the little motor massaged me for about two minutes.

After a week of testing, I had a couple of things to change, but gave him the go ahead to miniaturize it, based on my drawings.

* * *

Just like my friend in the adult store warned, I was served with a warrant for possessing materials inimical to the public moral good. Then a carload of detectives looked all over the premises, finding nothing but a collar and four bracelets that happened to be on my desk. They looked around the shop for awhile, but of course never realized that the stuff they were looking for was about twenty feet down.

On the advice of my attorney, we immediately sued the city in Federal court for violation of my First Amendment rights. A suit that he admitted that we would not win, but that it was necessary for the powers-that-be in the city to realize that anytime I was pushed, I was going to push back. And always in the back of the minds of the city attorneys was the possibility of my suit resonating with a jury and a judge and suddenly presenting the city with a substantial bill to be paid. It had happened before.

End of part 1