Steel City
by Morlock
Part 2

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.

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Ring!... "Hello." Jeezus, what the hell time was it?

"Is this Mr. Bob Barton?" A woman's voice.

"Yes."

"Are you kin to a Miss Cindy Stafford?"

Oh fuck! What is this? "No. She doesn't have any family. I'm her partner. What's happened?"

"She's been injured in an incident at work."

"At 2 am? Where is she? Who are you?"

"This is emergency admitting. Chestford Hospital." A pause. "May I list you as close relation, or as an acquaintance?"

"Yes. I'll be right down."

An incident? What the hell was an incident? Was that an accident? How the hell could she be hurt in a woman's fix-up and goop shop? The most dangerous thing in there was scissors. I told myself not to get into the frantic mode of trying to break my neck getting to the hospital. If she wasn't ok, then my running people off the road to get there five minutes earlier wasn't going to help her a bit.

When I got to the emergency room, they were still working on her. Naturally, they couldn't or wouldn't tell me anything. But there was a police office standing outside.

"Excuse me, officer." He looked up. "Are you here for Miss Stafford?"

He tilted his head toward the emergency room. "You mean her? Yes."

"What happened?"

"You her husband?"

I shook my head. "No, she doesn't have family. I'm her business partner."

"Apparently a couple of broads knifed her for the till. Workers. Her workers I mean. Sorry, that's all I know for the moment."

What the fuck? I went over in my mind the girls who worked for her. I couldn't imagine any of them able to stick pins in a doll, let along carve up the boss.

A couple of hours later, a resident doctor finally stopped long enough to give me a little scoop.

"Are you her husband?"

What the fuck is with the relationship crap? What difference does it make? Again, "No. She has no family. I'm the closest you are going to get. Her business partner." Not exactly true, but fuck them.

"She has a deep wound on the cheek. Fortunately it missed her eye. She'll recover but she'll not be going home for several days. Excuse me."

A nurse saw me and came over. "She's out for the night. Why don't you come back in the morning. Sitting here all night isn't going to help anything. She's going to be ok."

* * *

I was back at the hospital early the next morning, and as I waited I saw a couple of cops leaving the room. They didn't have uniforms on, but they might as well have been wearing big badges that said "Flatfoot."

A nurse said, "Mr. Barton. You can go in now."

Cindy was in bed with her eyes closed. I said, "Yo, kid. Whasup?"

"Bobby!" she drew the sheet over her head, but I could tell it wasn't serious. "God, don't look at me. I look like a two dollar whore after crossing her pimp."

I pulled the sheet back down. "You look fine. Besides, you know I never look at this end anyway."

We gabbed for a while, then I asked, "Ok, who did this and when."

She got serious. "I closed down as usual, then went out to eat with Mary. When I got back to the shop, I was worried that I hadn't turned off the wax melter - I got a new case of wax today - I mean, yesterday - and I had been pouring it into the small molds." Like me, she lived over her business - on the nights when she wasn't tied to my bed, that is.

"I went in the front door, instead of the side." The stairs leading up were on the side. "As I entered my office, I saw June and Cathy trying to pry the door off my safe." Her safe was just a cubby hole with a wooden door where she kept checks, receipts and a few bucks for petty cash. "I said or yelled something and June jumped at me with a knife. Then they were gone."

"How did you get here? I mean, who called the ambulance?" This was long before 911.

"I did. I dialed the operator and told her." She sighed. "That's about all. Well, not exactly all. Wait till you see my face - I'll make a great corpse on Halloween."

"Horseshit," I retorted. "They can sew up anything here. If it heals with a scar, we'll just have it removed by a plastic surgeon."

She was feeling pretty punk - more worried about the state of her looks than anything else. I told her that I would open her shop starting Monday, and close it in the evenings. And make sure that Mary, her main assistant, ran things ok. After a while, she started to run down and nod off. I left, deciding I would return that evening.

As I walked through the lobby, I was hailed by someone. Looking around, I saw that it was the cop from last night. "Mr. Barton." I walked over. "They caught those two bitches this morning."

"Shit," I said. "That was quick work."

"Well, these weren't the brightest cunts in the area. Hitting your own place of work is dumb. So is going home after a crime."

"Thanks," I said. "If you had to guess, what do think they will get?"

He shook his head. "Maybe two to five. And probably spend six months inside, actually."

"Great," I said with disgust.

"Hey," he replied with considerable sarcasm. "Be glad they were caught in Texas. In some northeastern states your partner would probably be on her way to jail for being a victim."

A couple of nights later, the phone rang again. A male voice this time. "Barton?"

"Yes."

"A word to the wise. If your broad identifies them, or testifies in any way, she's a dead bitch. Got it?"

I was taken aback for a second as what had been said finally soaked in. Then I instantly boiled over, then went into superheat mode. But, I squashed it. I knew better than to ask who was calling. Instead, I said, "I can't take advice from some pussy on an anonymous phone call - only dudes with the balls to talk to my face." He hung up.

That ruined the night for me. Pissed off didn't even begin to describe it.

* * *

The next morning, after visiting Cindy, I headed west to the sister city. Driving up to a house in the not so good part of town, I knocked on the door. An old woman answered.

"Hi. Is Shive around?"

"You a bill collector?"

"What? No. He and I were buddies in the army."

"Try down at Jillards."

"Excuse me?"

"The pool hall. 'Bout two blocks that way."

"Thanks. If he comes back, tell him Barton is looking for him."

The pool room was typical low rent. Dark, smokey, guys with no jobs hanging around. As my eyes got used to the darkness, I looked around for my buddy. I didn't see him. I walked over to the barkeep and asked, "Hi. You seen Shive here lately.?"

He stopped wiping the counter for a second. "You a bill collector?" Jeez. He must owe everybody in town.

"Nope, just an old army buddy," I replied. "Might have a job for him."

He pointed to a door in the back. "Knock three times."

Knock Knock Knock. The door cracked open. A face appeared - not one that I would want to see in a dark alley.

"Looking for Shive." The door opened and I stepped in. There was a card table, four guys around it, and a couple of kibitzers. Folding money and showing cards. The game was obviously poker. I watched as the hand went around, and finally saw who I was looking for. Nobody at the table even looked up when I entered. I knew that interrupting a serious five card draw was probably worth my life, so I just kibitzed also.

Some guy picked up the pot with three eights. Then the doorman said, "Yo, Shive. Company."

He looked up, then around and finally settled on me. Then suddenly his face lit up and then he was pounding my back. "Bart ole boy. Goddamn. What the hell you doing here?" A few minutes of good ole boy conversation ensued, then I asked to talk to him on the QT. We stepped out to the bar.

I told him what had happened and what I wanted. And was he interested?

"Hell, for money I'll do anything. I 'spect I can help. Where's your pad?"

I started giving directions, then he stopped me. "Sorry, bro. I don't have a car. Well, I did, but..."

Hmmmm. "You still got a valid license."

"Oh hell, sure. Just no wheels."

"Ok," I started. "I'll give you my truck. What the heck. If you do this for me, I'll sign the title over to you." I needed a bigger truck anyway.

He would probably steal it after the job was over anyway. Shive, I remembered, was totally untrustworthy outside of a mission. He would steal your last clean shirt for inspection, your money if he could get hold of it, even your woman if she would go with him. But, if it was a dark night in a bad place, he would die defending your back.

That afternoon we were at my quarters making plans. That evening he reported back. "Their bail is twenty five thousand dollars each," he said. Not a small sum in the 1970s. I knew that to get out they would have to put up ten percent to a bondsman. It would cost me five grand for the both. I peeled off the money and he left again.

I went out to get a new vehicle, then stopped by a shop for a little insurance, in case my ball-less caller decided to show his manhood around my place. The insurance came in a twelve gauge with a pump action.

* * *

Cindy got released the next morning and I drove her back to my quarters in my new truck. She was ok, but really sensitive about her face and what it was going to look like. I knew that I had to shortstop any depression that might come along with the sight when the bandages came off. Her shop was working normally, if a little short handed. I told her assistant, Mary, that I expected it to be run just like the boss was in the back room. And if she ran it satisfactorily during this mess, then I would be very appreciative, in a practical way - like with green stuff that folded.

Late that night, there were three knocks on the door. It was Shive. "Yo bro. Kin I show you something." I told Cindy I was going out for a little while and followed him down the stairs.

My... His truck was pulled up at my side door. I walked around to the bed and looked at a lumpy tarp covering the bed. He pulled it back to show the motionless bodies of two girls. The two bitches, no less. But, were they dead, drunk, asleep? That could wait for later. "Let's get them inside."

In a few minutes, both were laying on the floor of my office. I was prepared for them, with a hog-tie X bar for both. And two gags. Shortly, both weren't going anywhere even if they woke up.

We walked down the street to a two bit bar, ordered and sat down. "Ok, spill it," I said.

Taking a deep swig of his beer, he started. "Man, there is one bail bondsman who is going to be pissed in a few days."

"Does he know who you are?"

Another swig. "Nah. The license I showed him isn't mine. He did write down the license plate of the truck."

"Shit!" I exclaimed. "Why did you drive it to the bond office."

"Hey bro, relax. You're an expert in your stuff. I can handle my end."

"And..." I insisted.

"Well, if you had bothered to look, you would have seen that the plates on your truck aren't the ones it started the day with." Another swig. "I swiped a pair and switched them out before I left. Anyway, it took all day for them to get released. On the jailhouse steps, I gave them the song and dance about the bigwig who paid their bail." He stopped as a barmaid walked up, switched out our bottles and dropped off two more - even though mine had less than two swallows gone.

"They were curious as hell, but were willing to wait to see the big dude tonight. To pass the time, I bought two six packs of cold beer. We sat in the truck and talked. A couple of their bottles were fixed with mickeys." Chloral hydrate, I assumed.

"They should wake up by morning." He leaned over and quietly asked, "They carved up your woman, huh. You going to waste 'em? Cut 'em up? What?"

I shook my head.

"Shame to waste two good looking cunts, but I would never trust one who showed that she was too ready with a shiv." Actually, it had been Cindy's own letter opener, but he didn't need to know those details.

Shortly, I said, "Time for bed, besides I have to check on Cindy. You can sleep at my place tonight."

"Hell no, man." he answered. "The night is still young and my johnson hasn't been stroked yet. I'll find a place to crash - preferably between a couple of legs."

I nodded. "Ok, come by tomorrow. We'll go down and re-register the truck in your name, and I'll give you your stash." With that, I headed back to the shop.

Before I went to sleep, I needed to do something first. I lifted the trapdoor, hauled both unconscious bodies into the room, then carried them into the basement. It only took a few seconds to strip their clothes off, especially since I didn't care about damage.

I had already made it ready for them, with a single bare light bulb hanging down and a big bucket for them to poop and piss in. And most importantly, a pair of chains connected to a big eyebolt sunk into the concrete wall. On the end of the chains were two open collars, made by yours truly, and just waiting for a pair of female necks. I closed one around June's neck and snapped the lock shut. A few minutes later, her partner Cathy was chained beside her. I rolled both over on their backs and spread their legs. Nice looking. I would enjoy stuffing both of those cunts as time went on.

The last thing I did was set a large bottle of water within reach.

* * *

Cindy wanted to go back to work the next morning. It was probably a good idea so I drove her down the street, even though it was within easy walking distance. She opened up and I watched for a while, then headed back to my place. Shive finally showed up, I paid him well, drove down to the courthouse, and transferred the truck. I said I would contact him when I found the other information. The last I saw of him was the truck heading west with a young cunt next to him.

I wondered how the two bitches were doing. Probably hungry by now.

* * *

The actual electronics unit, and a spare, showed up. Actually, it was brought over by the kid. Once I called Jill, she cut short her business, whatever it was, and zoomed over.

I held up the completed belt, a gleaming symphony of stainless steel strap and mesh. She stepped into it and I snapped it shut and locked it. She walked around for a few minutes, testing it. It was slightly tight in the waist, so I let it out one notch. At her approval, she waited to see the piece de resistance. Actually, what she thought was the stimulation mechanism was only the battery pack. The actual miniature electronics were under a plate below the motor and above the piss screen.

She lay back on the table, and spread her legs. Through the almost inch-wide vagina hole, I could see her crack and the opening of her pussy. I lubed the long cylinder, now coated with latex rubber, and began to insert it into her. The electrical connections from the battery pack were a design problem. For one thing, pussies are always wet, and wetness and electricity don't mix. Not that there was the slightest danger involved - the two batteries only put out three volts - but wetness corrodes wires. Pee on the other hand, not only corrodes wires, but eats the hell out of them.

I solved the problem, I hoped, by using the belt itself as one conductor, and hand making a stainless wire for the other. This was inserted into a tiny, liquid proof (I hoped) connector next to the hole. Lastly, a plug made to fit into the hole, then rotate into place like a bottle cap, was installed. At the back of the little round plate was an eye for a small padlock, and a matching eye on the belt. I locked it.

I stood back and looked. It had the overall appearance of a normal chastity belt, but was a little bulkier here and there. It wouldn't stay hidden under tight slacks, but under normal female clothes it would be invisible.

"Ok, turn it on," encouraged Jill.

I took her hand and helped her to stand up. Her titties bounced as she dropped off the table. "Turn it on?" I scoffed. "Listen, lady. There's no switch. It can't be turned off without this!" I held up the key.

Her eyes were sparkling, and her overall demeanor was... well, like she was expecting a special package at any time. I asked her to put her clothes on, then for her to follow me outside. "Lets walk over to Harrods for some coffee, or something."

As we walked, she was fidgety, nervous, always looking around. "Are you ok?" I asked.

She laughed. "Yes. I am just imagining everyone looking at me and wondering why I'm wearing this contraption."

At the coffee shop, we relaxed in a booth. She was still bouncing up and down, emotionally. I explained the overall workings and maintenance of the belt. "Your biggest problem is going to be taking a pee." At her quizzical look, I continued. "It is going to splatter out the mesh at the front, and probably try to run down your leg."

She smiled. "Well, that's my problem. We females have never been as conveniently equipped for taking a whiz as you men."

She looked around, nervously wondering if anyone was watching. "When will it go off?"

I smiled and shrugged. "Who knows? It's totally random. It will trigger on the average of one and a half times a day. I can set it to happen more or less often, but you need to try this setting for a few days before we change it. It won't go off at night, between ten at night and seven in the morning is all we know for sure." I waggled my finger at her. "Just remember, that it has no memory. I said that on the average it will go off once a day or so. The keyword is average. But, it could trigger again one minute after it finishes the previous one.

"Now listen carefully. It's important that you realize that it may go off while you are driving. If it does, you need to pull over immediately. Understand." She nodded. "When it does trigger, you may just get a warm feeling, or it may rock you to an orgasm in seconds, or... anything in between. It can go off at anytime, including when you are standing in front of someone." I took a drink. "I've never had experience with iron underwear, but if I had to bet, you are going to itch and chafe for a few days until your skin gets used to it. Just be sure and pull different areas away from your skin when you shower or bathe so water can get under it."

We sat and watched the people going by outside. I let her just sit and think about her new toy.

Back at the office, she refused the keys. I looked at her in confusion. "If you agree, I will use you as my key holder. When I need it off, I will come to you and beg. You can set any price you want on the service - money or otherwise."

* * *

That evening, before I checked on Cindy at her shop, I went back down to the basement - actually, now a beginning dungeon - with a couple of pieces of fried chicken. As I stepped down into their view, the one who saw me first almost screamed, but she choked it off. Then they went through just about the routine I expected.

"YOU!" shouted Cathy as she recognized me. "You son-of-a-bitch! Take these chains off RIGHT NOW!" Her partner seconded the demand with much the same language. I was still pissed as hell at them, but I had promised myself not to permanently damage either one, although a few nights ago I would have cut their tits off and fed them to them, bite by bite.

But for now, I settled for a little revenge. I stepped up to June, since she was the one who used the letter opener, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to the floor on her stomach. I began to whale her back and butt with a flat riding crop. Her anger turned to frantic screams, but I kept on till her voice began to weaken along with my arm.

Meanwhile, Cathy had backed up as far as her chain would allow. She wasn't calling me names now. As I stood up and advanced on her, she began to plead, "No! No! Please. Please. Please." The plea didn't work. Shortly she was being held down by the hair and copied her partner with a long series of shrieks.

I hadn't done a day's work in ages that gave me more satisfaction. I dropped the two pieces of chicken on the floor and left.

* * *

I began to work on the basement - first was lights, then water. A shower was placed in a corner, and lots of rings and tie points along the wall. I put a tank in the subbasement with a sump pump so as to have a place for waste water to go. Finally a hole was sawed in the floor as a commode. Unfortunately, these girls would have to give up the idea of sitting. Besides, some authorities say the squatting position is healthier anyway. Eventually, it was ready for equipment. This would be my bondage development and testing lab, soon to be provided with a pair of assistants who would test the effectiveness of each item.

Meanwhile, the two bitches had gotten a new attitude after that first night. Now they just pleaded, but left off any reference to my ancestry for sure. Pointing with the crop, I would give an order and they would immediately comply. I had them squat and piss in front of me. Or insert their finger in the other's asshole. Anything I could think of as I took a break from working. It was kind of fun.

* * *

My attorney dropped by. With some interesting news.

"Bob," he started as he pulled some papers out of a briefcase. "The judge has denied the motion of the city to dismiss your suit."

"Say what?" I was surprised. "I thought there was very little chance of it going forward."

"I have to say I'm as surprised as you. But this is a new judge - and a young one - and was appointed by the current administration. So he's a liberal. And they tend to take the individual's side against big entities." He held up a finger. "That doesn't mean we are going to win big, or even win at all. Most of these get thrown out. Most of those that don't, lose the suit. And most of the few that win, only get legal costs and a modest award. But," he continued, "every now and then one comes up jackpot, like the one in California that bankrupted a city. That DA learned the hard way to stay within the rules. That is the important one that we need to remind them of."

"So what happens next?" I asked.

"An attorney will stop by. He's supposed to see me first, but he won't. They will try to get you to drop the suit, sign a paper to relieve them of liability, and tell you that they are graciously going to drop their complaint."

"And what happens when I tell them to fuck off?"

"They will try a few threats, then start bargaining again. Eventually you need to agree. You've made your point and they'll remember it. Unless you force their hand by selling little girls or heroin or the like, I doubt that you will be bothered again."

* * *

I came back from a trip to Houston - a business trip, quite lucrative - and noticed Mary's car parked in the lot. But, when I got upstairs, neither she nor Cindy were there. Whatever. After dinner and a little relaxing from being in the driver's seat for hours, I would head down to the dungeon for some frontal relief from my two bitches. But for now, I pulled a brew out of the 'fridge and sat down in front of the TV with my hamburger that I had brought in. But about halfway through the news, I kept hearing... something. I turned the TV down and listened - nothing. Back on it went.

Shortly, I stood up and listened again. I could have sworn I had heard a shout. There was no way that the girls in the basement could be heard, no matter what they did or what they shouted. Not with twelve inches of concrete and steel between them and the next floor. I went to the window and looked out. Maybe it was a mugging. Nope - empty street.

As I stood there puzzled, and trying to determine just what I was trying to detect, I heard it again. This time, with the TV off, there was no mistake. It was a scream. I quickly moved over to the bed, picked up my shotgun and made sure that it was loaded. Then headed down the hall in what I thought was the direction of the voice.

The upper floor was almost totally abandoned, except for my living quarters and a room in the back that was sort of a mini dungeon. Actually, it was just a windowless room that I had run some juice to for lights, and a few anchor rings in the wall and floor. We used it on occasion for play bondage - but not very often.

I had just gotten to the door, and the scream came again. Only this time I could hear Cindy's voice loudly ask, "Had enough, bitch?"

That was immediately followed by an unknown voice shouting, "YES! YES!", then by a loud whack and another scream. What the fuck? This door opened outward so I gently turned the doorknob and very slowly opened it a crack, pretty well knowing what I would find. Sure enough, there on the opposite side away from the door, Mary was spread eagled, face to the wall, in manacles, with Cindy standing behind her with a whip. An uninformed person would have called it a bull whip, but I knew that it was a shorter soft leather lash with turned edges. Given a woman's strength, it couldn't cut skin no matter how hard it was wielded, but that isn't to say that it wasn't incredibly painful. And they weren't playing. When Cindy struck, it was hard and Mary's leg and back muscles would jump like she had been electrocuted, and the scream she would let out wasn't fake either.

I watched for a few strokes, getting a massive hardon at the same time, then quietly closed the door and went back to my quarters. I sat down with the rest of my hamburger and thought about what I had just seen. Very interesting. Mary had turned into a real sub who was into real pain. There had been no playacting in the scene that I had just witnessed. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Mary would be a candidate for the position of real slave, two floors down.

I mused over that idea for a while, but it presented problems. If she disappeared, Cindy would go berserk wondering where she was. She might even call the police - they were close friends. The only option was to let Cindy in on the secret. She would love to have access to the two slaves down below - two criminals in the guise of friends that had knifed her one night in her own office, but I firmly believed that a secret known by one person is a secret. A secret known by two or more people is news.

They obviously assumed that I wasn't going to return until later - that had been my plan - so I got dressed and went back out. A couple of hours in a bar down the street, from which I could see my parking spaces, gave them time to finish and for Mary to leave in her car. Then I 'came home' and was greeted by Cindy in my bedroom. For some reason, she was ruttingly horny. She almost ripped my clothes off and dragged me on top of her without even a semblance of foreplay. But I didn't complain about being treated like a piece of meat - just let her wet it down and then slide it in.

* * *

Jill came back in. I invited her into my office and poured coffee. Closing and locking the door, I asked, "Well, is it the experience you were expecting."

"God, yes!" she answered. "The psychological effect is overwhelming. When I'm sitting in a friend's home, or a coffee shop or anywhere there are people, all I can think about is if it is going to trigger while I'm talking to them." She took a sip. "And the overwhelming part is the knowledge that if it starts, there isn't a thing I can do to stop it." She gave what was almost a shudder. "I was eating in a hotel restaurant and it went off on a very high setting. The waiter almost called for an ambulance - he thought I was having a seizure. It was horrifying and wonderful, all at the same time."

I just smiled.

"Can you set it to trigger at a longer intervals? Otherwise, I'm going to have to stay home with the curtains pulled."

I nodded. "Yes. There are two lower settings. How far down do you want it to be?"

"Let's go to the lowest for now. We can move it if that isn't often enough. The anticipation is as much fun as the actual vibration."

She disrobed and I removed the belt - the access to the electronics was from the inside. I soldered the jumper in a new place, then put in fresh batteries, although the old ones showed to have plenty of power left. She stood there waiting for me to reinstall it, then got a confused look when I just stood there and looked at her. "What's wrong, Bob," she asked.

"I'm sorry, Miss Laughton," I replied without a smile. "Company policy requires payment in advance for all services."

Now there was a twinkle in her eye. "Yes, of course, Mr. Barton." She pointed to my desk. "Will that do?" She walked over to the side of the desk, still stark naked, bent over it and spread her legs wide. I wasted no time moving up behind her, wetting my rod, and inserting it up her warm twat... battery compartment, I corrected myself.

This time she took the keys with her because she was going to be out of town for long periods of time. I cautioned her again to take the battery holder out during her period to give her vagina a rest, and so she could douche properly.

* * *-

The first installed item in my new basement dungeon, as opposed to the storage items, was just a tie post. This was just a square polished 4 x 4 inch mahogany post, eight feet tall and mounted in the middle of a six foot platform, also of wood polished to a high shine. Up and down this post were mounted rings that could be used to fasten a sub in any position. I unhooked June's chain at the wall, and towed her over to the pole. I made her lay down, then began to fasten bracelets on her wrists and ankles. These were locked on with small, but high quality padlocks. Finally, I pulled her to her feet, then fastened her to the tie post with her wrists hooked together and held at full stretch above her head. Then her ankles were hooked to a pair of bottom rings and finally, she was held fast to the post with a belt around both her waist and the pole. Then I hogtied her cohort and installed a full head mask so that she would be unable to see and hear what was about to happen.

June was stretched out vertically, her stomach and chest flat against the pole and her nice set of tits on either side of it. I walked up and pinched one nipple, then the other, which got a couple of yelps out of her, but she remained otherwise quiet, just wondering what would happen next. It didn't take long for her to find out.

I picked up the riding crop and laid it across her back with a loud whack. She immediately screamed and blubbered for me to please stop, which I did. That stroke was just to make her realize that I was serious. I let her wind down for a few minutes, then stepped up to her and held the end of the crop in front of her face, which was looking around one side of the pole.

"I'm going to ask you some questions. The answers had better match what your friend over there says, or your skin is coming off. Understand?" She nodded, looking fearfully at the crop. "Who did you call when they hauled you to jail?"

I saw her processing the question, trying to understand what I wanted. She replied, "I called Shiggy, my boyfriend." That is what I expected, already having the info about her stud from Cindy.

"What did he do?"

"Do?" She shook her head. "Nothing." I ran the crop up and down her back once, lightly. "NOTHING!" she insisted. "What could he do? He didn't have the bread for my bail."

"He came and visited you, right?" I didn't know that. It was just a guess.

"Yes."

"And he said?" I popped her but with the crop - just a sting. "You better start talking, bitch, or what you got the other night will seem like a love session."

"YES! YES! He came down to visit." She was frantic, now. "He said he would talk to you. He said that nobody was going to press charges and if they did, he would handle them."

Well, well. This was easy. I should have been a detective. Nothing like having your suspect naked and strung up with a whip available to get cooperation.

Now, as long as I was here...

I stepped back in front of her, popping the crop in my palm. "So, not only did you assault my girlfriend, you decided to help your boyfriend dispose of her. In other words, you agreed to be an accessory to murder."

"NO! I never said that!"

"You didn't have to. You gave him the information for him to do it." I stepped back and measured my distance. "I don't particularly care for the idea of myself or my girl being killed by some cunt's hardleg dude." Before she could reply to that, I laid the crop across her back - hard - with a stroke that made a loud crack. She threw her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs. Another stroke and another scream. She was frantically tugging against the chains and the waist strap, but her struggles did little but make her tits bobble on either side of the pole. My equipment is not made in such a way that the slave can just decide to release herself.

Several more strokes later and she was frantically blubbering curses, promises, offers, and many other mostly unintelligible phrases. Finally, I made out "PLEASE STOP, I'LL DO ANYTHING." So I decided to check out the offers.

I pulled her head back by the ponytail. "What did you have in mind, bitch?" I asked.

She suddenly realized that this was a chance to get the beating stopped if her offer was good enough. "Please, I'll let you fuck me! I'll suck you off! Anything you want."

I pulled her head back farther. "How?" I sneered. "I can't get to your pussy like this and you can't suck my dick with you tied to the pole. Not good enough."

I stood back as she started blubbering again and let her have another couple of hard swats. More screams. Then, I tried again. Yanking her ponytail again, I asked "Come up with anymore ideas, bitch?"

"YES. YES. Use my asshole. You can reach it. Please don't hit me."

"Are you sure you want your shit packed?"

"YES. YES. Use my asshole all you want."

"You're not being very plain. Use your poop chute how? Maybe a some more kisses with this will help."

Now she was literally screaming her offers. "NOOOOOO. PLEASE. Shove your dick up my asshole and ream it out good. Fill it up with your cum. It's open and ready. Pleeeaaseee."

Well, that sounded like a pretty fair offer, so I obliged her. A little spit lube on my rock hard rod, and I stepped up behind her and used my hand to move the head around to try to find the entrance. Soon I was sliding up the dark warm shaft till my balls hit her cheeks. I reached around and grabbed a tittie in each hand and got down to business. Her relief from the lashing was so great that any discomfort from my pounding her rear shaft was barely noticeable. So, I erupted a load into her and left it till she got the last drop.

I left her chained to the pole for the afternoon, but that evening chained both to the wall close enough for them to reach the squat toilet, but not the shower, and left them in their new quarters. I also left a plate with a couple of cold hamburgers and a jug of water.

* * *

Business was good. The recession was over, although inflation was rampant. I wasn't obscenely wealthy, but I was definitely on the better-off side of society. This was the result of a very good income, and also a history of poverty in my youth that refused to allow me to waste money now. I now had five full time machinists putting out custom work. I made Sam the shop foreman with the understanding that he was responsible for the output of his workers. And that I still wanted nothing less than perfection in our products.

I still resisted production work, and concentrated on specialized one-of-a-kind items. And, of course, there was my other business on the side, also very profitable - and untaxed cash-on-the-barrelhead only.

I put in a small office in the front of the building, and hired a young woman as my secretary. I also built a new shop for myself next to my office. In it were my personal metal working tools. Usually much smaller than the production stuff on the main floor. And capable of much finer work. In fact, some of it was jeweler type equipment.

* * *

A man in a suit walked into the shop, asked for me and was escorted to my office. A customer or salesman? Wrong on both counts.

"Mr. Barton?" I nodded. "I'm John Jones from the DA's office." Not his real name, but I can't remember what it was. I waved him to a seat, prepared to enjoy this conversation.

"I'm here to discuss the conflict that you had with the city a while back."

"It wasn't a conflict," I retorted. "Your DA needed to get something to prove he deserves his job. He picked me. Of course, he wasn't worried about the Constitution or anything like that."

"Well, now Mr. Barton. That doesn't exactly describe the situation..." I interrupted him at that point.

"Ok, describe it for me."

Well, we had a report that you were selling sexual... uh, equipment of a degenerative nature." Fucking lawyers. I wondered if any could speak plain English.

"So?"

"Well, Mr. Barton. There are laws that cover the sale of those types of things."

"Of course there are, and most of them have been struck down by the Supreme Court." I was really enjoying this meaningless back and forth. "So why would the DA suddenly decide that the decisions of that body don't apply to him?

"Now that is just your opinion. And I have to say, a lay opinion at that."

"It's also the opinion of the court that gave the adult book store owner in California the gross tax proceeds of his city for a year."

"You are remarkably well read on the subject, Mr. Barton. But let us move to your situation." He pulled some papers out of his briefcase. "The city realizes that you are a minor offender, and any further resources needed for this case could be better used elsewhere." He laid one on my desk. "We can close this out and forget it if you will sign this release." My own attorney knew his stuff. It's almost like he choreographed the city's actions.

I didn't bother to look at the paper. "First off, you call me an offender, a minor one, but still an offender. The Supreme Court says that I'm not. Which opinion do you think will stand up in court?"

He spread his hands. "Why speak of courts? That will be expensive for all parties, and probably take years. This matter is trivial and can be ended with a signature."

"Yes, as long as I sign a piece of paper agreeing that I am a criminal. Which I'm not. By the way, when do you intend to return the so-called evidence your goons took? That's an obligation required by law, too, you know."

He was taken aback. "Evidence? I didn't know that they seized any evidence."

I stood up. "So, you want me to sign a confession to a crime for an action that the high courts have said is legal, based on evidence that you don't have. I think I will take my chances with the court. Hell, maybe they will give me the tax proceeds of the city for a year. After all, the Constitutional rights of a citizen are priceless, as you know."

I opened the door. "Good day, Mr. Jones."

* * *

Cindy had her bandages off, but there was an angry red scar left that makeup wouldn't cover. It would be several months of healing before cosmetic surgery could fix it. She was self-conscious about it, of course - what female wouldn't be? She was letting Mary run her shop mostly, while she stayed in the background just running the business side of it. One night, while we were in bed at my place - with her unrestrained - I asked her about her feelings of the two attackers. Who, by the way, had jumped bail and were on the lam.

She answered with some heat, "I would love to carve my initials in both of their tits, just to see how they like being scarred for life." Once again, I emphasized that it wasn't for life - we were going to take care of that little scar when it was time. "But, I'm afraid to go out alone. They're still loose somewhere and I'm afraid that they might want to finish the job."

"Why would they want to attack you again?" I hadn't realized that was a fear she had.

"Well, if I'm out of the way, there is nobody to testify against them. They go free."

"Horseshit," I said. "You have to stop watching TV detective shows. That would make them go from being a pair of cunts that will be arrested for a low end felony if they get picked up somewhere, to the top of the most wanted list looking at life imprisonment - or, in this state, possibly fried." I stopped. Something was wrong and I didn't know what. "OK, kiddo. You and me, we been sharing with each other for years. Something is bothering you. What is it?"

Her lip started to quiver, but she started. "I've gotten two phone calls from some guy threatening me if I don't go down and drop all charges against that pair of goddamn bitches that did this to me. I know they've put him up to it."

"Do you recognize the voice?"

"I think it's June's boyfriend. I don't remember his name. He comes... came in the shop every now and then to pick her up at closing time."

I thought for a moment. "Ok, I'll handle that problem. Forget it for now." I would have loved to show Cindy the secrets under the building, including her two assailants, but if anyone ever found out that I was running a real dungeon in the middle of an American city, the shit would hit the fan in front pages worldwide. I didn't want her to be caught up in the mess if that happened.

* * *

I looked up and Shive was standing in the doorway, grinning. "Yo bro? Sup?" I waved him in and since I was on the phone, motioned him to a chair. After my call, I got up and looked him up and down. This looked like a different person.

"What the hell has happened to you? What body did you steal the clothes off of?"

He grinned. "Hey man. I'm an independent business man, just like you." He leaned forward. "Seriously, bro. I want to thank you for getting me started." I just listened, obviously puzzled. "That truck of yours and the money let me get a foot up and the sharks off my back."

"Ok," I answered, "So what do you do?"

He leaned back. "Well, I'm sort of a trouble shooter for the... dudes that run things. Or, I fix up problems. See?" No, I didn't. "Ok, lets say you want to put in some vending machines in that bowling alley down the street. Problem is, that territory belongs to the Cliff family, lets say - they have lots of those glass eyed bandits around. So when your delivery dudes meet up with theirs, the shit hits the fan. Then the bulls get involved cause they don't like fights in the middle of town. Or it can be a parking concession. Anything.

"So, I'm known as a neutral dude. I go in and talk to both sides, take offers back and forth. You know, try to keep the bloodshed out of the evening news." He grinned. "And other stuff. You know what is weird? What I do now is a lot more legal than what I did before you found me."

He changed tracks. "How's your woman doing? Her face get ok?"

I nodded. "But she has a problem." I gave him the story and the name.

He asked a few questions, then said. "No problem bro. I'll handle this little cocksucker for you."

"Thanks, Shive. Keep up with your time and send me the bill."

"It's on the house, bro."

* * *

I began to set up furniture in the new dungeon. Racks, stocks, spreaders, all of the stuff that I had invented - or more honestly, copied from something or somewhere. I got a particular pleasure in pointing out various uses of the items to my new "testers." One of the first items I tested was the gyno rack. This was a contraption that would hold a victim, I mean a sub, spread like she was in the chair of her pussy doctor, with every part open for use, or abuse. It wasn't a table, but a skeleton of metal that made her look almost like she was suspended in air. The main support was at her back and butt, and the arms, ankles and neck were encircled with thick steel bands that were locked. Her midriff also had a steel band to keep her from arching her back off the back rest, and the knees had pull chains that kept her pussy at maximum spread.

I had watched the girls in Cindy's shop enough to learn the rudiments of piercing - always ears of course, since I would definitely not be invited to look if they were getting anything else pierced. I was going to borrow their piercer, but decided that the request would probably bring up questions that I didn't want to answer, so I just ordered my own. When it came in, I strapped my two slaves down and despite their pleas, punched a hole in their tongues about a half inch from the end. That was followed by a plastic hole keeper while the wounds healed.

Cindy finally went back to her shop, and began to greet customers again. Of course, all of them were sympathetic at her scarred face, but it didn't seem to bother her any more.

For some reason, my doggy spreader was the rage. This was just a fancy steel set of wide stocks with two holes to keep a sub's legs spread, and two others for the wrists, as her (or his, I began to realize) arms were brought underneath her body to keep her in the doggy position. Once locked in, both holes (or, again, a hole and any hanging equipment) were open and available for use. Unlike the usual wooden type, this was a modern looking lacy design of stainless bars and circular steel. Since it was built as two identical sections - a top and bottom - one piece by itself didn't look like anything. The kid in my shop turning them out thought they were some kind of brace for a medical apparatus. I would assemble them into a finished piece myself.

* * *

Jill came by - the first time in several months. Her belt had stopped working. I invited her up to my apartment where she disrobed and I removed the belt. In a little while I had determined that the motor was defective. Fortunately, I still had three spares that I had originally bought and it only took a few minutes with a screwdriver and soldering iron to replace.

While I was working, she had been looking at a rack that I had been working on - or rather modifying - and that I had brought to my quarters so as to be able to test it on Cindy or Mary. Not long after the repair was complete, Jill was laying on the wooden planks and I was turning the capstan and watching her body stretch out in a long taut line - not painful in her case, of course, but definitely enough for a female to feel helpless - which she was. By the time she left late that night, she had paid in full for the repair and I went to bed with sore nuts.

The next night was the beginning of a long holiday weekend. All of my employees would be off for four days. I headed to the dungeon, strapped Cathy onto one of the tables, and proceeded to relieve my pressures.

By now the holes in their tongues had healed, but their speech was still fractured somewhat by the plastic keeper that was still in place. One at a time I removed the temporary pieces, which elicited gratitude from my two cunts. Well, temporary gratitude, anyway. Standing over Cathy, I picked up a small box that I had brought in, opened it and pulled out a round object somewhat larger than a golf ball. In fact, it looked a lot like a bigger version of one of those hollow plastic balls with holes that golfers practiced with.

It was also made of white plastic and was one of the few I items that I had ever made for bondage that wasn't metal or wood. For a reason - teeth and metal don't mix well together. Besides the holes in it, there was a wide slit in one side, edges smoothed and just big enough for a tongue to enter. I ordered Cathy to stick hers out as far as it would go and hold it stiff. Then the ball was pushed into her mouth until the hole in her tongue lined up with two holes in the side of the ball. A smooth round rod, with a screw slot in one end and threads on the other, was then inserted into one hole, through the tongue, then into the hole on the bottom - this one with threads. A few turns with a small screwdriver fastened it in place. When I turned loose, her tongue retracted and pulled the ball into her mouth as far as it would go. Then it was just a matter of attaching a stretch band to the small eyehooks on either side of the ball and pulling the elastic behind her head and under her ponytail.

I watched her eyes widen as she tested her new ball gag. This one was long term safe - plenty of holes to let air in, so that even a stuffed up nose wouldn't cut off her air, and there was no chance of her choking by swallowing her tongue after long term use - it was comfortably captured inside of the ball. Well... maybe the word comfortably is a relative thing. I knew from experience that ball gag wearing is something a girl has to get used to. It took Cindy several weeks before she could retain one all day without her jaws cramping horribly.

I turned Cathy loose and then it was June's turn.

When I was finished, I looked over both of my slaves. I had decided that I like the bare pussy look and it was time for them to bare the crack. In the late seventies, women were starting to embrace the idea - not all or most, but many.

June was already on her back, legs high and spread. After a little study, I reached over and grabbed a hank of pussy hair between my thumb and index finger, and yanked. Of course it came out, but to the sudden gagged yelps of the strapped down girl. About an hour later, she was a bare - not smooth because of bleeding and bumps - but bare as an egg. And moaning in her pain.

Then it was Cathy's turn. In an hour, I had another girl with her nether regions bald. I put both of them back on their mats, hooked an X hog tie bar on both, then put blindfolds on them. I had decided that when it began to grow back, I would buy an electrolysis unit and make it permanent.

Later that night, I would come back down and remove the gags. But they would wear them for a half hour longer every day until they got used to them.

The next morning, Saturday, I went downstairs, so to speak, with two plates of a good breakfast. I freed the hands of the two bitches and set their food down. They began to gobble it up.

* * *

A letter came in the mail. The return address only had the single word Shive. Hmmmm. What the heck? Inside was a newspaper clipping. Apparently a small time hood by the name of Shiggy Waraz had been involved in a drug deal gone bad. He was expected to recover in a few months, but it was doubtful that he would regain full use of his legs.

I showed it to Cindy. She just read it over a few times, then kissed me. We never spoke of her fear of June's boyfriend again.

* * *

This time it was a young attorney from the DA's office.

"Mr. Barton. I'm happy to bring you the news that the DA has dropped all charges in your case."

"Maybe I don't want them dropped."

"Sir?" He definitely didn't expect that reply.

"I might want to test this law in court. It might make good reading before the next election."

"No, Sir. You don't want that. It would be a waste of time and money for all parties." Like his predecessor, he laid a form on my desk for my signature. "If you will just sign this, we can put this unpleasant business behind us." Again, I didn't look at it.

"I'll give this to my attorney to look at. Meanwhile, where are the materials that were taken in the search?"

He was prepared for that. "Ah, yes. I'm afraid that they were disposed of as of no value, just being bits of metal."

So, some cop's wife is now wearing a set of high priced bracelets. "No value? Those were close tolerance, stainless steel bracelets. My retail price on the set is about four hundred dollars. I assume you have brought a check?"

He was having trouble with my attitude. Citizens were supposed to fear the law, and feel a massive relief when its attention moved its focus from them. "No, Sir. I have no information as to..."

"You did complete your GED, I assume? So even you should know that Federal law, and the Constitution prohibits the taking of property without compensation?" I had done some fancy reading on my own. "And that all materials are to be returned to the rightful owner after the unsuccessful conclusion of an investigation?" I reached into my desk, and bought out an already prepared invoice that I handed to the young rock crawler. "Give this to your accounts payable person, and come back next week with a check. I'll have my attorney's opinion by then. Till then, good day to you, sir."

* * *

I had June on her back in a new kind of spreader. It was kind of like a hammock frame. Two metal tubes, running lengthways to the girl, were bent at the ends to rise up at the corners. Each end had a shackle for wrists or ankles. In the center was a pedestal on which was a contoured piece, cut sort of in the profile of the girls body. I was trying to see how little it would take to suspend a girl without long term damage.

In this case, her head was supported, then the piece went under her shoulders and down to her butt, where it ended. It was curved to meet the contour of her body, and had a fairly comfortable pad on top of that. Nothing but the back of her head, neck, back and the upper part of her butt were out of reach. Her arms and legs were completely in the open from the manacles to her limb joints. Nothing got in the way of just walking up to her on all sides, and of course, all three usable holes were totally available. Her head was nicely positioned for a person to stand over, if there was anything that her tongue needed to be doing.

She looked like a big girl-X, four feet off the floor.

I opened a fancy wooden box that I had brought with me and selected one of several stainless steel asshole stretchers. This first one was about a inch and a half in diameter and was no problem to insert, once it had some lube slathered on it. Well... at least it was no problem for me, but June had another opinion, and from her groans, it wasn't a particularly good one. Shortly, Cathy was sporting one also. With a thin waist chain and a single chain from attached to back and front and running through a eyelet in the penetrators, they were not removable by them.

Actually, groans were about all they could make. By now they were almost to the point that they could wear the tongue holding ball gags from meal to meal. They didn't know it, but shortly the mouth training would end and they would only get them on occasion.

* * *

Now it was a woman. In her twenties. She would take a set of bracelets very nicely. However, while she came to talk about just that set of items, it wasn't to purchase them. Once again, an introduction that I immediately forgot...

"Mr. Barton. Are you aware that it is illegal to bill the government with frivolous invoices?"

"No. I didn't know that, but I know that I don't send out phony invoices."

She pulled out the invoice that I had given the young pencil pusher last time. Of course I knew what she was talking about. I picked it up and pretended to study it. "I can assure you that this is not phony. Neither is it padded. This is the price that I get for this work."

She put on her best, you've got to be kidding look. "Four hundred and fifty dollars for five rings off metal? Come on, Mr. Barton."

I opened my desk and brought out a single bracelet just like the ones they had taken. I set it in front of her. "Have you ever asked for something to be made in stainless steel? No? I didn't think so." I pointed to the bracelet. "This is one of the hardest materials to work that is usually found outside of a laboratory. If you don't know what you are doing, you not only ruin the work but you tear up your tools and break your machines."

I pulled out a single sheet of paper - it was a copy of a page in my catalog. "Notice, here is the item set, and the published price to all comers." I sat back in my chair. "So I assure you, Ma'am, that invoice is not phony."

Of course, I didn't give a shit one way or another if they paid or not. It was worth the loss just to stick needles in the Man. Or in the case, the woMan.

She was looking at the bracelet. "So you do actually make these... these..."

"Bondage items." I completed. "Yes, if that is what a customer wants. I just make the things to their order. What they use them for is their business. Look out that window." She could see the floor of the shop and machines busy turning out all manner of parts. "I also make parts for machines all over the country. I make anything for anybody who needs a metal item and can pay for it."

"Mr. Barton. I'll be frank with you. I will agree that your invoice is real, but from a practical standpoint, I can tell you that the city is not going to pay you for... sex toys."

I smiled grimly at her. I was enjoying myself. I could tell that her neck would take about a fifteen inch collar. She would look good in my new stretcher. I reminded myself that I still had to come up with a name for it. Air Stretcher? No. Space Stretcher? Hmmmm. Later.

"I don't believe the appropriate laws about compensation for private property has categories of types. But, just return them and we'll call it even."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I believe you were informed that they were disposed of."

Gotcha. I leaned forward, and said, "I don't believe for one second that someone threw them out - and neither do you. Right now the entire set is in some government employee's house and his wife wears them on the weekend." I leaned back. "To put it plainly, they were stolen by somebody downtown."

"Now Mr. Barton. There is absolutely no indication of that..."

I picked up the bracelet and handed it to her. "Look that this. Notice that it is a heavy polished ring of stainless. Notice the hinges, the lock loops, the brushed finish, the engraving. Do you see any defect in it at all?"

She shook her head, "But..."

"It looks like a fine piece of jewelry - albeit, a fairly large one. Right?"

She nodded. "Yes, but..."

"So, do you really think that someone just threw five of these in the trash?"

She just sat there looking at me for a moment. "Ok, you have made your point. But, where do you want to go from here?"

Enough already. This was fun but I had things to do. "Here is the stuff from my attorney. He talked with someone in your office to arrange it. Take it back and get the ok, and I'll sign it."

As she was leaving, I couldn't resist. "One other thing, Ma'am," She paused. "If you or your husband need any of my products to spice up your marriage, please consider my company." As she stalked away, I didn't know if she was furious, or if she wished that she was the one who absconded with my rings.

Time moved on. Now the tax code had been revised and I could make a profit without ninety percent of it being taken for taxes. I made Sam the plant manager, and he rode herd on the plant floor production. I now had a full time office manager and a couple of girl fridays. Business was good and getting better.

Eventually, the administration of the city changed, and a new set of bureaucrats came in to try to destroy any possibility of a business inside their city limit making a profit. And again, a detective came by and asked about my business of making toys for the perverse and degenerate.

Here we go again, I thought.

Meanwhile, I had fully indulged my underground "hobby". I had carefully mapped out all of the tunnels that I could access - not for any particular reason. It was just that I was fascinated by my "empire" down below, the existence of which was probably only known by me. I had found several access points that weren't completely blocked and knew which buildings they entered, but I had not attempted to open any of them since I had no desire to perform burglary or to be arrested for breaking and entering.

There was nothing startling or valuable in any of the grid of tunnels. In fact, except for trash that had been thrown down the openings before they had been filled or cemented shut years ago, they were empty. Some of the trash was mildly interesting - pop bottles of a brand that had disappeared long ago, empty cans of brands I had never heard of, and so forth.

Nope, the only really interesting part of the underground was just its existence. And the fact that I was the only person who knew or remembered it that it ever existed.

* * *

By now my two slaves had been totally broken. I had grown to like the hairless look and had purchased an electrolysis machine and made them use it on each other until they were both permanently as smooth as an egg below their eyebrows. Since they never wore clothes, by now their tits were starting to droop from the total lack of suspension. They were also trained to instantly react to my commands. They had learned the hard way that any hesitation earned them a session of severe punishment. Well, they were almost trained. They still had another lapse to go.

By now either could take a three inch asshole stretcher without pain and that was as far as I wanted to take them. Their holes would still close up, but would easily allow my dong to enter, which it did often. I hasten to say that I am not claiming to need a three inch hole to gain entry.

I wish.

Neither one had any lesbian tendencies - at least at the beginning. I decided to entertain myself by watching two girls do what two girls can do with each other. They were having none of that, and even backed away from each other when I told them what to do. Not a bright idea for a slave girl. Shortly, I had both of them fastened spread eagled facing the wall and walked over to select an appropriate tool. I picked up a short round bull whip that I knew from Mary's experience was horribly painful. Being careful to adjust my strokes so as not to bring blood, I let each have one.

The screaming was immediate and deafening - especially since they would try to hold themselves as far from the cold concrete wall as possible and the whip would wrap around their side and the tip would also sting stomach, tits, or twat, depending on how high or low it was aimed. A couple of strokes later and the offers of lesbian acts were coming nonstop. A couple more, and the offers began to get explicit - describing tongues and fingers in every possible orifice. Finally, as the count started to get close to ten each, the noise just became non-explicit wails and shrieks.

I stopped, put the whip up and waited for a while. Both of them were just barely standing without hanging by their wrists. The legs and arms were twitching from the effort of their thrashing and struggling. I knew that by tomorrow morning both would have a major case of sore muscles.

I walked over and explored a few of the orifices that they had happened to mention a few minutes earlier, then finally pulled June's head back by her hair. "Do you still have a problem with women?" She managed to blubber out her intense desire to perform girlie sex. "How about you?" Cathy agreed that it was her ambition to try it also.

For the rest of the evening, they performed on the basement bed, while I sat back with a brew and made suggestions. As lesbian performers go, they were about as clumsy a pair as I had ever seen. But with my sitting beside them casually popping a riding crop against my leg, they were encouraged to learn, quickly.

Over time they learned.

Strictly for my own pleasure, I would have them service each other while I watched. There was no hole or bump that their fingers and tongues didn't explore. At the first, there was some hesitation, but they soon discovered that even the most disgusting act was preferable to being strung bar taut in a rack and then laced with a whip.

One day, during my continuing search for different bondage situations, I ran across an article - with pictures - of female body modification. Interesting, I thought. It might be fun to try.

* * *

My friend who owned the adult sex store dropped by one afternoon. He had a small wooden box - fancy, like an oriental jewelry chest. In it were two steel marbles, each a little larger than an inch in diameter. "Can you make these?" he asked.

I looked at him, not really understanding what he wanted. "Ball bearing balls?" I replied. "No need to make them - I can order these for you by the gross."

He laughed. "Not these. This pair costs about two hundred bucks from Japan."

In disbelief I looked at him - still smiling - and then at his steel balls. I picked one up and immediately knew they weren't normal balls for a bearing. Shaking it, I could tell that it was hollow and filled with a liquid of some kind. From the weight, it had to be mercury. When I dropped it a short distance onto a writing pad, it wobbled back and forth like a high tech Mexican jumping bean. I looked back at my friend and said, "I give up. What the hell is it for?"

"Ever hear of Ben-Wa balls?" I shook my head. He continued, "Well, they aren't a new invention. Apparently they have been around for hundreds of years, especially in the Orient." He took both of them and jiggled them in his hand. "A woman inserts a pair into her twat and as she moves around, the liquid inside makes them move back and forth and apparently click against each other."

I looked at them again in disbelief. "You mean that a woman can get her rocks off just by wearing these in her pussy?"

He shook his head. "Not in the sense that she becomes a quivering cunt just by wearing them. I obviously can't give you a first hand experience of their use, but my two employees have used this pair and they affect each of them differently. Shirley says they just give her a pleasant and very mild stimulation." He clicked them together again. "But, Pam can actually come off with them after several hours. And she isn't just BS'ing me. I've watched her at times when she was working and didn't know I was in the room. She actually does a little dance by slightly shifting her weight from leg to leg and making her hips oscillate from side to side - constantly. I don't think she even realizes that she's doing it. Eventually, she'll blow big time."

I picked them up from his hand and looked at them closely. "Well, that's a new one on me. So... You want to sell these? I mean, you want me to produce these for sale?"

He nodded. "Yes. If you can make them at a decent price. I can sell these like hotcakes, but not at two bills a pop. That's half a month's take home pay for most people."

I thought for a moment. "Ok, I'll give it a try. But I'll need to get a pair of these to see just how they're made. And I'll have to take one apart."

He pushed the box over to me. "Here you are. The girls won't like me coming back without them, but they'd love to be able to buy a set for themselves."

* * *

I had both of my dungeon slaves on a rack, on their backs, with their legs spread wide and high. Of course, their arms and neck were shackled so they couldn't do much but lay there wide open. They obviously assumed that I was going to used one or both, but that wasn't the plan this time.

I sat down in a chair in front of Cathy to where I could both look at and manipulate her wide open pussy. I pulled out the piercing tool that I had used on their tongues and plugged it into an extension cord. I then pulled on one of her inner lips to examine it for a few minutes. Finally, I decided just how I wanted to perform the action, put the piercer next to the lip and pulled the trigger. Since I neglected to use any anesthetic, she jumped - or tried to - and let out a low cry. This didn't cause excruciating pain, but it definitely bit as the piercer rod punched through.

I put two holes in each inner lip, then did the same thing to June. I inserted a plastic keeper in each hole, then released the girls, giving them a strict warning not to tamper with the plastic inserts in any way.

* * *

One of the strangest commissions that I had ever had to date came in one day in the form of a woman - fairly small, good looking, probably touching twenty-five or so. She was only the third woman that I had ever had as a customer. This was still the 1980's and it was still Texas, so the conversation about bondage still didn't flow easily. She was shy, but at the moment I didn't know if it was her natural condition or because of whatever it was she wanted. I asked her to sit down and offered her water or coffee - all I had at the moment. She sat on the edge of her chair and I knew that I needed to calm her down a little.

"Please, Miss," I started, "we're totally private here. None of my employees out there can possible overhear us." Better - at least a little. "You're here to discuss some personal... uh... equipment of some kind, so please keep in mind that this conversation is between us and will go nowhere else. Please sit back and relax, then tell me what I can do for you."

She slowly leaned back in her chair, and finally said, "My friend said that you will make... uh... well, anything for a person to their specifications. Sexual things, I mean."

I nodded and said, "Yes - anything, if it can be built. Let me tell you also that it is my hobby and much of the stuff I build is used by me. ...On my girlfriend, I mean."

"You made a belt for her - my friend, I mean - for her body. She says you can build anything." Ah ha! So the referring person was Jill. Don't tell me that this very desirable girl wanted a chastity belt. What a waste of a very nice looking cun... girl.

Nope, she didn't.

She continued. "I don't want a chastity belt, Mr. Barton. I want a... uh... well, I like to... to..." She was starting to turn red and I needed to turn down the embarrassment level right now.

I held up my hand. "Please, Miss. You've come here for a sexual item. I make them and I know all about what they are used for. I have built some things that you probably never heard of and wouldn't believe if I told you. There is absolutely nothing you can order that will shock me, so please just relax and let's talk about it."

She nodded, took a deep breath and said, "I'm into self bondage, Mr. Barton. I love bondage but just can't get into it with another person. I've come up with a few ways to confine myself for real - most of them have to do with an ice cube with a key that eventually melts and lets me unlock myself."

I smiled and nodded as though this was old stuff. I had heard of the self bondage scene, but never talked to anyone who practiced it till now.

"My way has two problems. One being that to prevent trapping myself permanently, I am very careful in the method that I will use to free myself. Usually that means that I can manage to defeat it immediately and that destroys the mood of the time. The other being the danger of not being able to free myself at all." She looked at me for a moment, but I just assumed an interested look - which I was. "Not long ago, the key that dropped out of the ice cube hanging from the ceiling, hit the hard edge of my bed and bounced across the room. I almost died of thirst before I got loose. That scared me."

I nodded again. "Let me guess, you want a device, or some equipment that is self triggered, but fail safe as far as trapping you permanently. Correct?"

She was finally loosening up. She nodded enthusiastically and asked, "Yes, exactly. Can you do something like that?"

"Miss, I can make anything you want, but let me ask some questions. First, when you are restrained, is it standing or lying down?"

"Lying down. Usually on the carpet but sometimes on the bed."

"Are you spread out? And if so, are you stretched? Or are you just prevented from moving from the spot."

"I like to be stretched out tight, but that is fairly dangerous since I have to be able to free myself with one hand and the key has to drop very close."

"Hmmmm." I mused. Then sat back in my chair and thought about the request. Then, "Do you want it to restrain yourself for a particular time, or some random period?"

Her eyes widened. "You can make something that restrains me for an unknown time?"

I smiled. "Once again, Miss, at the risk of blowing my own horn - I can make anything, if it can be physically made. Is there anything else you might want this...ah, device to include? Oh, and does it have to be hideable? I mean, like from friends or relatives when they come visiting?"

She shook her head. "No, most of my house is never seen by anybody but me. And, for now I can't think of anything else."

I thought for a few more minutes, then said, "Ok, I think I have enough information to do some research. Give me a few days to ponder it over, and I'll give you my ideas.

During the week, I thought intensely on the self bondage problem. It might even be something to put in my catalog, eventually. How does one make a fail-safe bondage system? I doodled with water, ice, air, and springs. A hydraulic system would work - when the pump stopped the pressure would automatically bleed off, but it would be way too complicated and far too maintenance intensive for use by a non-technical person. There were several ways that ice would work, but it would be hard to randomize melting. Any electronic system would always have the chance of failure, even with circuits monitoring each other. Besides I wasn't a good enough electronics person to build something that complicated. A tank of water would be heavy enough to keep a little girl restrained, and it could be set to leak out at any given rate, but it would have to have some way of filling, overflow protection, and drainage.

Air? Hmmmm... That would be clean, leaks wouldn't damage anything, breakage wouldn't spray oil all over the room. In an hour or so, I had a fairly decent gadget sketched out.

Once that was settled, I turned my attention to the wiggly ball problem. The first thing I did was to drill a hole in one to check the thickness of the shell. Then I poured out the mercury and weighed it carefully. A close inspection with my magniflux viewer showed the seam and revealed to me that the little item was made in two halves and then welded together. I definitely didn't see any reason for the pair to cost two hundred bucks.

My self-bondage woman came by the next afternoon - Barbara was her name - and we sat down and looked at my sketches. She was bubbling over with enthusiasm and gave me the go ahead. This wouldn't take long. I told her to come back in two weeks - oh, and please wear slacks, not a dress.

The first item was a twin bed mattress - mainly just so I could get the measurements correct. I built a rectangular lightweight steel frame that would just contain the mattress. At each corner was a pulley, and mounted to the outside of each long side were two air cylinders - two on each side, that is - each facing the its own corner. From the movable center cylinder rod, a steel cable was attached, which went through the corresponding pulley and onto the mattress. At each end of the cable was one of my genuine inescapable wrist or ankle bracelets. That part was easy, the next couple of days I worked on the air system.

It was ready long before the two weeks were up. I had already had Cindy try it and now had it in my catalog. Barbara arrived in the morning and I escorted her to the back shop. There on the floor was a mattress, surrounded by some metal and a small metal container at the head of the device. Wide eyed, she walked around and looked at it. Finally, eyes sparkling, she asked, "How does it work?"

I pointed to the mattress. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I need you to actually try it so that I can adjust the linkage to fit your size. These air cylinders are very powerful and could cause real damage to your body if they try to pull further than you can stretch."

"Now?" she asked. I nodded and pointed to the mattress. She removed her shoes, knelt down and rolled over onto her back.

"Ok, the first thing you will do, is sit up and close these bracelets around your ankles. Notice that they are held closed only by the snap connector - there's no lock for you to have to fumble with or key for you to lose. But as long as you can't reach them with your hands, they are inescapable." She did that, then waited. "Now lay on your back. You will do the same thing with the wrist bracelets. Again, there is no lock to malfunction or key required to get loose. When the cable tightens up you will no longer be able to reach one wrist with the other hand and again, you won't get loose." She did that easily, also, then lay there loosely spread and waiting. "Now, with both hands, reach over and twist the valves on either side. They only move a quarter turn - they aren't like a water faucet."

She did that, waited a few seconds, and said. "Nothing is happening."

I shook my head. "No. Not yet. The tank hasn't been charged yet. I need to adjust the cables first. Spread your legs fully." I then adjusted both leg cylinders back to the point to where, with the rod fully retracted, the cables were slightly tight. Then I clamped the bolts down. "Now the same thing with your arms." I made the same adjustment for her arms, then again, tightened the bolts on the cylinder holders. "Ok, it should be close to fitting you." I released the temporary holders on the cylinder rods and the internal springs pushed the rods until they were fully extended. "Now, release yourself."

She brought both hands together and unsnapped the clip connectors, which not only released her from the cables but also allowed the bracelets to come off. She sat up and did the same thing with her ankles. "Notice that there are no keys to be lost or fall out of reach like you had happen once on your own. That is one of the safeties."

I helped her up and we walked to the head of the bed to what looked like a small wooden cabinet. "This nothing more than an air tank and some valves - and a little pump." It was enclosed in a nice looking mahogany box. "First, make sure the two valves on your bed are off. Second, flip this switch on..." She did and jumped a little as the sound of an air pump suddenly started. "It's a small pump and will take about fifteen minutes to bring the pressure up." While it was pumping, I showed her the other controls.

I pointed to a valve with an indicator that ran from one to ten. "This represents the maximum time, in hours, that you can be held in restraint. First you set it to whatever you want for your... session. I'm going to set it to three hours. That means that you will be captured for at least an hour, but no longer than three hours."

I pointed to two other valves, but ones with no markings. "These have no off or on. Notice that they will just spin around as long as you turn them. But, wherever they are turned to, they both will let a certain amount of air escape - you just won't know how much when you begin. Turning them to a different place will let a different amount of air out. The reason for two valves is for safety - if one gets stopped up, the other will still allow the your release to take place. The last absolute safety is a permanent pair of tiny openings in the tank that will drain all the air out in about a day. If everything else fails, this will make sure that you are released eventually. Plus, if a hose breaks or ruptures, you will be loose instantly."

"The second step is to spin these valves several times - they will randomize the amount of time you will be restrained."

The pump turned off as the pressure in the tank maximized. "Now, and this is important, unplug this apparatus from the wall. That will guarantee that the pump can't start up again. I have a circuit that is supposed to prevent that, but this guarantees it. There is also that switch that your right hand can reach if all else fails and it starts up anyway. I yanked the plug out.

"Now you are ready to go. Lay down and hook yourself up."

She sat on the mattress and quickly closed the bracelets around her ankles, then lay back and did the same for her wrists. "Ok, this is your last chance to cancel," I warned. "Reach over with both hands and turn on the valves." With all the slack in the cables, she could easily reach the twin valves on the side of the mattress. She twisted both and waited, eyes wide and breathing rapidly.

Slowly, the cylinders began to retract their rods, and her body was pulled into a female X on the mattress. In just a few seconds, they had reached the end of their travel and she was secured. I walked around, looking closely. "How does it feel," I asked. "Too tight? Too loose?"

She pulled on each limb several times and then said, "No. This is just about right." She pulled some more. "I certainly can't pull my arms or legs back."

I shook my head. "That's a fact. You're being held by over a hundred pounds of air pressure. I haven't calculated just how strong the force is, but given the size of the cylinders, it has to be in the vicinity of a thousand pounds total. That is why it was so important to make sure that the mechanism hit the end just when you are at maximum stretch." A thought suddenly came to mind. "I don't know if you have any friends who share your love of self-bondage..." She started to say something but I waved her to silence. "...and I don't want to know. But, you must never allow anyone else to use this. If they are smaller than you there is a real danger of them being severely injured when it retracts. Understand?"

She nodded. "I won't go into a description of the pressure regulators and how they work, but what is happening now is that air is leaking from the tank at a rate based on the positions you turned the three valves up here to. Eventually, the pressure will get low enough that the springs in the cylinders will begin to overcome the air pressure and the cables will be let out enough for you to get loose. Even if one cylinder were to jam, the other will release enough slack to allow you to free yourself."

I let her stay for a few more minutes, then turned the master valve to purge, and almost immediately the cylinders began to extend to the non-pressure position.

Shortly, in my office we were finalizing the transaction, she gave me a set of directions to her house and I arranged to deliver it that evening. I delivered it personally - I didn't want an employee to discover the location of a female who would be probably naked, spread wide and helpless for hours.

* * *

A month had gone by since I had punched holes in my dungeon slaves' pussy lips. Now I brought along a set of very expensive items that I had manufactured during the month. As the girls stood before me with their legs widely spread, I removed the plastic keeper inserts that had kept the holes open until they healed. I threaded an open golden ring through each lip hole, then the ring was threaded through a small weight that looked like a miniature Christmas ball ornament. Finally, a special set of pliers closed the ring into a continuous circle.

Standing up, each of their inner lips were pulled down by two small, but heavy golden weights - four total for each girl. Even now, the lips stretched down almost an inch below their original position. According to my research - ok, it was an article in a porno mag - the lips would continue to stretch over time. How long they would get would be interesting.

* * *

I decided that a hot forge stamp would be the best way to produce the wiggle balls, as I started calling them. Who was Ben Wa, anyway? The inventor? A sheet of stainless steel of the proper thickness would be put in the induction furnace until it glowed orange, then was fed into the forge stamper. That would stamp out a hemisphere of the right dimensions which, after some smooth up grinding, would be ready to be pressure welded to it's twin. That left a hollow ball ready for filling. A small hole was drilled, the mercury inserted, then the hole welded closed. Some touch up grinding and polishing was all that was left. Total cost, not including the special tooling that I had to make for the stamper - about a buck, labor and all. I decided that some Japanese company was definitely engaged in profiteering.

I also experimented with putting an actual ball bearing ball inside of the larger sphere, rather than partially filling it with mercury. I assumed that the little ball rolling back an forth might - or might not - have a greater effect than the heavy liquid.

I put my youngest employee to producing them in volume. After a day or so, he had the motions down pat and was making several dozen an hour.

I took a box of them to my friend's store and astounded him with my price of five bucks a pair. Of course, he would probably ask twenty-five or so, but it was still far less than the imported ones. And mine were better - they were stainless steel rather than just chrome plated. Nothing to wear off or corrode from pussy juices.

* * *

I had Cindy sitting in her own piercing chair at her business, and had Mary punch several holes in her lower inner pussy lips. Cindy assumed that I was going to install jewelry when the wounds had healed, but I had other ideas. A few weeks later, I had her in my bed, stretched out wide with her limbs fastened to the bedposts and with cum still draining out of her hole from the load that I had just given her. I opened up a fancy little wooden box and set it on her stomach with the top open. She strained to lift her head to see what was in the box.

"What is it, Honey?" she asked.

Rather than answer, I reached into the box and pulled out what she probably assumed to be two steel marbles. I dropped them on her stomach and we watched them do their little wobble dance as the heavy liquid mercury sloshed around inside. Of course, Cindy had no idea what they were, but assumed that they would have something to do with sex.

I knelt down between her legs and inserted them, one at a time, into her pussy as high as I could push them with my finger. I then threaded the bails of three small polished gold locks through the holes in her pussy lips that had been punched weeks before. When they were snapped shut, her pussy was effectively held shut and the Ben-Wa balls were contained inside.

When she was released, she stood up and moved her hips back and forth, making the little locks swing from side to side. Then she bent over to look. Standing back up she said, "Well, I don't see what you've done except stick two marbles up my hole and then lock up my pussy..." She walked over to me, put her arms around my neck and pushed her tits against my chest, "...but, at the moment, I don't have any other dick besides yours that is scheduled to enter, so what are you trying to protect?"

I just smiled. "Let me know what you think about them in a couple of days."

* * *

The next day, the reason for my hidden dungeon was confirmed. As it turned out, one of my "customers" was a setup - an undercover cop who purchased a few bondage items.

The door opened rapidly and suddenly the office was full of cops. I was read my rights, then hauled just a few blocks to the jail.

End of part 2

Copyright© 2011 by Morlock. All rights reserved.