"My God, Mistress, I can NEVER take THAT," I whisper, horrified at what is obviously in store for me.  Grinning, Erika holds up the new dildo she has just purchased and admires its outrageous size.  She is my owner, and of course as her personal slave I can be punished even for this small protest. 

But she chooses to ignore my impertinence.  "Oh, you’ll take it all right, sweet Gyneth," she promises.  "I know how much you can take!"  And then she adds, "I also bought some new hot-crème for it -- see?"  She gestures toward a jar on the table.  "That cost a lot, sweets, so it had better be worth it!"

She opens the jar.  From where I am positioned I can see the potent dark brown goo inside it.  She explains with a smile, "This is Madam Tarque’s new aphrodisiac lotion.  She calls it "hot twat" -- isn’t that cute?  She guarantees that it will excite you and loosen you all at the same time."  I watch in horror as she dips the end of the dildo into the jar and then smears the crème up and down its incredible length.

The black hard-rubber device is a good ten inches long, at least two inches in diameter, and the bumps and whorls that cover its surface promise to make its insertion an experience to remember.  It has an oversized blunt head, and its base is cleverly flared to fit neatly up against the wearer’s lovelips.  Some fiend spent a long time designing this baby.

"Look at how well this is molded," Erika continues, holding it up close to my face.  "And see, its base has a special clit-cup, right here. Once you’re excited, the cup will hold your pleasure-button inside its roughened interior and you’ll just love it!  Madam Tarque tells me that after a girl has worn it just once, she’ll beg to have it inside her again and again -- because that little device will thrill her like nothing she’s ever felt before.  She says it’s all a matter of getting it turned the right way."

I suck in a deep breath, fearful and at the same time excited.  If it does what it’s promised to do, I am in for one hell of an afternoon!

Erika puts the thing down on the table and approaches me.  I am already nude and stretched in a drastic spread-eagle, arms and legs drawn wide between two pillars in her bizarrely appointed penthouse bedroom, so there is no way I can escape what she has planned for me.  The snug leather cuffs at my wrists and ankles are much too strong.  She goes behind me, puts her arms about my waist, and cups my bosoms.  I suck in a deep breath.

After a few moments of having my breasts squeezed and fondled, I begin to husk with excitement.  Erika has spent hundreds of hours training me to respond to her touch, and by now I am quite unable to resist becoming aroused whenever my body is so artfully tantalized. 

Then her hands find my crotch.  I am already starting to tremble with excitement -- she is so talented -- and when she starts to stroke my mons and then to run her fingers in between my lovelips, I have to moan with passion. She is preparing me for the insertion, it is clear, and I know that soon I will be even more eager than she to have it inside me.

I arch my back, quivering with excitement.  Moments later, giddy with arousal, I am only mildly surprised to hear my own husky words, "Yes, yesss, Mistress... oh, ohhh, put it in me... please-please-please... oh YES!.. unhhh, ahhh... p-pleasseeze?"

Silently, she continues her manual explorations for a while longer, and then concludes with a delicious digital invasion of my puss.  Grunting with desire, I buck back and forth against my bonds.  The vision of that gigantic rod fills my mind with an intense lust that blinds me to everything else.

Finally, she relents.  "Okay, baby, here it comes."

As she positions the dildo before me, I can’t help thrusting my hips forward to meet its fat, blunt head.  Then I sigh explosively as it probes the entrance to my puss.  Erika keeps smiling while she exerts upward pressure on the thing.  The slick crème on it allows it gain entrance easily.  I turn my hips slightly to aid the lovely monster’s penetration, hissing with excitement as it is slowly forced up into my tunnel. 

It stretches me deliciously right away, and its uneven surface strikes little sparks of pleasure here and there as it is jammed steadily up into my cunt.  In a few seconds I can feel the hot, titillating itch of the crème that covers it, and I begin to shake with excitement. My crotch-muscles tighten again and again as I react to the dildo’s invasion, but with every brief relaxation Erika helps it penetrate further. My mouth stretches wide in a silent cry of delight as the monstrous invader seems to fill me with molten gold.

The insertion continues, endlessly it seems, making me feel as though I am being absolutely stuffed with exactly what I crave!  The dildo’s head must already be up as high as my navel!  I swivel and jerk my hips to encourage even more depth.  Erika is breathing hard from her efforts.  I want her to work even harder.

At last I can feel the base of the dildo touching my lovelips.  I arch my back again to invite it closer, and then I sense the clit-cup accepting its target.  She has it turned exactly right!  It is like an electric shock. My widespread legs stiffen with pleasure and my hips quake under the power of the encounter.  Never in my life have I been so maddeningly aroused.

Then Erika steps back from me.  I fear for a second that the dildo will leave me too, but of course it is much too thick to move.  While I glory in its fullness, doing little bumps and grinds to keep it active, Mistress finds my cinch-belt and quickly fits it about my waist.  In a few moments she has laced it to delicious constriction, adding to my hungry tension, and then she fastens my bodystrap at its front.

As soon as she has drawn the strap back through my parted thighs and up between my clenching buns, I know that an even wilder rapture awaits me.  Erika runs the end of the strap through the buckle at the rear of my belt and begins to tighten it.  I can feel the dildo being forced even further up into my body, and the cup inflicts extra pressure on my throbbing clit.  At last, I cannot hold back a ragged cry of joyous enthusiasm.

Almost immediately, a climactic eruption shakes me furiously while sweet torrents of the ultimate in erotic fulfillment thunder through my body.  I carol in triumph, twitching and writhing under the marvelous sensations.  Erika laughs with delight during my seizure.  It seems to go on and on.

Then her arms enfold me, squeezing my breasts against hers while her strong fingers grip and knead my buns.  I go entirely out of my mind with ecstasy, babbling my thanks and praying that it will never, ever end.               

At last, though, I relax.  The pleasure continues to echo through my body, but now it is a lovely sensation to be contemplated at leisure rather than a ravening hurricane with me at its very center.  My Mistress strokes my flanks gently, and then my inner thighs, and I breathe my gratitude. "Oh, Mistress, that was . . .  f-fabulous!"

So I think we’ll leave it in there for a few hours, eh?"

I jerk with apprehension at this announcement.  "L-leave it in?  Oh, Mistress, I-I don’t know if I can handle that."  My voice is soft, tense.

"I want to find out if it’s as good as promised," she explains to me seriously.  "I’ll put you into some other bondage so that you can move around, and then we can tell by your behavior whether it really is that wonderful."

I remain silent, knowing very well that I have no choice.  She reaches up to unlock my wrist cuffs, leaving my legs chained wide apart so that I can’t move to evade her, and I carefully lower my arms to my sides.  A moment later, she has clamped my wrists into a heavy steel hinge-cuff behind me that holds my hands immovably palm to palm.

Next come some heavy straps at my elbows, drawing them harshly together in the center of my back so that my forearms hang straight down and my hands are secured motionless behind my fanny.  The strain on my shoulders is cruel, but I know I will get used to it.  This certainly isn’t the first time I have been in such demanding arm-bondage. 

I have been blessed with a pair of generously full and firmly-rounded breasts, and Mistress and I both appreciate what the elbows-back position does for them, raising and forcing them outward in proud exhibition.

Only now does she feel free to release my ankles.  At her command, I hold out one foot and then the other so that she can fit them into a pair of stiletto-heeled sandals.  While she is fixing a 12-inch hobble between my ankles, locking its heavy cuffs snugly in place, I have time to glance down at my outthrust breasts.  My nipples are still thick with arousal.  I wonder if she will bring out a pair of cone-clamps to be fastened on them, for they are useful if she wishes to leash me.

No, my nips will apparently remain free of torment for a while longer.  Instead, she snaps a long braided leather cord to my high steel collar and pulls on it.  "Follow me, darling," she orders.  "Let’s see how you walk around with Mr. Dildo stuffed all the way up your greedy cunt."

Even though I am severely limited by the hobble, every step makes me acutely aware of the gigantic rod inside me.  I grunt as each movement seems to exaggerate its presence.  

Then I whisper, "Ummm, ahh, Mistress... this is incredible! I feel as though I am being constantly skewered by this, this... thing.  Ahhh... oooh! ahh... It’s so lo-o-ong!  Oh please, can’t we stop?"

She chuckles.  "Not likely, girl!  I want to see just how long it will take you to work up to another climax.  Keep moving now!"

The tension on my leash is irresistible, so I must keep shuffling along behind Mistress.  She leads me around the bedroom a few times, and then along the corridor that goes to the living room.  I learn that if I twist my hips enough with each step, the monster inside me does not poke quite so demandingly.  Still, though, I cannot ignore its incredible dimensions.

In the living room, she halts me.  "Let’s try bending over.  How does this feel?"  She exerts a steady downward pull on my leash and I have to lean forward stiffly from my hips. Because of my arm-bondage, I cannot bend my torso at all. Ah-hhh! It is like having the dildo forced another inch up into my puss.  I start to moan with excitement.

After a dozen deep bows have left me trembling with renewed devotion to my oversized companion, Mistress leads me to my U-seat and orders me to sit down in it.  The device is like a high saddle, only much, much narrower, about three inches wide, and its front and rear ends come up to my waist when I am seated astride it.  I approach it from the back until my hobble-chain is tight against the supporting post and then ease myself down into the bizarre seat.  Naturally, putting my weight on my crotch intensifies the dildo’s effect.  I grunt at the sensation.

Mistress Erika suddenly yanks up on my hobble, pulling my feet out from under me, and suddenly I seem to be supported entirely by the monstrous shaft inside me.  I groan again and then croon a high-pitched hum as its base grips my clit with maddening erotic pressure. 

While I am distracted, she snubs my hobble over a hook high on the u-seat post to insure that I cannot lower my feet to the floor.  The sensation in my crotch now is a fabulous combination of pressure and pleasure.  I move my thighs slowly and discover that this makes the clit button move just enough to stimulate me even more.

"My God, Mistress," I hiss between gritted teeth, "this thing is going to drive me out of my mind!  I... ahhh, unnh... I think, I think it’s going to make me c-come... ooohh... uh-ah-ahhh... a-gainn!!" 

I move my thighs more rapidly in a kind of clumsy walking motion, and then arch my back under the marvelous agony that I am deliberately inflicting between my own legs.  Mistress Erika takes advantage of my pose to seize my hardened nipples, wringing an extra gasp of passion from me.  As she grips and twists them, I jerk my shoulders back and forth to intensify the effect.  I squeeze my eyes shut with frantic need.

Then she bends down and places her open mouth over my left nipple.  I gasp at the marvelous feeling as she sucks and lashes at it with her tongue, and gasp again when she envelops me in her arms.  When she moves her hungry lips to my other nipple, I can bear it no longer.

"Ohh, yessSSS!," I shrill as a new wave of ecstasy begins to shake my body fiercely.  I buck back and forth in the U-seat, desperate for yet more pressure on my clit, and then yowl with rapture as my dildo-filled pussy explodes again.  The typhoon of pleasure jerks my body violently, and mistress does everything she can to prolong this new climax.  She bites gently at one nipple, pinches the other with her fingers and at the same time shoves me down harder onto my seat with her free arm.

It seems to be hours later when I descend from the heaven to which this incredibly masterful dildo has taken me again.  I am panting from the wild exertions of my second climax, but my thoughts remain focused on the huge weapon that fills my cunt.  It demands my full attention and I obey eagerly.

"That’s two," Mistress says calmly.  "Oh, you’re such a glutton for pleasure, girl!  I expect you probably have a dozen more orgasms left in you."  She bends down to unhook my hobble chain, allowing me to put my feet on the floor again.  I give a throaty sigh.

"Oh, Mistress," I whisper, "I’m so totally zapped now... I can’t possibly go through any more of this.  Oh, please, can’t you take it out now?"

She shakes her head sternly.  "And finish our experiment so soon?  I think not, darling.  Why, it’s more than three hours yet before dinner.  What else could we do for the rest of the afternoon that’s half so interesting?" 

She smiles gently at me.  "No, we’ll leave Mr. Dildo where he is, dear.  I’m sure I can think of some new exercises for you."

But before she lets me up from the saddle-seat, she brings a pair of cone-clamps from the chest where my bondage gear is kept.  "With your tendency to get so wild when you’re excited, girl, I think I’d better have some extra control of you.  Stay still, now..."

She concentrates on securing the cones over the still-thickened tips of my breasts while I shudder at the prospect of wearing them.  Each one is a hollow steel cone, open at the bottom with a diameter of about two inches.  It has a ring of tiny metal teeth inside the opening which will constrict about the base of the nipple when the ring at its tip is turned, squeezing the tender bud inside the cone so that it cannot come off.  I hiss between my teeth as mistress places a cone over one nipple and tightens it, and hiss again even more loudly as the other is fixed in place.  When both devices are secure, my bosoms are adorned with the cruelest ornaments I could ever imagine. 

And when Mistress clips the twin ends of a forked leash to the clamps, I know that I will do anything at all to escape her jerking at it.  The sheer agony that a tug can induce is intensely erotic, I admit, but still so painful that I fear it more than almost anything.  My collar leash is discarded, of course.  She flips the new leash casually, making me bite my lip in dread.

"Come on, girl, stand up now.  Let’s go for another walk."

I do as she commands, backing away from the U-seat and then following her with the quick, mincing steps that my hobble requires.  Although anxiety about my new breast-leash makes me forget the dildo momentarily, its gigantic presence cannot be ignored for long.  I try various ways of rolling my hips with each step, but the rod’s length and thickness impose strict limits on how much I can move them.  It is as though I am wearing a wonderfully tight girdle -- on the inside!

A couple of circuits of the living room have me breathing hard again.  Once more, a vision of the monstrous invader fills my mind enchantingly. Still, my body has undergone so much sexual exertion already that another climax seems impossible.  I have no idea how much more stamina I have left.

Then mistress stops and snaps her fingers.  "I know!" she announces.  "Some crawling ought to make life more interesting!"

So before I know it, I have been led hurriedly back to the bedroom and ordered to lay face-down on the bed.  Mistress climbs up, kneels astride the backs of my thighs, and goes to work on my back-bound arms.  Before long they are free, but only for a brief moment.  She has placed a pair of short gloves within reach, and soon each of my arms has been doubled as sharply as possible inside its own snug leather sheath, which she then laces up until each wrist is squeezed tightly against its shoulder.  My fingers grasp at thin air.

I know from past experience that the sheaths are padded at the elbows so that a clumsy crawl will indeed be possible.  And after I have rolled over and allowed her to imprison my legs the same way, doubling each one harshly inside its own padded thigh-sheath, crawling will be the only way I can move.

It seems to me that Mistress spends far too much time on the laces that tighten the thigh-sheaths, but by the time she is satisfied, my ankles have been secured so firmly against the backs of my thighs that the very idea of straightening my legs seems ridiculous. 

Now it is time to get down off the bed.  Lying there with my arms and legs so sternly incapacitated, I doubt that I will be able to move at all.  But Mistress has only to twitch suggestively at my breast-leash to encourage me.  After a spasm of awkward but frantic effort, I am indeed able to turn over and then slide down off the bed.  On the floor, I find myself in a dog-like stance. 

Positioned on elbows and knees means that one’s fanny is higher than one’s head -- not an elegant pose, but unavoidable.

"Stay," she warns me, as though I am a dog.  She gives my ass cheeks a thorough manual inspection and then tightens my bodystrap one more notch so that the dildo’s cup seems to enclose my clit with impossible ardor.  And the dildo itself, of course, still dominates my loins entirely.  I hum with warm appreciation of the way my puss is so utterly, marvelously under its command.

Then tension on the leash fastened to my cone-tortured nipples forces me to start crawling.  I groan at the pain, and find that the way I must now swing my hips from side to side makes the dildo do new and wondrous things inside me.  I scramble clumsily to keep up with mistress, and then I begin to pant and snort as the fresh barrage of stimuli starts to overcome me. 

Two trips from the bedroom to the living room and back are enough to bring my body to a new pitch of tantalized excitement.  I gasp at last, "oh, Mistress, I... I... ahhh!  This thing is driving me... ah! Uhh!  Crazy again!"

I wriggle my fanny energetically, hoping desperately that she will let me rest.  But the leash pulls steadily at my itchy-hot nipples and I must keep moving.  I can only moan between gritted teeth as I struggle to keep up with Mistress.  Amazingly, once more my cunt is absolutely on fire with need!

In the living room, she halts me.  "A hamperbar between your knees, dear, should add the final touch."  I bite my lip, panting with exhaustion and yet needing above all else... something... whatever it will take to boost me over the edge again!

In a few minutes, she has fastened the telescoping device between swivel-clamps fixed on straps that she has buckled just above my knees, and extended it until my thighs are spread at a stressful right-angle.  How can I possibly crawl when I am so crippled by this awful gadget?

Well, I learn quickly enough!  The leash’s sharp jerk at my throbbing breasts provides all the encouragement I need.  I find that I can indeed crawl, swinging my hips extravagantly from side to side in order to move one knee ahead of the other and also that this strenuous exercise forces the dildo into some marvelously exaggerated thrusting and plunging inside me.  By the time we reach the bedroom again, I am half-mad with arousal once more.

Back to the living room once more.  If only I could squeeze my thighs together!  But with my knees forced so wide apart, I cannot respond to the wonderful rod at all.  It is deep inside me, doing fabulous things to my womanhood -- and there is absolutely no way I can cooperate with it!

I must be mewing with frustration, for at last Mistress tells me to hold still.  With my head hanging low between my sheath-doubled arms, I obey, almost insane from the heat in my loins.  Then I feel her seize the bar between my knees and lift up on it.

With my wide-spread thighs now stretched out in line with my torso, I try in vain to give a bump or a grind -- anything to make the dildo more active!  But then she lays the bar across a footstool, leaving me in a kind of wheelbarrow position.  It is a strain to keep my head and shoulders up off the rug, but I know Mistress will not tolerate my collapsing.  The breath whistles in my throat.

Then I feel her gloved hand smack across my fanny!  I react with a sudden, involuntary tightening of my crotch muscles that outlines the dildo’s presence there in lines of incandescent lust; I gasp with excitement.

There are more strokes, each producing delicious new effects, and then comes the sharper bite of a thin leather quirt.  Each stinging blow elicits a huge jerk of my hips -- and the hot, rich glow of another orgasm has been ignited between my legs!  I stiffen, jerking my hips with sex-crazed energy while the joy spreads inexorably through my body.  I cry out in gratitude to this most adorable of all mistresses.  Her lash continues to leave stripes of fire across my jerking buns while I surrender to sheer lust.

Much, much later, I find myself lying face-down on the rug, my glove-doubled arms close by my sides and my harshly-doubled legs still forced wide apart.  My hips continue to quiver with pleasure and my ass cheeks clench sweetly, spasmodically, somehow tightening my bodystrap and thus squeezing that wonderful clit cup against my quivering womanhood.  My breasts ache from the pressure on my nipple-cones but I pay no attention to them.

Roll over, girl," Mistress tells me.  Clumsily, I manage to obey, using one arm and one leg to accomplish the maneuver, and then lie on my back looking up at her.  What a fabulously beautiful mistress she is!

She grins down at me and begins to unfasten her belt.  "I don’t know why you should be having all the fun," she says happily.  "I’m going to let you make me happy too.  I’ll be ready for you in a second."

Soon her leather shorts have been removed.  I lick my lips at the sight of the lovely dark muff with which I am so familiar, well aware that my face will soon be buried in it.

Then she leans down to take the end of my breast-leash.  "Up on your hands and knees," she orders.  "We’re going to the bedroom."  It requires several agonizing jerks at my breast-leash before I manage to get up into a crawling position, but somehow the pain only makes me more anxious to get started between mistress’s smooth, creamy thighs.  Savoring the immense rod that still fills my womanhood, I crawl behind her eagerly.

In the bedroom, Mistress leads me to the foot of her bed and makes me kneel facing it on my haunches, my thighs still forced wide apart by the hamperbar.  Then she runs a strap through the rings set at the tips of my short-gloves and tightens it until my elbows are jammed together in the center of my back.  I groan at the strain on my shoulders.

Her next move is to pull my breast-leash down and back between my legs, and then to tie its end to a second leash which she pulls up my back and across one shoulder.  Now, even lying down, she will be able to use it.

Finally, still holding my leash, mistress climbs onto the bed and works her way down toward me until I am staring directly into her crotch.  She jerks at the leash, producing an unexpected bite in my groin and also a downward pull at my nipples.  "Dive in, slave!" She commands.

I lick my lips again, take a deep breath, and lean forward.  Her odor is strong and exciting.  I shove my face into the gleaming mass of tight ebon curls there and find her lovelips.  She jerks at my leash again and I respond by stabbing my tongue stiffly into her slit.

It will take some time to bring her to climax, but she gives me no relief.  Her legs were doubled at first, but now she straightens them so that the backs of her thighs rest on my shoulders and her booted feet hang down my back.  She clamps my head strongly between her legs while I use my chin, tongue, and nose in a continuous assault on her pussy.  "More, more," she urges softly, increasing the tension on my leash until I squeal at the pain.

With her heels drumming on my back, our love-making continues.  I twist my head between her legs, nibble at her lovelips, lave her clit roughly with my tongue.  She begins to jerk rhythmically on my leash, making me exquisitely aware of the dildo’s wonderfully thick presence and also of my breasts’ erotic tenderness.  Once in a while I must pull my face away to gasp for air, but a sharp guttural command brings me back to her crotch immediately.

Her legs squeeze my head with terrible strength, and I know that my labors are beginning to pay off.  Then I find that I can force my chin in between her ass cheeks.  This gets me even closer to her slit.  I stick my tongue in deeper and move it from side to side.  Mistress groans harshly with pleasure. 

At last, she begins to quiver violently with the approach of her own orgasm.  I redouble my efforts, forcing my face even harder into her crotch.  I press my upper teeth against her clit while running my stiffened tongue around the rim of her puss.  Then I feel greater tension on my leash.  It cuts up between my legs, exaggerating the dildo’s penetration, and its downward pull at my breasts inflicts bittersweet pain. 

While I continue to do everything I can to pleasure her, Mistress at last goes rigid with the glory of her own carnal climax.  She stiffens her legs and I fear she is going to crush my head between them.  But this is what she has commanded, and I am proud to have succeeded in obeying her.  She twitches and moans, still yanking cruelly at my leash, and I can only continue to lick and suck at her womanhood while she does her best to prolong the rapture. 

Finally, the tension on my leash relaxes and her strong legs release my head from their fierce grip.  "Ahhh," she sighs at last, "that was a good one, sweetie."  And several minutes later she says, "Let’s just rest awhile, eh?"

Rest!  The precious dildo still fills me, and I find myself wanting to respond to it once more.  Mistress has taken her pleasure from me, but in spite of the orgasms that wracked me earlier, my body remains insatiable.  I am breathing more rapidly now.

Kneeling here in my present bondage, thighs still forced wide apart, the only thing I can do is to roll my hips back and forth a little.  With the way each of my legs is so harshly doubled, though, I cannot even move enough to get one heel directly beneath my puss.  My movements produce a spark of pleasure now and then, but hardly enough to satisfy me.  My tremulous sigh of frustration, however, is heard.

"Still horny, doll?" Mistress asks tenderly.  I nod, somehow embarrassed to admit my continued fixation upon the insistent dildo.  She goes on, "Well, I suppose I’ll have to figure out something new for you."  She sits up and smiles at me, a sparkle in her eyes.  "It isn’t as though you’ve been totally deprived all afternoon, though!"  I nod again in reluctant agreement.

Her next announcement forces a groan of apprehension from my throat.  "I think some quiet-time will be a good idea.  I’ll see that you have nice long time to think about Mr. Dick, but I’ll make sure you can’t thrash around with all that girlish passion."

It is clear that she intends to immobilize me somehow.  She frees my elbows from their enforced juncture in the center of my back, shakes my breast-leash, and I dutifully begin to crawl crab-like on elbows and wide-spread knees behind her toward my own cell. 

This is a secret room that opens off her bedroom.  When its door is closed, no one would suspect it is there at all.  It is where I spend most of my nights, and it contains a variety of bondage devices that allow mistress to dream up endless new ways to confine and torment me.  She unlocks the door.

"Stay!" she orders firmly, and I know I must remain motionless.  Staring down at the carpet where my breast-leash hangs limp, I cannot see what she is doing.  But it is clear that she is arranging something that will hold me quiet.  I twist my hips back and forth a little.  It does nothing for my needs.

After several minutes have passed, mistress announces that my cell is ready for me.  I swallow nervously, knowing that whatever she has fixed up will be no fun at all. 

Reaching down to take my leash, she says, "I think this will work.  C’mon, babe, let’s see if you can climb up onto these boxes."  I can see that she has positioned two small wooden boxes, perhaps six inches high, just about as far apart as the hamperbar spreads my knees.  I crawl dutifully toward them.  Getting my knees up on them will be a challenge, surely, but the more puzzling thing is what she intends to do with the rest of my body.

It all becomes clear soon enough.  First, though, she makes me kneel with the boxes just ahead of my knees and tells me to bring my elbows together above my head.  I obey, and she uses a strap to tie the two elbow-rings together so that my head is squeezed between my forearms.  Then she buckles another strap firmly around them and my head, just above my eyes, so that I can’t change their position.  It is tight.

Next, she pulls a chain down from the ceiling pulley and attaches it to my elbow-rings.  She draws the chain up steadily until my body is hoisted up off my haunches and my weight is resting entirely on my widespread knees.  Ooof!

Following her commands, I lift one knee up onto the box just ahead of it, and then the other knee.  Now I am weirdly spread-eagled atop the two boxes, my thighs stretched wide apart and my head trapped between my doubled arms.  I moan my discomfort. 

"Now comes the delicate part," she says gently.  "I’m going to make you lean forward.  Wait a minute."

She maneuvers the ceiling pulley until its chain to my elbows pulls them ahead of me, forcing me to lean forward beyond the point where I can balance atop my knees.  Finally I fall forward, only to be halted when my body is suspended at a 45-degree angle and I am literally hanging by my elbows.  To my dismay, Mistress then takes my breast-leash and pulls it back between my legs.  She fastens it to another chain from the ceiling and tightens it until it presses deliciously on the base of my dildo.  It also exerts steady downward tension on my nipple-cones.

"There!" she says triumphantly.  "If you get to wiggling too much, doll, you’ll work your knees off the boxes and then only your leash will hold you up off the floor.  So I advise you to remain very, very still.  Understand?"

"Uh, yes, Mistress," I grunt.  I understand her quite well.  My position forces me to arch my chest outward so that my breasts jut forward and my torso is under continuous strain.  But I dare not move my hips at all, for fear of working my knees off the supporting boxes, so I really have no freedom of movement left at all.  I know I am in for an unknown period of excruciating, total immobility. 

Mistress does one more thing to add to my misery.  She hangs a little silver bell from each nipple-cone.  "I’m going to take a rest now," she tells me, "and if I hear even a single tinkle, I’ll know you’ve been naughty.  Stay still, then, and dream about your, ah, little friend."

I sigh and whisper once more, "Yes, Mistress."  Then she leaves me to deal with my own problems while she lies down on her bed to relax.

There is no way to tell how fast time is passing, no way to escape the unending strain of my stressful position, and certainly no way to ease the fierce hunger that continues to pulse between my legs.  After a few moments, though, I find that some relief is possible through day-dreaming of my previous orgasms, and then of a host of other delicious torments that I have experienced.  Mistress has done such wonderfully creative things to me over the past years, things that taught me how much pleasure my body is really capable of, that I can hardly be bored.

But still my pussy aches for fulfillment and I grit my teeth at the raging frustration that dominates my thoughts.  If only I could move!

But I dare not.  Instead, I will find what pleasure I can by recalling special episodes from my long history of servitude to Mistress Erika.  I shut my eyes and search my memory.  Yes, there was that fabulous time at her friend’s country mansion last summer...

(back to the past)

Mistress Chlorinne had invited us to come up for the weekend, promising that I and her girl Betsy could expect a lot of action.  When Mistresses like these two get together, their slavegirls are in for some serious B&D -- and that’s what we got, all right!

The experience was so vivid that I can still remember every detail.  And since I have nothing better to do now, other than wish I could move, I will let my mind wallow deliciously in the memory.

Mistress Erika had put me into the van’s prison-box early in the morning after I had finished my toilette.  Neck-leashed and wearing only my corselet and a not-too-tight bodystrap, plus of course some light bondage, I minced along behind her to the private elevator that serves her penthouse.  My hobble was a generous 20 inches and my arms were merely cuffed behind me, so I was feeling almost casual about things.  We descended rapidly to her private parking area in the sub-basement.

Getting into the prison-box is difficult, but certainly not impossible.  Despite not having the use of my hands, I managed to get up into the rear of the van and then knelt to crawl into what would be my miniature cell during the ride.  The box’s small size required me to bend double so that my breasts were crushed against my thighs and my arms were tight against my back.  Fortunately, it is well padded inside. 

Mistress buckled the interior straps that would hold me motionless, closed and locked the door, and then tipped the box over so that I was lying on my side.  Not very comfortable, but at least I had complete privacy.

The trip to Mistress Chlorinne’s country estate took almost an hour, and by the time we got there I was totally bored and ready for anything besides my unpleasantly cramped quarters.  Nothing happened for quite a while after the van had halted, so I supposed Mistress was talking to our hostess about the day’s plans.  It would be fun to see Chlorinne’s girl Betsy again.

I murmured my gratitude when Mistress finally opened the door of my prison-box and loosed the straps.  "Come on, kid, we’re waiting for you," she told me.  I struggled my way out of the box, humped over to the rear door, and cautiously swung my legs down to the ground.  It was so nice to be able to stretch!

Mistress Chlorinne was standing there in tight jeans and a loose blouse. What a body!  I immediately dropped to my knees in obeisance, a reaction I had been taught is mandatory in the presence of any other Mistress.  She smiled down at me.  "You’re being very submissive this morning, Amanda.  I assume that Mistress Erika has been appropriately strict in your training since you were here last?"

As a slavegirl, I am required to answer every Mistress’s questions in detail, so I nodded vigorously and said politely, "Yes indeed, Mistress.  She as been very attentive to my behavior and I have been grateful for all the time and energy she has devoted to correcting my faults."

The redheaded domme tossed her head and snorted.  "I’ll bet!  There’s never been a slavegirl yet who was grateful for discipline!"  She turned to my Mistress and asked, "Are you still using that helmet with the tongue-clamp when she needs to be punished?"

My Mistress answered cheerfully, "Sure, once in a while.  These days, though, when we’re at my country place, I usually sentence Amanda to a session at the wheel when she’s been naughty.  I can tell you that she finds it wonderfully instructive."

I noted Mistress Chlorinne’s raised eyebrow and knew that I was expected to explain the wheel.  Speaking softly, I told her, "It is a big millwheel, Mistress, fixed on a vertical axle inside the barn so that its spokes turn in a horizontal circle.  Each one is about six feet long.  Mistress can set a brake that determines how hard it is to move.  When I have been a naughty girl, I have to pull it around and around until my discipline is finished.  Mistress decides how short my hobble must be, and fastens the rear end of my bodystrap to one spoke so I can pull it.  Mmm... and when my mistress is really upset with me, I must wear a dildo too."

"Very interesting," she commented with a smile.  "And does the dildo make you come?"

I shook my head sadly.  "Oh, no, Mistress.  It is much too short to bring me to climax, even though it makes me want to.  Besides, sometimes my Mistress also fastens my breast-leash to the spoke ahead of me and tightens it until I am stretched between the two spokes.  That makes it, er, difficult to concentrate on my pussy."

My Mistress broke in, chuckling.  "Darling, you would find it truly amusing to watch Amanda twisting and jerking while she pulls the wheel.  She really wants to come, but I make sure that she can’t.  After all, it wouldn’t be real discipline if she could!"

Then she asked, "But where is Betsy?  Amanda is dying to see her!"

Mistress Chlorinne gestured toward the gate that led to the garden behind the mansion.  "Oh, she’s back there.  You might say she’s helping me with the lawn.  Let’s go see her."

My Mistress held up one hand. "Wait a minute, dear.  I think Amanda needs a change of bondage.  I’ve been far too easy on her this morning."

And so I had to stand quietly while she rummaged around in the van’s built-in equipment chest for something new.  Well, I knew things would get more difficult after we got here!

After a few minutes, I found myself not only with a shorter hobble, but wearing reinforced boots without heels that forced me to stand entirely on the balls of my feet.  They made me keep shuffling back and forth to keep my balance.  As for my arms, Mistress Erika worked them into a single-glove behind me and laced it up until my elbows were jammed together in the center of my back.  Then, after I had interlaced my fingers, she   immediately compressed my hands into a single tight ball by lacing them inside a padded double fist-mitt at my fanny. 

And if this weren’t enough, she decided that I needed nipple-cones and a gag too.  So I bit my lip while she fastened the cruel gadgets over the tips of my breasts, and then I dutifully "opened wide" so that she could work a nasty tongue-clamp gag into my mouth.  Its hinged plates closed tightly over my tongue, holding it firmly between them.  No more talking for me!  Once its retaining straps were buckled behind my head and under my chin, making me bite down hard on it, the gag would stifle all but my most primitive grunts and moans. I shook my head unhappily.

As soon as the ends of a forked leash were snapped to my cones, I became acutely sensitive to Mistress’s commands.  Accordingly, after a slight warning tug, I minced along anxiously behind her on the way to the garden.  Maybe the sight of my sister-slave Betsy in bondage would cheer me up.

Chlorinne opened the high gate that led into the garden and then locked it again after we had entered.  She led us along a stone path to a small grove of trees.  There was a clearing in the center of the grove, lined with flower beds, and at the center of a broad lawn was my sister-in-bondage, Betsy.  I gave a nasal snort of appreciation when I saw how cleverly she was outfitted.

The bosomy blonde slavegirl was on her hands and knees, legs doubled inside constrictive thigh-sheaths and arms held stiff and straight by heavy iron no-bend clamps locked over her elbows.  Each hand was secured in a thumbless padded mitt so that her fingers were useless, and two feet of strong chain linked the thick iron cuffs that encircled her wrists.  In addition, curiously, there was a two-foot wooden pole about the size of a broom handle that stood up vertically from between her firm, bare buns.  A long leather leash trailing behind her was fastened to the top of the pole.  I wondered how it was held in place.

"Betsy is pulling weeds for me," Mistress Chlorinne explained happily.  "She has to do it with her mouth, of course, but she knows how important it is to keep the lawn clear of dandelions and other bad plants."

As we watched, the entrammeled beauty crawled laboriously to the next glistening golden dandelion.  She stretched her arms out well ahead of her, spread them apart as far as her wrist-chain would allow, and then ducked her head down between her elbows to seize the little flower between her teeth.  With a twist of her head, she pulled it off.  Then she headed clumsily toward a pail some distance away where her pickings were to be deposited.  As she crawled, the vertical pole from her crotch waved back and forth.

"That rod sticking up," Mistress mused, "must have some useful purpose.  Tell me about it, dear."   "Of course," our hostess said.  "There’s an extra-thick eight-inch dildo fastened to it, stuck all the way up where it’s supposed to go and held in place by straps to the front and back of her corselet.  If I take the leash and pull it in any direction, Betsy gets a first-class goose from the dildo.  It’s a simple control but I find it very effective."

Chlorinne went on.  "Since my little darling isn’t gagged just now, suppose we let her tell us how she likes it."  She raised her voice.  "Betsy, sweetheart, come over here, will you?"

The blonde raised her head and answered meekly, "Yes, Mistress."  She made her way slowly toward us, moving her arms clumsily and swinging her hips. When she reached us, she sat back on her knees and bowed her head to my Mistress.  "Welcome, Mistress Erika.  This humble slavegirl is yours to command."

I was intrigued to see that her high, lush breasts were decorated with heavy silver d-rings inserted through holes bored horizontally through them, deep behind her nipples.  She hadn’t been tunneled the last time I saw her.  I would have to ask her about it later when we had the opportunity.  At the moment, they were not being used to anchor anything.

Chlorinne said casually, "Tell Mistress Erika about your pussy-pole, dear.  She’s curious about how it works."

Betsy blinked and bit her lip for a second.  "Oh, it’s... uh... very nice to wear, Mistress.  It keeps me aroused.  But w-when my Mistress pulls on my leash, the dildo makes me twist my body quickly.  Um, if she pulls back on it, I must raise my body like a rearing horse, and when she pulls forward, I have to bow my head down to the ground suddenly."

The blonde’s Mistress said in a soft but menacing tone, "And...?"

Betsy raised her eyebrows in puzzlement.  Then she caught on.  "Er, would you like to try my, uh, pussy-pole yourself, Mistress Erika?"  She got up into a crawling position again.

Without a word, my Mistress seized the leash and jerked back on it.  Its wearer grunted and raised her torso as energetically as she could, doing her best to cooperate with the rod inside her puss. 

"Oooh, ahh!" she gasped.  "T-that was very firmly done, Mistress."

A second later, Mistress pulled the leash the other way.  Betsy’s arms flew out ahead of her and she was forced to lean down quickly from her hips until her face was buried in the grass.  As soon as the tension was released, she shook her head wearily and resumed her hands-and-knees pose. 

"Th-thank you, Mistress," she breathed. "I hope you approve of how I responded to your control."

My Mistress chuckled.  "I don’t know what else you could have done, girl.  Tell me, how long have you been wearing this pussy-pole?"

"All morning, Mistress," Betsy answered.  "I-I keep thinking maybe it will make me come, but it hasn’t yet."  Her wistful tone made me blink in sympathy.

Chlorinne cleared her throat.  "Since our guests have arrived, Betsy, I guess we can forget about any more lawn work.  Erika and I will have to plan something that you and Amanda will enjoy... well, or will find interesting, at any rate!"

Our Mistresses moved away from us and conferred in whispers for a few minutes.  Betsy and I looked at each other silently, our woeful expressions revealing our anxious anticipation of new bondage and new demands.  Both of us are genuine B&D addicts, but that didn’t make us any happier about what was to come.  Our Mistresses can be real devils when they put their minds to it!

After several moments of serious discussion, they had made up their minds.  They returned to us, sharp grins on their faces, and we both shivered with anxious anticipation.

"Okay, ladies," Mistress Chlorinne said cheerfully, "you’re in for it!  We’re going to have you compete with each other in two contests, and the loser of each one will pay a very interesting price." 

My eyebrows and Betsy’s arched with wariness.  Since we were already at their mercy, it didn’t seem fair to pit us against each other.  But we who love being in bondage must accept whatever our Mistresses decide to impose on us, no matter how unfair.  My Mistress continued the instructions.

"First, we will have you race in identical bondage outfits, to see who can move faster.  And after that, we have designed a very interesting tug-of-war for you.  Oh, you’ll have loads of fun!"

‘Sure,’ I told myself, ‘Just loads!’  But when our Mistresses began to change our bondage, I didn’t have much time for sarcastic thoughts.

First of all, my fist-mitt and single-glove were removed and, to replace them, Mistress laced my arms into shortgloves so that each was doubled inside its own snug leather prison.  Individual mitts came next, leaving my hands compressed into tight-clenched fists and totally useless.  I could see that Betsy was getting the same treatment.

The next step was to stretch my shortgloved arms straight out from my shoulders by strapping a yard-long piece of heavy broom handle along them across the back of my shoulders from one elbow to the other.  With the straps buckled taut at shoulders and elbows, I felt as though I was being forced to play "airplane" or something -- no way to move my arms at all!  Before long, Betsy’s arms had been transformed into useless wings just like mine.

Then, while Betsy was being put into tiptoe boots like mine, Mistress spent the time making sure my nipple-cones were secure.  In spite of the potential for real pain, I began to breathe heavily with excitement because such careful attention to my breasts always arouses me.  Then each of us was fitted with a 15-inch hobble.

The final step in preparing us to race each other was giving each of us an extra-long breast-leash that was pulled down and back between our legs, and then tied to an iron ball that must have weighed 15 pounds.  Not only would we have to struggle against our hobbles, we would also have the additional problem of pulling the weights.

We were directed to one edge of the lawn and placed side by side.  "When I say go," Mistress Chlorinne told us, "we want you to race as fast as you can to the other side of the lawn and then back here.  Any noticeable slacking will lead to severe discipline, so do your best."

Betsy and I looked at each other.  By God, I was going to make certain that I won this race -- and I’m sure she was thinking the same thing.  We got into as much of a takeoff position as we could and waited for the signal.

"Go!" Mistress Chlorinne shouted, and we were off.  But after I had gone only a few steps, I could feel my breast-leash suddenly tighten between my legs, putting serious pressure on my bodystrap and tugging down at my nipples.  Ooof!  Now I was pulling the iron ball as well as struggling against my hobble.  The tantalizing drag slowed me more than I thought was acceptable, so I leaned forward against it and kept my feet moving as rapidly as I could. A quick glance at Betsy showed that she was meeting the same problem.

We continued to move, though, fairly even with each other, and reached the far side of the lawn at the same time.  I turned as sharply as I could and tried to quicken my 15-inch strides.  Betsy, of course, did the same thing.  But then I was surprised to see her adopt a new strategy, hopping with both feet together and managing to achieve more distance with each hop than I could by moving in the usual fashion.  Even though hopping meant harder jerks at her breast-leash, she also got some momentum into her iron ball as well, which made her new style of movement easier. 

By the time I decided that maybe I should try hopping as well, it was too late.  Betsy reached our starting point three steps ahead of me, and I had to admit defeat.  Both of us hung our heads, breathing heavily, and awaited our Mistress’s decision about my punishment for losing. 

We had a moment’s peace while our arms were freed from the "airplane" position and our elbows bound behind us.  Then the iron balls were taken off our leashes, but I noted warily that the leashes were still pulled back through our crotches.  Nothing very nice was going to happen as long as they stayed that way.

My Mistress came over to me, seized my leash just below my breasts, and pulled me to stand directly in front of her.  "Well, young lady, you can rest assured that you will have hopping practice every day next week!  Betsy beat you fair and square, and now I’ll have to decide on the appropriate amount of punishment."  I bowed my head in penance -- as though that would spare me from such well-deserved discipline!

"To begin with," she said, "after the next event, I’m going to replace that hobble with a foot of hamper-bar.  You’ll find that going where you’re told to go won’t be so easy any more."  It was true.  Wearing a bar between one’s ankle cuffs, secured on swivel joints, meant that each step would require moving my foot around in a half-circle rather than simply forward, producing a clumsy, awkward movement that was much more uncomfortable than the short, smooth steps imposed by a regular hobble.  But all I could do was nod my acceptance of this new punishment.

Then I winced with anguish when she added, "And that’s not all.  I’ve got a straddle-jack in the van, and after the next contest when we get back there, I’m going to put it on you." 

Oh, dear!  A straddle-jack is a two-by-four, about a yard in length that has a teaser-dildo standing up from its middle.  Once the teaser has been inserted, the device is held in place by straps drawn up taut to the front and rear of my corselet.  Not only does the thing waggle back and forth as I move, but anyone’s pushing up or down on one end can force me into the most frantic gyrations.  It is a portable torture-chamber all by itself, as well as a steady inducement to erotic arousal.

"But the second contest is next," Mistress told me, "and we’ll soon learn which of you sex-crazed sluts can take more pressure between her legs."

And so Betsy and I were stood back to back, about ten feet apart, and our breast-leashes, already pulled back between our legs, were tied together.

Mistress Chlorinne told us, "When I say Go, each of you is to try to pull the other across this line halfway between you.  If your pussy and tits can’t take it, the other girl wins.  Oh, and you can expect some encouragement as you struggle.  Mistress Erika and I each think that our own girl is more sensitive to the broadlash, so you’ll have more than just your leashes to worry about!"

Mewing with misery, Betsy and I were told to move forward until the leash was tight between us, cutting up into our pussies and exerting a steady downward pull at our breasts.  We waited unhappily for the signal to begin the contest.  As soon as I heard the ominous "Go!" I crouched and shoved myself forward.  Yow!

Betsy moaned at the same instant and I knew that she must be feeling as shocked as I was.  But she wasn’t about to give up.  The tension between my legs increased as she struggled to pull me backwards, bringing real pain to my tender breasts.  I bent forward as much as I could -- not much when your elbows are twisted back behind you -- and promised myself that I would not lose this second contest.

From the corner of my eye I saw Mistress coming at me with a short whip.  Mistress Chlorinne had promised that we would feel the lash, and I cringed as the leather whistled through the air.  It caught me across my shoulders with a loud slap but less pain than I had expected.  Mistress knows how to do that with a whip -- she can make it sound terrible but somehow dampens the sting considerably.  Maybe she was trying to encourage me with kindness!  At any rate, I kept pulling at our mutual leash.

Then I gave a forward thrust of my hips, testing how much pressure I could take, and suddenly felt the leash go slack.  Somehow, I had caught Betsy off-guard and now she was starting to stumble backwards as I continued pulling at her.  I knew I could not afford to let her stop, much less start going forward again, and so worked even harder to haul her across the line.  God, the sharp cut of the leash between my legs was awful!

But a moment later, despite what must have been some nasty cuts from her Mistress’s whip, Betsy had been dragged across the line and my Mistress shouted that I had won.  I halted in my tracks, breathlessly grateful that the   leash was no longer torturing my breasts and crotch, and turned to look at my blonde companion in misery.  Tears streaked her cheeks while Mistress Chlorinne berated her for being so sissy. "You dumb hunk of pussy-meat, you can’t stand up to pain at all!  Well, you’ll find out just how much you can take after I get done with you!"  Poor Betsy took one more slash from her Mistress’s whip, this one hard across her buns, and she sobbed in misery through her gag.

Somehow, the sharpness of that memory made me jerk, causing my nipple- bells to jingle.  A moment later, I could hear my Mistress at the door.

                (back to the present again)

"Well, so you haven’t fallen off your perch after all," she says lightly.  "I figured sooner or later you would be hanging there with nothing but your arms and bodystrap to hold you up."  She laughs shortly.  "I ought to be disappointed, but not really."

I moan, partly in agreement and partly because I wish desperately that she will release me as quickly as possible from this terrible fix.  "Oh, p-please let me get some relief from this position, Mistress. This is SO uncomfortable!"

So that she does, finally, first hauling the ceiling pulley back and bringing me to a vertical position with my knees still held wide apart.  Before I let you down completely," she says cheerfully, "why don’t we see whether there is just one more climax in you.  I’ll get the hand-vibrators."

‘Jesus,’ I tell myself, ‘she’s going to set me off again!  I just pray it won’t kill me!’  Mistress Erika soon returns to me, strapping one of the evil gadgets across the back of each hand.  Then she turns on the battery-powered things and holds her hands up for me to see them.  They are twitching quite violently.  "You’re sure to enjoy these," she sneers.

Then she cups her left hand over my left breast first, bringing a husky sigh from my lips as the vibrations tantalize the tender globe to swift arousal.   Then she places her other hand between my widespread thighs and presses hard up against the base of the dildo that still fills my puss. 

"oooOOHH!" I gasp as the thing begins to arouse me yet again.  Despite my moaning and grunting, she keeps up the torment until I sense that I am on the verge of still another explosion.  She moves her left hand to my other breast, adding to the feverish excitement that is shaking my body so fiercely.

It is only a few more moments before I arch my back, hiss between my harshly gritted teeth, and surrender to the flood of rapture that seizes me.  Mistress maintains the pressures a while longer, extending my ecstasy, before I shout my joy and howl with the incredible pleasure of this impossible experience.

"Maybe my previous orgasms have increased my ability to feel this way.  Only after I slump with exhaustion does Mistress stop her delicious torment.  My "Aahhhh" signals the end of my carnal bliss.

Only then does she help me get my knees off those awful boxes.  Once I am seated on the floor, knees still spread wide, she undoes the strap that holds my sheath-doubled arms up against the sides of my head.  Breathing hard, I lower my arms slowly, hoping to avoid at least some of the pain that will certainly accompany this maneuver.

Mistress shakes her head.  "I have never, never seen a girl with such a lusty appetite!  You’re more fun than a whole circus of ordinary slavegirls.  Why, anyone else would be in a coma by now!"  I nod my head slowly, amazed at my own stamina.  "I’m glad to make you proud, Mistress," I tell her.

She glances at her watch.  "Gracious, look at the time!  I’ve got a dinner date with Madam Tarque soon, so I’ll have to leave you to get your own supper and then into your evening restraints."  She pauses and then says, "I suppose some fairly light bondage will be adequate.  Let’s get you out of this setup."

And so the short gloves holding my arms doubled are removed, as is the hamperbar between my knees, and for a short time I am free of all control except for my breast-leash and bodystrap.  I look up at her, curious as to what she plans next.

"Let’s get that dildo out of you now," she suggests.  I can only sigh, wondering how it will feel to be rid of the marvelous monster.  She unfastens my bodystrap at the rear and orders me to lie back on my elbows.  I obey.  The bodystrap is released from the front of my corselet, she casually reaches down to grip the base of the hard-rubber club that has so tormented and pleasured me all afternoon.  It comes out slowly, its tiny knobs kindling just a bit of excitement, and finally emerges with an obscene slurp. Its exit squeezes a deep grunt from me, and I twist my hips to explore how my empty tunnel feels.  Except for a perception of great hollowness, I am not displeased with the sensation.

My bondage arrangement when Mistress is away from our penthouse is usually not so restrictive since I must be able to do some things for myself.  A four-inch hobble between my ankles is standard, and soon I feel the comforting grip of its broad steel cuffs.  I am allowed to go to the bathroom, for the temporary freedom of my hands lets me clean myself afterwards.  But then I must return to her for the rest of my restraints.

First there is my bodystrap.  Although this one has no penetrating attachments on it, she pulls it tight enough at the rear of my corselet so that I will be constantly aware of its demanding presence.  But how will she deal with my arms?  God knows there are enough possibilities!

Well, I learn soon enough.  My wrist cuffs are locked snugly in place, and then she fixes a four-inch chain between each one and its corresponding nipple-cone.  This way I will be able to see to my evening meal, and later to get into my evening bondage, but it will not be easy.  And there is another feature of my at-home-alone outfit as well.  A series of heavy latches have been installed along all the walls in the penthouse, about three feet from one to the next, and they are connected electronically for a most important reason.

Two two-foot chains are locked at the front of my corselet, each hanging down past my knees.  Mistress inserts the end link of one of the chains into one of the electric latches and secured there.  Only when another chain-link has been inserted into another latch will the first one release its prisoner. This way, of course, I will never be entirely free to move around as I see fit.  I will always be secured to one of the latches, and can only move by setting the free belly-chain into the next latch that lies in the direction I wish to go.  With my hand movements limited as they are, moving from one latch to the next will be a real nuisance at minimum.

I will not be gagged because I must be able to eat my dinner, but after that I will have to work a ball-gag into my mouth.  Mistress does not like me to be ungagged for more than a limited time.  The gag will be on the cot in my cell, as usual, and I will have to kneel, lean down, and press my mouth down over it until it is securely wedged behind my teeth.  Well, I’ve done that before!

"Because you’ve been such a good girl today," Mistress tells me, "I’ll open your can before I leave.  I know how hard it is to use the opener when your hands are fixed this way."  She selects a can from a cupboard in the kitchen and shows it to me.  Salmon-flavored catfood!  That’s one I can stand, and am grateful that it won’t be another meal of Alpo this evening.  Pet food is nourishing, I know, and by now I have become used to eating some kind of dog -- or cat food every evening.  A slavegirl just can’t be choosey about these things.

She empties the can into a dish on the floor, and then moves the dish to where I will have to do several latchings and unlatchings of my belly-chains before I can reach it.  And of course I will eat it on my knees since I can hardly lift the dish to my mouth when my hands are so closely fastened to my breasts.  Fortunately, I am so used to being humiliated in this way that it scarcely bothers me anymore.

"I expect I’ll be late getting back, girl," Mistress announces.  "Madam Tarque and I will be visiting her farm after we eat -- she has some new girls that I want to inspect.  I’ll expect you in your cell by the time I return."

"Yes, Mistress," I answer meekly.  She may or may not stay out late, so I’d better plan to head for my evening restraints soon after I finish my food.  "I hope you have a pleasant meal, Mistress.  I will be in my cell when you return."  She smiles sweetly.  "I know you will, darling!"

Before she leaves, I whisper softly, "Can we do this again tomorrow, Mistress?  Please?"  She snorts.  "We’ll see, dear, we’ll see."

Then she takes her evening wrap and goes to our private elevator, locking the door to the foyer after she goes through it.  Now I’m by myself, even though that doesn’t mean much other than that I won’t have to worry about more bondage until tomorrow.  Getting to my dish takes several maneuvers with my belly-chains, and then I drop to my knees in front of my dish.  By now, I have learned pretty well how to eat the brown-colored heap of cat food without using my hands, and so lean down to take my first bite.  A mild "yummy" is the best I can say for it.

Once I have finished, I can shuffle forward on my knees enough to enable me to pick up the dish in my hands.  An awkward heave gets me to my feet, and now I must do the latching business with one hand while holding the dish in the other.  This puts some strain on my nipple-cones, but I can’t avoid it.  At last I reach the sink and lean down to put the dish in it.  Washing my dish is mandatory, and I manage the operation with only minimum strain on my nips.

There is sure to be an hour before Mistress returns so I plan to move into the living room, one latch at a time, and see if she has forgotten to lock the TV.  Once I reach my goal, though, I find that she has not forgotten and I will not be able to watch anything on the screen at all.  Rats!

Then a sudden weakness comes over me, due no doubt to my stressful exercises all afternoon with Mr. Dildo.  But before I retire for the night, it occurs to me that perhaps one more little orgasm will be fun.  It’s just a matter of how to bring it off.  Aha!  The broom in the closet may be the answer!

I latch and unlatch myself in that direction, and then force myself to withstand the pain of pulling at my nips in order to reach the doorknob.  The broom is in there, and I grab it eagerly.  Holding the thing upside down, I can thrust the pole back between my legs and rest it on the floor behind me. A few minutes of experiment let me know that I can indeed use the pole to provide pressure on my puss, and I get started immediately.

Pumping my hips up and down against the pole begins to provide the arousal I am seeking, but it takes a good ten minutes of this before I reach the verge of rapture.  Harder and harder I pump, and just as I reach the blissful peak I so desperately want, I hear the pole crack!  But I wallow in the ecstasy for as long I can before beginning to worry about the consequences of the cracked broom handle.  Perhaps Mistress won’t notice it!

Regardless of that, I must return the broom to its hook, pulling painfully at my breasts again, and shut the closet door.  My breath comes in deep, husky gasps as I reluctantly start the slow, latch-by-latch trip to my cell.  Once inside it, I am careful to pull the barred door shut, knowing very well that it will lock itself and trap me here.

My ball-gag is on my cot as I expected, and with a grimace of distaste I lean down to fit my mouth over it as well as I can.  A sudden twist of my body and it is inside my teeth, too big for me to force it out again with just my tongue.  I grunt with discomfort but know that I will have the nasty thing inside my mouth until Mistress removes it tomorrow morning.

Next, I pull my wrist-chains up from the sides of the cot and lay them where I can work my wrists into them.  Then I scramble clumsily up onto the narrow bed, sit up and lean forward to snap the clamp at the foot of the bed over my ankle-chain, making it impossible for me to move my legs more than a few inches in any direction.

Finally, I lie back, twist onto my right side, and use my left hand to lock the second cuff over my right wrist, securing it there with just a few inches of movement possible.  Getting my left wrist into its own cuff is more difficult because now I can’t use my right hand to help.  But I finally fit it into the cuff and jerk at it to make it lock itself.

Now I am virtually helpless and stare gloomily up at the ceiling.  The cuffs hanging from pulleys up there remind me of how many different ways I can be restrained in this place.  Perhaps things aren’t so bad after all this evening, even though I know the morning will bring a different set of torments and hateful commands from Mistress Ericka.

The final step in my preparations for the evening is to lay my head back into its special "box."  The pressure of my neck on the leather-lined bottom of the neck-hold makes the two sides of the box snap together above my face, leaving me in total darkness and quite unable to move my head at all until Mistress opens the box tomorrow morning.

Well, this is the life I have chosen, and I love it.  Slowly, I drift off to sleep; teasing myself with thoughts of how today went and how tomorrow may unfold.