One. In which Connie, our heroine, awakes from a disturbingly real nightmare only to find it not yet begun.
The ache in her jaw is Connie’s first awareness as the drug begins to wear off. Something is wrong but she just cannot understand what it might be. Confused and still groggy, she slips once more down into the comforting darkness. She passes through several cycles of this semi-dream state until something like consciousness allows her to try again to find out why her jaw hurts so much. It is when she brings her hands up to her face that she first feels the tug of the handcuffs. And then her questing fingers find a large metal ring, strapped deep inside her jaws, propping her mouth in a ‘take all comers’ cocksucker’s scream. Her eyes fly open only to discover herself in complete darkness. She tries to get to her feet only to discover her ankles shackled the same as her hands with only about six inches of hobble chain to keep her from kicking or running. Worse, she finds her feet have been chained down to some kind of iron grating.
She feels her guts twist, her gorge rise, and her overstretched bladder spasm and knows she will soon be expelling liquids in all three ways. Fumbling in the dark she hurriedly unzips her stylish holey jeans and pulls them down. As she struggles to sit up she realizes her captor has positioned her here on this grating simply to make cleanup easier. This grating is not only her bed but her toilet.
The panic hits her about the same time as the shits, squirts and heaves. The drain grating accepts the contents of her stomach, bowels and bladder, emptying her and depriving her further of resources. There comes a flushing noise and the mist of swirling waters just below her waffle marked ass. She hopes it is simply an automatic flushing system but realizes that someone might be watching her in infrared. Oh SHIT! she thinks as she hurriedly pulls her jeans back up.
By lying out on her tummy and reaching out as far as she can stretch, she can feel that the one quarter inch mesh grating must be about six feet in radius and made in a spider web pattern. It is not a comfortable place to be lying but her ankles cannot move but a few inches in any direction before being snubbed. Her wrists are closely linked and seem to be attached to a loose chain that leads up into the darkness above her back.
Thank God I’ve still got my clothes on. It’s cold down here and this grating would be making a frozen waffle out of my body if I were naked, she thinks, beginning to settle down again. Maybe this is some sort if initiation, she thinks, giving up on any further try at pulling free of her restraints. Maybe I have been selected for some campus club.
It’s either that or I’m in the clutches if a white slaver!
After awhile she sits up and gets to work trying and failing to escape from the nightmare. The cuffs are police issue, near as she can tell; they have been put on tight and locked so that they will not loosen.
As her numbing fingers blindly fumble with the implacable steel restraints, she tries to remember last night . . . The Frat Party! Those GODDAMN DELTS! They’ve chained me up in some kind of underground cell!
With an implosion of ocular pain the lights flash on. Temporally blinded, she hears someone opening a door swinging on what could only be purposely ominous hinges. Before the door closes again she thinks she hears dance music pounding somewhere. When it cuts off with the closing of the door she knows she must be in some kind of soundproof vault. She fights for sight as her pupils adjust, only to find herself sitting before an intricately wrought metal spider web privacy screen that cuts the room in two. She quickly realizes that because the lights are all on her side of the screen, her visitor can see her but she cannot see him.
The winch in the ceiling begins to whine, shortening the chain leading to her wrists. As the chain slithers up into the ceiling she is forced up to first her protesting knees, then her feet. When it finally stops she is hanging, suspended in her cell, directly above the drain grating and screaming in agony from the pain in her pinioned wrists.
A deep voiced man begins speaking from behind the screen. “Good evening Connie. You will address me as Master.”
She tries to fly away but only wiggles like a hooked fish.
It sounds to her like she’s been captured by the ghost of Barry White. She wonders why her tummy flips a little at that thought.
She thinks she must be going insane but she stops screaming to try making pleading noises through her ring gag.
He chuckles and begins to recite:
“Hung from the ceiling,
feet kicking air”
“Stretching her sweater,
long tawny hair”
Connie is helpless. Her wrists are locked in steel and are supporting her weight. Her shackled feet are chained down to a grating several inches below her questing toes. She has been hanging stretched like this for about two minutes now.
Two minutes too long, if you ask her.
“It can go on like this for years,” the deep voice continues, “if you play your cards right.”
She screams again, the pain in her wrists unbearable, the ring in her jaws making her sound like a wounded dinosaur.
“As your Master, I have all rights, you have none. The first and most important thing for you to know is that you WILL obey me or I will punish you until you do. Do you understand?”
The woman looks toward the privacy screen, marshals her courage and shakes her head no.
He clicks his purposely loud mechanical stopwatch and waits.
When she hears the loud ticking of the watch she finds her mind unable to stop thinking about time and pain and strength of will and pain and how long will she be able to hold out.
Seven seconds after minute twenty-one she cries out in husky throated anguish and nods her assent. She will live, at least for today. In time she might even get the use of her numb hands.
“Good!” says the man behind the wrought iron screen. “I will let you down so you can prove your devotion to me.”
Above, the winch whines again, lowering the woman’s toes to the wrought iron spider web below. When she tries to take her weight she finds herself too weak and hung over from the drug to stand and as the chain lowers she comes to rest sitting on the grating. She feels the narrow strands of the iron spider web cutting into her ass cheeks and knows that trying to shift positions will not make it any more comfortable.
There comes an unlatching sound and a huge black latex opera length glove slips through a hatch in the screen and tosses her a pair of operating room clothing removal scissors. “Cut off your clothing and toss the rags over to the far corner. You won’t need anything to wear from now on.” He rumbles, the deep tambour of his sexual desire making her go all hot and creamy between her legs.
As if in a dream, she lies out across the grating to reach the scissors. She knows that to resist is to be hung up again. She knows she has no other choice. The scissors are lying several inches from the edge of the drain. She picks them up and stares at them for a long heart stopping second then, with a guilty start, hurriedly goes to work on her trousers. Fumbling with her semi-numb hands, the handcuffs and the awkward angle, she finally cuts all the way down both legs and soon she is naked from the waist down. She tries several ways to rid herself of the sweater, finally succeeding in managing to cut down from her collar and out to the ends of her short sleeves. After that it is snip, snip and snip and the remains of her D cup bra joins her other rags in the corner.
He watches in silence. Noting how her youthful body has yet to get the bad news about gravity. Her big breasts stand out from her chest like melons on a plank, round and tight, her long nipples sticking out long, firm and blushing pink. She sits on her waffle cut ass, feeling his eyes ravishing her naked, goose bump covered body.
Because she is slightly dehydrated, she feels the cold more intensely, making her nipples tighten and ache. She feels her pussy, swelling into a rose of fleshy invitation and knows he can see it too. Hell, he can probably smell it! She feels her clitoris harden into a bullet of aching need. She lowers her head and whispers, “What shall I do for you now, Master?”
He chuckles to himself, remembering a conversation he once had with a fellow slave trainer, one who believed in 'gentle breaking'. “If you do it my way, hit them hard and painful right out of the gate and then, as they begin to respond, offer more humane treatment and they bond to you quicker. They see your mercy as their only hope of survival. They think that because you haven’t killed them yet you won’t. My way gives me more power. Power I use to make perfect slaves of them.”
He never saw that stupid fool again. About a month after their discussion the idiot let one of the girls he was ‘gentle breaking’ get the drop on him. She gelded him and let him bleed out. Good riddance. He thought.
“Stand up.” He rumbles to his shackled captive. “Turn your back and bend over at the waist. Show me your ass. Spread your feet, now your knees. Good, now hold that position until I say so.”
She staggers in pain as the grating hurts her bare feet. He chuckles and says, “I see you are not made of stone. That is a very good thing. Stone girls don’t last long down here.”
“Now, I will give your restraints enough slack, so that you can back up to this screen.” From both above and below comes winch sounds, down below the grating the floor disgorges links of chain as does the similar hole in the ceiling. At the bottom of the privacy screen a small door opens up. In the darkness behind the screen, she glimpses a wingtip shoe poking under a black muslin curtain.
“Slide your feet through the hole and kneel with your ass tight to the screen.” orders the sonorous voice.
When she complies she feels a hand gripping her ankle restraints and then the ticking of a lock. Her bare feet are fixed down, alone with him, on the other side of the wrought iron screen.
Behind her, just above the foot hole, a round section of the screen opens and black latex gloved hands reach up and grip her ass. The hands are huge and powerful. She doesn’t even consider resisting as her hips are drawn back into the hole, bending her double and framing her ass perfectly. She feels a thick wooden bar passing between her tummy and the screen, trapping her ass on the same side of the screen as her feet, on the same side as him. She feels her hands being drawn back up toward the ceiling, as the ceiling winch hums again.
Soon she is stretched tight, her hands stretching forward and upward, her naked ass stuck in the screen, his to mount according to his pleasure.
His Latex covered finger, which feels big and long as a banana, slips into her wet opening and finds her G spot. She squirms in embarrassed response; shamed at the way her pussy is trying to milk its intruder.
Behind the screen, he is positioning his horse sized cock against her wet swollen cunt and begins to slide it slowly into her hot empty hole, filling her more completely and better than any penis or even dildo she’s ever known.
Again he recites:
“Bent and presenting,
ass on the line”
“Spider bites stinging,
butt in a bind“
As he sheathes his hot Latex covered meat sword in her stretched vulva, his hands reach around her body and skillfully place two spring operated needle point nipple clamps on her hanging bobbies. When he lets go of the twin horrors she discovers that the pins slowly piercing her nipples are weighted with strings of sleigh bells that jerk and jingle with his every thrust. Then he begins to fuck her, slowly at first but getting faster as her passion grows. This time her ring altered screams sound more like a mare squealing beneath her stud.
Two. The postponed rescue.
“What happened to Connie, damn it?” Shouts Eddie at the sorority breakfast table. “When did she leave the Delt house? Did anyone see her go? Who was she talking with?”
The other girls look up with surprise. “Connie isn’t upstairs in your bed as usual?” says Louise, lifting another spoonful of granola to her mouth.
“No, I told you, she never came back from that frat party!”
“Maybe she found someone she prefers to you,” teased Daisy, winking at the other straight girls at the table, “Did you ever consider maybe she’s found her man?”
Eddy turns a venomous glare at Daisy and says. “Oh, so only heterosexual members of this sorority deserve our concern?”
Daisy slowly get ups and walks around the table to confront Eddie. “Did your dyke miss her morning cunt licking? Is that why you’re so concerned?”
This quickly leads to a cat fight so loud and angry that the usually tolerant neighbors call the cops. After corralling the combatants, getting them restrained and covered up in blankets, the sergeant asks what started it. This nearly starts it all over again.
It is a long weekend in the slammer before Eddie convinces a judge to have the cops check on Connie. The cop comes back with bad news. There is still no sign of the woman.
Three. Meanwhile, back in the spider’s lair.
Connie is a wreck. Her breasts are tiger striped from his caning as are her lower tummy, crotch, bottom, thighs, the backs of her lower legs and, worst of all, the bottoms of her feet. Her back has been criss-cross welted with several different kinds of whips. Instead of the ring gag her mouth is now filled to bursting with an inflatable monstrosity that threatens to rip out the corners of her mouth. Worse it has a finger that extends almost to her gag spot. If she even tries to vocalize it tickles her and triggers a gag spasm. She knows full well that to vomit is to drown. She has dark-painted swimmer’s goggles over her eyes, blinding her. Her face and hair are a matted mess dripping with her master’s cum. Her right nostril is clogged and still dripping with his last load of thick ropy semen.
She still has neither seen her tormentor or been out of the spider web cell. When he is not actively tormenting her he leaves her stretched out on the grating, fixed down at hands and ankles. He never gives her the slightest chance to rebel. He has complete control over her. He can punish and he can reward. Any time he wants to come into her side of the cell he turns out the lights and comes in the dark. Fitted with high tech night vision glasses, he comes, he takes, he ravishes, he devastates.
One time he ordered her to lie down and put her wrist chain through the foot hole. Grabbing this chain he dragged her in through the hole then placed a heavy box over her head so that she could nether see nor get her head back out of the screen. Then he went around to the screen’s other side and used a series of canes and floggers on her naked body.
Her vulva, sphincter and throat feel like they are in dire need of relining.
She thinks she’s in love or something. All day today her pussy creams at his approach.
When he decides that she needs discipline he simply runs the winches so that she is dragged back to the center of the drain grating. For minor infractions he lets her lie prone but when he wants to make a point he suspends her from the ceiling. Today it is half and half. She is positioned on her aching knees with her hands stretched up overhead.
He stands over her, as she kneels in abject slavery before him. She cannot get up or even shift position because he has secured her widely spread knees down to the iron webbing. The only way she can relieve the pain in her knees is to lift her weight with her chained wrists, an agony almost as bad.
He chuckles satisfaction and picks up his garden hose.
He has a tank of cold sea water up on the building’s roof that he uses to hose his slaves down after every session. The salt in the water helps the girls' welts to heal faster. The hose and a bucket of salty sand serves his purpose just fine.
“Rubbing the slavie,
deep in her sub”
“Places so tender,
her clitty nub”
Hiding deep in the bunker of her sub space, Connie feels the pain of sandy fingers masturbating her and knows that he is her Master and that she is the lowest, dirtiest kind of pain whore.
Who would have guessed something so horrible, could feel so fantastic? She thinks as all the stimulation sends her once more over the cataract of passion.
Four. Sent home in a condom.
Connie turns up on the morning of day fourteen. She is found on the sorority house back porch, encased from head to toes in a giant black latex condom. Sticking out through a reinforced triangular hole, her nose is her only source of life-giving oxygen. Because she had been force fed water and given a soapy cold water enema before having the condom rolled down over her head, getting her out made quite a stink.
There was not a clue as to where she might have been. There are no fingerprints, no DNA, no fibers, no hairs. The cops had long before searched the frat house, finding nothing. They searched it again after she told them about the spider cage. Again they found nothing. His final cleanup had removed all traces of his identity.
It takes a week for Connie to recover, time she spends in Eddie’s new apartment. (After the sorority fight the judge had decided that Eddie and Connie would move out and that the sorority would pay her rent for the remainder of the school year.)
Then, one night she gives Eddie a glass of spiked fruit juice and then shows her the pleasures of erotic torture, lesbian style.
After two days of debauchery she calls her Master and invites him to join them in a three way.
Love is a many splendored thing.
The End
Copyright© 2013 by Peter Loaf. All rights reserved.