I came round slowly at first, my scrambled brain still so
numb from whatever that syringe had contained that it did not recognise any
urge to regain consciousness. Eventually, though, some pinprick of intelligence
penetrated the fog and I struggled to open my eyes. It took several seconds for
me to focus, but when I did it was several seconds longer again before I realised
that the picture on the ceiling above me wasn't a picture at all, but a huge
mirror and that the bizarre figure it showed was me!
I gasped out loud and tried to sit up, but even if my
muscles had regained sufficient strength for the manoeuvre the sturdy leather
restraints prevented almost any movement at all. The breath whistled between my
clenched teeth and I lay limply again, staring upwards and trying to make out
what they had done to me.
I saw my head and the only way I could identify it as my
head was because it moved when I moved it, but any chance of another party
identifying me had been totally removed, for apart from narrow slit openings
for my eyes, small round openings below my nostrils and a round aperture which
revealed my mouth, from the neck up I was encased in black, shiny rubber. And
the rest of my body had not escaped the clinging embrace of the heavy latex.
My arms had been sheathed from shoulder to tip, where
each glove ended in a sort of tapered mitten with a sturdy steel ring at the
end. I tried to flex my fingers inside their prison, but could barely move
them, so tightly had the mitten been designed to fit. Not that the use of my
fingers would have been of any great benefit to me though, for both my upper
limbs were held securely to the bench top on which I lay by means of leather
straps at wrist, elbow and just below either shoulder. The straps were arranged
in such a way that both arms were held a few inches clear of my body, which in
turn had been secured by even broader straps about my chest and waist.
Within these straps, my torso had also been given the
tight rubber treatment. My nipples remained exposed, but from just below them
and on down to my hips, stretched what could only be described as a black latex
corset, laced and buckled to an unbelievable tightness which was rendering
anything other than extremely shallow breathing totally impossible.
My loins and genitalia had been swathed about by a
harness of rubber and leather which had been designed to hold my cock - to my
astonishment it was fully erect - flat against my stomach by means of five
narrow leather straps. Seen against the black background of the harness, my
member was thrown into prominence, made even more bizarre by the fact that my
testicles, which were also gripped by an encircling strap, were now totally
devoid of hair and gleamed wickedly under the harsh lighting.
As I was taking all this in, I became aware of something
else which was not visible, but whose presence was unmistakable as my wits
began to return. The cock harness was not just there to present my genitalia in
such helplessness. Where the strap ran down and beneath me to fasten to the
waist strap at the rear, it was holding in place a large, firm dildo which no
amount of effort from my sphincter muscles was ever going to dislodge until
someone unfastened the buckle.
Further down still, encasing my legs, was more rubber,
long boots reaching from thigh to toe and fashioned in a way that forced my
feet into a high arch as a stiletto heel would do to a woman. But I could
detect no stiletto heels from the mirrored reflection, rather the base of each
boot seemed to be one solid piece, flaring out into a wider base which was not
unlike a horse's hoof in appearance. About each ankle yet more restraining straps
held my legs several inches apart. If I was surprised that there were not
straps about any other part of my lower limbs, that surprise did not last long,
for when I tried to flex my knees I realised that the heavy rubber was so tight
that each leg was almost as rigid as if it had been encased in steel.
I blinked hard and shook my head in an effort to make
sense of all this. Someone - or several someone’s - had gone to a lot of
trouble to turn me into a fetishist's dream, but who and for what purpose? A door
opened somewhere behind my head and I heard the click- click of high heels on
the bare flooring. A woman moved into view on my left hand side. She seemed
tall, but then it was difficult to judge from my enforced prone position and
her dark hair was scraped back from her face in a chignon in an effort - a very
successful one at that - to make her features appear as severe as possible. This
effect was enhanced by the heavy eye makeup and the deep red lipstick. The
studded leather collar which ringed her long neck was unnecessary, but it
heightened the illusion even more.
I could only see her from the waist up, but that was
impressive enough. Her shoulders and arms suggested physical strength and her
generous bosom could not be concealed by the tight leather bodice which she
wore. Rather, the cut of it emphasised her majestic cleavage which rose and
fell gently as she studied me.
"I see you have re-joined the land of the
living," she said. I had half expected some trace of a foreign accent, but
her English was faultless, well-modulated and suggested that quite a lot of
money had found its way to some expensive finishing school somewhere along the
line. How long ago that would have been
I couldn't guess. She might have been forty five, or she might have been twenty
five; she had one of those faces.
I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. "What the
hell is going on here?" I demanded, trying not to sound as scared as I
felt. "Let me out of this immediately."
The woman shook her head, the faintest traces of a smile
flickering at the edges of her mouth.
"I think not, Mr Mason," she said. "We do
not believe in wasting efforts and energies here, you know. It will be some
time before you are released."
"Why?" I spluttered. The rubber helmet, whilst
permitting speech, had a hampering effect on my jaw and cheeks and it was
almost impossible to talk normally. "What have I done to you? Who are
you?"
"In answer to your last question," she replied,
"I am Constance Bellamy-Fraser, but that need not concern you. When able
to and permitted, or ordered, to address me you will, in future, use the term
Mistress.
"As to the whys and the whats, not to mention the
wherefores, a certain party has engaged the services of my establishment in
order to repay you for certain actions which this party found unacceptable. Not
to put too fine a point on it, you are here to be punished for your sins."
"But that's ridiculous!" I protested. "This
is kidnapping."
"From your point of view, yes," she retorted. "But
then here your point of view is of no value. As you can see, your position is
totally helpless as well as hopeless." She reached out and stroked my
swollen testicles and I felt a cold surge race up my spine. "In case you
were wondering, by the way, we have drugs other than that used to knock you out
last evening. You have been injected with one which will ensure that your cock
remains in a state of full arousal at all times. Even if you orgasm it will not
shrink from its present size.
"Our lady guests prefer to see their slaves this way
and if they feel the urge to avail themselves of the goods on display they need
not waste time and energy." With
her other hand, she reached out and patted my rubber covered cheek. "You
are here to be used, slave," she said. "How does it feel and how do
you like the new look you, eh? You do
look very fetching, if I say so myself. And, as the drugs don't seem to have
induced any nausea, we can complete your outfit before you are passed over to
your initial handlers."
She moved around out of my sight again and I heard the
sound of a drawer being opened. I made one final, desperate attempt at reason.
"Look," I called out, "if it's a question
of money, I'll give you whatever you've been paid for this nonsense and ten
percent on top."
Her laughter sounded harsh in the bare-walled room and I
knew what she was going to say, even before she said it.
"The money doesn't come into it, slave. That was
merely a negotiated fee for our services here. Within a week at the most you
will have earned me at least double that again."
"Okay then," I almost screamed, "you name
your price. I've got money, plenty of it and -”
My plea was cut short in mid-sentence as the rubber ball
was forced into my mouth. Perhaps, if I had seen it coming, I might have put up
some show of resistance, but I doubt it would have done me much good. This
woman intended that I should be gagged and I got the impression that she always
got what she intended. And the gag was intended to do more than just silence
me, I realised, as she buckled the harness around my head, for jutting out from
it was a long, black, shiny rubber phallus.
With me now unable to interrupt her, Constance
Bellamy-Fraser set to work with a will. First, she turned her attentions to my
hands. Taking two short straps, she
threaded one through the ring at the tapering end of each glove, bent my
fingers over to form a fist and fastened the strap about the wrist to keep it
that way. My hands had been virtually useless before, but now they were
completely so.
Next, she released the strap securing each elbow to the
bench and, producing others to take their place, buckled my elbows tightly to
my sides, by means of heavy rings set into the corset for just that purpose. The
heavy strap across my chest was released and I was hauled roughly into a sitting
position. My hands were dragged cruelly around and behind my back and I heard,
rather than felt, something being clipped into place between the two rings
where they were fastened to the wrist straps and knew, before I even tested the
truth, that my wrists were now connected together.
My ankle bonds were loosened next, but, whilst the
restraining thigh straps remained in place, a pair of heavy cuffs, connected by
a sturdy chain scarcely twelve inches long, were buckled and then locked into
place. The vague hope I had had that my feet might prove an effective weapon
against my captor faded even quicker than it had formed. Now, when the thigh
straps were released and my legs swung around so that they dangled over the
side of the bench, I realised that walking would be a hard enough task, let
alone anything else. I looked at my legs, stiffly encased in the thick rubber,
my knees hardly bent at all and understood for the first time what total
helplessness felt like.
Constance grasped the rings at either side of my corset
and pulled me even closer to the edge, so that my legs gradually lowered
beneath the pull of gravity. The bizarre hoof-like boots finally hit the tiled
floor with a sharp ringing clatter and I realised that they were shod with
steel, or some suchlike metal, but I had little time to reflect as she pulled
me into a standing position and forced me to shuffle awkwardly into the centre
of the room.
"Excellent," she said, walking around me like a
horse-trader inspecting a prospective purchase. "Gagged, plugged, shod and
shackled - all ready for your first lesson." She reached out and stroked
the swollen globe at the end of my cock and I felt myself shiver. Her eyes
gleamed, maliciously. "Rigid as a rod and nowhere to put it," she
sneered. "Well, slave, welcome to the first day of your new life."