Preface
The pretty young thing, a true masochist, is writhing and crying while tied to the post,
screaming: “Beat me. Whip me. Punish me.”
The sadist unwinds his horse whip and gets ready to whip her tight, lovely ass.
“You want to be whipped?” he asks.
“Oh yes, please. Do it now. Please.”
“You want to be punished? To be truly tormented. To suffer?”
“Oh yes. God, yes. Please beat me,” she cries.
“No.”
Who is really in control? Who is the top in this scenario: The one on the post or the
one who knows that the real mental torment will come when he walks away, leaving her taunt
young body untouched?
The thin line between legal and illegal BDSM is often a matter of adult consent and the
unfortunate stereotype for bondage literature usually involves victims who do not consent
to being tied, gagged, chained and otherwise forced to submit to restraint and punishment.
The tops and doms are almost always nasty and disinterested in the subject’s needs or
desires. The subs and bottoms are at least initially unwilling, endlessly tormented and
usually have a hopeless future.
There are, of course, always exceptions to these premises. This particular tale takes
you to a different place: one where the fundamental premise is that everyone, subs and
doms, has an erotic good time. They may not like the music, but they all want to dance.
Stereotypical dominant and submissive roles are blurred by modern reality. If the
dominant person does what the sub wants, is he or she still dominant? If the sub gets what
he or she wants, are they still submissive?
Places like the mountain camp that Frank and Ellen own are well within the possible. But
for the owner and customer alike, caveat emptor strictly applies. Once you buy in, you may
not be able to buy your way out.
Chapter One
Patty Goes To Camp
Patty cried.
She cried for her lousy life, for her lost boyfriend and for help, but no one heard her.
The heavy metal cuffs around her wrists chafed her fair skin and the gag and blindfold
weren’t helping dispel the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, she had made a bad decision
to join her friends for the weekend here at this end of the earth camp in the middle of
nowhere.
How did I get into this? she thought. How did I get here?
Up until now her life had been relatively private. Now her most secret secrets were
being exploited in depth.
She remembered leaving the office with Ellen. And she remembered the reason why she had
finally agreed to go with them. But now none of this made any sense. She was tired,
confused and her wrists hurt. Her ankles hurt. Her head hurt.
Her wrists hurt because they were chained to a hoist on the distant ceiling and her feet
were chained to the floor and she wasn’t going anywhere without some help. Her hands were
high over her head, joined by heavy steel cuffs attached to chains fastened to the
electric hoist mounted on the wide wooden beam in the ceiling of the underground room. Her
ankles were spread wide with a heavy metal bar that had the same metal cuffs at each end.
The bar was chained to a ring mounted in the cement floor. She had been standing there for
hours, her mouth plugged with a wad of cloth held in place with duct tape. Her eyes were
covered with cloth and tape. She was naked. Her clothes were long gone and she had no idea
where they were now. The room was warm and humid.
Patty was depressed because her boyfriend of the last few months, Steven, had dumped her
without ceremony, simply saying that he was bored with the relationship and announcing at
the same moment that he was taking a cruise with the family. And that was the end of it.
Sitting at her desk in the big office on 45th Street in the heart of New York City,
Patty had wondered what she was going to do with the four day weekend/holiday. And then,
out of nowhere, her friend, Ellen, stopped by the cubicle and offered a suggestion.
“Frank and I are going up to The Camp in the mountains for a few days,” she said. “And
we want you to come with us.”
“Nah,” Patty said without even thinking about it. “You two don’t need a third wheel.”
“Well, my dear,” responded Ellen with a bit of sarcasm in her voice, “the fact is that
we do need you. You can entertain us and help with the driving. You’ll get some exercise
out in the fresh mountain air. You’ll meet some new people who don’t live in the big city
and you might even learn something. I guarantee that you’ll stay for the weekend once you
get up there.” That guarantee was more of a clue than Patty could have imagined at the
time. Now she understood.
“I don’t have anything with me but gym clothes and these,” Patty said, pointing to her
“casual Friday” jeans and sweater outfit that looked like it was three sizes too big for
her. Her neatly manicured fingers just barely stuck out from the too long cuffs of the
sweater. Some moron in the store had convinced her that too long sleeves were
“fashionable.” In hind sight, she thought they were a neat way to wear out a sweater much
faster. Besides, the long sleeves did hide the rope marks on her wrists.
“Hey, Patty, wake up, Kiddo,” Ellen shouted and thumped on the metal wall of the
cubicle. Patty realized that for a moment, she had lapsed off into a day dream. She had
been thinking about the thin red bands on her wrists, self-inflicted with the thin nylon
parachute cord that she used to tie herself in bed the night before. That had been an
adventure, she thought. If it hadn’t been for a weak joint on the bed frame, she might
still be there, self-bound and gagged in bed until God knows when.
“Hey,” said Ellen again “You are going to come with us, so get your shit together and
let’s get out of here.”
Ellen was always the dominant figure in the relationship and this questionable personal
quality intimidated Patty and others in the office. She did this by using her stunningly
good looks, sharp mouth and precocious nature. She was also, according to the office
grapevine, actively involved with things that the work crew sometimes referred to as
“kinky stuff.” Most of her fellow workers did not know or care. It was just office gossip.
Patty knew about this, but played ignorant, not wanting to show any interest.
“Ellen,” Patty whined. “I really am not up for camping for three or four days.”
She knew very well from photos she had seen, that the camp in the Adirondacks was not
some creaky, leaky old log cabin rotting in the forest. The camp, as it was called, had
about as much resemblance to a rustic retreat as the millionaires “cottages” that lined
the Newport, Rhode Island beaches or the “little apartment I keep in the City” that many
suburbanites used in reference to their East Side penthouses in Manhattan. In other words,
Patty and most of the office knew that Frank and Ellen had inherited from his parents the
vast property, deep in the mountains and surrounded by National Forest. They used their
sizable wealth to expand and develop the house into a luxury alternate residence. Going
there was not roughing it by a long shot.
But Patty still resisted.
“Besides,” she whined. “On Tuesday, I am going to my high school reunion in Buffalo, so
I really need to pack and get ready for that.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for reunion packing, Patty. We’ll bring you home early on
Monday. Or, we can take you to the train. Now get your stuff and let’s hightail it out of
here, Frank is waiting.”
“Oh, alright. What do I need?” Patty caved in and picked up her gym bag and purse.
“Maybe a weekend in the mountains will do me good.” At the last second, she opened the
bottom drawer of her desk and took out a small plastic zipper make-up bag that held the
basics she occasionally needed for a quick overnight.
“It will do more than that,” Ellen said under her breath as she followed Patty out the
door and into the parking lot, noting, (as she always did), the slim, well proportioned
figure of her friend under the disorganized pile of what looked like consignment store
clothing.
By 2 o’clock they were loaded into Frank’s pride and joy, a classy new, imported SUV and
on their way. Two hours into the trip, as they climbed higher into the Adirondacks, it
began to snow and this slowed them down. Even though Ellen and Frank alternated driving
every hour, the roads became more and more dangerous as snow and ice built up and they
were afraid they might not even make the camp that night.
“I knew this would happen,” Ellen said, as she again slowed the vehicle and stayed in
the right lane while other fools sped by them, intent on ending up in a snow bank or
ravine when they inevitably lost control of their car. By 7 PM they had reached a turnoff
from the main highway, but missed it because the snow had obscured the unmarked, small
dirt road. They turned around and drove back. Then, putting the truck into four wheel
drive, Ellen eased the vehicle over the plowed snow on the edge of the highway and started
up the 12 mile stretch of logging road that led to another turnoff into their property.
Crawling along the rutted road at about 5 miles per hour, they finally arrived at the
massive stone and log structure a little before midnight. Frank got a fire started in the
stone fireplace while the women made coffee and a light dinner in the kitchen. They reset
the thermostats to a more comfortable temperature and the heating system quickly warmed up
the huge house. Voicemails on the phone indicated that the caretakers had been there
earlier but were stuck in town at least until morning. Thus, it was Frank who went through
the house and nearby buildings with his flashlight and his father’s old Colt .45 pistol,
making sure everything was secure and that there were no uninvited guests. He was gone a
long time and when Patty asked Ellen where Frank had gone, she simply shrugged and said
that he probably found something that needed attention. By one a.m., they were all in
their beds and Patty said good night to her friends and quickly went to sleep.
When she woke up, she was hanging in the chains, gagged and blindfolded. Her wrists were
killing her and she had to think that this was because she’d been hanging there with all
of her weight suspended by her wrists. The cuffs on each wrist were thick and very heavy.
Even though she couldn’t see them, she knew that they weren’t handcuffs. They were
something more sophisticated than the handcuffs she occasionally used herself. The same
was true for the cuffs that held her thin ankles to the spreader bar. They were heavy and
thick, attached as though they were permanent.
I must have passed out, she thought, still trying feebly to free her hands and feet,
mumbling through the gag and astonished that all of her clothes were gone. What the hell
happened? I must be dreaming. This is one of those dreams, she thought.
Struggling with her bonds and trying to find some sort of rational explanation to her
predicament, it occurred to Patty that maybe someone had been lurking in or around the
cabin and had kidnapped them all as soon as they went to sleep. Another option which she
didn’t want to contemplate was that this was some sort of trick or game that Ellen and
Frank were playing on her. After all, she thought, they supposedly do get off on being
tied up.
Time passed slowly and Patty thought she heard sounds overhead. Then there was the sound
of a door being unlocked and opened, and boots coming down a flight of creaky wooden
stairs.
“Hey, Patty,” she heard Ellen say happily. “Enjoying your break in period, Hon?”
“Mummph,” growled Patty into the gag, shaking her head.
“Okay. Okay, Kid, I’ll get you out of this,” Ellen said as she slowly peeled away the
tape and cloth that covered Patty’s eyes. “There, how’s that?” she said cheerfully.
“Mummph ay agggg,” Patty shouted back, staring at Ellen and trying to get her eyes
adjusted to the dim light in what was obviously a cellar, probably under the house, she
thought.
“Chill out, Hon,” Ellen murmured, cupping Patty’s soft breasts with both hands and
squeezing the nipples lightly. “Everything’s under control….and so are you. Aren’t you
glad you got rid of those crappy clothes?”
Patty struggled to move away and get Ellen’s cold hands off her breasts, but there was
little slack in the chains and she could only swing a bit from one side to the other.
Ellen released her grip on the hardened nipples and stepped back, surveying Patty’s
hanging form as though she was looking at a new piece of furniture for her apartment.
Patty suddenly realized that Ellen was no longer dressed as she had been when they arrived
the night before. She now wore a tightly fitted and revealing leather body suit that
looked like it had been made especially for her. Patty knew that Ellen had trouble finding
clothes that fit her and that she liked. Her remarkable figure was not on any clothing
designer’s mannequin. When she got to talking about it, Ellen simply referred to herself
as “all tits and no ass”, which pretty much summed up her shape. As a teenager, she had
been a Tom Boy, bean pole kid with no shape at all, straight from shoulder to ankles. No
waist, no flared hips, no thighs that widened below the hips. She kept this figure for
more than a decade and nothing changed except that suddenly, in a matter of months, she
sprouted real breasts that grew faster than she could buy new bras to accommodate them. At
times, according to her, she was forced to wear a bra she bought a month before and now
her tits were falling out of the cups, making her look like some sudden fatty that was
trying to stay in the underwear she had as a kid.
Ellen often talked about her sudden blossoming chest and the story was consistent to the
point where it obviously had to be true, although again, office rumor had it that she had
simply gone on vacation and gotten a great boob job.
From what Patty could see Ellen’s breastworks were no boob job. The leather body suit,
with its tightly laced closures on arms, legs and waist, exposed more than it covered and
Ellen’s breasts rode high and firm in the open front and deep neckline of the suit. The
edges of the suit’s front zipper appeared to be within a fraction of an inch of revealing
the nipples. Patty noticed for the first time the hard, rounded outlines of rings through
each slightly hidden nip. The hips and ass were, as far as Patty was concerned, nicely
done as well, so if plastic surgery was the source, it must have been frighteningly
expensive.
The legs of the suit were tucked neatly into brown leather riding boots with, Patty also
noted with some shock, silver spurs strapped on each heel. Around Ellen’s neck was a
matching leather collar with several bright metal D rings and on her wrists were matching
leather cuffs. The collar was locked with a chromed padlock at the back closure.
Patty’s head spun with what she was seeing and feeling. Ellen’s hands on her body made
her feel strange and her inability to talk or free herself made it even stranger.
“How about a drink, Patty? You’ve been there for a while. You must be thirsty,” Ellen
said, walking into the darkened area of the basement and coming back with a hiker’s
aluminum water flask. “Want some lemonade?” Ellen said, offering the flask to Patty.
“HUMMUN,” said Patty, nodding vigorously and moving her head towards the outstretched
hand.
“Fine. You get a drink, but you are also going to have to settle down and cooperate with
Frank and me,” Ellen crooned, the water bottle still extended. “Do we have a deal?”
Patty rolled her eyes and seemed to be asking what the deal was, but realized that she
really had no choice. So she hummed again and nodded. Ellen unfastened the tape over
Patty’s stretched open mouth, pulled out the soaked wad of cloth and offered the open
flask.
“Kan eye haff my hands free,” Patty sputtered through dry lips, trying to form the words
and make sense of all of this.
“What?” asked Ellen, laughing and retracting the bottle-holding hand.
“Please,” Patty tried again. “May I have my hands free?”
“We’ll see. We’ll take a vote, maybe. But meanwhile, take a drink.”
Patty opened her mouth and Ellen poured in a swig of the cool lemonade. Patty swallowed
it greedily and motioned for more. Ellen obliged.
“Now, Patty,” said Ellen amicably as she put the flask down. “Let’s make a deal.”
“Okay. What do you want? Why am I chained up here? What’s going on?”
Patty fired the three questions so fast that Ellen just held up her hand and said,
“Stop, stop. One thing at a time. We wanted you to join us this weekend because we think
you will enjoy our style of entertainment. We did some research and found out, for
example, that you tap into some interesting web sites. You seem to get rope burns on your
wrists and arms now and then and have, shall we say, other interests that we know about.”
Patty looked at Ellen in amazement. How could she know?
“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t look so surprised. You belong to some of the
same on-line sites as we do and you occasionally leave your office PC connected to a few
interesting places, like the ‘Girls for Tying’ site, or ‘Kidnapped for Fun’, for example.
Your on-line history reveals even more. You should be more careful.”
Stunned, Patty looked away. She had not even considered that anyone she knew would be
able to check her web surfing history.
“So, to help get you started in reality, instead of just on the PC screen, we set this
weekend up. The coffee was spiked and you were tired anyway, so you made it easy for us.
We got you down here a few hours ago, waited until you were almost awake and then hung you
up so you’d wake up with a new perspective on your life.”
“You drugged me?” Patty shouted. “How could you? What did I ever do to you?”
“Not a thing, Honey. Except not wanting to see you waste that great looking bod of yours
and wanting to help you stop being a dull, boring, work buddy who keeps dating clods who
are also dull and boring. You are far too yummy, honey, to be rotting away in an ordinary
life, non-BDSM life. We wanted to give you some new resources for enjoyment and
pleasure.”
“A non what life?” Patty responded petulantly, swinging slightly on her chain, trying to
keep eye contact with Ellen. She felt her breasts swing in follow-through as she hung from
the chains. The feeling wasn’t bad, but it made her self-conscious, imagining the image of
her large and braless mammaries slowly bouncing and swinging from side to side. “If you
think hanging me up by my wrists and drugging me is giving me pleasure, I give up,” Patty
said angrily. “Now let me down and I’ll consider this all in fun and forget about it.”
“Why forget about it? And, FYI, BDSM is short for Buddy, Don’t Screw with Me, or
something like that,” Ellen said with a wide grin.
“Because otherwise you’ll be charged with kidnapping me, not to mention invasion of my
on-line privacy, that’s why. Let me down!”
“Or maybe it stands for Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism,” said Ellen,
seemingly preoccupied with the twin swinging boobs in front of her while ignoring Patty’s
pleas. “I really can’t keep these terms straight,” Ellen mused. “But you certainly need a
little discipline. And, Miss Smart Ass, I have already figured you out. Coming from
Boston, where young women work hard at looking as dull as possible, you began professional
life with a disadvantage. You’re also a nice, quiet little masochist who lets people walk
all over her most of the time, wears stupid, poorly fitted clothes and dumpy, department
store underwear so that no one gets the idea to rape you on the way to the bus stop and
then goes home and plays with herself while watching Jeopardy on TV.” Patty blushed bright
red.
“Let me down. Now.”
“Oh dear, I think not, Patty. If you’re going to be a Boston bitch about this, you’ll
just have to spend the night as you are, or maybe in some different position. Maybe in a
few days, you’ll see the light.” Ellen reached over and started to shove the wet rags back
into Patty’s mouth, but the chained girl shut her mouth, turned her head and locked her
jaw, keeping the gag out.
“Oh,” said Ellen, smiling again. “You want to play that game? Sure enough, let’s play
‘open your mouth, Patty’. I’m familiar with that one. Let’s see what I’ve got to entice
you…” Ellen wandered off again into the dimly lit recesses of the basement and came back
with what looked like a handful of thin leather shoelaces or straps and something in her
hand. But Patty wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes kept closing and she seemed to be dozing
off. She opened her eyes once more and then fell back asleep.
“Great lemonade,” said Ellen as she took a handful of the unconscious girl’s hair and
pulled her head back so that she was facing the ceiling, pulled her slack jaw down and
jammed a large, rubber, pear-shaped gag into the open mouth. It fit nicely in Patty’s
sleeping mouth and Ellen pushed it in until her teeth closed over the fat end of the pear.
The mass of straps was slowly unraveled and fitted around and over Patty’s limp head, with
the wider, prime strap pulling the gag deeper and going around her head and buckling
snugly in back, at the base of her neck. This single prime strap was more than sufficient
to hold the pear gag in place, but the rest of the complex head harness added additional
restraint, put pressure on some key and erotically sensitive points in the head and neck
and, as Ellen knew well from the many times she had worn it and other gags like it, the
feeling of confinement and servitude was greatly enhanced by the head-enclosing web of
flat, thin leather.
This harness was the usual, standard configuration, as Ellen and Frank had named it. A
split strap, called the OTH, or over-the-head strap, led from the sides of the mouth,
around the sides of her nose, up to the space between her eyes where the two straps merged
into one and then went over the forehead and the crown of the skull, then down the back
and connected with buckles to the prime. From the sides of the mouth, two longer
extensions of the split, OTH straps went downward, around the sides of the chin, crossed
underneath the chin and then went around the neck and connected with the other ends of the
OTH straps. Another dual set led for the sides of the mouth up and back over the top of
each ear and joined with the OTH strap at the back of the head. A final set of straps came
up from the collar, along the sides of her head and met at the top center, or crown. When
all were fitted properly and tightened, they formed a snug web of containment, submission
and servitude on the wearer.
Once she had this leather web in place on Patty’s head, Ellen went to the wall where
there was what looked like a fuse box. She opened it and threw a switch that activated the
hoist in the ceiling, lowering Patty to the floor. Ellen did not use a key to unlock the
heavy cuffs on Patty’s wrists and ankles because these cuffs were not originally intended
to be restraints. They were obtained from a nautical hardware distributor and were
intended to be used as zinc anodes for the propeller drive shafts of boats. A heavy zinc
alloy was molded into half hemispheres and connected with two or more bolts. So, to
unfasten Patty’s wrists and ankles, Ellen used a small, compact wireless screwdriver/drill
from a drawer in the nearby file cabinet. She inserted the Allen-headed bit into the side
of the cuffs. The drill whirled in reverse and quickly removed a threaded, Allen-headed
bolt from first one side and then from the other of the wide, heavy cuff, revealing that
the cuffs were really two matching hemispheres with imbedded rings where the chains were
attached. Each hemisphere weighed at least two pounds and when they were bolted together;
they formed a secure and unique cuff that could not be removed unless the captive just
happened to have a matching Allen wrench and considerable manual dexterity.
Ellen brought the girl’s arms around behind her, relocking the wrist cuffs directly to
each other with only a single padlock between them. The locks fitted neatly into one set
of imbedded rings in the hemispheres and allowed little or no slack. She released both
ankles from the spreader bar and brought these cuffs together in the same close connection
as the wrists. Ellen took a short length of chain and locked one end to one of the hand
cuffs, pulled it around Patty’s hip and under her body, bringing it up and locking it
tightly to the other wrist, thus holding the girl’s hands and arms close to her body. As
she was gathering a handful of inch-wide leather straps from a cabinet nearby, Ellen heard
a bell ringing from the room above. She stopped and listened, then quickly took a single
strap, looped it through the space between the ankle cuffs and again through the wrist
cuffs, bringing Patty’s cuffed ankles in close contact with her wrists, hogtying the girl.
To finish the position, Ellen attached a short chain between the hogtied wrists and ankles
and a D ring at the top of Patty’s head/gag harness. This forced Patty’s head back and the
position effectively prevented almost any movement. Patty’s temporary restraint
accomplished, Ellen hurried out of the basement room, went up the stairs and locked the
door at the head of the stairway.
Ellen went quickly to the small kitchen and then to what looked like a cupboard. Sitting
at the kitchen counter was a tall young man in a camouflage parka, with a steaming cup of
coffee in his right hand. Resting on the counter in front of him was a long barrel,
automatic 12 gauge Mossberg shotgun. His left hand rested on the stock, but he removed it
as soon as Ellen walked into the room.
“Cold out there,” the man said, nodding at Ellen and raising his coffee cup to her.
“Shit, Max, you scared the hell out of me. When did you come in?”
“Just five minutes ago. Was checking the lines and was freezing, even with this L.L.
Bean Arctic Parka.” He laughed, knowing the jokes about how real country folk considered
Bean as their high end fashion supplier and Carhartt as the source for true work clothes.
“Yeah, it’s even a bit chilly in the cellar. Cold enough to pop the nipples out of a
witch….or something like that,” grinned Ellen. “I just got a ring from the storeroom, so
I’m headed down there. Frank’s got some gripe, I suppose.”
“Need a hand?”
“I hope not. See you in a bit,” Ellen said as she opened the cupboard door. There were
shelves with food cans and packages, cooking utensils, some pots and pans and other
household things. Ellen picked up a sauté pan, moved it to a lower shelf and then removed
a can of tomato soup and put it in the pan. There was a faint click and the entire panel
with shelves and contents swung inward, revealing a small room that had more shelves full
of dry goods and supplies. She stepped into the room, closed the cupboard panel behind her
and reached for what looked like a knot hole in the pine paneling. This hole turned out to
be a release for another panel in the side wall of the small room. Now she turned on a
light and went quickly down the flight of circular stairs to the bottom where she was in
what was clearly a wine cellar. Hundreds of bottles of wine filled the bins. Each bin was
marked and dated and identified the contents. Ellen went to the bin marked “Boxbottle,
Franken.” This label was a private joke between Ellen, Frank and Don Andrews, a long time
friend who often visited the camp and always brought great wines. Don was known for his
German wine preferences and he had introduced E&F to the Franken wines from Germany’s
Franconia region, which was sold in flask-shaped bottles, known as Bocksbeutel. Don had
jokingly told them to spell it “boxbottle” and the esoteric pun had stick. Don also
thought it was funny that it was a Franconia wine and often talked about Frank’s wines,
meaning the Franken, of course.
When Ellen reached under the Franken bin, a set of shelves in the German wines section
opened and she stepped through into a totally dark, large underground room. She closed the
panel behind her, heard the lock click and stood in the dark.
“Well, my love, how goes it?” Ellen asked into the dark of the cool, earthy smelling
room. In response, she heard a rustle that sounded like a rat moving in a clothes closet,
a clink and a thud that sounded like someone thumping a leather covered cushion with a
baseball bat, followed by a groan.
“Oh, really,” Ellen said, sarcastically, hitting a light switch on the wall and waiting
until the overhead fluorescents came on. The blue/green glow brightened the room. “I
didn’t expect to hear from you tonight, Dear. Something bothering you, Sweetie?”
The cool, greenish light revealed what appeared to be a man’s body, suspended
upside-down from a heavy steel tripod frame, totally encased and strapped into a rubber
body bag with only his hooded head sticking out of the neck hole. The hood was sealed and
only two breathing hoses penetrated the heavy black leather shell that encased the head.
“Feeling needy?” Ellen asked, walking slowly over to the hanging bag that was encircled
with at least a dozen wide straps tightly fitted at the usual locations; around the head,
over the eyes and mouth, around neck, waist, upper torso in three places, above and below
the knees, mid thigh, mid calf, ankles and under the feet, to further confine and restrain
the body contained inside the bag. What made the sex of the bag’s occupant apparent was
the jutting projection from the crotch area, indicating a major erection inside a rubber
sleeve built into the bag. Above the straining erection was a small pouch, about the size
of a small light bulb, which apparently enclosed the occupant’s testicles sealed in the
snug bondage of the pouch attached to the body bag. Ellen casually stroked the giant,
rubber enclosed dick as she walked around the suspended body. She considered putting the
rubber covered object in her mouth and the results that action might have, but then
changed her mind when she saw the large pool of liquid that had accumulated on the
polished hardwood floor below the leather hood. This pool was being fed by a slow, but
constant drip of sweat and perhaps other body fluids trickling down from inside the bag,
through and around the hood and out onto the floor.
“My goodness, Frank. Are you cumming, leaking, drooling or just sweating up a storm in
there tonight? Busy little upside-down fella, aren’t we? Feeling a little compressed,
dear?” The hooded head shook and then turned side to side, in a negative response.
“Want out?” Ellen asked casually, knowing that if he said yes, she was obliged to cut
him down, open the bag, remove the straps and hood, and then deal with the interior rope
work that they had jointly orchestrated a few hours before.
The head turned side to side again. No.
“Want anything?”
The head nodded.
“Humm,” pondered Ellen, sitting down on the cool hardwood floor. “What could the matter
be?”
The head shook again and from inside came a sort of hum or moan. It was hard to tell
which, because the hood was lined with a sound reducing soft material and the mouth in the
head inside it was securely gagged.
“Well, Dear. I just don’t know what I can do for you and I’m really pretty busy right
now with our new addition, you know.”
The head shook and there was another groan from inside the hood.
“How about if I get you down and turn you around so your head is up and your ass is
down? Would that help, Honey?”
An emphatic nod and moan convinced Ellen that this was the thing that the thing in the
bag wanted.
“Okay,” she said gaily, and got up, reached over, stretching on her toes and bending
over so that her compact, tight little ass was nicely displayed to anyone who might have
been behind her. She released a catch at the top of the tripod and the body bag and
contents dropped to the floor with a thud and a responding groan from inside the hood.
“Oops. Sorry, Dear. Didn’t mean to drop you so hard. But, it was the fastest way to get
you down. Now, we’ll just reverse things a bit,” Ellen said, again with a bit of laughter
in her voice. She took two chains from the floor and attached one to the leather harness
straps that enclosed the body and another to the top of the hood. She linked the chains
together and then hooked them to the ratchet lift at the top of the tripod. She turned the
crank on the ratchet hoist slowly while the suspended body rose from the floor and soon
was hanging with the head up, but in the same position as before.
“How’s that?”
A nod and a hum. Then silence.
“By the way, I think we need to get Patty signed up in the next few days. She’s being
difficult and I want her on the books ASAP. Do you agree?”
Frank nodded his rubberized head and gave the usual two grunts for “yes”.
“Okay. We done now? Can I get back to work?
Slight nod and double grunt.
“Good. See ya later. Have fun.” Ellen turned and headed for the door, then stopped and,
facing the hanging bag and hooded head, shouted, “And don’t forget, Bag Boy, that tonight
is my night, so you’ve got to be out of there by noon. Meanwhile, try not to ring the bell
again unless you are about to poop in the bag.”
She turned out the light, closed and locked the heavy door and went up the stairs to the
kitchen. Here she hesitated a moment as though she had forgotten something. Looking around
she saw the empty coffee cup and a yellow sticky note on the counter next to it. She
picked up the note and read:
“On south border for few hours. Snowmobile giving me fits. See you at dinner?” signed
Max.
“Ok, Max,” Ellen said to herself, glad that their security man was on the job and
keeping the vast grounds patrolled. She went into the ground floor bedroom and proceeded
to strip off the leather suit.
Naked except for a thin, flesh colored nylon belt that rested tightly around her narrow
waist, Ellen reached around behind her back, unfastened the belt and pulled the
accompanying crotch strap slowly out from between her legs, removing with it the attached
dildo from her pussy and the string of shiny metal balls from her rectum. The balls came
out one by one and Ellen shuddered slightly as each ball reentered the world from its dark
home in her ass. Seven balls in all came out and Ellen took the entire ensemble and placed
it in the bath tub where she then ran hot water, added some liquid soap and let the tub
fill with steamy water.
“Damned cheapo batteries,” she said as she stepped into the still filling tub. “Nothing
works like it’s supposed to.” She reached into the water and pulled the dildo from the
crotch piece, rubbed its outside shell with soap and rinsed it in the running water. Then
she turned the base cap until it opened and out dropped three AA batteries.
“I gotta get one of these that lasts a hell of a lot longer,” Ellen muttered to herself
as she tossed the dead vaginal probe to the side of the room and flung the useless
batteries with it. “Can’t have any fun with dead batteries,” she mumbled as she submerged
into the billowing foam bubbles and steaming hot water.
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