I tried to sustain a casual conversation while Ellen and Kimmie drained their cups.
One, then the other, placed her cup on the tray in request for a refill. It was then that
I noticed Ellen’s speech begin to slur slightly. Kimberly was as quiet as ever, but her
face had started to flush. I poured more tea pretending not to notice. I looked up as
Ellen’s voice trailed off in mid-sentence. She had the most befuddled look on her face.
She appeared to be staring at her hand, which was poised in the air, halfway to her
cup. She blinked slowly, her eyes flicking up at me, then back at her hand and back to me
once more. Concern flashed in her eyes. Likewise, Kimberly’s movements had stilled to that
of a statue. I decided to test the potency of the drug‘s affect.
I got up and strode around to the sofa where they were sitting. I grabbed a handful
of Ellen’s hair and jerked her head back. She offered no resistance, so I planted a long,
probing kiss on her mouth. Had she been able, I was certain she would have bitten my
tongue off. As it was, the only protest she summoned was a faint whine from her throat.
When I released my grip, her face remained gazing upward at the ceiling, her eyes wide
with disbelief.
Kimberly found herself unable to turn and follow my affront on her mother. She too,
was unable to stave off my tongue from hungrily probing her mouth. Each woman’s eyes
reflected their horrid comprehension. Neither could move a muscle, yet each was completely
aware of every sensation and what had just transpired. It was time for an explanation.
“Well, ladies,” I said standing so they could focus their upturned faces at me. “It
seems that things have taken an unexpected turn. Pleasant for me, not so much for you.”
I decided to elaborate further. “The tea you drank is from the curare family. It
disables nearly all voluntary muscle commands, yet doesn’t inhibit cardiac or respiratory
function in any way. I’m sure your first question, were you able to ask, would be how long
does the affect last? Well, the instructions profess, anywhere up to one hour, so we’d
better get started.”
Not waiting for, nor expecting a response, I strolled over to a hutch and returned
with a small mahogany chest. Lifting the lid, I extracted a jumble of chrome chains and
cuffs. Each woman whispered a small, shrill squeak, but nothing else. Ellen was the first
to be attended to.
I bent her semi-rigid body forward and manoeuvred her arms behind her. I snapped a
pair of hinged handcuffs around her wrists, tightening them a few notches past
comfortable. A set of slightly larger cuffs, connected by three chrome links, was
ratcheted around her ankles. Next, Kimmie got an identical treatment. Then I pushed both
women back on the sofa, their paralysed heads still bent back and staring at the ceiling.
Another three linked set of manacles appeared. This I attached to Ellen’s left
bicep and Kimberly’s right. A final cuff was used in the same fashion, connecting Kimmie’s
right ankle to her mother’s left. Even if they were ambulatory, my ’guests’ would find it
difficult to move about.
“All right now, bitches.” I growled. “I’m off to get a few things to make your stay
a little more unpleasant. Behave yourselves until I get back!”
I strolled casually out of the living room, toward the main hall. I could almost
feel two sets of eyes burning commands to, ‘Return and stop this nonsense’ into the back
of my head. I smiled at the fact that the only sound seeping from the room, was the
ticking of the grandfather clock. It needlessly reminded me that time was melting away.
As soon as I turned the corner and was out of their sight, my calm demeanour
vanished and I practically sprinted toward my destination. Once inside the dungeon, it
took little time to gather the items I needed. Although the size of my collection was
impressive, I kept it all stored in an orderly fashion. I knew where everything was, right
down to the smallest padlock.
In what seemed like no time at all, I had placed all my selections in a small
duffel bag and was on my way back to my ‘guests’, after first securing the double entry to
the dungeon. I wanted their first exposure to its existence to leave a distinct
impression. I knew that they were feeling quite off balance right now and wanted that
disorientation to intensify.
When I returned, I couldn’t help exhaling a sigh of relief, when I saw that neither
woman had moved one iota. I smiled a humourless grin as their eyes tracked me across the
room. I continued out of sight and withdrew a metal pole, six feet long and two inches in
diameter, from a tall cupboard. I had used this pole many times in past bondage games and
it would suit my purposes perfectly tonight.
I moved a standing lamp to one side, revealing a socket in the floor. Directly
above that receptacle was its mate, disguised as a light fixture in the ceiling. Releasing
the catches on the pole, I telescoped it out until the ends settled into the sockets.
Triggering the internal springs, the pole became rigid as any support beam would be. The
arrangement was practical, in that the pole was temporary, so no questions would be raised
by an inquisitive guest.
Slipping the buckles of two long, leather straps into my pocket, I rounded the sofa
and released the cuffs connecting the two women. Kneeling, I grabbed Ellen by the arms and
pulled her compliant body over my shoulder. As I hefted her up off the ground, I estimated
her weight to be around 130 pounds. Not bad for a woman roughly 5’8” tall.
I carried her around to the pole and placed her feet directly in front of it. Her
muscles were still too paralysed to stand, but I had a remedy for that. As I knelt, her
breasts pressing warmly into my back, I tightened the first strap around her legs and the
pole, just above her knees. This locked her legs straight, allowing her skeleton to bear
her weight.
Standing her upright, I passed the second strap across her chest and under both
armpits, then buckled it loosely around the pole. Holding her up with one hand, I moved
around behind her. Jutting from the pole were several strategically placed cleats. I
planned to use the one directly behind her head. I grabbed the chest strap and gauged the
distance to the cleat, then tightened the buckle two notches.
Grasping the strap with both hands, I hefted it up toward the anchoring point. The
strap tightened across Ellen’s chest and dug into her armpits. It was going to be a close
contest. With a mighty push, I was able to get the belt up over the protruding tip of the
cleat. When I backed away, Ellen’s stunned body slumped slightly, but remained standing.
I removed one hand from the cuffs, only to re-shackle them quickly behind the pole.
I wanted to pound home the lesson early, that her freedom would be fleeting and entirely
at my whim. I left her to fetch the first item from the duffel.
It was a spool of coarse, ¼” sisal twine used for gardening (among other
things). I unwound a couple feet and snipped it off with the first aid shears from my
pocket. Without delay, I wound it around her thumbs four times and cinched it tightly.
From experience, I’d learned that this number of wraps would cause discomfort, but no
permanent nerve damage. With her thumbs fused together, it was now safe to remove the
cuffs any time I chose.
Shears in hand, I proceeded to slice up each sleeve of her sweater to the collar,
then down the front. With the flourish of an amateur magician, I snatched away the ruined
garment, exposing her near naked torso. Ellen tried to fix me with a threatening gaze, but
failed miserably . Unfazed, I cut first one, then the other shoulder strap of the blood
red, satin brassiere trapping her breasts. Apparently, Ellen had dressed in the hopes of
bedding some stud at the lodge this evening. Oh well, it seems as though those plans had
been altered somewhat.
Staring directly into her eyes, I slid the cold blade of the scissors slowly under
the panel between her breasts. With the speed of an approaching sunrise, I tightened the
metal jaws. Ellen’s expression changed to one of imploring, as she felt the gradual strain
on her globes shift. Without warning, the material parted and her breasts settled to their
unhindered state.
Remarkably, the shimmering fabric clung to her nipples, as if reluctant to give up
its secret. I brushed the cloth off of the flesh as casually as if I were swatting gnats.
Her breasts sagged slightly, but were still quite firm for someone her age. Her brown
nipples rose from the matching flesh of her areolas, no doubt a response caused by fear. I
spared them only a brief, lustful look before getting back to business.
From the duffle, I removed another strap and a custom made, calves skin, arm
binder. The soft hide had been dyed powder blue. (I possessed one for each colour of the
spectrum, but Ellen’s choice of colours in skiing attire decided which I was going to
use). The arm binder was common in many ways and unique in a few others.
The first variation began at the tip. Encased within the butter-smooth leather, was
a fibreglass cone. After straightening her unresponsive fingers so that her hands rested
palm to palm, I turned the binder inside out. I worked the cone over her hands until they
settled within. I’m sure she could feel how little room there was inside. She might be
able to wiggle her fingers some, but other than clasping her hands, clenching them into
fists was out of the question.
I smoothed the binder up, revealing the first strap in matching colour, adjacent to
the top of the cone. Two sharp jerks later, I buckled it in place. Just this small amount
of tension had drawn her elbows marginally closer. Closer, but not nearly enough to suit
my needs.
I wrapped the additional strap I carried around her arms, above the elbows. I
tightened the belt, determined not to stop until her elbows touched. With a mixture of
pleasant surprise and disappointment, I watched the gap between her joints close, until
they converged with apparent ease. Perhaps she was naturally limber, or the swimming
helped, or a combination of both. I had rather wished that the strain be little more
intense, although it was certainly there.
I proceeded to tighten the matching rawhide laces woven through the grommets which
began just above the wrist strap. The laces possessed superior strength and were virtually
non-slip. In no time I had them snugged so that both halves of the binder merged virtually
seamless. When I knotted the lacing just beneath her elbows, her forearms were squeezed
together within the vice like grip.
I loosened the elbow strap and slid it higher up her arms. Now the reason I had
chosen to use the pole came into play. It served as an anchoring point between her
shoulder blades. Rigid as IT was, something else had to give. That something else was my
prize’s shoulder joints. I tugged, rested then tugged again on the strap. Inexorably,
Ellen’s shoulders arched backward. A few moments to allow the joints time to adjust to the
strain, then I was able to tighten the strap one more notch. The effect was quite
gratifying (For me, at least).
A good three inches of her biceps above her elbows were pressed firmly together.
The flesh between her shoulder blades had wrinkled and folded almost completely around the
pole. Achieving the results I wanted, I worked the remainder of the binder up to her
armpits and continued to tighten the laces. The last four inches of the sheath’s halves
didn’t quite touch on the first attempt. They did after the third.
The next phase consisted of feeding the binder’s integrated straps under her arms
(no doubt pinching some skin in the process). From there, they crossed in the middle of
her chest at her sternum and continued up over the opposite shoulder, back down to the
sheath and buckled snuggly. The dénouement came when I buckled the matching
collared straps that dangled from the loops stitched in the binder. One was already in
place at her wrists. The second passed over her elbows, exacerbating the grinding against
one another. The last strap encircled the top of the binder encasing her upper arms. In
the process, it also covered the square knot where the laces terminated as well as the
buckles of the shoulder straps.
I stood before her once again and reached into the pocket of my slacks. Then I held
out my hand for her to see what I’d produced. Ellen slowly blinked away the tears of
strain that had formed in her eyes and witnessed the three, brass padlocks that rested in
my palm. She looked back at me dumbfounded and I gave her a lecherous wink. Slipping back
behind her, I snapped one through each of the hasps on the three straps. The room was so
quiet, that the *snick* of the locks sounded like cell doors slamming shut.
Now it was time to attend to matters from her waist down. Ellen couldn’t even watch
my progress, as I unbuckled the belt of her pants and zipped down her fly. It was no
surprise to see the same shimmering red material that matched her ruined bra, peeking out
from behind the zipper’s teeth. It took a couple tugs to work the waist of the tight pants
down over Ellen’s shapely hips. Inevitably though, the slacks wound up bunched around the
strap at her knees.
“My, Ellen.” I commented out loud, at seeing the daring thong that covered her
privates. “You are quite the tart, aren’t you?”
“Let’s take a look at what treasures you’re barely hiding, shall we?”
The scissors made short work of the narrow straps running over her hips. The
worthless material soon dangled between her clenched thighs. I deliberately removed them
by pulling in an upward motion, causing the fabric to drag through her vulva. I rose and
held the small swatch of fabric in front of her face.
“You’ll have no further use for these.” I informed her, stuffing them into my shirt
pocket. “I however, think they’ll come in quite handy.”
“Now then,” I continued. “What’s down here that makes you think you’re God’s gift
to men?”
I knelt again and noted that she kept her pubic hair neatly trimmed and narrow,
like an exclamation point. The skin around the area was pale, proclaiming that she had
some modesty while lying in the tanning booth, but not much. I had noted earlier, the
blanched triangles surrounding her nipples. The small size of each triangle was testament
to how brief the top had been.
I reached out and traced my finger down her pubic Mohawk, and slipped it into the
gap where her legs met her torso. Wiggling it about, I slipped it between her soft petals
and into her snatch. I worked it around like a canine’s snout in a gopher hole. My finger
came out damp, but it was clear that she was enjoying none of this. Standing again, I
showed her my digit, proving that it hadn’t been chopped off. Suddenly, I thrust it
forward and wiped it on her lip below her nose. Not stopping there, I smeared her musky
scent inside each nostril. There would be no escaping the aroma.
“Well,” I announced. “Let’s complete your ensemble and then I can tend to dear
Kimmie.”
I moved a high-backed chair alongside her and gathered a coil of stout cord from
the bag. Standing on the chair, I attached the rope to an anchor hidden in the ceiling
fixture. The doubled end was fed through the chest strap in back and I pulled all of the
slack out. I removed the belt around her knees, then I triggered the spring release on the
pole.
The pole retracted almost to its original size, but Ellen remained standing, held
aloft by the cord. I worked the pole free from between her arms (it was a tight squeeze).
It was a ridiculously easy process to remove her expensive boots and yank off the ski
pants. No doubt, she had never felt quite this naked before.
Now, the sisal twine came back into play. I unwound roughly thirty feet off the
spool. Holding the ends, I doubled the thin hemp and grasped the loop at the opposite end.
I passed the hoop around her waist and fed the ends through it at her navel. Pulling out
the slack, I arranged the cord where I wished it. Placing my hand against her stomach, I
pulled for all it was worth. The twine immediately sank deeply into her flesh above the
hip bones. Maintaining tension, I performed another pass around her abdomen, and then
another. Each time, I worked the ends through the loop in front and traversed back in the
opposite direction, evenly displacing the cord’s bite. I finished my final pass and
knotted it in front, leaving about six feet remaining. It was very gratifying to see how
the hemp sank so deeply into the soft flesh, as to almost disappear. I don’t think Ellen
was quite as impressed with my technique.
After a brief study of the remaining six feet of twine, I began fashioning it into
a series of overhand knots. Shortly, I had produced a chain of closely spaced bumps in the
cord. I passed the knotted hemp between her legs and brought it up the back. It wasn’t
easy working the ends under the rope belt that pressed against her spine, but I managed. I
slowly removed the slack and wound the cord around my fist. With my free hand, I reached
down between her legs and positioned the knotted strand where I wanted it.
“Now,” I said. “Let’s see if we can do something about protecting this treasure of
yours.”
I still didn’t think that Ellen had any inkling about what was going to happen. Her
moment of enlightenment came without warning. I jerked my hand upward and the line
followed. The knotted strand shortened, sinking deeper and deeper into her sex. The
prickly bumps in the cord dragged across her hooded clitoris like teeth on a comb. Each
knot pulled the little nub a little farther inward. Ellen hissed out a shallow breath,
that any other time would have been an ear splitting scream. My fist’s progress slowed to
a stop, but I wasn’t finished. My other hand joined the effort and together hitched the
twine a few more inches up her spine. Careful to keep the tension static, I reversed the
direction of the hemp, so that it passed once more between her legs.
After feeding the ends once more through the hoop in front, I employed the same two
fisted grip on the strands. This time, I pulled so hard that her feet momentarily left the
floor. Any thought that the scratchy line couldn’t possibly burrow any deeper was
dispelled. Enough cord was left for one final circuit. And so through her legs once again
it passed. But this time I threaded the ends through the ring on the tip of the arm
binder. Without a shred of compassion, I retraced the path previously traversed. Another
two handed pull, this one even worse than the last, and I knotted the remaining twine to
the rope belt below her navel.
As incredibly tight as the twine belt had been applied, it paled compared to the
severity of the crotch rope. The waist cinch dipped slightly toward her loins, the
scratchy sisal digging into her hip bones. The knots in the cord dimpled the flesh of her
pelvis, before disappearing high into her sex. A close inspection in back, saw the knots
emerge high above the crevasse of her ass cheeks.
The single, double strand of cord affixed to the ring of the arm sheath, was enough
to immobilize her fibreglass and leather encased hands against the firm globes of her ass.
I looked to see tears tickling silently down Ellen’s cheeks, as she fought to come to
terms with something with which there was no negotiation.
“That just about takes care of this little Devil’s food cake.” I said out loud,
mostly to myself. “ A little more icing, then I can proceed to dessert number two.”
The ’icing’ consisted entirely of the remaining spool of sisal. Encircling her
pinioned arms and torso as one, I wrapped a doubled strand around her four times, just
below her ribcage. The twine sank into her flesh, but not too severely. The next phase
changed that. It was a simple matter to feed the twine around that which bound her arms
and torso, making three turns about it through the hollow of her back. When ready, I
pulled on the cord, cinching everything tight as I could.
I repeated the same process higher up on her chest, with a few variations. First,
six wraps hugged her chest at the base of her breasts. Six more passes sank into the base
of her tits on top. I worked the doubled line under all twenty four strands, fashioned a
loop and guided sisal up over her shoulders, to a spot between her tits. When I pulled out
the slack, the twelve cords on either side of her jugs migrated toward each other. This
resulted in a scratchy, vice-like squeeze against the base of her boobs. They began to
redden almost immediately.
The finishing flourish was the final pass of the doubled up hemp around her arms
and torso. This I aligned right across her nipples. When I pulled it taut, the spongy
flesh of her tits ballooned out on either side of the bisecting cord. I prodded and coaxed
until I had forced both tender nipples to poke out between the prickly sisal.
I’m sure that I scraped quite a bit of the sensitive skin under her arms with my
fingernails, as I worked the cinching cord into place. But as far as I was concerned, I’d
come too far not to make a thorough job of it. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I pulled
with the other and delighted in the sight of all the strands tightening in unison. When
the cord cut into my hand and I could pull no more, I knotted off the arrangement. Every
single inch of twine practically hummed with tension.
I could see that Ellen’s breathing had become labored, but as long as she was still
breathing, that’s all that I cared. I let her hang there for a minute and made
preparations to move her aside and make room for Kimmie.
From a closet, I removed a rolled up rattan mat and an adjustable spreader bar. I
spread out the mat near the grand piano in the corner of the room. Setting down the
spreader bar, I walked over and released Ellen from her suspension. I let her drape over
my shoulder as she fell. A pained squeak escaped her lips, as the crotch rope shifted when
she bent at the waist. Hoisting her up, we travelled the short distance to the piano
quickly.
I purposely laid her face down on the fibrous mat. Thousands of tiny rattan barbs
instantly began probing her skin wherever it made contact. I settled her legs on either
side of the piano’s stout limb and brought the spreader bar into play. Each end had a
leather cuff mounted to it, which I buckled snugly around each ankle. Loosening the
locking thumb screw, I elongated the metal pole until it was almost four feet. Ellen’s
feet had no choice but to splay wider and wider. With her thighs spread painfully apart, I
was afforded a clear view of her snatch, albeit nearly obscured by tan collared hemp.
With her legs spread so wide, I knew that Ellen’s chances of rolling over were nil.
So were the odds of her being able to drag a baby grand any distance. I walked over and
scooped up a discarded strand of twine, about two feet long. Kneeling next to Ellen’s
lashed form, I knotted one end of the sisal around a small handful of her hair. I threaded
the other end through the hasp of the padlock on her elbow strap. When I pulled on the
end, Ellen’s hair lifted her head up off the floor until she was gazing straight ahead.
Knotting the cord, I leaned over close to the face that was staring at the area she’d
recently vacated.
“There you go, my little slut.” I whispered in her ear. “You get an unobstructed
view of me doing the same thing to your daughter. Share and share alike, that’s my
motto.”
I gave the left cheek of her ass a squeeze that contained no tenderness. Then I
repositioned the pole and went to collect Kimberly.
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