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  • Author - Ty M Goode  
  • Rating -   
  • Site Rank - 187 of 2737
  • Unique Views - 19287
  • Story Codes - non-consensual, bondage, machine, sci-fi, tickling, torture, toys
  • Post Date - 3/12/2006
  • PDF Download -
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Tempest Bannister was close, she could sense it. Months of research through dusty libraries was about to pay off. She’d heard rumors of hidden vaults among the old Moorish ruins in the Highlands, but bit by bit, she’d pieced together information that told her that these were more than just folklore.

Tempest was more adventurer than archeologist. Rather like Lara Croft (Though she thought of that character as a mere amateur, in addition to being a work of fiction). She’d always been fascinated by items from the distant past. After receiving her degree in the field, she’d either been lucky enough or talented enough to make several remarkable discoveries. She preferred to think of it as the latter.

Ever looking for that new discovery, she’d followed the smoky trail of rumor and hearsay about an unimaginable treasure. Some tales say there was an ancient printing press, preceding the oldest one known by a century. Others spoke of a magnificent gilded throne of a ruler whose name had been forgotten long ago. Tempest’s nose for clues had picked up on the fact that there might be something more to these than just fairy tales.

And so, here she was, out in the middle of nowhere, walking about the ruble of what once must have been a quite formidable castle. Tempest had come dressed for the unusually warm August weather. She wore khaki shorts that ended at mid-thigh, festooned with pockets that negated the need for a fanny pack. Her white cotton blouse was short sleeved. Tempest had given up trying to keep the blouse tucked in to the waistband of her shorts, so she’d knotted it around her waist, exposing about four inches of her flat tummy. Beneath the blouse was a pale yellow sports bra that kept her 34-C cup breasts from knocking about too much. Never seeing much practicality nor comfort in panties, she didn’t wear any. Feeling the need for function, rather than fashion, she wore a battered pair of hiking boots over her ankle length socks.

She carefully scanned the few remaining walls of the castle’s exterior, looking for some kind of sign. Her first inspection yielded nothing. She wasn’t surprised, it rarely did. Midway through her second tour, she noticed a faint etching in a stone block. She carefully brushed away the accumulated grime. She studied the character of what seemed to be a perfect pentagon. She puzzled for a few moments, and then she had it!

“It’s an aerial view of the castle!” Tempest cried out loud with excitement.

She peered in closer, using a magnifying glass. There appeared to be some kind of figure in one corner. It wasn’t of a person, rather something man made, like a throne or piece of machinery. She stood back, trying to get her bearings. Locating the general area of the caricature, she headed off in that direction.

An hour later, she literally tripped over the next clue. Brushing away the undergrowth, she found a lichen covered stone. The stone bore a larger carving of what definitely appeared to be an ornate chair or throne. Tempest tried moving the stone, but it didn’t budge. In frustration, she gave it a kick.

“Not very scientific.” She chided herself.

But then she knelt closer and examined the scuffed section of rock more closely. There was another etching! This showed, comically enough, an “X”, roughly five paces from where she stood. Tempest scurried over and began a new search. Minutes later, after finding a flat stone beneath a covering of grass and moss, she cleared away the debris. The stone was a perfect circle. It was adorned with the same etching as the two previous finds. Miss Bannister tried stepping on it. Nothing happened. Next, she tried turning it, like a steering wheel. She was flabbergasted when the stone actually moved. Immediately, she heard a coarse grinding of stone upon stone.

She looked over to a shallow depression in the ground to her right. Her heart leapt when she saw a small gap open in the earth. She scrambled over to it and shone her flashlight inside. The interior was so dark as to keep the contents inside hidden. Tempest looked over her shoulder, towards where she’d parked her car in the public lot, some three kilometers away. This part of the ruins wasn’t on the standard tour. There simply wasn’t that much to see, so it had few visitors. She glanced up at the sun and reckoned that there was still two more hours of daylight. Her excitement simply wouldn’t permit her shelving the opportunity to explore until tomorrow. Light in hand, she began squeezing through the narrow entrance.

It turned out to be a tight fit. The unknown soles who had built this passage, had a much smaller physique. Tempest found it difficult to stoop her 5’10” frame and still squeeze in sideways. She resigned herself to go in feet first, the rest of her body to follow. She just hoped that there wasn’t a sheer drop on the other side. Even opened, the passageway was nearly invisible from the outside, and if she injured herself, she knew that a rescue was doubtful. Her fears calmed when her feet touched ground.

Wriggling the rest of the way in, she breathlessly shone the light about the chamber. It occurred to her that the air was quite comfortable. It wasn’t damp or musty as she would have imagined. The light’s beam first illuminated a complicated looking array of wooden gears. A trough chiseled out of the stone looked to provide water as a source of power to turn the gears. Skipping from this discovery, she guided the light about the room. It appeared to be disappointingly empty.

Then she caught a glimpse of the life sized version of the etchings. The ‘chair’ sat in the middle of the room. Tempest walked over, tingling with anticipation. She cautiously reached out to touch it, fearful that it my crumble with age. But the material it was built from seemed as solid as the day it had been completed. Bannister’s heart sank, as she realized the sheen she’d noticed wasn’t from any precious metal. Rather, the wood had been buffed to a glass-like finish.

“Amazing that there isn’t more dust.” Tempest pondered.

She strode around the throne, noting the high quality of craftsmanship. Oddly, there was a “U” shaped portion of the seat missing. What portion that was there, was riddled with holes. It didn’t strike Tempest that insects had made them. The chair back was adorned with intricate carvings of unknown beasts, as were the arm rests and legs. The throne rested on a raised platform of stone, roughly four inches high.

As Tempest continued her examination, the edge of her flashlight beam caught something else. Directing the light in that direction, she saw a rectangular object about 2’ by 4’ resting vertically on an easel. Whatever it was, it was covered by a gauzy cloth. She moved to it and removed the drop cloth. It appeared to be a painter’s canvas. There was some kind of portrait on it, but this, on the other hand was shrouded in dust. Tempest puzzled at how the painting could be so dusty under the drop cloth, while the chair appeared to be so immaculate.

She leaned closer and blew a great lungful of breath over the painting. The air around her filled with dust, much of it settling on her clothing, as well as obscuring the painting for a few moments. As it began to dissipate, she studied the portrait more closely. She let out a gasp at what she saw.

Portrayed on the canvas was an incredibly detailed picture of the throne. And the throne had an occupant. Tempest could tell it was a woman, only by the fact that she could see her auburn hair sprouting from the top of her head in a ponytail. The rest of the woman’s body was obscured behind countless bands of leather straps. Tempest’s body felt flush at the sight.

“What on earth could this mean?” She wondered.

Then she noticed that the flushed feeling had yet to pass. Her skin began to burn slightly. Then something truly startling happened. Her clothes appeared to age right before her eyes. The fabric of the blouse and shorts began to dry and crack like an old piece of parchment. Instinctively, Tempest grasped at her shorts, trying to shield them. The khaki crumbled in her hands. The abrupt motion caused her blouse to disintegrate in a cloud of white powder. Moments later, her bra hardened. She drew a startled breath and when her chest expanded, the garment shattered noiselessly like fine crystal. She took an astonished step back and stepped right out of her shoes and socks. She watched as her footwear atomized into two piles of talcum.

Terrified, she staggered backwards and tripped on the pedestal of the throne. She fell, landing on the throne’s seat. Before she could even think of standing up, a leather strap shot from the chair and encircled her waist. It tightened so fiercely, that Tempest let out an involuntary ’Oomphh!’

Tempest clawed at the strap, but it was as tough as iron. Another strap whirled out, trapping her chest and upper arms, making it difficult to reach the one at her waist. More straps flashed out with blurring speed. They seemed to seek out her arms and legs with uncanny accuracy. A strap grabbed each arm at the crook of her elbow and pulled it snugly against the chair back. More individual bands caught her ankles and pinioned each to the front chair legs. Straps snaked out from the chair’s seat and wrapped around her legs just above her knees. With a vicious jerk, they pulled her legs apart, anchoring her knees to the armrests. The pace quickened and Tempest was reminded of a sea anemone wrapping its tentacles around a captured fish.

“HHEELPPPPP!” She cried in terror. The room seemed to swallow her cry.

All the while, the leather bands continued zipping out. One passed around her throat and when it tightened, it forced Tempest’s skull firmly against the head rest. It made breathing a chore and she wheezed as she continued her struggles. Two thinner bands passed above and below her breasts. When they jerked taut, it compressed her ribcage alarmingly. They also scissored into the base of her breasts, causing them to instantly swell. Two more narrow bands passed across her breasts, perfectly straddling her nipples. When they tightened, they pinched the tender buds and drove them back into the plump mounds of her bust. A wider strap covered her tits entirely, its ferocious hold mashing everything down that much more,

“help!” Tempest wheezed once more. She couldn’t draw a breath deep enough for anything more forceful.

She felt what at first were worms crawling through her hair. Then she realized that slender leather thongs were weaving their way through her crimson locks. When they tightened, she could feel the strain on her scalp. Her hair was pulled back and anchored to the head rest. A narrow leather bridle passed through her gaping mouth, over her lower set of teeth. When it shortened, it pulled her mouth painfully apart. Dozens of spaghetti like strands spilled into her mouth forming an ever expanding ball of leather. The taste of the hide was overwhelming. Tempest gagged and sputtered as the mass threatened to block of her airway. But the strands seemed to sense when she was just at the point of choking and stopped their advance.

The strap across her teeth slithered away. Tempest was astounded at how her mouth was held open by the packing. Her cheeks bulged out and her tongue lay trapped flat. She managed to murmur a hushed “Hnngh!”, when a band passed over her gaping mouth. When it shrunk, it shoved the balled up leather even deeper. Tears spilled down Tempest’s eyes at the merciless pressure.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a strap snake down the side of her face and cup her chin. It rose up the other side and shortened. Unbelievably, the force made her jaw clamp down on the packing. A wider band covered her face from nose to chin, compressing any chance of making noise to wishful thinking.

Tempest hadn’t given up her struggles, it was just that they’d been reduced to mere tensing and relaxing her muscles. Looking for some avenue of escape, she happened to look where her fallen flashlight beam shone. It illuminated the portrait, and something even more incredible. The figure in the painting was becoming more recognizable. It seemed as though with each leather band that was added to Tempest, more of the woman’s figure was revealed. Tempest could now see most of the woman’s face, as well as her breasts and parts of her legs and abdomen.

Miss Bannister continued to stare at the painting as the leather bindings wove around her. More straps encircled her forearms, fusing them to the armrests. Slender thongs grasped each finger, splaying them and forcing them to grasp the lions-like head carved on the ends of the rest. Leather straps rose up over her feet, tightening and working their way to her toes. More thongs flicked around her toes, spreading them and anchoring them to immobility.

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Although she couldn’t see it, she could feel that not a single square inch of skin was escaping the crushing grip of leather. Looking at the portrait once more, she saw that the woman was now almost completely free of restraints. When the last band dissolved from around her eyes, she appeared to be peering back at Tempest. A strange smile crept across the woman’s face. Then the figure slowly vanished from the painting, leaving only the chair. Tempest squealed as a broad leather strap passed over her eyes.

She continued to struggle desperately, though one looking at her wouldn’t be able to tell. As if the crushing bonds weren’t terrifying enough, having to endure them in total blackness was bringing on near hysteria. Tempest hadn’t forgotten too, the remote and unknown spot this was all taking place in. She stopped her struggles briefly at a new sound in the vault.

Water was trickling in from somewhere. The trickle grew more steadily. Then she heard a creaking sound. Confused momentarily, it dawned on her that the wooden gears had begun turning. Next came a sound that filled her soul with dread. The deep, slow rumble of stone upon stone could only mean one thing. The slab covering the secret entrance was slowly grinding closed. When it thumped shut, Tempest didn’t need to see, to know that the interior of the tomb was black as pitch.

The water continued to flow and the gears spun away. Tempest didn’t know that something was rising between her legs, stopping at the height of her chest. She became aware of its existence when it began spinning. Dozens of leather strands began flailing at her chest, driven by centrifugal force of the spinning head they were anchored to. At first, it didn’t feel so bad, her breasts being covered by the tight hide. But over time, a small ache appeared, rapidly swelling to a state which caused concern.

Then Tempest felt something probing all along the soles of her feet and toes. She could sense the wetness and realized that small jets of water were randomly shooting against her sensitive skin. Being quite ticklish, the sensation was immediately intolerable. But no matter how she writhed her feet and toes, there was no escaping the liquid lashes.

“Nnnnghh!” She hummed, as small, sharpened wooden stakes began poking her flanks and ass though the holes in the seat. Through the marvels of mechanics long ago forgotten, the wooden gear that raised and lowered the spikes did so randomly. They might all rise at once or individually. The painful pricks did not draw blood, but left Tempest constantly squirming to avoid their bite.

It wasn’t until she felt them, did she realize that her privates had been left exposed. The two wooden probes were polished to a glass-like smoothness. A fine spray of water coated their surface. They had risen up from the pedestal on wooden shafts. Without preamble, each began its ascent into her female passages. Tempest screamed and clenched against the intrusion. For a while, she was able to stave off any penetration. But as her muscles fatigued, her valiant fight was lost.

No stranger to anal sex, she no less howled at the intrusion. The shaft had to be almost 40 mm in width. It burrowed onto her, the wet surface only slightly reducing the fire. The shaft splitting her labia was 60 mm wide if it was an inch. It seemed to have no end, as it drove deeper and deeper inside her. She’d never been penetrated this far before. Slowly, the shafts began to piston in and out. Tempest realized that their rhythm was not synchronized. The shaft violating her pussy was driving at a slightly faster pace. This meant that for a while, the two probes would pound into her simultaneously. Then, the action would slowly stagger. Her back passage would be filled, while just the tapered tip of the front violator parted her lips. The cycle would reverse itself once more and she was violated in unison.

Just when she knew things could get no worse, they did. A powerful stream of water shot out and impacted against the hood of her clitoris. Painful as it was, the tiny bundle of nerves could not help responding. The bud swelled, popping it free of its fleshy covering, exposing it to the direct onslaught of water. Tempest tried to wriggle away from the stream, just an inch would have been enough. But she was anchored too securely. The stream then altered its intensity. It dwindled to a tickling torrent, then shot out with a laser-like intensity. The whipping strands fluctuated their pattern and force, her squashed breasts swelling and becoming more and more sensitive with each stroke.

The spate of water assaulting her feet changed rhythm also. Though the pressure usually tickled, it would occasionally blast her skin like hot irons. There was no way for the poor girl to brace for the assaults. They were never the same ones twice. Against all belief, Tempest felt her body respond. In spite of all she tried, her body soon shook in a near motionless orgasm. Her mind exploded with light. When the stars finally twinkled out and she was able to regain her breath, she could all ready feel another climax starting to broil deep down inside. The interior of the chamber was filled with a suppressed howl of anguish. Insanity, would take a long, long time in coming.

In the world outside, an unexpected thunderstorm passed through the area. The winds swept away any sign of the woman’s footprints in the grass. The rain washed fresh earth over the marker stone and trigger. By the time the storm passed, the area looked as though it hadn’t been walked upon for a hundred years. The ruins lay dormant, waiting for its next visitor.

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While we try our best to only post stories that meet our guidelines, occasionally one will slip through. These include stories that feature (but not limited to) murder, violent snuff, and under-age characters. If you feel this story needs to be re-evaluated you can report it here.

Sunday, December 17, 2017  

Just a note: water is NOT a lubricant.

Sunday, September 13, 2015  

Not even a pretense of an explanation? Seems like a random passage from a much longer story.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014  

Very original!

Saturday, November 24, 2012  

Great, I really enjoyed it!

Thursday, November 03, 2011  

no matter how many times I read this story over the months, it never ceases to capture my interest on a total level. the helplessness of the victim, as well as the permanence of her situation. just puts me over the proverial edge every time ^_^

Wish I could write like this :P

perhaps i'll try one of these days.

Great story, definately a must read for aspiring writers!!

5 stars!

Sunday, August 22, 2010  

This is, without doubt, one of the best stories I've read here in a while. Being posted (literally) years ago I don't know how I missed it...

It was short and to the point, while giving enough background to make things make sense. There was attention to detail, but the paragraphs weren't 20 sentences long.

Quite honestly, I loved it.

Saturday, May 16, 2009  

Ooooo, a sequel would be swell.... maybe even a "pre-quel" .... how the 'woman in the picture' was ensnared.... great stuff!!

Thursday, December 11, 2008  

A sequel in a similar style would be to die for..... maybe another hapless victim????

Wednesday, March 05, 2008  

Pretty hot. Thought it should of been longer thhough

Thursday, March 15, 2007  

An excellent story... if only more of this ilk were around. The vivid detail bestowed upon the capture and restraining of the heroine by 'the throne' is to die for!!... the feeling of utter helplessness and inevitability of the situation is outstanding. I would love for their to be a sequel... maybe another 'device' for a new victim could be dreamt up....
Well done, loved it!

Wednesday, March 29, 2006  

I love stories like this; especially the description of the girl being immobilized in the chair; so intensified! You have to do a sequel. Please!!

Wednesday, March 15, 2006  

Very good story, but the ending seemed to be left hanging. Is Tempest the victim of an ancient curse? Who was the girl in the painting and what's the connection with our unfortunate heroine?

Sunday, March 12, 2006  

very interesting story well liked

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