1st and Goal Author - Ty M Goode   Rating -   [ 4.56 actual/237 vote(s) ] Site Rank - 15 of 604 Unique Views - 22497 Story Codes - MF/f, nc, XXX, bdsm, bondage, machine, slave, toys, kidnap, torture, mc, hum, susp Post Date - 1/29/2008 PDF Download -

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Part 1

Football season had arrived (finally), but Bertram Seagram was not a happy man. Sole owner of the newly franchised team, the Memphis Maulers, things looked bleak when they should have held great promise. His staff of attorneys had finished sifting through the league contract and discovered something very disconcerting. If the team did not show a profit by the end of their very first season, the franchise would be placed in a lottery for other markets to bid upon. Of course, this revelation was made after Seagram had signed the agreement.

Bert was still kicking himself for being lured into signing such a ridiculous contract. He’d assured his solicitor that he knew what he was doing and now he had no one but himself to blame. There was no way he could turn a profit after forking out so much money in contracts, renovations, etc. He grumbled under his breath as he stepped off the elevator and entered the franchise’s office.

He was busy scanning the sports page and didn’t immediately notice anything amiss. He probably would have just strolled straight to his office and slammed the door, if it hadn’t been for an odd sound. He paused, thinking it was the air conditioning. The sound stopped and he turned to continue in the direction he’d started, when he heard it again. It lasted long enough this time to ascertain that it wasn’t coming from the duct work overhead.

“What the Hell!” Bertram thought. “Don’t tell me the Maulers now have mice”.

But somehow he knew that mice weren’t the source of the noise. He stood quietly, waiting for the sound to return. Seconds passed and then there was a soft noise, like a cat meowing.

“Hello?” Bert called tentatively.

“mmmmmphh!”

It seemed to come from the closet. Bert strolled over cautiously, grabbing a letter opener on the way. He grasped the handle and held the opener over his head like a dagger. Taking a deep breath, he flung the door open and prepared to perforate whatever was on the other side. His arm froze in mid-air when he saw the human form. A very shapely human form.

“Miss Cranston???” Seagram stammered. He couldn’t be sure, but the person WAS wearing the same snappy outfit his personal secretary had worn the previous day. The apparition let out a relieved, “Nnnnnngh!” in reply.

The reason he couldn’t be sure it was Rebecca Cranston, was because someone had thoroughly restrained the woman. He was sure it was a woman, for in addition to the matching aquamarine skirt and jacket, he could clearly see her breasts straining against the sheer fabric of the bra. A bra that had become transparent due to excessive perspiration.

The woman’s identity was hidden, thanks to the canvas currency bag encasing her head. 1” medical tape had been wound around the open end about her throat, foiling any attempts to shake it off. There was another anchoring point, vis-à-vis more tape wound around her head where her mouth should be. Indeed, Bertram could see the gaping indentation of the woman’s lips pressing firmly into the canvas. It struck Bert as odd that her cheeks seemed to be puffed out for some reason.

Time froze and so did Seagram, except for his eyes. They wandered down to take in the rest of the woman’s predicament. At first glance, she appeared not to have any arms. Her jacket had been bunched back off her shoulders, revealing her crisp, collared silk blouse. 3/8” cotton rope indented the blouse in several spots on her torso. Several bands encircled her chest, above and below her breasts (making them stand out quite nicely, Bertram noted). Another wrap had been pulled particularly tight around her stomach. Diving down from that binding was a doubled cord whose purpose stymied Bertram for a moment. But then he looked closer and sucked in his breath at what he saw.

During the process of her struggles, Miss Cranston’s mid-thigh skirt had risen up. Risen up quite a bit. The hem now rested scrunched up at the tops of her legs, exposing panties that matched the same material as the bra. The undergarment too, was damp with moisture. Bertram felt himself blush as he stared at his secretary’s dark blonde pubic hair matted underneath the gauzy fabric. But that wasn’t all that caused the embarrassment.
The mysterious twin cords ran straight down through the young lady’s crotch, bisecting the lips of her sex. The way it depressed her flesh and cleaved the panties inside her, it must have been VERY tight.

It was the first time that Bertram had known that her secretary had a small, heart shaped space at the top of her legs. The space existed even though her knees had been lashed securely together with more rope. That space had allowed him to see more of her than she’d ever intended. He noticed too, that she was seated on a wheeled office chair. The reason that she couldn’t wheel herself out of the closet (besides the fact of not being able to reach the door knob) was how her ankles were fixed.

Instead of being tied together like her knees, each ankle had been brought back under the chair independently. Pure wonderment taking over, Bertram hazarded a look in back. There, the puzzle of the missing arms was solved.

Rebecca’s jacketed arms were practically welded together. Whoever had done this must have had stock in clothesline. Rings of the white hemp crushed her arms at wrists, mid-forearm and elbows. The last cinch actually forcing her elbows to touch. It must have bothered her shoulders terribly.

Bertram’s eyes followed the individual cords wrapped around her ankles (noting that one of her stylish, 3” heeled shoes had dropped off, exposing the stocking’d, sexy arch of her foot), up to where they merged at her elbow cinch. From there the cords ran in unison over the back of the chair. Seagram thought they just terminated there, but then he saw them re-emerge beneath the seat’s back. From that point, they traveled down, clefting the crack of her derrière. Bertram reasoned that it must be the same doubled cord he saw in front.

Even from his angle, Seagram could see a splinter of light from the office outside, shining between the chair’s cushioning and Miss Cranston’s bottom. Apparently, the cords holding her lower legs practically doubled up, had been tied to the chair back. The cord in turn, passed down between her legs with such tension that it kept her elevated off the seat. Trying to rest her bottom on the chair would have only dug the rope in her crotch deeper. “Yeouch!” Bertram thought.

An absurdly muted “Mmmnnghff!” and Rebecca’s clenching and unclenching hands snapped Seagram out of his stupor. He went around front and knelt to retrieve the letter opener that he’d dropped during the initial discovery. As he bent over, he heard an odd hum that wasn’t coming from Miss Cranston. Well, it wasn’t coming from Miss Cranston’s head. Bertram’s eyes scanned his secretary’s pinioned body, his gaze settling on her most private domain. He leaned his head in closer and sure enough, heard a faint buzzing emanating from somewhere INSIDE her crotch. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what it was. Miss Rebecca Cranston’s sex was currently residence to a vibrator. A very powerful one by the sound of it.

Just then, Rebecca shuddered and screamed a sound that wasn’t entirely a cry for release. When the spasms passed, she slumped against her bonds, twitching slightly. Bertram deduced that this was the cause for such copious amounts of perspiration.

“There’ no telling how long she’s been like this,” Seagram pondered.

And that thought spurred him into action. Well, almost. You see, although a very busy man, Bertram was also a bit of a crime buff. He rarely missed an opportunity to catch his favorite “C.S.I.” show on TV. In so doing, he was acutely aware of how important the gathering of potential clues was. An undisturbed crime scene stood a better chance of providing a lead. So he stood, letter opener in hand, not intending to use it.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca.” He said meekly. “But I’d better contact the authorities. Once they get here, they’ll have you out in a jiffy.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” He said, not realizing the absurdity of the statement.

“GNNNUMMMGHHH!” Rebecca screamed in disbelief.

“Yes, I know.” Seagram answered as if actually carrying on a conversation. “But you’ve been like that for a while, a little longer won’t hurt.”


Part 2

Detective Joanna August, Memphis PD-Robbery, surveyed the controlled chaos of the office. Besides herself and her partner, Danielle Frost, it seemed like there were two dozen people in the room. This included six uniformed officers, three pairs of EMT’s, the guys from forensics and the watch commander. Joanna caught Danielle’s eye and shook her head with disgust. The only thing to get more response than a jumper, was a tied up damsel. Right now, said damsel was being checked out by a female paramedic. Her partner was icing down the eye that had gotten smacked when he’d tried to remove the vibrator from the Vic. Joanna decided to forego an interview with the rattled woman and stepped over to where her partner was talking with Mr. Seagram.

“So you’re pretty sure that’s all that was taken?” Danielle was concluding. “Just one of the copies of the teams sale agreement?”

“Yeah,” Said Seagram, still visibly shaken. “If word gets out about what fates this team rides on, it’ll be open season for wannabe franchise owners.”

While he was speaking, Mr. Seagram seemed unable to give Det. Frost his complete attention. His eyes kept darting to Miss Cranston, who although completely clothed, had additionally wrapped herself in a blanket. The beautiful secretary’s hair was a mess and her make-up was a disaster. Her hysterics had calmed some, but she still shuddered occasionally as she talked to the medic. Bertram couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off two other things that lay on the carpet nearby, being photographed.

One was the ivory colored vibrator. It had to be six inches long and almost two inches wide. Once her hands and legs had been freed (and after she’d punched the EMT), Rebecca couldn’t wait to remove the plastic violator. It didn’t occur to her that she was doing so in front of at least eight strangers. She’d gingerly removed it with two fingers and flung it to the floor, where it jittered on the high traffic carpet. Embarrassed as to where it had once been, she asked meekly if someone could turn it off, for its buzzing constantly reminded all, where it had resided. She was told not until it had been dusted for prints (good luck!).

The other thing that caught Bertram’s eye, was one of the promotional items for fan appreciation day. It was a foam football, six inches long by three inches round, toting the team’s colors. Nothing extraordinary about it, except that it too, had resided inside Miss Cranston. Once the authorities had arrived and it was deemed safe to release the victim, the canvas sack was the first thing removed. After cutting the bands of tape around her head and neck, the grey bag was lifted off her head. Much to everyone’s shock, more tape lay underneath, encompassing Rebecca’s head and cleaving her mouth wide. Scissors carefully cut the tape off at one cheek and it was pulled away (with it, more than a few strands of her honey colored hair). Miss Cranston’s mouth was still held agape, the team’s orange and black color scheme showing between her teeth. A medic had reached in and incredibly, pulled out the mass that was the football. No wonder she could hardly make a sound.

Mr. Seagram’s questioning went on for a few more minutes, with nothing further revealed. Joanna went over and quietly talked to Miss Cranston.

She said she’d been working late on the payroll and as far as she knew, was the only one in the building. She had gotten up to get a cup of coffee and when she’d returned, that’s when they’d jumped her.

“You say ’they’”. Joanna pressed gently. “Do you know how many?”

“It was two, maybe three.” Rebecca answered shakily. “I never got a look at their faces and they never said a word. They pushed me to the floor and jammed that whole football in my mouth. I thought my jaw was going to break! And that was before they wrapped the tape around my head. Once they put that sack over my eyes, I couldn’t see a thing. I couldn’t even fight back!”

Rebecca broke into sobs and Joanna decided now was not the time to press for more answers. After a few more questions to the crew first on the scene, she and Danielle walked back to the car.

“Weird,” Danielle said.

“Got that right.” Joanna agreed. “Did you see the way she was trussed up? They‘d seen the digital pictures from the CSI camera. “It goes way beyond document theft. Someone ENJOYED tying her up that way. Let’s check with the Sex Crimes unit when we get back.” Danielle agreed.

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As the two detectives strode to the car, two sets of eyes followed them. They liked what they saw. They noted that the slightly taller one, Frost, walked with the fluid grace of a dancer. The soft, lazy, Mississippi-like ringlets of her chestnut hair hardly bounced as she walked. Though she wore slacks, and a jacket over her sleeveless turtleneck, they could still see the trim of her 35C-26-34 physique.

August’s blonde hair was kept short, in a kind of Brigitte Nielson hairstyle. Not only was it easy maintenance, but it complimented her face nicely. Her 34C-25-35 dimensions balanced perfectly on her 5’7” frame. She didn’t move with the feline grace of her partner. Rather, more like the fluid, energized dance of a featherweight boxer. It was a stride that swayed her charms provocatively. Neither policewomen, however, had reached the rank of detective merely by their looks. The two observers knew that these two women were top flight crime solvers. They had to move with caution.

What Detectives August and Frost did not know yet, was one big piece of the puzzle had yet to be discovered. The team’s sale agreement wasn’t the only document mishandled. In a file drawer that had been made to appear untouched, a single folder had been photographed. That folder contained all the information on the current cheerleading squad for the Memphis Maulers. Not only girl’s who had made the team, but also the names and vital statistics for the women who had made the tryout semi-finals. In all, the file contained the names, descriptions, places of employment and addresses for sixty five of the most beautiful, mostly single and certainly audacious ladies in the area.


Part 3

The rest of the day, detectives Frost and August spent their time talking to the different departments at the precinct, looking for crimes with similar M.O.’s. When nothing turned up, they decided to check with their informants the next day. Neither of them held out much hope, for professional sports franchises were not the forte of their snitches. However, a story this big in the sports world, especially one in a market that was relatively small, was bound to be exposed.

The next day, when Seagram didn’t see the news of the break in splashed all over the front pages of the paper, he breathed a sigh of relief. Indeed, except for a small article telling of the robbery (which included a vague mention of a staff person being subdued) it appeared as though Seagram’s secret was safe.

“Maybe I can still figure some way out of this, after all.” He thought.

Later that same day, Morgan Firestone was getting ready to hook up with her dealer. She wasn’t an addict, she told herself, she just liked to toot a little coke now and then. You know, to have a good time. She’d been feeling depressed lately and a little of the white stuff was just the ticket.

In fact, “a little of the white stuff” is what had caused her depression in the first place. She’s been laid off from her job at the auto plant, with a promise to be brought back in a couple of months when business picked up. Morgan had thought that was fine, sort of a paid vacation. Then she’d seen an advertisement for cheerleader tryouts for the new football team.

“Perfect!” She thought. “I can get this gig for cheerleader and STILL collect unemployment.”

Standing in front of the mirror, having no doubt that she had the goods to make the squad. She was very proud of her naturally red hair, which she kept in loose curls that hung past her shoulders. At 24, her breasts were still ’perky’, a word she used rather than ‘smallish’, not yet affected by gravity. But she figured that enthusiasm could overshadow a 34-B bust at tryouts. From her bust, she tapered down nicely to a 25 inch waist, highlighted by a gold, four leaf clover, belly piercing.

Her hips flared to 35 inches, which included a rump that looked very nice by itself or packed into tight jeans. She was thankful that with her sunning this summer, her skin hadn’t broken out in a rash the freckles inherent of people with her skin type. She did have a spattering on her cheeks, as well as on her chest. But these only highlighted the paler skin that had been covered by a very brief swim top.

“Yup.” She thought to herself. “Can’t be that many girls with looks that can top mine.”

So, she was quite disconcerted when she arrived at the sports complex and saw at least two hundred women there, vying for a chance to be on the thirty person roster. But still extremely confident, she set about going through her paces. The judges’ responses were encouraging and she thought that she was a shoe in. Then came the urine test. She hadn’t expected that! Sure enough, the partying she’d done the previous night set off all sorts of alarms and she was told that she needn’t report back to the next day’s trials.

That had been two weeks ago. Since then, she’d seen the roster of the new Memphis Mauler’s Mavens posted in the paper. The listing had included pictures. Morgan was heartbroken when she saw that her looks could have out shown at least two thirds of the squad. She’d gone out on a heavy binge of clubbing after that. Not really having any close friends or family, she took solace in the wild atmosphere of the nightclubs.

That was where she had been last night. She enjoyed being the center of attention, even though that may have been partially because of the eight-ball she freely gave samples of. When she’d awoke in the morning, she had nothing but a hangover and an empty plastic bag to show for her ‘fun’. So she called her source and arranged to meet at a nearby blue collar tap room that served the early morning patrons.

When Morgan arrived, she was glad that she hadn’t drawn much attention from the 3 or 4 men sitting at the bar. She’d purposely dressed in loose fitting painter’s coveralls with a large t-shirt underneath. She’d tucked her hair up under a baseball cap and wore a pair of sunglasses. She couldn’t do much to disguise the smooth, attractive lines of her face, but it seemed the patrons were more preoccupied with their longnecks of ale than with practicing their come on lines. She slid into one of the booths in back. Derrick, her contact sat across from her.

“I got some good news and some bad news.” Derrick said, before Morgan could say a word.

“The bad news is, I’m fresh out of blow. Last night was a VERY profitable one.” Morgan’s heart sank. She really needed a pick-me-up.

“But,” Derrick continued. “You’re in luck. I met this couple last night and they have some really terrific merchandise. I offered to buy some, but they preferred to make deals for themselves. I can respect that.”

“Anyway,” He continued. “I told him about this very special client of mine, meaning you, who was feeling a little down on her luck. They agreed to meet with you. Their sitting in that booth over there.”

Morgan looked in the direction Derrick had indicated and saw a nondescript couple sitting there drinking coffee. She turned back to Derrick with a questioning look, uncertain about dealing with someone new.

“They’re OK.” Derrick assured her. “And their blow is top notch. I’ve tried some.”

Normally, Morgan would have balked at the change. But she really did feel lousy and wasn’t looking forward to a day of coffee and orange juice recuperation. She muttered her thanks to Derrick, who finished his soft drink and told her to have fun. He left the booth and walked out, unconsciously patting the five hundred dollars in his pocket.

Why the couple wanted to have Morgan as a customer was beyond him. Frankly, she was a pain in his ass, calling him at all hours of the day. He could have turned them on to a dozen bigger customers easily (for a slice of the profits). But they had told him that they wanted to start out slow. Hell, they probably wanted to use Morgan as some sort of ‘spokesperson’. It didn’t matter to him. He was already thinking about the Gibson guitar he was going to buy.

Morgan slid cautiously into the booth across from the couple. The man had dark hair and a beard, his bulk could best be described as ‘average’. The same went for the woman, whose dirty blond hair was parted down the middle and hung to her shoulders. Both were dressed in casual clothes which were slightly more pricey than that of the other patrons, but not excessively so.

“I’m Stanley and this is my wife Irene.” The man said for introductions. He could tell Morgan was a little cautious, so he continued with his explanation.

“We just relocated from Pennsylvania and we’re looking to set up a little business down here. When Derrick told us what an excellent customer you were, we asked to meet you.”

“I don’t deal,” Morgan said defensively. “I’m just a casual user.”

“No, no it’s nothing like that.” Stanley hurried to assure her. “We just thought that someone as fun loving and attractive as you, might be able to steer some prospective customers our way.”

Morgan thought about that for a minute. She did know quite a few people from the clubs. Not very well, but she knew they liked to party. When Stanley mentioned her fee, Morgan became more interested.

“I’d have to sample some of the product.” She said. It seemed like the thing to say, plus she really wanted to erase the fuzz in her head.

“Of course.” Stanley said. “But not here. Too many prying eyes. Our truck is parked out back.”

So they rose together and slipped out the rear exit. If asked later, no one would have remembered seeing them. Stanley’s truck was a fairly new F-150, with plenty of room for the three of them to sit. After a cautious look around, Irene opened the glove box and withdrew a large zip lock bag. Morgan’s eyes grew wide. She’d never seen so much coke at one time. Her mouth started to water in anticipation.

Irene dumped a liberal amount onto a compact mirror and proceeded to chop up the larger chunks. She formed a rather generous line and offered it to Morgan. The girl took the straw and smoothly inhaled the offered product. Instantly, her brain tingled with the familiar surge. Then her body seemed to sparkle all over.

“WOW!” She gasped. “This is really good!”

She closed her eyes, relishing the sensation. Oddly, the euphoria continued to build. This was the most intense high she’d ever experienced. Suddenly, she started to get worried. “Maybe she was going to have a heart attack’ she thought. She turned to Stanley, who had a strange smirk on his face.

“Whuh…” Morgan tried to ask what was happening.

She tried to reach for the truck door, but her arms wouldn’t move. She tried again to tell the couple that something was wrong, but no words came out. The edges of her vision started to blur and she struggled to keep her eyes open. She felt the seatbelt fasten across her legs, trapping her hands in her lap.

“That’s right, slave” Irene growled into her ear. “Your days of partying are over. From now on, YOU’RE going to be the party.”

Morgan was still trying to figure out what the woman meant when she blacked out.


Part 4

Morgan didn’t ‘come to’ in the sense of the word. More like she slowly became more sentient. She noticed the small things first. She seemed to have a mouthful of something that refused to be swallowed. She felt chilly, but couldn’t draw the blanket to cover her. The walls of her vagina tickled, but she couldn’t scratch.

When her eyes finally did struggle open, she thought perhaps that she was still blind. All she could see was a field of grey. Very slowly, that field formed lines that gave it character. The first, was the outline of a door, she thought, but it had no handle. The softer, secondary lines focused into a cinderblock wall. She reached out to steady herself against the wall and that’s when things rapidly became more focused.

She was in a small, monochrome room. The flat grey concrete floor matched the walls of cinderblock. The ceiling was of the same neutral color, the acoustical tiles broken only by a recessed light bulb. A closer look unveiled that the wall wasn’t complete devoid of features. A plethora of steel rings were anchored randomly about. She couldn’t see behind her, but imagined more of the same. Finished her examination of the room, she took inventory of herself.

“I can’t move my arms!” She thought wildly. The same went for her legs. And it got worse from there.

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“Hmngh?” She asked out loud. There wasn’t much ’loud’ to it.

She pulled on her arms, but they remained up and out to her sides. She realized that her legs were bent in a crouch, but when she tried to stand, they refused her command. That’s when she noticed the ache in her jaw. With surprise, she felt that that wasn’t all.

Her tongue seemed to be displaced, squashed down on the floor of her mouth. She wriggled it and it pressed against something slick and bumpy. She tried to shimmy the taste budded tissue backward, but the obstruction seemed to have no end. Something nagged at the back of her mind while she continued her limited exploration of her mouth. Then she had it!

“It’s some kind of plastic cock!” She thought, becoming slightly queasy.

But nothing like she’d ever seen (or felt) before. It was huge in her mouth. The muscles in her jaw sang with the tension of being held so wide. She tried to bite down on it and it did give slightly, only to expand when she could clamp no longer. She then became aware of a squeezing, almost smothering sensation around her face and head. Something was mashing her lips against her teeth and pressing painfully into the base of her skull. Her skin felt hot and sweaty underneath it.

Once again she tried to stand, this time with more urgency. She began to rise and the tickling sensation in her sex became more animated. Then there was a broadening ache in her rectum. She immediately resumed the exaggerated squat, reducing the stretching blaze on her anus, but her insides still felt bloated. She looked down and saw bands of leather encircling her thighs and ankles. A three link chain connected the bands, insuring her squatted stance. A thin steel chain had been fed behind the folds of her knees. The chain from each leg went straight out to the sides, splaying her knees wide. Morgan was acutely aware at how exposed her sex now was.

She did not have to look, but felt compelled to check on the state of her pussy. Leaning forward, she knew it was not good. Bolted to the floor was a chrome shaft, 2“ round. The shaft rose, quickly transforming into a spiky pink abomination. She could only see a few inches of its surface, for the remainder disappeared between the gaping lips of her sex. Morgan rose the few millimeters the thigh to ankle chain allowed, before the strange pain in her rear entrance sprouted again. It was enough. She saw the pink surface with its spindly appendages ooze out of her sex. The little ‘feelers’ glistened with her own natural lubricant. Judging by her sense of fullness, she was nowhere near seeing the tip of the monstrosity. It felt as though it was almost pressing against her cervix.

There was no way to miss another revelation as she peered down at her impaled vagina. Her beautiful patch of crimson pubic hair was GONE! The recently exposed skin tingled from the cool air and memory of the recent shaving.

Morgan groaned and tugged on her splayed arms. They didn’t move much and she looked to see why. She observed that each wrist had been cuffed with a leather band. Each cuff was secured with a padlock. She could tell by the firm grip, that there was no way of making her hand small enough to slip through the opening. A chain from each wrist ran to its corresponding wall at an upward angle. That was the reason she hadn’t toppled over in her slumber. That and the rigid probe holding her up like some freakish stand for a Barbie doll.

Morgan swallowed the saliva built up behind the massive packing and padding of the gag and felt a restriction on her neck. Something held her throat tightly, though not quite enough to hinder her breathing. She wriggled her toes on the cold concrete floor as best she could, being that they and the balls of her feet were supporting all of her weight. The panic rising, she lunged at her restraints. Other than some feeble rocking, she was stuck. She did discover that she should avoid rocking her torso too much. Her body would move, the impaling pole did not.

She let her head drop down in a fit of exhaustion and defeat. She had no other choice but to endure her predicament until someone came for her. It turned out to be a long wait.

An hour later (it felt more like ten), she was snapped out of her disorientated state by the sound of an electronic *CLACK*. She lifted her head and tried with only partial success to shake the hair out of her face. A lone stranger walked in and Morgan immediately tried to voice her distress.

“Gmmnph, Hmmnnuhh, NNNNNNGHH!” Her screams came out like a summer breeze.

“Ah, you’re awake 917. Good!” She stranger said.

“917?” Morgan puzzled. “What the hell does that mean. Just let me go, you dumb fuck!” Her bulging cheeks grew flush as she blurted her rebuke.

She looked up at the man, she had to, squatting as she was. He was well dressed in dark slacks and a sports jacket. He wore a white turtleneck underneath. Looking down, she noted that his shoes were expensive and polished like mirrors. She slowly gazed up at his face, clearly apparent that he wasn’t here to rescue her. There was something familiar about his eyes. Then she had it.

“Umh-ngh?” The word ‘Stanley’ hadn’t come out at all clear, but the man seemed to understand nonetheless.

“Sorry my dear.” He chuckled. “But I’m afraid that ‘Stanley’ is just a figment of our imagination. He will, of course, be the focus of any police investigation, unlikely as that may be.”

“We’ve arranged that you won’t be able to straighten during this part of your indoctrination,” He continued. “No doubt you’ve all ready found that out. Besides, I would strongly advise you against attempting to do so. Perhaps you’ve already felt the strain on your anus? That’s due to a bladder in your rectum inflated to roughly the size of an apple. The balloon is in turn, chained to a ring in the floor behind you.”

Morgan stared, repulsed by this new information. It certainly explained why she felt the urgent need to relieve herself. But there was NO WAY she was going to try and push something that large out. Her attention snapped back to the man when he held up some sort of headphone and goggle arrangement.

“This will start the first stage of your training.” He said. “Besides of course, your familiarization with restraints. I suggest that you try and keep an open mind.”

“SCREW open mind.” Morgan huffed. “Get me the HELL out of this!”

The stranger’s face frowned. “It appears that you need a little motivation to be more receptive.”

He knelt down in front of her and reached into his pocket. He withdrew a silver chain. It appeared to be rather heavy. Morgan did not notice at first, what was attached at the ends. The man reached out and grasped her right nipple with thumb and forefinger. He pulled the tender bud out and moved the chain closer. That’s when Morgan saw the spread jaws of the clamp. She whined, his intent now clear, but he snapped it in place without pause.

Sparks flew from her tit when the jaws closed. Morgan threw her head back and howled, and howled again as the other clamp latched on to her left nipple. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she gazed wetly at her tormentor. In addition to the steely bite, she could feel the added tug of the connecting chain.

“Oh god!” She thought. “These have to come off right now!”

But on they stayed. The stranger grasped her padded leather gag strap and peered into her watering eyes.

“The sooner you learn to accept your new role, the quicker we can stop your punishments.” He growled.

Then he added in an almost soothing voice. “Pay close attention to what you are about to see. Call it a ‘training video’ if you will. Trust me, you will be tested on what you have learned.”

Morgan squealed as he fitted the bulky, goggle-like apparatus over her head. Her world went dark. Next, it went virtually silent, when he positioned the headphones. All she could hear was her raspy breath and the thrum of her heartbeat. She jerked involuntarily when he gave her left breast a squeeze and then there was no more clue if he was there or not. She knelt there, mind spinning, when suddenly all was flooded with light.


Part 5

Morgan screwed her eyes shut against the bright light. It seemed to pervade her eyelids, making night, day. She screamed in pain against the rubber cock in her mouth. Still the light did not abate. Then she heard the voice for the first time.

“Subject’s eyes closed during presentation.” A female, yet obviously electronic voice echoed inside her head. “First digression. Punishment…Level One.”

Morgan hadn’t even time to ponder what had been said, when a jolt of electricity burst from her pussy. She screeched and tried to stand up, forgetting her situation. The balloon up her backside reminded her quickly. She shuddered, shaking her straight arms in small circles, causing the nipple chain to jostle and tug rudely. Somehow, the probe buried inside her pussy had just given her a shock!

“Subject eyes will remain open for this demonstration. Attempts to terminate viewing will be punished.” The voice said flatly, without emotion. “Viewing time is approximately four hours.”

“FOUR HOURS!” Morgan thought. “I can’t stay like this for that long. I CAN’T!” She howled into the gag.

The voice didn’t say anything for a few long moments, then spoke again. “Subject’s eyes closed during presentation. Second digression. Punishment… Level Two.”

Morgan forced her eyes open, but too late to stop the second shock, this one definitely more intense than the first. She screamed again but somehow managed to keep her lids parted. What she couldn’t do, was keep her lower torso still. She bucked to the limit of the static pole inside her, pressing the feelers into sensitive tissue that still seemed to crackle with current. She groaned at the paradox of it all. She could hardly move at all, and what she could, only increased her discomfort.

Through blurred vision, she watched as the field of white slowly transformed into a shape. A three dimensional shape. Besides the figure, there was little else in the form of background. Just a zone of grey that seemed to have no edges. The image became crisper, to the point where Megan thought if she were able, she might reach out and touch it. Then a coldness formed in her gut.

The image was that of a woman, one with red hair. She was squatting in the middle of the grey nothingness, arms held out to the sides. Morgan knew that it was none other than herself. The camera (or whatever it was) zoomed in to focus on her face. She could see very little of it, due to the wide black band over leather covering the lower half and the goggles the upper. Only half conscious of it, Megan slowly shook her head and the image mimicked the motion exactly.

The picture swept down past her heaving chest. Her firm breasts were held slightly apart by the stretch of her arms. Her nipples were bent cruelly toward the floor by the weight of the clamps and chain. The picture did not pause but proceeded downward, stopping at her violated sex. The horrid prod looked like a strange, pink rocket ascending into the cloudy folds of her vulva. The newly denuded skin above was still rosy from the epilating.

The image backed away and showed her whole body. Her legs were splayed wide, forming a straight line. There was no way to hide how she was being violated. Then the camera moved smoothly around behind her. She could see the short chain running from a ring in the floor up to, then disappearing between her ass cheeks. It then passed over her shoulder and settled once again in front, capturing her entire image. It was as if Morgan had stepped outside her body and was looking at it from across the room. She started when a male voice broke the quiet.

“This is your life now.” She immediately recognized it as ‘Stanley’s’ voice. “We have placed you in a position of OUR choosing. Choice, is now a luxury you no longer posses. Your only purpose is to do our bidding.”

Morgan didn’t know what to think. And before she could mull it over further, the voice spoke inside her head again.

“These are the rules by which your life will revolve. Learn them. They are your life now.”

1. Obey any and all commands immediately.
2. Never speak unless ordered to do so.
3. Violation of Rules One and Two will not be permitted and will be punished immediately.

“While committing the Rules to heart, you will be shown various tasks that you will be expected to perform. Do them well and you will be rewarded. Unsatisfactory performance will not be tolerated.”

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Morgan watched herself disintegrate, replaced by a different scene. A woman kneeled naked in front of an equally naked man. Her hands were handcuffed behind her, but that was all. The man was reclined in a chair, the woman between his legs. Morgan could immediately tell that the man was receiving a very energetic blow job. From there, the images got decidedly worse.

Morgan snuffled away some of the tears that irritated her sinuses. The action initiated an acute tickle in her nasal passage. She tried to snort the annoying irritation, but it only grew more pronounced. Then, an involuntary reaction took place. She felt it coming on, but could do nothing to stop it. The sneeze was tremendous and it had undesirable side effects. The muscles of her pussy clamped down on the rubbery spiked shaft and the nipple chain danced a jig. And, her eyes reflexively closed.

“Subject’s eyes closed during presentation. Third digression. Punishment…Level Three.”

Morgan screamed even before the shock began.

Joanna and Danielle walked into the precinct the next day. As they entered the Detective’s department, they heard one of the male cops say, “Look, here comes Frost ’n August.” They just ignored the pun they’d been tagged with since first being paired together.

They sat down at their desks and went over their messages. A day out on the streets had turned up nothing. It was one of the oddest cases either of them had worked on. It made no sense, stealing a copy of the agreement. The first person to bring it to light, would be implicating himself in the crime. This case was going nowhere fast, unless they did something to shake it up.

“What say you an I grab a bite to eat later tonight,” Joanna suggested. “Then we’ll swing by Rebecca Cranston’s apartment and see if she’s remembered anything more.”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Danielle replied.

Derrick sipped his beer and enjoyed the taste. He strummed the cords on his new axe absently. Not knowing why, he wondered how Morgan had made out.

“Maybe I should give her a call.” He thought. “Nah, she’s probably partying hardy with her new friends. Maybe now I can get a decent nights sleep without her calling to cop a fix.”

And that was the last thought he gave of her.


Part 6

Twenty six year old Tricia Koulikofsky was in a bad mood, but doing her best to break out of it. Only three weeks in Memphis, she was chasing her dream of being a Country singer. She had all the tools to accomplish her dream. Although only 4’11”, she was never without shoes with heels at least three inches tall. She kept her blonde hair bleached nearly platinum and cut straight (which was the current fashion), but could easily curl it into a ‘Faith Hill’ kind of doo. And she had the pipes. She could switch from a Slim Whitman yodel to a Johnny Cash ballad effortlessly. All she really needed now was a break, an agent and a surname other than Koulikofsky.

Plus, she wasn’t hard on the eyes. Measuring 34C-25-32, it wasn’t usually her height that turned men’s heads. She’d been happy to let her appearance open some doors for her in order to be discovered as the next great talent. Soon after arriving, Tricia had won herself a spot on the list of live acts at a local watering hole. It wasn’t much of a place (a dive actually), but it was a start.

When she’d seen the advertisement for open auditions for the new football team‘s cheerleading squad, she pounced on it. This was the kind of exposure that would get her noticed. She’d shown up wearing a glittering silver halter top, her tightest short-shorts and high-heeled cowboy boots. She’d been told up front about the minimum height requirements, but doggedly filled out the questionnaire anyway. To many of her competitors chagrin, she actually made the first cut.

But it was not to be, however, thus her slightly depressed mood today. The letter thanking her for participating in the tryouts had come, but telling her all of the spots had been filled. The letter did include two tickets to the opening pre-season game.

“Great.” She’d said out loud. “I don’t even know anybody to share the other ticket with.”

But ever the optimist and never knowing if tonight was going to be the one that would get her ‘discovered’, she got ready for her gig at the Mo-Zee Inn. After a shower and drying her hair, she slid into her lucky leotard. The crème colored garment had spaghetti straps and a thong bottom. The ‘U’ shaped neckline showed off just enough to keep the patrons attention, without having them jump up on stage. Her faded Levi’s had enough holes and tears in them, to make one think they might rip clean off with one good sneeze. She clasped on the authentic silver belt buckle with turquoise inlays, and slipped into her doeskin jacket, complete with fringe. She tucked her jeans into her four inch heeled cowboy boots and was ready to go. Just as she was reaching for her cowboy hat and guitar when there was a knock at the door.

“Who could that be?” She wondered. The neighbors in her small apartment unit hadn’t said so much as “Boo” to her since she’d been here. Apparently they didn’t trust ‘New Folk’. Even attractive ones.

Tricia opened the door two find a couple of uniformed men. They had with them a large box advertising a popular brand of dishwasher.

“Uh, can I help you?” Tricia asked.

The man in front looked momentarily lost, as he stared gaping at the lovely girl in the hot outfit. His partner jabbed him in the ribs with a clipboard. That seemed to break him out of his trance and he started to speak.

“I, yeah um, Miz Kowlu…um”. He stammered.

“Koulikofsky.” Tricia offered with a warm smile. “He’s kind of cute.” She thought. “The other guy though, looks like a 90 lb weakling.”

“Yes ma’am.” He said, glad that he didn’t have to try and pronounce her name. “Where from Empire Appliances. We have a work order here to install this dishwasher.”

“Really?” Tricia said puzzled. She’d asked the superintendent several times about the leaky toilet and the drippy kitchen sink and all she’d gotten in response was a noncommittal “Humph!” Now all of a sudden, he was springing for a new dishwasher? Will miracles never cease. She stepped to one side and allowed the men to wheel their cargo inside.

“This should only take about half an hour.” The deliveryman said. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting around, you can sign the paperwork when we’re done.”

Tricia still had ninety minutes before she was due on stage, so she agreed to wait. This way she could check out the cute guy’s butt while they worked. The second man eased the dolly with the box down in the middle of the living room. Tricia figured that they had to remove the old one first. She watched as the man cut open the cardboard box. As he was doing that, the cute guy held out a clipboard. Tricia glanced absently at his hand holding the pen, not noticing the man’s neatly manicured fingernails.

“If you wouldn’t mind signing some of the preliminary paperwork, it’ll make things that much quicker.” He explained.

The singer did so and by the time she looked up, the dishwasher was out of its box. And something didn’t add up. The machine looked ancient. There were dents and food stains on the front panel and hoses trailing out the back. Tricia’s first instinct was that the superintendent was getting ripped off.

“What are you guyzzOWW!” Her question turned to a yelp when the hunk took a half step behind her and yanked on a handful of her hair. Something broad and black swung into view and collided with her teeth. The pull on her hair intensified.

“NNOOMmmmfffr!” Her cried died as some kind of hard rubber wedged between her white capped bicuspids. It reminded her of the mouth protector she’d worn while playing field hockey. She stiffened in terror as she saw a needle-like object rise up to her face. She knew that she was going to be stabbed with an ice pick.

But miraculously, the lethal object drove into the obstruction in her mouth. Tricia let out a nasal sigh of relief, figuring she had just avoided a violent demise. Then things went from bad to worse, as two things happened simultaneously. There was an odd ‘ffffft’ sound and something inside her mouth rapidly expanded. Almost before her brain could process the information, Tricia’s jaws were pried apart and her tongue was flattened by what felt like a slippery, rubber bag of cement.

“hhnnnghhhf!” She gurgled in shock.

The cute guy yanked out the ice pick (it dawned on Tricia that it had been some kind of inflation device) and let go of her hair, taking a step back. The other man made no motion to intervene. Tricia’s hands immediately went up to try and pull out the choking obstruction. Her hands brushed against some kind of leather flap. She yanked on it hard and winced with pain. The flap certainly was attached to the thing stuffing her mouth, but she was fighting against the laws of physics. That law being, the mass inside her mouth was much too large to pass between the relatively small space between her teeth. Realizing that the mouth stuffing was there to stay for the time being, Tricia looked around desperately for a place to run.

The two men gave her just enough room to bolt to her right, which she did. For a moment, she thought she had a clear shot to the front door. Surely if one of her neighbors saw the state she was in, they’d be compelled to render some aid. But that hypothesis never panned out, for she’d only taken two steps when an arm encircled her waist.

The cute guy picked her 92 lb frame up as easily as if she’d been made of cardboard. He threw her on to the sofa. In a flash, she was back on her feet facing her assailants. Already, she was panting hard from the reduced amount of oxygen she could draw in through her nose. She held her hands up, hoping to inflict an injury that would allow her to pass.

One of them feinted to her right and she turned to face him. That gave the other man an opening. He lunged at her and Tricia stepped back, forgetting all about the sofa. She tripped over it and fell into the cushions. Instantly, they were on her. She tried to kick and claw at them, screaming for all the good it was doing past the gag.

The cute one wrapped his arms around her torso, trapping her arms in the process. The other grabbed her legs with one arm and yanked a piece of clothesline out of his pocket. In spite of her furious struggles, it proved ridiculously easy to cross her ankles and lash her cowboy booted feet together. Tricia didn’t know it yet, but her fight was lost.

“Hmmmmnnnhh!” She screamed again, begging to be released. Whatever it was filling her mouth was really starting to HURT!

Either misinterpreting or just not caring what her muted whines meant, the men just readjusted her position so that she was leaning over the back of the sofa. She tried to look over her shoulder to see what they were doing. Failing that, she looked forward and happened to catch her reflection in the mirror. Her first impression was that there was a vampire bat stuck on her face. She couldn’t see her lips or mouth, they were hidden behind a wide strap of leather. The belt dangled from the front of her face, ending on one side with three buckles, the other with three small straps. Her eyes above the straps perfectly mirrored the panic she was feeling.

Leaning over the back of the sofa, with her ankles crossed and tied provided little opportunity for her to lash back at her assailants. One of them grabbed the collar of her jacket and wrenched it off. As her hands slipped free of the sleeves, they were ready and grabbed her arms before they could start flailing. She sucked in her breath as she felt some scratchy cord tighten around her right wrist. That arm was wrestled up until it was pinned between her shoulder blades. Her left hand soon followed and the two were lashed together. When they released their grip, Tricia was startled to discover that her hands remained high up her back.

“Nnnnnghhhh!” Her cry was purely one of duress this time.

One of them (She couldn’t tell which, their heads were cut off in the mirror) held on to her wrists and a handful of her hair for good measure. The other guy wasn’t by any means taking a smoke break. The singer could do nothing as she felt his hand slither around and release her belt buckle. He didn’t bother with the buttons down her fly. Instead, he grasped the back of her jeans and pulled. It turns out that it would have taken more than a sneeze to destroy them, but not much. Tricia groaned as the denim ripped. Two more yanks and they were a pile on the floor. She was VERY aware at how her leotard had ridden up to the point of disappearing in her crack.

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It turned out not to be a problem, when she felt the cool blade of a knife slide against her spine. A flick of the wrist later and the stretchy material sprang up to bunch around the middle of her waist. Not finished with the alterations, the knife made two more passes, eradicating the shoulder straps. Somehow, the material managed to cling to her breasts.

“This is it.” Tricia thought with dread. “Their going to have their way with me.”

Fresh tears of frustration and remorse trickled down her cheeks as she tried to prepare herself for the inevitable attack. But the rape never came. There was, however, more rope. She felt a length wrap around her already pinioned hands. The coarse hemp scratched under an armpit, traveled up behind her neck, then dove below the other armpit, back to her crossed wrists. To her dismay, tension was taken on the cord and her hands rose even higher between her shoulder blades. She couldn’t have gotten loose, even with a knife in both hands.

The two men finally flipped her over so that she was seated on the sofa. That maneuver proved too much for the tenuous grip the leotard had on her breasts. The material slipped off, bunching around her waist. Tricia stared at them wide-eyed, unconsciously trying to close her legs held open by the crossed ankle bonds. She could only sit there, still reeling from the shock of the attack as well a the incredibly tight bindings, and watch as they continued their work.

The milk toast (Boy, had THAT been a wrong first impression) grabbed her hair and pulled her head forward. The cute guy moved behind her and when his partner had all of Tricia’s hair out of the way, buckled the three straps of the gag. The petite woman hadn’t thought the gag could have gotten any tighter, but she was wrong.

They picked her up and carried her with ease. Tricia tried to kick and wriggle out of their grip, but it was futile. Plus she didn’t relish the thought of dropping to the floor, trussed as she was. They ended their short trip standing next to the beat up dishwasher.

“Now what?” The singer wondered.

One of them opened the lid on top and Tricia couldn’t resist a look inside. She was dumbfounded at what she saw. There were no racks or sprayers inside the box. Instead, the walls were lined with the bars of a cage. Bright pink, solid core insulation lined all four sides, just outside the bars. Tricia doubled her efforts, deducing what was to happen next. But it did her no good as they maneuvered her legs inside and she found herself standing awkwardly in the box.

“Now,” The smaller of the two said. “We can do this the easy way or the hard. Your choice.”

Well, Tricia knew one thing, she wasn’t going to help these bastards abduct her. She grunted a reply that was anything but cooperative.

“Have it your way.” The man said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain wooden clothes pin. Tricia was still wondering what possible motivation that would do, when the man clipped it on to her nose. She certainly didn’t appreciate the affect.

“NNNnnnnh!” She screamed, using up the precious little oxygen reserve she had left.

“The sooner you squat down in there,” The cute guy said calmly. “The sooner you can breath again.

Tricia certainly didn’t want to wriggle down in the close confines of the box, but she wanted to suffocate even less. She awkwardly lowered herself into the cage. Her back scraped against the tight confines as the fought to move her legs to allow more space. By the time her rear touched the barred floor, her head was pounding.

“Very good.” He said, removing the pin. Tricia sucked in a delicious breath of fresh air.

Then she noted the state she’d placed herself in. Though she’d been able to wriggle inside the box on her own, there was no way to squirm back out. Her body was twice folded up. She was bent at the waist, her chest pressing against her thighs and her legs were doubled, calves squeezing against the backs of her upper legs. She peered up at them realizing that her head was still poking out of the top of the dishwasher’s façade. There didn’t appear to be any more room for it inside. Wrong.

The cute one grasped her hair and wrenched her head back. He began twisting something into the front of the wide gag strap covering her lower face. When finished, his partner showed Tricia what he had in his hand. It was a large chrome hook. The singer had never seen anything like it before. No doubt, especially one whose longer side ended with a tip that resembled the head of a penis. The shorter end had a small ring at its tip. From the ring, dangled a cord.

Tricia was still in the throes of disbelief of their intent, when the man applied some KY jelly to the head and advanced the hook down into the box. She tried butting her head against the invading arm but it did no good. She felt the cold tip at her entrance and clenched. Again, it did no good, as the lubricant and brute force made insertion relatively easy. Tricia’s stomach churned as the steel shaft slid inside her.

When the man’s hand retracted, he held the cord. This he threaded through whatever it was that had been screwed into her gag. Then the cord went down between her legs once more. Tricia could feel the shaft shifting inside her as the man completed his task. When the man’s hand reappeared once again, it held on to the ends of the cord. He began pulling on the line.

Immediately, Tricia felt a tugging on the mass inside her mouth. The force was drawing her head forward and down into the box. Instinctively, she fought against the strain. As a result, she felt the shaft burrow deeper inside her. She realized that her head and crotch were lewdly connected by the cord. The other man helped his partner by pressing down on the back of their captive’s head. It was an irresistible force.

Lower and lower Tricia’s head went. She had to part her knees as much as the walls of the steel cage would allow. Finally, when her knees were pressing against her ears, the cord was tied off. The lid of the dishwasher was closed, cutting off the feeble cries of its occupant. The men tidied up the room, then placed the hand truck under their cargo.

Anyone looking would have seen a couple of workmen leaving a job, with the old unit they had replaced and the cardboard packaging from a new dishwasher in tow. The hand truck bumped down the steps, where the two men hoisted it into the back of their delivery truck. Nothing at all unusual. As the truck drove off, it was forgotten almost before it got out of sight.

Two hours later, the manager looked at his watch. Tricia Koulikofsky was a no-show. He’d called her apartment once and got no answer. He shrugged his shoulders and told the next act to get ready for their set.

“Show biz people are so unreliable.” He thought to himself.


Part 7

Joanna arrived at Danielle’s apartment at seven fifteen. On the way up, she’d come across three thugs in the stairwell who had nothing better to do than cause trouble. When they’d seen the shapely blonde approaching, it’d looked as though their entertainment for the evening had arrived. One of them blocked her passage.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s your hurry?” He’d said menacingly.

“Let me pass, dirt bag.” the detective said in a sugar and cream voice.

The guy, pissed by the rebuke, grabbed her shoulder. Next thing he knew, he was taking an unscheduled flight down the steps. His friends, stunned for a moment, launched into action. Any fun to be had with this broad was forgotten. They wanted payback. Less than a minute later, both were slumped in a corner, moaning in pain.

“Danielle’s such a sweet kid.” Joanna thought to herself. “I don’t know why she doesn’t move to a nicer area.”

She arrived at the door and knocked. Danielle called for her to come in. August entered and saw her partner sitting on the couch.

“You’re late.” Frost said with an atypical firmness in her voice.

“Uh, yeah.” Joanna said, sounding completely unlike the woman in the stairwell a short while ago. “There was, uh, a lot of traffic.”

“I told you to be here at seven o’clock.” Danielle responded, making no effort to rise from the couch.

Instead, she loosened the sash on the short silk kimono she wore. She opened the robe, revealing that she wore not a stitch of clothing underneath. She spread her legs, exposing her meticulously trimmed pubic hair. Danielle licked her lips, causing them to glisten like the ones already shining with anticipation between her legs.

“You call that an apology?” Danielle said in a husky voice. “Come here and show your Mistress how truly sorry you are.”

Without further prompting, Joanna dropped to her knees and started to ’walk’ that way toward her partner. She kept her head bowed, staring at the carpet. When she got there, she immediately plunged her face into Danielle’s crotch. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the heavenly tang of her lover. Danielle moaned softly at the wet caresses.

“Do a good job, my pet.” She purred. “For this is the only thing you’ll be eating tonight.”

Joanna couldn’t suppress the grin as she happily set about her work. She was glad that she had sat in her car for twenty minutes. She’d been rewarded with exactly the ’punishment’ she’d been hoping for.

There’d been rumors and suspicions about the two detectives and their preferences, around the precinct. Besides the constant daydream by the male detectives of riding one of these beauties in bed, almost as equally arousing, was the thought of a little ’girl on girl’ action. But trained observers of a person’s body language, they’d detected no clues. The women hadn’t appeared openly close. There wasn’t any casual touching or talking in whispered voices that might indicate anything more intimate than a professional partnership. So the other officers had just assumed their pairing was one due to available manpower. They satisfied themselves with their fantasies, never knowing how true some of them were.

After a long, hot shower together, which had included more energetic love making, the detectives dressed and drove out to Rebecca Cranston’s apartment. Although they’d called ahead, they noted that the door was still chained when she’d opened it a crack and asked for identification. Given the circumstances, it wasn’t an unusual precaution.

Rebecca let them inside and offered them coffee, which they refused. They made themselves comfortable in the small living room. Miss Cranston had changed into a pair of pajamas, but still absently clutched the robe she wore tightly to her chest.

“I’m glad you called.” She told the detectives. “If only just to look around the apartment before you go. I want to make sure that I’ve taken all the precautions I could.”

The officers agreed to do so and asked if there was anything else she’d remembered from the attack. Rebecca sat there in silence for a few moments. Both Joanna and Danielle noted what an attractive woman she was, even without make-up. Neither though, would dare give any indication of attraction.

“There was one thing I remember.” Rebecca said. “It was kind of odd. One of them said something like, ’Having their cake and eating it too’. I remember because the voice sounded so strange. It was deep, but almost feminine. Like a man trying to sound like a woman or just the opposite.”

“That is odd.” Danielle remarked.

“And that’s the only thing else you remember?” Joanna asked.

Rebecca nodded. They talked a bit more about nothing in particular. Then the two detective’s went about checking the windows and doors. After assuring her that all was secure, the two officers left.

Rebecca bolted the door, breathing a sigh of relief. She headed for the shower. She quickly disrobed and hopped into the steaming cascade. The hot water felt good on muscles that still ached from her long confinement the previous night. As she rubbed the soapy sponge over her body, she jumped every so often, as the sponge contacted an area irritated by the cord that had been used. Particularly sensitive were the areas beneath her breasts and between her legs.

The abraded areas of skin pulsed with an increased sharpness to her touch. Though she was thorough in lathering her whole body, her hands seemed to wonder back to those particular spots. She traced a finger under the curve of her breast and worked the sponge more energetically between her legs. The next thing she knew, she was leaning in a corner of the stall, recovering from a powerful orgasm. Chiding herself, she adjusted the water to cold.

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After scrubbing herself three times, she finally felt almost normal. She shut off the water and stepped out of the shower stall. She reached for the big fluffy towel and her hand stopped short.

“That’s funny.” She thought. “I could have sworn I left it right here on the vanity.”

She was about to look on the toilet seat, when something swooped down and enveloped her head. It was her missing bath towel. And someone was gripping it from behind, twisting it tightly so that it squeezed her head and face like and octopus.

“Nuughh!” Rebecca’s scream was swallowed up by the thick linen.

Her assailant kept a firm grip on the towel near the base of her skull and used it to steer the blinded woman out into the hallway. He forced the dripping wet secretary down the hall and into her bedroom. Their short journey ended at the bed.

The attacker shoved Rebecca on to the bed, face down. Although she struggled wildly, it was a fairly simple matter pinning her to the bed by straddling her waist with his knees. Keeping the towel tightly bunched up in one hand, he used the other to pull a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

He caught her flailing right wrist and ratcheted the metal manacle snugly around it. Then he wrestled the ensnared hand up behind her head. Gripping the handcuff chain with his right hand, he used the same hand to drive her face into the mattress. His now free left hand, easily grabbed her left wrist and guided it toward the cuffs. *Click* Rebecca still thrashed her legs and screamed into the mattress, but she knew in her heart that it was over.

The stranger worked her torso across the bed, so that her body was lined up foot to head. He spun quickly and replanted his weight on her back. Reaching down, he pulled the end of a longer steel manacle he’d positioned while she was in the shower and locked it to her right ankle. The other end was already anchored to the post at the bottom of the bed. This left Rebecca with only one free ankle, with which she tried hard to inflict any damage she could.

The man spun once more and poised himself behind her head. He unfurled the twist in the towel, then grabbed a handful of her damp hair, all the while keeping her face pressed down. When his other hand was ready, he yanked her head back sharply.

“WHU-OWMmmmnnh!” Rebecca cried out, before the large rubber ball seated itself inside her mouth.

The attacker knew that there was no way she would be able to spit out the ball once it was lodged behind her teeth, so he didn’t bother with the strap for the moment. Holding on to her shackled wrists, he flipped her on to her back. He manhandled her wrists up over her head, where another prearranged cuff lie waiting. Snapping the manacle closed, Rebecca could no longer lower her arms.

More leisurely now, the man slid down her remaining free leg and attached the final cuff. Miss Cranston’s legs were held very wide to the base of the bed. Rebecca’s face was inadvertently blinded by her wet tresses, a situation that became more permanent when the stranger buckled on the padded blindfold. The gag strap was buckled quite tightly moments later.

Rebecca still writhed on the bed and howled at the top of her lungs. Neither effort raised much of a ruckus beyond the walls of the bedroom. When she could take the bite of the shackles no more, she lay quiet, breathing raggedly through her nose, her bare chest heaving.

She heard some soft sounds that could only mean one thing. Sure enough, she felt the bed shift and then her assailants bare skin brushed against hers. Rebecca whined and renewed her struggles, knowing it was fruitless. She could feel his heat between her legs. And then it happened.

The attacker thrust into her. Rebecca screamed and threw her head from side to side against her upraised biceps. His hot sweaty skin met hers, as he lay down on top of her. His chest mashed her breasts flat and she could feel his warm breath in her ear.

“Why,” He whispered. “You didn’t think we forgot about you now, did you Miss Cranston?”


Part 8

Tricia Koulikofski bounced along inside the cage disguised as a dishwasher. She had no room to struggle, other than fluttering the fingers which rested against her shoulder blades. She couldn’t even wriggle her toes within the tight confines of her cowboy boots. She’d given up crying out for help. If no one had heard her as the rolling prison had careened down the steps outside her apartment, the chances were even slimmer, riding in the back of a moving vehicle. Besides, it took too much air and effort to try and scream past the monstrous blockage in her mouth.

Looking for a silver lining in what had become a very dark and gloomy day, she’d hoped that the lid of her prison would help hold her head down, lessening the pull on the atrocious anchoring method. Alas, a full ¾” space lay between her head and the latched lid. What little room there was, allowed her head to bob up and down fractionally with every bump in the road. This kept the otherwise inanimate steel phallus inside her very active indeed.

With absolutely no other options than to breathe and wait, she did just that. She had no idea how much time had lapsed when the truck came to a stop. She couldn’t suppress a little squeak when she felt her prison tip back and then descend a few feet to the ground. It tipped once more, followed by the sensation of being rolled someplace.

Finally, her box came to rest and Tricia braced for what was to come next. The pitch black confines lightened when the lid was finally opened. A hand reached down and snipped the cord leading from the gag to her crotch. She didn’t head butt the arm this time, she wanted nothing more than to have that connection
severed. A strong pair of hands reached down and started to extricate her from the tiny cell.

Tricia had planned to fight to her last breath, she really had. But as she immerged from the cage, it was no longer two, but four assailants waiting for her. Two of them she recognized as the delivery men. Correction, one deliveryman and a delivery WOMAN. The ninety pound weakling had removed her cap, revealing her dirty blonde tresses. The two new additions to the group were also women.

Tricia peered around at her surroundings. Initially, she thought it was some kind of small fitness center. Her first clue that this wasn’t the case, lay in the fact that there were no windows, carpeting or painted walls. Everything was grey and ominous. Her second clue was the equipment itself. The majority of it was built of chromed steel and leather.

Further observation was suspended when the four strangers descended on her. All the twisting, writhing and whispered pleas couldn’t keep them from lowering her to the cold concrete floor. She groaned in sore relief when the cords holding her arms were cut. She had no time to shake out the tingles, for her forearms were laid against one another in the middle of her back. One of them applied several turns of tape, holding them in place.

Tricia felt something soft slip up over her bent arms. It felt like some kind of sack. A few moments later, as the thing was worked up to her armpits, she caught the distinctive smell of leather. Her folded arms seemed to immediately get warmer. She tried to separate them, but the bag allowed little movement. Straps from the leather pouch went over her shoulders, criss-crossed her chest and buckled in back. She knew by the way these people operated, that there would be no way to slip out of it without their help.

Two pairs of hands picked her partially up from the floor and drug her someplace different. When they arrived, the rope lashing her ankles was cut. They stood her up in front of a device she recognized immediately. One didn’t have to be a cowgirl or have watched “Urban Cowboy” to know what it was. It was a mechanical bull. One with features she was sure that Mickey Gilley’s did not have. Both were resting on the spine of the bull. Both filled Tricia’s heart with terror.

One was immediately recognizable as a long, curved dildo. Tricia reckoned that it had to be about seven inches long and almost two inches thick. The other thing, the singer couldn’t identify. It looked like an elongated toadstool. The blunt tip flared gradually to a width of almost two inches. Then its diameter tapered to a base of about 1-¼”. It stood perhaps five inches tall. Given the close proximity to the dildo, Tricia had no delusions as to its purpose. Both prods inclined toward each other slightly.

“Nnnnmmnnghh” The crooner screamed in disbelief.

That incredulity changed when the four assailants worked in tandem to get her ’mounted’. One held her upright, while two held her thrashing legs wide apart. The forth lubricated the prods and guided them toward her openings. Tricia tried futilely to clench when she felt the tip of the dildo press against her cunt. But gravity and four pairs of strong arms proved no match. Her stomach muscles clenched as the probe slid up inside her. Actually, she realized, she was descending on IT!

Appalling as the sensation was, she was in no way prepared for the second probe. She felt the tip contact the fleshy area between her vagina and rectum. An unseen hand maneuvered the prod back until it was lined up with her chaste back passage. Tricia tried to somehow levitate away from its exploring tip. However, there was no last minute reprieve.

The crown pressed against her tight ring, refusing to be denied entry. Tricia held out as long as she could, but soon understood that resistance would only make the insertion more painful. She tried to relax. Her body, not comprehending the command, continued to put up a fight. The abnormal stretching of her sphincter as it slid down over the ever widening girth, almost made Tricia forget the other probe slipping along the walls of her vagina. Just when she knew that she was going to split in two, her ring passed over the widest portion of the prod. ’Relief’ wasn’t exactly the sensation she felt. It was more like a reduced anguish. The base of the plug still stretched her round muscle beyond comfort, it was a sensation that couldn’t be ignored.

As she settled down on the back of the ‘bull’, her legs were forced out wide by its girth. When she made contact with the saddle, she discovered yet another unpleasant modification. Her eyes flew wide and she peered down at the back of the mechanical steed. The area upon which her crotch rested was lined with fur. “Correction” her brain told her, it was lined with stiff horse hair. Tricia thrashed her legs trying to escape the prickly intrusion. Not only did this grind the bristles deeper into her delicate skin, but it also shifted the violators inside her. Everywhere, from the tender folds of her sex and stretched anus, to the inside curve of her ass cheeks and thighs, was needled by the equine hide. The itchy scratching was instantly unbearable.

Tricia couldn’t stop fidgeting. The more she did, the worse the irritation got. And the more the ductile phalli wriggled inside her. With her legs draped on either side of the bull, she could get no purchase to raise herself. That problem compounded itself as she watched the cute guy appear with a set of large, steel manacles. He ratcheted the cuffs around her booted ankles. The problem was, the chain connecting the cuffs was rather short. It pulled her feet closer together under the bull. If one could overlook the restraints, it appeared as though she were intimately clenching the rawhide heifer with her legs.

“HHHMMNNNGHHHFF!” Tricia cried out.

Her captors went about things in an amused, business-like fashion. One of the women came up to her three identical steel rings. When she placed one around Tricia’s throat, the girl realized that it was a collar. And that they weren’t quite identical. The first once encompassed her throat easily, apparently too easily, because the woman selected a different one. This one squeezed her throat to a point where she thought she might choke. It too, was discarded. The third one pressed against her flesh and felt slightly restrictive when she swallowed. It remained in place around her throat. Her hair was moved to one side and something slipped between her skin and the collar. A long moment later, Tricia saw her shadow on the floor in front of her, silhouetted by bluish light, accompanied by a crackling sound. The back of her neck got hot. A few puzzled moments later and she had it.

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“Dear God!” She thought. “They’re welding it in place!”

They waited a few minutes for the metal to cool, then removed the protective membrane. The collar still felt warm to her skin. She had no doubt about its permanence. She’d noticed that the discarded collars were equipped with rings front, back and on the sides. Her’s must have had them too, for they set about clipping long chains to it. She watched as the went off in four different directions, each person holding a chain. The other ends were clipped to anchors in the walls. The chains fanned up and out in a fashion that told Tricia they’d be her only means of support.

The man who in fact was a woman, walked up carrying two miniature cow bells. With a twisted leer, her hand raised to Tricia’s breasts. The singer hadn’t seen the toothy clips on the ends. Her large, firm breasts exploded when the clips latched on to her nipples. Tricia jerked uncontrollably, causing the bells to tinkle melodically. She twisted her torso violently, but the bells refused to fling off.

Young Miss Koulikofski grunted and groaned at the assault. Her eyes filled with tears and she couldn’t make out what one of them held. “Enjoy the ride, 622.“ One of them said, then her world wet dark, as the goggles and headphones were applied. Being deaf and blind simply added more apprehension and duress to her overloaded brain.

Then, without warning, the bull lurched forward and spun to the right. Tricia braced herself, expecting to be hurtled across the room. But the beast never accelerated beyond that of a walk. Albeit one with a randomly broken leg. The problem was, Tricia could never anticipate which way the mount would pitch. The chains about her collar would jerk taut whenever she leaned to far, keeping her centered on the bull’s back. Tricia bleated for them to stop the diabolical ride.

Suddenly there was a flash of light in front of her eyes. She closed her lids to ward off the brightness. An electronic female voice boomed inside her head.

“Subject’s eyes closed during presentation. Punishment…Level One.”


Part 9

“Whadya think about Cranston’s story?” Danielle asked her partner.

“I don’t know.” Joanna replied. “If anything, it raises more questions than answers.”

“You got that right.” Her partner replied. “This case is about as clear as mud.”

Morgan (917) was no longer cognizant of anything outside her body. The presentation had ended minutes ago, her vision plunged back into darkness. Yet still, she saw a collage of deviant acts playing across her mind’s eye. She unconsciously rocked back and forth against the vertical prod, her damaged logic somehow figuring that if she kept the phallus happy, it would no longer shock her. Behind the gag strap, her tongue and cheek muscles worked in the confined space in an effort to caress the penis gag, trying to pleasure it.

It would have shocked the girl just hours ago, the lengths she was taking now to avoid punishment. And she hadn’t even had a taste of the lash yet. Those observing on the hidden monitors did not overlook these subtle changes in behavior. They were pleased that the subject was so receptive. However, the knew also, that it was just a matter of time. This style of electronic training had been very productive in the past.

Morgan wasn’t aware of someone coming in and releasing her. Her body felt as if it were floating when the raised her up off the rigid phallus. She mewed frantically, fearing that the loss of contact would result in another punishment. When it did not come, she blacked out. Her dreams were haunted by perverse visions.

Tricia (622) was in the second hour of her indoctrination. The bull was lurching in a rhythmless fashion, making it impossible to anticipate which way to brace herself. As it was, she could only devote half her concentration to body control. The other half was absorbed by what she was seeing. The torrid scenes acted out inside her head were so vivid, that Tricia soon forgot the goggles and headphones generating them. In her mind, she was an active witness to all that was going on. It was becoming harder and harder to hang on to what she believed to be reality.

This was her captor’s intent. Extensively researched, they’d found that strenuous bondage, combined with Virtual Reality imagery, eroded a subject’s resistance substantially. It did not matter whether the subject was almost immobilized (like Morgan), or subjected to exhaustive maneuvers (like Tricia), the results were astounding. And once a subject’s will was fragmented, she was prone to adopt her new life more readily.

Currently, Tricia was watching a 3D depiction of three men having their way with a woman. It wasn’t as simple as it sounded. The woman was held aloft in a horizontal spread eagle. The chains holding her arms and legs extended out beyond view. She was ‘lying’ face down, roughly three feet off the ground. A rawhide thong had been woven into her hair. The thong ran back to a thick leather belt around her waist. Tension on the thong kept her head raised so that she was looking straight ahead. Well, ‘looking’ if she hadn’t been heavily blindfolded.

Some kind of ring with a strap had been wedged between her teeth. The strap in turn was buckled tightly behind her head. She knew that, by the way the leather pressed into the woman’s cheeks. The ring kept her mouth open to what had to be a painful width. The young woman was moaning and mumbling in an obvious state of duress. The ring wasn’t the main reason for her mute, distorted cries. A man stood naked in front of her, hammering his hard-on into her “O” shaped mouth.

Beneath the woman, lay a narrow table, more like a saw horse. Another man lay upon it facing up at the prisoner. The table was the perfect height, allowing him to ravage the girl’s pussy with his own rock hard erection. As he pistoned into her, he was kneading both of her breasts with his hands. Every once in a while, he would nip at her nipples with a not-so-playful tweak with his teeth.

The third man stood between the reclining man’s parted legs. He was rapidly rocking his hips back and forth, assailing the woman’s long ago virgin asshole. As he fucked her from behind, he squeezed the cheeks of her ass as if they were potter’s clay. Not satisfied doing just that, he’d occasionally smack her ass with his open palm. The ‘Crack’ of impact was so loud that it made Tricia jump.

Though the men were energetic in their violation, they were still human. Eventually, one of them would stiffen and broadcast a loud moan or growl. Once spent, he backed away from the abused orifice, only to be replaced by another strange man. This same scene had been playing itself out for the last forty five minutes. Tricia couldn’t remember if it was sixteen or seventeen men she’d seen violate the woman. Frankly, she didn’t much care, she had problems of her own. She was currently at Punishment Level Five.

Rebecca Cranston’s assailant groaned and ejaculated into her ravaged pussy. Rebecca too, groaned as loud as the ball gag would permit. The man lay on top of her, spent. Rebecca concentrated on breathing beneath the man’s crushing weight. Eventually, he rose up off of her and cleaned himself in the bathroom.

When he returned, he removed the blindfold and then the gag. Miss Cranston worked her jaw painfully and then cleared her throat to speak.

“You ASSHOLE!” She hissed at ‘Stanley’. “Don’t you know the cops just left here?”

“Relax, Becky.” Stanley replied. “I made sure they drove off before I came in. It’s not MY fault you were having so much fun in the shower.”

“Jesus.” Rebecca breathed. “If you’d been seen, everything would have gone down the shitter. (It would have shocked Bert Seagram greatly to have heard his secretary speaking in such a fashion).

“What are you doing here, anyway?” She continued.

“I just wanted to give you a progress report.” Stanley said, slipping his clothes back on. “And I thought after last night, you might be in the mood for a little more fun.”

“’Fun’ isn’t what it turned out to be.” Rebecca griped. “I mean, I was only supposed to be tied up that way for 90 minutes, tops. Then that dickhead Seagram tells me to ‘wait there’ and phones the cops. I was trussed like a pig in a poke for almost four hours!”

“Sorry babe.” Stanley said, not quite being able to keep the mirth out of his voice. “Just remember, it’s for the greater good.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say. So, where we at?” Rebecca said getting back to the business at hand.”

“Firestone and Koulikofsky are both under wraps.” Stanley answered. “Both grabs went off without a hitch.”

He looked at his watch before continuing. “Greenwich gets off work in another hour. I’ve got plenty of time to meet up with ‘Irene’. How about another quickie?”

Rebecca laughed and said, “Oh just let me loose and get going, you ass wipe.”

Stanley stood there for a long moment, as if debating what to do. Then he smiled and started to unlock the cuffs.


Part 10

Dana Greenwich did what she did best. She moved quietly among the aisles, putting the library books back in their proper place. As she did so, she’d push her reading glasses back up her nose. It was a nervous habit. So too, was brushing strands of her straight, obsidian hair which fell past her shoulders, out of her face.

She couldn’t remember what it had been in her past, that had made her so introverted. She could recall being lively and outgoing when younger, but no more. Perhaps it was that mystery that had spurred her to try out for the Maulers Cheerleaders. Such a brash thing as that was certainly out of character. She’d told no one about the tryout. The last thing she’d wanted was to be laughed at.

To her own surprise, she’d given a performance that she still wasn’t sure where it’d come from. When she made it to the semi-finals, she was ecstatic. “This is just the shove I’ve needed to get back out amongst the living again,” she’d said to herself. Unfortunately, when the final list came out and her name wasn’t on it, she shrunk even deeper into her self imposed cocoon. And so it was back to the library and her lonely apartment and a life that seemed to hold no promise.

“Good night, Dana.” Mrs. Hall said, startling the girl out of her daydream. “Be sure to lock up, won’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Dana replied. “Have a nice weekend.”

“Such a nice girl.” The senior librarian thought. “If only she had a little more self confidence.” She shrugged her shoulders, knowing that it was impossible to save the world, sometimes even one soul at a time.

Dana finished her tasks and closed up the library. She threw on her plain cloth coat with a hem that reached her ankles. No one would know that the woman with the sparkling grey eyes possessed a 36D-26-36 body. Carried on a 5’8” body, publishers of men’s magazines would have clamored over each other to get her to pose for their spread. But Dana would have been appalled at the idea. She still wasn’t sure what had compelled her to tryout for the squad. Other than that deviation, she led an almost puritan lifestyle. She didn’t even own a pet.

She walked through the deserted parking lot, noting that the street lamp near her car was out.

“I’ll have to inform maintenance on Monday about that.” She thought absently.

As she approached her ancient Dodge Dart, something seemed askew. Then she noticed the flat left tire. And she had just gotten four new tires in preparation for the upcoming winter! With a melancholy sigh, she opened the trunk and withdrew the jack. After raising the front end, she attacked the lug nuts. None of them would budge.

“The mechanic must have cross threaded the screws.” She reflected. “Great!” (That was about the closest she ever came to cursing).

“Can I be of some help?” A voice said from behind her, causing her to jump.

“Goodness,” She said breathlessly. “You gave me a start!”

“Sorry,” The good looking gentleman said with a dazzling and apologetic smile. “Having some trouble?”

“I can’t get the blasted lug nuts loose.” Dana answered. She couldn’t help giving the man a shy little smile.

“Let me try.” He said and Dana’s smile widened in thanks.

She moved a couple of steps back and watched her ‘hero’ attack the balky tire. She never heard ‘Irene’ slip up behind her. The first clue she had that something was amiss, was when all abruptly went dark. There was a moments confused hesitation, then her hands started up toward her face. They never got to their destination, for ‘Stanley’ had leapt to his feet and grasped Dana’s wrists. Meanwhile, Irene pulled the drawstring of the canvas bag firmly about Dana’s throat.

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The librarian’s self-defense training kicked in and she and she began stomping her foot, hoping to catch an instep. But her assailants techniques were too refined and all her sensible shoes struck was blacktop. She felt the man grasp her hands together in one of his infinitely stronger ones. Something sticky touched her bare wrist, followed by a ripping sound. It quickly dawned on her, that her hands were being taped together. In a matter of seconds, it seemed, her hands were fused together, from wrist to fingernails.

She didn’t know what to make of this. Matters worsened, when the other assailant drove a knee into the backs of her legs, causing the to collapse. Dana found herself flat on the parking lot pavement. Her shoes were yanked off and more tape was wound around her feet and ankles.

“You’d better scream now, before it’s too late.” A harsh female voice rasped in her ear.

Deciding that was good advice, Dana prepared to do just that. She drew in a great lungful of air and screamed. That’s when the ball crashed against her teeth. The scream momentarily died in her throat.

“It’s a tennis ball.” She thought, then on reflection. “No, it’s a SOCCER ball!”

The sphere bored between her teeth, as if intent to pass through the back of her head. By the time Dana found her voice, it didn’t come out as the loud cry for help she’d intended.

“H-OWmmmghhfft!” Came her whimpered sound of distress.

The course bag over her head had her completely disoriented. She didn’t know where to lash out. It felt like their hands were all over her. She leaked out a pained “Gahhh!” when the ball settled behind her teeth. Her mouth was still pried impossibly wide, muscles threatening to tear at any moment.

Dana felt something press against her cheeks, and then there was a biting pain on the back of her neck. The pain corresponded with the ball inching yet deeper inside her mouth. Irene gave the gag strap another tug, tightening it one more notch. Miss Greenwich the librarian became even more disquieted when she felt more straps tightening about her head. Their crushing pressure told her that one rose up on either side of her nose, merging as one strap between her eyes, passing over the top of her head and buckling in back. Another passed over her eyes. It would have blinded her if she wasn’t already. It traversed her head above her ears, then it too buckled in back. One final strap unbelievably cupped her chin and when snugged tight, made her chomp down on the hard rubber ball.

Whilst she was failingly trying to come to terms with the unimaginably thorough way she’d been silenced, her antagonists had shifted positions. The woman had placed her knee between the librarians legs. The good Samaritan placed his knee between Dana’s elbows, effectively pinning her flat out on the blacktop. As Dana thrashed her head every which way she possibly, could trying to shrug off the horrid gag and canvas sack, a pair of scissors gleamed in the faint light.

A cut up each sleeve to the collar and her coat was now a pile of rags tossed to the side. Her knee length skirt came next, followed by her white cotton blouse. Dana shivered not just from the cold as she lay there helplessly in her undergarments. Said undergarments were the next to be cut to ribbons. The young woman was stunned. She hadn’t been naked in the presence of a stranger since gym class in junior high school.

The two aggressors wrestled her up to a sitting position. The rough surface of the macadam scratched her tender tush. An irresistible force pressed down on her shoulders, while unseen hands guided her own pinioned ones toward her feet. A great weight kept her folded in that position and Dana heard, more than felt, more tape wrapping around her calves and forearms. The pressure of the tape squeezed right down to her hands and ankles. When the weight on her back eased, the librarian remained folded in half.

“They’ve taped my arms to my lower legs.” She surmised.

Stanley and Irene stood back and appraised their newest captive. Dana’s obscured head gyrated back and forth, apparently trying to see or shake off the gag harness. Neither was going to happen. They admired how her pale skin shone in night’s soft illumination. It was clear that she was too modest to do much sunbathing, no bikini lines. They could see a glimpse of her full, round breasts pressed tightly against her thighs. Irene knelt and snapped a tiny padlock through each of the four buckles of the head harness.

Dana heard the locks closed and knew them for what they were. She let out a long, pained whine through her nose. Up until now, she’d irrationally held some kind of hope for getting loose. But the use of the locks had dealt her a staggering psychological blow. You can’t remove locks, unless you have a key. And currently, Dana didn’t even have any fingers.

Stanley opened the back door of the librarian’s car and climbed in. Then he reached back and grasped the bound woman’s ankles. With surprising strength, Irene picked up Dana’s folded torso. The guided their helpless prey inside the vehicle. There, one more bombshell awaited.

Epoxied to the threadbare carpet on the floor, was a flat disk. Ascending from the disk, was an albino dildo. It gleamed with lubricant already applied. Irene carefully lined her target up with the car’s newest accessory. No portent was given, the just let Dana plop downward.

“HUUMMMNNNGHHHH!” The woman shrieked at the sudden impalement. There had been no warning!

The pliable plastic python bent and snaked its way accommodatingly into her dark and private orifice. When her bottom touched the anchoring plate, all eight inches were buried inside. The 1-1/2 inch breadth stretched her almost virginal walls. Stanley lashed her feet to the door handle, keeping them raised off the floor and her weight focused on the narrow area on which she sat.

Irene got into the driver seat and grasped the adjustment lever. Then she shoved the seat backward, pinning the poor girl between the front and back seats. There would be no rolling off her ’companion’. Stanley re-inflated the tire he’d deflated earlier, the super glue on the lug nuts had been a master stroke. Irene covered their prize with a blanket. The destroyed clothing was tossed in the trunk. Irene gave Stanley a peck on the cheek and started off for their car parked around the corner. After Stanley started the woman’s car, he couldn’t even hear the defiled whimpers coming from the back.

“Three women down and the police haven’t a clue.” Stanley mused. “This might just work out after all.”


Part 11

917’s (Morgan) sleep was restless and restrained, though she was never truly aware of it. Images of her ’presentation’ still flickered across her memory. These were now mixed with her own romantic forays of the past, coalescing until the line between fact and fabrication blurred. Her body twitched and spasmed as she was alternately aroused and repulsed.

She did buoy to consciousness briefly, noting her change in ’accommodations’. Her eyes had focused long enough to think that she was in the same cell. Everything was grey as before, but viewed from a different angle. She was lying on her back, upon something whose surface was at the same time hard and scratchy.

Something cool trickled down the back of her throat. Morgan sucked heartily, trying to quench her arid thirst. She could not identify the citrus taste of the sports drink, although the flavor was familiar somewhere back in her mind. The acidic taste helped to mask the mild sedative mixed into the solution.

Almost absently, she tried moving her arms and legs. Her mind was still too fuzzy to realize that she was afforded a great deal of motion. Perhaps deep down, she knew she was no less a prisoner. Her hands and forearms seemed unhindered. The same went for her lower legs. Before she could explore further, she drifted off once again.

When she came to once more, she felt slightly more alert. She did not know that this was her body adjusting to the narcotic. Her mind was still disoriented and her body responded sluggishly, but she was able to ascertain her predicament. There was no disregarding the fact that something gripped her knees and elbows snugly. She felt too, the unyielding hold of something across her throat and waist.

As her fogged head cleared somewhat, she was able to determine the method in which she was bound. She discovered that her arms were relatively free below the elbow. She could straighten them out and bend them until her fingertips could just brush the sides of her head. Her fingers though, did not touch hair nor skin. Rather they came in contact with some type of leather hood.

She of course felt the squeeze of the helmet encasing her head. There was what appeared to be an oval void of pressure around her eyes and nose. This missing coverage allowed her to see and breath relatively unrestricted. Her tongue slid across a smaller, yet now familiar shape of a penis gag. The reduced size allowed her teeth to clench firmly on its flattened base, an effect of the tight leather hood. Her thirst grumbled once again and she sucked on the prod. She was rewarded with another drizzle of fluid.

917 moved her legs experimentally. She discovered that she had a range of motion much like her arms. She could pendulum her lower legs, but remained motionless from the knees up. A moment of clarity explained everything.

Morgan realized that she was laying on some type of table or cot. The hard surface was covered with some kind of irritating wool-like blanket. Wide bands of leather had been snugged about her body. There was one at each elbow and knee, as well as her waist and throat. The straps held her appendages splayed in a spread eagle. She could think of no reason why her lower arms and legs were unfettered, unless purely for the illusion of freedom (For that, she was mostly correct).

She strained at the bonds and flapped her arms and legs valiantly. But fatigue seemed to settle in swiftly and in spite of her best efforts, she lapsed into unconsciousness once more.

622’s (Tricia) eyes scanned a field of black once more, but her mind was a carnival of hedonistic images. Tricia never knew there to be so many ways to violate a woman. One after another, the scenes had paraded before her eyes. The common thread in all, was that the central character was a woman and that she was bound in one fashion or another. Often, it was clear that the subject was an unwilling participant. However, towards the end of the ’Presentation’, fewer restraints were used and the subjects appeared more willing to perform their kinky tasks.

Tricia’s brain was unaware of the subtle changes in her predicament as the tutorial progressed. Her concentration was so focused on the events unfolding before her eyes, she did not notice the motion of the ’Bull’ gradually changed from its pitching to and fro, to a more gentle rocking action. Her torso was no longer jostled erratically. It had assumed a more linear gyration. Her weight was transferred forward on to her clitoris, then back upon the cleft of her ass. The weights still tugged at her nipples, but no longer jerked with such random ferocity.

Eventually, the mechanical stead beneath her had stilled. This should have been a moment of great relief. But much like a sailor too long at sea, Tricia’s body still rocked to compensate for the anticipated motion. The aches in her bound limbs started to resonate with the distressed urgency to be freed. As the shock and disorientation caused by her capture and this demonstration slowly wore off, Tricia struggled to marshal her addled thoughts. By the time she recognized the damp cloth placed over her nose and gagged mouth for what it was, the need to think clearly seemed less important. She slipped easily into unconsciousness, almost welcoming it. Yet during her REM slumber, the visions danced on.

Dana Greenwich was having a most difficult time waking up from this dream. It had to be a dream, she kept telling herself over and over, nothing like this happened in real life. Yet the sticky grip of her bonds did not evaporate, nor did the stifling ache in her mouth and jaw. And most certainly, not the defiling, filled sensation in her most private sanctum. The analytical portion of her brain slowly convinced the rest of her that everything that was happening was a reality.

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She tried to call out for help, but came to a choking stop as her cries log jammed behind the gag. Pulling and tugging against the tape merely caused more discomfort than she was already experiencing. The semi-rigid phallus inside her made her stomach turn, but she was unable to rise up off it. All of these things rattled the orderly lifestyle she’d created for herself. Yet, this was not the worst of it.

That had been when the two strangers had stripped off her clothes. The idea of being naked outside the privacy of her home, yet alone unwillfully and in the company of these unknowns, staggered her. Her modesty, something she treasured, meant nothing to these people. And the way they had fondled her so callously left her reeling. All of these abuses at once had initiated a mild state of shock.

She ceased fighting her bonds and began drifting in and out of consciousness. She did not know how long she’d been in the back of her car, until she became aware that its motion had stopped. Moments later, she felt the cool night air sweep over her bare skin and two pairs of hands lifted her from the floor. The sensation of the dildo sliding out of her was almost as nauseating as had been the initial intrusion.

Enough of her senses remained intact, that she tried to struggle free of their grasp. But doubled up as she was, there was little fight she could muster. For some strange reason, she suddenly remembered a nature documentary she had seen. It had been about alligator trappers in Florida. Once their quarry was caught, its limbs had been secured with tape. Even at this, the large reptile would undulate wildly in an effort to escape. She realized that she was now the prey, caught in the clutches of these unknown assailants. The air warmed slightly and the outside noises hushed.

“They’ve brought me inside…somewhere.” Dana deduced. The only problem was, she had lost all track of time. ‘Somewhere’, could be anyplace. She suddenly felt very small and even more vulnerable.

Her ride lasted another sixty seconds or so, then stopped. She was lowered to the floor. She felt the cool, coarse concrete beneath her scratching against her skin. Almost gently, she was tipped over to her side. A sudden warmth washed over her back, as one of them knelt close to her.

“Welcome to your new home, 809.” The voice said, in a voice that was colder than the concrete upon which she lay.


Part 12

The next thing she knew, 809 (Dana) heard a ’phhht, phhht’ sound down near her taped wrists and ankles. What followed was a cool, damp sensation on her skin. She hadn’t intended on breaking the tape holding her hands and feet together, but just the unnatural strain she’d been placed into did the work for her. As if by magic, the duct tape ripped away like crepe paper. As her limbs sprang apart from each other, Dana’s spine groaned with relief. The librarian gathered herself for a counter-attack. The first time, they caught her unawares, this time she’d put up a fight. Or so she thought.

The hood and gag still rendered her blind and most definitely mute, a distinct disadvantage from the start. She succeeded in flailing her arms once or twice, contacting nothing. She heard the amused chuckles as several pairs of hands grabbed her and rolled her on to her stomach. A knee landed not so gently in the back of her neck, effectively immobilizing her. She was mildly grateful for the hood, as it prevented the coarse floor from scratching her cheek. The gratitude did not extend to her breasts, which were currently being mashed into the concrete.

Each of her wrists were grabbed and wrestled behind her back. Something began to slide up her arms, enveloping them. Its interior seemed to cling to her skin, making the fitting more difficult. The size of whatever it was didn’t help either. Dana could feel her forearms being squeezed closer together the higher it rose. Suddenly, to her surprise, her hands popped through the bottom of the pouch. Unfortunately, the funnel shape of the garment kept her hands pressed firmly together, palm facing palm. She could wriggle her fingers, brushing them against her rump, but that was all.

By the time the pocket had been worked up to her armpits, Dana’s elbows were almost touching. She did not overlook the fact that this thrust her chest out involuntarily, flattening her breasts even more into the floor. She groaned at the strain and at how easily they were manhandling her.

“What is this thing and why were her arms feeling so warm?” Dana wondered. One of her assailants conveniently provided the answer.

“It’s called an arm sheath, 809.” A disembodied male voice informed her. “This particular one is made of rubber. Call it ’A condom for your arms’ if you will. Once we finish with the straps, we’ll get to work on your legs.”

“Straps!” Dana thought. “I can hardly move my arms as it is!”

What little movement she did have rapidly disappeared, as the straps at her wrists, forearms, elbows and biceps were buckled brutally tight. To her dismay, Dana’s elbows did finally touch. Correction, her arms touched well above her elbows. The joints themselves, ground against one another, adding further grief to the stringent bind. Her fused arms were held straight down her back, capable of practically no lateral motion. Already, her shoulder joints protested loudly about the strain they were enduring.

“Hhgnnmmfff!” The young woman groaned into her gag.

Unfazed by her muted protest, her handlers began binding her legs. Dana tried to kick feebly, but she was no match to their superior numbers. One at a time, each leg was folded until her calf pressed against her thigh. Some sort of sleeve was shimmied up each folded limb. By the way the material clung to her skin, Dana deduced that these too were made of rubber. In no time, each leg was encased in its own rubber tube, from kneecap to crotch. She felt four distinct areas of increased pressure on each leg, where straps were lashed down. She felt like an amputee.

Suddenly, she began wriggling her feet frantically. In part, because they were about the only body parts left that had any range of motion, but mostly because she was terribly ticklish. One of her abductors was in the process of latching a tiny leather strap around the base of her big toe. Dana’s shriek faded as he finished his task, only to renew when he repeated the process on the other toe. An experimental tug told her that her two toes were now connected by some kind of bar or rod, roughly six inches long. Both feet could still move, but only in impeded unison.

The phantom hands then ’helped’ Dana to her feet, rather, her knees. This triggered another groan from the helpless woman, as all her weight settled on her ’stumps’. She felt some fiddling around the back of her head. To her relief, the straps holding the monster ball gag began to fall away. But instead of prying it from her mouth, her captors let it remain in place. Dana desperately pushed at it with her tongue, but the massive sphere was too deeply imbedded.

She felt them free the open end of the sack around her neck. Once it had been pulled up out of the way, something soft, yet rigid, encircled her neck. Having been in a car accident a few years prior, she recognized the cervical collar for what it was. That quickly, her head had become as immobilized as the rest of her body. Only now was the ball gag wrenched from her mouth. The sack was pulled up, still shielding her eyes and she felt something touch her lips. As the sports drink trickled across her parched lips and tongue, she drank gratefully.

When the flow stop, Dana wet her lips and prepared to speak. Surely these people had made a mistake. She had no wealthy relatives and on a librarian’s salary, no savings. Just as she started to squawk her protest, something blunt tipped pressed against her teeth. Instinctively, Dana clamped her jaws closed. Or rather, tried to. The slick, cylindrical whatever had already gained the advantage. Once the tip had breeched her teeth, no amount of biting could reverse its course. A strong hand gripped the back of her head, while the driving force increased the pressure.

“Uunnnggggghh!” Dana cried, as the semi-resilient object continued to bore into her mouth. She was reminded of a torpedo sliding into its launch tube, the fit was so tight.

Just when she thought they were intent on shoving the shaft all the way down her throat, the insertion ended with an unbelievably wide, padded band. Its top pressed against her nostrils, threatening to block them entirely, the bottom cupped her chin snugly. Dana could smell the leather of which it was made with every frightened breath. The strap was buckled behind her head with characteristic tightness. Dana tried to call out, to tell them that there was no way she could tolerate this excessive packing, but the hum she uttered sounded weak even in her ears.

Finally, the sack was pulled completely from her head. She gazed up, teary eyed from the shock and near choking effectiveness of the gag. She was surrounded by four people whom she did not know. Their expressions did not reflect that this was some sort of prank. Dana tried once again to communicate her belief that this was a case of mistaken identity, but stopped short as the tip of the prod threatened to trigger her gag reflex. Without a word, they stooped down to pick her up.

As they turned, with her body in tow, Dana noticed for the first time that the room was quite dark. There was no telling if was as small as a bedroom or as large as a concert hall. The light illuminating her captors seemed to be ambient. When her body was turned, she saw the source and shrieked.

Illuminated under a bright cone of light was a backless chair, more like a stool. One like she had never seen before. It sat on four sturdy legs. The seat was shaped like the body of a violin. That’s where any similarities ended. Rising from the base of the seat was a long, arched metal rod. Suspended on the tip of the rod was a wooden box, roughly 14” square. Dana’s eyes only briefly noted the box. Her gaze was currently locked on what rose from the chair.

Two penis shaped shafts sprouted from the seat, one slightly larger than the other. Both were exact replicas of a male sex organ, right down to the veins and bulbous heads. Somehow knowing this was to be her final destination, Dana writhed like a madwoman, not caring what a fall to the ground could cause. But her captors merely tightened their grips and walked closer.

Sobs wracked the librarian as they held her over the seat and began aligning her privates. There was no countdown, she just suddenly began to descend. Instinctively, she clamped her orifices closed when she felt the tips of the violators. But a steady pressure and lots of lubricant insured that soon her ass contacted the cold wooden seat. Dana felt nauseous as her vagina and rectum were filled as never before (This included the harrowing ride in the back of her car).

To her chagrin, she found that the shape of the seat forced her legs wide apart, insuring that every millimeter of the invader sank inside her. Dana was forced to watch her own violation, for one of them was pressing her head forward and down during the process. Her feet suddenly went en pointe, as the bar holding her toes settled in place behind her. The hold on the back of her head was eased. Before she could grasp what was happening, as set of headphones was fitted snuggly over her ears.

Her head was eased back further, into the now open wooden box. Claustrophobia grabbed her, as her head became surrounded on all sides but the front. She noted that there must have been an alcove carved in the base of the box, one that mated perfectly with the thick collar around her neck. As the harsh light above spilled into the ‘head coffin’, she also saw that the interior of the box was lined with black, leather padding. A face appeared suddenly in front of hers. The cold smile creasing it did nothing to waylay her fears. Then, without a word, the front panel of the box began to swing closed. Dana thought she caught a glimpse of something reflective on the panel. Something like glass.

Suppressing the panic that was welling within her, Dana concentrated on her breathing. She started when someone grasped her sheathed wrist and pulled