Dr. Winthrop Samuels Series

Chapter One-5

“My goodness, Sunny. Your gift for fellatio seems to have obviated anal intercourse. Surely a girl of your ilk offers all she has.”

“Not easy when riding in trucks,” her accented voice comically explaining the obvious.

Fellatio was perfected during her sojourn from Bulgaria. I envision a meter, somewhat like in a taxi, where every hundred kilometers the zipper comes down and the truck driver demands that feminine lips be applied.

“That will change.”

I continue anal penetration, curtail kneading her buttocks and instead toy with her labia. She moans, further parting her knees in welcome. So I masturbate her, bringing forth the endorphins which will further ease the tension on the impinged gluteus maximus muscles. This time I work my fingers well past her urethral sponge, gliding inward to the anterior fornix. Caresses there bring spasmodic oscillations of the PC muscles which involuntarily also cause her buttocks to clench more. In simultaneously penetrating both v****a and anus, my masochistic plaything experiences the ultimate in vulnerability, double penetration of her most intimate anatomy. But I achieve my goal. The cramps ease enough so I can walk her about the loft.

Thereafter some Danish. She enjoys being hand fed morsels, tossed and lapped up from the floor. How else would the likes of Sunny Sudenskaya partake?

***

Grabbing my digital camera, on Sunday morning I repeat my journey... subway, Mulberry Street, Danish, on to Ludlow. I enter the loft to find Sunny nude and waiting for me. She is more ambulatory but still struggles to walk. She is again wallowing on the floor.

“I have something for you. This metal will not be easily concealed.”

I reference the concern of all practitioners of the quirky and the kinky... that some article of clothing, body adornment, whatever... that which evidences a life of s****l aberration... will someday will be uncloseted in the vanilla world... that in which we must make a living... and the resulting clash brings economic pressure. Financial strain of job loss. After all, one must make a living.

To date, Sunny’s transforming grommets are easily concealed beneath clothing.

Still, Sunny finds little concern as I produce the latest effort of tinkering in the metal shop. It is a neck collar of matching metal, the alloy which has come to oddly enthrall... the hardness, the permanency, the ease with which something I craft can become one with her body.

In Sunny’s mind, she is not wearing jewelry, she is bearing my offering... much as if I’d have her tattooed or branded.

“It is beautiful,” she smiles, the accent adding to her girlish charm.

Crawling about on all fours, I must reach down to encircle her neck. A simple clasp keeps the thinly gauged ring closed. Sunny seems to thrill with both my offering and the attention of my fingers.

“You must walk, Sunny. Your buttocks are merely sore in reaction to the penetration. There is nothing else wrong.”

I comment as I begin to corset her. Yes the neck collar is functional despite Sunny accepting it as a decorative gift. Her smile remains, again reacting to the attention of my fingers, as I connect a cord to the back of the neck collar then begin to thread it through the many grommets adorning her spine. Right, left, right, left, the cord slips through eight pairs weaving back and forth. At the bottom I pull to tighten, the tension serving to straighten the cord and act as a corset, as designed. Sunny moans as the tight cord forces the grommets into alignment, my action tensioning the flesh of her entire torso as she remains on all fours.

“It nicely projects your breasts, Sunny. You enjoy showing them... you certainly have before.”

That introductory meeting in the restaurant cannot be forgotten. The sultry shoulder shift which served to better exhibit her mammary glands is now forced upon her... by my hand.

“You’ll have to stand. I will help.”

Stiffness remains. Athletes know that one must ‘gut it out’ in returning sore muscles to complete mobility. Under my tutelage, Sunny’s will always be somewhat impaired. But she will walk.

As I maintain tension on the corset cord, she obeys, struggling to her feet like a new born foal. I push her elbows behind her and clip together utilizing the double ‘D’ clamp. This will discourage returning to all fours.

“Now you’re going to feel strange twinges and feel a little spastic. Your buttocks will involuntarily clench and cause aggravation. You’ll become accustomed to it. We’ll practice.”

With that I thread the free end of the corset cord through the buttock grommet on the right then over to the left. I pull tautly and note that with the grommets tensioning the gluteus maximus muscles, Sunny’s knees nearly buckle. Yes, the involuntary clench. I am heartened to learn that my penetration has been precise. Pressure on the buttock grommet brings stress to a pair of the largest muscles in the body.

I smile to myself in satisfaction as I tie off the end of the cord, the tension remaining. I want Sunny to feel me there, her derriere sensing my control... the results of my modifying hand. That a swab, click, snap, brings a yelp, blood, a dab... and significant transformation.

“You’ll need to concentrate and relax those muscles, Sunny. You’ll feel the tension of the cord, my controlling hand, and you must obediently react in order to foster the ability to move. Now my pretty toy, you must walk.”

Sunny is experiencing new pain, something which the masochist oddly welcomes... though her facial expression is one of combined surprise and repression.

I hook on her nose leash. Corseted, elbows bound, she cannot resist... not that she desires to do so. But her muscles will challenge her will. So I gently pull and suppress laughter as the otherwise graceful Sunny stumbles forth, shoulders back, chest thrust forward, buttocks forced to enticing perkiness in avoiding spasms.

“Yes, concentrate Sunny. You must learn to control the buttock muscles. With the grommets such will cramp, contract involuntarily. You will learn to control that.”

The size of the loft offers enough space to provide initial orientation to Sunny’s transformation. It is curious how exhaustive is the effort. Each step indeed requires concentration and Sunny seems perplexed. I have changed her posture and her ability to control herself. In looking into her face I detect concern, but there is also that sense of masochistic joy... led about naked on a leash... forced to do another’s bidding.

I lead her to the frame and tie off her nose leash to the front pipe. Time for some pictures. I click and smile as Sunny attempts to avoid the camera lens. Her exhibitionist tendencies are curiously limited. Naked and bound with me in control excites. Recording her odd submission for the entire world to see brings concern.

Still, she cannot avoid offering an entire montage. I work as if recording a crime scene, methodically circling to ensure every inch of naked, penetrated flesh greets the lens and is digitally recorded. With the many circles of metal, the corset cord instilling such awkward yet alluring posture, the scene reeks of power exchange... that which so thrills the likes of Sunny. But in the world of instant electronic communication she also knows her privacy has now been compromised... forever to be under my governance... the extent of her debauchery to be disclosed at my whim... to whomever... whenever.

Tears begin to stream as she begins to fully understand what she has heretofore offered so frivolously. Realization, concern, she begins to understand my power will go well beyond that offered by a nose leash.

Finished, I release the leash and resume walking her.

Four laps about the loft and Sunny’s gait, though remaining awkward, is functional. I lead her to an armoire, hold high the leash as I select a garment. Something simple, something brief.

I locate a throw-over dress. Loose, but short, I unclip the elbow grommets.

“Slip this on, Sunny. I prefer walking you naked, but we’ll offer your neighbors a degree of decorum for Sunday morning.”

As Sunny slips the garment over her head, my hand moves to her mons. I splay. I plunge. I rummage about. I smile. Sunny is quite moist. Yes the pain, induced by me and under my control, the humiliation, it so excites.

***

Sundays are as quiet as evenings on Ludlow Street. Thus a leashed Sunny encounters few passersby. There are those utilizing the opposing sidewalk, yet not even offering a glance. Still I can sense Sunny’s apprehension. Her sole garment covers her charms, the hem ending just above mid thigh and alleviating the nakedness imposed during other walks. But the leash combined with the awkward footfalls emulating those of a rudimentary robot bring the embarrassment she craves. Plus the skin corset projects breasts which, as noted, bring an admirable silhouette to a lithe girl of some one hundred pounds.

And I of course must fuel the fires of her depravity. After some twenty minutes I find a secluded spot not before traversed. There I take the time to roll up her skirt, exposing her charms and the buttocks brought to noteworthy perkiness by the tension of the corset cord and my modifying grommets.

“Please no,” she entreats.

“You’ll feel better, Sunny. Your voice says no, but otherwise your anatomy suggests a thrill.”

Again my fingers reach to her pubes, splay and glide inward, her self lubrication making this second plunge even more facile.

“Just to the end of the block, then we’ll return. It’s the Bowery. Too busy a street to be displayed leashed and exposed.”

We resume. The strained footfalls continue. I look back to observe. There is purpose in baring her impinged gluteus maximus muscles. I find that she is learning to contract only enough muscling for each step, important in not cultivating cramps. Good discipline. Plus each step reminds her of my control, the transforming penetrations I performed.

Meanwhile Sunny notes the traffic on the Bowery. I detect a gulp. There is fright. Concern. Yet an inner thrill. Such kinkiness.

A garbage dumpster offers suitable concealment. We cross the narrow street. I have Sunny squat, standing before her as a shield to unexpected traffic, holding the leash high and making her look up into my face.

“Empty yourself. It’s a bit of a walk back.”

Though squatting brings new stress to the impinged muscles of her backside, she complies. She awaits my command then obediently opens her bladder.

I truly enjoy walking my pet.

***

Skirt righted, we approach Ludlow Street. I offer Sunny a glimpse of her new life.

“Two more grommets, Sunny, and you’ll be ready for arroycoo.”

She nods in silence.

“It is what you wanted? To be hung by your very flesh.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you shall have it. The final openings will require even more acclimation than those penetrating your buttocks. You’ll be hung horizontally. I prefer that. And the control will be total. I want it... and you want me to have it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Best arrange for some days off from work. I suspect by Wednesday you’ll be strutting about, walking more gingerly... of course careful not to cramp that pretty rump, but more mobile all the same. Then you will be ready for me to implant the final pair.”

With the subway station in sight, I remove the nose lease and unclip her elbows, leaving Sunny to negotiate the final half block to her apartment. I watch her hobble to her loft. She seems glum. I do believe she misses my leash... perhaps the taste of my sperm as well.

***

Leaving Sunny to herself for a couple of days does not mean I refrain from the company of women. Despite my own penchants... my hobby... I do enjoy vanilla encounters. After all, I am single, 32 years of age... and even Sunny’s daily fellatio can not cool unending male lust.

Having abstained from utilizing Sunny’s skilled tongue and lips on Sunday, by Monday afternoon I am ready to plant some seed.

I call an old acquaintance, Louise Flanner. She is fun to be with and a medical type. I met her while interning and was impressed when, as head nurse, she earned the respect of the pompous, overly arrogant bevy of interns... a group known to be well educated... and for a skilled nurse frustratingly under experienced.

With her demeanor, and the similarity of her name to the talented actress who played the famous role, we gave her the sobriquet ‘Nurse Ratchet’. She was indeed overbearing on the hospital floor, yet she was gracious in dating. I have always found her company to be entertaining. We have more in common than careers in medicine.