Bondage a la Carte

Chapter Five-1

Chapter Five

Once again they stood her up, holding her easily to keep her from toppling over with her closely bound feet and legs. Hood One showed her what looked like a giant leather dildo. It was enormous; a long leather cylinder with a sort of fat pod at one end and a heavy-duty zipper running from the pod to the wider, open end. It could have been a case for some sort of instrument, she thought.

What’s this? What is he going to do with that thing? It certainly isn’t going to go inside me. Those tunnels are already blocked, thank you.

He opened it up and showed her the soft leather lining and the flat, padded steel braces that held the thing rigid. Judging from her expression, she slowly recognized the sleeve and as before, did not resist while they slipped the heavy, leather single glove over her bound arms, thrusting her fisted hands into the thickly lined bottom pod enclosure of the sleeve, then wrapping the leather cocoon around both arms. It reached from her fingertips to just above her bound elbows. They tugged the back zipper upward to the top of the sleeve and secured it with another padlock. Four additional, thin leather straps went around the sleeve at wrists, mid arm, elbows and upper arm. The mid arm strap went all the way around her corseted waist below her breasts, pulling the sleeve in close to her body. She sighed into the gag.

Oh. Ooomh. Nice and tight. That feels great. Make sure it’s really tight, guys. My shoulders are already screaming from the strain.

Now she again lay on the floor, face down, breasts squashed onto the cold tiles, while they fitted a larger, similar, single sleeve over her legs, from bound toes to just below her locked crotch. It fit perfectly, encapsulating both already immobilized, roped appendages in the black leather sleeve, much like a giant, handmade cigar getting its final exterior layer of prime wrapper tobacco. More straps and locks finished this.

Good God, it’s tight. I feel like my body is the inside of a sausage. But, this is what I wanted. This is what I came here for. Lovely. Tight. Complete envelopment.

The bondage totality of the twin sleeves nearly overwhelmed her. She could now only move her head. From the neck down, she was a leather-enclosed mummy. Her arms and legs were nothing more than slowly numbing extensions of her torso, fully enclosed, sealed and strapped into complete immobility, the stiff leather exterior offering no relief and the soft interior lining imbedding itself into her skin like an overnight mudpack mask. Within the sleeves, nothing, not a finger or a toe, a knee or elbow, flexed. No plaster cast or bucket of concrete would have been more secure, more restrictive.

Although quite unnecessary, another handful of narrow straps went around the very top of her thighs and another around her cinched waist and the single glove, pulling it closer yet to her bound body. Two more thin straps went above and below her full, slightly jiggling breasts, compressing the flesh of her chest and exaggerating their extension.

They tied a doubled length of cord to the base of the arm sleeve and stretched it to another ring at the very tip of the leg encasement. They pulled it tight enough so that when plucked, the cord actually hummed like a bass fiddle string. Nevertheless, because of the rigidity of the twin sleeves and the hidden internal metal ribbing in them, her legs could not, would not, bend even fractionally.

Oh. Almost dozed off there. Whole body going numb. I’m going off into my other world. Everything tight, compression. Wonderful.

Her captors checked each knot, each ring, each tightly secured cord and strap to assure themselves that she was well restrained before they produced the final elements of the procedure. From another small leather case, Hood One removed, with great drama, a pair of metal clamps. They resembled small C clamps used in wood-working crafts with a wing nut screw at the opening of the “C”. Hood One showed her one of them as he/she slowly twisted the screw, opening the space between its swivel base and the flat, fixed portion of the clamp. As the top screw backed out, it revealed a short, thin sliver needle that had been hidden in the clamp’s base. Now the needle was exposed, its glistening tip seemed to wink at her.

Uh oh. This is not going to be fun. And I was having such a great time. Now some pain to wake me up, I guess.

She knew at once where these devil clamps were going to go and she twisted slightly in the grip of both Hoods while Hood One slid the first clamp over the base of her left n****e and gently turned the screw a half turn, just enough for the needle tip to touch the surface of the hardened, pink n****e. Inside her leather cocoon, she flinched.

Another half turn and the needle descended into rigid flesh. A drop of blood appeared. Minute. Fractional. The Hood turned the screw again and the needle went deeper. She felt the pain, the pierced n****e flesh yelping its objection to the sharpened steel invasion. Slowly, watching her face, the Hood turned the screw until the needle was through the tiny, crushed breast turret and again hidden in the clamp’s base.

She breathed a long sigh of relief, yet knowing that the same thing was about to happen to the other tit.

The second clamp was applied in the same fashion, but this time by the other Hood.

I guess they get something out of doing this and decided to share. This guy lacks the finesse of the first. Ouch, ow, ow, oh, s**t, stop jiggling the clamp, pleeeease…

The Number Two Hood tightened the wing nut screw until the already rigid, light brown nugget was thoroughly pierced and compressed in the clamp. Hood Two released his hold and studied her face, judging the effect while more tears seeped out of her reddened eyes and her jerking breath made the clamp bounce slightly with the shivering breast beneath it.

Too tight. You’re crushing the nips, Too Much. Too much. Oh God. Loosen them up just a bit, please!

They stood watching her for more than a minute, then adjusted the clamps, eliciting a similar negative effect: more whimpering, an obstructed scream into the ball gag and more tears, especially when Hood Two, judging the clamp to be insufficiently snug, twisted the screw another half turn. He was rewarded for his efforts by another muffled shriek from her throat, a blast of mucus from her distended nostrils and a slight foaming around the edges of the ball gag. Both Hoods nodded to each other and, even though she could not see their faces, it was clear that they were smiling; most pleased with their work, for they had obtained the desired impact: their subject’s composure and apparent ambivalence was gone. Their original goal had been attained. She was clearly uncomfortable now, breathing hard, trembling in the Hoods’ grip to keep from toppling over.

She had shied away when the clamps were first closed onto the twin flesh turrets, but now she wailed loudly through the gag as they alternately tightened the small set screws down to nearly crush flat the pierced, tormented flesh even more.

Oh s**t, God dammit. Too freakin’ tight. My freakin’ t**s will never be the same. Oh God. Oh God, why did I do this?

The game continued. Her weeping, groaning head was stuffed into a fitted leather discipline hood which they displayed grandly to her before installing it. It was soft black leather with a large ring fastened to the crown, a heavy-duty zipper from the top to the base of the neck and a collar that buckled in the back and took yet another lock to connect the collar buckle and closed zipper. They slipped a plastic tube between the pear gag and her cheek, asking her to suck on it and making sure she could obtain liquid in this manner, then they stuffed her hair into the dark leather helmet and carefully smoothed it over her skull, closing the locking zipper seal in back and an additional lacing around her neck.

This is no fun. I love my hoods, but this is too much and there is nothing I can do to stop it. My t**s are killing me. Made me forget about the lovely twins up my cunt and ass.

From the back of the hood, more cord ran from a ring to another ring on the top edge of the arm-binder. Another doubled cord did the same in front, dipping through her shivering cleavage and pulling the hood downward towards the corset.

They backed her up, actually carrying her rigid, unresisting form rather than dragging it until she was standing, with their support, in the center of the room where the entire routine began earlier. They attached the hook that had held her arms to the ring on the top of the hood. The silent chain rose and pulled tight, forcing her to stand with only the base of the leg sleeve with her encapsulated, cruelly bound toes touching the tile floor. Ropes now came from all sides and were attached to D rings at various locations on the sleeves and strap bands. Both Hoods pulled each rope snug with a corresponding pulley, a block and tackle, creating tension from all sides.

Some sort of suspension system pulling me in every direction. Strange sort of isolation. The nips are numb, the arms and hands are gone and the legs from my ass down are like logs. Are they going to hang me up?

From the overhead chain, they suspended a liter of a gelatinous substance and told her to suck on the plastic tube until she tasted the goop in the bag. She did, grunting three times as her positive response.

When the Hoods finally left the room, Yvette Noir, twenty two, well-known Berlin model and socialite, was nothing more than a rigid, tightly strung, leather-bound figure in the center of the white tiled room. Inside the sealed leather hood, she quietly sobbed.

I asked for this. I wanted it. To be tied and strapped and locked away, but I can’t stand it. I want out. Now. Oh f**k, what am I going to do?

A small stream of salty tears trickled from under the collar base of the hood and even more fluid eventually appeared invisibly on the inside of her thighs, only to disappear and be absorbed by the thick padding in the leg binder.

“How long?” Calder asked, lighting a cigar and studying the monitor showing her well-illuminated figure in the next room.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Brenner said, fanning away the gray cigar smoke. “The contract is for a week, but I think she’ll want out in a day or so. In any case, not a week. She’ll get too dehydrated, even with the hydration tube into the gag. I’ll expect her to be out of there by tomorrow night for sure. I have a bet on it.”

“A bet? With whom?” Calder asked.

Brenner looked at him and laughed. “The girl friend, Paula, who came with her this morning.”

“Oh yeah. Great ass on that one. I was hoping that we were getting a duet.”

“Maybe next time,” Brenner mused. “We have some really good scenarios for a twosome.”

“True,” said Calder. “I noticed that we have some other similar activities listed in the new catalog that she may want to indulge in. I’ll check with you tomorrow then.”

“Right. I’ll tell Mila and Max they can go home. They did a super job, didn’t they? It took nearly an hour, but they didn’t miss a beat,” Brenner added.

“Indeed. I thought the inflatable butt plug was going to be trouble, but, as she promised when we discussed lubricants, it went right it,” Calder said with a grin.

I have to settle down. This is fantastic. Better than the cage that Paula likes so much. I’ve been in this kind of thing before, just never this intense. Have to relax and enjoy the feelings. The orgasms are coming again. Damned sweet double c***s up my ass and cunt are nice. Better now. The nip clamps still hurt like the devil, but they seem to be easing up a bit. Maybe I can stand this after all. Not as bad as when Paula put in the cunt rings, that’s for sure.