The Blacksmith's Daughter

Chapter One-2

Mom was not only heartbroken but also destitute. Little money, not able to work, few friends in Denver, she returned to Daddy, beseeching rides from strangers. One can imagine the scene as she ambled the final quarter mile drive to the farmhouse, rounded belly announcing her condition well before words were to be exchanged.

Mom confessed, if such is the appropriate term in disclosing the obvious. Not revealed... the ethnicity of the father.

So one can imagine... traumatic episode one... estranged housewife returns expecting child. And then traumatic episode two... housewife bears a child of color... her infidelity never to be veiled.

It was then that I began to better understand Daddy’s standoffishness, the many hours on the range, including overnight stays in the high country during the summer months, when the stock were pastured on high chaparrals.

As my sexuality developed, Mom and Daddy’s relationship became of more interest. It was apparent that whatever the agreement... the bargain Mom made to be taken back in, to have shelter for the remainder of her pregnancy, to have a roof over the head of her new born... it was draconian.

Yes, despite being somewhat ostracized, I did have some teenaged girl friends. And in visiting their homes, I noted the husband wife relationship typically was warm and respectful. Whereas Mom and Daddy? well it seemed she was there to merely serve. And not only in the kitchen and barn.

With puberty, the locked bedroom door, the whimpering, the muffled yelps became more apparent to newly aware ears. Despite the infidelity, Mom and Daddy still had a s****l relationship, but it was one of subservience. Later I was to find how subservient.Daddy was a sodomite.

Dr. Winthrop Samuels

I listen to Sandy’s story intently, trying not to interrupt. As my initial gawking transforms to medical inquisitiveness, I inspect. Sandy merely sits naked, expecting to be exhibited... and to be palpated. I cannot help donning latex gloves and assuming a professional demeanor, feigned I might add.

She thinks I am Dr. Winthrop. She is going to meet Mr. Haig.

Those breasts for example, so nicely presented by her horrific modifications of iron... yes... very tender... very inviting... so prominently displayed...

So I cop a feel... professionally rendered, of course. The fingers are those of Dr. Winthrop... the licentious thoughts those of Mr. Haig. When my fingers turn from examination to sensuous caress, she pauses, cognizant of the transition. So I ask a question to divert attention.

“How long have you been in New York? And how on earth do you fare with your hands... confined?” searching for the word to describe iron laden hands.

“I have only been here three days. I keep my hands hidden in my coat pocket. I have been begging for food and earning money by...”

She pauses, blushing. I know how she earns her keep, Louise suggesting quite the oral skills.

“Fellatio,” I finally blurt, using the time worn Latin term to augment my shammed air of professionalism.

She smiles quite shyly and nods.

“I can open cans,” lifting her iron clad right hand to show the hook. “Pop tops. People have to help me with money. I’ve been ripped off. The city sucks. I need help.”

Offered the opportunity, I grasp the hand for closer examination. I work with metal... expensive stuff, special alloys such as nickel cobalt, quite hard, not given to corrosion. Thus the workmanship is of interest. As I inspect I nod, indicating that Sandy continue her narrative.

Sandra Devon

I graduated high school. An uninspired student, mediocre grades, Daddy’s true feeling about me came to light. College denied, I was to work on the farm. And now in relative isolation, no further contact with fellow students, it was apparent Daddy was aware that whatever happened at the farm stayed at the farm, more or less.

I was not permitted to drive. There was no cell phone... no cell phone reception to be had. And I found the land line phone placed under lock and key. My chores increased. The work became physically daunting, lifting bags of feed, mucking the barn. Daily contact dwindled to Mom and Daddy, the farm hands seasonally transient with little chance to develop relationships.

Then, I suppose because my body was developing... and having no blood affiliation with Daddy... he began to notice me... sexually.

There came a hot summer day when the hands were well out into the pastures. He suggested I would be more comfortable topless, my shirt to be removed. As you can see, my glands developed well, later than my friends, but well. There was attraction found.

What was I to do? I was frightened. I attempted to interject reason, mentioning the possibility of Mom’s presence. Daddy just laughed. And he became crass.

‘She will be silent... and pleased to know I find attraction. She knows she will benefit from a good stiff c**k as a result,’ pointing to his bulging trousers.

Things were changing at the farm. Deemed an adult, there came a new protocol. Yes, I labored topless, instructed to cover myself only when visiting buyers arrived... or one of the hands rode in from the pastures.

And Daddy was right, Mom was not only silent but at night sounds behind the locked bedroom door became more noticeable... or maybe my perception advanced. Whatever.

Autumn came. There approached the isolation of winter. The winters of Colorado brought heavy snow. The few horses not sold in season for the most part stayed in the barn or grazed in a corral area. Thus the hands moved south, to return in the spring for breeding time. I was apprehensive, over the warm months Daddy’s comportment somewhat tempered by the occasional interloping farm hand or visitor. This would end with the sale of many of the horses and the advent of heavy snows, I realized. Would there be more change? Would Mom continue to remain silent? Benefitting from a good stiff c**k?

Dr. Winthrop Samuels

I listen. I examine. The ironwork is crude, in the mind of Dr. Winthrop – forged and deliciously gothic, in the mind of Mr. Haig. Two hot strips of metal have been pounded, hammered to be hemispherical in shape with openings for the wrists. The two pieces then placed over the hand and hot riveted together. Time required... many, many hours. And the bearer? Sitting... lying... with inordinate patience... either willingly submitting to the bizarre transformation, total denial of the use of hands... or perhaps, as the imagination of Mr. Haig effervesces, restrained. Yes, held well bound, immobile as for many hours the blacksmith forges with deliberation.

As I cup the right hand, the weight makes an impression. The iron sheet is thick... unnecessarily thick, the loss of prehension equally accomplished with lesser clad. There is a message conveyed, over and above the loss of the use of digits. And as I look down at the ankles the same is true there as well. With the sizable gauging of the rings, the penetrating implements not only serve to potentially bind, but to constantly remind, the bulky loops affecting the gait, bringing uncontrollable cramping to the calf muscles I am sure.

The simple act of walking turned to an aggravating endeavor... the feel of another’s imposing hands ever present.

“On all fours for me, Sandy. Knees well parted like a good girl.”

She struggles on the smooth hard table top to assume the demanded position, iron mittens slipping, the muscles cramping indeed. But she protests not. Dr. Winthrop desires to ascertain the level of imposition offered by the extreme labial piercing. Mr. Haig just wants to see her cunt. So crass this Mr. Haig.

She resumes her story, her love pouch as well displayed as the huge wrought iron ring permits. Meanwhile a gloved hand reaches forth, diddling the ring. It’s over three inches in diameter and appears to be that expected in the nose of a bull; I am sure such readily available in rural ranching country.

Sandra Devon

So winter comes. With the horses few, Daddy sends away the last farmhand. I am to feed those remaining. And now I will do so completely naked!

An early heavy snowfall piles deep layers of white on the quarter mile drive to the main road. With the house well stocked with winter supplies, Daddy does not bother to clear it away. Therefore no one in... no one out. Perhaps someone laden with snowshoes can traverse the deep powder. But to what purpose? There is nothing to be had, no reason to make the endeavor.

And so every morning after breakfast, Daddy sends me to the barn.

‘You know how I want you,’ he reminds, mother tending to the kitchen stove.

Does she know? I cannot help asking myself. How can she not?

Then he leans and whispers.

‘I want you to strip naked first then stoke the fire. That will encourage haste.’

And of course, Daddy was correct, the temperature of the barn plummeting on winter nights, mere embers in the wood burning stove. But I was obedient, stripping naked and prancing about briskly, assembling split logs and stoking with fervor.

In finishing I turned to the door, not noticing that Daddy had slipped in to watch. Familiar with my breasts, his gaze went to my buttocks, well muscled with the many months of laboring, and of course my p***y.

‘Shave... down there. Men like to view pink... and your mother will benefit... you know how,’ again pointing to his bulging trousers.

Yes, the bedroom would be noisy tonight I concluded.

I began feeding the horses, lifting the heavy bags of feed. Daddy was entranced.

Dr. Winthrop Samuels

“What do you feel, in your pubes area? The ring appears ponderous.” I interrupt again as a gloved hand again toys with the labial ring.

Heavy indeed... and Mr. Haig so much wants to tug with vigor.

“It feels as if I am constantly being controlled... all the piercings... but that one in particular.”

“You were pierced simply to forestall m**********n. Yet, it would seem a determined girl could slip in some fingers and attain some degree of gratification.”

With my clinical presumption, I lift the ring up toward the anus and oh so gently glide a gloved finger into her v****a very close to her c******s. She stirs, pubo coccygeus muscles tensing with the briefest and slightest of touches. I note that she is quite wet, her v****a secreting, the amusing response of the masochist which I so often encounter. Yes the intensity of the humiliation excites. She may know it... but does she understand it? I do, and it so much abets the exchange of power. Girls such as Sandra Devon will protest, plead, beg... but in the end submit... completely.

I withdraw and Sandy sighs... in disappointment?

“My hand coverings are what really enforces chastity. Daddy used that ring... well it can be used to bind,” the words reluctantly offered.

Mr. Haig finds the notion quite gleeful, restraining a girl using her cunny. And Dr. Winthrop notes that with the ring so deeply set, the piercings thrust through many layers of epidermis, untoward stress can be applied. The girl can be leashed and led about by her genitalia! And done so quite brusquely. No sloppy and painful tearing for this piercing!

Alas, my clinical evaluation must move onward, less Mr. Haig give himself away. So my examining hands move to the ankle rings. Such are of equivalent size and gauging. When I hook my finger through the right ring, a slight tug elicits a groan and instant cramping of the calf muscles. Yes, as expected, the piercings serve to hobble and I better understand the awkward ambulation, the very weight of the ring and the girl’s movement can prompt involuntary contraction.

How fiendish! How humbling! Reminded of one’s alterations with every footfall.

Yet I cannot dawdle. Maintaining the air of professionalism, I move to the left side of the table. The buttocks. Yes such are firm and shapely, the daily toil at the farm apparent and tedious but good for the physique. Athletic, a firm layer of effeminate flesh evenly covers well toned muscling. Yet such is also well tamed muscling. When I hook my finger and offer an equivalent slight tug to the ring atop the protrusion, again there comes a groan and instant cramping. Such will also affect the gait. And Mr. Haig notes that it will also obviate clenching of the buttocks when the rings are used to restrain. Sandy did mention sodomy. But what a devilish endeavor, to offer permanent deep piercings to assure there can be no denial of penile entry.