Deus ex Machina

Chapter One Nearly Painless “This won’t hurt a bit,” Ron Casco said as he put the nude and thoroughly bound body of the university freshman down on the heavy canvas tarp. Leanne Sormont, nineteen year-old, former high school cheer leader from Groosport, Indiana, didn’t say anything. Actually, she wanted to put her bound arms around the dark, sun-tanned sailor and kiss him hard. She wanted to say that being tied up and gagged like she was had always been one of her darkest fantasies and now it was happening. But she couldn’t speak because of the inflated rubber bulb gag in her mouth. Indeed, she made no sounds at all because even without the gag, the mini microphone inside her mouth would pick up even the slightest whimper and trigger a series of electrical shocks to her wired n*****s, ass and p***y. Leanne tested this shocking arrangement once and had no intention of doing it again, so she remained silent and motionless as Casco finished lacing up the leather body sheath that encapsulated her from neck to toes. The sheath was lined with a one millimeter layer of latex and this thin material was already molding itself to her nearly perfect, athletic body. With her model’s figure, her arms extended back and fastened to her ankles and her leather-hooded head, Leanne provided an immobilized sculpture that looked more like it was carved from stone than a living, breathing young woman who until a few hours ago had been sun bathing on her hotel’s pool patio. To suggest that her body was perfect would have been true enough, even in its present multi-layered cocoon of rope, latex and leather. Her hands spasmed in a futile attempt to wiggle her taped together fingers. Her smooth, sun-tanned thighs twitched slightly, the muscles popping at the skin surface, as Casco tightened the lacing further, making sure that her model’s breasts were fully compressed by the leather shroud enclosure and the several meters of encircling rope beneath. When complete, she imagined that her body looked a bit like half of a leather-enclosed donut with a few bumps here and there where her head and breasts pressed against the shroud. “You, my sweet little cheer leader,” Casco said quietly, “are going to have a far more exciting vacation than you ever expected. You will meet Arab princes and important business tycoons, church leaders and government officials. In other words, you will soon have an entirely different and unique view of the world and its richest and most influential people, men and women. They, in turn, will be mesmerized by your gorgeous person; your lovely face, perfect t**s and smooth, rounded ass.” Leanne tried to digest Casco’s words while she contemplated the sudden turn in events. One minute she had been lying, face down, on a reclining chair by the pool and the next thing she knew she was bound tightly with course rope around her wrists, upper arms, thighs and ankles; blindfolded and gagged on the stone floor of what smelled like a laundry. She was terrified. She tried fighting the fear, telling herself that she had been tied up like this many times in her young life and in each of those previous events she had partially enjoyed the adventure into the kinky world of b**m and restrained s*x. But now, it wasn’t terror that controlled her struggles. It was something else. An intangible fear of the outcome of this sudden kidnapping. She breathed slowly and surprisingly easily because Casco made sure that his second prize of the day would remain uncomfortable, but alive for the next several hours and would make no sound or movement while his yacht cleared the port customs and immigration office and then headed out into the Adriatic Sea. It would be at least a week-long sail taking Leanne and her similarly encapsulated companion to the North African coast where they would be easily sold. Leanne also was also mentally wrestling with a terrible, personal secret. It happened whenever she got into bed with a man or woman, Each time, she hoped that the encounter, even if it was with a stranger, would turn out to be more than a slam, bam, thank-you ma’am event where she got physically and emotionally wound up and then let down hard. This was not a case of her feeling love or emotional ties with her partner. It was because she simply could not have an orgasm. Orgasms were something she read about, constantly heard about from her female friends, but never, as far as she could tell, actually experienced herself. She learned to fake it, as best she could, hoping that it was realistic enough so that her partner assumed that they were having a mutually satisfying encounter. At times, when the entire episode went wrong, she always thought that it was her fault. Part of her conduct, which some people thought was promiscuous, was in fact little more than a desperate search for a s****l climax. She knew, and often communicated to others, that the combination of a sound beating with a whip or cane, coupled with having her s*x brutalized with various instruments and pain-generating techniques, was extremely arousing. Painful, but not the mind rattling experience she wanted, but could not achieve. In a few cases, her tormentors had in fact brought Leanne close to what she assumed was a climax. Once, while on a large, luxurious yacht, two women she hooked up with put her into a special cabin intended for the kind of b**m sessions she wanted. It was a week long event, beginning with being kept tied and hooded while the women inserted various plugs and dildoes into her ass and v****a, experimenting until they felt that they had the most erotically effective combination, then strapping in these two monster probes tightly with a leather harness. The size alone wasn’t what got Leanne turned on. It was the variable speed vibrations that kept her in a nearly constant state of arousal. A similar p***s-shaped gag, which featured two attached Teflon balls that were crammed into her cheeks, was administered slowly and painfully into her mouth so that when completed, there was no unused space in her oral cavity except twin hoses that carried some sort of nutriment and vital liquids into her throat. Before finally installing the monstrous ass plug, they emptied her digestive system with several enemas and then inserted two large bore catheters to take care of any further bodily discharges. None of these violations were new to Leanne, but nevertheless the details of the preparation for whatever was to follow were both alarming and arousing. Even her total encapsulation in a thin, transparent, latex body suit, while not unexpected, was, she thought, likely to be a costume she might be wearing for some time, if not indefinitely. What she wasn’t prepared for, once the suit was laced and zipped in place, was a total immobilization with a heavy rubber straight jacket with straps that had ratchet closings and which could be tightened incrementally as the women worked on her. During that process, her head was completely sealed in a combination of latex and leather disciplinary helmet/hood which allowing no sight, sound or other sensory input. So, when they began to hoist her fully bound and sealed body upwards and left her hanging what she assumed was several feet above the flooring, Leanne once again concluded that they were planning to leave her there until she either succumbed to the blood pooling in her head or simply died from the intense constriction of the suit and multiple straps. What eventually followed her mummification was quite unexpected nevertheless. Her captors proceeded to flog her slowly, with randomly timed strokes. The pause between hits was impossible for Leanne to calculate, so when they struck with a cat, a cane, a bull whip, buggy whip or other instruments of pain, she could not plan or anticipate what was coming. Was it to be one stroke, a dozen or even more? Were the timing intervals a few seconds or minutes or even hours? This was the torture she had not anticipated and it seemed endless. Memories of another time in the desert, securely bound in latex and straps, plugged, gagged, sightless and unable to make any sounds while hanging by her feet or hands and being flogged without reason or end result, remained among the parts of her mind that always came back when s*x arose as a potential goal for whoever owned her at that time. Over the last few years, she tried all of the usual, medically recommended methods of getting more out of s*x and found some of them to be almost laughable, others disgusting and the rest just plain boring. She knew most of the positions that the physicians and s*x advisors recommended and she knew that one thing seemed to get her closer to the desired ending, but so far, that too was unrewarding. That one thing was being helplessly bound, totally immobilized as she now was, and assaulted by a total stranger; male or female Leanne also knew that when she was beaten by women, her erotic reaction was more intense. More than once in her life, she was once again hung up by her wrists in a dark and foreboding place and then slowly stripped of all clothing, not by normal removal, but with a horse whip, one stroke at a time over many hours. There was nothing new to this. For Leanne, it was almost laughable. The team of young women assigned to punish her was quite adroit at the procedure, first wrapping her wrists in a cushioning leather and then placing heavy steel cuffs over the leather so that the blood flow to her hands and fingers was not restricted, then hooking her closely connected cuffs to a chain from a winch in the ceiling. Initially, they gagged her with a regular ball and panel harness and complimented this with a combination blindfold and semi hood, so that her head was covered from neck to crown with only her nose exposed. The whipping began with a few test strokes to her still covered ass. Once her tormentors were satisfied that this suspension would serve their long term purposes, they began an agonizing process of removing one article of clothing at a time, allowing the whip to slice through the thin, cotton T shirt and the cut-off blue jean shorts. This took a couple of hours, with Leanne hanging with only her toes touching the stack of bricks on the bare concrete floor. When they had her down to her fashionable, but barely functional bra and bikini panties, the routine changed. They removed the blindfold portion of the semi-hood, allowing her to see her bleak surroundings and the laughing, sadistic women who were tormenting her with things they put into her ass, mouth and cunt. Unconsciously, Leanne knew that there was a twinge of excitement building with each painful stroke of the long leather whip as it cut through her last remaining clothing. It was a different kind of feeling; a bit like watching a column of ants crawl up her legs, biting her exposed skin as they headed for her sweet, wet p***y and taking their time to tear off tiny bits of skin as they moved upward. Watching the women around her only made it worse, for they chattered and examined her body at they might inspect a store manikin displaying a bright, new underwear set in a shop window. Once the bra and panties tore away with the whip, the women gathered around Leanne, excitedly poking and probing her cunt and her asshole, noting the bloody scars and remarking about the efficacy of the knotted ends of the cat. From time to time, they checked to assure that the whip thus far had touched and marked the tenderest parts. They were especially attentive regarding her hairless p***y, debating if she kept it that way all the time or if she had shaved it in anticipation of the beating they were administering. Only then did Leanne learn that she was there because, Raymond, a man she barely knew, was paying for the session. After two essentially unproductive dates during which he kept her tied to his steel bed frame while he played with her s*x, Raymond gave up trying to get any erotic response and consigned Leanne to the whipping crew. His objective was that that their attentions over several days might bring out emotions and reactions that he was unable to elicit from Leanne, no matter what he did, no matter what technique he used, no matter how humiliated she was.