Deus ex Machina

Chapter One-2

“Guess you didn’t know that Ray is your host here,” a red head with large t**s and heavy bracelets on both wrists muttered in Leanne’s still hooded ear. “That’s right, you simple cunt. He paid plenty for this holiday and made it clear that there were no boundaries except that you had to leave here, if you leave at all, without any major injuries. That, my sweet little frigid pussycat, is what this is all about. We debated telling you all of this, but decided it was all part of the testing we were paid to carry out. “Once we get started, we will use the tools you see on the wall over there, one at a time. And we will do so to wring screams from your soul, not just from your mouth. I assure you, you will scream and beg and feel every stroke.

“I,” she said, “am particularly partial to the cat, and we will use it now and then when you have already decided that you are dying from the pain, if not from the frustration of not being able to c*m. But you won’t die. We will photograph and video your reactions to pain and pleasure…and yes, honey, there will be pleasure you have not experienced before...and you will beg us and God and Allah to stop and release you. What you must do is show us, tell us that you are finally enjoying a real climax; an orgasm that makes you feel like you must die, breathlessly, without words, with fluids coursing down the inside of your legs, dripping into a puddle on the floor and perhaps one or more of us indulging in the fun of ravaging your hopeless cunt and asshole with tongue or fists, at the same time. All of this is only part of what is coming; so relax, cry awhile. We’ll be back after supper. Bye, Baby.”

That night the torture team took turns at Leanne. When the whipping or caning stopped, one or two of the girls went to work, hoisting her again by her bruised wrists and tying Leanne’s legs wide apart to rings in the floor, then playing with their object of torment, using dildoes and plugs and an enema or two. When they didn’t get the response they expected, they went back to flogging Leanne while she cried and struggled at the end of the chain. The whippings were always less than major. Leanne was sure that they were either under orders to go not any damage or simply keep at it until she broke from the endless repetitions.

In the end, after forty-seven hours of this torment with an occasional respite of being lowered to the floor and having circulation restored to her arms and hands, Leanne was exhausted and incoherent. The beatings stopped and she endured another day and night in the massive king bed brought into the chamber. They bound her spread eagle and f****d her in all three holes until she screamed for them to stop, but never felt anything but the pain and degradation. Finally, they gave her back her passport and credit cards and let her go with minimal clothing and about fifty Euros tucked into her bra.

Ray, she learned later, got his money back because the terms of the agreement with the women specified that unless they wrung a real orgasm from her, they would not get paid.

Seeking any help she could get, Leanne went to a coastal city and shared the experience with medical counselors. She discussed this with them and, in general, they tended to treat the idea of rough or restrained s*x as a normal variation as long as no harm was done. The caveat in her mind, however, was that she didn’t want to be physically harmed or injured in this process and nearly all of the contacts she had were locked into the theory that she wanted to be hurt, assuming that the best s****l experience would come with the physical pain and humiliation. This was a serious issue for her because many people she knew well enough to share her problem with told her that there were extremely thin lines between harm, hurt and dangerously brutal damage. This warning was a defining and self-limiting issue for further encounters with strangers. Of course, the women who had tormented her were not trained or concerned about Leanne’s welfare, so it might be said, as one physician told her, that they were torture specialists, not s*x counselors.

Thus, it was not accidental that privately, Leanne meticulously began to experiment with the concept of bondage in many of its forms. She kept two pair of handcuffs in a special place near her bed and used them now and then when she was sure that she would not be disturbed. The problem with handcuffs, Leanne learned the hard way, was that if she didn’t have the keys handy, or was unable to get the keys into the proper position to unlock the cuffs, she was in serious trouble. Two frustrating incidents convinced her that such matters might be more rewarding if a second person was involved, but that proved difficult because the few people she asked to help her reacted in a negative manner, even accusing her of being “nuts.”

“You want me to do what?” one of her fellow female crew members on the yacht asked, totally incredulous that Leanne wanted her to help secure herself to the bunk and then flog and otherwise abuse her for her own amusement. A similar reaction greeted Leanne’s suggestion one night in a luxury hotel room with a new male friend. She asked him to take her into the underground dungeons at one of the nearby ancient castles and chain her there; keeping her a bound and gagged prisoner while he worked her body over with freshly cut bamboo sticks and canes. The young man told her that he would not engage in such illegal conduct because if they were caught, the penalty would be worse than the activity.

“We won’t get caught.” Leanne argued, standing in front of the man with her wrists tightly bound behind her, her left thigh between his legs and jammed against his crotch and her bare n*****s pressed against his chest. “It will be fun,” she added. “You can do anything you want. If you gag me well enough, no one will hear me scream. I really want this. I will provide all the equipment. Please hurt me.”

“Get someone else,” he said, backing up in the hotel room and walking out the door. “Find another creep to f**k and flog you. I have no interest in this sort of demeaning behavior.”

S&M groups she brushed with on line and in the college community seemed amateurish, contrived and even dangerous, so those avenues were closed, at least for now. Part of the problem was that Leanne was well beyond the basic S&M stages that other students and friends generally tried and knew in terms of understanding b**m behavior in general. They were also afraid of doing real harm in the process. One male classmate, Eddie, who she really liked, showed up in her dorm room one night and, uninvited, tied her spread eagle with pantyhose to the bed, stuffed two clean pair of her panties into her mouth and quietly raped her.

“I hear that you like this, Leanne,” he said.

Unable to respond with her panties tied into her mouth, Leanne let the episode pass and even tried to get the same guy to carry out another such event. Apparently, he wasn’t interested. He did, however, spread the tale of their supposedly consensual evening and she found that she suddenly had a lot of men and women suggesting that they might like to do her as well.

“Hey Luanne,” wrote one of her classmates, a lovely blond who Leanne secretly thought was bi or lesbian, “let’s get together and play. You can tie me and I’ll tie you and then some of my sorority sisters will video the whole thing. Text me ASAP.”

Amazed at this proposal, Leanne waited a few days and then texted back to the woman:

“Where and when?”

What she didn’t expect was that four of the sorority girls descended on her dorm room at two in the morning, tightly bound and gagged her and carried her out of the dorm wrapped in a blanket. They were not gentle, but when they got to the sorority house and unwrapped Leanne, there was some debate as to who in the house would actually have her first. They chained her in a small barred room in a corner of the basement, with a heavy chain locked around her waist and another on her neck, stuffed more rags into her mouth and put a complex punishment hood over her head. The hood sealed not only her well-stuffed mouth, but also her eyes and ears. When it didn’t seem to fit quite right, the girls removed it and studied her face, then decided that Leanne’s recently installed nostril ring was preventing a secure fit, so they cut the ring with a pair of heavy side cutters, pulled the severed pieces out and refitted the hood.

Then, after setting up a video camera and some lights, they strung her up from a rafter by her chained wrists and flogged her without mercy, claiming that she was a slut and demanding that she have nothing further to do with any of the men on campus. After the beating, she was again chained belly first, to the cold, damp wall of the cellar, still gagged and hooded. They put a leather harness on her and bound a 110 VAC electric vibrator into her cunt and a huge, similarly powered butt plug into her ass using the harness to keep it in place. They turned on both appliances and left the cellar with Leanne quietly sobbing into the hood.

Later, the girls returned, removed the video card from the camera and left to go watch the film. When they came back, they teased the exhausted girl about her never having any reaction to the beating or the forced automatic s*x.

“OMG,” said Cathy, the sorority president. “You took it all without a sound and then wanted more. I shouldn’t tell you this, but there are some people in the city that will pay you damned well to do this. Their company is called Consensual Thrills and it is perfectly legal. A couple of us got really stoned one night and went downtown to see if we could handle it. There was a lot of paper work before they agreed and took two of us down to the basement for a test.”

Leanne listened and much of what Cathy told here didn’t register because she was still suffering from the night before. But she nodded and tried to file away the information for another time.

“They are very much above board on this,” Cathy said, “and they have the business licenses and permits and stuff. They will give you safe words and action and make sure you understand that if you call a halt at any point, you will be released and not be paid, of course. But they are good and we learned a few things while there.

“The cellar is a museum of sorts with all kinds of gadgets and devices,” Nina, another sister, added. “They also offer a ‘kidnap and keep’ program that gets complicated, but sounds fantastic. We had a chance to visit with two girls who were, more or less, permanent residents of the company. Both bought and paid for double indemnity life insurance policies payable to a shell agency that specialized in such things.

“They wanted desperately to get free from their parent’s constant meddling and oversight, so they arranged for a simulated kidnapping, which actually was more of a ‘death by accident and disappearance’ scenario. We talked for hours about what they hoped would happen, but most of it was pure fantasy. Eventually, they left the office, got on a Bay Ferry and were not seen by their parents or friends again.