Deus ex Machina

Chapter One-4

“Maybe you can earn one tonight,” Alicia said. “But first, let’s see if that pretty mouth of yours can do a job on my cat,” she said, throwing a leg over Leanne’s torso and sliding of her knees forward until her clean shaven p***y was directly above Leanne’s mouth. Needing no further encouragement, Leanne stuck out her tongue and went to work.

***

With her ever-expanding toy collection, Leanne often brought herself to the very edge of what she assumed must be orgasm; panting, sweating, having trouble focusing her eyes, dry, (or soaked), s*x organs and mouth and even, now and then, breaking out in a rash. But it wasn’t enough. The marks on her wrists, and ankles, plus the deep indentations on her waist and neck, simply verified to anyone who looked carefully that she was hooked on bondage, alone or with company, and open to similar exploitation by people she knew and trusted. The episode with Alicia was exciting for them both and they agreed that they would get together again when both were in the same city.

Now, as a prisoner of this sailor in this up-scale resort village by the sea, Leanne was again experiencing her repetitive fantasies with all the details. Her mind and body told her that this might just possibly, maybe, be the answer. As she lay quietly waiting to see what might come next, Leanne tested the ropes that kept her in the awkwardly bent, but not really uncomfortable, hog tie she often tried on her own. The beauty of this position, she knew, was that if done properly, the tension between the rope harness around her upper body and her feet could be tightened or loosened and eventually undone because she made sure that the knots were always within reach.

One day, after an intense solo session that lasted hours, using most of her gear, she wrote in her diary the following entry:

Incredible. Maybe it was actually The Orgasm and I missed it. I used all of the rope. Put the handcuffs on my ankles. More rope loops around my legs below the knees and two very tight rope wraps around my upper legs. I doubled up on making sure I was quiet by putting in the ball gag and then the hood over it. God, that was awesome! I tried to get the new brank over the whole combination, but didn’t succeed. If I can figure out a safe way to bind my upper arms, probably at or just above the elbows, that would improve what already seemed PDNP…Pretty Damned Near Perfect. (A term I read in some cheap novel where the girl gets kidnapped and is kept in what she considered to be a PDNP position where the captors have easy access to her s*x and take constant advantage of it). More next time.

Her fascination with hog ties had, more than once, also nearly resulted in tragedy. An occasional boyfriend who enjoyed tying her and was quite talented with various aspects of b**m, on one summer afternoon, bound Leanne with a new technique that she eventually decided might work in a solo session as well. On this occasion, he tied her with the common upper body harness that circled under her arms and behind her neck and was then loosely connected to her bound ankles. Her arms were encircled with many meters of course rope, finished at her finger tips and fastened to the four tight loops around her waist.

In the beginning, the young man doing the tying stuffed her mouth with her own underwear and then put a tight leather hood over her head, sealing off hearing, speech and sight. Over this, he buckled a leather bridle type harness with a double sheave snatch block, (two rollers), pulley system, the end of which he connected to a duplicate pulley at her ankles. He explained that the term “snatch block” was intended to allow rope to be passed over the roller without having to thread it all the way through the system and that it had nothing to do with her personal snatch. He thought that this was pretty funny although Leanne said she failed to see the joke. Her legs were strapped at the upper thigh, again just above and below the knees and finally at her already bound ankles.

Leaving Leanne to simmer for a while, the man, whose name was Barry, then introduced two other young women friends and they sat on the floor around Leanne, drinking ice cold aquavit and debating their next move with the bound and hooded body lying before them. Now and then Leanne would groan or fart just to let them know she was still alive and apparently enjoying the session.

Eventually, they engaged the block and tackle to slowly shorten the distance between Leanne’s head and feet. This was done in small increments while Leanne struggled at first and then, when the process made the distance between head and feet most extreme, she stopped resisting and allowed her body to be drawn into an agonizingly strict bow with her feet touching the top of her head and the block and tackle fully engaged. Then the trio of tormentors connected the end of the rope to an overhead, horizontal support beam and tightened it so to allow only a small amount of slack. This meant that when Leanne bent back even further, shortening the distance between feet and head, the block and tackle eased a bit of rope back and lessened the tension, but the rope to the beam would take up the slack and the system again increased tension.

Enduring this diabolical torment was beyond Leanne’s previous experience and the system stressed her ability to cope with the constant strain placed on her entire body. Her tormentors eventually realized that she was losing consciousness and released the tensioning system between head and feet. They opened the hood and gave Leanne water and some vodka and eventually, though still securely bound, she revived, wondering exactly what had happened. When her captors saw that she was still alive, they loosened some of the ropes and then got into their cars and departed, leaving Leanne to spend the night still tied but otherwise unharmed by the experience.

Leanne didn’t know Marianne Summers. In fact, she never saw her until much later, but as Casco worked slowly in the early evening twilight, she felt her cuffed and taped hands being attached to something that felt like cool flesh. It grunted when she touched it. Dimly, in her immobilized state, Leanne realized that her hands were fastened to someone else’s feet that were bound like hers.

Casco completed the hand to foot attachment with his usual detailed expertise, assuring that the ropes and tape were not interfering with the circulation of the hands and feet of his twin captives, then continued to wrap the heavy shroud around both bodies, checking the multiple air tubes and the wires connecting the gag mikes to the regulator boxes that channeled any sounds to the electrical shocks that would instantly fire in the offending woman’s sensitive body parts.

In a few minutes, the wrapping job was complete. Sealed inside the twelve foot long leather and latex tube were the subtle, immobile bodies of the two young women who had only a few hours ago been enjoying the island sun and the longing stares of other tourists who perhaps were fantasizing about what they would like to be doing with the perfect, tanned bodies that lay in the sun or, as in Marianne’s case, bicycled through the streets of the tiny resort town on the Adriatic Coast. Casco finished his work by adding twin ventilation tubes to each bundle, knowing that the body heat and the ambient temperature would be excessive without such cool air relief.

A few days before, Marianne had arrived on a luxury cruise ship and, under an unusual touring arrangement, allowed her to stay at a small inn for a week, rejoining the ship later in an Italian port. This was an uncommon program that the cruise lines were testing because it suited the needs of many cruising guests who wanted more than a few hours in some select destination ports. Marianne was a test case and thus it turned out that neither the cruise line nor the operators of the on-shore inn missed her for some time, each party thinking that the other had made pre-arranged contact with the lovely new guest.

Casco was planning his covert abduction of Leanne when Marianne literally ran into him on her bike. Not looking ahead, the girl side-swiped Casco and ran into a telegraph pole, tumbling off the bike and quickly getting back up, apparently unhurt. She wore only the most minimal of bikinis that included a tiny thong and a thin black ribbon that just covered the extended, ringed n*****s on her small, but well-shaped, conical breasts. Casco had not missed the fact that the breast ribbon was threaded through twin gold rings on each n****e; an interesting and unique feature in this girl’s minimal apparel. The crotch band of the throng disappeared into her ass crack and offered a three inch triangle to cover her s*x.

The top ribbon of this minimal attire was merely a decoration, serving more to entice than obscure. It was little more than a one inch wide ribbon that covered portions of her extended n*****s and was held there by the gold rings and with a knotted band at her spine. A narrow thread of the same fabric went up over her shoulders and around the back of her neck. Both tiny pieces of cloth were somewhat relocated by the collision and Casco noted that the woman made little effort to recover herself except that she fumbled with the bandana around her hair, only to rearrange the minimal body fabrics afterwards. She was also distracted by the appearance of the man she nearly ran over with the bike. Casco was the sort of guy she always looked for when she traveled. His well-muscled, tanned body gave him a weathered, nautical look and, as usual, the fashionable, requisite beard and moustache completed the picture. Okay, she thought, he’s hot and all that, but he’s probably married to some bimbo who keeps him close, on a tight leash and quickly informs anyone else that he’s “hands off.”

Surprised, but also unhurt, Casco inspected the somewhat mangled bicycle and examined the girl’s nearly naked body for any damage, insisting that she get out of the way of possible road traffic, cross the empty street and join him aboard the yacht to assure that both of them were uninjured. Although she protested a bit, Marianne put her bike on the side of the road and walked the short distance to the floating dock where Casco’s slick little tender waited.

“Watch your step,” Casco said as he held Marianne’s warm, slightly bruised hand and helped her into the launch. She returned the touch with a firm grip, reluctantly letting go as she took a seat in the cockpit next to the control pedestal.

Marianne was impressed with the brightly varnished interior of the elegant little motor launch and even more impressed as Casco easily released the boat’s docking lines and carefully guided it out to the moored seventy-foot sailboat that shimmered in the spring sunlight.

“Where are we going?” Marianne asked as they threaded their way through other yachts, large and small, in the crowded harbor.

“There,” said Casco, pointing to the large sailboat at the outer edges of the harbor. “I got here late yesterday and that was the only mooring left. Given the boat’s size, it’s a tricky fit.”

“Why?” asked Marianne, eyeing the yacht.

“As the wind and current change, the boat swings on the mooring and if it was three meters longer, I couldn’t stay there safely. Those rocks on the jetty would be a hazard,” Casco said.

The diesel motor on the launch putted quietly as they made a half circle around the yacht and then smoothly slid up along one side. Casco reversed at the last moment and executed a perfect landing. Marianne was impressed.