Having It All (23 page)
Chapter Sixteen
Final Transaction
One night in early May, Ted, Max and Frank took a multi night camping trip up the mountain and spent two days hiking and camping, checking out a couple of natural springs and watching game. They apparently had other discussions as well, because when they returned, everything at the estate suddenly began to change. All guests were locked down in their rooms and cells and the feeding and relief schedules changed for the worst. Anyone in an untenably long term position or enclosure was released and simply chained or tied in a way that they could feed themselves and use the chemical toilets that were provided. Questions from the guests were not answered and anyone who persisted was more stringently bound and gagged. A week later, two SUV limousines arrived at the estate. The passengers were shown to the main living room and held a meeting with the three men. Videos were shown; photos and other documents were reviewed and passed around the table. Several transactions were completed.
Ellen was nowhere to be seen. In fact, no one had seen her since the three men had taken their hiking trip. After nearly eight hours, the limos and their passengers left. Max and Ted went to the cellars to check on the guests, make adjustments in their bondage and inform each of them that they had, as of that day, been sold to some “persons of interest” and that they would soon leave the estate for unknown destinations. Since everyone was gagged and restrained, there was no major objection to this news. Katy and Purple seemed to find it interesting. Some of the others were less sanguine about it and Donna, always the Drama Queen, yelled and hollered into her gag until she was hooded and strapped to a bed frame, to remain there until she was crated and shipped off to her new home, somewhere in the Middle East.
In the secret chamber under the kitchen, Ellen remained where Frank had put her a few days before. She sat on a metal bench in a small closet the size of a phone booth, gagged with a strict head harness that was sealed inside a latex and leather punishment hood. She had undergone three massive enemas, personally administered by Frank, and then been plugged and catheterized, with the drains running into holes in the seat under her ass. She was on a liquid diet that fed her through tubes in the hood and gag. She was, of course, nude, except for a leather straitjacket with cut outs for her breasts. Ellen’s magnificent tits, which had been the object of considerable conjecture among all who saw them, were bound in wire netting that cinched the bases tightly and squeezed the mammaries into rigid, bulging balls of discomfort and pain. The nets provided half inch square holes which allowed straining patches of breast flesh to push out against the metal wire that dug fiercely into the ample tissue. Her ringed nipples were weighted, stretched by fine stainless steel cables to small springs on the opposite wall of the enclosure. The weights pulled the nipples down and the stretching cables pulled them out. The triple combination of weights, stretching and the terrible netting kept her focused mostly on her tits, even though the rest of her body was in equal distress. The vented plug in her ass, fitted with the drains, was much bigger than anything she had worn in the past and it stretched her anal opening wide enough so that Frank could and actually had, fisted her repeatedly before fitting the final plug. Lying over his lap, her hands bound and stretched out in front of her, Ellen had struggled when Frank began the initial insertion of the ass plug. Telling her that she needed to relax, he had put down the huge plug and taken up one of Ellen’s least favorite instruments, the springy steel carpet beater wand, and flailed her ass repeatedly until, in pure exhaustion, the woman relaxed enough for Frank to fit the flanged rubber plug into her anus, twisting and pushing the greasy probe until at last it popped home with its twin flared edges locked inside and the round exterior cap with its hose and valve hanging down her butt cleft.
While he was away on the hiking trip, Frank had placed Ellen in somewhat similar accommodations and used a unique locking device that stretched both cunt and asshole to increasingly wider diameters. The cleverly designed double plug actually locked in place so that nothing went in or out of the dual apertures. Its double hoses were connected to compressed air regulators that periodically increased the pressure in the plugs’ rubber bladders, swelling their interior size and filling the spaces for various periods of time, then retracting to a slightly lesser volume, giving the wearer a brief respite before swelling again. Both the interiors and the circular muscles surrounding the openings were thus nicely stretched by the time Frank returned and even with the enemas and liquid diet, Ellen was desperate to relieve herself. Frank had given her time to recover a bit, but insisted that the holes be kept stretched and open until he once again required her to lie across his knees and administered new enemas, a massive vaginal flushing and the necessary thrashing with the carpet beater. Thus, it was a bright red and seared ass that Ellen presented to Frank for the final penetration, first by hand and then with the huge plug. Her pussy was fully stretched as well and occupied by a combination inflatable and vibrating dildo of similarly massive proportions.
Ellen’s feet were permanently clamped into metal pumps with six inch spiked heels held in place with locking metal bands over the instep and around the ankle. Her knees were clamped to the metal bench, with the bands going around her lower thighs and also just below the knee. A wide metal belt held her waist to the flat back of the cubicle and additional bands of steel above and below her tormented breasts pressed her back against the wall. Her posture collar, also fastened to the wall behind her, held her hooded chin in an upraised position and restricted any sideways or up and down movement. Ellen was immobile in every respect. Even her toes could not move because of the confines of the steel shoes and her fingers were sealed into carbon fiber gloves that were inside the sleeves of the jacket.
The jacket was custom fabricated and differed from most strait jackets because it bound her arms behind her, not crossed in front. It fit like her own skin, allowing no slack, once the arm straps were pulled tight and locked.
All of this should have provided enough entertainment for even Ellen, but there was more. She knew, because she had specified each article of restraint, every item of her discomfort, months before.
From the junction box on the left wall of the cubicle a multitude of wires sprouted and led to various parts of Ellen’s anatomy. Instead of being connected with metal clips, the wire ends were plugged into terminal fittings that had been inserted under the skin and sutured in place. The wires led to each already tormented, ringed and stretched nipple, to both of her vaginal lips and clit, to her entombed tongue inside the gag and hood, and, of course, to complete the session, to both the vaginal and anal plugs in her crotch. A wide range of electrical stimuli could be provided by these connections and they were applied at opportune moments when Ellen’s attention to other refinements seemed perhaps to wane a bit. A few seconds’ low amperage jolt to her nipples elicited a snort through the hood’s breathing holes and a jiggle of her tits, as well as a vain attempt to lift her similarly shocked ass off the metal seat. Inside the strait jacket, she pulled and wiggled her arms in great, but useless efforts to somehow avoid the additional shocks to her tongue and rectum.
Slowly, continuously, Ellen experienced the discipline that she and Frank planned long ago as her final session before the estate was broken up and the guests sold off. She knew what this all meant and prepared herself for whatever came next. She was pretty sure that the estate had now been sold, all assets liquidated and the guests already essentially the property of other “persons of interest,” as they referred to them when the plan was first hatched. The funds that changed hands were not in U.S. banks and Ellen knew that sooner or later, Frank would take a trip to multiple destinations, slowly changing his identification and appearance so that he would just seem to fade away into oblivion. She also suspected that one of the cute young things that recently inhabited one of the basement cells would accompany Frank for awhile, until he finally sold her off as well and moved on, deeper into his new cover and able to access the millions that had been stashed away in various foreign banks under assumed identities. Since the buyers of the camp were all foreigners, no money ever even passed through the U.S. in any form. The goods that were sold, except for the estate, were not identified in any way, so the final transactions remained covert and secure. Somewhere, in some foreign financial center, perhaps in Singapore or Shanghai or Brunei, the millions would slowly trickle into accounts that no one knew or cared about, waiting for the new version of Frank to access them.
Ellen sat in her closet and imagined the future. She was pleased that she had brokered her own fate, whatever it was to be. “Everything is a transaction,” she recited mentally to herself.
Complicity
A Consensual, BDSM Romance
Preface
Have you ever wished that one of your dreams would actually come true? Have you wondered if there might be another place where the things you wished for were reality?
As both an observer and participant in the BDSM scene for more than thirty years, I remain astonished at the range of variations our minds create as we try to find new applications for old fantasies. The fulfillment of dreams is certainly one venue.
This story admittedly has a very thin plot: a young woman has erotic dreams that, once discovered by her boy friend, seem to fit in with her real life experiences.
Sandy is a sub, a masochist of the first magnitude. She wants to try almost everything, but conscious and social restraints, (no pun here), keep her in an endless circle of auto bondage and stimulating dreams. When she discovers that she can actually experience some of her dream fantasies while safe and secure in her own residence, the possibilities become nearly endless.
Enhancing this seemingly ideal situation is an extended visit by her sister, Meg, and her lesbian partner, Remmy. All three women happily unite in a continuum of erotic indulgences.
Bottom line: if you seek a complex plot and in-depth characters, this is not your book. But, if you want enjoyably close exposure to day-to-day erotic experiences, this is the place for you. Nothing ponderous here about who did what to whom and why. No tangled motives, no difficult-to-grasp situations. If you seek literary distractions based on non-consensual BDSM, you have come to the wrong place. Everyone in this story is totally committed and willing to try almost anything. And therein lies the fun and pleasure of it all. Being bound in rope or chains is only fun and enjoyable if you desire it. If you do not wish to be someone else's bottom, you should not open that door. The uninitiated among the general population who, on the politically correct side, feign distaste and condemnation for B&D are, as is often discovered, those same people who secretly indulge in the very practices they claim to condemn.
In
Complicity
everyone participates because they want to. What a shame that the doublespeak detractors of such behavior can't behave the same way.
Chapter One
The Vikings
From his command position in the stern of the vessel, Magnar divided his time and attention among three things: Lonad, his navigator with his mysterious sliver of metal that pivoted and swung on its sharpened pin, always pointing towards the frigid regions; Balmuth, the steerer, nearly always at the rudder; and Sandra, his latest English captive, bound, gagged and chained by her long, elegant neck to a deck ring at his feet.
Sandra was a fine trophy to bring home, but Magnar's crew was still restive from the quick and easy, one-sided battle on the island coast and he caught some men casting jealous glances his way, staring at this dark-haired, full-breasted prize with the chain around her neck and the leather thongs cutting into the fine, pale skin of her wrists and ankles. She twisted and tossed about on the hard wooden deck of the single-masted long ship, making strange sounds from behind her rawhide gag that cruelly split her red mouth. She knew what this man from the distant shores of icy Northland was going to do to her and she felt a mixture of fear and longing. She feared the coming life as his slave in a foreign place and she longed for what she hoped would be continuous bondage, always chained or tied, always offered as a sexual gift to strangers, always available to a man with a whip or a cane.
She knew the stories handed down by the village elders and imagined the combination of pain and excitement she would soon feel with her bound arms embracing the harsh, weathered thickness of the old ceremonial mast erected on the outskirts of the small Viking village. They would gag her with the tattered remnants of her own remaining underwear and tie her cruelly to the old mast: arms and legs roped and pulled around the rough, hard surface with its deep carvings and old, discolored paintings. It would be an unpleasant position to endure. She fantasized that it would be as though she was engaging in sex with the painted cravings on the pole. Throughout the sea voyage, she experienced, with increasing anxiety the daily training sessions inflicted upon her by this long-haired, bearded giant. She endured the multiple cuts and bruises that rose swollen from her fair skin as the brutal lash criss-crossed her soft back and buttocks. She only tacitly resisted, thrashing about while the ship's crew took their turns at teasing her and she secretly longed for more of the rigorous beatings inflicted while she was bound with her hands high over her head and toes a few feet off the deck, her ankles tied to keep her from kicking. Accepting more than resisting her fate, she writhed and struggled hopelessly against the bindings that now held her, her naked breasts and belly pressed to the rough and splintered surface of the deck at Magnar's booted feet. She knew that a worse fate awaited her once she was carried ashore and chained to the slave pole, high on a fjord cliff, above the swirling mists and icy waters.
