Bondage Place Page 12

  Holding a breath of bravery before pinching the clamps and removing them, her face suddenly screwed up as sensitivity raged back into her crushed teats. Lydia shivered and cradled her assets to comfort them, salvaging some shade of normality prior to donning the suit.

  Once recovered enough she released her bruised nipples and opened the back zip. Sliding her legs into the pre-powdered sheaths, Lydia hauled the firm clinch up and slotted her arms in, arching her back and causing the thick latex tubes to cover her. The density of the latex made it slither easily onto her, though it took effort, and the crushing hold upon her was far more than any ordinary rubber garment.

  The clack of heels sounded and the woman came over, taking up the next stage as she approached and handed the new garments to her slave.

  After relinquishing her charges the dominatrix zipped up the back of the suit and sealed Lydia within the compressing shell, every breath making the tight embrace plain and distinct. Her teats throbbed from being pressed to her by the front of the catsuit.

  Opera gloves were hauled up and stockings were slid onto her before a leotard was donned, the added grip making her flesh strain against the tighter confines. The crotch of her leotard forced the shafts inside her to vibrate with greater pressure.

  Small digits gathered up the hood and forced it over Lydia’s features as she swayed slightly from the intense pleasure being imparted on her belly. The arousal wrought by her steady engulfing of latex immurement the size of her own body made her succumb more readily to the teasing toys, their slow work bringing her relentlessly toward orgasm. The woman noticed her responses and ran a hand over her tight rear.

  “Hold onto yourself, slave. Show control,” she purred as the last portion of visible skin on Lydia vanished from view.

  The mask had two tiny eyeholes and an aperture for her mouth. Another hood was added to increase the effects upon her head, this one adorned with a ball gag. The hollow core of which granted a breathing tube, but it had no eye slits and thus she was deprived of sight.

  With the passage of this garment, the woman pushed Lydia down onto her back and then laid herself upon the supine slave. Her hands wandered over the trapped body, caressing its tight contours with alacrity.

  Lydia responded with haste, carrying her own unfeeling fingers across the woman, blindly feeling her body and reveling in the pulsating twin shafts. Her pleasure grew as a hand clapped to their bases and ground them deeper into her. Cupping the dominatrix’s breasts she folded her legs over the woman’s hips, rubbing her body against hers. The squeak of latex resounded in the quiet, the only competition coming from their panting wanton breath.

  Rolling upon the floor, the woman found pleasure in the mere act of fondling and reveling in the feel of latex upon attractive flesh. She suddenly decided that she wanted to apply more to her slave, to complete the transformation from naked slave girl to impossibly smothered rubber zombie.

  A massive suit was hauled out, the rolls of material dense and heavy. Opening the back, Lydia was manually goaded into stepping in, her eyes wide against her personal blackness at the prospect of losing herself within this upright nest.

  The loose suit slipped into tight gloves and socks, anchoring it to her as the female zipped up the back and sealed it within a tight collar. The incorporated hood was also loose with a collection of breathing holes that gave her barely adequate respiration, the bag deflating and inflating with her exhales. The inside quickly grew hot and the frustration of having her breath crimped was more infuriating than she would have thought, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She had petitioned this fate and there was to be no retracting her former willingness.

  Heavy restraints were locked to her wrists and ankles, leaving her unable to retreat into her heavy sack. The immense drag of the attire upon her frame almost brought her to her knees. The bonds were also adorned with close-fitting sheaths, the mittens denying her use of her fingers.

  Lydia’s recycled air started to grow hotter and more stagnant, laden with moisture that began to gather across the interior of the bag.

  “Does it feel good? Do you still want to enter my Shadow Foundry?” She asked.

  Against the screams of her rational mind that pleaded to retract, Lydia nodded, the movement almost lost within her hood as her voluptuous cravings relished the strange sense of detachment from herself. The woman grinned and stepped to the door, hauling back the bolts and turning the keys to free the portal.

  Grabbing the handle, she pulled back with all her strength, the thick steel portal creaking on its hinges. Shoved forward the door slammed shut in her wake and she was lost within her oblivion. External hands far less constrained than hers ran across her hopelessly submerged form and the woman addressed her buried ears.

  She whispered, “The sustenance to keep you alive lies within the Foundry, but you must find it. The other slaves will vie for possession of it and you will suffer greatly in this place. I’ll think of you all, groveling and blind, lost in rubber, begging to be set free, cursing your bonds as you dwell impotent within them. Such thoughts will arouse me and I’ll please myself as you crawl and suffer, unable to find the painless relief that I will find at the mere thought of your slavery here.”

  The sound of her heels departing testified her that the owner of this domain was leaving, deserting her latest recruit to the rigors of the Foundry.

  Reaching tentatively forward Lydia staggered in crippled steps, groping for some clue as to her surroundings. Locating a roughly cut wall, the crudely hewn cave surface ran in both directions and headed back to the door she found the featureless portal sealed. By continuing onwards she found the door was the dead end to a wide corridor.

  Afflicted with shudders as the vibrators started to elicit orgasm, she slid down and curled up, pressing her face to the floor and drowning in her pleasures while her body convulsed and she ground her teeth to the gag, gasping in humid, lifeless lungfuls of air.

  For long minutes she squirmed on the ground, extracting her fierce rapture. Her fingerless hands ran across the dense panes of her prison, hauling at it as she arched and stretched her physique against the hold. The toys continued blindly onwards, making her shriek and try and get them out. Their effects grew painful as they continued to thrum against her womb, chafing the flesh terribly. Finally, after an allotted time had elapsed, the toys ceased their work, falling silent and letting Lydia lie still and recuperate a little.

  The need to seek the food she had been offered became too pressing to resist anymore. So flipping over she crawled onward, her mittens scanning the floor in sweeps, seeking anything.

  The passages began to divide, splitting up and offering random choices. Unable to see, the chance of her looping over her previous routes was virtually certain. Wheezing gently in her bondage, Lydia waddled onwards.

  Her hands brushed something soft and as she reached up found another imprisoned wretch. The slave responded with sanguinary speed, slamming her hands into Lydia and throwing her down. Before she could move, the unseen servile landed atop her, pawing at her with thick mittens, searching for something. Fighting back, Lydia was given brutal treatment for her resistance. The woman pounded on her with rough fists and clapped a thigh over Lydia’s face to cover her breathing holes. A knee pressed into her groin, driving the vibrators deep, their points pushing to the limits of her belly. The jabbing presence became a knife of pain. The woman used such tactics to disable her quarry until her examination was complete.

  Assured that what she sought was gone she leapt away and shuffled off into obscurity before Lydia could mount a riposte.

  With her access to air once more opened, Lydia wheezed and sought to recover from the sudden flurry of combat. Tensing her orifices she forced the toys out as far as she could, alleviating her distress somewhat while she re-gathered her breath.

  Lifting up, she propped herself against the wall and wondered what had happened. What had motivated such barbarism? Just how
many other rubber zombies lay in this unseen labyrinth? After a few moments of revival she started to follow the walls, continuing onward, groping through the rough tunnels in search of the elusive food she had been promised.

  The heat that was building up within the suit was unbearable, her sweat forming a thin layer between her skin and the latex shells in which she was held captive.

  The vibrators commenced again without warning, either automatically controlled or inspired to activity by deliberate command.

  The rods thrust and hummed within her, tickling her rear, pleasuring her pudenda. The thrashing jelly lengths upon her clit and deep in her tracts made her sag onto the floor, unable to continue her quest.

  Holding herself, writhing in her rubber cell, Lydia lay and simply delighted in the slow teasing escalation of her bliss. The toys continued on and on and once more she was writhing wildly on the floor, thrashing and flinging her hindquarters to and fro, her instincts seeking to pull herself away from that which was irretrievably within her. The overwhelming climax continued. The toys kept to their motions until she was beginning to squeal with discomfort and then pain as the preset time took her beyond orgasm and into the chaffing dregs. They had turned from being pleasing friends to dogged foes whose constant thrumming companionship imparted a grating bum to her tracts.

  Lydia soon looked forward to their activity, the bliss being a diversion from the bland numbing servility of her containment. But she also dreaded it because she could not help but recall just how distressing the epilogue would be. When the toys began their work she wriggled lewdly on the ground, tracing her rubberized contours, forgetting her woes, submerged in fetishistic lust. The orgasms she gained were incredibly intense. Their savagery left her disabled as she was forced to trek through their effects and the anguish that would follow.

  The soft clack of heels wandering grew in volume and she heard them pass nearby. The guest who had been responsible for this bizarre maze oversaw the plights of her slaves and found the sight of the struggling rubber puppets intensely gratifying.

  How Lydia wished to be able to see and act properly. She wanted to revel in her flowing coffin of latex, but being denied sensitivity and now accursed by it to the extent that all she wanted was to get it off, all pleasure in her situation was vanishing. Also, she wanted to gaze upon her oppressor, her need to stare upon the luscious form that had trapped her being an important and driving one.

  Rolling onto her front, Lydia continued her crusade for food, crawling on hands and knees, unwilling to stride upright lest she connect sharply with the walls of this place. And besides, the quadruped stance helped ease the burden of her outfit that immensely weighted down her extremities.

  Creeping through the squat corridors, she found that in addition to the higher passages of this warren, smaller tunnels existed. The small burrows led in winding intricate routes, connecting and intertwining like minor mazes, keeping the people within them in a confined crouch.

  Within these tight confines she encountered others who were similarly vicious in their attack. They pinned her down and searched her thoroughly, defeating her with manic strength, their brutality indicative of desperation. But why? Starvation? Was there so little food that they were forced to fight for the scraps?

  The longer she spent wandering the confined depths, the more potent her famine grew. Her stomach growled distinctly even through the smothering folds of her latex prison. Soon she undertook the quest with more zeal, pawing blindly, seeking the food source the woman had mentioned, or even someone to steal it from.

  Her heavy wrists skipped across the floor, her exhaustion being fed by the immense weight of the suit and the weakness of her privation. Unexpectedly her hand brushed something metallic, the sudden difference to the usual rough passage over the stone snapped her to her senses. Slapping her palm about her, she located the object and found it to be a small canister. The metal container bore a small nozzle with a tap, the tube perfect to slot into her gag, which would of course block all access to breath.

  Taking a deep inhale she held it and threaded the small pipe through a hole in her hood and into the center of her gag. Turning the tap, a slow flow began to slide into her mouth. A thick, creamy paste that she gulped down with alacrity as the effects of self-induced suffocation began to encroach. It was a sadistic torment - making a woman deny herself breath, to suffer from deprivation in order to end another form of deprivation.

  The sounds of her eating gathered unwanted attention and without hint to the approach a heavy form slammed into her back. It made her gasp and break into racking coughs as her short inhale caused her to breathe in a shot of the sustenance.

  Knees and hands ran over her, crushing her beneath them as the gathered scavengers sought the dropped canister. Wheezing and spluttering she fought to regulate her breathing and recover. The straining of her lungs left her crippled and unable to fight for her dropped meal. The battle moved on, one of the zombies rushing off with the captured prize, the others in close harrying pursuit, operating by sound alone.

  Weeping in calamity, Lydia cuddled into a ball and wept within her cocoon, the savagery of other prisoners being a bane that seemed to constantly follow her wherever she went.

  After crying herself to sleep, she dwelt within slumber for long hours. The small meal helped defeat the severity of her confinement and the slow teasing grind of the dildos as they commenced once more. Her dreams were indistinct and vague, corrupted by her mummification so that she arose only occasionally and slipped in and out of consciousness. Shattering climax once more brought her from sleep, before the rods finally fell passive and silent once more, poised until they would make her squirm and suffer yet again.

  Occasionally hands would wander over her, the pressure of a search almost unfelt through the thick layers while she rested.

  As she stirred, the dream-state of her mind seemed to linger into reality, filling her mind with a haze of sensory deprivation-induced confusion. It seemed she wandered through an instinct realm where she felt akin to a ghost, separated from anything corporeal; an ethereal presence doomed to haunt barren tunnels with the other ghosts of rubber damnation.

  The mission to find food continued and the famine made her slip inexorably into a deranged mist.

  In this stupor she slept whenever tiredness beckoned, wandered constantly, and fought for the smallest sip of a bottle. She punched and kicked to gain access when the precious stashes were found, clamping them to her gag and guzzling what she could before being overcome and her treasure stolen. When she found one herself, she hogged all she could before the sounds of another rubber slave served to alert her enemies to her own feasting.

  The waste from such meals never took form; the food, a nutrient-rich substance, which her body quaffed in entirety. The frugal amounts she gained were adequate to sustain her life, leaving nothing left over, a consideration she was grateful for because loitering in a second skin with her own excretions was unthinkable. Although she hated being kept on the verge of rabid starvation, she preferred this to proper feeding and the subsequent lack of sanitation.

  The dildos constantly broke into activity and made her jolt and wail in pleasure before turning her joy into mordant distress. Their blind program affected all the women at preset intervals. She knew that she was not alone in bearing the intimate curses because occasionally she stumbled upon a fellow slave being torn with such effects, her body lurching against her latex bondage as the waggling rods worked her nerves with exemplary and cold-blooded skill.

  The ongoing process of her elaborately and methodically controlled existence continued to roll by again and again. Weeks maybe months were passing. The pilfering of all clue as to her stay kept her ignorant of anything except the few token sensations she was bequeathed by the latex-obsessed Asian woman.

  The mistress of this bleak realm wandered through on occasion. She dropped the meals for her pets to discover, savoring the scenes of their plight, reveling in the h
orror she had wrought upon the slaves and using their purgatory to stimulate her own dark pleasures.

  Soon it seemed to Lydia that she had always been there, that anything else she had remembered was merely a dream, a fantasy she had concocted to soothe her in her most trying hours of captivity where she had failed to find any food for a prolonged period. She was truly the undead, a rubber zombie, lacking senses, wandering in disabled shuffles and seeking base sustenance - half-alive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the clack of her mistress’ heels drew close, Lydia paid no attention. Her passage was no different to hundreds of other occasions. It merged into one bland category of indifference.

  The shock Lydia felt when a lead was clipped to her and started to move her away was immense, causing her to consider that perhaps she was daydreaming again. She had believed herself being released numerous times in her more deranged moments, but this time the details were clear, forcing her heart to believe and leap with hope.

  The woman drew her onwards and out of the dark labyrinth onto the smooth floors of the rest of the building. Lydia’s mind’s eye detailed the sights about her in the absence of true visions, ferreting in crooked memory for the images.

  Taken into a room, the woman stepped back, moving away, and left Lydia to be attended by three new women. Their hands played upon her costume and the locks and straps that kept her irrevocably sealed within. There was a moment’s apprehension, a fear of leaving the smothering tomb. It had seemingly been her life forever and she was worried about leaving its familiarity. At this moment of release she could better appreciate it. The Foundry had devolved her, turning her from a human into a purer, more primitive version of herself. Without any other concerns she sought food, a devoted hunter/gatherer, rummaging and fighting, adopting a simpler life as a creature of animal instinct. The shedding of all other burdens and obligations was a strange sense of freedom, of being distanced from sentience, turned into an animal, free of blame and responsibility and left solely with the most basic needs - the fundamental laws of nature.