Bondage Place Read online

  Those slaves that had been exhausted by their trials had to be carried; the prospect of renewed attention for the evening leaving them despondent in their misery, their tenderized flesh unwilling to accept more. As she lay awake but unable to move, Lydia despised their lack of enthusiasm, for she would readily do anything to be in their position.

  The hall cleared once again and the maids entered in force to clear away the refuse. The last of the maids did not attend the table, but instead took the chain supporting Lydia’s cage and lowered her to the floor. The door was opened and she was escorted out, the need for aid decreased since the effects of the tranquilizer had largely worn off. After removing the still inserted missile, the process of helping her out of her private prison began.

  The accursed costume started to flee her frame, once more exposing her naked skin to the air. Her pruned, moisture-saturated hide sloughed off the layer, cooling her and making agonizing muscle pain wring her muscles and tendons.

  Once stripped naked, Lydia was lifted up and carried, her legs having grown too used to laziness to bother listening to her mind’s commands so they simply dragged upon the floor.

  Hauled up a set of spiral stairs, a large wing of bedrooms presented itself. The outward-facing corner of the monastery allowed windows to pour golden rays in through stained glass windows. Where was she being taken? What was to be her next bizarre session of rubber bondage? Or maybe she was going to be punished, tortured, ravished? Lydia didn’t care, she was a hopeless devotee now, and even if some of her straits were unbearable, she needed them, they were part of her. Even if she had a chance to leave this place she would come running back and cling to it, there was nowhere else for her to go. Nowhere that could offer her the total control and utter complete ownership she craved so deeply.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lydia’s route through the palace brought her to doors at the end of a hall. An armed soldier was on either side, watching the entourage with detachment as the group approached. Their fingers edging toward triggers, the troops were unusually fanatical in their post.

  A knock on the door solicited the muffled permission to enter, the portal opened to present Lydia to another lavish bedchamber.

  The large room granted generous space and a submerged wardrobe that stretched across a wall, its mirrored doors creating a huge view of the chamber, making it appear even larger. The bed itself sat atop a flight of three steps, elevating the sprawling mattress and intricately carved frame, its white silken sheets rippling in the light of the ornate chandeliers. The room was decorated and furnished in white or pale shades, the surgically pristine environment glowed, granting a dream-like quality to the room.

  From an adjacent bathroom strolled the president, his uniform gone, leaving him dressed only in a loose gown of black satin that flashed upon his powerful physique.

  Lydia could see his features properly for the first time, the gaunt quality that gave him a deep somber frown, his face chiseled into this configuration. He was undeniably handsome, the strength in his expression and anatomy serving to kindle Lydia’s adoration.

  “So you’re the foreigner,” he wondered aloud, looking over her body. “Leave us,” he ordered, and the maids withdrew, returning them to privacy.

  “My daughter informed me you were here. The first western female to enter my little palace of delights. How have you found it so far?” he quizzed, his eyes pouring across Lydia’s bare form, the intensity of the valuation making self-consciousness nibble at her viscera.

  There was no response to the question for there was none to give. How could she reveal the twisted contradictory emotions and opinions she bore? She should want to escape, to return to a normal life and although this existed to some extent, the desire to remain was just as pressing and far more corrosive to her reluctance.

  “I trust my guests have found you pleasing? Your body has helped maintain loyalty and aid to my cause. I think I’ll keep it for my own personal use from now on. You see, I’ve made sure that you’ve been through numerous castes here, that you’ve endured all kinds of uniforms, punishments, pleasures. You’ve been drawn through or at least seen a great deal, so now you can make an educated decision regarding your future here. Slave, I have wanted to create a puppy for myself, a loyal hound to accompany me about the palace. You will be perfect.”

  He moved closer to her, looking down into her eyes as she looked up into his, the slightest tremble betraying her nervousness.

  “Would you like that? To be turned into a puppy, a lowly bitch at my heels, forever to be denied sentience and human thought or deed?”

  Was she being given a true choice, or was she being teased with the possibility? Perhaps he wanted to find out how hideous she thought this fate would be, so he could find greater relish in condemning her to it. The strange thing was she thought on such a fate in a warm light, the notion of such devolution being a pleasing concept. Had she been so severely corrupted by her time that she was willing to shed her humanity in favor of lowly servility? Yet here she was, giving it serious contemplation and actually stacking up her resolve in favor of agreeing to it.

  “Yes. Yes I would, Master,” she uttered, defeated by her own powerful subliminal needs.

  A smile flourished at the corners of his mouth and started to spread wider.

  “Wonderful,” he commented softly, tracing his knuckles down the side of her upturned face.

  Stepping away, he opened the wardrobe to reveal stacked drawers. Opening one, he removed a pile of latex clothing. It was the uniform of her derogation waiting for Lydia, measured and engineered for the decision he must have known she had no choice but to make. The choice was an illusion of free will. She was helpless to her impulses for slavery, whatever was offered to her she would accept with little hesitation. He had made her air it from her own lips so that she would recall her own agreement in the years to come.

  He brought over the uniform and she realized this was the last few seconds in which she would ever be truly naked. After this, uniformed enslavement as a scampering puppy girl was her one true lot. Committing the feeling of her erect stance and nakedness to memory Lydia prepared herself for the inevitable.

  A thick latex leotard was drawn onto her, the interior laden with one fat dildo that he inserted into her sex, the tightness of the garment pushing it deep into her. From the zone where the dildo’s base was molded to the garment, two fat straps were thrown free, the strips connecting to sturdy ankle restraints. The shortness of the latex ribbon confined her to a low squat. Any stretch against the cuffs would draw the dildo out against the force of the leotard.

  Over this confining garment came a molded suit, one especially designed for transforming a hapless servile into a mock canine. The tight garment followed her contours perfectly and at her legs flared out to accommodate her squatting pose, giving her two stubby hind legs with a short tail flying from the base of her spine. Although the word fit better than any other, “catsuit” seemed somehow inappropriate to its purpose.

  Paw-shaped socks were threaded onto her feet and hands, the canine extremities locking her own within them and denying her any manual dexterity. The sculpted mittens were fastened into position by the cuffs affixed into them and then her mask was applied. The close-fitting hood had a molded snout with canine ears and features, the interior pressing to her head, smothering her within it and submerging Lydia’s human visage. A covert vent by her chin would allow her to exploit the small slit accessing her mouth so she could eat and drink, cancelling any need to take the hood off.

  The last portion was perhaps the most fitting; a thick and high collar laid over her own, a small identity disc swung from the front.

  “Don’t you feel better? Now, bark for me, bark and I will feed you,” he promised, stepping back and clapping his thighs to goad her into the belittling behavior.

  The woman called Lydia Brooks was gone. Of that benighted tourist there was not even the slightest trace left. And of the s
lave girl that had been crafted to banish this first incarnation only the tiniest dregs remained. She was now a hound, an animal, pet to the president.

  With a soft bestial yelp she complied. “Again,” he demanded.

  Once more she gave a meek yip, increasing the volume in solicitation of feeding. With a soft laugh he removed a small bowl from a drawer, the tin dish already laden with a pile of dog food. Having already been forced to ingest this substance before, Lydia’s hunger was strong enough to have her work around the coniine, of her short snout. Guzzling the repulsive fare with speed, Lydia found the pulverized meaty nuggets far superior to the desiccated grain provided for her as a bird.

  The sight of her, bent over, her rear swinging in the air, tail wagging, offering entry, proved too much for the wicked ruler to resist. She was too engrossed with filling her empty belly to detect his presence as he dropped down beside her and grabbed her hips. Slipping through an aperture at her rear he drilled into her suddenly, making her vent a croaking gasp of shock. Forcing up her hindquarters, the straps within the shell of rubber snapped taut and drew out the dildo. As she sank, the elasticity of the leotard drew it back in, making her quiver in rhapsody at the discovery of what she could gain for herself with movement.

  Despite the violation, her ravenous appetite drove her to focus on her food, trying to quiet her ravenous stomach, trying not to allow herself to become distracted.

  After finishing her dish she lapped at it. The feel of him continuing to grind himself into her was a wonderful sensation, his motions causing the inserted phallus to grant her more substantial pleasure, making her response to his sodomy all the more pronounced and energetic.

  Turning from the dish, she laid her snout to the carpet, her eyes half-closed, her rear was hot from friction as he dove into her. Her own sex seeped with lust. Losing herself in the role, she gave soft whimpers and barks of encouragement and reply, answering his ravishing with the appropriate noises of a pup.

  The sound of the acceptance of her role spurred him to new levels of passion, his dominating length becoming a piston in her rear, his hands fondling her smothered anatomy, squeezing her compressed breasts and running down the slick dome of her head.

  Gripping her tightly, her owner started to swell within her at the approach of release and she felt an influx of fluid within her tracts. Arching her head up she howled into the air, the ululating bay using an entire breath as she exhilarated in the staining of her rear. The howl became a sharp bark as he drew free, the flight stealing her vitality, causing her to drop into a huddle, riding through the residual sensations that coursed through her penetrated anus.

  Rising up, the man refastened his robe and rung a bell.

  “I feel like a stroll. To walk my pet and take a trip to the zoo. Show her some of the other animals I keep in my menagerie,” he muttered, his voice bloated with admiration and satiety.

  The door opened and a pair of maids entered, moving in and taking out the clothes the president indicated, dressing him reverently.

  Once clothed in an elegant suit, he clipped a leash to her and with a yank had her follow in his wake. Trailing obediently as they left the building and entered onto a garden road, the dildo shuffled sedately against her with every stride. It was not enough to bring her easily to orgasm but it proved a slow and constant temptation, a heady level of rhapsody that made her exceedingly pleased with her lot.

  Led forward along the path, the dense banks of vegetation parted and revealed a sight of bizarre depravity. The path branched and looped around, carrying visitors about the sights. Numerous pens had been erected, the cages and sunken pits and pools placed for viewing ease.

  This sprawling zoo was like no normal zoo. Instead it was an enforced gathering of human impostors. The first sight was a cage of lions, the women within trapped in a rough four-legged crouch, their extremities adorned with paws, their heads locked within snouted masks that gave them the apparition of felines. Some had the wild mane of a lion and had been embellished with phalluses so they might make use of the lionesses about them. The act of simulated coitus was the only diversion for the prowling beasts.

  After the lions, came cages of wolves, deer, apes, and larger quadrupeds formed from two perpetually joined females - such as elephants, rhinoceros, and other typical zoo creatures. After these beasts, came a cage of birds, the many varieties providing a visual plethora of colors and shapes far greater than the single uniform used in the dining hall. The milling flocks were held within their aviaries, separated into mock breeds, their distraught song filling the air.

  After the bird cages, came the reptile house, the females within held as lizards and as serpents, locked within tight-fitting patterned sheaths to deny them all but the most rudimentary actions. They basked under heat lamps that simulated the creatures’ indigenous environment and proved a terrible bane upon their hapless frames.

  The aquarium was perhaps the most cruel. The captives were doomed to fighting for air, rising as they needed, prowling below the surfaces in shoals. The slaves were unable to gain prolonged access to air because of the effort required in keeping to the surface. Unlike the mermaids they no longer had use of their arms, their single sheaths left the act of swimming a perpetual strain.

  The scene was strange and arousing, the sight of such travail kindling a wish to be part of it, to be captured and encased in such rigorous confinement, even though she was already being held and prepared for life as a canine. This was why he was showing the zoo to her. These women were cursed to indifference, to be viewed and not used, to remain as mere rubber curios. Lydia, on the other hand, was a pet, a faithful hound at her owner’s heels. One that would always be fondled, petted, punished and ravished as he saw fit. The lesson sank deep into her and made her swell with pride, a joy that, out of all the hundreds of women he had enslaved, she alone had been found worthy of lifetime companionship to him.

  A long meandering walk carried her throughout the compound, the other guests greeting their enigmatic host and petting his puppy with fondness, congratulating him on the fine breed he possessed. The journey led her back to the palace where she was shown to the side of his bed and a newly crafted kennel. Her leash was clipped to the sturdy ring set beside the entrance and the water bowl. Stroking his hand down her slick skin, the president of the country looked down at her with satisfaction.

  “You’ll be kenneled for now, my pet. After you’ve become accustomed to your new life, maybe you can sleep at the end of my bed,” he smiled, and bid her good night.

  Crawling in, she found the floor of the interior soft and padded. She curled up and eased her limbs from the stress of the long voyage through the gardens, the sights branded into her memory.

  Held in a tight ball, secure in her tight costume as its impermeable panes stretched across her back and rear from her posture, she laid down her head and closed her eyes. She was content and pleased with her lot and eager to experience the training for which he had made mention. It was remarkable how greatly her life had changed through the last chapter of her existence, and even more remarkable was how fortunate she was to have been dealt the twist of fate that granted her this new life. The future held no more terrors; she had found a peace more intense than any woman had ever known.

  About the Author

  Born and raised in London, Bruce was a Royal Marine Cadet, has worked in demolition, rainforest preservation and for the Ministry of Defense, Harvey Nichols and Selfridges, but writing was always his one true passion. He encountered a wonderful Californian and after marrying, they moved to San Francisco in ‘98 where he worked and played in the S&M community before relocating to Seattle a few years later. He has written many books and illustrated a number for other publishers. Several works are under development into graphic novels and computer animated series/films.

 

 

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