Bondage Place Read online

  The woman ran her gloved hand across the trapped form, gathering up the slick perspiration and rubbing it between her fingers with a victorious smile. Offering it to her bound and naked charge, Lydia engulfed the fingers and rolled her tongue upon them, tasting her own sweat and the heavy tang of the latex. The feeling of success and pride was exquisite in having been brutalized so diligently, her wails ignored, her chastisement implemented without consideration for her cries.

  Without word, the mistress wheeled and strode from the room, closing the door behind her and plunging Lydia into swollen blackness. Her body throbbed in dozens of places.

  Hanging in the void of her cell, she listened to the quiet. She strained against her bonds, trying to find a way out. But this did little more than to enlighten her as to how powerless she truly was.

  When the door swung open, she expected to see the mistress, but to her shock, it revealed a man clad in an extravagant military uniform. He had many braids and medals adorning his apparel, testifying to a lofty rank.

  Marching directly over to her, he paced around Lydia’s suspended form, staring at her, assessing her body, making her feel the burden of her nakedness for the first time in many months. She flinched as his hands reached out and began to wander upon her. The intrusiveness of another into her private servitude left her torn with worries and shock.

  With harsh fingers he began to grasp her flesh, squeezing and groping while she closed her eyes and stoically endured the fondling. His fingers brushed her sex and began to stroke. He located her orifice as she locked her thighs together and tried to draw away. Fingertips burrowed into her while she grimaced and gurgled, while the impassive face of her visitor stared at her cleavage. The sight of her quivering breasts inspired him to lean in and take one of Lydia’s nipples in his mouth.

  The tenderness made her shudder, his tongue flitting upon the morsel as it hardened between his lips. Her mouth opened in a silent howl, her panting breath issuing as he started to caress her sex and suckle. The fierce pleasure made her flex her muscles and strain against her confines. The delightful lap of the man’s mouth transformed in an instant, his teeth snapping to the mammilla and grinding upon it, making her spasm and fight to get away from this brutal agony. Yet, any attempt only increased the trial for she was tethered to him by this bite.

  The savage nip was released and he moved behind her, the lowering of a zip testifying to his prurient intentions. Rough fingers took her clenched buttocks and wrenched apart, opening her to a driving thrust that drilled into her rear and pushed her up onto tiptoe. Lydia snapped to a rigid pose, her mouth springing open as she unleashed a screeching howl. The bum of his sudden intrusion made her sway and shake as she adapted to the trespass, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  The whimpering cries she gave as he rode himself into her anus settled into a more pleasurable answer to the ravishment, her sphincter finally accepting him.

  With the obvious loss of her distress, his hands flashed around her body and grabbed her assets. Taking the flesh in each hand and compressing them with a stem grip he began to continue his molestation with a slow, savoring sloth; one designed to draw out his pleasure and extend her revulsion at being used so freely by another.

  What was going on? Where was her mistress? Had she been handed over to this man as a piece of chattel, or was this a mere visitation to help degrade her even more? Was this fleeting violation an act to batter her psyche and further reinforce the teachings of her beloved enslavement?

  In silence the man continued with his grinding attentions. The warmth of his sex glided in and out, making her shiver with unexpected relish, the attention of the officer something she was finally finding enjoyable. With his intense fixation on her form and her bound state, it was as though she were some sort of sexual idol that he groveled at and ravished in adoration.

  Upon a final shivering drive she felt his seed spill within her and she scowled with a burbling hiss at the final instance of desecration. The moment of her humbling served to spike her internal hidden sense of pleasure in such deflowering. Sliding free, he released his grips and left the room, leaving her ignorant as to what had just transpired. Was it an arbitrary and random attack, or had it been some sort of judgment? Was it a guard making use of her body one last time, knowing she was to be sent away or perhaps even disposed of? If they assumed they had her secrets, her life was forfeit. They could not release her with the knowledge of what they had done and were continuing to do. Yet still, she did not want to leave. Her time here was addictive and now she was a hopeless junkie.

  They had purposely twisted her psyche to love what they did to her and now that the prospect of an end was drawing close she feared for the loss of this charmed existence. How many others could have found such heaven? This was a true state in which she could always reside. Lydia had no wish to leave it, only to return to the insipid fare of a trivial existence beyond this Stygian tropical pit. In the real world she was nobody, just another face in the crowd. Here she was someone’s property - loved, adored, singled out for constant treatment and worthy of their time and effort to train her. She gave her owner pleasure; she was a treasure, what was normality compared to that?

  What had changed her view to this extent? Had it been the abuses? The indoctrination? Perhaps the only way in which she could retain her sanity against the atrocities of these people was to find paradise in their acts. Perhaps, to save itself, her mind had subconsciously undertaken this reconfiguration without bothering to consult her.

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of the weighty clunk of the bolts being shuffled back seeped through the door as a warning of entry. The door squeaked back and the apparition of her enslaver presented itself in the dull light. Her uniform of fetishistic craving was stretched across her frame like a slick midnight skin. The crooked stance she held made Lydia sigh with wanton desire, the curled dressage whip in her hand promising the abuse Lydia so craved.

  With a sedate stroll the woman wandered within and circled the suspended form, the issue of her molester still seeping from her. The marks of his rough handling were still apparent even over the welts spawned by the crop.

  The General has found you appropriate, slave, and you are to be transferred to the president’s own secret residence,” she announced. “There you will serve the rulers of this country and attend their whims willingly and with enthusiasm,” she continued. She grabbed Lydia’s chin, holding it firmly so she might stare with intensity into her eyes.

  “Failure to do so will be a slur against my work, slave,” she attested with stem gravity. “Do you understand?”

  “I…I think so, Mistress,” stammered Lydia, unable to nod against the forceful hold.

  Lydia was numb from the words. The fact that she was to be shipped out like a piece of merchandise to serve the desires of whatever mysterious forces controlled the newborn land was a frightening notion. The prospect of becoming little more than a sexual servile slave, incarcerated and abused at their whim, was foreboding because surely her lot would not be of mere carnal attendance. After her time here it was sure to be one of enforced sex and cruel bondage. The means of her training would assure her that she had been prepared to accept such gross maltreatment as a normal and everyday occurrence.

  “I have enjoyed breaking you, my dear little slave, but time grows short and my task is done. Others await my ministrations and the process of retraining goes on. They will be here to take you away shortly. In the meantime I shall give you something to remember me by - a last fleeting legacy,” she whispered to Lydia’s ear. Her warm breath touched Lydia’s neck and making her melt in her bonds. A lump was in her throat and tears were welling in her eyes as she grieved, her heart burning from the knowledge that this was the last time she would see this woman.

  The mistress stepped back and unleashed the whip with a merry flick, the thin tentacle at the head spilling onto the floor, slithering like an evil serpent.

  “I love you, Mis
tress,” Lydia whispered softly, chill shudders of expectation running through her. Her flesh tensed and was ready to accept the final chapter in her tutelage under this enigmatic female torturess.

  “I know you do, slave.”

  The woman slashed back with all her considerable strength and devastating marksmanship, hurling the whip at Lydia. The first withering slash made her shriek aloud. The fires being drawn across her naked thighs caused her legs to spasm and dance as others followed the stroke; no moment was given to allow a dwindling of her pain. The added lashes increased the intolerable levels until she was a whirling mess of shivering abused flesh, filling the small cell with soul-shredding howls of woe. Spinning around at her throat, she sought to shelter herself with her hands or legs, successfully allowing the woman to apply her weapon anywhere she wished.

  The dominatrix continued her relentless attack, striking swiftly. When the prison door was filled with the visage of two prison guards, Lydia barely noticed. Her mind whirled under the torrents of searing sensation that poured through her from the meticulous farewell gift of her enslaver. The whip ceased its angry passage and slipped to the floor, the woven strip damp from kissing her sweat- drenched frame.

  Falling slack, Lydia hung by her throat. Her body pounded with a terrible pulse, her skin marked with an intricate pattern of weals as numerous beads of her perspiration winked in the soft light.

  “Is she ready to go?” asked one of the attendants.

  “Almost,” came a soft reply, as if her mistress was out of breath from her exertions. A final burning trench was deposited across her buttocks, this most stem of them all. Her mouth spilled open and she howled, breaking from her tensed and rigid pose into a sobbing fit of recovery.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” wheezed Lydia, her body without life and her gratitude boundless.

  The female paused and lifted her instrument of correction with a sated smile.

  “There, she’s all yours now.”

  Without word or any care for the fate of the slave, the woman left, her enticing gloss-coated curves walking free of the chamber and Lydia’s gaze forever. The total lack of attachment to the prisoner she had so mercilessly broken was wounding. Lydia had hoped that at least some shred of attachment or fondness had been formed. But it seemed that she had just been another subject to be shattered and reformed. Did the woman conduct this monstrous education so often and so regularly that the flow of servile simply became faceless possessions to be prepared and shipped off as though on a factory production line? The heartless cruelty of the woman seemed all the more stringent with the dispassionate attitude toward her victims revealed by her casual departure.

  The guards closed in and untied the leash. One of them wrapped it about her hand and dragged Lydia in her wake as she marched from the cell and began the long route back toward the surface.

  The sudden dazzling flare of sunlight left her blind as she was tugged out into the day; her long imprisonment in the locked pit left her unprepared for such exposure. The sun pained her pale skin, the powerful kiss of the blazing orb roasting in its intensity caused her to sway as sweat dribbled from her pores, each breath heating her lungs from within.

  A brief glimpse of a waiting vehicle was spied though her limited vision and she was shoved rudely forward, toppling and unable to cushion her fall because of her pinioned arms. As her bruised ribs protested at the rash entry, the hands of the women guards were upon her again. The trunk was fitted with numerous straps that had been riveted into the metal so as to contain the slaves that were placed within, and her cuffs were quickly removed so that she could be set into the waiting vehicle.

  Positioned face down, lines of dense rubber were hauled onto her torso, running across the base of her spine, her middle and by her shoulders. Her arms were hauled down her sides and caught by more shackles at wrist and elbow, while bonds encircled her throat and brow, pinning her head tightly to the floor. Her legs were pulled apart and straps were used to secure the tops of her thighs and above her knees. Lydia then murmured in pain as her legs were bent back and new straps set over her rear, catching her ankles and pressing them into her buttocks. Rendered utterly immobile, she was deafened by the slamming closure of the trunk, the horrendous brilliance of the day dropping back into shadowy night.

  The growl of the engine rose through her small prison and the chassis shuddered before lurching forward. The car drove from the compound and carried her off into the jungle. The rough road bounced her around, jolting her against the straps and making her yell and seek respite from the violence of her passage.

  Hours seemed to trail past and the heat of her cramped sarcophagus started to drop toward a more tolerable level. The chill of the night seeped in and banished the fiery wrath of the day before letting light once more arise. Stretching her rubber straps, Lydia tried to wriggle free but found the task impossible. All she could do was dwell in her bondage and wait to see what happened to her.

  The car stopped suddenly and slammed her harshly into the plexus of latex ribbons. Through the metal she could hear words being exchanged before a heavy gate cranked back on a mechanized growl.

  A long ride ended with the crunch of gravel under the tires and the car doors opened, expelling the unknown passengers. The trunk was thrown open, her straps were swiftly set free and her collar snatched, a leash being employed to haul her out.

  The lengthy duration of her harsh ride had pillaged her energy and without any strength in her legs she collapsed onto sharp pebbles. Her limbs fumbled and tried to give her support but the long hours of confinement had successfully robbed them of all vitality and there was no sign of immediate recovery. Hands snagged her wrists, bringing them back and once more adding handcuffs.

  Through her squinting eyes, hints of her current location became evident. The vast sprawling grounds before her were preened and meticulously tended, the small orchards and gardens of rainbow blooms a sight of beauty. The radical contrast between this halcyon vision of cultivated delight and her dank prison environment was huge, making the image appear even more lush and colorful to her starved eyes.

  A distant high wall surrounded the gardens, with coils of wire rolling upon the upper lip leaving no means of easy access (or escape) except by the fortified gate that was connected to the residence by a long, smooth road. It was a decorative route lined with ornate marble statues. Her first glance saw only rough shapes of women, their bodies coated with a layer of some equivalent to stone, locking them within its embrace and preventing even the slightest hint of movement. Their eyes were free to behold their fellows and the grounds. A pipe that slithered into their maws prevented them from speaking and also fed them. The coil snaked down their entombed bodies, joining others that emerged from their other orifices and vanished into the plinth that supported them.

  The house itself was a sprawling bastion of great and impressive proportions. Obviously some manner of forgotten monastery, it had been renovated and lavished with extensions and improvements to turn the baroque building into an opulent palace. A graveled road passed before the mansion, winding around a stone pool, the waters being fed by a voluminous fountain at the center, the sprinkling waters accompanied the background music of the distant jungle. More jets emerged from the bodies of hapless slave girls. The same granite skin that created the other statues petrified this tangled erotic display of women engaging in the most lewd and vivid acts of carnal excess. But the pipes that were part of the contorted eternal show not only fed and drained the slaves, but also had crystal torrents spew from their penetrated orifices. So precisely had the intricate display been orchestrated that the arched forms issued the waters from rear and womb, mouth and nipple.

  Parked upon the layer of stones was a large black limousine, the trunk wide open, proving it to be the vehicle that had taken her from the prison.

  The main doors of the palace beckoned at the top of a flight of stairs. Looking around to see who held her leash, she was startled to find it
was a girl of perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Clearly a native of this land, she was tall and blessed with the sable hair and dusky skin of her people. Her exquisite young body was made even more glorious to Lydia’s eyes by the application of latex hot pants. The small shorts were drawn tightly about her abdomen while her budding cleavage pushed at the rubber bra around her torso. Stilt heeled court shoes accentuated her height and a studded choker held her neck in a close embrace.

  “Not bad,” she commented. “You’ll make a fine addition here, slave.”

  Without another word the girl gave a slight pull and drew Lydia forward and up the sunbaked stairs, her heels clattering upon the stone as the sight of this slender frame slinking within the intoxicating fabric seemed to hypnotize the prisoner currently at her command.

  The portal swung open, the panels held by two women sealed within latex catsuits. The comprehensive layers incorporated them into the framework, the women standing at a rigid cruciform by the hinges of the door. Their feet vanished into the floor, a small metal plate accepting them and locking them at the ankles to ensure they could not find respite from their duty. Their arms reached out horizontally. A solid metal ball emerged near the center of each door and on the wall beside them, their hands trapped within the stem anchors to hold their arms apart. By pulling and pushing their arms back and forth they opened and closed the doors; the women were rendered little more than organic hydraulic pumps by their bondage. What appeared to be heavy black gasmasks were fitted onto their heads, the large transparent faceplate revealing that they were blinded by latex hoods underneath while tubes were sheathed into their nostrils and stretched maws. The filter of each gasmask had a corrugated tube that reached around and entered the wall, feeding them oxygen and sustenance while more tubes at their hidden loins pierced the latex and burrowed into the sex and anus to handle waste management. A stout collar and short locked chain were forcibly worn, keeping their heads against the hinges.