Bondage Place Page 9

  The implanted effects were hard to endure, her bondage frustrating, as she was forced to bear it alone. Closing her eyes she pictured the mistress, summoning up the woman’s glorious image and pretending that she was present and orchestrating this. Lydia’s response instantly altered as arousal set in.

  Lydia filled her mind with fantasies of the woman standing before her, clad in wicked rubber skin as she staidly observed Lydia’s anguish. The dreams eased her distress and even made her start to enjoy herself under the effects of the position and the torments.

  Chapter Ten

  It was not long before her meditation was interrupted when the door opened to reveal a shapely female clad in salacious lingerie of pale pinks. The woman roamed around to her side, showing no reaction to the sight of Lydia in restraint or the marks of harsh attention.

  As though tidying some inanimate object she began to casually remove the needles, slipping them out and setting them aside—the rapid removal done without care as to the effects on their bearer.

  Lydia squealed with each flight, the flesh having grown fond of the inserted fangs and resenting their departure. The last of the lucid knives came away and the woman turned to unfastening the restraints before clipping a lead to her collar. Without a word she tugged Lydia into a swift walk.

  Leading her out of the room and down the corridor, Lydia walked quietly, the movement of her body against the corset and her aching breasts leaving her staring at the woman before her with a stem sense of carnal hunger.

  Keeping herself purposely mute until she was more aware of the rules and consequences of transgression in this place, she was taken to another chamber that was wall to wall with mirrors, several of them with handles to be used as portals.

  Opening one of the reflective doors to expose shelves laden with clothing, the woman removed a pile and presented it to Lydia.

  “Take off your corset and put these on,” said the woman, setting the garments down and opening another door to sift through an array of shoes.

  Immediately Lydia started to unlace the corset, setting open the taut strings and feeling a little weak as the hold about her chest was slowly relinquished.

  Refusing to pause she drew on the black suspender belt and affixed the fishnet stockings to it, straightening the seam at the back before drawing on the rest of the uniform. The clinging latex dress stretched itself tightly over her body, the short skirt and plunging neckline embellished with a white frill and a small apron that was adorned with a large bow at the back. The neck offered up her cleavage and held it to a perfected shape while the skirt hung just over the tips of her stockings, revealing most of her thighs and the subtlest hint of the suspenders. As she laid her breasts within the cups, she whimpered and held closely to herself for support as the punctures were pressed upon by the squeeze of the divine material. The dress took a moment to acclimate to because of its tight folds on her wounds and a testing tug to the hem confirmed that it would go no lower and that she was to be on such flagrant display.

  The ruling assistant handed her some ankle boots. The stiletto-heeled footwear incorporated padlocked buckles to prevent removal. Once these were laced into place and sealed, a latex hood was taken up and gathered in before being presented to her.

  “Get on your knees,” said the woman, changing her grip slightly to gain a better hold.

  “Is that really necessary?” asked Lydia, concerned about such entrapment, especially if she was to serve people as a maid.

  “It is part of your required uniform, slave. Now get down or I will be forced to punish you first,” the woman snapped, the tone holding no patience, causing Lydia to concede and succumb to the dress code. Sinking down onto her knees she watched as the woman dragged the tight rubber sack over her head, sealing her within a dark sheath whose tiny eyeholes and mouth slit greatly restricted her senses. The smell of latex spilled through her nose and she opened her lips to take a lick at the interior. Tasting the material, the banquet of fetishistic indulgence greatly soothed any doubts she had about the hood.

  A strange gag was removed from the cabinets and forced into her mouth before she could gain a good look at it. It seemed like an oval ball gag that pressed to the back of her throat. The interior of the solid teardrop bore a slender tube to grant her access to air. The oval sprouted from a dense rubber plate that pressed tightly to her face, creating a near airtight seal as the straps affixed to it were set in place. One ran around the base of her skull, while two went along either side of her nose, crossed between her eyes and then rode over her skull to grab the horizontal strip. Another under her chin clamped her jaws to the orb, which was strangely small for an effective gag.

  An inflator bulb was applied to the outside nozzle of the plate and the girl started to crush it in her fist, pumping up the hidden facets of the gag. On each side of the orb emerged a rubber balloon. The thick bladder stretched out into her cheeks, pressing to the inner surface of her mouth, making her cheeks expand outward against the compressing efforts of the hood and straps. The girl continued to inflate, making her jaws and cheeks pound with stress. Lydia started to resist, her hands rising to try and stop the girl, but she merely quickly increased the rate of inflation and tugged off the bulb. Lydia dropped back from the sudden blast.

  Lydia clawed at the device but she found that the nozzle was subdued, preventing her fingers from reaching in and depressing the tiny metal pin that would deflate the cheek-bursting orbs.

  Spinning around she dropped forward and pawed at the woman’s legs, her eyes filling with tears as she tried to get her to remove the nightmarish instrument.

  “I’m sorry, it’s part of your uniform. You’ll eventually get used to it,” asserted the girl and patted the smooth dome of Lydia’s head. Lydia pulled away with a shudder of temper, her fingers clawing at the straps, trying to find a way in which to lessen her pains. Her face felt ready to burst.

  “If you keep that up, I’ll have to restrain you!” Warned the girl. Lydia ignored her, her activities ruled by the need to be free of the terrible gag as she wheezed weakly through the slender vent.

  Hands grabbed and shoved Lydia drastically, causing her to spill onto the floor.

  Before she could recover, a burden dropped onto her back, crushing her and sending her breath out as a startled croak. The woman had jumped on Lydia as she lay procumbent on the floor.

  Lydia’s arms were at her sides. The strong calves of the woman crushed them to her as her rear weighed down into Lydia’s spine, preventing her from moving. Fighting to breathe, Lydia started to become dizzy, her exertions demanding more oxygen than the breathing tube permitted. Trying to regulate her breath lest she pass out, her fingers clawed at the floor, her legs kicked and she battled to get the woman off her but there was nothing she could do.

  “Are we finished yet?” asked the girl, sitting comfortably on Lydia, watching as she slowly gave up and went limp, striving to recover her breath.

  “Good. Now, I think you deserve a punishment for such insolence,” murmured the girl, and Lydia screamed silently against the gag as she saw the inflator bulb bobbing before her eyes.

  “Yes, that’s right, a little more inflation might be in order,” she mocked.

  Lydia recommenced her attempt to get loose, unable to do any better. Muted murmurs and purls of woe emerged from the gag, the sounds almost inaudible.

  “Cry all you want, it won’t do any good,” laughed the girl and clapped a hand to Lydia’s brow, bending her head back so that the nozzle was offered up for easy use. Lydia strove to shake her head free to deny the girl access to the nozzle, but with her neck being contorted backward all she could do was watch with horror as the bulb was screwed into place.

  “Ready?” Asked the girl with menace, caressing the black orb that was going to make Lydia suffer so much more.

  Ignoring the extended wails for clemency the girl squeezed slowly, gently pumping up the orbs. Lydia screeched in her own mind, her convulsive
fight to get the girl off continued as she felt the rubber bladders swell until they were like zeppelins in her mouth, each sac about to tear her mouth apart. The terrible distress was more than she could take and yet the girl continued.

  “There, that should do it. Now are you going to be a good girl? Or shall I continue?” She mused, enclosing her hand to the orb again. Lydia squealed her affirmation, her face aflame, her senses unable to cope with the current level of inflation let alone endure any more of the excruciating growth of the balloons.

  “Then let’s get going, you have duties to perform,” sneered the girl, removing the bulb and getting off of Lydia. Cradling her mouth, her cheeks were drum-tight under the hood, the skin burning from within. The sight of Lydia’s absurdly puffed out cheeks was seen in the mirrors and she grizzled in dismay. What monster had conjured this device?

  Taking the leash, the woman took her directly to the pool area, Lydia’s walk now full of dreary gaiety as the uniform stretched and hauled at her. When she caught vague images reflected in mirrors, the sight of herself in such attire should have left her full of titillated jubilation but the gag was a source of too much dismay to permit such happiness. Breathing slowly through the tube, the deep penetrating ache in her maw grew less harsh as her face accustomed slightly to its new configuration. The pain didn’t diminish; she got used to it.

  When the spiteful assistant drew aside the glass doors Lydia felt a wash of heat pour through and envelope her, causing it to feel instantly slick under the latex dress. Lydia was moved from the shade and into the sun, the fierce rays making her shudder as it cooked her pale hide. Her long captivity in the depths of the dominatrix’s lair left her unprepared for any outdoor exposure, and certainly not the ferocity of tropical heat.

  The pool was wreathed by a dense wall of trees and bushes. It blocked a view to the rest of the compound and gave it a sense of seclusion. Escorted along the pool side Lydia followed in the woman’s leisurely stride, the heels giving her significant problems while she was taken to a small bar where a naked captive tended the orders. She had been barefoot for so long that it was hard to adapt back to wearing shoes, especially ones with such towering heels. The last few minutes were a little help but the rough terrain of the pool and the grass added new problems to her efforts.

  “Do as you are told,” was the woman’s only instruction before leaving, deserting Lydia to the duties of her new lot.

  The bar woman was pierced with rings of silver, the large bands transfixing nipple, septum, navel and clitoris. Her black locks were held in twin bunches and the customary steel band collar marked her as a true slave. She was finishing the preparation of a cocktail, slipping in some segments of fruit to the rainbow concoction and placing it on a silver tray with a small dish of tiny sponge cakes.

  “Take this to the man at the pool side - the one with the black vest,” she said as she pointed out the muscular form of a tanned male. He sat upon the lip of the waters, his eyes hidden by rounded sunglasses, his feet flipping in the crystal waters of the pool.

  Tottering upon the heels, unused to the awkward footwear, Lydia moved slowly to ensure she did not spill her charge.

  When she arrived and bent over to present him with his drink, she noticed for the first time that the occupants of the waters were far from normal swimmers. The view she gained made her sway with shock, but she grabbed the tray before she dropped it from sheer surprise.

  Six women swam within; traveling amongst the normal occupants, their bodies encased in a skintight sheath of rubber from the navel down, the material compressing their legs into a single stem whose tip sprouted a rigid flipper. The mermaid garment was tightened about their waist with a stern, wide belt, preventing them from wriggling out of it. Unable to escape the attire they swam within the pool, their naked skin rippling as they prowled. Unable to exit, rising occasionally for breath because of the difficulty in treading water, their inhumane apparel hampered everything except forward motion. The mermaids were constantly being teased by the mundane patrons of the pool who pawed at them and occasionally caught one to caress or kiss.

  The man removed his drink, took a testing sip and then set it aside. Noticing that Lydia was not of the standard Guenerros visage, he guessed that she was a new arrival and ran his opaque gaze across her body. His hand clapped to her outstretched wrist, preventing her from rising.

  “Well, well, well, a new specimen,” he purred. “And a fine filly at that. I shall look forward to making use of you,” he reported, releasing her wrist and tossing one of the cakes into the water. The mermaids congregated swiftly, seeking to beat their competitors to the morsel of food. There was a flash of tanned skin and black latex and a frantic flailing of limbs as they fought for the scrap while it bobbed on chopped waters. One broke free and fled, devouring the cake as she shrugged off the pursuit. With the source of contention gone, they swam around the man’s feet, moving as a shoal, their eyes fixed and ready for the next piece.

  Taking up another he made a false throw, casting his arm over but declining to release the quarry. Two of them jerked free and had made it several meters across the pool before they noticed the trick. As they returned he launched the cake high into the air, the nugget landing on the far side of the spacious pool. The mermaids broke and stormed for the distant object, their prolonged captivity in this aquarium making them swift swimmers within their attire.

  Rising up, Lydia began to pace steadily away, moving with care and trying to forget the frightening sight she had just borne witness too.

  Returning to the bar she stepped aside into the shade and watched the scene, the heat of the day prickling her skin, the latex hood drawing forth a heavy sweat that lay trapped between the impermeable shell and her own hide.

  Leaning against the bar she sought to relax herself, the temperature making her giddy. The other maids were far more used to the demands of their native lands and moved about tending the needs of the wealthy and powerful. They were exemplary servants, each readily attending both the ordinary activities such as smoothing lotion across the guests, feeding them, fanning their idle bodies, and they also served the more esoteric needs.

  Maids were curled up as footstools, they were being used as pillows and plates upon which food was arrayed and removed with small cocktail sticks that jabbed the doomed servant to ensure they were always reminded of their place. Other maids patrolled steadily, ready to be stopped and given commands by their customers. Having cooled herself a little, Lydia returned to the area, following randomly, mimicking the actions of the others, no one having troubled themselves with her tutoring in how to perform.

  A woman beckoned Lydia over as she lay posed upon a sun lounger. The female wore nothing, fully exposing her exceptional physique to the sun. Her body was near perfect, too perfect to be completely the work of nature. But having the financial means to be a visitor to this hedonistic bastion, she made use of cosmetic surgery.

  The woman turned over and exposed her back.

  “Apply lotion, slave,” she murmured sternly.

  Glancing down, Lydia saw an awaiting bottle and knelt down beside the woman. Taking it up, she unscrewed the cap and squeezed a measure onto her hands. Her fingers were trembling, the exciting prospect and the trepidation of this task made her heart quiver.

  Spreading it across the bare back she started to smooth it up and down the elegant spine, coating shoulders and neck and then hesitantly working onto legs and buttocks. Closing her eyes, Lydia savored the feel of the firm flesh passing under her fingers. Locking her legs together, she ached for fulfillment, the temptation of indulgence rising with every lubricated caress she bestowed on the sultry beauty.

  “Work it into my rear,” ordered the woman with absent severity as though such a request were ordinary and commonplace.

  Closing her fist upon the bottle, Lydia squeezed another line across the fingers of her right hand and put them to the rounded cheeks. Swallowing to gain courage she eased her digit
s through the cleft, brushing the orifice and sliding them gently in. The woman murmured and tensed, relishing the feel of the slave as she drew her fingers back and forth, rocking them across the loose opening. With a covert motion Lydia drew her hand down under the hem of her short skirt, trying to keep her masturbation hidden from the eyes of others.

  The woman tightened her grip on the fingers, letting herself feel them all the more distinctly as she exhaled in long shuddering gasps.

  “Move lower,” she commanded.

  Putting the nozzle of the bottle to the cleft of her rear. Lydia applied a squirt, the fluid trickling down through her loins, the feel of it running through the valley between her legs causing the woman to vent a soft groan.

  Moving her fingers lower, Lydia brushed the woman’s vulva and wriggled between to gain entry. She moved her fingers in circular sweeps, making the female lock her thighs together as she rode the storm of stern pleasure.

  Lydia’s attentions upon the woman had her in rapture for she attended herself in the most pleasing manners and applied the same method to her partner, using her own actions as the guide.

  The slow delicate swirl of a gentle fingertip on the two clits had Lydia breathing softly, her eyes fixated on the image of the nubile woman stretching and tensing under her touch. The warmth of orgasm began to spread through her, tensing her frame, making her finger operate them both with more speed.

  “That’s enough,” mumbled the female and she turned over, slipping free of Lydia’s digits.

  The rejection was infuriating because she wanted to continue her own secret caresses and now that she had been dismissed she would be left more frustrated.