|Gromet's Plaza - Richard Alexander Stories|
© 2004 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission
|storycodes: FFMM/f; bondage; straitjacket; nc; XX|
|grometsplaza - www.grometsplaza.cjb.net
Chapter Twenty – Mental as Anything – Monica’s Story
by Richard Alexander
Monica’s Travels Chapter Twenty – Mental as Anything – Monica’s Story
The sight of Steven in the exhibition hall crowd was at once enormously uplifting and then devastating as Jade Wong spun the wheelchair and began to walk at a brisk pace back towards the door through which we had come. I was struggling and mmphing as best I could, but I had no hope against the restraints holding me. I tried to make a pleading eye contact with the people passing, but it was pointless, for my head was still trapped in the cranial frame.
And all the while, in the midst of my despair, the damned dildo kept pumping up and down inside me, arousing my body into a physical state of pleasure that my mind did not want to have to deal with. The whole roller coaster thing got wilder a moment later when there was a cry from behind us, which I recognised as Trish’s voice. We were almost at the door, but they had seen us! In the blink of an eye I went from desolation to exaltation and Jade rushed the last twenty metres to the door. Unfortunately for me, the rush coincided with the completion of a steady build-up in my loins, and the sudden increase in speed meant a rapid climactic pistoning that I was helpless to resist.
I moaned and squirmed as Jade pulled open the door and pushed me through, before locking it behind us. I was seeing flashes of colour and my mind was a mad whirl of hopes, emotions and warm flooding sensations as I was trundled quickly through to where Marilyn was starting to undo Emma from the gynaecological bed.
“The van’s here,” she said cheerfully over her shoulder.
“So are those wretched people of Monica’s!” Jade growled through clenched teeth.
“Leave her!” Jade ordered. “We don’t have time! They’ll be through that door or round the back any minute. “We’ll have to cut our losses – help me get this package into the van.” Marilyn looked stunned by this sudden turn of events, but moved quickly to open the door for me and my minder. Emma made plaintive noises as she lay still strapped to the examination bench, while a pounding started on the door from the main hall. Marilyn’s expression of surprise turned to one of concern, and as I was wheeled on to the loading dock she grabbed two planks and bridged the short gap from the edge of the dock to the open back of a Mercedes van that was parked with its engine running.
“You’ll have to come with us,” Jade said.
“What? I can’t leave all my stuff here!”
“You want to stay and argue with these people? Trust me, I suspect they’re seriously pissed off.”
At that moment I was perched halfway up the planks, when there was a shout that I knew at once to be Steven’s voice. I lifted my eyes as much as I could in the constricting frame, and spotted his head above a nearby broken glass-topped wall, apparently in the alleyway next door. He was shouting something which I couldn’t make out, but there was no doubting his intention, nor the effect it had on Marilyn and Jade. Marilyn saw the logic of what Jade had been saying, and they immediately resumed their efforts to haul me up the planks into the van.
Idiotically, I threw myself against the bonds holding me to the wheelchair, mmming madly and not thinking of what the consequences might be if we all fell off the ramp. Fortunately the pair were too strong, and I was pulled inside the rear of the van. Jade thumped on the back wall of the driver’s compartment and yelled “Go!” and we moved off, with the planks falling to the ground. She locked the brakes on my chair and helped Marilyn close the doors even as we moved down the alleyway. I don’t know if it was my imagination or just wishful thinking, but as we turned the corner into the street, I thought I saw – through the dirty, tinted rear windows – figures appear on the loading dock, then we were out into the traffic and tears were rolling uncontrollably down my cheeks.
* * *
I guessed the drive to the airport took the best part of two hours through the late afternoon traffic. My head was whirling, my mind trying to cope with the physical and mental extremes that had been inflicted on me in the last few hours. Over and above the physical pain and pleasure, I had had my hopes raised and dashed by this last encounter. I could not see how they would be able to track me to wherever I was going now.
In the van, Jade and Marilyn sat side by side on one of the parallel wall seats, talking in low tones that I couldn’t follow.
Only when their voices were raised slightly did I obtain an idea of what they were talking about. I gathered that in Marilyn’s rush to escape with us, she had left her handbag behind, and that obviously this was of some concern to her.
The only windows were the rear ones, and they had now turned me so that with my head clamped I couldn’t see out of them, leaving me with no clue as to where we were or where we were going. Not that I knew the city, but even direction signs might have given me some inkling. Only when we finally arrived at an airport did I get another glimpse of the outside world.
The airport was a regional one, I guessed. It had a less-pressured
feel about it and was significantly smaller than the international one
at which we had arrived. The van had a small ramp made of aluminium
chequerplate that the driver – a young man in white shirtsleeves - placed
in position after opening the doors. I never got a good look at him,
assuming him to be another flunky of Jade Wong’s. Before Jade trundled
me into the terminal, she embraced Marilyn.
With that, Marilyn kissed her fingers and touched them to my sealed mouth.
“So long - be good, honey. It was a helluva lot of fun, and my bank balance will be grateful for all your help.” Then she climbed into the front of the van which drove off, leaving Jade Wong with the badly injured woman trapped immovably in the wheelchair that had now become her permanent home, or such were appearances. What a dutiful carer Jade was…
We went into the terminal, threading our way through the passengers oblivious to my plight. I was utterly frustrated. Jade parked us in a corner and made a call on her mobile phone, then we moved off down the check-in hall to a meeting point sign at the end. A man in a pilot’s uniform met us there a minute or two later, and looked at me with brief concern, before ignoring me as he became involved in conversation with Jade. We followed him through a door and out on to the tarmac, our route taking us along a tracery of lines painted on the concrete towards a group of what I took to be private jets in a reserved area. I should have guessed Jade would never consider flying commercial airlines.
The long walk was taking its toll on me, with the dildo rhythmically driving in and out, in and out of my pussy, and there was nothing I could do to stop another slow build-up in my loins. I knew I was on the rise by the time we reached a small jet with two engines mounted either side of the tail. Things were starting to become a little blurry and my breathing had become rapid and ragged. The pilot took the handles of the chair and backed me up to the steps that extended from the side door of the plane, while Jade steadied the front of the wheelchair. With each thump from one step up to the next, the dildo seemed to be thrusting deeper, in a final climactic finish, and I ended up making my noisiest moans in time with each step.
“Is she all right?” the pilot asked.
“Perhaps in a little discomfort,” said Jade, her voice oozing with concern as she grinned at me from under her curtain of black hair. “She’ll be all right once we get in the air.”
The plane was well appointed, with cream leather seats that converted into beds, and a convenient space where the wheelchair could be locked and secured at the rear bulkhead against the drop-down flight attendant’s seat. In this instance the seat remained up, but the restraining harness was tugged into place around me and the chair. I slumped as much as I could, exhausted and sweating from my exertions.
“There’s food and drink in the fridge, Mrs Wong, and there’s a microwave beside it. If there’s anything at all you require, please press the call button.”
“Thank you Raymond.”
“We’ll be taking off in five minutes.” He showed her to a seat – she had a choice of seven – and helped her with the seat belt, before disappearing into the cockpit. The engines had already started up by that time, so I figured there was at least one other person on the flight deck. Not that any of this was going to help me.
A few minutes later we were lifting smoothly into the air and I was thrust back in my wheelchair in a continuation of my misery. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Hopefully I could just be left alone for a bit, for I was drained by the physical and mental demands, not to mention the sexual ones. My head hurt where the clamps were screwed hard into my skin and I was hungry and thirsty. I was not a happy teddy.
For the first half hour Jade Wong relaxed with a drink and a magazine, before examining the microwave and putting on something to cook, which soon had delicious aromas filling the cabin. Of course she had to eat this in front of me, convincing me that I was going to remain hungry for the rest of the trip.
But such was not the case, in fact. Having finished her meal, she rummaged in her handbag and produced the thin-necked squeeze tube that I knew contained the solvent for the Skin-Tite glue sealing my lips closed. I was surprised – and grateful - when she undid the clamps on my head and removed the ring from its position on top of the four vertical rods, which then folded down against the stiff plastic frame stretching from my shoulders to my waist. This gave her better access to my mouth, and with the concentration that she no doubt used in applying her make-up, she slowly parted my lips through several progressive applications of the solvent. My mouth finally opened and she removed the small sponge ball that had trapped my tongue for so many hours. The ball was soaked in drool and she dropped it distastefully on to a seat before wiping the solvent away with a wet tissue It was a surprising, almost tender action that left me uncertain what was to come next. I remained silent, waiting for her to speak.
Jade Wong sighed, and sat back in the swivel chair opposite me, still looking composed and elegant in her dark green leather skirt, jacket and boots, even after the excitement of the day. She crossed her legs with a rustle of nylon and folded her hands in her lap.
“Monica,” she said, the single word dripping with impatience and her own frustration. “Let me explain some things to you. The first thing you must understand is that you are my prisoner, and your friends will not be rescuing you this time. For your life to be remotely tolerable, you must recognise your position as a lowly slave, and my position as your Mistress. Am I getting through to you?”
“Yes… Mistress.” I forced the word out. My mouth had gone dry and I was starting to have uncomfortable sensations of déjà vu.
“Good. You’re an intelligent girl, Monica – I would hope you could recognise a hopeless position when you find yourself in one. Cooperation will be the key to your survival, since that is what you must aspire to. The second thing you should know is that when we get to LA, we’ll be meeting an old friend. You remember Portia?” My heart sank and my expression must have shown it. “Ah – I see that you do.” Jade smiled with the arrogance that one who is totally in control can afford, and one whose little surprise has had exactly the intended effect.
“It seems Portia had a little encounter with your friends in Hong Kong, after you had flown the coop with your two blonde fillies and Emma.” I tried to remain impassive, but clearly Jade knew I had had no chance to talk to Mary or Steven or Trish since they had begun pursuing me. I wondered what this ‘encounter’ had involved.
“You were right to get out of Hong Kong. Portia was most disappointed not to have a chance to get acquainted again. Instead she kidnapped that stupid slavegirl of yours and sure enough Mary and Trish decided they had to rescue her, and ended up getting caught themselves.”
Had I not glimpsed Mary and Trish in New York I might have been seriously concerned by now, but I suspected I would have cause for more personal concern.
“Unfortunately, that handyman of yours decided to pose as a Chinese girl and caught Portia by surprise. As a consequence, she found herself severely compromised and tied to her own handyman Shek, who let me tell you is considerably more endowed that Steven, and Portia was not impressed with having it jammed up her bottom then having herself tied naked to her servant. She was even less taken with having to wait two hours for some ice to melt so that they could get outside the compound, then have to walk an hour to the village to get free. She describes it as the worst moment of her life – even more so than what you did to us at the Sydney Mardi Gras.”
Jade looked very stern. “You see, it was amongst her own people, and we Chinese take the issue of loss of face very seriously. She was extremely upset, and her demeanour was not helped by being barely able to sit down for three days after the reaming Shek gave her. It was not all his fault, of course, though there was no doubt he enjoyed it. She said he remained rigid for the entire time and even shot his load in most public fashion as they were approaching the village. Suffice to say, Portia is looking forward to catching up with you.”
She paused to let the already-dawning import sink in. If things had been bad up to this point, they were going to get worse – if that was possible. I said nothing, not trusting myself. Jade took a sip of a glass of champagne.
“But you need not fret that you will be wholly in dear Portia’s hands, Monica. I shall want a piece of your butt as well. Let me refresh your memory a little further. There are perhaps some things you don’t know about what happened since we last met. You may wonder why I’m telling you the details. It’s quite simple, really. It’s called motive. It leads to the answer to the obvious question you have – why am I doing this to you? And the second question, specifically what am I going to do? The answer to the second question will become known over the next few months. The answer to the first will be self-evident in the next few minutes.” She eased the chair seat back and a foot rest elevated itself from the front. Jade rested the elegant leather boots on the padded rest, the spiky heels pointed towards me, and stretched her body like a cat.
“You will recall the state in which you left Portia and I at Sydney Airport over a year ago? I’m sure you do. You probably dream about it sometimes. I walked through to the departure lounge wearing latex tights with an integral rubber dong jammed up my arse, and a long-sleeved latex dress on which you had so thoughtfully glued the zipper shut. Oh yes, and the boots. Knee-high boots with five-inch heels and their zippers glued shut as well, so there was no way of removing them. Over the top of this was a nice dress, however – I do complement you on your taste. But of course there was more. I have to credit your imagination, Monica. It was three days before I could remove those glued-on acrylic breast forms with the permanently erect nipples.” She smiled thinly. “It made sleeping on my stomach impossible, and the itching powder under them nearly drove me insane. And you will be interested to know that the epoxy glue you used on the mouthguard takes four days to break down. It tastes awful and leaves bits behind, and caused me to drop a dress size.”
I refrained from suggesting that most women would have been glad of such a result. I did not think such a comment was quite appropriate to my circumstances at that moment.
“All of that was bad enough, but you’d put those damned Ben Wa balls inside my pussy and oh so inconveniently wired my labia together through the little rings you’d installed. Can you imagine coping with them for the best part of three days? That’s how long it took me to get from Sydney to Hong Kong, with your devious one-way non-transferrable ticket via damned Nairobi and Bombay. Have you any idea what it’s like to be stuck in the Nairobi transit lounge for seven hours while your Kenya Airways plane is fixed? Let me tell you that there is no air conditioning there.”
Abruptly she sat up and dropped her feet to the floor, leaning forward right in my face. “And have you ever experienced the bureaucracy of Indian Immigration? Being grilled by them in a seedy little windowless room – again without air conditioning – for four hours, causing us to miss our plane. It was a nightmare, made more terrible by the thought of being strip searched if they chose to do so. Does this knowledge make you happy, Monica?”
I looked at the ground. “No, Mistress,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“You lose a lot of water under those conditions. I was near to fainting a number of times, in those damned rubber clothes of yours. And the smell! By the time we got to Hong Kong we were ripe. It is something I will never forget. Does my suffering give you pleasure, Monica?” she hissed.
“No, Mistress,” I lied, now terribly fearful of what lay ahead of me.
Perhaps my fear showed, for Jade Wong appeared to relax, then stood up.
“I will return to my earlier question. Are you hungry, Monica?”
“Very well. In this instance, just to show what a nice person I am, I will cook you a little something. I will even feed you, rather than just sitting it in your lap and letting you drool over it, which I would be perfectly within my rights to do.”
While Jade Wong fussed at the microwave, I was left to reflect on the punishment we had imposed on her and Portia. I say “we”, but clearly I, as leader, was the one primarily responsible for both the punishment ideas and putting those ideas into effect. Now I was the one going to be on the receiving end.
I sat there thinking about how we had painted up Portia and Jade Wong in latex paint and trucked them through the Mardi Gras parade in Sydney, with humiliating Chinese characters painted on their bodies while they were paddled in front of an international audience. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, I now thought, particularly coming off the cruel torture and humiliation that I and the other girls had been subjected to, when Portia and Jade had taken over Bilboes in their lightning coup.
God, that seemed like a long time ago. I had the horrible revelation that what I had undergone in England and New York was only the prelude – the entré in a likely long and painful multi-course extravaganza, with each titbit to be savoured and experienced to the full. I had no doubt that it would be Portia and Jade who would be doing the savouring, with me doing the experiencing. I could not believe how this whole thing had escalated, and the future scared me. I felt tears welling up but managed to quell them and stare watery-eyed at the ceiling until Jade returned with a reheated dish of chicken, cashews and rice.
I was famished, and allowed her to hand feed me, in a display of dependency that was at once unusual, but also very pointed, and the message behind it was very clear. I was totally dependent on Jade’s presence to stay alive. I was her prisoner, and if she chose to chain me to a wall in some forgotten basement cell and walk away, I would die a slow and painful death. The relationship between a Mistress and her slave was traditionally one of dependency, but I knew in this instance it was far more serious. It was going to be difficult for me both physically and mentally, for my nature was not a submissive one, and having to exist within such parameters was very hard for me. I wanted to rail and rebel and fight her at every turn, yet the moment I tried that I would be punished most painfully. It was a game as much psychological as physical, and I knew Jade Wong and Portia were very skilled indeed. Somehow I was going to have to find new depths of mental strength, and I had no idea how long I could do this for.
I finished my meal and Jade Wong wiped my mouth. I was allowed to drink some water, but she refused my request to use the toilet.
“You will just have to remain uncomfortable until we reach your new home,” she said dismissively.
“Where will that be?” I asked, as timidly as I could manage, hoping to glean any scrap of information that might prepare me. Jade looked at me as though I had just complained about the quality of the cooking.
“Monica, you will be told what you need to know, when you need to know it!” she snapped.
“Will it be for long?” I persisted – stupidly, as it turned out.
Jade Wong made disapproving tsk noises and delved into her handbag to come up with the tube of the dreaded Skin-Tite glue. I was immediately contrite, and started to apologise, but it was too late. Rather than have my lips sealed badly, or have my tongue included in the process, I submitted to her firm hand and was soon sucking on the sponge ball, cold and drooly from my last use of it, with my lips again sealed shut around it.
Not content with dealing with my verbal insubordination in this most direct manner, Jade re-erected the rods and fitted the circular head clamp again, screwing it uncomfortably tight so that the merest twitch of my head hurt. With me securely restrained for the rest of the flight, she retired to the front of the cabin, turned down the lights and proceeded to watch a video on the personal screen by her seat. Back in the gloom at the rear, I was left to dwell on my fate with increasing trepidation as the plane droned on across the continent.
* * *
I suppose I must have dozed, though it didn’t seem like it. We were coming in to land and I had a splitting headache. The clamps were hurting my skin but there was nothing I could do about it. The landing was smooth, however, though the subsequent disembarkation down the steps was hurtful, and it re-awakened the dildo inside me that for several hours had been mercifully quiescent between my tender labia.
Once again the distance to the terminal involved a long walk around the perimeter of the tarmac, with one of the pilots pushing me and the other talking to Jade. In the space of the five minute journey, by the time we entered the terminal building I was again heated up and trying to squirm against the thrusting prong, while the pilot pushed me steadily, unaware of the flush rising to my cheeks as I tried to control my increasing breathing rate and the tendency to let out a little moan with each stroke inside me.
It was growing dark, but the terminal was big and brightly lit, and crowded with people. I had no idea what day it was. My body was in total disarray under the assault to its systems. One such assault came when the further session of the dildo piston became too much again, just as we were heading through the busiest part of the concourse. Here I lost the plot and stiffened, trying my best to suppress the rush from my loins, letting loose a series of muffled squeaks through my nose like a small dog. In the general babble of the crowd, I don’t think it was noticeable, but I felt the perspiration begin to dampen my dress and run down my temples.
Portia was waiting for us, wearing a short crimson sleeveless dress and matching high heels, and looking stunning in the warm evening air. She squatted in front of me and stroked my cheek between the vertical rods, smiling like a rapacious carnivore at the sight of its prey. We left the pilots at this point and trundled across the carpark to what looked like an ambulance without the red crosses on the side. It was similar to the one we had used in New York, but this time it was driven by a large black man of about forty, whom Portia addressed as Henry, and who wore what looked like white hospital trousers and a loose top. As they wheeled me to the back of the van, I saw the writing on the rear doors that read: Granite Hills Treatment Centre.
The van had an automatic wheelchair lift that dropped down from outside the rear doors, and I was pushed inside for the wheels to be secured in specially made wheel clamps, before Portia and Jade climbed into the front with Henry, who had closed the rear doors and left me to my own company.
This van had windows on all sides, albeit that they were tinted. It made little difference to me, however, since I was facing the back doors and was unable to turn my head. I could see a little through the back windows, but mostly I was staring at following headlights.
The ride seemed to take a long time – maybe an hour or more. The bumps in the road hurt my head through the clamp, and I was becoming more miserable and apprehensive by the minute. We finally turned into a gravel driveway and followed a curved approach until we stopped at what I guessed was the main entrance to some sort of building.
The doors opened, my clamps were undone, and I was lowered to the ground on the hydraulic lifting platform. Henry pushed me up a slight incline into the foyer of a building that had the look of being built around the turn of the century. With my limited vision, I could take in two stories of old brick façade, with old fashioned heavy glass panelled doors that had to be held open by Jade and Portia to allow the wheelchair through.
The foyer was grey and depressing and smelt of antiseptic. It was poorly lit save for what I took to be the reception desk, where an imposing-looking older woman in a nurse’s uniform peered at us over a worn counter.
“Armstrong,” said Henry curtly, as we passed without pausing. The woman nodded and appeared to write something down before disregarding us. Immediately opposite the entrance doors was an elevator, and I glimpsed closed swing doors leading off to each side, in what could be the entrances to wards, or similar, for I had formed the opinion that this was some sort of private institution. I was turned around as the elevator arrived and the four of us crowded inside. The elevator was an ancient one, with the concertina-type grill door that has to be manually closed before it will move. Henry did this, and the door crashed shut with a noise that rattled the elevator car. I glimpsed the buttons – basement, ground and first floors.
Nobody spoke as we descended, the elevator slow and creaking. Another crash of the grill and I was pushed out into an even more dimly-lit corridor. Here the passage only ran to the left, and it smelt more of age and decay than antiseptic. Immediately opposite the lift was what might loosely have been called a nurse station, though it was little more than an office with a protruding bay window that allowed an occupant to look down the corridor. Inside the room was a heavily-built man, dressed the same as Henry. He was probably in his late thirties, with longish greasy hair and an unshaven appearance, and had a cigarette dangling from between his lips.
Henry halted outside the room and knocked on the glass.
“Bob! Got the Armstrong broad.” Bob was sitting at a desk with his feet on it, reading an X-men comic. He looked up and immediately jumped to his feet, more so I guessed, due to the presence of the two women than of Henry.
Bob pushed back a lock of hair from his forehead and came out from the office.
“Evenin’ Ma’am… Ma’am…” he drawled, addressing Portia and Jade in turn. “This her?” When he spoke I saw that one of his front teeth was missing, while the others were stained with nicotine.
“It is,” Jade said, and I could detect the distain in her voice. She did not like dealing with common servants, into which category these two clearly fell. “We will leave her with you now, and will return tomorrow to commence the therapy sessions. You have your instructions?”
“Yes Ma’am,” said Bob, grinning in a way that made me very nervous, and I immediately wondered if he hadn’t been an inmate of this place at some time, for there was something not quite right about his eyes. I watched in the reflection of the window as Portia and Jade retreated to the elevator and the door closed behind them, leaving me alone with Henry and Bob, and feeling as vulnerable as I had ever been in my life.
Bob grinned at me.
“This way, Ma’am,” he leered. “We bin preparin’ your room. Hope you’ll find things comfy.”
He led the way with a shambling walk that suggested he had something wrong with his leg, while Henry, who seemed to be a man of few words, pushed me in Bob’s wake. The walls of this place were of brick, with the low ceiling formed in a shallow concrete arch, from which were slung ancient pipes carrying steam and water and other services. Overhead at infrequent intervals, bare electric bulbs lit the way.
I was now starting to get seriously frightened. It was one thing to be in the hands of experienced professionals, whatever they may be going to do to you, but to be left to bumbling amateurs of the likes of Bob and Henry was a major worry. For all their twisted ways, Portia and Jade at least knew the limits of the human body. These two scared the crap out of me.
Bob halted and opened a heavy door to the right. We entered and I found we were in some sort of sluice room. The walls and floor were lined with tiles that had once been white, and several toilets and showers were visible, though none with any partitions or privacy. Along one side of the room was a wooden bench, on top of which sat a large metal trunk. Above this was a row of coat hooks from which hung what looked like a straitjacket. In the middle of the room was a table with a metal-sheeted top that added to the cold, sterile feeling of the place.
The door banged behind us and my wheelchair came to a halt. Bob stood and looked me over in a sly way. Henry, meanwhile, began to undo the head clamp and rods supporting it. I could not help a sigh of relief as the screws were undone and I could finally move my neck and head again.
Henry seemed to be either the practical one or the simply the conscientious one, for he now undid the heavy strap at my waist securing me to the chair, then removed the remainder of the back and chest brace. Finally there were the connecting restraints at my wrists and ankles, before the loosening of the screws at the knees of my leg braces. Only then was I in a position to stand up, but I didn’t know whether the pair were aware of the big dildo at that moment fully extended up inside me.
It seemed that they were not, and as they hauled me to my feet, I made protesting grunts as the prong slid out awkwardly.
Bob laughed out loud at the sight, and even the dour Henry grinned.
“Hooowee!” Bob exclaimed. “Dang, but I bet you’ve had a fun ride getting’ here tonight Missy. What will they think of next?” They each grasped one arm, still locked at the elbow, and helped me step awkwardly off the chair. Their grips were strong, and I knew I would have no hope of resisting against this sort of muscle power.
The pale green wrap-round dress came off in a matter of moments, then the lag braces, and then I was standing naked but for the arm braces. The men lifted me bodily on to the table, pushing me face down on to the cold metal surface that made me gasp and squeal with the shock as my breasts were pressed against it, my arms out to the side in the attitude of surrender.
From this totally yielding position, they removed the braces, and once again I could straighten my arms. This movement lasted as long as it took Bob to secure a strap around my wrists behind my back, buckling the thing uncomfortably tight.
“Wanna go to the John?” he asked.
“Mmmph,” I nodded. He pushed me towards the toilet and the pair watched unashamedly as I relieved myself. It was embarrassing, humiliating, call it what you will. It was necessary, and it didn’t hurt, however. I had undergone worse than this, I told myself, and I wasn’t about to let these two morons get the upper hand over me. I stood up and stared at them defiantly.
Their reaction was to force me on my face on the cold tiles and to tie my ankles crossed with another strap, before turning a hose on me. The water was icy and they laughed as I uttered muffled shrieks and tried to squirm away from the jet. Predictably they took great delight in directing it between my legs, then turning me over and playing it over my pussy, breasts and face. Water streamed up my nose and at one time I thought I might drown, before it finally stopped and they lifted me on to the table like a drowned rat. I was snorting water and struggling to breathe, and fortunately they gave me enough time to get my senses together.
There came the rough sensation of a coarse towel being rubbed over my body, accompanied by blunt fingers probing my orifices accompanied by crude comments, before I was made to sit up and my arms were untied long enough for the straitjacket to be fitted.
It was made of canvas with heavy leather straps and an integral leather upright collar that buckled at the back of my neck. A number of straps did up similarly down my back, before my arms were dragged across my body and the straps attached to the sleeves were buckled tightly behind me. Only then did they undo my ankles and allow me to stand up to receive the tight crotch strap pulled between my legs and also secured at the back.
The final accessory for the outfit was what looked like a boxer’s training helmet, made of white padded leather that sat on my head and buckled beneath my chin. It provided protection to my forehead and temples and cheeks, and I suddenly realised how it might be used on patients that could potentially do themselves harm. In this get-up I was then pushed out the door and made to walk a further few paces down the corridor to a narrow steel door which opened inward. Bob pushed it open.
“Welcome to your new home,” he grinned.
The room was barely two metres square, devoid of any furnishing save a kind of industrial padded canvas that covered all four walls and which hung from supports just below the top of the walls. The floor was of a padding similar to the sort used in gyms for judo and the like, and it was on this that I was made to lie while two heavy duty cuffs were locked on my ankles and then locked together. I was left sitting propped against the wall as the door slammed and my little padded cell closed in on me with a terrible silence. A moment later the lights went out, and there was just the sound of my own breathing and the pounding of blood in my ears.
* * *
bondagestories : alexanderstories