The Studio - Chapter Three by John Roper

Chapter Three - The Juice Room

Throughout her first Studio adventure, Stephanie speculated as to when and how it would end. Since her wish list and release form hadn’t specified a time limit, the possibility of extending her coming out party, beyond its current formalities, loomed precariously ahead as her haphazard thinking drifted off to sleep when the last attendee left room number two. She’d never slept tied up before, let alone in a strange bed, to which another damsel was also securely bound. The nipple weights were also still attached.

Meanwhile, Molly Sims continuously reminded herself not to do anything that would arouse her bed-bound roomy to consciousness. To do so would anger her keepers to a level of disciplinary action she knew would go well beyond the threshold of her personal tolerances.

‘Oh-man.’

Keeping a cap on her normally explosive, orgasmic volume, while thinking on the possible consequences an uncontrollable outburst could precipitate, only served to increase the intensity of each multiple. 

Well, It’s About Time

I was in my office, watching the video of Stephanie’s pedestal palpitations, and stroking my rock hard response to its rigorously challenging details when Cindy Coyle knocked on my locked door. I ignored her, but knew who it was by the sound of her one-knuckle, three tap signature.

Six Minutes Later

She sat at her desk in a sheer, light gray body stocking, shiny-black sky highs and black thong.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Lost the chicken suit, I see.”

Cindy said nothing as she gazed up at my smile and blessed me with the most provocative stare I’d ever seen on her handsome features.

“Tonight?”

She nodded a tiny ‘yes’ and locked her fingers together on top of an already signed and witnessed, Studio release form.

“You’re sure.”

“Sure enough.”

Except for her hands, head, and neck, the body stocking covered Cindy’s entire figure, pressing firmly against and nicely presenting her ample breasts. It was obvious she was out to impress me before diving into the deep end of Studio life.

Most of the guests had left, so it was also obvious Cindy was not ready for the kind of membership attention to which Stephanie had been exposed earlier. I could not help but wonder about what made my Cracker Jack personal assistant suddenly decide she wanted out of the chicken suit, but suspected the attention Danner’s high profile plunge onto The Studio’s radar screen might have had something to do with it.

“Wanna talk about it?”

She lowered her gaze, unlocked her hands, laid them flat on the desk, stood up, pushed her roll-around smartly back against the wall, took two steps in my direction, until her nose was about eight inches from mine, and said, “No.”

“Go wait in my office.”

Playing It By Ear

Jack and his bondage student/brothers were undoing Stephanie when I stepped into room two.

“Got a minute, Jack?”

He was standing next to the bed with arm binder in hand, which he tossed to one of his fellows before saying, “Sure.”

We stepped outside and chatted for a bit while the black leather restraint was strapped to Stephanie’s upper limbs. Molly Sims watched and got deeper into the humiliation of not having any attention whatsoever paid to her while the riggers redid her roommate. After giving Jack his orders, I sat at one of the tables in the workout room and poured myself a glass of wine, which I sipped while reading Cindy’s release form, which was, except for its required data, sketchy at best.

‘Interesting.’

When the door to my office opened, she was sitting on the edge of the desk, watching video of Stephanie’s coming out party. Jack motioned with his right index finger to follow him to the next phase of Coyle’s first Studio escapade. I watched as she unhesitatingly followed Jack to door number three. We exchanged deadpan glances, but a subtle aura discharge flashed between us when the realization of impending closure searched out and bulls-eyed the inner sensors of our erotic, but very well hidden agendas.

Just as the door to number three closed behind them, number two’s opened, and out stepped Stephanie in her heels, pantyhose and arm binder. I pocketed the release form while walking out to the center of the workout room and into its overhead spotlight.

“Come here.”

Watching Stephanie Danner negotiate the move was the stuff out of which wet dreams are born. I took careful note of the reflective residue of sensual affectation written all over her face.

“Amazing.”

I then reached into my jacket pocket and punched in the number 325 on a remote that controlled the Studio’s juke box.

“What’s amazing?” she said.

“Kiss Me,” by Sixpence None the Richer answered the ‘enter’ command, cuing up a familiarly intimate aura of emotional refreshment within the confines of the spotlight circle.

“Nothing I could put into words.”

Given the mountaintop implications of the moment, Stephanie took her sweet time getting to me, without once diverting her eyes from mine. The nipple tether was still attached. One of the sinkers dangled from its taught purpose. Her arrival under the harsh-warm glow of the light tingled with resplendent expectation.

“May I thank you?” she asked.

“You may.”

Slowly and carefully, she pressed her full, sexy lips to mine, closed her eyes, and tested the waters of my passion with some of the softest, most erotically ingratiating teasers I’d ever enjoyed. I closed my arms around her and matched the tentative exploration of our second kiss. It went on for several, mouth-watering seconds before getting down to the more ardent appreciations we’d both longed to express since first sucking face out in the middle of early evening Manhattan.

We slow danced and got into it until the tune ended, without once expressing any below-the-belt intentions, or giving a rat’s ass about who might have been watching.

“What happens now?” she purred.

“What would you like to have happen?”

“I could do this for a few hours,”

Meanwhile, behind door number three, ‘The Fun House,’ Jack and the guys were tying Cindy to the cylinder, but not the stool, which had been removed and replaced by four eye bolts; each at a ninety degree angle to, and six feet from the one adjacent to it. Cindy’s legs were spread widely apart and tied by the ankles with six turns of thick, soft rope and eight inches of slack line to the floor bolts. The wrists were done similarly, with arms in a wide ‘V,’ forcing her to sustain a very distended ‘X’ at the back end of the cylinder, facing the room’s one-way mirror.

The gag was natural sponge stuffing, held in with ten turns of tightly drawn Elastoplast. Her heels had been removed and suspension lines tied in such a way as to make it impossible for her toes to touch the floor, completing the classic X-suspension in as demanding a fashion as possible. A thick crotch rope, with 6 knots strategically placed over Cindy’s shaved pussy and anal cavity, was very tightly secured. It dug deeply into the body stocking and thong. Five-ounce nipple weights, clipped on after holes were cut into the nylon, completed the fix.

She stared at herself in the mirror after Jack and his buddies left and locked the door.

“Oh-my.”

She had no idea the control room was on the other side and that she could be seen by whoever was in it. Except for numbers one and two, the playrooms were off limits to chicken suited members, and tight security was strictly maintained to ensure absolute secrecy. To say that Cindy was blown away by the Fun House cylinder, and the way she had been tied to it, was a gross understatement.

‘Holy crap,’ was her first editorial when the possibilities impacted her powers of deduction and the moisture below started to percolate profusely to an escalating intensity Cindy had never touched base with before.

‘And this is only door number three?’

The more she struggled, speculated on her current future, and looked at her tightly drawn form in the mirror, the hotter Cindy Coyle got.

“Mmmmmmmm,” she moaned when the lights went out and the eruption between her legs not quite reached the edge of its spasmodic countdown.

‘Oh…my…gaahhd…’

Stephanie and I were standing in the control room, in the dark, on the other side of and facing the one-way mirror.

“Ready?”

“For what?” asked the new damsel in my life.

“A glimpse into your possible future,” I semi-prophesied while moving behind her redlining anticipation.

“…OK,” said Stephanie as she squirmed in her arm binder and tugged on the newly applied crotch rope that ran from its lower end ring to the double lasso around her waist.

As the light in the cylinder side of the glass grew brighter, thanks to the rheostat knob I was turning on the console, her eyes widened in concert with the slowly illuminated revelation. She said nothing, but it was plain to see that Stephanie’s libido had decided again it was time to demolish her self-control with another overdose of what she’d come to The Studio to get.

“Shall we turn her on?”

“I don’t think she can be turned on anymore than she already is,” noticed Danner’s riveted attention.

I turned the selector dial to its slowest speed.

“We shall see.”

The cylinder began to roll. Cindy closed her eyes and struggled frantically to tweak the event with the exertion of her own, self-stimulating volition.

As Stephanie watched in amazement and wondered if, before her first dose of The Studio was over, she would have to endure a similar fate. A shiny-silver clip lowered from the ceiling. It dangled out in front of her at the end of thin chain, just north of the nipple tether. A tiny red light on the console glistened off its highly reflective surface.

Cylinder revolution one brought all kinds of first-time sensations to bear on Cindy’s somewhat cloistered history with bondage and discipline, not the least of which were the titillating effects the five-ounce sinkers brought to bear on her now, rock hard nipples. During her second turn of events, I unhooked the sinker from Stephanie’s nipple tether and attached the dangling, ceiling chain clip.

“On your toes,” I whispered gently.

She was obviously having trouble paying attention to anything outside of her current fixation with Coyle’s ‘predicament.’

“Huh?”

“I said get up on your toes.”

The instruction seemed a bit absurd, given the six-inch heels with which she’d been dealing, on and off, since her first, major bondage adventure started spilling into real life. Nevertheless, she was able to squeeze another inch-and-a-half out of her calves before I helped her a bit by forcibly slipping a two-inch-thick block of wood under the Stilettos.

Cindy’s second revolution ended as Stephanie took careful note of my personal assistant’s tightly clenched fists and I flipped a switch on the console. It activated the electric motor in charge of the chain clip attached to the center of Danner’s nipple tether.

While the tension slowly increased, I turned the cylinder speed up to number two and said, “You didn’t specify a time limit on your first Studio trip.”

“No, I didn’t,” semi-regretted Stephanie Danner as she watched the nipple tether milometer its way toward the ceiling. 

She threw me a slightly worried glance as the tether lifted her nipples a good three-inches higher than usual.

“Oh…uhuhuUHUH!”

“Right,” I agreed as we both looked down at the tether control toggle, which I flipped to neutral before stepping behind my now very hot-n-bothered damsel and saying, “That’s what’s behind door number three. There are ten doors in all, each leading to higher and higher intensities of what you came here to experience.

My lips and tongue were suddenly all over Stephanie’s neck and shoulders, while hands spanked, fondled and squeezed her in all kinds of ways and places to make sure she appreciated every last ounce of fore playing attention she could before we took things to the next-to-last level of her predetermined specifications.

Several mind-bending seconds went by before I abruptly stopped teasing Stephanie, turned the cylinder speed dial to three, threw another switch on the console, and kicked the block of wood out from under the heels.

“Later,” I said as I left the room and my charge to her determinations.

Danner heard the door slam and its lock engage, and said, as she lowered the heels a bit and gasped at the result, “SON-of-a-BITCH!” which Cindy heard, thanks to my engaging the intercom before leaving them to their thoughts and such.

Cindy could not see Stephanie, but could empathically listen to her outraged and very sexually inspired feedback.

“Oh-geez…This is impossible…I can’t…How the hell?...He can’t be serious…OOOOOHHHHH!”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the mirror: “Muh… Mmuhuh… MUH!... MMMUHUHUH!!!...Muh…Mmuhuh…MUH!...MMMUHUHUH!!!...”

“Oh, almost forgot,” said I to Stephanie while cracking open the control room door and flipping up its light switch. “Be back in an hour or so.”

Now that the room was fully illuminated, and thanks to a wall mirror in back of the console, both damsels could view each other’s predicaments, adding yet another layer of tweak to the visually enhancing aspects of Cindy’s first Studio ride.

‘An HOUR?’ she thought, with extreme trepidation, after the prospect bounced around her thinking for a second and a half and the spinning image of Stephanie’s plight sent her libido into a tailspin of psycho-sensual redundancy.

Edge Cutting

We call him ‘Q’ because, like his James Bond, gizmo man, nick-namesake, he’s come up with some of the most outrageous gear, toys and apparatus any of us have ever seen, let alone imagined in the course of our rigging fantasies and experience. He is our idea man; our toolmaker and all around bondage engineer, as it were, and he never ceases to outdo himself and amaze those of us who can truly appreciate his state-of-the-art bent.

But here’s the wrinkle that makes ‘Q’s’ passion for sensual bondage unique: in keeping with Studio policy, we always did our best to introduce elements into sessions that served to heighten each experience through the use of unexpected elements and unbeknownst add-ons. These surprises, while ultimately benign in nature, almost always gave the damsel(s) involved both a false sense of insecurity and an off-balance suspicion that they were in some sort of ‘very real’ danger.

Add to this ‘Q’s’ hard rule of absolute anonymity, and what we had here was a man bent on not only satisfying his own need to please and enjoy the fruits of his labor, but a rigger whose multi-layered approach to task-mastering more than just secretly satiated the drives and passions of his subjects and fans.

Back For More

Rochelle Newman was waiting in my office when I dropped in for a ‘live’ video peek at what was going on in The Fun House.

“Hi,” she greeted, nonchalantly.

My “Hi” was somewhat guarded.

“Hope you don’t mind my hiding in the powder room till everyone was gone,” she smiled while stepping into my aura and wrapping her arms around my neck.

I smiled, too. “…Not at all. As a matter of fact…”

She silenced me with a huge wet one before admitting, “Loved the party. Wanna come back to my place for a nightcap?”

Just then, the phone signaled. It was ‘Q.’

“Hey, buddy, where are you?”

Rochelle placed her bag on the desk, crossed her wrists together behind her back, and took a deep breath. The super-low cut, red-strapless dress she’d worn to the shindig did much to convince my party animal side it was high time this redhead got her fantastic figure into a more demanding posture than she was currently expecting.

“Listen, I need a hand with something. Can you meet me in room four in ten?.. Great. See you then.”

Rochelle threw me a pout as I hung up the phone and reached into my desk drawer for a Studio form and said, “Do you remember stipulation number five on the release you signed to Cindy’s witness?”

She threw her shoulders back, lowered her chin, and flashed a tongue-tweaking, come-and-fuck-me look at my all-business posture.

“Refresh my memory.”

I read it as I stepped around the front of the desk.

“I accept that, once I set foot onto the forth floor of 325 East West Street,  complete control of my body and twenty-four hour future will be completely relinquished to any or all riggers placed in charge of my session, no matter how vigorously my protestations might suggest to the contrary.”

“Ooooo,” mocked Rochelle’s playful side.

“Ooooo, indeed, fair damsel.”

Fun Without Safe Words

Dragging her by the wrist to room number one was fun, but getting everything off but the heels was a bit tricky, given the constant interruption of Rochelle’s seductive grasping and groping and such.

“What are you doing?” she asked when I strapped on a waist harness and secured her wrists to its right and left cuffs.

“Whatever I damn well please, missy,” I reminded as I stepped away from Rochelle’s constant hip, breast and lip service, “whatever I damn well please.”

She looked at me strangely before testing the security of the cuff belt and wondering why I wasn’t screwing her brains out.

“Be back in a bit,” I said before leaving the room and my damsel to her speculating nakedness. Sustained examination of the smorgasbord of bondage gear hanging from the walls did much to convince Newman her decision to stow away in the john might not have been such a great idea after all.

Now What?

Stephanie was dancing crazily in her multiple when I entered the control room and dialed down the cylinder control to ‘stop.’ As Stephanie watched the spin cycle de-accelerate Cindy, both watched and enjoyed my kiss, tongue, fondle and spank Danner’s distressed countenance until The Fun House computer returned X-woman to the upright position.

I then slipped the block of wood back under Stephanie’s heels and flipped off the studio lights, thus denying Cindy any further visual access to our goings-on. I also punched out the intercom.

Jack and his fellows quickly entered the cylinder, with scissors in hand, and slowly cut the body stocking from Coyle’s limp and luscious bones. The same belt/cuff harness I’d used on Rochelle was then secured to her as well before she was cut down from the cylinder and led out and into the gear room between it and its outer door. Her heels were put on and a black-silk blindfold applied to her now, half-opened eyes. It was abundantly clear that Cindy was exhausted and in need of a second wind.

She was then guided through door number four, ‘The Juice Room,’ where Jack and his very enthusiastic team took her to a far corner, where one of ‘Q’s’ latest bondage contraptions awaited a test drive.

When I got back to Stephanie, she, too, looked as if she could use a breather.

“Having fun?” I asked as I released her nipple tether from the suspension chain clip.

“I need to pee,” she said while falling into my arms and giving me a look so blessed with gratitude, exhaustion and incredulity it warranted a major wet one, which I gladly dictated for several heartbeats before gazing deeply into her soul windows and saying, “What else do you need?”

My villainous smile took her completely by surprise.

 “Uh…That will do for now.”

Our walk to the bathroom was, to say the least, confrontational.

“How much longer are you going to keep me here like this?”

I took a peek at the old clock on the reception room wall and said, quite dryly, “Fourteen hours to go.”

Her knees gave way a bit as she tried to physically protest the prospect, so I picked her up in my arms and carried her kicking physique through the bathroom door.

Meanwhile, behind door number four, Cindy Coyle and Rochelle Newman, who also now wore a blindfold, could only guess at what they were about to undergo. While laying on their sides Jack and his crew tied and neck clamped them to what felt like some sort of unyielding framework.

‘Q’ was on intercom, directing the device’s application by way of what four TV monitors focused on as the team worked the fix and took digitals.

“No, not yet,” he instructed when Kim Ho looked as if he was about insert a rough studded, hard leather dildo into Cindy’s profusely dripping pussy. “We’ll do that last.”

And Stephanie thought as she sat and peed, “I wonder if the crotch rope stays off before the next…next…What DOES one call what’s going on here?”?”

It still dangled from the end of the arm binder. I was waiting in reception when she stepped tentatively into the room and threw me a concerned glance.

“Talk to you later,” I said into my cellular before disconnecting and standing to the task of re-securing the crotch rope. “Shall we move on to hour eleven?”

“Do I have a choice?” asked Stephanie as I secured the knots between her legs.

“No.”

I made sure to seriously tighten the crotch rope this time…

“Ready for door number four?”

Before Danner could say anything, I popped in a ball gag that was one size too big for her gorgeous mouth, and strapped it in place.

“Follow me.”

When we arrived at ‘The Juice Room,’ the crew was just standing around, waiting to insert the dildos and complete the plugging in ceremony.

“Let’s do it,” I said gleefully.

“I concur,” agreed ‘Q’ over the intercom.

If Stephanie had not been overly ball-gagged, her jaw would probably have dropped her mouth open just as widely when she saw the way Cindy and Rochelle had been bound. She watched as we kneeling-positioned the two, very wigged out damsels on either side of a floor mounted post.

‘Holy shit,’ thought Stephanie when we attached a cabled suction cup to each of their right nipples. They were still blindfolded, but able to speak until ‘Q’ said, “Open your mouths, wide,” and connected balls were stuffed in. They were at the ends of a metal rod that passed between a ring affixed to the top of the post.

The crew helped Cindy and Rochelle maintain their balance while the studded dildos were completely inserted and tightly secured in place by a threaded, screw ring clam three quarters of the way down the pole to which they had been bound.  The ball gags at either ends of the bar were not strapped on, which meant they could spit them out anytime they liked. But they instinctively knew that would not be a wise move as they waited to discover the diabolical elements that would soon be forcing them to bite deeply into the balls rather than unleash the frameworks manifold consequences.

‘Q’s’ iniquitous tones rang out in the Juice Room, “Remove the blindfolds.”

An egg-shaped mirror, hanging head high to Cindy’s left, and another, eight-foot-wide wall mirror, that ran from ceiling to floor, directly across the room, gave Rochelle and Cindy the ability to visually appraise their situation whenever they wished.

‘Q’ continued. “That should do it. Thank you for your time, gentleman: the DVD will be waiting for each of you in reception Monday afternoon.”

Jack and crew departed, leaving Stephanie to her perennially gaping, enforced awe, and me to dealing with a rock hard erection and a satisfaction most riggers can only dream about. Three, overhead spotlights illuminated the corner in which Rochelle and Cindy were about to undergo their first major taste of the more demanding aspects of Studio life. The rest of the room was dark. I pulled two, five-ounce nipple clips out of my pockets and carefully clamped them onto each of Stephanie’s tethered pencil erasers.

‘These guys are NUTS!’

‘Q’ turned a dial in the control room, moving it from position two to four, which increased the vacuum effect on the inch-in-diameter cups that were sucking Coyle and Newman’s rock hard protuberances into tantalizing submission. The left ones were as hard also, thanks to another set of five-ounce clips.

“OK, ladies,” specified ‘Q,’ “here’s the deal. When I throw the next switch, a reader will be activated, whereby if its meter redlines, the pressure in the nipple cups will increase. As a result, the tips of your female erections will be sucked further into the cable; making contact with a tiny plate located a half-inch or so away from where they now preside. Another wired ring, forward of this plate, is already pressing against your papilla, ensuring the completion of the circuit, should you be so disposed to bring that possibility to bear.”

I stood behind Stephanie, humping her right ass cheek and toying with her neck with my mouth while both hands held her firmly by the upper shoulders. She never once stopped tugging on the crotch rope knots.

‘This must mean I’m just as NUTS as THEY are!’

“To make the reader redline,” continued ‘Q,’ “simply allow the ball gag bar to make contact with the ring atop the post.”

As ‘Q’ continued with detailing the functions his new device had been programmed to perform, Cindy and Rochelle instinctively started to practice keeping the gag bar away from the ring through which it passed. It suddenly, by way of hydraulic activation, started to rise from the post at the rate of about a quarter-inch every four-to-five seconds, which would necessitate a rise in damsel posture as well if the gag bar was to be kept from making contact with the post ring. In doing so, the dildo would also be pulled from their dripping slits in direct proportion to the elevation achieved by the ring, and visa versa.

“Do we have all that?”

“Muhuh,” affirmed Coyle and Newman as they did their best to both maintain their balance and appreciate more fully the demands ‘Q’s’ contraption would place on their physical and mental acuity.

‘Good grief.’

‘This is insane.’

“But none of this can happen until I throw the final switch,” assured our gizmo man before dialing another rheostat to activate the vibrators in both the suction cups and the dildos. The function also caused the studded, penis shaped boners to slowly rotate on their axels.

Before leaving our obviously distressed damsels to their dilemma, I switched on the several banks of fluorescent lighting above the tinted-plastic, hung ceiling to give Stephanie a good look-see at the many electrically activated appointments contained in ‘The Juice Room.’

“Mmmmmm,” moaned the girls as I showed Danner around until we reached the door, where her red-velvet cape waited on a hook next to the light switch. I removed and opened it while saying, “Shall we?”

Stephanie stepped into it unhesitatingly and waited while I zipped it up to just under her nostrils. The hood was skin tight, covering everything except her nose, eyes and forehead. I then turned off the ceiling lights and guided her through the room door, which I slammed behind us.

“Don’t worry; you get a copy of the DVD too.”

Danner tossed me a strange look, as if I’d read her mind, and she couldn’t quite accept the possibility.

‘Q’ turned up another dial on his console to increase the intensity of the vibrators, and then said, “Are we ready for the jump to light speed?”

Cindy and Rochelle braced themselves for the worst, and did their best to keep the gag bar from making contact with the post ring. Both realized that if either one of them lost it, or chose to spit out the balls, there would be some kind of electrical hell to pay. A part of them wanted to know just how much hell they were in for if they did, but sober thinking opted to play along with mechanism if, or until they reached a no-choice crossroad in its, as of yet, unknown agenda.

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“And if you’re wondering what the lights on the wall are all about,” continued ‘Q’s’ pre-op, “all you need to know is that when ALL of them are on, it will mean that this apparatus is working at peak efficiency, and will continue to do so for five seconds the first time it does. The second time will result in a ten second burst of peak efficiency; the third, twenty, then 40, 80, and so on.

He gave the revelation a few beats to sink in…When the green light goes on, it will mean the mechanism has been activated, which will also mean it’s time to make sure the gag bar never touches the post ring.”

Cindy threw Rochelle a very worried look and hoped her partner-in-pleasure was physically and mentally able to handle the upcoming challenge to their severely tested self-control. Rochelle did and thought the same. (They were both teetering helplessly on the edge of, and fighting off an orgasm at the time.)

Meanwhile, in the elevator shaft, Stephanie and I said nothing while the former prayed we would remain in the building for the next phase of her coming out party.

‘Sweet Mother of God, where is he taking me NOW!’

When we passed the second floor, she hoped for the basement, but when we stopped at the first, the doors opened.

“After you, dear damsel,” I smiled, while motioning with my head.

She stepped out and walked slowly to the middle of the eight-by-eight vestibule. She heard the doors to the lift close behind her, and thought, ‘Oh-shit, I hope he got off.’

A sudden mini-spasm of pre-orgasmic electricity shot down her spine to her groin as she turned slowly to face the possibility of being all alone. While making the apprehensive, one hundred eighty degree discovery, a redundant car horn could be heard blaring out in the street in front of the building. Several very arousing and worried seconds passed as she stood in her disbelief, watching the numbers light up, ‘2…3…4,’ and praying the elevator would soon return, with me onboard…

‘He’s toying wit me…He wouldn’t actually just leave me here like this…then again…’

The sound of the door opening and closing in back of her caused my very worried damsel’s heart to pound desperately in the ‘knowledge’ that someone else was entering the vestibule. She tried to act nonchalant as the lift went all the way up to the seventh floor, but the clearing of the ‘stranger’s’ throat confirmed her worst fears.

‘Oh, shit, it’s a guy,’ she surmised as the elevator numbers counted down.

‘Six- Whatever possessed me to sign that waver in the first place. Five- If I’d known all this would happen, GEEEEEZ! Four- What the HELL was Donna thinking! Three- How the HELL did she guess I was into this when she suggested this place? Two- I never ONCE filled her in on the details of my fantasies. One…’ 

The doors opened, but before Stephanie could step into the lift, strong arms grabbed her upper body and covered her eyes with a tightly pressing hand. Thinking the worst was all it took to put Stephanie over the top of her current, on-edge multiple. She struggled wildly in her fantasy-come-true and felt herself being carried from the building and out onto the sidewalk, where the sound of an opening car door and the feel of another pair of strong arms lifted her legs off the cement and deposited her into the back seat of Donna’s vintage Caddy. The windows were tinted, of course, and something told me not to use the seat belt before slamming the door. (I HAD gotten off the elevator with her, ghosting her steps in back of Stephanie’s electrified countenance, so she wouldn’t think I had.)

My very perplexed damsel watched me wave goodbye while roommate Donna jumped into the driver’s seat, geared up, and peeled out into the night. Just then, the right light on the wall of Cindy and Rochelle’s corner of The Juice Room flashed green and their eyes locked onto each other as they did all they could to make sure the gag bar did not make contact with the post ring. They were suddenly beside themselves with uncommon, orgasmic bliss and spine-tingling tentativeness.

‘DAMN!’ thought Cindy Coyle when it occurred to her that, sooner or later, she and her newfound bondage playmate would inevitably find out the consequences of their exhaustion-provoked inability to keep the ball bar from touching the post ring.

‘This is too weird.’

‘I gotta meet the rigger who dreamed this one up.’

The more they tried to maintain a perilous balance, the more aware they became of their predicament, the more they looked at themselves in the mirrors and slowly lost total autonomy to thoughts of the impossibly impending complications of the fix. Both the nipple and revolving dildo vibrators, mixed in with thoughts of the possible dangers the fix could inflict, and the demands placed on their helplessness played havoc with their already overwhelmed sensibilities.

Add to this their not being aware of the DC adapter inside the post, or the wall socket being either a 220 or 110 line, and another layer of trepidation gave ‘Q’s’ latest subjects more than just the obvious functions of the gizmo to ponder and possibly suffer. For if the juice was, indeed, directly connected to the AC wall socket, the voltage generated would be far more than they had bargained for in the way of hell-to-pay consequences.

When the ring had finally stopped rising, the bar was only 3/8ths-of-an-inch from its lower end. All twenty of Coyle’s and Newman’s fingers flared and froze with anticipation, for they knew there was no way to kneel at stricter attention than their current attempt was painstakingly maintaining.

The moment crackled with damsel-in-distress, damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t resplendence. ‘Q’ leaned back in his spring loaded chair and took great pleasure in savoring his mastery of the situation.

“That outta do it,” he said to himself before reaching for a dial and turning up the vibrator juice a few more clicks. This also increased the revolution speed on the dildo.

Rochelle and Cindy responded by increasing their moan volumes and efforts to both keep the gag bar out of harms way and enjoy their current multiples as best they could, given the vacillating attention demands placed on their constantly and sexually influenced balancing act.

“YESSSS!” appraised ‘Q’ over the intercom so the girls would know he, too, was enjoying their pickle almost as much as they were.

The ring dissension toggle switch was then flipped, making Cindy and Rochelle immediately aware of their need to slowly lower themselves, which, of course, drove the vibrating, spinning dildos deeper into their constantly exploding orgasms.

“MMMUHUHMMMUHUHMMMUHUH!!!” they screamed in concert with the ejaculating conclusions of ‘Q’s’ vocally candid satisfactions.

 Just then, Rochelle decided it was high time she and her post-mate discovered how much electrical hell they had to pay for being too focused on their multiples, and not enough on the rigorous demands placed on them by the gizmo. Cindy watched, dumbfounded, as Newman spit out her ball gag and the bar fell to the bottom of the ring, thereby critically increasing the suction in the cups, which closed the tiny gap between the tips of their nipples and the circuit completing, ring in the tip of the cable.

‘I can’t believe she DID that!’ thought Cindy’s astonishment.

An electric charge immediately and severely imposed itself upon both their right nipples, sending a brain-bending rush of orgasmic response to their pussies for the next five seconds and a jolt of pleasurable fear to their spinal column. Cindy was both livid with resentment and overwhelmed with sensual excitation as both she and Rochelle threw caution to the wind and did their best to increase the in-and-out action on the spinning, studded dildos. The spectacular results pushed them way over the thresholds of their known, orgasmic universe. The red, amber and green lights flashed with celebration, coating the event with all sorts of colorful effects.

“Cool,” said ‘Q’ as he realized how enhancing the sight would be on video.

Cindy now had to keep the bar away from the ring all by herself, which not only doubled her efforts, but planted in her an instantaneous desire to get even with Rochelle as soon as possible. Regardless of her efforts, however, her hit-and-miss efforts hit the ring four more times, making the length of the charge 85 seconds long.

85 Incredible Seconds Later

Realizing she could control the bar all by herself, Coyle did her best to maintain non-contact and work her dildo, which not only doubled her efforts, but planted in her an instantaneous desire to get even with Rochelle as soon as possible. But Rochelle had other plans in mind, given the orgasmic context of the move. Before Cindy knew it, Newman grabbed her ball gag with her mouth and forced the bar to touch the ring again.

“I LOVE it!” blurted ‘Q’ as he reached for another dial and clicked up the DC power on the nipple shockers to see how much his victims could take before cooperating with each other again.

Cindy caught on immediately, and spit out the gag, knowing full well, and better than Rochelle, that, thanks to her ten months of employment research, the Studio would never consciously place its participants in any serious danger. It was now her turn to enjoy the perks of ‘Q’s’ contraption without having to bother with concentrating on the ring/bar wrinkle.

It was now also Rochelle’s turn to decide on how much she was willing to put up with. But, as hard as she tried, what with all the multiples going on below, she couldn’t generate enough discipline to maintain more than a few seconds of disconnect at a time. As a consequence, the length of each burst of electrical sensation began to exponentially increase by 100% between bar ring contacts.

She watched as Cindy fell to the floor to enjoy every last ounce of uninterrupted spasmodic pleasure, without concern for any damage the fall might have cause to her physical integrity. As a consequence of Cindy’s educated choice, the slack in the nipple cable reached the end of its slack, but the suction it generated was enough to keep the side-falling weight of Coyle’s writhing nakedness from pulling it off her teat.

“EXCELLENT!!!” appreciated ‘Q’ from a standing, gushing position as the unexpected wrinkles unfolded before his astonished eyes. “I’m the KING OF THE WORLD!!!”

Caddy Behavior

The drive home to Stephanie and Donna’s apartment in Fort Lee, New Jersey was accompanied by an audio tape of Danner’s first and second Studio episodes.

“Aren’t you glad you took my advice and called John?”

Steph struggled in her arm binder and too-big ball gag, while tugging on the crotch knots, and tried not to make her audio recollected orgasms too obvious to her roommate’s every-so-often glances.

“Not talking, are you,” chided Donna while Danner slid down and onto the floor.

Nothing else was said until they stepped into Stephanie’s room and the cape and gag were removed.

“On the bed,” said Donna in a tone of voice that suggested she was about to administer some well-earned noogies; “On your stomach, facing the head.”

In just a few minutes, Stephanie’s ankles had been spread wide and tied directly and very tightly to their respective bed posts with several turns of thin, heavily knotted, nylon line.

Two pillows were placed under her chest, just below the breasts, raising her off the bed enough to ensure the nipple weights didn’t touch the mattress. Donna stood above her in nothing but Jeans and T-shirt. She tied a thick rope to a ring at the top of the arm binder and led its other end over and under the top bar of the brass, four-poster, and back to the ring, where it was threaded and all the slack taken out.

“What are you doing?” asked a fairly distressed Stephanie Danner.

“Getting you ready for bed,” said Donna Smith dryly.

While her right hand lifted her roommate another six-inches off the bed, the other pulled the slack through the arm binder ring and made sure not to lose the tension when she let go of Danner’s now fiercely struggling bones.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Studio riggers are always serious where bondage damsel binding is concerned.”

The revelation of Donna’s status at the Studio ricocheted around Stephanie’s think tank for a good ten seconds before she was moved to say, “You set me UP!”

“Yeah,” answered Donna as she tied the last knot in the suspension line and jumped off the bed, “like you weren’t hoping to find a place like The Studio since the day you moved to Jersey.”

Stephanie stared incredulously up at her ex-best friend and decided to say nothing while she watched Smith pick up her phone and punch in a number…

“Hi- it’s me. What are you doing?...Well, get dressed and get your ass over here. I wanna play.”

Without waiting for an answer, Donna hung up the phone and, while removing her jeans and T, spelled things out to Stephanie’s redlining astonishment.

“Do you know how long I have waited for this night, this moment, this event?”

“How long?”

“TOO long,” snapped Donna as she tossed her jeans across the room and slipped out of her top. “Now don’t make a sound, or I will gag you so well, and for so long, your face will be as sore as your nipples for the next week or so.”

With that, Donna grabbed the pillows under Stephanie’s lower chest and pulled them out from under her. The upper half of her body, and some of the bottom, was now suspended from the top of the head bar by the arm glove ring, bringing all sorts of pressure to bear on Danner’s crotch rope.

She closed her eyes to appreciate her enhanced bondage posture, but they quickly popped open at the sound of her slamming shut, bedroom door. A few disbelieving minutes passed. Stephanie struggled both angrily and pleasurably to a degree that would suggest she was both loving and hating the recent turn of events into a state of mind that completely and evenly energized both diametric emotions.

“Holy hell,” she whispered as the full weight of Donna’s disclosure impacted her seriously and sensually affected thinking.

The phone rang…The machine picked it up…

“Hi, babe: since you didn’t answer, I will assume Donna has placed you into a most uncompromising position and you’re wondering how the hell you got yourself into such a fine mess.”

“I’ll say,” smiled Stephanie Danner as she wished I was there and waited to hear that I soon would be.

“Twelve hours and counting,” ended the message and placed our new Studio initiate into a psychosexual coma that lasted until a twelve-minute-later knock on the front door snapped her out of it and brought Stephanie back to reality.

‘I wonder if I can amend that form I signed,’ she hoped as another round of bondage orgasms made her think twice about not leaving things just the way they were.

And ‘Q’ said as we both sat in back of the ‘The Juice Room’s’ console, “I think they did rather well, all things considered.”

“Now that they know what to expect,” I figured, “How about we blindfold them this time and reverse the polarity so that they only get jolted when the bar DOESN’T make contact with the ring?”

‘Q’ sat back in his chair, locked his fingers together behind his head, and said, “You read my mind.”

And Cindy looked up at Rochelle’s still kneeling posture, (She’d spit out the ball gag several minutes before when she realized the juice had been turned off.) and said, “C’mon down. Who knows, maybe you’ll break an arm or something.”

And Molly Sims thought, as she watched through room number two’s door the extinguishing of table candles in the workout room, ‘I hope somebody knows I’m still in here like this.’

She had sixteen hours left on her captivity clock.

“Muhuhuh?” she asked to whoever was within earshot.

The smell of smoldering wick wax wafted through the room.

“MUHUHUH?!”

The overhead spot in the workout room was turned off and two doors could be heard slamming, leaving Molly in complete darkness. A raging fear engulfed her. The self-imposed ropes that held her securely to the bedpost, and dug deep into her throbbing crevice, responded painfully to her first escape attempt.

Since my instructions did not include a no-no to that effect, she felt free to make the effort, only to discover she’d done way too good a job on herself. Her solo bondage was so good; there was no way to reach the cuff key hanging from a thin length of thread around her neck; not that she didn’t make an effort to reach it more than a few dozen times over the next four hours and twenty-five minutes of love/hate frustration.

“MMMMUHUH!...MUH…MUH…MMMMMMMMMUHUHUHUHU!!!”

continues in part four

John Roper

With Drawing By Synthean

04.01.06