The Pole

Her legs were cramping again. The long period of standing, of not being able to bend her legs was slowly wearing her out. She didn't know how long it had been, but it felt like hours. Her hands went to her neck for what must be the hundredth time, running along the leather around her neck. 

If you were to stand next to her, you would see a naked girl standing alone. Between her legs ran a long pole, immovably anchored to the ground between her ankles. The pole led upwards between her calves, her knees and thighs and was seated deeply in her pussy. She had been trying for hours to raise her leg up to give herself the leverage to get off it, but the cuffs around her ankles held her legs stubbornly down. The ankle cuffs were padlocked on, the padlock going through the hasp of her cuffs as well as through the ring solidly planted at the base of her shaft. This she couldn't see, but the sounds were distinct. 

On her head was a strong, pliable discipline hood. It had been laced tightly down the back of her head, welding it against her features. It was tight enough to outline the ring between her teeth, so from the front the leather followed the outline of her lips, describing a small shape like the surface of a tiny drum. Above it the sound of her breathing through the nasal tubes could be clearly heard. Her ears were not plugged, but she could feel soft pads covering her eyes and obliterating any rays of light brave enough to enter her dark world. 

The laces of the hood were unusual. It was plastic-coated wire, pulled tightly before the ends were wound together in an unbreakable knot. The posture collar locked on her neck made this point irrelevant anyway. When her hands traced the leather she could feel the wire crisscrossing itself, leading under the edge of the collar. Her fingers could trace the stiff edge and down to the padlock holding her neck captive, and further still to the edges of her hair as it peeked under the limits of the collar. 

Aside from the ankle cuffs and the hood, she was completely naked. Her hands were free, and sometimes flapped like lost birds as she succumbed to flights of panic. During these periods, she still had to remain at least partially in control. In her hands was a key. During the long period of solitude, she had tried to fit it to the lock on the discipline hood, without success. She thought it may be for the ankle cuffs, but the phallus deep in her vagina held her at least partially upright, definitely not flexible enough to allow her to bend herself in half to reach the locks at her ankles. She allowed herself the luxury of pulling helplessly on her legs once more, knowing full well her impotence. The locks jingled musically, almost laughing at her attempt. She mewled through her nose in frustration, the leather at her mouth moving as she chewed around the ring. 

It had to be hours now, it had to be. She could remember when the warmth was on her right side; it had slowly passed to warm her left. In the entire time she had been impaled on this damn dildo, she had heard nothing save the usual outdoors sounds. A bird here, a dog barking off in the distance there. A car passing, honking its horn. She had screamed herself hoarse around the ring in her mouth. It only distorted her words, not quieting them one bit. She couldn't believe her fighting and screaming had earnt her nothing, no response from anyone or anything. Correction: nothing except a sore throat, pangs of thirst and mild hyperventilation from the lack of oxygen brought on by breathing exclusively through her nose. 

In her fingers the key felt like a gift, like the winning ticket in the lottery. Lose that and lose everything. She had hoped someone would come and find a use for it. Maybe it was the key to her ankle cuffs, it sure as hell wasn't the fucking key to the fucking lock on the fucking helmet. What she would give to be free of the cuffs, to be free of the dildo up her twat, to be free of the stifling helmet and the jaw-stretching gag. To be able to breath through her mouth and see around her, to see where she was. 

Her body was one big ache. Her jaw was stretched and drool had leaked from the edge of the ring to flow down her chin. There had been a period when she had tried to rub the helmet against her chin but she'd finally surrendered to the sensation of the wetness against her chin. The collar held her throat in it's grip and felt like it had shrunk. The dildo shaft had been there so long it was beginning to feel like a part of her. Up it went into her, and the cuffs didn't even allow the ability to stand on her toes to change the depth of its penetration. She had to be content with moving her body forward and backward and from side to side to vary the pressure. Her free hands could reach down and pull her lips from around its base, but couldn't help her to lift herself off it. 

She did that now. For the last few minutes her hands had been lying uselessly at her sides. She reached around in front, then felt down to the shaft pushing up within her. The key between her fingers she shifted, her left thumb holding it in her palm as her two fingers reached to pull her lips outward. Suddenly the key slipped from under her thumb, bouncing off her thigh as it fell. 

Her hand jumped instinctively, catching nothing as she blindly grabbed in her dark prison. Through the hood she could hear the tinkle as it bounced, then a terrifying silence. She screamed, the long desperate nasal sound muffled through the leather. Her feet danced an inneffectual dance and her arms waved as if that would bring her freedom. Her leather prison held her tight, allowing neither dancing nor singing. The key lay at her feet, as though it was a million miles away. 
 
 

Copyright Dan Dofogh 2000 All Rights Reserved
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20.03.04