I. Bondage A La Carte

 

Chapter One

Berlin, Germany

 

It was not a pleasant room. It was bright, but foreboding in its sterility and accompanying décor.

White. Everything was white.

Various chains and ropes hung from the overhead pulleys and winches. Bare white walls sprouted heavy iron rings mounted at different heights and accented the curved, polished, chrome clamps that reached out like grasping claws, waiting for wrists, thighs, ankles or necks to be placed in their cold, steel grip. Impersonal ceramic tiles gave the room a clinical, sterile look, vaguely suggesting something not quite right...something that might indicate pain, discomfort or perhaps some less than cordial scientific enterprise.

The floor was slippery smooth. Cool to the touch. Her bare feet arched slightly as she stepped through the open metal door and walked slowly to the center of the room. Her eyes focused on the bare, far wall, a minimal, indulgent smile on her slightly parted lips. She could have been entering the theater or a posh restaurant, except for her attire. She was naked. No clothes, no jewelry, no make-up.

I said "no jewelry". But that isn't quite true. On each wrist and ankle was a thick leather cuff, studded with small silver caps and locked with an embedded silver metal clasp. Expensive. Not some cheap item from the local porn shop. A single bright gold ring was well attached to the cuff itself. She put on the cuffs herself when she arrived, as soon as they stripped her and told her to stand still while each cuff was locked into place with the rings turned to face outward from the slim limb they encircled.

She projected an image of pristine elegance, highlighted perhaps with a quality usually reserved for royalty: that distinguished and quite confident personal image so many sought and so few attained. Even as she stood there, stark naked, nipples extended by the cold, fear or even by erotic anticipation, full breasts rising and falling regularly with her breath, her skin and facial color a bit pale, reflecting maybe a bit of trepidation about what was to follow, about her commitment to this place for an indeterminate amount of time.

Blond...well, dirty blond, but naturally blond as the small, carefully trimmed thatch of curly hair between her thighs verified.

Well cared for...with long, carefully trimmed bangs over the eyebrows and almost in her eyes. A center part on top. Rough, sassy, expensive, designer trim that was short in front and then angled down slightly behind her ears and to the nape of her neck, never touching her shoulders.

Gorgeous. Full, red lips without a trace of rouge or make-up.

The eyes were green, neither blue nor brown. Dark, lustrous green.

Tall...well, taller than most women, with a more than adequate figure that looked quite proper on her. Not voluptuous, but far from anorexic. Not too much meat on the bones, but enough to make it look attractive...more than attractive...hot. It was the kind of figure that could show off risqué clothing and still make observers either instantly jealous or sexually excited. She could easily show up at a business or social event in a gown cut from neck to navel, from short hem to hip, without looking extravagant or sluttish. Clothes were made for her. Her body was the showcase. Her legs, now spread wide, as if for better balance and as though she anticipated what was to come, were long and slim with only a moderate flare at the hips. At the apex of her thighs, framed by the edge of that precious keyhole triangle possessed only by women with the best figures, were two gold rings, one through each of the lower lips. They sparkled through the light blond hair. Above it, a nicely proportioned waist with a flat belly that said that she exercised often and was careful about what she ate and how much of it.

The breasts were a perfect match to the rest of the image. When she walked, they moved smoothly, evenly, with a fluid motion that said they were totally hers. When she jogged, her audience stared transfixed until she was out of sight. No silicone, no saline here. Just natural woman flesh of the highest grade. When you first saw her, no matter what your personal gender preference, your eyes went first to the face, then to the breasts. It was a natural thing to do. A glance at them said: "Not too big, not too small; just round and firm enough to stand on their own."

For what they had in mind, she was, as I said, perfect.

Chapter Two

 

Two hooded figures, dressed in baggy black outfits and looking like they were costumed to rob a bank or jewelry store, appeared behind her. They wore black tactical boots with the trousers tucked into the top, paramilitary style. Dangerous. Fearful. But she had already met them and showed no worry or fright. She didn't even turn to look at them. She just stood there while one of them roughly pulled her cuffed wrists back behind her, clipping them together with a single small padlock through the twin embedded rings. A black-gloved hand reached out and gripped her chin, squeezing the lower part of her jaw and forcing her mouth open while they inserted a large, red, rubber pear with a leather strap through the center. Two hands pulled the double straps back behind her head, as they might rein in a recalcitrant pony, and locked the ends with another padlock.

My God, it's huge, much bigger than I imagined. The pear shape is something new, she thought. The fat part fills my mouth and the narrow end is part way down my throat. How the Hell can I keep this thing in my mouth for more than an hour or so?

On anyone else, it looked like a common ball gag. On her, it was an arousing, luxurious and sensual accessory that might have come from Hermes or Cartier. The pear held her red mouth wide open, lips curled around its perimeter, muffling any sounds from her throat. Nevertheless, subdued moans still seeped around the edges, bubbling with a touch of clear saliva from the corners of her mouth and mixing with her now increased respiration rate through her nose.

As the lock on the gag strap clicked shut, two more black-gloved hands reached between her legs from behind and deftly separated the ringed lower lips, as if to ascertain that the rings were in fact there and available. A louder moan escaped the ball-gagged mouth.

He's putting one, no, two fingers up my cunt. Jesus, the gloves are cold and rough. Feeling my rings. Just to check, I guess.

A black-booted foot nudged the instep of one of her bare feet, pushing it outward. In compliance, she moved her legs a bit further apart and waited while they wrapped a black leather cincher corset around her waist. They laced it tight, made the parallel edges meet and tied off the laces, cutting the remaining ends close to the black fabric. Small gold rings dangled from the top and bottom edges of the corset.

Too tight. Too damned tight. I have tight corsets, but this thing is like a vice. Can't breathe.

Her already narrow waist was now even smaller. The cincher pushed in on her ribs and compressed her internal organs because there was no fat to squeeze. She struggled for a moment to get her breath, the corset was that tight, but then, as she knew it would, her youthful body accommodated to the compression of her waist and she breathed carefully as the air surged in and out of her nostrils, her breasts rising and falling in the same regular rhythm.

The picture that the multiple video cameras captured was immensely erotic, although one could argue that it was nothing more than a very pretty girl being slowly bound, gagged and deprived of her freedom.

She stepped back slightly as one of the hooded figures, (she wasn't sure if they were men or women because the hoods and shrouded outfits hid all body shape), produced a small, flat case, beautifully finished in black kid leather with intricate gold hardware. The case snapped opened and was laid on the tile floor, revealing twin black leather phalli, one slightly bigger than the other. Both were artisan quality representations of a large penis with the base holding a gold ring similar to those on her multiple cuffs and between her legs.