by Pat Powers
"Oh, you were intended to be bothered by that," I said.
"I understand, master," said Pulazzi. "You wish to teach me about being a slave. Things can be put in our bodies that we would rather not have put in our bodies, if our masters will it, and we must submit, and take pleasure in that submission."
"That's pretty much it," I said. Actually, I'd just meant that the thong was supposed to bother her. I picked up the thong and carefully rewrapped it so that the thong straps were once again tucked fully inside the sex pouch, then held it up and looked inquiringly at Pulazzi.
Pulazzi caught the cue. "Please, master, I beg you to gag me," she said.
"You beg me to gag me with what?" I asked.
"I beg you to gag me with my used panties," she said. "I beg you to put my used panties in my mouth, and tie them there tightly, so that I will taste them, and not be able to remove them."
"Do you beg to serve me silently, and helplessly, as the slavegirl you are?" I asked.
"I beg to serve you in silence, and in your bonds, as the slavegirl I am, master," she repeated.
"Open your mouth as wide as you can," I said. Pulazzi complied. She opened her mouth wide, but she was a petite woman, with a petite mouth. I looked her in the eye as I slowly pushed the thong into her mouth. She offered no resistance, though I saw subtle signs of tension in her face as the thong went in. I picked up the tie and took my time tying it in place. I wrapped it around the back of her neck and then brought the ends forward and tied them together over her mouth, tightening the knot enough that it went into her mouth, pushing the thong farther in.
Her eyes widened slightly at this, but that was the only sign she gave.
"Are you OK, slavegirl?" I asked.
Pulazzi nodded 'yes.'
"Good," I said. "Now, I had more than one reason for gagging you. I want you to feel free to moan and cry out as much and as loudly as you like, without fearing that you are attracting the attention of passers-by. Do you understand?"
Pulazzi nodded 'yes' again, looking just a bit apprehensive.
"Good, now lie on your back with your legs spread wide," I said.
Pulazzi writhed her way into the requested position, with some muffled grunting and puffing.
In a moment she was lying before me, her legs spread wide, her feet tied to her upper thighs still, so that her legs looked rather froglike. Her pussy was fully open to my inspection. It was surrounded by black, curly hair, but the labial lips were large and well defined.
It was my turn to do some twisting and contorting. I got out of my seat and crawled atop Pulazzi so that I was on my hands and knees above her.
"I want you to moan low pitched when I'm doing things right, and high pitched when I'm doing them wrong," I said. "Do you understand? Talk though the gag."
I got a muffled "Eh, ah-er," from Pulazzi.
I retreated to her crotch. I laid down as best I could, folding my legs. Pulazzi's labia, up close, were very attractive and had a great smell. I carefully parted her soft, pliant pubic hair and touched her labia with the tip of my tongue. Her whole body tensed momentarily. I wasn't surprised. Women tended to be super-sensitive about being touched in their pubic area. Unlike men, women didn't have genitals that hung out from their bodies, getting squished around and so forth every time they walked. Then again, my cock was VERY sensitive to the touch of a woman's tongue.
So I moved in very gently with my tongue. I licked and caressed her labia, which were indeed slick with the juices of female desire. I moved in slowly, carefully, but determinedly. Her moans started out at a medium pitch but got lower and lower as I moved up to the general direction of her clit.
When I reached her clit, her moans went down in pitch by about an octave. I worked her clit gently, carefully, but persistently with my tongue. Then I reached up and began gently squeezing and rubbing her nipples. Already distended, they swelled and grew in my grip, and Pulazzi's moans stopped being deep and stopped being entirely moans. Now there were cries and gasps, and her body began writhing urgently beneath mine. I continued what I was doing, and Pulazzi's body writhed more and more wildly, and her cries became more urgent and less controlled, a sort of plaintive animal crying through the gag, and finally her body's bucking reached a pitch, and her cries reached a pitch, and she came, her legs writhing helplessly in her bonds, her cries muffled by the gag.
Then she lay very still for a time, and I let her.
Chapter 12
"We Really Mean Only The Best For You"
April halfway woke up when they pulled her from the drawer. Her arms and legs were so stiff from being tied that she couldn't do anything to help or hinder her captors, just lie there and make vague mmphing noises through her gag.
Because she had often awakened while in bondage, she was disoriented for a few moments, not realizing this was not the familiar consensual sport of her Gorean lovers, but an actual kidnapping. She had no idea who was handling her, or what their intentions were. She woke up at those thoughts, suddenly awake and afraid.
She was being carried by several people, each one holding an arm or a leg. She was still blindfolded and gagged. She swayed a little as they carried her. She could hear their grunting and puffing as they carried her -- not a crew that was accustomed to hard physical labor. Probably not men. She had on several occasions been carried bound, gagged and naked, over the shoulder of a single Gorean man, with perfect ease.
Point being, as far as April was concerned, she wasn't THAT heavy. These people were wimps.
She was carried out of the vehicle she'd been in to the outdoors. She could tell she was outdoors because she felt vegetation brushing her back as she was carried, and the air smelled and felt different. And when she felt carpet brushing her back, she knew she was indoors again. The trip down the stairs was unmistakable, especially since they had to let her down on the stairs once or twice.
Finally, they dropped her on a smooth mat -- it felt like one of those thin plastic mats she had practiced gymnastics on while in school. She felt her arms and legs being spread wide, heard clicking sounds, then felt her arms and legs being pulled apart in a very familiar way. A spreadeagle. She loved being spreadeagled. It generally meant she was going to get fondled senseless and then some guy was going to fuck her brains out. But she hadn't liked any of this nonconsensual stuff they were doing to her.
Somebody knew what they were doing. After her initial spreadeagle, her legs were about half a meter apart -- hardly spreadeagled at all. It was like those lame spreadeagles you saw on TV all the time, where the director clearly had no idea what was going on. But then she felt her legs being pulled farther apart, until they were spread wide, more like 1 1/2 meters apart. And April could only think "this is more like it, somebody knows what he or she is doing!" because her legs were now far enough apart that she felt very vulnerable, but not so far apart that it was painful, at least for her (April was very bendy).
Next, gentle but firm hands pushed her head to one side. She felt pressure on the side of her head, above and below and around her ear. Then her head was turned so that she was facing the other way and the same thing was done to the hood covering her other ear. She noticed that there was now something round and hard outside the hood she was wearing. But of course there was no way to tell what it was.
"Caaaan yeeew heeer meee?" a voice asked. It sounded like that speech synthesizer thing that Stephen Hawking and cancer victims used to communicate.
"Mmm-hmm," April said through the wiffle ball gag, nodding as well. She not only could hear her captor, but the voice was awfully loud.
"I want you to nod "yes" if my voice is too loud, nod "no" if it is too soft," said the voice. "Wiggle your toes if it's just right."
April nodded "yes." After a few "How about now's?" the volume was comfortable -- easy to hear but not overwhelming, and April wiggled her toes.
"OK, good," said the voice. "I'd like to start by assuring you that we mean you no harm whatever. We're sorry for the circumstanc
es under which you've been brought here. We really mean only the best for you."
This declaration had little effect on April. They had already kidnapped her, which was generally considered harmful enough to be worth putting people in prison for. What else might they do to her without actually meaning to do her any harm?
"We have brought you here so that we can help you understand the error of your ways," said the mechanical voice. "We are people who are concerned about the role of women in society. We think the image you project -- the happy, smiling, dancing slavegirl who is available to men simply because they are men and she is a woman, unconcerned with normal relations -- is very unhealthy, and we intend to help you understand the error of your ways and persuade you to correct them. We will not do you any physical harm while doing so, but you must understand that it can be very difficult psychologically to let go of wrong ideas, especially if they have been personally rewarding in some ways, as some of yours have."
April was confused. What the hell were they talking about? Blah blah blah in that mechanical tone, it sounded like a computer with a bad case of the blathers. And she hated the blathers, especially this lofty kind of blather. In her experience, whenever a group of people were up to some rotten piece of cruelty, somebody always had to do some lofty blathering to make everybody feel better about it.
But it wasn't making April feel better at all.
"We're sorry about the voice filters we've had to place over your ears," said the voice, "and about the hood. You must understand, not all members of society would see this as we do, especially members of the patriarchy, who have of course retained control over the apparatus of law enforcement. So we must prevent you from seeing or hearing us, which is sad, because you will soon want to thank us for helping you see the light."
April thought it was sad, too, for entirely different reasons.
"You will be pleased to hear that a former Gorean slavegirl has agreed to supervise the manner of your restraint during your stay with us," said the voice. "She is an expert in safely restraining people and will make sure we do not inadvertently harm you during your stay with us."
Well, April was glad to hear that. It meant they did not really mean to harm her. If they had planned to kill her they would not have been so concerned about hurting her while she was in restraints. It would not have been important.
"Of course, being an expert in restraints means she'll also ensure you can't escape your bonds," said the voice. "We also have experts in psychology on hand to ensure you are not psychologically damaged here, and spiritual advisers to look after your spiritual health. We think you are already psychologically and spiritually damaged, which is why you've adopted the slavegirl lifestyle, but we intend to help you get better."
"Oh, lord," thought April, reverting to her mother's favorite phrase, "I'm in the hands of wackos."
"We'll leave you now, to your instructors," said the voice. "We just want you to comfort you and let you know -- you're going to be OK."
April thought it was the most disturbing attempt to comfort someone she had ever encountered. But when you're a wacko you probably didn't notice these fine points.
The sound of people leaving the room came faintly through all the stuff muffling her ears, with distant filtered voices muttering softly. Then there was silence for a time. April listened very carefully, but could hear nothing. She might be alone. There was no way she could know for sure, under the circumstances, but it was the best she could do.
She tried her bonds, looking for some give or slack or some sign she might be able to pull one loose from whatever moored it in place. There was clanking. She was chained, not tied. A bad sign. Ropes were a lot easier to work than chains. Chains you couldn't work at all, if the person who chained you knew what they were doing. She could get a little play by pulling on her bonds, but not much. Basically, she was spreadeagled, and she was going to stay spreadeagled until her bonds were removed.
After a few minutes she heard a door open and footsteps coming down the stairs. Just one pair of feet, as far as she could tell.
"Hello, April, I'm just going to make a few adjustments here," a new voice said. "You can call me Janice -- it's not my real name. I'm the person who'll be responsible for watching over you while you're in our care, and making sure you're OK."
April felt pressure on her bra strap and then her bra loosened drastically. Janice had cut the straps. Janice pulled the bra from her body, then did the same with the thong around her waist. She was now spreadeagled and stark naked.
"I'm going to put a body harness on you," said Janice, "and when we get finished with that, we'll see about getting you to a commode."
April was really ready to go to a commode. She had been ignoring it, but she was very glad to hear that a trip to a commode was coming up soon.
The body harness was a set of leather straps that buckled onto April's body in such a way that it emphasized her curves and also provided plenty of places and ways her arms and legs could be secured. It had a collar that buckled around her neck, and a belt that buckled around her waist, with another very narrow belt running between her legs, with straps running up and down her body. Metal rings situated at various points on the harness provided plenty of points for restraint. An imaginative person could do a lot with such a harness.
Janice didn't go for imaginative, she went for practical. She released one of April's feet, only to attach it to the other with a shackle with about a third of a meter of chain between them. Baby steps. Then she released one of April's wrists from the spreadeagle, rolling April over toward the still-attached wrist and then cuffing her free wrist to a link in the waist belt located at the small of April's back. She repeated the moves for April's other wrist.
Finally, Janice attached a short leash to the collar around April's throat and released the ankle that was till attached to whatever April was spreadeagled to.
"Come on, get up, I'll take you to the commode," came Janice's mechanized voice, and she helped April to rise to her feet. Without any vision, with her hands cuffed to the small of her back and with her feet shackled together, rising was a precarious thing but Janice's guiding hands helped a lot. That and the fact that April had a fair amount of experience rising to her feet while bound in various ways, sometimes while blindfolded.
April walked slowly and carefully as Janice guided her. The hobble would have ensured caution if her inability to see had not.
"Hold still," said Janice's voice, and April did.
"OK, the commode is to your right," said Janice. "Turn slowly to your left now and keep turning until I tell you to stop."
April did as she was ordered to do.
"Stop!' said Janice. April stopped. "The commode is right behind you now. I'll guide you down."
April had no way of knowing if the commode was behind her or a spiky bed of nails, but she hoped it was a commode because she really needed to go. With Janice's hand on her chest and back, April gingerly allowed herself to fall backward. She was so relieved to feel the cool wooden surface of the commode seat beneath her that she began peeing almost immediately.
Janice was not at all surprised to see that April had no compunction about peeing in front of her and anyone else in the room. One of the first things the Goreans did with a new slavegirl was have her drink a lot of water all afternoon without allowing her to relieve herself, then take her to a meet where one of the features was a large porcelain bowl in the center of the room. The new girl is then informed that that bowl is the only place she is allowed to relieve herself for the night. Bets are then taken as to exactly how long it will take her to go to the bowl and pee, so naturally every time the new girl goes to the bowl, most of the eyes in the room are on her, and there's also commentary.
Subsequently, slavegirls are allowed to pee in porcelain bowls set around the edges of the room, but not out of sight. After awhile, slavegirls tended to lose any inhibitions they had about such things, as well as a number of other things.
Aft
er she was through peeing, and oh, what a relief it was! Janice said, "OK, scooch back a little and feel with your hands, you'll find some toilet paper mounted on a roll behind you. You'll find that if you stretch your harness a little and scooch real hard, you should be able to wipe yourself. You should really try to do a good job here, because I really do not want to do it for you, so if I have to I'll be very thorough and not worry much about whether you find the process comfortable or otherwise."
April nodded her understanding of Janice's words. Obviously, they had thought things out very carefully here. Someone had figured out how to rig it so that she could go to the bathroom while blindfolded and bound hand and foot and still clean up after herself. That was a Gorean kind of thing to figure out, and April figured it was probably her ex-Gorean slavegirl captor -- Janice? -- who had come up with this.
In a way, this was scary, in a way it was comforting. It was scary because if they had given such thorough consideration to the manner of her captivity, they probably had given even more thought to preventing her from escaping. Which meant her chances were not good.
It was comforting because it was another indicator that they were unlikely to accidentally kill or injure her through ignorance or poor planning.
As a slavegirl, April had heard all sorts of stories about this sort of thing. She had heard tales of masters, usually not Goreans, who had injured slavegirls' wrists or ankles with poor tie-ups. She had heard of slavegirls almost asphyxiated by bad bondage. And she had read some horrifying reports of people in mental hospitals who had died while unattended and in badly conceived restraints. She'd read other horror stories of slavegirls who'd practiced self-bondage and died of asphyxiation, thirst and hunger over a matter of days.
April was very glad to be in expert hands, people who knew the dangers of bondage and knew how to avoid them, if she had to be anyone's kidnap victim. And apparently, she had to be, right now.
