“You’ll need to concentrate and relax those muscles, Sunny. You’ll feel the tension of the cord, my controlling hand, and you must obediently react in order to foster the ability to move. Now my pretty toy, you must walk.”
Sunny is experiencing new pain, something which the masochist oddly welcomes... though her facial expression is one of combined surprise and repression.
I hook on her nose leash. Corseted, elbows bound, she cannot resist... not that she desires to do so. But her muscles will challenge her will. So I gently pull and suppress laughter as the otherwise graceful Sunny stumbles forth, shoulders back, chest thrust forward, buttocks forced to enticing perkiness in avoiding spasms.
“Yes, concentrate Sunny. You must learn to control the buttock muscles. With the grommets such will cramp, contract involuntarily. You will learn to control that.”
The size of the loft offers enough space to provide initial orientation to Sunny’s transformation. It is curious how exhaustive is the effort. Each step indeed requires concentration and Sunny seems perplexed. I have changed her posture and her ability to control herself. In looking into her face I detect concern, but there is also that sense of masochistic joy... led about naked on a leash... forced to do another’s bidding.
I lead her to the frame and tie off her nose leash to the front pipe. Time for some pictures. I click and smile as Sunny attempts to avoid the camera lens. Her exhibitionist tendencies are curiously limited. Naked and bound with me in control excites. Recording her odd submission for the entire world to see brings concern.
Still, she cannot avoid offering an entire montage. I work as if recording a crime scene, methodically circling to ensure every inch of naked, penetrated flesh greets the lens and is digitally recorded. With the many circles of metal, the corset cord instilling such awkward yet alluring posture, the scene reeks of power exchange... that which so thrills the likes of Sunny. But in the world of instant electronic communication she also knows her privacy has now been compromised... forever to be under my governance... the extent of her debauchery to be disclosed at my whim... to whomever... whenever.
Tears begin to stream as she begins to fully understand what she has heretofore offered so frivolously. Realization, concern, she begins to understand my power will go well beyond that offered by a nose leash.
Finished, I release the leash and resume walking her.
Four laps about the loft and Sunny’s gait, though remaining awkward, is functional. I lead her to an armoire, hold high the leash as I select a garment. Something simple, something brief.
I locate a throw-over dress. Loose, but short, I unclip the elbow grommets.
“Slip this on, Sunny. I prefer walking you naked, but we’ll offer your neighbors a degree of decorum for Sunday morning.”
As Sunny slips the garment over her head, my hand moves to her mons. I splay. I plunge. I rummage about. I smile. Sunny is quite moist. Yes the pain, induced by me and under my control, the humiliation, it so excites.
***
Sundays are as quiet as evenings on Ludlow Street. Thus a leashed Sunny encounters few passersby. There are those utilizing the opposing sidewalk, yet not even offering a glance. Still I can sense Sunny’s apprehension. Her sole garment covers her charms, the hem ending just above mid thigh and alleviating the nakedness imposed during other walks. But the leash combined with the awkward footfalls emulating those of a rudimentary robot bring the embarrassment she craves. Plus the skin corset projects breasts which, as noted, bring an admirable silhouette to a lithe girl of some one hundred pounds.
And I of course must fuel the fires of her depravity. After some twenty minutes I find a secluded spot not before traversed. There I take the time to roll up her skirt, exposing her charms and the buttocks brought to noteworthy perkiness by the tension of the corset cord and my modifying grommets.
“Please no,” she entreats.
“You’ll feel better, Sunny. Your voice says no, but otherwise your anatomy suggests a thrill.”
Again my fingers reach to her pubes, splay and glide inward, her self lubrication making this second plunge even more facile.
“Just to the end of the block, then we’ll return. It’s the Bowery. Too busy a street to be displayed leashed and exposed.”
We resume. The strained footfalls continue. I look back to observe. There is purpose in baring her impinged gluteus maximus muscles. I find that she is learning to contract only enough muscling for each step, important in not cultivating cramps. Good discipline. Plus each step reminds her of my control, the transforming penetrations I performed.
Meanwhile Sunny notes the traffic on the Bowery. I detect a gulp. There is fright. Concern. Yet an inner thrill. Such kinkiness.
A garbage dumpster offers suitable concealment. We cross the narrow street. I have Sunny squat, standing before her as a shield to unexpected traffic, holding the leash high and making her look up into my face.
“Empty yourself. It’s a bit of a walk back.”
Though squatting brings new stress to the impinged muscles of her backside, she complies. She awaits my command then obediently opens her bladder.
I truly enjoy walking my pet.
***
Skirt righted, we approach Ludlow Street. I offer Sunny a glimpse of her new life.
“Two more grommets, Sunny, and you’ll be ready for arroycoo.”
She nods in silence.
“It is what you wanted? To be hung by your very flesh.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you shall have it. The final openings will require even more acclimation than those penetrating your buttocks. You’ll be hung horizontally. I prefer that. And the control will be total. I want it... and you want me to have it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Best arrange for some days off from work. I suspect by Wednesday you’ll be strutting about, walking more gingerly... of course careful not to cramp that pretty rump, but more mobile all the same. Then you will be ready for me to implant the final pair.”
With the subway station in sight, I remove the nose lease and unclip her elbows, leaving Sunny to negotiate the final half block to her apartment. I watch her hobble to her loft. She seems glum. I do believe she misses my leash... perhaps the taste of my sperm as well.
***
Leaving Sunny to herself for a couple of days does not mean I refrain from the company of women. Despite my own penchants... my hobby... I do enjoy vanilla encounters. After all, I am single, 32 years of age... and even Sunny’s daily fellatio can not cool unending male lust.
Having abstained from utilizing Sunny’s skilled tongue and lips on Sunday, by Monday afternoon I am ready to plant some seed.
I call an old acquaintance, Louise Flanner. She is fun to be with and a medical type. I met her while interning and was impressed when, as head nurse, she earned the respect of the pompous, overly arrogant bevy of interns... a group known to be well educated... and for a skilled nurse frustratingly under experienced.
With her demeanor, and the similarity of her name to the talented actress who played the famous role, we gave her the sobriquet ‘Nurse Ratchet’. She was indeed overbearing on the hospital floor, yet she was gracious in dating. I have always found her company to be entertaining. We have more in common than careers in medicine.
“Nurse Ratchet please,” my phone voice thinly disguised.
“Winnie, it’s you at last. Calling to rescue me from the doldrums of nursing. Proposing a cruise, a flight to Majorca... perhaps just proposing...”
I laugh. Louise is sardonic as always. She mocks herself in playing the role of spinster eager for marriage. Her celibacy is really a result of choice and lifestyle, her good looks belie the humorous feigned desperation in seeking companionship.
“How about dinner first. Lots to talk about.”
“You’ve been humping that little trollop I sent to you?”
“No,” I am truthful in my reply but my snicker evidences my quibbling.
Yes, it
was Nurse Ratchet who passed my cell phone number to Sunny Sudenskaya. Though we have affection, we take care of each other in more ways than male/female companionship.
Louise is notably bisexual. But I suspect more homophilic than she portends.
“Her fellatio has been so resplendent I have yet to lower my trousers,” I say in a jesting manner, knowing that Louise will fully understand it is not a joke.
She laughs.
“I should have saved the wench for myself. But when I came across her at Spankers, her desired perversion seemed to so much complement yours. Such an interesting collection of pictures...”
Typical of Louise, it is she who frequents kinky BDSM clubs such as the infamous Spankers yet has the temerity to reference my ‘hobby’ as perversion.
I suggest the bistro near my apartment where Sunny and I first conspired. We decide on 7:00 p.m.
***
“Would you consider returning to the night shift... for a few weeks?”
Some wine, a succulent meal, we sip sambuca as I bluntly swing the conversation to my intended topic. Louise sits on my left side. During our vanilla confabulation over dinner, I furtively stroked her thigh under the table.
“Yick! Took me years to acquire the seniority needed to get off it.”
“I am sure you can temporarily switch with another nurse. There must be some younger type who would prefer to go clubbing rather than suffer the slow demise of her social life.”
Louise smiles gamely knowing that I would not ask for such a meaningful favor without offering some benefit. I reach into my pocket, reasonably assured that the waiter and busboy will not return until our sizable goblets of well iced liquid licorice are consumed.
“I now have my own ‘interesting’ collection of pictures,” I offer in pushing Sunday’s digital montage to my left.
The game smile broadens. She glances right then left to assure there are no interlopers as her thumb fervently pages through the pile.
“Your engineering degree is well employed,” her voice playful in viewing a naked girl bearing a skin corset... that which would otherwise shock.
She pauses on the more salacious prints, her philogyny apparent in viewing close-ups of grommeted buttocks with Sunny’s feet well parted. Her shaven mons reveals plump outer labia beneath. As her attention is riveted my hand slips under the table. She coyly giggles as my digits, emboldened by wine, glide under her skirt. In her late thirties, Louise has before felt exploring fingers there. There is no physical or verbal resistance. My touch augments the titillating photos.
“There is more to come for Sunny. More steps. She epitomizes masochism. Humiliation excites and there seems to be a fascinating inner dissonance over exhibitionism. Note how she attempts to avoid the camera, yet so perfectly poses to reveal herself. As you know I tend to celebrate such aberration. Always eager to help.”
Louise laughs.
“Yes. The Hippocratic oath. And for me? You know women are not as eidetic as men. Just an offering of photos?”
“Oh no. That is why I think it will behoove you to have your days free for a time. Sunny will need... care.”
My enunciation of the term brings the return of the smile as my exploring hand reaches paydirt. Louise is without panties and welcomes my touch Her well disciplined PC muscles contract in greeting as I slip two fingers past her inner labia.
“Let’s discuss details at your place,” she announces in placing the photos in her purse.
Chapter Two
For the cost of a dinner, I have enlisted Louise into my recreational pursuits, not to mention being the recipient of one of her renowned hand jobs.
Louise is one of the those women who are not stimulated by penile penetration. Sorry news for many virile males, there are female types who prefer more unconventional forms of sensuality. For Louise it needs to be oral, and the gender of the benefactor is meaningless.
She graciously strokes... I lick with zeal.
On Tuesday evening I check with Sunny to assure she will be taking time off from work. She concurs that Wednesday will be a final day before a leave of absence... unpaid.
“You will help... with the bills.”
I reiterate that all will be taken care of... bills, rent, food. As with most submissive psyches, the thought that shedding such responsibility is really one more aspect of capitulation does not phase. My disposable income is considerable. Salary more than comfortable... stock options enriching me year after year... the financial burden of assuring Sunny’s needs is negligible.
No need to contact Louise. Our arrangement is to meet after work on Wednesday and share a cab to Ludlow Street.
Meanwhile I check the grommet device and the two small but most meaningful implements to be added to Sunny’s collection of controlling nickel cobalt. Limited in diameter, as are all my finely milled trinkets, each penetrating tubular shaft is long, much like those adorning her buttocks. For the most part this pair will also go unnoticed when appropriately attired. Still, Louise has suggested just the items to conceal the dull adornments in the vanilla world.
***
Since Sunny does not know Louise will be joining me, we conspire. As always my plaything is to greet me in the lobby, naked and ready to be leashed, hiding when residents and visitors enter before me.
Since I know her place of concealment, I send Louise in ahead. In her starched white uniform she can be quite the authoritative figure with young nurses and unruly patients. With the naked and the subserviently pierced she will be received as a Goddess.
I wait a few moments and follow, the door creaking as always. In entering I see Louise has extricated Sunny from the pile of crates. As we conspired, she has the naked minx standing in plain sight with her hands on her head, threatening Sunny with a call to the police. Sunny looks downward, is delightfully bashful and blushes divinely, obviously not recognizing Louise without her special Spankers attire. Louise ‘entertains’ there masked and in leather..
With women, Louise is wonderfully dominant.
“Sunny, you’ve been discovered,” I interrupt with a laugh.
I note that the nipples are crinkled evidencing the odd arousal of the submissive. She dares not look into the face of her castigator, instead nodding as Louise lectures over her exhibitionism.
“They’ll put you in jail,” Louise wickedly exclaims raising her dour matronly voice.
I step forth and end the ruse, clipping Sunny’s leash to her nose grommet.
“You see, Sunny, there can be a price for your depravity... exposing yourself like that...”
I hand Louise the leash.
“I think the lady needs to speak with you in your loft.”
With that we summon the elevator, an obedient Sunny follows the leash, confused with the interaction of Louise and me.
***
I am glad to have Louise present for the final grommets needed for my envisioned form of arroycoo.
Though my device is quick, there will be trauma and more required aftercare than with the buttock grommets. We begin by placing Sunny in the frame, nose leash tied to the front pipe, elbow grommets connected high and to the sides. Louise is fascinated by the corset cord and watches in amusement as I thread right then left down the spine. This cord is long. Ignoring Sunny’s neck collar I attach one end to the front pipe and the other end to the rear pipe. I tighten and Louise chuckles in seeing Sunny’s torso become constricted and her breasts presented so prominently.
For the first time the buttock grommets are utilized as intended. As with the elbows, separate cords connect to the side pipes, one right, one left. When I tighten, Sunny moans as the gluteus maximus muscles involuntarily contract in reaction to the stress.
“You must learn to relax the muscles there Sunny,” I once again admonish.
When finished, Sunny stands within the frame, stooped over at the waist, elbows high, the cords tied to her buttocks offering a salacious presentation of her perky backside.
“Two more grommets, Sun
ny. Deep... painful... and required so I can hang you.”
I speak in a soothing voice as I load the device. But I know my words serve to build the apprehension. Sunny stirs... and her motion brings cramps to her buttocks. It is delicious to see her struggle against herself.
“These go in your ankles, Sunny. There’s a convenient spot between the bone and the Achilles tendon. Centuries ago slaves were hobbled by either cutting or piercing there.”
I pick up the dainty right foot and Sunny yelps as motion again cramps her gluteus maximus. Louise, well trained, steps forth to assist. She intuitively knows to hold the foot quite firmly, freeing my hand to swab the heel with alcohol then align the prongs.
“Very painful, Sunny. You will truly enjoy this.”
The press. The click. A momentary delay as the stem penetrates. A howl from Sunny. The snap as penetration is completed and the leading edge rolls to hold the circle of nickel cobalt in place. The usual modicum of blood. The dab.
I feel the gastrocnemius muscle contract as the Achilles tendon tightens in reaction to the intruding grommet.
“Just as with the buttock grommets you’re going to have to learn to relax, Sunny.”
Initially, such is impossible. That is why I have drafted Louise into my plot.
I gesture to my white uniformed companion and she releases the foot. Sunny lowers her leg most gingerly. The pain is intense. Anyone who has torn an Achilles tendon remembers the suffering... later the immobility. So I wait. Sunny the masochist needs to feel every iota of agony before I begin again. There is no rush.
“Louise, I believe you’ll find some wine in the kitchen area.”
Meanwhile I reach forth to gauge my barometer. My thumb and ring finger splay the outer labia. An marauding middle and index finger glide inward with notable ease. Sunny’s wetness bespeaks of her proclivity.
***
We’ve enjoyed two glasses of wine, entertained by my naked plaything, watching her struggle in being restrained by cords and grommets. Her right foot remains pointed, the pose relieving stress on an Achilles tendon irritated by the invading grommet. Thus Sunny’s weight is born by her left foot, the corset cord and the cords attached to her elbows and buttocks. Not quite the arroycoo she desires, but approaching it. Unfortunately it will require days of care to recover from this latest trauma... and much training to walk with any degree of proficiency.
Dr. Winthrop Samuels Series Page 4
