“Right you are then my beauties, nicely corseted and standing properly corrected-posture perfect-we’ll just add the last bits here and you can get on with your training. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
The answer came in deeply despairing looks from the pain-hazed eyes of both girls. Meredith began to sag in her bondage, but as she bent one knee inward in weary defeat she quickly stood erect as the stocks bit into her ankle in demand she stand straight.
“You two are coming right along. Shouldn’t have any problem training you lot. Yes, you’ll do very well indeed once you learn the necessaries. No trouble with the little plugs in your bums I trust. Now you see what they’re for and what they can do. Yes indeed, you learned that lesson well. That’s to your credit.”
The grizzled bondage-smith taking charge now that they were corseted prattled away, talking inanities as he unbuckled and unstrapped their wrists and knelt at their feet drawing back the locking bolts unhinging and removing their ankle stocks. He worked quickly and expertly, he’d already done the dozen before them, and with the aid of only one other apprentice, he had sent them down for training as he soon would do with these two.
Meredith felt little relief when her wrists and ankles were freed. Her corset seemed tighter yet with her arms lowered. Rubbing her wrists trying to erase the deep marks left by the wrist cuffs she had to look down stiffly in the erect posture forced by her corset. She put her hands to her waist wrapping her arms about its diminished size in astonishment as if she were feeling someone other than herself. The pained look on her face turned to frustration as she continued to struggle with her breathing and found she couldn’t look down at herself. Her insides were squeezed or rearranged making her queasy and reluctant to move while she continued to feel the hardness of the remorselessly stiff binding pinching her middle in breathtaking constriction. The relationship between the supple garment she had seen lying on the workbench earlier and the gruesomely drawn rigidity around her waist seemed to Meredith an impossible one. Without a mirror, she looked over at Darlene’s distorted figure shocked to see how excruciatingly small her waist had become. The look was freakish and even more depressing since she knew she must look equally misshapen. Darlene glanced over, the look in her eyes revealing the shock of seeing Meredith’s figure rearranged as it was. Even with the expression of distress in her eyes, and the sorrowful tremble and downturn of her lower lip Meredith’s aristocratic beauty was not effaced. She looked like an upper-class jeune fille de la maison in the foundation garment she might wear beneath a ball gown in obedience to fashion dictates as harsh as they were mandatory. Darlene looked like her French maid, or a parody of French maids in the imagination of Englishmen. The addition of mesh hose, a short satin-skirted uniform with white apron worn while serving was not difficult to imagine. Darlene’s youthful and exuberant figure grossly exaggerated and enhanced by her wasp-waisted suffering, her pale complexion and flaxen hair lent itself to that interpretation. In Meredith’s eyes, Darlene was her servant no matter the circumstances. The anxiety etched on her pretty face and the thick black phallus chained between her jutting bottom cheeks only slightly detracted from the image.
The metallic rattle and clink of equipment on the bench drew their attention.
“Ladies unless you would like to feel the crop, I suggest you assume the proper attitude. You’ve been here long enough not to have to be told. I shouldn’t like to bring you up before Jonathan. You wouldn’t like that now would you?” he asked rhetorically.
Meredith spread her legs and raised her arms placing herself in proper presentation. She wondered if she would like it or not. If he would divest her of the torturous garment she wore it might not be so bad. The mere act of spreading her legs wide and raising her arms was made difficult by her corset. The unendurable reduction of her waist and the concomitant rearrangement of her hips and buttocks, breasts and belly made larger in contrast and the self-conscious display forced by the unbending grip of the corset holding her stiffly erect-nothing could be worse than this she thought.
The bondage-smith and his apprentice busied themselves with Darlene first. Meredith studied the terrible beauty of the restraints on the table for some moments, but when she heard Darlene begin to whimper and groan next to her, she turned her head. The bondage-smith was standing alongside Darlene blocking her from view, but the apprentice on the other side caught her eyes. With a feline motion the young man circled from around Darlene and Meredith felt a line of fire drawn high across her buttocks.
“You look straight ahead. Don’t move and don’t speak.”
Meredith gasped from the shock and sting of the crop desperately wanting to lower her hands and rub away the pain. She remained still and unmoving while a thin red line bloomed just below the sacral dimples under the arch of her back and her coccyx. How could it hurt so much she wondered, her corset jutted buttocks clenched and she could feel the fire just at the apex of her rear cleavage. The thin stripe of pain burned all the more fiercely for its location and the futile attempt to avoid it by clenching her rear cheeks simply reminded her that her anus was widely dilated around a thick phallus chained in deep penetration of her rectum. That hurt too.
Her mind wandered in trying to escape the pain. She avoided looking at the shackles and chains coiled on the bench. With unfocused tear blurred vision she tried to understand how she had come to be where and how she was. She tried to make connections, devise metaphors, apply logic and reason to her situation, none made any sense. Her reality based existence had vanished; replaced with a stronger reality of physical and mental restraint that demanded she stand naked with her legs spread open and her arms raised with her fingers intertwined behind her neck. Meredith Montgomery executive vice president wearing a grimly tight corset with a black rubber phallus lodged in her fundament made not the slightest sense. All had been lost much earlier, but she wasn’t sure when.
By the time she had walked into the boardroom not forty-eight hours earlier, self-confident and self-assured, smartly dressed, stylishly coifed and made up; the machinations of her corporate demise had been set in place for some time. Probably at the time of her hire, she mused. Signing the indenture agreement in her youthful exuberance at landing such a plum of a job she had carelessly neglected to read it and only now understood its consequences. She hadn’t been given a great deal of time to think about it since the security men had taken her arms and begun the actual horror of enforcement. Why hadn’t she struggled and fought them she wondered. Would it have done any good? Probably not. What if she hadn’t knelt on the rug for her humiliating dismissal ritual? She remembered the steel cuffs cutting her wrists and how they had forced her down. It was already much too late by then. If she had known what they were going to do, would she have struggled anyway? That initial horror and her bound and nude delivery to the training annex with a belly full of their semen certainly had a debilitating influence on her bruised psyche.
She seemed now to be standing on some edge between who she had been and who she was becoming. It was hard to stand on an edge with your legs spread open. Perhaps she was straddling it and the taut chain delving into her vagina was the edge. It was hard for her to know, but she could only see one way down and it was on the side of additional suffering and additional becoming-becoming what they wanted her to be. Her education, the remedial training had begun when, dressed as a schoolgirl, her discipline and punishment master had publicly caned her for insubordination. It was a curious earning of stripes for a woman of her age and experience, but it had absolutely adjusted her attitude and she felt a strange ambivalence toward the dark giant who now ruled her life. Was it for him she stood here? Certainly not, but it was a better explanation than the troubling and disturbing notion she had to keep pushing away. They were forcing her into a role and status she thought appropriate but could never assume on her own. They relieved her of the responsibility and permitted her to accept without guilt or shame a realisation and fulfilment of her femininity she couldn’t a
dmit to herself much less anyone else. She wanted to be dominated, she wanted to feel the gain of genuine femaleness through pain, and she wanted to serve the opposite, and even her own sex, on her knees. Some vice president she smirked to herself before shoving the idea aside with a shudder of revulsion. It was time to be put in stringent bondage once more. Meredith sighed in reluctant acceptance as the bondage-smith and his apprentice retrieved the first of her restrictive shackles from the bench.
“Now we can get you nice and comfortably arranged and off you go for training. These should help you walk in a very ladylike way. Proper posture looks better when you take dainty little steps. We’ll have some special shoes for you once you master walking with these on. Make you very tall and elegant they will. Show off that beautifully corseted figure of yours very well indeed.”
While he chattered away, he and his apprentice fitted heavy steel shackles to Meredith’s thighs and ankles. She couldn’t look down in her strictly held posture and wanted to look at Darlene as much for support as to share her misery. She wanted to see what they had done to her as well since she was no doubt being shackled and chained in a similar if not identical fashion. She didn’t dare. The crimson slash across her bottom still throbbed and stung, so she held quite still while her legs were shackled. When she wore four of the heavy devices, she could feel their weight around each ankle and thigh. They were cold as well as heavy. Those around her ankles were snug; the ones circling her thighs were tight. She couldn’t see how they would impair her walking since her legs were spread quite widely and she neither saw any chains nor heard their clink as she had when she had been leg-ironed before. Those brutal steel instruments had certainly impaired her walking. Meredith thought perhaps just the mere weight would make her take small steps-help her to walk-as the bondage-smith had put it, they were certainly heavy enough just standing there.
“Bring your legs together.”
She couldn’t bend her knees. In order to draw her legs together she had to sway from side to side in stiff-legged awkwardness rising and drawing one leg in at a time. Meredith understood the first aspect of the crippling devices she wore. Since the steel bands were tightly impressed into the yielding flesh of her thighs just above her knees, they also impinged on her hamstrings preventing her knees from bending under their strictly drawn compression. She felt the weight of four padlocks she had seen earlier when the apprentice had handed them to the bondage-smith. The four consecutive clicks she had heard and felt at each of her shackles pronounced them irremovable and now she could feel the heavy brass locks dangling from their thick hasps at the back of her knees and the outside of her ankles. They seemed bigger and heavier than necessary. Meredith’s breasts had just come to rest from the jerking motions she made in bringing her legs together when the bondage-smith prescribed the next stage of her restraint.
“Eight links each between her ankle shackles and the connecting ring. Then measure again for the raising chain. It has to be just right, too long and it drags; too short and it hobbles her more than wanted. We want her to carry all the weight while still being able to strut right along. When she gets used to these; they’ll put her in six-inchers. Then she’ll strut tall and proud she will, tall and proud indeed. You’ve never seen one of ‘em all decked out and movin’ along, ‘ave you. Ah, that’s when their at their best. Beautiful they are, drippin’ and droolin’ from their gags or from havin’ been freshly serviced in trainin’-completely under control they are and they know it they do. You’ll see ‘em in time, and it’s what we do here that makes the difference, so measure twice and cut once, this is important work we’re doin’. Important work indeed. Chin up little lady we’ll soon ‘ave you properly kitted out.”
The little lady raised her chin dutifully, thinking she had been ordered to. The bondage-smith noted her reaction.
“Anxious for training to begin then. That’s the proper spirit my gel. You’ll do well here. Jonathan will see to it you can wager. Very well indeed.”
Meredith swallowed hard. She thought she could still taste Jonathan. She imagined her saliva to be his semen, then shook her head in disbelief at her own imaginings.
“Give us your arms then dear: we’ll get you sorted out,” he was holding a pair of large unusually configured manacles while the apprentice fumbled between her ankles and her tightly clamped thigh bands adding the unseen weight of chains to her leg shackles. Meredith lowered her arms and held her hands forward, keeping her head tilted back in dread of looking down to watch her wrists being manacled. She looked like a little girl wincing and daring not to look at some distasteful and potentially pain laden medical procedure, like bloodletting took place. On the verge of tears, she felt a heavy steel band as wide as a man’s hand grip one wrist and then the other. Meredith had to draw her elbows together because the wide cuffs were not connected by a chain, but solidly held together by a short hexagonal bolt. When the old fashioned barrel-bolts on the back of her wide wrist manacles were twisted down with a special tool, the tightened bands made her hold her forearms together with her bent elbows nearly touching at the pit of her stomach. The slight freedom of twisting motion between the vambrace like handcuffs was removed when the connecting hex-bolt was turned tight holding her wrists and forearms together in parallel immobilisation. The position of her arms held in the unforgiving grip of the steel manacles forced her upper arms together plumping her breasts up and together in further ostentation. Growing restive and with the expression on her patrician features changing from worried concern to lip biting fright as her contorted nudity felt the growing weight and restrictiveness of yet more severe bondage, Meredith forced herself to look down as she felt the bondage-smith slip steel rings over her thumbs. She watched in fascinated horror as her thumbs were fastened back with small silvery chains to the bolt between her wrists. She looked to be holding a brace of duelling pistols cocked with thumb shaped hammers. Every time she endured more severe and debilitating bondage, surely the ultimate she thought, it soon became the penultimate as even more obdurate and restrictive devices were added in yet more severe and stringent physical control of what had been her body, but was now only an attractive commodity owned by the corporation. The bondage-smith rolled her fingers into the palms of her hands and slipped leather pouches over them. They fastened over the back of her hands and on the palm side under her wrists to the manacles with a tiny post and pin mechanism. Meredith hadn’t noticed the small posts on the weighty manacles, but with the brass eyelet of the abbreviated mitts pinned in place, she could see she wouldn’t be able to remove them short of chewing them off. As if in anticipation of that attempt, the smith pulled a small strap on the palm side of her hands tight, moulding the supple leather to her clenched fingers and the back of her hands skin tight. Leaving no purchase for her teeth; she would have to lick them off. Not even a remote possibility as it turned out. All that remained visible of her hands were her chained back thumbs, her tightly held fists securely encased in leather were of no use to her except as a display of her utter helplessness. And the bondage-smith was not yet done with her.
The chain block above her rattled to hair-raising life again. Meredith cringed under the descending wrist bar in sheer terror of being torturously stretched up again.
“Not to worra little lady, just gonna help you stand properly for a little more enhancement of that great figure. Just a little more corsetry so to speak.”
When the bar descended level with her breasts, the bondage-smith detached the bar and clipped her wrist manacles to the chain. Meredith whimpered in fright not knowing if she could rely on his word. He retrieved a steel ring from the bench and, opening it in half circles, placed it around her neck. He worked intimately close to the trembling Meredith moving her hair off her neck and closing the ring around it. She watched his concentration, the set of his mouth, the focus of his eyes on the ring when he turned the locking mechanism forward and the relaxed look of satisfaction when the lock snapped shut at her throat. He had chucked her under
the chin as if he were dressing a child and Meredith tilted her head back responding as a child might as he fastened and locked her neck ring in place. He had a kindly face she decided; he could have been her sweet old uncle but for the non-avuncular activity of putting her in chains and shackles.
“All right lad let’s get her roped over-just like the other-I’ll tell you when.”
The other, of course, had been Darlene, but in her reverie and under strict instructions to look ahead, Meredith had not seen Darlene being administered to in spite of standing less than six feet away and vaguely hearing the men talk and Darlene whimper at her side.
The apprentice retrieved a coiled length of nylon line from the bench and knotted one end to the loop like ring formed in the front of Meredith’s collar ring. He let it drop between her arms to plop on the floor at her feet. Meredith’s distraught excitement glistened in her dark eyes as she tried to look down when the apprentice knelt beneath her line of vision. She heard the pad eye click up between her feet, and felt the rope between her breasts, over her corseted belly, and bare abdomen drawn vibrating through the pad eye. When she began to feel the rope pull at the ring around her neck, he stopped.
“All ready then?” asked the bondage-smith stepping along side the distressed Meredith. She stood stock still, the weight of the chains between her shackled legs seemed to anchor her to the spot in whatever bizarre configuration they had been arranged in. They felt nothing like the leg-irons they had put her in earlier. Her eyes darted to the side where the bondage-smith stood and when she felt his warm rough hand gently caress her corset jutted bottom cheek. In trying to evade his touch she started and with her legs in the double steel hobbles struggled to bend her knee only to be reminded by the tight strictures above her knees that she couldn’t.
Corporate Enslavement Page 9
