Marriage

by Charles Arnold

  Tears formed in the corners of Kathy’s eyes. “Yes,” she said.

  “As you know, all orders are to be obeyed immediately. Do not hesitate. Remember to walk with your shoulders back and take small steps.” Kathy felt her stomach churning. The powerful salve was taking effect. “You want the Doctor to be pleased with you...to be very pleased with you. Is that not correct?”

  “Yes,” Kathy said, “I want the Doctor to be pleased with me.”

  “And if he is not, you know what will happen to this Mary Margaret you care about?”

  “I know.”

  From somewhere down the hall came the sound of three evenly struck chimes. “They are ready.” Ms. Foster said. She clipped a silver chain to the “D-ring on the front of Kathy’s collar. Kathy rose and, naked except for the collar and heels, walked behind the older woman.

  As they moved slowly down the stairs, then toward the heavy double doors at the end of the main hall, Kathy recalled how often she’d made a similar journey at the Facility, following behind a woman who led her on a silver chain. This, however, was not at all the same. At the Facility she knew she would be displayed and humiliated by Abul and his boorish, ignorant friends. No matter what they did to her, she knew they were not her equal. She suspected they knew it, too. The guests awaiting her here were different. Doctor Gruber was brilliant . She was certain the others at this gathering would be rich and cultured. They were, at the very least, her social and intellectual equals. Her protective shield of superiority was gone. She felt their scrutiny of her body would be much sharper...more critical. She thought their abuse would not be as primitive as Abul’s, but they would be even more cruel and quiet rightly look upon her as they would one of the Doctor’s prize sculptures. She was a beautiful, mute, animated object brought here for their amusement.

  The oak doors swung inward as she and Ms. Foster approached. The room was smaller than she’d anticipated. It was lit by the flames of gas sconces which were spaced evenly along the stonewalls. The polished black marble floor reflected their light. In the center of the room a bright spotlight illuminated a black pedestal. A spreader bar about three feet in length extended from both sides of its base. Attached to each end of the bar was a black leather ankle cuff. The pedestal itself was thirty inches high. A circular ebony disk about twelve inches in diameter formed its top. In the center of this was a two-inch hole. Three eyebolts were embedded in the pedestal: one on each side and one in the back.

  Lining Kathy’s path to the illuminated pedestal were the guests. She saw that they were formally dressed: the men in tuxedos and the women in expensive designer gowns. Unlike her trial at the Facility, none of the guests here wore masks. They smiled and murmured among themselves as she passed.

  The firelight flickered over her naked body and glinted off the silver chain attached to her collar. Ms. Foster slowed her pace. Kathy took very small steps, her head held high by the wide collar, her shoulders back, the pencil thin heels clicking against the marble floor. Kathy looked neither right nor left, but stared at the back of Ms. Foster’s head. When they reached the pedestal, Ms. Foster indicated to Kathy that she was to sit on it, facing the guests who formed a circle around her.

  Kathy felt a clutch of fear when she noticed the hole in the center of the platform on which Ms. Foster was placing her. Short chains were attached to the “D” rings in her collar and clipped to the three eyebolts on the pedestal. Together, these chains prevented her from rising. Ms. Foster then knelt in front of the pedestal and, after adjusting the spreader bar so that Kathy’s feet were several inches off the floor, clamped it to the pedestal. Then, she pushed Kathy’s knees wide apart and buckled the cuffs around her ankles. This served to part Kathy’s vaginal lips so that she was completely open to the appreciative eyes of the guests.

  Ms. Foster stood and signaled to someone in the back of the room. A screen came down from the ceiling, covering the entire back wall. It was then Kathy noticed a remote digital camera on a bracket near the ceiling. It pointed down at her. After a moment, the screen filled with a sharply defined color image of the beautiful nude woman chained to the black pedestal. Ms. Foster gestured toward the person who had lowered the screen. Immediately, a powerful zoom lens focused on Kathy’s open vagina. The guests had turned toward the screen and expressed their approval with polite applause. “As you can see,” Ms. Foster announced, “the woman has already begun to secrete.” The guests chuckled. Kathy felt her cheeks burn with shame. Ms. Foster moved to stand behind the pedestal while the camera continued to focus on Kathy’s pink labial lips.

  On the floor behind the pedestal were two coils of thick nylon rope. Ms. Foster pulled Kathy’s arms back and up. Then she instructed her to grab her own right elbow with her left hand and her left elbow with her right hand. When Kathy had done this, Ms. Foster carefully wrapped the length of rope around Kathy’s forearms. She coiled the rope neatly and tight but not tight enough to cut off circulation.

  Ms. Foster draped the second length of rope over Kathy’s neck so that the loop hung between her breasts. Then, after wrapping the two ends tightly around Kathy’s waist she tied them off and brought them up and through the loop. She drew them down hard and pulled them behind Kathy’s waist where she tied them to the rope that circled her waist. This served to separate Kathy’s breasts slightly and to force her shoulders back and her breasts forward.

  The cameras whirred. On the huge screen, Kathy saw herself as the guests were seeing her, seated rigidly on the black pedestal, bathed in a pool of light, her pale body held immobile, her arms bound behind her back, the ropes tight against her shoulders, pulling them back, her breasts thrust forward, the pink nipples engorged. Her legs were spread painfully wide, her feet off the floor, her ankles cuffed to the iron bar, her hairless cunt spread and glistening. The wide collar kept her head high, forcing her to look straight ahead. Three tight chains ran from the rings in her collar to the eyebolts in the pedestal. She was exactly what Doctor Gruber had decided she should be: a thing, incapable of movement...an exquisitely beautiful object to be admired and enjoyed by his guests.

  From somewhere outside her field of view, she heard the flat nasal voice of the Doctor addressing his guests. “I think, dear friends, you must agree she is lovely.” There was a polite round of applause. “She is on loan from our benefactor, Mr. Satomi. He has sent her here for your amusement.” Kathy felt the color rise to her cheeks. Gruber stepped into Kathy’s line of vision. She tried to avert her eyes but couldn’t. The tall skeleton-like figure gestured toward her, “Although what you see here is indeed a wealthy, highly educated, quite sophisticated woman, for our purposes tonight she is simply a thing.” He paused, “She’s our plaything.” There was a sprinkling of laughter. “We should think of her as a toy...a pretty little doll, perhaps? We might give her a name?” He looked around at the guests. “Suggestions?”

  “Barbie,” a woman called out.

  “Hardly original, but quite appropriate, I think.” Gruber smiled. “Barbie it is.” He stepped closer to Kathy and half turned toward his audience, “Since she is ours to play with, it might be better if we were to refer to her as “it”. That should aid us in thinking of her as an object...as our little Barbie toy.”

  Kathy felt a terrible hollowness in her stomach. Even in her most abject submission to Abul, she had never been objectified like this. At the Facility she could move and speak. She was called by her name. She had been forced to offer herself to Abul and his friends, but she did so as a woman. They took her in ways that women are taken. But here, Gruber had succeeded where Abul and Madam Khe had failed. He had expunged her humanity, thereby reducing her to nothing.

  “Does, Barbie speak?” a voice that seemed to come from a child asked.

  “Unfortunately, this one doesn’t. However, she can nod and shake her head slightly, although to do so is a bit painful. If you put questions to her that can be answered with a nod for ‘yes’ and a shake for ‘no’, I’m sure she will respond even if it
causes her some discomfort.”

  “Does the Barbie cry?” a man asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Gruber said, “if it is spanked.”

  “But it’s sitting down,” a high-pitched woman called out.

  “True, but we anticipated that problem and we certainly knew that some of you would enjoy seeing the Barbie’s tears.” He gestured to someone standing the shadows at Kathy’s left. A waiter pushed a rolling table forward into the circle of light. On it, in a neat line, was a variety of short paddles and whips. There were also metal devices Kathy did not recognize. The guests murmured approvingly. Gruber crossed to stand next to the table. “Here, ladies and gentlemen,” he waved his hand over the table, “are some other toys that came in the box with the Barbie toy. I suggest before playing with them, you get acquainted with your doll. Touch it, fondle it, stroke its face, muss its hair, put your fingers in its mouth. I promise it won’t bite.”

  He turned toward Kathy and drew the tips of his fingers down the side of her cheek. He leaned over to look unblinking into her eyes. She felt her heart race and her skin flush. He placed a long, pointed fingernail on her mouth. She parted her lips and felt his finger, cold and waxen, slide between them. He turned his head toward the guests who had moved forward. “You see,” he smiled, “it sucks.” The men and women laughed. He withdrew his finger and ran the sharp nail over the curve of Kathy’s breast. Immediately, her smooth pink nipples swelled. “Notice how quickly it responds,” he said. “And its nipples...notice how exquisitely long they are.”

  A fat man in his sixties picked up one of the paddles. It was made of black rubber and looked like a child’s long-handled sand shovel. “If we can’t whip its cute behind...” he touched Kathy’s nipple with the flat shovel end of the paddle. She flinched and drew in her breath.

  “Yes, of course,” Gruber said. “These, too, are fun to play with.” He held up one of several similar whips.

  “It looks like...like...what do you call it...a whiskbroom, a very long one,” a woman commented.

  “Indeed, it is very like a whisk broom,” Gruber explained. “The semi-stiff strands are loosely gathered at the handle. Applied lightly on the breasts or the pretty pink pussy, it stimulates. With a little more force it stings. If one strikes harder it marks the skin but seldom breaks it.”

  “That’s when the Barbie will cry for us,” another woman giggled.

  “Yes, I expect it will,” Gruber brushed Kathy’s hair back. “Before the evening is over Barbie’s cheeks will, no doubt, be streaked with tears.”

  The remote that controlled Kathy’s clitoral cap was on the table. Gruber held it before Kathy’s eyes. She nodded her head slightly, hoping he would make the brushes spin. Instead, he pushed the release button, and the cap fell into his open hand.

  “Oh my!” someone gasped, “its clitty is swollen and red as a berry!”

  “Look,” someone else said, “its pussy is running wet. Our Barbie is wet and hot already!”

  The fat man who had touched her with the whip stepped closer. Two young women accompanied him. Except for a white fringe of hair, he was bald. His pendulous lips were slobbering. He smiled at Gruber. “I don’t think you’ve been introduced to my little playthings, Doctor Gruber.”

  “Well, George, not these two. Are they new?”

  “Yes, quite new.” He put his arm around the waist of the older of the two. “This is Marcy.” The blond girl was heavily made-up. She wore red open-toed heels, a short pleated red skirt, and a white transparent blouse. Kathy could see that the nipples of the girl’s bare breasts had been painted bright red. “And this,” the fat man turned to the other girl, “is Darcy who tells me she just celebrated her birthday. She’s a sweet one, isn’t she?” He pinched her cheek. “I know they’re legal but we pretend they aren’t,” he patted her head and chuckled. The two girls were dressed alike. The younger one was thinner and had brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a red ribbon. Kathy could see that the fat man was right; although they liked to behave like spoiled adolescents, they were old enough to know better. Kathy noticed that both girls had long fake fingernails, each painted a different color.

  The girls were staring at Kathy and giggling. “Can we play with the doll?” Marcy looked up at the old man who still held her by the waist.

  “I’m sure that’s why Doctor Gruber has brought it here.”

  “Of course,” Gruber said. “It’s our plaything. You can do anything you want to it except touch its red button.”

  The girls laughed, “You mean its clitty,” Darcy said.

  “That’s right,” Gruber smiled down at her, “if you touch its clitty.....”

  “It will cum!” Marcy shouted.

  “Indeed, it will cum and it’s not allowed to cum.”

  Kathy felt the color rise to her cheeks and the anger build inside her. ‘They are only children,’ she thought, ‘and made up to look like little whores.’ The fat man’s pudgy hands were squeezing the younger girl’s small breasts. ‘He is perverted,’ Kathy thought,... ‘depraved. And Gruber is worse than any of them!’. She tried to rise, but the ropes and chains held her fast. Her eyes flashed angrily at Gruber, and she was about to speak. He frowned and shook his head. Kathy said nothing.

  A tall thin man who looked like a younger version of Gruber moved into her line of vision. She saw that his face was horribly pockmarked. His black greasy hair hung down to his shoulders. Gruber introduced him to the fat man, “This is my nephew, Frederick. He’s just come over from a stay in London.”

  Frederick acknowledged the introduction and turned his attention to the two girls. Both of them looked frightened and backed away. “Don’t worry little ladies,” Gruber said, “Frederick won’t hurt you, at least not tonight.” Gruber and George, the girls’ patron, chuckled. “I’m sure Frederick would rather play with our Barbie. Perhaps he can make her squeal for our amusement.”

  “Yes, uncle,” Gruber’s nephew fingered several of the whips, “before the evening is over it will surely squeal for us.” He was holding one of the short whips that ended in what appeared to be a small rubber shovel. Quickly, he turned toward Kathy and with a sharp flick of his wrist, brought the end of the whip down on Kathy’s nipple. A shock of searing pain exploded in Kathy’s head. She jerked hard against the restraints and screamed. Frederick looked back at the smiling audience. “You see, it’s quite simple to make the Barbie squeal.”

  The stinging pain had made Kathy’s nipple bright red. She gasped for breath. Frederick turned to her again and placed his hand on her breast. His fingers felt like ice. He twisted the injured nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He put his grotesquely pitted face close to hers. His black pinpoint eyes were sunken deep into his pale white skull. His thin lips were wet with spittle. Kathy tried to pull away but the chains held her fast. Frederick reached out and took her face between his cold hands. “Oh, yes, Miss Barbie,” he whispered, “you are in for a night of it. You are exactly what uncle promised me.” He brushed her hair back and tilted her head up so that she had to look into his grinning face. As she tried, unsuccessfully, to draw her shoulders forward, the ropes bit into them.

  Frederick picked up the shovel whip and with a loud crack snapped it down on her other nipple. Again Kathy’s scream echoed through the room. “Barbie needs some lessons,” he glanced at his uncle before leaning close to her again. “You must never, never, try to protect your lovely breasts. They are to be thrust forward at all times. They are to invite the whip.” He trailed the end of the whip over her breasts and tapped it lightly on the throbbing nipples. “Do you understand? Just nod your head.”

  Kathy, the tears streaming down her cheeks, tried to nod, but the high collar permitted almost no movement. Frederick stepped back. “Show us that you understand, you stupid thing,” he said, his voice rising. Kathy sat up straight and pulled her shoulders back as far as she could. “That’s better,” Frederick said. He handed Marcy, the older of the two girls, one of the whips made of
stiff broom-like fibers. He gave a similar whip to the younger girl. “Here you are, ladies. Let us see if we can make Barbie hot and wet first. Whip her lightly so as to stimulate rather than cause pain. Let’s see if her nipples swell and her pussy begins to drip.”

  Laughing, the girls began to slap Kathy’s breasts with the rigid whips, which stung and scratched but did not break the skin. Kathy’s long nipples still burning from the blows Frederick had delivered, quickly stiffened. The giggling girls spun the whips so that the unbending fibers fanned out against Kathy’s stomach and breasts. Like Frederick, they paused occasionally to stroke Kathy’s face and hair. “She’s just like a doll,” Darcy, cried, “only a live one.” Kathy felt their small hands fondling her breasts and teasing her vagina. Her breath came faster and she began to tremble. Nothing Madam Khe or Abul had put her through compared to this. The girl who was toying with Kathy’s breast had spoken the truth. Gruber had reduced her to nothing but a thing, a plaything, a living doll.

  Soon, other guests began to feel her. Some of the men pushed their fingers into her mouth. Occasionally, one of the women would slap her nipple with the shovel whip as Frederick had done. The unexpected jolt of severe pain would cause her to jerk against the chains and cry out. Fingers were shoved into her vagina and then into her mouth. They were wet with her own juices. She sucked them clean. Her breasts were squeezed and pinched. At one point, Frederick made everyone stand back. He selected a stiff leather whip and announced that they were about to hear the Barbie scream again. He stood in front of Kathy, the whip coiled in his hand. He smiled and held the handle to her lips. She pressed her lips to it. “Ah, yes!” he cried, “She knows the sign of respect. Our little Barbie has felt the whip before.”

  With a dramatic flourish, he stepped behind her. Suddenly Gruber came into Kathy’s line of view. He held up his hand. “One moment, Frederick.” He turned to the guests who had moved closer. “Dear friends, upon reading the manual that came with our plaything, I discovered that in order to function properly it needs frequent anal stimulation.” The audience laughed. “Some of you may have noticed a hole in the center of the platform on which our Barbie sits.” He moved to the table and selected a long, black vinyl dildo, which he held up. “I have had an anal stimulator like this installed inside the pillar. It is attached to a pneumatic pump.” The guests applauded. “Not only can the pump’s speed be regulated, but the stimulator itself can be made to vibrate, to twist, and to inflate. In fact, the ingenious device is able to do all three things at once!”