When he finished harnessing each, Roger grabbed a shackled ankle and dragged them, one at a time, through the raised metal door, into the silo. Here, he secured each to the wall with a short length of heavy steel chain connected to their collars. The three prisoners could not see or speak. They heard very little and had no contact with each other. They simply knew that they were now in a cold, damp place that smelled of decomposing material of some kind. They lay on their backs or on their sides, futilely moving their chained feet and trying without success to find another more comfortable position. They chewed on their leather gag pears, working their strained jaws within the constriction of the gag harness. They pushed vainly with their tightly bound elbows and tried to get traction on the damp floor of the silo, but struggling was quite useless. The harness was an ingeniously restrictive device and before they left the silo, each girl would have learned that there were probably very few things in this world more uncomfortable than being where they were.
“You three have a few hours to play here,” said Roger with a serious tone he reserved for offending students. “By tomorrow morning, you should be a bit more interested in learning and less inclined to break the rules.”
The three hummed the same incomprehensible tune that Roger had heard so many times before. Translated, it went something like “…please don’t leave me here. I’ll be good. I’ll do anything you say…”
Roger was unimpressed with the muffled pleas, although he knew quite well how the three were already feeling, almost immobile and suffering from a myriad of discomforts.
“You should have thought about that before you all got into bed together and started fooling around with the sex toys,” Roger said, laughing a bit as he headed for the silo hatchway. He thought about how surprised the trio must have been when The Head, making her unpredictable late night rounds, had walked in on the three engaged in group girl sex the night before. The ever present willow switch or riding crop, (he wasn’t sure which), had been used to thrash the three girls into submission, then, after the dorm supervisor was summoned, locking metal gag branks, manacles and shackles were affixed to the three weeping students as they were stuffed into separate cages on the dorm floor for the rest of the night. They stayed that way until Roger removed them from the cages, forced them to don the black Lycra body suits and hog tied them into the Rover.
Now, he made sure they were settled in the silo for the night and then went to check on Dori. He was especially looking forward to taking her for a ride.
Meanwhile, Dori had found two horses, put them on cross ties, bitted and bridled them and put the saddle pads in place, adjusting Roger’s saddle correctly and making sure the horses’ feet and legs were in good shape. She then gave each a horse’s mane and tail a brief brushing and then went to check the tack room again, looking for a saddle for herself. She had more or less settled on a magnificent, but well used Hermes saddle when the tack room door opened and Roger strode in, all smiles and grins.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Super. Make sure you check your girth, Roger. I tightened it, but you may want it differently,” Dori said, still looking longingly at the Hermes. “Can I use this one?” she asked hopefully.
“Ah, ‘fraid not,” Roger said with a frown. “That belongs to The Head.”
“Oh, sorry. Then help me pick one.”
“Right. Let’s go into the storage area.”
“Where is that?” Dori asked, puzzled because she had not seen any other equipment area in the barn.
“Through there,” Roger pointed to the side door that had a sign on it reading: “Storage area. Off limits.” They both went to the door and Roger unlocked it with one of his many keys, reached in and turned on the light. The small room held crates and boxes, some of them quite large, but Dori saw no saddles.
“You sure there are saddles in here?” she asked, puzzled.
“Well,” Roger said laughing, first we have to get you ready to ride, presenting her with a set of hinged handcuffs.
“Oh no,” Dori shouted, backing away and looking crushed. “Not again. Please Roger, I am not up for another Samson ride today. I thought we were going riding for real. You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie. I promised a ride,” Roger said, calmly. “But you have to be properly prepared. Now, hands behind your back, please.”
Grudgingly, Dori put her gloved hands behind her back and felt Roger adjust them so that her palms were facing outward, then closed the cuffs snugly around each wrist. “There,” he said. “That’s a good girl. Now for a gag.”
“Ah, Roger,” Dori whined. “Please, not again. I was thinking we’d have fun. This is not fun.”
“It will be. Just cooperate or I’ll have to take you over to the silo and have you join the rest of the crew spending a night lying around in silage.”
Roger picked a large leather plug gag off the hook behind the door and fitted it quickly and expertly into Dori’s mouth. She had to open wide and stretch her jaws to make it fit, but it popped in behind her front teeth and she knew that even without the securing band, she could not get it out without help. She quietly whined behind the full plug, staring at Roger with hateful eyes as he tightened the wide strap behind her head and pulled it tighter, forcing the plug deeper into her mouth.
“Okay, dear Dori,” said Roger, guiding her towards one of the large crates. “Here’s your ride.” He pointed to the crate and unlatched the metal fasteners on the side of the top.
“Ummmmph. Uooooo. Ummm noooh,” Dori shouted into the gag.
“Oh yes. You’re going for a ride, just as I promised, sweetheart. A long one, so let’s get moving. We’re burning daylight.”
Roger lifted off the lid and revealed the inside of the crate. Dori tried to back away, but Roger was already binding her booted feet with a short leather strap. Once her ankles were strapped together, a second strap went around her legs above the knee and another below the knee. Then another wider strap went around her elbows and pulled them together. Roger then took a longer, thinner strap and ran it under her right arm from the back, up and behind her neck, down and through the left armpit and then under the elbow strap. When he pulled it tight, the tension pulled the elbow strap up slightly. This was standard for such restraints and assured that the elbow strap was not going to slide down and come off. Dori moaned as he tightened the shoulder harness.
“There, that should do for the moment,” Roger said, humming a little tune as he worked.
Dori looked into the crate not liking what she saw. The inside was a mass of straps and soft foam material roughly in the shape of a girl, with a wider area for the hips and smaller sections cut out for the head and feet. At the head was some sort of harness she couldn’t comprehend from where she stood, but it was pretty clear that she was going to be put into the crate and the straps she could see would hold her in there until she was released.
“Okay, Dori, now the riding hood,” Roger chuckled as he produced an evil-looking leather hood with a mass of straps hanging from it. Dori shook her head and tried to avoid the inevitable capture of her chin as it was forced into the hood. Roger pulled the front up over her forehead and then began to smooth the leather form around her face and head, pulling the hood tighter as it encompassed more and more of her head. Her single braid was enclosed in the small hole at the top of the hood and the two breathing tubes were fitted perfectly into each nostril. The hood was snug. It was tight. Once it was mostly on, Roger tugged on the sides and made sure the nose plugs were fitted in place and the mouth plate, a thicker pad of leather, fit correctly over the gag. There were no eyeholes and soon Dori’s face disappeared into the darkness of the hood, soft whimpering sounds coming from behind the double gag and mouth pad. Roger busied himself with the lacing behind her head, pulling each set of laces tighter and then knotting it off, as if it was permanent. To remove it, someone would have to cut the laces. Finally, Dori stood with her head totally encapsulated in the sealed hood, the nose hoses hangi
ng down and the air she breathed whistling through the tubes. The hood not only encapsulated her entire head, it also it had solid pads over each ear to curtail hearing and a thick collar that wrapped around her neck and was locked in the back. For Dori, it was a form of nearly total sensory deprivation. She could breathe, but she could not see, speak or hear. The pressure from the hood seemed to increase with the time spent in it and although she had endured discipline helmets and hoods before, this one seemed more extreme, more punishing.
Roger reached up and grabbed a rope that hung from an overhead rafter and was secured with a large metal hook to the nearby wall. He brought the hook over to Dori and looped the end through a heavy “D” ring in the top of the hood, then took the slack out of the rope by pulling on the other end and cleating it to the sidewall again. Dori now stood erect in the room with her head held high by the rope and hood. Her toes still touched the floor. Barely. She struggled a bit but there was little slack in the straps on her arms and legs and she soon stood still, waiting for Roger’s next humiliating move.
“I’m afraid that you got dressed up for the wrong kind of ride, Dori,” Roger said. “This standard outfit is coming off, so you can help me or hinder me, but when I’m done little Miss Dori will be a stark naked statue. Want to help? Stand still so I don’t cut you.”
Without any hesitation, demonstrating that he’d done this many times before, Roger slowly stripped Dori of everything but her boots. First he unsnapped the metal fasteners at the top of each shoulder on the down vest. The vest was easily removed without freeing Dori’s arms. With a pair of large shears used to trim horses’ tails and manes, he cut the sleeves of her turtleneck shirt from cuff to collar and pulled away the shirt. Then, he slid the shears under the left shoulder strap of her white spandex bra.
“Just can’t figure out why someone with tits like yours would wear a padded bra, fashionable or not,” Roger said seriously, as he put his fingers inside the lightly padded bra cup, apparently measuring the thickness of the thin material. “You sure don’t need this stuffing. It hides your nipples except when they are really perky. What a shame,” he added, reaching down into the cup and squeezing the nipple hard enough that Dori jumped and squirmed in her bonds. The shoulder harness and the way her wrists were cuffed forced her breasts out even further than usual and Roger was obviously enjoying himself as he stripped her. He snipped the bra shoulder straps neatly, but then waited to see if the breasts would break free of the bra cups, enticing them a bit with a poke of his gloved finger. When they stayed in the cups, he quickly cut the strap in the back, not bothering with the three metal hooks that had held the garment in place. The bra fell away, leaving the cuffs and leather shoulder harness still in place. Roger made a game of brushing up against the tense nipples as he worked, now and then pinching and squeezing them to see her reaction. He cut the jeans where they joined the boot tops, then slit each leg up the side seam to the waist, removed her belt and pulled off the ruined jeans. Dori grunted.
“Oh, don’t worry Honey,” he said, as he threw the jeans, underwear, shirt and vest into a large woven basket intended for trash. “They’ll make a jean skirt out of the jeans and you might even get to wear it again.” In the same moment, he cut the sides of her bikini panties and pulled them through the tightness of her bound thighs. As she so often did at school, she once again stood naked and bound without anyone to help free her.
“Shall we have sex now or later?” Roger whispered into her hooded ear. “You do have a lovely set, Dori. Probably the best tits in school,” he added dryly.
“UUUMMMM.” Dori buzzed through the gag and hood, shaking her head. The idea of sex with Roger had occurred to her several times in the last few minutes, but now all she really wanted was to get free. Whatever he planned, it was not going to be any fun, she thought.
“And your ass is nothing to complain about either,” he added dryly. “But okay, later then,” Roger said, unhooking the rope from the top of her hood and picking her up with his arms under her knees and across her narrow back. “In you go.” He placed Dori into the crate face first, which surprised her and she struggled a bit as she felt her hooded face come in contact with soft padding on the front inside of the crate. As Roger let her slide down into the depths of the crate, he jammed his hand between her bound thighs and she felt something hard glide stiffly into the small triangle of her crotch. After apparently making sure it was properly in place, Roger removed his hand, leaving the stiff device where it was, lightly in contact with the tops of Dori’s thighs and the edges of her lower lips. The thick foam around the sides of the crate cradled her warmly and she felt as if she was being mummified. She also felt something soft and cool against her breasts and her crotch and she wondered what he would do to her now that she was in the crate and not exactly easily accessible.
Roger busied himself with a dozen straps that went across her back, further binding her arms, waist, legs and feet. More straps crossed behind her legs at several places and finally a series of tight straps went around her neck and hooded head, forcing her against the padded front of the crate. Finally the top was shut and Dori suddenly realized that the air coming through her nose tubes was somehow restricted and she was not getting enough to breath. She was suffocating and no one would even know it, she thought.
“My God, what a terrible way to die,” she thought. Roger must have forgotten to free the tubes from her nose and now they were pressed against the crate and her body. She was going to die from lack of air! She began to thrash around in the straps and felt the crate being lifted upright and then suddenly there was air in the tubes again.
Terrified by the air restriction, Dori took in big deep breaths. She realized that the thing between her legs now served as a sort of saddle and that some of her weight was resting on this small fixture. Then she heard and felt something being moved against her breasts. What she could not see was Roger opening a small panel that exposed her naked breasts and as the panel opened, the release of the compression allowed them to sort of pop out of the hole in the crate.
He gently massaged the soft mammaries and tweaked the nipples until they stood up attentively, then he left them alone while he opened another panel at her crotch. Dori felt the cool room air against her intimate skin and then, suddenly, there was Roger’s rubber gloved finger thrusting into her cunt without any preamble or preparation. He slowly added a second finger and she twisted and struggled at the violation, but of course could do nothing to prevent his slow and studied exploration of her internal organs. Apparently satisfied that she still had an operative vagina, Roger withdrew his fingers and inserted, with the same lack of subtlety and tact, one of the many fat, ribbed rubber dildos that were constantly being applied to students’ cunts and assholes, whenever a mistress or staff member decided they needed a bit of “in depth learning,” as it was called. The deeper the dildos went, the better the student learned.
“What the hell could I have done to deserve this!” Dori pondered as she tried to shift her mind away from what Roger was doing. She also tried to shift her body backward in the crate to avoid the impending penetration. She failed at both efforts and the thing went in deeply and was mounted on the small saddle that was already between her legs. Roger’s hands went back to the nipples, attaching the standard and hated spiked tit clips that Dori first endured on Samson. Once the clips were in place and digging into the girl’s poor nipple flesh, Roger closed the padded front panels. This pushed the clips hard against the now compressed breasts. Dori yelled unheard into the gag and waited for the next hurt that she knew was coming. It came as Roger slammed the panel over the crotch saddle and then pushed up on a lever controlling the saddle mount, driving the dildo deeper into its new home.
“Pity I forgot to put one up your ass,” Roger said to himself as he locked up the crate and put it on the two-wheeled dolly. “You little cunts never learn. My only interest in you all is in seeing and hearing you suffer. The only thing that might be better is if I had a
couple of guys in here to do it with.” He pushed the dolly out the door and wheeled it over to the Rover that was parked next to the barn door.
“Hey Dori,” Roger yelled at the top of his lungs. “Here’s your ride.”
Chapter Twenty One
Beating Marcy
The cellar lights came on and Marcy Neidler waited tensely to see who would be her tormentor. She was somewhat surprised to see not Mistress Wright, but “his Supreme Excellency,” (as the staff called him behind his back), Mr. Boswick instead. Uh oh, Marcy thought. This is going to be worse than I expected. She knew Boswick had a curious fascination for techniques and procedures that no one else in the school knew or used. That he was now with her in the deep basement was an ominous sign.
“So, Miss Neidler,” Boswick said softly, with a big smile on his otherwise dull-looking face. “You have fucked up once again, I see.” He plopped himself into one of the heavy wooden chairs that were bolted to the stone floor, crossed his legs in a rather feminine fashion and studied the sweating, painfully suspended, lean body now illuminated by several mini spotlights in the overhead. Marcy studied the stone floor and gave no sign that she even knew he was in the room.
“Okay,” Boswick said, still amicable. “Let’s you and me make a plan for today’s games, shall we?” He took pen and pad out of his jacket pocket and flipped through a few pages, then started to write on a fresh page.
“First, you neglected to acquire a gag for yourself. Humm. That’s bad. Probably just some of your rebelliousness showing.” He wrote as he spoke, flipping another page in his notebook. “But that’s still bad. Bad girl, Marcy. You will be punished for that,” he said, chuckling a bit to himself as he continued to scribble in the notebook.
Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition Page 14
