Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition
Page 37
“Ah, well, I guess so. I have to agree with Bibi. It’s pretty erotic and if I could, I’d find a way to do it again when I felt like it. The enclosure in this totally flexible material has so many uses.”
“Like what?” asked Groff, in a somewhat nasal voice because of the bandages on her nose.
“Like if we went swimming or SCUBA diving,” Brenda said quickly. “Or skiing,” she added, looking at Evie who had already said that as soon as she got out of Prague, she was going skiing in Switzerland for at least two weeks.
“I agree,” Evie offered, sitting with her legs pulled up to her chin. She wore only a tiny thong and matching bra and seemed immune to the chilly weather. “I would love to see the expression on a few faces of the stuffy characters at The Palace Hotel in Saint Moritz if I walked in and took off my parka and had nothing but this rubber skin on.”
Everybody laughed.
“But, on the other hand, we all must be practical and at least come up with some way to get this off. I don’t think it’s healthy. Sooner or later, it has got to have bad effects.”
“Right,” said Groff, nibbling with her teeth at a finger and discovering that she could peel away the rubber coating, albeit slowly, finally exposing the entire finger. “I think we can start peeling it now, especially at the seams and ends where it is worn anyway. Besides, I think my thoroughly beaten ass is already peeling rubber as well as skin.”
Everyone in the room started peeling back the rubber edges on their own hands and feet and found that the more they worked it, the more rubber came off.
“Wow,” said Evie, as she peeled away an entire arm. “I think we’ve got it.”
“Feels like a bikini waxing coming off though,” added Brenda.
The sounds of the five young women ripping long strips of latex from their bodies were all that filled the room for nearly an hour. There were giggles and shrieks and a few curses as the rubber came away with a bit of body hair that had grown back since their initial encapsulization. In the end, a pile of shimmering rubber lay on the floor and the five bodies were now bare skinned bodies that were rubber free, but had a somewhat anemic tone from not being exposed to the air for so long.
“So screw you, Doctor Brenner,” shouted Brenda. “It is not permanent and you better go back to the drawing board,” she laughed, tossing a long shred of rubber into the pile.
“Well,” added Lucy, scratching her bare and hairless crotch. “In some
places, it may take a while longer to loosen up. I swear they sprayed the inside of my pussy with that stuff.”
Everyone giggled.
“There are ways to speed up that situation,” said Glenda with an evil, but mischievous grin.
“Yeah. I know what you have in mind,” said Lucy. “But my entire crotch is still covered with this junk.”
“Mine too,” said Evie. “And I got multiple coatings because they wanted to build it up.”
The rest, as they say, is history. By the end of the day, all of the women were back to their normal healthy selves, free of the bonds and the rubber. Brenda was already contemplating how she might recreate the Brenner formula and be able to get another rubber skin when she wanted it. She enjoyed the feeling of the tight, all encompassing grip of the rubber coating and thought that with some work and a lot of money, she might be able to turn this discovery into a profitable business, providing rubber body coating much as shops today offered spray-on tans. Lucy remained skeptical of the idea, but Brenda reminded her of their father’s favorite phrase, “money will get you almost anything.”
Epilogue
Lucy and Brenda’s father, Ernst von Holt, was delighted that his daughters were back home, but he quizzed them at great length about their experience, getting names and locations and details the girls initially were reluctant to provide. Once he had as much information as he could get from them, he sent the data electronically to Berlin and once again called his friend Casalo.
“You have the transcripts and videos of Lucy and Brenda’s testimony that I sent?” Ernst asked his old GSG-9 buddy.
“Indeed we do, Ernst.”
“And are you going to take action against the mine and the religious problem in Bulgaria?”
“Heavens no, my friend,” said Casalo. “Such action would be a violation of a sovereign nation’s rights. It would be illegal, as you well know.”
“Of course,” said von Holt. “But I have talked with Minister Thefles and she assured me that you could prepare a sterile solution. After all, German citizens were victims of serious crimes and there are many more still suffering.”
“Indeed, Ernst. Indeed. Do not worry. A solution is at hand.”
“And the disposal will go very quietly, I assume. I’m sure that you have some folks, (and he used the word ‘folks’ in the familiar sense, meaning local people), who could perhaps look into the situation.”
“Oh, yes,” Casalo said quickly. “The minister phoned me this morning and suggested we dispatch a small professional group to investigate. Satellite information from the Americans has given us more than enough details to arrange a rescue mission and a disposal remedy. In fact, The Company has loaned us two black aircraft with the usual caveats.”
“Good. The caveats being that room for plausible denial must exist if anything goes wrong?”
“Exactly.”
“As you also know,” Ernst continued. “I will personally offer safe haven and sponsorship for anyone who is found there, so bring them home if they will permit it. Otherwise, give them safe passage to wherever they wish to go, after they are given a clean bill of health.”
“I understand, Ernst. I will advise you when it is over.”
“No,” said von Holt impatiently. “I want to know when it begins. This is not an infinitely open window. They may already be making changes. You must strike at once.”
“Weather permitting, my friend,” Casalo said soothingly. “Weather permitting.”
Von Holt snorted, knowing that that catch phrase meant “politically correct”.
Less than twenty-four hours later, an unmarked C-130F aircraft made a routine, high altitude flight from a small airfield near the German-Austrian border with a flight plan showing a destination in Crete. Bad weather forced the flight to take a more easterly heading and halfway through the flight, the aircraft commander radioed that the plane was returning to base with mechanical troubles. Something had fallen off the aircraft at about 0245 hours, local time, while they were over eastern Bulgaria, he informed the base.
As an odd coincidence at about the same time, a single jet fighter-bomber, type and place of origin unknown and on a routine training mission over a remote part of an almost unknown Asian nation, accidentally released an inert bomb. The pilot reported the incident and officials in the country were informed. Given the remoteness of the area involved, the government of the country simply filed a note for record and forgot about the matter, assuming rightfully that the locals in the area, if there were any, would salvage and carry away anything that fell out of the sky long before authorities ever even got to the scene.
What fell out of the C-130 aircraft, which was high over Bulgaria at the time, were five men and three women, all with sterile uniforms and equipment that could not be traced to any allied country and all highly qualified in Special Operations and HALO jumps. They executed a perfect freefall, utilizing the latest oxygen, pressure suits and thermal protection gear, landing precisely in the central courtyard of the VNR castle.
Following a well rehearsed plan, they silently spread out through the property, spraying a sleep-inducing gas and encountering minimal resistance from the slumbering sisters and a bit more from a few visiting clergy. Once all were asleep, the nuns and guests were returned to their quarters and cells and secured there with existing instruments of restraint. Those who were foolish enough to try to oppose the midnight visitors were dealt with quickly. One fat man who claimed to be a high church official found himself dangling by his heels in an u
nderground room.
Unfortunately, shortly after the visiting parachutists freed 23 young women from the cells, cages and ancient underground chambers, uncontrolled fires broke out in several of the buildings housing the nuns and their guests. Later reports indicated that the entire order perished in the fire, which unsurprisingly began in the distillery. Apparently, escape by the members of the order, including their Mother Superior and a local bishop, was made impossible because of the paraphernalia being used by them in unusual and forbidden ritual activities taking place when the fire began. Most of the burned bodies were found chained to posts and crosses throughout the property, some in quite grotesque positions. Reports mentioned one notably corpulent male body found hanging upside down in an underground chamber with his head a few inches above a wrought iron brazier. Others were bound with collars and shackles to their own beds. Some were in even less plausible positions.
Because of indications of toxic material in the ruins, church and state officials immediately sealed off the entire property. Local provincial officials declared the area off limits and hastened to cover up the entire incident. The only news that eventually seeped out was that members of the VNR order had met their creator in a dreadful and accidental fire. The HALO team remained on site with the freed prisoners until arrangements were made for them to go home. Then the rescuers vanished, absorbed into the local population and returning to base within a few days, mission accomplished.
In Frankfurt the next morning, Ernst von Holt read a brief and unsigned email that he showed to Lucy at breakfast.
Your religious problem has been taken care of. Twenty-three involuntary novices released. Fifteen elected to go home and are either under care in safe areas or enroute to place of origin. Three in sterile hospital. Rest going on missionary work. Details later. C.
“What a strange message,” remarked Lucy, reading it twice and staring questioningly at her father. “Does this refer to what I think it does?”
“Ah, it’s something you asked me to take care of a few days ago,” von Holt said. “I think you’ll sleep better knowing that our enemies in Bulgaria are out of business.”
“Oh,” was all Lucy said. But she knew. She knew what her father had done and she felt no remorse whatsoever to know that the evil order had been wiped out. The only remaining elements of her ordeal were the silver mine’s owners and of course, the brand and scars from the whips. The scars would continue to heal and Lucy knew that her father would not rest until the silver mine enterprise was also exterminated.
Sure enough, a week later, the following article appeared in the Frankfurter Allegemeine:
MASSIVE EARTHQUAKE IN
UNINHABITED CENTRAL ASIA
SCHMOLKIST – 3 Sept -- Global seismic monitoring stations in China and the EU reported yesterday that a major earthquake of at least nine on the Richter scale struck areas in the central Caucasus plateau of Kapasta.
This vast and generally uninhabited area is approximately fifteen hundred miles east of Schmolkist, a remote section of Allisloust, one of several small republics that broke away from the USSR more than a decade ago.
Scattered and unverified radio reports coming from the area indicate that the quake center was in a mountainous region where there is little population and virtually no reliable communications. Bad weather has made accurate satellite observations and air operations impossible thus far.
Officials in Capasta said they were sending horse-mounted rescue teams into the area, but more information might not be available for days or even weeks because travel was restricted due to heavy snowfall and damaged roads.
Limited satellite images of the region showed extensive devastation to a small mining community several miles northeast of Capasta and there has been no contact with anyone there since the quake occurred. Landslides, an unexplained large crater and open sinkholes seen in satellite photos indicated that at least one major mining community may have virtually disappeared when the surface ground around it collapsed
Also by Jurgen von Stuka:
Bondage Brokers
Desperate
Summer School
Transition
After School
The Secrets of the Women’s Self-Bondage Cult
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