Having It All

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “You drugged me?” Patty shouted. “How could you? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Not a thing, Honey. Except not wanting to see you waste that great looking bod of yours and wanting to help you stop being a dull, boring, work buddy who keeps dating clods who are also dull and boring. You are far too yummy, honey, to be rotting away in an ordinary life, non-BDSM life. We wanted to give you some new resources for enjoyment and pleasure.”

  “A non what life?” Patty responded petulantly, swinging slightly on her chain, trying to keep eye contact with Ellen. She felt her breasts swing in follow-through as she hung from the chains. The feeling wasn’t bad, but it made her self-conscious, imagining the image of her large and braless mammaries slowly bouncing and swinging from side to side. “If you think hanging me up by my wrists and drugging me is giving me pleasure, I give up,” Patty said angrily. “Now let me down and I’ll consider this all in fun and forget about it.”

  “Why forget about it? And, FYI, BDSM is short for Buddy, Don’t Screw with Me, or something like that,” Ellen said with a wide grin.

  “Because otherwise you’ll be charged with kidnapping me, not to mention invasion of my on-line privacy, that’s why. Let me down!”

  “Or maybe it stands for Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism,” said Ellen, seemingly preoccupied with the twin swinging boobs in front of her while ignoring Patty’s pleas. “I really can’t keep these terms straight,” Ellen mused. “But you certainly need a little discipline. And, Miss Smart Ass, I have already figured you out. Coming from Boston, where young women work hard at looking as dull as possible, you began professional life with a disadvantage. You’re also a nice, quiet little masochist who lets people walk all over her most of the time, wears stupid, poorly fitted clothes and dumpy, department store underwear so that no one gets the idea to rape you on the way to the bus stop and then goes home and plays with herself while watching Jeopardy on TV.” Patty blushed bright red.

  “Let me down. Now.”

  “Oh dear, I think not, Patty. If you’re going to be a Boston bitch about this, you’ll just have to spend the night as you are, or maybe in some different position. Maybe in a few days, you’ll see the light.” Ellen reached over and started to shove the wet rags back into Patty’s mouth, but the chained girl shut her mouth, turned her head and locked her jaw, keeping the gag out.

  “Oh,” said Ellen, smiling again. “You want to play that game? Sure enough, let’s play ‘open your mouth, Patty’. I’m familiar with that one. Let’s see what I’ve got to entice you…” Ellen wandered off again into the dimly lit recesses of the basement and came back with what looked like a handful of thin leather shoelaces or straps and something in her hand. But Patty wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes kept closing and she seemed to be dozing off. She opened her eyes once more and then fell back asleep.

  “Great lemonade,” said Ellen as she took a handful of the unconscious girl’s hair and pulled her head back so that she was facing the ceiling, pulled her slack jaw down and jammed a large, rubber, pear-shaped gag into the open mouth. It fit nicely in Patty’s sleeping mouth and Ellen pushed it in until her teeth closed over the fat end of the pear. The mass of straps was slowly unraveled and fitted around and over Patty’s limp head, with the wider, prime strap pulling the gag deeper and going around her head and buckling snugly in back, at the base of her neck. This single prime strap was more than sufficient to hold the pear gag in place, but the rest of the complex head harness added additional restraint, put pressure on some key and erotically sensitive points in the head and neck and, as Ellen knew well from the many times she had worn it and other gags like it, the feeling of confinement and servitude was greatly enhanced by the head-enclosing web of flat, thin leather.

  This harness was the usual, standard configuration, as Ellen and Frank had named it. A split strap, called the OTH, or over-the-head strap, led from the sides of the mouth, around the sides of her nose, up to the space between her eyes where the two straps merged into one and then went over the forehead and the crown of the skull, then down the back and connected with buckles to the prime. From the sides of the mouth, two longer extensions of the split, OTH straps went downward, around the sides of the chin, crossed underneath the chin and then went around the neck and connected with the other ends of the OTH straps. Another dual set led for the sides of the mouth up and back over the top of each ear and joined with the OTH strap at the back of the head. A final set of straps came up from the collar, along the sides of her head and met at the top center, or crown. When all were fitted properly and tightened, they formed a snug web of containment, submission and servitude on the wearer.

  Once she had this leather web in place on Patty’s head, Ellen went to the wall where there was what looked like a fuse box. She opened it and threw a switch that activated the hoist in the ceiling, lowering Patty to the floor. Ellen did not use a key to unlock the heavy cuffs on Patty’s wrists and ankles because these cuffs were not originally intended to be restraints. They were obtained from a nautical hardware distributor and were intended to be used as zinc anodes for the propeller drive shafts of boats. A heavy zinc alloy was molded into half hemispheres and connected with two or more bolts. So, to unfasten Patty’s wrists and ankles, Ellen used a small, compact wireless screwdriver/drill from a drawer in the nearby file cabinet. She inserted the Allen-headed bit into the side of the cuffs. The drill whirled in reverse and quickly removed a threaded, Allen-headed bolt from first one side and then from the other of the wide, heavy cuff, revealing that the cuffs were really two matching hemispheres with imbedded rings where the chains were attached. Each hemisphere weighed at least two pounds and when they were bolted together; they formed a secure and unique cuff that could not be removed unless the captive just happened to have a matching Allen wrench and considerable manual dexterity.

  Ellen brought the girl’s arms around behind her, relocking the wrist cuffs directly to each other with only a single padlock between them. The locks fitted neatly into one set of imbedded rings in the hemispheres and allowed little or no slack. She released both ankles from the spreader bar and brought these cuffs together in the same close connection as the wrists. Ellen took a short length of chain and locked one end to one of the hand cuffs, pulled it around Patty’s hip and under her body, bringing it up and locking it tightly to the other wrist, thus holding the girl’s hands and arms close to her body. As she was gathering a handful of inch-wide leather straps from a cabinet nearby, Ellen heard a bell ringing from the room above. She stopped and listened, then quickly took a single strap, looped it through the space between the ankle cuffs and again through the wrist cuffs, bringing Patty’s cuffed ankles in close contact with her wrists, hogtying the girl. To finish the position, Ellen attached a short chain between the hogtied wrists and ankles and a D ring at the top of Patty’s head/gag harness. This forced Patty’s head back and the position effectively prevented almost any movement. Patty’s temporary restraint accomplished, Ellen hurried out of the basement room, went up the stairs and locked the door at the head of the stairway.

  Ellen went quickly to the small kitchen and then to what looked like a cupboard. Sitting at the kitchen counter was a tall young man in a camouflage parka, with a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand. Resting on the counter in front of him was a long barrel, automatic 12 gauge Mossberg shotgun. His left hand rested on the stock, but he removed it as soon as Ellen walked into the room.

  “Cold out there,” the man said, nodding at Ellen and raising his coffee cup to her.

  “Shit, Max, you scared the hell out of me. When did you come in?”

  “Just five minutes ago. Was checking the lines and was freezing, even with this L.L. Bean Arctic Parka.” He laughed, knowing the jokes about how real country folk considered Bean as their high end fashion supplier and Carhartt as the source for true work clothes.

  “Yeah, it’s even a bit chilly in the cellar. Cold enough to pop the nipples out of a witch….or something l
ike that,” grinned Ellen. “I just got a ring from the storeroom, so I’m headed down there. Frank’s got some gripe, I suppose.”

  “Need a hand?”

  “I hope not. See you in a bit,” Ellen said as she opened the cupboard door. There were shelves with food cans and packages, cooking utensils, some pots and pans and other household things. Ellen picked up a sauté pan, moved it to a lower shelf and then removed a can of tomato soup and put it in the pan. There was a faint click and the entire panel with shelves and contents swung inward, revealing a small room that had more shelves full of dry goods and supplies. She stepped into the room, closed the cupboard panel behind her and reached for what looked like a knot hole in the pine paneling. This hole turned out to be a release for another panel in the side wall of the small room. Now she turned on a light and went quickly down the flight of circular stairs to the bottom where she was in what was clearly a wine cellar. Hundreds of bottles of wine filled the bins. Each bin was marked and dated and identified the contents. Ellen went to the bin marked “Boxbottle, Franken.” This label was a private joke between Ellen, Frank and Don Andrews, a long time friend who often visited the camp and always brought great wines. Don was known for his German wine preferences and he had introduced E&F to the Franken wines from Germany’s Franconia region, which was sold in flask-shaped bottles, known as Bocksbeutel. Don had jokingly told them to spell it “boxbottle” and the esoteric pun had stick. Don also thought it was funny that it was a Franconia wine and often talked about Frank’s wines, meaning the Franken, of course.

  When Ellen reached under the Franken bin, a set of shelves in the German wines section opened and she stepped through into a totally dark, large underground room. She closed the panel behind her, heard the lock click and stood in the dark.

  “Well, my love, how goes it?” Ellen asked into the dark of the cool, earthy smelling room. In response, she heard a rustle that sounded like a rat moving in a clothes closet, a clink and a thud that sounded like someone thumping a leather covered cushion with a baseball bat, followed by a groan.

  “Oh, really,” Ellen said, sarcastically, hitting a light switch on the wall and waiting until the overhead fluorescents came on. The blue/green glow brightened the room. “I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight, Dear. Something bothering you, Sweetie?”

  The cool, greenish light revealed what appeared to be a man’s body, suspended upside-down from a heavy steel tripod frame, totally encased and strapped into a rubber body bag with only his hooded head sticking out of the neck hole. The hood was sealed and only two breathing hoses penetrated the heavy black leather shell that encased the head.

  “Feeling needy?” Ellen asked, walking slowly over to the hanging bag that was encircled with at least a dozen wide straps tightly fitted at the usual locations; around the head, over the eyes and mouth, around neck, waist, upper torso in three places, above and below the knees, mid thigh, mid calf, ankles and under the feet, to further confine and restrain the body contained inside the bag. What made the sex of the bag’s occupant apparent was the jutting projection from the crotch area, indicating a major erection inside a rubber sleeve built into the bag. Above the straining erection was a small pouch, about the size of a small light bulb, which apparently enclosed the occupant’s testicles sealed in the snug bondage of the pouch attached to the body bag. Ellen casually stroked the giant, rubber enclosed dick as she walked around the suspended body. She considered putting the rubber covered object in her mouth and the results that action might have, but then changed her mind when she saw the large pool of liquid that had accumulated on the polished hardwood floor below the leather hood. This pool was being fed by a slow, but constant drip of sweat and perhaps other body fluids trickling down from inside the bag, through and around the hood and out onto the floor.

  “My goodness, Frank. Are you cumming, leaking, drooling or just sweating up a storm in there tonight? Busy little upside-down fella, aren’t we? Feeling a little compressed, dear?” The hooded head shook and then turned side to side, in a negative response.

  “Want out?” Ellen asked casually, knowing that if he said yes, she was obliged to cut him down, open the bag, remove the straps and hood, and then deal with the interior rope work that they had jointly orchestrated a few hours before.

  The head turned side to side again. No.

  “Want anything?”

  The head nodded.

  “Humm,” pondered Ellen, sitting down on the cool hardwood floor. “What could the matter be?”

  The head shook again and from inside came a sort of hum or moan. It was hard to tell which, because the hood was lined with a sound reducing soft material and the mouth in the head inside it was securely gagged.

  “Well, Dear. I just don’t know what I can do for you and I’m really pretty busy right now with our new addition, you know.”

  The head shook and there was another groan from inside the hood.

  “How about if I get you down and turn you around so your head is up and your ass is down? Would that help, Honey?”

  An emphatic nod and moan convinced Ellen that this was the thing that the thing in the bag wanted.

  “Okay,” she said gaily, and got up, reached over, stretching on her toes and bending over so that her compact, tight little ass was nicely displayed to anyone who might have been behind her. She released a catch at the top of the tripod and the body bag and contents dropped to the floor with a thud and a responding groan from inside the hood.

  “Oops. Sorry, Dear. Didn’t mean to drop you so hard. But, it was the fastest way to get you down. Now, we’ll just reverse things a bit,” Ellen said, again with a bit of laughter in her voice. She took two chains from the floor and attached one to the leather harness straps that enclosed the body and another to the top of the hood. She linked the chains together and then hooked them to the ratchet lift at the top of the tripod. She turned the crank on the ratchet hoist slowly while the suspended body rose from the floor and soon was hanging with the head up, but in the same position as before.

  “How’s that?”

  A nod and a hum. Then silence.

  “By the way, I think we need to get Patty signed up in the next few days. She’s being difficult and I want her on the books ASAP. Do you agree?”

  Frank nodded his rubberized head and gave the usual two grunts for “yes”.

  “Okay. We done now? Can I get back to work?

  Slight nod and double grunt.

  “Good. See ya later. Have fun.” Ellen turned and headed for the door, then stopped and, facing the hanging bag and hooded head, shouted, “And don’t forget, Bag Boy, that tonight is my night, so you’ve got to be out of there by noon. Meanwhile, try not to ring the bell again unless you are about to poop in the bag.”

  She turned out the light, closed and locked the heavy door and went up the stairs to the kitchen. Here she hesitated a moment as though she had forgotten something. Looking around she saw the empty coffee cup and a yellow sticky note on the counter next to it. She picked up the note and read:

  “On south border for few hours. Snowmobile giving me fits. See you at dinner?” signed Max.

  “Ok, Max,” Ellen said to herself, glad that their security man was on the job and keeping the vast grounds patrolled. She went into the ground floor bedroom and proceeded to strip off the leather suit.

  Naked except for a thin, flesh colored nylon belt that rested tightly around her narrow waist, Ellen reached around behind her back, unfastened the belt and pulled the accompanying crotch strap slowly out from between her legs, removing with it the attached dildo from her pussy and the string of shiny metal balls from her rectum. The balls came out one by one and Ellen shuddered slightly as each ball reentered the world from its dark home in her ass. Seven balls in all came out and Ellen took the entire ensemble and placed it in the bath tub where she then ran hot water, added some liquid soap and let the tub fill with steamy water.

  “Damned cheapo batteries,” she said as she stepped into
the still filling tub. “Nothing works like it’s supposed to.” She reached into the water and pulled the dildo from the crotch piece, rubbed its outside shell with soap and rinsed it in the running water. Then she turned the base cap until it opened and out dropped three AA batteries.

  “I gotta get one of these that lasts a hell of a lot longer,” Ellen muttered to herself as she tossed the dead vaginal probe to the side of the room and flung the useless batteries with it. “Can’t have any fun with dead batteries,” she mumbled as she submerged into the billowing foam bubbles and steaming hot water.

  Below Ellen’s bathtub, in the basement, Patty revived slowly to find the gag harness around her head and the hogtie keeping her in very uncomfortable backward bowed posture on the floor. Whatever they had given her in the lemonade had worked quickly and she was having trouble controlling her stomach, which was reacting unpleasantly to the drug. She knew at once that if she threw up, she might drown in her own vomit because of the deep plug gag buried in her mouth, so she took long, deep breaths through her nose and tried to find a more comfortable position. She rolled onto her side and found that this lessened the tension between her cuffed ankles, wrists and head harness. The last minute strap that Ellen affixed to bring her limbs together was a bit loose and Patty gratefully tried to ease the pull on her strained shoulders and neck. Between the long session on the overhead chain and now this hogtie, most of her muscles in her arms and shoulders were yelling for relief.

  How the hell am I going to get out of here, she thought. These people are nuttier than I thought.

  All of the rumors and innuendo that she had witnessed were proving to be gross understatements. She had, of course, often contemplated the possibility that Ellen and Frank would take her prisoner and inflict their weird and erotic hobby on her, no matter what Patty’s private proclivities might be. In Patty’s mind, that possibility was a mixed fantasy and reality. She knew F&E well enough to be pretty sure that they would not, under any conditions, hurt or endanger her. What she wasn’t sure about was exactly how this would impact her and the rest of her somewhat meager existence. Should she agree to what was going on and accept the situation or should she keep on with her half-hearted complaints and objections?