Max was already kneeling next to the twitching, strapped, leather bound figure on the floor. He had an aerosol can with an attached hose in his hand. The container looked like the kind that is used to inflate flat tires. He was screwing the end of the hose onto the air valve of the rubber head enclosure.
“Okay,” he said. “Here goes.” He pressed the release button on the can and the contents hissed as they went through the hose and the air valve of the inflated rubber hood that encapsulated Ingrid’s head. The hood slowly inflated more. When it was almost double its original size, Max stopped the flow from container to hood, unscrewed the hose and then bled some air out of the valve, reducing the hood’s size to close to the original
“It’s going to take a few minutes to harden,” he said.
Ingrid was flopping about on the floor, grunting and groaning through the gag and the hood. Inside the rubber hood, a gelatinous mixture of sterile foam was expanding and covering her face, surrounding her head and sealing her off from all senses except breathing, which was through the hoses. The material was warm because of the chemical reaction that first caused the foam to expand to fill whatever area it occupied and then from the hardener that had automatically mixed with it as it left the aerosol can and entered the hose. The overall effect was probably a bit like drowning in some sticky, clingy mass, but Ingrid was able to breath and her respiration rate increased rapidly as the sealer encompassed her face, closing off and sealing the areas around her mouth where the pear gag provided an effective seal. The same happened to her nose and eyes where the hoses and cotton pads protected the organs from contact with the foam. The plugs in her ears had the same effect.
Everyone else watched and listened to make sure she wasn’t signaling in Morse code, but the struggles seemed random.
After about five minutes, Max poked the hood and confirmed that the material inside it was now hard and the consistency of inflatable insulation foam.
“That ought to do it,” he said. “Let’s load this mother.”
Ingrid was stuffed into the second compartment of the crate, the multiple steel bands with their tightening screw closures were closed down around her voluptuous figure, in most places duplicating the positions of the already in place straps and securing the blonde to the wall of the container in the same position as her companion in the other compartment. The rubber ball head was held in place by foam supported brackets.
“That should do it,” said Ellen, happy to be done with Holloway for the day. “She’s got what are essentially triple bonds….the flexi cuffs, the suit, the straps and the steel bands. Think that’s enough to hold this tiger? She’s going to be fun to break, wouldn’t you say, Max?”
“Most definitely, I’m looking forward to that,” Max affirmed. “Most definitely.”
They loaded the locked crate onto the hand cart, extended the double safety wheels from behind and took the load out to the elevator. Two new recruits were headed for the camp.
Lynda was having second thoughts about her decision to go with F&E. As far as she could tell, it was four days, (or maybe three), since she’d been packed in the crate. From that time, she had no idea where she was going or where she ended up. Her present situation wasn’t exactly part of her fantasy. It was unpleasant and confusing. She lay in what seemed like a pile of straw or hay. She was tied in a stringent hog tie position, still as naked as when she had been taken out of the crate and unceremoniously removed from the leather suit and metal bondage. They had left the hood, with its gag, in place and tied her as she was now, with arms pulled back and tied with several layers of coarse rope around her biceps. More rope was on her wrists and pulled them close to her bare ass, with the ends pulled through her crotch and tied to the multiple rope bands around her waist. Her feet were tied at her ankles, with additional rope under the arches. Her big toes were tied together, more for the discomfort it caused than for security. Rope from her bound feet led up and joined the elbow restriction, keeping her in the bent position for hours. Her body was cramped and all of the muscles hurt, but no one offered any release or relief except that every few hours it seemed, someone came and stuck the end of a small hose through the front of the hood, through the gag plug and told her to suck. Lynda sucked and swallowed water, juice, tea or whatever else was offered. Much less often someone came and released the ropes between her feet and her elbows and made her sit on a bucket and relieve herself. She peed on command, soaking the rope between her legs and eventually not caring. She had had no solid food for days and was living off whatever nutriments were in the liquids she took through the hose. The only good thing, as far as she was concerned, was that she was losing weight.
The gag stayed in. The hood stayed on. She cried. She mumbled to herself through the gag. The straw she lay in was prickly and the sharp ends stuck into her at many sensitive places on her tired body. Once, when they came to give her a pee break, she hollered and screamed through the gag. She thought they had ignored this, but after the bucket was removed and she was again bound with her feet pulled up against her ass, they rolled her over and put more rope around her upper arms and chest, with several strands above and more below her youthful breasts. These chest ropes were tight to begin with, but they were cinched with thinner rope under her arms, which pulled the chest binding even tighter. For added discomfort, this was more than enough, but whoever was tying her had other ideas. Thin nylon line, probably 550 parachute cord, was placed under the chest ropes and wound around each breast, circling the base of each and being pulled tight until she felt the flesh move away from her chest and form a hard, shiny, light bulb-shaped extension from her chest. Both breasts were tied with these cruel nooses and after one was complete, whoever was doing the tying would unwind the other noose and rewind it only tighter. This process was extremely painful as the rope was released and replaced with a tighter band. She felt her nipples harden and stick out rigidly from the compressed, shiny balloons that her breasts had become. The blood that filled them began to pulse and she felt the heat and pain of the stretched, engorged mammary tissue as the ropes were again tightened. No one said anything, although she stopped yelling and concentrated on the pain in her chest. Finally, after multiple tightening and narrowing of the noose around the roots of her breasts, they stopped. Someone pinched her hardened nipples, alternated between left and right for a few moments, then slapped her left breast and said, “Nice tits, Honey. We are going to put them to good use.”
That was all. She felt the draft of a door being opened and closed and then there was only silence again in her little pile of straw.
What seemed like hours later, as Lynda lapsed between consciousness and the fuzzy semi dream of revisiting her old fantasies, they came again. The eye covers on the cruel hood were removed and she blinked and squinted as she tried to adapt her eyes to the light. The hog tie ropes were unfastened and she was allowed to stretch out her legs while the other ropes on her legs and lower torso were taken off. Too cramped and hurt to resist, she cooperated while they placed a long wooden pole between her feet and fastened wide leather cuffs on the ends of the pole to her ankles. Once this was in place and her legs were spread well apart, they made her sit up with her legs out in front of her. Aside from the occasional instruction as to what she was to do, there was no conversation, no comments and she realized that there were two people working on her, a man and a woman and both were attired in skintight latex body suits, knee high rubber boots with spiked heels, long rubber gloves that came over the elbow and skintight rubber helmets that left only their faces exposed. The woman was carefully and exotically made up with bright crimson lipstick, dark eye shadow that surrounded her eyes and made her look dangerous and mysterious, plus impossibly long eyelashes that actually looked real. Perhaps they are, Lynda thought incongruously as the two handlers propped her up and rigged a sort of rope harness from her already bound breasts. They lowered a heavy chain with a large metal hook on the end that was hanging from overhead by operating an electric hoi
st in the overhead. Lynda looked up and saw that she was in a barn-like structure with a high metal roof two or three stories up. The winch was attached to a wide beam that supported the roof. When the hook was in front of her, the handlers attached it to the rope harness and retracted the chain back upwards. Slowly, Lynda was pulled by her taut breasts from her sitting position to standing with her wide spread feet just touching the straw-covered floor and her entire weight supported by the breast ropes. The winch stopped and the ropes around her arms and wrists were untied. Bound too long to retain any feeling in her limbs, Lynda simply hung there with arms dangling down.
“You should move her arms a bit,” said the rubber clad woman standing next to her. She didn’t sound like Ellen, Lynda thought. “Try to shake your arms. Your next session is going to be long and you’ll need the circulation in your arms and legs to withstand it.”
Lynda had already noted that both the man and woman were very well put together. The man was tall and had a muscular physique. His sexual package was well outlined by the latex suit and his square shoulders and muscular arms and legs indicated that he was not only in great shape, but probably worked out several hours daily to stay that way. The same was true for his companion. Her skin suit accentuated the moderately wide hips, high, well shaped ass and breasts and a narrow waist.
Lynda tried to speak to them but the gag plugging her mouth still worked effectively and all that came out was a muffled series of grunts and unintelligible noise. They used some light line to secure her braid to a link on the chain and this held her head up and took a fraction of the strain off her chest. She felt like her breasts were going to tear off at the root from the strenuous combination of being bound with the rope loops and being used as a suspension support for her whole weight.
Suddenly, the eye openings on the hood were closed and the two handlers were busy below her, removing the locked chains from around her waist and crotch. The relief of having the chain links taken from between her legs was enormous, but as she was mentally rejoicing about this she felt another cold metal band being fitted around her waist.
Ah, a new belt, she thought as the wide band was eased around her waist, closed and then suddenly removed. A minute later, she felt what seemed like the same belt being applied, but this time it was much tighter and took considerable efforts on the part of both handlers to close it. It snapped shut with an audible and physically ominous click. Lynda had helped them fit the belt by sucking in her stomach, but she now found that there was no room left by the belt and exhaling brought with it the strong constriction of the belt.
“It will seem tight for a while, but you’ll adjust to it, Lynda. Just breathe slowly and don’t panic,” she heard the woman say. Panic was not on her mind, as she tried to imagine what the new belt looked like around her already slim waist. She felt the new coldness of several chains which were attached to each side of the belt and then allowed to hang loose so that they swung a bit and the ends touched and excited her upper thighs and buttocks. I’ll bet they’re going to chain my hands to the belt, she thought, excitedly, hoping meanwhile that they’d also release her from the breast suspensions before her tits, which she thought were pretty damned nice compared to others she had seen, were completely ruined by the strain. She wondered what the other chains were for, because she had counted at least four different ones hanging from the belt, two in front and two in the back.
But chaining her hands wasn’t what they had in mind for Lynda. Instead, the twin rear chains were connected to what looked a bit like a miniature leather saddle except that it had two fat, serrated metal dildo prongs sticking up from its center, about two inches apart. Of course, Lynda couldn’t see the device and she was thus somewhat surprised to feel a pair of gloved hands opening her vaginal lips and smearing what felt like some kind of greasy gel all over the area. The hands moved to her anus and continued their cursory massage, inserting a finger and then two fingers, slowly rotating inside her rectum and rubbing more of the goo into the aperture, then smoothing it around the anal divide.
Lynda was no novice when it came to putting things inside her private caves and she quickly realized that the greasy goo and the probing fingers were a prelude to some sort of rectal/genital invasion. She was right. As soon as the orifices were lubed with the gel, the twin penis-like posts were centered and inserted into her well greased passages. She knew now what was happening and she tried to relax her abdominal and rectal muscles while the monster prongs were being eased up inside her. The four chains were connected to the front and back edges of the saddle once the probes were fully inserted, holding it snugly in place. The front chains settled into the small grooves at the top of each thigh and then moved outward at an angle away from her sex. The back chains, once properly adjusted, led upward between her buttocks, forcing the firm cheeks somewhat apart. Both handlers worked for several minutes, removing a few links from the chains and making sure that the fit was as snug as possible; also making certain that no amount of muscle constriction or movement would allow the girl to expel the probes.
“It might interest you to know, Lynda,” said the woman as she tugged at the chains, pulling the saddle into closer contact with the area between Lynda’s legs, “that these will be changed from time to time and their size increased according to a set schedule. Like the belt, you’ll get used to it. When it’s all done, we’ll be able to drive an eighteen wheeler into your love tunnel and an Amtrak train up your ass. It should give you a real thrill.”
Great, thought Lynda. Forever plugged. Not exactly what I had in mind, especially if I can’t touch myself down there.
“The idea,” added the male handler, snickering a bit, “is to make your cunt and ass readily available for anyone. Even though we know you’re no virgin, no one wants to have to work up a sweat getting into your tight little ass, so these will change all of that.”
And speaking about ramming things up someone’s ass, while Lynda had no way of knowing it, Purple, the former Dallas Cheerleader, was getting a similar belt fitted at that same moment, in a different room on the property. She had finally been taken out of the Wooden Maiden to make room for a new occupant and now stood with her arms chained overhead, high heel booted feet spread wide apart by a spreader bar equally as wide as the one Lynda wore and wearing a novel set of impalements. She was penetrated by three different penis-shaped probes and wore the fourth one externally. A huge new rubber penis gag was bound deeply into her mouth and two more were buried in her lower abdomen. There was a significant difference between Lynda’s and the cheerleader’s between the legs equipment though. After considerable time wearing the same type of twin probe saddle as Lynda now had, the cheerleader had graduated upwards and wore a “combo” sex arrangement that provided for three massive dildos; one up her ass, one in her now well accustomed cunt and an external, perfectly matched penis probe attached to the internal one in front. Below the projecting fake dick was a nicely modeled set of Teflon balls in a silicon ball sack, swinging between her legs. Purple was immediately ecstatic when the combo was fitted and she found the idea of having a set of large, soft balls dangling between her smooth, tanned thighs just about as erotic as her session in the Wooden Maiden. In fact, she was already contemplating which of her fellow inmates she might try out her additional, although faux, sex organs on and Patty immediately came to mind. She had not as yet met Lynda, but if she had, the prospect of ramming the new penile projection that was bound to the one inside her own vagina into the fresh new college sophomore would have been almost too much to think about. Purple spent the next few hours hanging in her chains and fantasizing about the new sex organs, mentally delighting her with a variety of scenarios that included virtually all of her camp companions.
Chapter Twelve
Uninvited Guests
Life in the mountain camp went on through the winter, with new members coming and going and the long term residents adjusting to the routines. There were no unhappy guests and no one really complained, alth
ough Patty led the list of campers who had something to bitch about on a daily basis. Ellen and Frank continued their weekend trips to and from the city and life in the Adirondacks was good until the snowmobilers showed up.
It is a given fact in northern rural country life that the great divide between those who operate snowmobiles and those who don’t will probably never be amicably closed. On one side you have the logical mindset that says that if you can have something that allows you to travel very fast over snow, then you should be able to exercise your God given rights to roar around the countryside to your heart’s content, hopeful that you won’t upset too many people and also that you won’t suddenly meet a tree trunk or hidden boulder or cliff while you enjoy the snowmobile life. On the other side are those who may own property that they think is theirs and who resent madmen tearing through their fields and fences at all hours of the day and night, not to mention the noise and hazards of doing such.
At no small expense, F&E kept their property legally posted against all trespassers, but they also knew that there were poachers who, at certain times of the year, ignored the signs and hunted on the land. They also knew, based on the visible and audio evidence, that when there was snow on the ground there were bound to be snowmobiles trespassing as well. Every now and then, some hearty snowmobile souls would roar up the driveway and come knocking on the front porch door, politely asking if they could have permission to traverse the land. Frank had decided years before that those who asked and seemed reasonably sane would be allowed to use his land occasionally as long as they did no damage and went home at sunset. Anyone else who was caught would be (as the signs warned) if they were lucky, prosecuted and if they were unlucky they might be mistaken for game in its natural habitat and shot…accidentally of course, by the resident owners who made it known that they hunted their land and were always armed to the teeth with semi-auto pistols, rifles of a reasonable caliber and shotguns, depending on the time of year and how irritable they were that day. Word in the nearby villages, they learned, was that if you poached F&E’s land you were more likely to end up in their stew pot than come home with illegal game. Once, when he was picking up mail at the local Post Office, Frank overheard two local women talking about the estate.
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