Having It All

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “I think we'll go for the center and deep,” Jim said, pulling slightly on the well-groomed, hairless lower lips outward and holding them together while he injected a normal dose of the drug. While he waited for it to take effect, they chatted about what was happening.

  “I never thought you’d do this to me,” Sandy whispered. “All along, you knew.”

  “You are fixated on it,” Jim said. “You mumble in your sleep, put your hands down there and moan a lot. You fascination with other people’s piercings is pretty obvious, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. And I’m sure I didn’t say I wanted rings and barbells in all of these places.”

  “Well, let’s see how it goes. We can always take them out, you know.”

  Without giving Sandy any further warning, Jim ran the needle through BOTH lips at the same time. Surprised, Sandy bucked and shuddered and Jim dropped the stretched flesh from his squeezing fingers and let it rest, with the needle still in it, on the weeping girl's abdomen, the sharp end of the needle scratching her left thigh. Apparently, the anesthetic hadn’t completely blocked the nerves in the most sensitive area. A few minutes later, he took out the needle and put first one, then the other shackle in place.

  “So now comes the 'piece of resistance',” said Jim, mimicking Sandy's perfect French with his own bastardization of the famous French cliché, and reaching carefully for the tiny, extended nub of her clit.

  “I want a load of pain-killer there,” she said, a bit too loudly, her voice echoing off the walls in the tiled bathroom.

  “This is going to be tricky,” Jim said, seriously. “Do not move. Hold your breath and stay absolutely still if you want to have an undamaged clit.” He jabbed with the needle, pressing the plunger, pulled it out and repeated the process twice more, until the syringe was empty.

  Sandy whined miserably.

  “Oh, cut it out,” said Jim as he continued to rub his intended target. “Thousands of bitches have these things pierced, so it can be done, but bear in mind that I'm a dumbass dentist, not a surgeon, so the easier you make it, the faster and less pain. Okay? Ready?”

  She nodded and shut her eyes tight. He squeezed the tiny piece of flesh between thumb and forefinger, watching her face for any indication that she felt it, then ran the needle through it as close to the base as he could get it, from side to side. Sandy screamed, quivered and pumped snot out of both reddened nostrils, but didn't flinch. Jim slowly removed the needle and then worked to get the small link centered on the nubbin, noting the thin stream of yellowish urine that was trickling into the tub below his work area. He poked the sharpened crosspiece through the flesh and secured it, then released the now swollen clit and took a deep breath himself.

  “There you are,” he said proudly. “You must feel better. You just peed in your new tub.” Sandy whined and tears welled up from her reddened eyes.

  “Your tongue, tits, lips and clit are now mine to do with as I wish,” said Jim.

  Sandy cried, big tears popping out of her swollen eyes and running down her previously leather harness-framed face. The shackles in her tongue and tits quivered and Jim almost felt sorry for her as he imagined the multiple pains she was going to experience when the drugs wore off. Enduring in her six times pierced body would take some careful encouragement and cajoling from him, he knew.

  “Wondering what number seven is for?” he asked staring intently into her wide, watery eyes.

  Sandy shuddered again, her eyes closed; trying to imagine what additional horror he had in mind. What other body part could he possible violate? she wondered. She quickly found out as Jim inserted a heavy double hook into her nostrils and pulled the hook back, fastening its short leash to a small hook under the rim of the tub and stretching her nose into a gross disfiguration. With no comment, Jim wiped an alcohol prep across her upper lip and nose, poked her nose with the syringe and added a dose of the anesthetic to the nerve endings around her nostrils.

  They didn’t speak. Sandy knew what was coming next. She often remarked that of all the body piercings she saw on others, she thought that that nose rings were the most humiliating and gross.

  Jim drove his hollow needle through the cartilage in her septum, pushing hard to complete the piercing quickly. The final shackle went into the nose hole, Jim released the nose hooks and Sandy moaned and wept, trembling in the cold black tub.

  “Okay, honey,” Jim said. “Tomorrow we'll get you accustomed to how these little gold links can work for us. Meanwhile, enjoy.” He packed up his surgical kit, wiped burning antiseptic over each piercing, took off his gloves and left the bathroom.

  Chapter Five

  Market

  The chains were crudely fabricated from raw iron, each link hand formed and hammered into the length of heavy metal that terminated in rough circlets around her neck, wrists and ankles. She stood tall and alone on the wooden platform while the robed and turbaned men with long beards and small, many-tailed whips, walked around her, lightly slashing her at the hips and breasts, watching her eyes and feeling her sex and ass with probing fingers. There had been so many fingers up her cunt and ass that she no longer even tried to resist.

  On other platforms throughout the market, similar scenes played out as the local wealthy businessmen sought to buy a new slave. Sandria stood among them, quivering in fear and doubt. Since her capture in the desert a few days before, she had been treated surprisingly well, she mused. Always bound and immobilized, she was fed well, kept washed and shaven while her captors abused and finally impaled the other women from the defeated village. It was clear to her that they had decided to keep her, and that limited space, food and water in their caravan resulted in their picking her as their selection for trade or sale in the market.

  One older man was now negotiating with her captors. They shouted sums and traded insults interchangeably until finally, gold was exchanged and he led her away to a small building on the edge of the market where they removed her chains. Two fat women in black veils and robes placed a thick leather belt around her waist, held her while they inserted long ebony phalluses into her cunt and ass, then pulled another leather belt through her legs to keep the prongs inside her. The waist and crotch leathers were made horribly tight and then stitched into place by the crones, who muttered and babbled as they worked. Any movement she made brought retaliation in the form of a thick cane, wielded by one of the women. They caned her breasts and ass mercilessly until she stood still, then they continued with their work.

  They bound Sandria with a web of hardened leather straps that brought her legs back, pressing her calves to her thighs. More straps held her upper arms against her sides, her forearms parallel behind her back and her fragile wrists fastened tightly to her elbows. Other straps went around her body, a thick ball of lambskin was forced into her dry mouth and held there with many circles of rope around her head. A hood of the same soft leather was pulled over her head, her nose poking out through its only hole. They laced the restrictive hood up the back until it stretched over her head, outlining her face, blocking sight and keeping the rawhide ball inside her mouth. The straps became the suspension for her body as someone picked her up and attached hanging chains at key points on the straps, then allowed her to swing freely in the air, held in place with the many leather bindings. She soon realized that she was in some sort of enclosed cart and the journey to her new master's business or home was just beginning. Sandria moaned a hopeless moan inside the hood, feeling the slow effects of the two probes deep inside her abdomen and knowing the familiar arousal they brought about. “I wonder if they'll keep me for sex or service?” she thought. In her mind, she already knew the answer.

  Chapter Six

  Frame

  While Sandy whiled away her hours and days in her tub, Jim was busy in the garage working on a major welding job that he wanted to have finished by Sandy's upcoming birthday.

  “What are you makin'?” Phil, his friend from down the road, asked one day when he stopped by to delive
r some mail that had mistakenly been put in his mailbox.

  “I'm not sure,” Jim said, laughing as he stepped back from the design and flipped up his eye shield. “Just putting a bunch of odds and ends together and then we'll see if it’s a bird feeder or a mouse trap.”

  “If you decide to patent it, let me know,” the lawyer buddy said. “I've got to get home, but good luck on that thing,”

  “Thanks,” said Jim, flipping the face shield back into place and realizing that he was almost finished with his project. He attached the bases for the small electric motors, added some other parts and at last, by the end of the day, was satisfied that he had now what he wanted. He was sure that Sandy would find it fascinating.

  “Ut ah ell ith at?” she whined, as Jim carried the finished welded frame into the bath and set it down next to the tub.

  “It's for you,” Jim said happily, spreading his hands as if to show the new toy. “Let me demonstrate.”

  Sandy cringed in her tub. She was not feeling all that well and the extended time in captivity was not improving her disposition. True, Jim had bathed her, fed her and cleaned out the urine and solid waste from the tub, but her arms and legs were still firmly trapped in the four holes. She learned over time that the “drains” actually had soft lined mechanical clamps that held her wrists and ankles. Now and then, Jim released some of the pressure and made her move her limbs around to keep them from getting cramped in one position. The gag was removed only for feeding, which she initially had refused, but now tolerated because she had no choice.

  Jim lifted the heavy frame up and over the edge of the tub, lowering it until the four feet rested on the tub's bottom, suspending the frame over Sandy's body, the multiple shiny little cables dangling from small metal housings scattered around the frame's top surface. Each thin steel cable had a small snap hook on the end and Sandy immediately grasped what was going to happen. She screamed into the gag, threw her head about and tried to twist her pinioned body away from the frame. Jim mumbled something about her always complaining and pressing a button on one of the housings, watched fascinated as the tiny cable and its hook descended until it reached Sandy's extended tongue.

  “So, you figured it out, huh? Pretty cool, isn't it? Each cable is positioned near one of your little shackles. The motors in each housing can retract the cable and tug a bit on your various shackles. If I do this right, we should be able to suspend you just by your jewelry.”

  Sandy howled, shrinking away from the frame and its seven dangling cables and hooks. Jim bent over and snapped the first hook into her tongue's golden shackle. Sandy froze.

  “Oh hell, honey. I'm not going to take it all up at once. Just a bit of the slack right now. More later.” He pressed the reverse switch and the motor in the housing whined and the cable slowly retracted, tugging patiently on Sandy's tongue. When the cable was snug, Jim stopped the motor.

  With obvious delight at his successful design, Jim then lowered and attached cables to each gold link on Sandy's body. He retracted each cable just enough to take up the slack and soon, all seven wires were lightly taut, and each shackle was slightly lifting its attached flesh upwards.

  “So, whadaya think?” Jim asked, truly interested in Sandy's gagged response. She made no response. She just closed her eyes and groaned again. Jim touched a few buttons and the motors whined and the tongue and nose cables tightened a bit. “Want to tell me what you think?” he asked again. Sandy moaned, unable to move her head.

  Jim pushed three more buttons more or less at the same time and the triple cables in Sandy's crotch tightened and pulled the pierced flesh upwards. She screamed as the center wire pulled a bit tighter.

  “Ah,” shouted Jim, triumphant. “It works. You talked…sort of,” he added quietly. “So let's tighten up on everything, shall we?” He pushed each button for a brief period and watched and listened, gauging the tension in each cable as the lower lips, clit, tits, tongue and nose were all extended abet further and the cables tightened. The frame remained perfectly still, taking the new tension and some of Sandy's weight perfectly, just as Jim had intended.

  “I think this will hold you nicely, but you are probably wondering what the other cables and stuff are for, huh?” he asked, pointing to the remaining half dozen housings and dangling cables. Sandy moaned.

  “These two will take a sling under your shoulders,” Jim pointed out. “They'll relieve some of the tension on your sex and tits. These next two will take a sling under your sweet little ass, lifting it a bit to again help relieve the suspension from your crotch. Finally, this one will take a bit of a load from your head harness. One way or the other, you'll be suspended off the tub's bottom so I can clean it up. Isn't that thoughtful of me?”

  Sandy said nothing. She imagined the pain increasing as the cables took up the slack and couldn't see how the three additional slings under her body would help much. She also was convinced that Jim had lost his mind entirely and she knew now that the only way she was going to get out of this was to somehow humor him and convince him that she was going to do whatever his demented mind wanted her to do. Somewhere, deep in her own mind though, a tiny little bell was ringing, reminding her that she had always wanted to be someone's prisoner, a captive of love and bondage, someone's sex slave. It was but a tiny bell. It was buried deep, but the tugging steel cables and the seven rings and shackles were now ringing the bell and Sandy wondered what this was all about.

  Jim began sliding canvas slings under her body now, lifting a hip there and a shoulder here, until the slings were attached to the lifting cables and the motors took up the slack.

  “Now,” he said. “This is the fun part.” He pushed one button after another, slowly increasing tension on one cable after the other, slowly raising Sandy's body off the tub's porcelain bottom and creating, amazingly, a space under her. Jim worked the hoists for several minutes, increasing and then lessening the pain on the stretched body parts as one set of cables took up the stain from another. In the end, Sandy was hanging about a foot in the air, suspended by her tongue, nose, tits, clit, and lips, plus three canvas slings under her body. Jim lessened the tension on the wrist and ankle clamps in the tub, allowing these bound limbs to emerge from the drains. Sandy remained motionless. Her body rigid. The cable hooked to her clit was especially hurtful and she tried to raise her hips a bit to lessen the strain. Jim saw this and compensated with a bit more retraction of the clit cable. Sandy moaned in pain. Her most treasured and guarded body part was being stretched beyond anything she had ever imagined.

  Jim stopped the process for a moment while he fastened a soft velvet blindfold over Sandy's eyes.

  “This is to help you imagine you are perhaps somewhere else…” he said quietly, then he went back to work with the cables and controls.

  Inch by inch, Sandy levitated above the tub while Jim manipulated the controls for the winches and slings, reducing the arm and leg tension at the same time. Although Sandy could not see it, as her arms and legs emerged from the deep drains, the automated metal cuffs and their attached chains slowly fed out of the drain holes. When she was about four feet in the air, Jim stopped Sandy's slow elevation and quickly released the ankle clamps, then locked each leg in a new pair of ordinary shackles. He did the same with Sandy's wrists and then connected the four limbs under her with a single quick release link. Now Sandy hung from the cables in a bow shaped form, her belly and abdomen at the highest point and her chained arms and legs pulled together beneath her. The mixed feelings of pain and sexual frustration that she felt were not helping her overall anxiety and continued depression after spending what she was sure was nearly a week naked and stretched in this awful tub. This present position was far more stringent than the previous one and Sandy kept her eyes closed, praying that Jim would soon release her, or at least let her go back to the simple four way stretch in the tub. Somewhere in her head, the tiny bell was ringing louder.

  Chapter Seven

  Romans

  Even though the
re was a strip of dirty cloth tied tightly over her eyes, she could still see the road and the dust. She could see the long line of women, their necks collared in steel and joined by a long chain that ran through the rings on their collars and went to the woman stumbling along ahead of her and to the one behind her and to those further up and down the line. The procession of chained, collared English women who were mostly naked and bound, shuffled along the dusty road towards some distant point where the Legion would bivouac for the night. Tomorrow they would move on, headed southeast and further away from home.

  Her arms were tied to the thick wooden bar that held her elbows back and thrust out her youthful, jutting breasts with their pink nipples pointing slightly upwards and very hard. A crude rope held more rags in her mouth and she could taste the dust and dirt that seeped into her mouth, made her tongue dry and clogged her parched throat. Rome owned all of this land now and she was no more than just another female slave to be taken home as a war prize and sold to a high bidder. She knew this would be her fate, but she struggled on, waiting for the sun to go down and for a chance to rest for a few hours, still bound to the wood behind her back, still collared to the women in front and behind. There was no escape.

  That night was sex night at the camp. The Legionnaires pulled her and several other attractive women from the chain line, removed their collars and thrust them into a tent where they were thrown onto the thin rugs, told not to move and given wine and a bit of food before they were taken by one man after another. Rape was not the true description of the act. That was too simple a term. She lay on the rug, her hands now tied over her head to an iron stake driven deep into the French earth. Her ankles were tied loosely to similar stakes four feet apart so that she could spread her legs and even bend her knees and raise her hips as each man knelt between them and drove his own personal fleshy stake into her liquefied and oozing cunt. If they wanted her ass instead, they simply reached under her and lifted her hips until they penetrated her from the rear, hammering away in quick, sharp strokes until they blew their soldier's wad the instant they pulled out. The legion forbade any man from coming inside the slaves. If they did so, the penalty was forty lashes with a whip that would cripple a man in ten and leave him for dead after twenty. So, no one came inside her. It made no difference. She was a slave and she was being mauled and fucked over and over again, with short breaks for a drink of the terrible legion wine and a few scraps of bread, then more fucking until every man had his fill of her and the others. Then she slept.