Having It All

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Sandy lived this vivid dream every now and then. It was mixed in with other dreams of submission and rape and chains. She told no one but her shrink and he was unable to help her purge the dream. He listened and offered little help or solace, always asking her how it made her feel but making no concrete suggestions about how to deal with it. She told him, reluctantly, at $350 an hour, that it made her terribly horny and excited and that normal sex simply did not, could not, offer any relief from this fantasy. She wanted so badly to be that woman in the chain line. To be abused and fucked mindlessly by the long line of soldiers.

  Chapter Eight

  Mall

  Jim decided that what Sandy really needed was to get out of the house for awhile, so he assembled a collection of chains, cuffs, collars, restraining devices and other equipment that he felt would facilitate this, whether Sandy wanted it or not. He was certain that he could restrain her in such a way that she would obediently do as she was told, but he was torn between leaving her face exposed or totally confining her in some way so that if seen, no one would recognize her. After a bit of research and one phone call, he had his answer.

  The next morning, after release from the tub and the requisite personal tasks, Jim informed Sandy that they were going on a shopping trip. He said they'd be gone all day and to make sure that she would not need a bio break for the next six or seven hours; possibly longer.

  “Are you kidding?” Sandy asked. “Six hours and you'll have me leaking like an old lady.”

  “Okay, I can take care of that,” he offered. “The old lady image got me thinking, so no need to worry. But you'll change your own diaper if you mess it up.”

  “Diaper? No way.”

  “You'll see. So go take a quick shower, dry your hair and get your cute little ass back in here in fifteen minutes or less.”

  “And if I don't?” she asked with a frown, heading for the shower.

  “Just do it. No threats this early in the day.”

  Sandy left. Jim assembled his equipment, checked it once again and tested the circuits. “This will work,” he said with certain optimism in his voice. “This will work. We'll have fun.”

  Jim decided to use his old van to get to the Mall he selected. It was non-descript, white and nearly ten years old. It wouldn't attract anyone, even thieves. The interior, modified over time for his hobby needs, was perfect for transporting one well secured and somewhat recalcitrant young woman.

  The Mall was nearly sixty miles away, so, although he would have preferred to carry her in the back of the van, Jim placed Sandy in the passenger seat. Thus, the lovely and complacent creature seated beside him was clearly on view to anyone who looked in the van's windows, but all they would see was a pretty young woman sitting quietly with her hands in her lap and a somewhat fixed, but placid expression on her well-made-up face. Sandy wore a short mini dress with a fashionable silver chain belt and a ribbed, long sleeved jersey. Her Italian boots were beautifully made and had four-inch heels with silver metal decorative treatment that resembled spurs on the heels. At the top of the boots, where they nearly met her knees, a similar silver decoration circled the opening. When closed, this circle formed a snug band around the top of Sandy's calf. It also had a small, sturdy ring and a lock. This insignificant accessory prevented the boots from being removed unless the calf circle was unlocked.

  While sitting in the van, Sandy's spur-like boot fittings were joined by a single chain link which in turn locked the a ring on the floor, slightly back from the front of the seat frame. Similar links held her knees together by the calf-top bands.

  The chain belt functioned well as a mounting point for two short straps that matched the seat belt fabric and came from either side and locked to the belt links. Under the ribbed jersey, Jim had fitted Sandy with a nearly invisible torso harness that, among other features, provided unneeded support for her firm, braless breasts, encircling each of them with thin leather bands that compressed the base of each breast and exaggerated the forward thrust, pushing the nipple aggressively against the cotton fabric. Centered on her spine, half way between her neck and her ass, was a small stainless steel plate, mounted on the harness and holding a flat ring. Jim's engineering skill allowed him to set up an arrangement that took a thin stainless steel cable with a swaged eye on one end and attach it to the ring on the harness. This made a small hole in of the shirt, but that was of no concern because no one was going to be looking at Sandy's back anyway. The cable went through a grommeted hole in the seat back and connected to a small but powerful electric winch which, when activated with a control on the dashboard, reeled in the cable and the attached body in the harness, holding Sandy firmly against the seat.

  Sandy wore a pair of gloves and wide, thin metal bands around each wrist. Jim had her put her hands behind her and place the backs of each hand flat against her back. She crossed her wrists and Jim linked the cuffs together, then pulled them to the opposite side with a decorative chain that went under her arms and back behind her neck where it locked. The end of this chain passed downward and locked to the cuffs as well, holding the hands high and flat on her back. Sandy grumbled about this uncomfortable position. Jim ignored her. When the seat back winch tugged and pulled her back, her hands were crushed behind her. For Jim, this worked as he expected. For Sandy, it was not a way she wanted to travel anywhere.

  Over the entire outfit, Sandy wore a long, cotton coat. It was a sort of duster design, with plenty of room and it extended to her ankles, effectively hiding her bondage package and allowing her forward-thrusting tits to nicely accentuate the tent-like garment.

  Then there was the matter of her head and face. Jim elected early in his planning to make Sandy unidentifiable. He packed her mouth with an absorbent synthetic foam, making sure it filled all of her oral space but was firmly seated so as not to go further back than her last molars. He forced her mouth closed, further compressing the packing and sealed it with tape wound round her head. He asked her to test it and when she resisted, he simply pinched an available, shackled, out-thrust nipple and got a nearly silent response.

  The real test came as he prepared to hide Sandy's face and head. His phone call a few days before reached Jerod, a well-known resource in The Scene, who immediately shipped Jim overnight a perfectly finished rubber head that had its own wig, make-up and Mona Lisa smile. It was much more than a mask and was in fact, a highly effective discipline hood that covered the face and head and looked very realistic. The same hoods were often used by TV's with reasonable success. It totally sealed Sandy's real face and head inside. A beautifully executed set of thin closing laces and flat fashion zippers on each side, behind the ears, closed the hood-like structure, leaving only breathing holes at the nose and a thin, secured vent between the lips. The hood had a tiny receiver and ear buds that Jim connected to his short-range radio. The wig was nicely styled and Jim finished it off with a light brushing and a bit of hair spray once Sandy's gagged head was sealed inside. To complete this outfit, Jim put one of Sandy's “fashion collars” around her slim neck and locked it. While she sat and let him do all of this, Sandy hummed some unknown little tune. But once they were in the van, she was silent, wondering where they were going and what they would do when they got there. After all, her mobility was severely restricted by the calf and ankle chains and her arms were totally useless behind her. She also wondered about her ability to flex her fingers. It would look weird, she thought, to see this in public…a sort of fluttering of fingers at shoulder blade level under her coat. She didn't need to worry, for once they arrived, Jim slipped a very chic embroidered back pack onto her back, pulling the stuffed arms of the duster through the straps and then sticking the fake, gloved hands in to the duster's deep pockets, effectively hiding her bound hands and fluttering fingers.

  Arriving at the mall parking area, Jim changed his mind and drove to the front entrance, which had several nice benches sheltered under leafy oak trees. He stopped in front, put the seldom-used handicapped tag on the rea
r view mirror and carried out the three steps he had rehearsed to get Sandy out of the van. First, he released the back cable and pushed the harness ring into the shirt, laying flat against the harness. Then he removed the ankle links and left the calf connection in place. He adjusted her wide brimmed straw hat so that it tipped slightly over her forehead and then assisted her out of the seat, helping her as he would anyone who was not ambulatory. He walked her to one of the benches, helped her sit, adjusting the back pack so it wasn't in the way. He reconnected the ankle links, pulled her duster coat around her so that it covered her legs and told her, via his radio, to just sit back while he parked the van. Sandy nodded and sat back gingerly, not wanting to press her already disabled arms and hands against the bench back. Checking the image she presented at the busy mall entrance, Jim pulled the coat's belt around her waist and cinched it.

  When he returned, Jim discovered that an older couple was seated next to her, chatting amicably with the nearly unresponsive young woman in the duster. They seemed quite oblivious to the fact that aside from an occasional nod or tilt of the head, Sandy made no sound or even seemed to know they were there. Jim concealed his grin as he came up to them and thanked them for chatting with Sandy.

  “My wife recently had a serious accident and this is her first day out, so thanks for keeping an eye on her while I parked the car,” he said.

  The couple continued to banter to Sandy, ignoring Jim until finally he turned around and forcibly inserted himself between the man and Sandy, wiggling his butt until the man moved a few inches to make room for him. Jim turned to the man and held up his hand, saying, “She can't hear you and you are disturbing a disabled person. Now fuck off or I'll call a cop.”

  Shocked, the couple stopped in mid sentence, glared at Jim and walked off in a huff, muttering about his rudeness

  “Amen,” said Jim. “It's time to take a walk.” He bent over as if to tie his shoe and unlocked Sandy's ankle link, then helped her stand. Since the radio link was open to transmit only, Sandy had heard the entire exchange with the couple and was, as far as Jim could tell, giggling behind her packed mouth gag and rubber hood enclosure.

  “Just take it slow,” Jim said as though talking to his ancient Aunt Mary. Sandy took a feeble step, restricted by the chain links at her knees, and slid her high-heeled boots slowly along the pavement. They made very slow progress, stopping to rest from time to time and ignoring the stares and veiled looks from other shoppers and tourists. Then, suddenly, two security guards descended upon them.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Jim said, knowing Sandy would hear. “What can we do for Mall Security today?”

  “Ah, Sir, we have been watching you and thought we should intervene,” said the taller one, as he checked out Sandy's prominent bust and ran his sunglass-covered eyes over the duster.

  Sandy felt the usual mixed feelings of embarrassment and excitement while these men blatantly scanned her, supposedly for security, but in reality out of pure lust. She got the same feelings in the airport when the TSA Gestapo types ran their rubber gloved hands over her body, ostensively seeking explosives and anything illegal, but in fact just getting off by handling women within the sanctions of the government's “war on terror”. These mall security guards were engaged in their own little “war on shoppers” and Sandy thought that it was probably very rewarding for such types to be able to freely, (and legally), harass paying customers. To make matters even more interesting, Sandy felt her nipples harden as she watched through the mask and sunglasses as the men's eyes continued to return to her bust line.

  “Intervene?” Jim asked. “We don’t need your help.”

  “I think you do,” said the shorter man, taking off his reflective sun glasses and studying Jim and Sandy carefully, as though they looked suspicious.

  “Thank you, no,” Jim reinforced, hoping they'd buzz off.

  “I think you'll understand,” said the taller, whose name tag said 'Fred'.

  “Yes,” added the other guard. “You'll understand.” He reached up to the mike on his left shoulder and pressed the talk button, saying: “Two-two to base. How long for that Whisky Charles, please? We have the four-fours with us now.” He stood listening for the response, his hand still on the mike.

  “By the way, if I may ask,” said the second guard. “What's the nature of the lady's problem?”

  Jim, astonished by the insensitivity and illegality of the question, decide to ignore it. He smiled at both guards and kept his arm around Sandy's waist. She snuggled up to him, making hard contact from hips to shoulders. “What the hell is a Whiskey Charles?” he asked, trying to keep it light.

  The radio buzzed and a voice said, “They should be there now, two-two.”

  “Copy,” said the guard into the mike, as they both turned left and right, looking for something. “Ah, here it comes now,” he said, pointing.

  “And what is a four-four?” Jim pressed.

  “Two persons. Both adults, one needing a Whisky Charles,” the first guard replied.

  “Sure.” Thought Jim to himself. “These guys are really nuts.”

  Exactly how that translated into “four-four”, Jim decided to ignore. The “Whisky Charles” code was explained at that moment. Around the corner of the mall's anchor department store came an electric cart towing a trailer. It ran right up to the guards and stopped. Another guard, who appeared to be sweating badly, jumped out and went to the trailer, removing a folded up wheel chair, opening it and wheeled it up to the four people who were standing there, just looking.

  Jim realized what had been going on and recovered quickly. “Really, gentlemen. This isn’t necessary.”

  “It is if you want to stay in the mall,” said the short guy officiously.”Our rules, posted at every entrance, specifically state that disabled or otherwise mobility-challenged persons shall use a wheelchair while on the premises. Our insurance requires it. Too many older folks were falling on the property and then suing the company. By the way,” the guard repeated, “can you tell us the situation with the lady?”

  “Gentlemen,” Jim said in his best-controlled tone. “My wife was seriously injured by an electric cart like yours in a mall like this six months ago. She has regained some mobility but still cannot speak or get about on her own.” Both guards unconsciously looked at their cart.

  “Further,” said Jim, increasing his voice level slightly, “it is a violation of federal law, the Americans with Disabilities Act, ADA, to be precise, for you to ask such a question. You are both in violation, gentlemen.” Jim guided Sandy to the chair and helped her sit, putting her booted feet on the leg supports, taking the pack off and placing it in her lap and making sure she was sitting all the way back so that her bound arms under the coat were not apparent. He fastened the seat belt around her.

  “Ah…ah…we meant no offense,” babbled the first guard, backing away. “We just wanted to make sure that she didn't require additional assistance. We're going now. Have a nice day and thanks for visiting the Central Mall.” The first two guards turned and walked away briskly. The third, now sweating profusely, climbed into his cart and backed carefully away from Jim and Sandy, who was quietly giggling behind her rubber face.

  “Hey,” shouted Jim to the cart driver. “Where do you want me to leave it when we depart?”

  “Oh,” said the third guard, who was apparently in charge of wheel chairs. “You just turn that switch.” He pointed to a small switch on the right armrest of the chair. “It sends me a signal and tells me where it is. I'll pick it up. It also functions as an emergency signal for single visitors. If they need help, they just hit the switch and our team will be there fast.”

  “Got it,” said Jim, hoping to get rid of these meddling, overly enthusiastic escorts and wondering if the German guards at Dachau had been equally contentious.”It's all for your own security,” he thought. That kind of nonsense and other lies had helped villains in government throughout history destroy societies and nations, he mused. Next they'll
be telling us that everyone should have the same income, house, life style and blue eyes.

  “Thanks again for your help,” you moron, he said to the guard and simultaneously thought to himself. “We appreciate it, don't we, dear?”

  Sandy nodded slightly.

  The guard smiled uncertainly, perhaps visualizing some forthcoming chewing out or perhaps a special recognition award he would get for being so observant and helping disabled people on the property.

  Chapter Nine

  Attic

  She was in the attic of a huge house on the beach at Newport, Rhode Island, an old mansion that was only open in the summer. She had wandered the empty beaches late one Fall afternoon and hated the idea that summer was finally gone. She had to leave the next day. As fate decided it, she never left. No one missed her.

  Now it was winter and she was still held captive in the attic. At first, she was efficiently tied and silenced. Her clothes were long gone, her wrists tied with coarse rope to an overhead rafter, a leather gag forced and tied deep in her mouth and sealed with tape, her legs bound together at the knee and ankle and then to a steel eyebolt in the old hardwood flooring of the attic. In time, the terrible bondage of rope and tape was altered to allow better circulation and a bit more comfort, but it was still, curiously, both fearful and pleasant for her. Chains with leather-lined cuffs were eventually substituted for rope and a leather head harness with a built-in rubber ball gag replaced the rags, rope and tape.