Having It All

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “You bastard. You thought of everything,” was all that Sandy could manage.

  “Oh yes. I'll also manage to find someone to put into a coffin and ship back here for proper internment in the family plot with all the pomp and tears and ceremony which you merit. Closed coffin, of course.”

  “You won't get away with it…” she added.

  “So far, it's going just fine.”

  “Seems thath thway,” Sandy said. “Thith thwung ring is driving me nuts.”

  “Want it out?” Jim asked, picking up a pair of pliers from the sideboard.

  “Not right now,” Sandy said.

  Suddenly, without any apparent reason, she laughed. “And you, you prick, there's something else you need to know before you put your stupid plan into action. Something you probably never would guess.”

  “Oh really, what's that?” Jim asked, cautiously.

  “I have taken precautions against exactly what you have planned. In the end, you would have gotten nothing. Zilch. How do you like that, smart guy?”

  “I think you're bluffing.”

  “Okay. Do your thing. Find out when it's too late.”

  “You want to stay like this?” Jim repeated, puzzled.

  “I actually like the way you are treating me. I enjoy the forcible domination. It sure beats the usual masturbatory routine. But it will have no effect on what you get if I die before you do, so go ahead and fuck me right now. I don't care.”

  “Now?” said Jim, incredulously, wondering if she was putting him on or perhaps she had noticed his continuous hard-on since he had first locked her arms and legs in the tub.

  “Now. Here. Go ahead,” Sandy said, rotating her hips lewdly.

  “I'll be damned,” said Jim as he stripped out of his jeans and work shirt and mounted the base of the rack frame, aligning his rock hard dick with Sandy's swollen sexual center.

  “These little gold jewelry items that you think are so cool may be a bit unpleasant for you,” she said quickly, panting a bit.”But I'm sure you'll enjoy the rest,” Sandy said, almost giggling. Jim fumbled with his cock, trying to get it into Sandy's anxious cunt.

  “Oh, and Jim,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Don't you dare put that penis gag back in my mouth. I don't like it. It's really gross.”

  Jim promptly forced the thick rubber dick back between her clenched teeth and pulled the strap extra tight. Sandy gurgled happily.

  Chapter Eleven

  Comanche

  The sun overhead sizzled and the dry, arid land below gave up nothing except radiated waves of endless heat. The Comanche drove their female prisoners across miles and miles of endless hills and deserts. They rode their ponies ahead or alongside the shambling line of prisoners and showed no mercy for the white women captives, but they wanted to keep them alive, so the forced marches were moderated and food and water provided at the rest stops along the way back to the camp.

  Sara and the others were bound together in a single file, leather thongs holding their hands behind their backs and wearing an uncomfortable but effective head harness, collar and gag combination. The Indians used the thongs skillfully. A thin, twisted length of the well-cured buffalo hide was passed between the captives' teeth and then pulled tight, forcing the mouth open and pulling the cheeks back unpleasantly. A slightly wider band of leather encircled their heads, centered on the forehead, passing over their ears and tied in the back to the gag strap. Two other similar loops of twisted hide went around the captive's neck and then all four joined behind their head. These simple leather bindings were then joined with a heavier twisted thong that led down to the prisoners' bound elbows and wrists. When in camp or at rest, the joining thongs between arms and head were shortened so that the girls' heads were forced back and they stared with open mouths at the sky, unable to see clearly what was going on around them and accepting whatever crumbs and water were inserted between their stretched jaws. Those who were uncooperative had rags or dirt stuffed into their mouths under the gag thongs.

  When they moved during the day, the hand to head links were slightly relaxed, but each girl was joined to the one behind her with a short rope that went from her bound hands to the hands of the girl behind her, passing between the trailing girl's legs. The rope went between the sweaty thighs of each captive and if someone in the line stopped suddenly or jerked the rope, the effect repeated down the line as the ropes yanked bound wrists forward and chafed already tender flesh. When Sandy and one of the other girls fought back or objected too strenuously to the treatment, another special thong was added to their already severe restraints.

  The women had long since lost their dresses, skirts, blouses, shirts and shoes or boots. The Comanche knew well that no white woman could get far without footwear, even as their feet toughened with each day of forced march across the sweltering terrain. A few of the women still retained bits of their underwear, but most were essentially naked. The additional leather strap used as punishment was perhaps an inch wide and about three feet long. Two horizontal slits were cut into the hide, perhaps seven or eight inches apart. They placed the strap around Sara’s jutting chest, crossed each free-hanging breast at the midpoint and inserted the nipples into the small slits in the leather. This was not easy to do or to accept when it was done. Typically, one captor pushed his finger into the slit and then pulled the resistant nipple through until the strap rested firmly against the now compressed breast. Getting the second nipple into its slit was even more difficult. Sara struggled and cursed as they pulled her taut nipples outward, away from her chest and then inserted them into the tiny slits. The leather closed around the stretched protuberance and Sara moaned softly into the rags plugging her distorted mouth. This restrictive band was then tightened, digging an inch wide canyon cross Sara's chest, the breasts with their captive and pinched nipples now bisected and oozing out from under the confinement of the strap. The ends of the strap were crossed behind her back and fastened to each already bound elbow. The effect was riveting. Any movement brought pain to the crushed nipples held in the leather slits. The tighter the Comanche tied the strap, the more it compressed the breasts and closed the tiny, nipple-filled slits. After they wore this evil binding all day, neither girl was ready for the next enhancement when it came that night. One of the warriors added his own modifications. With the two girls bound back to back and their heads pulled back from the gag harness, the Comanche pushed long cactus thorns through the trapped nipples. The girls screamed and struggled and the Comanche stopped what he was doing only long enough to tighten the head harness to the point that neither girl could do more than struggle to breathe. The thorns stayed in the nipples and the girls cried and moaned all night while other captives were treated with equal cruelty.

  The camps they made at night were at times just a stop to eat and rest. At other times, when they found shelter, the Comanche took their time, playing with their prisoners and enjoying them for hours. Sara found herself staked out on the rough ground, her arms and legs spread wide apart. One of the Indians, the same one who put the thorns in her nipples and who initially captured her, seemed to claim her as his slave. He came to her once the meal was over, knelt between her aching legs and, pushing aside his loin cloth, inserted his stiff cock into her pussy without a word or signal. Sara screamed. The Indian stopped his assault, took a thin leather thong from his pouch and reached into her mouth, seizing her tongue between his dirty fingers. He pulled her tongue out and tied the thong around it tightly, then tied the long ends of the thong to each thorn-pierced nipple. Sara stopped screaming. The Comanche took his now even harder cock and jammed it into her. Dust and dirt already in her crotch added to the abrasion of his thrusts and Sara again cried and moaned loudly as he held her hips off the ground and took her twice before withdrawing, wiping his cock on her thigh and walking away. Her tongue remained tied to her nipples.

  Similar incidents took place in other parts of the camp. Sara cried and struggled against the leather th
ongs holding her down. Her hips rubbed a small depression in the dirt. She did not sleep that night and was attacked again before dawn. This time, he untied her ankles, pulled them up over her head and tied them to the same stakes as her wrists. This allowed him to align his dick with her ass and plunge into that tight and resisting opening with the same detached enthusiasm as he showed her cunt the evening before.

  Each day brought more long marches - each night, additional torment and violation. Sara knew she should not be enjoying any part of this horror, but with each passing day, she became more and more stimulated by the bondage and the sex. By the fifth night, she was wet with anticipation before her Comanche burrowed into her and she responded to his thrusts with thrusts of her own. If she had been asked if she wanted him to stop, her answers, she knew, would be confused and uncertain. Walking along side his pony during the day, she would try to turn her bound face towards him, only to receive a quick swat from the double leather flail he carried and used on her whenever he wanted.

  The objections and resistance from Sara and the other similarly bound captives withered away quickly, but the tit bondage, the whippings and the nighttime sex remained as a reminder to the others of what would happen to them if they resisted. They continued their journey in pain.

  ***

  Until Sandy mentioned that she was enjoying the bondage and punishment at Jim's hands, it had not occurred to Jim that this was why he often found Sandy asleep or red-faced and sweating, or shivering and shaking seemingly without control in bed or in the tub when he returned to the bathroom.

  “My God,” he thought. “She's been dreaming and having orgasms in the tub!”

  Since he already knew about Sandy's personal sex history and since Jim too indulged in self-bondage, he was highly sympathetic towards the complex psychological aspects of what Sandy was now experiencing. On one hand, she trusted Jim and enjoyed their erotic games. On the other hand, sharing the totality, the mixed erotic feelings that went with those events, still had its limits. What happened in her dreams was very personal for her. Sharing these episodes, or expecting the dream to become reality, was a long mental journey for them both. Therefore, in some ways, this complex relationship was at an impasse. Sandy had her dreams and then she had her real time experiences with Jim. Bringing the two together seemed like a distant possibility. It confused her and represented a break in her deeply personal entanglement with her own psyche. How could she reveal the details of her dreams and retain the bond she had with Jim? It seemed simple enough, but in reality, it was not something they could sit down and honestly discuss…or so it seemed.

  Jim, as caring as he wanted to be, had similar difficulty dealing with what he felt Sandy was holding away from him, enjoying her private sexual pleasures while in extreme bondage and while she slept. These facts hit him sometime during their frantic and awkward fucking while she hung, strung up in the rack and he was desperately trying to keep up with her mad gyrations. Sandy had the advantage in this case, Jim decided, because she was suspended upright while he had to hang onto her and keep up with her actions. What troubled Jim most was the subliminal, if not the actual, indication that he was so totally in control that he was losing out on parts of the experience while Sandy, who was hooked on the relationship, was getting all of the kicks. This, he eventually understood, was one of the paradoxes of many S&M relationships. If the top got too far down the dominant road, he or she might eventually lose the very essence of dominance, realizing that the bottom was getting more benefits than he was. The contradiction was illustrated by an old joke in which the top asks the bottom if she wants to be whipped. The bottom says, “Yes, of course, please.” The top then walks away. Had the top agreed to the whipping, who would have been in charge, ultimately?

  The rack session was exemplary. It gave both Sandy and Jim reason to contemplate their past as well as future sexual activity. Sandy screaming through the gag, swinging in the limited suspension of the rack and her slowly coming down from the incredible high afterwards were all pretty good indicators, Jim thought, that they might well continue this sort of activity for a long time to come. What he needed, having been into self-bondage for so long before they met, was some sort of cross-over between them, perhaps one in which Sandy took over some control.

  So, the rack, the frame and the tub became the baseline devices for their private sexual activities and Jim began to implement other concepts that he had not dared to consider before. But far in the back of his mind was a nagging little voice that kept saying, “She's faking it. Sooner or later she'll get tired of being the sub and then you will really be fucked.”

  Of course, what he did not know was that Sandy's dreams, rather than going away as reality began to fill in for her fantasy, were becoming more intense, more vivid. No matter where she spent the nighttime hours; in the tub, on the rack, hung from the overhead hooks or even just tied up in bed, the little bell in her head was now ringing brightly and with louder peals than ever before.

  Chapter Twelve

  NEE - No Escape Event

  The benefit of having so many B&D toys in their own house and for their private use was, in some respects, not ideal for Jim and Sandy. For one thing, it meant that they had no need to go out unless it was for a quick shopping trip or for Jim to go to his office, which he did daily, leaving Sandy to either cope with the condition/position Jim left her in or entertain herself for eight or more hours. After she resigned her museum job, (temporarily, she told them), so that she could devote her full time to restoring the house, Jim asked her if she wanted to do her own thing in the house during the day or preferred him taking the lead as top. Sandy offered the opinion that being left by herself unbound presented her with an opportunity to set up situations where she tried to emulate, as best she could, the dreams she continued to have. Thus, she put together the necessary tools and toys to make her the Roman's slave girl, the Comanche captive and the beachcomber girl in the attic. These simulations worked well enough. She reveled in the days spent in chains or rope, at times even being able to roam around the house in her bondage, retreating to the maid's room or the upper room for more intense erotic play. Often, Jim set her up for the day, chained in the den with a book, a light lunch and perhaps even access to the TV. When she misbehaved, she was helplessly fastened with her neck closely collared to a floor ring with wrists cuffed behind and no slack in the neck chain. On occasion, if Jim's carefully planned arrangement was not stringent enough for her, she would tell him, if she wasn't yet gagged, or signal that she wanted more. Those were the times she most enjoyed…tightly hog-tied in a cage or swinging in the body cage from an overhead chain, unable to do anything or move except perhaps blink if he left her without a blindfold.

  “Have you tried anything new this week?” Jim asked one evening over a take-out meal that he brought home from a Korean restaurant that was on the way from the office.

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” Sandy said, grinning from ear to ear and allowing a tiny morsel of Bul-go-gee Fire Beef to slip out of the corner of her mouth. “It's a lot of fun, but, geez, it takes so much planning!”

  “How about that,” Jim said, a bit sarcastically, thinking of the months of planning he had already put in on the house's many modifications. “Give me an example of what you have worked out.”

  “Well, a few days ago, Wednesday, when you went off unannounced to the dental conference in Dallas, I was my usual horny self by about nine in the morning, so I gathered up as many toys as I could find and decided that I would like to try the “Girl in the Dungeon” routine.”

  “Hummm, that's an old score, but not one we've tried yet. Good for you.”

  “Yeh. Well, it was a great idea, but I kept realizing that I had forgotten something and, as I went along, had to get out of the stuff and go back upstairs to get the required items. This became really annoying and I now understand why you sometimes get pissed when you forget a key ingredient in your Tease and Torment Sandy routines.”

  “Right.”
>
  “So I put on one of the rubber outfits to warm up. You know the rubber bikini panties with their dual, interchangeable intruders nestled in the crotch and the rubber bra with the open end cups.”

  “Oh, right. Nice choice. Wish I had been there.”

  “Yes, you might have been useful. But anyway, I got down in the basement and realized that I didn't have the rubber stockings and that the panties of course, don't have garters, so I had to go back up to the closet and dig that stuff out, polish it up and put it on. I did this up there because I got to check myself out in the mirror and that, as you can well imagine, was another mistake.”

  “Why?” asked Jim, now fully interested. Sitting back in his chair and sipping his beer.

  “Well, I got one look at myself and just sort of, well, creamed in my rubber panties. I swear, it was instant orgasm, if you know what a mean.”

  “I do. Been there, seen that.”

  “Okay, Mister Smart Guy. I know. I can't help it. I get too hot too fast and now days with us having zero secrets between us; I come off at the drop of a handcuff key. It's weird, but the shrink says it's just healthy sex drive. By the way, he also thinks I should go back to work or find another job and that hanging, literally, around the house is not so good for me.”