Retaliation

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “I know it’s a bit of a shock,” Melinda crooned as she watched the figure stagger around in the steeply heeled boots. The leash attached to her collar prevented her from moving outside the range of the three full length mirrors and the mask’s eye pieces somewhat distorted the image, but Courtney/Curt got the picture. Although his hands were now free, the slippery, incredibly tight rubber gloves severely restricted most manual activity, except for holding onto the remote control which regulated the air in her mask.

  “Keep your little rubberized hands on that control, Courtney,” Melinda warned. “If you drop it you will not be able to bend and pick it up because of the steel stiffeners in your corset. Without the remote, your air supply will be restricted and eventually shut off. So pay attention to the leash and remote controller and you will not get any unpleasant surprises, like this... “

  As Melinda spoke, she moved a small switch on a control box of her own and Courtney shuddered and then staggered from the strong electric shocks and vibration that nearly paralyzed her. Inside the rubber suit, the attached electrodes on her nipples, the exterior and inside of her new vagina and the long, flexible shaft well up her ass simultaneously sent waves voltage through her body.

  “Even though I do enjoy seeing you chained and immobilized in your cage, Courtney,” Melinda said. “I find the more subtle retraining aspect of this suit and a bit of electricity to be more, shall I say, impressive. For now. To anyone watching you, they simply see a luscious female figure confined inside tight, shiny latex. There is no apparent restraint; no bondage. But you and I know differently. One unprogrammed move and you will get a multi-second charge of power that will slowly increase with each application and you will be terribly aware of the potential. The first time you step out of line, the shocks will be, as you have just witnessed, minor in duration and impact. But, and it’s a big but... as you continue to act poorly, the shocks will increase in strength and length. Over time, a bad little girl like you will find herself on the floor, unable to get up because of the strict steel inhibitors in your corset, nearly paralyzed from the disciplinary shocks. Life in that condition can be short and uncomfortable. So learn quickly and well. Experiment with your invisible tethers if you wish, but the quantity and quality of your punishment will not regress. It will only increase with each mistake. Enjoy your confinement in rubber, Courtney…or should I call you Curt?”

  Hearing the unexpected use of her previous name, nearly forgotten after so much time in transition, caused the rubber girl to freeze, turning her sealed in head slowly from side to side, as if seeking the source of the strange, but somehow familiar name. The movement of her collared neck and head triggered a short, but potent burst of electricity to all parts of her rubberized body, the shocks from the internal probes in ass and cunt being most painful. Courtney froze in place, her now blind eyes rolling up in her head; her hands, still griping the remote control, dropping to her sides.

  Courtney was learning. It would be a long and unpleasant curve of training. Along the way, she’d discover pain and embarrassment of the terrible experiences that Curt had inflicted on so many helpless women. Courtney would be raped, sodomized, flogged, and kept worse than an animal. She would discover, somewhat to her surprise, that she could be hung by her breasts for extended periods, especially when impaled of singular or double dildo/dicks. She would find that the most astonishingly well hung males could and did shove their cocks into each of her bodily openings with amazing vigor and endurance, despite her whimpering and crying objections which were silenced either by clever gags or another dick on her mouth. These daily events were to evolve into other equally terrible experiences, but she would always be kept alive and alert to what was being done to her, always reminded of the things she had done to women in her foggy past. She had been converted from a large, husky, athletic male to a tormented, plugged and corseted, statuesque, rubberized female. Curt was gone. Forever. But if he had known what was going on with other former males under Melinda’s control, he might not have felt quite so alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Hankie

  “For openers, we are going to make sure that you fully understand your present and future situation,” Dickhead,” Melinda crooned, giving a short, but painful jerk on the leash chain. Hank gasped as the shock of the quick pull on the chain sent another wave of pain through his abdomen and groin. His cock and balls were tightly locked in a handcuff-like band of steel and the leash was attached to a small D ring on the cuff.

  “You find this painful, Dickhead?” She asked, tugging again, this time with a much harder pull and Hank thought he was going to vomit, but realized that if he did, he'd choke on it because his mouth was plugged with... a shoe. The toe of a shiny, black, patent leather, high heel shoe was deep inside his open mouth, held by a strap and harness that went around his head. He was, he thought, still in the cellar where he had been, but now he was chained and wearing the CBT device as well. Melinda sat with her always stunning legs crossed, in a large, well upholstered chair that he’d never seen before. On a small table next to her was a tall, lit candle and a glass of what appeared to be red wine. In Melinda’s hand was a bottle of his cherished Lafite.

  “What the fuck?” Hank thought. “Why is she drinking my priceless wine and why is there a shoe in my mouth? What is She trying to do to me?”

  As if She read his thoughts, Melinda offered him a bit of information. “Congratulations, Hankie. I know how you hate that nickname, but right now it suits you fine. Maybe later on I’ll change it over to something better suited to your physical state. But you are starting a new life, Hank. A new period of time, endless perhaps, but measurable mostly by how you learn and how you perform. The shoe in your mouth is there to remind you that when there is nothing else in there, you will use your oral orifice and all that is inside it to please me. Me. You are going to learn to lick my shoes, my boots, my feet, my pussy and my ass. You may recall that more than once I have suggested that you owe me big time and that in thanks, you could lick my riding boots. As I recall, you always found some lame excuse to decline my invitation. So, as part of your training, you need to perfect your boot and shoe-licking routine. The goal is for you to get your lips and tongue into action when I tell you to lick. That's your cue: ‘lick.’ In time, you will respond instantly and by then, you will even do it when I make an inaudible move, such as smacking you on the ear, like that.” She put down the wine glass and whacked Hank a strong, open-handed blow on his right ear. Hank flinched, but the shoe stayed where it was.

  “Shoe and ass-licking will be a tiny part of your future, Hank,” She continued. “You will learn how to excite and satisfy me and anyone else, male or female, that you are assigned to. In doing so, you will also learn that your filthy mouth, which has been used for similar acts, I'm sure, on other women, will never touch me above my neck. If you do, you will find pain and discomfort unlike the brief little shocks you are now getting when I pull you chain…like this...” Again, She tugged again on the cock/ball leash and Hank screamed into the shoe, his saliva splattering around the polished toe and decorating the rest of the shoe.

  She allowed him to recover briefly from the tug and then pressed a button on a small remote on the table next to the wine bottle. Hank, if he could have, would have doubled over with pain from the electric shock that seemed to come from deep inside his gut.

  “Wha... wha izz attt?” he mumbled behind the shoe gag, wondering what She had done to him that could bring about such pain so deep inside. He could only compare this pan to that he experienced while in Mexico after drinking some strange “special” cocktail in the Las Hadas hotel and staying up the entire night with terrible cramps and diarrhea that left him certain that he had expelled his entire lower intestine.

  “What was that, Dickhead?” Melinda mimicked. “That, dear little illicit fucker, is an electrical pod on the end of a plug that is dwelling deep inside your ass, put there by yours truly and responsive to this tiny little remote in my hand.
” She held up the black plastic thing with a group of buttons on it. “When you fail, (as you always do), to properly respond to me or my commands, you will get a kick in the ass from that electrode. There are various levels and I control them, so use that first taste as a basis for what will inevitably follow when you don't respond as you should.” Melinda eased back into the depths of the chair and sipped a bit more of the dark red wine, smacking her lips as she swallowed.

  “Nha, nha ooooo…” Hank cried, still trying to dislodge the solid shoe toe from his mouth. Now, suddenly, he was aware of the tight chain around his waist and the additional chain that passed through his butt crack and held something large and solid up his ass. The crotch chain, as much of it as he could feel, went to the cuff around his package and then ended fastened to the waist chain, just below his navel.

  Hank was standing in a part of the cellar that he didn't recognize. The ceiling was cement and the walls were paneled with white ceramic tile. As he looked past the shoe imbedded in his mouth, he could see a solid-looking metal door in the wall ahead, very much like the fireproof security door he installed years ago between the garage and the house entry. One difference, he noted immediately, was that this door had no handles; only a single key hole for a deadbolt. The room was about the size of one of their small bathrooms on the first floor. It was well lit with lighting panels set into the ceiling. Hank now realized that he had not fallen over from the electric shock because he was suspended in a sort of harness that supported him upright. Straps in a pattern like those on a parachute harness were attached to chains from the ceiling. His hands were behind him with forearms parallel and strapped together and leather cuffs mated his wrists with his elbows. More straps went around his upper arms and were fastened to the body harness. His legs were also strapped together above and below his knees and his ankles similarly bound. Although he could not see his feet, Hank was now very aware that he wore some kind of high-heeled shoes, not unlike the one in his mouth. As he continued to recover from the pain of the leash pulls and the electric shocks, he was more and more aware of his situation. His hair was gone. He could feel the baldness of his head and sensed that his other hair under his bound arms and in his crotch was also gone. As he contemplated these changes, he watched Melinda as She rose and busied herself at a stainless steel cart off to one side. She had Her back to him, but Hank heard the sounds of metal clattering on the cart’s stainless steel tray, the whine of a small, high-speed motor like a dentist’s drill and other tools being moved and operated. He dreaded whatever was coming next.

  Even on Her best days, his wife was always sneaky and conniving, he knew. Not one to share anything She didn't have to share, Melinda took full advantage of the mystery and puzzling elements of Her life and actions. At the hospital where She supposedly went to work, She was known well for being a bit of a loner and also for being an inventive and highly competent surgeon. Her extensive wealth, some of which She shared with the hospital in charitable fashion, allowed Her to do pretty much whatever She wanted. A single procedure, carried out by Her hands or with Her supervision, easily could net Her a quarter million dollars, so Her various contributions to the institution, plus being a member of the board, set Melinda well apart from even the most successful of Her peers. That combination of traits had gotten Her where She was now. Hank was certain that, given his present situation, Melinda was going to make the rest of his life a living hell.

  Melinda turned from the cart, put the remote down on the surface and attached the end of the chain leash to the cart's metal bar handle. Hank unconsciously sucked in a deep breath.

  “Oh Hankie, you dumb little fucker,” She breathed sweetly as She stepped up in front of Hank, placed a rubber-gloved hand on his cock and gently messaged the foreskin. “I'm not going to kill you…yet. You have a lot of service left in you. I call you that, Hankie, because you are about as useless as a cotton hankie, good for wiping my ass and not much else. Even this pathetic thing... “ She squeezed his dick a bit harder, but continued to rub it lightly... “has some use left in it. I have a new, experimental procedure that, if successful, will double the size of your dick. You will be the Beta test, but if it works, I have a list of about thirty male patients who are ready to undergo the same simple surgery, just so they can have a larger sausage between their legs. Of course, if the procedure doesn’t work, there is another much simpler one that will leave you with a dick about the size of a toothpick. Either option is fine with me as I have no intention of ever, ever using your dick for anything but maybe a doorstop.

  “For now, you have just got to learn the proper behavior and decorum. This little room is yours alone... at least until I find that skag you were banging…and then maybe she'll come and join you here. I look forward to having a pair of sex slaves at my disposal and there are other friends of ours who also will enjoy that kind of scene.” Melinda chuckled and reached for another sip of the wine. She took a big swallow and belched. “This stuff is pretty good, Melinda said with a twisted smile. About five hundred dollars a glass, I expect. I’ll drink a bottle now and then when you’re around, just to remind you that you, the wine and your skinny ass are mine.

  Hank choked, trying to swallow with the shoe in his mouth. He sputtered and Melinda noted his discomfort, looking straight into his fearful eyes and winking at him as Her busy hand stopped its stroking and suddenly gripped his swollen balls and squeezed.

  “Arrrghh... eeeezzz, nhhoooooo…” Hank screamed as Melinda applied more pressure on the captive organs.

  “Oh, alright. I supposed that's enough for now. You need your rest and I've got a lot on my plate right now. See you later, Honey.” Melinda poured the rest of the bottle’s contents into Her glass, turned the bottle towards Hank so that he could see the famous label and headed towards the steel door. She took a key from Her pocket, used it to open the steel door and left the cell. Despite the hard-on he now had, Hank was crying. He knew his wife all too well. He could only begin to imagine what was coming, but his experience told him that somehow his fate was tied to that of the wine and when Melinda finished with the Lafite she would probably finish Hank as well.

  Chapter Eight

  Sheila

  “Good afternoon, Doctor Rostrom's office.” Sheila, the back-up reception secretary in Melinda's plush, center city office said into the phone.

  “No, I'm sorry, the doctor is on bereavement leave due to her husband's recent death and I cannot make any appointments at this time.”

  She paused while the caller made the usual complaints and pleas for her special case. Then Sheila said: “I can refer you to another surgeon if you wish. Doctor Herman Stein is handling Doctor Rostrom's current patients. I can give you his number if you wish.”

  Sheila thought about the rather timely demise of Hank and how it had, in many respects, solved her problems in a way that she had not anticipated. It certainly settled the issue of the brief but torrid affair she and Hank had shared. She knew that he was a prick and many times during their secret liaison Sheila wondered what Melinda might do if she ever found out that they were carrying on. The possibility that Hank's death might not have been quite so accidental also occurred to Sheila, but, given the details of the accident, it seemed likely that it was just Hank's bad fortune that he took a nosedive off a handy cliff. Sheila was still not sure that Melinda suspected anything, but she hoped that the entire matter of the affair was forgotten. All of this flashed through her mind while the caller yelled and screamed on the phone, reminding Sheila of how angry and unpredictable Melinda would have been if she found out that Hank and she were doing the deed behind Melinda's back.

  The receptionist listened to the additional pleas and complaints on the other end of the line. She had heard them all before. Yes, of course she knew that Dr. Melinda Rostrom was one of the top reconstructive surgeons in the country and yes, she knew how terribly inconvenient it was for the caller that Melinda's husband would pick such an inopportune time to die in a tragic auto accident. Sh
e listened and wondered how people could be so callous as to not realize that physicians, even the best ones, had a personal life too and should be able to grieve in peace.

  Sheila was close enough to her boss to know that the sudden death of Hank Rostrom had brought terrible grief to the doctor and she was now more worried about Melinda's handling of that grief than she was about some Hollywood celeb's need for yet another facelift or boob job. The caller finally stopped yelling and hung up. Sheila noted the call in the log Melinda asked her to keep while she was away. As she closed the logbook once again she thought about Hank, wondering if he actually rested in peace.

  Chapter Nine

  R.I.P. Hank

  At that particular moment, Hank was at home, learning to crawl around a stone-floor without use of his hands. It was a simple task, but was complicated by the arm binder that held his arms close together behind him, palms pressed together and attached by a short chain to his shackled ankles. A short metal spreader bar locked just above his kneels held his legs apart and further inhibited any rapid movement across the rough stone floor. The inflatable penis gag in his mouth kept his complaints mostly quiet and the stainless steel-handled leather crop being liberally applied to his thighs and ass encouraged him to move as quickly as he could while the short brown horse tail plugged into his ass waved in the breeze caused by the flail. Hank was very much alive, but in his head, he might just as well be dead, for he knew what this short session in chains and with the crop previewed.