Having It All (28 page)

“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 there 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.

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.