(Feb 11: ending updated.)
She wished she could stretch.
She wished she could roll.
She wished she could move.
But she couldn’t. The cage was too little, and she was too restrained.
She was lying on her side, in a “half fold” position. Her wrists were tied in front of her and linked to a bar of the cage. Her collar was linked to the bars behind her. Her knees were tied together and linked to the bars in front while her ankles were linked to the bars behind her.
All she could do was wait in total darkness.
She tried to move, quickly reaching the limit of her restraints. Even her breathing was restrained, forced to breathe through tubes going into her nose then through the filter of her gasmask, her mouth being totally blocked by a large foam-inflated gag. And that was not taking into consideration the long corset crushing her waist.
She felt a soft hum in her crotch. The large toys forced in place were gently vibrating, meaning that her Master was coming. She would get free.
She felt a little tug on her collar as it was unlinked from the cage. Her neck was stiff and heavy. First, a leather posture collar was keeping her head straight, then a steel collar was locked over it. Steel cuffs were lining her arms and legs, which then got released. She knew that it would be short-lived.
Her body had only been unlinked from the cage. Her legs, her wrists were still very well linked together. Struggling, she rolled on her stomach and took the kneeling, or rather the “on-all-four” position. Her Master didn’t have to tell her. And he better not have to tell her, otherwise…
It wasn’t easy to take the position. The only sound that could be heard was the hard shuffling of the air through her breathing holes and the squeaking of her tight latex second skin.
Finally, she was in position. She felt a tug on her collar as it was linked to the top of the steel cage. Followed her wrists being freed.
Yeah, right. Freed…
They were linked to the sides of the cage, spreading her arms. Then it was her knees, freed to be re-linked to the sides of the cage, and finally her ankles to the far corners, putting her into a doggy position.
She felt the metallic quick-link plugs being worked on the underside of her chastity belt, opening the way for her cleaning. She could release her bladder and she would receive an enema.
While this happened, Master plugged another hose at the front of her gasmask-like helmet, into another steel quick-link, and she felt the warm nourishing broth being poured into her stomach.
That’s how she was fed, that’s how she was cleaned. She tasted nothing.
She was nothing. And she only had to thank herself for it. After all, it was ‘her fault’.
The feeding had stopped and the hose removed, but the enema was not done, so she was kept there for a longer time. How long? She couldn’t say. She had no sense of time because when she wasn’t blindfolded, her vision was purposely blurred. And she was half-deaf, thanks to the plugs blocking her hearing.
After some time, she was disconnected from the enema tubes, her legs tied together with a short chain, ankles and knees, and her wrists tied together in front of her. The cage was opened and her collar was freed from it.
She had to crawl out, blindfolded, wrists tied together. She was hopping with her arms in front then crawling to the limits of the short chain with her legs. Arms forward, crawling the legs forward until she was out of the cage.
Once out, still blindfolded, she slowly turned around to use the cage as a stand to get up on her leg.
She did it quite expertly. Well, she’s had time. Six months already of the same routine. Once up, she struggled a little bit to find her balance on her ballet-booted feet, impaired by the hobble chain, and waited.
There was a tug at the back of her neck and she made a few steps backward until she was against a wall. Her collar was linked to a ring with the back of her head touching the wall, and her feet were linked to another ring on the floor. That was all the playroom she would have for the time being.
The flaps covering the lenses of her gasmask were removed and she saw light. That was pretty much all she saw. The lenses were not clear but a foggy green. She could tell if there was light or not, but that was it. She saw a shadow pass in front of her. Master was leaving her to her predicament.
But being tied to the wall was not her punishment.
Nor the constant bondage.
Nor the crushing corset.
Nor the extreme footwear.
Nor her latex skin.
And not her blurred vision either, or the earplugs, or her intubation.
She was not a rubber slave. Not a bondage slave. She wasn’t a slave, period.
She wasn’t even an object.
She had no task.
She had no goal.
She had no purpose.
She was nothing. That was her punishment.
She would spend her day motionless, tied to something, or tied to herself. She would get fed tasteless food, thanks to the intubation. She wouldn’t smell, thanks again to the tubes and the filters of her gasmask.
She couldn’t appreciate the colors of things, as her vision was only a greenish blur.
Then, at the end of the day, she would go back into her cage, to sleep, or simply wait for another day.
Why? Because her boyfriend caught her conspiring with his sister, to ruin him and get away with his money. He was rich, he was successful, and they wanted it all.
Oh, his sister was there too, although less restrained, or rather restrained in a different way. Karen knew about it because she had been made to watch Lynda’s preparations and the different accessories, some she would wear herself, but mainly to show her what it would be like before her clear vision would be taken away from her.
She was sealed into a bright orange latex catsuit, giving her the look of a prisoner’s suit, a color he knew she hated. He had added a contrasting black heavy corset, and hot pink thigh-high, high-heeled boots, which she despised, both the style, the color and the heel. She was a flat shoe / barefoot lover. She was a fashionista. She was, before the ordeal, wearing Gucci, St-Laurant, Gaultier. And she hated high heels. She hated hot pink. She hated the hooker-styled boots and the trashy look. And there she was.
She was also kept in bondage most of the time, but she also had to perform. Her head could be freed from the hood and the gag.
When needed, that is.
Her head was shaved, her, who usually spent $500 a month on her hair. Gone. And she was, most of the time, wearing a tight latex hood. But sometimes, she had to appear in front of the Board of Directors, mainly through virtual meetings, and her face had to show up. On those times, she would put on a wig.
But as soon as the meeting was over, she was back under the latex hood, gagged, and tied up to her working chair.
Sometimes, Karen would be brought into her office, and that’s what happened a few hours later.
Her boyfriend, now Master, unlinked her from the wall and brought her to Lynda’s office.
There she was put into a bondage rack. That was uncomfortable. She would squirm, trying to find the most comfortable position, but never finding it.
Lynda would have to watch, even if only from the corner of her eye. She would know that Karen’s ordeal was her fault. After all, SHE was the one who came up with the idea of ripping off her own brother.
Karen lay there for most of the day, moving slightly one way to ease the pain from one position, then moving the other way, every time, making the latex creak, breathing loudly through the small nose breathing holes. Lynda couldn’t ignore her. And she knew that Karen’s predicament would end when SHE would have fixed things up.
Oh, Lynda had her own struggles to keep her occupied. Her latex catsuit was very tight and thick. She was tied with cuffs at her ankles and knees. She had a chastity belt, and more cuffs at her wrists and elbows, as well as a posture collar.
She was tied up to her office chair, with just enough play of her wrists to reach the keyboard and the mouse.
She would spend time on the stock market, trying to win back her brother’s money, or find the right investments, and making sure the investors were happy.
When she did good, she would receive a reward: she would be tied up in some manner and her toys would come alive, and she would orgasm.
It happened twice in the last month! Karen was so happy for her. The last time she had an orgasm was… some time ago. Too long ago.
She had been in Lynda’s office for quite a while. From her blurred vision, she could tell that the day was coming to an end, that the sun was low over the horizon. Lynda’s work would come to an end, as well as her discomfort.
But she was in for a surprise.
Instead of returning to her “room” to be tied up while waiting for her bedtime, she was brought to the living room. She knew it from the light and shadow pattern. Something was going on.
And she had the confirmation when she felt her feet leaving the hardwood of the floor to step on a steel plate.
Oh damn. That wasn’t really something she liked. She knew what was coming.
Her ankles were released but it was short-lived. They were tied to a short spreader bar, with absolutely no play. There was a vertical bar running up from the steel plate, between her legs, up to her crotch, where he screwed it to her chastity belt, before linking her knee cuffs to that same bar.
Yes. A one-bar prison. A steel rod going from the floor plate up to her crotch, usually ending with a large dildo. Once on it and set up properly, meaning the user wearing the highest heels available, she couldn’t get out of it, even if she wasn’t restrained at all. There was no way anyone could lift oneself up to free the long dildo.
But Master went the extra mile, linking her ankles and knees to it, and, instead of a dildo going inside her crotch, the rod was screwed to her chastity belt, itself already locked on herself. She had absolutely no way out. No way.
And since the rod was linked to her belt, it made the whole rig very rigid. Every movement of her upper body translated to the large toys inside her, sometimes creating something interesting, but most of the time, being simply annoying.
But that wasn’t all. Her arms were elbow-tied in her back, as she soon felt the tug of the chain linking her collar to the ceiling.
She wouldn’t move.
For many hours! That was the dreadful part: standing straight on ballet heels, unable to move at all.
Again, she had no purpose other than just being displayed. She was nothing.
She squirmed, trying to adjust to the stiff position. Although she was loudly moaning, no sound, no noise came out. Peace and quiet. That’s what Master liked. She could also feel the heat of the nearby fireplace, which was making sweat under her latex second skin.
Her feet were already aching when she saw a shadow pass in front of her, then another one. Yes, the visitors were arriving. Usually, they were the shareholders, or some select customers that Karen had helped rip off, coming in for an update of how things were going.
And Karen was there, as a display, to show that they were still well punished for their deeds.
Oh, Lynda was there too. She was sure. She wouldn’t miss one of those reunions.
There were movements to her left, and soon after, she had confirmation that, indeed, Lynda was there: piano music.
Lynda was a seasoned pianist, so Master would use her to provide entertainment. She could picture her in her mind.
Tied up to the bench with chains from her chastity belt. Wrists linked with a longer chain. Ankles chained together and linked to the floor. She couldn’t get up from that bench.
And her collar. She would made to wear a very severe corset collar, locking her neck high, making it difficult to see her hands, her fingers, to figure out what she was playing. Also, playing with her fingers coated with thick rubber removed most of the tactile sensation, not counting the heavy chain linking her wrist cuffs, sometimes playing notes themselves.
False notes were noticed and recorded. Punishment would ensue if there was too many.
Many shadows passed in front of Karen, some spending some time, admiring her predicament. Some gave her a gentle ‘good girl’ tap on the head. Others, a slight slap on the face in a ‘good for you’ gesture.
Karen had to take the ‘insults’. She deserved them.
The evening was long. Her legs were shaking, which made some guests giggle. But she kept strong. She held back her desire to struggle, to attract attention, to make them believe she was in distress. Any attempt to attract attention, to make them have pity on her would lead to a harder predicament.
She tried it the previous time. She was hoping to be freed, allowed to relax, hell, allowed to take it all off.
Oh, she was freed, alright. From that position, that is.
Her next predicament had proved much harsher and longer, being tied to the exterior of a revolving wheel, on her back, arcing it painfully, and the wheel turning, head first, plunging in a vat of cold water.
For three days.
Nope. She would not repeat the experience.
More pats on the head. More slaps on her face. Some pats on her shoulder, and even some poking on her chest while people told her insults, then it was calm again. The guests were gone. She would be freed from the one-bar prison. She hoped.
And since she behaved well, she would be rewarded. She hoped.
Master unlinked her from the bar, and she collapsed on the ground, her legs totally unable to carry her weight.
Master linked her ankles with a hobble chain and attached a leash to her collar and pulled. If she wasn’t coming by herself, she would come by being dragged on the floor, by her neck.
She had to get up or at least, get on her knees. With her arms still in an elbow-tie.
She managed to kneel and with the short hobble chain, crawled on her knees to follow the harsh tugs from Master.
He helped her get up and sit on something hard before he unlinked her arms and legs.
All of her limbs were totally lifeless. He had her lie on her back on the small board, then spread her arms and legs. Yes. That was what she was hoping: the X frame.
She would comfortably, relatively speaking, be laying on her back, stretched until she felt her limbs were about to be ripped off.
And then Master put the black flaps over her lenses, linked a mechanical device to her crotch and left.
Karen waited. And waited. Exhaustion had the best of her and she fell asleep, only to be awakened shortly after by a faint vibration at her crotch: the fucking machine had started to play its tunes, vibrating her chastity belt.
The fucking machine wasn’t exactly tied to her chastity belt, like the one-bar prison. No, she was directly linked to her dildo and butt plug. Sometimes she was vibrating them, sometimes pushing them, sometimes pulling on them, and sometimes twisting them. Together, in sequence or controlling only one. She had no control.
And she couldn’t even control the outcome: a powerful orgasm. Or I should say orgasmS.
However, the machine was devilish. It seemed to sense Karen’s feelings and would stop just before she orgasmed, frustrating her and making her hotter and hotter. Finally, the machine would allow the orgasm. The first. The one she really wanted. The one she needed.
But that was not all. The machine would start again, this time, forcing the orgasm. A second time, a third time, a fourth time… a… many times, usually until she passed out.
And that evening proved no exception.
The machine teased her, frustrated her to the highest degree, before it allowed her to orgasm. It was weird.
Yes, Karen, from the start, loved tight clothes and high heels. She also had a thing for shiny clothes, leather, vinyl, and PVC. She even had a latex skirt.
But being tied up was another experience and she liked it. She hated not tasting the food but being totally sealed, being intubated, but where everything about her being controlled by someone else was arousing.
From her point of view, her brain was on vacation.
She liked feeling the tight latex every time she moved. She loved the struggle to breathe through her tubes, her lungs crushed by the corset. She loved the restriction. She loved being tied up, and at that very moment, she loved being tied up, stretched until it almost hurt, being forced to orgasm while her breathing was also controlled by the machine.
And she exploded. Her mind filled with fireworks as her body was engulfed into a burning hot fire of pleasure. The more she pulled on her bounds, the more powerful was the orgasm. She was no longer restrained on the X frame. She was floating in space, or in the water or … wherever that was. She liked it.
She was in a fantasy world of pleasure, swimming in it, drowning in it while her breathing was cut off momentarily, sending off another wave of pleasure hormones throughout her body.
As the orgasm subsided, the “sensors” of the plugs detected it and the whole machine was shut down.
She was left devoid of any orgasmic pleasure or stimulation, still very well stretched to her limit on the X frame. Waiting.
And for a moment, she had a thought for Lynda. After all, she hit, as far as she could hear, quite a few wrong notes during her recital. She was hearing the faint hum of an electric motor near her. She wondered if she was getting rewarded or punished.
It all depends on the point of view. Being encased in a steel frame, fixed to a rotating machine, doing one full revolution head over heel once every two minutes, might be fun for one and torture for the other.
Her thoughts were quickly brought back to her own predicament as it started again. Teasing her at first, then going full blast, forcing a second orgasm before stopping.
And a third time. And a fourth time, until she passed out.
‘Too much of anything is bad’
She was “half-there” when she was untied, re-tied up and literally dragged back to her cage, put inside and restrained, this time with steel bars going across the cage from side to side, putting her into a doggy position, but with her arms in her back, her body held by the steel bars, her legs firmly held in place.
Not a word was said.
The door was closed and she was locked in.
That was her life. And she didn’t know for how long.
Nothing to see.
Nothing to hear.
Nothing to smell.
Nothing to taste.
Nothing to touch.
She was Nothing.
But that made her think, made her wonder. Would she wish to get out when all of this is over? After all, she had…
No workload stress.
No anxiety to perform.
No deadline to meet.
No social life to keep active.
No critical decision to make.
She didn’t even have to decide what to cook.
She had Nothing.
(c) January 10, 2024
Feb 11 update: Following a comment, I updated the ending to make it more “Karen-Like”.
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