by Jennifer Harrison
Author’s comment: this is result of a collaborative effort between me and mrhungry.
Amanda was awoken by the sound of a vacuum cleaner in the lounge of the suite. Her mind went back to her first bondage experience, with the ‘maid’ Carla, but somehow she knew this wasn’t a porn star sent by Janes to turn her on, this was a real maid and, as the door handle turned, Amanda realised she was coming into the bedroom next. Still naked, in handcuffs and wearing the mask, she certainly didn’t want to be seen, and she tried to hide under the duvet as best she could.
“Entschuldigen Sie, Madame,” she heard, then the door closed and she was alone again. The clock said 10am, but she still felt tired and she started to drift back into sleep. Suddenly the door opened again and Janes strode into the room, pulling the duvet off the bed and exposing her nakedness.
“Come on, sleepy head!” he said jovially, “time to get you ready for your entrance!”
He led her back to the bathroom and, much to her relief, removed the handcuffs. As she tried to ease the ache from her shoulders, he told her to take a shower, then come back through to the lounge to get dressed. The warm water and shower gel felt like a real luxury on her body after the trials of the night before, and by the time she had dried her hair and applied a little make-up, she was feeling more normal and less like a perverted, cum-slut whore. Although, just thinking that thought made her heart beat a little faster.
Back in the lounge, Janes had laid out her clothes, which seemed to consist of a pair of shiny black shoes, with six inch heels and two inch platforms. Amanda put them on and allowed herself to be led to a steel frame which had been set up in the middle of the room – it was basically a set of sturdy metal piping which formed a square. Janes made her stand in the middle of it, while he took her arm and held it out towards the frame parallel to her shoulder. She was not surprised when he placed a metal cuff around her wrist, holding her arm out to the side and against the frame, nor when the same thing was done to her other arm. He then bent down and moved her feet to the side, spreading her legs, before locking her ankles in place. Her new bondage was neither painful nor tight, but it was secure, and she wondered what he had planned for her – she had thought she was about to be taken out into the ‘real world’ again, rather than subjected to some fresh assault, but maybe she was wrong.
She watched in some confusion as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped it, watching her, seemingly waiting for something. As usual, Amanda was uncomfortably off-balance with this man, she couldn’t work him out, or even understand her feelings for him. Once again, he was suited and booted, while she was naked and chained – she started thinking about what it would be like to be out on a date with him, but immediately dismissed the idea as so far from this bizarre reality, it was pure fantasy.
She was brought out of her daydreams by a knock on the door. Janes put down his cup and went to open it, allowing a tall, thin, attractive young woman to enter. She was dressed in jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt and heels, but Amanda’s attention was drawn to the nose ring, stud through her bottom lip, and tattoo which covered her left upper arm and shoulder. Janes and the woman engaged in a conversation conducted in fluent German, none of which Amanda understood, before the woman walked over to Amanda, smiling at her and looking over her naked body. She had a small case in her hand, which she put on the floor and opened.
Amanda couldn’t see what was in the case, and assumed this woman was another of Janes’ contacts in the porn industry, who would be either pleasuring Amanda, or forcing Amanda to pleasure her. Maybe she would be whipped, Amanda thought, with some trepidation – although she liked the idea of being physically dominated, and even enjoyed looking back on it, she now knew from, literally, painful experience, just how awful it was to endure at the time. Now she knew what it was like, she feared and desired it even more – God, what a fuck-up she was, she thought bitterly.
The woman got up from the case and reached up to Amanda’s head, countering her automatic flinch by putting her hand behind the naked woman’s head. She placed a small, plastic cover over Amanda’s left eye, then repeated with her right eye, plunging Amanda into blackness. Now all she could do was feel what was happening to her, which she found unnerving. She felt her hair pulled up and held in place on top of her head with a hair band.
“You need to keep very still for this bit, Charlotte,” she heard Janes say, “don’t panic, she’s only applying make-up.”
After a short delay, Amanda heard what sounded like an aerosol spray, and felt liquid on her face, around her eyes. Initially, she was frightened at what might be happening, but when she realised she wasn’t going to be hurt, she relaxed a little, and wondered what was going on. It felt like it might be fake tan – she’d had that done a few times – but the spray was only in specific areas, not all over her face, so she was still confused.
After about ten minutes, the spray treatment seemed to be over, and Amanda felt the woman applying lipstick and gloss to her mouth, followed by a little dusting of what she assumed was foundation on her cheeks. Next, she heard an electric razor start up and felt it being used to remove any stubble under her arms, on her legs and over her pussy. She was surprised to hear the aerosol, or possibly air gun, start up again, and she felt the cool liquid hitting her again, this time on her breasts. In a flash of inspiration, she guessed she was being spray-painted, but had no idea for what purpose.
The process continued across her breasts, around her back, then to her hips and between her buttocks. She became rather nervous and even more confused as she was sprayed between her thighs, across her vagina, then up over her shaved venus mound. It felt very weird – what on earth was going on?
Amanda heard the woman packing up, she had a brief conversation with Janes, and then Amanda heard the door open and close.
“What was all that about?” she asked, not sure where Janes was now.
“You’ll see. You need to let that dry first,” he replied. I don’t have a lot of choice if you don’t free me, she thought, but said nothing. She heard the door open and close again, and realised she was alone once more. After an hour she was bored, after two, her legs and arms were aching, and she was relieved when Janes finally returned and freed her. He led her, still blind, into the bathroom and told her to remove the plastic covers from her eyes. What she saw when she did so took her completely by surprise.
She was standing in front of a full-length mirror and saw herself, apparently wearing a black, latex bikini and a black mask across her eyes. She looked entirely respectable … but she knew she was naked. She looked down at her body and could see her nipples standing erect, but they were painted black. Looking further down, she could see the lips of her vagina, also coated in glossy black paint. Her hands went to her face and could feel the smoothness of the paint, but it had no thickness, it was literally sprayed on. She looked at her image in the mirror again, fascinated by the effect. She was ‘wearing’ a thong bikini bottom, cut high at the hip, and a strapless top. Her breasts were small enough and firm enough to carry off the illusion, as long as she didn’t swing them too much. She walked up to the mirror and saw that the effect broke down close up, but from a few feet away, a casual observer would be fooled. She wondered how many observers would be casual when they saw a masked woman in high stilettos and a shiny rubber bikini walking by…
“Okay, let’s go,” Janes said as he went to the door. She noticed he had changed out of his suit, into a white shirt, riding britches and black riding boots. She also noticed the riding crop in his hand, and her heart rate leapt again.
“You want me to go out in public, like this?” Amanda knew the answer, but she just couldn’t bring herself to accept the inevitable without at least offering token resistance.
“I can put you in chains if you prefer,” Janes countered calmly. A sudden vision of herself, weighed down by a thick steel collar, wrist and ankle manacles, all joined by heavy chains, being hurried along by Janes’ crop, rather distracted her, but she followed on behind nervously as he went out into the hotel corridor and shut the door behind her.
Amanda tried to get into a rhythmic walk, swinging her hips and placing one foot carefully in front of the other, to minimise the giveaway jiggling of her top half. This swaying gait made her feel incredibly sexy, and she realised that the best way for her to avoid embarrassment was to look and feel like she absolutely loved being dressed like this, and dare anyone to disagree – it was the Emperor’s new clothes, just updated a little. She put one hand languidly on her hip and threw back her head as she strutted down the corridor and into the lift.
She heard the whispers and knew all eyes were on her as she crossed the lobby – all except Janes, who walked in front of her, not looking around, expecting her to follow, the master to her obedient … what? Wife? Girlfriend? Servant? Slave? People could make up their own minds, he didn’t care, and she was trying very hard to look like she didn’t care either.
The afternoon was bright but the air was still cool – spring in northern Europe is not the warmest place – and Amanda felt her sense of exposure rise a little more as they stepped out of the hotel into the busy street. Now people were staring openly at her, and she had to concentrate on making sure she didn’t catch anyone’s eye directly, as she was sure she’d run screaming back into the relative safety of the lobby. She tried to imagine she was a six foot supermodel strolling down the catwalk, contemptuous of the gawping masses around her, but it didn’t come easily. Despite the cold, she could feel the sweat prickling on her brow and under her arms. Her nipples were rock hard from the cool air, but the prickling sensation between her legs and the warm feeling in her loins weren’t so easily explained away. While being on display like this was terrifying for her, she was also discovering a hitherto hidden exhibitionist streak. Is there no end to my depravity, she wondered, a little bemused.
She could see the convention centre about fifty yards down the street, with pennants and flags flying, advertising the fair with pictures of male and female models in various leather and rubber outfits, wielding nasty-looking whips and floggers – no-one entering would be in any doubt as to what was likely to be on offer. Amanda was surprised, as they approached the entrance, to see a queue of people waiting to get in. These were generally in similar dress as shown on the posters – rubber, leather, PVC, in the form of tight trousers or short skirts, skimpy tops – but these weren’t models, they were ordinary people, of all shapes, sizes and ages. They were certainly interested in her, and there were a lot of smiles, and catcalls to her in German, which fortunately she didn’t understand.
Janes went to a different entrance, with no queue, flashed a badge, spoke a few words to the gatekeeper, and they were ushered inside. Amanda finally accepted that this was not a setup job, not something Janes had arranged exclusively for her entertainment, when she saw the lines of exhibition stands, small and large, and the hundreds, maybe thousands, of visitors strolling around, examining the array of merchandise on display – there were stalls with racks of fetish clothing, others with sex toys, stands specialising in restraints, some with larger items of bondage furniture. There were also models working the stands and the crowd, gorgeous young women, and men, in tight leather and rubber, talking to prospective customers about their wares, presumably giving advice on the right equipment for their needs, although, as usual, Amanda felt isolated by her lack of understanding.
As they made their way down the rows, Amanda realised that, although exhibitors and attendees alike were dressed in risqué and downright suggestive clothing, no-one else was actually naked, or even topless. Other people had started to notice too, and she was getting a lot of attention. She hurried to keep up with Janes, who was striding ahead of her, but she found her way increasingly blocked, and had to push her way through the throng. Hands brushed against her body, fingers grazing across her stomach, then her breasts, even her sex.
She was finding it more and more difficult to maintain her aloof detachment as she lost sight of her protector amidst the crush of people. She tried to deflect the increasingly bold attempts to feel her up, but there were too many of them, and soon they were squeezing her breasts and sliding their fingers between her buttocks. She could feel her face burning with embarrassment, and she started to panic as the groping began to have its inevitable effect on her. Just when she thought she was going to lose it completely, Janes appeared and took hold of her arm, leading her out of the little knot of disappointed visitors, who called after her retreating figure, raising laughter all around.
He pulled her to the relative calm of a small stand, staffed by a young man in T-shirt and jeans, who looked up and down her body, a broad smile on his face and his eyes wide.
“Charlotte, this is Dieter,” Janes said, “Dieter is a very interesting and innovative young designer, whom I have arranged we should help today.” He spoke quickly to the German, who nodded and went into the small ‘office’ at the back of the stand.
“I saw Dieter exhibit his work when he graduated,” Janes explained as they waited for him to return, “he specialises in working with transparent materials – plastics, perspex and the like. I thought he might have something different to offer the fetish market, and put up some seed money to help him start a business – and some of your money paid for this stand. He couldn’t afford a bondage model for this fair, so I volunteered your services.”
Before Amanda could respond and express her concerns, Dieter returned, carrying various items, which he placed on the small table at the back of the stand. He then picked up the largest of those items, made of some kind of thick clear plastic, and brought it to them, handing it to Janes, while keeping his eyes glued to Amanda’s body.
“Turn around,” he ordered and, feeling the fear and excitement rising in equal measure, she felt him pulling the arm binder up over her hands, to her elbows and then up to just below her shoulders. She expected it to be difficult, with the plastic sticking her skin, but it seemed to have been coated with some kind of lubricant which allowed it to slide up until her fingers touched the end. Janes crossed the straps over her chest and buckled them under her armpits, then tightened the straps along the length of the binder, forcing her arms together from wrist to elbow. Amanda gasped at the tightness and the strain on her shoulders, and she struggled to look over her shoulder at the overall effect.
“Das ist sehr, sehr gut, Dieter!” Janes enthused, and from the look on his face, Dieter agreed with the favourable assessment – Amanda’s arms could clearly be seen through the material, but held in a quite unnatural position. He turned to the table and picked up the next item, handing it eagerly to Janes, impatient to see this creation in place for the first time as well.
Amanda could see as Janes approached her that this was a form of head harness and, knowing that resistance was futile, but already aroused enough to be keen to find out if this worked as well as the arm binder, she stood still and opened her mouth to receive the gag.
It was a silicone bit, which Janes pushed back between her teeth, forcing her jaws wide apart. At either end of the soft bit were plastic rings. To which a variety of clear straps were attached. One went around her head, buckling at the back to hold the gag firmly in place, another under her chin to prevent her somehow pushing it out, and then straps across either cheek to join at a third ring pressed against her forehead, then a single strap went over her head to join at the back. It was a pretty conventional head harness design, but the straps across her cheeks, which were pretty wide and, in any other material would have effectively blindfolded her as they covered her eyes, left her squinting at the world through thick plastic, as if in a fog. She could just about tell it was Janes in front of her, and when she turned to look out into the hall, she could see that a crowd had gathered to watch her being bound and gagged, a realisation which made her both self-conscious and hot at the same time.
Amanda could see Janes approaching her but couldn’t tell what he was doing until she felt the bite of clamps send pain shooting through her body. She tried to tell him these were too tight, causing her too much pain, but she realised that the bit gag included a tongue suppressor which rendered her already garbled words completely unintelligible. As she looked down, she could see that a large ring was attached to each of the clamps, and threaded onto these were printed cards of some kind. The weight of them pulled the clamps downwards, making them bite into her flesh even more
“I want you take these flyers around the hall and make sure as many people get one as possible,” Janes told her, “and be quick about it – the sooner you distribute them, the sooner you can get back here.” He pushed her away from the stand and into the throng gathered around.
The visitors to the fair didn’t need any encouragement to take the leaflets – each one removed brought a yelp from the exotically bound woman acting as a mobile advertisement for Dieter’s novel products. Amanda blundered through the crowd, not really sure where she was going or what she was doing, just wishing she could escape the recurring painful tugs on her nipples. She felt very alone in the crowd, unable to see the stand she had left or its occupants, and she was quickly becoming disoriented as she was turned this way and that by the hands groping at all parts of her body, not just pulling away the flyers. She looked around to try and spot Janes, Dieter or the stand, but she was lost, and a feeling of panic started to overwhelm her.
“What does it say, honey?” Amanda was surprised to hear English, albeit in an American accent. A couple were standing in front of her, the woman examining one of the last of the cards.
“It says ‘Come and see me demonstrating more of this equipment at Stand 75’,” she translated.
“Sounds like fun, shall we swing by that way?”
The couple walked away, and Amanda followed them, grateful that at least she now had an idea of which direction to go. She let out a squeal as the last card was ripped from the clamp on her right nipple, leaving her sore but finally unencumbered by the leaflets, and she gratefully made her way onto Stand 75.
“Just in time,” Janes said as he unbuckled the arm binder, “your audience was starting to get a little restless. Let’s get you out of this bondage.”
Once her arms were free, Amanda rotated her shoulders to try to lessen the ache, then tried to catch the sudden rush of saliva as Janes removed the head harness and pulled the bit from between her teeth. When he moved in front of her, she steeled herself to the surge of pain she knew she would suffer on the removal of the nipple clamps. It was excruciating, and she screwed up her face to stop the scream ready to burst from her lips, and the tears pricking her eyes. She nursed them gently, trying to ease the pain, checking them for permanent damage, but the skin wasn’t actually broken, it just felt that way. She did notice, however, that the rubberised paint had started to peel away, destroying the illusion of the bikini, if anyone in the hall still believed that conceit.
“Step up onto the cross now, Charlotte,” Janes ordered, and, for the first time since she had returned to the stand, she looked away from the crowd of people watching her. She saw a large Saint Andrews cross, made from perspex, leaning back at an angle against a third spar propping it up. She saw two clear pegs near the bottom of the cross-pieces, and she guessed that when he said ‘step up onto the cross’, he meant for her to stand on them.
She followed his command for a number of reasons. Firstly, she was the one who had asked to be treated however he saw fit, so she could hardly refuse. Secondly, if she did refuse, she had no doubt that he and Dieter would force her onto the cross anyway. Thirdly, there was a sizeable audience expecting a show, and she would have felt too embarrassed to disappoint them. And fourthly, she had been very aroused by what she had been through already, and she was hoping there would be some relief on the cross. The fact that she would be up there in front of all these people just made her more horny.
But the main reason she obeyed was because he had given her the order. Her daydreams of being his obedient slave were starting to come true – he was commanding her, he was binding her, maybe soon he would be pleasuring her, and she would be pleasuring him. The thought was tantalising. She put her buttocks against the smooth surface of the cross, stepped up onto the pegs, and lay back, feeling the edges of the spars against her back.
“Put your arms against the cross, splay your fingers,” Janes ordered her peremptorily, the coldness of his tone sending a thrill through her. She put her arms above her head, stretching them along the spars of the cross, so that her body matched the X of the cross. Janes stood to her right, Dieter to her left, and they both reached up and started to wrap what looked like common kitchen plastic film (saran wrap) around her hands and the perspex cross. Gradually, they worked their way down her arms, covering every inch of her skin, pinning her tight. Amanda found her breathing becoming shallow as she lost the ability to move her hands and arms.
They continued until they reached her shoulders, then crouched down and started at her ankles, working their way up to the top of her thighs. Amanda was panting now, hardly able to believe how incredible it felt to be almost completely immobilised, stretched out and pinned down as she was. The light bounced off the wrapping on her arms and legs, still visible through the transparent film. She was so turned on right now, she could feel the moisture from her pussy tickling her as it trickled down between her buttocks.
She was so preoccupied, she hadn’t noticed Janes go around behind her, and she was taken completely by surprise by the film suddenly covering the lower half of her face, being wound around until she was covered from just under her nose to below her chin and around her neck. She tried to struggle, tried to cry out, but she was helpless and rendered mute as her jaws were held shut by the wrap. But Janes wasn’t done, as he now wrapped the film over the top half of her face as well, one long piece now cocooning her entire head, except for a small gap in the middle to allow her to breathe through her nostrils. Amanda was close to hyperventilating in an intoxicating mix of surprise, fear, and intense arousal.
A murmur ran around the crowd as they first watched Janes wrapping up the seemingly terrified model, then Dieter wheeling out a rack of weapons with which they intended to torment her. The ‘transparent’ theme had been continued, with a range of perspex rods, which took the place of canes in a more conventional bondage armoury. The young German took down several of them one at a time, illustrating the variations in flexibility available, before selecting a relatively stiff rod, and approaching the semi-upright figure strapped to the cross.
Meanwhile, Amanda, suddenly in a state of panic, staring through the plastic, could now only see a vague shape moving towards her. All thoughts of receiving a little TLC had gone from her mind – all she was thinking about now was how brutal the beating was going to be. She squealed when the rod came down and flicked against her already-sore nipples – it wasn’t the violence of the blow which tortured her, but the fact that it was only the first of twenty, thirty quick flicks, too quick for her to process the pain of the previous blow before the next one arrived. She tried to writhe, to somehow avoid or deflect the rain of blows, but she could hardly move a muscle. The audience were impressed and delighted by the violence of what they were witnessing, and there was a mixture of shock and arousal on the faces as they listened to Amanda’s desperate whimpers through the plastic hood covering her own face.
There was a break in the assault, but no-one, not even Amanda, thought it was over. Janes now went to the rack, and took down a flogger, the entire device cunningly fashioned from a single piece of soft, flexible silicone, from the handle to the tails, which ended with small spheres to add weight and to provide a little extra impact. He whisked it through the air, making a whistling noise, which Amanda couldn’t hear through her cellophane hood, but the audience could, and they crowded in to see this new weapon applied to the tender flesh on display before them.
Janes began by thrashing the tails across Amanda’s thighs, where the plastic film provided some small protection, working rhythmically, left then right, then left again. The crowd could hear Amanda’s muffled screams and see the effort she was making to break free, straining every muscle and sinew, to no effect. As well as the obvious erotic impact of this action, it was a perfect demonstration of the effectiveness of Dieter’s designs, as well as their strange beauty.
Janes now switched his attention to striking Amanda on her tortured breasts and stomach, giving a very professional display of use of the flogger, before finally, inevitably, aiming the assault at the tender spot between her thighs. He subtly reduced the power of the strokes, knowing she was already suffering enough, and that an attack on her most sensitive area at high intensity would be too much for her to take. Not that he was exactly going easy on her – he was still whipping her shaved, swollen and wet labia with thirty strands of extruded plastic, it wasn’t pleasant.
Pleasant was certainly not a word at the forefront of Amanda’s mind. Her head, the only part of her body she could move, was now lolling back, through a combination of exhaustion and almost intolerable levels of pain. Her face was wet with her tears and the sweat pouring out of her, caused by her continued and strenuous struggles to break free, and by the way the cling film over her limbs and face trapped her body heat and reflected it back to her.
At last Janes relented from the beating, and instead showed off the other use of the flogger. He turned it in his hand to reveal to the crowd that the handle doubled as a rather impressive dildo, complete with bulbous head and prominent veins down its length. As he inserted it gradually into her, Amanda cried out, unable initially to distinguish the feeling from the pain searing through her groin. But it quickly dawned on her that she was being penetrated, and by something fat and long. Her cries became moans as he worked it slowly in and out of her, driving her to the point of climax but not past it. Now she was crying out, entreating him to do it harder, faster. She was still struggling, but now she wanted to break free to force him to make her cum. But this achieved exactly what her earlier struggles had done – precisely nothing. Her frustration mounted.
Janes pulled out the flogger handle and stepped away. But it was only to go to the rack and take down another tool of torture, this time a single-tailed whip in the same, flexible clear plastic. Now he stood back and showed his skill with the whip, as he curled the lash through the air to land with a loud crack on Amanda’s venus mound. Unable to see clearly what was happening and taken unawares, she let out a high-pitched squeal as this new pain seemed to cut into her like a scalpel. With deadly accuracy, Janes targeted each of her nipples, followed by the sides of her breasts, then her inner thighs, and underneath her arms. Amanda was once more in a torment of agony, not knowing where the next blow would land, and unable to avoid it if she could. The audience, meanwhile, were enjoying the virtuoso display and the desperate whimpers of its victim.
Janes broke off his assault and approached the St. Andrews cross, once again revealing the alternate use of this whip’s handle. This was quite a thin grip, but the workings of a wand vibrator had been inserted into it, and he now switched this on and applied it to Amanda’s engorged clitoris, now exposed as he spread her bruised labia with his fingers. Having suffered seemingly intolerable hell at Janes’ hands, she was finally in heaven as he brought her to a long-overdue climax. It still wasn’t without incident, as she fought to suck in air to her lungs through her nostrils, already half-blocked by mucus as she had snivelled and wept through the lashing. She became faint and almost passed out as she came, screaming out once more as the waves of pleasure crashed over her. She didn’t care that a hundred people watched her orgasm, she was totally focused on what Janes was doing to her.
At last, they cut through the cling film and helped her down off the cross, as the audience burst into applause. She looked spent, her body covered in red welts and stripes, the black paint of her ‘bikini’ having been ripped and peeled by the strands of plastic. They half led, half carried her into the small cubicle at the back and lay her down on the bare floor to recover.
Amanda felt she had closed her eyes for 30 seconds, although it was nearer 30 minutes, when she was roused by the feeling of her arms being pulled behind her and her wrists encircled by cuffs. She groaned, in part due to the ache in her shoulders, but also in dismay at being bound once more.
“Please,” she gasped, “don’t hurt me again!”
“Don’t worry, you’re safe for now,” Janes said as he fastened the second set of cuffs around her forearms by her elbows, “I just thought that if you’re going to lie around, you might as well be doing it in public, and demonstrating some more of Dieter’s products.”
With the simple arm binder in place – the two sets of cuffs joined by a perspex rod – Janes applied another of the young designer’s products, a large but soft silicone ballgag which seemed to flow between her teeth, then expand to fill every part of her mouth, exerting a slight but steady pressure to her jaw. The strap was largely unnecessary, but buckled tight nonetheless. Amanda struggled wearily to her feet, wondering what new humiliation awaited her.
She was rather surprised when Janes took a red marker pen and wrote on both her thighs, then across her chest. On her legs, she saw that he had written the number 4502, in large digits from her hip to almost her knee on either side. She struggled to read what he had scrawled across her chest, finally working out that it said ‘für medizinische Experimente‘ – even with her lack of German, she could guess this meant ‘for medical experiments’. What the hell was this all about?
She was even more surprised when he led her to a perspex box, about 2ft by 2ft by 3ft tall, and told her to get in. As she looked at him in bemusement and fear, he lifted her leg up and over the side, then helped her get her other leg in. Now she was standing in the box, which came up to her waist, but then he pushed her down onto her knees, so that only her head was above the sides of the box. To her horror, he picked up a lid, which he pushed into place over her, forcing her fully into the box, with barely enough space to sit with her knees up by her chin. As he screwed the clear perspex lid down, she tried frantically to somehow stop him, twisting around to get her shoulder or back against the smooth surface of the lid. A childhood fear of suffocating in enclosed spaces started to reassert itself, and she started to panic, not reassured by the fact that could see the outside world perfectly clearly. She braced her feet against the side of the box and pushed with all her strength, but she was securely trapped in her sturdy, see-through prison.
The box had small casters on the bottom, and Janes wheeled it out of the cubicle and up to the front of the stand. Amanda immediately felt terribly exposed, as people wandering past stopped and stared, or pointed and laughed. There was soon a small crowd around her, examining her body as well as her bindings and, with her arms held behind her back, she was unable to cover herself in any way. She squirmed around in the tight space to try and bring her thighs together to stop them staring at her sex, but she remained very much on display, whichever way she turned. The air in the box quickly became very warm, and the flush of acute embarrassment on her burning cheeks spread across her body as she heated up and broke out into a sweat. As the atmosphere in the box became stuffy, she panicked that she was running out of oxygen, but as the minutes ticked by, she realised there must be an air hole somewhere.
She found the feeling of being a specimen under glass did not get easier to live with as time passed, or people came and went. She could only hear muffled sounds, and most of those were in German, but occasionally she heard a comment in English about her.
“That is so weird, locking her up in that box, but it’s kind of a turn-on.”
“It’s like she’s about to be wheeled away and taken to the lab for experiments.”
“I wouldn’t mind experimenting on her! From back there, I thought she was wearing a bikini, but close up, you can see she’s butt naked!”
She knew the sense of shame which washed over her was ridiculous – she was at a fetish fair, modelling these products, playing a role, what’s to be ashamed of? – but it didn’t stop her feeling that way. She tried to ignore the people staring and watch what else was happening on the stand and around the hall. Janes and Dieter were busy talking to potential customers, showing off the bondage equipment which had been demonstrated on her. The small stand was full of people, and it looked like Dieter was taking a fair number of orders. She could see a few other stands from where she was, displaying their wares, but no-one had a model like her on show, so they were attracting much less interest. With the sweat dripping off her, the stuffy air finally lulled Amanda into a doze.
She was woken by cool air on her face and, after a moment’s panicked disorientation, realised the lid had been taken off the box and she was being helped up. The crowds had gone and the hall was only partially lit – it was clearly the end of the day. Janes released her from the arm binder while Dieter eased the ball from her mouth.
“Thank you for helping out today, Charlotte,” Dieter said with a broad smile, “I have sold many more items than I expected, and I also took several large orders.”
“You’re welcome,” Amanda replied, also smiling, “It was … interesting.”
“How do you fancy something to eat, Charlotte?” Janes asked, as he and Dieter packed away the display items on the stand.
“Oh, yes, please!” she replied enthusiastically, “I am starving!”
“Why don’t you clean off your make-up and put those clothes on?” he said, pointing to a corner of the stand.
Amanda found some wipes and a fluid, presumably a paint remover, but it was the clothes which attracted her attention. There was a dress, in bright red latex, black latex gloves and PVC boots. There was also a hood in bright red latex, too – she was certainly still going to stand out in a crowd wearing this stuff, even though she wouldn’t be naked.
After removing the last remnants of her painted-on bikini and mask, she squirmed her way into the dress. It was extremely tight from her waist to her knees, hobbling her, while above the waist, two strips of latex covered her breasts and formed a halter neck – it was entirely backless and was split low enough at the front to leave her navel uncovered. The boots came up to her knees, and had three inch platforms with seven inch stiletto heels. The gloves covered her hands and arms up to her elbows, and the hood covered her entire head to her neck, with her hair spilling out through a hole at the top. There were holes for eyes and mouth, as well as for her nostrils. She wondered where he was going to take her dressed like this.
When they had finished packing away, Janes came over to Amanda with what looked like a dog collar in his hand – a wide, black leather belt with heavy buckle and D-ring, plus silver steel studs all around it. The dog collar impression was reinforced once it was around her neck, when he clipped a lead to it.
“Okay, let’s go!” he smiled, “I have reservations at ‘Facil’ in Potsdamer Strasse, I’m sure you’ll love it.” Amanda noticed that Dieter looked impressed at the name of the restaurant, and they made for the exit, fairly slowly, as she came to terms with the vertiginous heels and the hobble skirt.
They took a cab, and it was a wonder they didn’t crash, as the driver hardly took his eyes off his rear-view mirror, angled to show his passenger’s latex-clad hips and breasts. At the restaurant, the Maitre D’ showed only a flicker of surprise, before he recovered, beamed a smile, and led them to their table. They got a lot of glances from the other diners – or Amanda did – but only a few of them were disapproving.
“I thought they weren’t going to let me in for a minute, there,” Amanda whispered.
“I find that the higher the prices, the less likely they are to cause a fuss,” Janes replied.
They ordered food and wine, and chatted like any other group of friends on a night out. The food was excellent, and Amanda had to stop herself shovelling it down, she was so hungry. Dieter, speaking in perfect English, told them about his Art and Design degree, and how he had started to explore the use of transparent materials, understand their properties and possibilities, as well as appreciate their aesthetic appeal. He had never thought about the fetish market before he met Janes, but he really was glad he had gone in that direction. As he said this he gave Amanda a smile, and she thought how attractive he looked, in a geeky sort of way, with his earnest nature and puppyish enthusiasm.
They had just finished dessert when Janes leaned over to Amanda.
“Go into the men’s toilets and wait,” he ordered, quietly but firmly. She was about to question him, when she saw the look in his eye. She felt butterflies in her stomach – the voice of command had spoken, and she knew she must obey. Without a word, she stood up from the table and sashayed towards the restrooms.
Her first problem was to determine whether the toilets were occupied. She waited a few minutes, feeling self-conscious, hanging about in the corridor as a female customer walked by, looking at her suspiciously. When she had gone into the ladies’, Amanda stepped forward, but at that moment, the door opened, and a large, middle-aged man emerged. Flustered, she turned away and took a few steps towards the ladies’ toilets, until the man had gone back into the restaurant. Taking her courage in both hands, she shuffled back to the door and went inside.
It appeared empty, the urinals and sinks unoccupied, and she walked along the row of cubicles, her heels clattering on the tiles. They were also unoccupied, and she wondered what she should do – Janes had ordered her in here but not told her what to do once inside. Her greatest fear was that someone other than Janes would walk in and find her, so she opened the door of the last stall and went inside to wait, out of sight of prying eyes.
She waited nervously, wondering what would happen next. So far, Janes had bound her, he’d whipped her, and he had made her cum. Now, she thought – or hoped – he was going to fuck her. But that was going to be difficult in the latex dress – she couldn’t spread her legs or even pull it up around her waist. She was torn between waiting for him to tell her what to do, and being ready for him when he got there. Finally, her lustful thoughts got the better of her caution, and she struggled out of the dress entirely, leaving herself feeling horribly vulnerable but incredibly aroused.
A minute later, she heard the door to the men’s room open, and the sound of footsteps walking down the row of doors. She turned her back, bent over and grabbed the cistern, presenting her arse to the door, which slowly opened as she looked back over her shoulder.
“Oh,” she said, as he saw that it was not Janes standing there, but Dieter, his jaw slack and his pants tight. She was disappointed it wasn’t Janes, but she was so turned on by now, she didn’t care that much, she just wanted to fuck! She didn’t know what to say, so instead she put her gloved hands on her buttocks and pulled them apart, opening her labia to show him her glistening sex. He was frozen by the sight for several seconds, before the sound of someone else entering the room broke the spell. He frantically shut the cubicle door behind him and shot the bolt across.
Seeing the frightened expression on his face, Amanda took pity on the young man and decided to take control. As the sounds of the customer outside using the urinal reached them, she turned to face Dieter and sank to her knees. As he looked down, motionless and seemingly helpless, she unzipped him and took out his erect member. He tried to keep silent when he felt her hot breath as she pulled back his foreskin, her wet lips as she took him into her mouth, and her lithe tongue as it pressed against his glans.
As soon as the interloper left, Amanda stood up and turned around again, and this time he didn’t hesitate. He plunged deep inside her, his initial thrust so violent she almost banged her head against the wall. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for with enthusiasm and stamina, and Amanda, already highly aroused after her day in bondage and her evening in rubber, urged him on, thrusting her hips back to make his penetration deeper. At one point, they dimly heard the restroom door open, but there was no way they could stop, and the rather startled patron hastily withdrew at the sound of male grunts and female squeals. At last, Dieter could hold back no longer, and he cried out as he climaxed. His spurting inside her seemed to tip Amanda over the edge too, and she let out a stifled scream when she finally came. She slumped down onto the seat of the toilet, while the German leaned back against the door, panting.
He was utterly amazed when he felt her hand on the base of his flaccid cock, and her tongue licking him clean. He was equally stunned when, after a couple of minutes of her expert attention, he realised that his flaccid cock wasn’t flaccid any more. Her objective achieved, Amanda stood up, put her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and lowered herself onto him. He supported her under her thighs, turned around, pressed her back against the door, and fucked her as long and hard as he could. She climaxed some time before he did this time, but revelled in the way he just banged her, neither of them caring about the fact that a coat hook was digging into her back. When he had cum, he just about had time to put her down before his legs gave out. After recovering his composure, he straightened his clothing and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Er, vielen Dank, Fräulein,” he stammered, before unlocking the door and stumbling out.
Amanda returned to the table a few minutes later, ignoring the looks and whispers around her, draining her wine glass to ‘clear her palate’. A few minutes later, Janes had settled the bill, and they went out into the street. At this point, Dieter wished them a good night and said he hoped to see them the next day. On an impulse, Amanda stepped forward and kissed him, her arms around his neck and her tongue exploring his mouth as he quickly got over his surprise and returned the passionate kiss.
“Goodnight, Dieter,” she said huskily, rather surprised at her own wantonness, “I hope I can serve you as well tomorrow.” The young designer watched in stunned silence as Janes led her to the taxi rank and they left. It had been quite a day – and quite a night –and the thought of seeing this sexy stranger naked and strapped down again tomorrow filled him with eager anticipation as he hurried home.
If she had hoped to ellicit a reaction from Janes by her behaviour with Dieter, she had failed. He seemed entirely oblivious, chatting about some of the things he had seen at the fair, and how he was planning to meet some clients and old friends the next day, as they rode back to the hotel and went up to the room.
“Why don’t you go into the bedroom and get ready for bed, while I organise a nightcap? Take a shower if you fancy it.”
Amanda did feel rather grubby after her long day, and when she went into the bedroom, she was surprised and delighted to see on the bed a silk camisole and shorts for her to wear. She stripped out of the hot, clinging latex, including the hood, and wandered through to the en suite bathroom. The warm shower was just what she needed to ease her aches and pains, as she thought back over the incredible day she’d enjoyed, and looked forward to what might happen in the bedroom later! She had a little fantasy about lying in Janes’ arms, snuggling in the bed, but it swiftly degenerated into her imagining herself tightly bound, looking up at him, with whip in one hand and his cock in the other. She shook the image from her head and took her fingers away from her pussy, admonishing herself to show a little self-discipline.
After the longest shower, she dried herself on the fluffiest towels, and used the complimentary perfume, before going back into the bedroom and putting on the top and shorts. They were powder blue and, as she admired herself in the full-length mirror, she noticed how much the colour suited her and how well the garments fitted, making her wonder who had selected them – if it was Janes, then he had demonstrated a more discerning eye than she was used to in a straight man. And that suddenly made her think, maybe he was gay – that would explain the lack of reaction he displayed when he saw her naked. The thought left her devastated - all her little fantasies would be just that if it turned out that he would prefer Dieter in bed to her! With that rather depressing image in her mind, she opened the bedroom door and went into the lounge part of the suite.
What she saw there took her completely by surprise. Janes was standing at the bar in the corner of the room with a drink in his hand, talking to a tall, attractive woman. That was bad enough, but the thing that really shocked her was that she recognised the woman in the elegant, expensive business suit with a glass of wine in her hand – it was the famous German supermodel Ingrid Stummel. As they both turned to greet her, Amanda realised that, once again, Janes had knocked her off balance – here she was, standing in only her nightwear, feeling even smaller than her 5ft 3in in her bare feet, being appraised by this stunningly beautiful woman, her blonde hair scraped back from her perfect, lightly tanned face into a tight French plait, a faint smile playing around her lips.
“Charlotte,” Janes said as they walked towards her, “let me introduce you to Ingrid, one of my longest established clients, and a good friend. She called me earlier today with an urgent request for a little diversion, as she was delayed in the city. I thought the two of you might get on well, as you both have a similar interest in absolute privacy, and complementary interests in the bedroom. You don't mind if Ingrid spends the night, do you Charlotte?”
The model seemed to tower over Amanda - she remembered from some magazine article that Ingrid was 5ft 11in, and with the 3 inch heels she was wearing, she looked even more imposing. The business suit was perfectly cut to fit her hourglass figure, the pencil skirt finishing just above the knee, revealing her bare legs, with no need for tights or stockings to cover non-existent blemishes. The white blouse underneath the navy jacket was cut quite low, displaying an impressive décolletage, and tucked tightly into the waistband of the skirt, which flared out around her generous hips. The two women stared into each other's eyes, each trying to gauge the other’s reaction.
“If you'll excuse me, ladies, I'll see you in the morning, ” Janes said, before turning to leave. Amanda looked desperately after him, wanting to call out, to stop him from deserting her, leaving her with this complete stranger. But he was gone, and her disappointment at yet again being frustrated was mixed with her feelings of confusion and uncertainty about what might happen next.
But while Amanda felt lost, Ingrid seemed entirely in control of herself and the situation. She smiled warmly, and reached out to Amanda, placing her hand against the young woman's face. Amanda knew, from the same magazine article, that Ingrid was in her forties, but if she had had to guess, she wouldn't have said the statuesque model was no older than her early thirties. The touch of her hand against her cheek felt good.
“You're very pretty, Amanda - oh, don't worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Ingrid added quickly as she saw the startled look on the other woman's face.
“As you can imagine,” she went on, “I follow the gossip columns quite closely, if only to see what lies they are telling about me today. I felt very sorry for you when they tricked you. The press have a particular name here – Scheisshunden, or as you would say, ‘Shit hounds’”
Amanda was shocked - it was the first time she hadn't been in disguise this weekend, and she was astonished at how easily Ingrid had recognised her, even though Amanda was far less of a celebrity than the German. But then, she understood what Janes had been referring to when he said they had a mutual interest in each other's privacy - she could just imagine the headlines if the tabloid press ever got wind of this! ‘Teutonic Temptress and Randy Mandy in Lesbian Love Nest!’ She suddenly felt liberated by this situation of ‘Mutually Assured Destruction’, by the knowledge that neither of them would be bragging about their activities tonight!
Suddenly, Ingrid was leaning into her, and she felt their lips meet. Everything suddenly seemed so right, as their tongues entwined, and Amanda felt herself being held tightly, hands roaming over her breasts and buttocks. She felt intoxicated, somehow unable to resist the other woman's advances, submitting meekly as Ingrid disengaged, pulled the camisole up over her head and tossed it aside, then moved back to rejoin the kiss. Amanda felt the silk shorts being pushed down over her hips and sliding to the floor, where she stepped out of them, leaving herself naked. At last, Ingrid broke the kiss, and Amanda was left flushed and gasping for breath.
“Why don't I get my things and we can adjourn to the bedroom?” Ingrid said, not waiting for a reply before going to the bar and bringing her small suitcase, then leading the way into the other room, Amanda following along behind obediently. Ingrid put her case on the luggage stand and opened it, before taking off her jacket and hanging it in the wardrobe. She turned to Amanda with a smile.
“Kneel,” she said simply and, with barely a moment's hesitation, Amanda obeyed, sinking to her knees on the plush carpet. Her heart started beating a little faster – what did the supermodel have in mind for her, she wondered, with growing excitement. Ingrid turned to the suitcase, and when she turned back, Amanda saw she was holding a riding crop in her hands as she walked across the room towards her. Her level of fear and excitement rose a notch.
“Victor told me you were very submissive, but I see that you are as yet untrained,” Ingrid remarked as she walked around the naked girl, “perhaps we can change that a little.”
Amanda wondered who she was talking about, then realised she must have meant Janes. Before she could think any more about that, she felt the sting of the crop on her right buttock, and let out an involuntary squeal.
“Back straight!” Whack on the other buttock. “Sit on your heels!”
Whack! “Arms behind your head!”
Whack! “Thighs apart!” Whack! “Further! Show me everything!”
Amanda felt the tip of the crop under her chin, lifting it until she was looking Ingrid in the eye.
“Head up, eyes down. Here,” Ingrid ordered, pointing at the carpet just in front of her shoe.
“Better,” she said approvingly, “this is the position you always adopt when told to kneel, you understand?”
“Yes… Mistress,” Amanda replied nervously, staring at the carpet intently. The supermodel gave a little laugh, full of humour rather than cruelty.
“I don’t think I’ve earned the title of Mistress yet, little one. You can call me Miss Ingrid.”
“Thank you, Miss Ingrid.”
“You have a beautiful face, and a beautiful body, Amanda, I hope you realise that.”
“Thank you, Miss Ingrid. But I’m ugly compared to you.” Amanda winced as the crop slapped against her right breast.
“Don’t say that! Never say that!” Ingrid exclaimed, a flash of anger breaking her calm demeanour for a moment. Amanda kept quiet.
Ingrid walked over to the case, and came back with a ring gag, which she strapped into Amanda's open mouth. She went back to the case, this time returning with a high posture collar, placed around Amanda's neck and buckled tight behind. The stiff leather pressed against her collarbone and forced her chin up, with flanges on either side preventing her from turning her head. Next, she applied leather cuffs to the naked girl’s wrists. The cuffs had thin chains hanging from them, with spring-loaded clips at the end. Ingrid twisted Amanda's right arm up behind her back and clipped the end of the chain to the D ring at the back of the posture collar, holding her arm in place, her hand between her shoulder blades. She repeated the exercise with Amanda’s left arm, leaving her in an uncomfortable but manageable position.
“Stand,” Ingrid ordered, and Amanda struggled to her feet. Ingrid went to the case one more time and returned with a black leather waist cincher, which she placed around Amanda's midriff, and fastened the buckles tight, until the younger woman was struggling a little for breath.
Now Ingrid brought a pair of boots and, even though she had never seen anything like them in real life before, Amanda knew they were ballet boots - these were things she had only ever seen on the Internet, and she felt a thrill of fear run through her at the thought of having to wear them. Ingrid made her sit, then lie, on the bed with her feet up so that the German could pull the boots onto her. Immediately, Amanda could feel the pressure as her foot was bent into a pointed position, and Ingrid laced them tightly all the way to mid-calf. When both boots were fully laced, Ingrid sat on the bed beside her.
“Just get used to the feel of them for a while,” she advised, while her hands absentmindedly wandered over Amanda's body. Although distracted by the discomfort of the boots, Amanda felt herself responding as Ingrid massaged her breasts and rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger.
Ingrid got up from the bed, unzipped her skirt and took it off, hanging it neatly in the wardrobe alongside her jacket. Amanda watched as she now unbuttoned her blouse, to reveal a black basque which pulled in her waist, and squeezed her bust until it seemed to be overflowing, barely contained by the lacy material. She looked sensational, and Amanda was taken aback by the realisation that she was developing what seemed to be lustful feelings towards the beauty standing over her. No, she dismissed the idea, she was not a lesbian, she was just enjoying being dominated by this woman.
“Okay, let's try and get you standing in those boots now,” Ingrid said, helping Amanda to first sit up and then stagger up onto the points. Keeping a firm grip on her shoulders, Ingrid helped Amanda take a few steps across the room, until she was standing in front of the mirror. The image presented was stunning, Amanda had never seen herself in bondage before, and she was astonished at just how hot she looked.
“You see?” Ingrid said, standing behind her and reaching around to cup her breasts, “You look amazing!”
As she watched her reflection, Amanda saw a long stream of saliva escape over her bottom lip, run down her chin, and drool on to her chest, before sliding between her breasts and disappearing under the waist cincher. She moaned softly as Ingrid kneaded and squeezed her breasts, then ran her fingers down to her Venus mound, gently parting her labia, which were already swollen from her intense arousal. Her head went back and her eyes closed as Ingrid worked on her clitoris, gradually stoking the fires which were already burning within her body. She could feel the supermodel's warm flesh pressing against her arms, shoulders, and buttocks, and it felt good, really good!
“Enjoying that?” Ingrid asked, watching Amanda become more and more hot and bothered. Amanda opened her eyes, and trying to indicate enthusiastic confirmation of her enjoyment, but found it impossible to nod her head, and her attempt to say ‘yes, Miss Ingrid’ failed rather abysmally. So she tried to smile with her eyes to show just how much she appreciated the attention she was getting. But Ingrid could tell, just from the wetness of her fingers, the effect she was having.
“Okay,” the tall German said with a smile, “time to get you back on the bed, I’ll bet those boots are killing you already.”
Amanda could have managed the pain a little longer – at least until Ingrid’s delicate touch had brought her to orgasm – but then, the bed sounded good too. Maybe she would carry on there…
Ingrid guided her back to the bed and sat her down. She released Amanda’s wrists from their extreme position, and massaged some life back into her aching shoulders, drawing appreciative groans.
Amanda allowed herself to be laid back on the bed, then felt her excitement growing as Ingrid went to her case and came back with several lengths of rope – she was wondering if the supermodel went everywhere with a full bondage kit, or was this a special occasion? She didn’t make a sound, other than her shallow, laboured breathing, or resist in any way, as Ingrid tied first her wrist cuffs and then her ankles to the corners of the bed, holding her spreadeagled across the mattress.
“You okay there, mein liebes mädchen?” Ingrid asked. Amanda just about managed to vocalise ‘Uh-huh’ intelligibly. She watched the other woman pull down her red, lacy panties, and looked at her pubic hair, perfectly trimmed into a Brazilian, as if providing a thin landing strip for her sex – I’m sure I’m going to be munching on that pretty soon, Amanda thought, with more eager anticipation than she expected. She couldn’t see what Ingrid did next, because the collar prevented her looking down her body, but she felt the soft material of the panties being used to mop the juices which had leaked from her pussy and run down her thighs. Suddenly, she felt the balled-up garment being pushed through the ring gag and deep into her mouth, making her choke as the juice dripped onto the back of her throat. This caused a thrill of fear to run through her – being gagged implied that she was about to be screaming…
After another trip to the case, Ingrid sat down on the bed and held up her chosen weapons, so that Amanda could see that she had two little handheld pinwheel devices. The English woman had no experience with such things, and Ingrid smiled at the look of uncertainty and fear on the face of her victim. She loved the pinwheel – it delivered exactly the amount of pain she chose to inflict, while allowing her to watch, at very close quarters, the suffering she was inflicting. She leaned over Amanda so that their faces were only inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes, her own shining with excitement, Amanda’s wide with fear.
Amanda felt the wheels applied, one to each of her arms, starting in the crook of her elbow and slowly rolling down to her armpit. The pin-sharp points seemed to be piercing her skin, like a row of hypodermic needles. Ingrid’s excitement fed off the sight of Amanda’s face crumpled in agony, the sound of her muffled screaming, and the feel of her body bucking and fighting for freedom underneath her. Slowly, the wheels moved on, tracing a line of tiny marks from each armpit across the breast to the nipple. Amanda’s struggles became more frantic as the wheels circled her breasts, crossing between them, trundling up the slope to the summit once again to deliver more pain to her nipples, making her scream even harder into the gag.
“Hush, my pretty,” Ingrid murmured, clamping her hand over Amanda’s gaping mouth, while the other guided its pinwheel over every inch of her breasts. The beautiful torturer leaned forward and kissed away the salty tears which had squeezed from her victim’s eyes, before pressing the pinwheel even harder against the tender skin.
Amanda tried to calm herself and draw breath when she felt both wheels withdrawn, desperately hoping the assault was over. But then, to her horror, she felt the tell-tale pricks on her knees, and then moving up the inside of her thighs. Her eyes, which had closed, shot open to find Ingrid staring at her, her eyes suffused with a frightening mixture of sympathy, excitement, and pure lust. Amanda threw herself from side to side, straining against the ropes holding her, ignoring how her struggles made the points penetrate her thighs even deeper, just trying to stop the wheels’ inexorable progress towards their goal. Ingrid could barely contain her arousal now. She knew that if Amanda could speak, she would be begging, imploring, offering anything – her body, her soul, her freedom – to have the torture stop right where it was and go no further. The feeling of absolute power was an incredible aphrodisiac for Ingrid, but what is the use of having power if you don’t exercise it? She lifted the wheels and carefully placed them on the wet, puffy flesh of Amanda’s labia.
Amanda started screaming into the gag like she had never done before. She felt the pins piercing her skin as the wheels moved back and forth. She had stopped struggling, and was lying still, every muscle tensed, staring at the ceiling, just trying to bear the unbearable, to endure the unendurable. To her utter disbelief, she felt her lips being parted, and the cruel wheel rolling across her clitoris. Unimaginable pain, excruciating agony, pitiful suffering – there are no words to adequately describe those brief minutes before Ingrid relented and took away the instruments of torture.
“There, there, baby,” she cooed, wiping away Amanda’s tears, “It’s over, it’s over.”
She clambered onto the bed, straddling Amanda.
“Now, all you have to do is satisfy me, and I promise I won’t do it again.”
If Amanda needed any encouragement, the threat of further punishment ensured she was desperately eager to please. Ingrid removed the panties, ring gag and posture collar so that Amanda would not be restricted in her ministrations.
“Are you ready, Amanda?”
“Yes, Miss Ingrid, please let me satisfy you,” Amanda replied sincerely, almost begging to be allowed to lick the other woman out.
Ingrid eased her already moist pussy down onto Amanda’s face and let her go to work. She was impressed by Amanda’s enthusiastic application, and pleasantly surprised by the skill with which she applied her tongue, lips, and even teeth to the task of bringing the dominatrix to orgasm, a task she was clearly going to achieve in double-quick time. Ingrid ground her hips against the face below her, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her hands grabbing at her hair.
"Is that the best you can do, nutzlosen Sklaven?" Ingrid growled, disguising the intense pleasure she was already feeling as anger.
"Do I have to use my little toys on you again?" She reached behind her arched back and grabbed Amanda’s already aching nipples and pulled, encouraging her slave-for-the night to redouble her efforts.
Horrified at the thought of those torturous pin-wheels being used on her again, Amanda increased her efforts, doing everything she could think of to please the woman above her.
“Mein Gott! Das ist so, so gut! Weitermachen! Härter, du Schlampe, schneller!” Ingrid shouted, tugging reflexively on the nipples she was holding, digging her sharp nails in, not caring about the pain she was inflicting. Amanda’s tears flowed afresh as she heard the harsh cries, unintelligible but clearly urging her on, muffled by the thighs clamped over her ears. She could tell Ingrid was finally cumming, but this only seemed to mean more pain, as the German convulsed and twisted her fingers, further torturing poor Amanda’s nipples.
Suddenly, juices were flowing over Amanda’s face and into her mouth and, when she could stand it no more, Ingrid collapsed, finally spent. She cuddled up close to her lover, showering her face with kisses, finally showing some compassion for her suffering by gently sucking and licking the buds she had so recently tormented.
Amanda sobbed quietly as she recovered from the intensity of the assault to which she had been subjected. Her nipples were now hypersensitive, and she did not appreciate the attention they were receiving, however well-meaning, but gradually the pain eased, and the tears stopped. To her own astonishment and disbelief, her body began to respond positively to her erstwhile tormentor’s silky touch, and she found herself writhing with pleasure. She let out a gasp of surprise and pleasure when she felt her labia being parted and her still-sore clitoris being sucked. Her back arched as she felt the tongue sliding around her inner lips, while fingers urgently explored her vagina.
“Oh! Yes please, Miss Ingrid! Your slave begs you to make her cum!” Amanda moaned.
“Silence, slut!” Ingrid growled, suddenly taking Amanda’s clitoris between her thumb and forefinger and squeezing, making the bound woman squeal in pain.
“You don’t tell me what to do, Fotze, you have no say in what happens! Only because you are untrained, I will forgive your stupidity.”
Amanda was about to apologise for her outburst when Ingrid suddenly started to finger-fuck her vigorously, thrusting two digits in and out of her vagina rapidly while rubbing her clit with her thumb. It didn’t take much to bring Amanda to a desperate, gasping climax.
Both utterly exhausted, the two women snuggled under the duvet – at least, Ingrid snuggled Amanda, who was still tied, stretched out across the bed, but she wasn’t complaining. She was ecstatically happy, despite the residual pain from her earlier torture and the continuing ache from her feet and ankles, which were still imprisoned in the ballet boots.
She had started the evening hoping Janes would become her Master, if only for a few hours. Instead, she had become the slave of this gorgeous woman curled up against her. As she drifted off to sleep, Amanda knew that if she was asked, she would willingly become Ingrid’s slave permanently…
End of part 4
Copyright© 2012 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.