BINDING AGREEMENT, PART IX
As Bonda shivered in her discomfort, she remembered seeing drawings of a bondage
cartoon - by Eric Stanton, she thought - of a model wrapped in rubber rain
attire, frozen into a huge ice cube and put on display.
"They couldn't do that to me, could they?" she asked herself. "Could I survive
inside a round ice cube? Wouldn't I literally freeze to death?"
Her fear: she'd soon find out.
She heard the humming of an electric motor outside her water-tight prison and
soon felt the water getting colder. Ice crystals began to float around her. She
tried to keep from panicking by moving every muscle she could and trying to
remember what she could about hypothermia and chemistry. She knew that water
expanded as it formed into ice, and she knew that there was a slight air gap in
her ball. Was that to accommodate expansion? What would happen to her skin? Her
blood? Her body?
Bonda freaked.
Her eyes widened and she moaned and squirmed. As she wiggled and cried to
herself, she could make out some bright lights coming on outside her private
little hell. They looked like spotlights. She opened her eyes wider and tried to
make out images. Were her captors watching? Selling tickets? What in the hell
did they have in mind?
Bonda twisted furiously but vainly in her bondage. And then she stopped for a
second to think.
Did she want to spend all of her energy now? She felt a trickle of sweat on her
nose. That was her answer. If all her plasticized coccoon was good for was to
keep her sweating, her anger was worth it.
She would fight and squirm as long as she could.
So she did.
And as she did, she saw shadows and shapes flitting around her ball. What were
they doing? Were they going to save her? She heard voices, but every noise was
distorted. The humming of the freeezing unit kept going. The ice was getting
thicker and pushing her body even fatter. Bonda squirmed until she could squirm
no more. She closed her eyes and cried herself into what she thought might be
her final sleep.
It must have been much, much later when she opened her eyes again. She was
staring up from a hospital cot and into a heat lamp above. She was naked and
unfettered. Her body felt icy cold, but her skin was warming up.
"What an adventure you had, little girl," Bonda heard Tyrenna say. "We
videotaped the whole thing, and took pictures, too. We fitted a mini-remote
microphone into your gag so we got to enjoy your panic as it hit you. We'll
probably make millions selling images of you, staring so wide-eyed and scared.
Thankfully, the ice hadn't hardened when we let you out. It only took us a few
minutes to chisel you out. Boy, were you blue. We didn't want to warm you up too
quickly because that could have damaged you. And you're too valuable a slave to
damage."
"Great," Bonda thought to herself. "I'll keep that in mind: you won't kill me,
you'll just torture me to death."
It took more than two hours for Bonda's body to warm back up to room
temperature. She wasn't going anywhere. The heat lamp felt too good. And her
body was too sore. The rest felt good. She sat up and sipped on some hot coffee
and some warm rolls, knowing that her next punishment could start at any moment,
and her next meal may not come forever.
Finally, Tyrenna told her it was time to begin again in bondage, and she ushered
into a small, well-lit room with white marble walls and floors. The ceiling was
at least 20 feet high and had pulleys and cables dangling everywhere.
As Tyrenna started to help her put on her next bondage outfit, Bonda followed
orders passively. In part because her next outfit was a sexy pink, rubber and
leather outfit, and in part because she thought any clothing would help keep her
warm.
It started with pink rubber panties, layered and padded against Bonda's puss
with a rectangular clump of protruding warts. Bonda felt some metal wedged
between the layers of rubber, but shrugged it off. Next came a matching
multi-layer rubber bra with matching warts, and matching rubber stockings and
shoulder-length, fingerless rubber mittens. Next came what might best be
described as a pink plastic jumpsuit. Bonda stepped into it with both legs and
felt Tyrenna zip it up all the way to Bonda's neck. A matching pink bonnet was
fitted over Bonda's hair and knotted under her chin. It covered all of her head
except for her face. Both devices had little white tabs here and there, and
Bonda noted that each plastic item was ribbed about every three inches in
length.
Then came a neck-high to knee-top leather corset, with laces running down either
side. The corset had a built-in five-inch plastic posture collar sewn between
layers of the leather, with an extension plate that extended out to the front
tip of Bonda's chin. A lace-up leather hood extended from the contrapion and,
when laced in place, had only tiny round air holes, a small, round hole at her
mouth and two oval slits so that Bonda could see. A series of straps were
affixed to the posture-collar so that Bonda's head was anchored to it in a
straight-ahead gaze. Although she wasn't gagged, Bonda might as well have been
when the straps and laces were cinched. She could NOT open her mouth. Tyrenna
pulled the little white tabs of the plastic garmets through holes in the corset
and hood.
Tyrenna wheeled over a hospital-like device from which was suspended what
appeared to be a hot water bottle. A tube was poked through her mouth hole,
between her lips, and rested against her tongue.
Tyrenna released the control valve and liquid began to drip into Bonda's mouth.
It was coffee, complete with cream and sugar.
How nice, Bonda thought. Pampered in bondage.
Tyrenna busied herself with lacing Bonda into a single, 8-inch heeled leather
bondage boot. One boot for both legs. It laced all the way up to her knees,
where it met the lip of her corset. Bonda teetered, her rubber-mittened hands
flailing at her sides to help her keep her balance. Tyrenna's idea of help was
to secure Bonda's hood to an overhead cable and pulley and to tighten it to the
point that Bonda was almost lifted off the ground.
Next, as if Bonda needed more wardrobe, came a pink leather hobble dress, with
laces in front, the back and at both sides. It started at the ankles and Tyrenna
spent a good 20 minutes lacing it all the way up to Bonda's neck, slipping
Bonda's rubber mittened arms through the sleeves. Bonda wondered what this
second bondage uniform did, other than make her feel even more wrapped up in her
body bondage. Again, Tyrenna pulled the white tabs through tiny little holes in
the leather garment.
Tyrenna left Bonda alone for a minute and came back carrying two pink plastic,
ribbed inflatables, slipping one over each arm and hooking each at the shoulder
to four rings on the dress. Then she brought over an air hose and inflated each
side. Soon Bonda understand what was happening. Her arms began to extend outward
from her sides. The size of each arm swelled the most at the shoulders, about
three feet in diameter, and tapered down to about 6'' past the tip of her
mittens.
Next, Bonda felt Tyrenna play with the white tabs that dotted her outfit,
starting at the bottom. Suddenly, Bonda felt the plastic jumpsuit push for space
between her body and the leather garments. Her body seemed to raise up in her
bondage boot, and to swell out. The hips swelled next, then her belly, then up
and up to her helmet. Her outer garments swelled, but her body space contracted.
She felt as if was bound up in a big balloon.
Tyrenna toyed with the overhead pulley and Bonda felt her whole body lifted
about 6'' off the ground. Tyrenna pushed a round, black, 2-foot-wide platform
under Bonda and lowered her booted, bound form back down. Tyrenna pulled the
feeding tube out of Bonda's mouth, then released the Bonda from the cable. Bonda
really teetered. She heard Tyrenna behind her, playing with the pulleys, and
suddenly her eyes saw a round, clear plastic dome being lowered over her body.
The plastic squeaked loudly as it pushed her inflated arms down to her sides,
squeezing her even more, and forcing her breasts outward from their
leather-plastic prison. Finally, Tyrenna worked the dome down to its grooved
fitting at the bottom, and snapped six locks tight around the base. She left
Bonda alone in the room to ponder her prison.
"Well," Bonda thought, "at least I've got nothing invading my privates, or
twisting my nipples. I'm so wedged in here that I won't fall. And even though
the heels on the boots are killing my feet, I'm in no real pain. I can see. I
can beathe."
When Tyrenna returned, she brought a Polaroid camera with her. Standing several
feet back from Bonda, she took a picture, waited a minute for it to develop, and
smiled at what she saw. She walked up to Bonda and showed her what she looked
like.
Bonda looked like a life-size Barbie doll in a life-size doll glass case. Okay,
so Barbie has never been so fettered or so outfitted in fetish wear. She still
looked like a doll in a doll glass case. So it didn't surprise Bonda when
Tyrenna held up a sign with huge letters that said: "BONDA: OUR LIVING DOLL"
Below, in smaller print, the sign read: "Bonda is on display here for the next
36 hours before she begins her final phase of punishment. She has agreed to be
our slave; to endure our every evil for however long we decree. We have placed a
suggestion box before her case so that you may offer your suggestions of how we
punish her. No punishment is too wicked. We will record her every ordeal on film
and share it with those who give us any torture or predicament. There is only
one rule: she must survive the punishment and be no worse for wear. She is,
after all, to become our living doll."
Bonda went to a switch on the wall and pushed the top button. The wall about 3
feet in front of her moved, like a garage door rolling up. The wall became the
ceiling, hiding all the bondage goodies attached behind it. Bonda gazed before
her. The room was actually an alcove that looked out on the main foyer of her
Mistress' little mansion. The room was elevated about a foot off the floor. She
saw Tyrenna hang the sign on a plexiglass platform at the foot of the alcove.
Atop the platform was a plexiglass box with pens and a pile of writing paper.
Tyrenna spoke into a microphone next to the platform, and Bonda heard her
clearly through the speakers built into the top of her glass-domed dungeon.
"The Mistress is expecting at least 300 guests tonight," Tyrenna said. "I hope
we have enough pens and paper. Some of our guests are women. Some are men. Many
like to write long, detailed punishments. Some of them have boot fetishes.
Others are into mummification. Others just love clamps and pulleys. Others are
experts with ropes and gags and gadgets. They've all been invited here to see
our little girl - excuse me, Our Living Doll - and to express their most wicked
fantasies. They are welcome to spend the night if need be. They have until
midnight tomorrow night to submit their ideas. Which, of course, means you have
until at least midnight tomorrow to just stand there and submit."
Bonda moaned.
The echo of her moan filled the foyer.
"Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you, we've installed an extra sensative microphone in
your casing. And each of our guests will read aloud, into this microphone, the
mean and nasty deeds they dream of being done to you. Any reaction from you will
be heard by all. Every little wiggle will be heard because that inflated plastic
will be very audible. But mostly, we expected to hear lots of moans and
wimpering."
Bonda flinched involunatarily, and her inflated arms screeched against the
glass. The sound echoed everywhere. She moaned again. The sound was everywhere.
Tyrenna smiled. "You're getting the idea," she said. "By the way, I wouldn't
make any plans once your released, dear. The grand prize winner will have the
honor of inflicting his or her little villany on you after an hour's rest - and
in front of all our guests!"
Bonda moaned again.
"Good girl," Tyrenna giggled into the microphone. "Practice makes perfect. Moan
and twitch all you want. And I'm sure you will. Aren't those heels real
killers?"
Yes, Bonda thought, they are. But I'll be damned if you'll get me to moan for
you.
But Tyrenna wasn't through. She held up a remote-control device. She clicked
once and Bonda felt the warts in her rubber panties virbrate against her puss.
Tyrenna clicked a second time and the warts in her bra rubbed against her
nipples.
"Just a little something we've rigged up to help stimulate a response from you,"
Tyrenna said, clicking the device a third time and sending the vibrating warts
into overdrive.
Bonda pursed her lips. She tried not to wiggle. She tried not to moan.
After three minutes, just as Bonda felt herself about to come, Tyrenna clicked
the control again and everything stopped.
Bonda groaned.
"Wonderful," beamed Tyrenna. "We're getting all this on videotape. This is going
to be such fun."
Bonda moaned one last time.
Rachael Day
Heroine of Dangerous Fashion
