Binding Agreement

BINDING AGREEMENT, Part I

Bonda O'Tightly loved her job as the administrative assistant at Eric Ensign's
Erotiscapes, an avant garde art studio that featured multimedia fetish and
bondage works by the leading artists, sculptors and photographers of New York's
famed Greenwich Village. After all, where could a self-confessed submissive like
her get to choose what goes on public display in a sprawling gallery like Mr.
Ensign's?

Then there was the boss himself: A bondage freak and woman tamer who had made a
worldwide name for himself with his living Fettered Femme displays, which
featured self- indentured submissives for sale to the highest bidder.

She loved her job, frankly. She was the first one to work each day, lovingly
caring for the display of living bondagettes trapped into their latex, leather
and metal coccoons and other confinements. She always paid particular attention
to some of her favorite exhibits, which included:

-Leather Heather's Ball, which featured a leather-sheathed maid bound up into a
ball inside a three-foot high plastic ball. A feeding tube ran from her
ball-gagged mouth to the the side of the ball; Air tubes connected from each
nostril to either side of the ball, and wires ran from each clamped nipple to
the outside.

The asking price: $30,000

-The Chairperson, which featured a slave in an inflatable, head-to-toe rubber
coccoon, strapped into an armless chair with 4'' straps at the ankles, knees,
waist, below the breast, above the breats, at the neck, and at the chin across
the bridge of the nose. A silvery metal skull cap completed the ensemble. There
were blow-up valves everywhere to inflate or deflate any visable portion of the
slave's anatomy, whether it be the entire head or just the mouth; one breast or
both. On the forehead, between the beasts, around the belly button and at the
tips of the toes, plug-in modules were attached to wires throughout the victim's
body. When the suit was totally deflated, the rubbery coccoon revealed wire
leads leading to each toe and finger, to clamps that were clearly outlined at
the nipples, up and down the sides of the victim's body, and even inside the
victim's gagged mouth.

The asking price: $50,000.

-Blind Servitude, which featured a very tall, very leggy brunette, secured to a
two-foot-square , foot-thick wood platform, which had a small, powerful motor
concealed underneath that drove the wheeled carriage of constriction wherever a
hand-held remote control directed. To the wood platform was attached an inverted
U-shaped metal rigging with adjustable rods jutting out horizontally in front
and back. The victim herself was trapped inside gleaning stainless steel,
thigh-high, 8''-high ballet boots, which forced her body to angle slightly
forward. The tops of a pair of heavy rubber stockings were visable for about two
inched above the locked tops of the boots. The brunette was dressed in a rubber
maid's outfit, with a rubber-and-metal posture collar,and adjustable stainless
steel rods that ran from the collar across her shoulders and down her arms, all
the way to her fingers, which were laced into elbow-length rubber gloves that
had their own individual, adjustable steel rods that ran from her wrists to her
fingertips. The steel contraption itself wrapped under her arms and secured with
a lock in the back. Mr. Ensign had positioned the arms so that they bent 90
degrees at the elbows, and were attached to the respective sides of a
rectangular, waist-high silver-and-glass serving tray. A red rubber corsellette
with built-in metal stays and O-rings everywhere was laced up her back and
nipped her body from below her breasts to her waist. The high-neck outfit
actually ran under the posutre collar and popped out about it to reveal a white
lacy fringe above it that matched the white trim on the puffy short sleeves. The
flared skirt was short, but would have hid most of the lacy red rubber panties
the brunette wore except that the front of the skirt panel was attached to the
thumb and forefinger of each bound hand, as if the slave had been ordered to
pull up her dress to show off her panties. The brunette's head was trapped
inside a laced-from-behind leather helmet, which had tubes running out her nose
and mouth. The mouth tube was attached to a blow-up pump handle that hung freely
from the helmeted head. It was clear the slave was a brunette because her long
ponytail was tied tightly to an O-ring at the top of the main inverted-U bar,
which seemed to reinforce her backwardly arched headpiece. Over her eyes were
goggles attached by a series of straps that ran around the side, the top of the
helmet and under her chin. The goggles came with multicolored, lifelike
soft-plastic eyes that could be screwed in and out with ease to change color or
look of the slave's expression. It didn't really matter to the slave what color
the lenses were, for the leather helmet itself had no eye openings. In fact, it
had extra heavy pads over each eye, which shut out all light. Heavy pads also
coccooned each ear, and held built-in speakers tightly against the victim's
head, keeping out all sound except for those sounds transmitted by a small
remote-control radio system. The inverted-U pole was about 4'' in diameter, and
from it ran poles that shackled the slave at the ankles, knees, elbows, and back
of the head. Another pole section jutted out the back, down, under the slave's
dress, and upo under her dress. Bonda made repeated mental notes to ask Mr.
Ensign where the pole ran once it disappeared, but never did ask the question.

The asking price for this living art: $100,000.

Bonda never got to talk to the victims inside. Mr. Ensign freed each for an hour
every 8 hours, but did so only when Bonda wasn't around. Who are these women,
and where did they come from? That was a question she never got answers.

It was one of the few frustrations of the job.

Bonda really only had two problems with her job. The first was that Mr. Ensign's
displays always looked at his captive maidens from the male perspective, and he
rebuked her efforts to have women artists consult on the designs or concepts.

The second problem was, he paid Bonda so little that she would never be able to
realize her dream: to graduate from the the prestigious Essenem School of
Erotica and Fetishism and open a rival gallery.

In essence, Bonda was a slave to her own fetish. She could quit Mr. Ensign and
work for a higher-paying gallery elsewhere, or she could juggle the books from
time to time and accumulate enough cash to pay for her education.

She took the latter course. And that's indirectly how she ended up here, at
Mistress Sally Sadrista's School for Slaves, ready to submit to her personalized
bondage training.

For Mr. Enisgn was not only a brilliant artist, but also a shrewd businessman.
It had not taken him long to figure out that Bonda had been fiddling with the
books. He gave her a choice - either he went to the police or she signed away
her future and signed documents to become one of his Fettered Femmes.

"Mistress Sally, sir," she said to her boss. "I couldn't take jail . I will sign
anything you want."

Mr. Ensign smiled.

"You will be my first $1-million artwork," he said matter-of-factly. "You will
become Bonda, the Princess of Self-Discipline."

"Yes, Mr. Ensign," Bonda sighed, half-shaken, half-thrilled.

Mr. Ensign grinned.

"The time has come, lass. Let's take a little trip."

At the end of the little trip, Bonda O'Tightly stood outside Mistress Sally's
school, waiting for the Mistress to answer her knock while Mr. Ensign watched
from his limo at curbside. Finally, the porch light came on and Mistress Sally
answered the door. Bonda turned and waved at her boss, as did Mistress Sally.
Sally was smiling; Bonda was wimpering.

Mistress Sally ushered Bonda inside, to a brightly lighted anteroom. Bonda noted
the contrast in their outfits: She wore a Plain Jane, three-piece,
cotton-and-polyester, off-white business suit with skin-colored nylons and 4''
heels, topped off with a short jacket and thin cotton belt that all but hid her
figure, while Mistress Sally wore a skin-tight, neck-high, knee-length black
rubber dress with sultry dark stockings and 6'' heels.

"You are probably aware from my many visits to the gallery that I help Mr.
Ensign's slaves learn the proper level of servitude," Mistress Sally said,
putting her arm around Bonda. "Say goodbye to freedom. Enjoy the freedom of
total servitude. Welcome to my house of humiliation."

As she talked, the Mistress guided Bonda to another room, where a second woman
awaited . The woman wore black rubber panties and a neck-to-crotch leather
harness , rubber stockings, 6'' black leather heels, and was bound with her
wrists tied behind her.

Her breasts were covered with black rubber cups, but around each breast she had
a square metal-and-wood contraption strapped into the harness The contraption
could clearly be adjusted to clamps down on her breasts and force her bosom to
thrust forward unaturally.

"Bonda, meet Tyrenna Knotts, my chief assistant," Mistress Sally said. "Ty is
into some mild bondage tonight, her reward for a brilliant day of humbling our
gagged little group of girls. She will help with your training, and I must tell
you she prefers much more severe methods of dealing with her trainees. She's
famous for her Hog Ty, which is her own version of the classic bondage
position."

Bonda's mouth dropped.

"What have I done?" she asked herself. "More importantly, how bad can it get?"

She would soon find out.

BINDING AGREEMENT, Part II

As the three women headed down a long hallway, Mistress Sally defined the rules
of her school: "Absolute, immediate servitude."

That was it.

The Mistress stopped, turned to look directly into Bonda's eyes, and said:
"Trust me, you don't not want to know what options there are for any failure to
obey this rule. Do you understand?"

Bonda nodded affrimatively.

"Repeat the rules," Mistress Sally ordered.

"Absolute, immediate servitude," Bonda blubbered, with Tyrenna echoing the words
behind her.

"Very well," said Mistress Sally. "Go in here, strip, and dress yourself in your
first punishment garment. I will free Ty to help you."

Bonda scurried into the room, which was nothing more than a barren, 4-foot by
6-foot rectangle with hardwood floors , a single folding chair, and a closet.
She sat on the chair, dropped her purse, took off her heels and began shedding
her clothes. Tyrenna watched, her arms folded.

Bonda stopped when she got down to her bra, panties, and nylons, looking briefly
at Tyrenna. Before Tyrenna could state the obvious - "take it all off" - Bonda
sighed and removed the rest of her clothes.

She wondered what awaited her in the closet.

She didn't wonder long.

She opened up the door and gasped. Inside was a metal, body-length , body-shaped
cage, an old-fashioned metal chastity belt, a full-headed, black rubber hood
with hoses and pumps everywhere, and a metal trunk marked "open me first."

Tyrenna nudged her inside the closet and Bonda stumbled toward the trunk. She
opened it slowly. Inside, she saw nothing but rubber, leather and metal, all
wrapped in invididually numbered clear plastic bags, each with its own written
instructions inside.

The first bag contain a black rubber inflatable dildo.

"Guess where I go?" the instructions asked rhetorically. "And please inflate me
to capacity with my hand pump."

Bonda knew what to do and she did it.

She pumped and felt the plastic swell to the point she could barely keep her
legs together. When she stopped, Tyrenna reached for the pump and squeezed
another six times.

Bag number two had a similiar device.

"What are your options?" it asked.

Bonda did what she had to do. She pumped harder this time. Still, Tyrenna gave
the pump an extra six squeezes.

Bag three had yet another device of the same shape.

"What's left?" the instructions asked.

Bonda opened her mouth.

Once again, Tyrenna gave her a hand pumping to full inflation.

Bag number four, thankfully, contained a simple leather strip and lock.

"Pull the pump on item number three through the opening and secure the two ends
behind your head with a lock. Make sure you make the fit as tight as possible."

Bonda did as directed, firmly securing the device deep inside her mouth. She
pulled the two ends and prepared to lock the leather behind her. Tyrenna slapped
her hands and pulled the ends another two notches tighter, forcing Bonda's
cheeks to bulge over the top of the leather strip. Then Tyrenna handed Bonda the
lock and allowed her to proceed.

The lock, Bonda noted, was not a key lock, but a combination lock, as were all
the other locks she'd see this night.

"Gee," said Tyrenna, " I sure hope someone wrote down all the numbers for these
combinations."

Bonda moaned behind her gag.

"What do you care, girl," Tyrenna snapped. "From now on, your on SGT."

"SGT?"

"Slave Girl Time," Tyrenna laughed.

Bag five was a two-piece leather panty with adjustable straps and a lock that
securely trapped items one and two into the appropriate spots.

Bag six contained rubber stockings; bag seven held a red 5-inch leather posture
collar; bag eight held a rubber bra with slits to allow the tips of Bonda's
breasts to peek through .

All were secured by locks. Next came metal ankle, knee, wrist and elbow cuffs,
all locking, all with four attached rings. The last little bag in the chest
seemed harmless enough: It contained four self-locking rings about and inch and
a half in diameter.

"Attach where appropriate," the instructions said.

Bonda was puzzled.

"I will have to help you with these," Tyrenna said, grabbing the rings from
Bonda. "First, put your ankles together."

Click.

Bonda's ankle cuffs were locked together. Next came the knee cuffs. The wrist
cuffs were secured behind her. As, of course, were the elbow cuffs.

"From here on, dear, you'll have to rely on me."

Tyrenna reached for the metal chastity belt, which was hinged on one side and
secured with three locks on the other side. It wrapped around Bonda's bound
form. As Tyrenna locked the belt on Bonda, Bonda felt the built-in studs in the
back of the belt push firmly against her buttocks.

"You'll learn to take your lumps," Tyrenna giggled.

Turenna was not through. The two sides of the belt were secured by a
two-inch-wide screw that ran from the front to the back. Tyrenna sturggled to
wedge it between Bonda's tightly fettered legs. The bolt wedged right up against
devices one and two. Tyrenna grabbed a huge wrench and began to fasten the front
to the back. As the screw turned, it rubbed against both of the previously
installed devices, while at the same time pulling the studs deeper and deeper
into Bonda's buttocks.

When the bolt was fastened as tightly as possible, taking all the slack out of
it belt, Tyrenna stepped back.

"Congratulations," Tyrenna smirked. "You're the first slave I've had the
opportunity to screw. Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

Bonda twisted in her bonds.

The studs hurt. Her crotch was pressed so tightly against the bolt that her skin
could feel the identations of the threads.

"Now I'll help you with your hood," Tyrenna said. "You obviously don't have a
head for such things."

The one-piece hood was rolled over Bonda head, crushing her hair tightly against
her skin. As the hood was rolled over her eyes, she saw built-in heavy rubber
pads where the eyeholes would otherwise be. As Tyrenna pulled the hood down
further, Bonda saw nothing. The pads shut out all light. Tyrenna paused and
positioned the hood before pulling it over Bonda's nose, inserting a rubber tube
into each nostril. She pulled and tugged the hood down further, stopping again
where the pump end was held in place.

She unscrewed the pump, pulled the hood all the way down Bonda's chin and tucked
the ends insaide her posture collar. Bonda then felt the gag pump reattached and
pumped six more times. The sides of her mouth were pressed cruelly against the
gag strap. Then Tyrenna inflated the three other pump bladders welded into the
hood, and when she stood back, she saw that Bonda's rubber headpiece was shaped
completely round.

"Perfect," she said.

Of course, Bonda could not hear her. The heavy pads over her ears pressed
harshly against her outer ears, shutting off virtually all but the loudest
sounds.

Bonda felt Tyrenna secure four cables - two in the front, two in the back - to
her chastity belt. She her the fanit sound of the winch as she felt herself
lifted by the belt, two feet off the ground, and pushed into her cage.

Like the chastity belt, the cage was hinged. When Bonda was positioned correctly
inside -her toes pointed severely downwards and locked into ballet-style metal
shoes, her posture collar reinforced by a like metal brace wedlded into the
cage, Tyrenna shut the cage and locked it with six locks.

Bonda felt for her bonds. There was a three-inch bar at her ankles, below and
above her knees, above and below the chastity belt, around her forehead, and
from side to side at the top of her head.

She felt the cage spin around.

It spun two turns in one direction; then three turns the other way.

Suddenly, Bonda heard Tyrenna's voice.

"We have put speakers into your ear pads so you can hear us when we want,"
Tyrenna said. "You will spend your first punishment period here. But we want you
to remain perfectly still, because I don't want you getting dizzy in the cage.
To avoid that, I am attaching breast cups to you. You will feel both breasts
sucked into these metal and rubber cones."

Bonda felt her left breast being sucked away from her body. It was worse than a
nipple clamp because the force of the suction extended her breast to the point
it ached. She could not pull away. The cage fit her perfectly. She could only
wiggle her fingers. And she wiggled her fingers as the same treatment was used
on her right breast. The breast pumps were attached the a flat metal plate that
extended out parallel to her body, pulling her chest out dramatically forward,
increasing her pain. Although she could not see, Bonda could feel the breast
pump tubes being wrapped around her body once and secured to a fixed platform at
the bottom of the cage. While she could swivel the cage from side to side ever
to slightly, she had no urge to do so. If she swiveled left, her right breast
was extended. If she went right, her left breast was extended.

"Now, before I go, I thought you should take a little dip," Tyrenna said.

Bonda felt her cage being directed on an overhead track to another room.

"Take a deep breath, dear, because your going to have to hold it for a couple of
minutes," Tyrenna said.

Bonda did. She felt plugs inserted into her breathing tubes and felt herself
lowered into a warm liquid. She was lowered in over her head for several
seconds. She was about to panic when she felt herself being lifted up again, the
gooey liquid sticking to her form.

"You have been bronzed in latex," Tyrenna said as she unplugged Bonda's
breathing tubes.

Bonda squirmed.

Her form didn't give. She couldn't even wiggle her fingers now, although her
cage could still turn on its swivel, an observation her nipples made as Tyrenna
none too gently examined her mummified form. She had become a living statue.

Again, she felt her form moving along the track overhead, this time feeling
Tyrenna guiding her through several turns as they went from room to room. Then
she felt herself being pulled up and up. into the air

"You are hanging 20 feet over the center of our foyer," Tyrenna said. "You will
be the first slave our visitors see when they enter. I hope you're not afraid of
heights. Hang in there. "

Bonda groaned. But no one could hear it.

BINDING AGREEMENT, Part III

Bonda was alone in her bound, blind, silent prison. She felt her body perched on
the screw of the chastity built and tried to wiggle to see if she could arouse
her. All she aroused was the renewed sensation of the threads pressed against
her puss, and those two throbbing monsters wedged inside her. She concentrated
on her fingers. She could not wiggle a one. She concentrated on her toes,
severely pointed downward so that they nearly bent backwards. She sucked on the
invader in her mouth. She imagined this as an engorged lover. She tried to move
her tongue around it. No luck. She tried to bite it. Figures, she thought. That
spot is reinforced and too hard to bite.

Finally, she concenrated on the air valves in her nose. She breathed in, then
out. In, then out. In, then out. As she breathed, she could feel her nipples
strain. She tried to swivel her cage. Her nipples pulled in rythem. She was
almost panting. Was it her breathing, her nipples, or what? Her crotch felt
warm. She tried to clench her hands. She felt the bumps on her buttocks and she
was clearly panting now. She was turned on.

"I'm a slave," she thought to herself. "I'm really a slave. How exciting!"

She tried to work herself into an orgasm, but the harder she tried, the more
frustrated she became. She was a sweaty, panting slave. She wiggled and squirmed
wherever she felt any room. Soon, her latex coccoon was swinging forward and
back, from side to side.

Unknown to her, Mistress Sally and Tyrenna happened to be passing through the
foyer at that very moment, dragging another slave off to a punishment room.

"Think she's freaking out up there?" asked Tyrenna as she played with the
exposed nipples of the bound beauty beside her.

"No, dear," said Mistress Sally. "I think she's playing with herself. We'll have
to expand her punishment in the morning," the Mistress said, holding her hands
out far apart in front of her.

"Oh no," said Tyrenna as both women laughed and dragged their rubberized slave
toward her next predicament.

Meanwhile, inside her latex prison, Bonda was hot, sweaty, tired and really,
really horny.

She was too tired to try anymore, though. She tried to resume normal breathing.
As the sweat poured from her, she felt herself go almost slippery inside her hot
little home. M-m-m-m. This isn't bad, she thought. Maybe I can get some rest.
She started feeling herself breathe in shorter, shallower breaths. She was
almost dozing when she felt a cramp in her leg. She tried to reach. No chance.
Her nipples were itching. She could do nothing. Her puss itched. Her hair was
wet with sweat and the sweat touched her lips. She tasted its salty tang. Those
bumps in her buttocks were starting to feel like needles.

"Please," she thought, "let me down. Let me scratch."

No one could read her thoughts, though, and her thoughts and fantasies were her
only company. She thought how exciting it would be for her to be let down from
this bondage high by a dark, handsome stranger who would wash her, towel her,
wrap her up in rubber again and ravage her. That only made her sweat. And the
more she sweated, the more she itched.

My nipples, she thought. Oh, how they ache. It's as if my Master has decided to
lead me around, bound up, with my nipples on a leash. Could that be done, she
wondered? Would he take me to am S/M bar and tie the leash to the bar?

Once again, she got hot.

And once again, she itched.

And once again, she dreamed.

She thought of the shower scene from Psycho. But instead of stabbing her, her
attacker wraps her up in the shower curtain, and binds her head in a bathing cap
and gas mask.

Then he takes a feather duster and a vibrator and toys with her nipples and
puss. Then he binds her to the pole with electrical tape, from head to toe,
still wrapped up in the plastic, with her nipples still available.

Too much, she thought.

"I'm getting too hot and too frustrated," she said to herself.

She wiggled and fussed and finally cried. Her tears ran to the tip of her nose.

Great. Now her nose itched.

Once again, far below her, Mistress Sally and Tyrenna were passing through, this
time on their way to retiring for the night.

"She really is having fun up there, isn't she." Tyrenna said as she watched the
cage rock and twist.

"No, dear," said Mistress Sally. "I think she's learning a painful lesson."

"What's that?" asked Tyrenna.

"Well, you could say she's made her bed," Mistress Sally said, "and now she has
to sweat in it."

Once again, the women giggled as they headed down the hall, leaving Bonda to her
bonds.

And up above, Bonda's mind was racing.

"Are my eyes open or not?" she thought to herself. "I can't tell. Everything's
dark. Am I really experiencing this, or is it all a dream? If this is a dream,
why don't I wake up and get Vito, my faithful vibrator."

She rocked back and forth.

"This is no dream," she thought. "I really am hanging her, helpless, with nasty
things everywhere, and no way to play."

And so it went.

Bonda got no sleep.

Bonda got no orgasm.

All she got was one sensation overcoming another, with an infrequent cramp to
annoy her in ways her buttocks bumps and pointed toes and restraints and gags
and nipple pumps didn't do.

"I'm really a slave," she'd tell herself, and she'd get aroused again. She'd
breathe deeply, quickly, erotically. But for naught.

Would this be her permanent slavery? Probably not.

She was sure her captors would devise worse.

And indeed they would.

For as the thought about the possibilities, she felt herself being lowered to
the floor.

"Thank God," she thought. "Maybe I'll be free."

When the base of her cage hit the floor, she heard Mistress Sally's voice
through her earphones.

"We have a wonderful day of self-punishment lined up for you, with paddles and
clamps and a tongue depressor," Mistress Sally said. "But Ty is a little tied up
right now, so I thought I'd treat you first to our own version of a blow job.
Are you ready?"

Bonda shook.

"Left you speechless?" Mistress Sally asked. "Very well. Let me explain. We're
encasing you in a heavy rubber body bag that will totally enclose you, except
for two air holes. Then we will inflate it. As the air goes in, you'll feel your
latex coccoon press even tighter against your flesh. Then we will let you hang
up high again, dangling there, trapped inside a bell-shaped balloon. The shape
is appropriate because, well, you'll find out."

Bonda moaned into her muzzled mouth. She felt the balloon lifted around her and
pumped up and up and up. The hard rubber had little way to give, except at
Bonda's expense. Her latex prison pressed against her everywhere, putting extra
pressure on every crack and joint. As she was lifted back up into the air, she
itched everywhere, especially her puss, her nipples, her butt, her head, her
knees, her?well, everywhere.

As she was lifted up and up, her bell-shaped bondage balloon swayed from side to
side, so it looked like a bell being rung in a cathedral.

She could hear Mistress Sally's voice in her ear pieces.

"Someday we'll have to fit you into the rubber-and-metal clanger suit we have
and let you feel the sensation of having your striking form striking the side of
a real bell every hour on the hour. But for now, I know you're itching to get on
with your self-punishment. So just amuse yourself up there until Ty comes for
you - if she comes for you?I do hope this isn't her day off."

Up in her bell bondage, Bonda twisted and whined. She was so close to an orgasm.
So close. She rode the threads of the bolt on her chastity belt. She squirmed
around on her puss. She twisted her nipples for a response.

"Oh, lord," she said, "if I could only move a little more and sweat a little
less. "

She sucked on her gag.

Try as she might, she couldn't make herself bring herself off.

BINDING AGREEMENT, Part IV

By the time Bonda finally came down to earth again, literally, she was one giant
spasm, unable to itch, bitch or think straight. She wanted to be free - not
forever, just long enough to regain the sensations of touch and movement.

When she came down, she went nowhere but sideways. Her bell balloon bondage was
tilted on end, and then she heard Tyrenna's voice through her earpieces:

"Time to let the good times roll, dear," Tyrenna giggled.

Bonda felt her caged and coccooned self rolled through the hallways and (bounce,
bounce, bounce) down the steps of Mistress Sally's little slave hut. By the time
she rolled to a stop, her head was spinning faster than a cotton candy machine.
Her rolly-polly ride had pounded her breasts and buttocks, and jostled her
crotch enough to remind her that Invaders 1 and 2 were still taking up space in
her spaces.

Her bell was flipped roughly upright, and she felt the balloon slowly
decompress.

She felt the feeling return to places where she'd lost it, even though she was
still mummified in her latex and metal. The feeling reminded her of the rush
when she used to unlace her wicked leather corset, which cinched her down to an
18'' waist.

Except this relief went from head to toe.

Tyrenna cut away her latex prison with quick snips of her scissors, and the
latex literally sucked away from her body as Tyrenna peeled it from her.

Bonda suddenly shivered. It felt cold around her. Then Tyrenna sprayed her caged
form with a heavy, warm mist of water. It felt so good.

One by one, Tyrenna dialed the combination locks and they popped open. But it
was at least 20 minutes later before she was on to Bonda's hooded head, her
buckled bindings, her fettered feet. Finally, she was free of all devices except
those three nasty inflatables.

"Leave the gag in for now," said Tyrenna. "But you can take everything else
out."

Bonda did.

Tyrenna snapped a leather and rubber collar on Bonda's neck. The collar was
attached to a chain, which in turn was attached to an overhead track that ran
vertically across the room. Tyrenna ordered Bonda to submerge herself in a huge,
neck-deep bubble bath built into the floor of the room.

"Enjoy yourself while you can," Tyrenna said. "We only allow an hour off between
punishments. There is a toilet over there, and a dressing table with perfumes
and other toiletries next to it. I'm going to fetch you some food."

By the time Tyrenna returned, Bonda was in front of a dressing table, primping
herself. Bonda's gag was removed and she was instructed to sit down and dine.

Throughout the bath, and during the meal, Bonda had found herself rubbing her
body, getting the sensations back to normal. Her puss and her breasts were
particularly sensitive. Her sweaty red skin tone had almost returned to its
normal pinkish hue.

She felt terrific, she thought. Her whole body felt alive. She felt like she'd
just awakened from an erotic night full of lovemaking, with a glow all over her.
She was satisfied in every way but one.

And why not? She was clean, freshly relieved, and filled with good food - a
gourmet breakfast, no less.

What was next?

Mistress Sally's earlier words echoed in her head: "We have a wonderful day of
self-punishment lined up for you?"

Her flashback was interrupted by Tyrenna clearing her throat.

"Free time's up," she said. "It's SGTT - Slave Girl Torture Time."

Bonda moaned as Tyrenna released her from the overhead chain and attached a long
leather leash to her collar.

"Follow me, dear," she ordered, and the two walked back up a flight of stairs
and down a long hallway. They entered the last room on the left.

Bonda was led over to a dressing table and ordered to remain standing as Tyrenna
dressed her in long, white latex stockings, 8'' red leather ballet boots, a
matching red helmet with eye, nose and mouth openings, and matching red gloves.

She was then wrapped and laced into a white heavy-latex sheath dress that
allowed her only inches of space to wiggle-walk her way around. Her collar was
detached and replaced by a 5'' posture collar sewn into the dress, with O-rings
that buckled to her red helmet on either side and at the back. The back buckle
forced her head back to the point that she found herself staring at the ceiling.

Bonda considered her position: her arms were still free, she should still see,
and she could breath freely. Was this their best bondage?

No.

As Bonda stood there teetering, Tyrenna wheeled over a 7-foot-high, 4-foot
square plexiglas box on wheels, all framed in heavy-duty metal. Rods, rings,
chains, clamps, pulleys and sex toys ringed the sides and hung from the ceiling.

On the plexiglas door were the letters: PERPETUAL PUNISHMENT MACHINE.

Tyrenna opened the door and ushered Bonda inside. Bonda tippy-toed her way to
the middle of the box, where Tyrenna secured her by her helmet to a pulley
overhead. Tyrenna pulled adjustable L-shaped bars down from the ceiling, almost
parallel to Bonda's shoulders, but slightly higher. Bonda was strapped into the
bars at the shoulders, above the elbows, below the elbows, and at the wrists.
She could swing her arms slightly forward and back, but not from side to side.
Next Tyrenna strapped a black leather strap across her mouth, forcing two
hard-rubber blocks into her mouth.

After the leather was strapped behind Bonda's head, Tyrenna turned a crank and
the two rubber blocks started to part. Bonda's mouth slowly opened wider and
wider until she felt her mouth could be extended no more. She droooled
helpessly. Then Tyrenna fitt a brank over the bottom rubber block. A rubber
shaft was mounted at the far end of the brank, and Bonda could see that a groove
down the center of the brank could guide the shaft directly into her mouth. A
system of pistons was attached to the underside of the brank, and as Tyrenna
pulled up and down on the bottom piston, the rubber shaft slid into Bonda's
mouth, across her tongue, and back out.

"That should keep your mouth occupied," Tyrenna said.

Bonda flinched.

Tyrenna hummed to herself as she fit a metal girdle around Bonda's middle. It
also had a series of pistons and pulleys, and somehow (Bonda could not lower her
head to see), one piston on her girdle was attached to the bottom piston of the
brank.

"Spread your legs," Tyrenna ordered.

Bonda moaned. Her rubber sheath dress had little give, but on her tippy-toes,
she was able to extend her ankles about four inches apart. She felt an
adjustable spreader bar being attached to either ankle, and then Tyrenna cranked
her ankles apart even further, to maybe a 6" gap. Bonda screwed short extension
poles into the spreader bar; two in front, two in back, all with O-rings
attached. She then attached stiff aluminum poles from the O-rings in front to
O-rings at her tethered wrists.

Identical poles ran from the back poles at her ankles to her elbows. Poles
secured from her elbows to her sides prevented her from twisting too far to one
side or the other.

Bonda wasn't sure yet what all this accomplished.

"You are becoming a mechanical doll," Tyrenna said. "These parts will all
interconnect and, like a Rube Goldberg device, create an on-going, self-driven
series of actions-and-reactions, all designed for your personal discomfort."

Bonda's dress had black rubber pop-off plugs at the most convenient locations:
her butt, her crotch, and her nipples. One by one, Tyrenna unplugged the holes.
She attached a series of pulleys and poles to the metal girdle. Two poles angled
out in front of Bonda's breasts, about six inches away from her body. Bonda
winced as a huge nipple clamp was attached to each breast. Each clamp was
attached by a wire that ran inside the rods and back to the girdle and its
interconnected pulleys and pistons. Behind her, Bonda felt Tyrenna screw a
rubber shaft onto the end of a piece of tubing. Tyrenna attached the shaft to
the end of a U-shaped series of tubes than ran from the metal girdle and went
out, down, and back up, between Bonda's cheeks.

The shaft found her dark cavity and burrowed all the way up. The same process
was repeated in front: out, down, and up, up, up.

Then came a metal box that screwed into the back of the metal girdle. It, too,
had four separate piston-pole extensions that went out and down to four
spring-loaded table-tennis paddles: two aimed at her left cheek, and two at her
right. Other poles ran from the box to her elbows and heels.

Finally, Tyrenna came around front and attached a very long pole from Bonda's
posture collar to the spreader bar. But the pole, secured to the middle of the
spreader bar, was a little too short: Bonda could touch the floor with the left
toe of her ballet boots, or the right toe, but not both.

"Let me explain what's about to happen," Tyrenna said. "The wheels on the
outside of your plexiglas prison are set to force you to walk in a large,
continuing circle around this room. Every time you take a step, the pistons and
poles will push and pull and take on a life of their own.

They will pull and release your nipples. They will push each shaft in and out.

They will trigger and re-set the paddles. Your body will react to each pain,
each paddle, each probe, and as you react, you will naturally wiggle from side
to side, pushing yourself forward, forcing the cycle to start all over.

"To get you started, all I have to do is release the brake locks on all four
wheels, give you a little push, and off you go. Are you ready?"

Bonda wiggled her tongue and grunted.

"Good," said Tyrenna. One by one, Tyrenna released the brake locks. After she
released the last one, she stood up and looked at Bonda's motionless form. She
went behind Bonda and pinched her left cheek. Bonda lurched forward, shimmying
slightly from side to side.

Bonda was off.

She heard Tyrenna shut the plexiglas door behind her and she could feel the
poles and pistons take on a life of her own. Whoosh. Clink. Whoosh. Clink. Left
toe. Right toe. Swat. Whoosh. The shaft went deep into Bonda's mouth, gagging
her, and slid back out. The other shafts did the same. Her nipples went taut,
them limp. The paddles slapped her butt. Left. Right. Nipples taut. Nipples
limp. Shaft in. Shaft out. Whoosh. Slap. Whoosh. Pull. In and out. Slap and
pull.

By her second trip around the room, Bonda wondered how long she could hold off
an orgasm.

Not long.

Her body shook with delight before she made it around a third time.

But she kept going, unable to stop.

"Isn't this fun?" Tyrenna mused. "You come and go at the same time. You'll do
five trips of 100 laps each, with a 5-minute break in between."

Whoosh. Slap. Whoosh. Pull.

In and out.

Slap and pull.

She came.

She went.

She had no choice.

BINDING AGREEMENT, Part V

By the time she completed her fifth and last 100 laps around the room, Bonda had
lost track of time. Had she been trapped inside the plexicage for hours? For
days?

She didn't think she'd ever want another orgasm.

Too many.

Too sore.

And too tired.

All she wanted to do was sleep.

Tyrenna freed her and dragged her back downstairs for another bath, another
potty break, another meal, and, of course, another ordeal.

"How are you handling things so far, dear?" asked a suddenly conversational,
almost chummy Tyrenna.

"I feel like I could sleep for days," said Bonda. "I've been to the two
extremes: at first I never thought I'd get aroused, and then I never thought I
could stop it. Right now, I don't care if I ever have another orgasm. I'm so
raw."

Tyrenna pursed her lips.

"You should remember what you say, dear. Mistress has this cruel way about her.
The things you think you need, you don't. The things you don't think you need,
you really do."

Bonda was puzzled.

Why was Tyrenna talking in riddles?

She cocked her head at Tyrenna, as if to say: "Huh?"

"You'll understand," Tyrenna said. "Starting with your next adventure: THE
SLEEPING BAG."

The Sleeping Bag. When Bonda first saw it, she almost laughed out loud. It was a
very, very baggy long heavy piece of rubber with a few hoses here and there.

"For once, we've got nothing to probe, nothing to pinch," Tyrenna said. "We
simply need to have you fit yourself with this white rubber baby doll nightie
and matching panties and rubberized helmet."

Before the helmet went on, Tyrenna slipped a blue ball gag with a breathing hose
into Bonda's mouth. Bonda was very relaxed. The gag had a breathing hose. The
helmet had a cupie-doll face painted on it, and other than the breathing hoses
extending from the nose, Bonda saw nothing hellish about it. It laced up the
back.

There were no eye holes, but the opaque eyes allowed Bonda to at least see light
and make out movement. Bonda could hear Tyrenna's every move.

Bonda hummed into her gag.

This was easy.

Tyrena slipped on ankle and knee straps, then a pair of laced white rubber
gloves that extended all the way to Bonda's shoulders. Bonda wiggled her fingers
and swang her elbows. No real discomfort here, she thought. She felt Tyrenna
affix a posture collar, to which a metal head cage was attached, with two bars
each running from side to side, and from the back to the front. The bars held
Bonda's head firmly fixed in a straight-forward position, but were not overly
tight or chafing. Bonda felt her left arm being lifted over her head and across
the cage. Her arm was attached to the cage with two straps at the elbow and one
at her wrist. The same was done to the other arm. Her arms were now crossed over
her head - securely, but not painfully.

Tyrenna stood back to see her bound victim. Bonda could see her form before her,
but only the shape. She saw the form come closer, until it was standing directly
in front of her.

Tyrenna rubbed Bonda's crotch through her panties.

Bonda moaned softly.

Tyrenna reached up gently fingered each of Bonda's nipples through her nightie.

Bonda moaned softly again.

Then Tyrenna pulled hard on Bonda's nipples.

Bonda screamed behind her gag: "M-m-m-p-p-p-h-h-h-h!!!"

Tyrenna retreated two steps.

"Okay, I guess it's time to bag our prisoner," Tyrenna said as Bonda stood
there, shaking off the pain. "But first, I need to summon some helpers."

Tyrenna rang a bell and within seconds Bonda saw three other dark figures in the
room. She felt herself being lifted up and into the sleeping bag. The bag was
held up all the way to her neck while Tyrenna fitted extension hoses into her
three breathing hoses. Then Tyrenna and her friends pulled the bag over Bonda's
head.

Bonda was now in darkness. The rubber made it warm inside. Too warm. Bonda was
sweating as she felt eight hands and arms wrap around and lift her onto a
platform. She almost tettered, but was able to balance herself. She heard
Tyrenna clear her throat: "You are standing on a plexiglass platform that is
actually the bottom of an airtight plastic tube. Your breathing devises will be
attached to the outside of the tube. Your bag has several inflatable bladders,
and once we've fitted you inside the tube, the bladders will be inflated. Then,
dear, you can sleep - if you can."

Bonda could hear the tube fitted over her bagged form. She felt the cool air
from the outside rushing into her hoses. She felt the tube locked to its base,
and she felt her body titled sideways. The tube was on its side now. Then the
inflation began.

Bonda did not know, but the bag had several layers of rubber. As each layer was
inflated, the layer closer to her body shaped itself tightly around her form. As
each layer was blown up, she felt the air push slightly this way and that in the
tube. She heard air pockets pop open. Soon she was floating on the air inside
the tube, within her prison. The inflation continued. She heard the rubber
screech against the outer tubing as it sought spaces to squeeze into. Soon the
air pressure was so tight, Bonda could not move at all. Still, she felt her body
bag inflated more and more.

Finally, when Bonda felt the inner core of the bag pressed tightly into every
crack of her body, pressing her like a smothering lover, the inflation stopped
and she felt her tube lifted. She was carried over to the pit where she had
bathed earlier. It had been drained and refilled with cold water. Her captors
dropped Bonda's tube on top and it floated. Bonda felt hands hold the tube
motionless.

Bonda heard Tyrenna's voice echo through the tube and the layers of her rubber
prison.

"Okay, girls, let's take her for a spin."

Bonda felt the tube spin rapidly sideways in the water, floating freely across
the pit and back. Finally, it slowed. She breathed in and out, testing her
breathing hoses.

She was getting air, okay. Finally, she felt the tube go almost upright, then
rock downward. Bonda twisted as hard as she could in her tubular coccoon. The
tube rolled over twice, landing, again, upside down.

"Damn," she thought to herself. "I forgot to breathe."

Bonda was rolled face up and held as long metal cannisters were attached to
either side of the tube the air hose in her mouth was split like a Y, with hoses
attached to each cannister. Three-inch hose were attached to her nose-hose
extensions at the back of her head.

"Breathe in through your mouth and out your nose," Tyrenna said. "You have
enough air in these cannsters for several hours. But the weight of the
cannisters will force you underwater, although not enough to touch bottom
because of the air inside.

You will be submerged deep enough that when you exhale, the nose hoses will blow
bubbles. You'll find those bubbles are awfully noisy as they go past your head
and up to the surface, but hey, you'll know you're breathing."

Tyrenna laughed.

"Okay, girls, let her go."

Bonda felt the tube submerge below the water line. She could still breathe But
inside her suit, it was hot. She felt her body sweat profusely.

"You're probably sweaty in there," she heard Tyrenna say in a voice distorted by
its travel underwater to Bonda's ears. "By the time you're out of there, you're
skin will have probably shriveled. You'll be a prune. But first you'll start
itching again. Some of it will be uncomfortable. But some of it, especially
around your sore crotch and breasts, also will be erotic. But, of course, you'll
be unable to do anything about it because you can't use your hands, and wiggling
will only make it worse.

"For now, just consider yourself the belle of bondage - Tyrenna's first official
diving belle, if you wish."

Bonda snorted. When she did, the air exploded from her nose hoses, causing
enough bubbles to rock her tube from side to side.

BINDING AGREEMENT, PART VI

Yes, Bonda did sleep.

The bubbles of air became an underwater lullaby to her, and she couldn't tell
exactly when she dozed off. And she wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep when
she awoke.

But even though her sweat soaked her body and she itched like crazy, in the end
the need to recharge her body had become the most overwhelming urge. So she had
slept.

And she had dreamed.

It was a bizarre dream, really. All she could remember was being fettered and
being shown her new slave boots - rubber-and-leather boots with 8'' heels. Boots
that ran from her toes all the way up to her crotch. Boots with the longest
laces she'd ever seen, which fit her legs so snugly that her knees couldn't
bend.

These boots weren't made for walkin'.

These boots were made for bondage.

And in her dream, there were the Mistress and Tyrenna, fitting her into the
boots, forcing her to learn to walk on them, telling her how the tiny little
padlocks on the back would make sure that even if she were otherwise unfettered
and naked, she couldn't get those boots off. And Bonda remembered that she was
left alone to learn to walk in those boots. She teetered. She stumbled. She
could hardly stand still, let alone walk forward.

Even left unfettered, it took her hours upon hours of practice to learn how to
mince forward. Even bound into a walking harness, replete with a upside-down
U-shaped bar and rollers, she could only mince forward. And then there was the
scene that shocked her awake: Tyrenna walking into the room with a metal and
leather body harness and brank, telling her that it was time for Bonda to be
re-bound as a pony girl, still in her boots.

"The Mistress wants to race you," Tyrenna said.

Run? In those boots?

The fear shook Bonda awake.

Maybe it had been the dream that had made her so sweaty. Maybe it was the time
she'd spent in the tube. But whatever it was, she was very, very happy when she
felt herself lifted out of the pit by Tyrenna and her helpers.

When she was finally deflated, the tube unlocked, and the rubber bag pulled from
her body, Bonda's body was a wrinkled as a Sharpei. The smell of sweat and
rubber was overwhelming.

Bonda was ushered into a small, white room with a regular tub and a small table,
which contained food.

"You know the drill," Tyrenna said. "Bathe and dry yourself. Then eat. Later,
Mistress has some interesting new boots to fit on you. I don't think you could
conjur up these boots in your wildest dreams!'

"Bet me," Bonda thought to herself.

"These boots are rubber and leather and go all the way up to your puss," Tyrenna
said.

"They lace and lock. And, oh yes, they have 8'' heels."

"No!" Bonda thought to herself as she slipped into the tub. "Am I still
dreaming?"

She wasn't.

Tyrenna left the room and closed the door.

Bonda quickly washed the sweat off her and dried herself off. She wolfed down
her food, all the time thinking of the boots.

"I've got to get out of here," she thought. "I've got to escape!"

She jumped to her feet and approached the door. She didn't care that she was
naked or who might be on the other side of the door.

She wanted her freedom.

So she twisted the door knob, and it opened. She peeked out the door. No one was
in the hallway. She slinked down the hallway to a coat rack, where she found a
long, black, rubber trenchcoat. She put it on.

She came to the end of the hallway and it split like a T. Should she got left or
right? She chose the right.

At the end of that hallway was another T. She went left.

At the end of the hallway was a door. She opened it. It was the foyer. And,
other than another slave dangling high above in the cage where she had been, it
was empty. She fixed her eyes on the front door and scurried over, the sound of
her bare feet slapping against the tile as she ran.

She was at the door now, a little out of breath. But she had to go, so she
opened the door and prepared to run for her life.

But what she ran into was a trap.

This wasn't the exit out after all. It was the entrance to another dungeon,
where her Mistress awaited with a man. Tyrenna was at the door, and pulled her
inside.

"Bonda, this is Master Nick," said the Mistress. "He's here to monitor your
training. He's brought some special goodies for us to play with, including a new
pair of boots. Tyrenna, show Bonda her boots.

Yes, they were rubber-and-leather boots with 8'' heels. Boots that ran from
Bonda's toes all the way up to her crotch. Boots with the longest laces she'd
ever seen, fitting her legs so snugly that her knees couldn't bend.

There were tiny little padlocks on the back to make sure that even if she were
otherwise unfettered and naked, she couldn't get those boots off. Bonda
teetered. She stumbled. She could hardly stand still, let alone walk forward.
Bonda wept.

"Why are you crying, my dear?" the mistress asked.

"Are you going to race me?" Bonda stammered.

"Why no, dear," the mistress said. " I hadn't thought of it. But now that you
mention it?maybe?someday?someday soon. We are going to bind you. Master Nick has
has brought you a hooded, armless rubber sheath dress to match your boots."

BINDING AGREEMENT, PART VII

Actually, the rubber sheath dress was merely the dressing for Bonda's first
level of servitude with Master Nick. Master Nick and Tyrenna began Bonda's
preparation. Bonda's hands were fitted in heavy black rubber mittens, over which
were fitted plyable, shoulder-length black rubber gloves with O-rings at the end
of each glove. Next, a metal, adjustable head harness and posture collar was
fitted and locked around Bonda's neck. Then Bonda's gloved arms were
crisscrossed behind her, the O-rings snapped onto clips that dangled from the
harness. Over Bonda's head was fitted a taut rubber shirt that went snugly
around Bonda's neck and then was rolled down her body to her navel. The rubber
clung to Bonda's body like a heavy-duty rubber band, pushing Bonda's breasts
inward and pinioning Bonda's elbows against the small of Bonda's back. Master
Nick stood up and came over to move each breast so that the pressure of the
rubber pancaked each against Bonda's body. He nodded and Tyrenna continued. Over
the rubber, she laced Bonda into a leather all-around tube that tied in the
front and had what appeared to be breast holes in the back. Tyrenna fitted
Bonda's slightly bulging elbows into the holes, and then came up to her and
laced her tightly, putting her foot between Bonda's flattened breasts as she did
the final cinching.

Frankly, Bonda had no idea what Master Nick had in mind.

Next came a half-leather, half-rubber, long-line girdle that the three of them
had to help her step into. The leather half wrapped itself around each cheek of
Bonda's buttocks, and the rubber half snapped against Bonda's puss after Tyrenna
pulled it up as far as she could.

Oh, and there was also that monster invader. It probed Bonda's sex, and although
hollow inside, it was attached to a long, thin pole with the appropriately
fitting device pushed into Bonda's puss. The invader went into Bonda tightly,
snugly, filling her up. A study metal U-shaped extension ran up the middle of
Bonda's front and between the crack in Bonda's butt. It was locked together by a
four-inch wide leather belt around Bonda's waist. The pole was strapped between
Bonda's booted legs above the knees, below the knees, and at Bonda's ankles. A
sturdy, hollow metal tube was affixed to its bottom.

For now, Bonda's focus was on the girdle itself. There was little give to the
whole garment, although the rubber half had two inflate bladders. Tyrenna pumped
them up and as she did, Bonda felt the leather pull her ample buttocks into her
body. When she looked down, she could see that the rubber bladders were now
fully inflated, and were shaped like her cheeks.

"Posture, dear," Master Nick said, catching Bonda being way too casual and
curious for a slave. He got up and adjusted the two-way threads around Bonda's
posture collar. Bonda's neck was pushed upward, slightly higher in back than in
the front.

"And complete silence," he continued, pulling a penis gag with a flat leather,
five-inch-wide outer fitting around Bonda's head, locking it at the back of her
head. Thankfully, the gag had a breathing tube. Bonda's eyes were now fixed
about five feet ahead of her.

"Now, let's start the transformation," Master Nick said, reaching for a
flesh-colored rubber hood and fastening it over Bonda's head. The breathing tube
extended one-quarter inch outside the hood. The hood was thin enough in its
texture that Bonda could still see shapes and shadows before her. But then came
the ankles-to-head sheath outfit, which was fitted around Bonda's back and laced
in front. The three of them put her flat on the floor to complete Bonda's
lacing. Mistress Sally laced the top, Master Nick the middle, and Tyrenna the
bottom. They all put their knees where they needed to be to lace her as tight as
possible. After they were through, Mistress Sally brought her head close enough
to Bonda's face that even through Bonda's rubber hood, she could smell her
perfume. Suddenly, hair fell over Bonda's hood, darkening everything in front of
her. Bonda felt Mistress Sally's lips kiss her gagged, hooded lips.

She was hoisted back on her feet and the three of them fondled her here and
there, checking her outfit and bondage.

"She's too snug to be too smug," Master Nick snickered. "Now, I can explain what
we're doing to you, Bonda. In essence, we've tried to reshape your body. We are
going to fit you with a rubber Barbie-doll face, but it will be fitted to the
back of your head. We will put a long red wig over your face. We will fit one
last heavy heavy white rubber sheath dress from your neck to your ankles. When
people look at you, they will see how you are faced, mistake your elbows for
tiny little breasts, mistake your bladders for your ass, and think you are
headed one way. Then they will see your boots and see you walk and wonder how we
contorted your body 180 degrees, because it will look as if your headed away
from where you are looking. We'll fit your mask with glass lenses to make it
appear as if you are posture-collared with your head up, looking up, and able to
see. People will see no nose or mouth opening and will wonder how you are
breathing. In actualitly, you will be blindfolded by a red rubber skull cap,
facing down, and breathing through a tiny little breathing tube, hidden by all
the hair in the wig."

As Master Nick described the scenario, Tyrenna was fitting her with a Barbie
mask. Then she pulled the skull cap over Bonda's face, and everything went dark.
Bonda felt her once again pull the tiny breathing tube through the cap, and felt
the weight of the wig attached to the cap.

Once everything was fitted in place, Bonda heard a series of clicking noises.

"We're taking pictures," said Master Nick. "We've all seen bi-sexual slaves
before, but never bi-directional."

"It's the worlds first Barbie Bonda in Bondage," giggled Tyrenna.

After the picture taking, Master Nick came up to Bonda's left side, and Mistress
Sally to the right.

"We need to take you to your post for the evening," said Mistress Sally, "which
unfortunately is at the other end of our little abode. We'll help you walk
there."

They each grabbed a side and Master Nick pushed on Bonda's back, or was it
Bonda's front. Bonda minced forward (or backward, considering your perspective).
The pole between Bonda's legs ground slightly from side to side with every
little movement, and since she shuffled like a baby girl with her diaper down to
her angles, it was a series of short, short, shuffle-twists. After about 15
minutes, Bonda's handlers let her stop.

"Good," said Master Nick. ""You're now about three feet closer to the door. By
the time we get to your post, you'll have been inching along for about 10 to 12
hours. You'll be ready to get off your feet."

Bonda's toes and arches ached. And Bonda's puss felt fiery red.

"Well," said Master Nick, "I think we've found your post. It's in our reading
room, which is in use around the clock. Of course, we'll have to give you a
lift."

They did. They lifted her right onto a post protuding about 6'' from the floor.
When they let her down, Bonda's weight rested on the invader and the U-shaped
support. Bonda's feet didn't touch the floor, even though she flailed with her
toes as much as possible for any support.

She got none.

She felt a series of leather straps being wrapped around her bound form and
secured to ring bolts anchored all about her. A head harness was fitted, and
Bonda's head was pulled slightly upward by a pulley.

"We're having a group of Mistresses meet in here in a couple of hours for a
lecture on Effective Slave Bondage," Mistress Sally said. "You will be a
featured part of the program. Until then, my only advice to you is to hang in
there."

Yes," added Master Nick. "You've already got the pole position. I call this
"Slave on a Stick.""

"Of course, when the Mistresses gather, you might be tied up with other things,"
Tyrenna said, "such as how long this pole will vibrate the next time it switches
on. It's all random, except for your first little ride. It will be a half hour."

Bonda moaned.

Suddenly, her whole body shook as the pole vibrated herky-jerky, shaking her
fettered form all over. Her bound up breasts ached in their rubber and leather
prison, but mostly, her puss was getting a workout. Bonda wiggled her toes
furiously, trying to get some footing, trying to brace herself for the
unavoidable rush that filled her whole form. It was easy to tell when that
moment came. The boots stop wiggling. The toes pointed straight downward.

Bonda stretched and strained. Her whole body became one enormous shudder. She
puckered her lips and kissed her leather muzzle. She sucked on her penis gag as
if trying to return some pleasure to her mechanical Mistress. The humm of the
vibrating pole was the only sound Bonda heard. It was far from finished.

BINDING AGREEMENT, PART VIII

Bonda's puss was on throb overdrive by the time the last of Mistress Sally's
disciples of discipline arrived.

"This is Bonda," the Mistress said as she escorted her tribe before the tied
little tart. "She is in training to become Mr. Ensign's greatest work: ÔBonda,
the Princess of Self-Discipline.'"

The woman laughed and sneered. Bonda gurgled behind her penis gag.

"Master Nick and Tyrenna will release Bonda from her present posture," the
Mistress said, "and bring her back out bathed and naked so you ladies may watch
her undergo her transformation from the buff to total bondage."

Bonda was carried off, unshackled, stripped, showered, and fitted with a clear
plastic, adjustable mouthpiece. The two-piece appliance, hinged on either side
wat the rear and equipped with small but sturdy gears, fit perfectly against
Bonda's upper and lower teeth. Tyrenna had applied a clear gel, much like a
denture creme, to the upper and lower portions, and Bonda felt the cold gel flow
between her teeth and up into her gums. Tyrenna reached deep into Bonda's mouth
and forced her jaws wide apart by separating the plastic pieces. Bonda's jaw
stayed agape after Tyrenna stood back. The gears had locked. Bonda took a deep
breath and felt the cold air race through her mouth, down her windpipe and into
her chest. She could breathe just fine. Then Bonda tried to shut her mouth by
trying to shake the release point of the gears free. There was no chance. All
she succeeded in doing was opening her mouth wider. She blinked.

"Great!" she tried to say out loud. But it came out
"g-g-g-a-a-a-a-t-t-t-t-e-e-e." Bonda wiggled her tongue. She was agog over her
gag. To anyone standing back more than inches from her, it looked like Bonda was
voluntarily holding her mouth open, shaping her lips in a perfectly round "O".
She tried to stick her hands in her mouth, but Tyrenna grabbed her hands and
locked them behind her with thumbcuffs.

Master Nick and Tyrenna each grabbed an arm and escorted Bonda back to the
waiting assembly of dominants. There on the floor was a pile of bondage
appartus, all of clear plastic. Bonda's thumbcuffs were unlocked.

"Ladies," Mistress Sally said, "have at her."

The women picked up the goodies - two clear hard-plastic dildos, clear ruffled
panties, a clear, molded plastic corset with nipple openings and clear arm and
wrist staps on either side, a heavy plastic hood, a molded plastic posture
collar, plastic stockings, 7'' molded plastic knee boots, a clear plastic
neck-to-ankle hobble dress (sleeveless, of course, since Bonda's arms would be
fettered) - and within two minutes Bonda was standing before the group, all
dressed up and bound up, but still exposed everywhere because of the see-through
nature of her garments.

Then came the real torture.

Four of the women grabbed huge, high-powered hot-air blowers, and began to work
their way up and down Bonda's body. The plastic dress melted like shrink wrap
against her body. She literally was wrapped up like a piece of meat. Then
Tyrenna stepped forward, pushed a short breathing tube through an opening in the
plastic hood and half way into Bonda's mouth, and then stood back and the four
women worked on Bonda's head. The plastic shrank around her nose, her eyes, her
cheeks, and her mouth. Her hair bunched up.

When they were through, Bonda looked like a bound blow-up doll, with the
inflation tube poking out of her mouth. She could still breathe, but only
through her mouth. Her vision was distorted by the crinckled contours of the
plastic the held her captive.

"Okay, ladies, it's time to apply your specialties," Mistress Sally told her
girlfriends.

One woman grabbed a quirt, and went behind her finding spots on Bonda's buttocks
to leave her marks. Bonda found herself trying to shuffle forward to avoid the
sting. She minced. An inch at a time. And that wasn't fast enough to stop
another woman from coming in front of her and quickly applying weighted clamps
to each of her well-packed nipples.

The Quirt Lady stopped long enough to allow another Mistress to attach a
two-pronged leash to the nipple clamps.

"We're going to walk a mile in those shoes, Bonda," the Mistress said as she
cranked down a motorized overhead pulley and attached it to the other end of the
leash. "This device will help pace you while Mistress Florine flogs your little
behind."

Bonda didn't know if she was really forced to walk a mile. But she did know she
was forced to walk for hours in a circle, harnessed to a machine, beaten on the
butt by a bitch. Her feet ached. Her butt was bright red. Her sweat poured down
her body. Her panties were soaked.

Finally, it stopped and a figure walked in front of her.

"We're having a ball, Bonda," said Mistress Sally. "How about you?"

Bonda moaned.

"Not yet," Mistress Sally scoffed. "You will."

Bonda stood still as she felt herself lifted into a long plastic bag. It was
pulled up and over her body and over her head. Her breathing tube was pulled
through this layer of plastic and a four-foot extension was attached. A clear
plastic wedge made sure the tube did not slip out of her mouth. Her nipple leash
was detached, but not the clamps or the weights. The bag was tied over Bonda's
head and a clear hard-plastic ring was attached. Once again, the hot-air blowers
went to work. Bonda soon had no movement left. She could barely make out the
clear 8-foot high ball that was rolled toward her. But she clearly felt the
senstation of the ring above her head being pulled by clear plastic braiding to
a ring atop the plastic ball, which had been popped open wide enough to allow
the group to manuever Bonda's bagged form inside. She was lifted up until she
dangled a foot or so off the floor. And then she felt the sensation of another
layer of plastic being wrapped her, from the shoulders to the tip of her boots,
where another hard plastic ring was attached and tied to the bottom of the ball.
Her nipple clamps remained on, and the weights were pulled through openings in
the wrap.

Bonda dangled there, her weights swaying slightly, as the clear plastic air tube
was fitted to an air hole on the side of the ball. Finally, she felt the ring
binds pulled as taut as possible, so that she hung midway between top and
bottom, midway between the two sides. Then the group snapped the ball shut, with
Bonda inside.

For an hour, she just hung there in her sweat, breathing in, breathing out, her
butt on fire, her puss awash in sweat and, perhaps, her own erotic wetness. She
thought her nipples had become numb to the pain.

She was wrong.

She felt the ball begin to tilt. Her body weight shifted to one side. The ball
rolled back to other way and her body weight shifted again. Soon, her body hung
horizontally inside the ball, the weights dangling down from her stretched form.
As the ball was rock slightly, her weights rocked. The sensation of pain
returned to her nipples. But with it came the rush of being bound and toyed with
by so many others.

Bonda learned to roll with the pain and came. But the rocking didn't stop.
Neither did her urges. She rocked left. She rocked right. Left. Right. She
squirmed in her coccoon for any sense of freedom. There was none.

M-m-m-m, she hummed.

And she came.

Then it all stopped again. Bonda hung in there. Face down. Weights dangling.
Puss throbbing.

"Be thankful they didn't decide to roll you down the hall sideways," she thought
to herself. "Those weights would fly all over the place and then thump against
my breasts."

What could be worse?

Water.

That's right.

Water.

Bonda had been bound up now for several hours - longer than any other punishment
- and she thought the women were through.

They weren't.

Her ball-prison was filling with water. She could hear it rush in from the side.
It steadied the ball as it filled. Bonda figured that the ball must have become
air tight when it snapped shut, and marvelled at the genius behind the
technology that left her suspended in this predicament. She guessed the ball
would eventually fill to the top and she would be left inside for at least a few
more hours. She was resigned to that. She sighed.

But then she felt a new senation. The water had reached the tips of her bound
form and it brought her out of her sweaty comfort. This water was cold. No, it
was icy. Br-r-r-r, it was icy. Her sweating form got goose bumps. She started to
shiver and shake.

She could shiver and shake all she wanted. The weight of the water kept the ball
still in its spot.

The water continued to rush in and soon her whole body was submerged. The red in
her butt was gone now. Her whole body was icy blue. Even her clamped nipples.
Even her O-shaped lips.

Bonda didn't feel like a randy little bondage maiden anymore.

She felt like a tightly wrapped fish being frozen for market.

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

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