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Erik made his rounds, passing by Sandra, her lush eyes bereft inside the blue. He could guess what frame of mind was behind the vacuous expression. While he stared, Sandra imagined herself in the closet, on her knees, or posed in some uncomfortable position with her hands tied behind her, the collar attached to some bar above. To be there felt as though she were walking in the middle of nothing. Would these masters be bold enough to give her that kind of freedom? All her life, she thought of other people before she thought of herself. Being a slave was like a natural step in her character… but this was something different, as though she could forget everyone, and no one mattered. That would feel intensely free.
“While days could be spent discussing the varied intricacies of bondage, I prefer to move on to my favorit
e means of restraint—bridles, bits, leather and cages. Tight corsets, breasts constrained with leather, and crotches fettered in brutish chastity harnesses force the slave body to feel restrictions with every move they make, every quiver of muscle, every bat of an eyelash.
“Once the initial physical nakedness is no longer a matter of concern and is easily accepted by the slave, I recommend restrictive gear specifically designed for the subject, which will not only suit the individual slave’s character, but provide some ritual the initiate can submerge themselves within.
“There is room here for the imagination to work freely. Being in tune with one’s slave—and at this juncture that should be the case—a skilled master will devise the appropriate torturing garments to move the process of enslavement to its next step. One final note at this point: it is wise not to forget suitable headgear. The restraint of the mouth can be a vital addition to this kind of bondage. It is from the mouth and throat where self-expression has its home. To deny the slave a means of self-expression drives to the core the truth of their meager status.”
There were closets and trunks in the old house filled with flouncy materials: silk, satin, lace, leather and a large variety of contraptions that had been used as bridles and facial harnesses. The three slaves waited as their masters went on a scavenger hunt to find the appropriate attire. They sat in their circle of three, feeling their breath in the quiet, sensing even the slightest movement to their left and right.
When the masters returned, the six moved together into the empty downstairs music room, where behind the drapery, hanging on walls, there were mirrors, a half dozen facing inward so there was no direction for a slave to turn without seeing their reflection. Attending their slaves, the three men began to dress them in the garments they’d scrounged from the trunks and wardrobes.
Sandra stood before one mirror peering at her nakedness while Jason encircled her torso in an ivory leather corset. Hooked from the front, laced in the back, the rigid stays pinched her waist; and as Jason tightened the laces from behind, the form of her hourglass figure exaggerated with each tug. Appearing as two fragrant melons of white flesh, Sandra’s great breasts billowed from the scalloped lace-edged top, looking softy alluring as they rippled in the mellow candlelight. Even the marks remaining from the whip the day before stood out beautifully as tiny pink badges of pleasure. Below, her hips and thighs burgeoned like those seen in Old World paintings. Coming to a delicate point at the bottom, the corset drew the eye to the silky hair of her rosy pubis.
“Ah, I can hardly breath,” she gasped as Jason gave the laces one last tug and tied them off.
“You’ll get used it,” he advised her coolly. “Besides, I’m hardly finished.”
To add to the effect of the corset, Jason attached a split leather cord to the base of the garment in back. Run through the cleft of her ass, the cord was made to be drawn up taut so it bound her nether regions. Splitting in two fingers between her anus and pussy, it was drawn on either side of her vagina and clitoris, at the same time holding her labia apart, with each end then secured to clips at the front of the corset some six inches apart. She could not move without feeling leather rub these sensitive private places.
Before Jason finished this binding, however, he stunned his beautiful slave by attaching to the leather cord, an anal plug and inserting the rigid five-inch rod into her ass. She’d had worse plugs in her behind, but never one that would remain inside her all day long.
Moving on to her breasts, Jason drew tiny nooses of metal cording around her nipples so they pinched the buds into painful knots. The knots were then connected with a metal chain that could be tugged and pulled and used to attach to a leash, if her master so desired. He then zipped her feet into ivory boots with four-inch heels, each one adorned on either side with metal rings for further bondage. To complete her attire, Jason forced a small bit into her mouth. The metal rod sized for a human pony fastened with leather straps to a new ivory collar around her neck.
As Jason dressed his slave in ivory, Matthew created a far different vision of surrender in Elise. In the cellar of the house, he’d discovered a complete array of pony gear, which was much more intricate than the simple bit in Sandra’s mouth. The brown leather contraption began with a harness of straps that circled his slave’s slim waist, ran down through her crotch and then in front, pulled up on either side of her breasts, augmenting their small shape. The harness ended with the straps fixing to the metal collar at her neck. Then about her head she wore a bridle with a thick bit almost gagging her mouth. Having drawn her long hair back into a high ponytail, the thick mane dangled down her back. To enhance the sensuous elegance of her ass, she wore tightly fitting lace-up thigh-high boots. When she walked, their high heels pushed out her derriere, making her fleshy flanks take on a sumptuous equine look. Her rump was downright spankable the way it lured the eye.
Further exaggerating her appearance, Matthew added a brown horsetail to match her natural hair. The haughty piece was braided at the base, extending upwards eight inches before the horsehair fell away dangling much as Elise’s natural ponytail. Though this lovely feature of her costume was attached to the harness, it was also fixed firmly in place with a dildo impaling her anal channel. Like Sandra, she would feel the effects of this bondage, not just on the surface of her body, but deep within her petite frame.
Matthew’s final torture was a small but very effective one: serrated nipple clamps that circled her pale brown areoles, and when tightened, drew the flesh together, leaving the exposed ends to slowly turn a deepening shade of purple as the blood became trapped inside the tight space.
When Matthew wanted his slave more completely restrained, the harness allowed him to draw her arms behind her and cuff her wrists together above the tail. This first time in her new clothes, he took these measures, making certain that his slave could see the complete image of herself as bound chattel—or in Barth’s terms, simple livestock.
Seeing herself transformed into a slave pony nearly made the astonished slave faint. Her body seemed to burst with sexual excitement, though her head felt light, her belly hot, and her thighs weak with desire.
While their masters carefully prepared Sandra and Elise, Laney stood before a mirror in wonder at the woman she became at her husband’s inspiration. In Erik’s search for the proper clothes, he’d come upon an amazing suit of black leather with properties similar to both Sandra’s corset and Elise’s harness—though it was very different than either one. He took a chance with this costume, since it would not fit every woman. Though he assumed with Laney’s average height and weight that she might well fit the mold as easily as the woman it was made for. To his delight, the snug body suit conformed to his wife’s body like a glove, covering her torso in black leather from the high collar at the neckline to the crotch below. To add to its provocative allure, it had high cut legs, and zippers at the cleft and breasts. Zippers open, Laney’s rounded breasts looked as though they’d burst the seams of the body suit, while at her crotch, the zipper opened to display her private assets from tail to pussy. Erik had been clever enough to think ahead, ordering his slave to shave her entire crotch clean of any hair, so that peeking out from between the sides of the black zipper, her pussy looked quite stark and innocent.
By itself, the bodysuit would cause only the basics of restraint that Barth encouraged. To create the physical tension that he suggested, Erik pinched Laney’s nipples with connecting metal pinchers, and then snapped clamps to each of her labia, drawing them wide apart and attaching the ends to metal rings on the suit. Having exposed her sex, he added the pain of a final clamp to the hood of her clitoris, making the poor sliver of flesh—already excited from the tease—throb with a maddening sexual beat.
Laney wore black lace stockings and stiletto heels, giving the costume and her body a severe and elegant look. So clothed, she might pass for a female dominatrix as easily as she might a slave. But to ensure that there was no mistaking her status, Erik added the final piece: a ballgag, which fit snuggly inside her mouth and prevented any means of speech. Though Erik enjoyed the look of bits and bridles, he preferred to restrain his wife’s mouth with something more basic. Silencing her was a deliberate statement of his mastery over a woman, who before this unexpected vacation, rarely gave in to anyone.
They served their masters with a courtly grace—Sandra in her ivory corset, Elise her ponygirl attire, and Laney in the basic black body suit. Unlike the slave days that had just passed, they took pride in their appearance—even though it was perfectly astonishing and depraved. It hurt to be restrained. Barth’s vision was quite accurate of slaves in bondage. The painful extremes of their costumes kept them mindful of their bodies, their brains detached, and their thinking clear of unnecessary thoughts that might get in the way of obeying their master’s orders. They remained tuned to their asses, their breasts, the pinching bite of the clamps on their nipples, and the fact that their bridled, ball-gagged mouths had become completely pointless in the eyes of their masters. As often as the leather chaffed their skin, they were reminded of their masters’ dominion over them. As often as a shot of pain up the ass or in their pussies rendered them weak, the costumes reinforced the truth about what they’d become.
That night, when it was time to go to bed, they were taken to the cellar—the slaves’ first journey to the subterranean depths of the old house. By that time, their feet ached from the strain of wearing the high heels, and they found the rocky dirt floor was nearly impossible to walk on. To keep their balance, they clung to the damp sides of the stone corridor until they reached the vault.
“We’ve cleaned out the rodents,” Matthew told them. “Not that slaves care—but there are no bats, no rats, not even a spider or a mouse to threaten you. Just what’s in your mind tonight, what ghosts appear, what dreams you keep, what nightmares rock your sleep—if you can sleep at all. You’ll remain here in chains until we come to get you. And just so you aren’t tempted to alter your costumes in favor of a more comfortable rest, you will be manacled.”
That was all he said, all any master said until each slave was bound so their hands were worthless to them, and they were shoved into one of the many stone cages that lined the walls of the dreary cavern.
There is night—night without a moon and stars; and there’s the dark that comes after the lights go out; and then there is black—the absence of light, a place where there are no stars, no light peeking from under a door, a place where nothing gets inside to dispel the endless sh
adows before the eyes.
Locked inside their cages in the dark, the three slaves spent their night, turning in on themselves, thinking little, and hoping that sleep would finally descend to wipe their fears aside. There were small fights, and some painful wars with the aggravating features of their clothes—the clamps, the pinchers, the plugs, bits and gags. But the wars were brief. After a time, with fatigue settling inside their bones, they fell into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Seven
In the morning, the trio were released from the vault and brought upstairs where they were undressed, and allowed to bathe in the salty, soothing ocean waters. The fresh dip revived their faith in life. And though the exhilaration was short-lived, they knew it was far more luxury than they should expect from any master. Bathing again in tubs of soapy water, each slave was given a quick enema bag to cleanse the insides of their asses. Once the contents were eliminated in the latrine, they were ready to dress for the day. This time, they were required to dress themselves with each other’s help; something as best friends they’d done many times before for proms, first dates and weddings—though the experience was never like this.
