The Contortionist · Part 1

The Contortionist · Part 1 (1/2)
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Bobbi always loved the early dawn. Maybe it was growing up on her grandparents’ farm, the one she now owned herself after their passing a few years back. This was the perfect morning, the air chilly enough to justify keeping her sleeves rolled down, but not so much to need a jacket. The sun only moments ago had broken over the mountains to the east, golden rays falling across the dew-covered valley her farm was nestled in. The chirps of birds as they flitted about in their carefree moments. The crunch of gravel under heavy work boots on the path from the house to the old barn. The simpering whimpers and grunts of her lover and dearest wife a few feet ahead, managing the best she could, walking on her hands along the same jagged gravel pathway.

It elated Bobbi to have her darling wife home. Wendy completed her, made her whole. The problem was how often she wasn’t home. Wendy was a very successful professional contortionist, and her last gig had seen her gone for three months straight. She’d only got back last night, or technically this morning Bobbi supposed since she got to the farmhouse around 1 a.m. after catching a late flight to rush home, to be with Bobbi as soon as possible. Bobbi smiled, looking down at her struggling spouse. Never could she love someone so much.

Bendy Wendy, Bobbi still had to stifle a chuckle whenever she said or thought of her wife’s stage name, was definitely showing it. Since leaving the porch, she had been walking on her hands in a back bend that left her legs draped above her trembling shoulders, bare feet dangling to either side of her straining face. It was a true athletic display. One Bobbi had seen many times before, but she never tired of watching, especially nude as she was now. It allowed her to watch every coiled muscle, each twitch in those ever weakening but determined arms.

The best part about the current labor was that the highest point on Wendy’s nude form was her cute little slit, upturned to the sky, her neatly trimmed landing strip guiding Bobbi’s eyes directly to the spot she had teased plenty already this morning, but which would suffer so much more before the day ended. Theirs had always been a kinky love. Wendy, the flexible, moldable submissive to Bobbi’s demanding and playfully twisted domineering mind. Bobbi licked her lips. She had some fun, strenuous, and downright sadistic plans for her submissive love when they reached the old barn.

The only question right now was if Wendy with less than three hours of sleep and a full morning of forced stretching and exercising before dawn had enough left in the tank to make it, or would she falter on the path and earn extra punishments? Oh, who was Bobbi kidding? She was going to do everything either way, but if Wendy failed, she could at least tease her. Wendy would love it as she always did. Such a perfect submissive and partner.

Wendy had slowed her pace quite a bit, so Bobbi gave her a small reminder to keep going. “Keep going, cunt,” she said sweetly, adding a light tap of the riding crop to that beckoning spot on her love. Not enough to hurt, but enough to startle the contortionist and make the consequences of stopping crystal clear. With inspiring strength drawn from that seemingly endless well that never ceased to amaze Bobbi, her wife continued the hand walk at a faster pace. Dust disturbed with each placing of a hand. Truth be told, Wendy could only go so fast. To add to her wife’s predicament, Bobbi had wrapped her wrists in soft leather cuffs held together by a short chain that dragged in the dirt and rock. It wasn’t her only adornments for this little trip, either.

Matching cuffs wound about beautiful ankles, but without the connecting chain. A harshly knotted rope gag stuffed Wendy’s drooling mouth and was tightly cinched at the back of her dyed pink hair. A sudden high-pitched, but of course muffled, squeal escaped Wendy’s lips at that very moment. A wolfish grin grew across Bobbi’s face. The last addition had just made its presence felt again, a set of nipple clamps with a weight dangling precariously above ground level if Wendy kept herself in proper form. Clearly, the burst of speed came at the cost of poise. The uninitiated to their games might think this far too cruel a game, but Bobbi knew well that Wendy could take a lot more. And more importantly, that Wendy was having the time of her life.

If Bobbi had really wanted to make this difficult, she would have had Wendy keep her legs extended out in front instead of letting them rest, and she’d have a vibrator buzzing away at that perfect pussy. Wendy had only ever managed to make it the full 50 yards from the house to the barn twice with the additional obstacles. Those had been inspired days, but otherwise, the extra features were far too much, even for the magnificent creature Bobbi had the honor to call her love. In truth, Bobbi preferred when Wendy bested her predicaments. It was beyond arousing to see that spirit triumph, to demonstrate how superhuman her partner was. In those moments, Bobbi was only ever proud.

Still, the only way to get that feeling was to build truly torturous and vicious hurdles to clear. Today that came not in vibrating form or in making those delectable legs hold perfect poise. No, the real obstacle was how tired Wendy was from her travel, and the ever so thoughtful “breaks” Bobbi kept making her take. During these generous respites, Wendy had to remain aloft on her flagging arms. God, those arms would be utter jello by the time they were inside the barn. It was getting so close now. Wendy must be excited at how close her salvation is, thought Bobbi. Time to defer that hope once more.

“You’re doing so well, Bendy Wendy. Let’s take a quick break again, why don’t we?”

The ragged whine that came was far more delightful than it had any reason being. The gremlin Domina in Bobbi used it as an excuse. She swatted with the crop. Her sub’s thighs jerked slightly. A nearly whispered grunt, the only response Wendy gave this time. Crunching her way around, Bobbi loomed over Wendy. She could see the exhaustion in the way her lips trembled around the rope gag, the way sweat trickled down from all but spent arms. And those green eyes! Full of desperation and determination.

Bobbi raised her water bottle, taking a long swig, groaning in exaggerated pleasure to rub it in that the sweating Bendy Wendy couldn’t enjoy such a luxury. The fire burned brighter in Wendy’s eyes. Good, thought Bobbi as she set her cold bottle right on the apex of her little contortionist’s womanhood, balancing it carefully. A sharp inhale came from the temporary human table; the cold wet condensation of the metal must have felt jarring on the exposed and flushed flesh. Bobbi needed to cool off herself.

Bobbi looked off to the north end of the farm, as much to avoid chuckling at her newest inflicted humiliation on Wendy as anything else. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it, cunt?” Bobbi asked rhetorically. The sun was bouncing off the white paint of the new barn that was a couple hundred yards away. Well, new was a relative term here. How new could a thirty-year-old barn really be?

The new barn had been renovated with the money she had earned from selling off half the land when she inherited the farm. It had been necessary to refit it for the new cattle she had hosted there. She’d helped grow soybean and corn when her grandparents were alive, but Bobbi had a more interesting business model. She started hosting ponies and cows of a human variety. Men and women who paid handsomely to spend a day, or a week, trussed up in leather and treated like a farm animal.

On a busy weekend they’d have a dozen or more such guests, but luckily, since this was the first weekend Wendy was back, they only had two pathetic heifers on site and a seasoned ponygirl due for this evening. Bobbi didn’t plan to spend a minute with any of those clients today. She’d leave that to her main ranch hand these days, Delores, a gruff 52-year-old farmhand that had started off working here when Bobbi’s grandparents were still alive. Bobbi had been surprised how well the woman took to the work. She was a real hit with the clients, too. It had meant Bobbi only needed to hire one other assistant.

Delores would have no problems on such a slow weekend while Bobbi enjoyed some private time with her wife. Speak of the devil, Bobbi thought, seeing the weathered middle-aged woman walk around the corner of the distant barn, hauling a sack of feed for the hucows who’d been here since Wednesday. Bobbi waved, and then picking up her water bottle from her wife-table, she ordered her clearly struggling spouse to wave. Tentatively, Wendy raised one leg vertically and waved with her foot as if it were a hand. So cute! Delores noticed and gave a quick hand raise before darting into the other barn.

“Good job, cunt, now that’s enough lazing around. Get on inside your home for the next twenty-four hours!” She said, tapping the exposed sex once more with her crop. Wendy groaned and struggled inside. Once there, new orders followed. “Stand up cunt, presentation!”

Maybe it was habit, maybe a bit of brattiness, but instead of unbending her back to stand, Wendy rolled herself forward, planting her feet and then twisted her torso up into alignment. Showing off, huh? Let’s see how you like the new setup I have planned, Bobbi laughed in her own head. Wendy then stepped through her own cuffed hands to allow her to raise them up her backside.

Bobbi circled her wonderful wife, inspecting her pose. Legs were spread wide for easy access. Hands were clasped and raised up to the back of her neck. Wendy needed no rope to achieve a perfect reverse prayer, an unfair advantage of being a professional contortionist. Bobbi took one exposed breast in hand and gently caressed it. She laid a few tender kisses along Wendy’s collarbone. She pulled back, looking at the nipple clamps. “Time for these to go. Ready?”

Wendy closed those bright green eyes and nodded. Bobbi released one and then another of the clamps. Strong inhales came as blood raced back into the numb nubs. Bobbi loved hearing those deep inhales. She gently rubbed the afflicted flesh before slowly caressing her way down between Wendy’s legs as sensually as she could manage. There, in her favorite spot in the whole world, Bobbi inserted two experienced fingers, letting her thumb rest on her wife’s clit. She began pumping slowly, rhythmically. Then, when the first moans came, Bobbi started stroking Wendy’s special button. She worked her wife masterfully until she felt Wendy’s clit stiffen and swell with arousal as huffed pants came past rope. Then she stopped, earning her a perfect frustrated noise.

She planned to eventually grant a release, but that was hours, maybe even a day away. In the interim, Bobbi had some fun new experiences planned for her remarkable partner. She couldn’t wait to see how her other half would handle the trials in her magnificent elegance and poise.

Bleary eyes closed, embracing darkness as fingers worked an otherworldly magic on Wendy’s womanhood. She was exhausted. That last performance, the flight home, the four a.m. wake-up call from her saintly sadist wife, and the hand walk down to the barn. She was not at peak right now, but oh was she near the apex of some rising pleasure. Then it vanished without warning. A cruel, flawless joke. Her eyes shot open, a gurgling sob of indignation at the denied pleasure. It wasn’t surprising. Bobbi liked to take her time lovingly layering experiences for Wendy. It was her way of showing how much she cared the contortionist knew.

Wendy was excited for what the day held. She’d been gone too long. Three months of nothing but self-care, texted daily commands from her mistress, and the rare video sex was not enough to sate her hunger, especially her desire to suffer whatever ridiculous predicament or pose Bobbi might insist upon. Wendy really couldn’t have asked for a more attentive partner. Bobbi could perfectly anticipate how far to press Wendy so she would grow beyond her typical limits. Like how destroyed Wendy’s arms were from the hand walk. The distance was bad enough, but she could never quite get used to how the jagged rock felt underhand. She swore Bobbi found the sharpest, most terrible gravel to use each year.

Now, as she remained tired but horny, Bobbi released the leather cuffs holding her wrists in bondage. Despite their freedom, Wendy didn’t dare move her hands from their position. Then from over the shoulder a familiar, calloused hand seized her jaw. The scent of earth, Bobbi’s smell, filled Wendy with arousal. That firm hand directed the contortionist’s attention to the corner of the old dusty barn, to the angled wooden step ladder that went up to the loft.

“To start our play, I’m going to have you twist that limber ass of yours around the ladder. You’ll love it, cunt.” Wendy felt her slit clench with excitement at being called a cunt. She wasn’t sure why, but being called that derogatory term left her excited. Perhaps it was the humiliation, or that it called attention to her pussy. She really couldn’t say, but every time Bobbi used their odd term of endearment, Wendy could feel herself turn to puddy.

“First, though, let’s add this,” Bobbi said and stepped to a nearby wall, pulling off a stiff leather posture collar with plenty of anchor points. Wendy moved her hands out of the way as Bobbi silently wrapped the oppressive neck corset about her throat. Bobbi looped one finger through the front O-ring, and led Wendy across the barn’s wooden floor. Walking behind her wife, Wendy admired the woman she treasured more than anything. Her wavy hair in a sloppy bun on top of her head. Her firm, confident shoulders as she led the contortionist along. The confidence of her gait. Her command and control over Wendy herself. It was all Wendy could do not to collapse from swooning. Three months apart were only sufferable for the intensity it brought when they were reunited once more. Bobbi was her mistress, and she desired nothing more than to honor and serve.

Stopping before the ladder, Wendy noticed that beside the sturdy wooden construction was a sizable table draped with a black cloth hiding whatever was atop it. Ominous, thought Wendy excitedly. Bobbi released her finger grip and practically danced to the ladder. Her hand rested on a step a few feet up, calling Wendy’s attention to a set of open manacles bolted to the top of the step. She could already see where this was going and loved the idea. “Alright, Bendy Wendy, let’s have a little private demonstration of your talents.” Bobbi patted a step a few feet off the ground, and one rung above where the wrist restraints were located. “Lay across here.”

Wendy dutifully ascended the angled ladder to the chosen rung, and turned around, facing her mistress with a smile before slowly leaning back and threading herself through the small space between steps. Her vision spun as she wrapped herself around the coarse wooden step. One thing Wendy loved about contortion was this dizzying disorientation of the world as her body shifted and twisted. It was bizarrely fun to see the world literally from an abnormal perspective. Wendy perched the small of her back on the step. It was no deeper than six to seven inches. The wood was rough on her soft skin. Her head appeared a step lower, wrists sliding into place in the bolted cuffs.

Bobbi closed and locked the restraints, seductively caressing each arm as she did so. Wendy loved the feeling of her flexible form being stuck, fixed in place, even just partially. To be so lithe and yet to be made immobile. She enjoyed the contrast.

“Legs out, cunt.” Hmm, that pejorative again, the unyielding demand in Bobbi’s voice. Wendy straightened her legs. Her thighs tensed, calves flared, and toes pointed. She was effectively doing a chest stand on the ladder step, a trivial contortion position for her. She could hold this for a long time, even with the uncomfortable wooden surface as a base. Sure, eventually the unsupported legs would make their presence known, but that would be far off. Bobbi would know that, so obviously more would come.

And a second later Wendy’s excitement soared when something hard and cool tapped her outstretched calves. Her eyes flicked up to see a familiar cane lightly tapping away at her flexed legs. There was some force to the strikes, but these weren’t meant to hurt. They were meant to sensitize, to prepare rapidly tingling flesh for the real strike that would… “Gah!” She

The Contortionist · Part 1 (1/2)
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