One Door Opens, Another Closes · Part 2

One Door Opens, Another Closes · Part 2 (2/2)
Previous

I worked my core muscles savagely while hanging at home, both by my wrists, and later on my ankles, not only to keep myself in shape for my extracurricular activities, but to battle the clock as all women must. I could, as a result, do things with my body that most women of any age can't, my husband however not fully appreciating that though, his bedroom tastes positively vanilla in comparison to my own. I was, in that context, like a thoroughbred racehorse pulling a plow, I could obviously do it, but such was a waste of my abilities, and boring as hell for one with my extreme experiences…

I then played a familiar game in my head; how will they use me tonight? Something was always different, and that man (and later on his wealthy friends) had a wicked imagination; giving of myself over to their whims and desires was more powerful than one can express with words alone.

I heard footsteps and then a door open and close, that man whispering in my ear that we were now alone.

"Do you need a break before we get going?" he asked, almost tenderly, the man wasn't a monster, although his concerns were likely more for spoiling the carefully crafted show he was about to compel me to perform in.

I shook my head under my sack by way of an answer, I knew what to expect and had prepared as one should. Answering verbally from under my sack seemed impossible, and I didn't want to spoil the mood he had carefully crafted either. Still breathing under the sack was a bother, and I hoped he hadn't planned on leaving me in it all night. He obviously could, to maintain my anonymity, but there were other more artsy ways to do the same; such choices weren't mine to make.

I then felt something that sounded like a chain being attached to each wrist cuff, each arm pulled out and away from my body by them as he walked me blindly backwards, until each calf bumped up against a rough feeling plank of some kind.

"Bend over," I was instructed, the move forcing my arms behind me, but not uncomfortably.

"Close your eyes." More commands, but these felt natural all things considered, I was fully into my submission and one hundred percent committed to this adventure, no matter where it led this time. That man was now responsible for me, for my well being, I was free to just let events take me where they willed. I have heard this called sub-space, I suppose that being as good an explanation as any for this feeling that most will never get the opportunity to experience.

The sack was then pulled from my head, my hair feeling a total mess despite my earlier efforts. Tenderly that man gathered up my hair and used several rubber bands to ponytail it up behind my head, either as an anchor point of some kind, or just to keep it neat and out of the way. I was just about at the age when long hair should be traded for a shorter more manageable look, but to do so would be to surrender to the clock that I had been battling, and admit that I might be getting just a little old for this kind of thing, despite my intense physical conditioning.

"Deep breath," he commanded, then working my ponytail through a hole in what felt like a leather mask; the mask itself was next as he worked to align the various holes with my nose and mouth so I could breathe. It covered my whole head and laced tight, the feeling almost comforting in it's restriction. This particular hood felt new, but not totally unexpected, the smell of it's fresh leather like an aphrodisiac to me. I had already taken a test breath without being instructed to, air freely flowing in and out, ones breathing not something to fool with in my humble view, nor my captors.

With the mask in place that man turned me over to another, the eye portions of my mask still in place, effectively blindfolding me. The mask itself further kept my anonymity, a necessary thing in case I ever came across a masked attendee myself from one of these events in my other more respectable life… as I had done once or twice in the past. My husband's present employer was one such man, I recognized him despite his own Zorro-type half mask. I had thought I had been discovered, back when that man had looked deep into my own eyes as I hung on display, as that human butterfly, but not a word of such ever reached my ears, nor apparently my husband's. Men of that age looked, piercingly, at a woman's eyes, where the more brash younger ones just looked at my body, displayed for their viewing, and at times, interactive tactile pleasures as well.

Such could, and did happen, but when they did it was always for the exclusive pleasures of the guests, and not necessarily myself. More times than not though, "interactive" didn't necessarily mean sex, but other forms of entertainment at my expense. Like that chandelier I had been chained to: I was left hanging there and providing light until the finely dressed guests had all finished their main course, moaning and twitching in my bonds almost perpetually, or at least when the hot wax advanced to a fresh new area of untouched bare flesh. Each involuntary twitch caused even more wax to be shaken from the troughs below the candles, all as my body caused the massive chandelier to shake on its noisy chains, my torment, in this way, partially self inflicted.

Only then was my temporary iron prison lowered to just over the table, the honored guests then getting a more close up view of my prone and nude torment, all for their amusement. There was also a balcony above my position where some of the diners had excused themselves to the restrooms there over the course of the night, seeing my body's growing multicolored wax encasement from that high vantage point, but also from afar. It was therefore clear that the diners all knew the odd source of their evening light, and the true reasons for the tormented noises I had been forced to make through my own mask and intrusive gag.

With my head and body chained spread-eagle and in place I couldn't really move all that much, my breasts left hanging down through two open round areas designed specifically to display a woman to greatest visual effect. With my face now perhaps a foot off of the table and the chandelier swinging gently on it's long chain, I could be made to move about the whole length of the table quite easily, every movement causing the hot wax to further advance though. Some of the diners likely looked down at me with pity, although I couldn't see their faces, but others most certainly with sadistic opportunity.

One such masked man (a youngish investment banker of considerable wealth, I later learned) suggested to the stunningly turned out woman sitting next to him that all the parts of me didn't look equally covered, the two then set to sadistically ‘adjust’ the candles and their collecting troughs to correct this little error, all while the others watched, their amusement obvious, for the most part.

My hands, feet, arms, and shoulders were all covered with a thick multi-color cover of set wax by that point, even my legs hadn't been spared, the hot wax's incessant dripping on the backsides of my bare legs, to include behind my knees, possibly the worst part. My ass HAD been spared though, possibly out of charity, or possibly because candles, even massive multi wick ones like these, likely wouldn't produce all that much light for the diners below me had they been placed there, my body occluding their efforts.

This sadistic duo had no such practical concerns though!

I had become the centerpiece for their entertainment, but not likely as my captor had initially intended, but he failed to stop such either. "Was he even present at that point?" That was an obvious question, he perhaps elsewhere seeing to coffee and desert, or perhaps amused himself at the dark intentions of two of his honored sadistic guests.

In any event, the two moved the large dripping candles from other places around my spread eagled body, those parts already covered in wax and mostly free from further torment, mostly. I couldn't see a thing behind me, but from my staring at the table vantage point I could both see and hear the diners gathering around my hanging displayed body, I sensing that surely something unique and terrible was about to happen.

I then felt the first drip of hot wax land on my bare and so far untouched left ass cheek, I twitching my muscles there and yelping into my gag almost simultaneously, although knowing how the human body is wired, and how mine specifically is wired, I assume the "twitch" came first.

Ten or fifteen seconds later a first drip landed on my right ass cheek, the gathered crowd laughing as I twitched on that side now too. I rattled my chains and managed to move my hanging prison slightly, but I wasn't going anywhere, and they knew it. What followed was a timed drip on one side, and then just a bit later a drip on the other, forced to "twerk" for my sadistic guests' amusement. My twerking kept the wax advancing at a steady rate, but soon wax fell on cooling wax, and the "dance" lost it's magic, although I still twitched slightly with each drip.

They had found tender new ground though, and while leaving my two new candles in place to further coat my ass cheeks, they placed still another candle, I was feeling it's heat back there on my bare skin. The trough of this candle was apparently directed dead center on my ass, it's wax preheated and soft, no doubt, by the two others in close proximity. That first drip as well caused me to yelp, the wax eventually running between the cleft of my spread cheeks as the guests again laughed at my torment. Eventually the wax got there, coating my tender back passage, and then beyond to my exposed womanhood, but I had other more pressing problems, coffee and desert were being served…

I was brought out of my daydream reliving the chandelier event by the final preparations for my present display, back in the here and now behind this green door, and it's industrial setting. I couldn't see a thing yet, but I could feel the five anchor points about my body that my unseen handler had tended to, the four obvious ones, and the ring apparently sewn into the top of my leather whole head mask.

I was predictably spread eagled once again, the position offering the maximum access to my body, and rather flattering for my these days larger breasts. With age came a certain amount of sag as gravity is a woman's worst enemy, but being all natural these things happened. Men at this level appreciated the natural and fluid movements such things naturally had, the gravity defying "taut skin on a grapefruit with a nipple" kind of breast implants not in style here. This position also pulled my cheap club dress tight about my upper thighs and made it ride high, but I didn't expect to be wearing it all that much longer either.

Once helplessly set in place, my unknown rigging man only then thought it safe to remove the covers about my eyes, seeing the massive timber frame structure I was now firmly fixed to in the mirror before me. The rough hewn timbers had to be ten plus inches square, the corners held in place by wood pins reminiscent of an old barn's construction, making this thing look authentically medieval and old. There were holes bored through the center of the timbers at each corner, my wrist and ankle cuffs chains passing through each, the chains themselves looking quite old, adding to the authentic feeling of this device.

The chains were held in place by a simple iron pin inserted through an open chain link, but no amount of strength, nor frantic struggling, would free me from this frame despite this simple locking device. My head as well was held by still another old chain, my posture held back straight, head held high. I thought I made quite the picture, even though my face was totally obscured underneath the leather mask, and the man who had rigged me into this contraption looked justifiably proud of his efforts.

"You good in there?" he asked, but in a perfunctory way, as if he already knew that I was, or perhaps as a second option, that he really didn't care all that much one way or the other. Was I a piece of meat to him, something purchased, or even owned by another, and only borrowed for this specific purpose; kind of like a lawnmower? I thought to myself with a laugh. The only time anybody thought about their lawnmower was when the grass was long, most people at any rate, as there were always exceptions.

"Uh huh," I answered, matching his lacking empathy with some of my own, belying my education. The mouth opening on my mask was presently laced closed, muffling my speech, but not necessarily gagging me in the more traditional sense. I could breathe through this limited opening too, a necessary second source of oxygen should my nose become stuffy, or something else unanticipated happen.

There was more to this frame I was to learn, attached to two just as massive posts, in turn mounted to a iron wheeled cart that looked just as industrial as the building I was in. The thing looked as if it could transport thousands of pounds of whatever was placed on it, the massive timber posts firmly affixed to it's top, this an odd combination of medieval, and nineteenth century industrial technology.

The large posts were attached to my timber frame by way of iron axles, one on each side at about my hip level, and a bar much lower that apparently locked the contraption from spinning on its axis. The cart's platform top formed an elevated stage of sorts for my display, and the wheels likely were there to make the heavy contraption easily portable, as was I trapped within it.

My rigger abruptly pulled the iron bar from it's mount, and the contraption immediately spun on its axis, I and my frame eventually coming to rest upside down and facing away from the mirror, after perhaps half a dozen oscillations with me hanging inverted. I felt gravity take hold of my breasts, feeling as if they were pressing on my chin, but I knew this to be an exaggeration. I did feel the chill of my exposure, my scant dress falling to my beltline, and giving my indifferent rigger a preview to the coming show.

The rigger then rubbed and squeezed my exposed ass cheeks, one, and then the other, taking further liberties with me and smacking each considerably harder than playfully, this well out of bounds for the hired help, but obviously not the guests. I yelped in muted fashion and tried to twitch away from him, but that man that had sucked me into this kinky life of sexual servitude wasn't there to protect his investment at the moment either.

Boys will be boys, I thought to myself, and I knew I presented quite the tantalizing picture displayed as I was, as that was in fact the whole idea.

The rigger then surprised me further, loosening the chains at my wrists, and my head, as I hung from my ankles, but by how far I couldn't tell. I heard the noisy chain's adjustments, and temporarily felt the slack there. With this complete he rolled my frame contraption back to upright, pinning it in place once again with the lower bar as I again watched in the mirror I was now facing. I had moved within the frame with the added slack, first my ass hanging down from it slightly as I was spun past horizontal, and then down lower as my head and arms were made to bear my body's weight.

I watched mutely as the man then pulled the slack out of my hanging ankle chains, tugging on them to get to the iron pins into the next links, I quite taut now inside my frame. Once again he pulled the lock bar from it's position, but I hardly moved this time, making a great show of rotating my frame through a complete revolution with just a single finger. The man was short on words and empathy, but he apparently knew his stuff rigging wise, balancing my hanging body perfectly within the massive timber frame.

Apparently satisfied with his work, he touched both my bare feet, and my hands, both were warm and indicating sufficient circulation was present to keep me safe for whatever was to come in the next few hours.

I saw him send a text message, and shortly thereafter was a knock at the door, followed by that man entering and looking at my display critically.

"You're a sadistic fuck," my benefactor said to this man, "but I have to admit this contraption of yours is briliant. Is it properly balanced?" he added, apparently this being something that had been discussed in detail and important.

Rather than answer, the rigger gave my frame a great heave, in effect backflipping me a half a dozen times to both men's amusement, my cheap club dress flashing them with each turn. I eventually came to rest at the two o'clock position, watching both men out of the corner of my eyes, my head almost immobile with the tension of my mask and the ring suspending my head.

"And afterwards?" the rigger asked.

"As we agreed, payment in full, but we have to get this little toy to the guests first my friend."

In horror I wondered what form this "payment" would be in, as in a monetary form, or in the trade of flesh of some kind, specifically my flesh?

One Door Opens, Another Closes · Part 2 (2/2)
Previous