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Collected by Djian
Other stories by adrian hunter, Rubbermaid , claustrophobia, Out of Commision
day 1: the indoctrination of isabel
by adrian hunter
Isabel flinched as Ron wrapped the wide leather
belt around her waist and began securing it
behind her.
She held her hands behind her head and stared
at the wall as she had been instructed, but she
could not stop her quivering body from
betraying her fear. Being completely naked
didn't help either.
This is what you wanted, she reminded herself.
Total submission.
And Ron had proven to be more than she had
bargained for.
After their first date, she had been willing to
do anything he commanded. He had dressed her up
like a latex wet dream, taken her to a fancy
restaurant, then made her sit through an opera
with a hard wooden ball in her butt. And that
had been it. No ropes. No whips. Just extreme
humiliation and brain-numbing arousal.
"Put your hands down at your sides," he
ordered. When Isabel complied, he began rolling
long lace gloves over her fingers, her forearms
and her elbows.
After he dropped her off at her hotel that
first night, she practically ran to her room.
Once inside, she plunged her fingers deep into
her crotch, setting off a series of climaxes
that practically knocked her unconscious.
This is it, she thought as he worked on the
gloves. He's finally going to make me his
slave.
But what had she been last night? She had
willfully submitted to his every request, no
matter how embarrassing or humiliating.
And truth be told, she had loved every sinful
minute.
Isabel heard what sounded like the beginning of
a party starting in the apartment above Ron's,
but all her attentions were focused on the
various black undergarments he held in his
hands.
She felt a surge of electricity bounce through
her body, and her arms stiffened as she
instinctively tried to stop him.
But the cuffs chained to the sides of the
leather belt put an immediate end to that
fleeting thought.
With her wrists subdued, Isabel could do
nothing more than watch Ron as he dressed her.
He wrapped the bustier around her torso and
hooked it to the innermost row of fasteners.
Her breasts were thrust up by its stiff
quarter-cups so they stuck out like rubber
balls.
Next came the garter belt with six straps
dangling down her hips.
"Lift up your foot," Ron commanded. "Now the
other one."
After he slipped on the snug, sheer and quite
crotchless panties, he rolled black lace
stockings up the length of her legs.
Then came the steep high heels with ankle
straps.
Isabel imagined she must look like the perfect
Playboy fantasy date.
"Open your mouth, darling."
Unlike the rest of her outfit, the gag was
white. She was surprised by the large hole in
the middle of the wide piece that apparently
fit over her mouth until she saw it was
actually a short rubber tube.
She supposed it was a little late to tell Ron
that she wasn't all that hot on oral sex.
The collar had a long strip of leather hanging
from two rings on its sides. Once he buckled it
around her neck, the curved strap hung down her
back.
Finally, he placed a black mask over her eyes.
"Trick or treat," he said with an appreciative
emphasis on the last word.
Isabel tested the height of the heels with an
uncertain step, but Ron quickly picked up the
strap hanging from her neck.
"Giddyup," he commanded as he cracked the reins
behind her.
Isabel lurched forward until Ron pulled sharply
on the left strap, redirecting her steps toward
the front door of his apartment.
Oh, no, she thought. Is he really going to make
me go outside dressed up like a bondage pony?
"Open the door."
He was.
Isabel trotted obediently down the
thankfully-deserted hallway. When they reached
the elevator, Ron pulled back on the reins to
bring her to a halt.
She stared up at the elevator's direction
indicators, and was taken aback when the up
arrow lit up with a cheerful ding.
They were going upstairs?
The party.
"Giddyup," he said again, this time with a
smart crack on her naked ass with the lash of a
riding crop. Isabel hadn't seen this coming,
and practically flew forward into the waiting
car.
They only traveled one floor up. When the doors
drew back, Isabel heard loud music and much
raucous conversation emanating from an
apartment at the end of the hall.
When they reached the door, Ron didn't bother
to knock.
"Showtime," he whispered to her as he pushed
her forward into the party.
"Bon Voyage Fred," read the banner stretched
across the far wall of the living room. Around
20 men stood around in groups, the largest
being the one huddled around the keg of beer.
It didn't take long for Isabel to figure out
what kind of gathering Ron had invited her to.
"Hey, Ron!" one of the men called out. "All
right! You brought the hooker!"
With a shudder, she realized she was about to
become the featured entertainment at a bachelor
party.
"Nice . . . very tasty indeed," said another.
"Ron, how do you do it?"
"Gentlemen, meet the meat," Ron announced. "As
you can see, she's very much prepared to
fulfill your every need. But first, I need a
beer."
While someone got Ron a plastic cup filled with
suds and foam, Isabel sneaked a peak at herself
in a mirror. To her horror, she realized the
tube gag made her mouth look like something you
would find on a blow-up sex doll.
"A toast," he said as he raised his glass. "To
Fred, a man who's about to become a mouse by
willfully subjecting himself to the whims of a
woman. May his golf clubs never rust."
The men applauded heartily as Fred took a bow.
"Come over here, Fred," Ron said. "Let me
formally introduce you to the girl of your
future wet dreams."
Fred stumbled forward as his friends hooted and
howled.
"Down," Ron barked at Isabel as he cracked the
reins. "That's right, on your knees."
Isabel, mortified at her unenviable fate, did
as she was told.
Ron dropped the leather strap while Fred
unzipped his jeans.
"Let her fish it out with her mouth," someone
called out.
"Yeah, let her suck it out," yelled another.
Fred thrust his crotch into the tube.
She hesitated for only a second, which earned
her a hard blow from Ron's crop across her bare
tits.
"Do as you're told," he ordered.
Isabel put her gagged mouth against Fred's
gaping fly and began to work his dick free.
When it finally popped out, she maneuvered its
tip into the hole and started inhaling it.
"Oh . . . Jesus," Fred gasped as Isabel worked
his rapidly-stiffening member with her tongue.
Within a matter of seconds, he was shuddering
compulsively as his seed spurted down Isabel's
throat.
"Who's next?"
Isabel spent the next half-hour on the floor
servicing the groom's ushers while the party
swirled drunkenly around her. As she finished
her sixth blowjob, she overheard Fred
whispering something to Ron while he pointed to
an archway between the living room and the
dining room where a solitary plant hung down
from a hook in the center.
Ron nodded and laughed as Fred dashed into the
kitchen, only to return a moment later with a
coil of rope and a handful of clothespins.
"Get up," Ron ordered.
Isabel stood as directed.
Ron unlocked the cuffs from their chains and
quickly secured her wrists behind her back. She
felt him wrapping the rope around her arms in
stacked coils. Around and around he sheathed
her limbs in hemp until they were completely
covered and pinned together over her elbows.
Isabel arched her back to take off some of the
strain, which caused her breasts to jut forward
even more enticingly.
Ron smacked her ass with his crop to propel her
toward the archway, where Fred had already
removed the plant, leaving its hook hanging
empty.
But not for long, as Ron tied a length of rope
to her wrists and threaded its end through the
metal hole. Isabel felt her arms rise, and bent
over to accommodate. When she reached a
90-degree angle, Ron knotted the end to the top
of the rope around her arms..
"Get me a broom and a mop," he yelled to the
boisterous throng.
When someone returned from the kitchen with
both, he ordered Isabel to spread her legs
apart as wide as she could. When he was
satisfied, he tied the broomstick to the back
of her ankles so its ends overlapped the wall
on either side of the archway.
He then took the mop and tied it to the front
of her ankles, pinning them between the two
rods. His ropework pulled the wooden shafts
together against the sides of the wall on
either side of the archway so they effectively
locked her legs in place.
"Seems like a pity to waste rope," he said as
he held up the remainder.
"Tie up her tits!" someone yelled from the
back. Thunderous cheers and applause was all
the encouragement Ron needed.
Isabel couldn't help yelping as a hand began
stroking her pussy from behind while Ron busied
himself knotting tight coils of rope around her
dangling tits.
"Would someone please fill her mouth with
something besides complaints? Fred is going to
hear enough of that starting tomorrow."
One of the men soon had his cock jammed deep
down Isabel's throat.
When Ron had used up the last of the rope,
Isabel's breasts looked like two overinflated
footballs as the cord cut deeply into their
tender flesh.
"Gentlemen, it's time for a game," Ron
announced. "It's called 'Pin The Clothespin On
The Party Girl'."
He handed each attendee a clothespin as he
continued to explain the rules.
"Everybody gets to attach one of these to a
part of her body . . . the more sensitive, the
better."
He demonstrated by snapping his directly onto
one of her nipples. The rest were soon clamped
to her breasts, her inner thighs, her stomach
and especially her pussy.
"Now, Fred, here comes the good part," he said
as he handed the groom-to-be his riding crop.
"I want you to remove them one by one."
Fred looked at the crop curiously.
"Like this," Ron said as he took back the
leather rod and expertly snapped it against
Isabel's crotch, causing one of the clothespins
to fly off into the kitchen.
Isabel practically bit off the dick in her
mouth.
"Hey! Go easy on the johnson, bitch."
Isabel did her best to do as she was told, but
the combined pain of the pins and the lash were
almost more than she could bear.
The game mercifully came to a conclusion as
Isabel continued to suck off various members of
the wedding party.
"Look what I got for a present," Fred exclaimed
as he brandished a foot-long dildo.
Isabel groaned as he slipped it deep inside her
sopping pussy.
"Ready for another round?" Ron asked the guest
of honor as he pointed to Isabel's gaping
asshole.
As she clenched her cheeks around the tip of
his invading rod, she caught a glimpse of Ron
out of the corner of her eye.
He was smiling and holding up all five digits
on one
hand, and a solitary finger on his other.
As in the number of days she had left as his
slave.
Fred rammed his member deep into her rectum,
and Isabel didn't remember another thing until
Ron carried her limp body back to his apartment
and laid her to sleep on his bed.
She awoke the next morning to a volcanic orgasm
as Ron's cat licked away the butter smeared on
her newly-shaved pussy. When she struggled to
escape the animal's sandpaper tongue, she found
herself tied in a strenuous spreadeagle. Not
only were her wrists and ankles bound to the
bedposts, her knees, elbows and waist were also
tied down tight, making it impossible for her
to move much more than her head.
She tried to yell for help, but the ball gag in
her mouth smothered her cries into a pitiful
moan.
Then she noticed the clamps on her nipples, and
decided to shut up when she saw that they were
tied to a piece of taut rope that shot straight
up to a hook in the ceiling and then down to
the knob on the door to the bedroom.
Upon closer inspection, she realized they were
more like tongs than clamps. With the ends of
the cord knotted to their handles, the pressure
on her nipples would increase dramatically if
anyone pulled harder on the rope.
When Ron opens that door . . .
Isabel closed her eyes and thought back to the
bondage bulletin board that had gotten her into
this mess in the first place. None of her
digital suitors and their fetish fantasies held
a candle to her present reality. She realized
this situation was exactly what she had hoped
to find when she gave herself to Ron for a
week.
And, despite her anguish, she had to admit to
herself that, deep down inside, she was loving
every painful minute of it.
Her reverie was interrupted by a knock.
"Yoo hoo . . . anyone home?"
The door began to swing open
continue
copyright © 1999 by adrian hunter. all rights reserved.
please do not repost nor repurpose without permission.
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Other stories by adrian hunter, Rubbermaid , claustrophobia, Out of Commision