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| Isabel | Back to F | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
Other stories by adrian hunter, Rubbermaid , claustrophobia, Out of Commision
day 6: the instruction of isabel
by adrian hunter
The strange room was dark. An ominous
psychedelic jam swirled in the air made smoky
by candles and cigarettes.
Completely naked, strapped tightly to a wooden
frame shaped like an X, and gagged with a
rubber ball the size of a grapefruit, Isabel
could do little more than wish herself away
from the inevitable.
Her heart raced when she caught a glimpse of
her attacker in the shadows.
The person turned and held up something
glowing.
"You will be mine forever."
The branding iron danced in front of Isabel's
eyes.
E-V-A-something-S. Slave.
It dropped and hovered just over her hairless
pussy.
"Forever."
Isabel screamed when she saw the face of her
attacker.
It was her.
She woke up with a start and flew into a
sitting position. A dream...it was only a...
Jesus Christ. She shivered as the sweat on her
body cooled rapidly in the still air.
Pulling a blanket around her, Isabel tried to
gather her thoughts while the remains of her
nightmare dissipated slowly into her
subconsciousness.
She was in a bedroom. The light was dim. Must
be sunset.
She stood up and fumbled her way along the wall
until she finally found a light switch.
The bed. A chair. Two doors.
Something hanging from one of them gleamed.
And below it stood a pair of strange-looking
boots.
Visions from her nightmare flashed behind her
eyes. Then she remembered...Ron.
Isabel was suddenly aware of her nakedness, and
a burning desire for a shower.
Half an hour later, she felt almost perky.
Although her groin ached from the day before,
she had found her own makeup kit on the sink,
so she happily dolled herself up after a
thorough soak and shave.
A tray with a plate of food was waiting on the
already-made bed. But she didn't know what to
make of the bottle of talcum powder.
It wasn't until she closed the bathroom door
that she saw the dress up close.
This isn't latex, she decided after taking it
off its hanger. This is rubber with a capital
R.
From the front, it looked like an ordinary
strapless dress, albeit with a very high hem
line. But there was nothing in the back except
four wide strips of rubber. And she almost
didn't see the two zippers across the chest
until she had to roll it up so she could squirm
it over her arms and head.
The talcum powder helped, but it still was a
struggle.
"Asshole bought the wrong size," she muttered
as she tugged it over her hips and down her
thighs.
She reached around and pulled the lowest strap
under her ass, which caused her cheeks to bulge
up alarmingly.
"Oh, my," she yelped as she looked down at the
rubber armor surrounding her body like paint.
She caught sight of the boots.
"Yum," she said tonelessly.
Very Victorian, she decided as she examined
one. Laces starting around the toes. Flaps up
to mid-calf. And how did he expect her to even
stand, much less walk, in those preposterous
heels?
Isabel sighed. Another night at the opera.
She sat down on the chair and started working
her feet into the supple leather.
"Might as well do it right," she said as she
knotted the lacing between each set of eyelets.
When she stood up, only the tips of her toes
touched the ground. She found she could manage
tiny steps, but not much more. Almost like a
ballerina, she decided. A very demented one,
though...
"Are you ready?" a voice asked from behind the
door.
A jolt of fear burst through her mouth and she
couldn't help yelping like a teenager.
"I'll take that as a yes," Ron said as the door
swung open.
Although he was obviously trying to be British,
Isabel couldn't help thinking he looked like,
well, a preppie. The thought made her smile,
which in turn caused Ron to look at her
quizzically.
"Well, I'm glad to see you're enjoying
yourself. I wasn't sure how pleased you would
be to see me tonight. In fact, I've been
wondering what's made you stay at all."
Now it was Isabel's turn to look at him funny.
"I mean, never in my wildest dreams did I
imagine you'd let me take you quite this far."
Isabel didn't quite know what to say. Then it
came to her.
"I've never gone to so much trouble to get laid
in my life."
Ron laughed. "I hope I'm worth it."
"I'm beginning to wonder."
"Will you settle for now for more trouble? He
held up two long leather sleeves.
Isabel rolled her eyes.
"Oh, I suppose," she cooed as she batted her
eyes.
"Good girl. Hold out your hands...now, make
them into fists..."
When he knotted the last lace, the
gloves...well, mittens, actually...reached up
to just beneath her armpits..
"Come along now," Ron said as he gestured to
the door. "The car is already waiting."
The car? They were going out?
"Here, put this on."
Isabel turned to see a full-length fur coat
being held open for her.
She slipped in her arms, then waited while Ron
managed the fasteners.
"Hold up your hands."
Ron worked a matching muff over one sleeve,
then pulled out a padlock, snapped it around
the loops on the ends of the gloves, and pulled
the muff over the exposed leather.
She followed Ron as best she could, but the
towering heels hobbled her to a delicate trot.
The cold air hit her face like a blast.
Outside, the door of a long limousine was being
held open by an elderly chauffeur.
"To the club, sir?"
Ron nodded, and helped Isabel inside.
She couldn't see much but the lights of the
city subdued by the darkened glass. He sat
silently, leaving Isabel alone with thoughts
that drifted uneasily back toward the lingering
threads of her nightmare.
When the car stopped, she was surprised to see
what looked like an ordinary townhouse with a
recessed basement entry.
The stairs were a bitch, even with Ron's
assistance.
He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then
opened the heavy wood door.
"Welcome to trouble."
Isabel was disappointed that the interior
basically looked like the lobby at a nice
hotel.
"Ah, Mr. R. Let me help you with your coats."
A middle-aged man popped out from the front
desk and whisked Ron's overcoat onto a hanger.
Once Isabel was unfettered, he did the same
with her fur.
She was acutely aware of her bare ass sticking
out jauntily from between the third and fourth
rubber straps holding together her dress.
"Wait. I need something from my pocket."
Ron reached into his coat and pulled out a wide
flap of black leather, then dug in again and
retrieved two straps, one very long and one
very short.
She felt the warm cowhide around her neck.
One... two...three...four buckles later, the
collar was holding up her head like a golf ball
on a tee.
"Arms up."
Isabel's elbows bent out, then click, click,
her balled-up hands were pointing toward the
ceiling as they hung high behind her back
suspended from the short strap now attached to
the back of the collar.
Ron clipped the longer strap to a ring in the
center of the front of the collar and looped
the other end around his hand.
"Now smile," he whispered as the man held open
a set of double doors at the end of the lobby.
At first, Isabel refused to believe what she
was seeing was real. A quick tug on her leash
convinced her otherwise.
A half-dozen men were chatting with one another
in what appeared to be a very large, yet cozy
den. Paneled in deep, lustrous mahogany, the
room glowed from the cheerful light of a
roaring fire and several antique wall fixtures.
No, everything was normal. Except for the
slaves, of course.
Two naked women kneeled on the floor facing
away from each other with their ankles tied to
each other's. Isabel could see what looked like
a piece of paper between their pressed-together
asses, then heard the faint hum of a vibrator.
The drinks on their backs quivered as two men
sat talking on a couch behind them.
"Imagine what might happen if that paper slips
out," she heard Ron say.
Isabel turned away, trying to absorb everything
around her. Her eyes fell on a young girl,
maybe just 18, who was standing next to a older
man dozing in an armchair.
Her waist was constricted into an impossible
hourglass shape by a heavily-boned corset
cinched tightly under her crotch. Her arms hung
down her back in a binder, while her stockinged
legs trembled on six-inch heels while being
squashed together by a series of wide belts
with multiple buckles.
A simple leather harness, just a thick strap
underneath with a thinner one buckled tight
across the top, squeezed her breasts from the
back. Her nipples poked out from between a set
of thin metal bars bolted together with wing
nuts.
The chain attached to the bars went up to the
ceiling, through a heavy eyebolt, then down to
the top of the leather trainer around her
frightened-looking face. The stretching made
her breasts look like footballs standing
upright for kickoff.
Isabel shuddered as Ron walked her past. The
girl's heels were off the ground. And a weight
danced from the end of the arm binder.
Over in a corner, a drop-dead blonde wearing
red heels, stockings, garter belt and gloves
swayed as she fought the effects of gravity.
Ron noticed Isabel's interest, and took her
closer.
The woman was suspended horizontally about five
feet off the floor. Her arms were bound
together with black rope behind her back at her
wrists and elbows. Her ankles were cuffed,
crossed and tied to her wrists so her legs were
bent at a 90-degree angle and splayed out
slightly.
The harness started with a piece of rope across
her back that traveled under her breasts, and
up past her ears to a knot just behind her
shoulders. It was joined by another length
wrapped around the top of her breasts, while a
third loop tied to the same knot held her waist
aloft.
Finally, a single cord was fastened to the
middle of the rope around the top of her chest.
It ran down the front of her body to her groin,
only to take a sharp detour at her crotch. It
angled up to the back of her head, where it was
knotted to the strap holding the bright red
ball gag in her mouth.
Holding her airborne was a pulley and a piece
of rope that looked like a lopsided triangle.
It passed underneath the big knot behind her
shoulders, and then back to the rope connecting
her wrists to her ankles. With her feet hanging
higher than her head, Isabel imagined most of
her weight was straining against the rope
around her torso.
But that wasn't even the worst of it. The
woman's nipples had been pierced with large
metal loops, and someone had seen fit to snap
large padlocks around them.
"Quite unpleasant, I assure you," Ron said
after watching Isabel stare for several
moments. "Care to give it a try?"
Isabel thought the woman looked like she was
trapped in time during the middle of one of
those awful exercises she used to hate in gym
where the coach made them lie on their stomachs
and grab their ankles.
She shook her head.
"Well, I'm sure we'll find something equally
troublesome for you."
Isabel noticed several women wearing maid's
uniforms kneeling around the room. Some held
coasters in their mouths. Others were holding
ashtrays. All were bound in the most awful
ways.
"Not much of a crowd tonight, I'm afraid."
A million questions bounced crazily through
Isabel's head, but she didn't think she really
wanted to know the answers.
The man from the front lobby suddenly appeared
at Ron's side.
"I'm sorry, Mr. R, but there's a telephone call
for you. Would you like to take it here?"
"No, I'd better go to your office."
He pointed to an empty corner.
"Go stand over there facing the wall, and don't
move until I return."
Isabel stutter-stepped across the room as
instructed and began waiting. She tried to
listen to the conversations behind her, but all
she could make out was occasional snippets of
talk about sports, investments and vacations.
How long was he going to make her stand here?
She thought about the girl in the corset and
wondered if she could survive that kind of
torture. Would she have a choice? Anything
would be better than being suspended like that
blonde, her weight of her body straining
against those inescapable ropes that bit so
deeply into her tits and especially her crotch.
She heard voices immediately behind her, but
none belonged to Ron.
"What do we have here, Mr. H?"
"I believe it belongs to Mr. R."
"It has a nice ass, doesn't it, Mr. H?"
"Yes, a very nice ass, Mr. C. But it looks
sad."
"How so, Mr. H?"
"It seems so empty."
"Forlorn."
"Unfulfilled, Mr. C."
"Can we help it find happiness, Mr. H?"
"I believe so, Mr. C."
What the hell...Isabel started to turn around
until a hard swat across her exposed cheeks
stopped her cold.
"Most unfortunate, Mr. H."
"Yes, a novice, I'm afraid. We'll have to take
corrective actions."
Isabel heard what sounded like...maracas?
"I believe this will supply the necessary
amount of joy, Mr. C."
"May I hold it, Mr. H?"
"Certainly, Mr. C."
"Quite heavy, Mr. H. Are those metal pellets
inside?"
"Yes, Mr. C. Unfortunately, I was not able to
fill it completely, so they have a tendency to
shift when you move it."
Isabel heard a sound like chh-chh-chh.
"That's too bad, Mr. H."
"Ah, well, life is a series of compromises."
Isabel had no idea what they were talking about
until she felt the tip of the dildo penetrate
her rectum.
"To happiness, Mr. C."
Isabel closed her eyes as the cylinder was
pushed deep into her cavity. She felt the
pellets shift to the back of the dildo, which
caused the tip to press painfully against the
top of her anal canal.
"I do hope it doesn't pop out, Mr. H."
"We'd best take out some insurance against that
calamity, Mr. C."
Isabel began breathing in short huffs.
"Oh, very nice. I like the patterns created by
the studs."
"Thank you, Mr. C. It is a pity they go on the
inside."
She felt someone reaching up under her dress
and wrapping something around her waist, then
gasped as the sharp rivets dug into where her
pubic hair used to be.
"Are you sure it will fit, Mr. H? The strap
doesn't quite seem to reach the hasp."
"Patience, Mr. C."
Isabel felt the studded leather disappear
between the cheeks of her ass, pushing the
weighted dildo another inch deeper inside her,
then groaned out loud when the padlock clicked
home.
"Oh, dear."
"Shocking, Mr. C."
"Beyond impertinent."
Isabel froze.
"I believe this will solve the dilemma, Mr. C."
Isabel didn't even see the bladder until it was
being stuffed into her mouth. As the awful
taste of the rubber mingled with the scent of
the leather faceplate just under her nostrils,
she felt straps being drawn around her nose and
over her forehead, then everything was buckled
inescapably behind her head.
"Would you do the honors, Mr. C?"
"Thank you, Mr. H."
Something tugged on Isabel's mouth, then she
heard the unmistakable sound of air being
pumped. As the bladder began to inflate, she
looked down and saw a thin tube curling down
from the front of the gag.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh...Isabel tried to open
her mouth wider to accommodate the relentless
swelling, but a short strap under her chin,
plus the thick leather surrounding her cheeks,
denied any relief.
The pumping finally stopped, and a moment
later, the squeeze bulb swung around and
dangled against Isabel's waist.
"Well done, Mr. C."
"A vast improvement, Mr. H."
Isabel's knees suddenly went weak, and she had
to struggle to keep her balance.
One of the men sighed extravagantly.
"Such well-sculpted legs. Pity it doesn't know
how to hold them still."
"Shall we help it attain a higher level of
education, Mr. H?"
"I fear it requires remedial tutoring, Mr. C."
Isabel couldn't decide if she was angry, or
scared, or both. Who are these bozos? And what
happened to Ron?
"Shall we continue the rubber theme?
"That would be appropriate, Mr. H."
One of the men started whistling as he picked
up Isabel's left foot, then the right, and
rolled something vaguely slimy up her legs.
When he got to the top of her thighs, he pulled
the wide band of rubber flat against her skin.
"Nice constriction, Mr. H."
Three more bands were soon in place above and
below her knees, and around her ankles.
"I think there's hope, Mr. C."
"Yes, it does seem less likely to misbehave,
Mr. H."
"Did you happen to notice the zippers on the
front of its lovely dress?"
"Why, no, Mr. H."
"See for yourself."
A pair of hands reached around Isabel and began
squeezing her chest hard.
"They yearn to be free, Mr. H."
"Then don't delay, Mr. C."
Isabel hadn't really noticed that the zippers
covering her breasts were only about two inches
long until they were unzipped and the hands
were tugging her soft globes through the
openings by her nipples.
"Delightful."
"And real, Mr. H."
"You don't say? Let me see."
Another set of hands molested the hills of
quivering flesh poking out from Isabel's dress.
"Quite right, Mr. C."
"Such a rare treat, Mr. H."
"We're truly blessed, Mr. C."
Isabel didn't like the ensuing silence one bit.
"It should be rewarded."
"Will these be adequate?"
Isabel thought she heard the clinking of tiny
chains.
"I think so, Mr. H."
Isabel looked down and saw a hand holding a set
of large, spring-loaded clamps open over one of
her nipples. As he slowly released his grip,
bullets of pain shot though her chest. But that
was nothing compared to the searing sensation
caused when the hand opened to drop a weight
attached to the clamp by a long chain.
Isabel couldn't stop herself from instinctively
trying to shake off the effects of the vicious
devices.
"My, my, my. It doesn't seem to hear well at
all."
"I fear it's insolence, plain and simple, Mr.
C."
"We'd best continue, Mr. H."
"Can you fetch me a chair, please, Mr. C?"
Isabel's arms were momentarily freed, only to
be bound tightly at her wrists behind her back.
Someone climbed on a chair next to her, then
her hands began rising.
"There, Mr. C?"
"Up a little higher...there, that's it. Well
done, Mr. H."
"Thank you, Mr. C."
Oh...my...sweet...
The pellets in the weighted butt plug shifted
forward as Isabel was bent over.
She quickly tried to stand upright, but her
wrists were hung just high enough to make the
strain on her shoulders unbearable. But when
she bent back over, she discovered whatever was
holding her arms didn't give her quite enough
slack to find any comfort in that position
either.
"Bungee cord has so many uses."
"A wonder of science, Mr. C."
Isabel groaned. The weights on her nipples
practically jumped as she desperately tried to
find a compromise between standing up and
doubling over, while the heavy, pellet-filled
dildo slid back and forth deep inside her ass.
"Is that new, Mr. H?"
"Why, yes, Mr. C. Do you like it?"
"Very thin, Mr. H. In fact, I don't think I've
ever seen a crop quite this slender. But it
seems to hold its shape quite well."
"Notice how flexible it is, Mr. C."
"May I try it, Mr. H?"
"Be my guest, Mr. C."
The lights suddenly flicked off, then back on
again.
"Drat."
"I'm afraid it's time for supper, Mr. C."
"I suppose it can wait."
"I'm quite sure it will have no problem doing
just that, Mr. C."
Isabel stopped struggling and listened. Turning
her head, she watched as the men in the room
got up and started heading in groups toward a
side door.
When the last one entered the dining room, he
shut the door behind him.
Why, that no-good son of a bitch...Isabel
flailed helplessly against the cord.
Where did he go? Why did he let those two men
do all these terrible things to her?
She bent over as far as she could, but the
bungee cord pulled her back like a spring. She
resolved to stand up straight, but she couldn't
take the tension for more than a few seconds.
That bastard Ron...when I get out of this...
If I get out of this, she corrected herself
with a sigh.
Breathing hard through her nose, Isabel was
suddenly aware of the other women in the room.
With the exception of her, all were as
motionless as statues. And the only sound was
the muffled squeals of desperate girls in
severe restraint
continue
copyright © 1999 by adrian hunter. all rights reserved.
please do not repost nor repurpose without permission.
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