The DanceSubmitted by: TK
Over the months she had learned to walk steadily, smoothly, and even fairly gracefully, despite the thigh bands and chains, despite the extended-toe ballet boots, even with her hands thrust into the pockets of her jacket, held by chains to the broad steel belt of her hidden chastity device.
As always she turned heads. The boots added a full eight inches to her 5'2" height, transforming her from a long-legged 86 pound sylph into a fantastic creature with proportions Barbie would have envied. Then there was her completely bald head, with its delicate and translucent, almost blue skin. The clanking of the thigh chains added to the tinkling of the bells suspended between her exceptionally slim and wide-spaced thighs guaranteed that no one would overlook the sight.
If only I were to lift that micro-skirtł people could not help but wonder, what would I find? Where did those chains that ran down the outside of her thighs to the bands lead to? Where were the bells suspended from? Was her pussy as bald as her head?
Some acted on the impulse, of course, especially in the subway. It was particularly likely today, she thought, because of the polished steel mask that covered her entire face, with slits for vision and a barred mouth giving her a bestial anonymity. It was held by a heavy leather harness, and a strap over the top of her head pulled on a nose-hook that exerted a continual uncomfortable pressure. It made her look easier to violate.
Still she stepped carefully but surely down the stairs to the subway and walked straight through the gate, relying on the proximity pass to allow her through without the use of her chained hands. She was grateful to see that the train that pulled in had empty seats - standing while unable to hang on was tricky at best. She plopped down next to an older woman, who eyed her uneasily but said nothing.
There was no way for her to sit down gracefully - the boots would not allow her legs to bend much past 45 degrees at best and she could not use her hands to help. Once seated she shifted uneasily. Sometimes when she sat the clamp on her clit, beneath the shield, seemed to bind and bite especially uncomfortably. She tossed her head for the thousandth time in a futile effort to find a more comfortable position for the nose hook.
The woman got off at the next stop, to be replaced with a somewhat seedy looking man in his thirties. She tensed and stared straight ahead.
"That's a real slut-suit," the man said. "I guess you're looking for attention." He put his hand on her thigh. It felt dirty.
"Not from you," she replied. "Keep your hands to yourself!"
"I guess I don't have to worry about you biting me - someone's taken care of that for me." His fingers crawled up her thigh into her crotch.
"What the fuck?" he exclaimed as his hand reached her chastity belt shield.
"You want to hear how loud I can scream?" She said, furiously. "I'll give you just a little sample."
She gave a piercing yelp. People looked in her direction. These trains all carried a transit police officer. The man got up from his seat and slunk off down the car. His seat was taken by a woman who said nothing.
She sat and seethed. Scott had set her up for this deliberately, with the elaborate public bondage display. She was plenty conspicuous enough with just the boots and thigh chains and bells she had been wearing all the time for the past four months. The mask and chained wrists made confrontations with idiots inevitable. And he could perfectly well have taken her with him in the cab rather than forcing her to go by subway.
But complaining would be useless - worse than useless, for he would not hesitate to keep her gagged. She was completely trapped, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Her stop. It was quite tricky to get up out of her seat wearing the boots and without the use of her hands, but she made it and managed to reach the door just as it was about to close. The station was particularly far underground and the slatted steps of the escalator looked as if they would be trouble with the stiletto heels and sharply pointed toes of her boots. With her hands bound she couldn't use the elevator so she trudged up the long stairway.
It was raining. Not hard, but hard enough when she had no protection. It fell cold on her bald head and quickly soaked her jacket and skirt. She had a six-block walk over hills and had to take very short, careful steps to keep her footing.
She thought this was the house, a large, ornate stone building from the end of the nineteenth century. She couldn't be sure because the slits in her mask did not let her look up far enough to confirm the number. The height of the worn steps was at the outer limit of what the thigh chains permitted. She desperately wanted to use her hands to grab the rail, but somehow made it to the top without them. There she waited, standing in the rain, unable to reach the bell.
Finally a couple came up the steps. She confirmed that she was at the right place and asked them to let her in with them.
The ballroom was on the second floor, down a short hall. Scott scowled at her as she entered.
"Why the fuck are you dripping all over the floor?" he demanded.
"Because I had to walk six blocks through the rain and couldn't do anything about it," she replied, with an edge.
He thrust her into a side room where he unlocked and opened the zipper to her jacket. He freed her wrists for long enough to get the jacket off, before locking them to the belt again once she had been stripped to the waist. Then he pulled off her skirt an wrung the garments out before hanging them up. She turned back to the ballroom, but he held her for a moment. He took the rings out of her tits. From a large bag he took a pair of clamps, joined by a chain, that he fastened to them in their place. Like her clit the tits were especially generously scaled, and especially sensitive, making them inviting targets for clamps. Like the clamp that had held her clit in its grip for the past four months these were the type that gripped more tightly when under tension, and the chain that joined them sported quite a large and heavy bell suspended on a spring from its center, so that as she walked the bell bounced and sent waves of pleasure/pain through her tits.
Many of the people in the ballroom were undressed to one degree or another - Scott was wearing only a pair of black latex briefs that left little to the imagination - while others wore bondage outfits. Quite a few of the men wore chastity belts, along with some of the women, and many people were wearing handcuffs or shackles. There were several straitjackets, including two very handsome and elaborate leather ones, and also a number of hoods that imposed varying degrees of restriction.
A woman stopped to talk. She was wearing a black leather corset that left her breasts and crotch exposed, with black high-heeled boots, and carried a riding crop. A man followed her, having little choice because his penis was pierced by a large and heavy ring that was chained to her left wrist. He wore a metal fiddle that held his wrists together 18 inches in front of his neck, and a ring gag - and nothing else.
"Are you going to come out for the party, sweetie?" the woman asked, putting her finger against the shield of the chastity belt.
"I doubt it," she replied.
"Can you get any stimulation?"
The man's penis was very erect. The woman struck it a sharp blow with the crop and he howled wordlessly in pain.
"He's going to get one, soon. It will be very good for him."
She moved on, and a well-built man in his thirties came over to her. He wore a form-fitting black t-shirt and a massive stainless steel chastity belt.
"You look stunning," he said. "I'm sure I would not have forgotten if I had seen you at one of these parties before." He touched her mask. "Are you really as dangerous as you look?"
"I can be pretty dangerous."
"I'd offer you a drink but I don't see how I can with that mask."
"Does that belt come off?" she asked.
"At midnight on the 31st of the month my wife locks my hands in a stock that holds them out from the side of my neck. Then she unlocks the belt and we fuck as much as I want during the day - my record is nine. At midnight the belt goes back on."
"How many months have got 31sts?" she asked.
"Seven. But they're big days. And what about you?"
"Four months so far. My agreement with Scott is that it will be another eight."
"No release at all?"
She sighed. "Not so far. He promised that if I came to the party and did what I was supposed to I'd get a chance for an orgasm."
"And what is it that you're supposed to do?"
"I don't know. Something humiliating and unpleasant, no doubt."
"No doubt. I'd love to do it with you. But right now I need another drink."
She wandered about the big room, surveying it as best her mask would allow. It was still filling up. There were piles of mats along one side.
"You have a figure do die for, dearie!" She was a large but shapely woman in a skin-tight black latex cat-suit that covered her completely except for her mouth, eyes, tits, and crotch. "But why no hair? It looks like you wax it, but I can't imagine." She shuddered.
"I don't have any. When I was 14 I got some kind of infection - they never did figure out what - and I lost all my hair, all over my body. It hasn't come back, and I stopped growing, too."
"You look like a pretty well-developed 14-year old."
"I was always the biggest and best-developed kid I knew. Until then."
"Looks like yours could get a girl in real trouble."
"They have. Plenty."
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone really walk in boots like those. I can stand in them for a little while, but not walk, and mine don't even have toes like yours."
"It took me two months to learn how, maybe a little longer. I didn't have any choice, because I couldn't take them off."
"You wear them a lot?"
"All the time. Even in bed mostly, except some of the time when Scott wants to pump me in the ass and is looking for something different."
It was hard to read the woman's expression behind her cat mask, but the note of shock in her tone was unmistakable. "If you keep that up your feet and legs will adapt and you won't be able to wear anything else."
"I'm pretty sure I'm already there. I'll probably have to wear boots like this for the rest of my life. Maybe a little less extreme. Would be nice."
A man pulled the catsuited woman away. Another woman came up with a man in tow. He wore a chastity belt with an enormous black dong attached at the front. A head harness carried another big dong. It was dipped into the glass he held, evidently serving double duty as a straw. She saw that the harness was locked.
The woman's figure was OK but her skin made it clear that she was no longer young. She wore only a chastity belt. It too had a big dong.
"I've always wondered about the thigh bands," the woman said. "You like them? They do something for you?"
"Not my idea," she said. "Scott decides."
The man was staring at her.
"He's hoping he'll got to put his dong in you."
"Maybe. Not my choice."
"I wouldn't mind it either. You do look striking. Tell me, the bells between your legs - are they hanging from the belt or from piercings?"
"They're connected to a clamp on my clit. Scott keeps the cord locked to the belt so they don't tug on the clamp, but the lock keeps a constant pressure."
The woman wrinkled her nose. "You mean your clit is clamped all the time? It sounds pretty unpleasant."
"It's not too bad, usually. Sometimes."
"At least you don't have the bells tugging on it."
"Actually, that was pretty stimulating. He let me take a walk with it on the first day. The clamp tightens a little and then releases with each step, and the cord is elastic. This way is just irritating, but that really had me going. I could have come with enough of it, I think." She sighed.
She wandered further, feeling distant but on edge from the tension on her clit and tits. She saw some familiar faces, people she knew from work. On the other side of the room Scott spoke with a man she recognized as her boss, Don. Naturally Scott would want to do a thorough job of humiliating her. Don turned away from Scott, who beckoned to her.
"You need to get ready and get a good place," he said. "Come on."
In the side room he unlocked her wrists so he could insert her arms in a black leather arm binder. He pulled the straps until her elbows touched firmly behind her, holding her shoulders back. Next he removed the mask and nose hook before forcing an enormous ring gag between her teeth. She thought he was going to dislocate her jaw. The gag was held in place by a heavy harness that enveloped her head and interfered with her vision, but less than the mask. Then he replaced the hook, with even more tension it seemed.
Finally he ran a strap from the top of her head through a ring at the elbows of her arm binder. He pulled hard, forcing her head far back and putting strong pressure on her shoulders, before locking it in place. She gasped in pain.
He pulled on her tit chain, sharply enough to send a wave of pain through her. "No dramatics. Come on - you need to get in place."
With her head so far back it was practically impossible for her to keep her balance and she would have fallen if he had not supported her. Looking up as she was forced to she could see chains hanging from the ceiling of the ballroom. He maneuvered her over to a place near the center of the room where a chain had been lowered to fall to waist height. He clipped it to her wrists.
"One more thing," he said as she stood there. He unlocked the chain from her thigh bands. "Spread your legs. More."
Standing in the boots with her legs spread was a strain. She grunted, but he ignored her and clipped a solid bar between the bands, locking her legs in place.
He did something she couldn't see and the chain from the ceiling began to pull up on her wrists, forcing her to lean forward farther and farther until her feet were clear of the floor and she was dangling from her arms stretched out behind her. He slacked off just a bit, until her feet were on the floor, before pulling more on the head strap, forcing her head even further back. She was in agony, unable to do anything to relieve the pressure on her shoulders, neck, or legs.
He walked deliberately around to her head. She could watch him open his fly, pull out his cock, and put a condom on - which he did not usually do - before he thrust it into her mouth.
"Give me a good ride," he told her. "All my friends get a good ride, you understand?"
After a few minutes of pumping, he pulled out, grunting, "Enough for the front end." He walked around behind her and entered her anus.
"Your turn at the front end, Don," he called out. "Get to know your employee a little better."
She became lost in a whirlpool of pain and could not count the number of people who raped her. It was not the first time in her life that she had been raped, but nothing that compared to this in agony or degradation.
Finally she heard Scott say, "OK, that's enough for tonight. More fun another time. Now it's the lady's turn for some."
She didn't know what he meant, and felt too beaten down to care.
The chain began to slack off until she was able to stand upright. The head strap was released, allowing her head to flop forward. Then the bar between her thighs was removed, replaced with the chains. Scott put a blindfold across her eyes, a deliberately leaky one that gave her enough view of the floor to help her maintain her stability.
The tit clamps were removed, sending a wave of intense energy through her. Someone reached between her thighs. She felt a small click and then a burst of energy from her clit. Despite her exhaustion she shifted a little on her feet, responding involuntarily.
"OK, girl," Scott said, "Let's show 'em how you can dance. Tinkle, tinkle!"
She was much too sore and exhausted to dance, but there was no way she could not respond to the energy flooding her clit as he pulled rhythmically on the cord. He seemed to know just the right beat. She moaned and began to move in time with the motions.
"Go, go! Dance!" His voice was faint over the rush of her blood.
She couldn't stop, had no desire to stop now. She drove onward, onward. The tunnel went on and on, demanding all her strength.
She was nearing the edge, could hear the roaring of the falls. It drowned out the noise of the room, and blinding light flooded through the blindfold. She hesitated just for a moment at the brink and then plunged over!
The onlookers were startled at her scream, a high ululating cry of intense ferocity. It was purely involuntary and unconscious, the sound she had always made a climax, but none of them had ever heard it before - not even Scott.
She danced on, legs trembling, panting for breath, but unable to stop. She approached another precipice, nearer, nearer, louder, louder!
Again, she screamed, scarcely less startling than the last time.
Still she drove on, though she could scarcely breathe or stand. She had to reach it, no matter what. She used her bound arms for support, pulling against the ceiling chain. She was almost there, almost... .
A third scream, hoarse but triumphant. She sagged, suspended just inches above the floor by her arms and the chain, panting, sobbing.
"Jesus, Scott!" someone exclaimed.
"She's a firecracker, that's for sure." Scott's voice sounded shaky.
"What were you saying about having her take the subway home? I don't think so."
"Scott, ole' buddy," another voice put in, "I'll be happy to take care of her for you. Just give me the key to that belt."
Hands grasped her shoulders and shook her. "Come on," Scott's voice said, "You need to stand up."
He tried to pull her up, but her legs had no strength to support her.
"Shit!" he said.
"Come on," another voice said. "I'll hold her up while you get the chain off and we can lay her down on a mat until she can stand."
She was raised more or less to her feet and then dragged over to a corner. Her arms were still bound tightly behind her, her mouth still propped wide open, her eyes still blindfolded, but she slept as soon as she hit the mat.
Page last updated 2010-May-12 by: Altairboy@aol.com