Here is part six of a multi-part BDSM serial written exclusively for Oxy-Shop by taped2. There are two major scenes in this part: (1) Head Mistress explains to Martin how The Abduction Company was created and Number Two invites him to become one of a dozen investors in the business. (2) After a brief return to his prison cell, control of Martin is transferred to Mistress Blaise. Martin has his most intense moment of bliss and guilt.
Martin and his handler, Number Two had returned to the concrete familiarity of the lower basement. Martin showered in the communal baths at the end of the hall and padded back to his cell. He put on the scent that Two had supplied on his dressing table. He put on a pair of black leather ankle cuffs and two matching wrist cuffs. They fastened with buckles. Each wrist restraint had three D-rings. Each ankle cuff had four D-rings. He presented himself for further restraint as Number Two thought fit.
Two gave him the stainless steel chastity cage he had shown him this morning. It had only two parts: the cock sleeve and the closed, steel base ring. The two parts fit together; two pins on either side of the cock-sleeve would be inserted into openings in the top side of the base ring. Additionally, the top of the cock sleeve and the top edge the base ring had steel curved hasps that joined to form a short channel into which a key with a plug lock could be inserted. Once the plug lock was turned and the key removed, the wearer’s cock was trapped. This design had the advantage of not using a padlock, which had the tendency clank against the plastic chastity he had worn earlier.
Martin liked the fact the steel chastity had fewer parts. The troubling thing was, however that it seemed more like an imprisonment, like an inescapable bondage for his cock. He went to the sink and washed the device. He had to admit the design was ingenious, how each part had steel hasps that lined up, creating a tube for the lock to slide into.
“It’ll be too small. The penis part, I mean.“
“Don’t worry. You’re soft. As long as you don’t get a raging erection before you get it on, you’ll be o.k. In any case, in a few minutes you’ll find you’ve swollen to fill the space available.” Number Two told him to slide his balls, one at a time, through the solid base ring. “Now, bend your penis backward, and cram it through the ring too. Or forward, if you can manage, if that feels better. This is a 45 mm base ring. Your ideal measurement.”
Martin struggled to fit the base ring around both his balls and his cock. “It would be better if you didn’t watch. I know what to do.” Number Two walked off and began chatting with one of the guards. Martin eventually relaxed enough to get both his balls, then his cock, through the ring. He saw how to insert the pins at the base of the steel sheath into the matching holes in the ring. Considerately, Two had left some lube nearby, but Martin got his cock into the sleeve without it. He saw too, the danger of pinching the skin of his cock, while putting the pins in the ring. Gently, and with care he pushed the cock sleeve, with his cock inside, back towards the steel ring, back towards his body. The last half-inch was the trickiest. He felt the pins on the cage pinch his skin against the solid ring. He backed off, adjusted his penis downwards, and tried again. After several tries, he got the two pins into the ring. The cock sleeve now felt snug.
Yes, it was snug, but it could easily pop off. Martin took the key with the plug lock on its tip. He slid the lock partly into the locking channel on top of the device. Suddenly, it would go no further. The top of the ring and the top of the steel cock sleeve must be slightly out of alignment, he thought. He re-inserted the lock several times but it wouldn’t slide all the way across the slot. He looked up and stuck his head out of the cell door. Two was walking back towards him.
“Are you sure it will unlock?”
“I tested it. If it’s jamming, push slightly downwards on the cock sleeve. Doing so will align the tab on the sleeve a little better with the two on the base. If you can get the three tabs aligned, there will be no protruding edges inside the channel and the lock and key will slide all the way across.”
Martin did this. The plug lock was now properly seated at the end. He twisted the key. The forward part of the lock moved into the locking slot. Gently, Martin pulled the key back. The key slid out easily, leaving the plug lock behind. It was secure. He was locked.
“You got it.”
Martin gasped. The sensation was new, something he hadn’t felt when Blaise had put him in chastity, in the van, during his trip to AbductCo. Partly, he was reacting to the confinement. His cock felt like it was enclosed in cold steel, like he was being gripped all over. Number Two studied the fit. “Pull your balls down gently, and push some of the scrotum skin down so it’s not bunching in the underside gap between the ring and the cock sheath. Martin gently pulled his balls downward and then worked them side to side to reduce the skin pinned there. “You don’t want to be chafing.”
Number Two took the key from Martin and added it to a thin chain of keys around his neck. Martin saw himself in the wall mirror. He let his fingers play over his new “steel cock.” It felt so strange, and amazing. There was only the tiniest play between the sleeve and the ring. It seemed to fit perfectly. How cool the steel felt! “Good,” he muttered. “Feels really heavy. I like it more than the plastic.”
“Are you fully extended into the sleeve? I mean right to the tip? The sleeve is supposed to be 46 mm. long.”
“Close but not totally. There is a large hole at the tip and a circle of smaller holes around it.”
“That’s for peeing. I’m not going to unlock you just to urinate.”
Martin nodded. He wondered how he would keep it all clean.
“And since you’re going to meet Head Mistress, you should put on some underwear.” Two handed him a pair of new briefs. When Martin had them on, he gave him a new pair of black leather shorts with a rounded codpiece that attached by silver press studs around the groin. The shorts fit snugly, and pressed down, not unpleasantly on the steel cock underneath. Martin tightened the belt around his waist. His gut was pleasingly tucked in. The black leather contrasted nicely with his skin.
“I love the smell of fresh leather, very animalistic,” said Two. “Here’s a T-shirt. Something simple.” The message on the T-shirt message read: Learning to Be a Slave. A logo for the Abduction Company appeared beneath the words. Number Two locked Martin’s leather wrist cuffs together behind him. Then he used another few links to join his wrists to an attachment point at the foot of Martin’s cell-bed. Martin was forced to sit on a metal chair, close to the bed rail. His cock felt enclosed on all sides. He spread his legs, to lessen the too-tight feeling. The base ring seemed to hold him forward, against the confinement of the steel and against the leather shorts he wore.
“Stay out of trouble.” Number Two smiled and wagged a finger at him. “I’m going up to my apartment. I’ll be back in plenty of time to escort you to your lunch date. While I’m gone, you can contemplate the folly of a misspent life.”
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Number Two bent over and kissed Head Mistress demurely on the cheek.
“Don’t forget the other cheek. Three kisses!” she insisted. Two complied. “Hello 176,” said Head Mistress. “You may sit. In fact, you’re the one I most wanted to see today.” With his hands behind him, Martin struggled to pull out the chair from under the table with his foot. Then he had to change its angle, so he could back into it and sit down.
“Francis! You can uncuff our friend. If you brought him to me this way, just to show me he likes bondage, well good for you. You’ve both saluted the flag. Now you can release him.” Number Two selected the key from his chain for the lock between Martin’s wrists.
“What were you boys up to this morning?”
“First day of Pony Basics. He got a few strokes from the Senior Equestrian for bad manners. Failed to kiss her hand when it was offered.“
“Oh, I can imagine she wouldn’t have liked that. He’s new here, and inexperienced. He’s going to make some mistakes.” They spoke of Martin as if he wasn’t there.
“Is he ready for the races?” Head Mistress asked.
“You know he’s not. You only inducted him last night.”
“Just teasing, dear.”
Martin wondered if he could speak. They were seated in a luxurious outdoor garden. One waiter and two waitresses flitted back and forth. Meals were being served, people were drinking, no one was restrained. No one was being scolded or punished or eating in a compromised position – on their knees for example, from a bowl on the floor. Martin had seen several men in his prison unit eating from dog dishes on the concrete floor. He’d heard dominants verbally humiliating their charges. He’d heard men being whipped and their pleas for mercy. He ventured a question. “Head Mistress, may I ask, do you host pony races, for the slaves and their mistresses?”
“Why yes, Martin we do. We have over eight hundred clients in our database who have gone through our pony training or have verified they’ve been trained elsewhere in Pony Etiquette and Performance. Not all of them are active of course, but on the long weekend in August we hold the North American Pony Invitational with eight competitive categories. Pony play and pony work and training is – year round – one of our most popular activities. The only activity more popular in my experience is Cross-Dressing or Transvestism, as it is sometimes called. We have five courses for men wishing to pass as women and two courses for women wishing to pass as men.”
“Why the discrepancy?”
“Most men are quite inept at dressing themselves, even with a deep-seated desire to cross over to the other side. They simply need more help. And you know, there’s just more work involved to make oneself into a beautiful woman. Even for those of us born unambiguously female! It’s hard work to be beautiful, and the older you get, the harder it becomes. That’s why we envy the young. The girls who would look good, even if they were dressed in a barrel. We all know them when we see them. Right Francis?”
Number Two nodded. Head Mistress sipped her champagne. “But you’re not married Marty, so I guess you probably didn’t realize that.”
This struck Martin as an old-fashioned view of women (and men). But there was a grain of truth to it. He employed enough women at his company to see how matters of appearance and acceptance were different (and perhaps more difficult) for his female workers than for the males. But, he was in the steel fabricating and manufacturing business. Steel was a masculine kind of trade. Perhaps Head Mistress didn’t realize that.
A waiter appeared at Martin’s side. “If it gets colder sir, you may wish to wear this robe?” He held a gorgeous deep blue garment for the table to see. Martin stood and let the man hold it open. Martin slid his arms into the sleeves. His wrist cuffs caught momentarily on the fabric. At last he tied the belt around his waist and sat down again.
“Thank-you Hector, said Head Mistress. “A drink for our guest.” Martin ordered a dark craft beer.
“How is it going Martin? I would like to hear your thoughts what you’ve seen. Do you like our little getaway in vacation country?”
“Fabulous. Quite the facility. Large, very well equipped.”
“And the service?”
Martin smirked. “From what I’ve seen, it’s excellent.”
“I must tell you more about the Abduction Company before your stay with us will make sense to you.”
“In the late eighties and early nineties there once was a small chain of moderately successful bars in America that I co-owned with a woman of my generation. The bars were called Ill-Repute. People call that branding nowadays. We were pro-dommes who took some of our profits and invested them in getting ourselves into a more respectable business. In those days, bondage was hardly respectable. We privately owned the chain of restaurants, the bars. No stock market offering. No IPO. No shareholders telling us what to do. We rolled out a few franchises, but only to people we felt we could really manage food and beverage. We were friends, we were smart. We had made money out of specializing in BDSM and perhaps through blind luck, or hiring good managers, we made out very well with the restaurants and bars too. Once upon a time, it was a very profitable kind of business.”
“My former partner would travel a lot. I tended to stick to this part of the country, eastern Canada and the north-eastern USA. As she travelled, she was – unbeknownst to me – opening up a few “underground” dungeons in Canadian cities. She even had one in New York City.
“At the time, I was trying to get out of the domination-for-hire routine. That’s why I was growing the bar business. The problem was she was operating these studios under the name Ill-Repute. So suddenly I had other business partners – besides her – that I had no idea of. The ownership confusion between the bars and the dungeons became a legal vulnerability.”
“In fact, her Ill-Repute dungeon in New York was practically named – on its registration papers – the same as another house of ill-repute in NYC. You remember that phrase Martin? House of Ill-Repute? No? I guess it was before your time. Eventually the first New York one tried to sue us. The Toronto one was the brainchild of . . . “ Head Mistress paused. “Can you guess who it was, Martin?”
He shook his head.
“Mistress Destiny. Your former dominatrix.”
Number Two looked at them both across the table. Martin’s eyes found his.
“When she was younger, in the 1990s Destiny had this crazy idea that it would be possible to take female domination mainstream. To take all BDSM behaviour mainstream, actually. Destiny had travelled. She was very widely read and had published a few books on S&M. And she hadn’t even used a pseudonym! She had published as Evelyn Talbot, thinking she had nothing to hide. I visited the original New York dungeon Ill-Repute. It was plain she was copying their idea. She thought the two lines of business were sympatico – bar entertainment and femdom for fun, with a small hotel or bed and breakfast combined with a prison component. She tried, for a while, to keep this second line of business secret from me. I would have been a perfect partner on that side, but I suppose Destiny was afraid I’d take it away from her or I was no longer interested in BDSM, or something. I don’t know when or why she lost trust in me. But somewhere along the line, she did.”
“Anyway, the BDSM studios were not generally well-managed. And once she let me in, giving me a share of the femdom studios in exchange for my management, I began to see how she was a woman of great ideas, but not a manager of people or facilities. Her record-keeping was poor. Money slipped through her fingers. Eventually we were sued for trademark infringement and a few other things. Ill-repute was already registered to someone in the US.”
“A sharpie lawyer registered it in Canada too, at a time when we were doing it virtually all under the table. He did it for the purpose of putting her out of both the bar business and the femdom studios too. Then he offered to buy us out at pennies on the dollar. Pure predatory lawyering.”
Martin’s jaw dropped. “I know Mistress Destiny.”
“Yes Martin. I know you know her. That’s how you ended up here. She’s trying to shake me down for the money promised in the abduction contract you foolishly signed with her. She’s trying to turn back time. Revisit her greatest idea.”
“Do you perhaps remember that Destiny was the accused some eight years ago, in a high-profile prostitution court case that she won, of keeping a common bawdy house ? You remember the bondage bungalow ? The suburban sadist ? Those were the newspaper headlines.”
Martin nodded. “We all remember,” added Number Two.
“She won in court, but she was wiped out financially with the legal fees and her clientele dried up, due to the publicity. She sold her Toronto house with her studio rooms and the equipment and furnishings for her clients and relocated to Mississauga. She had to change her name. I bought – for a very generous price – that Toronto studio and I managed to retain, in a special deal, my own 20% share of the Ill-Repute femdom studios in Montreal and Vancouver.”
“Destiny then sold her 50% of the bar chain and I was pressured to sell mine as well when we settled with the American lawyer. The bar business was merged with other restaurant chains, by wealthier players, and merged again and again. The name was changed several times and what’s left of it now belongs to a global conglomerate that makes beverage alcohol, manages sports stadiums, and holds a major interest in many professional sports teams.”
“Destiny and I – we still owned some of the femdom businesses, but I had been loaning her money after the court case. She couldn’t repay. She conceded her share to me to retire the loans. Profits were falling. Many of the women and their managers wanted to retire or run their own operations. They weren’t going to franchise. This wasn’t coffee and donuts we were selling.
“I ended up rebranding what was left as Stephanie’s Retreat and selling the remaining studios and the name (my own Mistress Stephanie name!) to a European hedge fund about eight years ago. Francis helped me.” Stephanie jerked her thumb in Number Two’s direction. “You should get to know him, Martin. Aside from being a dynamic and sensitive kinkster, he is also a banker, a legal deal maker, and my personal business advisor.”
She leaned across the table, took his hand in hers, and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Martin, it was no accident we made him your in-house guardian when you arrived. Anyway, the hedge fund rebranded those studios as Abduction Company and made plans to go big with the resort concept in cottage country north of Toronto. They poured a lot of money into this place. Somehow they got government approvals, and I believe some deal to keep regulatory and police interference to a minimum. Technically Martin, I’m an employee of their subsidiary.”
Number Two began to speak: “Destiny now thinks this business that she started is worth much more than it is. That there’s a way to sue for what she thinks are unpaid royalties. Times have changed. She sees how kinky activities are more and more mainstream, more public. I know because I’ve tried to negotiate with her. This can be a valuable property if it is run correctly. In fact, a few years ago, the hedge-fund, based in Monaco, went about buying up and starting new businesses in the kink segment of the market. In countries you wouldn’t think would tolerate this kind of thing. And they tightened their grip on the old Ill-Repute studios in North America. They refreshed the layouts and décor. Some they to better locations, raised the rates, and discharged the legal liabilities, where they might have had trouble in the courts. They bought out the remaining original owners. They put the properties registered as Ill-Repute out of business – temporarily – and then resurrected them, as branches of Abduction Company. Oh yes, there’s a whole chain of Abduction Company centres. This is the largest, by far. But the requirements of discretion and in some cases the requirements for anonymity and / or secrecy have led to a few high-profile negative stories about the hedge fund and its selection of risky assets in various international jurisdictions.”
“Destiny wants to get back into some kind of role with AbductCo. because she thinks it can make money without having its profits drained by investors. I think she might be right, by the way, but she needs money to make a proposal and no one is going to lend it to her. She can’t afford it. She’s paying her staff – Moustache and Burly and a few others – with a mortgage on her home in Mississauga.”
Stephanie interjected. “I would like to keep managing this resort place on behalf of AbductCo. but the hedge fund is trying to force me out. They want us to be more of a hotel chain. A Hyatt-Regency or something. Less service, less listening and catering to client desires. Probably a more puritan approach, less facilities. Make it simply a luxurious spa for ultra-wealthy.”
“Lately, I’ve won a few battles. I have an incredible client list. Destiny will tell you it’s mostly her list. The oldest names, perhaps 20% of the total, are hers. My part of the list includes many politicians, celebrities, and financial industry leaders. Perhaps the fund managers don’t see the profit in kink education. Perhaps it’s all risk to them. They have even suggested we make “artistic” porn movies. But they don’t make money either. And they invite government/police scrutiny. Let others do that stuff.”
Lunch had arrived. They began to eat. “Mistress Stephanie, why have you told me all this? Is this a way for me to buy my freedom?”
Stephanie laughed. “You’re free to go. Number Two give him his keys.”
Martin held up his hand. “No. It’s not necessary. I’m sure you’re right. That I’m free, I mean.”
“We would like to spin off this property from the hedge fund’s ownership. Take this little bit of the global Abduction Company private. We think the hedgies might be open to selling. We are profitable and Francis will show you the books. Your people can pore over them, if you would like. We are looking or a relatively small investment of funds from you – say, a 10% share – and a guarantee on a loan to buy out our friends in Monaco. You wouldn’t be the only guarantor or shareholder. it’s just not something for which we can raise funds from a public lender. ”
“We estimate you’d end up with a 12% interest in the independent entity. You’d have a board seat of course. Francis will explain who the other investors are and what security you have. He has a sense of how much money we need in hand, and how much we’ll need to borrow.”
Francis looked at Martin across the table. “Not to worry. It’s not more than you can afford.”
“How the hell do you know what I can afford? I’ve got a business to return to. When am I going to be allowed back into the real world?”
“You’ve only been gone two days.” Francis winked at him. “You’re on vacation for two weeks, remember? No one at your company has any idea. We are always discreet.”
Mistress Stephanie rose and stretched in the sunshine, showing off her well-corseted figure. “We’ll be in touch. We know where you live.”
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Number Two took Martin back to his cell. It was mid-afternoon. Two’s phone beeped. “Mistress Blaise is on her way.” Martin remembered the younger “policewoman” who had been part of his kidnapping. She had monitored him as he struggled in the back of the van for two hours on a steel chair.
Blaise wore a red latex catsuit from her neck to her ankles. Her blonde hair was voluminous and curled slightly across her shoulders. Martin could smell hairspray; she’d likely been to the salon this morning. Her studded black leather collar contrasted with her pale skin and her hair. Number Two grinned. “You lucky bastard. You’ve had an upgrade. I can’t compete with her. I’m outta here.”
“Not so fast, Francis, let’s do the transfer by the book.” Blaise chuckled. She tugged downwards on the red leather corset she wore over the latex. The sliver studs and hooks down the front – along with the corset’s sewn vertical lines, hypnotized Martin. It’s just geometry, he told himself, but my god what architecture! Her waist narrowed and her hips flared most attractively. She moved lightly on her high, high heels. She gave both Number Two and Martin her most teasing smile.
Were those eight inch heels? Martin was dying to ask. The balls of her feet were supported with two and a half inch soles. She wore closed-toe ankle boots with a classic pointed toe. She noticed Martin’s hands trembling. She smirked and looked away, as if interested in something on far wall of the cell. He wanted to touch her breasts, rising and falling under the taut latex. She knew how to flaunt, how to lower her chin and stare upwards seductively.
Martin was not handcuffed; losing control of himself was the danger. If he reached out. If he touched her at this moment, while he was under Number Two’s authority, he’d be punished, severely. It would be agonizing. He couldn’t risk it.
“The forward pitch of these shoes is not too extreme, is it?” Blaise asked. “What do you think, Marty? Nothing to say?”
Martin was speechless, on the verge of tears.
“Then get on your knees, 176. Give them real close study.” Mistress Blaise pointed to the floor with her right hand. Her dark purple nail polish, her index finger served to underline her order. “Adore them, Marty. It’s what you want, more than anything.” He mutely dropped to his knees and began to lick her heels, her toes. He was helpless before her beauty. And he was insanely happy too, convinced he had only been born for this moment.
Number Two took off the jewellery chain with Martin’s several keys and gave it to Blaise. “These are for his locks in this bag, these are for his two chastity cages, he’s wearing the steel one. These are for his handcuffs, though all the handcuffs have standard keys around here, don’t they”
“Only standard police cuffs take the standard key. Like that one,” Blaise said. “There are specialty cuffs, as you know. You don’t want to lose a specialty keys. The locksmith charges dearly to replace those locks.” Blaise held up the chain of keys in the overhead light. She glanced at Martin grovelling beneath her. “Turn up the other lights too, please. Can we remove the tattoo bandage and let it breathe? I promise I won’t touch it, except to clean it.”
Number Two ordered Martin to lick a specific spot on the floor at the tip of Blaise’s boot. He gingerly peeled back the bandage and patted the area dry with a clean wipe. “There’s more lotion over there if you need it. Hey, Martin. You’re being transferred to Blaise. You belong to her, officially now. I was never more than an acting domme. When I have the business plan ready for you, in a day or so, we’ll meet, go over the details.”
Martin looked up.
“Bye for now. Have a nice life, 176.” He gently kicked him in the ribs. The shoe hurt for being unexpected. Martin shifted from Blaise’s toes to Number Two’s shoes. He caressed them and put his tongue on one of them. He kissed both shoes several times.
“Thank-you Francis, ah, Number Two. Thank-you. For everything you did for me.”
When Number Two was safely in the elevator and off the prison unit, Blaise surveyed the mess in Martin’s cell. “Should I call housekeeping? No. I think not. You have to learn to look after the equipment that keeps you bound.” She swung her short, red-and-black leather whip across his thigh. Playfully at first. Then, because he had not reacted, she struck him again, quite hard.
“Yes Mistress.” Martin looked up into her face.
“This is a nice supple single tail. It’s new Marty. I bought it just for you.”
“Tidy all this mess and put it away in the drawers. You are to remember where everything goes. If you need supplies, labels, a pen, whatever, ask the guard.”
Martin scrambled to his feet. She pulled his hands back over his buttocks and snapped standard police cuffs on him. “How am I supposed to clean up wearing these?”
“Improvise. I’ll be back in an hour.”
As she left, she passed the guard at his booth. “Prisoner 176 might need help sorting his stuff.” The guard nodded and promised to help him. “Perfect!” Blaise called out as she continued to the elevator.
When she returned, still in her red latex, a new package had arrived. Martin had been unable to open it. He had applied the stickers crookedly to the drawers. He had managed to put away all the locks, chains and leather cuffs. She looked inside a few of the drawers and interrogated him about how they were organized. He had managed to put three gags together, but every other drawer was horribly mixed up. Some of the parts of the unused plastic chastity were in a drawer. Other parts had fallen and rolled on the floor into unlit corners of the cell.
In the new box, Blaise knew was a leather body bag and a matching sensory deprivation hood. On her personal device she had just received Martin’s schedule from the Education Director of AbductCo.
Blaise gagged him with a training harness: she popped a large yellow ball into his mouth. Leather straps went around the back of his head, over the top of his skull and under his chin. She put a two-inch wide collar on him and leashed him. His handcuffs were released from behind him and reattached in front. He was given a pair of ballet slippers for his feet, which he had to have help putting on. With a broom she swept up the parts of the plastic chastity from the floor, rinsed them under the tap, lubricated the tip of his penis and attached the base ring and the chastity to him. She put the chain Number Two had worn with Martin’s keys around her own neck. He would have to beg for release, if his chastity or handcuffs were chafing. He extended his hands straight out from his body, his wrists joined by the cuffs.
Blaise put the box on his forearms. “We’re going to my suite on the seventh floor. If you behave, you’ll be living there, available at any time for me to do whatever I want. Of course you’ll have courses to attend every day. You have a full beginner’s suite of classes tomorrow. Pony Training 101, Etiquette Basics, Piercing Basics . . . yes, for that one you’ll be modelling how to pierce nipples. All my boy-slaves must be pierced, somewhere. You’ll get one, your first one, in front of the class. If you like the experience and it heals well – usually they do, it’s very rare that a body rejects a ring and if one does, we just change the alloy for another – we’ll give you a matching one. Your groin? Well, it depends if I think you need some more steel in you. Lots of ideas, if you’re up to it. The next day, you’ll begin basic Cross-Dressing.”
They got off the elevator. The wall clock told Martin it was 2:45 p.m. They entered Blaise’s suite, a spacious apartment with two bedrooms, plus a small prison cell built into a wall in the living room. It was barely deep enough for a person to stand in. Certainly one would not be able to sit or even bend, when locked in. There was a kitchen area too. Blaise took the box from him, put it on her dining table, opened the top, and pulled out the body bag. “Now we have your measurements, everything I bind you in will fit much better.” She untethered the leash from his collar. “Can you cook?”
“There’s the kitchen.” She removed his collar and handcuffs. Except for the chastity cage, he was free. And except for the slippers, he was totally naked. “See what supplies I have. There are some recipes and meal ideas on the tablet you’ll see on the wall. It’s a kitchen monitor and computer. We’ve become very high tech lately.”
Martin thought he might her some sage chicken. He knew the recipe by heart so he didn’t need to learn how to use her tablet or what her domestic habits were. “Do you have any fresh chicken breast?” Blaise nodded and showed him. He told her what he was planning and she approved with a smile. Sage chicken was a meal Melody had liked when he served it a few weeks ago. He searched the drawers for cutlery and utensils. Blaise showed him how to check the tablet for supplies. Most of what he needed was at hand. Blaise explained how to order from the quartermaster’s stores on the first basement level.
“They’ll send a slave up with what you’ve requested. While we are waiting, would you like a drink?” Blaise showed him the contents of her fridge. She also had a liquor cabinet. He poured Blaise a glass of white wine. He had a beer. They sat in the living room facing each other, silently and rather awkwardly. She was no longer very dominant or demanding.
Martin was tired. He had not slept well. He shivered. Blaise got up, left the room, and in less than a minute returned with a men’s terrycloth robe. She tossed it at him. She also went to the thermostat and raised the temperature, just enough to cause the heating unit to come on. Then she undid and removed her red high heels. She instantly became an inch shorter than Martin. “I’m going to get out of this suit.” She left and returned about ten minutes later. She wore a pair of fluffy slippers and a floor-length terrycloth robe. “I love the feel of these.” She stroked her arm, savouring the texture.
Blaise opened her personal tablet and told him to come sit beside her. She showed him some maid costumes. “See one that you like?” Martin couldn’t decide. He couldn’t imagine wearing stockings and a garter belt. A dress with cleavage. How would that feel?
That night they watched a video on demand – a political thriller – drank most of the bottle of wine, and reviewed Martin’s training for the next day.
“Why is this called The Abduction Company?”
“Good question. We do much more than arrange the kidnap of wealthy kinksters. But we give courses in abductions. We are rather expert at it. The final course of each year’s study is an Abduction course, either level one, two or three. It’s kind of test and its value is in how it combines skills learned from other courses. Planning. Rope Basics One and Two, Metal Customization, and so on. Your classes will start gradually over the next few days. If you’re still here in two weeks, you’ll have a full course load.”
“Why wouldn’t I be here in two weeks?”
“I don’t know, Martin. No one knows. But you asked how did Abduction Company get its name? I don’t know who thought of it. The founders, I guess. Many of our clients request that kind of scenario. I forgot. You haven’t had the tour. You were simply abducted. It will all come clear eventually.”
“I’m the senior instructor for rope technique in the company,” she said, rather hazily now that the movie was over. “And I’m a faculty member living with a student. Oh, that’s bad.” Martin wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not.
In the bedroom, she gestured to an amazingly long display of pre-cut lengths of cotton and jute. Blaise also had rope versions of bondage toys that one usually saw in leather or steel. There was a wooden ball gag that would attach around the wearer’s face with rope. It would make fitting easy, he thought.
“Have you ever experienced a really good rope bondage? One that was well-applied, well- planned? Planning is such an important part of a great scene.”
“No. Melody never tied me with rope.”
“Are you engaged to her or something? Your uh, personal record in AbductCo’s computer mentions her but there’s very little information.”
“Whenever we did any hanky-panky I was the one who did the tying and we tended to use leather stuff I’d bought in Toronto. At NB Leather.”
Blaise smiled and put down her glass. “Hanky-panky. I only hear that from the older crowd.”
“Yeah, I’m ancient,” said Martin. “I’m 32. But I’ve not really got any experience with ropes and she . . .” He paused, and struggled not to use Melody’s name. “And she only very rarely tied me up. She wasn’t uh, very good at it.”
“I’m 28,” answered Blaise. “I’ve done a lot of bondage study. I’ve been to Malaysia, Japan, Germany, England, Los Angeles, Texas. I’ve consulted with TV and movie studios for films with bondage scenes. I studied rope bondage with some of the masters.”
“I’ve only been going out with Melody a few months.”
“You mean sleeping together, sharing a bed or an apartment, or having sex?” Blaise pouted. She put her hand over Martin’s mouth. her other hand cupped the back of his head. This temporary muzzling seemed very exciting. “On second thought, I don’t want to hear another word about her.”
Blaise gripped him hard. She kneed him in the stomach. She removed her hands went he bent over. “I don’t get it. I’m overlooking almost all the rules we have for slave-domme relationships here. I’ve been trying to give you a break from what is going to be an arduous learning curve for you over the next couple of weeks and all you can do is chatter on about your girl-friend.”
Martin straightened. His face was flushed. The blow was unexpected. “Sorry. I’d love to learn some rope techniques, mistress.” He avoided the phrase rope tricks.
She paused, flattered by this. If she was honest with herself, she knew why she had requested him from Head Mistress. He was cute, very manly, and when he smiled, her spirits lifted. She’d liked him even in the van, on the way here. She had tormented him as a test, to see what he could take. She liked to tease the men she was fond of. If they could endure, if they could behave themselves, she admired them even more.
She kicked off her fluffy slippers and put on a pair of black pumps with five-inch heels. She moved close to Martin and dropped her robe. She wore a black bra, panties, and stockings. “These are to give me back my height advantage.” She gave him the steel chastity she’d been given by Number Two. “Put this on. There’s lube in the top drawer, if you need it.” Martin took off his own robe and draped it over a chair. He worked his balls into the fixed steel base ring, then tucked his cock under the ring. This was more difficult than usual. Blaise was raising his erection just by standing close to him. He lubricated his cock head and worked his cock into the steel sleeve.
“How am I doing?”
“Great. Like a real pro. But you’re not locked in yet. Do you want me to step into the other room for a minute? Most guys get too nervous and put on their chastity in private. Personally, I don’t like to put on my dom gear and my makeup while a sub is watching. There’s too much comedy in putting on clothes.” She locked him with key and plug lock. She put the key with the chain of Martin’s keys, that Two had given her.
“I’m going to start with something basic. And safe for a beginner.” Blaise showed him a one-column tie on his left wrist and how it could be attached to an eye hook or bar for a bondage purpose.
Then she demonstrated the two-column tie by binding his hands in front of him. Her bed frame was custom made of black brushed steel with numerous attachment points, rings welded into the metal. She stood on a low stool and threaded the free end of the rope through an overhead attachment ring several times. Then she took up the slack by returning to his wrists and quickly adding an extra several turns of rope to further cinch them. The effect was not terribly tight because she had left what Martin thought was too much space between them.
She stepped down. “Try to get free.” He could not. “So though the two-column tie begins loose and remains safe, you can use the cinch to control just how much movement your subject will enjoy.
Martin leaned forward and with his head between his elbows, he tried to kiss her. She smelled delicious. She allowed his kiss. Soon she was returning his overtures, pressing herself against his body, rubbing his cock in its steel sleeve, playing with his bound balls and pulling his nipples with her teeth.
“I totally trust you,” Martin gasped. “If you wanted to use that entire wall of rope on me, I’d be fine with that. In fact it would be an honor to be bound by you. Mistress. Uh, Professor of Ropology, uh, whatever your academic title is.”
“Since you’ve never been properly bound, I’d be quite happy to be the first.” She put her hand on his belly. “Keep this tucked in at all times. A man your age is far too young to carry a paunch. Number Two was correct to classify your diet’s goals for weight loss and body shaping.”
Blaise’s ropes were arranged with the longest ones, at fifty feet, at one end, and the shortest ones (in the range of twenty inches) at the other. “For now we are going to see if you can handle a classic hogtie.” Blaise stepped up on the stool again, untied his hands from the attachment ring, and then freed them from each other.
She doubled a sixteen foot piece of rope in front of her, holding it at its mid-point. “This is the bight.” He watched closely. She ran the doubled rope around his wrists four times, keeping them palm-to-palm and keeping them about three inches apart. Then she crossed the two end pieces in opposite directions between his wrists, cinching the tie without pressuring the wrists. He could move his wrists, but he could not slip out. Blaise now doubled a twenty-four inch piece of rope in front of her, so Martin could observe how she inspected it before using it. She ran this doubled rope around his arms above his elbows, so as to not cover or pressure the nerve running through the crooks of his elbows. “This will make it far harder for you to escape.”
She gently pulled and reset the first pass of rope, several times, looking for the right degree of tightness. Once she had his elbows sufficiently close together – in Martin’s case, with four inches of space between them – she looped the rope twice more around the arms and began to cross the two end pieces in opposite directions between his elbows, cinching the tie with an overhand knot. Martin had wanted to have his elbows tied for years. He’d seen so many pictures of girls tied this way. It was frustrating to not be able to see how he looked. But he loved the loss of freedom. His arms were so pleasantly held back. He twisted them and raised them, to see how much power of movement was left. Blaise looked hotter to him than ever. Would he ever be allowed to touch her?
“I’ve done it above the elbows, so as not to cut off circulation. This avoids any chance of damage to your ulnar nerve. The ulnar is the largest unprotected nerve in the body. It runs from above the elbow down to your hand and fingers. We don’t want to stress it. How do you feel?”
“Comfortable.” His elbows still felt far apart. He wanted her to tighten them, to get the feeling he imagined was possible in strict bondage. Blaise placed him in front of the full-length mirror. Martin could not turn his head far enough to see his back or the way he’d been tied. She took a few photos with her cell phone to show him later.
Now she wound a longer rope – doubled in half, as with the other ties – across the back of his neck, across his shoulders, and down under his armpits from the front. The ropes were crossed over his back and under the elbow tie. She looped them once around the elbow cinch, and then took them up over his shoulders from the back and down the front, going under his armpits. Once she had about six feet of rope remaining in each hand, she ran the two ends under the elbow tie again and up to the two strands of rope across the back of his neck. She tucked her ends under and over the top of the rope across the back of his neck. She pulled them down, causing the shoulder tie to tighten and the rope at his neck to be pulled down his back. His elbow tie was pulled up at the same time, ensuring it would not slide down to the elbows. She took up the loose ends around the elbow tie by adding to the cinch. She finished with two overhand knots. “Comfortable?”
“Can you get free?”
Martin twisted his wrists. He tried to move his arms up and down in opposite directions. Movement was denied.
“The ropes over your shoulders and through your armpits will keep the elbow tie from slipping down, not that mine ever do.” She pulled on the vertical ropes between the back of his neck and elbows. “This gives me a nice rope handle that I can pull you around with.”
She sat him on the hardwood floor at the foot of the bed. She blindfolded him, then collared him with a two-inch wide band of leather with two D-rings and a large heavy buckle. Lastly she gagged him with a medium sized red ball gag on a leather strap. The collar and gag were tight, more secure than the ropes, Martin thought. He couldn’t move his arms at all. So, they were tight enough.
She rolled him on to his belly. Martin couldn’t believe how secure his hands and arms felt now. He had no idea how long he would be bound. Would she really put him in a full hogtie? Would his legs cramp?
Blaise applied a two-column tie to his ankles, keeping them parallel, rather than going for the more difficult crossed-ankles tie. Then she connected his ankles to his elbows with a fresh piece of rope, connecting the cinch between the ankles to the cinch between the elbows. She tightened this so his knees were bent at ninety degrees. Then she ran the leftover rope to his wrists, connecting it to the wrist cinch. “You are hogtied,” she announced. He had guessed as much, though he had never felt this kind of bondage.
Martin, who was so used to seeing bondage, was utterly thwarted by the blindfold. He heard her camera clicking. She took quite a few pictures of him. “For my collection,” she said.
It dawned on him now that he wasn’t doing this for himself. He wasn’t going to whack off to the sight of his own form, exquisitely trussed. This was for Blaise’s pleasure, exclusively. He’d enjoy the session if she allowed him to, not because he was entitled.
“The location of these bindings, combined with the degree to which the arms are pulled together, makes any attempt to free oneself very difficult without help,” she said, as if he was her student, being tutored.
She ran her fingers over the connecting ropes. He felt her trace the ropes that joined his feet to his wrists to his elbows. He wished she would touch the vertical rope that kept the elbow tie from slipping down. He knew back of his neck was attached to his elbows. But he couldn’t feel it. He was so frustrated, and yet he was also in a state of complete pleasure. Bound like this, he could feel everything and nothing at the same time. He tried to imagine the class she taught, a roomful of students watching
She rolled him back and forth from his stomach: to one side, then to the other. There was a carpet on the floor. She rolled him onto that. He heard her move around the room, her shoes on the floor. He heard parts of the bed’s steel frame clanking. Blankets and sheets were drawn back. She walked out of the room. He heard her in the bathroom. He lost track of how long he’d been tied. After a few minutes, or perhaps it was fifteen minutes, she returned. “How are you doing?” Her voice was kindness itself. She wasn’t the first person at AbductCo to treat him kindly, but he was deeply moved by her gentleness. He’d finally arrived, wherever he was: in a state of bliss, in time and space.
He shook his head. Nothing was throbbing, he had not cramped. He could breathe quite easily, whether he lay on his stomach or his left or right side. His shoulders did not ache. His hands were not numb. In fact, with his fingers he could grasp rope between his ankles and wrists. He pulled on that connecting rope and knew he could handle that part being even tighter.
“Things have loosened?”
He nodded. “Yeth” he said, through his gag. Blaise knew nothing had loosened, but intentionally, she had not tightened his ankles down to his buttocks.
“That sometimes happens. The second tightening is the one where you enter true helplessness. Want to try it?”
“Yeth. O yeth, pleath..”
She began tightening his ropes in several places. Now he felt her expertise and his own foolishness. He would soon be completely immobile. She pulled rope connecting the ankles to the elbows to the wrists as tight as it would go. She rolled him to his side. He groaned, passionately. She felt his chastity. He strained like mad to be released. She stroked the steel gently. The steel sleeve seemed to magnify her every touch. Within a ten seconds, he suddenly began to come: had he had shot a few jets of white cum?
Blaise put one hand on his hip. He groaned repeatedly. He sounded like a tortured animal. Now, he felt his hands and elbows and ankles, the gag in his mouth, and his throbbing cock and balls: all at once. He tried to straighten his legs. There was not an inch of slack between his elbows and ankles. He felt the hard steel of the chastity base ring. He struggled and struggled. His climax seemed to be extending longer than usual. He was delirious, in pain and pleasure.
Had he crested?
Suddenly, the answer. He shuddered in the most awesome orgasm he’d ever experienced. His body was coming apart. He spurted over and over, through his chastity onto the hardwood floor. Blaise watched the stream of white dribble from the tip of the cage, once, twice, then weakly, for a third time. She giggled. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, my pet.”
He gasped repeatedly around the gag. Blaise lay beside him, stroking him, helping him enjoy the aftermath. Then, she slowly started to undo the ropes. She seemed to take forever. Martin was sobbing. He moaned as the gag came out, followed by a mouthful of drool.
She helped him off the floor. He went to the bathroom and saw in the mirror, all the rope marks on his body, the gag’s pressure marks on his face. He used the toilet and returned to the bedroom, with a big bath towel, grinning like a mad fool.
“Want to sleep unrestrained?”
“Yes, please mistress. I need a night of uninterrupted sleep. And I need to take off the chastity. I always wake up a couple of times in the night if I wear one in bed.”
“Smart boy,” Blaise replied. She gave him the key. “So many guys think it’s some kind of endurance competition. They write the worst exaggerated rubbish on the internet. ‘Ooooh I’ve been wearing my cage for 65 days without any kind of release or having to take it off.’ I say, don’t forget the hygiene. Give yourself a break. Otherwise your cock will fall off.”
They laughed and cuddled. “Do you live here, Blaise?”
“Half the year. The other half I have a condo in California. I don’t do this twelve months a year. Half a year is enough.”
“That’s smart,” Martin said.
Blaise kissed him. “That was fun. Really. A lot of fun.” She turned out the light. “Sweet dreams, sweet prince.
In the dark beside her, he said, “It was a dream come true for me.”
But Martin did not fall quickly asleep. He was woken by a dream with music, a strange but familiar tune he could not name. Melody had been kidnapped and sent on a plane to Australia, or was it to Germany or was she in China? What was she was doing? As long as management didn’t upset this new relationship with Blaise, he’d be safe for the next little while, he hoped. No more jail time in the sub-basement.
He woke slowly. He remembered Head Mistress and Francis. They had said they’d meet again. How on earth could he be involved in the business of the Abduction Company? It was too much, too fantastical. Financially, he didn’t want it. Emotionally, he knew it would be difficult to see Melody again. His dream was undeniable. He had dreamt of music.
But Blaise is in this bed, with me. Incredible. She’s incredible. I’m with her. Now. Did Blaise have a crush on him? He wanted the answer to be yes. Then, it would be easier if she did not. But she had just helped him realize, in the hogtie, a long-held fantasy. His relationship with her was going to end badly. I’ve been a real fool.
I’d better put my chastity back on. I’m not getting any sleep without it. He snuck out to the bathroom, put it on, and left the key on the bathroom counter. He slipped back into the bed, keeping his distance from Blaise, so as not to wake her.
Perhaps, living her life in Mississauga, Melody hadn’t even noticed he was no longer around?
End of Part Six
Author’s Note: When I began writing this serial, I told Jett of Oxy-Shop that it would be in six parts. This was a premature estimate, based on very little completed writing. It will take a few more parts to wrap up this story. At this point, the story is not over. I hope you will indulge me the time to bring all the characters’ ambitions and problems to a satisfying conclusion. Part Seven will be available shortly.
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