0 comments/ 27527 views/ 4 favorites Gone for Six By: bondanon I'm Five. No, not five years old, or you wouldn't be reading this here! My real name is Gabriel, though I usually go by Gabe, and I am the Master of the House of Bondage. If you look up "House of Bondage" on line you will get lots of hits, but none of them are us -- it's our private name for the house where I live with Liz, aka the Tormentor, and Sara, whom you may have met as Two. We usually shorten it to "HOB", saving time and dodging the baggage, though the baggage adds some spice to the joke. The house is conventional enough from the outside, a pleasant, comfortable and completely ordinary townhouse in a rather posh part of town. I haven't lived here long, though I've been a regular visitor for years. I met Liz quite a long time ago, at a fashionable but totally vanilla bar downtown. She is strikingly beautiful. Slender (just a bit more so then than now), moderately tall, with nice round breasts mounding up under her vee-neck tee shirt, gorgeous dark brown hair flowing over her shoulders, and a winning but slightly evil smile, she caught my attention immediately. She did not lack for admirers, and I was astonished and gratified to find myself buying her a drink. Her wit and intellect impressed me even more than her cleavage -- it took a little while to get past her initial irritation at my obviously carnally-motivated advances, but we became friends, and before long lovers. That, of course, was when the problems started, as we both valued our independence. There was another sticking point. Liz worked hard at her job, and rose rather early on weekdays, while I did not. I've never had to work at a regular job or make a living. You'd think that would have had women falling all over me, but it's surprising how much of a turn-off it was for the women I liked best to be with, and it was for Liz. She didn't want to tell me what she did each day, saying she took it very seriously, and I wasn't taking her, the only job I seemed to have, seriously enough. My curiosity aroused, I checked her out. Liz is a tormentor. Not a cock tease -- she was always completely up-front about sex. She works for the State Department of Correction, devising and designing corporal punishments, vetting appropriate candidates, and in the case of "electrical psycho-sexual correction", administering the punishment itself. You bet I had a hard time taking this seriously! My girlfriend, torturing unfortunate inmates in the State Prison? I couldn't stop giggling, and went immediately downtown to pick up a pair of handcuffs and a ball gag for our next meeting. I had to ask around to find out where to get them -- I was clueless. As I undressed Liz that night, releasing her luscious body from her stylish power-woman work clothes, I couldn't help thinking about what I had discovered, and how arousing it was. Her slightly evil smile took on a special aura, but I thought I'd try to top her and see what would happen. When I playfully pulled her wrists behind her and snapped on the handcuffs she jumped away, her gorgeous breasts bouncing enticingly, but she was not amused in the least. I was intensely aroused by this naked woman, hands bound behind her, smooth round breasts with nipples erect bobbing in front, neatly trimmed pussy artfully displayed as she stood, legs apart, glaring and shouting at me. I couldn't help noticing a little moisture forming on her nether parts, but it wasn't my focus any more, in spite of the message of my erection. "God damn you, take these fucking things off," she shouted, turning her back to bend over and flail her bound arms in my direction, also inadvertently displaying her arousal from the rear. "You bastard, you've been spying, haven't you." I fumbled for the key, momentarily terrified that I didn't have it, and removed them. She slapped me hard across the face and started to show me the door, when a flicker of a smile crossed her face. Taking me by the hand, she sat on the couch, pulling me down beside her. A minute of silence went by. Liz was the first to break it. "Just how much do you love me?" I started to answer, but Liz gripped me by the cock and squeezed it hard. "Shut up, show me." We rolled onto the floor, sliding together in ferocious embrace as she bit me on the shoulder and shuddered in ecstasy, forcing me to come immediately after. We lay together in silence for another minute, then her eyes signaled a storm of anger rising. Oh-oh. I held her close and she stayed in control, but asked me rather icily if I ever wanted to see her again. "Of course I do," I answered rather lamely, though completely truthfully. "Then I need you to understand what I do, and learn to respect it, to respect me," she replied. "OK, and how do I do that?" I asked a bit testily, thinking I was about to get a reading list, or perhaps a movie to watch. "I want you to endure one of my punishment sessions." "Whoa! That's no game -- it's real torture." I knew nothing of BDSM then, and I imagined that men were only supposed to top women; I wasn't prepared for this proposal. "That's the point. You need to understand what I do and why, learn about the feelings and sensations I work with every day, and appreciate the skill I've worked hard to develop. You just don't get it -- if you love me, you have to love all of me." "I don't know... does it hurt?" I asked rather stupidly "Of course it hurts. But it's a punishment for minor crimes -- you'll live. And if you won't do it, leave right now - and don't come back." Well, that was an offer I couldn't refuse, especially since the ice in her eyes had disappeared, replaced by a sly seductive smile. I agreed. She told me to get dressed and led me to the door. "Do this for me and you'll be invited back many, many times." She pressed herself against me, squeezing her voluptuous breasts and neat, though now rather sticky pussy against me, as we joined in a deep, delicious kiss. "Don't try to get in touch -- trust me, you'll get instructions," she promised, closing the door. Which I did, soon finding myself led by my wrists to punishment pole number five, there to be introduced to Two, Three, Six and Seven. Three, whose name is actually Ariel, wrote about this experience in some detail -- I don't need to describe it again here. Suffice it to say that along with coming to know those four, I also learned a lot more about Liz, emerging with greatly increased respect and deeper love. Her shelf of books on anatomy and neurobiology, psychology and legal history now made a lot more sense to me, further informing her interest in music and literature which I had already come to enjoy. Our relationship deepened, but another factor made it much more complicated. Liz fell in love with Jen, number six, who suffered so elegantly that day as part of her interview to become a tormentor. Jen made a deep impression on me as well; I was soon delighted to enjoy the company of both women, particularly as I made it my business to learn as much as I could about the world of BDSM I had just discovered. Jen was trying to leave at least the more sordid aspects of that world behind, and Liz had thought she could keep her professional life separate from her intimate life, but for me, it was a whole new world. My proclivities led me more in the dominant direction, and I discovered as my skill increased that I had no shortage of eager subs, men as well as women, often very attractive, seeking my attention. Liz wasn't especially pleased at first. For all her skill in the punishment chamber, Liz got off best when dominated, but it had better be top quality, or stick with vanilla. Jen was able to deliver, helping Liz overcome her cognitive disconnect with submission. Jen found my attempts amusing and taught me a lot, though she insisted that I learn from the bottom up. I was getting better at it, and Liz was coming to enjoy, rather than simply tolerate, my efforts to top her. Which brought about another close call. I rented a private room at a BDSM club for the three of us to have a less inhibited evening. Jen and I bound Liz securely to a pole in the center of the room, so Jen could demonstrate her skill with the single-tail. I would make do with a soft leather flogger, a relatively safe device with which I was just developing enough skill to try on a real human being. Liz was a splendid sight that night. Wrists firmly cuffed behind her back and elbows drawn together just right, her beautiful round breasts were framed by crossing leather bands anchoring her to the pole. She oozed erotic helplessness. Her ankles were bound together to the pole, and another strap secured her legs at the knees, cinched to the pole also. The pièce de résistance was a two inch wide leather belt with rings fore and aft, tightened firmly around her waist. A half-inch strap circling through her crotch from ring to ring invaded the moistness of her labia. While the belt circled only Liz, a small leather band secured her crotch-strap to the pole behind her buttocks. I took the honors, suddenly tightening that band, pulling the strap to the pole and tightly against her clit. Liz gasped in surprise, squirming against her increased stricture. Her nipples erupted like tender fruit from little circular gardens. Liz loves to see herself in bondage; perhaps that's why she's so good at devising it. But she wasn't yet that experienced on the bottom, just learning the pleasure she could find there. She wasn't gagged, probably the evening's undoing. Jen and I took turns. Jen's skill was astounding -- she could put out a candle at eight feet, leaving it ready to relight if you wished. The private room allowed her to crack the whip, a technique she used sparingly but effectively, sending shivers through both Liz and me. She could just caress Liz with the tip, forcing a wince but leaving almost no mark. Swinging the whip from behind she made the end flick down first on one nipple and then the other. Liz squirmed with fear and excitement, but she knew Jen's skill and trusted her totally. I was a looser cannon. Jen helped me practice slapping just hard enough to make a little redness, practice soft waves and brushes, practice preparation and timing. Liz gasped and groaned a little under my attention, and even gave out a couple of yelps and a small shriek for Jen, but she was clearly getting bored. She wanted to come, but didn't want to make it happen herself -- that, after all, was supposed to be our job. We were focused on technique, not Liz. On my next turn she lost her patience. "Quit teasing, dammit, hit me like you mean it," she hissed. Then smiling slyly she whispered "Remember the chamber -- how I made you suffer, especially in the minute near the end. Don't be a wuss. Punish me for the pain I inflicted on the others, if not for your own." Taken aback, and a bit insulted, I lit into her, thrashing her pussy and legs. Liz screamed, and I lost it. I took a swing at her breasts, getting an agonized shriek. A tiny bit of self control, or perhaps selfish desire not to damage such beauty made that the last for those targets, and I went for her belly and buttocks with a vengeance, the chamber vivid in my mind. Liz struggled and screamed as she turned redder, but it didn't last long. Alternate blows front and rear forced her thrusting against the crotch-strap over and over. "Oh, my god, yes, yes, I'm coming, I'm coming," she screamed, bucking furiously against her bonds, as I thrust myself tightly against her, squeezing and massaging her pussy, compressing her erect nipples against my chest as I locked my lips with hers in a passionate kiss. "Oh god, you're good. I love you," she whispered, then added, "but I think you'll pay for that." A searing pain erupted in the small of my back. "Get the fuck away from my lover." Jen's eyes flashed pure fury as she threatened me with the whip. More dangerous in her hands than a pistol, she could take out an eye or remove a testicle if she wished. Not wishing it, I heeded her command. Liz burst into tears. Watching your lovers in a spat while hanging exhausted and spent on the pole is a BDSM experience I did not intend Liz to have to suffer. The glare in Jen's eyes, along with the thin slight smile forming, was enough for me to know that trouble was on the way. "You will do as I say, or you will not see us again." I'd heard something like that before, and guessed, more or less, what was to follow. "Do what she says, for me, for us," Liz sobbed. A sucker for a woman in tears, I knew I would. "I'm sending you to the chamber for losing control, for hurting Liz." Hurt? I suppose I did, but Liz clearly loved it. Jealousy, I thought, but I wasn't in a position to argue -- I like my balls in their normal location. "I'll throw a die, and you'll find out when you're there how it came up." I imagined a session like the last, with Jen supplying, based on what came up on the die, something special just for me. How bad could it be? Little did I know. Ariel and the one he calls Four circled back into Jen's orbit around the same time, and Jen's plan fell into place like the die I doubt she ever cast. Ariel described that session also; it was enough to make me very careful how I approached Liz and Jen in the future. For I loved them both, and I knew that Jen was good for Liz, better than I could possibly be. My BDSM explorations suffered a hiatus as my stripes healed, but I became good friends with Ariel in the meantime. He played the piano beautifully, and I'm no slouch. We found considerable solace playing four hands on the Steinway my parents, both fine musicians, left me. As I healed enough to explore some more, it was easier to bottom than top -- the marks of the Eighteen didn't give me much credibility as a Master. Once they finally disappeared the X that Jen gave me had quite the opposite effect for those who could see its faint outline. I'd clearly been around. I started to think about real work. My father, a doctor, made a modest fortune providing medical services to wealthy women, or those lucky enough to have wealthy partners, in emergencies, and he invested well. Strange how an excess of morality so frequently does good only for those prepared to exploit the opportunities created. I'm glad that opportunity is over and hope it doesn't come back, but it made my life comfortable, though rather aimless. What could I do? English literature and music in college didn't prepare me for a serious career, but my extracurricular interest in theater and film production might be useful. I was starting to get a big kick out of the BDSM community, and felt I could do something useful. The electrical psycho-sexual correction session which we all shared a couple of years earlier turned out to create some very durable bonds. By the time I formulated my idea Liz and Jen had created a ménage à quatre with Sara, who occupied pole number two, and Michael. Michael suffered on pole seven, but it wasn't all suffering; he lost his virginity and found himself that day. Jen and Liz thought he was cute and took good care of him. Far more able to concentrate on academic study with his sexual tension so reduced, Michael completed his degree in neurobiology not long afterward. He soon became a well-respected researcher in brain function, particularly under conditions of heightened awareness or stimulation. Michael also knew a great deal about computers. He had all sorts of connections, and knew how to find those with skill in computer graphics and simulation. An idea started to form -- a pornographic production company which would allow those who didn't quite qualify as "beautiful people", or those who wanted to act in such fare, but couldn't afford to be recognized, to play. I was pretty confident Sara would go for it, but I wasn't so sure about Liz or Jen. I'd already dangled the idea in front of Michael, and he was intrigued. Liz and Jen indeed had their doubts, but their domestic arrangement was taxing their resources. Michael was still a post-doc, tormentors don't make huge salaries, and though Sara was becoming a decent Dom, she was picky with her clients and wanted her own space. I offered a solution -- I bought them the House of Bondage. I'd always liked the idea of owning a classy townhouse, but never before had much use for one. My domestic preference at that time was an apartment obviously too small for more than one person, and my tastes were not extravagant -- I didn't want to waste my good fortune prematurely. I sold the idea on the basis that the ménage à quatre actually did have sufficient income to maintain the house, just not to buy it. I would own it, but they would not be "kept people", and over time the production company would become profitable and provide a good living. It helped that I made it clear I had no intention of living there myself, certainly not any time soon. That clinched it, especially for Jen, who didn't yet trust me with Liz. Townhouses offer remarkable privacy, more than you can imagine if you've never lived in a whole one. The thick brick party walls muffle sound far better than the open spaces of the suburbs, and if you are lucky enough to have a garage door on an alley, as we have, no-one knows who comes or goes. It's perfect for BDSM, but you must realize that the bland row of brick fronts hides all. No matter how kinky or extreme you think the goings on in your house may be, it's quite possible that something even more exotic is happening just a few doors down -- unless you're invited in, you'll never know. JenLiz Productions (I wanted to call it Total Quality Torment, but was voted down) got going, and was quickly successful. Lots of men and women, perhaps attractive but not stars, wanted to be on video or the internet, either for themselves or for sale, and the possibility of anonymity was a big plus. We had a lot of fun, made good friends, and soon turned a profit. Michael came through with some incredible cg capability -- our actors looked stunning on the screen, but they still could recognize themselves in action. We could adjust the degree of anonymity from simple enhancement to complete disguise, as requested. Sara gave up taking paying clients, concentrating on talent acquisition and day to day operations. I managed facilities and helped with production, while Jen and Liz supplied story lines, set designs, and sometimes took leading roles. Before long the business was able to afford a separate location, which helped with neighbor relations at the townhouse. Eventually we even took over the franchise to distribute the State punishment sessions, which we did pro bono, as we all wanted them to continue. The dungeon we'd fitted out at the House of Bondage would be just for private use from then on. There's more than sexual play at the HOB, though it's always in the air. From the beginning there were good meals. The house came with a kitchen to die for, and we all enjoyed cooking. JenLiz Productions supplied a steady stream of interesting guests, and we had music also. Sara plays the viola very competently, having attended conservatory, and often gigs in pick-up orchestras. It takes time to get known, though. Trying desperately to make ends meet after graduation, she turned a few tricks, attracted the wrong kind of attention, and landed herself in the punishment session. I helped a bit with some student loans, but falling in with Liz and Jen really put her life together. I bought a beautiful Steinway for the HOB. I loved the piano my parents left me, but pianos do not age as well as women, and in any case I still wanted mine in my apartment. As a frequent visitor I enjoyed playing with Sara, and she arranged for other musicians to join us from time to time, some from orchestras, a few coming through LizJen Productions. Just like a front door, you never know what's behind a face until you ask. With the right group we sometimes indulged in a kinky musical game -- "Settling Scores". One member of the audience would be the "score-keeper", following along in the music, noting any mistakes and marking their severity. After the concert we'd go down to the dungeon to administer the appropriate punishments. It was great fun but not good for the music -- we soon found ourselves outdoing one another to make an outrageous mistake at a suitably humorous moment, crying out, of course, for another. A cascade of increasingly silly bloopers invariably followed, leaving the score-keeper desperate to keep up. The music would collapse in a hopeless train wreck, everyone laughing helplessly, and off we'd go to the dungeon earlier than intended. The practice ended when Jen threatened a trip to the punishment chamber for five stripes to the next offender. Not willing to test her, our performances returned to a higher plane. Music-making and BDSM got along better in separate bedrooms, it seemed. Gone for Six Though we enjoyed our evenings, Jen's and Liz's day jobs kept them pretty busy. They both liked to act for JenLiz Productions when time and energy permitted, though Jen only took roles on top. But Liz knew from the punishment session that Jen had a submissive side, and gradually persuaded her to explore it more. Normally so elegant and poised, she needed an outlet for her wilder side, and every now and then we were able to provide it. Jen hardly ever cursed or used foul language, and of course never at work, but she could in bondage. I remember one especially juicy session. On the whole, I prefer the pole to the St. Andrew's Cross. With horizontal spreader bars attached to the pole high and low, the victim's wrists and ankles can be beautifully spread using cuffs or shackles depending on the desired severity. Our attention is drawn to the helplessly secured human being, perhaps also to additional straps or ropes binding them, but not to the supporting armature. Our helplessly secured human being that night was Jen, and she was stunning. Spread-eagled, ankles and wrists cuffed about three feet apart, she glowed with sexual energy. Her feet were slightly off the floor, her crotch resting on a saddle just like those used in the punishment chamber. It did not take all her weight, though. Three leather straps circled her torso, binding her tightly to the pole. One was just above her pelvis, the other two just above and below her breasts, and of course those two were cinched together, compressing her breasts erotically, but not so much as to be painful. There would be other ways to accomplish that! Jen wore a bit-gag, fastened at the back to the pole. It would protect her tongue, and prevent her head from banging into the pole, but still allow her to swear all she wanted. Even today, years later, I can't get over how gorgeous she was that night, her perky breasts, a bit smaller than Liz's, projecting perfectly sculpted to her erect nipples, surrounded by the leather straps. Her long black hair cascaded past her outstretched arms behind and in front, further framing her bound breasts and tight stomach. The saddle was quite discreet. Although it provided an electrode on Jen's clitoris in addition to penetrating her fore and aft, it did not hide her beautiful pussy, which was as always neatly trimmed, forming a crisp dark triangle. Whips and floggers were off the menu when Jen was on the pole. She took only the handle of those, but she liked electricity. Liz and I prepared her well to enjoy it that evening. Along with the various saddle electrodes we fitted her with electrical exercise pads on her thighs, abdomen and arms. Electrical pads on each side of both breasts would provide me, if not Jen, with special pleasure. I would be the opener, Liz the main attraction, and I intended to present Jen to Liz well warmed-up. After finishing Jen's bondage, Liz and I both left the room, at least visibly. The dungeon at HOB has a one-way mirrored wall, and we went to sit for a few minutes in the comfortable seats on the other side while Jen ripened on the pole. Most people enjoy seeing themselves in bondage, if they like bondage at all, and Jen was no exception. Though she saw inmates bound for punishment almost every day, viewing herself so spread and helpless, and so beautiful, was clearly turning her on. In the punishment chamber the victim's thighs are normally tightly secured to the sides of the saddle by a strap, allowing little movement. Jen on the other hand was spread wide, writhing and twisting on the saddle, straining against the straps binding her chest and pelvis. The exposed sides of the saddle were slick with the juices of arousal. Jen's delightfully proud nipples added further confirmation; she was ready for me, and I for her. I went back out, controller pad in hand. Time for Jen to get back some of her own. Suspended, spread on the pole, she glared at me, but I had the power in my hand, just as she did every day, and she knew what it could do. I swept her hair back over her shoulders and stood away to revel in her nakedness. I moved in close and kissed her neck, then pinched her nipples hard. Jen snarled at me, but her glare softened slightly when I gently massaged them back to full erection as she squirmed against the leather bonds. Grinning, I circled my finger over the pad as the seconds ticked by. "Just get the fuck on with it," she hissed through the gag after a minute or so passed. "When I'm ready," I replied, waiting another few moments. I touched the pad, and Jen's beautiful breasts leaped upward. "OW," she yelled. I touched the pad again, and her left breast jerked, then the right, then they both jumped deliciously skyward, bouncing a little at the top of their journey. "Ouch, Ugh, OWW... FUCK YOU," she howled. "Glad to oblige." I set her cunt penetrator grinding, with a little electricity in her butt. "That's not what I meant, asshole," she hissed. Jen quit domming partly because she hated being topped from the bottom, but she herself took the cake in that department. Still, I really was glad to oblige, I was having fun, and Jen, breasts cavorting like young harts, was just superb. "Oh, I thought you enjoyed being fucked electrically. How about this?" I delivered a stinging shock to her clit. She rose slightly from the saddle and surged against her bonds, flailing her legs furiously. "YEOW -- God damn you, I'll have you in the chamber for that." "You already did, dear," I reminded her, fingering the X on my chest, and stinging her clit once more. "YEOW, SHIT. Sorry, I suppose I did. But go easy on my clit, OK." "OK." I sent her tits skyward once again. "OUCH, Fuck you. FUCK YOU." I set them bouncing gently, then tested some of the exercise pads. Her thighs jerked, then her abdomen convulsed. She gave me a withering look, but I smiled back. "The icy stare doesn't work when I hold the pad," I teased "UGH," she groaned, her breasts still bouncing delightfully. "ARGGG." "UGH... UGH... ARGG..." she gasped as I rotated through all the exercise pads, her arms flailing against the security of her bound wrists. I experimented for several minutes with various combinations, together with some good shocks to her pussy and anus. She started to sweat and drool profusely as she writhed and twisted on the pole. This was way better than bondo-battle -- at least for me! "How about a nice half hour workout?" I set the sequence going, and started for the door. "Come ba-URRGH. Co-ARGHH. Come back," she finally managed to spit out between convulsions. "OK then, just for one minute, but it'll be MUCH harder." "Don't have much choice, do I," she admitted, the first real submissive words out of her yet. Sending a scrumptious jolt to her ass and pussy, I thrashed her legs, then her arms, then her torso, over and over, finishing by sending her breasts jolting upward twice more. "OW, OW, enough, please, enough. Thank you, Sir." I stung her clit fiercely for the impertinent joke, as I knew she didn't really mean "Sir". "OW, GOD DAMN YOU." Leaving the penetrators gently churning, with a slight electrical buzzing on her clit, I took one nipple, then the other gently in my lips, twisting my tongue as sensuously as I could around each in turn. Jen softened and writhed on the saddle. "I love you," she whispered through the gag. "Please get Liz now," she pleaded. I left the room, kissing Liz briefly but intensely behind the mirror, then sat down as Liz took the pad and entered. The two women locked eyes for a full minute before anything happened, then Liz touched the pad, and Jen erupted, convulsed with agony, screaming. "I HATE YOU. BITCH. AIEEE. FUCK YOU. OWW. GOD DAMN YOU." These are two women who love one another? I don't think any man could inflict such pain on a woman he loves as another woman can. As I watched Jen struggle, gasping and thrashing on the pole I thought back to my session facing the steel band and wondered how Liz could be so cruel. But these women have trained themselves to be cruel and only they know what a woman really feels. That's why I don't live at the HOB, I thought. Maybe someday... The session didn't go on too much longer. Jen thrashed and churned in her bonds under Liz's expert torment, then Liz brought her down to earth. She gave her the full four minute journey to orgasm à la chambre, Jen easing herself into submission and writhing with pleasure, then exploding in orgasm as I'd watched several times before. As she dangled exhausted on the pole Liz walked up and removed her gag, kissing her passionately. I returned to the room to help get her down safely, bringing a gown out with me to cover her and prevent her getting chilled. Jen was spent, atoned, released, happy. She wouldn't swear again until the next time she was bound, which might not be for quite a while. "Thank you, both of you, I love you," she whispered. I loved Ariel, but I didn't want him around the HOB. I don't completely understand why myself, but it seemed that he idolized Jen more than would be good for either of them. But it may have been sheer petulance -- he played the piano better than I did. Ariel hated his name, which may be why he always called Liz "the Tormentor" and Jen "Six". I thought Ariel was a beautiful name, but some people had the misfortune to have parents too hip for their children's good, and Ariel didn't need that before his last name. After our year of recovery Ariel wanted a more conventional life, and eventually settled in with a widow and her teenage boy-girl twins, ultimately adopting them. They'd lost their father years before and found him interesting and fun, especially enjoying his music. Ariel worked hard and made a good living, which helped also. He and his wife loved each other and their children, but Ariel's predilection for bondage was anathema to her; Jen's X irked her even though Ariel was hairy and it wasn't that obvious. After getting the children into college they drifted apart, Ariel appearing again more frequently at clubs. We remained friends through all of this; I liked his children and visited from time to time -- playing four hands was always a hit. Ariel's daughter eventually went to conservatory -- I'll keep an eye on her when she finishes. His son, who got to know Michael, is now in graduate school studying neurobiology. Ariel did well. But Ariel wasn't doing so well any more, and I'd arranged an invitation he couldn't refuse -- an invitation to spend the rest of his life in the House of Bondage with Liz, Sara, Jen and Michael. There was one catch; the invitation would be for five days. Notwithstanding, Ariel accepted gratefully. So with sadness at the thought of losing my friend, I took Ariel to the HOB that Monday morning, then continued on to JenLiz Productions. Ariel was of course anxious, but also elated -- the coming week would be, literally, the time of his life. He was dressed in a house robe, but just in case we were stopped, he also had on a tee-shirt and shorts. Before he left his apartment he strapped cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Perhaps some explanation is in order. Recent developments in neurobiology have been astounding and for a while, profoundly disturbing; Michael, along with numerous other respected researchers, was at the forefront of this work. Although the mystery of self-awareness is still not fully understood, more is known every year. But the most astonishing discovery at that time was that Heaven and Hell, and everything in between, actually do seem to exist. Not in a literal sense, of course. Consciousness really does arise only from the mechanics of brain function, and when that ceases, life and consciousness do indeed end. But only for outside observers. For the dying brain itself, time is frozen -- the final thoughts simply seem to last forever. Although mainstream in medical and scientific circles, this information had not been widely publicized, for good reason - it could rock society to the core. For if true, daily life could become paralyzed with anxiety. Accidental or careless death was horrifying to contemplate -- even the most ardent pain slut doesn't want to spend eternity being crushed beneath the wheels of a bus, though subsequent work relieved us somewhat on the Hell part. A prospect not much better is to suffer from a degenerative brain disease, drifting into a state of eternal non-being, a kind of Limbo. Ariel had a brain tumor, and wouldn't live for more than another half year or so. He was staring this dilemma in the face. A planned end to life was the obvious solution, but a healthy human mind recoils at the idea of ending its existence deliberately. If you know the end is near though, the obvious way to end it all is to go out with a bang, enjoying an eternal orgasm! Many practical problems stand in the way of actually implementing this, though. Suicide during masturbation is messy and difficult, and rather lonesome -- not the best way to spend eternity. Sex with a lover while being offed is better, but rather a bummer for the one left behind. The invitation solved Ariel's problem. As tragic as his disease was, Ariel's timing was, as always, impeccable. Michael was also ill with a similar disease, and Jen was diagnosed with cancer of the spleen, which kills even the healthy incredibly quickly. Liz, Sara and I were stunned by this triple tragedy, the only thing making it bearable being the incredibly good time we'd all had for the years leading up to it. But Jen was not going to approach this any differently from the way she'd approached everything else in her life. She was going to make hay while the sun shone, for JenLiz Productions, Liz, Sara and me, for Michael, for herself, and after she heard about his condition, for Ariel. My concern about Ariel's relationship to Jen in the context of indeterminate life had an entirely different significance in the new context. Worshiping Jen was a distinct asset. Once in the car, Ariel asked me playfully to bind his hands behind him, reenacting the beginning of a story we both enjoy, and I obliged. No leather thong was necessary -- I simply clipped his cuffs together behind his back and gave him a kiss. We soon arrived in the alley, the garage door rising as I drove up. After the door closed behind the car I helped Ariel out without releasing his wrists. Sara came through to greet us. Sara is very pretty, a little younger and more buxom than Liz or Jen, also a little shorter. As a result her bust is quite pronounced, and she dresses to emphasis it. The clothes she had on that morning were completely street-legal, but they had a definite edgy dominatrix hint, like many fashionable women's outfits today. Her blouse had a high belt, almost a bustier, and as she moved it sometimes showed a bit of midriff above her short black skirt. She had tall leather boots, though the heels were relatively low and comfortable-looking. A leather jacket with chain detailing completed her ensemble. "Welcome to the House of Bondage," she said to Ariel, smiling, as she clipped a collar around his neck. Attaching a leather strap, she started to lead him away. "See you later," she called to me as I got back into my car and prepared to back out, the garage starting to open behind me, Ariel and Sara disappearing into the house. Sara took Ariel directly to the dungeon. Unlike in the other story, no bath was necessary -- Ariel was always careful with hygiene, and prepared himself well inside and out that morning. Entering the dungeon, Ariel was confronted by four rings in the floor spaced every three feet, and four sets of triple-chains hanging from the ceiling, each one centered roughly over one of the floor rings. Sara took off his robe and hung it on one of a set of hooks on the wall for that purpose -- the dungeon at HOB has comfort amenities not found in the punishment chamber. The triple-chains are popular at HOB. Each triple-chain consists of three very strong but quite fine steel chains, hence the name. The chains exit from winches in the ceiling at three places spaced in an equilateral triangle about four feet on a side. The bottom ends join together at a steel ring about an inch and a half in diameter. A regular or suspension cuff may be clipped to the end of a triple-chain. Having one's wrists clipped to a pair of triple-chains is surprising the first time. Three chains when all taut meet at a fixed point in space, so the sensation is amazingly strict, like being bound to a fixed iron bar, though the fine chains are all but invisible. When the chains are loose the wrists have considerable freedom, but as soon as they are pulled taut the cuffs suddenly freeze in place and can't be moved at all in any direction, except by whoever controls the hoists. This is particularly effective for an ankle suspension. The victim can be raised with ankles together. Once suspended a touch of the control can spread their legs by any desired amount -- they will feel as immobilized as if a spreader bar were between their legs, but they will look as if they are floating upside down in the air. The control system on ours allows the rings to be commanded directly to go forward or backward, left or right, up or down, the software controlling the winches automatically accomplishing the desired motion smoothly, exactly as programmed. Sara fastened each of Ariel's wrist cuffs to a triple-chain, which were dangling about shoulder height. She then fastened his ankle-cuffs to two rings in the floor. After Sara secured his legs his wrists were about even with the top of his head. Touching the control pad, Sara suddenly tightened the triple-chains, and Ariel felt his wrists pulled upward and separated about three feet, spread-eagling him securely. The feeling was thrilling -- he was suddenly bound tightly in Jen's home, Six's home, a condition he had long imagined but hadn't ever expected to become real. Sara removed his collar. "Won't be needing this any more just now, and you won't be needing these either," Sara told him, pulling on his tee-shirt and giving his neck a little kiss. "I'll be right back." She left the room briefly, returning with a pair of heavy-duty scissors. Snipping off his tee-shirt she ran her fingers over Jen's X, making Ariel shudder with pleasure. Cutting off his shorts was a little more work, but in a few seconds Ariel stood stretched and naked, and very excited as he looked at himself in the mirror. Sara lowered his chains to about elbow height, allowing Ariel to relax a bit. "Make yourself comfortable for a while. I'll bring you a companion," Sara said cheerfully. For Ariel the idea of being asked to make himself comfortable in bondage bore no inconsistency whatever. He rested in his bonds, looking at himself in the mirror naked and spread, filled with thanks to his hosts as he contemplated the week ahead. About ten minutes later Sara came back in leading Michael by the collar, hands cuffed behind his back and cuffs on his ankles, but otherwise naked. She attached his cuffs to the other pair of triple-chains and floor rings and removed his collar. Ariel and Michael were now bound naked side by side, facing the mirror. "Michael will explain to you what happens next," Sara said, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek and leaving. "Hi Ariel. Here's what's up. You and I are both hairy men, and Jen wants us to be smooth men. We're about to be shaved." Seeing Ariel's look of concern and knowing about his previous experience in the punishment chamber he quickly added "Don't worry, you won't be glued into a punishment vest this week!" Before long two young staffers from JenLiz Productions, Josh and Ben, came in with a small cart of equipment; clippers, electric razor, even a straight razor and basin of hot water. Josh and Ben mostly do set design and fabrication, though for those clients who want makeup or special treatment, they can oblige. They also enjoy acting, and have been lovers on and off. Gone for Six "Just a little off the top, thanks," Michael joked. Touching the control pad to stretch them both back into a taut spread-eagle, Ben replied "Sorry Michael. Jen's orders, it's the works for both of you. Consider yourself lucky, she was talking undercoat and turtle wax -- changed her mind just at the last minute." "Yes, and when we're done Jen's coming in to inspect our work. We don't want to spend the night hung up by our foreskins -- oh, I guess that's not possible," Josh added with a laugh. Ariel was thrilled but a little anxious to hear that he'd soon see Jen again, up close. Other than at a distance in court the last time he saw her was in the chamber, waiting in the immobilizing caress of the mylar jacket for the brutal impact of the steel band. Josh and Ben worked fast, and soon Michael and Ariel stood even more naked over two piles of hair on the floor. Every bit came off, from every part of their bodies, and they were then shaved smooth all over. Even their wrists and ankles were freed one at a time, Ben holding the released limb firmly while Josh shaved, so no spots were missed -- they were taking no chances of failing the inspection! Josh then oiled and polished Ariel all over, while Ben did the same to Michael. They switched places and inspected each other's work, then cleaned up and prepared to leave. "Have a great day -- we'll touch you up when Jen says you need it," Ben said as they went out the door. A few minutes went by, Ariel admiring himself in the mirror. He'd never been shaved, and seeing himself so shiny and naked, tightly spread-eagled, was having an obvious effect. This wasn't such a novelty to Michael, who had let Jen do it to him several times over the years -- she always treated him particularly delightfully when in this condition. Jen entered. She expected to be in court later, and was dressed in attractive but somewhat subdued power clothes. "Hi Michael, Hi Ariel. You both look great all shiny and polished up -- we're going to have fun." Michael and Ariel both squirmed a little, thinking about what "fun" with Jen had meant sometimes in the past. Ariel, who had seen her many times at a distance was delighted to see how beautiful and elegant she still looked up close. She put down the tote bag she was carrying. "I'm so glad you could come, Ariel..." In this she was sincere -- Ariel's obvious devotion was already turning her on a bit, but she continued, smiling and rubbing her hands a little, "but from now on each of you will come only when I let you. Michael is familiar with this device -- he invented it, and has worn it quite often, so I'll do him first." Removing something like a butt plug with a narrow belt and various small straps and wires attached, she walked up to Michael. Pulling on latex gloves, she lubricated the plug and pressed it firmly into Michael's anus, looping the little elastic belt around his waist. A small strap went down to the end of the plug and continued around, splitting in two in his crotch and passing on either side of his scrotum. A pair of electrodes contacted the base of his scrotum as they passed, and a band passed around his penis, though it did not squeeze it hard. The straps rejoined above the band. Jen fastened the free end to the front of the belt. It was made to size, there were no loose ends. "Now let's test it." Jen grasped Michael's penis with her still latex-covered lubricated hands, leaning into him with a deep kiss. Michael sighed and started to writhe sensuously. Suddenly he let out a pained "OW... OW..." as the electrodes shocked his balls and the loop tightened around his penis, suppressing his orgasm completely. This was a little bit of theater. Michael knew he could get as aroused as he wanted without triggering the device, as long as he didn't start to come, but he deliberately let it activate quickly, for Ariel's edification. True, he wouldn't have been able to hold out against Jen for all that much longer, nor would Jen, for all her skill, have been able to make him come without first disabling the device, so effective it was. Michael thought back to some of the early testing sessions when he would be bound and attached to a masturbation machine for an hour or more, getting arrested repeatedly and painfully, while Jen watched with glee. She made it worth his while, though, rewarding him afterward most delightfully. But Ariel knew none of this. Notwithstanding the show of pain from Michael, the idea of being so controlled by Jen was churning deliciously through his whole body and mind. Jen pressed the plug home, almost making him come right then -- she brought him under control with a tight squeeze. "That's why we need this -- I can't watch you all the time." She completed the installation quickly, then reached back into the bag. Attaching another loop around his chest, with electrodes for his nipples, she added "Yours has something extra to enjoy." A small wire hung down his back; she plugged it into the back of the anal penetrator. "Now we'll test it." She leaned into him, but Ariel, remembering previous shocks to his balls and nipples, tried to pull back. "Ohh, scared? You've wanted to kiss me your whole life," she teased, running her fingers over his now much more visible X. Grasping Ariel's shaved head from behind she pulled him in, kissing him deeply while massaging his penis. Ariel started to come immediately, but the device worked perfectly. "OUCH... OW." Ariel twisted in his bonds, but it wasn't actually all that bad -- the main effect was the penis squeeze, which was fully effective. Jen leaned in again. "Try to control yourself. That plug in your butt triggers when you're about to come, not on how aroused you are. Kiss me again." Ariel dissolved into the kiss, but held out for a good ten seconds, then "OW." Jen pulled away. "Good -- you'll get it. This week is about fun, and you'll never have to worry about coming by mistake, no matter what you see or how much you fantasize - I'm taking care of you. Let's try one more time." She leaned in again, Ariel leaning forward greedily this time. She met him in the kiss, but pulled away to whisper in his ear "Later this week you'll come inside me -- I promise." That sent Ariel soaring. "OUCH, YEOUWW." "And you'll be ready for me," she grinned. "Bye bye -- see you in a bit." Ariel wondered what kind of bit she had in mind, but she really did mean time, this time. Jen left and Sara came back in, with a gown for Michael. "Having fun yet? No, don't answer." She lowered their chains and unhooked their cuffs, helping them into their gowns. "Come upstairs and have some coffee, and we'll go over plans for the afternoon." Completely freed except for orgasm control, Ariel and Michael followed Sara upstairs to the kitchen. Michael and Ariel were thirsty and tired, and enjoyed relaxing with coffee and Sara. Their gowns were thick and luxurious, even erotic against their smoothly oiled skin. The week's objective, though Sara didn't describe it explicitly, was to create the strongest possible emotional bonds between Jen, Michael and Ariel, and at the same time, to help everyone else detach a bit, though that part didn't work so well. "Jen has a punishment session this afternoon, probably her last. JenLiz Productions has reserved half the front row. I think you'll enjoy seeing her in action professionally. In the meantime, Ariel, I'll show you your room." HOB has an elevator, which comes in handy for moving friends in bondage from floor to floor. Michael took it to his room which was on the fourth floor, but Sara and Ariel went up the stairs. Ariel was surprised at how light and airy the interior of the house seemed, in spite of the fact that there were windows only on the front and back. As they passed the arch to the front room Ariel could see the black Steinway calling to him. "Later," he said. Ascending the elegant front stair they arrived at the second floor landing. "Liz and Jen have bedrooms here, and their study is in the back." Continuing up to the third floor, Sara brought Ariel to the large front guest room. "You can stay here. I think you'll find everything you need. Come down for lunch in an hour -- we need to be at Jen's session by three." Entering and closing the door, Ariel looked around. A comfortable four-poster bed stood against the wall. Ariel examined it, and was not surprised to see that it had various fittings for bondage, though so discretely designed that only someone who knew what to look for would probably notice or understand. Some guests at HOB are strictly vanilla. Opening the wardrobe Ariel saw clothes of various kinds, all his size, sufficient for the week. An antique desk stood at the front window, with a wide-screen notebook computer on it, closed at the moment. Ariel knew he would be spending a good deal of the week writing, and looked forward to doing it in such a pleasant spot. The classy comfortable-looking office chair was a bit incongruous, but Ariel knew it would be far more comfortable than the chairs which sat before the desk for most of its existence. Another wall sported an electronic keyboard in case he wanted to play privately, though he was looking forward to playing the Steinway downstairs. There would be time for that also. The door to the bathroom was standing ajar and the light was on. Continuing his exploration, and realizing he was slightly uncomfortable, Ariel went in. He was wondering how he was supposed to deal with the orgasm suppressor though there was no urgency; number one was his immediate need. On the top of the toilet was a hand-written note from Jen, welcoming him to HOB. She went on to explain how to disable the device so it would not trigger on removal, and how to be sure that it was properly reinstalled before reactivating. Jen explained affectionately that it was not intended to punish or hurt him, but rather to allow him to view anything in the house, think any thoughts, or write anything, without having to worry about inadvertent or wasted orgasms -- she would make sure that the orgasms he did have would be absolutely top drawer. She went on to say that she thought he would enjoy having her put the nipple electrodes on him, but he did not have to wear that part if he didn't want to -- the device would work just fine without it. After finishing up and admiring his smooth shiny body again in the mirror, Ariel left the bathroom and sat at the desk, curious to try Jen's instructions. He opened the computer, which was already on and re-awakened quickly -- he did not have to log on. Jen's instructions were amusingly geeky -- after all, this was Michael's toy. The butt plug communicated with the HOB WiFi network, and could serve up a web page for settings and status. Entering the IP address of his plug from Jen's note, then his username Ariel and password sundontshine, all lower case, Ariel accessed its web page. There was quite a bit of status, things like body temperature and other indications that he might need help, then status fields like "orgasm potential", "time since last", "suppressions since last", and a set of adjustable fields and sliders with titles meaningless to Ariel. There was the enable/disable button, and at the bottom a large "Test" button. Of course this was bait too tempting for Ariel to resist. Bracing himself he clicked on it, and convulsed in pain -- quite a bit stronger than he remembered during Jen's kiss. A rather tinny cackle came out of the computer's speakers, but it was clearly Jen's laugh, followed by "I knew you'd do that -- don't do it again -- there isn't time to send you to the chamber for another Eighteen." But Ariel also noticed that the button was gone, replaced by a green "status normal" indicator. Still curious, Ariel tried to click on a settings field. Rather than "access denied" or some other error message, up popped "Michael set these up how he thought best for you -- he'll explain it in person and adjust it if you want." Ariel was falling deeper in love with Jen and Michael by the hour. Which reminded him -- lunch in an hour. He'd better get ready. Closing the computer he got up and opened the wardrobe again. He knew that scene attire was frowned upon at the punishment viewing theater, so he picked out a conventional shirt and slacks, and an attractive sport jacket, along with a comfortable cap for his now-bald head. As he put them on he was struck by their quality and perfect fit. It was time to go to lunch, and he headed downstairs. Sara and Michael, and a couple of guests from JenLiz Productions were in the living room, and on Ariel's arrival they all went into the dining room, where the table was already set and salads placed. A pretty young woman served -- Ariel found out that JenLiz staff loved to serve at HOB. They were never required to, but found it fun in all sorts of ways. After a delightful lunch it was time to go to the facility and watch Jen. They went down to the basement, passing the open dungeon door -- it was dimly lit inside -- and went into the garage. JenLiz has a comfortable limo, and they all piled in. A JenLiz staffer drove them to the punishment facility, where I joined them. Ariel knew about the inmate's entrance of course, but he wasn't familiar with the viewer's entrance -- it was on the opposite side of what he realized now was an extension to the main prison building. The annex was built specifically to house the corporal punishment facility, and allow the required access for both inmates and "guests". There was a small parking lot for guests, but a pass had to be shown to a guard to enter it. The guard recognized the HOB limousine instantly and waved us in. Once parked we all got out and went in to a small anteroom, then into the viewing theater. The theater was separated from the punishment chamber by a one-way mirrored wall, so it was wide, like the chamber itself, and had four rows of twelve seats, very steeply ramped. There were aisles with steps at each end and in the middle. JenLiz had reserved the six front seats on the far side that day, so we walked to that end and sat down. Many of the other seats were already filled, and a bar in the rear was doing a brisk business. I was not in the mood to imbibe, and the others had excellent wine at lunch and wanted nothing more either. The audience was international, and obviously wealthy. Although the on-line sales make up the bulk of the revenue for the State, the physical audience, and its reaction, provides helpful feedback for improvements. Some rules are strictly enforced, such as appropriate attire and limits on inebriation. Attempting to jerk off will get you expelled immediately, though every guest also gets a video copy to use as they please, except for duplication. Michael had arranged some interesting watermarking schemes to enforce that. The inmates to be punished were already present, one through four bound standing and spread, the rebinding proceeding at number five. It wasn't long before all seven were tightly secured and penetrated in the punishment hogtie, electrodes greased and ready. Anxiety and fear, as well as anger and indignation, in different proportions, were written on the seven faces. It was a motley crew I thought - they hardly deserved Jen's final performance, except for one. Number five (my place, I reminisced) was familiar-looking. Josh, I realized. The punishment works best with seven inmates, two of them women. Women can volunteer, but the full complement cannot always be achieved, and sometimes there are no-shows. The tormentor approving the punishment decides at the time of offering whether the convict will be ordered to show up on the day of the punishment, or be incarcerated a day or two ahead for cleansing, and sometimes a day-order shows up in unsatisfactory condition. For all these reasons there may be a last-minute need for substitutes. JenLiz has arranged to handle this; staffers, men and women, are on-call to fill any last-minute requirements. Most are relieved if they are not required, but it is a point of honor to have endured a session, and well-rewarded just sufficiently long afterward for the pain to have subsided. A very few have done it several times. Jen walked out. The surprise on six faces was comical; they had no idea they would be punished by a woman. But this has been shown to be far more effective at reducing recidivism - it forces both male and female inmates to confront their prejudices, and it facilitates the emotional bonds between inmates which help them connect with their fundamental humanity. The tormentor's outfit had become more subdued by then - Jen wore a gray blouse and pants, and ordinary dress shoes. The official-looking outfit, not unlike a police uniform, was still suitably frightening, and Jen filled it beautifully. The fear on each inmate's face as she gazed into their eyes and connected their cables was delicious to watch - oh Jen, we loved you. The calibration began, the inmates first writhing, convulsing and screaming in response to the varied stimuli, ending with them all jerking and grunting uniformly at random. Already dripping with sweat and drool, they were ready for Jen to exercise her professional skill for the last time. She began with the unison punishments, building from a bare hint to an agonizing culmination, the seven bodies writhing, twisting and convulsing in synchrony, then moved on to the waves. This was glorious to watch, a punishing motion duplicated from one helpless body to the next like a ballet in purgatory. Jen was playing to the audience also, trying to make the movements as involuntarily erotic as possible. The bondo-battles were cleverly conducted - Jen was particularly good at sizing up contestants, and rarely had to do extra to get them worked up and started. Then came the orgasms. The look on the first inmate's face was unforgettable - he was totally flabbergasted. But he came nonetheless, after four minutes almost exactly. As the others watched his expression coming off the anesthesia of arousal, they began to get the point. It was interesting to watch Ariel, who was clearly enjoying watching Jen in action, but had a slightly jealous frown. We couldn't really see much of Jen, except from behind, and I think Ariel would rather have had a pole than a seat for this show. But he was to get his pole-time soon, though not courtesy of the State. We'd arranged for Jen to have a chance to get out her anger the next night, and we'd all be on the poles. The orgasms proceeded apace, the women's especially juicy, the men's probably more intense than they were used to. Josh very evidently enjoyed coming in strict bondage at Jen's command. The compassion-engendering individual minutes were brutal, Jen going rather past her normal professional limits, but these inmates definitely learned compassion for each other. Josh groused about it some, since Jen would never make it up to him, though she sent him a heartbreakingly touching apology - Liz delightfully reconciled his account later. We didn't talk much on the way back to HOB. A career of surpassing skill and, whatever you may think, deep compassion, was over. That evening it was time to share food and music, the fertile soil of affection and healing, together. The dungeon was dark. Jen put Ariel to bed that night. In preparation he put on ankle and wrist cuffs, also making sure his orgasm arrestor was in good order. He called when he was ready and lay down on the bed. Jen entered and fastened his ankles together, chaining them to the end of the bed, then did the same for his wrists, though she did not pull him taut. She gave him a deep kiss and lay down with him for a while - Ariel described how impressed he was watching her session, and admitted how much he was looking forward to the following evening. They talked a bit about the music that night, Jen saying how much she admired his playing, and wished she could have heard him before. Checking to make sure that Ariel could turn over comfortably, and could reach the bell if necessary, she kissed him again affectionately and said good night, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.